#Sliver Handling Systems

[stereotypical-day]

stranger danger - the salesman/recruiter (Squid Game) x female reader - part 3

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚, 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥?

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗? 𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚙(𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛) 𝙺𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔(𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝) 𝙳𝚘𝚖!𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙽𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝(𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜?). 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙰𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎. 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝙸𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙽𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛. 𝙵𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎. 𝙳𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

Part 1 Part 2

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5,020

He found himself in his office again, picking up a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the blood on his lip.  

What a bold girl she was, to bite him like that. The audacity amused him. A small smirk curled his lips as he wiped away the last trace of blood, letting the handkerchief drop onto the desk.  

With a sigh, he reached for his phone on the table and dialed.  

“It’s done. The distractions have been dealt with, and the work is complete.”, he said with a tone that sounded crisp and professional.  

“What about the girl?”, the heavily distorted voice from the other line spoke. 

“I’m handling it”, he replied shortly.  

“You know the protocol. Eliminate her.”  

“She might prove valuable”, he said after a short pause, “she has information – on the organization and Gi-hun’s plans.”  

“And? You know your job.”  

“I’ll take care of her.”  

“That’s on you.”, the voice on the other line snapped, “If you’re compromised, you’re done. I don’t need to remind you what’s at stake.”  

“Understood.” The line went dead, leaving only hollow beeping of an ended call.  

He slipped the phone into his pocket and sat back in his office chair, lost in thought. This had to be delivered perfectly, no slips whatsoever, if he wanted to keep her alive.  

But of course, if she imposes herself as a threat to his position, or his life, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. No second chances.  

That thought didn’t trouble him at all. In fact, it thrilled him. A lot of work was ahead of him, but he loved it. The balance between the risk and control. She was a complication, yes, but also a challenge. And he loved the challenge.  

How long will he be able to keep her alive?  

______________________________________________________________

She woke up with a headache, unsure whether the pain came from the hit on her head or crying herself to sleep. The events of last night slowly came back to her. Her desperate attempts to gain some sense of control over the situation. What was she trying to do really? Kissing him and biting in attempt to what? Hurt him? Distract him?  

It was a stupid move anyway, and she couldn’t help herself with the feelings of shame washing over her. The fact that she was still wearing only a towel didn’t help her feel better at all.    Time passed, but he still didn’t come. How long would she be stuck in this room? The only small comfort was the attached bathroom. At least she had running water, though she had no idea if it was safe to drink. She drank it anyway. 

But no food. No clothes.  

She had tried opening the window earlier, hoping for some kind of escape route, but the sight outside crushed any sliver of hope. Guards patrolled the area, cameras covered every corner, and the security system seemed tight. Basically, there was no way she could sneak out and escape. 

With a heavy sigh, she retreated to the bed, her body tense with frustration. She felt like an animal in a cage, her mind circling the same desperate thoughts over and over. 

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, she heard the faint sounds of footsteps in the hallway followed by the sound of the keys jingling in the lock.  

Her stomach twisted, not just with hunger but with a mix of anticipation and dread. When the door finally swung open, he appeared, carrying two paper bags. He tossed them carelessly onto the bed, barely sparing her a glance. 

“Get dressed”, he said flatly. No greeting, no explanation.  

His appearance was sharp and composed. He was dressed in another immaculate suit, almost identical to the one he’d worn the day before. 

She quickly rummaged through the bags, pulling out a few pairs of fancy, expensive-looking bras and matching panties. The other bag contained simple t-shirts, sweatpants in neutral colors—gray, white, black—and a few pairs of basic white socks. 

She glanced at the tags. Every single item was her size.  

“What is this?”, she asked, holding up a pair of lacy panties and a matching bra.  

“Underwear. I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I picked what I found... suitable”, he replied casually, his tone almost bored.  

The underwear came in shades of red, black, and soft baby pink, with only one pair in white. All of it looked ridiculously expensive—delicate lace, silk trims, but surely nothing that she would ever wear on everyday basis. 

“How do you know my size?”, she stared at him in disbelief.  

“I checked your clothes,” he said, his tone clipped. “Now stop wasting time and get dressed,” he added, his patience clearly thinning. Then, with a sly smirk creeping onto his face, he asked, “Or would you rather stay as you are?” 

Her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration as she snatched up the clothes and headed to the bathroom. 

The new outfit was unexpectedly comfortable. She had to admit that he had good taste, even if the whole situation was far from normal. After changing, she stepped out of the bathroom with a towel in hand. 

“Good,” he said, giving her a quick glance before turning toward the door. “Now, we have a few things to discuss. Follow me.” 

He walked out of the bedroom without another word, and she hesitated before following up behind him. 

The light in the dining room was slightly brighter than in the other parts of the apartment.  

“Sit here”, he motioned to the chair in front of him and she obeyed silently, pulling it out with a loud creak before sitting down.  

He walked around the table, putting his hands on the back of the chair across from her and leaned slightly forward. 

“Do you have any idea what you got yourself into?”, he asked, staring straight into her eyes. 

She fidgeted slightly on the chair, averting her eyes from his piercing gaze down to the table. No response.  

“Look at me,” he demanded, his tone hardening. “And answer my question.” 

Her eyes snapped back to his, the tension in the air almost suffocating. “I don’t understand the question,” she admitted. 

“You don’t understand the question”, he repeated, almost to himself as he hummed under his breath. 

His lips curled into a mocking smirk. “Do you understand that you’re supposed to be dead, sweetheart?” His hands tightened on the back of the chair, knuckles whitening. 

“I do”, she was bold to reply.  

“Good”, he said, straightening up and pacing slowly in front of the table. “Then you know how generous I’ve been to keep you alive.” He paused, glancing off into the distance as if lost in thought. “I don’t know why I did, you’re practically useless.” 

Her jaw clenched at his words, but she stayed silent as his pacing stopped. His tone softened, almost contemplative. 

“But there’s something about you”, he continued, “A potential” 

He stepped closer, stopping directly in front of her. Leaning down, his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“With the right...”, he paused, “guidance, you could be so much more. I can see it in your eyes” 

His fingers gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. She jerked her head away from his touch, her anger flaring up as she glared at him with a furrowed brows. 

“What do you want from me?”, her voice trembling slightly in the mix of anger and fear. 

“Me?”, he laughed, “I don’t want anything from you.” His smirk returned, sharp and cruel. “I’m giving you a chance. An opportunity, if you will. A new start.”  

He leaned closer, his voice softening to something almost seductive. “Call it whatever you like.” 

“Opportunity? In what exactly? Being held hostage?”, she glared at him.  

He took out her phone from his pocket and she extended her hand towards it hopefully, only for him to pull it back beyond her reach.  

“Say goodbye to your phone. I hope I don’t need to explain why you can’t have it around here.” 

“Please”, she begged, “at least tell my parents I’m alive.” 

“It’s better for them to think you’re dead.”  

She started crying when he smashed her phone in pieces. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest as she sobbed before him. 

Kneeling down on the floor, she picked her phone up desperately, attempting to turn it on, but the display was shattered completely.   

He walked to the kitchen casually, returning with two plates of steak and fried potatoes, with a salad on the side.  

Gently, he placed the plate in front of her while she was standing there, holding her broken phone in her hands, small sobs escaping her lips.  

“Eat.”, he said simply, gesturing to the food in front of her.  

She lifted her head at him, her eyes blazing with fury. Without thinking, she grabbed the edge of the plate and flipped it over, the contents ending up on the floor with a loud sound of shattering porcelain. 

Silence.  

His eyebrows lifted in surprise for a fleeting second.  

“I think I overestimated you.”, he stated after a moment, his eyes locking on the mess. “After everything, you still seem unable to grasp the rules of this arrangement. Go ahead - starve.” 

He sat down in the chair across from her, observing her with a calm expression on his face. 

Her chest heaved with anger, hands clenching into fists, but she said nothing. 

“There is one more thing I wanted to address before I get to more technical stuff”, he reached up to brush his thumb over his split lip, before he shifted his gaze onto her eyes and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table.  

“Whatever that little stunt was last night – kissing me, biting, bruising, thinking you could throw me off my game”, he tilted his head slightly before continuing, “it won’t happen again. I don’t particularly care for theatrics, but if you’re so eager to play rough, I’m more than capable returning the favor.”, he smiled slightly.  

His voice stayed calm, but slightly strained showing hints of frustration despite him keeping his composure. 

“Consider that your first and only warning.”  

She looked up at him for a split second, her face heating up under his intense gaze and blunt words. Shame mixed with the remnants of her earlier rage, pressing on her chest. 

He leaned back again, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the table as his eyes shifted on the spilled food and pieces of broken porcelain on the floor. 

“And as for tonight”, he continued, his tone cold and flat, “throwing food away like a petulant child won’t get you any points either.”, he paused again, his gaze piercing through her avoidant one. 

“It’s almost endearing, really – how you think these little outbursts might rattle me. But here’s the thing: you’re only hurting yourself, sweetheart. Keep wasting food, and I will happily let you go hungry. Maybe hunger will do what my words can’t and teach you some discipline.” 

His gaze darkened, smirk fading as he leaned back further into his chair. She swallowed hard, her previous bravery fading under the weight of his words. Utter embarrassment creeped up her spine, shame burning in her cheeks as she sat back down in the chair across from him. 

The silence dragged on, her heart pounding in her ears as his words replayed in her mind. She felt small and insignificant – like a foolish child being scolded by someone far more in control. 

"Nothing to say?" he finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through her thoughts like a knife. "Or have you finally realized how ridiculous you looked?" 

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The words were stuck in her throat choking her, finally realizing how helpless she was. Tears threatened to spill again when her mind kept convincing her that he is right. There was nothing she could do in this moment, and right now she denied herself the only chance to have a meal today.  

“Alright then”, he said, his tone sharp, “since you decided to ruin the nice dinner I planned for us, let’s get to the point.” 

He stood, leaving the room briefly before returning with a laminated sheet of paper, tossing it onto the table in front of her. 

“This”, he tapped his index fingers on the sheet in front of her, “is your schedule. You will follow it every day. No exceptions.” 

His finger circled the air lazily as he gestured toward the staff lingering around the house.  

 “When I’m busy, they’ll ensure you stay on track. When I’m available, I’ll handle it myself. Personally.” 

She hesitated, then picked up the sheet, her movements slow and cautious, eyes scanning the contents. 

6:00 AM – Wake up 

7:00AM Breakfast 

7:30AM Piano lessons 

9:30AM Dancing lessons 

12:00AM Lunch 

1:00PM Martial arts 

3:30-4:00PM Break 

4:00-5:00PM Gym 

5:00-7:00PM Game training 

7:00 PM Dinner 

Free time – 1 hour 

10:00 PM – Sleep 

Her stomach churned as she read through it. The schedule seemed very strict and tight. What the hell was this? 

She cleared her throat, her voice barely steady. “Piano and dancing lessons?”  

“Yes,”, he was quick to reply, “You need a bit of culture, sweetheart. The piano was my personal preference. And as for the dancing lessons,” his eyes narrowed slightly, “you’ll need them to learn how to move with grace—something you’re currently lacking.” 

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she shifted her gaze down to the paper, without a word. 

“And martial arts?”, her voice cracked at the question, as her hands trembled slightly.  

“You need to know how to fight. Especially self-defense,” he said bluntly, his tone laced with condescension. “Every attempt you’ve made so far has been—how should I put it? —pathetic.” 

She gave a soft hum in response but couldn’t stop the question lingering in her mind: Why teach her self-defense when he clearly intended to keep her captive—or worse kill her? Why bother anyway?  

“Any more questions?”, he asked, after a moment of silence.  

“Um, yes,” she said, her voice firmer now, though her composure still wavered. “What is ‘game training’?” 

His lips curved upwards in a faint smile, that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  

“Nothing special. We’re going to play some games.” 

Shiver ran down her spine at his words. She was already familiar what kind of games he liked to play, and the consequences of losing.  

“What kind of games?”, she pushed further, her voice strained in fear.  

He shrugged. “The kind I see fit for the day. I won’t spoil the fun by telling you everything upfront.”, the evil smirk grew on his face.  

She gulped, her foot tapping nervously against the floor, as she nodded.  

“And… what’s the reason for all of this?” she asked after a long pause, placing the sheet back on the table, her gaze lifting hesitantly to meet his. 

His expression shifted, and for a moment, he almost looked amused. “I believe I already explained that to you, sweetheart. I’m giving you an opportunity. A chance to be better—prettier, stronger, smarter, more graceful. Disciplined.” 

“There are countless ways you can improve yourself. And I’m offering you something most people would kill for.” 

She felt a pit in her stomach as his words sank in. The way he spoke made it clear that he really believed he was doing her some kind of favor.  

Her stomach growled loudly, her hand covering it instinctively as she glanced to the spilled food on the floor. He was right. He was so right. The action she took was impulsive, acting out on her emotions in the moment, while he kept calm and calculated, holding all the strings in control.  

Now she’s doomed to spend the night without dinner, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she ate. Was it yesterday morning?  

“If you don’t have any more questions, I would kindly ask you to go back to your room.”, he suddenly spoke again, picking up the utensils from the table and cutting up his steak in slow precise movements.  

She didn’t have anything to say anymore, as she was so hungry that it made her mind foggy. 

Slowly, she rose from her chair, her movements stiff and hesitant, holding a schedule tightly in her hands. Her stomach growled painfully again that it almost made the words spill out of her mouth.  

I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that… Please forgive me, i’m starving… Can I just have something small…  

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. She didn’t want to beg. 

“Goodnight”, she murmured instead, her voice barely audible. The words came out sounding almost like a question as if she hoped he might stop her, might give her another chance. 

But he didn’t. 

She turned toward the door, slowly and hesitantly, her hand hovering over the handle a moment too long. She could feel his gaze on her, the weight of it making her skin crawl.  

Finally, she pushed the door open and left without another word.  

As soon as she reached her bedroom, she allowed the tears too spill while she sank into the bed. 

The thought that he wasn’t entirely wrong made her feel even more trapped, her resentment only growing. Her mind raced with a swirl of emotions that were impossible to untangle and categorize.  

Well, at least she had clothes now. Small steps, right? But it was hard to stay positive when you’re being starved to death. Tomorrow will be better, she hoped as she sniffled back a sob threatening to escape her lips. 

She even hated herself for crying, for giving in to the weakness, but she couldn’t stop. She felt so small and powerless, and so damn hungry. 

The sound of the door opening made her freeze, wiping her tears away in hasty movements before turning her head into the pillow and away from the door. 

“Well, isn’t this pitiful little sight?”, he stood at the door leaning against the doorframe before moving inside the room.  

“Are we sulking already? That didn’t take long.” His tone was full of condescension as he walked up the side of her bed. “ Let me guess… tears of regret?”  

She gripped the blanket beneath her harder, her jaw clenching as she bit down on her lower lip stopping herself from saying something that could only make her situation worse. Was that even possible?  

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh come on-“ 

“I’m not crying”, she cut into his word, her voice hoarse and unconvincing. 

“Oh really?”, his tone was mockingly surprised. “Then what is this?”, he motioned to the wet patch on the pillow next to her face. “You’ve been crying so much, you’ve got your pillow all wet. How adorable.”  

You motherfucker. 

“What do you want?”, she finally turned around to glare at him.  

He straightened up, clearly unfazed by her outburst. 

“I’m here to lock you in for the night. Can’t have you sneaking off to rummage through the kitchen, can I?”, he smirked pulling a key from his pocket and twirling it between his fingers. 

“But I thought I’d check in first. Make sure you’re settling in nicely.” 

“Well I am. So you can leave now.”, she snapped, her voice cracking slightly despite all of her efforts to sound firm.  

He tilted his head watching her with infuriatingly amused expression. 

Her throat burned with the effort of holding back another sob, but she refused to give him that satisfaction.  

Instead, she turned away again burying her face into the pillow. 

“Well”, he said after a moment, “maybe tomorrow will be better for you. Or maybe not. Either way, I’ll enjoy watching. Goodnight, sweetheart.”  

He turned on his heel and locked the door behind him. And as soon as he did, she let her sobs out again, pulling a blanket over her in attempt to comfort herself. The sleep didn’t come easy that night.  

She jumped startled from her sleep  when the door slammed open. Before she could fully register what was happening, he was already at the side of her bed. He ripped a blanket from her curled frame in one swift motion. Cold morning air bit into her skin.  

“Get up.” 

She squinted, bright light hitting her pupils when he yanked the curtains open, revealing the steel-gray dawn of Seoul’s skyline. Her head still throbbed, eyelids heavy from crying. 

“I said get up”, he repeated turning towards her. “You have five minutes to be in the dining room” 

She stumbled out of the bed and towards the bathroom, splashing icy water on her face. When she emerged, he was already gone. With a quick movement, she pulled on sweatpants and t-shirt he bought for her and made her way to the dining room. 

The smell of scrambled eggs and toast made her stomach cramp. She was so hungry that her hands were shaking. He’d laid out two plates at the kitchen table, just like last night, his own untouched as he looked at something on his phone.  

She collapsed into the chair, picking up the fork, eager to put any food into her system. She didn’t even care about her own dignity anymore, she just needed to eat. 

“Slow down.”, he glanced at her for a moment but didn’t look up.  

She ignored him, shoveling eggs into her mouth, barely chewing. Her toast vanished in three bites.  

His hand reached out gripping her wrist. “You eat like a feral dog. Slow down.”  

“I’m hungry.” She hissed, trying to yank her hand away from him, but his grip only tightened.  

In one fluid motion, he slid the plate out of her reach. 

“I said, slow down. I don’t want to see you throw up all over yourself, sweetheart.”  

She nodded, and reached for the plate when he only pulled it further away from her reach.  

“Then ask properly. Besides, I never told you you’re allowed to eat.”  

Oh shit. 

With all the hunger and weakness she felt, she completely forgot how all of this works. Would he deny her food now? Again?  

She almost cried from frustration, while his expression gave away nothing besides cold amusement.  

“Please”, she barely gritted through her teeth, her hands curling up into fists.  

“Not good enough.” 

Her jaw trembled. “Please… let me finish.”  

He tilted his head. “Who are you asking?”  

The humiliation burned hotter than her hunger. “Please… sir”, her words barely a whisper.  

“Louder.”  

“Please, sir… let me finish”, she spoke up, staring straight into his eyes. Tears welled into hers as she tried to contain herself from acting out.  

He pushed her plate back, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Good girl.”  

She wanted to throw up, hating how her body stilled under his approval. The remaining of her food tasted bitter, as she struggled to swallow the rest of it. Keeping her eyes on the plate, she managed to finish it, before pushing the empty plate away from her.  

He inspected her in silence, casually sipping on his coffee.  

“You have a busy day ahead of you, sweetheart.”, he broke the silence, “I have to leave for work now, but your piano instructor will be here any minute.” He said glancing at his watch.  

“Piano instructor?” 

“Yes”, he replied, “and dancing instructor and martial arts instructor. I went out of my way to have them arranged for you, so I’d advise you to avoid slacking.”  

He rose from his chair, taking his suitcase and turned towards the door.  

“And sweetheart”, he paused at the doorway glancing back at her. 

“Try to behave. If you bite the piano teacher like you bit me”, he paused tapping on his bruised lip, “I’ll have your teeth removed. Understood?” 

Then the door clicked shut behind him.  

If I bite the piano teacher? What? 

His words echoed in her mind. Why the hell she would bite her piano teacher? She chuckled lightly to herself. Or was he referring to the kiss? The memory of the desperate, chaotic kiss and the split-second clash of teeth and rage, flashed her thoughts. 

I’ll have your teeth removed. 

She scoffed under her breath, pushing away from the table. Like hell you will. 

Not long after, her questions were partly answered when the piano instructor appeared inside of the apartment.  

“Good morning. I’m Minsoo, your piano instructor.”  

The man in front of her was young, early 30s at most, with a carefully neutral expression. She would lie if she said he wasn’t good looking. He carried a leather satchel and wore a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes flickered to her face, then away polite, detached. 

“Good morning”, she replied quietly.  

“Let’s begin.”, he gestured to the grand piano in the corner.  

She hesitated a bit before she nodded, sitting next to Minsoo at the piano.  

“Start with C major”, he flipped open the sheet of scales, “Slowly please.”  

Her fingers hovered awkwardly over the piano keys, unsure what C major even is, embarrassment painting her neck in hot pink.  

“Um...” 

“You know where the C major is, don't you?”, Minsoo cut into her attempt to speak, raising his eyebrow at her.  

“No.”, she whispered, barely audible. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.  

“Okay. Then we must start with the basics. Middle C”, he played the note firmly looking up at her, “This is your anchor. White key, just left of the two black keys. See?”  

She tentatively pressed the key, the sound matching his.  

“It’s like an alphabet with a piano. Seven letters are repeating, A to G, then it starts again.” He explained casually.  

“Now, I want you to play C to C, all the white keys.”, he motioned to the piano keyboard.  

Her fingers were awkward as she pressed all the white keys, one by one, her rhythm coming out weird and stumbling.  

“Good. But-”, Minsoo pushed her fingers away from the keyboard, taking over, “these are not typewriter keys. Flow.”, he demonstrated as he played the keys in order, the sounds coming out fluid. “Just like water.”  

The piano lessons went by fast, as she focused to memorize the keys, her fingers clumsy on the keyboard. Minsoo kept repeating the words: Again. Again. Again.  

He sure knew how to pick the right instructors. Strict and firm.  

Her dancing lessons followed up shortly after the piano teacher left. A woman, in what it seemed to be her late thirties appeared before her, her movements graceful and measured while she smiled, introducing herself as Ms. Kim.  

The room they trained in was made up of all mirrors and polished floors, reflecting every angle. She felt exposed as Ms. Kim walked behind her, placing a hand on her hunched back forcing her to stand straight.  

“Feet parallel. Shoulders back. Chin up.”, she orders, her voice strict and commanding.  

Y/n tried her best to straighten her back, appearing awkward and clumsy while Ms. Kim set up a camera on the tripod in the corner.  

“Before we learn how to move with grace, you must learn how to stand with grace. “, she moved around her, inspecting her posture in the mirrors around them.  

“Your spine needs to elongate, as if you’re being pulled up by an invisible string from the top of your head.”, she demonstrated.  

“Grace comes from presence. Presence comes from control.” 

By the time the lesson ended, she was exhausted. Her muscles aching from trying to hold herself properly and trying to keep up with Ms. Kim’s expectations.  

When she made her way back to the dining room, the lunch was already at the table, waiting for her.  

You couldn't even call it just lunch; it was a full course meal. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sat right next to the plate. The first course was a bowl of creamy tomato soup, and the main dish – roasted chicken breast, tender and golden, served alongside a bed of wild rice and steamed asparagus spears with a light butter glaze. 

For the desert, a small fruit tart sat in the corner of the table, topped with arrangement of fresh berries.  

She took her time, the satisfaction of good quality food filling all her senses. At least the food here was bomb.  

After lunch, there was no time to waste. As soon as she finished the last bite of her fruit tart, the staff member appeared to escort her to the next part of her schedule. She followed him down a quiet hallway until they arrived at a spacious training room.  

How big is this place?  

In the center of the room, waiting, was her martial arts instructor. He looked young, maybe even her age, but his glance was sharp and serious. He wore a simple black training uniform, and the moment she stepped inside, he gave her a curt nod. 

“I’m Hyun,” he said simply, his tone clipped and direct. “Bow.” 

She hesitated for a second before mirroring the quick bow he gave her. His gaze stayed on her, unflinching. This lesson was the most difficult so far. She learned how to stand, guard and punch.  

Teacher Hyun made her repeat the pattern over and over again, perfecting it, until her muscles ached and she was drenched in sweat. When they were finally done, she picked herself up and made her way towards the bathroom. Warm water felt soothing against her skin, calming her and almost lulling her to sleep.  

After she was finished with her shower, she glanced at her bed. She still had half an hour of “break time”.  

A nap wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?  

Her body felt fatigued as she sat on the bed staring at the pillow.  

Just a bit.  

She will wake up before he comes home. It’s going to be fine. 

Oh, what the hell. 

She leaned down on the pillow, pulling a blanket over herself. It was so comfortable, and she barely slept last night.  

30 minutes. Just 30 minutes.   Taglist: @dilfismz @yourpointbreak @putrescentpoet @riri53 @xxxcyx @marihoneywk @laurasenchantment @eviesmoon @riri53 @chrisstyle @trentknd

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — downward spiral

prev: too silly | masterlist | next: guilt

note: there's more written content after the messages :)

he doesn’t see her for a while.

the seat to his right remains empty, devoid of the presence he had grown so accustomed to. it feels wrong. it is wrong. and yet, he isn’t sure if it’s right to do anything about it; he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to interfere.

he thinks of the exam and the oddity in her last messages to him. he shouldn’t pry, he thinks, because he fears making things worse. he thinks of the next time he’ll see her. he thinks of the girl holding the two-headed lamb.

it’s funny, how easily she had altered the balance of his life. maybe if he hadn’t made the impulsive decision to ask her for her help in the café, his head wouldn’t be spinning so rapidly at her absence. maybe if he hadn’t picked the seat beside her (without any real reason) at the start of the year, he wouldn’t be so disturbed. he wouldn’t be so lost.

two days remain until the exam. it's one that kageyama would usually dread, but he admits that with her assistance, whatever doubt he would usually have is dispelled. however, now that she’s gone, a sliver of that doubt creeps it way back into his system.

his mind crawls back to the night in the art studio, and he wonders if he'd find her there again should he go and look. it wouldn't be improbable, he reasons. so, before he can rationalize his decision, his feet follow the path to the studio as soon as class ends.

the door is closed, this time, and it only serves to increase his anxiety and concern. there's too much chatter around him to listen for remnants of her presence. his hand hovers over the handle, and for a moment, he considers the consequences. he ponders whether or not she would display disdain at his unprompted arrival, and whether or not she'd stop working under his watch, just as she did several nights ago. he tries to conjure up an idea of how she'd react. nothing comes to mind.

a can of soda — one he grabbed on his way — weighs heavy in his other hand, the condensation mixing with his sweat. something tells him he shouldn't go in. maybe it's the pounding in his chest, or the thumping in his head, or the salty droplets collecting all over his skin. something is amiss. his body recognizes it before his mind does, and when it all connects, he turns away from the door.

even still, something nags at him.

kageyama feels cramped, despite there only being two other people in the car. yachi sits in the passenger seat while yamaguchi sits at the wheel, leaving him alone in the back row. he still isn't sure why they asked him to come along, but his worry overpowers his confusion.

"kageyama," yachi calls from the front, her voice soft and gentle. her head turns around to face him. "what do you really think of yn?"

he's silent for a moment, her question catching him off-guard. it feels like a test. his words are picked out carefully in his head.

"i think she's really nice. i like being around her, but..." he pauses, his eyes drifting away to the campus, which inches closer and closer. "i wish she would take care of herself more."

there's a resounding hum from the pair, and they don't ask anything else. he’s slightly relieved.

the group arrives at the studio, and the perspiration and anxiety and doubt return to kageyama all at once, in a blistering, crashing wave. the coffee in his hands nearly collapses at his full-body reaction, but he does his best to maintain his outward stoicism. yamaguchi is the one to swing open the door.

she's standing in the center of the room, her easel fitted to her height and the canvas entirely different than the one kageyama had familiarized himself with. the same old lamp serves as the only source of light in the room, and it shines upon the painting of the girl and her two-headed lamb, which has been ungraciously cast aside against the wall. when he finally gets to see what she's painting, something in his heart hurts. he can't describe the scene, but something about it is saddening. his worry only increases tenfold.

the call of her name from her friends doesn't do much to pull her out of her trance. he's too scared to make an effort himself. slowly, the two approach their beloved roommate, and kageyama follows behind, although apprehensively.

"i told you not to come," she mutters under her breath. it's barely audible. "why did you bring him?"

he pretends the question doesn't make his chest ache ever so slightly. yachi is quick to counter with words of care and concern. she's desperate, almost, to end whatever frenzy is occurring before her. somewhere in between it all, there's a plea for her to come home, to give it a break. she's met with resilience.

"you don't understand, yachi, i need to get this done. you're not helping." her grip around the edge of the canvas tightens and loosens, back and forth. as if she's fighting with her own rationality. "please just leave."

from youth, she had yearned to be one of the greats. to have her name recognized in nearly every facet of art and science. she dreamed of awards, of press conferences, of her face plastered on screens. she was always so silent in her desire. and yet, now, it's on full display in the most brutal way she can handle.

there's another argument from yachi, and in response, her volume escalates. her passiveness morphs into anger, raw and scorching hot, and kageyama can only stand and watch. he can only listen to her yelling and the tears that sneak their way between every handful of syllables. the coffee in his hands is now watered down. he doesn't know what to do.

despite all her irritation, yachi maintains her gentle nature. her brows are furrowed as she listens to her friend spill out in front of her, but regardless, all she wants is for her to be at peace. the canvas is long forgotten, and the paints have dried up. it's a sorrowful sight.

eventually, the yelling dissolves into choked sobs and white-hot tears. yamaguchi is the first to envelop her in a hug, and yachi quickly follows after. kageyama plays the role of the bystander, once more. at some point, the door opens, and they're all back inside the car. the ride home is horribly silent.

kageyama thinks back to his answer to yachi's question earlier, about how he wanted her to take care of herself more. he looks to his left and sees her slumped against the window, clearly lost in slumber.

he doesn't know how he feels about her. all he knows is that his head feels light and airy and his chest feels heavy when he's around her. but after tonight, he can solidify one thing for certain — that he wants to see her genuinely happy.

𝜗𝜚 yachi and yams said they were coming to her, but in truth they had no idea where she was LMFAO

𝜗𝜚 yn's self-destructive tendencies are verrryyyy evident here. i am definitely projecting.

𝜗𝜚 kageyama sort of just stood there during yachi and yn's argument. yamaguchi kept trying to interrupt and tone it down but yachi just kept going. she's very much a mom friend

𝜗𝜚 i may or may not make a moodboard for the type of art i envision yn to make ^^

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche

[buriedpentacles]

Umwelt

I've been reading 'An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us' by Ed Yong - and he introduced a really interesting word/concept that I hadn't really read about in any of my other ethology studies:

Umwelt /ʊmvɛlt/ noun 1. (in ethology) the world as it is experienced by a particular organism. "the worlds they perceive, their Umwelten, are all different"

As written in An Immense World:

"Earth teems with sights and textures, sounds and vibrations, smells and tastes, electric and magnetic fields. But every animal can only tap into a small fraction of reality's fullness. Each is enclosed within its own unique sensory bubble, perceiving but a tiny sliver of an immense world. There is a wonderful word for this sensory bubble—Umwelt. It was defined and popularized by the Baltic-German zoologist Jakob von Uexküll in 1909. Umwelt comes from the German word for "environment," but Uexküll didn't use it simply to refer to an animal's surroundings. Instead, an Umwelt is specifically the part of those surroundings that an animal can sense and experience—its perceptual world... a multitude of creatures could be standing in the same physical space and have completely different Umwelten."

Obviously I've understood this concept previously, but now there's a nice, neat little word to explain it. It is fascinating for me to consider the different senses and experiences of other animals; all the things I cannot see, or hear, or feel. I am infinitely curious about the ocean's secret melodies, and the colours hidden among the wildflowers, and the strange sensation of a magnetic compass in your brain.

Umwelt goes beyond this: it isn't just "snakes can see heat and birds ultraviolet", Umwelt is also the semiotic world of an individual, it includes everything that is meaningful for the organism. Its flexible - it changes as you experience new things, shifting to adapt around you. In this model, the mind and the world are inseparable, because the mind is what interprets the world. Beyond this, your Umwelt is not just you passively experiencing the world, it's taking in the stimuli and building the world around you - we create our perception, and thus our reality.

Our umwelten is wildly different from a dog's or jellyfish's (different - not better, worst, more or less), we cannot comprehend what they may experience because we are bound by our Umwelten. There are things that we KNOW (or assume) are outside of our Umwelten (like ultraviolet or magnetic fields) but we cannot truly experience them. We may be able to understand them, but we will only be translating these other senses into something we can handle.

Then, I thought of how it might apply to my spirituality and to my magic.

Our Umwelt, our bubble of perception, includes how we perceive magic, and spirits or divinity (insert your preferred terminology), and we are bound by that. No matter whether we "see" or "hear" or just "sense" the magic, our understanding is always constrained by what we can perceive. (This fits neatly into my belief system, where Magic and the Universe appear to us in certain ways so that we can understand them, not because that is how they truly are.)

We each have our own bubble of perception, both for our physical and magical sense. But so must dogs, and jellyfish, and trees and mushrooms and the wind. Spirits and gods have their Umwelten too, though I'm sure they're far beyond my comprehension.

I'm not sure exactly where to take this post, as there's so many wild thoughts going through my mind about this!! But, I wanted to share and discuss the concept! Though I'm not certain how and to what level I will, I do want to integrate this concept into my practice, even if simply by recognising that I cannot understand everything, I am bound by my perception, I am bound by the way my brain builds my world around me.

Please comment, message, whatever - I would love to hear everyone's thoughts on this!

[cozzzynook]

Having thoughts of secretly sparked Bumblebee.

He knew something was up when he kept opting out of his favorite energon even giving away his secret stash of his favorite minerals that tasted overly sweet, his favorite secret indulgence.

His tanks couldn’t handle the thought of the stuff and his smell sensor kept malfunctioning every time he smelled the stuff. He snuck from his room late one night, servos nervously fiddling as he tried to work up the nerve to get some fuel into his systems but he simply just couldn’t bring himself to.

His concerns grew as his tank churned almost all hours of the day purging without fail after each transformation. He was thankful his team was none the wiser since he didn’t like being worried over but he knew something was very wrong when he tried to transform into his alt mode and the world went black.

He was thankful it happened after his patrol when he’d already commed the team letting them know he was going on a long lone drive and he was, truthfully he was.

Until he felt so dizzy his processor was faulting on even remembering his name let alone transforming. He doesn’t remember hitting the ground but he woke to pains wracking his frame and joints all over. His hub indicated he���d been asleep for the past seven hours.

He was in so much shock he almost missed the reason his self diagnostic scans provided him as to why he was in such peculiar shape.

Sparked, his hub read.

Sparked.

Him, bumblebee, sparked.

If he wasn’t having a hard time with his air intakes venting before he did now.

Both time and his intakes stopped all together.

The lack of fuel intake, the intolerance to his favorite meal and snack, the tiredness he felt no matter how deep a recharge. The slight raise to his chassis where his spark laid hidden all made so much sense now even if he had half a mind to try and deny it.

He suddenly was overcome with the necessary energy to scramble into a half sitting position and open his spark chamber. Getting a first hand look at the bright glow of not only his own spark but two tiny sparks that were hugged against both sides of his own.

His servos fell and he couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe nor stop staring at his vulnerable and open spark chamber that not only housed his life but two others.

He was sparked.

Bumblebee was sparked and he was going to become a creator in ayear by Earth’s standard time.

‘I’m going to be a creator..I’m..i’m going to be someones carrier,’ his processor drenched in distraught as his faceplates remained in shock. A stream was threatening to leak from his optics when a thought quite literally slammed his spark chamber shut.

Thudding footsteps, heavy peds, glaring red that were once lulling yellow always besides his long time conjuxed. Those four glowing red optics were a sight he was beyond gifted to behold and the little sliver of a smile and two warm fields accompanying it had him melting just the same as he did the day he saw and felt them.

He wasn’t sure why the two felt the need to see him, to touch him, to give caring and wanting touches to him when they were so perfect for each other and far too different from him.

Thoughts like these rang in his processor more often than he would ever care to admit.

He kept his insecurities and lack of assurance along with the rampant fluctuations of his em field close at spark. He never let the another feel the emotions warring inside him no matter how every bot who knew him claimed he wore his spark on his sleeve.

‘I can’t tell them..not..not about this..they’re conjux with each other. I’m..I’m no one. I’m just a momentary interest to spice things up in the berth.’

‘When the war ends, hopefully at a time we’re alive to see it, things will change and they won’t want me anymore…’

‘I’m just a pleasure bot they would use during our time away from our factions…sure they snuck me on board the Nemesis more often than not..but..they’re conjuxed..’

The flashes of the purple tank mech sitting in his large lab, working on a classified project Bee never bothered to ask about. The scientist sliding an optic over at the communications officer who watched the monitors of not only Earth but other territories commanded under Decepticon reign that again Bee pays no real mind to.

He’s not there to gain information just like the tank of a mech and the slim master spy don’t bother asking him for information nor do they try to gather intel from any data pads Bee brings with him.

He knew deep down both would find it illogical under any other circumstance to not take advantage of the opportunity given and yet neither crossed that boundary just as he never crossed theirs.

Only now Bee feels he’s crossed something much worse than a simple boundary.

He’s played with fire and now he’s burning along the frays as he struggles to intake through his vents no matter how much he presses along his chassis.

He slept with two conjuxed mechs.

Two very dangerous mechs known as the SIC and TIC of the decepticon army.

His dark thoughts reared their ugly heads at the front of his processor glimpsing at all the times he turned his optics from the conjuxs loving displays towards each other. The scientist was not a fan of touch or bots in his personal space neither was the communications officer but for each other they made exception.

So Bee avoided initiating any touch between the two along with allowing them to enter his space freely whenever they so pleased even going along with letting them initiate both interfacing and after face care.

The two knew exactly what the other wanted and Bee was happy to take whatever form of affection they would give him. Whether it be simple cleaning him up around his valve and laying comfortably in the berth to getting comfortable in their arms as they both held him on either side or each other.

Deep down he knew he wasn’t special to the two, he was a passing fling that somehow managed to go on for about an Earth years time. He was young and foolish falling for the quiet and mysterious sparks of a conjux couple but he couldn’t help himself. He figured he could keep the feelings close at spark not letting another soul know how he truly felt about the pair. Not even the science officer nor communications spymaster knew he was in love with them.

And seeing as how they were loyal to each other and the cause and not some young foolish bot who managed to get sparked on accident that was on the opposite side of their faction, he knew he needed to keep it that way.

His friends, comrades and family could never know about the sparks he was carrying. Bee would be put in the stockades or worst, they’d rip out his sparklings and send him to be tortured and have his processor torn to bits for information looking through his memory core and hard drives for any intel he may have given or received during his time with the two decepticons.

It wouldn’t matter if he was telling the truth in never giving up intel to the two nor would all his past acts of fighting for the autobot cause be remembered.

He was a traitor.

A sparked traitor who laid in the berths of two highly dangerous mechs who would offline him and their sparks the moment they discovered his condition and status.

He had to get out of there.

He needed to leave Jasper Nevada and with it his connections to both his friends and faction and the two mechs he grew to love.

He couldn’t transformer into his alt mode at the moment out of fear he would purge and momentarily offline again. So he scrapped his comms to his team, hiding his em field and spark signature before taking one last look in the direction of their base before turning and walking off.

If he were lucky he would make it to the cities edge and head out before his team sent any search parties for him.

He was confident the SIC and TIC wouldn’t be troubled once he didn’t show at their usual meeting spot. If he hadn’t passed out and discovered said reasoning for his strange behavior and symptoms he would’ve been on his way to meet with them.

He didn’t think they would be concerned maybe upset at wasting their time and any fuel energon on coming to meet with him but he’s sure after some time away from him they would move on, forgetting him in favor of time with each other.

Flashes of the two having things go back to normal swallowed his processor whole with every step he took away from the city. Images of the purple tank working in his lab as the spymaster cuddled with Ravage who would often curl in Bee’s lap rubbing along his chassis and tank. Bee didn’t think much of it when the feline cassette started doing it he just hoped it meant she was warming up to him.

Though, none of Soundwaves cassettes actually disliked him as far as he knew, they each cuddled up to him one way or another its just more recently they all started to make an engine rumbling noise that had him falling into recharge. He couldn’t for the life of himself fall into recharge in his own berth but every time Frenzy and Ravage laid on his lap and purred with their engines he was able to fall into recharge.

Neither Shockwave nor Soundwave ever disturbed him when this happened even as the habit grew more and more with frequency. Frenzy and Ravage had a habit now of sticking close to him and preferring being by his side whenever he set foot onto their base or met in their secret spot.

Bee should’ve guessed then that something was wrong but he hadn’t, he couldn’t have known it meant he was carrying since he’s never carried before. He was just glad he could recharge in peace after his steadily piling symptoms were leaving him drained.

‘I hope they don’t miss me too much,’ Bee mused to himself with worrying servos, his pedes hurt the farther he walked and he briefly wondered just how difficult his carrying would become since it was his first. Being a carrier meant having to know all there was to it in case of accidental sparking.

Going through his processor he really should have seen all the clear signs that showed he was with sparklings.

‘They won’t miss me..they were just following basic instincts,’ he reasoned with himself, spark and helm hurting at the thought. ‘It’s a good thing,’ he mused with a churning tank, ‘now I won’t have to worry about them telling the two.’

He felt a chill run down his spinal cord making his servos rub at his middle, the soft surface was still flat but the muscle he’d long sculpted there was gone. Another sign of his carrying clear as day that he hoped neither his team nor the two decepticons noticed. If Ravage and Frenzy could sense the sparklings within him from their more primal instincts it was only a matter of time before the two mechs began to notice.

Bee truly hoped neither cassettes told of his being sparked.

‘Just have to make it out of here,’ he thought to himself, rubbing the spot that housed not only his spark but two more he’d already decided to protect with his.

As he walked out of the city limits that nights and headed for a new destination away from the autobots and decepticons, he missed the warp gate opening to his last known spark location. Two large mechs scanning the area as Frenzy took to the skies with Soundwave following in pursuit and Ravage sniffing out the scent of the little autobot. Taking off with Shockwave following closely, both silent mechs held an air of promise with the intent to permanently offline the bot they believed took their future mate.

-

I love this pairing - all three togethe and the pairing shockwave and soundwave.

Gonna write about shockwave/blitzwing/bumblebee next or just shockbee angst next 👀

[candyskiez]

Saw ur also a ???% fan… 👀

Care to share your thoughts around him? Or headcanons if you have them? :D

1. You just noticed? I have NOT been talking enough about him then. I will rectify this immediately. (This is a joke you're good)

2. SO.

These will be scattered. Because I am a very scattered person.

I will flip flop between if I like the disconnect between ???% and Mob better as a plural thing or an allegory .I like both! Both is good! He's so fascinating as an allegory but also he's the most accurate representation of being plural I've ever seen and it's not even canon. So like. Two cakes!

I will always be insane about the manga version of confession arc. Hold on I need to talk about this in detail or I'll actually die.

His fucking. His fucking talk with Mob. "And you were never...never...looking at me." WHAT IF I SCREAM. Literally everything he says to Mob is so interesting and also relatable as shit whether you view it as plural or as an allegory. Both is good. Like you can view him telling Mob he forgot to protect himself and all that shit as like "You only do these good things to ease your own guilt. You don't actually want to be around people. You're selfish. This is who I am. I want to be able to exist without trying to be normal. I want to be able to be seen and not be harmed for it. I am tired of everyone ignoring this part of me because they prefer you. Would they actually do what I've done for them, or are they using me?" Like. Holy shit. It's so so fucking OW especially as an autistic person. But also as a system it's so easy to read him going "You pushed all the memories you didn't want onto me. You let me handle the things you didn't want. You shoved everything onto me, and I took it with stride because I loved you. You let me take all the hard things so you didn't have to face them, because you're a coward. This is my body too. This is my life too. Why don't I get to have that? Why do I have to give it up because you don't want me? They're my family too. You don't get to decide I don't deserve to exist because you hate yourself too much to admit I'm here." Like. Its so easy to read it as him being a protector who is SO fucking resentful of all the shit he's had to deal with, all the memories he has to hold alone, all of the shit he's experienced, and not a sliver of gratitude. Like goddamn does it remind me of my experience being a system. Either way the distance from him and the relationship between him and Mob has been my favorite part of the show since I started watching. And the manga is even more interesting and it's so!!!!!!!!!!!

More confession manga thoughts!! Him saying "Ritsu is my little brother. He was calling me Nii-san." Is so. He said that when Mob asked who he was. He viewed that as a solid part of his identity. RITSU is a massive part of his identity. Does he view Mob as not Ritsu's brother then? Does he feel like he was cheated out of his own family? I wouldn't be surprised nor would I blame him for feeling like that.

And even more confession arc shit. Hi. Thinks about how ???% in the anime at least had to steel himself before raising his hand at Reigen. He hates him but he still cares about him. He hates him but that guy raised him as much as his parents did. Clawing at the walls.

Actually y'know what I haven't talked about my thoughts on Reigen and ???% with anyone but the friend that I watched the show with and that is a tragedy that will not stand. ???% hates Reigen so so much but also cares SO much about him. Thinks about he passed out the second Reigen told him his parents were fine, and contrast that to him saying that he can't listen to Reigen in confession. He knows that if he listens to Reigen he'll believe him and that fucking terrifies him. He'll follow after Reigen because he means the world to him, because that man raised him, because he just wants him to be proud of him so fucking badly. He'll go back to being miserable and trapped, and everyone will go back to pretending he doesn't exist. He's terrified of Reigen, I think, because he knows Reigen is a good liar. Reigen can make him believe things. And he doesn't like that. He doesn't like how gullible he actually is. That's why he doesn't trust anyone- he's gullible enough to believe anything, so he has to distrust ANYTHING, no matter how much sense it makes, because he knows he can't trust his own judgement. He's been tricked before. He'll be tricked again. Don't trust anyone. Don't trust anything you see. This is another thing that works with either autism or plurality. The autism trauma of being lied to and deceived as "jokes" constantly turning you into a trust issue riddled mess that doesn't trust your own judgement or view of people, or a traumatized protector who FORMED to help you deal with people taking advantage of you and now distrusts everyone you love because "it happened before, it'll happen again, i wont let it happen." Or both!

God. I just LOVE ???% y'all don't understand. He's everything to me. Please god read the manga. I don't know if the translation I read was completely accurate, but I love the manga and anime both so so much. ???% is my favorite character as anyone who knows me can tell you and I will never shut up about him. My GUY

[jaggededges123]

coffee's fiab fic roundup

not by violence (but by oft falling)

vaderwan, anh canon divergence

10,366 words, T rating, chose not to use archive warnings

major tags: time loops, whump, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, fix-it, this is a slowburn for vader and the fastest turnaround in the west for obi-wan

The Force felt heavy with promise the moment Vader woke, as if whispering in his ear that he would achieve his utter victory that day—striking down the rebellion that had plagued his Master for years. He drained himself from his tank, donned his suit with the help of his medical droids, took a mere brief moment to acclimate to the heaviness of being in it, and then made his way to the bridge to discuss the capture of the escaped rebels with Grand Moff Tarkin. Only… Vader stopped in his tracks the moment he stepped through the door, staring out the viewport with a slight hitch in his respirator as his failing lungs tried to draw in excess air. Outside of that window, there was a perfect view of Alderaan, blue-green with cloud systems swirling peacefully in its atmosphere. Vader couldn’t—how was it that Alderaan still existed? He had watched it be blown into slivers of asteroids not even one full day ago. It made no sense whatsoever. Or, Darth Vader kills Obi-Wan Kenobi on the Death Star, but the Force says “no.”

just to be quiet with you

obikin, canon divergent post war

3,459 words, G rating, no archive warnings apply

major tags: pre-slash, romantic tension, Anakin Skywalker doesn't fall to the dark side, wingman Padmé Amidala, oblivious Obi-Wan Kenobi, there was only one bed

“Senator Amidala—” Padmé interrupted him with a simple gesture he’d seen her use a hundred times on holos of the peace talks as they’d gone on. “Please, Obi-Wan. Call me Padmé, we’ve been friends long enough.” “Padmé.” Obi-Wan smiled wanly. “Of course, Anakin and I are very grateful for your accommodations. You’ve been a consummate host—” “It’s my pleasure, genuinely.” “—but I’ve noticed a very slight issue I was hoping you could help me resolve. There… there appears to be only one bed for both Anakin and me.”

Handled

eighthcest, Formula 1 AU

2,060 words, E rating, chose not to use archive warnings (ambiguous silas octakiseron age)

major tags: F1 AU, incest, bathroom sex, blowjobs, PWP

Your young uncle did not win his race—and this is a problem for you, specifically, Colum Asht. As the official—and unofficial, and any place in between those two—handler of Silas Octakiseron, any time he does not win a Grand Prix it becomes your problem very quickly.

[thebluestbluewords]

a pirate by any name +

"Samson Smee?" Ben asks, tapping the name on the list. “Is he related to Captain Hook’s sidekick?” 

Evie leans closer on instinct. She doesn’t need to see the paperwork to know who Sammy is, but it’s a habit now to press close to Ben and tilt her head just-so to see the paper lists and forms when they’re working on VK matters together. It a comfort, to know that she’s not in this fight alone, and Ben certainly hasn’t complained about the increased contact with his girlfriend’s girlfriend. “Yes. He goes by Sammy. He's probably not going to want to come over without his brothers, but we can still make the offer." 

"Can we bring the brothers?" 

The last time Evie saw the littlest Smee children, they were sobbing over a pirate’s body before the adult crew members tipped them over the harbor for the sharks to take their share. They couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old, and what Evie remembers the most is the way their tears had carved clean tracks out of the dirt on their faces. 

She hums her consideration. “They're young. Elementary age, maybe ten or so now. I think they'd be okay to come, but they're shy, and I'm not sure how they'd do at school. As families go, I think all the Smee boys would do well in terms of goodness integration, but they may be difficult to integrate on a social level unless they can come over with someone they already know." 

"Alright. Who do you think they'd do well with?" 

Their father. 

“Their father,” Evie says, bitingly, before she reigns her tongue back in again. Not that it matters around Ben, who is handsome and kind and just listens when Evie needs to shout at somebody about the horrible unfairness of it all, but it’s good practice. She’s a politician now, just like her mother wanted. She’s got to be the best, because she’s an isle brat, and she cannot afford to make mistakes. Anything she says, anything she does wrong will reflect on the isle as a whole, so she’s got to be flawless. She will prove herself not just for her mother’s sake, but because she’s got a thousand hungry kids waiting for her to mess up and snip their only thread of hope at getting off the isle. “But that’s exactly the problem. Sammy has a crew, but the twins just tag along with him or their father all the time, and I don't think Auradon Prep, or any other high school for that matter, wants to have a pair of kids following their new high school student everywhere,” Evie sighs. She’s so fucking tired.  “We have schools on the isle, obviously, but Sammy doesn’t attend very often. The pirates usually stick with their ships and learn what they need from the older members of their crews. It’s not a traditional Auradon education, but the pirates are actually some of the better educated kids on the isle. It works for them, but it won’t work if we bring them here.” 

Ben puts a warm hand on her arm. It’s all Evie can do not to sink into the touch. She’s so, so tired of this. Of begging for any scrap they can get. Any concession to the norm comes at the price of another sliver of her own sanity, it feels like, and there’s so many children who won’t be able to handle the pressure of Auradon Prep, who will need more exceptions than the system is set up to give them, who won’t be able to thrive without the attention that nobody is able to give them. 

“We can ask the charter school,” Ben says softly. “There's integrated schools, all ages sort of places. My mother’s village has one. We can reach out. She provides a grant each year, they might decide they own me a favor.” 

Evie presses into his touch. Gods below, but it’s nice to have somebody who knows better than her the networks of favors and family histories that keep the kingdom governments running. “Or if we could find a family who would be willing to keep them together and send them to separate day schools, they might get used to being on their own like that,” Evie suggests. “Sort of slow and steady. A gradual break.” 

Ben makes a note, a shorthand scribble on the side of his list. Evie’s eyes are swirling too much to read it exactly, but she knows their code. Foster family, special education, sibling unit. That’s what they need to know in order to place the Smee boys. A whole life, reduced down to three shorthand scribbles. “That could work. What are the brothers called?" 

Evie laughs, exhausted. “Squeaky and Squirmy, but I believe their birth names are Sawyer and Simon. They're not bad kids, they're just shy. They would do better here, I think. Where there’s less adults around to bully them into staying quiet.” 

 Ben slips his hand up her arm, around her shoulders, pulls until she can rest her head on the side of his own. He’s warm and sturdy and if they weren’t in the middle of important work, Evie could fall asleep just like this. And then cause a scandal when the service staff come in to wake them both up, and find the young king sleeping on a girl who is not his girlfriend, no matter how many interests and people they share between them. 

"We can ask. If Sammy's willing to come over without them, who do you think we could bring with him?" 

"Anthony. Dizzy's cousin. They run with the same crew, and they'd do well together. I would say that we should bring over Harriet, but knowing her, she's not going to come over unless we can get the rest of her crew out first, and she's got one of the biggest crews on the isle." 

 Ben skims the list of kids, running his pen down the side as he goes. “Harriet?" 

She’s not on the list. 

“Hook,” Evie explains. “She’s one of the eldest pirate kids. We didn’t add her to the list because she won’t come until we can bring her crew with her, and we can’t promise that yet.” 

“Hook.” Ben echoes, voice flat. “As in—?” 

He’s encountered Harry, and came away with almost as much vitriol for him as Mal. 

Evie presses herself closer to him, so that he can feel her heat, and maybe remember that they’re in her office, not the wet deck of a ship. That he’s not tied to a mast, waiting to die anymore. “Yes. There are three Hook kids, and they all hate each other. We only hate Harry, the middle one, so Harriet and CJ are our allies. Sort of an enemy-of-our-enemy kind of thing."

"Harry's the one who's involved with Uma.” Ben says, so softly that Evie can barely hear the words. “The one who tried to kill me.” 

"Yes. He's....” Evie hesitates. She’s safe to hesitate here, in her own little office that smells like citrus wood polish and old papers. She doesn’t have to preform just for Ben, because she can trust him. Her sweet, kind king.

Trust doesn’t mean she wants to tell him everything. Understatement is a tool that Evie is well practiced at wielding, so she lets herself close her eyes, and forges ahead. “He’s a lot. We don't like him." 

Ben smiles, small and sweet and almost sad. "I take it there's a history there?" 

"Just a bit." Evie agrees. "There's been a few incidents."

"Would it be useful for me to know?"

Evie breathes in, and out, and relaxes her shoulders in an attempt to let go of the anger that she's still holding in her body. "I suppose so. Yes." 

"Do you want to tell me?" 

Honesty is the foundation of good relationships. "No." 

Ben nods. He's too good to them. "You could tell me later. If you'd like." 

The memory of blood spills over Evie's hands. The slippery, awful feeling of insides that were never supposed to become outsides against her leather gloves. The gritty feeling of dirt in her eyes that she can't rub out, blown up from the shattered crates they'd been aiming to take back from the pirates. The blood though, that's the part that she can't forget. She's been a medic since she first started sneaking out of her mother's house, but she's usually restricted herself to broken arms and legs and noses, some shallow stitches, fever medication, abortifacients and concussion care for the kids who can't take the dubious mercy of the barrier's spell. She's done medications for the kids who cared to try them, all sorts of poultices and remedies for the ailments that are within her power to fix. 

She's never been able to fix someone once they start bleeding out. 

She knows the theory of it. Blood transfusions, tourniquets, ways of stopping arteries without killing the patient. The problem is that she's never had to do it firsthand, because they've always known that the spell on the barrier was there to catch them before they died for real. The spell heals the killing blows, so it's easier to lean into the death than it is to staunch critical bleeding. Evie's killed kids herself, those who wouldn't die quick enough on their own, so that they could have the mercy of the barrier and the spell healing them back into a body marginally less broken than the one they'd left from. 

"He killed us." Evie manages, around the memory of blood spilling up from her throat. "They made it a game. Him and Uma and their crew. We killed each other." 

They've told Ben enough. He can figure out the rest, and he's smart and good and kind, so he does, and she can see him go white when he figures it out. 

[dralione]

5 times Draco used Legilimency on Hermione +1 time she used it on him

Summary: Hermione has ADHD/AuDHD and Draco finds the way her mind works compared to others so fascinating he can't stay out.

Rating: T (non-graphic torture, a couple suggestive lines) ♡ WC: ~5k ♡ Ao3

A/N: my first published Dramione! (Looks at longfics languishing in drafts) Hope you enjoy! No beta; if you see any plot holes wither in the story or from Canon compliancy no you don't. Also I realise the summary sounds a little weird but I'm simply projecting as I write this Hermione and would like to find my own Draco who will find the way my brain is wired interesting/pos and not interesting/neg.

1. Wednesday, 10 January, 1996 (5th Year)

Draco shifted in his chair, glaring up from his parchment as the loud sound of a page turning interrupted his previously quiet study session. He was mildly surprised to find that the perpetrator was none other than the studious swot herself, Hermione Granger. He’d thought she had more respect for the sanctity of a library and its quietude.

A hint of colour crawled up her cheeks as she caught his stare, but she didn’t look away. 

A thought popped into Draco’s head as he held her gaze. Over the winter hols, his mother had begun teaching him Legilimency. He was still getting the hang of it, but practice made perfect, did it not? His target was already making eye contact with him, and he was suddenly overwhelmingly curious about the witch’s thoughts. Was she as boring as she came across on the outside?

Ooo, maybe he could get a sneak peek into Potter’s plans, if she let him that far into her mind. Well, it was worth a try. Despite being a ridiculously well-read witch, surely she hadn’t learned about Legilimency or Occlumency?

Moving his wand under the table, so she couldn’t see, he whispered “Legilimens,” instantly transporting to his rival’s innermost being. Stubborn swot had practically invited him in, with those gleaming amber eyes holding his and absolutely no mental resistance to his entry at all. 

He smirked to himself and looked around. 

Draco turned slowly in place in Granger’s mind, jaw dropped as he took in the thoughts absolutely sprinting around, too fast for him to possibly pin down and read. 

Merlin’s beard, had the witch actually become an Occlumens?!

This was not what he expected, compared to his mother’s neatly organised thoughts and carefully constructed walls and paths that held her memories. How was he supposed to delve into her mind and find what he wanted if there was no way to find what he was looking for? 

Granger’s mind was a veritable rabbit warren of thoughts and memories, all haphazardly rolling around in her head like stray Bertie Bott’s Beans on the Hogwarts Express. 

He had to give it to her, she had excellent defences that even a more skilled Legilimens than himself would have trouble wading through. 

And the volume, Salazar’s staff…he was getting a headache just from the decibels of those thoughts running amuck. He exited her mind and broke eye contact, silently letting her win the unspoken staring contest, too overwhelmed to look at her any longer. How did the witch manage to get anything done with that organisational system, nevermind be top of their classes? Sure, it was a great defence against Legilimens, but they were few and far between, surely she didn’t need them at Hogwarts (his prying experiment aside). That mental energy would be better spent retaining and organising their class information. 

Draco felt a sliver of grudging respect at Granger’s beyond-magical handling of Occlumency and schoolwork. He shivered in his seat. He wouldn’t be going in her brain again if he could help it.

2. Monday, 15 January, 1996 (5th Year)

Draco glared at the bronze curls ahead of him, willing Granger to quiet her thoughts. Since he’d first jumped into her brain last week, he couldn’t stop listening in, even when he wasn’t trying. 

Sweet Salazar, the witch was loud. Practically screaming her thoughts at anyone listening in. 

He really couldn’t make heads or tails of her behaviour. There was absolutely no reason for her to be broadcasting her thoughts like that – only a few students would even have heard of Legilimency. Surely she wasn’t playing bait, trying to lure him and/or his godfather into admitting something?

Somehow, Granger had become more interesting to him than Potter over the last week. It was only partly due to her annoyingly distracting thoughts that kept following him around. He found himself searching out her curls like a beacon for him to watch her, instead of to locate one of the two limpets usually by her side. He was, admittedly, curious about her organisational standards after his jaunt through her head. 

The more he heard her thoughts, the more he found himself able to make sense of the rapid-fire trails they’d blaze, often diverting from one topic to another quicker than he would have done. 

Looking back once he was out of her mental broadcasting range, he was able to follow her logic steps, but by Merlin, the convoluted ways she arrived at her destination! Draco wasn’t sure if he was impressed by her ability to arrive at the same conclusion by very different throughways or not. 

Ahead of him, Granger shifted, perhaps finally sensing his displeasure and quieting her thoughts. They slowed down, gathering in one easy-to-follow stream of consciousness as she mentally narrated the notes she was writing.

Finally.

Thankful for the reprieve, Draco bent over his own parchment, able to block out one uninterrupted thought flow better than a scattered bombardment of singular thoughts. Still, the applications she pulled out of whatever mental filing system she had –however confusing it was–

were always apt and several times provided a new angle for Draco to mull over.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He relegated it to the back of his mind, where most of his thoughts about Granger went these days, never to be seen or felt again.

3. Sunday, 15 September, 1996 (6th Year)

The form of one Hermione Granger slumped over her books in the library made Draco pause on his way past her table to the shelf he wanted. 

He’d missed her mental chatter over the summer as he learned Occlumency from his aunt and improved his Legilimency. However, with his new and improved mental shields firmly up since his return to Hogwarts, he hadn’t cared to attempt to breach hers again. He had better things to do with his brain than listen to her mental ramblings. 

Honestly, he felt a bit bad for her after he’d eavesdropped on her when she was with the limpets one study session. She certainly possessed a surplus of patience dealing with those two, considering the filter her thoughts passed through before they made their way to the limpets’ ears.

Cautiously, he attempted to listen in on her thoughts as he made his way behind her, out of sight and out of mind (well, in one sense). Nothing. 

Draco frowned. His Legilimency had only improved over the summer, and he couldn’t feel any Occlumency walls or shields. Her mind was simply…not producing thoughts. It was such a deviation from the norm that he began to grow worried that something had happened to Granger. 

He sent a small stinging jinx at her leg. She jerked, slapping at her leg as thoughts began to form, to his relief (he simply tossed that feeling in the pile of galleons holding his true emotions that were stored in his very well guarded mental horde, never to be considered further).

Ouch, what was that? She glanced around, but he was safely hidden behind the shelves. Oh well. You’ve got Charms homework to crack on, Hermione. She pulled a piece of parchment forward and dipped her quill in the ink bottle, tapping the excess ink off on the side absentmindedly as she began figuring out the wording of her essay. 

Two students walked by, whispering about the Quidditch tryouts the day before. Granger snickered as an image of Cormac McLaggen flying off in the wrong direction flitted through her mind like the Snitch taunting the Seekers. 

Confundusing McLaggen was too easy. I’m glad Ron got the spot. She flipped through the Charms textbook. Focus, ‘Mione, Charms!

Draco left her mind, humming thoughtfully. So the little swot had sabotaged the tryouts for her incompetent boyfriend’s favour, huh. How positively Slytherin of her.

4. Monday, 30 March, 1998 (7th Year)

The shaking form of Hermione Granger on his drawing room floor kept Draco frozen in his spot, unable to look away. Her expression was screwed up in pain as she bit her lip, trying not to let a scream escape. Suddenly her eyes flew open, meeting his and pinning him in place. 

His wandless Legilimency was weak at best, but with eye contact…

Legilimens.

Draco slipped into her brain easily, almost staggering as the pain of the Cruciatus curse spread to him. Granger, it will be okay. Hold on. You have to hold on, Granger. Please.

Mal-Malfoy?

Some of the pain in her eyes was replaced with confusion. He barely moved a muscle to nod reassuringly at her.

Yes, it’s me, Granger. Keep fighting. You have to, for all the others. You will survive this, I swear it. Just hold on a little longer, please, Granger.

Why are you doing this? A drop of blood trickled down her lip as she bit down harder.

I can’t stop my aunt, but I can take some of your torture. It’s nothing new. Just hold on, Granger, you’re not alone here. They’re coming for you. They’ll get you out of this.

But you hate me. You’re on his side.

Not anymore; I have to. For my mother and my sake. Just like you have to for Potter and Weasley and your sakes. 

Bellatrix cast another Cruciatus, determined to make Potter’s Mudblood scream. Draco took more of the pain from Granger, determined to give her that one minuscule victory of staying quiet. 

Granger squeezed her eyes shut again at the renewed assault, temporarily cutting off their connection. Draco took a large, un-Slytherin risk and lowered a little of his Occlumency defences, reaching out to Granger’s loud mental screams. 

Hush, Granger, I’m still here. Can you feel me through the mental link?

I thought Legilimency needed eye contact? She gasped. 

I’ve improved my Legilimency over the summer. I don’t need eye contact if your mental defences are down and you’re practically screaming in my head. 

Granger’s reply was cut off as she noticed something above her, her eyes opening in another convulsion. Dobby was unscrewing the chandelier in the drawing room above the gathered crowd. 

Come with us, she said, a flicker of surprise flashing after the words. Leave the Manor and him behind.

I can’t, Granger. My mother–

A vague sense of sympathetic understanding echoed through her mind underneath the spasms of pain. 

Just say a nice word at my funeral, will you? 

Dr–

He left her mind as Potter & Co appeared in front of the group, throwing them into chaos. At least his insane aunt was forced to stop cursing Granger and cast other spells instead. 

He half-heartedly wrestled with Potter over a couple wands, hoping the Death Eaters would be too distracted to notice the way he so easily let Potter wrestle them free. 

A flash of crystal as the chandelier dropped–

A flash of silver as Bellatrix threw her knife–

A flash and crack as the Order members apparated away–

And she was free. Draco closed his eyes. The Order would win the war, he was sure of it. What that meant for him, he no longer cared. 

5. Monday, 5 October, 1998 (1st Day of 8th Year)

Draco, from his vantage point at the top of the stairs to the dorms, looked around the common room at the combined houses mingling peaceably. He had an excellent view. 

The bronze curls and slow smile of one Hermione Granger, War Heroine, were warmly shaded by the light of the fireplace she sat beside, conversing with classmates. 

She had regained some colour to her skin over the summer, he noticed, and a handful of freckles besides. Her hair was more curl and less frizz, her eyes were livelier and less shadowed, though they showed her forced maturity no matter how much they sparkled (Draco didn’t think that those would ever disappear from any who had them), her body was curvier and less malnourished than when he’d last seen her months ago at his trial. 

He felt the edges of his lips curling up in a genuine smile as he sat and observed all the positive changes in her life and body. 

He’d thought he was well-hidden in the shadows (certainly everyone was treating him as though he were truly wrapped in Potter’s invisibility cloak), but suddenly her eyes snapped to his and she held his gaze, leaving no doubt that she had caught him staring. 

She quirked her eyebrow in silent question and invitation. He didn’t need Legilimency anymore to know how to read her, most of the time. 

He’d spent all his summer house arrest fixating on any scrap of news the papers published about her, of which there were plenty. Thousands of photos of the most famous and Brightest Witch of Her Age had been clipped and carefully transferred to his scrapbook. It was a little ridiculous at this point, just how thick it was. It was hidden the Muggle way, under the floorboard under his bed, along with a thick stack of letters they had exchanged in between her busy schedule of testifying, repairing battlegrounds and casualties, and healing herself, and his busy schedule of daydreaming as he scoured the papers

He shook his head slightly, making her brow drop and turn into a hint of a frown. He frowned back at her, motioning with a jerk of his head to continue her conversation, and got to his feet.

Draco, can you hear me?

He froze on the step.

I saw that and I’m taking it as a yes. Are you alright?

Peachy, Granger. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. 

…Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams.

He snorted. You take the sweetness for your own dreams. Ta.

He sat up with a gasp, uncomfortably sticky with sweat, his breathing fast and ragged. The nightmares had fallen off somewhat, but he supposed the first day back at Hogwarts had triggered their reemergence with full vigour. 

He settled back on his bed, turning his pillow over and resting his hands beneath it, the weight of his head grounding him. Once he’d slowed his breathing, he lay staring up at the shadowed ceiling. He reached out to Granger unconsciously, needing reassurance that she wasn’t still trapped in his drawing room with his aunt, unable to even have his mental support as he was held back with magical restraints. The dreams always ended up in his drawing room. 

Granger was asleep, seemingly undisturbed by night terrors. 

He flinched when he saw where Granger’s dreams had ended up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t like his nightmares at all. Bellatrix wasn’t there, or his mother. Only he and Granger were there, kneeling a hairsbreadth apart, his hand on her cheek, her hand on his knee. 

Feeling like he was intruding, Draco left her dream, returning fully to staring at the ceiling. Granger was safe and peaceful and that’s all that mattered. Whatever was happening in her dreams was none of his business. 

+1. Tuesday, 2 May, 2000 (2nd Anniversary of the Second Wizarding War’s End)

“Draco.”

He placed his glass of firewhisky down, turning to face his visitor. “Hermione. How are you doing?”

“Never better,” he smirked, some grain of truth to his words. “You?”

Her pink lips turned up at that. “Good. I’m content with my present. It is a bit difficult with all the,” she waved at the fancy surroundings, “circumstances, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The room was filled with decorations and the setup for hundreds of people to celebrate the second year of Voldemort’s defeat.

“I’m pleased to hear that. You look good. The Ministry treating their Golden Girl well at her new job?”

She rolled her eyes, playfully nudging his arm. “Not you too. And yes, I’ve finally managed to get the preferential treatment left off. It only took, what, eleven months?”

“You should keep some preferential treatment, Granger,” he said solemnly. “Remind them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for you. Don’t let them take you for granted.”

She considered him, nibbling on her lower lip for a second as she bit back something. He was about to urge her to say it anyway when they were joined by Potter and Weaslette. 

“Potter. Weaslette.”

“Malfoy. Hermione,” greeted the couple. 

“Hello, Harry, Ginny.”

“I must admit I’m a little surprised to see you here,” said Harry, pushing his glasses up as he took a swig of his drink. Draco assumed he was talking to Hermione, given the circumstances.

Hermione made an agreeing noise. “I felt I should, even if I didn’t want to. I’ll find you later, Malfoy was just about to take me to get a drink, alright?”

The couple nodded and waved them off as Hermione’s hand slipped into his, pulling him away.

He blinked at their joined hands, then the back of her head as she steered them towards the bar.

“You didn’t want to stay and talk with your friends? I could’ve left.”

“No, you were there first. Besides, I wanted to talk to you in private, and we see each other much less frequently than I see Harry and Ginny.”

“Oh? Consider my interest piqued, Granger. What on earth could you want to talk to me about? You can always owl me and arrange a meeting some other time. I’m sure you still know my address, even if we haven’t written each other in awhile.”

She ordered a cocktail and leaned against the bar, turning to face him. “Do you know any place around here where we might have an uninterrupted chat?”

He hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “I may have an idea or two.”

Hermione’s drink retrieved and his topped up, he extended his arm to her and led them across the room, through dark hallways dimly lit by candle sconces, until he opened a door, gesturing her through. 

“Welcome to the private sitting room of Lady Malfoy, where none are sure to disturb.”

“Won’t your mother–”

“My mother is busy overseeing the anniversary ball, doing her best to continue polishing our name to return it to its former shine. Besides, she is quite fond of you and will be most obliging and understanding. Unless, by ‘private chat’ you meant a quick shag, in which case I am more than happy to escort you to my private rooms,” he winked, settling in the corner of the settee mere handbreadths away from her.

She blushed and rolled her eyes. “That is not what I meant. This will be fine, thank you.”

“Alright. What is so secretive that you lured me to this dark, isolated room, Granger? Should I be in fear of my innocence being tainted?”

“It’s just us now, Malfoy, you can stop with the cavalier facade. I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to help me learn and practise Legilimency.”

Draco blinked. “You’re learning Legilimency?”

“I’ve been informed that my natural Occlumency is quite advanced already,” she smirked at him, “and I believe it would be useful to learn Legilimency. You know I can’t tell you everything about my work as an Unspeakable, but I work with Memories and Obliviators. I think Legilimency would be quite useful to know in my line of work, and…well, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more with my mind to teach me.”

Draco swallowed. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve thought this through, but just for my peace of mind, Granger, you really want me in your mind again? Even after…”

She nodded firmly twice. “I asked you to help me improve my Occlumency and mental resistance, especially against you, because I thought we both needed space apart from each other. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you or want you in my mind. You know I didn’t mind that, especially after the Incident. Now that I’m content with my Occlumency, I wish to learn Legilimency. I still trust you with my mind, Draco, we just needed some boundaries.”

He nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and run his fingers through his hair. “My mind healer told me our bond was becoming codependent and unhealthy. I’ve finally seen your points,” he sighed. “ I- you’re ready to do this again?”

“My mind healer cleared me a while ago, but I waited to be sure both of us were. But if you’re still not…maybe today wasn’t the best day to bring this up, after all. I’m sorry, I’ll leav-”

His fingers were wrapped gently around her wrist before he even knew what he was doing. “No, stay, Granger. I’m ready. I just wanted to clear some of my past reservations up first.”

Her answering smile was brilliant. “Good! When would you be free to start, then?”

“Now?”

Hermione smiled at the sight of Draco’s blonde head sticking above the back of her sofa. One arm was resting along the back, his long fingers tracing aimless designs in the blue floral pattern.

She paused, struck by an impulsive thought. Pulling out her wand, she whispered, “Legilimens,” under her breath, transporting to his mind. She fell in instantly, surprising her considering the challenge he had set her to get into his mind when he wasn’t expecting her. Surely it wasn’t this easy…but it didn’t feel like he was Occluding…

She wandered through his mind, as always astounded by his neat organising, so unlike her own mental filing system. Hers worked perfectly well for her, but she had long felt Other for her strange ways of remembering obscure topics and collecting scraps of random information. She had finally come to accept her strangeness and embrace it, even, but she still had a little pang of jealousy at seeing his easy organisation.

 She strolled through the cave that was his mental fortress, surprised to not be greeted by his defending dragon. What was he planning?

She continued on her way, pausing to observe his vaults of memory-gems and emotion-coins, locked up behind steel and iron. The locks on some had become simpler, less guarded, from when they’d parted ways at the end of Eighth Year, and she wondered if she was seeing proof of his mind healer’s influence.

The vault she’d always been most curious about, at the back, was cracked open.. Taking it as an invitation, she peered in. It looked like a Gringotts vault, full of artworks and artefacts and piles of wealth heaped in the corners. Looking closer, each object held something related to her. Memories, feelings, dreams… 

Feeling like an intruder, although she assumed he’d let her in for a reason, she stepped in cautiously. A memory met her full-force.

October, Sixth Year

Draco glanced across the table to hers, where she twirled a curl around her finger, deep in thought over a thick tome. 

“Legilimens.”

He’d been getting the hang of wandless legilimency when he returned to Hogwarts, fresh from his aunt’s teaching. He’d practised on enough minds over the summer to know that hers was different, moreso than anyone else’s, and it intrigued him. 

At first, yes, it had annoyed him, all her loud, fast thoughts, but now he found it comforting to listen in. He enjoyed trying to figure out which Express her thoughts were going to take before she did, to try and follow her leaps of intellect and even beat her to her conclusions. 

And then there were her memories…the happy bustle of the Burrow (even if he was a little blinded by the sheer amount of gingers in one place), the summers out exploring with her Muggle parents, the interesting lives the Muggles lived and their strange inventions, the happy times she had with the limpets, she had so many happy memories. 

They all seemed tinged with a warm sepia glow, preserved by some force Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was a far cry from his own, cold grey and black shrouded in smokey vignette. Her memories simultaneously made him wish to turn them to ash and keep them in a Fiendfyre-proof vault. He left her head with a scoff and got up, leaving the library.

Hermione blinked, overcome with his emotions and the memory. He’d confessed in their letters before Eighth Year that he’d often slipped into her head, but she hadn’t fully understood it until now. Another memory flitted forward as the previous one slid back into Draco’s neat storage. 

March, Seventh Year

Draco was horrified to see her dragged into his drawing room by the Snatchers. His gaze flicked from her, to his aunt, to the Snatchers. He’d long since learned to temper his flight or fight response with freeze.

He’d stayed frozen until Bellatrix had cast the first Crucio and she’d met his eyes. 

It was strange seeing her memories through Draco’s eyes, especially once he’d jumped into her head and was seeing her thoughts. 

Granger, it will be okay.

She often recalled the first words he’d said to her when he entered her mind. And then she felt the phantom echoes of pain, and realised that Draco had absorbed some of the Cruciatus for her. 

Jerking out of the memory with a gasp, she panted for breath, hand on her heart, reminding herself that it was only a memory.

“Draco!”

He strolled out of the shadows of the vault, hands in his pockets, eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“Hermione.”

“You absorbed the Cruciatus for me?” Blast it, she could feel the sting of tears fast approaching. Now was not the time to cry. She blinked hard.

He shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? I’m sure that would have gone even farther to prove your case for acquittal at your trial!”

“Does it matter, Granger?” He sounded annoyed. “That’s not usually how this goes.”

She paused, confused. “How does it usually go, then?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a nightmare about the Incident, you remind me it’s not real, we kiss, et cetera,” he waved his hand summarily. “Don’t know why I expected Dream-Hermione to be any less argumentative than Real-Hermione,” he muttered under his breath.

Hermione tilted her head, contemplating. So Draco dreamed about her. She’d thought nightmares about the Incident had decreased. But apparently he also dreamed about current-her comforting him. Interesting. She hadn’t been sure if he’d still be as fond of her as he’d been in Eighth Year, after they’d had some healing and time apart from their traumatic bonding experiences. Well, it was good to know her slightly-more-than-a-crush was reciprocated. 

“I’m going to ignore that, just this once. Draco, are you dreaming?”

He looked at her in puzzlement. “Obviously. I really don’t know why you had to change the dream from snogging me senseless to rehashing the Incident, though,” he frowned.

She raised her eyebrow. “Snogging you senseless, huh? That explains your absolute lack of Occlumency,” she snickered. “You were practically inviting me in. Guess your subconscious was tired of your lack of making a move and made it for you. Would you care to wake up so I can actually snog you senseless, then?”

Draco blinked, then his jaw dropped and a blush rose on his cheeks and eartips. 

She turned to leave, then remembered why she’d come in the first place. “Oh, by the way, since I was able to get into your head successfully, I’ll be claiming my prize of one wish from the loser. I’m sure you’ll quite like it, don’t worry!” With a wink, she left, leaving him gaping after her.

Hermione settled on the sofa beside him, smirking softly at his adorably flustered expression as he woke up and saw her.

“Er, Hermione–”

“Sh, Draco. You like me and I like you, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose–”

“Good, then. Based on the sheer volume of that vault about me, I assume we have many many snogs to make up for.”

He exhaled in defeat, a smile taking over his face. “You’re right, as always.” He winked at her, leaning in quite willingly to meet her in the first of many kisses.

[starythewriter]

THOR X reader - first time I saw you



I opened the door to razer & gold data, entering

The bright white building grabbing onto a sliver handle and opening the door I walked through seeing captain America… I quickly got pulled side by Natasha, “here I need you to look thru this file… there seeks to be a comprise in our data records…. The DA seems to have tempered with them”

“Alright I’ll get on it” I said smiling and sitting next to her, she got up to take care of some errands, I quickly opened the flies reviewing everything.

I noticed how much days got reacted. Seems like it was all in preparation for some sort of lawsuit or court case.

I quickly got out my laptop and decided to wire a detailed report, “here I need you to talk to Jessica jones… we had our teamwork but as time went on she…. Started to work under the DA.”

I quickly walked over to a telephone, bumping into captain america, “I’m sorry sorry sir-“

“It’s alright. Dont worry here for your trouble” he said handing me a 20 dollar bill. I took it and smiled saying “thank you so much”

I walked forward. Seeing Thor… the infamous Thor I’ve always dreamed of seeing him he had a short sleeve shirt his biceps were bulging out.

I focused on Jessica, dialing her number…. I waited and waited untill she didn’t respond. I walked back to my desk quickly finding contacts but out of nowhere the telephone rang, I walked back over, feeling annoyed that our current telephones were down… only a couple worked now.

“Hey is this Jessica”

“Yes this is. And I already know who’s calling we have a lot of business to discuss but for now. I’m sending you a transcript along with files for a lawsuit”

“Wait wha”

She hung up before I could say anything I decided to walk back over seeing Thor… I turned around but Natasha was gone.

“Hey… i need to speak with you”

Said Thor. He looked at me very sternly I gulped and sat down near his desk. “What do you wish to speak about”

“Jessica. Why are you trying to contact her”

“I wasn’t” I said keeping eye contact. But Thor was persistent I didn’t know how but he very much knew what was going on.

I was too focused on the situation at hand however I had intrusive thoughts here and there about how hot he was.

“I know you were”

“How” I said shocked. Out of nowhere Natasha appeared “we need to talk” she said to me. I quickly got up and left walking with her to her office seeing a deal… “what’s this?”

I said asking confused reading through the prospal. “It’s a bribe the former company, who for awhile was co founded and owned with owners wants to buy us out-and their saying they’ll reinvent our server system to hold and keep data safe. However it’s a bribe and definitely not something that can be trusted look at paragraph 12C discussing the limit of funds and money meaning we would be tied to there restrictions especially money wise”

“Well then don’t accept it”

“I won’t but we need to tread carefully. DONT tell Thor untill further notice I need to find out the consequences.”

“Alright. Also I have intel I’ve had that they are very close with the governer and considering the company got framed for fraud, they can freeze back all of our bank accounts along with data. You know that they can also request data”

“That may be true. But I’ve got this under control. As for the data,I will be changing models into something that makes the data temporary and I’m doing with the DA along with CISA. To formulate a strong data rework along with protections against any crimes Or misdemeanors they can throw at us”

“Alright. I’ll gather more intent. I’ll make sure to see what I can find for orders as if they are going to request all days then it must be thru the DA, FBI and authorities.”

“Hey. Was that about Jessica and the old company”

“It’s none of your business Mr.hemsworth.”

I walked away shutting the door to my office. But Thor came in, “I need to know” “why” I asked rolling my eyes. I felt a little warm… but I didn’t mind it. “Stop acting like a baby. I need to know because I have some files on how to avoid any backlash including the freeze of our bank accounts and primary drafts into our manufactured convictions.”

“Fine. Here I have this file I’ve been keeping the most important information.”

“Thank you” he smiled “and no need to pout” he said teasing me. I walked up to him accidentally pressing against his crotch… “sorry-“ I said he stared into my soul. “It’s not a big deal” he laughed it off. We laughed together, he was so handsome… “come with me” he said. Leading me to one of the backrooms. “WOW so many dresses” I said happily “oh these would look good on you” I said being flirty. I knew I had feeling for him. “So tel me a bit about yourself Thor” “well I’m a businessman… looking for adventure. & despite what others say I’m great in court. I have a lot of law firms along with great hires and teams to maintain the private data that the US citizens deserve”

I smirked loving his deep and smart mind “wow… that’s umm… hot” I said gulping. “Wait here” he said I waited meanwhile imaging how he’d look in that outfit and out of nowhere he was wearing a very sexy summer shirt with shorts… I stared seeing all of his beautiful muscles and features. I tried to hide my blushing “we should get back to work”

“Are you sure” he said grasping my hand before I could leave as he stared into my eyes kissing me as his eyes closed I got onto the black sofa behind me and slowly enjoyed his kisses along with with moans. I slowly kissed his biceps as I unbuttoned his shirt.

I was already so beyond in love with this man nothing else mattered. I was ready to devour him. God knows I would. I kissed him again making him moan my name.

He slowly kissed me not forcing me into anything I felt so safe with him I slowly decided to take off my suit and undress. He kissed my tits making me moan loudly. “Don’t be so rough” I teased slowly taking his shirts off and immediately grinding against his cock “you can’t enter yet” i moaned out feeling too overwhelmed by his giant muscles to care about what happened at this point”

“He moaned “please… just do it already” I moaned allowing him in I rose up slowly riding his cock. “No more unless you swear something to me”

“Anything” he said smirking “are you sure” I said riding his cock slowly “yes- yes for sure anything”

“Give me 50% of the company” I said staring into his soul seducing every blood cell he had and already making him produce cum “now you know I can’t” he couldn’t speak as I went faster “fine then leave me alone” I said getting up but he grabbed “ fine here I’ll get you the papers”

“Good” I said smiling kissing him as I rode his cock while he handed me the papers I went faster as I rode his giant cock and thick muscles signing onto my fair share and with that I seduced my powerful boss and slowly become a owner of his company “Iove you so much” I said riding him faster kissing him as he kissed me and submitted to my will “your so fucking good-“

“Do you fuck every new person at the office?” I asked stopping myself depriving him of any and all sexual contact. “No- I promise you you’re the only one-“ “that better be dam right” “so bold of you to do this to not only your boss but a god.”

He smirked fucking me as I ride him “one that easily falls for any pretty girl”

“Not true. You’re the first…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“The first one entirely love and cannot get enough of” he muffled. I moaned slowly

Climaxing onto his cock as he coated me with all the cum he had.

“Fuck-“

“Thank you.” I moaned grabbing the papers and walking out while leaving my cum on his bicep, I cleaned up and left. Knowing that he was unsatisfied but I wasn’t ready for him truly. However next time I’d stick with him a lot

Longer.

The end

[seventhofcrows]

LizziPosting: So, How Disabled is Lizzi? (Part 1)

Artwork done by Dulusiclownery on Art Fight last year, though it's a bit non-canonical now considering recent lore.

Assistive Devices

In order from most important to least important

Glasses for vision issues, if needed

Implanted hearing aids for hearing

Collapsible wheelchair for traveling long miles

Knee-to-lower thigh orthotics for gait and balance. (Personalized by designers in Octo Valley with a sliver coat of paint, used to call her orthotics “knightly knees”)

Two canes for walking.

Braces for her wrists. (Mainly for work)

A giant, motorized wheelchair for faster, more active travel.

Life Accommodations

No particular order

Dyslexic font on all electronic devices, though it is hard to get a hold of these things since she’s a Octarian and most of those accommodations are not built for Octarian use and/or were banned from use. (Which is why she moved to Octoling society to get better opportunities)

Larger fonts, though she has learned to read smaller fonts. She still can read. Half of her bookshelf is just really niche reference books, though. And comics she actually translated into other languages. She doesn’t like reading English. Thankfully, nobody in Splatoon speaks English.

Railings for the bathroom, even the sink. (Has that as an option, but rarely uses it.)

Extra time and extensions on commissioned artwork, due to physical abilities.

A hospital issued drinking bottle and specialized utensils for brace use.

Text-to-speech for composing emails. Had to pay out of pocket for an advanced enough system to handle her soft, but heavy southern-like accent and for it to be enough to last for a long time. No subscriptions, thankfully. `

What’s Next?

Conditions that she has, and how it affects her.

3D modeled and/or designed assistive devices and a model for future use in work.

A post on why she got the surgeries she got.

More artwork.

And of course, more bulleted lists.

SeventhofCrows

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (5)

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: injuries from last chapter, miguel being... well. angst?

Word Count: roughly 3.8k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Apprehension seeps up your spine like water into paper as you move through the holding area for captured anomalies to get to Miguel’s lab. Their eyes on you as you pass do little to help, and there’s no relief when you finally leave them behind and enter the familiar dark space.

Miguel is standing near the platform, head bowed and hands on his hips. You know he hears you, as quiet as you are; He might not have that internal alarm system the others call spidey-sense, but you know he has impressive enough enhanced senses.

He doesn’t greet you. Not unusual, but it still twists your stomach an inch to the left.

After a beat of silence that feels way, way too long, you break the silence yourself.

“Mig-” you cut off the beginning of his name, your voice uncomfortably quiet, and take a breath before you straighten your spine and speak louder, flatter: “I’m here for debrief.”

“Lyla,” he doesn’t quite bark out the virtual assistant’s name, but a lesser Spider probably would have flinched.

You almost do.

“Hey boss,” she flickers into existence in the usual space near his shoulder, sitting on nothing and sipping from a smoothly rendered latte cup. “What’s up?”

“Debrief,” he says. His back is still turned to you, only a sliver of the side of his face and his cheekbone visible from where you stand.

You cross your arms, a gesture that’s as self soothing as it is irritated.

“Right.” You turn your head to stare off into a dark corner, rather than look at his back any longer. “I was having a sandwich.”

“How is that–”

“I was having a sandwich in the park,” you cut him off. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s clenching his jaw. “Roughly around noon Earth-7723 time, when a portal opened probably twenty feet in front of me, and Venture ste–”

Only now does Miguel turn to face you, eyebrows furrowed. “What did you say?”

You blink at him, once. “Venture stepped out of the–”

“That’s a new one,” Lyla says at the same time that Miguel swears under his breath in Spanish.

“Esto no puede estar sucediendo…”

“...Did you want me to continue?”

Miguel takes a breath and gestures for you to continue, before turning away again and crossing his arms. He doesn’t turn away fully, but somehow this is worse, like he doesn’t even want to look at you.

So you continue, doing your best to relay an accurate version of events.

“...And then I stopped you from biting him, and you punched him out cold instead,” you finish.

Miguel nods, turning away completely again. “End debrief.”

Realizing that he hadn’t looked at you once outside of your naming Venture, it’s not just your road rash that stings. You wonder if you should go, flexing your aching and stinging palms–

“You should have called for backup immediately.”

“...What?”

“The second that Venture stepped out, you should have called,” he turns and points at you, a hand still on his hip, finally, finally looking at you.

You pull your head back in disbelief, unfold your arms, and gesture your open hands through the air as you say; “I called as soon as I was able!”

His nostrils flare, and then his eyes catch on your moving hands and the bandages wrapped around them. They snap back to meet yours.

Your movements still.

He takes a step closer.

“You were injured .”

“I can handle it,” you snap, refusing to back down as you glare at one another. “And I did.”

The tension is heavy, new. You almost feel a tremor at the top of your spine, the adrenaline of the day returning with the rise of your anger and priming you to fight or to run.

He doesn’t back down either, and even with the distance between you, the room starts to blur as if retreating into the dim lighting.

He gestures at you, your injuries. “Can you? You don’t exactly have the same high healing factor as the rest. How are you going to do your job with–”

“I saved you today! You would have been– you–” your chest is tightening again, the air getting thinner. “He almost got you before you even stepped through the fucking portal.”

“I would have handled it.”

“You would have–” you cut yourself off with a scoff, although the fight is rapidly draining from your body. “Right. Yeah.” You swallow, crossing your arms as you look away. “Permission to leave, boss?” You almost wince at the way you spit the word.

Miguel takes a breath, letting out a sigh as he turns his back to you again. “Yeah. Dismissed.”

It’s definitely a lot more than your road rash that continues to sting.

Gwen knows something is up with you the second you get home.

She looks at you with raised eyebrows over the back of your couch when you return through a portal instead of the front door. Her eyes sweep up and down, catching on your bandaged palms and the slight slump in your posture.

“What happened?” she asks, sitting up straighter and putting her math worksheet aside.

You wave her off, your hand barely lifting above your hips with the weight of your exhaustion. “Anomaly,” is all you offer, dropping your bag inside the door of your bedroom and swerving off to the bathroom for a much needed wash.

In the shower you dwell over the fight with Miguel. You were no stranger to his bad moods, his tension and stress over managing the stability of the multiverse. You’ve seen him get annoyed, frustrated even, with the other Spider-People. You’ve even been on the receiving end of his irritation a few times, unable to resist joining the others when it was just so easy to tease him.

But you’ve never been on the receiving end of his criticism like that.

Even as you ruminate under the warm water, letting it wash away the sweat and slight blood from when you reopened the scrapes again, you find your mind turning towards the last time Miguel had visited before Gwen came to stay. More than steam gathers on your eyelashes as you cross your arm over your chest, a hand gripping the opposite shoulder. You quickly shove a flash of the woman you’d failed to save out of your mind, letting your mind naturally fast forward to what had come after: Miguel taking care of you.

The shirt. The glass of water. The frustration at your tangled blankets. The soothing hands on your spine as you cried–

Fuck.

You press the side of your hand to your eyes.

“Do you want tooo… talk about it?” Gwen asks when you finally emerge from your room, clean and dressed. You hope your eyes don’t look as puffy as they feel, but based on her tone you’d wager against it.

“About what?” You ask flatly, moving through the living room to the kitchen. You open a cabinet, stare, close it. Open a second one, repeat, and the same to the fridge. Nothing sounds great, but you know you need to eat, so you return to the second cabinet and take a protein bar.

“About your clearly very long day,” she says, now standing on the other side of the kitchen counter that separates it from the living room. She gives you a pointed once-over with her eyes.

You sigh, putting your post shower sloppily re-bandaged hands against the counter edge to lean your weight against—and immediately regret it, pulling them back with a wince.

Gwen frowns slightly.

“Alright, alright,” you say, you wave her towards the living room and join her on the couch. “I just– fuck.” You put your feet up. “Work was fine. Spider… was messy. Just… a couple things back to back, and then I was having a sandwich, and there was an anomaly, and Miguel–”

Gwen shifts towards you slightly, sitting up imperceptibly straighter.

“He was just… Ugh! As if it’s my fault that I–” you wave your hands through the air before pulling them back to your body and closing them. Your face is getting hot, your eyes warm. “Like I can’t keep up-” you cut yourself off— the ‘P’ at the end of ‘up’ barely makes it past your lips—and huff a frustrated breath through your nose, lips pressed shut.

Gwen still sits next to you, eyebrows raised. One leg is pulled up with a knee tucked to her chest as the other dangles, and it’s the hem of her leggings on the leg on the couch that she fiddles with as she thinks, eyes moving to the coffee table.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I understand whatever it is the two of you got into it about, based on that… extremely detailed story,” she starts, a teasing note of sarcasm in her chosen words. “But… he’s like that, sometimes. He just… I don’t think he knows how to show he cares, anymore.”

You sigh. “This was… It was like he was blaming me for getting hurt.”

Gwen stays silent.

You sigh again, deeper this time, tiredness replacing the last bit of anger in your body in one large swoop. You sink further into the couch. “I don’t know.”

You open your protein bar, forcing yourself to take a bite. The hurt in your stomach and the leftover anxieties of the day twists your stomach in protest of the food, but you chew and swallow a bite or two anyway.

“Well… if Miguel is going to apologize to anyone, I think it’d be you,” Gwen says, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

You chuckle, roll your eyes. “Right, yeah.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow at you, skeptical, and then shakes her head as if she’s decided against whatever she was going to say. The two of you sit in silence while you go through the motions of eating.

“Oh!” You say. “I forgot. I got you something.”

Gwen’s eyes follow you as you rise from the couch and go to your bedroom, digging in your bag before tossing her a small black rectangle. She catches it easily, examining it.

“It’s a prepaid flip phone,” you say. “My number’s already in it. Figure this is less conspicuous than Miguel’s watches whenever you’re here and one of us is out casually.”

She grins at you, snapping it shut. “Thanks. That’s really smart."

You smile. “I’ve been known to be smart on occasion. Now,” you flop back onto the couch. “Can we please watch something stupid?”

“Sure,” she laughs easily, lightly, and some of the heaviness leaves your chest.

You've never been away from HQ this long. Not without seeing… well. You don't go with Gwen when she finishes her homework early to trade it in for more. You don't pop by for social calls.

And you definitely don't get any calls routed your way through Lyla for backup.

Even with the somewhat accelerated healing given to you by your spider bite induced powers it takes four and a half full days for the scrapes on your palms to close, less for your arm and leg. Even then, the skin is still tender for another two.

You prioritize your own dimension. Work is good. Being the Spider has its challenges, as it always does. But you manage, even when your hands are still mangled. Even though pushing through it means they take longer to heal.

And you absolutely, definitely, don’t ruminate on the argument with Miguel.

Nope. Definitely not.

Gwen is still staying with you, the end of her second week of sleeping on your couch is near. Occasionally she leaves to help other Spider-People who call for backup, but she always comes back to your apartment.

She’s gone tonight, when you drag your feet across the threshold of your front door, and she hasn’t gotten back by the time you finish cooking yourself a simple meal and settle into the couch, bones weary from a long day.

Your watch beeps from inside your bag that you had unceremoniously dropped on the end of the counter closest to the door. It’s the first sound it’s made since before the fight with Miguel almost a week ago. You get it out, slap it on, and answer the call.

It’s Gwen.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m going on a mission, so I won’t be back for a little bit.”

“Oh,” you raise your eyebrows, sitting up straighter. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she affirms, twice. “Did you know there’s a Shakespeare dimension? Like with a Shakespearian Spider-Man and everything?”

You laugh. You hope it doesn’t sound as tired to her as it does to you. “That’s wild.” A pause. “Are you coming back here after, or taking a turn at Hobie’s again?”

“Probably gonna go back to Hobie’s for a while. His whole villain situation is settled for now, so there’s no interfering with canon, and we haven’t gotten to play music together in a while, so…” She shrugs.

You nod. “Yeah, totally. Well, lemme know if you need to come by and get any of your things. I’ll have them in my closet for you again.”

“I will,” she smiles.

“And Gwen?’

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe, okay?”

Her smile changes, something softer, a little more serious. “You too.”

Sleeping with an empty apartment feels strange the first night she’s gone, and you realize having her there on the other side of your door had begun to feel like a natural part of being home.

The next afternoon you dare to return to HQ, prompted by a voice call from Peter.

“You know,” Peter says when you step out of the portal, “I don’t think anyone here has gone this long without seeing you around HQ.”

You give an awkward laugh. “It’s barely even been a week.”

May leans towards you, chubby little fingers reaching out at the end of her chubby little arms. Peter lifts her out of the baby carrier, handing her to you. You avoid his pointed look.

“Hi May!” You say instead, bouncing the baby in one arm, the other hand firmly in her tiny grasp. “Did you miss me?”

She blabbers.

“Sure did,” Peter says. “I don’t think she was the only one, either.”

“Aw,” you say in a teasing tone. “You miss me too, huh? You’re soft, old man.”

“”Course I missed you, kid.” He watches you with May, hands on his hips in an all too familiar stance. “But you know I don’t mean just me.”

You fall silent, your smile faltering into a slight frown. Peter doesn’t push the subject.

His watch beeps.

“Peter.”

You pause in your bouncing and mumbling baby talk to May when that voice pops out of Peter’s watch. Peter glances at you, lifting his watch to speak as he angles away from you, just slightly.

“Hey boss, what’s up?”

“You’re late.”

Peter slaps his forehead. “Right, right, got caught up. Be right there.”

Miguel doesn’t wait for a reply, and you hear the small sound of the connection ending.

“Shoot,” Peter says. “I uh, totally forgot there’s that monthly meeting—You’re coming, yeah?”

You pause again, and there it is. The warm eyes, the twist in your gut.

“I… um, I didn’t know it was today.”

Peter actually freezes this time, mouth open in the tiniest ‘o.’ “You didn’t…” he starts under his breath, like he’s speaking his surprise out loud without meaning to. “Oh, uh…” the awkwardness is still obvious in the way he forces a casual voice, the way he fumbles to put his hands back on his hips. “I’m sure that was a mistake. You should come along anyway.”

Before you can protest that ‘ No, I’m almost entirely sure this was an intentional exclusion,’ he’s turned and started marching away at a speed you almost find impressive, leaving you there with an open mouth and unvoiced arguments.

And you’re still holding May.

Damn it, Peter.

You close your mouth, and hurry after him before May can get the idea to leap from your arms and hurt herself by chasing her father unsupervised.

Peter stays about twenty feet ahead of you the whole chase to Miguel’s lab—and yes, you call it a chase because damn it, he keeps glancing back to make sure you’re still following him, and the two of you are drawing looks from the other Spider-People (and cat) as you speed-walk past them.

If the daggers from your glare at his fluffy pink bathrobe could physically manifest, Peter would be a dead man.

Peter disappears through an entryway, his bathrobe whipping around the corner like a cape.

“Peter.”

“Where’s Mayday?”

You’re so caught up in the chase you don’t have time to stop, only realizing that Peter had successfully lured you there when you’re spilling through the entrance.

Every head turns to look at you, and you stumble to a stop, your fixed glare on Peter replaced by a sheepish smile. “Uh, hey.”

Nobody seems surprised to see you, so you deduce they didn’t know you weren’t invited.

“She’s right here!” Peter says in answer to Jess’s question about May’s location, scooping her from your arms. “She wanted some time with our pal here.” He kisses the top of May’s head, and the baby giggles, unaware she’d been used as a pawn in his sick game of–

You feel a burning gaze on the side of your face, briefly wondering if your own glare had malfunctioned and started doing damage to you in place of its intended target of your new enemy Peter B. Parker. But when you look up, it’s familiar red-brown eyes that are locked on yours.

You’ve seen Miguel look stiff, but not like this. Not like someone had poured ice into the back of his suit, like he’d been caught by Medusa herself and remade into stone.

You feel just as frozen.

It’s Ben Reilly who breaks the spell. You don’t quite catch what he says, something about thinking you’d met a tragic demise he’d have to avenge and never recover from, another harrowing memory to add to his collection. But his voice directed at you breaks you from the cryo-freeze of Miguel’s own ambushed gaze, and you turn to greet him and Jess and the other members of the inner circle gathered in the lab.

You join them, the group gathering into a loose circle, realizing only when the attention shifts off of you and onto Miguel that you had grown tense under so many eyes. Still, part of you warms at how happy the group seemed to be at your arrival.

The meeting begins—a rundown of every new Spider-Person of note, all the major anomalous events over the past month: frequency, scale, the patterns, the damage.

Miguel avoids looking at you the entire time. His eyes don’t even flick over you, instead when he looks from one side of the group to the other, his gaze darts down, or up to the projected images, before landing on someone else.

And then, during the listing of major anomalies, Venture pops up. A headshot of the electrified cyborg hovers in the center of the group, his name, dimension, and other statistics listed beside him like an ID card. You’re familiar with these by now, things such as height, powers, who had brought them in. This card bears your name and dimensional ID number in that spot, despite the fact that Miguel had been the one to finally take him down and quite literally brought him through the portal, a fact that surprises you.

But not as much as the last stat, the one that lists this Venture’s dimensional ID alongside the name of his original Spider-Man.

Dimension: #209.

Original Spider-Man: Miguel O’Hara.

“Woah, wait,” Peter says, lifting a fuzzy pink arm to hold out his hand like a stop sign. “There’s another ‘ Spider-Man ’ Miguel?”

“...Yes.”

“Woah, I thought most of you were civilians.”

“Are we going to bring him in?”

“Of course, it’s policy right?”

“I don’t think I could handle two Miguels…”

You glance from the holo of Venture to look at Miguel right when he looks at you, the first time he’s done so since you first entered the room. He freezes, his lips slightly parted, and you see his breath catch in his chest.

Instead of ice this time, it’s… You don’t know what it is, and based on the look on his face he doesn’t either. But the glint of light in his eyes almost begins to look like regret.

Someone says his name, and when he looks away you can breathe again.

Peter, standing next to Miguel, is looking at you. You avoid looking back.

“Did you have a Venture?” Peter asks, letting May play with his fingers.

“I did. He was the first adversary I encountered after my… after I gained my powers.”

Every other Peter present bursts into a million questions, flying from every direction all at once and stopping only when Miguel lifts a hand.

“The Venture of this dimension is of no concern right now. Right now, we need to decide who is going to invite the Spider-Man of Earth-209 to join us.”

Discussion quickly turns practical. When it’s agreed that two people should go for double the convincing power and someone suggests your name as one of the two, he quickly shuts that down with a quick shake of his head, and an enigmatic “I have my reasons.”

You bristle, clenching your fists at your sides.

Eventually it’s decided that Jess will go with Peter, on the condition that he can take Mayday home first, and with the meeting concluded everyone begins to trickle out. Peter passes by you, patting a gentle hand on your shoulder as he does.

“I’m still so gonna kill you,” you whisper at him, no real bite in your voice.

He grins. “Oh, I bet.” He nods his head back towards Miguel. “But stick around a minute, before you do.”

You glance over at Miguel, who’s turned his back to most of the room and is doing something on a screen currently hidden from your view by his broad shoulders.

Peter pats your shoulder again, two pats in quick succession, and then he’s gone. The last of the Spider-People present are quickly filtering out behind him.

You hesitate, feet itching to carry you out with the group, but you stay. You try to tell yourself it’s because Peter asked you to, and not because you can see the tension in Miguel’s back and definitely not because you are quietly debating whether or not to try to help or to make it worse by snapping at him.

You opt for neither, waiting to see if he’ll acknowledge you. You know he knows you’re present, Lyla having said something quiet to him containing your name as the last remaining Spider-Man of the meeting had left.

He doesn’t.

So you leave, silently slipping out the door to portal home from a different part of HQ.

As a result you don’t hear him sigh, or see him finally turn to face you just after you’ve left, or the way his face falters when all he sees of you is the tail end of your feet stepping out the door.

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[peachy-panic]

‘ lay back down. ’ for Jaime

WARNINGS: heavily implied noncon, BBU “training,” punishment, maybe considered mouth whump?

Handler Smith drags him down the hallway by his hair. Frantic apologies spill from Jaime, along with tears that blur the other handlers and trainees—prisoners—passing by. None of them spare a look his way. Here, everyone is contained in their own special hell with no room for anyone’s suffering but their own.

They come to a stop outside one of the specialty rooms at the end of the block. Panic floods his system. “No,” Jaime cries, pulling against the hold despite the sharp sting in his scalp. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Handler Smith yanks him forward and Jaime crumbles to his knees, the fear and adrenaline and hunger turning his limbs to jelly. The moment the door scans open, he is tossed inside, barely saving his face from a collision with the concrete floor.

“On the table.” The hand is in his hair again before he can recover his balance, forcing him along. Jaime begs the entire way, desperate to apparel to some sliver of humanity he knows doesn’t exist.

“Please. I’ll do it. I’ll do it, I’m sorry.”

“Get on the fucking table.” His back slams against cold steel. Jaime can’t help but kick out when he hears the jingle of metal. He’s been on this table, at the mercy of these restraints, enough times to know that nothing good ever happens in this room.

His resistance is beyond futile. In the end, Jaime knows it will only anger him further, and his muscles are the weakest they have ever been, but terror is at the helm now and fighting like a drowning man. When Handler Smith gathers his wrists in one hand and pushes them to the head of the table, Jaime lurches upward, throwing all of weight into escape. He manages to pull one arm free, but before he can maneuver away, a hand around his throat flattens him back down.

“Lay back down,” Smith growls, inches from his face. Stars dance in Jaime’s vision as the fingers close in, tighter and tighter. His vision goes spotty, then black, for just a second. But it’s just enough to get the drop on him. When he can draw a full breath again, his hands are already cuffed above his head.

Jaime submits to crying quietly as his ankles are secured at both corners. He follows the heavy thud of the Handler’s boots across the room to a large double-door cabinet, his stomach pooling with cold, liquid dread. He can’t make out what he’s holding from this angle.

“Please,” he tries one more time in earnest, his voice barely a whisper.

Handler Smith grabs him by the jaw, forcing Jaime’s eyes to his. “Too late for that, kiddo.”

He brings it into view then: a bottle of liquid dish soap. Jaime screams behind sealed lips, jerking his head from side to side. Fingers bite into the hollows of his cheeks until his lips crack apart, and it’s all the opening Handler Smith needs to shove the tip of the bottle between his teeth and squeeze.

The bitterness is sharper than he could have prepared for, overwhelming his senses on impact. He chokes and sputters, trying to keep the soap from trickling down his throat, but Smith keeps one hand on his jaw, holding him down.

The pour goes on forever, although it’s only just enough to coat the top of his tongue. The second he’s released, Jaime turns his head, trying to expel the already foaming liquid from his mouth, but Handler Smith is faster. Jaime doesn’t even see the gag coming, only feels it when it’s forced between his teeth.

He wants to fight this, too, but all his efforts are focused now on not choking.

“Don’t worry; it’s non-toxic,” Handler Smith says, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. “Maybe you’ll have an easier time swallowing this.”

Jaime barely feels the tears tracking down his temples as he watches his Handler retreat from the room, the door sealing shut behind him.

The hour spent on this table will feel like an eternity. The official mark in his file will be recorded as a punishment for offensive language toward a Handler, but he will know better.

[prismsoup]

OH also i saw in a sketch two other iterators that are in the same local group as TLSPTS, i think it was Structuration of structures and Fractures amongst others?

What do they do in the story (if they have an impact)? I assume they don't like Spears that much x] grumpy robot

Ooh yes ! I haven't drawn these two in a while

Structuration of Structures is also a First Mass Construction Wave ( gen 1) iterator, their construction was finalized a bit before spears' own (probably the equivalent of months or a year or two before his own construction was finalized). It shouldn't be that important since their age difference is negligible but it's often a point of conflict they bring up because Structuration "technically" is his senior (in the sense of being older) (they refer to their actual group senior as Administrator) and they do love to remind spears of that whenever they're in the middle of a debate.

Speaking of debates, these two do that quite often. Their respective Houses don't exactly get along but it's reflected quite more through them, especially since spears' aggressive behavior was something that was heavily encouraged by his Creators. Beyond yelling about how their theories and works and ideas are better, as the two oldest members of their group (after Fracture Amongst Others), they're also constantly bickering about who should be the actual Administrator of the group. If they could, they'd get each other dismantled.

Fracture Amongst Others is the group Administrator, she's the oldest of the bunch since she's a model from the Prototype era (gen 0). She still struggles with handling the more recent communication systems so Structuration helps her with that (and does try to use that as a point for them to be made the new Administrator, or at least take the role "unofficially"). She doesn't really like conflict so she tends to simply avoid it until it's way too urgent or problematic. If you need a general vibe, just think "facebook grandma" I guess. She would send these over-edited sparkling gifs with "BLESSED MONDAY" or "GOOD MORNING" written in fancy fonts in chats if she wasnt too busy with- whatever it is she's doing, no one really knows, she's generally not very active in the comm lines of her group. She's kind, but simply not very helpful as she seems clueless about anything that's happening most of the time. She doesn't dislike Structuration or spears, but they do give her the equivalent of headaches quite often.

There are other group members but I just- never really got the time to ever create them I guess ? Besides one other guy, Calls from the Past, who tried to run simulations within simulations to find out what happened to Sliver of Straw and got trapped in them, only to emerge thinking they were SOS but stuck in someone else's body.

here's a doodle of FAO btw

she has that permanent TBH stare it's not visible here but her puppet has a bulkier build because it's basically a metallic shell full of organic components a proper fully organic puppet (or one that has a better harmony between both organic and mechanical components, and isnt just basically meat stuffed in a can) probably wasnt exactly easy or viable yet at the time of her construction

[forgetmenautical]

Iterator ideas for a rain world x stray crossover!

Text under cut!

1. Instead of using their superstructures processing power to ponder solutions to the great question, Iterators now border the edges and fill the underbelly of the dome. Each one of them is individually in charge of regulating things like electricity and water in their designated area.

2. In order to check the waters chemical levels, it’s drawn directly to the iterators inner chambers for closer assessment before being re-filtered (if necessary) and moved back into piping towards their designated area.

3. Iterators can only filter water up to a certain point. if they don’t draw out enough water, their systems will slowly begin to shut down until they are completely inoperable and need reactivation. With humans now out of the picture, and there being no existing robots who can access their respective gates to fix them, being completely shut down now means death.

4. In a very rare and extremely lethal glitch, an iterators structures can have a higher water intake than intended—eventually resulting in rupture and flooding the general area. This most usually happens to older iterators, and a common aftereffect is the water in the area becoming toxic.

5. While the structure as a whole was being divided into each iterators sector, construction errors were still made, and thus there ended up being a handful of sectors that were too large for a single iterator to handle.

6. This resulted in areas where two iterators had been built in far closer proximity than regulations would normally allow, along with both of their structures being used to regulate the same water source.

7. Both iterators in their area must work together to distribute the water, and often end in arguments and shortages of power throughout their sector.

8. Almost all robots living in the cities don’t know the iterators are there, as their existence only benefitted humans, which mostly kept it to themselves as it was irrelevant information for them.

9. The few who do know they exist cannot open the iterator gates, which allow access into the iterators inner structure.

10. There was a brief effort by an iterator (sliver of straw) who wanted to be permanently disconnected from their structure to be free alongside the robots in the city. They managed to compel a human, and diverted a some of their resources into giving the human all that they needed to create an organism small enough to go into the iterators chambers undetected and disconnect them from the grid.

11. While this succeeded, the organism that was created, now called Zurks, quickly became rampant and its population had an unstable explosion in growth. They fed off of flesh, and resulted in the humans extinction in the dome. No other iterators know where the zurks came from, or how sliver of straw escaped.

and here’s all the stamps I used for the drawing as a treat!