#brain is making dial up noises sorry

[faeriekit]

Hey faeriekit! I love seeing your library posts because I'm actually attempting to get a degree in Library Media. It was a long forgotten childhood dream of being a librarian and while I put it down for a while it feels like coming full circle. Any advice or know how you feel like giving for someone who has no idea what she's potentially getting herself into? Thanks!

Hi, sorry it took me so long to respond; my brain exploded. Which. Wasn't very conducive to answering questions.

Okay, my concentration/specialty was always going to be public librarianship, so the closest intersection I've had with other specialties were Archival and Academic and Teaching concentrations. You're looking at what seems to be a media concentration...? Far out. Whatever you want to do in regards to media preservation and librarianship, just make sure that whatever programs you're applying to, you pick a school with a concentration/specialty that moves the needle closer to that goal. This database of ALA accredited programs lets you search by concentration as well as style of course, location, etc. If you're outside the US, uh...not sure how to help you navigate that, unfortunately. 😅 You'll likely follow a similar process depending on the needs of your career wherever you intended to work in the future.

Secondly, don't forget, this is a grad school application; you'll have to round up your recommendation letters, testing scores, transcripts, and all that other horrible paperwork that proved that you have a bachelor's degree and didn't flake out the whole while. It will be annoying. You will spend a lot of time looking at application pages on the schools' website. Ugh, it made me so exhausted lol. You'll also have to remember that this is something you'll have to pay for; my degree cost me maybe... $4000-$6000 a month when I went full time for four semesters. That adds up! Are you going for a loan? Paying out of pocket? Only going part time? It all changes how you plan to approach library school!

(I went online and full time, even when I was working full time. It did save me $$ and time but I was also so stressed I wrote Blister pack nonstop, so. Maybe not smart for long term mental health reasons.)

Have you been in a library lately? Done work there recently? If I were you, I would add a couple of volunteering hours at the local library to your schedule if possible; being around people who understand the material inside and out and having them available for questions makes a big difference long-term. I have never seen anyone struggle more in library school than people who had never done any kind of work in a library. There is lingo that isn't as natural to them, concepts they don't immediately grasp...seeing it in person helps put everything into perspective. A couple hours here and there helps; if not, I would do your HW at a library instead, and make it clear to the staff what you're up to so that they recognize you! This really helps when you have to do stuff like interview assignments or eventual job search advice!

I want to say "go online and asynchronous; it's cheaper and easier on your schedule". And this is true. But everyone I know seems to think that in person or synchronous courses help keep them focused and grounded in what's going on and able to keep up with the curriculum better...and then I see the suffering immensely from the burdens of synchronized courses on their schedule, which proves my point, so...that was advice my boss gave me way back when, and it served me well.

Even if you don't immediately join your state library association (again, if you are in the US), try to get on their mailing list. Usually they have their own job board, resources, newsletters, etc.

I will say, the job market right now is whack and library jobs are usually pretty scarce in general. There's always competition, it's hard to get paid anything remotely close to a living wage, and every ten minutes there's news about how librarians are actually evil for leaving books on the shelves that Moms of Liberty hate, or whatever they're on about. Also [Current US Gov Status: BAD] at the moment, which may impact future budgets, which, again, will lead to a decrease in available jobs. I would keep whatever job you're currently in tucked neatly into your back pocket, because who knows what the future holds.

That being said, I've had my best career moments and amazing coworkers all at the library; I love what libraries stand for, I love what we do, and I love how we do it. I love the people I meet, and I love the programs we get to put on. I love my job. Working at a library is worth a whole lot; the hard part is just, you know...getting there.

(And I had a very easy way in compared to other people; online schooling in early 2021 was very easy to get into.)

Ummm...library good. I hope you're happy with your plans. Just. Uh. Plan for a lot of time to spend applying to a lot of places. If you have any more specific questions, let me know! I will probably be here. Unless. IDK. Something else very big and legal blows up I suppose.

[patscorner]

CHAPTER ONE: BUY-IN

pairings: paige x oc

contains: pining, angst

word count: 2,575

a/n: okay, one chapter in. let me know what you guys think, my inbox is open. also let me know what you might like to see, the outline isn't set in stone. school has started so it might be a bit before the next chapter, but it's coming. enjoy!

My palms sweat as I dial the familiar number, one I’d memorized by heart. It’d been far too long since I’d called her, and I don’t really have a reason, so the bullshit ‘I’ve been busy’ excuse will just have to do.

=======================

JUNE 2023

“Hello?���

I clear my throat in an attempt to swallow the lump that magically appeared. “H-Hey, Azzi, uh-it’s CJ.”

“Who?” My heart dropped to my shoes as my brain scrambled to pick up the pieces of one word.

“I-uh..”

Azzi chuckles. “I’m just messing with you. What’d you need?” I let out a breath as I rub my head.

“Oh my god, I actually hate you, holy shit.” I laugh.

“Apparently, since it’s been, what, like three months since we’ve talked.” I could practically hear the eye roll.

It’s really not fair for me to ignore Azzi because, really, she hadn’t done anything but be my best friend.

Our best friend.

And maybe that our was the problem. Maybe that combination, the unity of the word, and everything behind it was a mistake. Maybe, letting her etch herself into the scrolls of my heart, so much so that the ink bled together. Maybe the missed cue of when mine became hers, and hers became ours, was poor oversight.

Maybe letting Azzi become collateral damage was where me and her went wrong.

I laugh it off, ignoring the pang it sends to my chest.

“Yeah, well, I have to mentally prepare myself to lose brain cells. Can’t let it fuck up my game.” I respond, earning a laugh from the brown-haired girl. There’s nothing like the nostalgia a sound can bring you. The memories and feelings, all hidden behind a single noise.

After she gathers herself, she sighs. “So what’s up?”

And suddenly, I remember why I’d called.

“Yeah, uh, there’s something I kinda wanted to talk to you about, before you hear it somewhere else..” I say, picking at my earlobe nervously.

“Ooookay… Is everything okay..?” her voice relaying softer through the phone.

I nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing bad. Or, at least, I don’t think..” I fall silent for a moment. This couldn’t be as bad as I’m making it seem, right? Right?

“Either way, I’d just rather talk about it in person.”

Azzi hums. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Where do you want to meet?” I consider my options. I’m only in Minnesota to visit my family for about a week, and it’d take another day to get to Virginia… I would be back in time to move into my dorm. It’s inconvenient but doable.

“I could drive up to you in like a week, I’ll just meet you at your house.” I mutter thoughtfully.

“Wait, are you in Texas or Minnesota?”

“I’m about an hour out from Minny.” I answer, slightly confused.

“Oh, I’m here with Paige and the boys. We’re actually headed to the fair soon. You could meet up with us if you wanted.”

���Shit…uh, I didn’t think about them...” I mumble.

That’s a lie. Truthfully, every time I think of home, memories of the blonde flood my mind instantly. But then I’m reminded of what she’d done. How she ripped herself out of my chest like velcro, instead of carefully detangling herself, ridding herself off all strings attached. All for someone else.

For someone who used to be mine.

“Hello..? You still there?”

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Uh, th-yeah, that’s fine.” I sigh, quickly trying to recover.

Azzi sighs through the phone. “Look, I still don’t know what happened between you two, so if you don’t want to come-” she amends.

“No! No, okay, sorry. I- just gotta change my clothes…” I say, biting my lip as I lie through my teeth. “I’ll just meet you guys there?”

I could practically hear Azzi smile. “That sounds good, just call me when you get there.”

After we say our goodbyes, I hang up. I groan as I throw my head back.

I’m always up to a challenge, but the thought of going and having to function around her, after all she’s said and done; after she’s ruined us before there even was an us, that might be more difficult than I’d thought.

It’s not like I have a choice, though. I’m gonna have to learn how to be around her every day, especially when the season starts.

_________

“Drew, bro, if you spray me with that shit one more time, I swear to god, I will beat your ass.” I glared at him as he hid behind Jose, who put his hands up in surrender. I should not have bought him that water gun.

I rolled my eyes as I turned back to Azzi, who kept looking around, then back at her phone, repeating the process. I kicked her in her shin. “Ow! Paige, what the fuck?” Azzi complains, rubbing her leg. “Who are you looking for?” I say, glancing around.

She looks back down at her phone. “Nobody. Just people watching.” I scoff. “Bullshit, are we being spied on, or what?” She shakes her head, looking up around once more. “Okay, bro, what’s going on? Who’s ass do I have to beat?”

Azzi rolls her eyes at me. “You couldn’t beat Ohio, let alone anyone else.”

I sit back in shock, putting my hand on my heart as I feign offense. “Okay, their defense was so unexpected. You can’t even put that on me.” She shrugged, looking back at her phone and standing up. “Where-”

“Bathroom.” she mutters. I watch as she practically sprints away. If only she did that shit in practice. I shake my head.

I open my phone and begin mindlessly scrolling through instagram, ignoring the thousands of times I’ve been tagged in pictures that I’d taken with fans today. Suddenly, I freeze.

It’s a post by the official UConn women’s basketball team. It’s a picture of CJ in her Texas jersey, the number 43 on the front. Her hair is in her signature bun, hair slicked back carefully, as she drives towards the basket. The caption reads “Welcome CJ West!”

What the fuck?

I’m in such a state of shock that when Azzi comes back, I don’t notice the figure next to her. I glance up at her, then back at my phone. “Yo, Azzi, have you seen this?” I look up at her again, and this time, I let my eyes flick to the person next to her.

CJ.

Forgetting what I’d just seen, my jaw drops as I take her in. She’s just as beautiful, if not more, as she was the last time I’d seen her. She’s wearing a basic casual outfit; a plain white crop top, paired with blue jeans, and gold jewelry that always makes her hazel eyes seem brighter. Or maybe that’s just how they look naturally.

“Oh, shit.” I whisper, clearly in awe. She rolls her eyes.

Fuck.

“Hello to you, too, Paige.” Double fuck.

That fucking voice.

I clear my throat, trying to recover. “Hey, CJ.” I breathe. The lighthearted air is swallowed by suffocating tension as I make eye contact with a stranger.

“Oooookay…” Azzi says, clearing her throat. “This is about as awkward as I’d thought it’s be…” she mutters. CJ looks at her. “I told you.”

I look between them. “What’s going on?”

Azzi looked at CJ expectantly, gesturing to her to speak. CJ rolled her eyes and huffed. “I-uh, I have news.” CJ glanced between Azzi and I. She cleared her throat as she picked at her earlobe, a habit she’d picked up when she was younger. I’d always hold her hand to stop her, and I want to do that more than anything right now. I think I’ve lost that right, though.

“I’m transferring to UConn.”

My eyes flick to Azzi’s who’s jaw drops. “Really? How-Why?”

CJ shrugs, trying feign carelessness. “Better environment, Texas heat ain’ my thing.” To the normal eye, CJ’s behavior could be seen as normal. But to me? I see the way her eyelids flutter, the hesitation behind her pretty lips, and the way her eyebrows raise just slightly. She’s a good liar.

Just not good enough.

I don’t say anything, though, not when she gets dragged away by Drew and Jose, not when Drew practically begs her to stay and hang out with us, and certainly not when she’s sat in front of me on the ride Jon chooses. I don’t say anything when the boys get swept away, and it’s just the three of us, like it always used to be.

It’s only when Azzi goes to the bathroom, leaving us alone for the first time in years that I say anything. “Try not to kill each other, please.” She orders as she scurries to the restroom.

It’s silent for a moment, and I can almost see the relief on her face when she thinks I’ll hold my tongue.

Unfortunately, I’m nobody’s peace.

“How long are you here for?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my black cargo pants. She looks up at me. “Uh-just for the week, gotta move outta my dorm, and it’s a long drive, so.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You driving on your own?”

CJ nods. “Yeah, I’ll just sleep in my car or something.” I shake my head. “No fucking way, bro, you serious? That’s like a twenty hour drive.”

She crosses her arms. “So? That’s how I got here.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not goin’ on your own.” I say. Truthfully, I knew she’d be fine on her own, but something about her driving back to Texas, just to go back to Connecticut, doesn’t sit well with me. I’m only concerned for her safety. Or at least that’s what I decide to tell myself.

She scoffs. “What, you’re gonna come with me?”

“I could, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s the last thing I want.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not. Didn’t even wanna see you today.”

I turned to her. “Seriously, dude?” She looks at me. “Yes, seriously.”

I roll my eyes. I know I hurt her. I know I fucked up. But that was three years ago. We were kids. I was eighteen. I can legally drink now. It’s been three years. How can someone be upset for that long? “You gotta get over it one day.” I say before thinking about it.

I regret it when I see a flash of hurt on her face. “Get over it? That’s easy for you to say, Paige.” she spits out harshly.

Ouch.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, even though I know exactly what she meant. “Exactly what it sounds like. You get over shit quickly.” She shrugs. Her nonchalant tone pisses me off more than the words. I take a step towards her. “I didn’t ‘get over’ anything. There was nothing to ‘get over’. You were just jealous-”

“Jealous?” She interrupts incredulously. “Paige, you stuck your tongue down her throat!”

“And that pissed you off. Hence, jealousy.” I shrug.

“You were my best friend! It’s not fucking jealousy, it’s betrayal!” She practically yells, taking a step closer, our toes almost touching.

“I didn’t betray anybody! I was drunk! She was drunk! And I apologized afterward!” I say, trying to ignore the way her scent invades my senses.

She laughs dryly, taking a step back. “Right, you’re right. Yeah, an apology fixes it all.” I blink. “Really?”

CJ stares at me. “You’re a fucking idiot.” she says, and the only emotion I can pick up is anger. “I know.” I whisper.

Just then Azzi comes out of the bathroom, looking between us. “Everything okay?”

“Yep.” We say at the same time, and Azzi raises her eyebrows. “Aaaalrighty then… Can we find the boys, I’m ready to go.”

I nod and begin to walk behind Azzi, but I don’t miss the way CJ looks at me. I’m no expert, but if I know one thing, it’s the gaze of someone who’s been heartbroken.

I know because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it every time I’ve looked in the mirror for the past three years.

__________

“There’s no way you’re driving to Texas by yourself.” Azzi gapes from the corner seat of the booth. Jose convinced Paige to drive us to some random diner. She’s so easy.

I roll my eyes as I take a sip of my sprite. “Bro, you sound like Paige.” I grumble.

“The fact that I’m agreeing with her should tell you how fucking stupid you sound.” she said. I look at her in shock as Paige throws her head back, cackling.

Fuck.

That stupid fucking laugh paired with that stupid fucking smile makes it so fucking hard to be mad at her. Maybe I should let it go. It has been three years…

No.

Instead of entertaining the thoughts, I opt for kicking her shin instead. “What do you think that says about you, dumbass.” She immediately shuts up, and I roll my eyes as Jon almost spits out his Dr. Pepper.

“I’ll have you know I was AP player of the year.” She defends, eyebrows furrowed. I raise my eyebrows unimpressed. “Still holding onto that, huh?”

Azzi laughs, and Paige shoots her a look. “Can we get back on task, please?” That seems to direct all the attention back to me. “Driving to Texas? All on your own?” Paige says.

“Yes. Did y’all forget how I got here? I didn’t fucking speedwalk.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna go to Texas, spend, what, two full days staying up late and packing up three years of your life, and then driving the… twenty-nine, thirty, hour trip to Connecticut?” Azzi reasons.

I blink. “Well, when you put it like that..” I mutter.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Dude, just let us come with you. We can drive you there, so your car isn’t sitting in the middle of nowhere-”

“Isn’t your car in Storrs?”

“And we can switch drivers. Stay at a hotel halfway there, and then drive the rest of the way the day after.” She finishes, ignoring my comment. Before I can answer, the waiter comes with our food.

As he sets the plates down, I look at Paige, just taking her in. She’s wearing a plain black hoodie, with some red, white, and blue shorts on. It’s not much, but she could be wearing a trashbag and still be the hottest motherfucker around. It’s almost disgusting how effortlessly gorgeous she is.

I wouldn’t mind having someone to help me get to Connecticut. It’s a long drive, and it should be an easy yes. The truth is, when she looks like that, and acts like this, and talks the way she does… I don’t know how I’m going to get through the season, let alone a road trip.

I watch her lips as she says a thank you to the waiter, quickly averting my eyes when she looks at me. When the waiter leaves, I look back up and roll my eyes at her poor attempt to hide her smirk. As much as I wanted to wipe the smirk off her face, driving alone to Texas sounded dreadful. Plus, Paige has an okay music taste. Might not be that bad.

“Fine. You guys can come with me to Texas.”

Azzi smiles, clearly satisfied. Paige grins like a madman, clapping her hands. “This is going to be fun.”

I roll my eyes for the upteenth time tonight.

What the fuck did I just get myself into?

=======================

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerrss @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee @st4rrzynight @cherryswisherz

[storm-angel989]

I thought of another cute request! Val’s wife and the other vees reactions to Val having a migraine and still trying to go to work

Hi Friend,

Love this request! Think OTO Val’s wife and storyline. We’ll call this OTO fluff. 

<3 Mandy

I wonder if my wife knows that the lights make noise?

A sharp hum, a buzz most can tune out- myself included, most days. Unfortunately, as I laid in bed the sharp pangs pulsing through my brain made it more than clear today wasn’t one of those days. 

I shut my eyes tighter and tried to review the days schedule in between pangs of pain. Two new models, six contracts, four shoots and Angel Dust…Angel Dust was owed his dues. Even if my saint of a wife tried to take my place in the studio for the day, as she had done successfully in the past, she couldn’t. This was my contract, and I needed to fulfill the terms personally. 

I heard the shower turn off and tried to hide the pain as I forced myself to sit up. Five minutes. I had five minutes at most to pull myself together before she walked out of that bathroom, took one look at my face and the back to beg argument would begin. I had to divert the best I could. 

Painstakingly, I pulled myself out of bed and slid on my glasses. I quickly grabbed my clothes from where she had laid my outfit out the night before and dressed as quickly as I could. I made my way over to the bathroom door. Three sharp, painful knocks before I spoke.  

“Baby? There is an emergency in the studio.  I have to go right to work. I’m sorry, mi amore. Breakfast will have to wait.”

Without waiting for a response, I hustled out the door and made my way down to my studio. As with every other due date, Angel Dust was sprawled out on the stage, eager to receive payment. 

“Aw, Daddy,” he purred as I stepped onto the platform. His arms wrapped around my neck. “What do you say we have a little fun this time, eah?”

I tensed up. Ignoring the aching in my head, I pushed him onto the bed in one fell swoop.

“Oh yes, Daddy,” he moaned greedily. “I’ve been a naughty, naughty boy, I…”

“Shut. Up.” I growled as I pressed my lips to the base of his throat. “Your contract doesn’t say a fucking thing about you enjoying the process.” 

Three minutes later I stood up and strode across the stage,  leaving Angel behind in a haze of high and pain. I didn’t like what our contract demanded, but we were bound by it either way. At least I could abate my anger by making sure the drugs came with a miz of pain and pleasure. My hope was that someday, somehow the pain would overtake the pleasure and he would beg for an out. 

As if I would be so lucky.

I slammed the door of my office shut, hit the light switch and in the dark, barely made it to the garbage can beside my desk before emptying my stomach of its contents. The act of payment started making me nauseous the day I met my reader, but combined with the pulsing pain in my head, it was unbearable. Gone was the thought of making it through the day- hell, I wasn’t sure I’d make it back upstairs. I picked up my phone and squinting, I hit the speed dial for my Vox. 

“Vox, I’m..fuck, can you grab my migraine medication from the nurse and bring it to my office?” 

The buzz of a dial tone was his only response. I put my head down on my desk and in minutes, the door creaked open, letting in a silver of light. I let out a groan and covered my closed eyes with my free hand. 

“I find it incredibly ironic that a moth demons gets migraines, arn’t you supposed to be attracted to light?” Vox’s voice floated through the darkness.

“Quit teasing him,” another voice snapped. “Val, love, cover your eyes.” 

I held back a groan. “Vox, I called you. Honey, you need to be…”

“Checking up on my husband, who clearly can’t take care of himself,” Reader said softly,  

I felt her hand against his forehead, and her cool hand  slipped under mine and over eyes. Inadvertently, I leaned into the comfort her palm offered and let out a soft moan of relief. 

“Vox is gonna turn the light on. You’re going to slowly open your eyes, stand up and we’ll get you upstairs,” Reader continued. 

“I need my…” I began. 

“The studio is empty and Vox has your medication. Now shut up and do what I say,” she interrupted sharply. 

I heard Vox chuckle and I closed my eyes as tightly as I could.  Even under the protection of my wife’s hand, the light that slipped through stung my head like a thousand yellowjackets. 

“She’s pretty feisty when she wants to be, eah, Val? Lights on.” Vox said lightly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

I barely remembered making it back to my bedroom. The sharp pinch of an IV needle, an ice pack and several hours later, the pounding slowly began to fade. Softly, I mentioned to my wife the relief I finally felt. 

“You’re a fool for going into work today, you hear me? A fool. Even my father, the toughest of the commanding angels….” 

I leaned up and cut her off with a kiss. She stopped scolding instantly and leaned into me. 

“Bebita. I love you,” I said softly.

She rolled her eyes but kissed my forehead. “I love your stubborn ass too. Next time, make a better decision.”

[pinkanonwrites]

I’ll Take Care Of You

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

My Vash/Reader sickfic that I’ve been promising! I’ve been dinking around trying to get it to a place I like and I like it now, so time to post! Read on AO3 here!

Vash/Reader, 3,700+ words, GN!Reader, sickfic, sick reader, comfort, worried vash, non-sexual nudity, cuddling, sharing warmth, emeto/vomit warning

It's strange, when you're feeling unwell, how easy it is for the tiniest things to set you off.

There are plenty of day to day irritants in life, especially living on a desolate sand ball like No Man's Land. For the most part you'd learned to take many of them in stride, laughing when you could, letting the emotions roll over you like a wave when you couldn't until they receded softly back into the recesses of your mind and you could once again roll over and face the day ahead. It helped to have good company, and despite the crowded dune-crawler and the constant driving it entailed, you usually found somewhere amidst the chaos to enjoy yourself.

Not today.

You already hadn't felt well leaving the previous town, head and stomach swimming too much to risk eating more than some dry crackers and lukewarm canteen water, and even that made your innards pitch and roil dangerously. The car was constantly shifting, massive tires ping-ponging the entire chassis back and forth whenever you climbed over a particularly rocky bit of terrain and doing absolutely nothing to soothe the vertigo pooling in the bottom of your brain. It was too hot, too cramped, and worst of all?

Too. Damn. Loud.

Wedged between Wolfwood and Vash in the backseat, you had no escape from the blond's excessive snoring on your left and Nicholas leaning up over the center console to pester Meryl about her driving. Of course she was snapping back with equal levels of vitriol, voices rising slowly with each back and forth. In the passenger seat Milly was giggling along to their vicious banter, occasionally peppering in comments or fiddling with the radio dial, weather reports and religious sermons screeching through the fuzz.

The static of the radio crackled, Meryl's window-mounted fan clicked sharply with each rotation, Vash's head made a soft thunk as it connected with the glass of his window and Wolfwood kept hitting you with his elbow as he reached over the console and Milly was laughing and Meryl was yelling and Wolfwood was yelling back and-

"Hic…"

Your wet, little gasp silenced the car's occupants like a gunshot, your own hands too slow to stifle it from coming out. You could feel everyone's attention turn to you, even Vash beginning to stir to your left, and you couldn't tell if the heat flushing to your head was humiliation, sickness, heatstroke, or some miserable combination of the three. But you do know that said heat and said gazes made you curl up in the middle seat, covering your face with your long sleeves as you let out another miserable little sob.

"Are you alright back there?"

"Oh no, please don't cry! Do you feel carsick?"

"H-Hey, it's gonna be alright. Is this cause I kept hittin' ya with my elbow? Cause I said I was sorry."

You sobbed again, tears and snot and sweat running down your face and wetting your shirt sleeves as you pulled your knees up, curling as small as you could get. "'M sorry, 'm sorry, I'm fine."

"You're not fine! Did something happen?" Meryl couldn't look away from the road, but Milly had all but fully turned around in her seat to check on you.

"Do you need some water? I still have some if you're all out."

"C'mon, birdie, don't go all silent on us."

You wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into sand in the middle seat, curling in upon your own body as if it may actually make you disappear. This didn't help, it wasn't helping, it was just more noise and more worry and more hot tears running down your cheeks and you just wanted it all to stop.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Pulling your head up from your knees, you were met by Vash's hand gently brushing your forehead. His palm rested there, warm and steady, as he looked you over with a soft concern.

"You feel pretty warm. Is everything alright?" As he pulled away he brought his thumb down to swipe a stray tear from your cheek. You wanted to bawl, to clamber into his arms and let him cover you with his coat, shielding you from the heat and the noise and the (brightbrightwaytoobright) sun. But when you opened your mouth to speak, tongue dry and unsteady, you instead croaked out four, painfully small words.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"...Eh? EH?!? H-HANG ON!" You were jostled back by the force of Vash diving forward, clapping both hands over your mouth with a low groan. Your stomach pitched wildly, thick saliva pooling in the back of your throat as Vash jammed himself over the center console. "PULL OVER!"

"Wh-What? Why?" Meryl yelped when Vash exploded into her line of sight.

"JUST DO IT! PLEASE?!?"

She hardly needed to 'pull over' in the stretches of open desert, but the dune-crawler rumbled and bumped to a jerky halt that only served to make your stomach sickness worse. Not even waiting for Vash to unbuckle his seatbelt, you clambered over his lap and opened the door, collapsing to the ground just in time to empty the meager contents of your stomach into the hot sand. There was hardly anything to hack up, everything you'd eaten over the course of the day splattering out with a few shivering gags. But your body continued to retch out of your control, fresh tears dripping off your cheeks and into the puddle as you helplessly dry heaved on your hands and knees.

"Hey, hey, you're alright. Deep breaths, okay? I've got you." There was a cool hand brushing your hair back from your sticky forehead, and another rubbing the small space between your shoulder blades.

Finally, when your stomach had finished cramping and the last thick glob of saliva had drooled from your open mouth onto the sand, your body pitched forward dangerously, elbows collapsing from exhaustion. You would have face-planted straight into your own mess if Vash wasn't there to catch you, hauling you backwards so you could slump weakly against his chest as he sat with you in the sand. You could hear shuffling around you, footsteps, but your eyes were still blurry with moisture as you squinted weakly in the afternoon sun.

"Thanks, Milly. Here, drink this." You felt the rim of a canteen press to your lips, and let Vash tip your head back to take a swig of water.

"Don't drink too fast now, or you might get sick again!" One of Milly's large hands gently caressed the top of your head. "We've got plenty of time to get to the next town, so take as long as you need!"

"I'm sorry." You whimpered again, feeling twice as pathetic in the face of everyone's kindness. You could hear Meryl click her tongue somewhere off to your right.

"You don't have to apologize! Everybody gets sick sometimes, it's just a thing that happens."

"Yer lucky we're planning on a hotel tonight, way better than sleeping in the sand-OW! HEY!"

"Dingy!?"

"Quit being a jerk! They already don't feel good and you're not helping!"

"How am I not helping?" Wolfwood hissed. "I'm reminding them they don't have to sleep in the back of a dingy car all night!"

"Ooh, boy. There they go again." Vash sighed out a chuckle, hand never pausing as he carefully rubbed your upper arm. "Whenever you feel up for it, we can get going. Okay?"

As Meryl and Wolfwood continued to bicker quietly in the background, you let yourself melt fully into Vash's chest. His prosthetic arm came around your waist to keep you from slipping too far down, and you lolled your head back against his collarbone as your eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry…" You slurred again, even though by this point you knew the apology was not necessary. "Jus' don't feel good…"

"You get a little silly when you're sick, don't you?" There was a teasing tone to Vash's voice, one that made you feel all warm and cozy in your chest. "You're being very polite right now."

"'M tired, Vash." You whined, rolling to your side a bit to nuzzle your cheek against his chest.

"I know." He said, so soft and so fond. "When we get back in the car, you can lay on me, alright? Then you can sleep the whole ride there. I promise."

"Mmh, yes please…"

You couldn't remember exactly how long you spent on the ground, just the vague feelings of Vash helping you to your feet, buckling your seatbelt for you after you clambered weakly back to your spot. As soon as he was seated he twisted his body towards you, leaning back against the car door so you could sprawl yourself out across his chest. And sprawl you did, fingers clutching absently at his coat as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck with a content little sigh. The dune-crawler rocked slightly as your other friends climbed into their respective seats, but with your cheek pressed to Vash's chest it didn't make you feel so dangerously nauseous anymore.

"Try getting some rest. We'll wake you up in the next town." His metal hand found the small of your hip and rested there, keeping you curled safely against his chest as the engine rumbled back to life. Eyelids dipping heavily, you mumbled out a few clumsy words of appreciation before blackness overtook your vision.

"Thank you… Vash…"

You didn't jostle blearily awake again until Meryl had already paid for your respective hotel rooms, letting you rest slumped against Vash in the backseat while she chatted with the man at the desk. Given the size of the town itself, it made sense that there would only be a few rooms available. Fortunately Meryl was able to book two doubles and a single, leaving you with your own space to recuperate while the rest of the group split the two double rooms between themselves.

"We'll be right across the street, okay?" Vash gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder as he pointed out the window of your hotel room to the nearby diner. "Try and get a little more rest, and I'll bring you back something for dinner!"

“Mhm… I will.” You mumbled. You'd let your travel bag thunk loudly to the floor next to your bed as you collapsed into the mattress. Some of the vertigo had subsided after your extended nap, but you hardly wanted to push your luck by trying to go out to dinner with everyone else.

"There's even a bath if you want to take one, might help you feel better." Vash gave a final, soothing rub to the space between your shoulder blades before you could hear him stepping away, boots thudding softly on the wood floor. "I'll be back before you know it. Sleep well."

"Have fuuuun." You sighed out, door clicking shut behind him and leaving you in silence. As tired as you were, there was a tacky sweatiness to your skin, sickness and desert heat making you feel distinctly gross to the touch. Maybe a bath would be a good idea after all…

Reluctantly, you slumped into a seated position before getting back to your feet. The bathroom was larger than you'd expected for the size of the inn, and your vision swam slightly as you reached over to fiddle with the knobs and start the sudden rush of water. It was even warm; how much did this place cost? Distantly you felt a little prickle of guilt, Meryl was probably spending extra just to make sure you could rest in a vague semblance of comfort. You'd have to be sure to thank her profusely, when you could actually think straight. You clumsily shed your clothes, letting them fall to the tiled floor as you slipped into the warm water and toed the knob back off again with your foot.

It felt good at first, dunking your head under the water and coming up again with a soft huff as rivulets ran from your hair. But you were far too tired to even wash yourself properly, and though the water barely bordered on warm, something about the heat made your dizziness spike all over again. You couldn't even bring yourself to stand back up to get out, slumping against the side of the tub and resting your cheek on the cool ceramic edge. All you needed was to close your eyes for a moment, and once the spiraling in your head stopped you'd be fine to climb back out again. You'd just get a little more rest in the meantime…

"Heyyy, are you feeling any better? I brought you some soup! We just need to bring the bowl back tomorrow morning."

Vash knocked twice on your door, but received no response. Man, you must be really exhausted. Your bedroom light was visible from the street, so when he saw it on he'd assumed you were still awake. He tried the handle, finding your door to still be unlocked.

"I'm coming in, okay?" He twisted the handle, hesitating just a moment before adding. "...Don't be naked!"

He shouldered the door open, one hand holding your lidded bowl of soup and the other covering his eyes. Kicking the door shut behind him, Vash hesitated a moment before peeking through his spread fingers. Your room was empty, bed still made, bag exactly where you'd dropped it just before he left. Vash's stomach sank, quickly setting the bowl on the table as he called out your name. You wouldn't have gone somewhere, would you? Did someone see him bringing you into the hotel, maybe peg you as a sidekick of The Humanoid Typhoon? There weren't any signs of a struggle, though. Maybe you were sicker than he thought, and he'd left you all alone when you were at your most vulnerable. His gaze flickered around the room, grasping for any sign of where you may have gone or what might have happened.

Finally, it landed on the bathroom door. It wasn't open when he left, and a slim trail of light was glinting from the gap between it and the doorframe. There was silence beyond it, a blistering, agonizing silence. He took two hesitant steps forwards, knocking shakily on the doorframe, before finally nudging it open and letting himself inside.

His heart twisted and stammered in his chest when his gaze finally landed on you, rabbiting up into a thundering panic when you didn't even acknowledge his entrance. You were slumped in the bathtub, one arm hanging over the edge and your cheek lolled against the rim of the basin, eyelids shut but fluttering weakly. There was a sickly pallor to your skin, and even from a distance Vash could see the goosebumps that had broken out across every stretch of it currently visible to him. You were even shivering, hard.

"H-Hey!" He didn't have time to be flustered at your state of complete undress, too busy stumbling forward to lift your limp and unmoving body from the bath. The water was cool, almost cold as he dunked his arms in, soaking the sleeves of his shirt and jacket as he hooked you under the armpits and pulled you into his arms. Letting himself sink to his knees so you could rest in his lap, he let go of you with one arm for just a moment, just long enough to grasp blindly at a towel on the counter to bundle you in. Your head thunked limply against his chest as soon as he had you wrapped in the towel and back in his arms. "Hey, can you hear me? I've got you now, it's gonna be okay."

It didn't feel like it was going to be okay, not to Vash at least. His stomach was swimming with guilt as he carried you back out to your bed, bundling you in the sheets and using the towel to dry the tips of your hair that were still damp. You were still shaking, thin blankets doing far too little to bring the warmth back to your body. Of course there wouldn't be any more stored in the hotel room either; it wasn't like anyone needed them most of the time anyway. He could dip back down the hallway and grab the blankets from his own bed, but that meant leaving you alone again, even for just another few moments. The thought made Vash feel vaguely sick himself.

Only one thing he could do then.

Vash shucked off his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, hesitating for a moment before doing the same with his turtleneck. Waterlogged sleeves clung to his arms as he wrestled the damp thing off, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor before moving back to your bedside. He tugged back the top blanket, leaving you swaddled in the sheet as he clambered in next to you and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. You let out a soft sigh through your nose as you curled instinctively into his warmth, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Oh so hesitantly, like you were made of fine china, Vash draped an arm around your bundled form and splayed his hand out wide along the small of your back.

"I'm sorry…" He murmured, clutching your shuddering body like you would dissolve away between his fingertips if he relaxed, even for a moment. "I'm so sorry. I should have stayed. I won't leave again. I'm sorry."

"Mmmrh… Vash?"

He jolted, cupping your face with a hesitant call of your name as you blinked miserably awake. Head thumping and body aching, you squinted until Vash's face phased into clarity, all quivering lip and furrowed brow and stinging, glassy eyes. Weakly, you wrestled a hand free from the sheet, wiping at the corner of his eye with your thumb. He choked on a sob, melting into your palm with a relieved gasp.

"You're okay."

"Mmh… Head hurts a lot. What time is it?" You grumbled. The last thing you remembered was stooping down to run yourself a bath, then the rest of it faded into a hazy blur. Vash sniffled, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"Evening. Probably around 8? You passed out in the bath… It was really cold."

Fragmented memories began to click back into place, and you gripped the sheets close to your body with your free hand as you suddenly processed your own nudity. A spike of humiliation shot through you, as dulled as it was by your swimming senses.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't scare you too bad, did I?"

Vash didn't respond, but the look on his face gave you all the answer you needed.

"Oh, honey." The sheets were tucked close up enough to your chest that you didn't hesitate to free your other hand to cup his face as well. His gaze trailed off to the corner of his eye, unable to keep contact with yours. "I'm so sorry, you must have been so worried."

"I-It's alright! It's not a big deal, really. I'm just glad you're okay."

You didn't relent, not yet, instead leaning in and pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. "It is a big deal. I scared you, didn't I?"

"Not on purpose or anything."

"That doesn't mean it didn't feel real. Oh, Vash." His breath hitched when you murmured his name, another fresh tear or two slipping down his cheeks. "I'm okay. You found me and I'm gonna be alright, alright? I'm right here."

A tiny, pained whimper escaped him as he bundled you into his arms, hiding his teary face in the crook of your neck. Both flesh and metal hands fisted the fabric draped across your back as he pressed a kiss to the soft space in between your neck and your shoulder. "I shouldn't have left. I should have made sure you were okay. I shouldn't have told you to take a bath."

"Hey, hey, hold on. You didn't make me do anything, I chose to take a bath. None of this is your fault, Vash. Things happen sometimes." Your cradled the back of his head in one hand, and rubbed soothing circles across his broad back with the other. "You came to check on me, and you found me, and you got me warm. You're so good, Vash. My wonderful boy."

He sniffled against your neck again, but you could feel the faintest hint of a smile pressed against your skin. "...I brought you some soup. Are you hungry?"

You hummed, trailing your fingertips up and down the jut of his shoulder blade. "In a little bit. Can you warm me up a bit more first? You're like a living space heater."

Finally, you could feel some of the nervous tension begin to eke out of Vash's muscles as he began to melt into your arms. He tugged you forward, just enough that your fronts were pressed together from the chest all the way down to where your legs intertwined, thin fabric sheet separating your bare chests.

"Good? Not too warm?" His heartbeat was thundering loud enough for you to feel, his hands so gentle where they rested upon your exhausted body. "Let me know if you get too warm, okay?"

"I will. But this is perfect." You nuzzled your forehead against his shoulder, making him stifle a soft chuckle. "I could fall asleep again."

"Not yet! You've got to at least eat something first, okay? After you eat, then you can sleep."

"Always looking after me.~" You cooed. "I will, okay? In just a few minutes."

Your answer seemed to placate him for now as he pressed another kiss to your neck, light and chaste. He nosed along your jawbone, breath light and ticklish as he murmured. "Can I stay here tonight? I know I have my own room, and you need to rest, and I don't want to be a bother, but-"

"Yes." You replied, before he could talk himself out of it. "Yes, please stay with me. I want you to."

There was a palpable relief in the sigh he let out at your response. "Good. Cause I probably just would have camped out in the hallway if you said no. Might get in trouble with the owners for that."

"Well we can't have that happen, now can we?"

"No we cannot.~"

You chuckled, body feeling light for the first time that day as you let Vash cradle you in his steady arms.

[renecdote]

I know we’re all about Buck and Eddie making each other their emergency contact and the rest of the 118 finding out when one of them gets seriously injured, but for your consideration:

At some point after the will revelation, Buck makes Eddie his emergency contact and just.... doesn’t tell him. That’s just how they do life changing events now—why talk about your feelings when you can just hold them close to your chest until you die, right?

BUT updating his emergency contact involves updating paperwork for the 118 as well, and it’s only fair that Buck tell Bobby anyway since he was the previous emergency contact (see various canon evidence, but especially the tracheotomy incident and Monsters). So Bobby knows. Bobby is probably the only person who knows. And Buck is never really clear about why he’s doing this, but Bobby is pretty sure he has that figured out too.

What Bobby does not know is that he is the only person aware that Eddie is Buck’s emergency contact. He assumes that Eddie is also aware of this, that they had some meaningful conversation about it or even a quick ‘hey do you mind if I put you down for this?’ (you know like normal people do).

And then: Buck gets hurt. Nothing too serious, but he ends up at the hospital, and the hospital calls Eddie—and then Eddie is calling Bobby going “hey what the fuck why is a stranger calling to tell me Buck is injured??” and Bobby is like “oh my bad you’re right I should have called myself” and Eddie is like “no no what I don’t get is why I’m getting this phone call at all???”

To which Bobby’s response is something along the lines of, “Well you’re dating, aren’t you? It must be getting pretty serious.”

Eddie’s brain is just *static, dial tone noises, I’m sorry a a coherent thought could not be reached, please try again later* and the first thing he manages to blurt out is, “He told you about the will, didn’t he?*

Bobby does not know about the will so inevitably the whole thing comes out and Bobby nods along because yes of course that makes sense and then right at the end he’s like, “……so you aren’t dating?”

And Eddie’s like, “ha I wish.”

Silence.

More silence.

Then, “Well…. have you asked him?”

Some more silence, quiet and contemplative (you know the kind), before:

“What if he says no?”

“What if he says yes?”

It’s another long moment before Eddie speaks again, and then it’s only to say, “Thanks, Bobby. I gotta go.”

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 7

Chapter 7 is here and so let's pick up where we left off; with Aisling dialing Frankie, hoping and praying he'll pick up.

Summery: Cowboy Frankie returns to New York to work things out with his 'maybe girlfriend' Eva. But he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

Series Master List

Warnings for the whole series can be found here

He hadn’t heard the first couple of rings, his phone up on the porch while he stacked the last of the fire wood up against the wall. When it finally registered, he hurried back, slightly out of breath as he picked up the phone. The unknown number had stumped him for a second, hardly anyone called him, only Herb if it was an emergency, sometimes one of his old army buddies. He almost didn’t answer, but then, on a whim, he did. And suddenly Aisling’s voice filled his ear as clear as if she was standing next to him on the porch. 

She hadn’t faded from his mind, and he didn’t expect her to. He knew his mind too well by now, he knew she’d always be someone he returned to in his thoughts. His ‘what if…’. But it didn’t hurt as much as it had in the first month of being back. Away from New York, away from the noise of the city, and away from the guilt of what he’d done to Eva, his mind calmed down enough for him to sort his thoughts properly. 

He knew he would’ve fallen in love with Aisling, probably already had on some level. But he also knew he did the right thing when he left, he couldn’t have stayed. And to try to fix his head by being with her would’ve ended just as badly as it did with Eva. He wasn’t going to place that responsibility on her, to keep his mind quiet. He needed to fix that himself, and then, maybe, he’d be ready for something new. 

He missed her though, even though he’d counted that they’d only met six times. And three of those times could hardly be called ideal circumstances. But she was lodged in his mind and he often found himself thinking how he wanted to show her something on the ranch, or out on the trail, a new foal or the spot where he always saw eagles hunting. But she wasn’t here, and he had no way of contacting her. So he kept her in his mind and tried to be content with the little time he’d spent with her.

Until she called. 

He recognized her voice the second she answered. 

“Hi Frankie, it’s Aisling,” she replied to his ‘Hello?’ “From the bar…in Greenpoint.” 

His brain stalled for a second, catching up. He dropped his hand to the railing of the porch for support, and it took him a few seconds to respond. He heard her clear her throat, a nervous intake of breath as she shifted the phone in her hand, the microphone probably brushing against her hair. 

Her hair. 

Curling around her shoulder in the bed as she slept. Shining like bright copper in the sun at Smorgasbord just before her eyes turned hard as she looked at him and Eva. The thought of it snapped him back to the present. 

“Hi… Aisling,” he almost stuttered, “I didn’t know it was your number.” 

“Yeah, I’m- I’m sorry to call you out of the blue…I just…” 

He heard her exhale and shift on her feet again and the uncertainty in her voice made him want to reach out through phone lines and touch her, to reassure her. He’d been hoping she’d call for months and now she sounded like she didn’t think he’d want to talk to her. 

“It’s good to hear your voice,” he said, “I’ve thought about you.” A lot, too much maybe, all the time, every night you’re on my mind. 

“I’m…I’m at the bus stop, outside Big Sky,” she said and something grabbed his heart and forced it up into his throat. 

“You’re-you’re…here?” He stuttered out the question, turning and yanking open the door to the cabin, the keys to his truck were just inside the door. 

“Yeah, and…and listen, I know, it’s weird, I should’ve called you before, and I know, maybe, if you don’t want to…but….I just…” she trailed off as he thumped down the stairs and took a few long strides to the truck. 

“Don’t say anything, I’m on my way,” Frankie rushed out, not wanting her to think for a second that he didn’t want her here. “It’ll take me forty-five minutes to get there, there’s a gas station across the road, you can wait there, just tell George I’m coming to pick you up.”

“I’m already in the gas station,” Aisling said, turning and looking over at the twenty something man who was looking at his phone, “Thank you, Frankie, I…” she stopped, inhaled and listened to his truck rumble to life on the other end, “I know this is totally weird, but I just-” 

“Don’t say anything,” Frankie interrupted her again, “I’m glad you came, fucking ecstatic actually, I can’t wait to see you and we can talk on the drive back. Ok?” 

She smiled and he heard it in her voice when she replied, “Ok.” 

Frankie was grateful for the lack of cops on the road into town, he was over the limit by a lot as he raced towards Big Sky. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, nervous energy running through his system as he tried to sort through his mind the way he’d become accustomed too. He was nervous, he could easily admit that, nervous about seeing Aisling again, about her seeing him here, his tiny cabin, the old truck. What if she took one look at his life here and regretted everything? He’d probably oversold his life in Montana when he’d shown her the photos. He loved it here, but that was him and his fucked up head. What is she, someone who’s so used to the city, going to think about his small life here? 

He wiped his hand against his jeans, fuck, I should’ve changed those, his palms sweaty as he started seeing the lights from Big Sky. Nervous, but also so elated, there was a lightness in his heart he hadn’t felt in a long time, even a little hopeful. And happy. Definitely happy, that was the biggest feeling, it sat in his chest like a warm glowing fire as he thought about seeing her again. 

Soon. 

Soon. 

He pulled into the gas station ten minutes early and killed the engine, reaching for the door handle. But then he saw her through the big window, sitting at the counter, sipping from a take away mug. And he had to stop and take a moment, because she was there, only a few feet away, and he realized he hadn’t really believed it until he saw her. Running a hand through her hair in a gesture he remembered almost too well, curls of copper red pushed back behind her ear, taking another sip from the coffee, and then she looked up and met his eyes.

He pushed open the door of his truck as she slipped off the stool and picked up her bag. If he could’ve picked any spot to meet her again, he wouldn’t have picked halfway across the gas station asphalt at BIg Sky, but that’s where it happened and as far as Frankie was concerned, it was perfect. 

He couldn’t fight the smile that took over his face as he walked towards her. Nervous, happy, hopeful, he felt like he floated over the dirty, oil stained ground as she smiled back at him. 

“Hi,” he said, and she reached up and touched the peak of his cap, the same Standard Oil Heating cap he’d worn in New York. 

“Hi, cowboy,” she replied, the smile widening on her face as she saw the dimple appear on his cheek and the way his soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Frankie said, taking her in, her pale, tired face, the crumpled t-shirt with some stains on the side and hole by the neck, the hair escaping from a haphazard bun. She’d never looked more beautiful to him. 

“I’m really sorry for just turning up like this, I should’ve called you sooner but it was kinda a spur of the moment decision and-,” Aisling said, but Frankie shook his head, interrupting her 

“Don’t be, I’m happy you’re here, surprised, but really fucking happy.” 

She felt her shoulders sink as he held out his hand for her bag and she gave it to him with a small smile. He made her feel a bit better about just turning up, he looked happy, his warm smile made her heart melt and relieved some of the nerves. 

“Get in the truck, it’s a bit of a drive back,” he said, opening the door and placing her duffel bag in the back seat before stepping back and gesturing for her to step forward, “And I’m sorry about the mess…” he suddenly ducked down and grabbed a couple of water bottles and an old blanket from the seat, shoving it in the back too. “Not that many people ride in my truck these days,” he shrugged, giving her an apologetic look. 

“I don’t mind, Frankie, I’m just relieved you picked up the phone,” Aisling replied and took his offered hand as she stepped up into the truck, “My plan B was to find a motel but seeing the size of this place, I’m not sure there is one?” 

“Not one you can walk too,” Frankie chuckled and closed the door, hurrying around to the driver’s side, “You’re lucky I wasn’t out on the trail though, with some guests. I could’ve been well out of reception.” 

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about that,” Aisling said as Frankie got in on the other side, “but there were a lot of things I didn’t think about,” she looked over at Frankie, he was twisting the key in the ignition, the old truck, very much what she’d imagined him driving, rumbled to life. The interior smelled like motor oil and hay and the radio turned on to some old rock classics station, the whole thing felt so ridiculously domestic, so ordinary and so…safe.  

Suddenly she felt tears well up in her eyes, she was here, and so was he, he’d come to pick her up as if it was no bother and there hadn’t just been three months of total silence between them. She was almost a complete stranger to him, and he to her, and she’d yelled at him, told him how much he’d hurt her, and she hadn’t even said goodbye. Still, after all that, he’d answered when she called, and he’d come, smiling at her across the gas station. The long hours on the bus, the emotions of the past few days, it all overcame her, and she couldn’t stop the tears that started dripping down. 

Frankie looked over at Aisling as she sniffed, and she hastily wiped a hand over her eyes and shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, Frankie, just…can we just go?” She looked away from him and out through the window at the dark prairie beyond the gas station and the main road, she could feel his hand on her arm, a gentle squeeze before he pulled back again. 

“It’s ok, hermosa, it’s a long fucking journey on that bus, I should know. Let’s get you home, you can have a long, hot shower while I sort dinner,” Frankie put the truck into drive and glanced over at her again, “Just relax, you’re here now.” 

He sensed that there were a lot of things that they’d need to talk about, he didn’t know what had made her suddenly get on the bus. But he didn’t care, having her sit next to him in his truck was enough, it felt right. Right in a way that he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing. 

They rode back together almost in silence, Frankie pointed out the few things that could still be seen in the gathering darkness. 

“If the moon was full, you’d see it, it’s so bright out here, no street lights,” he said, gesturing to the nearby mountain range. In the almost total darkness, with only a sliver of the new moon, Aisling could only vaguely make out the darker ridge against the western sky. 

“I’ve never been somewhere where there are no street lights,” she replied, the first thing she’d said since they’d left Big Sky behind and Frankie glanced over at her. 

“City slicker,” he smirked and she looked over at him. He was keeping his eyes on the road but his eyes were smiling. 

“Sure thing, cowboy,” she teased him, and he chuckled. 

“Let me show you something, it’ll either freak you out, or you’ll love it,” he promised, and pulled the truck off the side of the road, killing the engine and the truck was thrown into darkness as Aisling gave him a nervous look. 

“No scary animals or creepy crawlies, Frankie,” she said and he chuckled. 

“I’ve seen those New York cockroaches, no bug out here comes even close.” 

He opened his door and came round to Aisling’s side, helping her step out onto the dusty verge. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, “and listen.” 

She did as he said, his warm hand still on the small of her back as she listened to the sounds around her. The engine behind her was clicking gently as it cooled down, the metal creaked a little and she could hear Frankie breathe next to her. 

She could hear Frankie breathe. 

Suddenly the silence was deafening in her ears and she turned and looked at the man standing next to her, smiling as he saw the wonder on her face. 

“It’s so quiet I can hear you breathe,” she whispered, and he nodded. 

“How does it make you feel?” he asked and she closed her eyes again, listening to the silence. Her heartbeat was a steady rhythm in her head, her own breath moved through her nose with a soft sound, Frankie shifted beside her and his jacket brushed against her hand with a low rustle. 

“Quiet,” she whispered, “It makes me feel quiet.” 

Frankie smiled and took her hand, “Keep your eyes closed, let me show you something else.” 

He led her to the back of the truck and helped her up on the flatbed. Together they laid back, Frankie guided her head down to the metal and then settled next to her. 

“Now you can open your eyes,” he whispered, and she blinked them open and gasped at the sight above her. The night sky was glittering, rivaling the Manhattan skyline, bright stars, as many as the grains of sand on a beach, scattered across the black expanse, brighter than she’d ever seen them before. She could sense Frankie’s eyes on her as she tried to take it all in, endless constellations, the faint light of suns millions of lightyears away, planets glimmering in different colors, the white hue of the milky way streaking across the southern sky. 

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, “I’ve never seen so many stars in the sky before.” 

“They’re always there,” Frankie replied in a low voice, not wanting to disturb the silence, “you just don’t see them in the city, it’s not dark enough.” 

“Can you show me the constellations?” she asked and he nodded, taking her hand in his and pointing it upwards. 

“That’s Ursa Major, the Big Dipper,” Frankie said and moved her hand, tracing the outline of the great bear in the sky. “And Cassiopeia sits just over the Milky Way, and then Andromeda just below the W.” He moved their joined hands again, showing her all the stars he knew, the ones he’d used to navigate, a back up to all the modern tech they’d carried on missions. 

“And if you’re lost, just look for that one, the North Star,” he pointed to a bright star, larger than the others, high up in the northern part of the sky, “It’s always to the north, no matter where you are.” 

Aisling listened to his voice, not really taking in what he was saying, just looking at the stars and planets as he pointed them out. Her mind was on the moment, resting on the flatbed of Frankie’s truck, his long body stretched out next to hers, so close that their legs touched. It felt a little bit like a dream, he’d been on her mind so much, and now he was here, his warm hand wrapped around her cold fingers, as he moved their arms, the low pitch of his voice wrapping around her mind. 

“Am I boring you?” he asked as he noticed her silence, letting their hands rest between them. When she didn’t reply he looked over at her, her closed eyes and parted lips made him smile, she was fast asleep. With a little chuckle he pushed himself up on his side and gently touched her cheek. 

“Aisling, wake up,” he whispered, moving the back of his hand over her soft skin and she stirred, blinking awake again. 

“I should probably get us back to the cabin,” Frankie smiled at her confused face, “It’ll be cold sleeping in the truck without sleeping bags.” 

“I’m sorry,” Aisling mumbled, letting Frankie help her sit back up, “I was listening but I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” 

“You’re probably beat after the bus. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t sleep for shit while I was on it. C’mere.” 

He held onto her waist as she slid off the flatbed and she looked up at him, her sleepy eyes smiling as he caught her. 

“Can we come out here again sometime when I’m not so tired?” she asked, “The sky is amazing and I want to hear more about the constellations.” 

“Yeah, of course, we can pack dinner, some sleeping bags and spend the whole night out here if you want to,” Frankie replied, helping her back into his truck, holding onto her hand. 

“That sounds amazing, thanks Frankie,” Aisling said and his soft, dark eyes were so gentle in the yellow light of the truck’s cabin, she felt the urge to kiss him. To wrap herself around him again and feel him hold her close to his solid frame. But she held herself back, not sure where they were yet, and Frankie just squeezed her hand before he let it go.

Aisling leaned her head on the window the rest of the way to the cabin, Frankie saw her eyes drifting shut as he glanced over and he had to wake her again when he finally pulled up in front of the house. He grabbed her bag and led her up the stairs, his hand in hers, pushing the door open, the lights were still on inside. 

She followed Frankie’s lead and toed off her shoes as she came into the house and let her eyes drift around the space. He moved into the big open room and put her bag on the dark brown leather couch in front of the fireplace that took up a chunk of the back wall. When he turned back to her he wiped his hands down his thighs in a nervous gesture as he looked at the way she was examining the space. 

“It’s not much, I know, but it’s just for me, and that’s enough,” he said, “but there’s a guest room, I’ll get the bed made for you, I’ve just kinda been using it as storage, but the bed’s comfy,” he rambled and missed the way she smiled. 

“It’s beautiful, Frankie, I love it,” Aisling said, moving over to the big fireplace and running her hand over the rough stone and the dark wood beams behind it. The whole place had a feeling of being lived in, a whole life in the way the old walls were colored by decades of wood smoke, the glass in the windows slightly warped, the floor creaking as she walked over it. And then Frankie’s things spread about, but all in their specific place. A thick, dark red quilt hanging over the arm of the couch, heavy gore-tex boots by the door, an assortment of what she assumed were ‘horse things’ next to them, even a Stetson tossed onto the coffee table. 

“Yeah?” Frankie said, “You sure? It’s kinda a mess, I usually don’t have company over,” he fussed over the couch, picking up a t-shirt and some dirty socks from the armrest. 

“It looks just like I pictured it from your photo,” she said, turning and smiling at him, “Can we light the fire? I’ve never been in a place with a real fireplace, only those fake decorative ones.”

“Sure, I’ll light it,” Frankie replied, coming over to where she stood next to the fireplace, “Do you want to take a shower while I light it and start dinner? I was just going to heat up some chili Herb’s girlfriend made for me, we can eat in front of the fire if you want.” 

“That sounds like the best plan ever, especially the shower part,” Aisling smiled and Frankie smiled in return. 

“I’ll show you the guest room and the shower, I’m afraid there’s no ensuite, just the one shared bathroom.” 

“Wow, really roughing it, aren’t you, Frankie,” she teased him, following his broad back down the hallway towards the bedrooms, “I should’ve stayed with my ensuite master bathroom on the third floor of my mansion back in Greenpoint.” 

“Don’t knock it, that was a great shower,” Frankie chuckled, and then immediately regretted his words. The image of the two of them together in her small shower wasn’t what he needed in his head right now, heat crept up his neck as he tried to steer his mind away from it. 

Aisling didn’t reply, her mind had also drifted back to the same place as Frankie, and she swallowed thickly as he opened the door to the guest bedroom. 

“Ok, this is you,” Frankie coughed, scratching his head as he looked at what was really his storage space with a critical view, “I…uh…might need to shift some things first, and I should really clean it out…” He winced, the room was full of junk, bits and pieces he thought might come in handy around the ranch or the cabin. He should really store it all in one of the barns down on the ranch, but somehow he’d never gotten round to it. And every surface was covered by dust, the air in the room stale and lacking in oxygen. 

“Listen,” he said, turning to Aisling who was standing just behind him, “I’ll sleep in here, or on the couch, you take my bed until I’ve sorted this out. I can’t let you sleep in here.” 

Aisling wanted to tell him it was fine, that she couldn’t kick him out of his bed, but the room really was a mess, the bed barely visible under all the knick knacks piled on top. 

“I can sleep on the couch, Frankie, and I’ll help you sort this. It’s my fault really, for turning up out of nowhere.” 

“Hermosa, you’re not sleeping on my couch,” Frankie replied, sounding almost offended and the endearment slipped out of him before he could stop it, biting his tongue too late. To hide it, he shook his head and pointed to the door opposite, “That’s the bathroom, I’ll get you a towel and then I’ll change the sheets on the bed, no arguments.” 

“Frankie…” 

“No arguments,” he repeated, hurrying down the hall to his own bedroom before she could object again. 

Aisling almost giggled out loud as his flustered face, he was different here, in a good way. Less wary of his surroundings, more comfortable and open, which made sense now that he was back in Montana which seemed to be so important to him. She liked this version of Frankie though, even more than the one she’d seen in Brooklyn. Whatever had haunted him there, it seemed to have stayed in Greenpoint, along with his ex-girlfriend. But they needed to talk about what had happened in New York. She hadn’t wanted to listen to him or his excuses three months ago, but three months of not being able to forget him had changed her mind. Now she wanted to know, to understand, so that they could move forward, if that was what he wanted too.

Aisling sighed, she was really hoping Frankie saw something similar, but she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, dreading what it would bring up for both of them. For now though, she just wanted a shower and some food before crashing in Frankie’s bed. She wasn’t going to fight him for the couch, the bed sounded too tempting after sleeping sitting up for two days straight. 

The bathroom was small but cozy, like the rest of the cabin. Frankie knocked on the door and handed her a towel before he showed her how to turn on the old shower. She took longer than she probably should’ve, indulging in some of Frankie’s body wash and letting the hot water pour over her tired, stiff muscles. The shower smelled like him, the way she remembered him smelling when he first leaned over the bar counter and showed her the pictures of the cabin she was now in. On the vanity counter were some of his toiletries, neatly lined up. He’d said the cabin was a mess but she couldn’t see any of it, the towels in the bathroom hung straight on the rail, his toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush and deodorant were in a row on the counter. He even had a pair of slippers parked underneath a terry cloth robe hanging by the door. Not a thing out of place. It made her smile while she dried her hair and changed into clean clothes, she could see his army background in the details. The messy spare bedroom was like his mind, the mess hidden behind the quiet, in control, exterior. 

The smell of wood fire and food was starting to drift in from the rest of the cabin and her stomach grumbled as she left the bathroom. 

“I hope I left you some hot water,” she told Frankie’s back as she made her way over to the kitchen part of the large open room and he turned around. 

“No problem, the tank is pretty big, and you needed it.” 

“Are you saying I smelled?” Aisling feigned offense as she stood next to him, looking into the pot he was stirring. 

“Absolutely, like an old bus, two thousand miles and the New York subway. Ouch!” 

He laughed and grabbed his arm in mock pain when she gave him a light slap for his teasing. 

“I think it’s two and half thousand miles,” Aisling replied, “and I feel like every one of them is rolling around in my head.” 

“I remember the feeling,” Frankie said and handed her a beer, still cold from the fridge, “Here, grab this, and go sit down. I’ll be right there with dinner.” 

Aisling gratefully grabbed the bottle and found a cozy spot on the couch, stretching out and leaning back with a sigh. The fire was crackling, spreading its warmth and she felt drowsy again as she sipped on the beer. 

Frankie came over with a tray, two bowls and bread on the side, and sat down next to her. 

“The bowl is hot, so be careful,” he said, putting it all down on the coffee table. 

“Nice beer,” Aisling said, sitting up straight again as she looked at the label, “is it local?” 

“Yeah, small microbrewery in Missoula, Herb and I have been exploring as many local ones as we can get our hands on. And no one charges fourteen fifty for them.” 

He glanced over at her, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a cheeky grin as her tired brain caught on to what he meant. 

“Fuck off, Frankie,” she mock scowled at him, “that beer was worth fourteen fifty, this one isn’t.” 

“I’m offended, as a proud Montana transplant, I’m offended!” Frankie put his hand on his chest and clutched an imaginary string of pearls around his neck in a gesture that made her snort as she scooted closer to the table. He’d loaded the stew with toppings and she gratefully dug into it, relishing proper home made food after so long of bus snacks. 

“My compliments to Herb’s girlfriend, that was fucking delicous,” Aisling sighed, putting her bowl down after eating in silence. 

“Want some more?” Frankie asked but Aisling shook her head. 

“I could eat another three servings I think, but then my body might go into shock,” she replied and leaned back in the corner of the couch with the beer bottle. 

Frankie glanced over at her and smiled, she was looking tired and drowsy, leaning her head against the back of the couch and her legs stretched out towards him. While he watched she returned his smile, her features softening before her face cracked in a big yawn. 

“Go to bed, Aisling,” he chuckled, patting her leg, “I’ll clean up, and tomorrow I’ll show you the ranch.” 

“Ash,” she said, smiling at him as she put her hand over his, “My friends call me ‘Ash’.” She gave his fingers a squeeze and let go, pushing herself off the couch, “And yes, I’ll take that offer of not having to clean up and going to bed instead. Sorry about stealing yours, but you did offer.” 

“Catfish,” Frankie said, and he couldn’t help grinning when she looked down at him in confusion, “My friends call me ‘Catfish’, or just ‘Fish’.” 

“There must be a story there,” Aisling smiled back at him, “Tell me in the morning, ‘Fish’.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek, “Thanks for today.” 

Chapter 8

[vodika-vibes]

Since it’s getting colder, could i request something involving cuddles with your clone of choice? Feel free to take it in whichever direction you feel 🩵

Winter Warmth

Summary: You share a lazy afternoon with Fives

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Reader

Word Count: 1257

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is okay. I had Fives on the brain, so he needed to be written.

“Cold, cold, cold-” It wasn’t supposed to snow. It wasn’t supposed to get cold enough to snow, not for another few days. And yet, here you are, outside in a too thin jacket, because the weather suddenly took a turn.

You rub your hands together, to try and get them a little warmer, and you zip your jacket up all the way, as though that would stop the biting wind from cutting through the thin material as though it’s not even there.

If you had known that it was going to get cold, you wouldn’t have walked to the store, you would have brought your speeder.

For a moment, just a moment, you consider calling Fives to come and get you. You know he would. But he was asleep when you left, your poor man exhausted from the war and the hours of testimony he had been forced to give about Palpatine.

You don’t want to bother him. 

You duck into a store, and smile at the shopkeeper, who looks at you sympathetically, “We’ll be closing up soon,” He says, “The storm’s supposed to get bad.”

“Is it?” You ask.

“Oh yes. If I were you I’d grab what you need and get home.”

“I’ll do just that. Thank you.” You hurry to the back of the store and grab the few ingredients you need for dinner tonight, as well as a few extra items, in case the storm gets worse, and you hurriedly pay, and shove your purchases into your canvas bag.

By the time you step back outside, the temperature seems to have dropped even more, and the snow is falling even harder. And you release a noise of sheer frustration and duck under an awning. You can’t walk home in this, it’s not safe.

So, grudgingly, you pull out your comm and dial a comm code you know by heart.

It rings a few times, and then, “‘lo?” Fives sounds groggy, and you feel bad when you realize that you woke him up.

“Fives? I’m sorry for waking you.” You say apologetically.

“Mm…s’alright, cyare.” You hear him shifting around in bed, and you can picture him sitting up against the headboard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “What’s wrong?” He sounds more awake now, but you’re sure that that’s just his training coming into play.

“I need you to come and get me, please?”

“Come and… cyare, are you not home?” Fives asks, suddenly sounding very awake.

“I needed to get some stuff from the store for dinner,” you explain, “And the weather wasn’t supposed to get bad until later, so I walked-”

“Kriff!” You hear him moving and then the sound of a curtain rustling, “Babe, are you at least dressed for this weather?”

“Er…will you be mad if I say no?”

“Of course not. It’s not like you planned on the bad weather, cyare.” You hear him rustling around, and the sound of a closet door opening, “Where are you right now?”

“I’m standing under the awning in front of the noodle shop that we like.”

“Can you wait inside?” Fives asks.

“Everything’s closed,” You reply glumly.

“Of course they are. I’ll be there in ten, cyare. Find someplace where you’re at least somewhat shielded from the wind?”

“Alright. I can do that.”

“I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.” The comm disconnects and you move to the side of the building, where you’re at least a little bit shielded from the snow.

And Fives pulls up about 12 minutes later. You hurry over to the passengers door, and climb in as soon as you’re able to. He takes the canvas bag from you and sets it in the backseat, and then drapes a fleece blanket over your legs, “You’re freezing, cyare.”

You smile at him weakly, “I can’t feel my nose.”

Fives immediately turns up the heat, and makes sure that your hands are covered in the blanket as well, and only then does he start back to the house. 

“You could have woken me up, cyare. I would have come with you.” He says once he leaves the town proper.

“I know. But you’ve been so tired. I wanted to let you rest.” You admit quietly.

Fives glances at you, and slips his hand under the blanket to take your hand and he squeezes gently, “I appreciate it, cyare.” He murmurs as he threads his fingers with yours, and you fold your other hand over his. 

The ride home is quiet, but it’s a comfortable kind of quiet. Neither of you feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, and Fives doesn’t release your hand until he’s pulling the car into the garage.

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

He laughs softly, and brushes his thumb against your cheek, “You don’t have to thank me for that, cyare. I’ll always come and get you.” Fives leans over and presses a light kiss to the corner of your lips, “Come on, let’s get this stuff sorted, and then we can watch a movie.”

“Deal.” You reach back and grab the bag, “I’ll put this stuff away if you want to change into more comfortable clothes.”

Fives gives you a very steady look as he pushes the door open, “Alright.” He finally says, “I should probably grab a quick shower anyway.”

“It doesn’t have to be quick, Fives. There’s plenty of water.” You remind him as you climb out of the car.

“I want to spend time with you, not the shower, cyare.” He jokes easily as he walks around the car and places his hand on the small of your back to guide you into the house.

He keys in the door code, and then stands to the side to let you in the house. “Do you want me to make lunch, Fives?” You ask as you step into the house and kick your shoes off to join the pile of other shoes. 

“Maybe in a bit, I’m not quite hungry yet.” He presses a kiss to your temple and steps around you, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You step into the kitchen as Fives walks across the living room and vanishes into the bedroom, and you hear the shower turn on. By the time you have the groceries put away, and the roast in the slow cooker for dinner that night, Fives is out of the shower and lounging on the couch, scrolling through the hundreds of movies you have access to.

You smile at him softly, and then you slip into the bedroom to change into the much more comfortable lounge clothes you prefer, one of Fives’ old shirts and a pair of loose lounge pants in the shade of blue that Fives prefers, and then you’re back in the living room and you settle yourself on his chest.

Fives wraps his arm snugly around you, and you tilt your head up to kiss his chin, “What are we watching?” 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Fives replies lazily, “Are you in the mood for action, adventure, romance-”

You hum softly, “Let’s go with adventure.” You lay your head on his chest and close your eyes to listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady, in your ear. “Will you turn on the fireplace?”

“Already done, cyare.” Fives says as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “I love you.” He murmurs against the top of your head.

“I love you too,” You reply as you press a light kiss to his chest.

[turtle-steverogers]

I wonder how steves hearing gets intense esp how he drives his harley. From what i can recall when helping dad in parking the bike (It almost resembles steves in winter soildier a dyna model) just the click warning . Dam. THE engine Roars loudly :0 sorry just recalled these things . Also its only comftable for the driver on the seats...if one is the unfortunate passenger....sitting on thats uncomfy fr awhile

God, I'm just picturing Steve getting used to his new body and the new way his ears work, everything dialed to eleven, every little noise around him amplified. And he still doesn't quite know how to handle that, but he knows his skin is always itchy because of it.

Cue him riding his motorcycle for the first time during the war, right into some firefight, the engine roaring around him and amplifying the sound of distant gunfire. It's hell, but he powers through the pain, like he always does. Resigns himself to the way his brain is screaming at him for refuge.

Bucky notices the pinched expression on his face. The way his jaw is clenched and the brief moment Steve gives into the urge to reach up and cover his ears, just for a second. Long enough to find momentary refuge. No one else sees, or if they do, they don't pay it mind. Not the way Bucky knows to. Not the way Bucky has always been in tune with Steve-- reading his pain before Steve has even processed it's there.

Later when they're back in the tent, Steve hasn't spoken for hours. And when he had, he'd been short. Irritable.

"Will you just come here?" Bucky asks from his cot, watching Steve stare at his sketchbook page. "Your brooding is making my head hurt."

"I'm not brooding," Steve mumbles, but relents, standing and crossing to Bucky's cot. Hovering, like he still doesn't know what to do with the space he takes up.

"I'm not brooding," Bucky mocks, making his voice whiny.

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes, but lets Bucky tug him down, all but melting onto his cot. Into his space. Reaching up, Bucky presses his hands on either side of Steve's head, over his ears. Steve looks at him, eyes tight right before he seems to give in and his whole body sags.

"Thanks," he mumbles, hands pressing over Bucky's. His skin still feels the same, soft and sure. Artist's hands. It's nice to know some things haven't changed.

"You don't gotta tough it out all the time, kid," Bucky says.

Steve gives him a look. "You know I do."

Bucky thins his lips, but doesn't try to argue. It's a moot point. Steve is stubborn as a mule when it comes to survival.

"Fine, but at least let me carry some of it when I can?" He pulls Steve in, presses their foreheads together.

Steve closes his eyes, and for a moment, Bucky thinks he's going to argue that, too. But then his fingers flex over Bucky's, feeling him. Feeling the tangibility of his promise.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

[listentothelittlebird]

I would be embarrassed at how quickly i did this but frankly i’m not! So @skizzlemanweek hi :)

Day 1: calm / chaos - I think I’m supposed to pick one but. Uh. I didn’t

word count: 1079

AU: idk man i made it up. Brain go brrrr

enjoy :D

-

This is what Skizz knows: elytras do not agree with him. This is not because he does not know how to fly. Moreover, he knows how to fly too well. Born in the air, flying his whole life, and only learning to walk as a teen. 

When he joins Hermitcraft, he brute forces his way through learning elytra until Impulse brute forces him into talking with Xisuma. Now he flies with his wings, though the wind will not answer his call, has not answered him since he left his home.

This is what Skizz, and all the hermits, have discovered: that the new world has brought them enemies that command the air. That their droppings, when grinded down, form handheld blasts of wind, pockets of air that they can twist to their will.

“You got the wind charges?”

Impulse is just a speck of yellow in the distance, nearly indistinguishable against the sunlight. Skizz has to use his communicator to talk to him, with how far away he stands. 

“Yeah, I got them.” A pause, a message flying through the worldwide channel. “Oh, hold on. Tango wants to watch.”

“Get him to bring his own wind charges!” A shadow zips over Skizz’s head, Zedaph descending onto his own haphazard column of red sand. It makes Skizz feel like the widest sandwich on earth, with Impulse on one side and Zedaph on the other.

Skizz shakes out his wings, idly catching a stray feather as it floats around his face. His skin feels restless, though the heat is probably just as much to blame.

Skizz waits for Tango to join their voice channel before he starts pestering him.

“Hurry up!” He bellows, cackling when Tango responds with muttered blaze noises and the sound of whistling rockets.

“Have you guys tested this yet?” Tango asks, as he quickly assembles his own pillar into the sky, slapping together a frankly unnecessary amount of scaffolding.

“Nope!” Zedaph chimes brightly. “Well, Impulse says Grian tested it out, but only Gem was with him to throw the wind charges. And Grian’s not even windborn! I bet Skizz can do much more than blow some guardians out of a lake.”

“At least Xisuma’s around.” Impulse pauses as he types a message, and relays the replies to them. “He’s got a backup copy saved. Feel free to let loose, Skizz.”

“We should’ve done this at your base, then!” Skizz shakes his wings out again, looks around at the barren landscape of their sand collection point. 

They know Skizz well enough, by now. Even with a backup saved, just being near to their precious architecture would make Skizz dial it down by the dozens.

Here, though, is no man’s land.

“Okay!” Tango has finally ascended his scaffolding. “Reefy!”

“Great!” Without warning, white wisps explode towards Skizz from Zedaph’s pillar. The gust kicks up the sand beside him, ruffling his feathers. “Oops, sorry! Test shot!”

“Wait, wait!” Skizz eyes the horizon and plops down his bedroll. “Let me snooze.”

It gives him a moment of calm, a chance to settle his thoughts and get into the space he needs to do this well. By the time his bedroll is rolled up, his valuables stashed away in his ender chest, he can feel the difference.

The air in this desert is warm, slowly floating upwards from the sheer heat of the sand. When he breathes, the air shifts. It does the same near Zedaph, near Impulse, near Tango.

Skizz closes his eyes. “Fire another test shot for me.”

The burst of wind comes from Impulse this time. Skizz sidesteps the blast and opens his eyes to take in the impact as it collides with the sand. The white wisps glow brighter now that Skizz is concentrating, and he diligently tracks as the magic fades. 

“Alright. When I say go, just keep firing until you run out of blasts, okay?”

Skizz nods as his friends agree. 

“Right. Three, two, one…go!”

Skizz tracks the first wind charges as they whizz towards him, not with his eyes but with the honed instincts of a windborn. The wind charges part the air like icebreakers in the ocean, barreling towards their destination with no care for detours.

Three seconds before the wind charges reach Skizz, he spreads his wings. Two seconds, and he flaps them, feathers glowing aether white. One second, and a swirling ring curls around Skizz, just in time to catch the wind charges.

The ring quickly engulfs Skizz’s sight, shooting far past his head faster than any time before. It takes a moment for Skizz to hear his friends cheering through his communicator, because the wind is so loud it creates a veritable vacuum of sound.

When Skizz tilts his head up, he can only gape. The wind charges have gained a glow akin to his wings, swirling upwards in a spiral that can only be described as a tornado. The pure white has become a dusty maroon, sand sifting through the currents like an ocean on land.

In the middle of it all, the eye of the storm, stands Skizz. For the first time since leaving his birthplace for good, the skies have bent to his will.

“Skizz!” Impulse yells through the communicator, barely restrained glee in his voice. “We’re out of wind charges! How’s it looking in there?”

Skizz takes in everything one more time, the way the vortex seems to turn without a sign of slowing, and can only laugh. 

“Oh, it’s looking pretty calm here. I could take a nap.”

“You’re nuts!” Tango yelps. He never got used to extreme weather in the overworld, and it still shows. “I’m about to fall off all this scaffolding, and you want to take a nap?”

Skizz grins, and shifts his feet. When he moves, step by step, the tornado follows.

His wings have to stay outstretched to keep the tornado going, but flying around has kept them more than strong enough to hold the air for a little while longer. 

“Want to join me, Top?”

It takes a moment, but then Tango is letting out a blaze shriek and firing several rockets at once, to the unhelpful cackling of Impulse and Zedaph. Skizz elects to ignore them for now. The day is still young, and their own whirlwind terrors will come soon. 

A test jump is enough to tell Skizz that the wind will carry him, far faster and further than any elytra there is.

Skizz grins, and gives chase.

[preromantics]

(had to google common kinks because my brain is dead lol sorry)

But

Starker + voyeurism?

Or

Starker + anonymous sex

Oooh let’s try anonymous (errr kinda I took it to a glory hole place)!

-

It started as a joke. It was definitely a joke.

Someone — Peter can’t even remember, because Thor and Bruce had reverse engineered some long lost Asgardian hard liquor and gotten every person in the compound, enhanced metabolism to Actual God to regular human totally shitfaced — someone had complained about the lack of sexual partner options available to bonafide superheroes.

Peter is 97% sure he did not make the original complaint, but less sure if he privately or verbally agreed with the overall sentiment.

Anyway, someone had complained.

Tony, who fell on the human spectrum of easily-shitfaced-from-Asgardian-jet-fuel but also on the unfortunately superhuman liver side, had indulged his one social drink and promptly disappeared to the lab.

A few hours later, the assorted and still standing heroes of Earth had been led on a little drunken excursion by Tony to the compound sublevels. The group arranged a wobbly and cheerful single-file line ordered by height and wove through the gym and past the boxing rings to the locker room style communal showers.

Peter, who did not have the advantage of height compared to the collection of his coworkers (friends?) who were still standing, had been one of the last to see what all the parading had been about.

The last shower stall had been partitioned into two, with shiny new floor to ceiling doors.

The new middle partition — proudly gestured to by Tony in his best Vanna White impression — sported a single hole in the wall.

“This dial here can adjust the size to your… needs,” Tony was saying, giving a practical demonstration of the lever that opened and closed the hole like the aperture function of a camera lens.

Peter would’ve taken notes, but the rush of the alcohol and the implications and the Tony of it all caught up and deafened him with white noise.

—

So, it was a joke. 30 or so assorted superheroes, Avengers and otherwise, knew that a gloryhole existed in the communal showers on level B8 of the compound.

Theoretically, any of them could use it.

Peter wondered obsessively if anyone had tried it, joke or not.

He found himself lingering after a hard workout or training session, eyes closed under the spray of one of the normal shower stalls, and senses on high alert for the echoey pad of footsteps to the end of the room.

Eventually his curiosity graduated and he found himself walking down to the partitioned and private stalls, too. Ostensively just to look. Just to see if one door was closed and not the other. Just to see if anyone might be paying attention and follow him down.

Not that Peter would use the hole with anyone. Probably.

He wasn’t even sure what side he’d pick, or what he’d do — again, not that he was thinking about it.

He absolutely, definitely did not let his exploration take him into the farthest side, the door shutting with a final-sounding soft close clink, the lighting going dim in the stall.

A small green light, unobtrusive but obvious once you knew where to look, had startled him. Occupied.

(He definitely did not enter the little stall five more days in a row until on the fifth he gathered the courage to drop to his knees to asses the height of the hole relative to his mouth and fiddle with the adjustment knob.

Tony was, if nothing else, always the perfect engineer.)

-

Peter was hyper-aware when he was sharing a workout with anyone else. Waited to see if they’d follow him into the locker room.

Sometimes they did and he showered knowing someone else was a stall away. But no footsteps ever wandered to the end of the line of shower stalls.

He wasn’t disappointed, exactly. It was just. Whoever had complained that superheroes couldn’t get laid easily was speaking the truth.

Occasionally he would be working with Tony in the labs, on the rare occasion they were at the compound at the same time, and find himself wondering if Tony remembered the superhero glory hole he’d created several floors below him.

He’d wonder if Tony ever tried it.

He’d wonder if Tony ever thought about Peter trying it. If he’d seen Peter stumble away from the drunken group field trip presentation with blotchy red on his cheeks.

He’d wonder if Tony knew the height was perfect for the distance from Peter’s knees to his mouth.

He’d wonder if he was going a little crazy about the whole Glory Hole Joke.

-

“If I sit in this chair for another minute my back is going to spontaneously throw itself out,” Tony announces from his lab bench.

Peter smirks at him, sparing a glance up from his pipette and beaker. A quip is on his tongue, the perfect time for an old man joke, but the words die in his throat.

Tony is stretching slowly from a sit to a stand, arms over his head, faded t-shirt scrunching up under his armpits to reveal a few inches of soft belly skin dusted with hair.

“Gonna go get a workout in before lunch. Dinner? Midnight snack? Honesty no idea where we’re falling in the meal spectrum right now.”

Peter swallows around his dry throat. “Dinner,” he says, though he also has no clue what time it is. “Probably.”

Tony jerks his thumb toward the elevator across the room. “Maybe I’ll see you down there,” he says.

It sounds so casual. Maybe he will. Peter wants to die a little with how much he wants to see Tony on Floor B8. A little further past the gym than Tony has in mind.

“Maybe,” Peter agrees, turning back to his pipette, which he’s pretty sure has been steadily dropping too much of the base into his reactive acid this entire time.

-

Peter spends 10 minutes cleaning up his lab bench and another 5 staring blankly at the elevator doors.

The cheerful and non-descript elevator AI asks him what floor he wants three separate times. Peter is glad it isn’t FRI or KAREN. They’d have called him out by now.

“B8,” he says.

He walks out of the elevator with purpose, resolved to head to the rowing machine and get a pre-dinner workout in with Mr. Stark, shake off his nervous and pent-up energy until it’s sweat out of his system.

There’s a small snag in his plan. Tony is running on the omni-directional treadmill, back to Peter. He has Starkphones in, completely sound proof.

Peter licks his lips at the sight of the sweat on Tony’s back, the way it causes his shirt to cling to his spine.

He makes a split second decision, borne maybe of too many late night fantasy scenarios to count. It’s easy to walk past the treadmill and cross to the other end of the facility, past the boxing rings.

It’s easy to walk down the line of shower stalls, the overhead lights pinging on instantly as he walks further and further, steps getting quicker.

It’s — it’s not perfectly easy, he has to stop and take a breath before he walks into the farthest partitioned side of the glory hole. But then it is done: the door softly closes, the little green LED flicking on, and all Peter has to do is sink down to his knees.

All Peter did was walk across a room but his heart is beating wildly like he just went stealth mode on a dangerous stake out.

The reality is Tony didn’t notice Peter even enter the gym. He might finish his workout and go up to his own expansive compound rooms to shower. He might shower here, the echo of water driving Peter insane with mental images, and never even glance down to see the subtle green light.

He might see the green light, know that Peter is there, and leave anyway.

Peter bangs his head softly against the wall, nose catching the human-sized opening awkwardly, and resigns himself to letting his legs go numb from the knees down while he waits with all his hope in his throat, anyway.

-

A soft noise, the woosh of the main locker room door, makes every hair on Peter’s arms stand up.

He swallows, pitching forward in his enclosed stall as if that will bring him closer to the source of the noise.

It could be someone else, though Peter has no idea who could be on the weekend roster.

There’s a rustle of clothing he barely needs to strain to hear. The soft thump of something hitting the ground. The hiss of the pipes, not on a human frequency, before the spray of the water gushes out of a distant shower head.

The shower is over quickly, Peter notes, though time has gone soft and slippy. He closes his eyes.

Footsteps. Toward him. The slight air sound of a door opening. The well-known click of the private stall door shutting.

Oh, god. There is someone across from him. Peter forgets to breathe for a second entirely and has to fight from making a sound as he chokes between two inhales.

He can no longer distinguish the small noises from the rushing in his own ears.

The first movement in the hole nearly startles him; just a play of shadows as someone gets ready on the other side.

Then: a cock. It slides through, half-hard, resting thick and plump along the bottom edge of the hole as it passes through. The owner of the cock feeds it all the way, the fat head bending downward and then bobbing up. Toward Peter.

Peter inhales; the scent is clean and his lungs struggle to fill all the way. He rocks forward, drawn to the half-comical, half-arousing reality of the anonymous cock through the hole.

Is it really anonymous? Statistically, Peter thinks it should be Tony. He was in the gym. Would he know it was Peter on the other side? Tony invited Peter down to workout, so the odds were decent the other way around.

Tentatively, Peter darts his tongue out to lick across the head of the cock. It’s flushed darker than the root, and the salty sweet of it blooms on Peter’s tongue.

He may have just licked Tony Stark’s fat cock head for the first time. The idea of it thrills Peter to his bones, his own cock throbbing against the zip of his jeans.

There’s a chance it isn’t Tony.

Peter licks a bolder stripe across the head, swirling around the ridge. His saliva glands are over active, he’s practically drooling already at the idea of this.

There’s a chance it’s someone else. Peter may never even find out.

His cock twitches at that, too. Fuck. He wraps his lips around the entire head, drenching it with his own slick excitement as he opens his mouth up further and slides down several inches in his eagerness.

He gags, pulls back, and returns immediately.

The man on the other side of the wall is silent, but a slight bang against the wall — the slap of someone’s hand to the partition, as if Peter’s already doing such a good job they can’t help it — makes Peter shove more of the warm cock between his lips to muffle any of his own noises.

If he moaned, he’s sure someone could pick out the octave of his voice and just know. They’d know Peter is twenty seconds into this and already drooling for it.

Tony would know for sure. The thought makes Peter palm his own cock, wishing he’d thought to unzip his jeans while he waited, but not wanting to stop to focus enough to do so now.

He would’ve felt so pathetic, waiting alone, pants undone and cock half-hard with anticipation. Now, he’s stuck curling his fingers against the denim of his fly and worrying he might leak precome through his briefs and jeans by the end of this.

He tongues along the bottom vein of the cock in front of him, marveling at the weight of it and at the stretch of his lips around it as they drag slickly up and down. The angle is decent, but still strange, his neck stiff as he tries to bob back and forth to take the entire thing.

The cock in his mouth is definitely fully hard now, pulsing and flexing against Peter’s tongue, the tip bursting an addictive drop of precome every few passes. The taste is such a contrast to the soap-clean skin of the length that every taste forces Peter to swallow back a moan.

His nose mashes slightly against the wall when he focuses enough to take as much as he can down his throat. It feels deliriously good, a sense of terribly slutty pride coursing through him every time his nose hits the partition over the hole.

He’s slid all the way down when the owner of the cock abruptly slides back out.

Peter’s mouth opens around an unvoiced protest, barely catching a whine from spilling out before the cock slides back in, fucking back between Peter’s parted swollen lips and down his open throat.

He does moan at that, deep and hopefully muffled by his mouth full of cock.

Peter catches on quickly: he can keep his mouth open, his forehead and nose pressed hard against the wall, and the stranger on the other end can simply fuck his mouth.

It’s so simple to stay still, dragging his tongue back and forth and dragging his hand over his own trapped cock while he gets efficiently face fucked. It’s almost dream-like, two pinpoints of focus — the stranger’s pleasure and Peter’s pleasure — taking up all the space in his brain.

A hand slaps the wall on the other side again, harder this time, the cock in Peter’s mouth tensing and pulsing before his throat is coated with come.

Peter comes in his own pants, hips frantically bucking as he swallows down several continuous seconds of anonymous come. He bangs his head on the wall, hard, trying to balance and keep his position at the same time.

When the cock slides out from between hips lips, dragging and lingering on Peter’s bottom lip for a moment before disappearing, Peter falls back against the tile and inhales sharply.

He waits for the click of the door on the other side of the wall and for the padding of the feet to disappear. He doesn’t even have the mental energy to try and figure out if he recognizes the sound and weight of the softly echoing feet.

He forgets about dinner, peeling himself off the floor eventually and floating all the way to his room.

-

In the morning, Peter is slow to rise, feeling heavy-limbed and not awake enough to revisit the previous night.

When he finally manages to roll out of bed and head to the communal kitchens, the line of Tony’s back at the breakfast bar greets him first.

Peter flashes to the sweat-soaked gym shirt from the night before and swallows around a suddenly dry mouth once again.

“Hey shortstack,” Rhodes calls from the other side of the counter.

Peter gives him a tired salute, covering for his slight startle, and heads for the fridge behind Tony.

“You two see any ghosts while you were rattling around this place all by your lonesomes last night?” Rhody asks.

Peter just catches himself from overpouring his orange juice onto the counter as the dots connect in his head. He never did look at the weekend security roster.

Surely Rhody can’t mean he and Tony were the only—

“Ghosts? No, just me and Pete, who ghosted me for dinner.”

Tony turns and grabs the freshly poured orange juice glass from Peter’s hands, catching his finger tips as he pulls it free and sparking heat up Peter’s fingers in return.

“For me? You didn’t have to,” Tony says, catching Peter’s startled glance with a too-wide smile.

He takes a wide gulp, only breaking eye contact to turn around and set the glass down.

Tony slaps the counter with a small, satisfied groan. “Delicious,” he says brightly.

Rhody rolls his eyes and turns back to his phone and eggs.

Peter stands still. The slap echos over and over again in Peter’s head as he flushes. Oh.

——-

WELL I said I was going to answer these on my phone and I did. Oops. Will edit and whatever on my computer tomorrow hahaha.

[gummydummy19]

Hi Gummy<3

Sorry in advance but:

In answer to who's going to distract you from studying, the options are:

A. Sherlock Holmes because he is so clever. One glance at your quiz and he'd give the answers in an instant （also because he's bored as hell and nothing is interesting for a week）, while you are trying your best to finish these questions on your own.

"Sherlock! Shut up! I'm trying to study here." You yell at him.

And he'd give you this look: ↓

B. Captain Sy because he's being such a good boyfriend. Bringing you biscuits, sliced fruits, protein bars and coffee so that you can always feed yourself with the snacks.

"You really have to stop, honey, or I'd gain two pounds before lunch." You pout at him, when he scratches the back of his head and chuckles in embarrassment.

Him saying he'd be out of your hair in a sec: ↓

C. Napoleon Solo. He offered to steal the answers for the finals when you sigh for the hundredth time in the morning. "I'll have Gabi to stake out-" He is ready to dial the numbers.

"Why don't you kidnap my professor and torture him to hand us an easier paper-" You roll your eyes.

"That sounds fantastic, sweets."

He nods. He fucking nods and grins at your sarcasm.

"That's not- Please don't- I need some peace and quiet to study, please?" You sigh for the hundred and first time, placing your hands under your chin, blinking your eyes as adorable as possible.

D. Clark Kent. Equally buried in books as he needs to pass his finals for the course Media and Communiation. He lies on your thighs, holding his book right above his face before -

A dull thud and the book lands on his face, snapping him completely awake. Also making you nearly jumping on your feet.

"... Ouch." He scratches his nose, removing his glasses, "Which chapter are you at - *yawns* now?"

Bonus: August Walker, who ordered a random IT guy (Benji: I deserved a Thank You at least!) to alter your marks in the system, making sure you'd get straight A's no matter what.

And he took you to a concert/opera/club/... before the test to help you loosen up. (It didn't help at all.

(take your pick :3

OH. MY. GOD.

Okay…you…you are a menace, Jam😶 A MENACE I SAY!

Alright this needs a bit of thinking…

I study Journalism so Clark would actually be of great help to study together…+ naps together during breaktime are so so so so so welcome 😭🫶🏻

BUT

Sy…my beloved…big grumpy men being all soft and caring makes me SHHWJZHDJAHSHZ🫠🫠🫠

I can just imagine him in the kitchen fumbling around with fruits and trying to plate everything up nicely without making too much noise. I feel like he is also such a great cook tho?? He would definitely be on cooking duty during my entire exam period. Grilling steaks the size of your head because he claims “its good for your brain” and “you need to be strong and energised”

BUT THEN ALSO….

Sherlock…

He would definitely make everything way easier for me. He would get all my summaries finished in about a quarter of the time it would have taken me and he would be amazing in teaching me ways to remember stuff more easily.

And with all that extra free time he just created…well…he claims he deserves a reward for being such a great tutor as he presses kisses on your neck and slowly drags you to the bedchambers…..

JDHBAHWKZK😩🫠🥴

AM I ALLOWED TO HAVE A TOP 3??? PLEASE?!?!?!

[succulentlesbians]

"I should send an ask for the nice reply i got" Brain: Windows dial up noise. Anyway, hi, hello! :D thanks so much for your reply, it made me feel emotions and now im sueing for damages <3 YELENA WAS GONNA RUN FROM THE RED ROOM TO BE WITH DAISY??????? pain. suffering. a g o n y. im now imagining an au where she did manage to escape actually. they are happy and young and free and being goofy. yelena keeps them safe and daisy keeps them hidden. canon. to me.

omg young skye and yelena together would be so fun. sorry for your agony that they couldn't, i am similarly distraught. was thinking about writing a prequel (can you believe the audacity, i haven't even finished the sequel yet) about them but the emotional devastation of having to rip them apart would absolutely kill me so we shall see about that.

yeah the whole assassination thing was something that i hadn't fully considered in terms of what skye would be cool with when i offhandedly wrote that oneshot. i'd now imagine that yelena would have deliberately misled her for as long as she could (ie. "help me break in here for this information and no that people died wasn't me, it was a coincidence lol") and that skye was kinda naive and really wanted to believe that she was just stealing info and similar things. yelena at first was just using her as a resource and prob knew like yeah skyenet is cool with this sort of stuff only. but i think skye kinda charmed her and they kept talking and talking until yelena was like oh shit i care about you and you made me believe in the good in this world and i dont want to do this anymore. and skye after a bit maybe was wavering btwn like hmm i can read between the lines here, im not stupid, but also ive talked to you so much and i believe that you are good and i believe that you dont have to do this and then she learns about the actual situation that yelena is in with the red room? and shes like oh youre a whole ass victim. this is not your fault.

and yeah a situation where skye has to choose to save yelena over someone else (a target?) or something? bc the red room would kill her? could be both a demonstration of love but also kinda jarring for skye to make that decision and so even moreso something for yelena to be like omg skye cares about me so much. good god anon you're giving me ideas.

anyway. yelena coming out of the red room. im thinking she sorta tracked daisy while she was there, in a way where she was keeping tabs on the rising tide, shield etc. she doesn't want to draw interest to daisy after all but she wants her to be safe and to know about her. when she gets out, literally the only support she has could be daisy or natasha and she thinks that natasha abandoned her. she literally does not have a good relationship with a single other person in the world. she was in the red rooms hands since she was a Baby (this is so sad). so yeah theres a lot of courage that she has to reach out to daisy when she hasn't been heard from in ten years and to try and trust that she'll help, but there is absolutely a sense of 'i have no one else.' daisy is her first and basically only stop. but also. daisy taught her how to live once. and i think that absolutely she was thinking, oh daisy can help me figure out life. And! also being like hey, wtf is daisy up to shes kinda going crazy and maybe she needs help too. (this all being on top of, she just wants to see daisy again). so many reasons.

they are absolutely pairbonded kittens.

this is them. i don't make the rules. if i separate them again... you have my permission to kill me.

tysm for your ask and support, you're giving me so much motivation and thoughts to write about. i'm so glad you enjoyed the fic!

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

2. "Is Alec Tricity there? I need to speak with Alec Tricity, please."

PAYPHONE - "No, but I got a feeling Al Kickurass is gonna make an appearance if you ever call this number again. Have a good one, asshole!"

Phone hanging up.

Disconnect tone.

Ok, that's enough-

Put 10 cents in and dial a random number: 005-99-77-313.

[Leave.]

Um. Harry?

PAYPHONE - Calling...

Calling...

Calling...

Still calling...

*Still* calling…

"Stop calling me, man!" Someone picks up. The voice on the other end is slightly hysterical.

"I'll get you your money, alright? I just need 'til tonight. Let me work."

"Uh… who is this?"

"Yes, but a slight change of plans -- I want this delivered to the Whirling-in-Rags in Martinaise."

"We could all be a bit kinder to each other, don't you think? Consider your debt paid, my friend."

"You seem to be in some sort of trouble. Maybe I can help you, I'm a police officer."

PAYPHONE - "Tethys, I uh..." The young man realises something. "Hey, you're not Tethys! Screw you and don't ever call here again, you're fucking with some *serious* people!"

Disconnect tone.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm..." A single *khm* lets you know the lieutenant is ready to move now.

Kim is right. We should stop.

Put 10 cents in and dial a random number: 005-11-11-313.

[Leave.]

PAYPHONE - Calling...

"I'm tired…" A man answers, fast this time. His voice is hoarse from cigarettes. You hear typing in the background.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - Sounds like he hasn't talked to anyone in quite a while.

"What are you tired of?"

"I'm tired too."

"Is there anything I can do to help you? I'm with the police."

PAYPHONE - "If I could go just one month without writing. No, two months... I could regenerate my brain. Fucking liberalism..."

The man disappears with a sigh.

You do not hear the customary disconnect tone, just silence in the handset -- the machine is still waiting for you to dial a number.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Seems like it did not have time to swallow the coin. This sometimes happens.

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] - Lucky you. The call went too fast for the payphone to register. You can still make a new one without paying.

[Interfacing - Medium 10] Dial a random number -- with your eyes closed.

[Leave.]

+1 White mourning... +1 Smells like betrayal...

We no longer have the thought, but we would also get +1 from Sorry Cop here.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - You close your eyes and put your index finger on the rotary dial, then pull down on the number, then move one up and repeat the motion, twice...

Strange. This is not how you started before.

Wait -- what did I just do?

Keep dialling...

Stop!

INTERFACING - You dialled 001. This is not the area code of Revachol. It is another destination -- on another isola. Some far-off nation state.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - 005 is Revachol ZoC -- 001 is Graad, on the Graadian isola, where the telephone was invented. The next two digits you dial are the area code for the city of Mirova...

Keep dialling...

INTERFACING - 41 -- 44 -- 47 -- the rotary dial feels cold from the sea air.

Keep dialling...

INTERFACING - 11 -- 17 -- 361 -- your fingers keep moving like a spider, every time the ring rotates back with a little ring of metal, like a bell tolling.

There's more?

INTERFACING - Yes. 451 -- 67 -- 451 -- you are going deeper now, into some unknown place. Far away from this island of matter and its telecommunication networks....

Finish it.

INTERFACING - 451 -- you have dialled god knows how many numbers. The headset has been waiting silently to relay a signal -- surely nothing can come of this, you think. But it does. A connection.

PAYPHONE - An ultra-long-distance call. Your ear fills with a crackle, the wash of a strange ocean full of white noise. A little bird starts ringing in there, not like the local calling tone before. No, a small ring in a cage of distortion, far away, a distant network of phones...

Calling...

Calling in the night....

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The saddest sound in the world.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - Both pitiful and terrifying. You feel your pulse rising with each ring...

PAYPHONE - Calling still...

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] - The handset starts slipping from your sweaty palm... your breathing is heavy.

"Kim..."

[Volition - Impossible 18] Hang it up.

Let it call more.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is too far away to hear your yelp. The sea wind blows...

2. [Volition - Impossible 18] Hang it up.

VOLITION [Impossible: Failure] - You can't. Some strange force is keeping the headset glued to your hand, your ear listening to the ring in the speaker...

PAYPHONE - Calling...

Calling...

Calling...

Calling...

Calling still...

Then the ocean breaks. Out of the depths, a woman's voice emerges. Small. The dearest thing you've ever heard.

PAYPHONE - "Hello." She sounds sleepy.

"Hello."

"I want to die."

"Who is this?"

"I'm a revolutionary servant of humanity. I will free mankind and abolish the classes. I will raise the dead." (Proceed.)

"Your voice is so beautiful."

"Good bye."

PAYPHONE - "Mhm," she hums, her voice warm from sleep.

"Who is this?"

3. "Who is this?"

PAYPHONE - "Dora." She's still confused. "Who is this? The connection is bad..."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Dora. The name feels like a *gift*. A gift that was meant for you -- to make it possible to live.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - In the distorted distance you hear someone turning next to her. Bedsprings rattle.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Don't react. Whatever you do, don't react to that last thing.

"Is someone *there*?"

Don't react.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - It doesn't matter if you react or not. You still think you hear a *man's* voice in the background. It's covered in pain and white noise...

2. "I want to die."

PAYPHONE - "What?" It takes a second for her to realize what you said.

"I don't know why I said that."

"Your voice makes me want to turn into dust."

"I want to live -- with you..."

PAYPHONE - "Oh no... is that you?" Her voice sounds like she's waking up now. Still plaintive, tired...

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - This is too much... You need to recede...

"A creature is a creature. I wish I was the wind."

"No."

PAYPHONE - "Oh no, not this... what time is it?"

5. "Your voice is so beautiful."

PAYPHONE - "No-no..." She's waking up now. "It's *you*, isn't it? It's you..."

6. "Good bye."

PAYPHONE - A sigh. She heard you, but she does not hang up. And neither do you. You can't.

4. "I'm a revolutionary servant of humanity. I will free mankind and abolish the classes. I will raise the dead." (Proceed.)

PAYPHONE - "You're not a revolutionary, Harry... You're drunk."

-1 Morale

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - You only have two, maybe three things left to say before the change runs out.

"Harry? How do you know my name?"

"Harry? Who's Harry -- are you sleeping with him? I'm also Harry!"

"I'm not drunk."

"Okay I'm drunk, what does it matter? I'm still *me*!"

"I'm not drunk -- I'm *high*."

"I'm not drunk or high, I'm just... hurt... why does it hurt to talk to you?"

PAYPHONE - "Because it's me... Look, I don't understand what you're saying or why you're calling me. You seem drunk."

4. "I'm not drunk or high, I'm just... hurt... why does it hurt to talk to you?"

PAYPHONE - "Oh god..." There's silence, it's heavy as tin. The white noise howls.

"Hey."

"Ooo... are you there?"

Say nothing.

PAYPHONE - "Do you know what time it is? It's so late here..." Sounds like she's looking for a clock on the night stand.

"It's four o'clock, Harry! I need to wake up in two hours."

It's four o'clock there regardless of what time you call. Blame it on entroponetics, I guess.

"Do you want to party?"

"I want to talk about me. Who am I? You sound like you know me."

"You're in Mirova, right?"

"Where are you going in two hours?"

"I am the law. I'm a detective. I'm doing a case. There's a hanged man."

"Is someone there with you?"

(Hang up.)

PAYPHONE - "No, I want to go to sleep..."

2. "I want to talk about me. Who am I? You sound like you know me."

PAYPHONE - "What do you want to talk about? That we haven't talked about already..."

ENDURANCE [Legendary: Failure] - This is bad, you feel your right hand on the handset cramping up with pain...

-1 Health

3. "You're in Mirova, right?"

PAYPHONE - "Yes, I'm in Mirova. Sleeping."

4. "Where are you going in two hours?"

PAYPHONE - "To work."

"Where?"

Say nothing.

PAYPHONE - "The Academy. Where I work."

"The Academy? That sounds better than my job. I'm happy."

"My job is sad and terrible. It has dead bodies in it."

"Pfft, Academy... my job is *real*."

PAYPHONE - No response, only a sigh. The connection crackles, like burning paper.

-1 Morale

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - What are you doing to yourself right now?

I'm making a funny prank call.

Catastrophic damage.

I don't know... I don't understand what's happening.

VOLITION - You need to stop. Harry. You're killing yourself.

*Can* we?

6. "My heart hurts. I'm gonna have a heart attack."

PAYPHONE - "Oh no... please stop. Please let's just hang up..."

7. "Is someone there with you?"

PAYPHONE - "Yes."

5. "I am the law. I'm a detective. I'm doing a case. There's a hanged man."

PAYPHONE - She does not answer anymore.

"I'm gonna solve it."

"It doesn't matter. This case doesn't matter."

"None of it matters -- not anymore."

"Can you help me solve it? I need to solve it. They won't take me back if I don't."

PAYPHONE - "Harry..."

Disconnect tone -- the machine ran out of money.

Put 10 cents in and dial the long phone number again.

[Leave.]

[msmargaretmurry]

mcstrome and bogosort (like the compsci algorithm lol)

ok i read the wiki article for this and also several memes about it and i'm still not sure i understand it, because i am a humanities girlie whose brain makes dial-up noises when anything too math-y or science-y is introduced into my enclosure. so i'm sorry if i misunderstood the concept but i am going on vibes alone here. this would be a multiverse fic. a fic about connor mcdavid experiencing the multiverse.

so, at the start of this story, maybe connor and dylan aren't totally estranged, but they're not close like they used to be either. they've drifted apart. they text for, like, birthdays and major life events. connor's not sure whose fault that is, and it makes him kind of sad to think about, but honestly, he doesn't think about it too much. they just have their own lives now. connor is very busy trying to drag edmonton kicking and screaming into something resembling a success story; dylan has finally found a team that appreciates him in washington; they are living their lives, separately.

the oilers come to dc for their annual visit. connor and dylan don't get dinner — they stopped doing that a long time ago. sometimes, they'll chat in the hallway after a game, but sometimes the most they do is bump each other on the ice in that way that means hello, i'm aware that you're here. this feels like it's going to be one of those nights, where it's just the bump, the acknowledgement. it's whatever. not important. the oilers need the win. they've been having a rough roadtrip. they go up two early, then cough up three in a row in the second, and in the third, connor takes a big hit while he's crashing the net and whacks his head hard on the crossbar of the goal. everything explodes, and then everything goes black.

and then he wakes up. not on the ice, not in the hospital, not anywhere he recognizes — he's not in his own life. maybe this first one is the universe where buffalo won the mcdavid sweepstakes in 2015, and he's in a condo overlooking lake erie. maybe there's a recent picture of him and dylan on the refrigerator, which is weird, because they haven't taken a photo together in years. i am physically restraining myself from figuring out all of the universe-hopping stuff, but long story short, this keeps happening. every time he falls asleep, he wakes up in a new universe. sometimes he's an oiler, sometimes he's not. he's almost always a hockey player, but sometimes he's not. once, pretty early on, he wakes up to a familiar voice while someone shakes him gently awake on a couch.

"come on, davo, you know sleeping out here always gives you a crick in your neck," dylan is saying. connor, half-asleep, lets himself be tugged to a bedroom, arranged into being a little spoon. as he's drifting off, he wonders if he was on the couch because they fought, wonders what they could have fought about, wants desperately to know what lives they're living here in this world, but he's too far gone, and he wakes up alone in another new universe feeling so dumbstruck with sadness that he rolls over and goes back to sleep without even figuring out where or what he is.

most of the worlds are just a few steps away from his own reality, but some of them are weird and wild. dystopian worlds, worlds with incredible technological advancements, a world where he can see ghosts, a world where he can read minds. a world where he has dylan inked on the inside of his wrist, and he thinks it's a tattoo until he sees that everyone has a name on their wrist like that. he looks everywhere, convinced that because the name is there, dylan must be nearby, but he can't find him anywhere.

he doesn't know if any of this is real, if it even matters what he does in all of these worlds, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get back to his original reality, or if one day he'll wake up in a world and just be stuck there, so he does his best in each one, trying not to fuck things up. sometimes he's married to a woman. he never knows how to act in those universes. sometimes, he wakes up with guys who are clearly one-night stands. a couple of times, he has a boyfriend who's a secret. once, he has a boyfriend who's not. he doesn't know how to act with them, either. he doesn't know them.

then he wakes up with dylan again. or, he wakes up with with lips on his neck and a hand sliding into his pajama pants, a good morning murmured in his ear. they never did this in real life. or — in that life, connor's first life, the one that's starting to feel frighteningly far away. but connor doesn't think about that in this moment, because they never did this in real life, even when he wanted it, when he was a teenager with the most painful crush in the world and there were a moments when he thought it might be possible. they have slow, lazy sex. dylan touches him like every inch of him is familiar. afterward, when they're laying together all sated and pleased, connor thinks to himself, don't fall asleep don't fall asleep don't fall asleep, but he must doze off for even half a second, because he opens his eyes in a hotel room in atlanta. he's in a universe where the thrashers still exist.

and on it goes. worlds upon worlds, universes upon universes. it gets lonely; it gets boring. connor wants to go home. he wants to wake up with dylan again. if he woke up with dylan again, he wouldn't mind one more universe, but he's just about had it with the rest of them. he misses his real teammates, misses his stupid text thread with his brother, wants to call his mom. he starts waking up and, if it's not his real life and dylan's not there, he just goes back to sleep. if he can't fall back asleep — fuck every well-rested version of himself, seriously — he bullshits his way through until he can figure out where to buy some melatonin or whatever.

maybe he's dying. or maybe he's dead, and this is hell. or purgatory. he doesn't think his family believes in purgatory, but that doesn't mean it's not real.

the barrier between worlds starts getting thinner. now, if he just closes his eyes for too long, he's gone. new universe. he starts to be able to — hear isn't quite the right word, but it's the best one he has for the sensation, so — hear the next universe coming, if he closes his eyes and concentrates. it makes it easy. a new kind of tedium. flipping through worlds with barely a glance, because all he wants is—

he wakes up with dylan again. or, precisely, he wakes up to a giant, fluffy golden retriever licking his face, and dylan in the background, calling out with laughter and resignation, "buddy, no, let him sleep!"

too late, connor thinks. "too late," he says out loud. it's been dozens of universes since he spoke out loud.

"i swear he can sense the moment you start even thinking of waking up," dylan says. "come on, if you're up anyway, i'm making breakfast."

connor is wearing a ring on his left ring finger. his stomach growls. he goes to the kitchen, and dylan serves him eggs on a plate held be a hand with a matching ring on the left ring finger.

"please tell me you made coffee," he says, and of course dylan did. connor downs as much of it as he can stomach. he is not falling asleep today.

they're still hockey players. they're in — raleigh, connor figures out through context clues. it's their day off. they're supposed to go grocery shopping. they do go grocery shopping. they hold hands while grocery shopping. it feels like a dream. it's perfect. after they put the groceries again, dylan looks at him askance and asks, "is there something on my face? you keep staring at me today."

"uh," connor says. "i don't know, maybe i'm in love with you or something."

dylan rolls his eyes, but also beams, and crowds connor against the kitchen counter to kiss him. they kiss for a long time before they move to the bedroom. having sex again, connor wonders if it's real that dylan's body feels familiar. he's so careful to not close his eyes for more than a blink. he wouldn't be able to handle it if this got ripped away from him, too. there's still a lot of day left when they're done, and it's lazy and lovely and perfect. when they go to bed that night, connor lays awake for as long as he can, watching dylan sleep. at around three in the morning, he wakes dylan up just so he can kiss him a little bit more. dylan complains about the waking up, but not the kissing, and falls back asleep quickly once connor lets him. connor makes it to sunrise before he can't keep his eyes open anymore. he tries, he tries so hard, but he hears the next universe whooshing in, cold, a bloom of pain in his head—

he's on his back on the ice at capital one arena. everything is too bright, and he makes out the feeling of the hand squeezing his before he can actually see anything. "hey, connor, don't move, we're bringing out a board," someone is saying. connor shuts his eyes, hard. he doesn't go anywhere. another squeeze, too tight.

"davo," dylan says.

connor blinks him into focus. their eyes meet, and dylan exhales something like a relieved laugh.

"hey," he says, his hand warm around connor's. "there you are."

[stygicniron]

ooc;; brain has been making dial-up noises the last couple days. i have family coming to visit this weekend, so i probably won't get to serious writing until sunday evening. sorry for the wait, everyone!

[umemiyan]

Do you think alpha!Ume has a knot kink? Not in the sense of him breeding and knotting his omega, but more along the lines of his omega getting him excited enough to knot their hand and then them playing with it? Like dragging their teeth across it and then soothing it over with their tongue and kisses, or running their fingers across it as they try to swallow as much of his cum as they can.

~ 🐓🍻

OOOOOHHHHHH YESSSSSS OH MY GOD y’know i’d never really thought of that before but that sounds HOT !!!!!!! and i could def see alpha!ume being into it nfndbfjddkd

it just seems rather intimate and a bit vulnerable on his behalf which i think he’d enjoy; hajime loves sharing those experiences with you. he also deeply appreciates the effort you put into getting him like this, because seeing you so eager to get him worked up enough to knot without being inside you is just…. his brain starts making dial up noises. ume always works so hard for everyone else which he loves, but having someone return the same sort of devotion just does something to him.

so after the first time you manage to do it, he’s thinking about it again. and again. and he’s incredibly reluctant to ask for you to repeat such a thing, but he eventually gets desperate enough to vocalize just how much he would love it—but only if you want to, of course. he’d be fine if you said no, but when you jump at the chance, his heart soars.

grrrrrrrr using a little teeth but then dragging your tongue over his knot afterwards 😵‍💫 i think he’d go insane. hajime would really have to fight against the urge to buck up into your mouth, especially as you start taking his cum down your throat and touching him like that. he’d apologize if he did, however, or if his fingers dug into your scalp a little too tightly. he’d say “sorry about that… you’re just too good.”

oh but imagine him in a rut tho 😵‍💫 it’d be so much more difficult for him to control, and he’d feel horribly guilty. you’d spend hours letting him fuck you to get it out of his system, but it’s difficult to shake, and you’re starting to get sore. commence offering to let him fuck your hand or mouth so you can catch a little break, and he’s so worked up that his hips are fucking up into you a little no matter how many loads you swallow. he apologizes the entire time, but it’s so hot to see him like this that you don’t care if you’re gagging on it.