#at least until my next big project drops

[yolowritter]

My return to ACOLL posting!

Hello there everyone, and welcome back to...well, it says so on the tin! For those unaware, I've been off Tumblr for a little while now, mostly to focus on writing and updating my biggest Miraculous fic to date! A Case of Ladybug Luck! Now, now, I know what you're gonna say. "I have no idea what you're talking about", so allow me to enlighten you! Have you ever wanted a fake death AU inspired by Nine Lives and Cut My Life to Pieces? Welp you've got it here! And yes I am shamelessly self-promoting instead of ranting, but I genuinely love how this AU is turning out and want to share with everybody! So...do you guys like angst? Becuse I do! And I like character drama too! So please, follow me to the fic where Marinette f*cking dies (allegedly), Adrien is a bigger furry than half of canon, Chloe gets a more realistic character arc, Lila is a psychopath, and everybody needs a therapist!

It is...uh, worth mentioning that this AU is...over 283,000 words long and...we're only half done. And yes, the reason I'm posting is because I want to rant about it! Expect snippets, discussions (anon asks are open btw) and also ranting about characters! Seriously the amount of psychoanalisis Gabriel has been through in this fic is downright criminal. For me. Because I have research to do! Listen the point is that I have twenty seven pages of character analysis notes in my drafts and those have to go *somewhere!*

In conclusion, I plan to rant about this AU. A lot. So if you could do me a favor and check it out at least to see if it's your cup of tea, I'd be really happy! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go and frantically look for my most recent notes on Eminath! For- unrelated reasons! I'll see you all soon, but until then, Stay Miraculous!

[roosterforme]

Go Big or Go Home | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Once your husband gets going, it's hard to reel him in again. Now that you've told everyone that you're pregnant, you realize he's always going to go a little over the top for you and the baby. But you let him get away with it, because nothing feels quite as important as the love he has for you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight angst, pregnancy topics

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

You sat in a lounge chair on your back patio, sipping some Gatorade in your oversized sunglasses and watching your sweaty husband doing yard work. He started out an hour ago with a shirt on, but he discarded that in favor of showing off his glistening torso for your entertainment. At least that's what you told yourself. 

"Roo! Come take a break!"

Bradley turned and looked at you as he wiped his brow with his forearm. "Sweetheart. No breaks. I want to get as much done as I can around here now so you don't have to worry about it later."

You sighed. He was going to wear himself out with projects leading up to his deployment. You loved that he wanted to leave you without a dripping faucet in the kitchen and without weeds in the backyard, but sending him off away in a few days if he wasn't well rested was going to spell disaster.

"If I need something done while you're away, I'll call Jake or Cam."

Bradley scoffed but dropped the rake he was using and headed your way in his low slung jeans. "I can't let another man do my yard work. That absolutely goes against guy code." He started to lean down for a kiss, and he smelled so good, you moaned before he even touched you. "Hey now," he said with a smirk, pausing a few inches from your lips. "I have an idea."

"Tell me," you whined.

His smirk grew. "Something that might successfully lure me away from my projects?"

"Yes, we can fuck," you told him immediately, but instead of kissing your lips, he chuckled and dropped to his knees next to your lounger and ran his nose along your shirt. 

"Hold that thought, because we will be doing that later." He nudged the shirt fabric up until his lips met the bare skin of your belly, kissing his new favorite spot on your body. "Hey, little Nugget," he whispered, and your heart melted as you ran your fingers through his sweaty hair. "Think Mommy will go for our scheme?"

You laughed. "You're scheming with the baby? Already?"

"Oh yeah," he told you with a serious nod. "Here's what we're gonna do."

"This should be good," you muttered as he kissed you one more time before pulling your shirt back down.

"How about instead of chores, we spend the rest of the day shopping for baby stuff?"

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. You were just barely into your second trimester, and it felt early to be buying too many things at this point, but the eager look on Bradley's face had you agreeing. "I'll let you pick out one thing."

His eyes lit up, and you should have known what was coming. "Let's make it five things."

"Bradley," you groaned, and he started kissing your lips in earnest until you giggled. "Fine! Three things! Final offer!"

"Sold."

-----------------------------

"I love this store," Bradley said as he held your hand and walked around the enormous baby depot.

"You've only been here one time!" you reminded him. "And we were shopping for a gift for someone else's baby."

He recalled that day perfectly. It was when you and he both admitted you wanted kids, and he hadn't stopped thinking about expanding his family with you since then. "I still love it," he said, pulling you toward the baby clothes. He desperately wanted to buy his child their first outfit, but he didn't know what would be suitable. Something told him he'd know what he wanted when he saw it.

The main issue he was having��right now was your libido. He'd skipped a shower in favor of coming right here, and somehow you seemed even worse than usual. Even more wound up. "You smell so good," you whispered, pressing yourself against him as soon as he stopped to look around. Even as he throbbed for you, he told himself he needed to stay on task.

"Baby Girl, I will let you do anything you want to me," he swore, and your eyes glittered. "Later. After I pick out my three things for the Nugget."

"Well, hurry up," you whispered, running your fingers low on his abs while he looked at some onesies. "I'm horny."

He kissed the top of your head and guided you along. "I know you are. I won't leave you hanging." And he wouldn't. He'd be gone soon, sent away to some undisclosed location for some undisclosed amount of time where he'd have no access to you or the Nugget. He'd give you everything you wanted and needed right now, but this little shopping trip was something for him. He needed this. There was always the fear in the back of his mind that he might not return. 

"These are cute sunglasses," you mused, still running one hand along his body. "Little aviators."

Bradley felt like his insides were going to melt as you held up the tiniest pair of sunglasses he'd ever seen in his life. "Holy shit," he muttered when you handed them to him. "These are fucking adorable, Sweetheart. Good find. Our baby is going to look so damn cool."

"What did I tell you about swearing so much?" you said as you rubbed your face on his shirt. Bradley knew you were a ticking time bomb at the moment. He needed to make his selections and get you out before you started to whine for him.

"I'll fucking behave," he replied, making you laugh. And that was when he saw it. The perfect onesie. His child needed to have it. He made a beeline toward the shelf and snatched it up as you followed behind him.

"That's cute!" you said, running your fingers along the airplane and the clouds that spelled out Aim for the Sky. The clothing sizes went by months, which was very confusing to him. Surely the baby wouldn't be growing that fast? Needing new clothing every few weeks?

"Just to be sure," he muttered, grabbing the onesie in several sizes. "Okay, that's item number one of three."

"Technically that looks like four items to me, Bradley. Why are you getting so many onesies?"

"In case the Nugget grows at super speeds. I'm going to want to take a million photos of this outfit."

When he gave you his saddest eyes, you groaned and said, "Fine. Nugget's first outfit has been acquired. Pick two more items, and we can go home and get in bed."

With a grin, he started to lead you around the store. He wanted to get the baby a toy, but he wasn't sure which would be the best. Jake had been telling him about everything he wanted to buy for Jeremiah, and some of it sounded fun, but once again, he wanted the Nugget to have something unique. One of a kind. Only the best shit for his kid.

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed, thrusting the onesies and aviators into your hands and running to the end of the aisle. "That's it!" He was hitting the enormous box with his palm over and over again. "Look at this! It's perfect!"

"Roo, it's five hundred bucks, and the baby won't even be able to use it for a few years," you warned, but it was too late. He was already sliding the box from the shelf and carrying it to the front of the store. "Bradley!"

"It's one of my three items! Now help guide me. This thing is massive."

With great joy, he paid for the orange Bronco Power Wheels and carried the box out to his full sized blue Bronco and fit it in the back while you held the bag containing the onesies and sunglasses. "I am so afraid to ask what your third item is going to be," you said as he struggled to make the box fit. But he had an idea. He'd had an idea for ages. It was part of the reason he had been trying to clean up the backyard a little bit more and even out the soil next to the shed.

When he closed the tailgate, he kissed your forehead gently. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said calmly as he buckled you in the passenger seat and leaned down to kiss your belly. "The Nugget and I know exactly what to get."

You rolled your eyes and then asked what he was scheming up now. You asked the entire way home what he was going to buy, and he was only able to finally distract you once he had his clothes off in the bedroom. "Don't worry about it, Baby Girl. Worry about the fact that you won't be able to walk straight in half an hour."

----------------------------

Bradley never told you what else he was going to buy, but later that night, you had the suspicion that it had already been purchased. You spent the evening with him out in the garage, sitting on his bench press and eating a bag of pretzels while he put the Power Wheels together on a tarp on the floor. 

"Can't leave the baby out," he muttered as he screwed the doors on. "Now we all have our own Bronco."

He looked adorable, his hair messy from how you'd had your fingers tangled in it, and the eager look on his face was something you'd desperately miss when he was gone. "The box says ages three to seven," you reminded him before you bit into a pretzel, but he just grunted in response. "And what if the Nugget doesn't like Broncos?" you asked just to tease him, earning a glare in response.

"The baby will have impeccable taste," he muttered, turning the page in the instruction booklet. "Broncos and hot sauce and airplanes."

You waited a few seconds until he looked very distracted, and then you softly asked, "What's the third thing you bought?"

He hummed as he located the set of screws he would need for the hood. "You'll see soon enough. It's being delivered tomorrow."

Tomorrow was Monday. He was leaving on Wednesday. "It's not something big that will need to be assembled like the Power Wheels, right?" He had the guiltiest expression on his face as he turned to look up at you. "Right?" you repeated. "Bradley!"

You got your answer the following morning when you were squeezing into your new uniform pants which were a size larger than your old ones. You were dreading the thought of having to start wearing a maternity uniform to work and went with new pants to buy yourself some time. You froze with your zipper halfway pulled up and called out to Bradley in the kitchen. "What's that sound?"

"Uh... it's the third thing for the Nugget being delivered," he replied, and you immediately headed for your front door and the repetitive beeping sound coming from outside. "Don't freak out," he said as he came up behind you as you wrenched the front door open. 

Bradley had already seemingly moved both Broncos to the street in anticipation of the forklift that was moving wooden pallets wrapped up in plastic onto the driveway. "Do I even want to know?" you whispered as the forklift backed up to scoop another pallet off of the truck that was parked in the middle of your street. 

He wrapped his arms around you from behind and let his hands rest on your bloated belly while he nuzzled your ear. "It's a thirty-seven piece jungle gym playset for the backyard."

"A thirty-seven piece...."

"The Nugget and I both really wanted it."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as your dog plopped down next to your feet, and the three of you watched the forklift make several more trips up the driveway. "Don't you dare try to buy anything else right now. Do you understand me?"

---------------------------

Nothing says 'Bradley's child' quite like baby's first Bronco. And he's so precious, he's already built the thing. He's been daydreaming about the playset for long enough that it was bound to happen, too. Let's send him on this deployment and get him back home to his wifey and his Nugget. Stay tuned for more! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[r1nstaaa]

Mingyu x fem!reader

MDNI!!! this ones for u, maya <3

warnings: uh idk sex? raw sex yes. angst if u squint. smut mostly. childhood bsfs to lovers. happy ending bc im too soft sorry. it's my first time writing smth like this pls be nice

should mingyu feel ashamed? ashamed for thinking about how good those tiny hands of yours would feel around his thick cock, pumping him and stroking him while you’re on your knees looking up at him through those oh so innocent eyes of yours? should he feel ashamed for not focusing on a word you’ve been saying for the past 15 minutes, his eyes being glued only to your chest and lips?

it started when you were in high school. you and mingyu had been inseparable, almost as if your souls were created from the same one. he lived next door to you and you would go to his place every time you wanted to do something together. your mom treated him like her own son and his mother had practically accepted you as family.  you could never have imagined a life without him. and frankly, you’re not even sure if you’d want to.

it wasn’t until the day that mingyu broke the news to you that you realised it was time to let go. it was time to let go of all the big warm hugs, or the ‘bear hugs’ as your mingyu liked to call them. it was time to let go of all the cheek kisses, all the lingering gazes that you were both too scared to act on. you wished you could have said it. you wished you were brave enough. but you weren’t. and neither was he. 

he was leaving for korea in a week and there was nothing for you to do except let go of him.

you wished you could have gone about your life casually after his leave, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t miss him everywhere. you missed him when you went to the restaurant where you bought him his favourite spicy ramen. you missed him at the park where he made you laugh so hard you almost choked on your soda. you missed the smile on his face every time you told him you hated him for making fun of you. the smile that made you wonder if the stars envied him for the way he could brighten up darkness so effortlessly.

it wasn’t until 6 years later that you finally caught a glimpse of him again. 

you were at the airport in korea. you’d managed to fulfill your dream of becoming an architect and had finally gotten a project outside of your country. you saw flashing cameras, paparazzi, and a huge crowd of people surrounding a 6’ something guy wearing a mask and some sweats. you never got the idea of surrounding people as if they’re some god. they’re just people too after all. 

you had managed to get through some of the crowd when you reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. you pat it several times just to make sure until you realised something. shit. it was missing.

it was right when the realisation hit you that you felt a tap on your shoulder. you turned around and were face to…chest? god, this man was freakishly tall. you looked up to meet his eyes with yours and it was as if the breath had been knocked out of your damn lungs.

mingyu.

it was YOUR mingyu. 

“y/n?” he questioned, almost to himself. he couldn’t believe it. it was you. there were so many thoughts trying to rush their way out of his heart into his mouth that they seemed to all get clogged up in his throat. your name was the only thing that felt right on his tongue.

“gyu?” you questioned back, the look of surprise on your face quite evident.

“you dropped your phone.” he said, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second. almost as if he was afraid you’d disappear the second you left his eyesight.

“i- oh yeah. thank you” you managed to sputter out as you took the phone from his hand. “what are you- what are you doing here?” you ask him. oh god. this was such a dumb question. what was he doing? you knew what he was doing. you stalked his account like a thousand times. you knew he was an idol.

he flashed a smile when he heard this question. the smile that you hadn’t seen in at least 6 years. it was almost as if it was reserved only for you. he was about to answer you when his bodyguards notified him about something that made his smile drop. 

“i’ll reach out to you later. i promise.” he said as his bodyguards seemed to rush him out of the airport. you were left there alone with your countless thoughts and overflowing emotions, unable to decipher which one was tugging at you more.  

and so, here you were, in your new and surprisingly well furnished flat, all thanks to your sister. you had changed into your tank top and shorts while emptying your bags and setting up your closet. your room was fairly clean by now, even though you were only about halfway done. you had never been a fan of messy surroundings anyways. 

right as you were about to put the last pile of your shorts into your closet, you heard your phone ring. 

“oh. an unknown number? at 9 pm? isn’t it a bit too late for that? or maybe it isn’t?” you thought to yourself. you figured the culture here at korea must be different. 

“hello?” you said, hoping for some sort of an explanation as to who it was.

“hi.” the voice on the other side greeted you. it was almost embarrassing how quick you were to realise who it was.

“mingyu… oh, hi. um, wow. hi.” your voice was shaking already. oh god. way to go, y/n.

“yes,  hello.” you could hear his honey laced laughter from the other side. it made your heart melt. “how have you been?”

“i- okay. first of all, how the hell did you get my number?” you asked, a hint of bewilderment in your voice.

“i had it memorised.” you could HEAR the love in his voice. this was so bad. you were doomed. 

you didn’t really have anything to say, nor did you trust your words at the moment. you were afraid if you said something now, everything else would spill out uncontrollably. 

“why didn’t you call earlier?” your voice was getting shaky. oh no. you knew this was a bad idea. “it’s been 6 years gyu. 6 fucking years.”

‘“i know, i know” mingyu cut you off before you could continue, your words shooting daggers at his heart. he’d always hated seeing you cry. but the pain was different when he was the one making you cry. “i’m so, so sorry. god, i have so much to make up for. please trust me when I tell you there hasn’t been a single day when you haven’t crossed my mind. i know 6 years isn’t nothing. ghosting you was a dick move. i- please. don’t cry. no. god, can i come over?” he asked, picking up on your silent sobs just as well as he did back then.

and just like he used to be back then, he was here at your doorstep to make you forget about everything that ever made you sad. except that this time, he was the one making you cry. he couldn’t ever forgive himself for this, but he could try to atone for his sins, as he’d like to call it.

you weren’t exactly crying anymore, since you’d always been pretty good at regaining your composure. but there was a certain emptiness in your heart, one that you knew only gyu could fill.

you were standing face to face, him panting slightly because of the 7 flights of stairs he’d just conquered. 

“hey.” you said. 

“hi.” he looked down at you. the longing in his eyes too evident for you to ignore.

“no security this time?” you questioned with a smile on your face.

“ah, no. that was airport security. kind of a formality.”

you nodded. “you’ve gotten so big. i can’t even hug you now.” you said while giving him a faint smile, referring to the dozens of fangirls he was surrounded by and not to mention, the security.

“oh bullshit.” he said as he pulled you into the tightest hug you could have ever imagined. his arms fully caging you in as if he never intended to let you go. and you wouldn’t admit it, but you never wanted him to either. 

“i missed you.” he whispered into your hair. “god, i missed you so much. i’m so sorry.” 

he spent 3 hours explaining why he couldn’t contact you and what he had been upto without you. after a while, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about anything besides the fact that one, he did not have a girlfriend. and two, he had changed a lot. appearance wise, that is. he wasn’t the mingyu who had left for korea anymore. he was taller, stronger and undeniably hotter. little did you know, mingyu had been thinking about the same things as you were. when did you get so fucking irresistible? i mean, sure he did have a thing for you back in high school. hell, he hasn’t even been able to get over it for the past 6 years, but seeing you like this, with barely anything on and a newfound confidence which you certainly did not have back then ignited something in him. he didn't know how long it would be until he finally gave in.

and so, here you were. facing him on your bed, talking about some degree of yours, when all he could focus on was the way you licked your lips before continuing, or the way your tits were almost fully out on display for him due to that sad excuse for a clothing item you were wearing. you noticed too. he wasn’t exactly being subtle. the way his knees were touching yours and the way he kept playing with his fingers was driving you insane.

“well, then yeah. here i am now, i guess.” you finished telling him about your life. you were almost completely caught up on each others’ stories now, or so you’d like to believe.

his stare hadn’t once left your lips. you hadn’t really noticed how close his face was to yours until you had finished talking.  “gyu” you questioned, your voice almost a whisper. the space between you could be easily closed with just a lean forward from either of you. it had come down to self control now. and lucky for you, mingyu barely had any when it came to you.

“can i?” he questioned, his lips almost on yours. almost. 

you responded by putting your lips on his, and his hands immediately snaked around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. his grip on you was so strong, it made you whimper against his lips. you didn’t bother pulling away to breathe, the action seeming a bit too unimportant at the moment. you had other things to do right now. “gyu..” you moaned out as his lips made their way down to your neck. “so sweet. so good. been thinking bout this for so long.” he whispered against your skin, punctuating each sentence with a kiss on different parts of your neck. his hands made their way up your top, making direct contact with your skin. the warmth radiating off of his hands made you melt under his touch. 

his hands came up to grasp the hook of your bra as his mouth worked wonders on your sensitive spot. “can i? please?” he asked before unclasping the hooks and discarding the small material of clothing into a small corner of your room. his hands snaked further up your body as he guided your top over your head. he had your tits right in his face now. “fuck… so pretty.  shit, all for me?” he asked as he latched onto your right nipple, sucking and licking at the sensitive bud while his hand worked wonders on the left one, pinching at it, making you squirm. “yes.. gyu please. need more. need you.” 

“patience baby. been wanting this for so long. gonna make it worth it.” he said as he took his shirt off. god, it was a sight to see. he was gorgeous. the toned abs, the huge biceps, and not to mention, that beautiful face, he was going to be the death of you. “like what you see?” he questioned teasingly, but your brain was too focused on the way his hands were squeezing your tits while he used his mouth to suck and nibble at your collarbones. he stopped all of it to grab your attention, and you whined at the loss of contact. “gonna need answers baby. be a good girl and use your words, hmm?” you moaned out a weak ‘yes’ as a response, but he accepted it out of mercy.

“lie down for me, pretty girl. on your back, thats it” he said as he helped you get off his lap and onto the mattress. his lips travelled all the way from your neck to your breasts, down to your tummy. he placed several wet, sloppy kisses all over your tummy, making sure to mark you as his on any part of your skin that was visible. your neck had already served its purpose as his canvas, his art on full display for any man who’d even dare to look at you. he wouldn’t admit it, but he was completely obsessed with the idea of making you his. god, he wanted you so bad. 

his hands found their way to the waistband of your shorts, which he tugged at as a way of asking for your permission yet again. you pulled them off yourself making him let out a groan at your compliance. he was facing your clothed cunt, the wet spot on it embarrassingly evident. he kissed it once, looking up to see your reaction. “does that feel good, love?” he asked as his hand made its way to your core, rubbing light circles on it through your underwear. he was such a tease. 

you couldn’t find it in yourself so speak, so you just nodded. this made him stop again. “please baby, i’m gonna need you to use your words, yeah? tell me how good i’m making you feel.” he said as he spat on that damp spot on your underwear, teasing you even further. “mingyu… feels so good.” you managed to moan out, earning a chuckle from him. “see, it wasn’t that hard baby.” 

he pulled your panties off, spreading your legs even further and getting down on his knees on the floor as he pulled you towards the edge of the bed. “such a pretty pussy. can’t wait to taste you baby.” 

his fingers danced against your clit, tapping slightly in an attempt to tease you. this made you let out a whine. “shh baby. i’m gonna take my time with you.” he said, as he tapped his fingers against your lips, signalling you to take them in. you wasted no time in sucking on his fingers and coating them with your saliva. “such a good girl.” 

his hands slid against your folds, the coldness of your saliva mixed with your slick making you shiver. he rubbed on your clit while his other hand was busy playing with your tits. he inserted one finger into your hole, making you gasp. 

“shit, you’re so fucking tight. need you wrapped around me.” you felt his tongue lapping against your cunt, the feeling sending you into overdrive. you had your hands in his air, tugging at it for some sort of control. “ah- gyu, please. fuck.” he groaned against your pussy, the vibrations reaching straight to your core. just as you felt your high approaching, he gave your clit one last kiss before pulling away. you felt tears well up in your eyes as you let out a whine at the loss of contact.

“aww baby. ‘m sorry. but if you’re gonna cum, it’ll be around my cock.” such a fucking tease.

he pulled his pants off, revealing his deliciously prominent bulge in his boxers. he was palming his cock while staring at your cunt. fuck. 

“shit baby. you’re so beautiful. you want me to fuck you?” he knew the answer. of course he did. he could see you how you clenched around the nothing at the sight of his cock being freed from his boxers. lord have mercy. “yes min. please fuck me.” you managed to choke out. that was all he needed.

he stood between your legs, teasing your entrance with his cock. he slowly rubbed against it, gathering your wetness before slipping it in. the stretch you felt made you moan out loud. the sound was music to his ears. once he was buried inside fully, he waited for you to let him know it was okay to move. 

“shit, you feel so good baby.” he groaned, holding back the urge to thrust hard into you and absolutely ruin you for anyone else. but he knew it was too soon. he wanted to savour this moment, feeling your warmth surrounding his cock. he leaned down to kiss you as he began to move steadily, swallowing up all the sounds you were making. “f-fuck gyu, feels so good” you whined against his lips. his hips rocked into you, building up a rhythm. each powerful stroke made your breath hitch, as your nails were busy creating their own masterpiece on his back. he was proud of it too. 

his hands were on your waist, gripping it tightly as he thrust into you. he was picking up his pace. he pressed down on your abdomen, making you gasp loudly. “you feel that baby? feel my cock against your tummy? does that feel good?” he asked, his voice hoarse and laced with ecstasy. “y-yes min. i’m close, fuck.” he knew from the way your pussy clenched around his cock that you were close. his rhythm was starting to falter as he approached his own high.

“where’d you want it baby? want me to come on your pussy? gonna look so pretty.” you nodded, barely registering his words. you were so close. “please.” was all you could let out. your breathless plea was enough to convince him. 

your eyes squeezed shut as you felt yourself come undone around his cock. a few more thrusts and he pulled out, spilling his seed all over your pussy. he collapsed onto you, placing feather light kisses all over your neck and collarbones.

“i’m never letting you go again, you know?”

“i know.”

“i love you, y/n.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 2

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You go through checkout in autopilot. You pay, not paying mind to the total, and a bag boy helps get the bags in your cart. You’re still trembling from the encounter at the bread shelf. You’re starting to think you imagined it. Can pregnancy hormones make you delusional? 

As you push your cart out to the lot, you feel a chafing against your thighs. Your panties are still askew. You slow as you near the car and peek around to fix them. A shiver rolls over you at the brush of fabric across your pelvis. 

What are you doing? You should march back in there and demand the surveillance footage. You should call the police and file a report. It’s not about them believing you, they’ll have to see it on the cameras, right? 

You’re kept from your moment of clarity by the buzz of your phone. Shoot. You answer as Jake’s name flashes over the screen.  

“Hey,” you wisp you as you keep hold of the cart, hovering just next to the trunk of the car, “did I forget to put something on the list?” 

“Checking in. Been there a while,” he says. You can hear him typing as he speaks. He’s always so busy, even when he’s at home. If he isn’t logged into work, he’s up to some coding of his own. You suppose he’s trying to get as much in before the baby comes. “So, you almost done?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you try not to let your voice quaver, “just packing up the bags now. How’d your meeting with Harold go?” 

“Usual. That big project we’ve been working at? Got scrapped. Starting over,” he scoffs. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jake,” you pout as you reach into your purse and fish out the car keys. You pop the trunk and angle the cart so it won’t roll away. “I think I might get that promotion though.” You lift a bag and puff out as you balance the cell between cheek and shoulder, dropping it in the trunk, “Terra’s leaving so...” 

“Babe, I told you to wait until I finished work,” he sniffs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t get anything too heavy. Jake, it’s fine.” 

“Mm, I feel like... like you don’t let me do enough,” he whines. 

Your lips slant. You won’t let the hormones loosen your tongue. He has every opportunity to help. He could do the shopping himself but he says he needs you to make sure he gets the right things. He could cook dinner but he burns everything. He could clean the dishes but he breaks at least one thing each time. 

“You can rub my back?” You suggest, “or my feet.” 

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees noncommittally. Right, he’ll only do that if he gets a bit of fun after. 

“Anyway, we’ll talk when I get there. I don’t want the ice cream to melt,” you lean on the cart and hold back a sigh, “love ya.” 

“Mm, huh, yeah, you too. Gareth’s calling.” 

He hangs up and leaves you listening to dead air. You drop your shoulders and shove the phone back in your purse. You shake your head and move around the basket to grab another bag. A pair of thick arms beat you to it and you step back as a man in a yellow polo smirks down at you. 

“What’s a lady like you doing all the heavy lifting for?” The man asks. 

His timbre hits you like a train off its tracks. Your pregnancy brain unfogs and you remember what you’d meant to do before the phone call. You feel the scene back in the store, the creep of his hand under your dress. That voice. It’s definitely him. 

You gape at him as he steps close, hugging a bag to his stomach, and you back away in horror. His hair is combed back on top, his sides shaved close, and his lip is trimmed with a thick mustache. Despite his clean shave, a shadow already darkens his jawline.

Your heart hammers wildly and your whole body tingles. He steps around the cart and places the bag in the trunk. You touch your stomach as you try to calm yourself.

“Get away from me,” you murmur. 

“I’m just being helpful, sweet cheeks. You should know, I’m not really the type to help an old lady cross the street or whatever shit,” he snorts and faces you. 

“Go,” you rasp hotly as your eyes tinge. “Get away!” 

“Now, don’t go shrieking like a banshee. I’m really not into the whole...” he makes a motion in front of his stomach, “baby thing, but you’re convincing me.” 

“I said--” 

“I’m not done,” he points at you, “so keep your ears open, sugar tits.” He gives a leer at your chest, “now those... that’s amazing. You gone up a cup size or were they always honkers?” 

“Ew, you--” you try to accuse him and he taps your lips, stunning you to silence. 

As he comes closer, his size is even more obvious. Everyone’s big compared to you, he’s probably about the same height as your fiance, but he seems broader. Maybe because he’s older? 

“I’m just being a good Samaritan,” he looms over you, “helping you get your shopping all away.” He grins down at you and brings up two fingers, giving them a sniff, “getting you off--” 

“You--” 

"...your feet," he finishes.

He’s quicker than you. Your voice dissolves as he has you by the neck in and instant, your keys and purse falling to the tarmac. Your top-heavy stature has you off-balance without much of a struggle and you barely keep your side from hitting the open edge of the trunk. He bends and scoops up your leg, pushing you to roll onto the groceries and land uncomfortably against the emergency kit. 

“Hey!” You cry out and he snaps the lid shut. He slaps it and gives a cackle loud enough for you can hear. You hold your stomach, terrified that you landed too hard on your side.

“I only came for milk, imagine that.” 

[starshideurfics]

Buzzed, Buzzing - part 2

part 1

Buzzed, Buzzing

JQ, you can’t go dropping TWO horny photoshoots on us in less than a week!

steddie, omegaverse, Buzzed part 2, mdni 🔞

Finally being with Eddie is a dream. At least for the week he’s in town, fully foregoing Steve’s guest room and its comfy mattress.

Instead, it’s a week of Eddie wrapped around Steve each night, skin touching skin, bodies sated in a bone-deep way Steve’s never felt before.

A week of waking up to Eddie’s lips on his neck, to whispers of, “Morning, Puppy,” and sleepy yawns, arms tugging him closer and closer.

A week of Robin saying, “I’m happy for you, truly, but could you try going five minutes without swapping spit?!” only for Eddie to look her dead in the eye and lick whatever part of Steve is closest to his mouth.

A week of Steve floating on a cloud of affection and hormones.

Then Eddie has to leave, head to Chicago and buckle down for long days filming.

Steve mopes their whole last morning, sneaking shirts out of Eddie’s suitcase until the alpha relents and dumps out his dirty laundry. “Put ‘em all in your nest, I can get new shirts.”

Steve purrs, gathers the shirts, and herds Eddie back to his room for a last quickie before Eddie’s Uber arrives.

Being apart sucks. They videochat daily, text constantly, but Steve still misses Eddie every second he’s gone. So, he’s back where he started, mooning over pics on his phone, scenting at Eddie’s boxers as he works three fingers into his aching pussy.

He’s holding out, but Steve is counting down the days until shooting wraps, when Eddie would fly straight to Indy.

Steve’s on his lunch break, typing out a response to Eddie’s latest text as he shove pretzel thins and hummus in his mouth, when his phone starts buzzing.

Robin is calling, from the other end of the building. “Hey, Robbie, need me to get you a coke zero?” he asks instead of saying hello.

“Don’t tell me you got rid of your Munson-stalking web alert, because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you aren’t freaking out!”

He did, not really needing it when he has Eddie checking in with him at least hourly. “What? Robin, I’m texting with Eddie right now, what do you think I missed?”

“Just, look him up; your ADHD gremlin boyfriend probably forgot to mention it!”

Steve opens google, starts typing Eddie’s name and only gets as far as “ED” before autofill finishes it for him.

A new photoshoot and accompanying interview. Steve gets caught by a photo of Eddie eating a peach. It’s such a thirst trap, but it makes Steve smile.

Besides, there are other notes, but Steve’s scent has always been peach-forward. It might be a coincidence. Steve doesn’t think it is.

He reads the interview; about his current project, lots on the movie coming out next month that filmed a year ago, and his costars including a chill cat.

But right under the peach picture is a question about his personal life, how he stays grounded and connected when he’s constantly moving around for work. 

Eddie starts, as he always does, with Wayne, his friends, his charity work, the arts scholarship he funds.

“The truth is that it’s all for my partner. Like, I want to put good into the world, help kids like me who didn’t have the best start in life, but my focus is on being good enough for him, being the kind of person he can be proud of.” 

The journalist asks him to elaborate.

She writes about Eddie’s smile, the small one where he averts his gaze, emotions too big to share. “I dunno, just that he’s got me beat by a mile—he’s a teacher, middle school, you know, the worst time in a kid’s life. And he loves it!”

More words on Eddie’s laugh and kind eyes.

“So, yeah, the people I love, the people who love me, that’s how I keep my head on straight. That’s what it’s all about, right? Family, friends. Pack.”

Steve’s vision goes blurry on the last little paragraph. He wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls out his phone.

Just read the article! I’ve always been proud of you ❤️

Three little dots appear immediately to show Eddie’s typing, but they disappear and instead Steve’s phone buzzes with a call.

“I forgot that was coming out today! I should have warned you!”

Steve grins. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but thank you. And it wasn’t too much? I’m trying to keep my private life private, but if I can’t talk to you, I wanna talk about you. All the time. Because I fucking miss you, Puppy.”

“It’s okay,” Steve reiterates. “I miss you, too. So much. Wish you were here.”

The whine he lets out makes Eddie chuckle, low and dark. “Wish I had you here, could show you how much I miss you. At least you’ve got some new visual aides, but maybe tonight, when I call you could show me… Get your fingers wet for me.”

Steve lets out another breathy whine. “Yeah, want that.” He presses his legs together, tries to tamp down the feelings of desire before he gets too wet at work. “Miss your fingers, though.”

“Good,” Eddie husks. Steve can hear him lick his lips, so he knows Eddie’s nervous. “And it was supposed to be a surprise. But I’ve got the weekend off. My flight gets in at 9 on Friday night.”

Now expanded into a full fic! Read here

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 3

summary: a big project is announced in class, meaning you and miles need to get your shit together. and other stuff.

wc: ~2k (I know.)

warnings: very briefly implied neglect...?

A/N: I struggled a lot w this one but I kinda got my flow back at the end! enjoy :)

prev. miles' pov snippet next

By now, there were three things that you had never seen Miles Morales do:

Work with a partner, say ‘hello’ first, and eat lunch in the cafeteria.

The first thing was about to change in the next forty-five minutes or so. 

The third, you’d soon figure out as you crept quietly up the staircase that led to the rooftop. You had planned to convince the boy to actually cooperate with you in Calculus, offering to do his English homework in exchange. 

As soon as you reach the top of the stairwell, though, all thoughts of negotiation leave you. Your eyes land on Miles’ heaving figure, and you realize that there's a fourth thing you’d never seen him do: cry.

The only sound that could be heard was the whistling of wind and the small, whimpering sounds that it carried with it. He didn’t seem to have a bag or tray of food with him. It unnerved you to try to imagine what could make a boy that tall shrivel up like that.

You didn’t say anything (what could you say?), slowly stepping back down the stairwell.  While your back was turned, Miles peeked through his elbows and caught a glimpse of your retreating sneakers. He didn’t come downstairs until the bell rang.

You sat down at your not-by-the-window seat. Miles had arrived earlier than you as usual, but his head was down, seemingly asleep. 

The case holding his glasses sat unopened. As usual.

“Today, you all will begin to brainstorm for your partnered projects,” Ms. Jones beamed, clapping her hands together.

Miles’ head suddenly perked up. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost, while you chewed on your pencil’s eraser absentmindedly. There was no way Jones was about to pair you up with a temporary partner–

“...and I’ve switched some of the pairings to account for those who are unable to join us this week.” The woman made direct eye contact with you as she finished the sentence, and your stomach dropped.

 “Everyone will be partnered with the scholar sitting next to them.”

Small cheers and celebratory squeals erupted across the classroom. You look at Miles, who still has rings of red around his puffy eyes. He glances at you before turning away to fake-stare out of the window. 

Jones continues, “Your AP Physics teacher and I have decided to combine our projects into one prompt, meaning that the instructions are two-fold. In Physics, as you already know, you will be writing a lab report based on the experiments y’all have been doing all of last week. In my class, you’ll also come up with three short calculus problems based on real-life scenarios--”

The woman paused at the wave of groans and sighs, and shook her head.

 “--based on what you have learned, both here and in Physics. You will present at least one of them in class for your own mini-lessons. Any questions?”

The classroom was silent as she quickly scanned the room,

“Well, alright, then! I need someone to pass around these brainstorming sheets.”

Miles had a frown on his face for the entirety of Ms. Jones’ spiel, arms crossed like a toddler. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t currently in the same boat.

Two sheets of paper landed on your desk, and you passed one to him.

“Any ideas, Morales?” 

“Not in an ‘ideas’ mood at the moment,” the boy muttered, massaging his temples.

You rest your chin on the backs of your hands and sigh.

“Fair enough.”

Another awkward silence. You began to jot down a few topics for math problems: projectiles, the speed of a vehicle, but your pen eventually slowed to a stop out of boredom. Had your friend been here, she would’ve filled the silence with lively conversation about the news, P.E., or Ms. Jones’ outfit. 

“Why don't you like working with people?” you ask, suddenly. Miles cut his eyes at you.

“ ‘Cuz of questions like that.”

“What if I’m just tryna make conversation?”

“About what?”

“Well, whatever’s on your mind,” you gesture towards the open spiral notebook next to him full of sketches. He hasn’t added anything new to it all class. “Must be something happening up there.”

The boy’s eyes flickered toward the page. You’d already seen it, so there was no point in shutting the notebook closed.

“I don’t see what’s so interesting about these.”

You tilted your head to see the drawings better. Some of the figures leaping across the page looked vaguely familiar; some from action movies, others from anime, judging by the hair.

“I like your art style. It’s so…” you stare up at the ceiling, lips jutting out as you try to find the right word. “...Knife-y.”

The corners of Miles’ lips quiver, and an unusual sound suddenly escapes him. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and his shoulders shake as he briefly turns away.

“My fault,” he says, turning back around after clearing his throat. “You said it’s what?”

The sound of his stifled laughter makes you giggle despite being the subject of it.

“It’s sharp and pointy, okay? That’s what I meant.” 

At this point, both of you are struggling to keep a straight face at the back of the classroom.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Listen, I forget words a lot. Gimme a break!”

Miles wipes a tear away, “Yeah, I ain’t never letting you forget that one.”

“Okay, back to the drawings, though. Who’s that?” you pointed at a sketch of the caped figure with sharp eyes from before. A shadow fell over the boy’s expression.

“Nobody important. Just sumn I made up.”

You hum in acknowledgement, drumming your fingers on the desk.

“One more question, then I’ll leave you alone. Why don’t you eat downstairs with everyone else?”

“It’s too loud down there, so I eat in the counselor’s office,” he answered.

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Now, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How’d you know I don’t eat downstairs?”

He knew the answer, of course. But he wanted to know if you’d lie.

You nibbled at your bottom lip, staring at the solid lines on your worksheet.

“I…may or may not have seen you. Upstairs.”

Miles nodded slowly, silently. As if he was considering something.

“You was looking for me?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to…interrupt,” you look up and meet the boy’s eyes. “Did you get to eat lunch, though?”

He gave you a weird look. “What’s that gotta do with you stalking me?”

Crossing your arms defensively, you shot back, “You were so damn worried about whether I ate, why can’t I return the favor?”

Miles’ eyes widened for a moment, before darting in the other direction. “I think you should go back to doing your work.”

Just as he finished his sentence, the school bell rang. Miles was already standing with his bag slung over his shoulder.

As you gather your stuff, you call out, “Wait! I need your email for this project, I forgot.”

“Right,” Miles ripped out a sheet of paper from his notebook, scribbling his email address on it before handing it to you. “I’ll share my slides with you when I’m done.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I thought you weren’t in an ‘ideas’ mood, today.”

The boy shrugged as he pulled the back door open with his free arm, stopping it with his foot. “I am now. We’re getting graded as a group.”

-

The two of you had decided to reconvene just outside the basketball court after the final bell of the day.

“You already decided to take over the slides, lemme at least present!”

“Nope. Not riskin’ it.”

You groaned, pacing around as Miles leaned on the chain link fence.

“I’m literally good at public speaking, what ‘risk’?”

“You,” Miles pointed, “are an entire letter grade below me in English. Why should I believe you?”

“I am on the mock trial team, bro.”

He raised a challenging eyebrow. “You any good at it, though?”

You scoffed, “Of course I am!”

“Prove it. Gimme a closing speech right now.”

A deep sigh left you, but you did happen to have a speech on-hand that you had won with last season. You moved to stand in front of Miles as if he were a jury member, and cleared your throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” you began, “in today’s trial, we have clearly laid out the facts of this case…”

By the time your speech was over, the court was empty and quiet. Miles nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his features. Your voice took on a sharp precision and clarity that he hadn’t gotten to hear in the couple days he’d known you.

“Shit, maybe that nigga is innocent,” he said beneath a laugh. “Alright.”

“You gonna let me present?” you perked up.

“Yeah, you convinced me. My bad,” the boy stuck out his hand.

You rolled your eyes, and shook it.

“Yeah, your bad.”

Suddenly, your hand flew over your mouth when you recalled something.

“Oh, shit, I gotta stay after and do my readings.”

“Stay…after?” Miles repeated. “There’s no office hours today.”

“I know,” you shrugged, “I just sorta hang out around here to do my homework till it gets too dark.”

The boy’s face was a picture of disbelief.

“Why don’t you just do it at home?”

“Too noisy. Can’t focus.”

Miles stared at the ground, looking deep in thought. He got off of the fence.

“Look, do you wanna study at mine? If your parents let you, I mean.”

“Don’t need to ask ‘em. Long as I’m home before midnight,” you replied.

Miles shook his head, but said nothing as he took out his phone and began to dial a number.

“Hello? Hi, mami. ¿Puedo estudiar con un compañero de clase?”

He paused for a second to wait for a reply.

“Sí, es la misma chica. M-hm. Love you, bye.”

“She said yes?”

Miles nodded, then gestured to get you to follow him. “Yup, ‘till ten.”

You hummed thoughtfully as the two of you began walking.

“I like your Spanish. It sounds better than Ms. Sanchez’s,” you remarked.

“ ‘My Spanish’?” Miles looked back at you briefly, eyes narrowed. “What does that even mean?”

“It just sounds nice.”

“You’re weird. Walk faster.”

-

“Can you even see without those?”

You pointed towards the brown case sitting on the small desk by Miles’ laptop as he typed away.

“I’ve seen enough,” he replied, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. The soft ‘thud’ of the case shutting reverberated across the quiet bedroom.

“I wouldn’t wear ‘em, if I was you. Fuck up your eyesight.”

“Too late,” you chirped. The case contained a pair of green, rectangular prescription glasses. The lenses were still clean from their utter lack of use. Of course, you couldn’t see a thing through them.

“Damn, you blind as fuck!”

This earned a snort from Miles. He paused his rapid typing and turned around to see you sprawled out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling through his glasses.

“Bro, do your homework,” he laughed. “Did you even start?”

You looked over at the small paperback novel laying by your head. 

“Maybe,” you said with a grunt, propping yourself up on your elbows. “How many chapters we got?”

“Just two.”

“Just?”

“I finished the book yesterday, you’ll be a’ight,” Miles said as he turned back to his laptop.

“Of course yo’ ass already finished the damn–Who’s point of view is this?” you asked, squinting at the paragraph you had left off on.

“Minerva’s, we in part two now.”

“Thanks.”

You sat in a comfortable silence for the next few hours, and you had read the assigned chapters before you knew it. The time on your phone read ‘9:01pm’ when you checked it. You heard Miles shut his laptop.

“A’ight, you gotta get up outta here. My ma said she gonna drop you off before work, that okay?”

“So soon?” you joked, sitting upright.

“Yeah, you need to dip. What if I had a girl over and she saw yo ass lying on my bed?”

“Alright, Mr. Bitches, I’m gone,” you hopped to your feet. “Lemme get my shoes first.”

Miles rose from his swivel chair and stretched.

“Damn right, I am.”

“Whatever you say, Morales.”

-

I don’t think I’ve ever written this many elipses and italics in my life. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoyed this longer-than-usual chapter. I’ll be uploading a bonus snippet that I cut out of this chapter this coming week, so look out for that ;)

thanks for reading!

Taglist:

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@asteria33

@kissmxcheek

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[fatuismooches]

I'M BITING MY HANDS I NEED MORE ZANDIK AT THE ACADEMY.

I love the little zandik at the academy, I love webttore, I love the grown-up dottore with gray hair and a little wrinkles. Ohh I can't😣😣

I NEED THEM ALL.

Cooked up some more Akademiya Dottore hcs for you anon...

Whenever he wore the Akademiya's hat with his uniform, you'd always steal it and he'd get mad, but eventually he gave up and let you hog it. It's probably a little big on you and as revenge, he'd make fun of you for looking dumb. Same with his clothes, for some reason you'd wear his Akademiya uniform to sleep sometimes? Zandik doesn't understand but every time he tries to pull it off of you, he's been unsuccessful, so he'll just let you be a strange little human since it seems to be working for your productivity... Centuries later he's learned to deal with a few shirts going missing and then you returning them after a while because they 'lost his scent.' (He wears the same outfit anyway, no big deal).

Thanks to you, there were quite a few times the professors actually listened to him. Other peers pretty much never vouch or stand up for him so it does make them think a bit when a student such as yourself does do it so vehemently. Zandik says you don't need to waste your time on it since he doesn't really care what they think, but he did manage to get a few more research opportunities thanks to you. In the beginning, he was pretty much clueless on how to express some sort of gratitude since he couldn't force out the words 'thank you' for the life of him. It was very funny for you to watch.

Group projects become so much better once the two of you get comfortable with each other. Both of you have been victims of doing all the work. You were quite excited to work with someone like him because you know of his intelligence and how he gets down to business. Meanwhile, Zandik was quite skeptical and annoyed to work with you in the beginning because he thought you were just another person who would end up leeching off him again.

However, he was surprisingly yet pleasantly proven wrong. He's especially impressed with your writing in the reports/essays, but he's never going to admit that. At least not now. The synergy between you two and your minds is something he doesn't know how to deal with at first, having dealt with so many of the opposite situations, but it's one of the biggest things that Zandik grows to be appreciative of.

When the semester is over, all students need to leave/clear the dorms until the next semester begins. Most return to wherever home is, but of course that's not something Zandik has, so most times he manages to rent out a place for a while. When you met him in the beginning he would just disappear to Archons knows where and then come back as if nothing happened next semester.

It takes a long time for him to tell you. When he does, he claims that he regrets it due to how often you show up to bother him, but in reality, he finds himself lonely without your company. As even more years go by, eventually he "invites" you to live with him. ("Invites" as in he never directly says it. Just drops subtle hints so you would ask him first instead). You're just happy to be able to cook for him more often (and 24/7 cuddles!!) (Just me trying to push my domestic Zandik and Reader agenda).

Just frequently being with each other but not needing to interact with the other. Both of you just do your own things in the peace of knowing the other's there.

Doesn't like when you ask others for help when he's literally right there. Please ask your genius scholar bf first. It doesn't matter what the problem is. Just ask him otherwise he'll get huffy and glare at you. No, you're not wasting his time by doing so. Rather, you're wasting both his and your time when you decide to go to other people first!

Coming home from expeditions. For some reason despite how tired you are, you want to feed stray kitties. It becomes a sort of tradition for you two.

This one was said a while ago, but I'll bring it back again (x, x, x) but you needing to wipe Zandik's hands because he keeps breaking pens and splattering ink everywhere. Whenever you see he gets a little too excited, you swipe the pen and start writing light-speed so he doesn't try to steal it from you for being 'too slow.'

[buckysdollsworld]

The Adventures of Bucky Barnes and Y/n Stark | Chapter two: Home not so sweet home | Bucky's Doll

Gifs, not mine!!!

Warnings: Kidnapping, medical tools (needle, drugs), curse word or two

Content: 18+ MDNI, adult topics, kidnapping

Pairings: Buckyxreader, Readerxkidnapper, Readerxex-boyfriend, BuckyxFemalereader

A/n: I'm having so much fun writing this series. Let me know how you like this series so far and any feedback or story requests are welcome also please go show this story love on my Wattpad

It had been hours since Rowan had taken you. Bucky and the others were in their hotel room the only one who seemed calm was Zemo of course Zemo was calm it was his idea to give me away in the first place. Little did everyone know I was with Rowan they had all thought you were still with Selby. It was silent in the room all that could be heard was the footsteps of Bucky pacing. Sam finally speaks up breaking the silence

"So what was your plan Zemo?" Bucky glared at Zemo as Sam spoke "More importantly how do you plan on us getting her back?" Sam finishes.

"Glad you finally asked you see next week Selby will be auctioning off her little pets along with others we will simply buy our friend Y/n back," Zemo says as if it's that simple.

"Or we can go back out there and save her ass from whatever bullshit they're going to do to her," Bucky growls.

"Your little girlfriend shall be fine soldier they won't hurt her at least not now they need her in the best shape for the auction" Zemo is so carefree it annoyed Bucky. Bucky grabs his leather jacket off the back of the couch and walks towards the door."Where are you going?" Sam asks as Bucky opens the door.

"To find my girlfriend." Bucky walks out closing the door behind him he walks down to the hotel lobby and out the doors. Bucky was determined to find you it's the only thing that matters to him now. He went to the parking lot hopped on his motorcycle and started driving back to the club.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Meanwhile, you were with Rowan he had locked you in your cell it was the place you had stayed when The Winter Soldier project was going on. He had left you there alone with your thoughts it had been hours, and all you could do was wait. All the horrors you used to endure came back to you the longer you stayed in that awful cell. A few moments later the door can be heard creaking open Rowan was back and ready for his fun to begin.

"Hi princess are you ready to play?" he asks coming to the cell door you are sitting on the cold concrete floor hugging your knees when he starts talking to you your attention goes up to him but you say nothing.

"Oh come on don't be that way I just want to help you," he says with an evil grin.

"Rowan why am I here?" you ask as your voice is strained from crying. He has a smug grin like he has big plans for you.

"We're just going to play a little game and if you're good you'll be rewarded and if you're bad..." Rowan pauses a moment "Well let's just say you won't like what will happen, so are you going to be good?" You look up at him and nod you know there is no escaping what is about to happen. You slowly began to stand up as Rowan gestured for you to come closer you were hesitant to get closer but did so taking your time. Rowan smirks as you reach the bars of the cell doors he is amused at whatever games he is playing at.

"Kneel" he demanded before opening the cell door. You looked at him before dropping to your knees you dropped your gaze to the ground.

"Such a good girl" he praises opening the door he brings one of his hands to trace your cheek tracing down to your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Rowan loved that scared look in your eyes he got off on your fear he had some plan for you and it wasn't good.

"Now you are going to behave and stay right here until I say otherwise," Rowan says with a serious expression. You nod and Rowan walks over to a table with various things that are too far to make out but close enough to know something there. Your eyes dart around the room trying to find an exit or something to help you escape. Rowan was too occupied with gathering things to notice You noticed he had left the upstairs door open now was your chance while he wasn't looking you carefully got up and took steps towards the stairs keeping your eyes on Rowan to ensure he was still busy. You slowly start up the stairs your attention now at the door and you feel a sense of hope maybe you could actually get out of here but right when you reach the door you hear Rowan's voice from behind you.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you yet" Rowan says as he quickly makes his way to you wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back. All hope disappeared from you, you knew exactly how things were going to end it felt like you were back in the past all over again. With one hand Rowan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe with some type of drug in it he sticks the needle into your skin in an instant everything starts to disappear and fade to black Rowan had sedated you.

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Bucky arrives back at the bar he was raging as he barged in heading straight back to Selby. Once he gets to the door to Selby's V.I.P. room he is stopped by her guards.

"Woah woah woah soldier not so fast," one of the guards says stopping Bucky from entering.

"I need to see Selby, now" Bucky growls he wasn't going to take no for an answer but the guards don't move.

"Selby isn't taking guests at the moment come back tomorrow" The guards hold their ground crossing their arms over their chest. Bucky is about to say something back but before he opens his mouth to speak Selby emerges from her room.

"It's okay boys let him in" she commands her guards to move when they move Bucky goes in immediately looking around for you.

"Where is she?" Bucky asks sternly

"Who?" Selby smirks she enjoyed with Bucky

"Don't play that fucking game with me, Selby. Where is Y/n?"

"Lighten up soldier she's fine she's in good hands" Selby reassures Bucky but something in her tone was deceiving. Bucky wasn't playing games especially when it came to you Bucky got closer to Selby reaching out to grab her by the collar.

"I swear if you hurt her" Bucky growls

"You'll what? You'll kill me? Please do but let me remind you your little girlfriend is in my care if anything happens to me my men will not hesitate to do the same to her" As soon as Selby says that he releases his grip from Selby and steps back.

"Since you are so desperate to get her back I may cut you a deal" Selby smirks "Bring me some super soldier serum and I'll give you the coordinates where Y/n is being kept" Bucky had a big choice to make he could either get the serum for Selby and save you or risk it all and do things himself. Bucky thought for a long moment before speaking up.

"Fine I'll do it" he wasn't happy about agreeing but he knew he had to save you.

"Great you have 48 hours to get it to me or deals off," Selby says. Bucky left getting back onto his bike and heading back to the hotel.

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Once back at the hotel, he barges in.

"Zemo how do we get super solder serum? I know you know where to get some" Bucky asks

"Ah so the soldier needs more serum," Zemo smirks with amusement

"Woah woah woah Bucky what are you talking about that shit is dangerous, why do you want it?" Sam buds in

"Look it's the only way to get Y/n back I will do anything it takes" Bucky pleads

"I understand but what happens when something goes wrong if the wrong person gets their hands on the serum all the work we did to fix this mess will be for nothing think about it Buck" Sam tries to reason with him. Bucky looks so defeated he is desperate to get you back. Sam puts a hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"We're going to get her back man just not like this" Sam tries reassuring him.

[miodiodavinci]

anyway as for the long and short of how i'm doing currently (mostly the long)

so two weeks ago i sprained my wrist at work lifting boxes, and it's been a slow recovery even with the help of a brace, stretches, rice buddies, and ice packs. i've had to basically put a lot of my hobbies on hold because i've been saving what little i can do with my wrist for all the job prep i need to do on the weekends (i.e. making flyers, updating spreadsheets, creating presentations, moving more boxes, etc...)

hobbies are even further on hold at this point because this last week i injured my shoulder as well, and i can feel that my ankle is getting ready to go with it. i'm doing what i can to minimize the damage (i.e. got a work cart, have had coworkers come with me to storage, actually sitting down and resting when i'm on break, etc...) but there's not a lot that can be done considering these are Core Aspects of my job and my contract goes until spring (and also like. whole complex situation where i can't leave without screwing over myself and a lot of people i care about)

it's a shit situation all around, but at the very least i'm getting paid a reasonable amount and it's covering my expenses jfgjksdhkfg

(though for all the work i do, god oh god i wish it was doing more than just covering my expenses)

having to take a break from my hobbies has put me in a weird headspace, though. or like it's less of a weird headspace and more that there's finally this pause that has me reevaluating what i want to do in my spare time

i've been consumed by work for the past like four years of my life, this last year was kind of the culmination of that. between completing my internship, finishing my degree, surviving The Horror (read: had a really, truly horrifying cancer scare last year), doing the yamaha collab, and taking care of the flurry of job-hunting stuff that needed to be done post-graduation, i don't know if i actually got a chance to so much as breathe until august

. . . . except in august i immediately collapsed and rotted the entire month away skjdfhgkhsdf

i'm burnt out, i think. like. genuinely, really severely burnt out. the more i think about it, the more i feel like i just need a year of doing nothing.

just. absolutely nothing.

which i've told myself in the past. several times. always in a big showy way. so much so that i feel silly saying it now because i've been saying it for years in the descriptions of my videos and in posts on my blog.

"i'm tired of being beholden to past me!! this year, i'm letting go of my expectations for myself and just doing what i want!!" (<< this user has said this at least 7 separate times and has failed to make good on it every single time)

but i think why i've never been able to follow through is because in spite of all the dropping projects that no longer interested me and not feeling obligated to see everything through, i still held on to the expectation that at the end of it, i'd still post something. but like.

i think posting doesn't really matter to me as much anymore??? if at all???

which isn't to say "i'm putting my foot down and never creating any new vocaloid work ever again," but it's also like. i can't let myself sit with the expectation of "yeah i'll just make things for fun!! and when they're done, i'll post them!!' because that changes the focus from making something for me into making something for others to see, which is. a different beast to care for skdjfgklhsdlfg

i keep seeing a lot of things where i have the opportunity to keep building on what rice and i were able to make as part of the yamaha collab: alternate box arts, matching galaco design, cool new english covers featuring bespoke cover art of the new designs but when i think of starting those, i feel utterly drained, and when i think of how i'll feel once they're finished, i imagine it'll be akin to "alright, i've checked that off the list. what's the next thing i should do not disappear and be a failure?"

. . . . . which is really, really separate from doing things as a hobby because they make me happy OTL

this past year i've really reconnected with my close friends (in part because i stopped having time to scroll online and didn't want anyone to know when i was online because i legitimately did not have the energy to respond) and i've noticed i really truly enjoy just batting around our ocs with each other so more than i've enjoyed any of the vocaloid work that i've put out in the past five years skjfghldkfg

i've been doing vocaloid things for over ten years now, and the collaboration with yamaha was quite literally something i couldn't have even dreamed of, much less imagined it would have just fallen into my lap the way it did. coming off the end of it and my internship though, there's this feeling that's been building for years now where it feels like the effort i put in is just not proportional to the satisfaction i get out of it. it feels more like something i'm supposed to do otherwise i'd just be squandering all the work i've put in and all the attention i've gotten.

. . . . . . i just want to live man 😂 i'm caught in a mental tangle that feels difficult to unravel. spring mio was at the end of his fucking rope, but fall mio is finally has the time to sit down with the slack and is wondering if it's worth it to keep pulling for all i'm worth when i can always just go over to my friend's house and have a funny little sleep over (metaphorical or literal both apply)

i'm not decided by any means but i'm definitely thinking about it.

it's the fact that it's been 2 years since i've released salvador, and i went into it thinking i'd be cool and professional about it, with lots of covers and frequent updates because i used to make lots of UTAU covers in high school, but then i got paralyzed by all the "shoulds" wrapped up in the process and i just. stopped working.

when i say i want to make X cover of Y song, am i really saying that i want to go out of my way to do all these things?? or am i just imagining what momentary satisfaction i'll feel to see another thumbnail on my channel??

...

(face in hands) this ended up being. a lot fucking longer than i meant for it to be jksdfhlkghsdkfg

hopefully most people have clicked away by this point w

it's the tear between the things i genuinely want (making things with friends that stay between us friends) the things i kind of want out of necessity (opening up commissions so i can supplement my income), the things i said i'd do and can't back out now on, and the things i told myself i would do but can't really must up plenty of positive emotions about (but can feel plenty of frightful, guilty emotions when i think of not doing them)

i'll figure it out eventually. even in the worst case scenario, i plan to keep my accounts up as archives, so it's not like my work will go anywhere w i'd still want it to be there once i decide i'm ready to come back to it w

[kurov1864]

Milgram idol au (pt.10)

009 Mikoto:

Mikoto's image was supposed to be like this cool, cold, casually affectionate and charismatic big brother. Sorta like the troubled artist type, the mysterious cute guy with earpieces on that you see everyday, that kind. But please, note the keyword, "was". You wanna guess what ruined it? That's right, it's everyone's favorite boy, Mikoto.

During debut he did try to act like that, I'll give him credit. Then as he got more and more comfortable on camera, his inner clown really started to show. So now people know him as the silly, goofy approachable childhood friend type, and Es sorta gave up on trying to force the other to act accordingly.

Still though, Mikoto sometimes reverts back to his debut era personality, which fans lovingly dub "John". At this point, they might as well be two separate idols given how widespread this idea is among the Milgram fanbase. Another popular concept is simply that of gap-moe.

One of the more fashionable male idols; sometimes the designers even allow him to pick out his own outfits. He read a lot of fashion magazines when he was in high school, trying to do the whole "glow up era" thing.

Following up on that point, he gets along well with Mahiru for that reason. Both of them are really interested in fashion and the general trends of society, and fans do appreciate when they can talk about their nails with him (aha projecting I wanna talk about my nails)

Uhh I lost track of the roles I gave out so he can be dancer + vocalist at the same time. Don't ask me why, I am NAWT going to research more dance/singing terms.

Used to have self-esteem issues starting out, which was why he originally stuck with the "John" personality in the beginning despite knowing he was nothing like him. It's simply easier acting cold and serious when he's on stage and doesn't need to say anything.

Ngl I can see him being very touchy/affectionate with other members, even with the hard-to-approach types like Kotoko and Amane. Whether it be an arm slung around their shoulders, linking hands to pull them towards something, a pat on their shoulder or even just pressing against them when sitting together, Mikoto is very physically affectionate. The other members reactions can vary, from annoyed, to indifferent, to delighted.

Posts a lot of random things. Sometimes they don't even make sense. It can be an aesthetic looking cake one day, then a chaotic and blurry photo of the other idols the next, then suddenly there would be a picture of a flattened grape against the concrete with no caption.

Would be one of the more active members on their social media account, posting at least 4 pictures and like 100 tweets everyday. Tweets, like photos, can range from supportive messages to fans, whiny complaints about his knees aching like an old man, and then "aaAaAaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaooOOooeeEeEeEeea" followed by dropping off the face of the Earth for the next 8 hours. Then he acts as if that never happened.

Loves to receive gifts at fansigns, like the little cute headbands or sunglasses. He always tries on every single one, literally will fight management to keep it until someone intervenes and reasons with him (It's Es. It's always Es. They are tired of his bs)

Poor boy can't lie for his life. It was so hard media training him, because he always does this thing where he shifts his eyes and scrunches his brows a little bit + lets out a nervous laugh.

[the-french-belphegor]

Every room in Scanlan’s mansion existed for a reason, as a conscious choice. He often changed the setup, and sometimes forgot to make a room, but a random chamber just popping up into existence for no reason was unheard of. (A few decades after Vecna, Kaylie comes across a room that doesn’t make sense in her father’s magical mansion.)

(Shout-out to @mythtaker, whose post last March about Scanlan probably keeping Vax's room in his Magnificent Mansion nudged my brain until I could finally do something with it 💜)

Still Life

Scanlan had changed addresses again since last time.

Kaylie let herself into the house after disarming the few traps he had told her about in his last letter. Just like he’d said, they were nothing fancy: just small precautions to avoid disgruntled former customers (or worse, the local competition) barging in unannounced.

The new house was small, but looked cosy, with high windows and whitewashed walls painted a light blue. The Marquesian sun flooded the coloured cement tiles of the study with a golden late afternoon sunlight. Her father, sitting with his feet on his desk and browsing through papers, didn’t appear to notice either the beautiful light or his unexpected visitor.

Kaylie shrugged off her backpack and let it drop to the floor. The thump made Scanlan look up; the next second, he hopped down from his chair and ran to her, smiling from ear to ear.

“Kaylie Shorthalt, apple of my eye, light of my days, vegan cream in my coffee –”

“Hey, Dad.” Tiredness kept Kaylie’s voice somewhat short, but the first thing she did after carefully putting down her violin case was give him a hug he happily returned. It had been a while since they’d seen each other. “How’s tricks?”

Even after all those years, the nugget of warmth curling in her chest when she met her father’s grin still caught her off-guard. She’d missed him, she could acknowledge that at least, but just how much she had still surprised her every time it hit her.

“Tricks are going swimmingly, thank you for asking. Did you get Juni’s letter?”

“I did, yeah, just before I left.”

“Oh, good. Well, it means Wax lost the bet, but she was worried.”

“Wait,” Kaylie asked with the start of a grin she couldn’t quite hold back, “which bet?”

Juniper and Wilhand’ildan Shorthalt, even after leaving home for places of higher learning, still made a point of staying in almost constant contact with each other, their big sister, their Grog, and their parents, by means of letters, second-hand messages, or Sending Stones. Their correspondence included a lot of teasing, bets, and dares, some of which bafflingly silly sometimes. It had dumbfounded both Kaylie and Scanlan somewhat until Pike and Grog had assured them that it wasn’t that unusual between siblings.

Scanlan waved a hand, drawing the suspense, of course.

“You know the kids. I think this time a… goat was involved? I’ll tell you all about it at dinner. In the meantime, shall I fire up the mansion? For old time’s sake?”

“‘Old times’, yeah. Sure.” Kaylie rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. It had barely been six months since the last time they’d treated themselves to a nice stay in the Magnificent Mansion. Okay, it felt longer, but still. “I could do with a day at the spa anyway after all this heat.”

“Then it’s settled. Give me a minute.”

Scanlan rummaged in his pocket for the components, closed his eyes, and started to hum a tune Kaylie recognised as one she’d been working on the last time they’d seen each other. As always, the air around him went shimmery and warm, citrus and coriander with a dash of purple, and the door winked into existence.

Gnome-sized, of course. And flamboyant and magnificent and ridiculous in an endearing way, just like him.

He opened it for her with a bow and a flourish.

“Ladies first.”

“Show-off,” snorted Kaylie, and walked in with her violin case, trusting Scanlan to bring her bag inside. Which he did, after a double take.

It was always easy to tell, from the look of the mansion, if Scanlan had spent time in Tal’Dorei recently. The layout was different, the ceiling a little lower, the hues a little softer. Some of Wax’s drawings he’d made while inside the mansion hung on the walls in frames; there were touches here and there in the decorations of Pike’s blues and Juni’s golds amongst the pinks and purples. In the foyer, a sheet of paper covered in awkward letters bigger than Kaylie’s whole hand held pride of place on a sideboard along with a plate of cookies. She immediately pilfered a couple on her way inside.

“Where’d you put my room this time?” she asked, rolling her head on her neck. Gods, it had been a long day. Make that a long week. Or a long fucking month, to be honest.

“Ground floor, west wing, couple of doors to the hot springs. I’ll make the servants get started on dinner. Give me a yell if you need anything?”

“Sure thing, thanks.”

Kaylie recognised her bedroom immediately: the door was open, welcoming her in. Scanlan had styled it the way she liked, cool and cosy but not stifling, light on the frills, with plenty of space to put her things away and all the tools she needed to take care of her violin.

The bed looked way too comfy. It was tempting to just faceplant in it and crash. But then, she reasoned, it would still be there after a long soak and a nice dinner.

She threw her bag over her shoulder, padded barefoot out of her room, and opened the second door to the left.

And paused, puzzled.

Every room in Scanlan’s mansion existed for a reason, as a conscious choice. He often changed the setup, and sometimes forgot to make a room, but a random chamber just popping up into existence for no reason was unheard of.

That… wasn’t the hot springs. It was a bedroom, by the look of it, but a bedroom that didn’t make sense.

“Hey, Scanlan?” Kaylie called out, frowning. “What’s this room for?”

She didn’t wait for an answer and stepped in slowly, taking in the dark furniture, the elegant carpet, the plants in large pots scattered across the room. The circular bed was unmade, like its owner had just stepped out. She ran her palm over the quilt, a light, fuzzy fabric meant to look like it was made from black feathers. Or maybe stylised leaves.

Something tugged at her memory.

“What room, Kay—”

The footsteps behind her came to such an abrupt stop Kaylie thought Scanlan had Dimension Doored away elsewhere. But when she looked over her shoulder, there he was, framed in the doorway like a painting and about as motionless.

He looked nothing less than stricken.

And that… was all the explanation she needed.

After the dust settled, after that last big fight, as she was recuperating in Whitestone in a bed too big for her –

(from her wounds, from dying, from coming back to life in her father’s arms with his tears in her hair and her blood on his chest)

– he had come back, bone-tired and too quiet, the smell of booze on him stronger than some of her best and worst benders, but alive. They had talked a bit about what she wanted to do, now that the world wasn’t ending any more. She had pulled him into a hug, the only way she’d found to say everything she’d wanted to say without having words pulled out of her mouth like teeth.

It was only when she had come back from a much-needed nightly stroll and found him passed out at the foot of his own bed that she had realised he hadn’t said a single word about how the fight had gone down except We won.

What they had lost – who – had come up later.

Kaylie didn’t have many clear memories of Vax’ildan. The other members of Vox Machina she’d mostly learned to know after they disbanded. With the exception of her father – and a memorable conversation with Vex’ahlia, still vivid despite the fog of alcohol (But there’s a chance we can bring him back, if you’re willing to help) – the shape they had in her mind was a product of time in a new world, one that no longer involved escaping from dragons or being kidnapped and brainwashed by an asshole god. Vax would forever belong to that former world. The only remnants she had of him were a vague silhouette in dark clothing, a sharp grin, a surprisingly soft voice.

And the taste of blood in her mouth.

The last and strongest memory Kaylie had of Vax was his scrunched up face, contorted by guilt with tear tracks on his cheeks, open hand thrust forwards as Gilmore whisked her and Cassandra de Rolo away to safety. To this day she still viciously hoped some of that guilt was for her, too.

After all, she was the one he’d killed.

And then he had died (or perhaps before and it just took a while to really take, she had never been clear on the timing), and in the process had somehow gained the power to crack Scanlan’s heart right open.

So maybe Kaylie had ambivalent feelings about the guy.

But she was also very aware that saying fuck ‘im would not help at all in this situation.

“Oh, Dad.” She shook her head, but purposely kept her voice gentle, filing down some of her sharp edges for once. “Still, huh?”

Shock rippled on his face at the sound of her voice. It made him look a little less like someone had just punched him in the stomach.

“…I meant a couple of doors on the right,” he said in a small voice.

He’d sounded worse before – hell, he’d looked worse before, she had once seen his lifeless body laid out on an altar after getting ripped apart by a dragon – but something still tugged at her heart at that.

“Yeah, well. The spa can wait. What’s up with that?” She stepped towards him, telegraphing her movements, like he was a horse who might bolt if spooked. “Why did you make that room? You know that’s… that’s not a good idea, right?”

“I didn’t make it make it,” Scanlan protested with a little more life. “I just… didn’t not make it.”

“Okay, but why now?”

Silence.

Kaylie stared at Scanlan.

“You mean you don’t make it on purpose? It just pops up every time?”

“No! …Yes. Kinda? Look, the mansion’s a complicated spell, okay? It’s not even proper bardic magic in the first place. I’ve been casting it for years and I’m still not a hundred percent sure how it works.”

His eyes stayed mostly on her, but every now and then they strayed to the left, to the coverings, the bed, the plants. However his body still seemed rooted to the spot, and Kaylie was suddenly struck by a flash of insight.

“Dad, did you – have you ever actually stepped foot in there? You know, since he died?”

Scanlan went very still.

(How the hell did he manage to fool anybody, Kaylie wondered as her heart sank in her chest. How good a liar did that make him, really, that she managed to see right through him every time?)

She shook her head again.

“You haven’t, have you. Decades of making this room without even thinking about it and you never… Godsdammit, Dad.”

“I can’t, Kaylie,” he said, barely audible. “It’s not… I wouldn’t…”

Scanlan Shorthalt at a loss for words was a unique phenomenon that could be two things: downright hilarious or powerfully awkward. A very rare third kind of outcome, the instances of which Kaylie could count on the fingers of one hand and a half, was snapping your heart clean in two. And for someone like her, who prided herself on always keeping that soft, vulnerable part of herself safe from all hurt… Well, it sucked. To put it mildly.

Kaylie sighed.

Then she took her father’s hand.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” she said gently, and pulled him into the room.

She didn’t have to tug very hard. Scanlan stumbled after her easily. The next moment he absent-mindedly straightened his vest and looked around at the room as though he was seeing it for the first time.

The room, not the contents. It was obvious, from the way his gaze lingered on this and that, how he snorted at the sight of an armchair pillow embroidered with two tiny figures inside a giant black dragon, or smiled at a painting that depicted a bunch of cows and a giant bird, of all things, that the objects that populated the space were familiar, or at least brought up memories.

Kaylie gave him a moment, then climbed onto the human-sized (or rather half-elf-sized) bed, letting her feet dangle over the edge. The movement must have caught Scanlan’s eye; he turned, and after a while shucked off his shoes and clambered up, too.

The silence between them lasted long enough that Kaylie started to wonder whether she should summon one of the mansion’s creepy ghost servants to get herself a drink. But she had cut down on daytime drinking a lot these past few decades, particularly since Juni’s birth. Putting the kibosh on Scanlan’s meat consumption had been a gag at first – plus chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner got old fast – but the excuse of eating healthy to live longer had had some truth behind it. Behind the sarcasm she’d actually wanted her father to stick around, and you kinda had to stay alive for that. It had taken her a few years after that to realise that getting too fucked up too often would make her less inclined to stay alive, too.

Scanlan had stuck by the vegan diet, and Kaylie had cut down her drinking rather dramatically.

But damn if her fingers didn’t still itch for a pint, sometimes.

“So,” she said, if only to hear something. Dammit. She had counted on Scanlan being the first to open his mouth – he usually was. “That’s a nice bedroom. This bed’s comfy.”

“I should hope so,” said Scanlan, his voice almost normal by now. Almost. “Nothing but quality in my Magnificent Mansion.”

“No mirror on the ceiling in this one?”

“Nah, not this time. But I think everybody had one at some point? Gods, it’s been ages. Anyway, I made up for it. Look in the… I think it’s in the bedside table on the left.”

Against her better judgement, Kaylie shuffled to the bedside table. Inside it was a book with a title in Marquesian which in Common translated to The Lotus and the Butterfly.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that the one with—?”

“—with beautiful traditional Marquesian illustrations going back two hundred years from the best artists in Yios, yes.”

“I was gonna say ‘the sex positions guidebook’, but sure, let’s go with that.” She shook her head. “I thought you couldn’t leave anything from the Material Plane in the mansion?”

“You can’t. I had the servants make it special from a copy I picked up once at a casino.”

“The one you got scammed in?” Kaylie asked with a grin, making Scanlan roll his eyes. She leafed through the book idly, gaze quickly flitting over text and pictures, neither really registering. “And you just. Left that in your friend’s bedside table. Like that’s not fucking weird at all.” Her head snapped back up as a thought hit her. “Wait, did you… Did you ever hook up with him, back in the day?”

In the two seconds it took for Scanlan to open his mouth, eyes wide, she decided she didn’t need to know the answer. Those two had been good friends and clearly loved each other a lot; whether sex had been involved or not was irrelevant.

She steered clear of sentiment, though, out of habit.

“Wait, don’t answer that. Sorry. Gross, shut up. Still, what the hell? Was it supposed to be some kind of prank?”

“Well, no, I… Okay, maybe just a little. Once I finally got that he and Keyleth were actually, like, A Thing, I put the book in there whenever I made the mansion. Mostly I figured they might need, uh… not exactly something to help them get it on, but just… ideas, you know? It took them long enough to realise they both wanted to boink, just thought I might aid a little in that department.”

Kaylie stared at her father, not knowing whether she might facepalm or laugh herself sick.

“Seriously.”

“Hey,” Scanlan pointed out, “it was them or Vex and Percy, and once they figured out their own shit they didn’t need any incentive to jump each other’s bones! Man, I’m still surprised they stopped at five kids and didn’t go for the full baker’s dozen.”

Once upon a time, this would’ve been a golden opportunity for her to say something scathing about accidental children. The Kaylie from three decades ago would have verbally eviscerated present-day Kaylie for letting that opportunity pass by. But then again, being her three decades ago had been fucking exhausting. Sure, she sometimes missed the viciousness she had let go of over the years, but she’d also lost some fears and gained a little peace of mind. Overall, not a bad bargain.

She settled for a snort and put the book back in the bedside table. Then she made herself comfortable on the bed, leaning back and kicking her feet a little.

Surprisingly, Scanlan didn’t add anything. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his arms and gazed vaguely ahead with an odd expression, for him.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hm?”

Godsdammit. Pike would be much better suited for this.

Kaylie resolutely kept her own gaze in front of her and didn’t look at him.

“You do realise it’s… okay if you don’t make this room? Maybe not next time, but like… the time after that. I don’t think he’ll mind, I mean… It’s not… It wouldn’t be betraying him is what I’m sayin’.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head towards her a little, but he remained uncharacteristically silent and still.

“It’s nice that you kept his stuff. No, I know, it’s not really his stuff, but you know what I mean – it’s, uh… it’s a thoughtful gesture. Wherever he is I’m sure he’d appreciate it. But…”

How did people do this? Say words that weren’t even spells and fixed things somehow? Her music could break and heal alike, but that last part felt closer to tying a tourniquet on a bleeding limb: a tiny thing that might keep you from dying just now, but a far cry from magic that knitted bones back together or breathed life back into corpses. She had sung away the hurt from Juni’s scraped knees or Wax’s scratched elbows a few times when her little siblings were kids. She might as well be trying to do the same now on a decades-old wound that somehow still found a way to bleed every now and then.

“But… But there’s better ways to remember him by. This is like… frozen in time. Like a museum, almost. Somehow I doubt that’s what he was about.”

“It’s not,” Scanlan muttered. Then he cleared his throat and added, without the crack in his voice this time, “I mean, yeah, he was… He was, uh.”

She pretended not to see him wipe his nose on his sleeve.

“He had… a lot going on, once he got into his thing with the Raven Queen. That messed him up for some time. But even with all that, even when he went full emo goth chicken with one foot in the grave talking about death all the frickin’ time, he was… he was alive.”

Pause; a small snort of a laugh. When he spoke again he was smiling, but his voice was less than steady again. “Never seen a dead guy so alive, when I think about it.”

Kaylie waited for him to continue. When it became obvious that nothing more was coming, she bit back a sigh, then shuffled closer.

And closer. Just close enough to lay her head on her father’s shoulder if she slumped a little.

(Ever since she’d first laid eyes on him she’d always been a little taller. That he’d never been there while she was still small enough to hold and carry was one of the things she still was angry at him about occasionally – and angry at herself for it. She was tough and strong and a grown-ass adult, godsdammit, not a bloody child.)

After a while, Scanlan laid his head against hers, giving her time to slip away if she wanted, like he usually did.

“Didn’t you want to go to the spa?” he asked quietly.

Kaylie gave a one-shoulder shrug, careful not to jostle their skulls against each other’s.

“I will. In a while.”

“I included the steam room again.”

“Good. It’s nice. Also pretty.”

“Well, you deserve the best.”

“Damn right I do,” she murmured.

Maybe he wasn’t the best father. But he certainly wasn’t the worst she’d thought he was for the first two thirds of her life. Sure, the space between their souls had its share of broken things, but in time they had built trust, and affection, and unspoken words that warmed rather than hurt.

She shifted, just enough that she could kiss his temple just above his ear – a little smaller than her own, one of the few physical traits he didn’t pass on to her – and give his hand a squeeze for good measure, lightning-quick.

Then she settled against him again before he could say anything.

The room was not haunted. In two dozen hours it would disappear, along with the rest of the house; one day it might cease to exist altogether. And maybe, between the two of them (beating hearts, warm bodies, lungs drawing breaths in tandem with one another), they could lay some old ghosts to rest.

[coraniaid]

AU where S4 meaningfully explores the idea that hey isn't it kinda messed up the government has a prison full of demons at least some of which are vaguely humanesque instead of making eyes at the concept before shrugging it off?

So I think the way to do this is to rewrite the season so that Maggie Walsh / the Initiative are more clearly the Big Bad instead of Adam, right? Which is what the season should have done anyway. (Adam is still in my version of the season, but I'd try to position him explicitly as an attempt by Professor Walsh to create her own "improved" version of a Slayer, and he wouldn't turn against her until perhaps the very end of the season.) The other thing you need to do is play up how sympathetic (or at least familiar) the demons this government has captured are. So:

First change comes in Wild At Heart. Oz doesn't kill Veruca; he leaves her injured but alive. Only, after Buffy has subdued Oz and made sure Willow is okay, when she goes back to collect Veruca there's no sign of her ... Buffy assumes she managed to crawl off and hopes she won't be coming back. Oz still breaks up with Willow and drives off in in his van ... but he's barely made it out of Sunnydale when another van forces him off the road. It's the commandos again. They've worked out that Oz is a werewolf, and after they've sedated him and dragged him into their van we see why: they captured Veruca too and she gave Oz up. [Since everyone thinks Oz just left town, most of the next few episodes play out as before: absolutely nobody knows he's been adbucted, and the audience don't see what's happening to him either.]

Next change comes in A New Man. We drop the hints about the ominous '314' entirely. Sunnydale's demons are worried because they don't like the thought of being imprisoned and experimented on: you don't need anything else. And at the end of the episode, after Ethan is handed over to the Initiative, there's a scene from his perspective as we see he's been taken not to "a secret detention facility in the Nevada desert" bur instead to the same place the Initative took Spike [who still escaped, as in canon] and Oz and Veruca and [we now learn] Harmony as well. Harmony in particular is how the audience get to hear about the Initiative's ongoing (mis)treatment of demons. [Both because Harmony talks to and befriends some of those other demons and because Harmony herself is, frankly, pathetic and harmless enough that it's hard to justify this treatment of her as a legitimate response to a threat.] We get some hints of Adam here, as something the imprisoned demons are afraid of being forced to fight. (Throughout all this, Harmony remains oddly confident that Spike is going to come to her rescue, but it's clear to everyone else he's not. Ethan is, of course, equally convinced Giles is going to come and break him out.)

Walsh still tries to get Buffy killed in The I In Team, and when that doesn't work we cut away to our first scene of Adam himself: fighting against some of the demons and vampires that we've seen the Inititive capture so far. Walsh makes some comment about having the loser of the fight taken away to be dissected, and it's implied that they're using both the data from the fights and parts of the losers to upgrade Adam himself. But Adam doesn't break loose yet and the next few episodes play out a little differently. The demons and vampires still start to organize, but it's a reaction to the threat of the Initiative rather than something Adam is directly galvanizing them to do. Riley still drops out of the Initiative to side with Buffy and we still get some version of the whole drug withdrawal plot which ends with him volunteering to go back and work as a double agent within the Initiative. Walsh drops out of her teaching role for a while, to supervise her project, so Buffy can still go to classes (mostly) as usual.

Faith also gets captured by the Initaitive in Who Are You?, rather than escaping to LA. Obviously Walsh would be delighted to have her hands on a real Slayer. So rather than her suicide-by-Angel plan in Five By Five, Faith ends up in a position where she has to keep fighting Adam to protect Oz, Ethan, Harmony and the other demon characters we've started to get some sympathy for. At some point Riley sees her, while poking around somewhere he shouldn't be, and recognizes her from Who Are You?. Cue some argument about how he knows her and she's a human (and add some extra foreshadowing for Restless with Riley insisting that the Slayer isn't a dream and Adam asking 'is that a fact?'.) Then, after Riley manages to smuggle a message out to Buffy, we get a version of New Moon Rising with Buffy breaking out Oz and the others from prison, although Buffy is pretty conflicted about freeing Faith until she actually sees the conditions she's in [I'm honestly not sure what happens to Faith next -- maybe she still escapes to LA, maybe she goes to prison in Sunnydale, maybe she hangs around for a bit longer]. You can have Riley deliver his "no, [sir], I'm an anarchist" line directly to Maggie Walsh this way too.

Walsh is more shaken with her earlier argument with Riley than we first realized, and she's starting to have second thoughts about her program. And it's now, and only now, that Adam rebels. He kills Walsh and imprisons the rest of the Initaitive (the same way they've imprisoned vampires and demons), planning to create more of his own kind in an attempt to carry out his orders of stopping "the demons, the vampires, the Slayers". And from there you can pretty much go into The Yoko Factor / Primeval more or less as originally written, I think. Willow still chooses Tara over Oz, but rather than Oz leaving forever he sticks around. Ethan slips away in the confusion (but I'd try to have him show up for a cameo in Giles' part of Restless along with Jenny and Olivia, sure).

[asimplearchivist]

𝑪𝑯. 𝑰𝑰 — 𝑭𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮.

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🕷️ ⤏ miguel struggles to come to terms with your brief encounter. pairing 🕷️ miguel o’hara/spider!reader word count 🕷️ 3.5k a/n 🕷️ ⤏ I don’t know that the collective’s HQ is actually an old Alchemax facility, but it made sense to me since the go-home machine is similar to the collider. I haven’t been able to find much information on the wiki about 2099’s world, much less spiderverse miguel’s version, so I’m gonna sprinkle in my own headcanons as we go along until I learn anything different. if any of you happen to know any details (like currency, layout of Nueva York, little things like that) please let me know! I’d prefer this fic not to have glaring discrepancies to the source material if at all possible. :) 🕷️ MASTERPOST 🕷️ 🕷️ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ 🕷️ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🕷️

“I told you that you weren’t up for that. I could’ve handled it just fine.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He could feel Jessica’s eyes trained firmly on his back, though he did his damnedest to ignore the persistent prickling along the back of his neck. O’Hirn was struggling again, given most of the toxin had already worn off, and it was all the restraint Miguel could muster not to just toss him over the boardwalk into the yawning depths of HQ and be done with it.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I’ve got it,” Miguel responded brusquely, clenching his jaw.

“Just because I’m pregnant,” she started, “doesn’t mean I can’t—”

“I don’t need you getting yourself hurt,” he interrupted.

“I’m only two months in,” she sighed. “I hate to think about what you’ll be like later on. Even my husband isn’t as worried as you are, Miguel.”

“You’re exposed to enough danger as it is,” he growled. “I had it covered.”

“If you nearly drowning is your definition of ‘had it covered’, then I worry about what it means for you not to have it covered.”

Finally, they made it to the containment center, and Miguel dropped the mercenary face-first into the cage, muttering under his breath all the while. The field turned on with a hum, and Miguel released a terse exhale of relief as he stepped back for it all to be finally over.

“Hiya, boss! How’d it go?”

Almost over, anyway.

“Fine.” He turned and started to walk towards his office. “Jess, remember to fill out a report. LYLA, catalog Alexander O’Hirn into the queue for departure.”

Her lax footsteps were declaration enough of her intention to do anything but that.

“You could have at least explained the basics, you know. Since she’s from an adjacent 2099, she’d understand the multiverse theory. The Alchemax in that reality is performing similar experimentations for dimensional travel, and she’d evidently run into their projects before.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ do you not understand?”

“The part where it excuses you for being an ass.”

He stopped and turned on his heel, lenses narrowing as he glared resolutely down at his companion. “It’s classified to anyone not enrolled in the collective.”

“Ooh, touchy,” LYLA commented, appearing over Jessica’s shoulder like the demonic conductor she was. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Miguel ground out.

“Something happened. Your vitals are all over the place, boss.”

“I told you not to monitor me.”

“Does it have to do with the fact that she’s—”

“Don’t,” Miguel bit out.

LYLA raised her palms placatingly, twisting and regarding him wryly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“She’s not the same,” Jessica reminded him needlessly.

“Of course she isn’t,” he growled. “Why do you think—”

She raised a manicured brow at him, effectively shutting him up. He opted to glower instead. “And because she isn’t the same, you owed her a civil response—especially since the big lug back there almost popped her head off like a cork. She obviously knows your counterpart because she recognized you. I know you’re going through a lot right now, but it didn’t give you a reason to dismiss her like that. It’s not her fault that any of this is happening, and we always need new recruits.”

Miguel bristled. “I’m not recruiting her.”

“And why not?” Jessica propped her fists on her wide hips.

His lenses narrowed further. “You know why.”

“Yeah, I do.” She shook her head. “Because you’re letting your personal bias interfere with the job.”

Miguel scoffed and turned away from her once more. “All this is on a need-to-know basis, Jess. We’re not so sore in need of help that I have to pull every conceivable Spider-Person in the multiverse into the coalition.”

“Don’t you think she needs to know why her dead husband randomly walked out of a portal and acted like she didn’t exist?” LYLA remarked.

Jessica fell silent, obviously in shock, and Miguel dropped his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. “LYLA.”

“I ran preliminaries while you were gone,” she continued lightly. Miguel twisted just enough to watch her use multiple holograms to display your credentials and history as she listed off your name and date of birth. “...Spider-Woman of 928C for five years. Widowed by one Miguel O’Hara of eight years in a classified, freak accident at his laboratory in Alchemax. Refused answers regarding the nature of his death, she snuck in to investigate herself. She was then bitten by a genetically and radioactively modified Goldenrod Crab spider he had assisted in mutating, which imbued her with the classic spider powers, plus…” She squinted at the words streaming across the screen. “...boosted olfactory senses, organic webbing excreting a sedative pheromone, and pigment-shifting abilities that are largely ineffective as camouflage but make for easy changes in hair color and skin tone—oh, look, she gives herself temporary tattoos with it! Neat! She then proceeded to steal the experimental suit of UMF in the same lab and has since been doing her best to stop Alchemax’s schemes and protect Nueva York’s civilians. Heh, the suit colors kind of make her look like a strawberry pie.” She glanced up at Miguel appraisingly. “Did I miss anything?”

“No,” he said tightly. “That about covers it.”

“You said you didn’t know much about the canon events of that universe,” Jessica scolded.

“I knew the basics,” he snapped, “which is why I wanted to avoid confronting her. I wasn’t going out of my way to learn the rest!” He cut a glare towards LYLA, who shrank back slightly. “But thank you for the input.”

“Just trying to help,” she replied lamely.

“Don’t bark at her,” Jess interrupted. “You could have briefed me on it. I could’ve gone by myself if you didn’t want to risk exposure.” She tilted her head slightly. “And if you didn’t want to face her.”

The UMF dissipated from his head so quickly that both woman and AI jumped. The midday sunlight pouring in through the windows on the far wall stung his eyes, but he didn’t care. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Jess regarded him coolly for a long moment, and Miguel spun to march himself into the blissfully quiet and empty haven of his own lab.

“You owe her an apology,” the woman called.

Gritting his teeth, he stopped long enough to throw his reply over his shoulder. “And why is that?”

“If you’re in this bad of a state seeing her now,” Jess said, “how do you think she feels having grieved you for five years?”

Miguel’s talons pierced into the meat of his palms as he stayed silent and stalked away.

The lab was blissfully quiet, save the hum and chirrup of the numerous machines and monitors working away in solitude. It was raining outside, drumming against the roof and narrow windows near the ceiling to allow in faint shafts of bleak, tepid gray light. The occasional muffled rumble of thunder made him wince, even as the dark room allowed his eyes to finally relax. Still, it would take a while for his head to stop throbbing.

He had been too harsh on Jessica—LYLA, too—he knew that. He didn’t have an excuse. But the migraine he’d woken up with that morning combined with the fact that any Rhino, no matter what universe they originated from, were royal pains in the ass. Almost drowning and scarcely avoiding impalement had not done anything to improve his mood, either.

Miguel let out a harsh sigh as he sank heavily onto the platform resting at floor level, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. His fingertips dug into his eyes and temples in a feeble attempt to assuage the aching pressure but to no avail. He needed to sleep, seeing as he’d gleaned none the night before after having determined a mission to the dimension directly neighboring his was necessary ASAP—the anomaly might not have fully transitioned until a couple of hours ago, but LYLA’s predictions had been correct and he knew they’d needed to act fast.

Even still, it had almost been too late.

He was always too late.

He gritted his teeth with a growl, shaking his head and straightening to glare up into the shadowy rafters. The patches of amber holograms flickered like candlelight, dancing with images and footage and readouts he couldn’t be bothered to check at the moment—his vision was blurring and if he tried to squint any more today he worried his eyes might pop out of his skull altogether.

“No new anomalies, jefe.”

“LYLA.” He dropped his gaze to the glowing figure floating at eye level. She had her arms folded over her chest, glasses pushed all the way up her nose to hide her eyes.

She rubbed her nose briefly. “Yeah, that’s the designation. Don’t wear it out.” She summoned a graph and pointed to it. “The spike is fading in 928C. Everything should be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” He swallowed, dipping his head to scratch the nape of his neck. “Hey, mira, I’m…sorry, about earlier.”

At her lack of response, he raised his eyes again and found that she had blinked away just as fast as she’d appeared.

Miguel released another sigh, cursing under his breath. He’d done enough damage for the day, he figured.

It didn’t take long to get to his quarters. The uppermost floor of the compound was glassed in on all sides, and bigger than Miguel would ever have wanted—but the construction of HQ had been primarily handled by LYLA seeing as he’d been busy hunting anomalies and recruiting other Spider-People to the collective, and with the haste to get everything up and running he hadn’t really stopped to consider anything besides the necessities. The old Alchemax facility suited perfectly to his needs, and having more money than he knew what to do with from his old position in the upper echelons of the blasted corporation, he’d let her have the reins so he could have more time to work.

To be fair, the living space was…nice. Just big, with amenities and furniture that felt a little too modern. (It made it feel all the more empty.)

Miguel shed the UMF suit and chunked it in the nano-regenerator, wincing as he tweaked the bruises around his ribs. Grappling with a man twice your size in a heavy suit of impenetrable armor while underwater was decidedly not his definition of a good Friday night.

He traipsed into the bathroom, tapping the screen to activate the shower and adjust its jet settings and temperature. He’d be healed by tomorrow, he knew, but the soreness would linger for a couple of days. He’d just have to try not to twist too much.

Miguel stopped to scrutinize himself in the mirror, not for the first time (and definitely not for the last).

The warm white light spilling from the mirror’s rim highlighted his silhouette and the numerous scars littering his frame, the edges of his reflection growing hazy from the steam billowing out over the top of the shower’s tall glass walls. He scarcely recognized himself from the man he’d been six months prior. Working so hard combined with constantly improving his strength for better mobility and endurance in the field had changed his figure so vastly from the lean muscle upon which he’d previously relied while managing Nueva York by himself. It felt surreal, sometimes—but if he could distance himself from the man he’d used to be in any way, he’d take it. Miguel no longer wanted to make mistakes like he did. (It might actually kill him, this time, if he did.)

Miguel shook his head with a low growl, reaching up to tug the loose locks of hair off his forehead—and, in so doing, reminded himself of the band still snugly hugging his ring finger. He regarded it for a long, tense moment as he ground his teeth until his temples throbbed. He fought down tooth and nail the tide of fluctuating emotions that the ring brought—when he wore the suit, he barely noticed it. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.

Miguel swallowed roughly and pulled it free, dropping it into the little ceramic dish next to his sink before trudging into the shower to scrub away his woes.

He did feel marginally better afterward, which was a small boon. Dressing in his favorite pair of worn sweats helped, too. He wasn’t hungry, but if he wanted to dissuade the headache with the abnormal amount of aspirin it took to even put a dent in his hyperactive metabolism, he’d have to eat something—so he fixed himself a club and choked it down with water.

By the time he’d settled into bed, flat on his back and gazing blankly up at the dark ceiling with an arm thrown over his forehead to shade his eyes from the city lights glowing along the skyline, his nerves had settled for the most part. He’d apologize to the ladies tomorrow. Maybe, as tired as he was, he’d actually be able to get more than three hours of sleep for once. (Doubtful.)

Miguel sighed heavily, shutting his eyes. He didn’t want to think about it. If he thought about it he’d get upset all over again. It had taken every iota of willpower he possessed just to get through the whole damn mission to begin with. One would think, after the couple of months that he’d had to get over the entire ordeal (his mistake—his greatest mistake—one he would never be able to reverse or rectify no matter how much he regretted it), that he’d have a better handle on his emotions. He’d fucked up catastrophically. Now he was forced to pick up the pieces by holding the multiverse together with nothing but his bare hands and his sheer force of will. He could never afford to allow his selfishness to influence the fate of the multiverse.

Miguel sucked in a deep breath, but the stretch twinged his ribs again. He turned over onto his side with a terse sigh, grabbing the pillow on the opposite end of the bed and stuffing it under himself in an attempt to buoy the bruises. Despite the darkness, his eyes still made out the shape of the overturned frame on the opposite nightstand.

Even while it was face-down, its glass face cracked beyond repair from the force of a previous breakdown, he recalled in perfect detail the picture it housed. You’d always insisted on printing out physical copies despite it having long since fallen to the wayside with the mass digitization nearly a century prior—the photo albums crammed into a box in the top of the closet were painful reminders of that habit. That one in particular had been your favorite: the pair of you at the park, lying on a canvas, red and white gingham picnic blanket, faces turned toward each other’s and away from the sun. You’d snuck the picture while he hadn’t been paying attention, having shut his eyes briefly because it had been unseasonably warm for early autumn, and he’d admittedly almost drifted off breathing in the fruity scent of your shampoo. You’d never told him about it until he’d noticed it’s addition on your bedside table a week later.

It had been the day of your fifth wedding anniversary. He’d lost you in a nearly identical manner to 928C’s alternative version of you—an inexplicable accident at Alchemax in the robotics laboratory where you’d enlisted your profession. Only when he’d tried to investigate further, he’d been drugged with Rapture by the CEO, and his attempt to revert his DNA back to its previous state was thwarted, resulting in…well, the monster of a genetic disaster that he was now, having to regularly utilize injecting a modified serum to tamp down the more feral aspects of the spider DNA slowly but surely attempting to overwrite his own.

His suit was technology you had developed. LYLA was a product of your collaboration with him. There were still sprinkles of you throughout his entire life, even though he’d buried you three years prior—the dimensional travel watch was spawned from the earliest prototypes that you had started, the Go-Home Machine adjacent technology, the anomaly analysis system—he couldn’t escape the ghosts of your influence no matter how much he tried.

Not that he wanted to. It was both torture and comfort to have you so close.

But losing you prematurely is what had spurred him to irrationality, upon discovering the neighboring universe where you’d lived instead and his alternative self had died—and the fact that you’d had Gabriella had broken what little resolve he’d tried to initially maintain. (Miguel didn’t want to think about the possibility that you might have been pregnant when you’d gone—he’d been vehemently avoiding the thought for years, and he’d continue to do so until the day he died because he wasn’t certain he could bear the confirmation of his worst fear.)

But his desperation to deny the multiverse of its cruel dictation of his life story had come back to bite him—he had paid the ultimate price for his negligence twice over.

Miguel squeezed his eyes shut against the hot sting threatening to spill over. He thought he’d been doing better—an incorrect assumption, evidently. The inconsistency of grief was what struck him blind every time. He’d known that he faced the likely possibility of running into another you going in to apprehend the anomaly, but…hearing your voice had nearly unmended him at the seams. Knowing he’d almost been too late to stop yet another you from getting killed…it had been all he could do to keep it together. Yes, he’d come across as dickish as a result—but if Jess knew how hard it had been to look at you (even if you weren’t his you) without falling at your knees, she’d understand why. He had to distance himself in order to spare both himself and this different version of you from the perpetual destruction that plagued him wherever he tread. He couldn’t lose you again. It would unmake him.

The rip of fabric tipped Miguel off that he’d accidentally perforated his pillowcase. Again. He groaned under his breath, curling himself further around the pillow wedged under his ribcage. The faintest whiffs of your old perfume clung to the cotton, and Miguel inhaled it greedily despite the sorrow that threatened to overcome him at the visceral memories it summoned behind his eyelids.

…He remembered that day in the picture clearly. You’d tasted like strawberries from the large bowl you’d eaten mostly by yourself, the sweetness and tartness lingering under your tongue. He could still feel the warmth of your hands on his face, your fingers carding through his hair as he’d rested in your lap while you read to him from your latest rom-com novel. You’d both ended up falling asleep for a few hours, exhausted from long shifts at work with increasingly demanding schedules, waking to the evening golden hour being overtaken by an ominous cumulonimbus. Halfway home the rain had started, and you’d both been soaked to the bone clambering into your shared apartment—and despite the chill, despite the wicker basket forever remaining warped from the overabundance of moisture, despite your recurring teasing over the years about his forecast research falling painfully short, you’d often recalled that day with unfathomable fondness.

He also remembered the desperation of his name on your lips when he’d found you after the explosion, already half-gone. You’d been terrified, confused—yet once you’d realized the inevitability of the situation, you’d circled around to comfort him instead. He’d never forgive himself for his own weakness preventing him from giving you peace, knowing he’d be all right as you’d slipped away, far beyond his mortal reach. (He wasn’t. But he’d wanted you to think he would be.)

That same desperation had tinged your alternate’s voice earlier. The terror, the confusion. He’d been fighting back tears at the agonizing recollection.

He let them spill, now, muffling himself into his pillow in a vain, feeble effort not to break the silence of his empty bedroom in his empty quarters that comprised his empty home.

…Maybe Jess had been right, after all, he thought later, once he’d had no more grief to shed. Face damp, eyes aching, head throbbing once more, he traced mindless patterns into the top sheet where you would have lain with his talon—always facing him, unless he’d managed to talk you into letting him hold you from behind. If this is how badly he felt from less than a minute’s worth of dialogue, how would you feel?

He did owe you an apology. And as much as the thought pained him, they did need more help around HQ. Miguel drifted into a fitful sleep, wondering if you looked any different under your mask.

[catonator]

News for Gamers

So the most notable recent gaming news is that there’s going to be a whole lot less gaming news going forward. Which to most of you is probably a massive win. See, IGN announced that they’ve bought roundabout half of the remaining industry that isn’t IGN, and with online news also dying a slow death due to the approaching new wave of journalism called “absolutely nothing”, I can’t imagine IGN and its newly acquired subsidiaries are long for this world.

Not too long ago, I was studying some magazines for my Alan Wake development history categorization project (please don’t ask), and reading the articles in these magazines led me to a startling realisation: Holy shit! This piece of gaming news media doesn’t make me want to kill myself out of second hand embarrassment!

Many of the magazines of yesteryear typically went with the approach of “spend weeks and sometimes months researching the article, and write as concise a section as you can with the contents”. Every magazine contains at least 2 big several-page spreads of some fledgeling investigative journalist talking to a bunch of basement-dwelling nerd developers and explaining their existence to the virginal minds of the general public.

Contrast this to modern journalism which goes something like:

Pick subject

Write title

???

Publish

Using this handy guide, let’s construct an article for, oh I dunno, let’s say Kotaku.

First we pick a subject. Let’s see… a game that’s coming out in the not too distant future…Let’s go within Super Monkey Ball: Banana Rumble. Now we invent a reason to talk about it. Generally this’d be a twitter post by someone with 2 followers or something. I’ll search for the series and pick the newest tweet.

Perfect. Finally we need an entirely unrelated game series that has way more clout to attach to the title… What else features platforming and a ball form… Oh, wait. I have the perfect candidate! Thus we have our title:

Sonic-like Super Monkey Ball: Banana Rumble rumoured to have a gay protagonist

What? The contents of the article? Who cares! With the invention of this newfangled concept called “social media”, 90% of the users are content with just whining about the imagined contents of the article based on the title alone. The remaining 10% who did actually click on the article for real can be turned away by just covering the site in popups about newsletters, cookies, login prompts and AI chatbots until  they get tired of clicking the X buttons. This way, we can avoid writing anything in the content field, and leave it entirely filled with lorem ipsum.

Somewhere along the way from the 2000s to now, we essentially dropped 99% of the “media” out of newsmedia. News now is basically a really shit title and nothing more. Back in the day, when newscycles were slower, most articles could feature long interviews with the developers, showing more than just shiny screenshots, but also developer intentions, hopes, backgrounds and more.

Newsmedia is the tongues that connects the audience and the developers in the great french kiss of marketing video games. Marketing departments generally hold up the flashiest part of the game up for people to gawk at, but that also tells the audience very little about the game in the end, other than some sparse gameplay details. It was the job of the journalist to bring that information across to the slightly more perceptive core audiences. Now with the backing of media gone, a very crucial part of the game development process is entirely missing.

It’s easier to appreciate things when they’re gone I suppose. But at the same time, since gaming journalism is slowly dying from strangling itself while also blaming everything around it for that, there is a sizable gap in the market for newer, more visceral newshounds. So who knows, maybe someone of the few people reading my blogs could make the next big internet gaming ‘zine? Because I’m pretty sure anyone here capable of stringing more than two sentences together is a more adept writer than anyone at Kotaku right now.

[artiststarme]

No Steves Allowed!

Okay guys, I decided to the DnD one first today but I'll probably end up posting the parent fic today too. I've never actually played DnD so if this doesn't make sense, let me know! I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments.

~*~*~*~

Eddie wasn’t a big fan of rules, or setting boundaries, or partaking in any form of mass conformity. When he made his DnD club, he wanted it to be a safe space for all the outsiders and outcasts to relax and enjoy their high school years. (And join his DnD campaigns so he could torture them but that was neither here nor there). However, there was one rule that was non-negotiable and grounds for immediate character damage and death. 

There was to be no mention of Steve Harrington. 

It didn’t matter if he was your partner in chemistry for a project or if you were complaining about his crony bumping into you in the hall, no one was allowed to mention him by name or otherwise as soon as Eddie stepped into the drama room. This confused the original Hellfire members as well as their successors but everyone conceded eventually. Especially when mentions of Steve brought about the painful and horrific deaths of their characters. 

Gareth, the little shit that he is, tempted the rule the most, even still. Even after all of the characters he’s lost (one named Stephen that was beheaded by a griffin carrying a blade from a fallen half-elf soldier and several others that tried to work the name ‘Steve’ into a background story), he still liked to poke the bear at least once a campaign. 

“Galahad, it’s your play. What course of action will you take to persuade the innkeeper into allowing you and your friends a place of slumber for the night?” Eddie asked him, his voice firm and powerful as he enveloped his Dungeon Master persona. 

He already regretted giving him the chance to speak after he saw a slow smirk spread across his face. “Well, dear Dungeon Master, I think I’m going to go back to the bar and collect my friend Stephen Nicehair. Then I’ll use his looks and luscious locks to seduce the innkeeper into giving us beds.”

Eddie could feel his left eye twitching in annoyance. ‘Stephen Nicehair’? That’s the best Gareth could do?

“As you turn around to go back to the bar, you hear the innkeeper release a battle cry. He drops the pillows in his hands to reveal a cursed dagger with an obsidian blade. The previously friendly man plunges the dagger into your chest without hesitation and twists it in your heart to deliver maximum pain. Roll damage.”

Gareth sighed but rolled his dice, “six.”

“As the life fades out of your eyes, the innkeeper leans in closer to your face and whispers, ‘no one tries to outsmart me in my inn’. You die just as you lived… Pathetically. Galahad the Bad is now dead, existing on the floor of the inn in a pool of blood with the dagger still protruding from his rib cage. Your party is now cursed by the Goddess of Death because your blood was spilled on the cursed obsidian blade. ‘Til next time, boys.”

The entire Party was silent for a moment in shock until Dustin loudly erupted. “What the hell was that?! The innkeeper? Eddie, he’s an NPC that was supposed to offer us shelter after saving the town, what the fuck?”

Jeff shook his head at him and patted Dustin’s shoulder, “hey man, Eddie really doesn’t like it when people break his rules. It’s better not to question the consequences.”

“What rules?” He turned to Eddie to point an accusing finger at him. “You said that you hated rules because they forced conformity onto people outside the mold. And all he did was say he was going to get his friend Stephen to help!”

Eddie’s eyes flashed dangerously as he leaned in closer to Dustin. “Roll for initiative and persuasion.”

“Eddie-” 

“Roll Henderson!” He screamed. 

Dustin sighed brattily but rolled the dice as directed, “fourteen for initiative and ten for persuasion with my modifier.”

Eddie grinned at him maniacally. “Elric steps up to the innkeeper to try and appease him of his anger only for the man to pull another dagger from his cloak and slice it across Elric’s neck. You can feel the warmth of the blood spill down your front and feel some of the traitorous liquid bubble into your mouth and through your lips. You can’t breathe and can only gurgle a single question. What do you ask?”

“I ask him why he killed me!” Dustin said, a mixture of alarm, shock, and outrage in his voice. 

Eddie leaned in close to him, the evil glint in his eye still fully present and terrifying. He switches his cadence to match the hoarse voice of the innkeeper and says, “‘You can’t speak of Stephen or any of his aliases and stay in the world of the living.’ Elric falls to the ground and bleeds out all over the floor. The innkeeper steps over your useless body and says to your Party, ‘It’s a no to the shelter, take the bodies of your compatriots and leave or face the same fate.’”

Mike looks pissed and Lucas looks shocked at the turn this relatively happy session took. Meanwhile, Jeff and Grant were busy alternating their glares between Gareth and Eddie. Dustin just looked flabbergasted that his bard was murdered so callously by what he thought would be an innocent NPC.

“Alright, let’s pause there for now and we’ll pick it up next week. Some of you have new characters to make. Also, as a reminder to the senior members and a precaution for the new members, there will be absolutely no mention of Steve Harrington. Thank you, you’re adjourned.” Eddie spoke and waved them off. 

“What? But Steve-”

“I said adjourned, Henderson!” And from that moment on, Steve wasn’t mentioned at Hellfire. The kids slipped up here and there, especially given their hero worship of the guy but no one said his name aloud again in fear of losing another character. But then Eddie experienced the Spring Break from hell, found out that Steve Harrington was actually a pretty good guy, and started dating him.

The rule posed a problem once Eddie was finally able to talk Steve into joining a one-shot campaign. It took months of dating and illicit promises to get Steve to make a character, honorably named Steeb Munsington, and sit down with all of Hellfire to play. 

“So how’s this supposed to work? Are we just ignoring Steeb the entire campaign?” Lucas asked him.

“What why? Why are you ignoring me? Did I do something?” Steve looked adorably alarmed and glanced concernedly between Lucas and Eddie. 

Lucas patted his hand from his seat next to him. “Eddie has a rule about bringing you up during a session. If we mention you, our character gets serious hit points. No offense man, but I’m not taking that chance.”

Steve turned to Eddie with a hurt look. Oh shit, he had to fix this quick. 

“Obviously it’s void now! Obviously guys, shut up.” He turned to Steve. “Don’t worry Stevie, that was a joke.”

“Oh was it a joke when you murdered Elric the Bard for questioning Galahad’s unfair demise?!”

“Henderson, shut your mouth right now or you can kiss Kalston the Killer goodbye right now.” When he opened his mouth to argue, Eddie cut him off again. “The rule is clearly void now! I only had the rule in the first place so you guys wouldn’t be able to tease me about my crush on Steve. Now we’re dating so it’s fine. The rule has been discredited, no more capital punishment for mentioning his name.”

“You’re dating?!” Dustin screamed in shock. Eddie sent a panicked glance at Steve who was glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest. He wouldn’t be getting any help from him. 

“You’re gay?” Mike muttered in bafflement. Wow, nothing got past that kid. 

“You murdered eleven of my characters because of a crush?” Gareth shrieked, his face turning red in anger.

Will stared at the two of them in shock while the rest of the Party raised their voices in uproar. He was completely frozen while insults and accusations were thrown, thankfully more due to the fact that Eddie had gone on a rampage as DM rather than them being gay. How were they not focusing on the gay comment?

“Not just a crush anymore, he’s been my boyfriend for months! And if you had stopped violating my rule, they wouldn’t have died! Anyways, let’s let bygones be bygones and move along with our campaign. We only have eight hours to get this done today before the sheep have curfew.” Eddie clapped his hands and grinned. 

Jeff shook his head at him and Grant muttered angrily under his breath. Gareth, though, exploded. “You murdered a shit ton of my characters for even saying words that sounded like Steve! And now you just want us to move along because you’re dating the guy now! Congratulations by the way, we all noticed you seemed happier lately. Steve, if you hurt him, I’ll kill you like he killed all of my characters for even saying your name. What the fuck, Eddie?!” 

“Jesus Christ, it was a long time ago! If you drop this, I’ll give everyone extra XP to start, okay? Double.” Gareth was still glaring at him. “Triple.”

“Fine but deep down, I’m still pissed off.” Gareth muttered. 

“Noted, now let’s start. Stevie, I can help you out if you need it. Steeb is going to do great, I’m sure. I’m not above torturing my friends when it comes to you, okay?”

“Eddie!” Everyone besides him and Steve yelled. Ah yes, this was going to be a good gameday indeed. 

Permanent tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1

[invitationtoher]

You're in my Way, Cage. | Chapter 1: Kitana

Masterlist

Summery: Kitana Edenia, smart, beautiful, and stressed. With dreams of becoming a doctor due to her sister, Mileena, having a major case of chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS). Throughout her entire school life she's been focused on her goal of getting into the very same college that her mother and father went to and fell in love at, Mortal Kampus University (MKU), an ivy league school where the only people are intelligent as they are talented. Kitana vows to make her mother proud with no distractions, at least that was the plan until she met an obnoxious dirty blonde in her English Class.

Jonathan Carlton? No, he's Johnny Cage! Hollywood's next big star! He may not act as smart as he actually is, but he shines when it comes to entertainment, if it's on the screen or behind the scenes Johnny can do it all, thanks to the Carlton family being in the film industry for generations. Thanks to his parents money and his acting and martial arts talents (as well as writing), he got a scholarship to MKU's theater department! He knows MKU will be a good time, it's his chance to make his own name. When he sees a pretty girl in his English class whose walls seem unbreakable, he vows to break down those walls and see the real her by showing her a film.

            I always knew I was going to get into an ivy league school. My father always told me and my sister that we were born to make the world a better place, and that if he could become a governor, we could too- hell, possibly even more. So, when I got my acceptance letter to MKU, I just showed it to my parents and let them do the celebrating for me. My sister, Mileena, was also incredibly happy for me, since she is not able to attend a physical campus due to her illness.

            “I swear, you’re like a robot!” Mileena teased at my nonchalant response of getting into one of the best schools in the country, I smiled and rolled my eyes at her teasing. Of course I was excited, just not as excited as everyone else since I knew it would happen. It sounds super cocky, I know, but I was a firm believer in working hard to get what you wanted, and I worked damn hard to get into MKU. It’s like MKU was the only thing on my mind, I was volunteering constantly, I was taking college classes at a local community college, I was working jobs, joining clubs, job shadowing, and making connections within the already busy schedule of a high school student that was also attending a technical school to get a head start on their career. Although, I wanted to follow my father’s footsteps to a T, and that is exactly what I did with a different goal in mind.

            “Oh, Kitana, we’re so proud of you!” My father exclaimed with his phone in hand in front of the house, I could hear him trying to hold back his tears as Mileena teased him about it causing playful bickering as my mother fixes my hair. I scrunch my nose in slight annoyance as she messes with my long, black locks that were in my usual half-up half-down hairstyle. Although I know there was nothing wrong with my hair (and she knew it too), I would be a fool to protest my mother. When she stepped back, squinting her eyes a little to see if she missed any of the “imperfections” of my hair.

            “Smile, Ki!” My father said, on instinct I smiled brightly, the way I did during school pictures. I tried my best not to squint at the flash of my father’s phone, the bright lights blinding me in the still dark sky. He lowered his phone once he finally got a picture he was satisfied with, I blinked rapidly to get rid of the little black dots that scattered across my vision as Mileena quickly walked over to me and squeezed me into a tight hug.

            “Kick ass today, Kitana.” She whispered into my ear so mother would not hear her, a small giggle escaped my lips as I hugged her back and nodded my head, my smile dropping into its usual neutral position.

            “I will, if you need anything at all, call me.”

            “I’ll be okay, it’s a good spoon day.” She replied, I let out a small sigh of relief while she pulled away from the hug, her eyes looking into mine. “Good luck on your first day.”

            “You too, Mileena.” I say as I adjust my black puffer bag on my shoulder, I walk over to my father and hugged him tightly. The hug was bittersweet, my father had a trip to Washington D.C. for work, meaning that I have no idea when I’ll get to see him again. We were slow to pull away from each other, I gave him a melancholic smile and a small nod.

            “Good luck, father.” I said, he nodded back at me as he cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so.

            “Good luck, daughter.” I let out a small laugh at his lame attempt to mock my formalities, he wiped his eyes before leaving me and walking over to Mileena to give her a goodbye hug. My smile slowly flattened as I walked up to my mother, preparing myself for her advice.

            My mother was one of the smartest people I know, Sindel Edenia- who also went to MKU like my father, though she majored in law- is everything I wanted to be: strong, intelligent, intimidating, the list could go on. Although she is kind to me and my sister, she is also very intimidating, never putting the lawyer’s act away. She’s blunt, and she could pick you a part layer by layer like a cat with a dead mouse, she’d gut you until she got the truth.

            “Kitana, I expect you to do your best.” She said, folding her arms across her chest and pulling her purple knitted cardigan close to keep herself warm from the chilliness of late August. I bit my bottom lip gently, tasting my strawberry flavored Glossier lip balm.

            “Of course, mother, I worked too hard to disappoint.” My response earns me a small smile from my mother, she hesitantly opens her arms wide and steps forward. She hugs me, not as tightly as father or Mileena, but enough to where I can smell her elegant perfume that had the comforting smell of vanilla and jasmine. My body tenses up a bit, but I eventually hugged her back, it’s very rare that I receive hugs from my mother after 6th grade. She only hugs us for special occasions or for family photos.

            “Don’t go messing around with those foolish college boys either, you’re too smart for that.” She whispers in my ear as she runs her hand through my hair. I nod my head again, a small, shaky sigh escaping my lips.

            “Of course, mother.” I say as we pulled away from each other, I give everyone a final wave before walking to my car, pulling my keys out of my bag and fiddling with the little blue fan keychain on it that I got from my grandparents when we visited them in Taiwan. My mother’s words echoed through my head as I get into the driver’s seat of my blue 2019 Chevy Malibu, I placed my bag on the passenger’s seat before pressing the push to start button and buckling myself up. I hooked up the Bluetooth to my phone and put on my playlist before I backed out of the driveway and made my way to school.

            I never had a boyfriend before, I thought I was way too good for the boys in my grade- thanks to my mother putting that idea into my head- of course I had crushes, everyone has crushes. But I would never act on them, I felt like I would’ve disappointed my mother with my choice in men. She expected Mileena and I to get with men with a financially stable job, one that can take care of us and our children; however, I feel like Mileena has already found that person. As for me, it sounded nice, it sounded like something I should be striving for- but it just felt… off in a way. I can’t really explain it to myself, maybe it’s me being jealous of my own suspicions of Mileena finding someone to love just by her blushing and giggling at her phone screen as she typed in rapid fire speeds. I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get there.

            The college was roughly a twenty-minute drive from my home, it’s not a bad drive except if I’m driving behind someone who doesn’t know that you don’t have to go under the speed limit. I was lucky since it seemed that people were in a rush this morning, guess I’m not the only one who didn’t want to dorm and were close enough to commute.

            I was lucky enough to get a parking spot close to the technology building, I only had four classes today and my first one was Intro to computers, then Chemistry, then Microbiology, and then finally English. It didn’t seem like a bad first day, I’d keep my head low, do my work, and then I should be out in no time, nothing’s going to distract me from getting what was barely in reach now.

I worked too hard to let anyone get in my way, and I won’t let anyone get in my way.

© invitationtoher 2024