#crane inspection near me

[valalice]

৻ꪆ caught in the act.

cw. smut nsfw. fem!reader. older gf!cait universe. age gap (10 or more years). both reader and cait are consenting adults. moder au. ceo!caitlyn. pillow humping. dom!cait if you squint. allusion to further smut.

your hips ferociously rock along the satin of caitlyn’s pillowcase, tainting it with your slick. fisting the material in your hands, gripping it so tight your knuckles turn stark white. thoughts and images of your girlfriend flooding your mind, the only thing that's been on your mind all day. wishing it was her you were grinding on, it should be her, you think.

cursing her for being so dutiful, so responsible for taking time out of her weekend, the weekend she's supposed to be sharing with you, to attend some important matters at her office that only she could take care of apparently.

you also curse her for putting a spell on you, some super secret spell she probably cast over you on one of the many nights you've fallen asleep next her. one that makes it so incredibly hard to cum when she's not around. it's pathetic. rubbing your swollen bud against the silky material for who knows how long, you're so close to your release yet so far. no amount of tweaking your erect nipples or stuffing your face in the shirt you once had on, one of her’s that smelt like her, does the trick to make the coil in your tummy snap.

huffing you release the pillow from your grasp, placing your hands on your tits to knead at them.

“cait—” you mewl, shutting your eyes tight, once again imagine that it’s cait’s skillful hands kneading at your soft flesh.

“missed me?”

you almost missed the sound of caitlyn’s voice, thinking you're just lost within your own imagination, so high on delusion that you can almost hear her voice.

“darling?”

the nickname rings alarm bells off within your head. the desperate grind of your hips stop, hands releasing your tits and falling into your lap, you reluctantly peel open your eyes, turning your head towards the door. gasping, you blink hard. lo’ and behold your girlfriend stands tall against the doorframe, leaning against it with her arms crossed. you stare wide at her, feeling much like a deer caught in headlights, understanding the bright intrusion of lights on them, but instead it’s caitlyn’s hard gaze on you, suddenly feeling very shy.

“you're home!” you enthuse, trying your best to seem as normal as you can be in this predicament. "everything went okay at the office?"

“didn’t have much to help finish up with,” she lifts herself from off the doorframe, arms uncrossing to swing at her side as she walks over to you. “like i told you before i left.” her tone laced with dissatisfaction.

“how— how long were you standing there for?” you quiz, craning your neck to look behind you where cait now stands.

she looks at you for a second before turning her attention back to observing over your bare body. “just a few minutes,” you flush at her answer, turning your head back around, bowing it to your hands in your lap. your index fingers picking at your thumbs, anticipating whatever caitlyn is going to do. shivering at the feel of a cold slender finger tracing down your spine, just to swiftly come from your skin as it nears your tailbone. “was going to watch longer, see if you could make yourself cum. but, that was silly of me to assume you could get off on your own, we both know you can't cum when i��m not around.”

oh, that stung. you accepted it's true, but heat still rushes through you from embarrassment.

“cait—”

“is that my pillow?” she cuts you off, inspected the cushion your sitting on.

“i can explain—”

“tsk.” she cuts you off again, corking her head to the side, shaking her head. “naughty, naughty girl.”

there's a shift behind you, turning your head back around to watch as within a few short clicks of her heels cait now towers in front of you, leaning down face to face. her hands balancing her weight onto your spread thighs. “and what do naughty girls get?” there's a fiery swirl in her icy eyes, similar to when a predator has caught its prey in a vulnerable position.

“punishments.”

[ddejavvu]

hotch loosening his tie and undoing a few buttons to eat you out on his desk at the office, having to take his tie completely off and push it into your mouth to keep you quiet 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"Jesus Christ." Is your lover's careful assessment of the mess between your thighs, glistening as it clings to your skin and covers an expanse that reaches far beyond the lacy hem of your now-ruined panties.

He inspects you for a moment, runs a thick thumb through the slick steadily streaming from your weepy cunt, and smears it lower over your thigh instead of licking his finger clean.

"I need to take off my tie," He muses, fingers flying to the windsor knot to loosen it, "You're already such a mess that it would be stained the second I started."

"Can I have it?" You whine, craning your neck to stare down at him where he's kneeling between your legs. The chilled oak of his desk bites against your bare skin, but you're slowly warming it with the fever of desire you find yourself in. You reach for the tie, pleading, and Aaron sets it in your trembling fingers.

"Oh god, it- it smells like your cologne," You realize, breath shaky as you smother the silken fabric against your face, breathing in the scent of Aaron where it clings so potently to the fabric, "Hurry, Aaron, please-?"

Your hips writhe slightly as you squirm atop his desk, but his hand never comes to hold your waist in place.

"I have to unbutton my shirt, too." He murmurs, and you hear the rustling of fabric that lets you know he's already two buttons in, "Are you trying to stain all of my clothes, honey?"

You whimper softly against the fabric of his tie, and finally- finally one of his rough hands glides up your leg, starting at the ankle and ending near your throbbing core.

"You are? You want me to walk back out there with a dirty tie? That's bold." He assesses, "Our coworkers are profilers. It would take them, oh-" He smears his thumb close- this close to your slickened mess of a cunt, and your thighs shudder like a sob, "Ten seconds to figure out I'd just been on my knees between your legs. Is that what you're going for? You want everyone to know you're spread-eagle over my desk?"

"Aaron," You plead, desperate and pathetic, "Please?" You crane your neck down to watch him once more, and he's the picture of sin, thighs strained against his slacks, cock pressing even tighter against their fabric. There's three buttons undone on his shirt which reveal a mass of dark, wiry hair and which prevent the collar from being soaked in your pre-release. There's contentment and something dark, something sadistic and sinister in his eyes as he kneels before you, unquestionably dominant despite the position he's in.

"You're good at begging." He observes, his voice calm and collected, "And at making a mess. I'd tease you more, but if you get any wetter, I'd have to strip completely to avoid getting dirty. And we don't have much time before the team realizes that there's two agents missing and only one locked door. So lift up your hips, honey- there we go," He pats at your thigh and slips his hands beneath your hips when you lift them, elevating your core before he buries his face in it, "And try not to make too much noise- bite down on that tie whenever you have to scream."

[marrowdrip]

Part 1

As you step out of the walk-in closet, eyes focused on your wobbly heels, you look up at your Master, eyes shining with pride as your dress flows and shimmers, catching the light on the bright embroidered petals. But your smile fades as Master shakes his head.

"Too much, little one, try again."

You can hear the tenderness in his voice; of course... He's enjoying the show. Your head bobs and you return to the closet, cursing yourself for being such a dummy.

As your fingers leaf through the outfits on the rack, you can feel your pussy start to melt as your thoughts solidify again... Of course Master should control what his princess wears... I asked him to control me... It feels good to be controlled... After a while, you re-emerge from the closet, and you can feel something click in your brain... So warped from the constant brainwashing, the clothes you choose are shifting your attitude... Sporting a baby-pink crop top that is a touch too short, and a pleated pink microskirt that flares when you walk, a quick spin shows off your black panties, emblazoned with the words "Yes, Daddy?"" across the ass... Giggling, you give a little twirl, before innocently looking towards your Master... Your smile drops again when he shakes his head once more...

"Good try, sweetheart, but you're not quite there yet."

You can feel a tear well up, his words stinging as sharp as a spank... And yet, even wetter than your eyes is the spot on your panties, already dampening at the mere notion of control... As if in a trance, you slip into the closet and out of your outfit, peeling away your panties from your sopping wet pussy... Your thoughts are a mess as they swim around your head... I need Master to control me... Being obedient for Master makes me a good girl... I need to be a good girl..."

Wordlessly, you exit the closet, completely naked as you stand with your hand covering your dripping wet slit, your blonde hair in pig tails, leaving your sensitive little nipples on display... Eyes wide as you wonder up at Master, you beam as he nods with approval...

"Perfect, my doll, absolute perfection... Now, let's begin the inspection... Kneel."

He flashes a grin as you leak down your legs, a faint understanding of what's coming next grips your thoughts, before fading away, your head becoming as light as a pink cloud as you crawl into position, into safety... Naked, willing, eager, you smile up at him with your tongue drooling out of your mouth as you watch him slip on a pair of black leather gloves...

Part 2:

Your glutes find a comfortable position nestled between your ankles, as you kneel in anticipation. His bodyweight shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of the bed behind him… You crane your neck to the side to see, laying near the edge of the bed, a set of black silk rope, a black leather riding crop and a pink vibrator… The small display stirs something deep within you. Something is missing… Or… Wait… There is too much there…? What am I…? Your thoughts do not have a chance to fully form before you blink, a leather wrapped hand around your wrist; your empty stomach drops when you realize Master has been speaking. He yanks your hand up and lifts it above you, revealing a trail of nectar between your fingers, glistening in the warm light of the bedroom.

“Were you trying to hide this from me?” His words arrive to your ears in a low growl. “You know what happens to naughty girls who try to hide their arousal…” Your mouth opens to protest, but before the words can escape your lips, your breath catches. Your eyes widen and goosebumps form on your neck as you realize exactly what was missing on the bed. Time seems to slow down as Master begins to wrap a soft leather band around your neck. You sit up straight, your body instinctively taking the proper position to be collared; pushing out your chest, your nipples stand at attention as you flex your quads, drop your shoulders back and raise your chin, ever so slightly. With a click of cold steel, he clasps the collar around your throat. It is simple black leather, but with four cardinal silver rings instead of one. He attaches a medium-weight chain leash to the back ring and pulls you up, forcing you onto your tip toes… While still keeping the leash taught, he guides you forward to the bed; you can feel your pussy slicken with each tiny step… Your head flushes with embarrassment as you consider your position… I’m so depraved… I have strayed so far from who I was; I was innocent! Your heartbeat quickens as the thoughts roil in your head. Now I’m nothing but a naughty, aroused little slut who needs to be con-

*SMACK*

A loud spank rings out, followed by a stinging pain as his hand makes searing contact with your ass, the ripples of flesh and sound quickly forgotten as his voice takes a loud, commanding tone. "I told you to assume the table position, slut!" You try to think through the haze... You don't remember the last few seconds, your brain consumed with the intense fires of arousal; your body is already moving, condition from months of training. You crawl up onto the bed and place your hands closer than shoulder-width... It's not like you have a choice, but you make a conscious effort to at least you'll be a cute table... Your lips curve into a smile, the mere act of obedience flooding your brain with happy chemicals... You stay on your knees with your legs spread, and your head smiling up; He lets the chain leash glide across his palm, reaching up and attaching the end to a hook on the ceiling... Leather straps quickly appear over your limbs; Master wastes no time locking you into place... A blindfold falls over your eyes, airpods slip into your ears, and the waking world immediately feels so far away... You can hear soft sexual whimpers from the headphones, but nothing distinct; you wonder if you're the programming has begun... You shudder, your pussy shivering, exposed, natural lubricant drooling from your vulnerable slit as each symbolic loss of control brings more sexual energy through your skin and muscles...

From far away, you can hear his whisper, cutting clear through the fog of arousal... "Now slave... Let's begin."

Involuntarily swallowing as you hear his words, firm and with purpose, but his tone drips with desire... What a sight you must be to behold... Molded like a living sculpture, your body the epitome of your Owner's desires... Gasping, you feel cold wet leather on your anus, his finger slips in, and out once, quickly. Wordlessly, you open your mouth in surprise from the sensation, but his other hand moves quickly, taking advantage of your gaping as he places a ring gag between your lips, your moans and drool so much more accessible for use... The shock fades as you feel a familiar set of cloaked finger travel down to penetrate your tight, sopping wet pussy... As his fingers leave you feeling open, empty, you wait for an agonozingly long time before wondering if you zoned out during commentary... Your head is such a mess after all... Being pumped with... Programming? Brainwashing...? It's so hard to tell... It's just easier to listen and obey...

"Mmhm, I thought so; You're abnormally wet, little one... It looks like your clit will need to be inspected for... Sensitivity..."

Before you can even think to react, a pulsing vibrator is pressed up against your clit, forcing your ass into the air as you arch your back with the sudden intensity... As if on cue, you can feel something new enter your anus, but just barely... Through stimulation and clouded thoughts, you reason that He must have rubbed numbing gel in your back hole... A different vibrator has been forced into your ass. As you realize the compromising situation you're in, your face flushes as you give into the ring gag; your tongue hangs out of your mouth as you start drooling... You're trapped, barely able to move aside from humping the air, a slave for Master, and a slave to whatever sensation He wishes to put you through... Which just makes your pussy drip even more...

"I hope you're ready, little one..."

You can feel his hands caressing every inch of your skin, prodding, pinching, and pressing into your flesh as your plains and crevices are inspected... Finally, you feel his gloved digits against your clit, gently swirling small circles... Your pussy, drenched against the leather, aches for more, and you feel a swat against your hypersensitive folds, followed by a sharp whimper... You can't control yourself... The pleasure is overwhelming and the shock was too much. A single tear wells in your eye as you realize you've been reduced to your core... A dirty, depraved, filthy little slave, the furthest thing from a princess that you can recognize... As if on cue, you feel a firm, loving hand wrap around your neck and push aside some stray strands of hair from your eyes... Your thoughts calm down as you realize why Master is there... He will make you pure again... He will rebuilt your mind... You're supposed to be owned, you need Master to control your; this is what you asked for... As if reading your thoughts, his voice cuts through all of the noise.

"Don't worry, diamond... You'll feel like a perfect, empty doll again, very soon..."

Your stomach fills with warmth, and your lips smile against the gag... You can feel the long pink silicone vibrate against your drooling slit, the ropes wrapping around it and your legs, as He ties it against your clit, turning it up... up... up... Your body starts to quiver and shudder... Moans, whimpers, and squeals escape your mouth involuntarily, as you succumb to the intense pleasure... Your hands grip the sheets of the bed, as you attempt to keep a grip on reality, on the shards of remaining sanity in your brain, as you're quickly brought to the brink of orgasm, teetering on the edge...

"I'll be back in an hour, my love... Behave yourself..."

You hear a twinge of humor in his voice - as if you had a choice to do anything but obey - Good girls belong here... You know in your heart that you are a good girl... Good girls obey... As the headphones fill your mind with unintelligible thoughts of arousal, stimulation overtaking your brain, you're left with one final thought... "Thank you Master..." A silly grin forms behind your gag as your mind truly begins to melt... Any semblance of coherent thought, disappearing into the black folds of pleasure...

[bitterrfruit]

Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

[urbaebarnes]

flowers pt.2

first part here!

summary: how could you ever refuse the handsome mob boss when he asks you out on a date

mob boss bucky barnes x fem flower shop owner reader

warnings: curse words, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n (thats it I think?)

here it is! i've honestly loved writing this. also, i'm from england and i've never been to new york, let alone Brooklyn museum so excuse my horrible knowledge.

word count: 3.6k words

You hadn’t fully expected for Bucky to come back, part of you was sure this had to be some sort of whirlwind misinterpretation on your part, but as you opened your shutters the next day, there he was. 

His outfit looked the same as the previous day, his smile wide as you immediately spotted his face through the window. Bucky waved to you through the glass, putting his phone in his back pocket as he swung his legs whilst walking to the door, hands behind his back. “Morning Bucky.” You greeted, opening the door as the small bell rang out. 

He smirked at your voice, nose scrunching as he walked inside, wiping his feet on the small doormat, “I see you remember our deal.”

“Well, you’re a hard man to forget.” You smile, watching as he tilted his head at some yellow columbines. “What brings you back?”

He listed his head from the flowers he was inspecting, his grin toothy as he pulled your slipping cardigan back onto your shoulder. “You.” He said shortly, running his thumb over your shoulder. “Can't keep you out my mind doll, you’ve been running laps up there” He tapped the side of his head twice as you giggled, “Jesus, you can’t go laughing like that, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

You shook your head, unable to suppress the grin on your face at his compliments. “You’re so cheesy.” You laugh as he nods, face nearing yours.

“Just for you, sugar.”

You can feel your heart skip a beat as he nears you, lips parting but failing to find a remark as his breath fanned across your face. One of his hands lightly swept some sleep from under your eye, his fingertips resting under your jaw.

“I want to take you out, if you’d like that.” He murmured, licking his lips as his eyes traced your every movement.

You considered the offer, obviously you’d love that, this was Bucky the devilishly handsome man who watched you with an intensity that rivaled the bird that stared at your window every morning. But, this was also Bucky, the widely feared mob boss that was likely in constant danger and there were probably so many negatives, but you couldn’t quite think when his lips were so very close to your face.

God, Wanda was going to be pissed. “I’d love that.” You said quietly, biting your bottom lip and letting it pop out as he tilted his head, nodding to himself.

“That’s good, that’s… okay.” His tongue flicked over his tongue as he took a step back, hands on his hips. “Someone will come and pick you up at 7:30.” He smiled to himself as you nodded and he picked up a bouquet, inhaling deeply as he craned his neck into the flowers.

You shook your head as he walked towards the till, your face flushed and breathing slightly irregular at the sight of the so called ‘scary’ mob boss looking ever so soft as he stuck his face in the flowers, a shit eating grin on his face never leaving ever since you’d said yes.

“I see you’ve scaled down from last time.” You said, glancing at his this time singular bouquet compared to his two bundles the previous day. His face instantly dropped as he turned around, glancing at the ones that were there before picking another. Your jaw fell open as he picked it up, “Bucky, that isn’t what I mea-”

“Who would I be if I didn’t support small businesses, hm?” He smiled, nose scrunching.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” His words were short, and his tilted head was enough for you to nod reluctantly as he placed down a wad of cash on the counter.

“No, no I don’t need your money.” You tried to refuse, but he’d already turned around, “Bucky!” You called after him as he opened the door, still clutching the money like it had been given as a nasty prank.

“7:30!” He turned, head tilting over his shoulder as he once again continued walking down the street. As you turned your head, you were greeted with Wanda’s face pressed up against the glass window of her shop.

Her face is squished against the glass, watching him happily stride away from you before she ruan out the shop herself, landing beside you within seconds. “Why is he practically skipping?” She questioned suspiciously.

“He’s not.” You shook your head, biting your cheek to try and hide the smile fighting its way to be on your face.

After your encounter with Bucky yesterday, you’d decided against telling Wanda his sweet talking words or the deal they’d made. You’d known her just over a week, and although being your closest friend probably ever, you knew her thoughts on the man and didn’t want to stir up any ideas until you knew his true intentions. Although, this didn’t exactly seem like a situation you could wiggle your way out of.

“No, he’s definitely got a spring in his step.” She narrowed her eyes, “And why’d he get two bouquets, that’s too many to carry.”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh any longer as you smiled at her, “You have to promise not to be mad.” 

Her face fell, “God, please don’t tell me you’ve sold your hand in marriage to him or some crazy shit like that-we could probably stay at my parents in Sokovia when we run awa-”

“No!” You quickly interrupted, laughing even harder, “No, I haven’t sold my hand in marriage to him, what made you think that?”

“Well… I don’t know, leave me alone!” She pretended to pout, laughing at herself, “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you though, seriously.” 

You nodded, “So… I have a date.” You announced, itching your head and watching the ground as her face morphed into a shocked expression, mouth dropping and eyes widening as she looked to where Bucky had been walking to the now empty sidewalk. “And it’s-”

“It’s with him, oh my god!” She gasped, running a hand through her curled auburn locks. “This is, well better than marriage, but still, this is- and you want to go on this date?”

Her arms quickly crossed, eyes flashing with caution as you nodded your head, “He’s nice, really nice, and really handsome.” You smiled as she grabbed your hands.

“I’ll take your word for it, sweets.” She giggled, “What time’s he coming?”

“7:30.” You said, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan, “I don’t even know what to wear or where we’re going and I’m trying really hard not to overthink.” You confessed as she took your hand that was pulling at the threads of your cardigan into her hands, clasping around it.

“Don’t panic, it’s fine, you’re perfect. Barnes, he doesn’t date, it’s like part of his whole thing, girls could fling themselves in his face and he pays no mind to it, so the fact he’s taken an interest in you is kinda a big deal. Just if you wanted any more proof about how amazing you are.” She grinned, hands wrapped tightly around yours as she squeezed them. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Actually I have lots of things to worry about.” You counter, “Like what I’m supposed to wear, I don’t know where we’re going so how am I supposed to-”

Wanda quickly cut you off, head tilted, “You could show up in nothing and I doubt he could take his eyes off you.” She paused, processing her own words for a second as you blinked at her. “Okay that was a bad example, I definitely don’t think he could take his eyes off you if you were naked.” She giggled.

“I get it, I get it.” You reassured her, “I’m excited though, it’s just burying itself under all the worrying.” 

There was a loud crash from the open door of Wanda’s bakery, diverting both your attention to your limited views of Pietro trying to pick up a metal bowl from the floor. “I can’t leave him for two minutes.” She mumbled under her breath, “I’m gonna love you and leave you.” She said sweetly before turning around, “Pietro!”

You laugh as she storms through the door, turning back to your shop to see Stan waiting outside, “Oh Lord, morning, sorry, let me…” You jogged to the door, holding it open for him as he thanked you, “I just got caught up in something, the usual?”

Your day had flown by with customers filling up every moment, crowning it your busiest day since opening. Plus, Wanda would run across the street, two dresses in hand as she forced you to pick between two beautiful outfits until finally, by shop closing, you knew exactly what you were going to wear.

Wanda had insisted that you get ready with her anyway, stating that you’d left out all the details around her third visit with a tight fitting black dress and a light yellow checkered sundress. The bakery had been slow, even after Pietro scared away all the birds within a ten mile radius, so after you’d finally picked the last dress, she sat on the counter and helped pick flowers that would suit a young boy’s girlfriend’s dress that he had a picture of on his phone.

Wanda’s exterior excitement was fairly equal to your interior, but after the long day, you couldn’t quite jump everywhere she did, even if her movement was a visual representation of your heart. You hadn’t been on a date in years, often turning down guys quickly, but this time you were ready, and beyond excited.

You got ready leisurely in her room, both of you singing along to your favourite songs as you were left with half an hour before your date. Between the two of you, you’d settled on something elegant but still simple enough that it could be classed as casual.

At exactly 7:30, you peeked your head around Wanda’s curtains to find a black car parked outside your shop, the windows all blacked out. “You think that’s for me?” You questioned nervously.

Wanda laughed behind you, grabbing your shoulders and straightening your posture, handing you your bag with a grin. “No, it’s obviously for Pietro.” She giggled as her brother popped his head around the corner, letting out a small ‘hey!’ in offence.

She led you, hand in hand down the stairs till you reached the door, turning to you once again. “Okay, be safe, message me if you need anything, and if you’re not coming back, otherwise I’m going to gather the troops and send out a search party, understand?”

“Yes captain.” You mocked with a laugh, “I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I know.” She said, opening the door, “Have fun!” She shouted as you stepped towards the car, a man with his back to you scanning the front of the bakery.

“Excuse me-” You said cautiously, suddenly overwhelmed with the embarrassing thought that maybe this car wasn’t for you and they were simply observing the shop.

But all your thoughts were instantly dashed as the man turned around and greeted you with a wave. “Mr Barnes sent us.”

“Ah.” You say with a small smile, hands intertwined in front of your stomach as you face the kid, who front the back, looks an awful lot more like an adult, “Do I get a proper introduction this time, or are you still not supposed to introduce yourself?”

“Well, Mr Barnes told us to do anything you wanted, so I guess that means I’m allowed to-” He quickly jumped round to your side of the car, opening the door for you to the back as he rambled, although he was quickly cut of by the brown haired man sat in the driver's seat.

“He’s Peter Parker, and I’m Tony Stark, lovely to meet you.” Tony put it simply, nodding to the side for Peter to get in, “Sorry, he’s learning.” He said quietly as Peter forgot to shut your door and instead hopped in the front, only noticing as you shut it.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” You chuckled, observing the cream interior of the car and strapping yourself in. “So you’re taking me to meet Bucky?” You checked.

“Yeah, he apologizes that he couldn’t come and pick you up but he had to prepare some things.” Tony said, his tone an awful lot more relaxed than Peter. “Pete, take a chill pill.” He mumbled.

“We’re um, we’re here as security too, normally then he gets Happy to drive people places but he wanted to take special measures to k-” Peter’s ranting was stopped as Tony gently whacked his shoulder. “I wasn’t supposed to mention that.” He cringed, face retorting.

You smiled softly, tilting your head, “It’s okay, your secrets safe with me, Peter.” He sighed, almost relieved as Tony shook his head in laughter, driving through the seemingly quieter streets. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

“That’s probably the only thing we’re explicitly not allowed to tell you.” Tony chuckled, “Boss wanted to keep it a secret.”

You nodded, chewing on your cheek nervously watching the streets pass until you slowed approaching Brooklyn Museum. As the car slowed, you spotted a man in a dark suit walking down the stairs, combing his hands through his hair.

Peter got out to open the door as you gracefully exited the car, thanking him as the figure quickly morphed into the man you felt like you’d known for years. “Hi doll.” Bucky greeted with a wide smile, glancing back at the museum almost nervously.

“Hi.” You smiled, both of you looking to your right where Peter lingered almost awkwardly before Bucky smirked and nodded for him to get back in the car which he did with a small grin, giving you a not so secret thumbs up.

“They got you here okay?” He questioned, never letting his steel blue eyes leave yours.

“They were perfect.” You smiled, watching as he bounced his arm against his leg and, before fully realising what you were doing, you grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers together.

He let out a sigh of relief as a lazy smile made its way onto his face, it was stupid how your heart instantly felt as though it was on the verge of running away, escaping to be with his. “And how are you feeling, pretty girl.” He swung your hands together, slowly leading you towards the steps leading to the museum. “Nervous?”

“Maybe a little.” You admitted, letting him lead you up the staircase, as you smiled, “But I’m excited.”

He smirked at that as you reached the top, “Good, I’m excited too. You ever been here before?” He nodded to the grand looking building.

“Nope.” You grinned, “It’s been on my bucket list of things to do though, ever since I moved here, but I haven’t got round to it.”

Bucky lifted your intertwined hands to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, “Seems like what you’ve got there is a date list, doll.”

You laughed as the two of you wandered through the doors, your eyes instantly scanning your surroundings. It was silent, not a soul in sight as Bukcy glanced at you nervously. “Is there anybody else…?”

“Just us, sugar.” He said gently as he tugged on your hand gently to go and admire the various pieces of art and artefacts scattered around the museum. It was beautiful, and it all seemed slightly more calming with just you and Bucky, never once letting go of one another’s hands as you explored the hallways. 

You got to talking not just about what you were seeing in front of you, but also about your lives. Bucky told you he grew up around here with his younger siblings. His parents were some of the kindest people he’d ever met, even though they were wrapped up in a life many deemed unsuitable. 

Bucky seemed to dance around the topic of his work, shaking it off with a smile and shrug whenever he caught himself talking about it. Instead, he talked about how he preferred sunrises over sunsets and cats over dogs and hot dogs over burgers. You told him all about your family and friends -well, Wanda and your favourite customers- and he let you ramble about flowers as much as you wanted.

As you stopped in front of one piece, he let his hand drop from yours, and just for the shortest moment you thought you’d done something wrong. That was until you felt his arm snake around your back, resting on your hip. When you tried to look up and meet his eyes, he simply looked straight ahead, cheeks dusted with pink as he bit back a grin, humming as he glanced at the painting.

“You’re cute.” You giggled which drew his attention to your smiling figure, bottom lip tucked in between your teeth.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, doll.”

You’d taken the lead most of the time in the direction you were heading, but after he’d glanced at his watch, he was insistent you had to walk back, taking your hand back and gently dragging you, trying to run off. Little did he know he’d already ran off with your heart.

You laughed, eventually jogging after him, both laughing like absolute idiots as your squeaks and laughter echoed throughout the halls. By the time he stopped, you almost fell into him, taking a minute to stare at his face, which Bukcy was more than happy to indulge in, thumb stroking over your jaw till he tilted your head to the right to see in the middle of the great hall, was a circular table with plates of steaming food already placed down.

“Bucky…” You trailed off as he stood behind you, both his hands resting on your hips, head next to your ear.

“You like it?” Bucky Barnes was many things, and confidence was normally one of them, but as he whispered in your ear, you couldn’t help but think that he sounded more anxious than self-assured. 

“I love it.” You smiled, spinning around so his arms were wrapped around you, enclosing you tightly as you pecked his cheek. “This is incredible.”

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes from you, cheek tingling where your lips had brushed his skin. He had to resist the urge to drag his hand across his cheek, savouring the feeling for a little longer, but he couldn’t bring himself to drag his hands from where they rested on your body. “Second date worthy, incredible?” He questioned.

“You can take me out on as many dates as you want.” You laughed, head tilting back over your shoulder as you glanced back to the food.

He smiled, nodding to the table, “You like spaghetti?”

You grinned widely as he led you over the blue squared floor, pulling your chair out as you planted yourself in the seat, hands resting in your lap as Bucky took his seat across the candlelit table underneath the glass roof, revealing the starry night above you.

Dinner was perfect, Bucky was perfect, this whole date was perfect and beyond everything you’d ever wanted. You were sure the sound of Bucky’s laughter could bring a smile to the most moody of people’s faces and his smile was sure to light up rooms brighter than the chandelier hung across from you.

By the time it was over, you were both sad to have to leave one another’s company so quickly, even if it had been hours. The pitch black sky seemed to engulf all the buildings visible as you left the building. Your shivering stance had caught Bucky’s eye as he shrugged off his own jacket and hung it over your shoulders with a quick denial of feeling the cold.

A red car was parked where you had previously been dropped off. Bucky opened the passenger door for you this time, letting you sit in the comfortable car and place your bag by your feet. 

The silence on your ride home wasn’t as daunting as you’d expected, more comfortable as he took your hand in his again, resting them in the centre console as he kept one hand on the wheel, driving through the streets of New York as though he could do it with his eyes closed.

When you finally pulled up, neither of you moved for a few minutes, just sitting like that, savouring your moments together before he sighed, getting out the car and strolling round to your side, opening your door for you. You were sure he was the textbook definition of a gentleman.

Bucky even insisted on walking you to your door- well, Wanda’s door. “It’s no hassle.” He murmured, committing the sight of you in that outfit to memory- the sight of you to memory.

When you reached your door, you were beyond glad he did walk you since now you could give him the kiss he deserved. “Thank you for tonight.” You said sweetly as he grinned, his hand still resting on your hip. “It was incredible.”

“Thank you for agreeing to let me take you out.” He grinned, “Maybe, another time, we could… erm-” 

Bucky Barnes stuttering should’ve been a sight to behold to anybody in this city, but to you, it seemed like the cutest little thing, your stomach churning as he stumbled over his words, trying to find a way to ask you out.

You managed to stop his word vomit by pressing your lips to his, your hand on his shoulder as you leaned in to kiss him. The feeling of fireworks in your stomach was something you thought people made up when they talked about relationships and kisses, gentle touches and such, but in that moment, you knew the truth. 

“You know where to find me.” You pulled back, breath ghosting over him as he stood frozen, lips parted as he already missed your lips on his. You turned around, opening the door, pausing before you slipped inside. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

tags: @that1geek06 @shortarsenerd @helen-2003

[dr4kenlvr]

shameless

feat. hanma shuji x fem!reader - fluff (9.2k)

—where the reader can't help herself from meeting hanma at the same place and time. but hanma can't help himself, either.

nana's note: coming back every 3 months with a hanma piece has gotta be the wackest thing anyone's on tumblr ever done. but this one is nearly 1k??? oh my god. much love and i appreciate you all so much. warning. some minor descriptions of injury

you try to shake off the look on your friends' faces when you told them you wouldn't be joining them for late night rides and snacks. "but you said that last week!" they whined, brows furrowed and arms crossed. you waved them off with a genuine smile, genuine enough to deceive the bunch that you were headed home.

but home didn't look like the alleyway you stand in, brick walls cold yet decorated with countless graffiti. your eyes trace the wild lines of colour, working themselves in harmony as they intersect. numerous bold words you couldn't quite make out, but one was oddly distinct.

reaper.

"hey," a smooth voice suddenly calls, "you're here."

your eyes shoot to the familiar figure at the entrance, his stature illuminated by the singular yellow light between us. you signal him to come closer, almost irritated why he's standing there for so long. a quiet part of you needs him closer.

"you're here, too," you muse, a small smirk on your face as he approaches. like always, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as he hovers over you. the gleam above us almost makes his yellow eyes glow, bright and cat-like as he grins down at you.

"you wait long?" he asks, propping a bent leg on the wall, leaning back beside you. he cranes his neck, eyes squint and focused on only you.

you shake your head, leaning your head back. "nah," your gaze traces over his face. there's a few small bandages lining his jaw, and a larger one at his cheek. his left eyes seems to be bruising slightly, too. you furrow your brows, standing straighter. "how many fights have you been in the past week?"

hanma's grin grows, and he mirrors your posture. "what, you worried about me now, darlin'?"

you stiffen. darling, or darlin' as he would say. you never knew how to feel every time those two syllables left his lips, limbs freezing but heart picking up. the same mouth that spits so much venom at others—can actually call you something so adoring?

instead of answering, you lift a hand up to grab his. your thumb strokes gently at the bruised skin, splotches of irritated skin peeking through the poorly placed bandages. you almost wished you could've been there to do it for him.

now it's hanma's turn to freeze up, but he wills himself to get over it. this isn't like him. he looks down at his palm, so much larger than yours, and at the attentive way you inspect his wounds. there's a sad pout on your lips that hanma can't help but smile at. every time the pair of you hide away like this, you never fail to notice every injury he's sustained from the last. well, at least the ones visible to the eye. he wonders how you'd react to the large bruise on his ribcage. but maybe another week.

"m'fine, darlin', the others ended up more fucked than me," he soothes. "you know i always make sure they do," his voice hums, that velvet tone of his warming your body like no one else's. your bones nearly vibrate at the way he bends lower to have a better look at your face, before deciding that doesn't work.

instead, he brings a hand beneath your chin to lift your head up. your orbs meet his, falling in a trance that feels so, so right. an awed exhale escapes your lips at the man who holds you with punishment—because you wonder why this feels like a reward. for being able to hide whatever it is the two of you have become, will become, you start to think that maybe... this is okay. that silent part that craved him so near, scream out for you to reciprocate.

you place two gentle palms on his chest, his breath hitching in response. "i know," you whisper, the words almost silent. usually, he would've taken you out on the road by now, or taken out a box of cigarettes to smoke. but your feet are glued to the ground, the world outside this alleyway forgotten as he holds you.

"you know," he repeats, barely louder than you. he thinks you know him better than anyone. he looks forward to seeing you waiting for him. his feet take him to this place, like clockwork. and he can't shake off the feeling that you are just right.

and everything feels just right when he leans in, waiting. but it's all you need, lifting your head higher to meet him half way. hanma tastes like cigarettes, like smoke invading your lungs and filling them with him, him, him. he groans softly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. his hand trails around your neck to cup your nape, pulling you in further while his other hand rests on your waist. your hands loop around his neck, tugging him down.

the movement makes him chuckle against your lips, the sound so adorable you want to hear it over and over again. his tongue swipes your bottom lip before he parts from you, but only ever so slightly. the two of your pant softly, foreheads resting against one another.

he smiles down at you, the kind that makes you smile right back.

"let me take you out for a bit," he whispers, "properly."

maybe home didn't need to look like somewhere, you thought. maybe it was a feeling, like the warmth filling your body to the tips of your ears when you nod.

"okay," you whisper.

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 13. leather jacket

YOU WERE STARTING TO ENVY COUPLES WHO FOUGHT.

At least they could let all their anger and emotions out on each other. At least they could communicate what was bothering them instead of talking to a wall. At least they weren't begging for their significant other to just speak to them.

Every conversation you had with your boyfriend just made you feel more and more hopeless. You weren't even able to tell Sunghoon how horrible he made you feel the last night you two spent together. It was nearing the next round of midterms now and you were still at a standstill in your relationship.

You didn't even want to go to the stupid club anymore; your mood soured after your brief conversation with Sunghoon, and all you wanted to do was curl into your bed and cry your eyes out.

But you were cold. And your mattress was even colder.

This was a responsibility that someone like you was supposed to uphold. Even if you were at your lowest, you were still expected to dry your eyes and show face.

When you saw Heeseung's text, informing you that he was outside, you groaned, still rolling your mascara wand across your lashes.

In under a minute, you managed to finish your mascara and eyeliner, opting to not go for a full-beat tonight. Your mother, a world renown fashion designer, recently sent you the most gorgeous Christopher Esber dress, but you had been hoping to wear it for your boyfriend to see. Now that he was a no-show yet again, you settled for something less flashy.

When you were outside, you spotted Heeseung's Mercedes-Benz parked up ahead. From the back window, he seemed to be craning his neck to talk to someone in the back seat. Surely, he wouldn't make his girlfriend sit in the back, so you realized he picked up the transfer student—Jay—first.

"Hey," Heeseung greeted as soon as you opened the door, giving you a once-over that made you feel relieved that Chaewon wasn't in the car.

You chose to ignore the look he gave you and apologized, "Sorry for taking so long."

"Nah, it wasn't that long. Jay and I were just talking."

Jay grinned, and you were pretty sure it was your first time seeing him smile like that. "He was telling me about Yeonjun almost selling coke to a professor."

You couldn't stop yourself from nearly bursting into laughter, quickly slapping your palm over your mouth. Jay's grin only widened at your reaction.

"So fucking funny," Heeseung said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Heeseung! It's not funny," you scolded, even though you found it hilarious. "He could've gotten in serious trouble."

"C'mon, it's a little funny," Jay said, all lighthearted.

Since you two were in the back seat, you turned to look at him with a retired sigh, as if you were so devastated that you couldn't defend Yeonjun over this. You held up your thumb and pointer finger like you were pinching something, as if to say, yeah, just a little.

You and Heeseung made eye contact in the rearview mirror, and he held your gaze as he said, "Loosen up, Y/N."

You folded your arms across your chest. "Yeah, pass me some of the coke you bought off him."

He smirked at you. "Snitch."

When Heeseung stopped in front of Chaewon's apartment, you three discussed the Yeonjun situation some more before she came stumbling outside with a few shooters in her hand. After hopping into the front seat, she leaned over to press a kiss to Heeseung's cheek. You noticed how he stiffened, though, averting his gaze.

"I brought you guys some shooters," she said with a giggle, clearly already tipsy. You gingerly took the two she handed to the back and passed one to Jay.

"Thanks, Chae," you said, inspecting the tiny Pink Whitney bottle you took from her. "How have you been?"

"Exhausted," she admitted, looking suddenly miserable. You thought it was an innocent question but it put a damper on her mood within seconds. "I signed up to be orientation leaders with Seunghan and Eunseok, and our first meeting was five hours long—at night!"

"There's absolutely no way you're gonna have time for the Order and being an orientation leader," Heeseung said, facing her once they were stopped at a red light. "Aren't you doing an internship this summer, anyway?"

Jay seemed to balk at the mention of internships, and Heeseung started rattling off about how he needed to start applying soon. You decided against sharing your plans because all you could think about was how it was probably going to be a lonely summer vacation.

For the rest of the car ride, even with Heeseung and Jay chatting yours and Chaewon's ears off, you couldn't seem to focus on their conversation at all. You stared straight ahead, wondering if you told them about your relationship issues and your academic stress, would they ignore your problems the same way your own boyfriend did?

The club was no better.

The music was too loud, the lights were too blinding, and you felt claustrophobic by all the bodies packed tightly on the floor.

You spent the first hour talking to Kim Jennie; then you took Yuna to the bathroom to help her throw up; then you let Jeon Wonwoo buy you a drink while he talked about his dissertation topic; then you introduced Jay to Yoon Jeonghan and watched them hit it off; then you attempted to muster up the courage to approach Park Sungjin about Sunghoon not showing up (and proceeded to chicken out); and then you ended up sitting on one of the couches by yourself, completely exhausted and drained from all the social interaction.

Normally, you would've thought twice before sitting on the couch at the club. God knows what it had been through, and you didn't want to find out. However, you were so worn-out that you didn't even care anymore.

While you were people-watching (specifically eyeing Jennie, who you were hoping would give you her seat, laughing at something Zhong Chenle said), Jay came over to sit next to you.

You were confused at first, asking, "Where's Jeonghan?"

"Called an Uber for him 'cause he got so wasted, so Joshua went home with him," he replied, grimacing at the memory. "He wouldn't stop kissing my head."

You smiled weakly as you envisioned a drunk Jeonghan grabbing the sides of Jay's face and planting kisses on the top of his head.

"So, uh, why're you alone?" he asked.

"Wish I knew."

You two lapsed into silence. Not particularly uncomfortable silence, though, thanks to how loud everything was around you.

Jay noticed how quiet you had gotten and asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Huh. I haven't heard that question in a while."

"Well, are you?"

You had been trying to reply in a joking manner so that he wouldn't take you seriously, but hearing the sincerity in Jay's tone made you feel unnerved.

You were quiet for a few moments before you answered, "To be honest, no—not really."

"Ah..." For a second, you thought Jay would take that as his cue to get up and leave. You wouldn't blame him, either; no one wanted their mood to be brought down like this at a club. "Have you talked to Sunghoon about it?"

You scoffed. "It's about him, actually."

"Then what about Heeseung?"

"I couldn't. They're best friends, too."

"Your other friends?"

"They're just gonna tell me they told me so."

"Well... then how about me?" He gave you an awkward smile when you shot him a furious look, as if you couldn't believe he even suggested it, but then your face started to soften. "I mean, I've never said I told you so."

You weren't sure why, but, right now, you felt like you could tell Jay anything on your mind. Maybe it was because of the whole period blood incident; if he could be so understanding about that, then he could handle hearing anything you said. Or maybe it was because he didn't come from such high-class families like the rest of your friends. He wasn't held to some standard to look good in front of you or impress you. From what you picked up on over the past few months, he didn't even seem to care about wealth.

You sucked in a sharp breath, still overwhelmed by the pounding music that made your bones rattle. "Wanna get some fresh air then?"

"Lead the way."

It was much cooler outside, and you soon realized that this wasn't the smartest idea for someone wearing a backless mini dress. But it was far less suffocating to be outside, and you felt like you could finally breathe again without all the sweat and alcohol making you feel gross.

The streets weren't as busy as you expected, save for some students roaming about—probably because New Haven was more of a college town. Your breath was coming out in white clouds of vapor, and before you could even wrap your arms around yourself and rub some heat into your arms, Jay was already handing you his leather jacket.

You took it without even thinking, and then said, "Whoa, my second one from you." A small grin crossed your face. "I feel like I'm collecting your jackets at this point."

He looked down at his feet, shrugging. "I don't mind. Seemed like you needed it more than I did."

You put the jacket on over your dress, and it was like being wrapped in an embrace with how insulated it was. The sleeves were a bit too long and the jacket fell past your dress itself, but you still appreciated the gesture.

You two sat down at a bench farther down the sidewalk. It was freezing and your dress didn't cover enough of your thighs, but Jay's jacket was warm around your body.

"Why didn't Sunghoon show up?" Jay asked. "Is that why you were upset?"

"Sort of."

"Then what is it?"

You sighed. Trying to find the words. Trying to make sense of everything that was going on. Trying to figure out if Jay genuinely wanted to listen to your problems.

He hesitated before asking again, "Y/N?"

You sucked in a sharp breath before starting, "Okay, you wanna know what the problem is? It's the fact that my boyfriend seems to have time for everyone but me! I can't even understand what's going through his head—I mean, we hung out more before we were dating! I can't help but feel like he just doesn't... like me anymore. He used to spend weeks at my place, and now I have to beg him to show up for a few hours.

"And don't get me started on the Order—god, it's, like, the only thing Sunghoon cares about right now. And I don't even know why he's so stressed about everything when he has a guaranteed seat! I'd understand if he told me what's going on but he never talks to me about anything anymore. You've gotta keep this between us, but I think my parents and Sunghoon's parents have been waiting for the two of us to get together our whole lives. Now that it's happened, I can't help but wonder if Sunghoon felt like he was forced into a relationship with me.

“Honestly, come to think of it, the last time I expressed a personal concern to him that's been bothering me for years, he hardly gave me any genuine comfort over it. I don't think he even cared! He just wants me to live up to the same standards my parents set for me because he's so obsessed with living up to his dad's expectations."

You noticed your breathing had shallowed by the end of your rant, and you had to sit in silence for a few moments as your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Instead of checking for Jay's reaction, you kept your eyes down. You wouldn't blame him if he made a run for it now.

After what felt like forever, Jay asked, "You've told him all of this?"

"Not exactly all of it. He's been blowing off most of our plans ever since we started our third year." Your lip was curled in disdain at this point. "I just—I mean, has he told you anything? You've gotten close to him and Heeseung, right?"

"Uh..." Jay trailed off for a moment. "I think he was just upset about the Yuna thing. Other than that, I thought you two made up after your fight at Heeseung's party."

"Does he think so? I don't think we have."

"You two haven't talked about it?"

"Not really. He hasn't been very open with me."

There was a pause before Jay replied rather bluntly, "You deserve better, Y/N."

If there had been heavy stones weighing your heart down, Jay had just about demolished them with his words. You didn't even realize how badly you needed to hear that from someone.

Having a boyfriend like Sunghoon meant that you were were always gushed over how lucky you were. Eventually, it got to a point where you truly stopped believing you could do any better, so even when your boyfriend wasn't treating you right, you had no hope that you could find someone who would.

Unlike Heeseung, who mostly turned a blind eye to the way his best friend mistreated you, Jay had the sense to call your boyfriend out. Instead of crying, you felt a swell of relief in your chest. If Jay could feel the same way about the situation, then maybe you weren't going crazy or being inconsiderate about Sunghoon's feelings.

Jay mistook your awestruck silence for tension, so he quickly stammered, "Uh... I mean, no offense to Sunghoon or anything. I just meant—"

"No, that was exactly what I needed to hear." You turned to look at him, sighing softly. "I've been thinking of breaking up with him for a while—or I'll give him an ultimatum."

"Do you think an ultimatum's gonna work? That means you'd have to give him another chance."

"I don't know." Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head. "I'm just so tired of everything."

Jay stood up, looking down at you expectantly. "Come on."

You frowned. "Where?"

"To get something to eat. I always feel better after I eat something good."

You stared him down long enough for Jay to turn his face, embarrassed.

"If you want," he added in a meek voice, "I recently found a place with good Mexican food open late around here."

Strangely enough, the corners of your lips tugged upward into a smile.

"Sure, let's do it."

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[houserautha]

Mine

Summary: Feyd-Rautha decides it’s time to finally mark you as his.

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x gn!Reader

Word Count: 894

Warnings: Feyd pierces your nipples and you like it, it’s suggested that you have sex, he’s territorial

A/N: I have never pierced anyone’s nipples and no one has pierced mine so I apologize for any inaccuracies😂 I’m navigating on thots only

The needle glints dangerously.

You eye it wearily, craning your neck to watch as Feyd-Rautha prepares it. He’s shirtless, seized in the moment by some concept out of your grasp — a marking. You admire his taut stomach, the muscles shifting in his arms. He’s angled so that you can’t quite see what he’s doing, and you squirm in anticipation.

“Patience, jewel,” he rasps.

Like a caress, his voice brushes over you. And, like him, you’re adorn only in a pair of pants, and your skin prickles at the touch of his words. The light above you is bright, nearly blinding. You turn your head to avoid its glare and that’s when you see it fully, the needle, not as long as you imagined it. The smell of antiseptic solution fills your nose and heightens your awareness.

“Mm, look at you,” he says. He flicks his thumb over one hardened nipple. “So ready for me.”

Before he sterilizes you, Feyd takes each of your nipples in his mouth and lavishes it with his tongue, a parting gesture, or a welcoming one. And despite the chill in the room, a surge of heat washes over you. What would it be like, to be marked by the na-Baron? The thought is almost too heady to even consider.

It was a custom on Giedi Prime, apparently, to mark your partner with a piercing. A sign to others that you were involved. It made sense now why some of the courtiers were adorn in silver and gold, entangled with several lovers. After this discovery, of course, you wondered why Feyd was entirely bare. He had plenty of lovers before you. You never could bring yourself to ask, however; it seemed important enough that you would be the first person for him to mark.

Once he’s deemed you ready, Feyd looks you over, needle in hand. His gaze sears across your bare torso. “It might hurt,” he tells you, more of an afterthought than a warning. His plush lips split into a grin. “You might like it.”

You yelp as the needle pierces your nipple, more from surprise than the pain. In fact, the pain is quickly overcome by pleasure, bolting through you with the swift finality of a lightning strike. It’s Feyd, after all, leaning in close, pupils blown, his concentration and care leaving you breathless. It all happens rather fast, too, and you find that you’re excited for the next one.

“Very good,” he cooes. It’s obvious how aroused you are. The piercing is a silver bar, rounded at each end.

This time, your back arches off the table as he slides the needle through your nipple, a starburst of bliss exploding on contact. His fingers are deft, gentle, as he inspects his work. You’re not afraid to show him how this has affected you, panting, hands curling and uncurling as you refuse the urge to touch yourself. You feel, somehow, that this would not please him.

Feyd arranges himself near your feet, his dark eyes gleaming with greed, with lust. “You’re mine now.”

“I always have been.”

“Perhaps.” He strokes a finger over the arch of your foot, up your calf. “But now everyone who gazes upon you will know that you belong to me.”

A cry escapes from you as he suddenly yanks on both of your legs, jerking you towards the end of the table. You fumble to accommodate him. He presses between your legs, against you, and Feyd moans as your new piercings graze his chest. The sound is involuntary, rumbling through him. You capture his mouth with your own, or perhaps it’s the other way around, but soon you’re both seeking out pleasure from the other, invigorated by this development of your closeness.

A physical sign, a promise. A threat. At least to others. To you, the lingering pain feels like the sweetest song, each brush of your piercings against his warm skin a victorious reminder that this incredible man has claimed you.

And when you’ve both finished, hungrily gulping in air and slick with sweat, Feyd kisses your sternum. He’s heavy-lidded, delirious with your pleasure. Stripped bare. “You are mine,” he mumbles, “mine.”

“I am yours.” Emboldened, lovingly — stupidly — you say, “Let me mark you.”

Feyd’s head snaps up. All signs of any post-coital haze disappear in an instant, a predator’s focus. “What?”

“Please.” You hate how you sound. Pitiful. Desperate. Scrambling to rectify this, you add, “It doesn’t have to be anywhere visible like mine. I just, I mean, I want to —”

“Shut up.” There’s anger embroidered in this, but not malicious. Frustrated, maybe. “You want to mark me as your own?”

At a loss for words, and unsure of what to expect, you just simply nod.

“Say it.”

“I-I want to mark you as mine.”

Feyd-Rautha hums in reply. Clearly, this was the answer he was looking for. He takes your hand, brushes it over his cock — soft from your efforts, but hardening again. “I know exactly where you can mark me as yours, so that every time I thrust inside you, you know of my devotion to you.”

You shudder at the idea and smile, drunk on him, on the power that he imbues you with. On a whim, you close your hand around his cock and give it a firm squeeze. “Mine.”

[daisynik7]

cw: fluff, established relationship, suggestive at the end

Author’s Note: this drabble was inspired by my snookums @dprkento because we were talking about building forts together the other day and I thought how cute would it be if we did that for husband!Nanami?! anyways, ily, thank you for always making me feel so special and loved. Divider by @/cafekitsune.

It’s been a stressful week for both you and your husband, more so for Nanami though, who has worked overtime nearly every day since Monday. When Friday finally arrives, you come up with an idea to help the two of you unwind. It’s a bit unconventional, maybe even a little childish, but you have a good feeling that it’s just what he needs. 

Around seven in the evening, you hear the familiar jingle of keys from the other side of the front door. You crawl out from under your creation, chest thumping with excitement, unsure how he’ll react to all of this. Waiting by the entrance, the door swings open to reveal Nanami, eyes tired, shoulders hunched, the aura of an overworked man surrounding him. He shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack while he removes his shoes. When he sees you, his expression brightens, a small smile forming on his lips, always happy to be home. You greet him with a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso, squeezing him tight. He nuzzles his nose to the top of your head, inhaling your scent, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Hi.”

You giggle into his chest then peer up at him. “You sound exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” he admits, bowing down to kiss you on the lips.

“Have I got the perfect surprise for you then,” you say, smirking. 

He stares at you with a brow raised, curious. “Oh no, what now?” You’ve got another trick up your sleeve, keeping him on his toes. And while he pretends to be hesitant at first, he always looks forward to whatever you have in store for him. 

Tugging on his hand, you lead him into the living room, where your masterpiece awaits. “Ta-da!” You hold your arms out, presenting the pillow fort you constructed for him. The base is made of the chairs you dragged all the way from the dining table, concealed by mismatched throw blankets laid out on top of each other to act as the roof. The interior is designed with every pillow you could find lying around the house atop the thickest comforter you have to provide enough cushioning. The finishing touch is your favorite stuffed animal sitting in the corner inviting you in, the same one that Nanami won for you years ago after spending far too much time and money on a crane machine to get it. 

His lips are parted in surprise, inspecting each inch of it carefully. When he doesn’t have any response, you nudge with your elbow. “Well, what do you think?”

He kneels down at the entrance, appreciating the interior, eyes wide with wonder. “You built this? For me?”

“For us,” you correct him, beaming. “I thought we could give up on being adults for a night and relive our childhood.”

He chuckles, crawling inside, his muscular body filling up nearly the entire space. “I never built a fort like this when I was kid. This is a first for me.” Loosening his tie, he rolls over on his back, leaning his head into the pillows, finally relaxed. He waves over to you, beckoning you to join him. 

“Hold on. Let me get the snacks.” You shuffle towards the kitchen counter, gathering all the treats you prepared for tonight: chips, candies, even a box of pizza from one of your go-to restaurants. You dump all the food near the entrance of the fort and shimmy beside your husband, laying the pizza flat on your laps. He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek before grabbing a slice to indulge on. 

When you finish dinner, you set up a laptop on a small standing tray near your feet, snuggling closer to Nanami, who has since removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. From your peripheral, you can tell he’s not paying attention to the movie. Instead, his focus is on you. 

Still facing the screen, you grin. “What?”

He hums, leaning in closer, his mouth hot on your skin, not answering. He places a delicate kiss on your neck, lingering as his hand slides across your thighs, slipping between your legs. “Kento,” you breathe out, turning towards him, capturing his lips with yours. 

“Thank you for this,” he whispers between kisses, sliding his other hand beneath your shirt and up your back, fingers at the clasp of your bra. “I love you.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to undress and christen the pillow fort properly. As Nanami cradles you in his arms, watching you sleep against his chest, he admires the fort one last time before slipping into a peaceful slumber with a smile on his face. 

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 21

Hello, there readers. Here is the new chapter. Enjoy :) And as always you're all awesome! ❤️

Don’t freak out if you can’t immediately channel your dragon’s powers, Mira. Yeah, I know you have to be the best at everything, but this isn’t something you can control. They’ll channel when they feel you’re ready. And once they do, you’d better be ready to manifest a signet. Until then, you’re not ready. Don’t push it.

—Page sixty-one, the Book of Brennan

This really isn’t necessary.” Violet glances sideways at Liam as we make our way toward the door of the Archives. The cart doesn’t even squeak anymore. He fixed that the very first day.

“So you’ve told me for the last week.” He shoots her a grin, revealing a dimple.

“And yet you’re still here. Every day. All day.”

“Come on, Vi. Don’t be like this.” I chided her. “Admit that you actually like him. Liam is awesome, you know.” I wink at her.

“Shut up, Aelin.” She retorts but blushes so hard, her face is almost red.

And that’s it. Liam’s charm is working. He’s courteous, funny, and ridiculously helpful. He makes it difficult to loathe his constant presence. I mean I tried to avoid him when we first met, but somehow he wormed his way into my life. And Violet can’t hate him either. Even though he leaves wood shavings in little piles everywhere he goes. The guy is constantly whittling with that smaller knife of his. Yesterday he finished the figurine of a bear.

“Until otherwise ordered,” he answers to Violet’s remark.

I shake my head at them as Pierson jolts upright at the Archives doors, straightening his cream tunic. “Good morning, Cadet Pierson.”

“You as well, Cadet Melgren, Cadet Sorrengail.” He offers us a polite smile, which dies as he glances at Liam. “Cadet Mairi.”

“Cadet Pierson,” Liam responds, as if the scribe’s tone hadn’t completely changed.

My shoulders tense as Pierson hurries to open the door. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t been around marked ones before Basgiath, but the outright hostility toward them is becoming glaringly, uncomfortably obvious to me.

We walk into the Archives and wait by the table just like every other morning.

“How do you do that?” Violet asks Liam in a hushed whisper. “Handle when people are that rude without reacting?”

“You’re rude to me all the time,” he teases, drumming his fingers on the handle of the cart.

“Because you’re my babysitter, not because…”

“Because I’m the son of the disgraced Colonel Mairi?” His jaw ticks, his brow furrowing for a heartbeat as he looks away.

I silently squeeze his shoulder and he faintly smiles at me.

„I guess I’m really no better, though. I hated Xaden on sight, and I didn’t know a single thing about him.” Violet says softly.

Liam scoffs, earning us a glare from a scribe near the back corner. “He has that effect on people, especially women. They either despise him for what his father did or want to fuck him for the same reason, just depends on where we are.”

“You actually know him, don’t you?” She cranes her neck to look up at him. “He didn’t just pick you to shadow me because you’re the best in our year.”

“Just now catching on, huh?”

“Hey, take it easy, Liam. I needed time too. It’s not that obvious.” I elbow him in the ribs.

A grin flashes across his face, then he looks toward Violet. “I would have told you that on the first day if you hadn’t been so busy huffing and puffing about the pleasure of my company.”

I roll my eyes as Jesinia approaches, her hood up over her hair. “Hey, Jesinia,” I sign.

“Good morning,” she signs back, her mouth curving in a shy smile as her gaze darts up to Liam.

“Good morning.” He signs with a wink, clearly flirting.

It shocked me to my toes that first day that he knew how to sign, but honestly, I should have known. He’s awesome at everything.

“Just these today?” Jesinia asks, inspecting the cart.

„And these.” I reach for the list of requests amid their obvious glances and hand it to her.

“Perfect.” Her cheeks flush and she studies the list before putting it in her pocket. “Oh, and Professor Markham left before his daily report arrived to teach your briefing. Would you mind taking it over?”

“Happy to.” Violet waits until she’s pushing the cart away from us, then smacks Liam’s chest. “Stop it,” she whispers out loud.

“Stop what?” He watches her until she turns the corner at the first set of shelves.

“Flirting with Jesinia. She’s a long-term-relationship woman, so unless that’s what you’re looking for…just…don’t.”

Ohhoo, Violet are you jealous?

His eyebrows hit his hairline. “How does anyone think long-term around here?”

“Not everyone is in a quadrant where death is less of a chance and more of a foregone conclusion.” She says as she tries to calm herself down.

“So you’re saying that some people still try to make cute little things like plans.”

“Exactly, and those some people is Jesinia. Trust me, I’ve known her for years.”

“Right. Because you wanted to be a scribe when you grew up.” He scans the Archives with an intensity that almost makes me laugh. As if there’s any chance someone is going to lunge out of the shelves and come after Violet.

“How did you know that?” She lowers her voice as a group of second-years passes, their expressions somber as they debate the merits of two different historians.

“I did my research on you after I was…you know…assigned. And Aelin is really gossipy.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours, Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe.”

���Hey, I’m not ‘gossipy’, you moron.” I scowl at him.

“That remains to be seen.” She answers both of us.

At least challenges haven’t resumed. Guess enough of us are dying during flight lessons to hold off on killing more through hand-to-hand.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Violet asks suddenly.

“Alive.” He shrugs.

“How do you know Xaden anyway?”

“Riorson and I were fostered at the same estate after the apostasy,” he says, using the Tyrrish term for the rebellion.

“You were fostered?” Her mouth drops open.

Fostering the children of aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more than six hundred years ago.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again. “Where did you think the kids of the traitors”—he flinches at the word—“went after they executed our parents?”

“I didn’t think.” She admits it in a meak voice.

Oh, Vi. I didn’t know her mother never mentioned it to her. It seems I am much more informed on the subject. Thanks to The General…

“Most of our great houses were given to nobles who had remained loyal.” He clears his throat. “As it should be.”

I don’t bother agreeing with what’s obviously a conditioned reply. King Tauri’s response after the rebellion was swift, even cruel.

The burning of Aretia, which had been Tyrrendor’s capital, to the ground had never sat well with me, though. Liam was the same age. It wasn’t his fault his mother had broken faith with Navarre. And I’m sure there’s more to it.

“But you didn’t go with your father to his new home?” Violet asks.

His gaze swings toward her, and his brow furrows. “It’s hard to live with a man who was executed on the same day as my mother.”

“No. No, that’s not right. Your father was Isaac Mairi, right? I’ve studied all the noble houses in every province, including Tyrrendor.”

“Yes. Isaac was my father.” He tilts his head, looking toward the area where Jesinia disappeared, and I get the distinct feeling he is over this conversation.

“But he wasn’t a part of the rebellion.” She shakes her head, trying to make sense of it. “He isn’t on the death roll of the executions from Calldyr.”

“You read the death roll from the Calldyr executions?” His eyes flare.

“I needed to see that someone was on it.” She admits it.

He draws back slightly. “Fen Riorson.”

She nods. “He killed my brother at the Battle of Aretia. But your father wasn’t on that roll.”But Liam was—as a witness.

“Vi, enough.” I try to stop her. We should not tear open his wounds.

She glances at me and I can see the understanding in her eyes.“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“He was executed at our family’s house.” His features tighten. “Before it was given to another noble, of course. And yes, I watched as they did it that time, too. I already had the rebellion relic by then, but the pain was the same.” He looks away, his throat working. “Then I was sent to Tirvainne to be fostered by Duke Lindell, the same as Riorson. My little sister was sent elsewhere.”

“They separated you?” Her jaw practically unhinges.

He nods. “She’s only a year younger than me, though, so I’ll get to see her when she enters the quadrant next year. She’s strong, quick, and has good balance. She’ll make it.” The edge of panic in his tone reminds me of Mira.

“She will make it, Liam. And after that we’ll be there to help her.” I grab his hand and squeezes it.

“She could always choose another quadrant,” Violet says softly, hoping it will soothe him.

He blinks at her. “We’re all riders.”

„What?”

“We’re all riders. It was part of the deal. We’re allowed to live, allowed a chance to prove our loyalty, but only if we make it through the Riders Quadrant.” He stares at her in bewilderment. “You don’t know?”

“I mean…” she shakes her head. “I know that the children of the leaders, the officers, were all forced into conscription, but that’s all. A lot of those treaty addenda are classified.”

“I personally think the quadrant was chosen to give us the best chance of rising in rank, but others…” He grimaces. “Others think it’s because the death rate is so much higher for riders, so they were hoping to kill us all off without having to do it themselves. I’ve heard Imogen say they originally figured the dragons have unimpeachable honor, so they’d never bond a marked one in the first place, and now they don’t quite know what to do with us.”

“How many of you are there?” I ask him, because I don’t know the exact number.

“Xaden’s never?” He pauses. “Sixty-eight of the officers had kids under the age of twenty. There are one hundred and seven of us, all who carry rebellion relics.”

„The oldest is Xaden,” I murmur.

He nods. “And the youngest is almost six now. Her name is Julianne.”

I think I’m going to be sick. “Is she marked?”

“She was born with it.”

I understand it was done by Codagh, but what the fucking hell? My father is a monster.

“And it’s all right that you ask. Someone should know. Someone should remember.” His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. He suddenly turns toward Violet. “Anyway, is it hard for you to be in here? Or is it more of a comfort thing?”

Subject change noted.

„It’s like coming home, but not. And it’s not that it’s changed—this place never changes. Hell, I think change is the mortal enemy of a scribe. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve changed. I don’t quite fit here. Not anymore.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Something in his voice tells me he really does.

That’s when Jesinia reappears, the cart laden with the requested tomes.

“I have everything here for you,” she signs, then gestures to the scroll on top. “And that is for Professor Markham.”

“We’ll make sure he gets it,” Violet promises, leaning forward to take the cart. Her high collar shifts, and Jesinia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Oh gods, Violet. Your neck!” Her hand movements are sharp.

“It’s nothing.” She puts her collar back in place, covering the ring of yellowing bruises, and Liam reaches across me, taking the cart. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

She bobs her head and wrings her hands as we turn for the door. Pierson closes it after we pass into the hallway.

“Riorson taught me to fight during the years he was at Tirvainne.” Liam’s change of subject is appreciated and no doubt intentional once again. I still feel terrible. My farher is a monster. There’s no doubt about it. “I’ve never seen anyone move the way he does. He’s the only reason I made it through the first round of challenges. He might not show it, but he takes care of his own.” He glances toward me with a smirk.

“Are you trying to sell me on his finer points?” I ask as we make the ascent.

We round the corner and take the path past the Healer Quadrant.

“How can you do this anyway? Guard someone whose own mother oversaw the wing that captured yours?” Vi asks before he could answer.

“Wondering if you can trust me?” He flashes another easy grin.

“Yes.” The answer is simple.

He laughs, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls and glass windows of the clinic. “Good answer. All I can say is that your survival is essential to Riorson’s, and I owe him everything. Everything.” He looks me straight in the eye for that last word, even as the cart hits a raised stone in the paved corridor.

The scroll on top tumbles to the floor, and Violet retrieves it and it unrolls along the slight slope of the passage.

“Got it.”

The thick parchment isn’t eager to roll back into place, and when she looks at it, she pauses.

“What does it say?” Liam asks.

“Sumerton was attacked.” She flips the scroll to see if it’s marked as classified, but it isn’t.

“On the southern border?” He looks as confused as I feel.

“Yeah.” She nods. “It’s another high-altitude attack, too, if I remember my geography correctly. It says a supply convoy was looted.” She reads a little further. “And the community storage in nearby caves was ransacked. But that doesn’t make sense. We have a trade agreement with Poromiel.”

“A raiding party, then.” I say.

She shrugs. “No clue. Guess we’ll hear about it in Battle Brief today.”

Attacks along our southern borders are rising, all with the same description. Mountain villages are being torn apart wherever the wards weaken.

I hear an enermous growl.

„Sorrengail?” Liam looks over at her, concern etched between his brows.

“Tairn’s awake,” she manages to say, clutching her stomach. „Does it ever get any easier?” Being tackled by what they’re feeling?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Aon is pretty good at keeping his emotions to himself, but sometimes I can’t separate myself from him.”

Liam winces. “Deigh keeps pretty good control of himself, but when he’s angry?” Liam shakes his head. “It’s supposed to help once they start channeling and we have the power to shield them out, but you know Carr isn’t going to bother with us until that happens.”

I’d already assumed Liam didn’t have his abilities yet, considering he’s with us in every single class, but it’s comforting to know he’s still in the waning population of powerless riders with me.

“So neither Aon nor Tairn has started channeling to you, either, right?” Liam asks, a look of uncertainty, vulnerability on his face.

I shake my head. “I think he has commitment issues,” I whisper.

“I heard that.”

“Then stay out of my head.”

Suddenly waves of emotions washes over me.

„Don’t be an ass.”

I swear I hear him chuff a chuckle in response.

“We’d better hurry or we’ll miss breakfast.” Liam says.

“Right.” Violet finishes rolling the scroll and put it back on the cart.

---

“I want to be like the cool kids,” Rhiannon grumbles as first-years from Second and Third Wings pour out of the stairwell of the turret that leads up to Professor Carr’s classroom that afternoon, further clogging the hallway on our way to Battle Brief.

“We will,” Violet promises, linking her arm through hers.

“You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!” Ridoc pushes past Liam and me, and throws his arm over Violet’s shoulder.

“She’s talking about everyone who’s already channeling,” I explain, juggling my books so I don’t drop them. “Though at least if we’re not channeling, we’re not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us.” The relic on my back tingles.

“Oh, I thought we were discussing how I just owned that physics test.” He grins. “Definitely the highest score in the class.”

Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “Please. I scored five points higher than you.”

“We stopped counting your grades months ago.” He leans forward slightly. “Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us.” He looks between Liam and me. “Wait. What did you get, Melgren? Mairi?”

“Not getting into the middle of this,” Liam responds.

“Me neither” I laugh at him.

I had pretty good scores. Only thanks to Liam. Despite of his assignment, he still has time to study with me. And I will be eternally grateful to him.

I smile at him as we’re entering the bottleneck of cadets to get into the briefing room.

“Sorry, Sorrengail,” someone says, stepping out of the way and tugging their friend with them as we enter the tiered classroom.

“Nothing to be sorry about!” She calls out, but they’re already headed up a few rows. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

“It definitely makes getting places easier,” Rhiannon teases her as we descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.

We find our row and walk to our seats, sitting as a squad among the first-years.

The room buzzes with energy as riders file in, and I can’t help but notice that no one has to stand anymore. Our numbers have decreased exponentially in the last four months. The number of empty chairs is sobering. We lost another first-year yesterday when he got too close to another rider’s Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was standing there, and the next he was a scorched patch of earth. I kept as close to Aon as possible the rest of the session.

My scalp prickles, but I fight the urge to turn around.

“Riorson just got here,” Liam says with mirth in his voice from the seat to my left, breaking from the little dragon figurine he’s carving and looking up the rows toward the third-years.

“Figured.” I hold up my middle finger to him and keep my eyes forward.

He just loves teasing me. Asshole.

Liam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. “Now, that we’re talking about Xaden. I noticed that you two are always bickering. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant? ”

“You could try it yourself and find out,” I suggest, opening my notebook to the next empty page. I can’t turn around. I won’t. Wanting Xaden is fine. It has to be. Indulging the impulses it gives me? That’s asinine.

“That’s going to be a no from me.” He shakes his head.

I lose the battle with my self-control and look over my shoulder. Sure enough, Xaden is seated in the top row next to Garrick, mastering the art of looking bored. He gives Liam a nod, which Liam returns.

Then he concentrates on his carving, which looks a lot like his Red Daggertail, Deigh.

“Then you should focus on Vi. She is you’re assignment, not me.” I shot back.

“I swear, you’d think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me.” She shakes her head.

“In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you.” Rhiannon sets out her supplies.

“One time! It’s happened one time, Rhi!” She says as she adjusts her posture.

“Right. And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?” Rhiannon asks.

“Threshing.” She shrugs.

“And Barlowe’s constant threats?” I arch a brow at her.

“She has a point there,” Sawyer chimes in, leaning forward from the seat next to Rhiannon’s.

“They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”

„I mean, I’m not opposed—” he begins, his knife hovering over the piece of wood.

“Don’t even start.” She whips her head to face him and she blushes. “You are a shameless flirt.”

“Thank you.” He grins and goes back to carving.

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” I say and write the date down on the empty page with my quill. Those easy, mess-less pens some of the others can already use is just another reason I can’t wait to channel. No more quills. No more inkpots.

„That has nothing to do with it.” She shots me a glare.

“And yet I don’t hear you denying it.” I smile sweetly at her.

“I’m sorry I don’t make the cut,” Liam teases. “But I can review a couple candidates, especially if it means you’ll stop being so edgy.”

“And how exactly would you be reviewing candidates? What will you be scoring?” Rhiannon asks, one eyebrow raised above her wide grin. “This I have to hear.”

I manage a straight face for all of two seconds before laughing at how horrified he suddenly looks.

“Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll make sure to run any potential liaisons by you.” Violet teases him.

“I mean, you could watch,” Rhiannon continues, blinking innocently at him. “Just to be sure she’s fully covered. You know, so no one…sticks it to her.”

“Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?” Ridoc asks from my other side. “Because my entire life has led up to this very moment.”

Even Sawyer laughs.

“Fuck me,” Liam mutters under his breath. “I’m just saying that since you’re protected at night now—” We laugh harder, and he blows out a deep breath.

“Wait.” Vi stops laughing. “What do you mean I’m protected at night? Because you’re next door? Please tell me he’s not making you sleep in the hallway or something obnoxious.”

“No. Of course not. He warded your door the morning after the attack.” His expression clearly says she should know this. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”

“He what?”

“He warded your door,” Liam says, quieter this time. “So only you can open it.”

“But if he’s the one who warded it, then he can get in, too, right?” I ask.

„Well, yeah.” Liam shrugs as Professors Markham and Devera walk down the stairs, heading for the front of the room. “But it’s not like Riorson is going to kill her.”

“Right. You see, I’m still adjusting to that little change of heart.” I fumble my quill and it falls to the ground, but before I can lean over, the shadows beneath the arm of my desk lift the instrument like an offering. I pluck it out of the shadows and look back at Xaden.

He’s locked in conversation with Garrick, not paying me a speck of attention.

Except, apparently, he is.

“If we can get started?” Markham calls over the room, and we fall silent as he places the scroll we had delivered to him before breakfast on the podium. “Excellent.”

I write Sumerton down at the top of the page and Liam trades his knife for a quill.

“First announcement,” Devera says, stepping forward. “We’ve decided that not only will the winners of this year’s Squad Battle receive bragging rights—” She grins like we’re in for a treat. “But they’ll also be given a trip to the front lines to shadow an active wing.”

Cheers break out all around us.

“So if we win, we get a chance to die sooner?” Rhiannon whispers.

“Maybe they’re trying a reverse psychology thing.” I glance at the others around us who are clearly overjoyed and worry about their sanity. Either I am a fool or everyone else.

“You crave the action just as much as they do, little one.”

“Don’t you have better things to do with your day than listen in on my private thoughts?”

“Not particularly. Now pay attention.”

“Stop butting in and maybe I can,” I counter.

Aon chuffs. One day I might be able to translate that sound, but it’s not today.

“I know the Squad Battle doesn’t commence until spring,” Devera continues, “but I figured that news would give you all the proper motivation to apply yourselves in every area leading up to the challenges.”

Another cheer resounds.

“And now that we have your attention.” Markham lifts his hand and the room quiets. “The front lines are relatively quiet today, so we’re going to take this opportunity to dissect the Battle of Gianfar.”

My quill hovers above my notebook. Surely he didn’t say that.

The mage lights rise to the Cliffs of Dralor that separate Tyrrendor, lifting the entire province thousands of feet above the rest of the Continent, before shining brightest on the ancient stronghold along the southern border. “This battle was pivotal to the unification of Navarre, and though it happened more than six centuries ago, there are important lessons that still impact our flight formations to this day.”

“Is he serious?” I whisper to Liam.

“Yeah.” Liam’s grip bends his quill. “I think he is.”

“What made this battle unique?” Devera asks, her eyebrows raised. “Bryant?”

“The stronghold was not only set for a siege,” the second-year says from high above us, “but was equipped with the first cross-bolt, which proved lethal against dragonkind.”

“Yes. And?” Devera prompts.

“It was one of the final battles where gryphons and dragons actually worked alongside each other to annihilate the army of the Barrens,” the second-year continues.

I glance left and right, watching the other riders begin to take notes. Surreal. This is just…surreal.

None of them knows what we do, that an entire village of Navarrians was ransacked last night along the border and supplies looted. And yet, we’re discussing a battle that happened before the convenience of indoor plumbing was invented.

“Now, pay close attention,” Markham lectures. “Because you’ll be turning in a detailed report in three days and drawing comparisons to battles from the last twenty years.”

“Was that scroll marked classified?” Liam asks under his breath.

“No,” Violet responds just as quietly. “But maybe I missed it?”

The battle map doesn’t even show activity near that mountain range.

“Yeah.” He nods, scratching his quill against the parchment as he begins to take notes. “That has to be it. You missed it.”

I blink, forcing my hand through the motions of writing about a battle I’ve analyzed dozens of times with The General. Liam’s right. That’s the only possible explanation. Our clearance isn’t high enough, or maybe they haven’t finished gathering all the information needed to form an accurate report.

Or it had to have been marked classified. We just missed it.

Or…they withold information from us.

I need to speak with The General. Somehow I have to gather more information.

“Careful, little one. You need to be careful when you uncover the secrets.” I hear Aon’s warning.

[feline-ephemera]

The Cat Bylandt

A catgirl is taught the manor's manners by a cadre of maids

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

I am the two-legged Cat of Bylandt manor, despite my efforts. Ever since being summoned to this lavishly furnished labyrinth of oak scrollwork and frigid floorboards I have been trying to leave it, to no avail. I am the Cat of this manor, yet I do not even have full run of the grounds. I can access only one floor of one wing of the building. I look out of wrought-iron barred windows and see the rest of it, see the grounds, see the forest beyond. I am denied them. Progress has been made, though. For the first few days I was able only to pace around a single room inspecting the hardwoods and velvets before I made my escape. Sure, the escape took the form of one of the maids unlocking and opening the door to the room, but I walked through that door with such confidence that it did not dare to try and stop me. This process was repeated several times, foolish maids opening doors I then sauntered through with ease, scoffing at their lack of security. And now I have the whole floor of this wing as my domain. The maids, when they speak (which is rare), mention the ‘Lady of the House’ in their reverent hushed tones and speak to her dominion in the flow of their skirts and movements of their arms, but I reject her authority over my new territory. She has made scant few appearances here, which I’ve stealthily observed from behind curtains and gaps in the furniture so really I have more claim to the space than her.  

The maids, though, they are irritating. They seemed determined to harass me, from nudging me aside with brooms from the spot on the floor where the sunlight perfectly comes in through the window just so they could sweep it to glaring me down with fixed, glassy eyes whenever I decided to avail myself of a scratching post. This regardless of whether such post was couch, chair, or cabinet. They despise me regardless. They always remove and replace whatever it is anyway, so I don’t see what the big deal is. I retaliate where I can, spitting on a floor just cleaned or knocking the headband from a maid’s head with my tail as I walk past it. Once, finding myself alone in a dining room (something rare, for now they always try to leave at least one maid in the same room to supervise me), I took all the chairs from around the room and stacked them as high as I could before lounging at the top of the pile. The connivers eventually lured me down, after several hours, by putting my food in the next room over and waving the scent towards me with fans.

If I could figure out a way to mass produce dust I would. They seemed to be at war against it. Once I asked one what it was doing. It told me it was dusting a cabinet. I told it that the cabinet it was trying to dust was spotless. I couldn’t see a speck of dust on the thing. It gave me such a glare that I thought it was going to lunge for my throat. Eventually it turned back to the cabinet with near-audible tension in its neck and joints. I knocked its headband off as I walked away. I think I heard it stifle a scream, which I counted as a great victory. Making the maids lose composure is very difficult, though a wonderful treat when it happens.

Today, I am lounging atop a mantel, outstretched on my back. Two of those pestilent maids are in this room with me, tidying something or other. I am bored, craving some sort of stimulation. Something interesting. The other day one of the maids had left a mop-bucket unattended, which had been very pretty when knocked over with the soap-sud water spilt across the floor. I look around again, and zero in on a gold-on-black vase of foxglove at the far end of the mantel. Just barely within reach if I stretch my arm out a little, barely having to even move from my comfortable position. I scrape it with my claws. A little shift, a little nudge, and down it tumbles to the floor below. I quickly crane my neck to watch it arc down, watch as it lands squarely on the back of the maid I had heard below me, hunched over cleaning the fireplace, with a wonderfully beautiful crash and splash. I hadn’t even been trying to hit her, so it was a pleasant surprise. The maid, soaked through with water and foxglove, stands up ramrod straight but otherwise maintained perfect stillness. The other one across the room is not doing that. It drops what it was doing, briskly walks to the door and calls through it to the next room. Now there is a bustle of other maids bundling the soaked one away in towels.

The door made a click after the last one left the room. Had they tried to lock me in here again? I vault off the mantel, landing silently on a still dry section of carpet and padding to the door to test the handle. I stop when I hear speech from the other side. 

“We have to do something. This is untenable.”

“You know the Lady said we weren’t to harm the cat.”

“I know, and I do not intend to go against the Lady’s wishes, but that was from the Lady’s favorite set of vases and Wisteria was already having issues and now—”

A third voice broke in: “Wisteria will be fine. It got soaked, and will recover. That being said, the vase is unfortunate, and the cat’s behavior has shown no improvement since she got here. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Something will be done.” I recognized this voice. The maid it belonged to wore shaggy short-cropped hair but otherwise looked the same as all the others. When the maids spoke among themselves, it was usually this one telling another one what to do. 

Bored of the conversation, I line up to burst the door open, intent on frightening my foes beyond the portal. I run up and give the door a fierce kick. The door remains steadfastly closed but does yield a good rattle on its hinges, which probably frightens the maids anyway, so I count this as a victory.

I get up from where I landed on the floor after the kick and stalk off to my bedroom to pile the blankets where the sun falls on the carpet. I feel like taking a nap after such a productive day.

—

I am partially woken by the sound of a buckle fastened. Dull thoughts of alarm flicker in the back of my still-slumbering mind. They try to hasten wakefulness to no avail, as I am woken much more sharply and definitively by being yanked up to my feet by the leash and collar now secured around my neck. I explode in a flurry of raking limbs, flaying any and all enemies before me. Or at least I try to, before realizing that said enemies, the ever-infuriating maids, are holding my arms outstretched against all my efforts. The one with the short-cropped hair is holding the leash. I manage to twist a leg around enough to claw across the abdomen of one of the maids holding my arms. The claws snag. How tough is that apron? I keep my claws well sharpened. Another maid steps up to unsnag and keep ahold of the leg, as well as the other when I try to kick her in the head. 

Well now I’m fucked. I try to wiggle, for the little it is worth. Their grips are implacable.

Short-hair speaks: “Not that I expect you to behave properly, for you’ve amply demonstrated that you’re incapable of doing so without the proper motivation, and we yet haven’t gotten there. But would you like to stop struggling to at least preserve some scrap of dignity?”

I spit some dignity in its face, which it dodges without expression.

“Very well.” Short-hair snaps its fingers at something behind me. “Wisteria, if you would like to do the honors.”

I barely have time to try to turn my head before glassy fingers shove some mess of wire and leather over my mouth from behind. My head is yanked back as the maid secures straps about my cranium. A muzzle! This is outrageous! The second I get loose these maids are being eviscerated. I could accept the cold war we had going on earlier but this is several steps too far. 

The maids ignore my internal ranting and external hissing through strapped-shut lips as they gather my wrists behind me and bind them together. The one holding my legs is binding those as well. It felt like ropes on my wrists, which is good. Chains would be bad. As soon as they look away my claws can make short work of ropes. I try to glare, growl, and hiss at short hair as much as I can. Once I’m free it is the first one I’m hunting down. 

What are they doing with my hands now? They’re trying to ball them up. Hmph. I get in at least one good scratch on a maid's hand, I’m sure. Eventually, with the unfair advantage of being able to see what they’re doing, they succeed in their task, my claws are driven into my palms. Now they are– oh no. They’re putting some sort of bags over my hands and cinching them to hold them in that balled up position so I can’t cut myself free. I really start struggling now, but it’s no use. Their grips are iron. I try to change my eyes from glaring at short-hair to pleading, but I don’t know if I do it right. I don’t know how to make a pleading face.

—

I am in a dark room. This accursed muzzle is still strapped on my head. My hands, still bound behind me, are pulled up by a rope running through a pulley in the ceiling and tied off somewhere. The rope is so short and pulls my hands up such that it forces me to bend over. The maids had strung me up like this and then left me in the dark. My shoulders ache horribly. I have spent the time trying to wrest a claw into a position where I could try to start cutting myself free, but this has borne no fruit. If anything, I just think my palms are bleeding.

After I don’t know how long of just standing there, bent over— a maid comes in. At least I assume it’s a maid. I can’t see from my position. It has the right gait for a maid. I hear that gait approach me from behind. This wretched thing had better untie me or–

It kicks out my legs. My shoulders are suddenly washed in fucking fire as I drop to my knees. I scream as well as I can. I think it even had the attention to detail to drive the toe of its shoe into the back of one of my knees, though, again, that is a pretty minor cruelty compared to how my shoulders feel right now. I try to get my breathing under some illusion of control. I do not like the pathetic noises I am making right now. The maid, having moved to my side where I can see that accursed apron, puts a hand on my head and is telling me “shhhhh”. I barely notice this or the straw the maid deftly weaves through the wires of the muzzle until it pushes against my grimacing lips. I suck down water greedily. At least I think it’s water. Objectively it tastes slightly off, but at the same time I cannot recall a sip that ever tasted sweeter. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until now.

I finish the drink and the maid leaves. I begin the arduous process of getting back on my feet with them still tied together, trying to get some of the strain off my shoulders.

That scene repeats itself over and over. A maid would come in, and the first thing it does each time is kick my knees out from behind. Sometimes they give me a sip to drink, sometimes they just watch me for a time before leaving. Sometimes a maid comes in just to kick me down and leaves immediately. If I ever try to stand back up while one is still in the room, it is very forceful in felling me again. So I stop trying.

Eventually I realize, if I go to my knees preemptively when I hear them enter the room, they can’t drop me with a kick. Sure, it’s still painful. Still excruciating, and I have to do it myself. But lowering myself slowly is better than a sharp drop by a degree of magnitude. I can rob them of some of their cruelty. That counts as some sort of victory.

I try it the next time I hear that door unlock. As I’m trying to level myself down at least a little slower than gravity, still blinking through tears and making noises I’m not happy about, I hear that familiar gait start into the room. Then stop. And watch. Then finally, as my knees hit the tiled floor yet again, it says “Good”.

This surely counts as some sort of victory, right?

[thefluffyrailway-official]

Sodor's Great War

Episode 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That morning, Thomas had been, along with Gordon, the first to wake up and go out the sheds. He loved coming back when the rest woke up to tell them the news of the day just like a talking newspaper. 

He usually talked about gossip and commotions happening on the island, James and Emily loved hearing that. But that day something was wrong with Thomas.

His legs trembled, his back fur was bristly, and his short, deer-like tail shook with spasms of speed and then remained still.

Everyone noticed the strangeness in the behavior of the young bluish male, but a tall emerald female was the first to approach him and asked him if everything was okay.

-Y-Yes! E-Everything is fine!- Thomas nodded with a fake smile. -Then why are you so nervous?- Emily asked. -I-I...- Thomas tried to excuse himself but nothing good came to his mind. The rest of the engines left their sheds with slow and curious steps. Thomas knew it was only a matter of time before he was found out, so he had no choice but to tell the truth.

He took a deep breath...

Then sat down...

-He's back... -

Thomas fell unconscious after saying those words...

Everyone ran to his aid.

-Is he still breathing?- asked a young but robust female with blonde fur and turquoise blue eyes. -It's obvious he's breathing! Don't exaggerate, Rebecca! - Exclaimed a huge male with strong legs and unusually long claws. -I'll take him to Steamworks. I'm sure Victor will find out what happened to him.- Said the emerald female.

The rest of the engines nodded in agreement with her. The youngest of them still spoke.

-Thomas will be okay, right?- He asked while his dad, another large light green male, brought him closer, comforting him with a warm hug. -He'll be fine Percy. I promise- the female smiled to reassure her younger brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The entire way, Emily tried to find out what happened to her friend.

«Why was Thomas so scared? Who was back? Could it perhaps be a danger warning?»

Thoughts ran through her mind. But she couldn't answer any...

Soon, the cold iron and annoying pebbles of the rails turned into soft grass and earth under Emily's gray and spotted paws. She knew they were near the Steamworks.

Kevin, a small mobile crane with scales and golden down, Victor's apprentice, was the first to notice the arrival of the emerald female, and without hesitation he went to call his mentor.

-Excuse me boss! We have a visitor! - The little golden-furred crane said while his little scarlet fins shook. Victor turned towards the entrance to the Steamworks just as Emily rushed in.

-Victor! Can you help me please?? Thomas is unconscious! - The green-eyed she asked, carefully leaving Thomas on the ground. -Don't worry, Emily, I'm sure it's nothing serious- said the garnet engine as he leaned over the young bluey, inspecting if there was anything to worry about (besides the fainting).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of hours later, Thomas finally regained consciousness. He stood up suddenly, gasping as if waking up from a terrible nightmare in the middle of the night. Then he looked around trying to guess where he was.

-Thomas! You're awake!- Emily meowed of joy as she hugged him. -H-Hello Emily- Thomas smiled as he responded to the older's action.

Kevin approached them to check the blue young man's condition and vital signs, and smiled when he saw that he was in perfect condition.

-I see that you are pretty fine- said the little golden amphibian. Thomas answered with a smile as Emily pulled away from the hug and sat next to him.

-How did I get here Emi?- The blue-eyed asked. -You fainted when you came back from your round of morning gossip- Emily explined as she settled her paws under her body.

Thomas looked down as his smile faded. It seems like he was starting to remember what happened. And because of his expression... Also the cause of this.

-You should rest a little Thomas. I will ask Sir Tophamm Hatt to allow you to take the morning off.- Victor's deep but calm voice brought Thomas out of his thoughts, making him turn to look at him.

-Later in the afternoon, if you feel better, you can go back to your work. But for now it is better that you make as little effort as possible.- The garnet male continued while Thomas nodded listening to his instructions.

As he finished explaining, Victor made a sign with his front paw allowing Thomas to return to his shed.

-Do you want me to take you back too?- Emily offered as they both returned to the cold, sharp rails. -What do you mean?- Thomas tilted his head in confusion. -When we came, I carried you on my back because you were unconscious. Do you want me to take you again? Or you can walk well?- The tall emerald female explained while the blue-haired boy blushed just by imagining what she was saying to him. -I-I eeehhh....- He tried to deny his desire to pretend not to be able to walk just to be carried by her. -I-I can walk! You don't need to worry! - He said and then walked ahead with clumsy strides.

Emily sat on the rails waiting for Thomas's, still weak, legs to fail, giving him a chance to get what he clearly wanted.

And so it happened. Within a few steps of trying to walk away, one of his front legs gave out slightly. Even Rebecca, the clumsiest of the steam team, could quickly recover from that little stumble. But Thomas fell on his side and then let out dramatic whimpers of pain.

-Owwwwww!! my leg!! - He howled, covering his face with his right paw while he held his left paw with his middle paws. -I think you're going to have to take me after all hehe- Emily approached him laughing and then grabbed him by the neck lifting him onto her back, being careful that neither her rods nor her whistle would harm him.

While they went back to Tithmouth Sheds, Emily felt a soft but audible vibration near her steamstack.

"Is Thomas... Purring?" Thought.

The emerald-furred one smiled warmly and slowed down so as not to wake him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily placed Thomas in his nest, covered in soft feathers and warm blankets, careful not to wake him. The young male stretched and rolled around in his nest until he found a comfortable position to rest.

The green-eyed girl smiled when she saw him. Then he caressed the blue one's cheek with his front paw. -Rest well Thom- she whispered with a tender shine in her emerald eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[dbcoatl-art]

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Hunters of Ruination

Chapter 6: Spark Meadow [17 Pages]

Mayor Sparky takes Mila through Spark Meadow, a Mystery Dungeon located within Thunderclap Valley, where they can enlist help from the local trapmaker.

--

~Thunderclap Valley~

“I appreciate what Brother Caenum wanted to do, but I wish he’d warn me before trying to spray me with Water Gun,” Mila complained, grimacing at the way her wet paws squelched against the earth.

Mayor Sparky chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about him,” he replied. “He’s always been quite the neat freak.”

The two of them had departed from Trueno Village not too long ago, and were now walking along the dirt path leading into Thunderclap Valley. Mila, despite being a Grass-type, obviously hated having her fur soaked, but at least there wasn’t a single speck of dirt or grime left (Brother Caenum made sure of that).

Mila stopped to shake off more water droplets from her fur before heading over to catch up with the mayor, admiring the warmth of the sunlight on her fur as it filtered through the trees.

“So, Mr. Mayor,” she began.

“Please, just call me Mayor Sparky,” he insisted.

“Sorry. Anyway, Mayor Sparky, where exactly are we going?”

Mayor Sparky searched through the small pouch he was carrying to take out a sheet of paper. He then unfurled it to reveal a large map of the entire archipelago.

Mila craned her neck to see the map. “So that’s the Raidon Archipelago,” she whispered in awe. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that the islands converged to form some kind of dragon-like Pokémon. “It looks more like a continent to me, though,” she remarked.

“Ehehehe…well, it did go by another name a long time ago,” Mayor Sparky chuckled. “But that name’s been unfortunately lost to time. Folks these days just call it the Raidon Archipelago because it looks like a cross between Koraidon and Miraidon, like those statues you passed by.”

“I see,” Mila said, slowly nodding her head. She pointed to an area in the southeastern corner near where she guessed were the archipelago’s “haunches”. “And that’s Thunderclap Valley, isn’t it?”

“You got that right, miss!” The Dedenne then tapped with one digit to a part of the valley. “And our destination is a trapmaker who lives nearby. She’s a quirky sort, but very helpful in capturing stray ferals and releasing them back into the wild.” He then traced his finger to a yellow dot between Trueno Village and the trapmaker’s hut. “But first, we need to get through Spark Meadow.”

Mila nodded, barely paying attention to the mayor’s words. Her eyes were trained on another part of the map – a chain of islands that made up what she thought was the “tail” of the Raidon Archipelago. Four red X’s were scrawled all over some of the islands, nearly crossing out the yellow dots that marked those locations.

“Um, Mayor Sparky,” she asked, pointing to the X’s. “What’s with those four marks?”

Mayor Sparky glanced over at where Mila was pointing. His face immediately darkened. “That, my dear, is the Ruinous Shackles,” he warned. “It’s an area forbidden to everyone, even outlaws.”

“Why? What’s so dangerous about it?”

Mayor Sparky put a paw to his chin. “There’s an old legend that tells of four terrifying Pokémon who once nearly brought a terrible catastrophe to the archipelago, back when it was still known by its forgotten name,” he explained. “It took the effort of four sages to defeat those Pokémon and seal them away in four tombs. Everyone stays away from the Ruinous Shackles because of that legend, and not even the most hardened criminals would think to try and release one of those four Pokémon.”

A chill raced down Mila’s spine. Four Pokémon locked away in a forbidden place because they were deemed too dangerous…now that was definitely something she didn’t want to face.

“Still, there are some people who only pass it off as some kind of ghost story,” Mayor Sparky went on as he closed the map and stuffed it back into his pouch. “So that legend might not be real after all. Who knows?”

“L-let’s hope so,” Mila said with a shiver.

Mayor Sparky noticed the Sprigatito in a distressed state. Sighing to himself, he scampered over to her and gently patted her shoulder. “But let’s not dwell in on that,” he said. “Let’s focus on getting through Spark Meadow first.”

“O-okay,” Mila responded as the two began walking down the path again.

As her paws dragged through the dust, Mila couldn’t shake the thought of the Ruinous Shackles out of her mind. Four Pokémon were sealed away by some sages because they nearly destroyed the Raidon Archipelago. She couldn’t help but wonder who those Pokémon were…and why they almost did such a dastardly deed.

Eventually, the trees opened up, and soon Mila found herself standing in a massive stretch of grassland. Short, yellow grass tickled her pads in a way that was more welcoming than the hard, dusty path. She stretched her body, welcoming the warmth of the sun on her fur.

“Well, we’re almost there,” Mayor Sparky said. “Just a few more steps and we’ll have entered Spark Meadow.”

Mila looked ahead, noticing that there was a wooden sign, with the words “SPARK MEADOW” scrawled on it in black ink. An arrow connected to the sign pointed to a cluster of tall yellow grass that grew as far as the naked eye could see.

“Before we go in, I need to warn ya about something,” Mayor Sparky told her. “Spark Meadow is no ordinary place. In fact, this place is actually what we call a Mystery Dungeon.”

“Mystery…Dungeon?” Mila tilted her head in confusion. “What’s that?”

“Mystery Dungeons are these odd little pockets of distortions,” the Dedenne explained. “No matter how many times you enter one, the layout is never the same. Mystery Dungeons can appear anywhere at any time, from above ground to even underwater. There are also Pokémon who inhabit these Mystery Dungeons, but they ain’t real Pokémon – just constructs from these distortions. No one knows how long they’ve existed, but my guess is that they’ve been here since the dawn of time. ”

“I see,” Mila said. “I think I’ve got it.”

Mayor Sparky smiled as he put his paws on his hips. “Fortunately, Spark Meadow here’s a low-level dungeon,” he reassured her. “That should give ya an opportunity to get in a bit o’ training.”

Mila’s face became hot with embarrassment as she remembered her performance yesterday. Still, she was grateful that Mayor Sparky was going to help teach her how to fight effectively on her own. That should be something…right?

“Anyway,” said Mayor Sparky as he approached the entrance. “We should get goin’ now. Don’t wanna keep the trapmaker waitin’ now, do we.”

Mila shook her head. “No, sir!”

Mayor Sparky smiled as he turned and hopped into the cluster of grass. Mila took a deep breath as she approached the wall of grass. Well, she thought. Here goes nothing.

She then leaped into the grass, wondering what lay ahead of her…

* * *

~Spark Meadow, B1F~

As Mila pushed through the wall of tall grass, she was confronted with a strange sight.

All around her were walls upon walls of yellow grass, growing as if they were trying to reach the sky. The floor underneath her feet was also covered in yellow grass, but it was much shorter like what she had been standing on before. To her right and directly in front were two corridors that seemed to stretch on for infinity.

“Well, we’re here,” Mayor Sparky announced. “Welcome to Spark Meadow, little miss.” He nudged her with a tiny elbow. “How’s it feeling so far?”

“Uh…strange?” Truth be told, Mila was still perplexed by how a place like this could exist. Then again, Mystery Dungeons were pockets of distortions, so…maybe this wouldn’t be too bad?

Mayor Sparky shrugged. “Eh, that’s what a lot of folks say,” he said. “Don’t fret, though – you’ll eventually get used to it. Besides, once you’ve seen a Mystery Dungeon, you’ve seen ‘em all! At least, that’s what my pops would say.”

Silence passed between the two of them, save for the gentle summer breeze that rustled the tips of the yellow grass, almost kissing it. Then, Mila finally spoke: “So, all we have to do is go through Spark Meadow, and we’ll be on our way to the trapmaker’s place, right?”

“Ya catch on pretty quick there, Mila,” replied Mayor Sparky with a wink. “Though we’d best get a move on right away – don’t wanna get caught in it too long.”

“Why? What happens?”

But Mayor Sparky was already scampering ahead towards the corridor to the right. Mila sighed as she followed him. However, they didn’t get long before the rustling of grass stopped them in its tracks. Mayor Sparky instinctively held out a paw, his ears pricked as he became aware.

The rustling grew louder and louder, until a Pokémon popped out of the overgrowth. It looked like a small orange marmot, not much bigger than Mayor Sparky, with yellow electric sacs on its cheeks and a whiff of orange fur on top of its head. Its bulbous forepaws were cream-coloured, as were its tiny snout and its fluffy tail.

“Aww, it’s so cute,” Mila could help but coo at it. “What is it?”

“Oh, that’s just a little Pawmi,” replied Mayor Sparky. “They ain’t too much of a threat. Mostly, they just mind their own business an’ all.”

The moment he finished speaking, however, the Pawmi suddenly snapped its head to stare at the intruders. Mila noticed that its eyes were a rich brown colouring with a hint of icy blue – almost reminding her of the Shiny Scovillain she barely survived fighting yesterday. It slowly pressed its body to the ground before suddenly launching itself at them, its tiny claws unsheathed.

“Dagnabbit!” Mayor Sparky cursed under his breath as he leaped away. He winced slightly as the Pawmi’s Scratch attack barely chipped his antennae. Landing on his paws, he skidded to a stop just a few yards away before getting back up.

“This oughta teach ya,” he growled as he bared his bucktooth. The single fang began to glow white and elongated itself before the Dedenne threw himself at the Pawmi, puncturing it with a Super Fang. The Pawmi squealed in pain as the iron-hard enamel punctured the fur and flesh on its backside, drawing bright red blood in the process. Mayor Sparky then leaped off of it and spat out blood, still glaring at the injured Pawmi.

Mila winced at the damage the mayor had caused, wondering if battles such as these were violent…well, back in whatever world she came from.

The Pawmi must have realized that it was no match for Mayor Sparky, and thus decided to turn its attention to Mila instead. Standing up on its hind legs, it raised its forepaws to reveal bright yellow sacs hidden underneath. It then proceeded to clasp its forepaws and rub them together, generating electricity between them.

“Uh, Mayor Sparky?” Mila asked, feeling rather alarmed. “What’s it doing now?”

“Mila, get back!” Mayor Sparky warned her. “Unless you want the little feller to hit ya with a Thunder Shock!”

Mila leaped away right in the nick of time, just seconds before the Pawmi launched a weak bolt of electricity right where she’d been standing before. If she hadn’t asked Mayor Sparky, well…she might not have been hit terribly hard, but she certainly didn’t want to end up being paralyzed.

Before the Pawmi could take any further action, Mayor Sparky puffed out his cheeks as his antennae began to glow bright green. “Seed Bomb!” he shouted as he spat out a glowing green seed at the feral. The seed exploded upon impact, sending the Pawmi flying across the room. It then landed flat on its belly…

…and immediately vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

Mila’s jaw dropped to the floor. What even happened? Was the Pawmi dead, or was it just a trick of the imagination? After all, she certainly didn’t seem to have any recollection of wild Pokémon vanishing in puffs of smoke upon defeat.

She turned to Mayor Sparky for information, only for the Dedenne to approach her to give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “S’alright, dear,” he told her. “This is a natural thing that happens to them dungeon ferals. Like I said, Mystery Dungeons are pockets of distortions…and the ferals here are nothing more than constructs of those distortions.”

“O-okay,” Mila said shakily. She still felt uneasy about the situation, but at least she had a better understanding of what the Mystery Dungeons were like.

“Now, let’s go see what that Pawmi was hiding behind this here corridor,” said Mayor Sparky. “Follow me!”

He led Mila down the narrow corridor and into another spacious room. Mila scanned the room for any more enemy Pokémon, only to find something round and blue just a few ways away. Approaching the object, she took a sniff and realized that it was an Oran Berry. She grabbed it in her mouth and trotted over to Mayor Sparky to show the item to him.

“Well, well,” the mayor said, looking rather impressed. “Looks like ya managed to find an Oran Berry. Nice going!” He retrieved the Oran Berry and put it into his pouch. “Those are super common finds, y’know. Hunter teams always make sure to pack a bunch of ‘em before headin’ out to a Mystery Dungeon.”

He looked around the room some more. “Well, it don’t look like there’s anything else, so we might as well do a bit o’ backtrackin’ and take the other corridor.” Once again, he led the way back to the first room, this time taking the corridor that was right in front.

This new corridor was much longer than the last, with more twists and turns, but it eventually opened up to another room. However, Mila didn’t have time to look around before a loud chirping suddenly assaulted her ears. She looked up, only to find a tiny bird Pokémon with grey and white feathers and a red head diving straight towards her. She quickly rolled to the right just as the bird soared past her, missing her by a whisker.

“Have a taste o’ my Nuzzle!” Mayor Sparky called out as he pounced on the bird. Electric sparks raced along his antennae as he began vigorously rubbing his cheeks against the bird’s backside. Seconds later, a burst of electricity enveloped the bird, short-circuiting all of its nerves. It swayed from side to side before collapsing on the ground, disappearing into a puff of purple smoke immediately afterwards.

Mayor Sparky let out a sigh of relief before turning to Mila with a concerned look on her face. “I’d be more careful around those Fletchling if I were you,” he told her. “With yer Grass typing, they’re a lot more trouble than they’re worth.”

Mila simply nodded in response, knowing that she didn’t need to be told twice. After all, being a Grass-type had its own advantages as well as disadvantages.

“Liiiil!”

Mila’s ear swivelled to the source of the new voice, drawing her attention to a small Pokémon approaching her. It looked like a light green bulb with stubby limbs, a dark green collar around its neck, and three large leaves growing atop its head. Just like the previous two ferals, its eyes had a bluish tint to them as it glared at the intruders.

“What about that Petilil?” Mila asked Mayor Sparky. “Is she more trouble than she’s worth?”

“Not at all,” replied the Dedenne. “I think you can take ‘er out just fine. Remember, all ya gotta do is concentrate.”

Mila nodded before turning to the Petilil with a determined look on her face. She took a deep breath as she began to concentrate. She thought about leaves dancing in the autumn breeze…plants and trees enduring fierce storms…flowers blooming to face the sunlight.

Her mane began to glow green as she felt energy gather in her body. She took another deep breath as she concentrated further and further…until she was ready.

“Take this! Leafage!” she yelled as she released a flurry of glowing green leaves at the Petilil. The Bulb Pokémon spun around, trying to keep her eyes trained on the leaves. However, they eventually slammed into her, cutting through the Petilil like she was nothing. The Leafage proved too much for her, and she soon collapsed into a puff of purple smoke.

Mila let out a sigh of relief, thankful that she had managed to pull off a Leafage without much difficulty this time.

A glint of gold caught her eye, drawing her attention to where the sun was shining. At first, she assumed it to be just a pile of yellow grass. Upon closer inspection, however, she noticed that it was not grass at all, but rather a pile of gold coins, all bearing the letter “P” engraved into it.

“Is that…money?” she asked.

“Not just any kind of money,” replied Mayor Sparky as he scooped up the coins and put them into a small money pouch. “That’s the Poké I’ve told ya about yesterday. Very useful for buying items at shops, among other things.”

Not too far away from where she’d found the Poké, Mila also noticed another oddity: a set of marble stairs cut into the grass, going down another level. She wondered where that led.

“Ah, there’s the stairs,” Mayor Sparky chirped as he scampered over to them. “These’ll take us to the next floor. C’mon!” He then jumped down the stairs, leaving Mila behind.

Mila looked down to where she saw the mayor disappear. She then took a deep breath and proceeded down the steps after him.

* * *

~Spark Meadow, B2F~

As Mila hopped off the last step, she was confronted with a peculiar sight. She had expected to be in some sort of underground area within the dungeon; instead, her surroundings were nearly identical to that of the previous floor. Same tall grass walls, same short grass underneath…it was much too odd for her.

The only thing different was that this room was a tad smaller. A few ways off, she noticed another Pawmi sleeping in a corner. However, there was also a small yellow spider-like Pokémon with blue claws munching away at an Oran Berry – a Joltik, if she recalled correctly.

Mayor Sparky took notice of the Joltik and let out a shudder. “Let’s just take what we can and leave before that Joltik notices us,” he said. “I ain’t a fan of them varmints one bit.”

Mila nodded as she ambled over to the other items nearby. There was a bright red Apple in the grass, and next to that was a small seed that looked like a pink, puffy cloud. She picked both of them up and brought them both to Mayor Sparky to examine.

“Well, well,” the Dedenne said as he retrieved the items. “Looks like we got ourselves a fresh new Apple. They’re usually ripe during the summer season.” He tossed the pink Seed up and down as he chuckled. “And that is a Sleep Seed. Anyone who eats that will soon find themselves dozin’ off to dreamland. Recommended for some tough battles.”

Stashing away the Apple and Sleep Seed in his pouch, Mayor Sparky led Mila down the long corridor into another small room. Another Fletchling nearly ambushed them, but Mayor Sparky took care of it. After Mila went over and retrieved the Oran Berry that the Fletchling had been guarding, the two of them proceeded down another set of stairs leading to the next floor.

* * *

~Spark Meadow, B3F~

Mila had barely cleared the second set of stairs, when she heard a sudden yelp. She whirled around and saw that another Joltik had quickly pounced on Mayor Sparky, pinning the rodent to the ground. Thinking quickly, she lunged forward and smacked it away with a headbutt. The Joltik sailed across the room and slammed against the wall, the force of the impact causing it to dissipate in a puff of purple smoke.

Mila helped the mayor up, who gave her a word of thanks. Unfortunately, the brief moment of respite didn’t last long before the two heard a screech. Mila looked up to find a Fletchling coming right at her, but did not have time to duck before she felt the bird’s sharp beak jab her shoulder.

Yowling in pain, she backed off, clutching her shoulder as the first trickle of blood began oozing from the cut.

“That hurt!” she hissed at the Fletchling, whose beak was now tipped with blood. Her blood. Not to mention it had this sort of boastful look in its otherwise soulless eyes.

While Mila was occupied with the Fletchling, Mayor Sparky had been taken off-guard by a Petilil that had just tackled him back to the ground. Thinking quickly, he darted around the Grass-type a few times before striking her in the back with a Nuzzle. Unfortunately, this only angered the Petilil, and she whirled around to attack Mayor Sparky with Absorb.

“Mayor Sparky!” Mila called out, feeling helpless. As much as she wanted to help him, there was still the Fletchling to worry about. If one Peck was enough to leave a gash, who knew what a second one would do?

Sure enough, the Fletchling’s beak began to glow white again, and it swooped down for another Peck. Before it could hit its mark, however, Mila suddenly felt her body move on her own as she sidestepped to dodge the attack. As it passed by, she bared her fangs and bit its wing as hard as she could.

A sickening sound like hollow bones being crunched against teeth filled her ears, and blood sprayed her vision. Still, she refused to let go despite the Fletchling’s pained screeches. She then flung the bird across the room, where it tumbled to a stop and vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

A pained squeak alerted her, and she whirled around just in time to see the Petilil collapse in a heap before immediately disappearing in another puff of purple smoke. Mayor Sparky was breathing heavily, clutching his arm while his tail-tip dug itself into the ground to try and keep himself steady.

“D-dang Petilil and their Absorb attacks,” he muttered as he reached into his pouch to retrieve an Oran Berry.

Mila walked over to him, wincing as she tried to put pressure on her injured leg. Noticing this, Mayor Sparky took out another Oran Berry and rolled it over to her. Mila smiled and gave him a word of thanks before eating her Oran Berry. Almost immediately, she felt the pain in her shoulder disappear as the gash quickly healed up, leaving behind only a barely-visible nick.

With the enemies cleared out, the two took the time to gather the items that were left behind. As Mila walked over to pick up a bright red Cheri Berry (which she knew had the power to heal paralysis), she recalled how she had quickly reacted to the Fletchling’s second Peck, as well as how she had retaliated.

Excited, she turned to Mayor Sparky, who had just finished stashing a spare Oran Berry in the pouch. “Hey, Mayor Sparky?” she said.

“Hm?” The Dedenne turned to face her. “What is it?”

“I think I might have just learned a new move,” Mila replied.

That seemed to grab Mayor Sparky’s interest. “Do tell,” he said. “We can talk as we walk down this ‘ere corridor.” He pointed to the mouth of a corridor not too far off to his left, and the two of them headed right down.

As they walked down the long, narrow corridor, Mayor Sparky looked over his shoulder at Mila. “So, Mila,” he said. “What kind of new move did ya learn this time?”

Mila took a deep breath as she explained to Sparky what had happened during her scuffle with the Fletchling. She recalled a feeling of frustration and anger that overcame her, like she wanted to physically injure the Fletchling and make it pay for pecking her shoulder like that. It was almost as if a sense of ill intent had come over her, and when the Fletching went for another attack, she quickly retaliated and returned the pain tenfold with just one bite to its wing.

“Hmm,” Mayor Sparky said with a grin. “If frustration and anger was all it took to bite that bird’s wing in half, then I say you did indeed learn a new move. Specifically, Bite!” He flicked his tail happily. “At least now ya got something to defend yerself with against the next Fletchling ya run into. Or another Flying-type, fer that matter.”

As they reached the end of the corridor, the two found themselves face-to-face with another Petilil, this time accompanied by a Joltik. This time, Mila took the initiative and quickly used her new Bite on the Joltik before it could react, causing the bug’s body to dissipate between her jaws. She then whirled around and hit the Petilil with Leafage, allowing Mayor Sparky to finish the job with Nuzzle.

With both enemies down, they then proceeded to collect two Oran Berries, some more Poké and another Sleep Seed before proceeding down the stairs to the next floor.

* * *

~Spark Meadow, B4F~

“Well, here we are,” Mayor Sparky announced as he hopped off the last step of the staircase. “The last floor of Spark Meadow. We’re almost there!”

Mila could only let out a sigh of relief. The whole trip had been really long, and her legs were starting to feel like jelly. But hearing that she was now at the final floor of the dungeon seemed to make the spring return to her steps.

The first thing she noticed was a sleeping Fletchling not too far off. Remembering the Pawmi from the previous two floors, she decided to sneak around it so as to avoid waking it up. Admiring her caution, Mayor Sparky led the way down a corridor to the left of the Fletchling. Soon, they had left the room unscathed.

As Mila followed Mayor Sparky down the corridor, she felt a nagging question burn in her mind. “Um, Mayor Sparky?” she began. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything you want, little miss,” replied the mayor. “I’m all ears.”

Mila thought it over carefully as she formulated her question. “What’s a hunter team,” she finally asked. “I keep hearing about you talking about them, but…what are they, really?”

Mayor Sparky nearly tripped over his own feet upon being asked this question. He quickly turned to face her, his eyes wide with surprise. “Wait, ya mean you don’t know?!” He rubbed a forepaw against his temple, feeling flabbergasted. “Man, you really weren’t bluffin’ when you said you didn’t remember anything.”

Mila tucked her head between her shoulders as her cheeks grew red with embarrassment.

Mayor Sparky let out a sigh, unsure how to explain the whole “hunter team” thing. “Well, to put it simply, hunter teams are units of two to three Pokémon who travel all across the Raidon Archipelago. They’re the ones who go into Mystery Dungeons for all sorts of jobs – be it rescuing Pokémon, tracking down outlaws, or even finding treasure. Most Pokémon stay away from Mystery Dungeons, but for a hunter team…Mystery Dungeons are their livelihood!”

Mila’s eyes lit up in awe. Pokémon who go into Mystery Dungeons for the thrill of it…now that was something she could definitely see herself doing.

Mayor Sparky flicked his tail. “That’s pretty much the gist o’ what I know,” he said. “I know there are some kids in the village who study up on them hunter teams. Why not give ‘em a visit sometime?”

Mila nodded. “Sure,” she replied, making a mental note to tell Jin once she returned to the Lightfang residence.

They kept walking until they reached another room containing the final set of stairs in Spark Meadow. There was also a Cheri Berry, with a sleeping Pawmi nearby. Upon closer inspection, however, Mila noticed that the Pawmi’s ears would occasionally twitch, while its eyes would crack open before closing shut again.

“This is gonna be rather tricky,” Mayor Sparky said, stroking his chin. “The Pawmi looks like it’s guarding that Cheri Berry, but it’s also dozin’ off.”

“Leave it to me, Mayor Sparky,” Mila said. “I’m sure I can nab the Cheri Berry without waking it up.”

Mayor Sparky let out a sigh. “Alright, but don’t get in over yer head, little miss.”

Mila nodded before crouching down, letting her feline instincts take over as she stealthily approached the Cheri Berry. She occasionally paused to take a glance at the sleeping Pawmi, anticipating any signs of its waking up, before returning her focus to the Cheri Berry. She did this a few times before finally snatching it up in her jaws.

She couldn’t believe it. She had actually retrieved an item without waking a sleeping feral! As much as she wanted to celebrate, however, she knew it would have to wait – there was still the sleeping Pawmi to worry about, after all.

Instead, she flicked her tail to send a silent signal to Mayor Sparky. The Dedenne nodded his head as he followed her lead. Together, they took one more look around before descending down the staircase that would lead them out of the Mystery Dungeon known as Spark Meadow.

* * *

~Thunderclap Valley, Leila’s Residence~

As Mila hopped off the last set of stairs, she noticed something strangely different. Instead of walls of yellow grass, she found herself standing in open air once more. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed the cluster of tall yellow grass behind her, swaying in the breeze…except now, she was on the other side of that cluster. Just ahead lay more fields of short, yellow grass, with a few trees to provide shade from the harsh sunlight that was now beating down on her and Mayor Sparky.

However, the sun was of little concern as Mayor Sparky stretched his tiny body. “Finally out,” he said. “Man, that run sure proved to be a bit more difficult than I remember.”

He turned to Mila with a smile on his face. “But hey, at least ya got some experience out of it,” he added. “And ya even learned a new move in the process.”

Mila smiled to herself, knowing that she had another move to use besides Leafage. She then raised her head and noticed something else in the distance: a gnarled old tree stump, a wooden thing that stood out among the spotty trees. Four wooden constructs jutted out from the sides of the stump, all of them mostly yellow with some blue. “Is that…?”

Mayor Sparky looked ahead and grinned. “That be it!” he announced. “The trapmaker’s place. C’mon!” He then scampered ahead, taking the lead once more as the two made an immediate beeline for the stump.

As they approached the stump, Mila was surprised to find that it was bigger up close. Just from looking at the entrance alone, she noticed a rounded lantern hanging over the doorway, with a crate of glowing blue rocks nearby – Chargestones, if her memory served correctly.

Mayor Sparky took a deep breath as he approached the door. “Now, before I knock on the door, I need to tell ya something,” he said. “The trapmaker…well, let’s just say, she can be quite eccentric at times. And also temperamental. But her heart’s in the right place, and she knows when to get things done, and done right.”

“OK…so, what should I do?”

Mayor Sparky gave her a reassuring wink. “Just be on yer best behavior, s’all.” He then turned to the door and knocked on it three times.

“Coming,” came a voice from inside. Mila heard a series of skittering. Then, the door began to open.

Standing right before the two at the entrance was a Pokémon that looked like a bright yellow tarantula with blue and purple accents on her underside. Her large four legs bore dark yellow stripes that zigzagged around, while her large eyes were green, with her four smaller ones being turquoise and finally blue. A pair of old-fashioned goggles were strapped around her forehead, while a blue scarf was wrapped around her thorax.

Mila’s jaw dropped. “Mayor Sparky,” she whispered. “You didn’t tell me the trapmaker was a Galvantula! Besides, did you say earlier you didn’t like Joltik?”

The Galvantula frowned a little at that remark. “Yeah, I’m a Galvantula,” she snarked. “So what? You got a problem with that, kid?”

“S-sorry,” Mila stammered, crouching down to the ground to make herself seem smaller. “It’s just…I didn’t know!”

The Galvantula let out a sigh. “Yeah, I get that a lot,” she said. “Everyone comes here hoping that I’ll be something different after running into all those Joltik in Spark Meadow, and then BOOM! They see I’m actually their evolved form. It’s…it’s really frustrating.”

She shook her head. “But enough about that,” she said, turning to Mayor Sparky as her expression brightened. “It’s been a while, Mayor Sparky. How have things been lately?”

“Pretty good, actually,” replied the mayor. “Things have definitely been looking up in Trueno Village after the last guy finally got the boot he deserved.”

That made the Galvantula snort with laughter. “That’s awesome to hear,” she chuckled. “Not gonna lie, that Electabuzz was every bit as useful as a braindead Slowpoke. All talk, and no action. I dunno why he ever became mayor to begin with. But I’m glad to hear that you took up the mantle. I always knew that if there was someone who had the potential to become mayor, it’d be you, Sparky.”

The Dedenne blushed as he rubbed the back of his head with one paw. “Aw, shucks,” he chuckled.

“But enough about that,” said the Galvantula. “What brings you and your friend here?”

“Ah, right.” Mayor Sparky cleared his throat as he gestured towards Mila. “This little lady here is Miss Mila Holt. And before ya say anythin’, no, she ain’t no spy from the Misty Woods…despite what that moron Niko would suggest.”

“Eh, figures,” the Galvantula said with a shrug. “I hope someone does something about that so-called ‘queen’ soon. No wonder the Sprigatito line is currently endangered on our islands.”

A chill ran down Mila’s spine. The Sprigatito line…was endangered? Because of their reputation being tarnished by one of their own, never mind one of their evolutions? All of a sudden, Niko’s suspicions were starting to make sense.

Thankfully, her worries were eased as the Galvantula changed the subject. “But enough about that,” she said. She then turned her gaze to Mila. “If you’re not from the Misty Woods, then where are you originally from? Where are your parents?”

Mila looked down at her forepaws. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t remember anything about my past.”

Except for my name, and the knowledge that I used to be a human, she added silently to herself.

The Galvantula narrowed her primary eyes to little green slits, as if studying Mila. Then, she nodded. “Fair enough,” she said. “I’m sure your memory will come back in due time, though. Don’t worry.”

She then reached out with one of her pedipalps. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mila,” she said. “My name’s Leila Solas. I’m the local trapmaker, and I maintain close contact with Trueno Village.”

“Nice to meet you,” replied Mila as she shook Leila’s pedipalp.

Leila smiled as she retrieved her pedipalp before tucking herself inside. “Why don’t you two come inside, so we can have a little chat? I’ll see if I can make something for the two of you, especially after going through Spark Meadow. Just mind the webs, alright?”

“Thank you kindly, Leila,” said Mayor Sparky as he and Mila went inside. Once in, Mila noticed that the place was a lot bigger on the inside than it was outside. The whole interior was covered in spiderwebs that gave off electricity – on the floor, on the walls, and even on the ceilings and furniture! In one corner of the room was a strange gadget that resembled a box with a few buttons on it and a flat screen, powered by a single Chargestone swathed in electric webs. A metal pipe extended from the back of the box, snaking around a portion of the wall before jutting up through the roof. Several more devices were tucked away in another corner, none of which Mila could recognize.

“Over here, Mila,” Mayor Spark called, waving to her to take a seat at a wooden table sitting atop a round, yellow carpet. The table was covered with webs like everything else, along with a few scorch marks here and there. Several blue cushions surrounded the table, surprisingly none of which were covered in webs.

“Sorry about the mess back there,” Leila chuckled as she rummaged through the kitchenette. “But I do hope you can make yourselves as comfortable as you can.”

“It’s fine,” replied Mila. “As a matter of fact, I find it quite fitting, especially for someone like you.”

She could almost swear that she saw a faint blush appear on Leila’s cheeks, though that lasted for no longer than a second before turning to a Chargestone-powered machine that resembled a kettle. “So, what can I get you?”

“Eh, the usual,” Mayor Sparky answered.

“And you, Mila?”

Mila thought long and hard about what she’d like. “I’d like something sweet,” she said. “But nothing dry.”

Leila barked out a laugh. “Ha! Like I’d ever have any dry-flavoured Berries on hand. Sweet Berries, on the other hand, now that’s a good choice!” She skittered over to a crate that was chock-full of Berries. “Right now, I’ve got a whole bunch of Watmel Berries just sitting there. I can make a smoothie out of them, if you’d like.”

Mila’s eyes lit up at the mention of “smoothie” as her mouth watered a little. “Oh, yes, please!”

Leila smiled as she turned to Mayor Sparky. “Watmel smoothie alright with you, too, Sparks?”

“Eh, why not?”

“Alrighty, then!” Leila reached into a cupboard and whipped out two glasses. “Two Watmel smoothies, coming right up!” She then brought out one of the Watmel Berries and began chopping away at it, dicing it into little pieces before dunking them in the kettle-like object. She put in a few more ingredients before closing the kettle tightly shut and pressing a button.

A whirring sound soon filled the air as the Watmel Berry pieces were blended together before Leila stopped the machine and poured the resulting contents into the two glasses. Lastly, she took out two straws and plunked them in each glass before bringing out the smoothing to serve her guests.

“Here you are,” she announced. “Two Watmel smoothies, made from one of my latest gadgets. Bon appétit!”

Mila took a sip of the Watmel smoothie, and was instantly captivated by the flavours within. Sure, there was a hint of bitterness, similar to that of a lime, but it certainly complemented the sweet fruitiness that dominated much of the smoothie.

Mayor Sparky took a sip of his own smoothie and laid back with a sigh. “Just the thing I needed after a long trek through Spark Meadow,” he said.

Leila giggled. “That’s good to hear,” she replied. “If it helps, you could just go around that cluster of grass next time. That way, you won’t have to go past all those dungeon ferals.”

“Actually,” Mayor Sparky cut in. “That’s exactly what we came here to see ya for. Y’see, we got a bit of a feral problem in our hands recently.”

The Galvantula’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding,” she gasped.

“I kid you not. And on top o’ that, we also have a missing Pokémon case. Do ya happen to know of a kid named George Burrows Phanpy?”

Leila stood there, stiff as stone, as her pupils shrank. “No way,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re not referring to Knox’s son, are you?”

Mayor Sparky nodded, his expression grave. “I’m afraid so,” he replied. He knew all too well what had happened to one of Trueno Village’s beloved citizens…the way his normally friendly expression suddenly changed within the blink of an eye…the way his appearance changed as the ruination took over, until all that was left was a corrupted Donphan who was barely himself anymore. That dark day was why Sparky had stepped up to run as the new mayor, and replace the previous mon who simply could not be bothered to do anything except cast poor old Knox out and let nature decide his fate.

Leila remained speechless as the yellow fur on her face became pale. After a moment, however, she composed herself. “… Tell me it wasn’t another bandit.”

“Not this time,” came the mayor’s answer as he reached into his pouch to take out another one of George’s missing posters. “Have a looksee at what we’re dealin’ with this time.”

Leila took the poster and examined it. “Let’s see…last seen in Thunderclap Valley…night he was kidnapped by a beast…trapped inside a Mystery Dungeon or not…” She lowered the poster, dread filling her eyes. “I… I don’t believe it…”

“Well, ya better believe it,” replied Mayor Sparky. “We’ve only had one eyewitness to the kidnapping, which is his ma. She claims that this supposed beast makes a hissin’ noise, has ominous blue eyes and sharp fangs, and can create holes.”

Makes a hissing noise, has ominous blue eyes and sharp fangs, and can create holes? Mila swore all those descriptions sounded familiar to her.

“But that’s impossible,” Leila pointed out. “Dungeon ferals never wander outside the Mystery Dungeons. The only plausible reason I can come up with for George’s kidnapping is…if…”

It dawned on her. “Actually, hold that thought,” she said. “I need to check up on something.” Quick as a flash, she skittered over to the device with the buttons and flat screen. Pulling the goggles over her eyes, she pressed a few of the buttons. Mila heard a few beeping noises coming from the device as the Galvantula made a series of inputs.

After a short moment, there was a faint ping from the device. “I knew it,” Leila said. “Come over here, quickly!”

Mila and Mayor Sparky rushed to her side. “Here,” Leila said, pointing to the screen. “Take a look at what’s on the Mystery Radar.” Mila took a closer look at the screen of the radar. She noticed that the screen was displaying a map that was exactly like the one Mayor Sparky had shown her, except it was zoomed in to show only Thunderclap Valley. Several dots covered the valley, most of them yellow, save for one lone dot which Mila guessed was Trueno Village.

“My stars,” Mayor Sparky breathed, eyes wide with horror.

“My thoughts exactly, my friend,” Leila replied, slowly nodding her head. “It seems like the ruination levels in Thunderclap Valley have been steadily increasing. The Mysteriosity we’re experiencing is getting worse.”

Mila was confused. Ruination levels? Mysteriosity? What did all of that mean? And more importantly…would all that explain why the Shiny Scovillain from earlier had blue eyes instead of the usual black?

“That’s exactly why we need yer help, Leila,” Mayor Sparky’s voice cut into her thoughts. “I brought Mila over because she sprung a trap that helped us capture a Scovillain yesterday. We thought, maybe you could take ‘er in and show her how to make some craftier traps to capture them ferals?”

Leila tore her eyes away from the radar and put a pedipalp to her chin in thought. “Hmm, well…” she said. She then smiled and nodded. “Sure. I’ve been itching to get out there for some time anyway. Besides, I’ve already mapped out a couple of blueprints for some new feral traps.”

Leila went over to the other corner and began digging away at the pile of gadgets. It took her a while, but she eventually found what she was looking for: a crate filled with scroll after scroll of paper. “There you are, my beauty,” she chirped as she dragged the crate towards her. “My blueprint box, all full of my ideas…both good, aaaaand embarrassingly bad.”

Mila stood up on her hind legs and peered into the crate. Sure enough, she noticed that some of the scrolls contained designs for several traps that looked like they could be of use.

“I’ve been studying up on the Mystery Dungeons for some time now,” said Leila. “And one thing that really stuck out to me were the traps. They might be annoying for hunter teams, but man are they fascinating for a scientist and inventor like me! Just looking at the mechanisms for each one, and how they function…ooh, it really gets the hemoglobin pumping!” Her abdomen rattled vigorously as she let out a girly squeal.

“I…I see,” Mila stammered, looking rather bewildered. “So, uh, when would you like to start?”

Leila’s grin expanded as she took out one of the blueprints. “Right now,” she answered. She unfurled the scroll to reveal the intricate design of a trap – one that displayed a pitfall trap exactly like the one Mila had created yesterday. However, this one seemed to be covered in electric webs that looked like they could trap and electrocute anyone foolish enough to come into contact with the threads.

“Mayor Sparky said the beast liked to create holes, didn’t he?” Leila said, narrowing her eyes. “Well then, let’s see how it feels when we give it a taste of its own medicine!”

[coffeeandkhun]

Some details of this S2 anime OP frame examined (+ why I love Wangnan)

This particular frame of the season 2 opening has some very interesting details included, which I wanted to explore a little bit further. Webtoon spoilers ahead!

The ring and the crown: Well the meaning of these two is quite obvious. They symbolize Wangnan's objective to become the king of the tower, and his connection with Jahad, the current king.

The eye: This one is quite obvious, too - he's being followed by Lurker and his group.

The cherry: At first glance I mistook it for an apple, but on closer inspection it has a long stem and apples don't have these. Amongst other things, cherries symbolize hope, innocence, the shortness of life, the importance of cherish each moment to the fullest, and rebirth. However, this cherry seems to be already turned to black, maybe symbolizing the loss of innocence.

The crane: In many Asian cultures, cranes are associated with longevity and even immortality, therefore symbolizing Wangnan's ability to avoid death. (As a side note, crane is also associated with the character of Ameuz/Amizu from the current webtoon arc, although this might not be intentional.)

The oyster mushroom and the carnivorous plant: The reason why I merged these two is that they actually share a similar ability. To be more precise, both carnivorous plants and wild oyster mushrooms live by attracting tiny bugs and devouring them. This ghastly quality of both of these beings awfully reminds me of Wangnans nightmare in S2 chapter 228, and as he perceives himself in his remorse: as someone, "who always draw people near him and then lead them to their death, with only him surviving."

In summary, I think these two objects symbolize both Wangnans worst fears, and his opportunistic side - the very reasons that make his character as compex and lovable as it is, for me at least!

[goatsludge]

EvolutionGear IS-EG NGAL Laser Aiming Module

For those of you that shake your fist to the heavens cursing L3Harris for not releasing a civilian version of their famed NGAL, you're probably at least tangentially familiar with EvolutionGear -

They do the OEM parts manufacturing for InvisibleSight, who offers a higher quality level of QC, but is infamous for their astonishingly long lead times.

EvolutionGear sells the 'cheaper' version of the IS-EG NGAL which you can buy direct from them if you wanna bypass the year-long inspection wait and don't need all the different options offered through InvisibleSight.

Before I get into the details of the unit itself, I'd like to clear up a lot of myths about EG - the common consensus about them is that they're known for not shipping their items, but from my own research, I really could only find an evidence case of one from a dude who was dumb enough to order during Chinese New Year and threw a tantrum when it took longer than expected to receive a tracking.

I opted for the more expensive UPS shipping option, and while it was kinda awkward having to wait for a live representative to email me a paypal invoice rather than going though a site-based payment portal, I didn't have any issues ordering from them and everything arrived within a week of receiving a tracking.

Here's where I'll get into the initial impressions.

The body of the unit is forged 6061 aluminum, and unlike the Somogear NGAL's, these actually have recoil lugs integrated into the body with a proper L3Harris-style screw clamp, as opposed to the crappy PEQ15 clamp the Somo units have.

The selector switch, I find somewhat mushy (due to the integral o-ring added for waterproofing), but still tactile enough to satisfy me, and the button has a positive enough click for my needs as well. The rear focus knob for the IR illuminator is a little bit stiff, but no major red flags about it.

Another nice feature of the EG NGAL is the fact it includes actual diffuser caps whereas the Somo units are only provided with blackout covers. The visible potting of the unit seems very well-done and I'm definitely excited to see how well this holds up considering EG touts this as a 5.56-capable laser where Somogear continues to scream "airsoft only" from the rooftops.

The unit included two different sets of stickers (one laminated, one not, interestingly) as well as a pressure pad and an eggcrate-padded plastic storage case.

The pressure pad is where I'm going to focus a majority of my initial critique.

On the website, EvolutionGear claims they offer the option of an LA23 Plug or an ATPIAL Crane Plug version. I triple checked that I'd be receiving a crane-ported NGAL, and the customer service acknowledged this.

The switch they provided is an LA23 version and upon testing the port with a surplus Insight PEQ-2 Pressure Pad, there was no function from the laser, meaning my request was completely disregarded and I'd been given an LA23-ported version instead.

Not a humongous deal to me, but it would have been nice to have a wider choice of aftermarket switches instead of proprietary ones that cost 100-300 fucking dollars.

Anywho, the switch they include is what I'd describe as solidly "meh" - it feels like a very cheap silicone, the click is positive enough, but the cable is visibly hot glued in and it's just left me wishing that Somogear offered their fantastic Modbutton Lite knock-offs a la carte.

Might email them later to see if I can get one.

The build it resides on presently is my FDE A2 Retromod, and despite being an offset beam unit, I still find the lasers are just a little too close to a standard FSB for my comfort.

I plan on possibly doing a URG-I build out of my Colt LE6920 in the near future, so this is definitely not the build the EG NGAL is staying on forever.

Later I'll give it a look under NODs and see how that goes.

[aidens-trenchcoat]

scrolling through an old USB had me dead on finding old, untouched works of fiction I had seemingly written and then completely abandoned (happens a lot, trust). Here's some examples:

_____________________________________________________________ There was shuffling midst the knotted and coiled bed of cables that ran across the carpeted floor belonging to one of the motel rooms of the Crazy Moose Inn. A small motel that bordered the main tunnels that connected the outskirts of Chicago to the maze like roads that lead to Pawnee. Booted feet bridged the distance between the wooden desk that stood centered, and a pair of black duffle bags that had been haphazardly thrown in one of the armchairs that lined the corner of the room, upon the late night hour a man in his early thirties had checked in.

He was looming in height yet possessed a lean build that seamlessly dissolved into the folds of his preferred attire. A head of unkempt and slightly outgrown chestnut hair, with a faint reddish undertone, secured under the rim of a faded black baseball cap—the fabric worn and letting go in patched patterns, exposing some of the hardened cardboard and dyed wool acrylics. Within the shadow that the brimmed visor cast onto his sharp features, a pair of emerald colored, almond-shaped eyes could be perceived. A light ring of stubble covered the surface of fair skin that lined his jaw and upper lip.

He rummaged through one of the duffle bags for a moment, then moved back to the desk, where he flicked on a small desk lamp and adjusted the bendable base of the stem. A warm shade of yellow fell onto the outlines of a 9mm Luger pistol—a Sig Sauer p220—seeping into every minuscule detail and dent within the stainless steel. The handgun was carefully lifted with one hand, then placed in an off-white colored microfiber cloth. His movements were tailored, precise, careful yet firm, experienced hands—fast-paced and thorough.. then the movements slowed before they eventually seized all-together. The man craned his neck to the side, cheek brushing against the fabric lining inside the collar of his leather coat and leaned in closer in an attempt to confirm whether the substance that marked the ejection port aligned with his initial thought.

He placed both the pistol and the cloth back on the surface of the desk and rushed toward the small and compact bathroom on his right-hand side. As he neared the condensed mirror, he ran a palm along the cold material—leaving a smudged trail in its wake. He leaned in closer and inspected the rough edges of his face. Emerald orbs darted over the collective of rugged features, before they honed in on a particular patch of skin—locked onto a nasty and rather deep cut that ran down the curvature of his jaw. It must have been a sustained injury that adrenaline had managed to suppress thus far yet was now given free reign to invade his nervous system—and with that, the sensitive pain-receptors under the skin that now lay bare to the dense air that clouded the motel room. It needed to be tended to, needed to receive attention and care, but he had no supplies on deck. The remaining and only viable option was to let the wound stem the bleeding on its own merit. There would be time to gather supplies later, it was not a priority. What is a legend, if nothing more than folklore, word of mouth wrapped in myth, misconstrued mystery, and conspiracy? One such legend once surrounded the innovative instalment of ctOS, first introduced to the city of Chicago in 2013. The project was spearheaded by Aeron Larsen and Mikhail Markowicz, pioneers in their respective fields. The first concepts for the algorithms and intelligence in use by the modern aged ctOS, were the brainchild of Mikhail Markowicz—said code would eventually be refined and rewritten by a team of three Blume engineers: Raymond Kenney, Tobias T. Frewer and Rose Washington. I can’t reminisce the detailed path that curved toward Blume’s eventual initiation, but upon repeatedly reviewing the CCTV feeds that had been digitally stored at one of the many data-server farms scattered throughout Chicago, this one in particular being located at the heart of the Brandon Docks, there was an undeniable sense of familiarity upon analyzing the footage and the faces it contained. Akin to my brain subconsciously trying to latch onto information it had processed before, yet the data had since become corrupted. And though there might be an optimistic reality in which these could be restored, I would need professionals to ease the process. I know one of these men, his features had been ingrained into my memory, even prior to the hours wasted on painstakingly analyzing the smallest of details and movements within the collected camera feeds, yet it is unclear as to why my mind saw the need to scramble the memory.. Trauma is a known cause of amnesia, partial memory loss or the subconscious act of suppressing past events..

That head of honey blonde hair, those rounded, royal blue eyes hidden behind a vintage-aged pair of black-framed glasses… Aeron Larsen.

There was a short pause in his movements as he tapped the space bar on the keyboard and the image lingered on one of the main office lobbies. The floor lay dormant, with the exception of a slim-built man that darted past the line of view given to the monitoring security cameras. He was slender and agile, moving so fast that the motion rig stuttered as it tried to follow the movement it detected within its vicinity. Dressed in an oversized black hoodie that hung from his bones like strings of molten cheese, a pair of ripped jeans with patches of faded denim and black sneakers that were tightly secured around his ankles with cotton thread laces. The cameras failed to outline his facial features due to the raised hood, and Aiden felt equally frustrated by the inability of direct identification. Judging by the attire of choice, suffice to say this was likely not a Blume employee, yet citizens were not permitted access beyond the entrance lobby, and he had observed said area prior to flipping through the handful of channels he had gained administrative access to. No… the carefree manner in which this man traversed the floors indicated that he was granted access, and he had a mental map of the building layout. Aiden figured the man couldn’t have been much older than early to mid-twenties—his gait was irregular, impulsive and hare footed. The individual might have been welcome but appeared to not want to overstay his welcome. Aiden enhanced the image in the hopes of landing any recognizable detail, anything his cerebrum could soak up and store in cache for the time being.

His brow furrowed and he ran a set of calloused digits through his tired eyes, allowing the dark shadows present to invade the palmar flexion creases. The hoodie was an off-brand piece, stitched in a common pattern, made from a common wool blend—no discernible logos or prints visible. The hair was completely engulfed by the wide-set hood, there was no chance of pinpointing a hair color, the length, the style of wear, nor the density or tenuity of the strands themselves. The shadows that encased the person’s face did a fine job concealing their identity, but if luck were on Aiden’s side… affiliation with Blume might hold its end of the bargain: access to the main protective layer of the network, which meant… nonsense scribbled onto a personnel/citizen file—it would all be fodder, misleading trails loitered with molded crumbs of bread. Aiden leaned back in his desk chair, straightening his spine a little as he gently jerked his hips forward—that was when he felt the tension in his lower back succumb to the addition of temporary comfort. It had been a dead end, just another white rabbit that entered a hole it had no business nearing..

Then darkness. The sudden removal of artificial hues caught the man’s peripheral vision, and he leaned forward to inspect the monitor. The ones to the side were still up and running, scanning through kilobytes of data, strings of filtered yottabytes on the side. He inched his fingers closer to the keyboard and entered two controlled commands, yet the cameras remained motionless, revealing nothing but static. The accessibility indicated that they were still connected to the main framework and there would be no need to have their basic functions restored. He arched an eyebrow and took a moment to go over the situation at hand. The cameras were functional, administrative access was still permitted, commands went through and were read by the linked programs… Were it a malfunction, the system would initiate an auto-reboot—mandated safety precautions that were part of the production protocol process. An auto-reboot would take the entire system offline, which was not the case. Then the screen hummed, and the static shifted periodically… Aiden leaned back and tapped the leather armrests of his chair with his fingers. Remote access.. The camera is remotely accessed, and my feed is blocked pro tem… He stared at the bi-controlled feed, dumbfounded, before his brain kicked into gear and sent static through his limbs. Gotta call it here, don’t want to risk it.

_____________________________________________________________

I might get back into the habit of writing more often, if any of you want to see something in particular, I'm on AO3 (scarletmeadows) and for prompts, feel free to leave them on this post.