#Ideal for Home Workspace

[sunroomvancouver]

[financia012]

My Perfect Space for Reading and Writing

You get to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like? As a blogger and writer, my ideal space for reading and writing would be a harmonious blend of tranquility, inspiration, and functionality. A place where my thoughts can flow freely, and creativity can flourish. Here’s how I envision it: The Setting Nestled in a quiet corner of my home, the space would have large…

[dandylovesturtles]

I'm trying to get myself back into writing by doing some little things here and there. This is the first one that is actually worth it to post here lol

Awhile back I asked on discord for suggestions of things I could write and then for a long time I didn't actually do anything lol BUT I finally did something. This ficlet is based on a suggestion @abbeyofcyn gave me about Donnie feeling anxiety over a having a new home post S2 (at least I remember it being Cyn but the message is so old now I can't find it orz I'm sorry if it was someone else)

I hope you enjoy it!

---

The subway station has been closed to the public since the nineties. Most of the ways in are already blocked off, and it will be trivial to finish that work to keep out any intruders. The tracks and maintenance station make an ideal garage and workspace for the tank. The old electrical wiring and water pipes are easily accessible. There’s still functioning toilets in the old bathrooms, and ventilated spaces ideal for cooking. There’s easy access to the street, the rest of the subway system, and the sewers. Splinter hums approvingly as he circles an old staff area with a tape measure. His brothers shout as they call dibs on rusted out train cars. April enthusiastically notes that the station is close to her new campus.

It checks all the boxes on their list, and then some.

So why has the sick feeling in the pit of Donnie’s stomach gotten worse instead of better?

There must be something wrong with it. Some flaw they aren’t seeing, some con they haven’t considered. He needs to go over his lists again; double check and triple check from every angle. They’ve only been here an hour - it would just be irresponsible to make a decision so quickly!

He desperately fires up his tablet again and pulls up his list, scrolling with hard taps as his eyes fly over the compiled criteria. There must be something… Something!

It’s structurally sound. There’s ample space for skateboard ramps and arcade machines. There’s plenty of lighting that will only need simple maintenance to be functional. There’s a big space that can be used for a new lab. It checks all the boxes, but there must be at least one it’s not checking, or why would Donnie’s blood curdle at the thought of actually living here?

The way the air moves through the space is wrong. The way the sounds echo off the walls and floors is unfamiliar. The smell is not the one he spent his whole life inhaling. It’s all wrong in a way that embeds itself in Donnie’s very skin, leaves him feeling slimy and nauseous and off kilter, like everything was just tilted at a dutch angle.

He scrolls to the bottom of the list and taps a few more times to be sure. “Air feels right” and “Echoes are normal” and “Smell is bad” are not boxes to be checked, so it can’t be any of those things. It has to be something else… It has to be something!

He scrolls back to the top of his list. Then he scrolls back to the bottom. He can’t find it. But it has to be there.

“Whoa,” says Leo, and Donnie jolts, his head snapping up. “I’ve never seen Donnie look like he wants to murder a computer before.”

“Please don’t tell Raph that something’s wrong with the structural checks or whatever,” says Raph, just behind Leo. They’re all coming up to him, probably wondering why he’s been standing in the same spot for… 

Donnie glances at his screen and jolts again. Twenty four minutes and thirty seven second!?

“Come on, Dee, this place has got to be perfect,” says Leo. “I already know exactly where I’m putting my action figures in my new digs!”

“And I’m already getting sooo many ideas for graffiti!” says Mikey excitedly, bouncing in place where he stands next to April. “And I can’t wait to design the kitchen layout! I can’t believe I get to start from scratch and do it just how I want!”

“Raph already knows exactly where the dojo is goin’,” Raph joins in. When Leo blows a raspberry, Raph pushes him forward and smirks when he has to catch himself.

“I think this is the best you guys are gonna get,” says April. “Unless you wanna move to the Hidden City.”

“We can’t, Raph still has a warrant for his arrest.”

“I keep tellin’ you guys, that ain’t Raph!”

“I only wish I had known about this place earlier,” comes Splinter’s voice as he joins them. “So much square footage!”

They all start talking excitedly, so fast it blends into a whir in Donnie’s ears. They’ve all already decided, but don’t they see? They can’t live here, because it’s wrong!

“No.”

Donnie’s declaration kills the conversation in its tracks. Everyone stops to look at him, and the sudden attention doesn’t feel as good as it might otherwise.

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head and looking back at his list. “This won’t work.”

A chorus of “What!?” comes from everyone else. Donnie keeps his eyes on his list, scrolling frantically, looking for the problem that he knows is there.

“Is there something wrong with it?” asks April, tone measured.

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t know what it is yet and how can he answer if he doesn’t have any data?

It’s clear they aren’t going to wait for him to come up with the answer.

“Well what is it? Ventilation? Structural integrity? The wiring? Come on, Dee, give us somethin’.”

“It’s… it’s just wrong. I know it is.” Donnie looks up from his list then, and their skeptical expressions make him coil around his tablet in defense. “We’ve barely seen all of it! How can we know for certain that it will really suit our needs?”

He’s protesting too much, and it’s no surprise when Leo catches on, immediately narrowing his eyes as he hones in on Donnie’s uncertainty. 

“You’ve said no to every place we’ve looked at, dude! Are your standards that high, or do you just like living in Barry’s crappy apartment that much?”

“I obviously do not,” Donnie snaps, because he has made no secret of the fact that he hates it there. Sure, it was nice of Draxum to take them in now that they’re homeless and all that, but the apartment is too small, and the sheets are too scratchy, and the way the air conditioner sounds is all wrong, and the street noises bother Donnie at night…

Of course he doesn’t want to keep living there! He never wanted to live there in the first place!

“Then what’s the problem?” Leo asks, folding his arms, and Donnie scowls back.

“I just think we shouldn’t rush into such a big decision just because it sucks to live in Draxum’s apartment,” he reasons, reasonably because he’s being very reasonable!

“And what, wait for our realtor to find us a few more listings?” Leo says with heavy snark. 

“Leo,” says Raph with a warning tone, before looking back at Donnie. “Look, we can take tonight to think about it,” he suggests. “But if there’s nothing really wrong with it, I think this is gonna be the best we can do.”

Donnie shrinks back. “You say we’ll take tonight to think about it, but you’ve all already decided.” He shakes his head. “But I’m telling you, we can’t live here. It’s wrong.”

“Donnie…” Mikey’s hand touches Donnie’s elbow, and it takes everything in him not to jerk it away. “Is there an actual problem with the place, or is this a feelings problem?”

Donnie jerks away.

Then he turns and sprints away down the nearest subway tunnel.

…

He only makes it to the next condemned platform before he collapses against the wall, panting. Maybe he really should take up Raph’s advice to do more cardio… If he can ever face any of them again, that is.

He sinks to the ground and rests his chin on his knees, looking around at the unfamiliar scenery. He knew the old tunnels of his home like he knew the curves and grooves in his favorite wrench. But his favorite wrench is lost forever under an insurmountable amount of rubble, and the tunnels around him are foreign and imposing.

He doesn’t want to live in Draxum’s apartment anymore.

But he doesn’t want to live here.

He wants to go home.

The ugly, bitter feeling in his stomach twists again, and he groans and presses his face into his knees, covering his head with his arms. He knows exactly what would fix this, and it’s something he can’t have.

He did the tests himself, over and over again. He knows that their old home would take years, decades to make livable again. They simply can’t fix it. It’s too big to be fixed.

Which means he cannot be fixed.

The understanding that he’ll feel this way forever washes over Donnie, leaving him desolated. How is he ever supposed to function again?

How can the rest of his family move on so easily when he’s still like this?

Footsteps echo off the walls, and he tenses up, curling tighter into himself. It’s no surprise that one of them came after him. He’s just glad it’s only one set of footsteps, and not five.

He doesn’t look up as they draw close. He doesn’t have to. A barefooted tread, light and airy with a bit of a hop to it even when the mood is somber. He’d know it anywhere.

Mikey plops down next to him and says, “Ready to talk to Doctor Feelings?”

Donnie shakes his head without looking up.

Mikey hums. “Wanna talk to Doctor Delicate Touch?”

Donnie shakes his head harder.

There’s a shuffle, and then warmth against Donnie’s side. “Wanna talk to your favorite little brother in the whole wide world?”

Donnie finally lifts his head enough to look at Mikey with one eye. “Winning by default isn’t something to brag about,” he notes.

A huge grin crosses Mikey’s face. “Hey, there you are!”

“Here I am,” Donnie notes dryly, and it sounds miserable even to his own ears.

Mikey’s expression falls into something more soft. He scoots around to Donnie’s front, then says, “You’re homesick.”

Homesick feels too small for the dark feelings that are swallowing Donnie whole. It’s just not enough.

“...I don’t want to live somewhere new,” he says, and it sounds like, I don’t want everything to be different.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” says Mikey, even though Donnie knows he can’t be feeling it like this, or at least hopes his little brother isn’t. “You’ll get used to it, though!”

It almost makes Donnie laugh. He can’t begin to imagine it ever feeling anything but terrible. “How do you know?”

“Because I have experience,” says Mikey breezily, like it’s obvious. 

Donnie hopes the skepticism shows on his face. “Really? Micheal, we were both too young when Papa moved us to the lair.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember that. But I do remember when we all got our own rooms!”

Donnie considers that with some surprise. He vaguely remembers that… mostly because he was happy that Raph and Leo couldn’t put their stuff on his side anymore. “Ah yes. A joyous day for all of us.”

“Well it wasn’t too happy for me!” Mikey retorts, folding his arms. “I didn’t want any of us to get our own rooms. I… wasn’t ready to be without you guys.”

Actually, now that Mikey says that, Donnie does remember that part of it. “I also remember that you weren’t without us, because you slept in one of our rooms every night for two months.”

Mikey nods seriously. “Yeah! Because I wasn’t ready for change!”

“And we had to make a rotating chart so that each of us could get a full night of sleep once in a while.”

“Huh?” Mikey pouts. “What do you mean? I sleep like an angel!”

“Kicking and chewing on anything in grabbing distance seems more like demon behavior,” Donnie notes, and Mikey huffs and makes a big show of being offended. 

“The point, Donald,” he stresses, “is that it was a big change! And I wasn’t happy about it for a loooong time.” He leans back. “I didn’t get why you guys were so happy about moving out when I wasn’t. It felt like you were all leaving me behind.”

Donnie frowns. “But we were literally a few feet away,” he notes. “As you proved nightly.”

Mikey points at him excitedly. “Exactly! It was a big change, but I still had you guys. And eventually, you guys helped me get excited about it, too.”

Donnie tries to remember what exactly they did to accomplish that, but… “All I remember is that we helped you hang up your finger paintings and put glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling.”

“Yep!” Mikey nods sagely. “You helped make it my own. I got where I was excited to be in my room, because it was how I wanted it to be!” He falters, tapping his chin. “And also I remember Leo said something about all my toys being sad if they were alone in my room at night…”

“Ah. Manipulative tactics,” Donnie observes.

“But that’s not the point! The point is that when I made it my own, change wasn’t so scary anymore.” He waves back down the tunnel. “And that’s what’s going to work for you, too! Because you’re going to build yourself a big new lab and decorate your room just how you want it, and you’re going to love it!”

Donnie feels absolutely no confidence in that. The idea of building a new lab, of decorating his room, of getting used to the new space, doesn’t fill him with excitement. There is only dread there, and exhaustion, and an insurmountable realization that nothing is ever going to be the same as it was before.

“That might work for you,” he says softly, tiredly. “But I don’t think it will for me. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling…” 

He still doesn’t know what to call this. 

“...Homesick.”

“But you will,” says Mikey, putting a hand on his arm. This time, Donnie doesn’t jerk away. “You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you went through it with the rooms too, Dee.”

Donnie scoffs, shaking his head. “I was glad to have my own room,” he asserts. “The rest of you kept getting your things into my space. It was annoying.”

“Sure, maybe you were happy about that part,” says Mikey simply, “but do you remember the big storm? The first one after we moved into our rooms, that was sooo loud we could hear it?”

Again, Donnie thinks he vaguely recalls something like that. It clearly didn’t leave as large an impression on him as it did on Mikey, though.

“I… might,” he says.

“I remember,” says Mikey, “that I was so scared, I ran straight to Raph’s room! And he was already awake, and he was under the covers, and we made a tent together.” He giggles. “And then you came in, and then Leo! And I realized then, maybe you guys weren’t really as happy about sleeping in separate rooms as I thought.”

He shifts around again, pressing himself into Donnie’s side.

“We went through that all together. And we’re gonna go through this together, too. And that’s how I know it’ll be okay!”

Donnie can’t help but make a skeptical noise. He’s not sure it will be. It just feels like too much.

“We’re all homesick, too,” Mikey confides. “We show it different than you… But we are. We’re going through it with you.”

Donnie knows they miss home, too. He knows that. But still…

“What if you’re wrong,” he says, “and it’s not okay?”

“Then…” Mikey trails off, thinking. “Then I’ll use the money I saved up to buy you that limited edition Atomic Lass figure you wanted!”

Donnie twists his head to stare at him. “That figure currently values at eight hundred and fifty dollars,” he says.

Mikey grimaces. “I will give you all the money I have saved up to help you buy it!” he amends.

Donnie snorts. Then he laughs. Then he leans into the warmth of his little brother.

He doesn’t want to live somewhere new… but it won’t be entirely new. His family will still be there. Just a few steps away.

“Does the laughing mean you’ll come back with me?” asks Mikey. “Because this tunnel is cold.”

Donnie snorts again. “I will go back with you,” he agrees, “because I actually don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Yes! I did it!” Mikey hops to his feet, extending a hand. “Another W for Doctor Feelings!”

“Winning by default is nothing to brag about,” says Donnie again. But he takes Mikey’s hand, and they go back to the station together.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 2119 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ’ꜱ ʟᴀʙ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏɴ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴛ ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ—ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅʏ ʀᴇꜱʜᴀᴘᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴏʀʟ��. ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, ᴀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟꜱ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ.

ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴡɴ ʙʏ 'ᴏɪᴅɪɴɢᴜꜱ_ᴀʀᴛ' ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

The name of the artist was known throughout Piltover. Not for her completed works—because she had none—but for her brilliance in leaving her art just shy of whole. Every piece she created stirred something indescribable, the incomplete strokes telling stories of longing, imperfection, and possibility. She thrived in the mystery of absence, and it made her a celebrated enigma.

When Professor Heimerdinger extended the invitation, she hesitated. Engineering was hardly her forte, but the professor believed her talent for visualizing ideas could assist in translating the ambitious designs of Jayce Talis and Viktor into something practical, something revolutionary.

Jayce was sceptical at first. Viktor, however, saw the potential in having her involved. “Sometimes,” he said in his lilting accent, “a fresh perspective reveals what we’re blind to.” And so, she became a part of their peculiar little team.

Her role was clear: to refine their chaotic scribbles into elegant schematics. Jayce’s bold visions and Viktor’s intricate calculations often clashed on paper, but she found harmony in their contradictions, drawing plans that balanced ambition with practicality. The three worked tirelessly, the laboratory becoming a second home.

Yet when she wasn’t assisting with Hextech, her easel stood by the massive arched window of the lab. There, she painted the room as she saw it—the grand glass framing Piltover’s ever-bustling skyline, Jayce’s hammer leaning against the wall, Viktor’s cane perched beside his chair. She captured the glow of Hextech crystals bathing the workspace in ethereal light and the cluttered brilliance of their desks below. Her brush strokes immortalized the laughter, the debates, and the quiet moments of thoughtfulness they shared.

Still, the painting remained unfinished.

The events that unraveled Piltover began as whispers, rumors of unrest in Zaun. But soon, the city shook under the weight of its own ambition. Hextech, once a beacon of hope, became a tool of power. Jayce grew more burdened with responsibility, his ideals tested at every turn. Viktor’s determination to overcome his failing health drove him down darker paths, paths she feared would consume him.

“You can’t stop painting us,” Viktor said one evening, his voice soft as he leaned on his cane beside her easel. His once-bright eyes now seemed dim, his frame thinner than ever. “Not now.”

“I’m not stopping,” she assured him, though her hands trembled as she worked. She was no longer sure if her art could capture the fractures forming between them.

Jayce’s visits to the lab grew less frequent, his duties pulling him elsewhere. When he did return, his presence was heavier, his laughter scarce. “Things will get better,” he told her once, his hand brushing against hers. “We’ll finish everything we started. Together.”

But as the days passed, her painting became a reflection of their reality. The colours darkened. The vibrant glow of the Hextech core faded into muted shades. And still, it was incomplete.

She had been in the council room when it exploded, the world around her fracturing in a storm of fire and rubble. Jayce had been the one to pull her from the wreckage, his face pale but determined. She had been there when he brought Viktor back using the Hexcore, desperation overriding caution. She had stood beside them when Viktor awoke, his frail body surging with new strength, and had watched helplessly as he walked away, leaving her and Jayce behind in silence.

Time passed, and Jayce disappeared. Viktor, burdened by his own choices, would occasionally return to the lab, seeking solace in the ruins. She was always there, sitting amidst the debris, her easel standing like a lone sentinel. He never said much, just stood quietly, his gaze fixed on the painting that captured a world they could no longer reach.

“Why do you stay here?” Viktor had asked her once, his voice hollow.

She didn’t have an answer. Or perhaps she did, but the words never came.

When Jayce returned, it was as though no time had passed. He found her staring at the unfinished painting, the brush resting idly in her hand. The colors had faded, the outlines softened by dust, but it remained as haunting as the day it had been started.

“You still haven’t finished it?” he asked, his voice laced with both wonder and confusion.

She turned to him, her eyes heavy with something he couldn’t name. “Some things aren’t meant to be finished,” she said softly. “Completion means an end, and I don’t think I’m ready to let go yet.”

He didn’t press her. He simply sat down beside her, the weight of their shared memories hanging between them like a fragile thread.

And then the news came. Jayce and Viktor—together again, just as they always should have been—had sacrificed themselves to save the world. She hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen their final moments, but the weight of their choice crushed her all the same.

Now, the lab was silent. She stood amidst the wreckage, dust settling over the shattered remains of a dream. Her easel had somehow survived, the canvas untouched. She sank to the ground before it, staring at the painting that captured their world before it fell apart.

The window, intact in the painting, now gaped open in the ruins. The desks were no longer cluttered but splintered. The chairs they had sat in together were overturned, broken. Her hand reached for the brush, but it faltered. There was no one left to finish this with her.

She stared at the painting, her chest tight with grief. Something was still missing.

But now she understood. It wasn’t that the painting was incomplete because it couldn’t be finished—it was that she wasn’t ready yet. The story—their story—hadn’t ended in her heart, even if they were no longer here to tell it. But one day, when the weight of their absence wasn’t so heavy, when the memories of what they built together felt less like loss and more like legacy, she would pick up the brush again.

She would finish it.

For now, the painting would remain as it was, a testament to the hope that lingered in every unfinished stroke, and a promise that the story they began together would find its ending in time.

The museum was quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of a cane against the marble floor. A group of people followed their guide, his worn name badge reading “Viktor.” Despite his frail frame, he carried himself with quiet dignity, his voice steady as he described each piece of art with the utmost respect and love for the artist.

“Y/N’s work is renowned not just for its beauty, but for its elusiveness,” Viktor said, his accent lilting gently. “She had a gift for capturing moments that felt eternal, even though she rarely completed her pieces.”

One guest frowned and raised their hand. “Why are all of her paintings incomplete?”

Viktor paused, his gaze lingering on a half-finished canvas. A faint smile touched his lips. “It is believed she never liked endings,” he said. “To her, the world was in constant motion, and to end a piece would mean to confine it. Perhaps she wanted her art to remain as alive as the moments she captured.”

They moved on, Viktor leading them into a smaller, dimly lit room. At its centre hung a painting, larger than the others, bathed in soft light. The group leaned closer, their eyes widening at the masterpiece before them. It was a depiction of a lab, vibrant and warm, filled with life and detail. Two figures sat in their respective chairs, their backs to the viewer. One tall and broad-shouldered, the other slender and hunched slightly, their shared presence radiating quiet camaraderie.

Viktor’s voice softened. “This is the only painting she ever completed. It is called ‘Her Hope’”

“Why did she complete this one but not the others?” someone asked.

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver from the painting. “It is believed that this was her way of saying goodbye. To the lab, to the dreams they shared, and to the people she loved most.”

Another guest, curiosity etched across their face, asked, “What happened to her after this? Why didn’t she create any more art?”

Viktor’s expression grew sombre. “After this painting was completed, Y/N disappeared. Some say she died not long after, perhaps from illness or heartbreak. Others believe she took her own life, unable to bear the weight of her loneliness.”

A hush fell over the group. Then, one guest spoke hesitantly. “What do you think happened to her?”

For a long moment, Viktor was silent. His grip tightened on his cane as he stared at the painting, his voice barely above a whisper. “I do not know what became of her. But what I do know is that she found them again. In her own way, wherever she went, she found her peace.”

The group lingered a moment longer, the weight of Viktor’s words settling over them. As they left the room, Viktor remained, his hand brushing the edge of the painting, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“Viktor!” a voice called out from behind him. He turned, his smile widening as Jayce walked in, his confident stride faltering only slightly as he reached Viktor. Without a word, Jayce leaned down, pressing a soft peck to Viktor’s lips. They turned together to face the painting once more, the moment shared in quiet understanding.

Jayce tilted his head, studying the figures in the painting. “You know,” he murmured, “those two look a little like us.”

Viktor’s smile turned secretive, his tone light. “Pure coincidence, I am sure.”

Jayce’s laugh was soft, the kind shared only between those who have weathered years together. But their moment was interrupted by the faint sound of shuffling. Both turned to see a woman seated on a small bench facing the painting. She was hunched over a journal, sketching with quiet intensity.

Curiosity drew them closer. Viktor’s cane tapped lightly against the floor as they approached, their footsteps careful not to disturb her. Peering over her shoulder, they caught a glimpse of her work—a detailed, delicate rendition of “Her Hope,” the lines almost breathing with life. Her skill was undeniable, her strokes imbued with a familiarity that neither man could ignore.

Jayce’s voice was gentle, threaded with curiosity. “Hello,” he said, the single word carrying an unexpected warmth. The woman looked up, her gaze meeting theirs, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to hold its breath.

Her eyes flickered with recognition, or perhaps it was something deeper—a spark of familiarity that neither Viktor nor Jayce could place. Silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Then, she smiled, a small curve of her lips that felt like the echo of something long forgotten.

“Good afternoon,” she said softly, her voice lilting like the first notes of a melody. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Viktor replied, his tone careful but kind, his cane tapping lightly as he shifted closer. “You draw beautifully. May we?”

She nodded, and as they stepped nearer, Jayce’s eyes fell to the sketch in her lap. The lines were graceful yet precise, the image forming was unmistakable—the painting of the lab, rendered anew through her hand. Each stroke seemed alive, imbued with an understanding that tugged at the edges of memory.

“That’s remarkable,” Jayce said, his admiration genuine. “You must have spent time studying it.”

“I have,” she admitted, her gaze flitting between them. “It speaks to me, this painting. The lives it captured… it’s as if I know them.”

“We’ve spent a great deal of time with it ourselves,” Viktor offered, his words tinged with something wistful. “I am Viktor, and this is Jayce.”

“A pleasure,” she said, inclining her head. “I am Y/N.”

The introduction lingered in the air, the exchange of names feeling oddly significant, as though they had been spoken before in a time neither could recall. Yet, there was no certainty, only the strange pull of connection.

“Your work,” Viktor began, gesturing to her journal, “it captures something… familiar. As though you have been here before.”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing over the edge of the sketch. “Perhaps,” she said, her voice quiet. “Or perhaps it’s simply the way some places, some moments, leave an imprint on the soul.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the three of them drawn together before the painting. The weight of years seemed to melt into the stillness, the past and present converging in the shared space of art and memory. Whatever had been lost, or forgotten, didn’t matter. In that fleeting moment, it felt as if they had found each other again—even if they didn’t quite know it yet.

[nenelonomh]

time management

time management is all about planning and controlling how you spend your time to be more efficient and productive. some key strategies to help you manage your time better include:

・prioritize tasks: identify what's most important and tackle those tasks first. you can use methods like the eisenhower matrix to categorize tasks by urgency and importance.

・set goals: having clear, achievable goals can help you stay focused and motivated. break down larger goals into smaller, manageable tasks.

・create a schedule: plan your day or week in advance. allocate specific time blocks for different activities and stick to your schedule as much as possible.

・avoid multitasking: focus on one task at a time. multitasking can reduce your efficiency and increase the chances of making mistakes.

・take breaks: regular breaks can help you stay fresh and maintain high levels of productivity. techniques like the pomodoro technique, which involves working for 25 minutes and then taking a 5-minute break, can be very effective.

・eliminate distractions: identify what distracts you and find ways to minimize these interruptions. this could mean turning off notifications, setting boundaries with others, or creating a dedicated workspace

for example, sometimes i get so caught up with talking to my friends online that i forget to start my homework when i get home. an easy solution is to simply move my phone out of the room.

・review and adjust: regularly review your progress and adjust your plans as needed. this helps you stay on track and make improvements over time.

do you have any specific areas where you struggle with time management?

there are several great time management apps that can help you stay organized and productive. here are a few popular ones:

todoist: a comprehensive app for managing tasks and projects. it’s available on multiple platforms and integrates well with other tools like gmail and slack.

toggl track: ideal for tracking work hours and managing schedules. it’s great for freelancers and small businesses.

forest: a unique app that uses a gamified approach to help you stay focused. you grow a virtual tree by staying on task, and if you get distracted, the tree dies.

notion: an all-in-one workspace that combines notes, tasks, and project management. it’s highly customizable and great for both personal and team use.

clockify: a free time tracking app that helps you track work hours across projects. it's useful for individuals and groups.

trello: a visual tool for organising tasks and projects using boards, lists, and cards. it’s great for collaboration and keeping track of multiple projects.

thanks for reading! remember, mastering time management is a journey, not a destination. stay focused, stay organized, and make every moment count.

feel free to reach out if you have any questions or need more tips! 

❤️ nene

[simmerkate]

Desk Clutter Goals Set

Turn your Sims' desks into productivity hubs with this stylish and functional décor collection! Whether for a cozy home office or a bustling creative space, this set has everything your Sims need to stay organized and inspired.

Included in the Set:

Sticky Notes Stack

A colorful stack of sticky notes featuring a handwritten reminder. Perfect for adding a pop of realism to any workspace.

Envelope Pile

A neat stack of envelopes in various colors to create a realistic and busy desk vibe.

Stacked Letters

A collection of neatly piled letters for Sims who love to stay on top of their correspondence.

Scattered Letters

A casually placed set of letters to add a lived-in feel to your builds.

Pasta Salad Box

A fresh takeout salad box featuring greens, cherry tomatoes, croutons, and more. Perfect for lunch breaks at the desk.

Paper Coffee Cup

A cozy coffee cup with a detailed cardboard sleeve and logo design. Ideal for Sims who thrive on caffeine.

Apple Pen

A sleek and modern pen, perfect for pairing with the digital planner.

Digital Planner iPad

A high-tech tablet planner with colorful tabs and an open “Quick Notes” page. A must-have for organized Sims.

Bulletin Board

A functional corkboard to display notes, checklists, or trackers. Great for personalizing office spaces.

Planners for Bulletin Board

Planner sheets to pin onto the bulletin board, including a savings tracker and daily self-care checklist.

Details:

Category: Décor

In-Game Location: Clutter or search SimmerKate+

Base Game Compatible: Yes

Public Release Date: February 8th, 2025 Patreon (xx) ad-free

Socials

Follow me for updates, sneak peeks, and more custom content!

Instagram: @SimmerKatex

Facebook: facebook.com/simmerkate

Website: www.simmerkate.com

CurseForge: SimmerKate

[tsublue]

10th house ruler in ASTROLOGY and what your career could be☤

This can be used with any type of chart, mostly whole sign.

picture credits: Pinterest

I would absolutely love to know your thoughts in the comments!

10th house ruler in 1st house

Your career possibly has a lot to do with your appearance and personality. You like to be the leader and lead others in your workplace. You might have had a feeling like your career has to or already defines you and it can sometimes even become your personality in some cases.

10th house ruler in 2nd house

You would like to have a job that pays well and is your calling. You can possibly have a passion for food related careers. You have a deep and true need to be financially stable as well as doing something you enjoy. You also can enjoy a comfortable workspace, as in whatever the meaning is to you.

10th house ruler in 3rd house

You could possibly change your workplace or a job many times in your lifetime which is never a bad thing, you don’t fear experimenting and seeing what you like and don’t like. Having a journal with you is not a bad idea. You need a job where you can be creative and express your feelings such as design or writing and etc. Communicational job can also benefit you a lot.

10th house ruler in 4th house

You suit a job that can be done at home or in some cases in an office. You could also be a stay at home mom in some cases. You do not crave to be in so seen at your job and like something peaceful and fulfilling.

10th house ruler in 5th house

You need a career that you truly enjoy, a really great tip is for an example: If you really enjoy skateboarding. You can make it your career as in making videos about it or having a tv show about it. The possibilities are endless and that’s what’s impressive about you. You also do not really fear to be seen by the public.

10th house ruler in 6th house

You like to be in the service. You do not fear 9-5 jobs and stuff that can be seen as “boring” in some people’s eyes. You also can possibly benefit from a job in the outdoors. Your health can also play a big role in your career. You like to help others and this could also lead you into customer service or to become a therapist.

10th house ruler in 7th house

You need coworkers in your workplace. Team work and cooperation is key to your ideal career. This is also a pretty good placement for business owners. You could possibly achieve a high standing career and work as help such as for an example: a wedding planner (helping a couple get married) or a lawyer (helping people with the law).

10th house ruler in 8th house

You would like to do something intimidating as your career. It could be a little off for others, but fun for you. You also can have really good investigation skills so don’t let that go to waste. You also thrive to have or in a private workspace or kept private job. The 8th house revolves around death and spirituality, so there are endless options that can fulfill your ideal career.

10th house ruler in 9th house

You are a wild child. Obviously your career involves travel and movement, so that can indicate a job in a different city, state or a country. Or even your career would be around traveling. You also do an excellent job at teaching and guiding which can fulfill your perfect idea of a career.

10th house ruler in 10th house

Your career will be put into the public eye. You’re really dedicated to it and probably have been doing it your whole life as in for an example being a theatre kid and becoming an actor as your career. You really worry about your reputation a big part of your time. You are possibly the most wealthiest in your workplace and can gain a lot of haters for almost anything you do due to jealousy. Also being a leader is a part of your career.

10th house ruler in 11th house

Your career can involve electronics and even friendships. You could start a business with your friends or do something completely different from your family and friends. Your career can be really creative. Your job can also involve an audience and give you lots of social connections.

10th house ruler in 12th house

You might’ve never really fully put thought into your career or you really can’t fully come up what you truly would like to do as your job. You just like to hang there and probably are the one amongst your surroundings who has no idea what to do when everyone has clear goals. You may walk in your superiors footsteps. Also charity and helping work is not the worst idea and could possibly fulfill you alongside spiritual themed career.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I’ve really been in a slump, but it feels good to be back and writing the new posts.

I truly hope you enjoy this post and that you beyond if you made it to the end.

I would love to know what your 10th house ruler is in!

Always love, Tsunami

!! Please do not:

repost, re-word, copy, steal, etc my posts. If you want to use some aspects of them, then please ask for permission first and always give credits. Thank you.

#astrology #10thhouseruler

[wonderfulwonderholic]

I realized I've barely posted any original content or anything about my workspace. This is my current WFH space. I originally had a shelf here that housed my lava lamps, so I need to find a new home for them somewhere around here. Ideally I want to put up a pegboard for supplies and cute decor ٩(＾◡＾)۶

One of these days I'll post my study space as soon as I tidy up and put it together (ㆆ ᴗ ㆆ)

[sunroomvancouver]

Designing the Ideal Home Workspace

Post covid, home office demand has increased as it allows many people to work efficiently. Apart from this, people get comfortable. A home is a must-have if you are an entrepreneur or an employee working since Covid started! Therefore, all you need is space that gives you a precise balance between comfort and work. However, to build the home you can reach out to professionals. If you are in Vancouver then Strong Build, sunroom builder will help you to get your home office. But, in this blog, you will walk through the tips for designing the perfect home office.

[rpmemegraveyard]

The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme™️ Send me some numbers and a character name and I will tell you:

What does their bedroom look like?

Do they have any daily rituals?

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Eating habits and sample daily menu

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Makeup?

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Intellectual pursuits?

Favorite book genre?

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Favorite beverage?

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

What is their biggest regret?

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Most prized possession?

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Concept of home and family?

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

What makes them feel guilty?

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

How misanthropic (disliking of humankind) are they?

Hobbies?

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Religion?

Superstitions or views on the occult?

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

How do they express love?

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

Does this person have a bucket list? What's on it?

[parasolladyansy]

PKMN & a desk tour

Welcome to my desk 🌧️ I like to keep it pretty minimal in my workspace, so Skye is perched on the built-in shelf with some of the other Pokemon. Also, I had to get a clock because Procreate makes the clock disappear & I’d lose track of time (as well as the battery life on my iPad LOL well done Procreate XD) The little bird there in front of the ocarina one is actually a storm glass - she seems to only tell when it’s warm & cold, but I still love her.

I’m actually thinking of setting up a little home weather station in the future (barometer, thermometer, maybe a DIY windsock, etc.) & getting a book on meteorology to really learn this stuff. I feel like that skill will be useful to have, also weathercore (if that’s a thing lol) ouo If anyone knows about where I should start or what I should read, let me know! Ideally something with lots of pictures ^_^

—

So…I’m really happy I joined this site. ;u; Lots of people here are so nice, & there are so, so many cool artists! Then some of them follow me, & say they’re jazzed when I follow them?? 878

So thank you! \^0^/ Keep being awesome! 🩵

[simmervlogs]

Hello Simmers, open the doors to a Brownstone home for your sims in San Myshuno.

The ultimate Brooklyn brownstone dream comes to life in this gut-renovated two townhomes nestled on one of the prettiest tree-lined streets in the heart of San Myshuno. With a stunning owner's triplex and separate outdoor-level apartment, Greenwich Avenue townhomes represents an incredible opportunity as a primary residence, or a live-and-rent investment property.

The parlor floor is a grand entrance living room, and kitchen with original restored banisters and a gas fireplace complete with oak chevron flooring. The kitchen boasts an eat-in island, Calcutta Ultra Gold quartz countertop, and Bertazonni appliance package. Through the entrance, the outdoor patio and pool await you with the waterfront views.

The second floor includes a spacious dinning and bar which opens to the second level balcony with a outdoor kitchen for living space. Just down the hallway awaits an office bathed in natural sunlight, offering a bright and inviting workspace.

Upstairs in the owner's triplex is a king-size primary bedroom with an luxurious bathroom that features a deep soaking tub and walk-in showers. This level also includes a separate space for the wardrobes and extra space for storage.

These homes boasts stylish finishes, a rich historical charm, and an unbeatable location, making it the ideal candidate to fulfill your vision of a dream residence.

Please note almost everything is CC and the items were not created by me! Please do support and directly download from all the creators mentioned! I have attached the CC folders convenience ONLY.

Laundry Day required for Washing machine, dryers and hampers to function.

Do check out my Tiktok, live almost everyday building!

Note: Some of the cc could not be shared- please download below separately

Kichen 2.0 by House of Harlix

INSTRUCTIONS

Please directly move all the files in CC zip folder to your Mods folder.

Please move  Tray files (Tray files folder) to your Tray folder (enable bb.moveobjects on).

Gallery ID-  SimmerVlogs (Enable CC)

TikTok- simmervlogs

Note-  I have placed this down in San Myshuno 30X30

Thank you once again to all CC creators!

DOWNLOAD (Patreon)

[astroboots]

Hamster Days: A Moon Knight Tale

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader

Summary: You come home to Steven's empty flat only to be greeted by a furry visitor and no sign of Steven. AKA Hamsteven.

Word Count: 2,050

Moon Knight Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

Shit. shit. shit. shit!

Any Londoner will know that there are no lack of rodents in the city. Anyone who has taken two steps inside the tube will tell you that. Still that doesn't mean that the sight of one of those furry critters scurrying across the tiled floor of the kitchen isn't a shock and horror all the same.

Your heart was not prepared. It's pounding hard and fast, galloping against the inside of your chest until you swear you can feel it trying to stampede its way out of your throat.

You need to catch it. Get rid of it before any of the three of them comes home. Because Marc will throw a fit. He's already constantly whinging about the state of cleanliness in this flat as it is. If he finds out about this, the man is going to be scrubbing every inch of space with bleach. Then there's Jake with his rodent phobia, who will most likely try to torch down the place. Poor man is never going to sleep again. And Steven? Knowing him and his big bleeding heart and penchant for animals, Steven will try to keep the rat as a pet.

None of these options sounds ideal to you.

Problem is you have no idea how to go about catching a rat. So you do what you always do when faced with the unknown. You google it.

What follows is what always happens when you do. You get very unhelpful results.

According to google you should get a glue trap, a snap trap or live traps. All of which will require several shipping days and you need the rat to be gone now.

Especially with how brazen it is. Racing in circles around your feet. Slinking from the kitchen to the living area and onto Steven's workspace and up his desk.

It's not even trying to hide from you. In fact it's the opposite, calling full attention to itself as it's perched on top of one of Steven's thick books, standing on its hind legs to make itself appear bigger. More visible, as it watches you. Like it doesn't even view you as a threat. Then it starts squeaking loudly as it stands there, not moving from the spot, as if it's calling out to you in challenge.

Your eye roams the space for anything useful. But all you can see are books, books and more books. As badly as you want to get rid of the rat, you're not heartless. You're not going to smack it with one of Steven's books. Instead your eyes settle on one of the mixing bowls Marc used to make pancakes this morning that's been left to dry on the dishrack. It looks large enough to comfortably trap a rat.

You grab the bowl, holding it behind your back, out of the rat's view (why you don't know, because you doubt a rat would understand what you intend to do with it). Then you start to approach the desk, slowly, as not to spook it.

The rodent remain standing on the desk, tiny paws clutched close to its chest as it continues to incessantly squeak excitedly at you the closer you get. It almost sounds like chatter.

You're standing next to the edge of the desk now, and the thing is staring right up at you. For some unfathomable reason it doesn't seem to be making any move to escape from you.

Slowly. Cautiously. You try your best to not make any jerky movements as the hand behind your back slips forward, still gripping on tightly to the bowl. Then in one fell swoop, you slam down the bowl onto the desk.

Success!!!

Steven is late home from work today.

It's not an altogether unusual occurrence, and you figure that he must've managed to piss of his manager Donna and earned himself overtime with inventory.

What is unusual is that he hasn't texted you to let you know about it. In fact he hasn't texted you since this morning. No photos of his lunch or an endearing selfie, no silly puns, no nothing.

You sent him a text about the rodent trapped on his desk but he hasn't responded and that is unusual.

Even if Marc or Jake are fronting today, both would check their messages and send you a text in reply. Neither of them have.

With a sigh, you walk up to the rodent trapped inside the clear glass bowl.

Poor little thing looks distraught. It runs up to the barrier trapping it, pushing its pink nose and tiny paws up against the glass, as it stares up at you with big pleading eyes that feels oddly familiar to you and makes your chest tighten.

Up close like this, with the thing safely trapped behind glass, you realise that the little creature isn't actually a rat.

It doesn't have the signature long tail, just a stumpy little thing, the size of a rice corn on its rear. Its fur isn't black or brown, but an umbrous golden shade that shines sleek and soft.

It's a hamster.

Probably someone's pet. Which explains why it wasn't scared and didn't try to run from you. It must've escaped from one of the other flats. Must've mistaken you for its owner.

You can still hear the thing squeaking through the glass. It's been at it all this time, as if pleading its case with you.

It must be hungry.

There is an assortment of suitable foods for a hamster in this flat, considering that Steven is vegan. You grab a handful of pumpkin seeds and almonds, as you carefully tilt the bowl ajar (in case the critter makes a run for it).

To your surprise, the hamster doesn't even try to escape, and you smile in excitement. It pads its little feet right up to the palm of your hand, climbing into it and settles there as he stares up at you and you're so elated by it that you almost want to squeal back at the hamster.

You remove the bowl the rest of the way and scoop it up with both hands closer to you.

The little fella is still squeaking animatedly, even though it's literally sitting on its food. You grab a large pumpkin seed from your hand and push it to the hamster's pink little nose. It sniffs it hesitantly, finally quieting down for a second, as if considering it, then it grabs the offering with both its adorable little paws and shoves it down its mouth and cheeks.

It squeaks again, and you offer it another seed that's immediately stuffed down its cheek again. Then another, and another. Before you decide that it's enough of food, its cheeks stuffed so full that it's a choking hazard and settle it back down on the desk again.

The moment its paws settles against the wooden surface, it immediately rushes back into your palm again, refusing to be parted from you. You try a second time, only for it to run back into your hand.

It's so cute.

Its tiny front paws are raised and it almost looks like it's waving at you as it squeaks at you. Its fur is ridiculously soft to the touch. You've always wanted a hamster as a kid but your parents were allergic and now that you're an adult you have a different obstacle. Whenever you've brought up the prospect of pets, Marc will look at you drolly and point at Gus as he deadpans that "we can't have more pets. Goldfishes gets jealous."

But Marc isn't here now, and this hamster has obviously taken a liking to you. Marc will have to pry this cutie off your cold dead hands.

Jake would never forgive you if he found out that you let a rodent roam free in the flat. But in your defence you needed to catch up on work and you couldn't get anything done with a hamster perched in your hand. What were you supposed to do? Put it back under the glass bowl? You tried that all of once and it looked up at you with such sad big eyes that you caved in less than a handful of seconds and immediately picked it up again.

You justify it by telling yourself that there's no real risk of the hamster escaping. To your delight, the hamster follows you everywhere like a little duckling. And everytime you put down your hand next to it, it would immediately climb in and snuggle into your palm. It's the cutest thing.

It's your hamster now, whether the boys like it or not.

Besides Jake is hardly blameless in this situation. It's almost 10pm and there's not a sign of communication from any of the three of them. If they have any objections to you adopting a stray hamster, then they should've come home earlier and none of this would have taken place.

You type away at your laptop, sipping at your tea as the adorable ball of fur is curled up in your lap sleeping.

His (... her??) little whisker twitches in its sleep, feet jerking ever so slightly and you're enamoured with the sight.

How does one determine if a hamster is a boy or a girl? And for that matter, should you maybe name the hamster? You can't just keep referring it as "it" after all. What's a good hamster name?

Hammie? Ham-Ham? Ham-ilton? No, Marc will hate all of those puns and refuse to let you keep the hamster out of sheer stubborn principle if you named it that.

You tilt your head observing your newly adopted hamster, its long lashes and pink little nose. You think of how big and sweet its eyes are when it looks up at you and how, strangely enough, it reminds you of Steven somehow.

Maybe you should name it Hamsteven? You smile at the thought of Steven's reaction at hearing the name as you put down your teamug to your protesting bladder, and damn you really need to pee.

Carefully, you scoop it up with both hands and perch it on the mousemat placed on the desk, figuring that's soft enough that it shouldn't wake him (her?) And somehow, luckily enough, it's still fast asleep as you get up and quickly run to the loo.

In the silence of the cramped toilet, you squat down over the toilet seat and check your phone again for the umpteenth time. You know it's silly to be worried, because this isn't the first nor the last time the trio disappears on you (not with the nature of their work), even if the lack of head's up is out of character. Still you can't help but worry regardless.

You know your only choice is to wait and ride it out, you can't exactly file a missing person's report under the circumstances. With a sigh you wash your hands, before venturing back out into the living room and towards the desk.

From afar, you spot little Hamsteven scurrying around the keyboard. It shouldn't be too peculiar of a sight, except, Hamsteven keeps stopping and looking up at the screen only to carefully walk around the keyboard, sniffing and looking over the layout before it tentatively settles on a key and seemingly pushes it down with one of its paw and walks away again, only to repeat the behaviour with a different key.

If you didn't know better, you'd say that it almost looks like Hamsteven is trying to type. Which-- you realize how absurd and crazy that sounds even as you think it.

You shake your head as you approach the desk, and at the sight of you Hamsteven excitedly squeaks and squeal again as it runs up to the bright laptop screen, standing up on its hindlegs. Its nose and front paws are pushing up against the screen as if to show you something.

Your eyebrows narrow and you lean down closer to see words that weren't there before greeting you on the screen.

'help im steven'

A/N: This is dedicated to @guruan and Steven Hamster Pinterest Nonny who asked for this crazy thing.

This is what happens when Kevin Feige refuses to announce season 2. This is the depths to which I've gone to in my desperation for new content. I had a blast writing it. Let me know if you guys liked it. because I would be lying if I said I didn't have ideas for a sequel. Especially since Hamsteven didn't get to sleep on tiddies in this installation.

[kit-kat-katie]

this time, my time

A/N: hey, do you remember me? 0_0 it's been a long few months of school, to put in simply. now I'm off for the summer, and I'm here to slowly finish up my Finnick series and the request decaying in my inbox.

TW: canon violence and other sensitive topics (prostitution and other servitude to the Capitol), reader has a long-term knee injury, main character death, strong deviation from cannon events will start here, quick mentions of knives, past and present trauma for reader, the ending is so sad

Pairing: Finnick x GN! Reader (romantic)

Summary: The rebellion goes strong as you try to find your place in District 13. Things fall in and out of place as the continuous ups and downs of the warzone weigh on your mental and physical condition.

(<- Previous Part | Next Part -> | Series Masterlist)

You stand quietly outside of the meeting room, trying to pretend like you weren’t eavesdropping on the conversation going on inside. Whatever it was, it ended quickly as Katniss burst out of the doors first.

“So you’re going to be the Mockingjay?” You softly ask, which stops Katniss in her tracks.

“What choice do I have? You saw Peeta on TV in the Capital, and we know that the others are there too. I have to get him, them home.” She curtly says before turning and leaving the area.

You slip into the shadows as other members of the meeting leave - some you recognize, some you aren’t quite familiar with.

The last man to leave the room, the one you didn’t know on the air carrier that took you to District 13, is the only one to notice your presence.

“Do you believe Katniss is our Mockingjay?” He solemnly asks as you step into the light.

“She might not be an elegant speaker, or the best role model, but she’s got a lot of fight and energy left in her. If anyone is going to get us out of this mess, it’ll be her.” You hold on to your cane as you limp forward with your injured leg.

“What I said when we rescued you, Finnick, and Katniss, is still on the table. We can arrange to fix-”

“My fighting days are long over.” You gesture to your knee as a small chuckle escapes your throat. “Your doctors are amazing. They can prescribe fantastic painkillers, but they can’t fix this.”

Plutarch simply smiles to himself.

“You should see Beetee when you have the time. He’s made something for you, if you’re interested.” He shrugs before leaving you alone with your thoughts.

This cane is getting on my last nerve. It would be nice to walk with two feet again, or to walk long distances without having to be carried by a child.

~

“I’m assuming Plutarch spoke with you?” Beetee says as you stare in admiration at his room of inventions. 

“You’ve been busy while we’ve been stuck down here.” You marvel at something on his desk, but you know better than to touch.

“I haven’t had much to do, being stuck in a wheelchair and all.” Beetee makes his way over to you with a strange, metal-looking brace on his lap.

“What is that?” You ask as he hands it to you.

“It’s a regenerative knee brace - a special project that I was working on with a few of the medical specialists in Thirteen. I can’t guarantee that it’ll heal all, but you should be able to walk without that cane for hours at a time. Ideally, a few weeks of usage should get you completely healed, but we haven’t tested it on any subjects so the results may be unsure-”

“Beetee, I don’t think I can thank you enough for this.” You sit down on a chair next to him as you put the brace on. 

“Think nothing of it - it’s a favor for a friend.” He offers you a rare smile, and it’s one that you happily return.

When you stand up, the aching of your knee is reduced to a dullness that medication could only hope to achieve. After hobbling around Beetee’s workspace for a bit, you’re able to walk pretty well on your own - without that damn cane.

“It’ll work?” He asks as you brightly smile.

“This will definitely work.”

~

“I see you took Beetee up on his offer.” Finnick remarks as you lay on the bed next to him.

“You knew about this?” You ask as Finnick squeezes your side.

“Prim came to me one day and asked a bunch of weird questions about you and your medical history, and when I pressed her for answers, she told me about Beetee’s project for you. I only knew for two weeks-”

“-two weeks? And you didn’t tell me?!?” You playfully roll your eyes. “You watched me struggle for two weeks, knowing that there was a solution on its way. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d push you off of this bed.”

“You love me, Sunny?”

“Leave me alone.” You gently push him away before he wraps his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He mumbles into your hair before kissing your neck.

With the butterflies lingering in your stomach, you curl into his touch more as you feel your eyes become heavy.

“For the record, I’m still mad at you.” You mumble softly, and his bubbly laughter is the last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep.

~

“How is your knee?” Prim takes a few notes on her notepad as you swing your legs back and forth on the examination table.

“The pain isn't gone, but I can walk for a while without needing to sit down. Standing still can be an issue at times because my knee locks, and the brace is so heavy that it pulls me down with it.” You explain as she nods.

“That’s good progress, especially since you’ve only been wearing it for a week. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Prim stands up and gathers her notes before heading towards the door.

“Wait a minute, you-” You pause before asking, “why did you want to help me recover? You helped Beetee with the brace, but why do so?”

“My sister likes you, as much as she can like anyone,” Prim says, “and I have the same trust in you. We need as many people as we can for the fight ahead of us, and if I can help one person get back on their feet, then it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

“You’re wise for your age, and strong.” You softly bite your lip. “I’m sorry about your home, about everything that’s happened to you.”

“It’s all in the past, and the future is what we make of it.” She nods before leaving the room, and you push yourself off of the bed before heading for the door yourself.

I wonder what Prim was like before all of this happened. I’ll have to ask Katniss sometime, if she’ll ever tell me anything personal about herself.

~

“President Coin has wanted to meet you for a long time, but in-between your recovery from the injury, Katniss becoming the Mockingjay, and then the recent attack, there hasn’t been much time-”

“-It’s alright, Plutarch. I’m just grateful she took us all in.” You shrug as Plutarch opens the door for you. “Thank you.”

President Coin stands up and offers you her hand, which you gladly shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sunny, if I may call you that?” She greets you before letting go of your hand, and you take a seat next to her.

“It’s alright with me. Thank you for your endless hospitality, President Coin, I can’t thank you enough.” You graciously bow your head.

“It’s no issue, but I’m afraid this isn’t a simple greeting. I requested your… unique expertise for a reason. After the attack on District 13, the civilians from this District and District 12 are, understandably, scared. I’m requesting that you offer some of your time and expertise to train them on different fighting tactics.” 

“You want me to teach them? What about Katniss or Finnick?”

“Katniss is an… acquired taste, and Finnick hasn’t connected to the people of this shelter as you have.” Coin explains as Plutarch nods along.

“People look up to you, not as a Victor, but as a person. You might not be the Mockingjay, but your voice and actions carry power. Why not use them for something good?” He adds as you ponder for a moment.

It’s been a while since I’ve held my knives… am I going to be okay with this?

“It might take me a while to get back into fighting, with my knee and all, but I’ll give it a try. I’m sure Beetee will be happy if I can get some more use out of this brace.” You lightly tap your foot on the ground as you feel the brace hum against your leg.

I wonder if it’s going to heal me fully, or if I’ll be stuck with this thing forever.

~

Training the civilians of the two districts didn’t go as poorly as you thought it would. You were worried about injuring yourself further, or worse, accidentally hurting an innocent civilian if your survival instincts kicked in. 

Those who had shown up seemed grateful for your help, and the children that you had grown to care for had come to watch the training. You weren’t going to let them fight, no child should be involved in a warzone, but you didn’t mind them watching.

Especially when they cheered every time you hit your mark or you pinned someone to the ground. It gave you a much-needed ego boost, something that had never really phased you before. All eyes had been on you since you won the Hunger Games those years ago, and it didn’t dawn on you how weird it felt to be left alone.

You were grateful, of course, to not have to look over your shoulder in case someone from the Capitol was spying on you. Things were just… different now. The life you had known since you won the Hunger Games was gone.

Maybe you could get used to the idea of an “after”, one where you can let go of everything that has been eating you alive. One where you and Finnick could…

It’s best not to get my hopes up.

~

“I learned a much more valuable form of payment… secrets.”

You stand next to Katniss, quietly wiping tears from your face as you watch him bare his soul for all to witness. It wasn’t like you were completely clueless to what he was doing in the Capitol, but you never knew it was this bad.

Katniss, on the other hand, is fixated on the small bits of footage of the rescue team. You can’t blame her for doing so - who knows how Peeta, Johanna, and the rest were doing inside of the Capitol? Had they been tortured, killed, or condemned to a fate much like Finnick’s?

“And the biggest secrets are about our President, Coriolanus Snow. Such a young man when he rose to power, such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” Finnick stares into the camera, and you stare into his eyes, hoping you can offer some sort of comfort when he can’t even see you. 

“One word: poison. He stopped every mutiny before it even started. There were so many mysterious deaths of his adversaries, even the allies who were threats. Snow would drink from the same cup to deflect suspicion, but antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses as a perfume. It helps cover the scent from sores in his mouth that will never heal.”

Your eyes dart over to the rescue team footage as they get closer to the captives in the Capitol - Finnick just has to distract them for a bit longer. It’s tortuous, for you and for him, to live so vicariously through the trauma and memories that you’ve both carried for all of these years.

“He can’t hide the scent of who he really is. He kills without mercy, he rules with deception and fear. His weapon of choice is the only thing suited for such a man. Poison, the perfect weapon for a snake.”

Suddenly, things go white and you’re pulled out of the weird haze you were in when Katniss calls out to Beetee. Coin attempts to bring the footage back up, but it seems to be too late.

“We have another sixty seconds and then we’ll be cut off.” Beetee says, and someone in the room asks if they should call back the hovercraft.

You would’ve volunteered to go next, to tell them every dirty little detail about being a Victor, but Katniss volunteered first. 

“Are you sure?” You softly ask, and Katniss nods as you step out of the way.

The others in the room do the same as Katniss calls out to President Snow multiple times, and time runs thin before he answers her back.

“What an honor, and I don’t imagine you’re calling me to thank me for the roses.” His face appears through the static, and you physically recoil at the sight of him. 

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be in the games, I never asked to be the Mockingjay. I just wanted to save my sister and keep Peeta alive. Please, just let him go.” The desperation in her answer is evident as she continues. “I will stop being the Mockingjay. I will disappear, you will never have to see me ever again.”

“Ms. Everdeen, you couldn’t run from this anymore than you could’ve run from the games.” Snow coldly says.

“Please, you’ve won. You’ve already beaten me. Release Peeta, and take me instead.” Katniss offers herself up, but Snow shakes his head.

“I couldn’t pass the opportunity for a noble sacrifice.”

“Then tell me what to do. I’ve always kept my promises, haven’t I?”

“You say you didn’t want a war, and that’s just what’s happened. I told you what a fragile thing peace was, and still, like a child, you took pleasure in breaking it. I know what you are, I know you can’t see past your narrow concerns, but please, Ms. Everdeen, I doubt you know what honesty is anymore.”

You’re barely able to focus on the conversation because the sight of President Snow is enough to send you into fight-or-flight. Haymitch has had to pull you back multiple times to prevent you from interfering, and you’re a few seconds from leaving the room entirely.

He’s not even here, and you’re still scared shitless of him. What a fucking nightmare you’ve found yourself in.

“You’ve asked me to convince you that I was in love with Peeta. Haven’t I, at least, done that?”

“Ms. Everdeen, it’s the things we love most that destroy us. I want you to remember that I said that. Don’t you think I know that your friends are in the Tribute Center?” He pauses for a moment as everyone stares in abstract horror. “Cut them off.”

The feed crashes as everyone launches into a panic. Haymitch goes to comfort Katniss as Beetee tries to reach those inside of the Capitol. You’re left staring at the screen, contemplating why he continues to play the same games with Katniss that he did with you.

~

“Sunny, you’ve done excellent work today.” Snow’s eyes remain fixated on his roses as you admire the poppies near the entrance. 

“Thank you, President Snow.” You quietly mumble.

“You can just call me Snow - we are friends, are we not?”

“Of course, my apologies.” You put on a brave smile as you take a cautious step forward.

“No need to apologize, at least not to me.” He pauses for a moment. “I heard from one of my advisors that you had brushed off his attempts at courting you.”

“It won’t happen again.” You bow to him after looking back at the poppies. “I’ll go and make a personal apology before I leave for District Four.”

“Good, it’d be a shame if I had to hurt the family that threw you out after you had won the games. Or maybe I’ll show your new ‘family’ some of the raw footage of your Games, if that would be enough to deter them from speaking with you again.”

“I sincerely apologize for disrespecting you, Snow, and I will make sure that my apology is just as sincere to your advisor.”

“I know you will, you always make great amends. That’s what I like about you, Sunny, you know when you’ve done something wrong, and nothing will stop you from making it right.” Snow picks a rose before making eye contact with you. “The advisor is being housed on the second floor of my home.”

“Thank you for your utmost kindness.” You bow again before scurrying away.

~

“They’re here.”

Nothing could’ve stopped you from rushing into the hospital ward - not even the armed guards that tried to stop you. Your eyes scan around for a familiar face, and you spot Johanna pulling away from guards and doctors alike.

“Leave me alone!” She barks at them before looking at you. “You look like shit.”

“You look much worse, believe me.” You scoff before waving the doctors away. “I’ve got her, I promise.”

“I tried to give them hell, but the Capitol repaid the favor with interest, as they always do.” Johanna reluctantly swings her legs back onto the hospital bed as you arrange some of the medication nearby.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch what the doctors give you. You won’t have to take anything you don’t need, I promise.” You step aside and gesture for a doctor to come back.

“The knee brace?”

“Talk to Katniss about that one.” You both chuckle to yourselves before Finnick bursts into the ward.

“Annie? Mags?” He calls out as he desperately searches around the area.

When you look back at Johanna, she has a sympathetic look on her face as you cover your mouth with one of your hands.

“I’m sorry-” 

“-I need a minute before I do something I regret.” You back away from Johanna and rush into the hallway as you continue to hear Finnick call out for them.

Hot tears fall down your face as you let your metal knee brace pull you to the ground. After seeing Peeta alive, you had hope for the others… but your hope had now been crushed.

You remember a time when you wished that you and Finnick could have all of the time in the world to be alone together.

Now you want to reach back into the past and slap yourself for saying that.

There wouldn’t be anymore Sunday dinners, small fishing trips, or beach picnics. No more midnight stargazing with Mags when you couldn’t sleep, or baking cookies with Annie as a way to help her relax for a while.

Everything you had gained after losing yourself in the Games was nearly gone.

All that was left was the somber man who just stumbled out of the ward. The look in Finnick’s eyes was distant - he was here with you without being here with you.

You, as quickly as one with a knee brace can, stand up and rush into his arms. You’re sure that your sobs can be heard from the farthest corner of the underground facility.

He doesn’t even respond or move his head in acknowledgment. 

Neither of you move, and time doesn’t either as you grieve together.

You wanted to believe that you were out of your waking nightmare, but maybe the Games were just the beginning of a lifetime of torture.

Only time would tell.

tagging ->  @yokolesbianism , @avoxrising, @honethatty12, @sweetybuzz25, @catvader101, @sollum, @emerald-valkyrie, @randomgurl2326, @caitsymichelle13, @bcbci, @iris1587 (send a request or comment on this fic to be added to the taglist!)

[creeperkiwi]

02 — cool night

When someone notices you exist, the days feel lighter. They become fleeting, as if time decides to run faster when there’s something—or someone—that makes life brighter. Brooke had found that in the computer lab, among the abandoned machines, and in the teacher who didn’t know him as a Reeve, but simply as Brooke. Over time, that spark of curiosity ignited within him grew, lighting paths he never imagined possible.

Several years had passed since that first lesson—eight , to be exact. Brooke now walked through the school halls with a calmer, more focused demeanor. He no longer desperately tried to fit into his family’s mold or sought his siblings’ approval. He had learned to let go of the silences and glances that never came, reducing his interactions with them to the bare minimum. Instead of chasing after them, he had poured all his energy into something far more fascinating: creating.

In the computer lab, the atmosphere had changed. It was no longer a forgotten space; it was now his sanctuary, an improvised workshop where ideas came to life. The old monitors and keyboards, once covered in dust, had become tools for designing and building. Brooke had spent countless afternoons assembling small gadgets with recycled parts he found in thrift stores or salvaged from tech waste his teacher allowed him to take home.

One of his first achievements was a pair of night-vision goggles. Though clunky and rudimentary at first, they worked. Brooke had designed them after listening to his parents and siblings talk about nighttime patrols and the challenges of operating in the dark. The goggles became a constant reminder that he could contribute something, even if no one noticed.

Then came the small robots. The first was a simple automaton that could move in a straight line, but over time, Brooke began programming more complex movements. He spent hours fine-tuning circuits and writing endless lines of code. When the robots started responding to his commands, he felt an indescribable satisfaction. There was something magical about seeing those lifeless pieces come alive under his hands.

Though Brooke preferred to stay on the sidelines, he couldn’t help but feel excited when presenting his projects in class. There was something about his classmates’ expressions of amazement that gave him a small dose of the validation he had stopped seeking at home. The fact that his first awards were for his own creations and not because of his last name made him feel whole. However, he never revealed much about his personal life. To them, he was just a talented boy with a fascination for technology.

Mr. Mark, who had been his mentor from the beginning, continued to guide him through the process. Even though Brooke had surpassed many of the basic lessons, Mark always found ways to present new challenges.

“How about working on a drone?” he suggested one afternoon as they examined an old fax machine Brooke planned to dismantle.

“A drone?” Brooke repeated, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

“Yes, a small one. You could use it for exploration, or even for surveillance. It would be an interesting challenge.”

The idea stayed with him. That same night, in his small room, Brooke began sketching the first designs. His space was filled with tools and electronic components, most of which he had bought with the few savings he managed to scrape together. Though it wasn’t an ideal workspace, it was enough for him.

Brooke found in his projects a peace he couldn’t find anywhere else. In those moments, it didn’t matter that his family barely noticed his existence or that his last name didn’t carry the same weight for others. What mattered to him was that the machines responded, the circuits worked, and his ideas took shape.

The drone became his obsession.

After his conversation with the professor, Brooke spent several afternoons searching for inspiration and pieces for his project. He ventured into second-hand stores and tech fairs, inspecting every dusty shelf for motors, sensors, and batteries that he could repurpose. At a local market, he found an old remote control that barely worked; at another, a batch of small propellers originally designed for plastic toys. Everything was second-hand, worn out, and often defective, but to Brooke, each piece had potential.

In his room, which now resembled more of a workshop than a space for sleeping, Brooke began assembling his drone. There were stickers on the walls with handwritten formulas, sketches scribbled on loose sheets of paper, and boxes filled with tangled wires. With each screw he tightened and each wire he soldered, he felt the project starting to take shape.

But things weren’t that simple.

The first time he tried to make the drone fly, it barely lifted off the ground before spinning out of control and crashing into the wall. Brooke carefully picked it up, examining the damage. One of the propellers was broken, and the main motor seemed to have failed. Though he had anticipated problems, the setback discouraged him more than he expected.

He spent the next few hours reviewing the design, looking for mistakes in his programming. Sometimes, the numbers and codes seemed to dance in front of him, confusing him even further. "Maybe I'm not good enough for this," he thought as he rested his head on the table.

That night, as he tried to sleep, negative thoughts began to flood his mind. "My knowledge is limited. Maybe I’m trying to do something too big. Maybe it's just not for me," he repeated to himself. But at the same time, something inside him resisted letting go.

The next morning, he returned to the computer lab with the drone in a box. The professor watched him with curiosity as Brooke sat down in front of one of the computers and connected the drone to check the system.

"Problems?" the professor asked, stepping closer.

Brooke nodded, frowning.

"I don’t know what I'm doing wrong. I think the motor doesn’t have enough power, but it could also be a problem with the code."

The professor looked at him silently for a moment before speaking.

"Let me tell you something, Brooke. Every successful invention is built upon a mountain of failures. If something doesn’t work, it doesn’t mean it’s not meant for you. It means you're learning."

Brooke blinked, letting those words sink in. With a sigh, he refocused his attention on the drone.

The following days turned into a whirlwind of tests and adjustments. Brooke replaced the broken propellers, reinforced the structure with pieces of recycled plastic, and fine-tuned the balance system in his code. Each night, after hours of work, he felt the temptation to give up, but something stronger than exhaustion pushed him to keep going.

Finally, one afternoon, the drone lifted off the ground. At first wobbly, like a baby taking its first steps, but then, with increasing stability, it began to float in the air. Brooke held his breath as he guided it with the remote, moving it back and forth, gently turning it.

"It works!" he exclaimed, not realizing he had said it out loud.

The professor, who had been watching from the door, smiled with satisfaction.

"I told you, Brooke. There’s no failure in trying over and over again."

Brooke let the drone land carefully on the table, his chest swelling with pride. For the first time, he felt he had accomplished something significant, something that didn’t depend on anyone else but him. His face lit up with a smile that had been hidden for a long time.

The cold night air surrounded the Reeve terrace, a large and gothic space with wrought-iron railings that Brooke had explored only a few times. That night, however, he was determined to push the limits of his invention. With the drone in his hands, he looked toward the city lights that gleamed like distant stars and felt the excitement building in his chest.

It was the first time Brooke felt so confident in something he had created. The drone, with its new propellers and improved structure, seemed like a reflection of his efforts. "Today will be different," he thought as he powered on the remote control and watched the small device begin to hover.

The drone ascended slowly, its hum barely audible in the night wind. Brooke smiled, moving it side to side, testing simple maneuvers before sending it farther away. From the terrace, he followed it with his eyes as it crossed the street, passing over rooftops and shop windows. "It works perfectly," he said to himself, filled with pride.

As the drone flew farther, Brooke adjusted the range on the remote, surprised at how well it responded even at long distances. He guided it toward a nearby park, watching how the lampposts’ lights cast dancing reflections on its structure. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, and for a moment, Brooke imagined a future where his inventions truly made a difference.

But then, something changed.

It started with a slight wobble in the drone’s flight, as if it had lost stability. Brooke frowned, quickly checking the settings on the remote. "Maybe it’s the wind," he thought, trying to adjust the commands, but the wobbling worsened. Suddenly, the drone stopped responding completely, its propellers spinning erratically before diving straight into a dark alley.

"No!" Brooke cried out, his voice filled with desperation.

He dropped the remote on the railing and ran down the stairs, moving as fast as his legs would carry him. The streets were quiet, only lit by the dim light of the streetlamps. Reaching the alley, he found it: the drone was lying among piles of trash, a broken propeller, and part of the body dented from the impact.

Brooke knelt beside his creation, picking up the pieces with trembling hands. His heart pounded in his chest as he examined the damage. Part of him tried to convince himself it wasn’t so bad, but the truth was undeniable: the drone was destroyed.

"Why does it always...?" he whispered, feeling a lump form in his throat.

The weight of his past failures returned like a flood, filling his mind with doubt and self-criticism. He had worked so hard, pouring hours and all his energy, only for it to end like this. Sitting in the alley with the pieces of the drone in his hands, Brooke felt tears beginning to fill his eyes.

"Maybe it will never be enough. Maybe it doesn’t matter how hard I try."

His heart raced as he carefully picked up each damaged part, examining them with trembling fingers. But something didn’t fit: an important piece, the central control module, was missing.

He furrowed his brow, searching through the debris with a growing sense of panic. "Where is it?" he thought, looking around. It was then that he heard a sound. Slow, firm footsteps, approaching from the shadows at the end of the alley.

Brooke looked up, and his body tensed as he saw a dark figure emerging from the gloom. It was a tall man, dressed in worn clothes, with a menacing gleam in his eyes.

"What do we have here?" the stranger said with a twisted smile, advancing toward Brooke.

Brooke instinctively backed away, clutching the pieces of the drone to his chest. "What do I do? Where do I run?" His mind was filled with confused thoughts as the man closed the distance.

"You don’t have to be scared, kid," the man continued, though his tone was anything but reassuring. "I just want to see what you’ve got there."

Fear gripped him, paralyzing him, when a quick movement from the roof of the alley caught his attention. A shadow descended rapidly, landing between Brooke and the man.

"That’s enough," a firm, young voice said.

His agile figure and black mask, along with the red suit and yellow cape, made him recognizable to anyone, especially someone within the hero system.

The man immediately stepped back, cursing under his breath. "Don't follow me!" he shouted before disappearing into the shadows of the alley.

Brooke stood frozen, unable to believe what had just happened.

"Are you okay?" Robin asked, turning toward him while placing one of his batons back into his belt.

Brooke nodded slowly, speechless.

"It looks like this guy had something of yours," Robin continued, extending a hand. In his palm was the missing piece of the drone, intact.

"Oh..." Brooke exclaimed, taking the piece with trembling hands and examining it carefully.

Robin smiled faintly. "I saw it fall when that guy bent down. It was a stroke of luck. I had been chasing him for a while, but the noise from your drone falling distracted me just when I was about to catch him."

Brooke lowered his gaze, clutching the piece in his hand. "I'm sorry... I didn't know I was interfering."

"Don't worry about it. If it weren't for that, I probably wouldn't have made it in time to help you," Robin replied, shrugging.

The young vigilante pointed to the pieces of the drone that Brooke was holding. "Is this yours?"

Brooke nodded. "Yeah, I built it myself... but it failed. Something went wrong, and it fell."

Robin studied him closely, noticing the clear effort that had gone into building the drone. "Can I?" he asked, extending a hand toward the pieces. Brooke hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Robin carefully examined the drone, turning it to inspect every detail. "This is impressive, especially for someone who clearly doesn't have access to a lab. But here's the problem." He pointed to one of the internal connections, where several wires had come loose.

"Your design is good, but the power distribution is unbalanced. When you tried to increase the range, the motor overloaded the system. That's why it failed."

Brooke looked at him, surprised. "How do you know so much about this?"

Robin smiled. "I have my own toys. I've spent more time fixing them than I'd like to admit."

Brooke lowered his gaze to the drone, reflecting on what Robin had said. "Do you think... it's possible to fix it?"

"Of course you can," Robin replied, with a confidence that surprised Brooke. "You just need a little adjustment and maybe more durable materials. If you made this, you can make it better."

Brooke felt a warmth in his chest, as if those words had sparked something that had been dormant. He looked at the drone with new eyes, seeing not a failure, but an opportunity to learn and improve.

Brooke looked up, still surprised by what had happened, and said shyly, "Thanks..."

Robin smiled and crossed his arms. "You know? My night patrol just ended. Maybe I could help you improve that drone, if you have a place to work."

Brooke's eyes lit up. No one had ever offered him something like that before, and the idea that a well-known vigilante would want to help him filled him with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"Really?" he asked, almost not believing it.

Robin nodded. "Sure, but I'll need tools."

Brooke looked at the drone pieces in his hands and then at the alley surrounding them. "My room... I have some things there. We can work there."

"Perfect. Where do you live?"

Brooke pointed toward a nearby street, and Robin followed him. As they walked, Robin's tall and confident figure contrasted with Brooke's light and quick steps. When they finally reached the gothic mansion of the Reeves, Robin stopped, impressed by the imposing facade lit by the dim moonlight.

"You live here?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Brooke nodded, trying not to seem embarrassed. "Yeah... but it's better if we don't use the main entrance."

Robin looked at him curiously, but said nothing as Brooke led him to a side door hidden between tall bushes. Brooke unlocked the emergency door and pointed to the spiral metal stairs that rose along the back of the house.

"These stairs lead straight to my room. It's faster and... well, we avoid my family," Brooke explained with a nervous smile.

Robin followed him without asking questions. When they reached the small window that led to Brooke's room, the young man carefully opened it and entered first, holding the window so Robin could pass.

The vigilante looked around as he straightened up, expecting to find an improvised workshop or something similar. But what he saw took him by surprise.

"This is your room?" Robin asked, confused as he observed the small space. There was nothing more than a small bed against the wall, a desk cluttered with tools, and a shelf full of inventions and sketches.

Brooke nodded, placing the drone pieces on the desk. "Yeah, it's small, but I have what I need."

Robin didn't respond at first. His eyes scanned every corner, stopping at the small, ingeniously built gadgets, the detailed drawings of machines, and the prototypes that seemed more complex than he'd expect from someone his age.

"Did you make all of this by yourself?" Robin finally asked.

"Yeah," Brooke replied, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. "I like inventing things."

Robin smiled, picking up one of the sketches from the desk. It was a design for a drone propulsion system. "You’ve got talent... um."

"Brooke... my name is Brooke."

"Brooke. A lot of talent." When Robin said his name, "Brooke," with that mix of astonishment and admiration in his voice, the boy felt like the world stopped for a moment. It was different from how his brothers or parents said it, where it always felt like a word thrown into the air with no purpose. This time, it sounded genuine, full of interest, almost as if Robin was impressed by him. Brooke lowered his gaze, feeling his cheeks flush and his breath quicken. Robin, a well-known vigilante, someone people respected, not only knew his name; he was saying it with a tone that implied something more.

Nervousness swelled in his chest, mixing with a strange emotion he couldn’t quite describe. He tried to occupy his hands by passing tools or tightening a screw, anything to distract him from the fact that someone like Robin was giving him compliments, smiling at him, and recognizing what he did. It was too much, but at the same time, it was everything Brooke had quietly wished for over the years.

The emotion in his eyes was impossible to hide. "Thank you... it means a lot that you say that."

They both got to work on the drone. Brooke pulled out tools and parts from his collection, and Robin helped him dismantle the remains of the device with precision. For hours, they adjusted the design, reinforced the electrical connections, and repaired the motors. Robin suggested adding a camera to the drone, and together they installed a small lens, connecting it to an improvised monitor that Brooke had built months earlier but had never finished using.

"This should improve its usefulness. Now it doesn’t just fly; you can see what it’s recording in real-time," Robin said, pointing to the screen on the controller.

Brooke smiled, feeling a wave of pride. For the first time, he wasn’t alone in one of his projects. Someone was helping him, and more importantly, believing in him.

When they were finished, the first light of dawn began to filter through the window. Robin stood up and stretched his arms, admiring the fully restored and upgraded drone.

"This little guy is going to do amazing things," Robin said, giving Brooke a pat on the shoulder.

The boy looked at the drone with eyes full of determination.

Once they finished assembling the drone, Brooke held it carefully, admiring its compact shape and the small improvements he had achieved alongside Robin. The camera installed on the bottom looked almost professional, and the screen on the controller flickered, showing a sharp image of the surroundings.

"Ready to test it?" Robin asked with a smile.

Brooke nodded, his nerves and excitement mingling in his chest. They went up to the rooftop again, where the cool night air welcomed them. Brooke placed the drone on a flat surface, took the controller, and took a deep breath.

"Here we go," he said quietly as he activated the motors.

The drone lifted with a soft hum, much more stable than in his previous tests. Brooke looked at the screen on the controller as he guided the device over the rooftops of the city. The camera captured everything with impressive clarity: streets lit by streetlights, cars moving in the distance, and small flashes of light in the windows.

Robin, standing beside him, watched with his arms crossed. "Not bad, Brooke. Stable flight, good resolution... I think this is more than just a simple project."

Brooke smiled shyly, focusing on keeping the drone in the air. He decided to test its range, flying it a bit farther, crossing a park and heading toward an area with small shops. It was then that he noticed something strange on the screen: two hooded figures were running out of a store, carrying what seemed to be bags full of products.

"Is that...?" Brooke started to ask, but Robin was already in motion.

"It's a robbery," Robin confirmed, his tone firm. He took a step toward the railing of the terrace and turned to Brooke. "This has been a good test, but I need to take care of this."

"What? You're going now?"

Robin nodded, quickly adjusting his mask. "It's what I do. Thanks for tonight, Brooke."

Brooke felt a mix of pride and sadness as he watched Robin disappear into the darkness, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with impressive ease. He looked at the drone, still floating in the air, and then turned his attention back to the screen. He watched as Robin swiftly approached the robbery site, his silhouette gliding between shadows until he intercepted the criminals.

Brooke deactivated the drone and carefully guided it back to its position. As he picked it up, a smile formed on his lips. For the first time, his inventions weren't just a hobby; they were a useful tool, something he could contribute to the world with. Though Robin was no longer by his side, his words still echoed in his mind, sparking a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could accomplish something big.

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