#frying his backups

[glitteringcrab]

Mental restraints of the puppeteered

[or: Frying his backups (part 2)]

Okay so this theory has been sitting in my head for a long while and I had the feeling it might be accurate but I could not find a way to tie it up with the rest of the plot my headcanons...

Until now, when something changed (namely, the possibility that Rick Prime has been puppeteering other Ricks).

So.

1. Let's observe this scene:

I think we can all agree that Evil Rick was having lunch alone (there are a lot of bittersweet fanarts where Eyepatch Morty seeks comfort from post-surgery Evil Rick in some way or another, but if this one scene is typical of their post-surgery interactions, it appears this hypothetical comfort-seeking was not a thing. They did not even eat together). He broke the plate, either accidentally or on purpose. He picked one of the shards up. The rest is history.

So what I'm seeing is that he was not puppeteered 24/24.

In the incredible, gut-wrenching fanfiction "Ghost in the machine" which you should all totally read (in fact, drop this rambling post and go read it now!! Go go go go!!!!! Like, shooo!!! Come back after you've read it, if you still feel like it. Because there will be SPOILERS in the following 2 paragraphs!!!!) Evil Rick was constantly following orders, 24/24. Even when Eyepatch Morty did not puppeteer him directly, he still had orders to follow, like "bring me this object" or "stand there and wait", and the wiggle room for Evil Rick to resist was minimal. Said resisting mostly took the form of twitching (ergo momentarily disrupting whatever he was ordered to do) at crucial moments, maybe kinda like a computer lagging at the worst possible time. Like I said, absolutely incredible fic, go read iiiiiiiiiiit!!!

But now that Unmorticken has aired and we saw more of their interactions, if we think about the above scene, I think we can reach the conclusion that that's not how it worked. Evil Rick may have received an order to eat, as well as orders to keep the place neat and tidy (and therefore he began picking up the shards) but actually jamming the shard at his eye is not a matter of twitching nor just barely managing to change the trajectory of a movement at the last possible second. It's a fully deliberate action, from start to finish. He had the agency to do it.

So I think we can reach the conclusion that Evil Rick was technically free to... be himself when not puppeteered.

With some restrictions in place, of course:

I am just spitballing here, but I'm thinking of what kind of other actions Eyepatch Morty may have forbidden Evil Rick to do, such as:

Cannot damage any equipment (duh, otherwise he'd be throwing a massive tantrum, destroying everything Evil Morty is working on)

Cannot attack Eyepatch Morty (duh, otherwise the kid would never get a moment's rest lol)

Cannot escape

Cannot call for help

...and probably a bunch more, such as "cannot speak" because of Evil Rick's lack of words when Evil Morty came to him during his failed suicide attempt... Plus the fact that he has a scar on his mouth, which a couple of amazing fanart and fanfiction made me wonder if Evil Rick said something during his surgery that Evil Morty very much could not stand hearing so he shut him up with a scalpel or whatever he was holding... before shutting him up for good.

What a nightmare, huh?

And that's when he was allowed to be himself. The rest of the time he'd be forced to watch himself kill Ricks, and kidnap and torture a thousand versions of his grandson.

2. Now, if the theory that Evil Morty was once himself puppetered it true...

...wouldn't he also have a similar list of prohibitions restraining his actions? Such as:

Cannot harm Puppetmaster Rick

Cannot escape

Cannot operate a portal gun (we've never seen Evil Morty operate a portal gun made by a Rick, he made his own. Is that a coincidence? Of course, both are "portal guns" so maybe that's a stretch, unless he calls his own portal weapon something else, like the dinosaurs called their own "portal pistol" lol. Or maybe using a portal gun to escape counts as "escaping" and therefore a separate order is not needed)

Cannot reveal to anyone what Puppetmaster Rick has been doing to him (maybe. Is that one even necessary? Would anyone even help him if he did reveal it?)

3. Like I said, I'm just spitballing here, but I think the above stand to reason. I mean they just seem like reasonable precautions. If this assessment is accurate, we can reach the following conclusions:

a) If Evil Rick's puppeteering experience was a nightmare, Evil Morty's was a living hell considering what Puppetmaster Rick was doing to him, especially if he was not allowed to leave the house and ask for help.

b) The fact that Evil Morty managed to free himself while operating under such massive handicups is another testament to his incredible intelligence and resilience.

c) It may be another reason he showed no empathy to other Mortys in his attempt to escape. They've had it easy, they had their chances to leave the Citadel or kill their Ricks, they had a million other ways and opportunities to escape and either never bothered or blew them. Now it's his turn.

4. Okay, now... what do you think happens to all these mental restraints once Evil Morty severed his connection to Puppetmaster Rick by tearing his receiver off???

One scenario is that they all became void. They were cancelled. Evil Morty was free to be himself, however he wanted. This could very much be true, and in that case my rambling ends here, I have nothing more to say.

Another scenario is all the old restrictions were still in place and effective, and he would just receive no new orders nor be directly puppeteered anymore. (I suppose this would make it into a good metaphor about abused people being conditioned to act in certain ways and it being very hard to rebel against them. E.g. imagine Evil Morty being unable to confess to other people about what happened to him because he'd expect pain and failure and no support, similar to actual abuse victims learning to expect accusations and failure and no support) Assuming the second scenario is true, then let's head off to the next points:

5. Depending on the exact extent of Evil Morty's mental restraints, it may be that using Evil Rick as a puppet was not only a clever way to get the upper hand, but that he had literally no other choice. E.g. imagine if he actually was physically incapable of operating a portal gun. He would literally need to hold it via Evil Rick's puppeteered hand. The whole thing would be Eyepatch Morty taking all his mental restraints and turning each and every one of them to his advantage in a convoluted, ingenious way.

6. Judging by Evil Rick's halted suicide attempt, it seems that while he knew that removing the receiver would kill him (I mean... you don't normally die by poking your eye out, so it has to be tearing your receiver off that will kill you, and he knew that) the puppeteered have no knowledge of the restrictions placed on them until they stumble upon them. (That, or Evil Rick knew he was not allowed to commit suicide but was desperate enough to try nonetheless.)

Therefore it's theoretically possible there are still some restrictions employed that Evil Morty is unaware of, which are waiting to spring up on him if the right (wrong) conditions are met.

Personally I think that's unlikely because I'm sure he has studied his own implant extensively since he became president and had access to adequate equipment, but:

7. Even if he studied it, this doesn't mean he was able to alter it nor undo it. From what we've seen it appears that unauthorized removal of part of the puppeteering implant equates with a death sentence. And while Puppetmaster Rick thought it unlikely his scrawny, stupid Morty would ever be able to put together a plan to break free or have the guts to mutilate himself, if the puppeteering equipment was originally, I dunno, a prototype designed by Rick Prime and was intended to be used against Ricks, then it's entirely possible that it is designed to kill the victim both for trying to remove the implant itself and for altering the accompanying code. It's the absolute prison, and despite whatever fast-acting healing equipment Evil Morty successfully used to remove his receiver in the past, it might be that it barely worked and he might not be too keen on trying his luck again.

8. So let's continue this thought experiment and assume that, if not all, at least the core mental restraints of the mind control implant are still very much effective inside Evil Morty's brain.

...Including the "cannot harm Puppetmaster Rick" one.

Now, I don't want to reduce the very important plot point of Evil Morty's mental restraints into semantics of "attack vs hurt vs harm vs kill", but... I'm going to go ahead and assume there are limits, definitions, to these mental restraints, otherwise Evil Morty would never been able to even look at Puppetmaster Rick wrong if there was the tiniest chance of it eventually leading to Puppetmaster Rick getting harmed. So I'm going to assume that the restraint is about something blatant.

Like... shooting Puppetmaster Rick, running him over with a car, poisoning his food, strangling him are all no-go, but aggressively poking him with your finger or not warning him about his impending doom might be okay.

My guess is that restraining Puppetmaster Rick is also okay, because as long as that the "no harm" order is still in action, Puppetmaster Rick would just immediately puppeteer Evil Morty into stopping or freeing him. The puppeteered cannot really get very far with this, especially when they're a child with no equipment of their own... Or that is what Puppetmaster Rick would think.

9. Anyway, before season 7 we don't see Evil Morty directly kill (or try to kill) another Rick. (It's not his fault the Ricks walked into various deathtraps, occasionally when he even specifically told them not to lol) This observation tipped me off to the possibility that some restrictions might still be in place... Of course, I cannot think on why there'd be a restriction against Evil Morty killing random Ricks, so it might simply be that in his attempts to bypass the restrictions against Puppetmaster Rick Evil Morty has learnt to think outside the box and later fully employed this skill to minimize the risk to himself.

And in season 7, he has no difficulty in killing Nice Rick, nor to shoot and attack Rick Prime during the Prime Fight.

10. BUT THEN WHAT'S THIS ABOUT:

I couldn't stop thinking about this phrase!!! It just doesn't make any sense!! WHY DID RICK PRIME ACT LIKE EYEPATCH MORTY WAS INCAPABLE OF KILLING HIM?!

So I kept thinking on what sort of mental restraints might still be active inside Evil Morty's brain.

Like, what? Is it something like him "not being allowed to kill a Rick who isn't currently posing a threat", so he could shoot Rick Prime in the beginning but not now that he's restrained? (But he shot Nice Rick again with no problem inside the box, when he was down and weaponless and dying...) This didn't really make any sense, like... why??? So I dropped this theory and forgot about it...

... until the theory that Rick Prime has been mind controlling other Ricks came up. By more than one fan!!!! (and we followed different lines of thought to reach it!!!)

SO LET'S PUT EVERYTHING TOGETHER:

(1) Evil Morty absolutely does still have some mental restraints in his brain and has been carefully operating around them this whole time, trying not to trigger them.

(2) One of those mental restraints effectively prevents him from killing Puppetmaster Rick. This would provide an additional explanation about why Eyepatch Morty didn't kill Puppetmaster Rick the moment he realized said Rick was freed by Rick C-137 resetting all portal travelers. Like, I can think of other explanations:

Puppetmaster Rick being terrified of the Citadel and having no idea that it no longer exists and worrying that they'll come get him to throw him in the Machine of Unspeakable Doom again, therefore laying as low as possible, either hiding himself so effectively that even Evil Morty can't find him, or protecting his home base to withstand an attack from the Citadel itself, making it extremely difficult for Evil Morty to defeat him.

Evil Morty being either extremely scared or extremely repulsed by him, simply never wanting to deal with him ever again, and thinking it highly unlikely Puppetmaster Rick would ever be able to successfully track him down as long as Morty took certain precautions...

...But it's also very likely that Evil Morty is physically unable to do it. Like, I doubt Evil Morty is morally above neutrino-bombing an entire planet just to get this one Rick, but maybe he can't do it. Maybe he is not allowed to fire such a weapon.

(3) In fact, the only things Evil Morty can do is hide himself in the fringe between worlds, employ a number of sophisticated shields, and surgically add the mind-cotrol-implant-overriding fingerguns on himself. An attack with these might at worst cause pain for Puppetmaster Rick, but as we've seen the fingerguns don't actually physically harm nor kill their target, they just... override the target's nervous system. So he can use those against Puppetmaster Rick.

(4) Fast forward to the Prime Fight, where Evil Morty uses a gun to try to kill Rick Prime--and why not? Of course he can do it. He also attacks Rick Prime with his bare hands and hijacks one of Prime's Dianebots to pummel him into a pancake. All good.

(5) Eventually, Eyepatch Morty's temporary allies go down, all the weapons and physical attacks he has tried got him no results, there are no more Dianebots for him to hijack and he's about to get shot:

Desperate, he tries one last thing: the finger-gun, which would only work if Rick Prime also has a mind-control-implant in his forehead.

(6) Bingo!!! It works.

(7) ...But this means that Rick Prime is also defined by a "Puppetmaster Rick status". Whatever mental restraint Evil Morty struggled to operate around is updated to extend to Rick Prime.

While the remains of the mind-control implant inside Evil Morty's head did not receive any new orders (as he no longer has a receiver), the old orders are still in place, and the updated knowledge concerning Rick Prime's status as a "Rick who puppeteers others" (or "admin" if you like) firmly slots him inside the "cannot harm" box.

(8) Whatever. Evil Morty is annoyed, but he knows how to work around this. He's unconcerned.

We have no confirmation of this, but it's likely Puppetmaster Rick had a special room and special equipment and used it update or oversee Evil Morty's implant (I mean... we've come up with similar imagery for Evil Morty and Evil Rick). Evil Morty therefore knows Rick Prime should also have something similar, and knows just what to do. He immediately drags him to the control room, where indeed the relevant equipment is waiting for him.

What I find funny is that Evil Morty probably didn't stick himself inside the wall panels to get all those cables out, but puppeteered Rick Prime to do it in his stead.

And this explains why part of the room was wrecked: Evil Morty was unfamiliar with Prime's strength and implants, and as we've seen, when controlling an unfamiliar body with implants, accidents might happen:

Evil Morty then puppeteered Rick Prime into sitting on his chair (aaaaand I assume deactivated his time-healing ability) before holding him still.

(9) Rick Prime woke up, saw/felt the fingergun and cables on his forehead, noticed he was unable to move, saw Evil Morty, remembered Evil Morty shooting him with something... and probably also immediately began employing his own implants and defense systems to get feedback on Evil Morty's fingergun and on how it could be overridden.

Doesn't this line make a lot more sense now???

He really is getting the picture. And in fact he may be getting a much bigger picture than Evil Morty might like; he may be stealthily scanning Evil Morty's brain through some other implant of his; see it full of cables, recognize the similarities to his own handiwork. He might understand that Evil Morty has puppeteered others, might understand that Evil Morty was once puppeteered himself. He might get a feedback on Evil Morty's list of mental restraints.

And he immediately begins stealthily mounting attacks against the fingerguns, which retaliate each and every time, turning red and hurting him. He keeps trying nonetheless, while simultaneously trying to distract Evil Morty by sweet talking to him (which is nothing but a testament about how clever he is and his ability to multitask) but his fate is sealed; maybe he'd be able to override the fingerguns given enough time... But he doesn't have enough time, and Evil Morty has prepared himself for this exact moment moment. His fingerguns are not easy to be overridden.

(10) So Evil Morty successfully fries each and every one of Prime's puppeteered victims (which do not have "Puppetmaster Rick status") and Prime says this:

DOESN'T THIS LINE MAKE A LOT MORE SENSE NOW?

He got feedback on Evil Morty's brain control implant. He knows that from the moment the fingerguns worked Eyepatch Morty could literally not harm him anymore.

(11) Not that this matters, because Eyepatch Morty knows just what to do...

...bring someone who can finish the job:

DOESN'T THE ABOVE LINE ALSO MAKE SENSE NOW?

Evil Morty is not the one harming him!!! I mean if you wanna look at semantics he didn't even tell Rick C-137 to kill him, he said a joke, a pun.

And he has the added bonus of coming out of this looking like a team player (I mean... as much as he ever could) and gaining an enslaved, morally obligated Rick to himself lol (turning his mental restraints to his advantage)

(12) AND TALK ABOUT POETIC JUSTICE. RICK PRIME IS BEING PUPPETEERED TO SIT STILL IN HIS OWN CHAIR AND GET PUMMELED TO DEATH when he's the one who had been tricking and enslaving countless Ricks to be puppeteered by him forever.

He's literally forced to sit still there and live through it, unable to even lift a finger to protect himself. Poetic. Justice.

(13) Evil Morty had been very careful up to now to hide the fact that he has puppeteered others, but there is no way Rick C-137 didn't understand that Evil Morty is familiar with the puppeteering technology after this encounter (I mean... Rick C-137 knew not to remove the fingerguns, he knew to remove the cables, he knew what this whole thing was).

Which on one hand, doesn't mean he gets to reach any plot-relevant conclusions (at least, not yet) because he knows Evil Morty scans Ricks' brains and steals their technology. On the other hand... we don't know how much more he needs to put 2 and 2 together and reach the same conclusions that Rick Prime did.

(14) And now for my last point.

If all the above is true...

...and depending on the semantics of the mental restraints...

...I would not be surprised if it turns out that Evil Morty using the Omega Device against Ricks is nothing but a GIGANTIC BLUFF.

Like this is literally the worst he can do: improve its design, build it, threaten to use it. (Depending on whether he intends to do a demonstration on e.g. Churry he may not even ever bother to build it.)

Because he literally cannot fire such a weapon against Ricks as long as Puppetmaster Rick is alive. (edit: I'm gonna correct myself and change this to: he cannot use such a weapon against Ricks directly but he still can trick or force someone else to fire it in his stead)

Of course, he would still be able to fire it against Ricks' family, which is probably more effective as a deterrent considering Ricks' suicidal tendencies, but you get the idea.

(...On a different matter, Rick Prime wins plenty of extra cruelty points for vengefully trying to turn Rick C-137 against Evil Morty by warning him about a weapon he knows the kid literally cannot use (edit: cannot use in a moment's notice, in case a furious Rick C-137 pops up in his doorstep))

Again, this may not be true. We don't know if firing such a weapon by throwing another Rick in the Omega Device (and therefore killing eeeevery Rick) counts as Eyepatch Morty directly killing Puppetmaster Rick or not, but I fail to see how it's different from dropping a neutrino bomb on Puppetmaster Rick's head.

(15) Or maybe I'm wrong and I'm only trying to connect dots that don't exist. I honestly cannot think of another explanation for Rick Prime's lines to Evil Morty in Unmortiricken but this doesn't mean there isn't one.

And I do think Evil Morty being deathly scared of Puppetmaster Rick is adequate explanation for not wanting to even try to kill him, and plot-wise and character-wise I think it's a lot more interesting than semantics.

But then again, it's possible for both of these things to be true... Because even with Rick C-137 suddenly becoming his slave, Evil Morty very much did not jump at the opportunity to kill Puppetmaster Rick. He chose to remain hidden. He doesn't want to deal with him.

[ch0llies]

FOREVER NOW | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

You and Chris have been tied together by an invisible string ever since you met at 10. As you grew older, Chris became your safe place. He was always there, unknowingly shaping himself into the person you’d eventually fall in love with. By the time you were 18, you had become each other’s first everything- first kiss, first love, first promise that neither of you could ever belong to anyone else the way you belonged to each other. And now, standing in the bathroom with ten pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, that promise felt heavier than ever.

story warnings: fluff, smut, creampie, heavy breeding kink, pregnancy, established relationship, etc… if any of these topics upset you… don’t read!

word count: 6k

a/n: thank you so much for 1k followers!! i love you all so much!!

The rain taps gently against the window. Your shared apartment is dimly lit, warm, filled with the faint trace of Chris’s cologne- the kind of smell that feels like home, like safety.

Chris is beside you on the couch, one arm draped lazily over your legs, his other hand scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. The TV plays some old movie in the background, half-forgotten.

Your fingers trace small circles on his forearm, the soft fabric of his hoodie warmed by his skin. He hums in contentment, shifting just enough to glance at you.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, voice soft, familiar.

You smile, but your mind is elsewhere, caught in the years before this moment. Because this love didn’t start here.

It started long before.

FIFTH GRADE.

You met Chris at ten years old, standing awkwardly in the doorway of your parents’ friend’s house.

“This is Chris,” your mom said, nudging you forward.

He had messy brown hair, an oversized hoodie, and a smile that made you think he probably got in trouble at school a lot.

He gave you a shy nod. “Hi.”

You stared for a moment, then mumbled, “Hi.”

The adults left you alone, and somehow, within an hour, you were arguing over who could beat who in Bedwars. By the time your parents came back, you were already thick as thieves, plotting some grand scheme to get extra dessert at dinner.

From that day on you couldn’t remember a memory that he wasn’t in.

EIGHTH GRADE

You learned that heartbreak could come before high school.

There was a boy- your first real crush. He was charming, sweet, made you feel special. Until, suddenly, he didn’t.

You found out from a friend that he had been texting someone else the entire time. That everything he said to you, he said to her too.

Chris found you at the park that night, sitting on the swings, kicking at the dirt, trying not to cry.

He sat next to you without a word. Just there. Present. Until you were ready.

“I really liked him,” you admitted eventually, voice small.

Chris scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s an idiot.”

You sniffled, glancing at him. “You think?”

Chris nodded firmly. “Obviously. He had you and still wanted someone else? That’s just stupid.”

Something about the way he said it, so certain, made your heart feel just a little lighter.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time Chris made you feel like you were worth more than the people who hurt you.

It wouldn’t be the last.

JUNIOR YEAR.

Prom was supposed to be perfect.

Instead, your date cheated. Chris’s date bailed.

And somehow, you ended up at prom together- dressed up, but ditching the actual dance for a late-night drive, fast food in hand, sitting on the hood of his car in the school parking lot.

“You think we’re cursed?” you joked, pulling a fry from the bag.

Chris smirked, leaning back on his palms. “Or maybe we just keep picking the wrong people.”

You glanced at him then- at the way the Boston lights reflected in his eyes, at the way he always showed up when no one else did.

For a moment, you almost said something. Almost realized something.

But instead, you just smiled. “Guess we’re each other’s backup plan now, huh?”

Chris had looked down at his feet and let out an almost sad sounding chuckle, “Guess so.”

But he didn’t feel like a backup plan.

Not even then.

SENIOR YEAR.

It wasn’t sudden.

It wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment where everything clicked into place.

It was gradual. Like the slow rising of the sun, creeping into your life until one day, you realized- he had always been the light.

Chris had always been there. Through every heartbreak, through every bad decision, through every night spent crying over people who didn’t deserve you.

And then one day, you just knew.

It was late, past midnight, the two of you lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, laughing about something dumb, something unimportant. And then the laughter faded, and suddenly, the air felt different.

Chris was looking at you. Really looking at you.

And for the first time, you didn’t look away.

Your heartbeat quickened. You swallowed.

“Chris.”

He shifted, his fingers barely brushing against yours between the sheets. “Yeah?”

You took a breath.

“I- I think it’s always been you.”

Silence.

His breath hitched, but his fingers curled around yours, holding tight.

“I-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “God, I was scared to say it first.”

Your chest ached, but for the first time, it wasn’t painful. It was full.

You smiled, biting your lip. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes soft, full of something you had been searching for in everyone else but only ever found in him.

And then he kissed you.

And everything made sense.

Back in the apartment, Chris shifts beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Just remembering.”

He hums. “Good memories?”

“The best.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you. “Wanna share?”

You turn to face him, meeting the gaze of the boy who had always been there, who had never let you go.

The rain outside is still steady and you let your head rest against his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Home.

“You ever think about soulmates?” you ask, voice quiet but certain.

Chris smirks, locking his phone and setting it aside. “Yeah.”

You lift a brow, tilting your head to look up at him. “Oh really? Always been me?”

He chuckles, low and warm, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning back against the couch. “Yes, my love. Always been you.”

Your heart swells. Even after all these years, hearing it still makes something in your chest ache in the best way.

Chris shifts, pulling you even closer, wrapping his arms around you completely, tucking your head under his chin. You sigh against his hoodie, breathing him in, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh.

For a while, you just exist like that- wrapped up in each other, listening to the rain, the outside world feeling so far away.

Then Chris hums. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

You tilt your head, thinking. “What about some PF Chang’s?”

His face lights up. “That sounds incredible.”

You grin, watching as he grabs his phone and pulls up DoorDash, immediately placing the order without hesitation. Because it’s the city, and neither of you want to go out in the rain when food can be delivered straight to your door.

When the food arrives, you both sit on the couch, containers spread out on the coffee table. You grab a pair of chopsticks, but Chris, like always, opts for a fork, shooting you a smug look like he’s superior for it.

“You’re so uncultured,” you tease, grabbing a dumpling.

Chris snorts. “I just don’t like fighting for my food.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it- just warmth, just love.

As you eat, the conversation shifts to your future, like it always does.

“What about baby names?” Chris muses, stealing a bite of your lo mein like it’s his. “What do you like?”

You smirk. “You planning on knocking me up tonight or something?”

Chris smirks. “Definitely planning on fuckin’ you but, getting you pregnant? We’ll see.”

You shrug nonchalantly, picking up a garlic noodle with your chopstick. “I still want you to cum inside me tonight regardless.”

He chokes on his food, coughing as he glares at you. “Jesus, give me a warning before you say stuff like that. I’m gonna get hard.”

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I’m serious, though. You ever think about it? Baby names, becoming parents, getting me pregnant…?

Chris swallows, setting his container down before shifting to look at you fully. His expression softens, thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have.”

You raise a brow. “And?”

He smirks. “You first.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back into the couch, pretending to think. “I like the name Owen for a boy,” you say eventually. “And maybe Elliot for a girl. Her nickname would be Ellie”

Chris nods. “Owen? That’s my middle name. But Ellie is really cute. I like that.”

“Yeah, goof. It would be named after you, handsome. But what about you?”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand as he blushes softly. “I’ve always liked the name Weston for a boy,” he says, glancing at you. “And for a girl… maybe Aria.”

You smile. “Aria is cute.”

Chris nudges you. “So, our kid’s name is either Owen, Ellie, Weston, or Aria. Got it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart swells anyway. “I can’t imagine having a kid anytime soon.”

Chris grins, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “No rush,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair.

“Okay, more future talk,” he says after a moment. “Houses. Where do we end up?”

You hum. “Do you wanna stay in Boston?”

Chris tilts his head. “I like Boston, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter. Maybe something coastal? A place where we can sit on the porch and watch the sunrise. What about my family's cape house?”

You smile. “That sounds perfect.”

Chris grins, tapping his fingers lightly against your back. “Can you imagine being as a full time suburban dad?”

You snicker. “Hard to imagine you giving up city life and inheriting Matt’s minivan to truck our kids around.”

Chris groans. “Please never let me get that goddamn minivan.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”

The remnants of dinner are still scattered across the coffee table- half-empty takeout containers, crumpled napkins, chopsticks resting haphazardly in cartons, four empty pepsi cans. Chris groans, stretching his arms before nudging you with his knee.

“You ready to clean this up?” he asks, though he doesn’t look like he wants to move any more than you do.

You sigh dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Or… we could just leave it here and deal with it in the morning.”

Chris snorts. “No way. You hate waking up to a mess.”

You grumble, knowing he’s right. “Fine. But you’re taking out the trash.”

“Deal.”

The two of you move in sync, cleaning up without much thought- him stacking the containers, you wiping down the table. Domesticity has always been easy with Chris, effortless in a way that feels like breathing. It’s not something you ever have to think about; it just is.

Once the apartment is back in order, you stretch, letting out a soft yawn.

Chris grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin against your shoulder. “Bed?”

“Yes.”

You slip into the bathroom while Chris grabs water for both of you. The space is warm, the soft yellow glow of the vanity lights reflecting off the marble. You change into one of your favorite comfy outfits- an oversized, faded navy sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your lace bralette underneath, paired with soft gray Calvin Klein boyshorts that hug your hips just right.

The fabric of the sweatshirt nearly swallows you, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, the sleeves hanging just past your wrists. It smells like detergent, a little like Chris, a little like the home you’ve built together.

By the time you start brushing your teeth, Chris enters, setting the water bottles on the counter before glancing at you in the mirror.

His eyes darken immediately, lips parting slightly as he takes you in- the way the sweatshirt slips off your shoulder, the way your shorts sit snug on your curves.

“You trying to kill me, baby?” he mutters, voice thick.

You smirk around your toothbrush. “I just put on something comfortable.”

Chris shakes his head, stepping closer behind you, his hands skimming the edge of the sweatshirt before resting low on your hips. “Yeah? This is comfortable?”

You nod, watching his gaze flick between your reflection and the way his hands trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

You fumble your phone, and it slips from the counter, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

You sigh through your toothbrush, bending over to grab it.

And that’s when you hear it.

A sharp inhale. The softest curse under Chris’s breath.

“Fuck, baby.”

Before you can straighten, his hands slide over your hips, firm but reverent. One palm presses against the small of your back, the other smoothing over your ass, fingers flexing as if he can’t help himself.

You swallow hard, heat creeping up your spine as you grip the sink for balance.

Chris leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You still up for that promise, baby?” His voice is low, gravelly, dripping with want.

Your breath hitches. “What promise?” you ask, playing coy.

Chris chuckles, dark and knowing, his fingers pressing a little more insistently into your skin. “The one where you let me cum inside you.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and the heat in his eyes makes your knees weak.

Chris smirks, running his hands up your sides before spinning you to face him fully. His fingers slide under the hem of your sweatshirt, gripping your waist as he pulls you closer.

“You still want that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

Chris’s smirk deepens, satisfaction flickering in his darkened gaze. His grip tightens just enough to make you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he wants to leave his mark there.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, teasing, as he drags his hands over your hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles. “You want me to fill you up, make sure you feel me long after, huh?”

You swallow, pulse hammering against your ribs. There’s no hesitation when you nod, your breath hitching as his lips graze yours- featherlight, just enough to tease.

Chris hums, his hands sliding lower, squeezing your ass before lifting you onto the counter with ease. His body slots between your legs, firm and unyielding. He keeps you there, locked in place, his forehead resting against yours.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough with want.

Your fingers tangle in his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

“I want it, Chris,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his. “I want you to cum inside me.”

A sharp inhale from him, and then his mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and hunger. His fingers slide under your sweatshirt again, this time with purpose, exploring, claiming.

“Shit, baby,” he groans against your lips, his hands pushing higher, tugging at your clothes.

He doesn’t waste another second. His hands slip beneath your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the counter with effortless strength. Your arms loop around his neck instinctively, your breath coming in short, heated bursts as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

The air between you is thick, charged, every step he takes toward the bedroom making your anticipation coil tighter. His lips find your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat as he nudges the bedroom door open with his foot.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, your body is already burning for him. Chris hovers over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, his darkened blue eyes devouring every inch of you.

“Been wanting to do this all night,” he murmurs, fingers dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt again, this time pushing it up with agonizing slowness. “Take my time with you.”

Your stomach tightens as he peels the fabric over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His gaze drinks you in, lingering on your bare skin, the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.

“Ma,” he breathes, his hands already roaming again, thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You reach for his hoodie, fingers curling around the hem as you tug. “Then take this off,” you whisper, your voice breathless, needy.

Chris smirks but obliges, pulling it over his head and letting it drop to the floor. His toned chest and arms are bare now, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows over the ridges of his muscles.

Your hands roam over his skin, tracing along his collarbones and his happy trail. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breathing heavy as he slides his hands down your body, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“These too,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire, as he hooks his fingers into them, dragging them down your legs inch by inch. The sensation sends a shiver through you, every inch of your exposed skin burning under his touch.

Once your shorts are gone, Chris kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your soft and wet cunt. His lips trail higher towards your clit, teasing, making your breath hitch.

Then, just when you think you might combust, he pulls back, standing to his full height.

Your eyes lock onto his as he unbuttons his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. He doesn’t look away- not as he pushes them past his hips, not as they fall to the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, the evidence of his desire straining against the fabric.

“Your turn,” you whisper, eyes flicking to the last piece of clothing between you.

Chris smirks, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pushing them down.

Chris lets his boxers drop to the floor, kicking them aside before crawling back over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His hands find your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his weight pressing into you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Yeahhhh,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, down the column of your throat. “You’re so fucking perfect. Every single inch of you.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing you all over again, tracing over your curves, his thumbs brushing against your hip bones.

You shudder under his touch, gripping onto his shoulders, needing something to anchor you. Chris smirks against your skin, his lips pressing sloppy kisses over your collarbone, then lower, taking his time.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispers, his breath hot against your peaked nipples. “Never get tired of touching you, tasting you… fucking filling you up.”

Your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words. His hands slide down, gripping your hips firmly, fingers pressing possessively into your skin.

“You love that, don’t you?” he murmurs, tilting his head to watch your reaction. “Love knowing I wanna fill you up every time. Keep you like this-” he grinds his hips against you, slow and deliberate, making you gasp. “So full of me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and Chris groans, rolling his hips again, teasing you, making your body arch into his.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough, edged with need. “Tell me you want it, baby.”

Your head tilts back against the pillows, a whimper slipping from your lips. “I want it, Chris,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Want you to fill me up.”

Chris growls low in his throat, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips ghosting over yours. “Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs. “You know that? The way you say it… the way you look at me like that. I swear, I could spend every fucking day buried inside you and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers trail down, teasing, testing your patience.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asks, voice thick, teasing as his eyes flick up to meet yours. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. “I need you, Chris.”

Chris groans, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to line himself up, swiping his cock a few times through your built up arousal. His gaze locks onto yours, intense, unwavering.

“Then take it,” he murmurs. “Take all of me.”

Chris doesn’t hold back. He pushes in slowly at first, savoring the way your body reacts to him, how you gasp and clutch at his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. His jaw clenches as he watches you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with need.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “You feel so good, baby. Always so fucking perfect for me.”

Your breath stutters, your nails dragging down his back as he sinks deeper, filling you inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a slow burn that makes your head spin, and Chris eats up every little sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. He leans back just enough to watch your expression, his hands roaming over your tits and cupping them, mapping every inch of you. “You take me so fucking well. Every time.”

Your head tilts back, a moan slipping from your lips as he rolls his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm. Chris groans at the feeling, his fingers pressing into your skin like he never wants to let go.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, kissing along your jaw, down to your throat. “Let me in- let me fill you up just the way you need.”

His pace quickens just a little, his control hanging by a thread as he watches you come undone beneath him. Every thrust pushes him deeper, making you gasp, your body arching into his.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. “So fucking tight, so warm- like you were made for me.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips parting in a desperate gasp as he hits the perfect spot inside you. Chris feels it, sees the way your body responds, and it makes something primal snap inside him.

“That’s the spot, huh?” he murmurs, a smirk playing at his lips even as his own breath is ragged. “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna let me fill you up like you need?”

“Chris,” you whimper, your body tightening around him, heat coiling low in your stomach.

“Say it,” he growls, his thrusts getting rougher, more desperate. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you need me to cum inside you.”

Your back arches, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm hits and you squeeze him impossibly tight. “I need it- I need you to fill me up, Chris. So bad.”

He groans, his grip on you tightening as he thrusts harder, deeper, chasing his release. “F- fuck, baby, I’m gonna- ” His breath shudders, his movements getting sloppier as he buries himself as deep as he can, his body tensing.

A guttural moan tears from his lips as he spills inside you, holding you tight, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breathing is heavy, his body trembling slightly from the intensity of it, and he presses lazy kisses against your skin as he comes down.

“Shit,” he breathes, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you flush against him. “I swear, I’ll never get tired of this. Never get tired of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, running your fingers through his hair, still coming down from your own high.

Chris doesn’t move for a moment, still catching his breath, his body heavy and warm against yours. But then, as if something clicks in his mind, he shifts, gripping your hips with both hands.

Without warning, he pushes your hips up, angling them just enough to keep every drop of his cum inside you. You whimper at the sudden movement, your body still sensitive, your legs trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

“Chris- fuck.” you murmur, a dazed little laugh slipping from your lips, “what are you doing?”

His fingers press into your skin, his grip firm, possessive. His darkened blue eyes flick down to where you’re still connected, then back up to your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Making sure it stays,” he murmurs, voice rough, teasing but laced with something deeper, something almost primal.

Your breath catches. “I thought you didn’t want me to get pregnant.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans down, pressing kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips lingering, his hands still keeping your hips in place.

“I never said that,” he finally murmurs, his voice husky, “maybe I like the idea more than I let on.”

Your heart stutters. Heat blooms in your chest, pooling low in your stomach again despite how spent you already are. Chris tilts his head, watching your reaction closely, his smirk deepening as he sees the way his words affect you.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he teases, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “You’re the one who begged me to cum inside you.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually wanted-”

Chris cuts you off with a slow roll of his hips, just enough to remind you he’s still inside you, still keeping everything right where he wants it. You gasp, your fingers gripping his arms.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he murmurs. “You know how fucking good it feels. How right it feels.” His lips graze your ear. “Tell me you don’t love it.”

You swallow hard, your pulse hammering. “I do,” you whisper.

Chris smirks against your skin, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s my girl,” he breathes. “And who knows… maybe one day, I won’t just be filling you up for fun. Maybe one of these days I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body flushing at his words. Chris just chuckles, his expression dark and full of satisfaction as he kisses you again- slow, deep, claiming.

“But for now,” he murmurs, letting his weight settle over you again, his hands still holding you in place, “we’ll just make sure it sticks.”

Chris finally releases his hold on your hips, letting you relax into the mattress, though he doesn’t pull away just yet. He presses a few lingering kisses against your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your sides as he breathes you in.

“You good?” he murmurs, his voice warm and tender now, the teasing edge from before softened.

You nod, still catching your breath, your body pleasantly sore in the best way. “Yeah… just feel like I can’t move.”

Chris chuckles, rolling off of you but staying close. “Guess I did my job right, then.” He smirks, but before you can throw a pillow at him, he leans in, brushing his lips over your forehead. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”

He helps you up, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as you both make your way to the bathroom. He’s gentle as he runs a warm washcloth over your skin, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your shoulders, wherever he can reach. It’s such a contrast from the heat of earlier, but it makes your heart swell all the same.

Once you’re both cleaned up, you slip on one of Chris’s hoodies- something oversized and soft- and climb into bed. Chris follows, pulling you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he buries his face in your hair.

“Love you,” he mumbles sleepily, his lips brushing against your temple.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Love you too, Chris.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

You groan, dropping your forehead against the kitchen counter as another wave of nausea rolls through you. “Ugh, I feel awful.”

Chris looks up from where he’s leaning against the fridge, brows furrowing with concern. “Still feeling sick, baby?”

You nod, rubbing your stomach with a frown. “Yeah… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep feeling nauseous at the most random times. And I swear, I smelled coffee earlier, and it made me want to throw up.”

Chris winces, stepping closer and rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry, baby. Can I do anything?”

You shake your head, sighing. “I don’t even know what would help. It’s just been happening out of nowhere.”

Chris presses a kiss to the side of your head, his touch warm and comforting. “Maybe you just ate something bad? Or you’re stressed?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, but you’re not entirely convinced. “Are you sure the chicken last night was fully cooked?”

“I check it twice. It was.” Chris gives you a sympathetic look. “Tell you what- I’ll make you some tea, and then we can just chill on the couch, yeah? I’ll rub your back, we can watch whatever dumb reality show you wanna put on.”

That makes you smile a little, and you nod. “Okay. That sounds nice. Thank you baby.”

Chris grins, pressing another kiss to your forehead before heading to the kettle. “Anything for my girl.”

ONE WEEK LATER

You groan as you lean over the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on your face in a desperate attempt to shake off the lingering nausea. It’s been happening every morning now- like clockwork. And as much as you’d been hoping it was just a stomach bug or something that would pass, it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is groggy, laced with sleep as he steps into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “Same as yesterday. And the day before that.”

Chris frowns, stepping closer, his hands settling on your waist as he looks you over. His touch is warm and grounding, but when his thumbs brush against your sides, you wince subconsciously.

Chris notices immediately, his brows drawing together. “Hey… why’d you flinch?”

You shake your head, still trying to wake up fully. “I didn’t-” But then his hands slide up a little higher, skimming under your hoodie, and the moment his thumbs brush against the curve of your breasts, you jolt.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Okay. That was a reaction.”

You frown, stepping back slightly, your arms crossing over your chest. “They’ve just been… weirdly sensitive lately.”

Chris tilts his head, his gaze flicking down before his lips curl into the smallest smirk. “Not to mention…” His hands return to your sides, his touch slow, almost hesitant. “Baby, I swear to God, they look bigger. Like huge. It makes me so horny.”

You scoff. “Chris!”

“I’m serious!” He gives you a pointed look, stepping back just enough to take you in. “They’re… I don’t know, plumper? And you’ve been nauseous for over a week. You’re throwing up every morning. You don’t think…?”

You blink at him, brows furrowing. “Think what?”

Chris’s expression shifts- something between excitement and pure realization flickering across his face. He licks his lips, searching your eyes, almost as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“Baby,” he says slowly, carefully, “you don’t think you could be… pregnant?”

The words hang between you, heavy and thick in the quiet morning air. Your stomach twists- but not from nausea this time.

Your lips part slightly, a small laugh slipping out- almost disbelieving. “Chris, there’s no way…” But then, as you say it, the last few weeks flash through your mind. The exhaustion. The cravings. The nausea. The sensitivity. The way you haven’t used a condom with him in months and he hasn’t been pulling out.

Chris watches you closely, his smirk fading into something softer, more serious. His hands settle on your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “Baby,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, “when’s the last time you had your period?”

Your stomach drops. Your mind races as you try to remember, but the more you think about it, the more your chest tightens. You should’ve had it by now. You always keep track. But with everything going on, you hadn’t even noticed.

Chris sees the realization hit you. His hands tighten just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Shit,” you whisper.

Chris lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Shit.”

You look up at him, heart pounding, eyes wide. “Chris… what if I am?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just looking at you. And then, slowly, his lips curl into a grin.

“Guess we should find out.”

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment the realization fully settles between you, he’s already moving. He grabs his phone and wallet off the nightstand, shoving his feet into the closest pair of sneakers.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before darting toward the front door.

You blink, still in shock. “Wait- Chris, where are you-”

But he’s already gone.

You stand there for a moment, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. This has to be a joke, right? There’s no way this is actually happening. But as you place a hand over your stomach, the reality starts creeping in.

A few minutes later, you hear the front door swing open again, followed by the unmistakable crinkle of plastic bags.

“Alright, baby, let’s do this!” Chris’s voice is practically beaming as he jogs back into the bedroom, his arms full of pregnancy tests. You stare in disbelief as he drops multiple boxes onto the bed, some falling onto the floor in the process.

“Chris,” you say slowly, eyes widening. “What the fuck is this?”

“Options,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I got every brand they had. Digital ones, line ones, ones that apparently have smiley faces-” He pauses, flipping a box over before tossing it onto the pile. “I didn’t know there were this many kinds, honestly, but we’re covering all bases.”

You shake your head, staring at the sheer amount of tests in front of you. “Ten tests, Chris?”

“At least ten,” he corrects, grinning.

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Why are you so happy about this?”

Chris hesitates for half a second before letting out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? I don’t know. I just… am.”

You search his face, expecting to see panic or nerves, but all you find is pure excitement- like he wants this. Like the idea of you possibly carrying his baby is something he’s already embracing.

Your stomach twists, but not in a bad way. It’s terrifying and overwhelming, but with the way he’s looking at you, it also feels… oddly okay.

Chris claps his hands together, bringing you back to reality. “Alright, let’s go. Go pee on some sticks.”

You snort despite yourself. “Some?”

“All of them,” he corrects, already scooping up the tests into his arms. “We need solid confirmation, baby. I need a goddamn unanimous decision from these things.”

Shaking your head, you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair before turning toward the bathroom. “This is insane.”

Chris follows right behind you, grinning. “This is science.”

You roll your eyes, but as you close the bathroom door behind you, Chris leans against the sink, watching you with nothing but warmth in his gaze.

“Whatever happens,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Wait! Let me see what they say first. Don’t pee on anything!” Chris rips open one of the boxes with the same energy he probably had during his high school finals. He pulls out the instructions, unfolds them with an exaggerated flourish, and clears his throat.

“Alright,” he announces, squinting at the paper. “Step one: Remove the test from the wrapper.”

You snatch a test from one of the open boxes and rip it open with ease. “Done.”

Chris nods approvingly, scanning the next step. “Step two: Hold the absorbent tip in your urine stream for five seconds. Or dip it in a cup of urine for twenty seconds.”

You give him a flat look. “Absorbent tip?”

“Hey, I’m just reading what it says,” Chris says, holding up his hands in defense. He glances down again, then smirks. “Oh- this part’s important: Make sure you don’t pee on the result window. We need a clear reading, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the groundbreaking information, Chris.”

“Just looking out for accuracy.”

You shake your head, but your heart is thudding in your chest. This is actually happening.

Chris notices your hesitation and softens slightly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Chris nods, setting the instructions down on the counter before placing his hands on your hips. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. Got it?”

You nod, exhaling against his chest. “Got it.”

He smiles, giving you a small squeeze before stepping back. “Alright, go do your thing. I’ll be right here, being incredibly supportive and not at all annoying.”

You snort. “Mhm.”

Chris gasps dramatically. “Wow. So much doubt for the man who just spent a ridiculous amount of money on pregnancy tests for you.”

Shaking your head, you grab the cup from the counter- because there’s no way you’re risking peeing on your own hand in the middle of a life-altering moment- and step toward the toilet. “Okay, turnaround now.”

Chris throws his hands up. “I literally fucked this baby into you?!”

“We don’t know if there’s a baby yet!” You roll your eyes but do what needs to be done, filling the cup and carefully dipping the first test. Then another. And another. You cycle through each one, following the ridiculous variety of instructions. Five seconds for one. Twenty seconds for another. One where you had to cap it immediately and lay it on a flat surface.

Chris stands by the counter, eyes wide as he watches you line up ten tests in a perfect row.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “That’s a lot of science happening at once.”

You let out a breath, setting the last test down. “Now what?”

Chris grabs one of the boxes, scanning the fine print. “Now we wait.”

You swallow hard, wiping your hands on a towel before gripping the edge of the sink. “How long?”

Chris squints at the instructions. “Three minutes.”

Three minutes.

Three minutes to find out if your whole world is about to change.

Chris must sense your nerves because he steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing your jaw. “I can set a timer. Or we can just stare at them aggressively until something happens.”

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning back against him. “Okay… let’s do it.”

Chris’s phone is already in his hand before you even say anything. He holds it up, pressing record with a grin.

“For our future kid,” he says, his voice full of barely contained excitement.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know if it’s positive yet.”

Chris smirks, shaking his head. “I have a feeling, baby.”

Your stomach twists as you reach for the first test. Your fingers tremble slightly, and you can feel Chris’s anticipation radiating off of him. With a deep breath, you flip it over.

Two lines.

Positive.

Your heart stops.

Chris lets out a sharp inhale, but before either of you can fully process it, you reach for the second test.

Positive.

The third.

Positive.

Every. Single. One.

Chris stares at them for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit.” His phone lowers slightly as he turns to look at you, his eyes shining. “Baby- holy shit!”

Before you can react, he grabs you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You gasp, gripping his shoulders as a laugh bubbles out of you, your nerves momentarily forgotten.

“Chris!” You giggle, clinging to him as he twirls you.

“I knew it,” he exclaims, setting you down just enough to crash his lips against yours. The kiss is heated, desperate, but full of so much love that your chest tightens.

Then, before you even realize it, tears start slipping down your cheeks. You pull back slightly, your hand flying to your stomach as a sob escapes you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Our baby is in my stomach.”

Chris freezes, his hands still gripping your waist. He stares at you like he’s just now fully comprehending it, like the reality of it all is truly sinking in. His lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

“Our baby,” he murmurs, and the way he says it- so full of awe, of love- makes your heart ache.

But then, almost instantly, his entire demeanor shifts. His grip tightens, his eyes darting around the room like his brain is moving a mile a minute.

“Shit. I need to tell my mom. And my dad. And my brothers.” He steps back, running a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “What about your family? Should we call them first? And the apartment- fuck, we need to start looking at places with an extra room. Or at least be ready for when she grows up- ”

You blink. “She?”

Chris stops, looking at you dead serious. “I don’t know, baby, I just know. I have this gut feeling that my new babygirl is growing inside you right now.”

Your heart clenches at the sheer certainty in his voice.

But then he’s spiraling again. “Oh God, we don’t have anything for a baby. I need to research cribs- what’s the safest crib? And strollers- shit, what’s a good stroller brand? I don’t know anything about strollers! And- fuck, baby, we’re twenty-one. I haven’t even married you yet!”

He turns to you, panic written all over his face now, and for the first time ever, you’re the calm one.

You step forward, reaching for his hands, squeezing them tightly. “Chris, baby, breathe.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he listens, taking a deep inhale as his eyes lock onto yours.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, pressing his hands against your stomach. “The way you reacted tells me all I need to know. You’re gonna be an amazing father.”

Chris swallows hard, his panic giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. His fingers flex against your stomach, like he’s already trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside you.

“You think so?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You smile, cupping his face. “I know so.”

Chris exhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before leaning forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.”

And in that moment, standing there in the tiny bathroom with ten positive pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, everything feels exactly as it should be.

MASTERLIST

tags: @bernardsbendystraws @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[aapothic]

Shiori took the small orange pill in her hand, rolled it around for a second, then casually dropped it onto the table. A small retractable knife, no longer than her pinky finger, appeared in her palm, blade out. The flat of the blade went to work on the offered pill, turning it into a ugly orange-white powder. Finger to one nostril, head bent down, and quick, disgusting inhale eliminated (most) of the pill’s presence.

“Someone should work on making those things strawberry-flavoured, at least,” she joked, dabbing at the edge of her nose to make sure there was no powder left behind. “At least you won’t have to wait too long this way.” Not that she was sure he cared about her being comfortable either.

“If you wanted to do something horrible to me, you probably would have done it already, given the waves of annoyance radiating from you all evening.” She plopped herself into the chair and worked a few of the levers so she was slightly tilted back... and at his mercy.

“You figure it out, you’ll tell me right? No secrets?” She offered a curled pink... in the gesture of a promise? Hard to tell if she was being serious or making another joke.

"I do my best to limit my exposure to Essex to the moments when I have to make my reports to the Quiet Council - seeking him out for a good old fashioned chin wag about his little torture box is the very last thing on my mind." He'd rather shove a surgical tool into his own eye and twist until the pain stopped than subject himself to more of the fruit than was strictly required. He rather suspected Shiori felt the same.

Beast watched her, fingers curling around the edge of one of his lab desks in obvious anxiety, himself feeling mostly impatience - she could either submit to the procedure or leave, he had no time for her to be sitting around having a crisis. He had already fixed her wound, he owed her precisely nothing, and his offer to provide her with answers to questions she hadn't even known she had was a rare kindness, not to be abused.

But then, seemingly, she came to her senses, even if the question had him sighing. " You will need to remain at least semi-conscious for the procedure so that the instrument can record the electrical impulses from your eye to your brain without impediment. To fully anaesthetise or numb you would risk rendering the entire scan pointless. But . . . I suppose I can give you something, just to make sure you don't move and disrupt the integrity of the scan topography."

Beast rooted around in a drawer, pulling out a little orange pill that he offered her with a quirked brow. "Most people choose not to leave themselves unable to move in my presence these days. Your last chance to change your mind and leave approaches. Take it, or sit down in that examination chair."

[punkshort]

In Another Life | Part II

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader (time travel au)

Chapter Summary: Danny unexpectedly drops Marcus off at your office, but it works to your advantage when you decide to use him as the subject for your next article, and your research brings the two of you much closer together.

Chapter Warnings: language, typical brother embarrassing his sister, threats of physical violence, a little fist fight, some blood from said fist fight, mention of drugs, jealousy, food consumption, fluff, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

Your apartment had devolved into utter chaos the last two days. It seemed like every time you rounded a corner, you had to dodge some person or scrap of metal or power tool, and it was getting on your last nerve. New York wasn't exactly known for spacious living arrangements as it was, so to have what little space you did covet overrun with your brother's shit really sent you into overdrive.

"Lizard's mom has a house in Queens, why the hell is all this shit here and not in her basement?" you snapped at Danny early one morning after you stubbed your toe on a drill.

"He's worried about her finding out what we're up to," Danny explained, and you immediately scoffed into your coffee.

"She's deaf in one ear and hasn't stepped foot in her basement since his dad died."

Danny agreed to move his time traveling project to Queens later that day.

The scowl on your face smoothed out the moment Marcus entered your kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking absolutely devastating in the pajama pants you had bought for him just a few days prior. It took all your willpower not to let your eyes drop below his waist, having already made that mistake the day before. The noticeable bulge hidden amongst the thin sleepwear had you spacing out the entire train ride to work and you couldn't afford any distractions that day. You had a big meeting at eleven where you had to present the next topic for your column and you were scrambling. The source you had for your long-distance relationship idea fell through last minute, so now you were tasked with brainstorming a spectacular backup plan in the next four hours.

"Morning, General. How did you sleep?" Danny asked as he scooped cereal into his mouth.

"Quite well, thank you," he replied, then his eyes met yours and he smiled. "Good morning, my lady."

You grinned like a school girl, your heart fluttering excitedly in your chest when you stammered, "G-good morning." Danny rolled his eyes but chose wisely to keep his mouth shut.

Marcus was able to find his way around by that point, however he still seemed hesitant to just start opening your drawers and cupboards when he needed something. Tired of reminding him to just help himself, you set down your coffee and picked up your loaf of bread from the corner of the counter.

"Same as yesterday?" you asked him as you popped two slices of bread in the toaster, anticipating his answer.

"Please," he said with a grateful nod, then dutifully clasped his hands at his waist.

When Danny watched you crack some eggs into a frying pan along with a few sausage links, his jaw dropped.

"You're making breakfast for him but not for me?" he whined.

You swiveled around and pointed your spatula in his face. "He is our guest, thanks to you," you reminded him, and Danny quickly shut up.

"I do not wish to be a burden," Marcus said. He hadn't moved but his broad frame felt like it took up the entire room.

"You're not a burden, Marcus," you told him softly, then gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Yeah, no worries, man," Danny said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder before dumping his dirty dishes in the sink. "I'm just giving my sister a hard time because it's obvious she wants to jump your bones."

"Danny!" you shrieked while throwing an oven mitt at his head. He dodged it and ducked out of the kitchen, his laughter fading down the hall towards his bedroom.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you turned your focus back to the frying pan. When Marcus cleared his throat, you closed your eyes in dread because you knew what was coming.

"What did that mean, jump your bones?"

"Nothing, just ignore him," you said, sliding the eggs and sausage onto a plate. A few seconds passed when Danny's voice shouted down the hall, "It's a euphemism for sex!"

"Goddamnit," you muttered through clenched teeth. You began to storm out of the kitchen, prepared to kick Danny's ass, but Marcus shot an arm out to stop you.

"You look lovely today."

You gazed up at him, mouth agape, while you tried to find your voice.

Say something. Anything.

"Thanks. Uh, thank you," you mumbled, smoothing down the pink and white floral dress you picked out. On days where you had your big monthly meeting, you tried to make an effort to look like you belonged at a fashion magazine.

"Do you have plans today?" he asked, his eyes swooping down your frame appreciatively, and for once it didn't make your stomach turn when a man looked at you that way. "Daniel tells me there is a beautiful park in the city. I desire to see it and would very much enjoy your company."

You knew you were reading too much into it, but you couldn't help but feel like he was asking you on a date.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Marcus," you said, "I have to work today. But I promise we will see it before you go home."

Home.

His face fell at the word and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Of course, I understand. Thank you for breakfast," he said, sliding past you so he could pick up the plate you made for him. You chewed your lip and glanced at the time. If it were any other day, you would just call in sick, but today was too important to miss.

"I promise, okay?" you told him as you gathered your bags. "We will see Central Park before you leave. And whatever else you want."

He nodded and took a bite of his food. Although he appeared to be unbothered, you still felt an enormous amount of guilt.

"Danny!" you called from the front door, "this shit better be gone by the time I get home!"

"Yes, Mom!" he shouted back sarcastically from the bathroom. You rolled your eyes and gave Marcus a quick wave before hurrying out the door.

You were fucked.

You had one hour until your meeting and you had absolutely nothing.

Already, you had done your usual brainstorming techniques five times over. You scrolled through social media, hoping to find some trend or topic that might be popular and garner attention, but you were coming up dry, so you kept circling back to your long distance relationship idea. You had sent out every feeler you could think of, asking any of your usual contacts if they had anyone you could use for a story about your chosen topic, but so far you weren't having any luck.

Suddenly, your phone rang and you lunged for it, hoping it was a lead, then groaned when you saw Danny's contact picture pop up on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey..." he began, and you could tell by the tone in his voice that you should brace yourself.

"What did you do?"

He laughed on the other end. "I didn't do anything. Actually, I did do something - I am getting all this stuff out of your place, but there's just one thing."

"Spit it out," you said, your eyes flickering to the time. 45 minutes to go.

"I can't take Marcus with us to Queens. There's no room in Lizard's car."

"So let him stay in the apartment."

"I'm not leaving him all alone in New York City!" he protested. You heard some familiar sounds in the background of the call and you frowned.

"Where are you?"

Danny paused and you instantly began to put your defenses up.

"I'm... in your lobby. With Marcus and Lizard."

"You're what?!" you exclaimed in a loud whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody overheard you in your cubical.

"I told to him to just stay in the lobby and read your crappy magazines and if anyone asks, to tell them he's here for meeting."

"Danny! You can't do this, I can't babysit a fucking Roman General right now!"

You heard Danny walk a few paces away, presumably to get some privacy so Marcus wouldn't overhear, before he answered.

"He'll stay downstairs, I promise. I told him what floor you're on in case of an emergency but maybe you can pop down and take him for lunch. You've been making heart eyes at this Roman General for the past three days, don't try and lie."

Anger coursed through your veins but you were running out of precious time, so you gave up.

"Fine," you seethed.

"Great!" Danny said cheerily. "But I might not be back til late. We're burning tons of time moving all this stuff, we got work to do."

"So I have to bring him home?"

"Yes, you'll have to bring him home. You're going there anyway, aren't you? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is he's going to be bored and lonely all day down there!" you snapped.

"He's not going to be bored. He's in New York City. The elevators alone are blowing his mind right now."

Despite yourself, you smiled when you remembered how in awe he was the first time he rode in an elevator.

"Tell him I'll be down to take him to lunch in like, a little over an hour. I have a meeting at eleven."

"You're the best!" Danny said, then before you could respond, the line went dead.

You grumbled obscenities under your breath when you heard a familiar voice say your name from the opening of your cube.

"Hey, ready for the meeting?" Matt asked. You practically dropped your phone from his sudden appearance and he chuckled. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes," you hissed as you began to gather your things, trying to hide your annoyance. You looked over the top of your cubical wall, hoping and praying you would see someone - anyone - else to walk with to the conference room, but you were shit out of luck.

"Doing anything fun tonight?" he inevitably asked, like he always did, and you sighed. You made the mistake of hooking up with him after one particularly rowdy work happy hour and ever since then, Matt's been waiting for his next opportunity. "I know a guy who works at that new French restaurant, I can get us a reservation and then, who knows..."

"I have a friend in from out of town," was all you said. No matter how many times you turned him down, he remained persistent.

"That's cool. Girls night, then?"

"My friend's a guy," you quickly corrected him.

Matt stumbled over his feet as you reached the conference room. It was the biggest one on your floor, directly across from the elevator banks. The entire wall was made of glass, floor to ceiling, so you could see through the room to the opposite wall, where there was a fantastic view of the city.

"Oh, like a cousin, or..."

"Nope," you replied, voice clipped so he knew the topic was closed. With a frustrated huff, Matt plopped down next to you and flipped open his portfolio. You gave him a sideways glance, momentarily feeling bad for him. He was by all accounts a good looking guy. He wrote a column for the men's health section and based on his physique, you assumed he practiced what he preached, but sadly his looks is where his good qualities came to an end.

Charlotte, your editor, breezed into the room, her presence enough to make everyone sitting at the long table quiet right down. She ghosted her palm over her perfectly coiffed grey hair and sat her portfolio down in front of her chair at the head of the table. As you got yourself organized, your mind scrambling to come up with a lie about a long distance relationship source, Charlotte placed her phone down delicately next to her leather portfolio, then slowly uncapped the expensive looking pen someone once told you was gifted to her by Marc Jacobs. Everybody watched and waited until she was ready, which was signified by a dainty clearing of her throat and a quick, sweeping glance over the table followed by a curt nod. At that point, the usual routine began.

Without having to be asked, one by one everybody took their turn presenting their idea for the month. Each person's name was listed on the agenda in the order Charlotte wished, and mercifully yours was dead last.

Your anxiety began to spike when Sara, the girl who was before you in nutrition started to wrap up her brief speech about some gluten free lifestyle benefit bullshit.

Keep it short. Keep it vague, and you'll figure it out later. Everyone wants to leave, it's almost lunch.

Then some movement by the elevators caught your eye. Your breathing ceased and you broke out into a cold sweat when you saw Marcus had stepped out of the elevator and was fucking talking to the receptionist. Then you locked eyes when they both turned to look towards the conference room.

"Shit," you whispered.

Matt nudged your ribs and you startled, glancing around the room to see Sara had sat down and half the table was staring at you, waiting for you to begin. You shakily stood up and swallowed the lump in your throat when Marcus began to weave his way towards you through the maze of cubicles.

Call it a stroke of genius or divine inspiration, but an incredible idea hit you right as you opened your mouth to speak. You had about half a second to decide if you should wing it and trust your gut or talk out of your ass about your first idea.

Fuck it.

"This month, I have a very interesting idea that I'm super excited about exploring," you began, watching when Marcus came to a stop outside the glass door. He looked back and forth, his fingers twitching at his sides. "My topic will be Romance without Technology," you announced with a confident smile. "I'll be researching how adults navigate their love lives without the help of dating apps, social media, or even texting," you said, listing each item on your finger as you spoke.

"Who's that guy?" Sara asked, pointing towards the door. It was at that point you realized most of the table was gawking at the tall, broad, handsome looking Roman General waiting to get your attention.

You smiled and walked toward the door with your arm outstretched.

"This is Marcus," you said, holding the door open and ushering him inside. He murmured your name but you cut him off. "He's the subject I'll be interviewing for this month's article. He doesn't use technology of any kind. In fact, he doesn't even own a cell phone."

The entire room gasped and Marcus looked around, confused, but understood what you needed him to do. He raised one arm up to greet the room and said, "Good morning."

Most of the women began to whisper excitedly to one another, shooting him looks and giggling behind their hands until Charlotte cleared her throat and once again, the room fell into silence.

You chewed your lower lip anxiously as you waited for Charlotte to silently appraise you both. Finally, you saw the corner of her mouth twitch and she gave you a barely perceptible nod.

"I look forward to reading it."

She stood abruptly and collected her things, signifying the end of the meeting, and relief flooded your veins.

"Are you okay?" you asked Marcus, pulling him to the side while the room stood and slowly filtered out. He nodded.

"Yes. There were many vehicles that passed by with bright lights and loud sirens. When I asked what it was for, I was told there was an emergency."

You giggled and shook your head. "So the fearsome General was scared?"

His brows knitted together for a moment before he answered.

"No. I grew concerned for your well being."

Your heart could have melted on the spot.

"Oh," you said softly, and just like that, the annoying little flutter in your chest was back. "I-I'm fine, but thank you. That was... that's really sweet, actually."

He grinned as his eyes swooped down your frame, causing butterflies to awaken in your stomach.

"Did you wanna get something to eat?" you asked as you stared up at him, his large frame making you feel so tiny in comparison. "It'll be on the company's dime since I kinda just signed you up to be the subject of my next article."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis, the action bringing up the memory of you measuring his inseam and you felt your face begin to heat up. God, you must have looked ridiculous, standing there in front of Marcus in the middle of your office, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Of course," he replied, "but what do you intend to write about me?"

You grinned and hurried back to your abandoned chair, scooping up your things before pointing to the door.

"Let me drop this stuff off at my desk and I'll explain everything."

"My marriage was arranged," he reminded you from across the table draped in white linen. You decided to take him to a nicer steakhouse not too far from your office, one that didn't enforce a dress code but still had good food that you rarely sprung for out of your own pocket.

"I know, but I'm sure you can still give me an idea of what romance was like," you replied. "For example, did you get her any gifts? Give flowers? Take her to places that were meaningful to you? Or to her?"

Marcus dropped his gaze to the table and shrugged. "We knew each other for such a short period of time, there was unfortunately not much in the way of romance."

You clocked the forlorn look in his eye and began to feel guilty for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. I'll just make something up, don't worry about it. No one'll know."

"No, no, I wish to help," he said quickly, his hand stretching across the table to loop two of his fingers around yours. "Just because I do not have many personal stories to share does not mean I cannot help with your research."

"I don't want to reopen any old wounds," you explained, your eyes fixed on the way his hand linked with yours so naturally on the tabletop.

He chuckled softly, his smile causing his deep brown eyes to sparkle and a dimple to appear on his cheek.

"It was a very long time ago."

When your salads arrived at your table, Marcus released your hand to pick up his fork, frowning down at the bowl before asking, "This is the salad named after Julius Caesar?"

You giggled and shook your head, the sound causing him to lift his chin with a warm smile.

"No," you said once you collected yourself, "No, it's named after another Caesar. The guy who created it, I think."

Marcus didn't seem to mind he was wrong or that you found his error so funny. In fact, he enjoyed it.

"You have a beautiful laugh."

Instantly, your cheeks flushed and you shyly looked down to focus on your salad. "Thank you," you said softly.

He watched you silently for another minute more, admiring the way your eyes fluttered shut when you tasted something good or tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then took a hesitant bite of his salad.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you grinned from behind your napkin.

"Delicious."

You giggled again and nodded. "Yes, it is."

Once your salads were taken away and before your main course arrived, you pulled out a notebook and flipped to a blank page.

"Let's start from the beginning. You don't have to go into excruciating detail. Maybe just some things you know of that others did to... court women? Is that even the right word?" you mumbled the last part to yourself as you scribbled something at the top of your paper.

"It was seen as a sign of weakness for a man to become infatuated with a woman," he said, and you looked up at him in surprise.

"Why's that?"

"Marriages rarely were based on affection. They were viewed as a way to improve your social standing, but it was mutually beneficial," he explained, his finger tracing the design engrained in his fork. "Women were taken care of, looked after and tended to while the men were able to claim a high ranking senator or nobleman as their family. And, of course..." he trailed off, his cheeks staining pink when he dropped his gaze to the table and said, "received the traditional benefits of having a wife."

You smirked to yourself as you wrote notes on your pad of paper.

"Thought you were used to talking about sex openly," you teased. He cleared his throat and your pen paused over your paper to meet his eye.

"I admit, at times I feel nervous around you."

"Me?" you balked, but he just nodded and your brain scrambled for something to say that wouldn't entirely embarrass you. You landed on deflection.

"I thought it was a sign of weakness to grow infatuated?"

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "I never said I agreed with that line of thought."

"No, I suppose you didn't," you said, shyly dropping your eyes to your paper. His gaze was too intense. Every time you looked at him it felt like he could see right through you. "So, tell me. Hypothetically. If we lived in Rome and I caught your eye, what would you do? How would you win me over?"

Marcus took a deep breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as he thought about your question for a moment, staring at your pen hovering over your paper.

"I would write you letters every day," he said softly, forcing your eyes back onto him. His voice was low and deep, smooth yet firm as he spoke. "I would write of your beauty. I would compare the color of your eyes to the flowers and fauna that grew in my garden, delicate and all encompassing. I would tell you how food tastes better on my tongue when you are around, and how I ache for you when you are not near. I would try to explain how difficult it is to breathe without you, and how I would gladly die a thousand deaths just to feel the softness of your lips against mine."

You stared at him, hand frozen where you left it resting on your notebook. He waited patiently until you finally blinked yourself out of your stupor and inhaled a shaky breath.

"Uh, s-so love letters, then," you stammered, shakily scribbling down something incoherent on your paper. Jesus fucking Christ, get it together.

"Yes. Love letters," he repeated. He sounded so cool and collected. How was he so relaxed? A moment ago, he was admitting you made him nervous. Maybe he was just better at hiding it than you.

Your server arrived and placed your food down in front of you, the heavenly scent wafting up and making your mouth water. Placing your pen down in favor of picking up your fork and knife, you asked, "Have you ever had steak?"

"I am not sure. What animal is it?" he asked, picking up his fork and testing the tenderness of his steak by giving it a little poke.

"It's cow. Try it, it's good."

"Cows were used for farming," he said before slicing a piece off and examining it closely. "We could not afford to slaughter them."

You watched as he popped a bite into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before giving you a smile and nod.

"Good?" you asked, your heart skipping a beat at finding another food he liked.

"Very," he replied once he swallowed. "You are quite perceptive and have good taste."

"Thank you," you answered, taking another bite and trying not to preen too much from the praise.

"So tell me," he said after he finished up his filet and moved on to his potato, which he eyed wearily. "Do you not receive love letters as a form of courtship?"

"Uh, no," you replied with a laugh. "Closest thing to that nowadays would be a text and even those are... sub par."

"So what is it that you do?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to your notepad with his fork. "For romance. What activities do you take part in?"

"Oh," you said, wiping your mouth and pushing your empty plate to the side. "You mean dates. Uh, this actually. Get dinner together. Sometimes see a movie," you paused and rethought your word choice when you saw his face. "A show, or a play. Um, sometimes go to a bar. Stuff like that."

He nodded and let your answer roll around in his head for a moment before asking, "So, is this a date?"

Marcus smiled when he saw you become flustered. You thanked the server for clearing your plates and leaving the bill before responding.

"Uh, I don't know," you finally said shyly, making his smile grow even wider. "Do you want - I mean, well... I'm technically working, but, you know, if - if that was something you were interested in, then, I guess w-we could classify this, or, you know, it could be construed-"

"Yes or no," he said, interrupting your insane ramblings with a soft look and an outstretched hand. Your face was hot with embarrassment but you reached out for his hand, anyway.

"Yes."

"Yes," he repeated, squeezing your fingers. You grinned and nodded, your stomach doing cartwheels as you tried to steady your breath.

Once you paid with your corporate credit card, you walked back out to the street, Marcus holding the doors open for you before offering you his hand. You sheepishly accepted it and walked a few paces in the direction of your office before he stopped you.

"Must you return to work?"

You gave him a sad smile and took a step closer. "Yeah, I'm sorry. But maybe I can play hooky tomorrow."

Marcus raised a curious eyebrow at you while playing with the material of your dress with his free hand, gently pinching and feeling the fabric between his fingers. "What does-"

"It means I'll call in sick without actually being sick so I can have the day off," you explained without him needing to finish asking.

He grinned and dropped your dress in favor of cupping your cheek. "I would like that very much."

"Me, too," you said, gazing up at him while leaning into his touch. His strong, calloused hand felt rough against your skin, but you liked it. As if reading your mind, he stroked his thumb over your cheekbone and murmured, "You are so soft."

You hummed, not trusting yourself to speak when you watched him slowly lean down to your level, your eyes fluttering shut as you waited to feel his mouth against yours. But just when his shadow got close enough to block the sun behind your eyelids, you heard someone shout your name.

You swiveled around angrily, your hand still laced together with Marcus's as you looked for the person who interrupted one of the more romantic moments of your life.

And then you saw Matt stalking up to you from the direction of the restaurant.

"Is this why you've been ghosting me?"

You frowned and tilted your head. "What?"

Matt came to a stop in front of you both and jutted his chin towards Marcus. "Too busy sleeping with your profiles to hang out?"

"W-what?" you stammered again, too shocked to fight back with your usual vigor. You felt Marcus stiffen next to you. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he immediately sensed your discomfort. "I'm not - this isn't-"

"Oh, sure," he sneered, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging out of his thin dress shirt. "I saw you two in there. You were three seconds away from crawling into his lap."

Your mouth hung open in shock and humiliation. "Were you following me?"

Before Matt could answer, Marcus took a step forward.

"I am going to have to insist you stop yelling," he seethed, and even though Matt followed his own advice in his articles and worked out plenty, Marcus still towered over him.

Matt's eyes went wide for just a moment before his bravado returned. "C'mon, man. She's just using you, don't you see that?" Matt prodded, then he scoffed. "Unless you're good with it. Then by all means, have fun. She's a good fuck but I don't think she's got much else."

It all happened so fast, you couldn't remember Marcus dropping your hand and cocking his fist. You couldn't remember the first sickening crunch of his knuckles against Matt's nose, but you did remember hearing his pained howl.

Marcus only landed a few more blows before you came to your senses and tugged him by the shoulder. It was laughable to think you would be strong enough to move him, but you must have also said something because Marcus immediately stopped and turned back to you.

"Jesus Christ!" you cried shakily, hands trembling as they hovered in the air. You weren't sure what to do and people were staring as they walked by, driving up your anxiety. Marcus was fine except for his skinned knuckles, but Matt was much worse. He had a busted lip and already a bright blue shiner forming on his cheekbone, and when he stood to face you both, you noticed another cut on the other cheek.

"The fuck is wrong with you!" he spat, blood dripping down his chin.

"Mind how you speak to women and perhaps they will wish to spare you their time," Marcus snarled. Matt turned his attention to you, the pad of his thumb swiping against his lower lip.

"Who is this guy? What the fuck is his deal?"

You took a deep breath, your mind settling and your fortitude returning.

"If you had just backed off when I said no the first dozen times, maybe you didn't have to find out!"

"Oh, come off it. You like the chase. You get off on guys trailing after you-"

"You're the only fucking one, Matt!" you yelled, no longer caring who was looking. "We hooked up once, years ago, and you just can't take the hint! I'm not interested!"

His eyes clouded with disbelief as he propped his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one foot, standing there as if he were somehow new to being shot down.

"I'm telling Charlotte about this. About your little..." he trailed off and gestured vaguely over your shoulder, "guard dog. I'm sure she will love to hear about one of your profiles assaulting an employee."

You crossed your arms defiantly and made a face. "Oh, yeah? Do that and I'll recommend to HR they give you a drug test."

His face paled for a moment but he tried to hide it. "Drugs? I'm not on drugs."

"Oh, so you're telling me your balls are just naturally that shriveled up and small? Because, shit," you laughed, "if it's not steroids, you might want to see a doctor about that. That's not normal."

Matt swallowed tightly and clamped his mouth shut. You smiled and turned around to Marcus, who had been listening to your entire argument and probably understanding less than half of it.

"Let's go."

You tugged on his arm and he obediently followed, leaving Matt to lick his wounds.

"Your work - the building is the other way."

"I know," you said, raising your arm to hail a cab. "I'll figure something out. We're going home."

Marcus watched as you paced around your kitchen, phone pressed against your ear as you spoke to your boss and faked a sudden illness that included the word cramps. When you finished up, you looked over at him from across the room.

He looked so normal now. Sure, he spoke a little strangely but without his tunic, clad in khakis and a polo shirt, he looked like he fit right in. Like he always belonged right there.

"I don't think I even thanked you," you said. Marcus smiled and shrugged.

"No need."

He was so damn adorable, it was killing you. "I've never met anyone like you before," you confessed, leaning a hip against the edge of your counter.

"In a good way, I hope?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You giggled and nodded, the sound making his heart soar.

"Yes, in a good way."

He brought his hand up to smooth over his mouth nervously and your stomach dropped.

"Oh, my god! Your hands!" you exclaimed, crossing the room to snatch one of his massive hands within both of yours.

"It is alright, there is no-"

"Come on, let me clean up your knuckles at least," you said, pulling him towards your tiny bathroom, which somehow felt even smaller when you were both crowding the space. "Sit here," you told him, pointing towards the closed toilet seat, "I have some stuff somewhere," you muttered under your breath as you rifled through the medicine cabinet behind your mirror, then tugged open the drawer in the vanity that always stuck. Marcus did as he was told and watched you with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah ha!" you announced victoriously when you held up a bottle of clear liquid and a box of bandages. He smiled as you washed your hands before meticulously laying everything out you would need. Picking up a cotton ball, you doused it with the liquid and turned to him, having little choice but to stand between his knees and lifting one of his hands to look at it closer.

He splayed his hand out flat, palm pressing against your palm while you carefully dabbed at the dried blood.

"You have laid with that man before?" he asked out of the blue. Your cheeks felt warm when you nodded and avoided his eye.

"A long time ago. It was a mistake."

He didn't say anything else for a few minutes, just watched as you tenderly cared for his broken skin, your proximity and touch overwhelming his senses.

"Did he mistreat you?"

Quickly, you shook your head. "Oh god, no, nothing like that," you told him. "It just... wasn't a good fit."

Marcus couldn't stop staring at the soft slopes of your face and the bright sparkle in your irises, growing infatuated with the way your brow scrunched together in concentration while you worked.

"Did he not worship you?" he asked softly, watching as your breath hitched and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Uh, no," you finally said, setting down the cotton ball in favor of a tube with some salve. You squeezed a small dot onto your finger and began to apply it carefully to his knuckles. "Can't say there's been a lot of worshipping happening in my life," you added with a dry chuckle.

"No?"

You shook your head and wiped your finger with a tissue and tried not to let his injured hand that had fallen to your hip distract you.

"No," you whispered, your shaky voice betraying you.

He tsked and brought his other hand up to your hip, slowly splaying his fingers wide and crumpling the fabric of your dress. "Shameful. You deserve to be worshipped."

All of the air rushed from your lungs, your body thrumming with desire. Marcus noticed the fine hairs on your arms raise when goosebumps flashed across your skin and he delicately picked up your hand, flipping it over so he could press a kiss against the inside of your wrist.

His deep brown eyes met yours and with his lips still brushing against your skin, whispered, "Will you allow me to worship you?"

You found yourself nodding before your voice had a chance to catch up with you, then his hands gently cupped your face and pulled you down to his level. The moment your lips finally met, you forgot how to breathe, how to move, how to think. His lips were so unexpectedly soft and tender as they slowly massaged against your own that it sent you into a tailspin.

You pressed your mouth against his with a little more force, the fear that he may just stop at one kiss gripping your throat and driving you forward. He made a soft, surprised noise in the back of his throat when you began to kiss him with more intensity, but he didn't skip a beat. He tightened his hold on your face, fingers dimpling your cheeks and his nose bumping lightly against yours.

Your hands pressed against his chest, then your fingers curled to grip his shirt, wanting to tug him closer, wanting to feel him everywhere but you were still in your stupid fucking tiny bathroom and it was difficult to maneuver. Seemingly anticipating your next move, you felt Marcus stand. Your head tipped back, neck craned upwards at an impossible angle, refusing to break the kiss even for a moment so he began to carefully walk you backwards towards the door. Every step towards your bedroom felt like you were walking deeper and deeper into the sea, drowning in his overwhelming presence and touch.

Marcus's palm slid over your shoulder, down your arm and only stopping when he found your ribs. He wound his arm around you as you both stumbled through your doorway with as little grace as you would expect from two people growing more and more intertwined by the moment.

Once you felt your mattress pressing into the backs of your knees, you released your death grip on his shirt so you could reach behind you and unzip your dress. The cool air washed over your bare skin when it pooled around your feet and suddenly, you felt extremely exposed. What kinds of women was he used to being with? It felt like every day when you went into work you learned something new that men found desirable in women. How could you possibly be expected to keep up in the modern world, let alone with what Marcus might find appealing?

But when his palm reconnected with your middle and he felt your smooth skin under his hand, he grew desperate for more to the point where you could sense it, pushing your insecurities to the back of your mind. His injured hand left your cheek so he could glide both massive hands over the soft swell of your curves, his fingers twitching as he sought out more of your skin but when he came in contact with your bra, his hands stopped.

You could feel his hesitation by the way his lips stalled against yours so you took his hands and wrapped them around your back, wordlessly guiding him to the clasp as your tongue slid inside his mouth.

He figured out the hooks on your bra after only one or two fumbles and it dropped to the floor to join your dress.

"Fuck," he whispered when he finally managed to pull away to admire your nearly naked body. Your eyes widened with surprise.

"I don't think I've heard you curse before."

He inhaled a ragged breath, his eyes still drinking you in when he murmured, "I did not have a reason to before now."

He gently grazed over your breast, barely even touching you while he watched with fascination as your nipple tightened from the brief contact. "You have stirred something within me," he said softly, his eyes and hands continuing to roam. "Something I believed did not exist for a long time."

You leaned into his touch when he cupped your breast, enraptured with how soft you felt under his hand. Your fingers curled around the waistband of his khakis, sliding your nails across his lower stomach, across the coarse hair you very much wished to see while his mouth descended on your throat. His beard tickled the spot below your ear and it sent a shudder down your spine. His lips curved into a smile against your skin at the involuntary movement and he asked, "What else do you like?"

It was becoming difficult to breathe. The way he was so slow and careful yet sure of himself was unlike anything you had ever experienced before with a man. It was making your knees weak and your head swim.

When it took too long for you to answer his question, he lightly pinched your skin between your teeth, causing warmth to bloom just underneath the mark.

"T-touch me," you stammered, your eyes sliding closed and your head tipping back, surrendering yourself completely to his prowess.

His hand slipped down your body, over your stomach and underneath your panties. You gasped sharply when you felt one thick finger part your folds, sliding over your clit and dipping into your entrance, drenching him with your arousal.

"Lay down for me," he whispered in your ear while wrapping his free arm around your back, holding you steady so you didn't collapse from the torture of his singular finger working in and out.

He laid you down carefully in your bed, his hand never losing its rhythm and his mouth still ghosting over your neck and chest.

You whined and bucked your hips under him, fingers getting tangled in his thick curls while he whispered words of adoration into your skin, imprinting himself on you forever.

He could feel you growing rigid, your muscles tense and your exhale coming in short bursts. He brushed his lips over yours at the same time his thumb grazed over your clit, making your jaw drop and a sob erupt from your throat.

"Relax," he murmured, increasing the speed of his wrist while slowly sliding his tongue alongside yours. "Relax and let go for me, cor mea," he said against your mouth.

Your body convulsed beneath him when he brought you to your climax with just one finger. His mouth locked over yours, swallowing down your cries and allowing them to feed his ever growing desire. When you whimpered and lightly pushed his hand away, he withdrew from between your legs but continued to deepen the kiss. It was so sweet and loving that it sent you reeling, wondering how you would ever find satisfaction from another man again after Marcus.

"Take these off," you breathed, tugging on his belt loops. He reared back to sit on his heels while deftly undoing the button and zipper of his khakis, leaving them gaping open at his waist before yanking his polo shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor. You bit your lip, admiring his bare chest for the first time while he pushed his pants down and kicked them off.

"Christ," you muttered, eyes trailing over his tanned and scarred skin. You reached out and traced a particularly jagged one on his shoulder but he was more focused on ridding you of your underwear. If you ever questioned the validity of his time traveling story, any doubt was erased from your mind when you saw his body.

"Did these hurt?"

He paused and followed your gaze to his marked up torso.

"Some, at the time, yes."

Your expression softened to one of pity as you continued to scan his body, losing count of the shiny, pale scars.

"W-what... how did these..." you trailed off, unable to keep the emotion from your voice. Marcus cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss against your lips.

"It is alright. I have been in many battles. It is my job, and just like yours, I must do it."

You laughed but you didn't really find it funny. "You risk your life every day while I write about best places to take a first date or what to do if you're faking orgasms with your boyfriend. You can't compare the two."

Marcus cocked an eyebrow as he hovered above you. "And do you have much experience faking orgasms?"

You felt your face flush. You knew he was just trying to distract you, but it was working. "Some."

He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, then each one of your eyelids before asking, "But not a moment ago?"

You shook your head and raked your fingers through his hair, making him growl at the sensation of your nails across his scalp. While he focused on positioning himself at your opening, you dragged your mouth over his shoulder, tongue dipping to trace over his scar. You couldn't do anything about them now except show them love, something you were realizing Marcus was desperately lacking in his life back home.

Home. The thought entered your brain right when he first pushed inside you, stealing the air from your lungs and bringing tears to your eyes. You did your best to brush it aside and focus on the present, like the way he stretched you open or the soft noise he made when he fully sheathed his heavy length deep within you.

"Fuck," you gasped, clawing at his shoulders while you tried to get your bearings.

He released a groan so guttural and deep it had you squeezing around him. Your mouth found a home on his neck as he slowly began to rock his hips, your lips and teeth leaving temporary marks over his skin to join the scars. Every kiss was slow, every touch was attentive and it was hard to stop yourself from giving into him.

"You - oh," he moaned, eyes sliding shut as he lost himself in the moment. It might have been the first time you'd seen him ever falter, and the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. "You are so soft and beautiful," he mumbled before finding your mouth once again and plunging his tongue past your teeth. "I fear it is almost too much for me to bear," he confessed between kisses.

Marcus was unlike any man you had ever met in so many ways. His vulnerability staggered you. Most men you had known would consider it weak or embarrassing to speak the way he spoke, but Marcus managed to do it without sacrificing an ounce of his raw masculinity.

His broad shoulders and thick arms caged you in, giving you a feeling of safety and security you never felt before with another person. It was always you who had to be strong, who had to figure everything out and be responsible. And for once, with Marcus, it felt like you could let go and not have to worry.

Your body relaxed beneath him, legs spreading even wider to accommodate his powerful thrusts. He pulled an arm out from underneath you to press down on your thigh, pushing it into the mattress next to you in order to open your hips up even more. Then he leaned up just a fraction so he could grind his hips against you with his new found space, drawing a shaky moan from your throat when he came in contact with your clit.

Marcus paid attention. He took note of what you liked, what made you writhe and gasp and he teased you with it until you were begging him for more. He couldn't deny you, so he gave you what you asked. When you whined for him to go faster, he did. When you begged him to touch you, he did. He gave you everything you asked for until your legs trembled and your breath quickened and you were tossing your head back into your pillow, his name on your lips as you fell apart for him.

Then you gazed up at him, eyes smoldering, your lips swollen and parted and looking more beautiful and satisfied than he ever could imagine. Pulling him down to you by the back of his neck, you whispered his name in his ear and he shuddered, his hips faltering for a moment all because of one simple word from your lips.

"Marcus," you whispered again, mouth sucking a bruise into his neck. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Yes," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he neared his peak. A lazy smile spread across your face, body still flooding with pleasure as he fucked you a little harder seeking his own.

His hand fell to your side, pulling you closer, rolling your hips in rhythm with his, and with his teeth bared and eyes flashing with hunger, he came with a broken groan that sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped at the feeling of him emptying himself inside you, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy. His mouth crashed over yours with your eyes still closed. Your tongues danced together, first with lust, then once your heart rates slowed and your skin stopped tingling, with something more. Something like longing and desperation to hold onto the moment as long as you possibly could.

You both spent a little too long sharing tender kisses and gentle touches. For once, the world around you ceased to make noise and the only thing that mattered was what to order for dinner so you didn't have to leave your bed the rest of the night. You picked Mediterranean food and spent the hour after it was delivered discussing how it compared to the food he was used to, neither of you daring to mention the elephant in the room.

You curled up into his side, his arm draped around you, his back leaning against your headboard as you watched a romantic comedy together. Just as you were explaining the plot and how you had used the movie as inspiration for an article the year prior, a breakthrough was happening in Queens.

The volume on your phone was off and neither of you were paying attention to it lighting up on your nightstand, too busy ignoring the movie in favor of fusing your lips together again with your limbs slowly tangling together under the covers to notice the text come through.

Danny: staying in Queens for the night, we're on a roll. The mighty General shall be out of your hair b4 you know it.

[chuckeroo777]

Laios got Eaten AU Chapters 1-52

So, I was pondering a lot (as I do), and was thinking about this AU. Here's my take on it. Sorry if my grasp on characterization isn't the best. Expect lots of Farcille.

This is mostly a plot point based summary, going chapter by chapter. If something isn't elaborated on, assume it's the same as canon.

Note: This first installment ends at the same point as the anime, but as a manga reader, there are spoilers for later in the canon story.

Edit: Wowzers, that ended up being over 4,000 words! Guess I had more to say than I thought.

This is pretty long, so I'll begin under the cut.

Chapter 1:

Unlike Laios' self deprecating take on this scenario, the rest of the team doesn't immediately give up on him. Marcille and Chilchuck are his friends, and if Falin thinks it's possible, then they're in.

Namari leaves of course, but Toshiro is more complex. He argues with Falin, trying to convince her not to embark on such a risky mission, and may accidentally frame it as Falin choosing between him and Laios. Falin, of course, picks Laios. Toshiro leaves, dejected. After feeling sorry for himself for a while, he gets his retainers and heads after her, hoping to offer backup.

Falin proposes the dungeon eating plan, having casually discussed the possibility with Laios in the past. Without the gourmet guide, she isn't as knowledgeable about monsters, but she is pretty good at identifying stuff from her days of eating weird stuff in the woods, so she can tell the walking mushroom isn't poisonous. She also manages to grab the scorpion, having messed with crayfish as a kid.

Unlike Laios, she doesn't try to eat the venom, but they still struggle, and Senshi comes in to help. Falin is very excited to have such an expert helping them out, and is happy to have him join the team.

In general, Marcille is just as squicked out by monster cuisine, but she tries to put on a brave face for Falin. In fact, her attempts to be more accepting results in her not yelling at Senshi, so the slime doesn't attack her.

Chapter 2:

They go after the man-eating plants, and things mostly go down the same. Without Laios, it takes a little longer for Falin and Senshi to figure out how to save Marcille, going for the root. Marcille gets seeds planted in her skin, but Falin is able to heal her and get them out.

Chapter 3:

Senshi takes them Basilisk hunting, and Marcille is dismayed to see Falin knows the trick for intimidating Basilisks, a sight she will not soon forget. While Senshi slices the snake, Falin caves the chicken's head in.

While Senshi prepares the Basilisk, Falin is able to use a detox spell on Doni. The two still stay to eat though.

Chapter 4:

Events mostly play out the same, though Falin is a bit more gentle in rejecting Marcille's help. Falin admits to having skipped class the day they learned about mandrake harvesting.

Chapter 5:

Chilchuck uses Falin's metal staff instead of the sword to find the passage. When they go to get the oil, Falin casts a fire-ward spell on Chilchuck, just in case. Senshi declines to take one too.

Chapter 6-7:

Without Laios' insights, they deem the living armor too dangerous after the first attempt, and take a slightly different route to the third level.

Much to Marcille's chagrin, they run into a nest of giant rats, and they end up having giant rat stir-fry instead.

Chapter 8:

Falin thinks Senshi's utilization of the golems is absolutely delightful.

Chapter 9:

Falin is rather uncomfortable with Chilchuck's suggestion to trade at the seedy bar, but doesn't argue.

Events with the orcs go more or less the same. Falin thinks Bahay is very cute.

Chapter 10:

No Kensuke, so they get ambushed by the bugs. Chilchuck gets bitten, but Falin is able to heal him.

Falin applies much better ghost wards than Marcille. In fact, she quickly realizes they are just paralyzed, and is able to heal them. Yeah, no. That would have way too big of a butterfly effect on the story. Maybe she's too distracted by the pretty bugs to notice.

Unlike Marcille, Falin thinks the centipedes are adorable. In fact, she secretly takes one and hides it in her pack to keep as a pet.

Chapter 11:

As one would expect, the ghosts are a complete non-issue. No ice cream for them.

Chapter 12-13:

No one in this party is crazy enough to bother with the living paintings. Without the delay, they are able to make camp at the level 4 entrance, bypassing the mimic.

Senshi catches some fish, and they have a very nice dinner.

Chapter 14:

Mostly the same, except instead of Laios, Senshi is saved by Falin. She has experience in such manners.

Chapter 15:

Sadly, Falin does not know the song, so they have to resort to earplugs. This leads to a silent but amusing argument where Chilchuck has to talk down Falin from eating fish-men without words. Falin does not pull the waterweed stunt.

Chapter 16:

The kraken battle is pretty much identical.

Unlike Laios, Falin has eaten calamari before, having gone to that restaurant with Marcille several times. She is very disappointed the kraken tastes bad.

Senshi cooks up the parasite, and Falin doesn't eat any raw.

Chapter 17:

No one is sick, so this chapter doesn't happen.

Chapter 18:

Marcille has a sponge bath and insists Falin take one too. Chilchuck is annoyed by their flirting, but Senshi thinks it's cute.

When the Undine attacks, Falin is able to waterwalk and help Marcille, but neither of them has particularly good magic for fighting an undine. Both are badly injured, but they manage to escape.

Falin is able to heal both of them, but they are both left very hungry, and relatively low on mana. They have a barbecue to help them recover.

Chapter 19-20:

The Tansu party arrives. Tensions aren't quite as high between Marcille and Namari, but it's still there.

After Tansu fails to pacify the Undine. the two parties agree to help each other out. First, they help get down to the tower. A well placed fireball saves Kiki from the tentacles. Sadly, without Laios' knowledge, they can't eat them, at least not as easily.

When coming up with a plan to stop the undine, the idea to trap it is brought up, and they basically use the same plan, except Namari is in on it from the start.

After killing it, Falin suggests eating it, and the two groups enjoy some kelpie stew before departing opposite ways.

Chapter 21:

More or less plays out the same. Chilchuck suggests making the suits, to which Falin enthusiastically agrees. Senshi makes froggy hash instead of pasta, since he doesn't know how to neutralize the stinging.

Marcille puts on the frog suit without complaint since Falin puts one on first.

She attempts to take it off to much complaint still.

Chapter 22:

Most identical chapter yet. Namari asks about Laios instead of Falin. That's it.

Chapter 23:

Plans are made to take down the red dragon. With Falin here, their warding spells are much better, but no Laios means Senshi is the only proper warrior. Falin is a decent fighter, and plans to join Senshi and Chilchuck on the frontline. They search the orc's storehouse and find some spears, which will hopefully be enough for the inverse scale.

They mostly come up with the same plan. Crush the dragon, then kill it.

Chapter 24-25:

The pot defenses fail, and they go ahead and crush the dragon. When the dragon emerges, Falin is able to execute the plan, stabbing the dragon as they play dead. However, she isn't able to stab deeply enough before the dragon recoils, the spear getting pulled away from her, landing some distance away.

Senshi tries to stab the dragon in the foot, but the spear breaks. Things go as they do in canon, with Senshi and Chilchuck managing to toss Falin the spear and blind the dragon in one eye.

Falin meets up with Marcille, and ends up pulling the same self-sacrificing gambit Laios did, stabbing the dragon in the throat while dangling from its mouth.

Chapter 26:

Falin falls unconscious, and has a dream about when Laios first left home, leaving her behind. And how he later promised to never leave her behind again.

Marcille still has to heal Chilchuck and Senshi herself, since Falin is in no state to do it herself. They retrieve her leg, and Falin is able to finish healing all four of them.

They begin carving into the dragon, with Senshi taking the lead. Laios' intrusive thought fun facts end up saving the day, reminding Falin about the flame sac.

Chapter 27:

Falin doesn't even bother mentioning the resurrection office, already knowing what must be done. Marcille doesn't hesitate to offer her ancient magic as the solution.

Falin is able to assuage Chilchuck's concerns a little better than Marcille did, clarifying that the ancient magic is just used to perform magic of a magnitude impossible with just natural mana. He still doesn't quite buy it, but doesn't protest further.

Putting Laios' skeleton together takes longer, since no one here is super knowledgeable about dog skeletons. They get it eventually though.

Marcille does the ritual. Falin thinks Marcille is hot when she lets her hair down like that.

Laios is revived successfully, and everyone is incredibly happy.

Chapter 28:

No bath scene. :(

Laios is incredibly curious about their journey, and is running his mouth asking questions. He is extremely excited that his monster eating idea worked, and is practically glued to Senshi for a while asking questions. Due to his presence, Senshi doesn't explode the dragon.

Marcille isn't surprised in the least by Laios' enthusiasm, and is just glad to have her friend back. They enjoy their little dragon feast, regaling Laios with their tales of monster eating.

Unlike Falin, Laios does not realize that forbidden magic was used to revive him, and apologizes profusely for abandoning Falin, even though she insists it wasn't his fault.

Chapter 29:

When Thistle summons Laios, a ghost wakes Falin up. She wakes the others, and they go looking for him.

Unlike Falin, Laios doesn't gain magical power from the dragon, instead getting an even bigger boost to his strength. Falin isn't just knocked unconscious, but is badly injured by his punch.

Not even being dominated by the mad mage can stop Laios from yapping. As he is transformed, he gives Thistle tips, causing his chimera form to be significantly more dangerous, featuring a bigger but more slender build and bigger wings, allowing him to actually fly. As well as a few other embellishments, such as tail spikes and small horns.

The ghosts save the party, and things proceed as normal.

Chapter 30:

Chilchuck's arc is mostly the same, except that it is easier to convince Falin once she wakes up. Healing the internal bleeding Laios caused took a lot out of her, and both her and Marcille are tapped of magic. They agree to return to the surface.

Chapter 31:

Literally Identical.

Chapter 32:

Kabru's deductions are mostly the same, only altered slightly due to being warded by Falin instead of Marcille.

Shuro isn't quite as haggard. Falin isn't actively dead, so he doesn't feel the need to run himself ragged. Funny enough, taking better care of himself ends up canceling things out, and he arrives at Kabru's group at about the same time.

Chapter 33:

Senshi and Chilchuck have to fight the Dryads by themselves. They use the axe instead of Kensuke. Not that Laios helped much, but the first dryad manages to attack Senshi, leaving him in much rougher shape by the end of the fight.

Thankfully, he makes a full recovery once Falin recovers some mana from the yummy pottage.

Once Falin is recovering, she suggests teleporting out of the dungeon, but Marcille flat out refuses to let Falin do that again. It's way too risky. Now that they have a source of food, mapping out the area should be simple.

Chilchuck does not escape the sex ed.

Chapter 34:

A dramatic reenactment of chapter 34:

They still need to spend several days making the map, but at least petrification isn't an issue.

Chapter 35:

The ghost warns Falin about the wyvern, and they hide in the wall, so business as usual.

When Marcille accidentally puts on the frog suit, Falin decides to put hers on too. This somehow makes Marcille more mortified, not less.

Recognizing Falin, the ninjas don't attack. Marcille is annoyed how happy Falin is to see Toshiro, considering the bad terms he split off on.

Chapter 36:

Since Falin has been enthusiastic, but not overbearing about monster food, Chilchuck chooses to go with Senshi even more easily.

Falin explains what happened to Toshiro, leaving out the ancient magic. Toshiro has no reason to think Falin wouldn't be able to revive Laios. He is happy to learn that she intends to return to the surface, and he plans to try and talk her out of returning once safe on the surface.

Kabru can tell Falin is lying about something, but remains quiet.

Chapter 37:

Even though harpies show up, everything seems to be going well, until Hien splatters on the ground. The Laigon quickly proves to be a ferocious foe, with razor sharp claws, a vicious thagomizer, and the ability to easily fly out of reach, or drop opponents from deadly heights.

Marcille didn't know that sufficient brute force could splatter an Undine to death, but apparently so.

Falin watches in horror as she can see an almost joyous look in his eyes. He would never do this of his own volition... but he clearly doesn't hate it.

When Rin grounds the Laigon with lightning, Falin steels her resolve and charges in to pummel his weak point, but he smiles and says her name.

Chapter 38:

After Kabru fails to kill him, the Laigon is too powerful, and kills Kabru before Falin can do anything. Seeing the Laigon about to attack Falin, Marcille hits it with an explosion.

Snarling, the Laigon looks like it's about to pounce at Marcille and company, causing Falin to fully freak out and unleash her strongest offensive spell, causing several massive rocky spires to erupt and impale the Laigon from below, and accidentally hitting Rin in the process.

Screaming and convulsing in pain, the Laigon takes for the sky, fleeing as fast as it can, leaving behind a thick trail of blood.

With both Falin and Holm alive, as well as Marcille not being barred from helping, the revivals go smoothly.

Toshiro ends up getting into a shouting match with Falin regarding her goal of saving Laios. Falin insists that if they defeat the mad mage, they can save him. He insists that trying to do so at this point is suicidal.

In the heat of the moment, Toshiro declares that Laios isn't even worth saving, and Falin slaps him. The conversation comes to an abrupt end, with both severely regretting their actions. Toshiro walks off to think, while Marcille comforts Falin, who seems on the verge of tears.

Toshiro ends up apologizing, saying he can't understand her decision, but he will respect it. He has Maizuru give them supplies so they can head down immediately, and gives Falin the bell.

Asebi overhears Marcille speculating with Chilchuck about the Laigon, and the possibility of the dragon's soul getting mixed in due to her revival magic.

Kabru leaves with a higher opinion of Falin than he did of Laios, because while she seemed fascinated by monsters, she wasn't as crazed about it as him. Plus she didn't offer him a harpy omelette, so that helps.

Chapter 39:

Without the living paintings, they aren't able to quite grasp the mad mage's motives, but are still hopeful that they can talk to him.

And then the shapeshifters happen.

Chilchuck's Falin is an airhead, reflecting her calm demeanor and lack of commanding presence, even though she is ostensibly the leader without Laios around.

Senshi's Falin looks just like his Laios, but with longer hair. They look identical to Senshi.

Falin's Chilchuck is colder and more even-tempered than the real Chilchuck. She appreciates his levelheadedness and maturity.

Falin's Senshi is always spouting fun facts about food and food prep, and is always smiling. Senshi reminds her a lot of her brother's passions.

At first, the group is confused. They seem to be short two fakes. But then they find Falin's Marcille and Marcille's Falin making out in one of the cells. Both are too shy to admit their feelings, but apparently their mental images aren't so shy about it.

Once obvious stuff is out of the way, and equipment has been checked, Marcille and Falin have been found, but Chilchuck's Senshi, Marcille's Chilchuck, and Falin's Chilchuck are still around.

Chapter 40:

Marcille and Falin manage to eliminate Chilchuck's Senshi, since they both get a weird feeling from it, and all three Chilchucks agree it's the right Senshi, practically confirming it to be Chilchuck's.

The Chilchucks prove much trickier, until Falin comes up with an idea. We skipped chapter 13, so Falin suggests the Chilchucks provide their age. Marcille's says 20. Falin's says 45. Chilchuck is able to explain those guesses are way off the mark, and as the only one able to give a proper explanation of half-foot age ranges, he is clearly the correct one.

With all the copies locked up, the shapeshifter gives up and goes to find other prey.

Asebi ambushes the party as normal afterwards.

Chapter 41:

There is a bit of confusion at Asebi's accusations, since Marcille never confessed to using ancient magic, but Asebi overheard her talking about how she may have blended Laios' soul with the dragon, and that is not something someone does on accident. Clearly she must have been using black magic to do something like that.

Nonetheless, Marcille agrees to break the collar's magic, and things proceed the same. Falin attacks the hag with her mace-staff, creating a messier cut, but functionally the same.

The explanation of their goals goes about the same, including Falin being rather happy to meet Izutsumi, though she's a little less weird about it, talking about how Laios was fine before the mage kidnapped him, and that hopefully he'll go back to that state of mind when saved.

Chapter 42:

In Falin's nightmare, the Laigon appears and tries to kill her, but Falin becomes lucid before it can strike.

Falin goes into Marcille's nightmare to help her. Being more experienced with this sort of thing, she is able to calm Marcille down, and cause her to become lucid, dispelling the nightmare without violating Marcille's private traumas.

They then spend the rest of the lucid dream having fun together. I'll let you decide how much those shapeshifter clones inspired their behavior.

Senshi cooks the nightmares, and much to the girls' dismay, the dream is shown for all to see. Everyone agrees not to bring it up again.

Chapter 43:

While searching the recovered packs, Falin is delighted to find the Dungeon Gourmet Guide. She was afraid it had been digested with Laios.

Note: Falin should be seeing the ghost by now, but I don't want to break up the chapter flow, so just assume the ghost got caught in ghost traffic.

Without Laios to block them, Marcille gets impaled by a few stalactites, and Falin has to tend to her. The fight goes as normal.

Izutsumi is able to undress without anyone being weird about it.

When doing the sauna thing, Chilchuck can't help but notice how closely Marcille and Falin are sitting. He tried to block the dream out of his mind, but it's clear that now that the feelings are out in the open, that's just how they're going to act from now on. He just hopes this doesn't cause any issues.

Chapter 44:

Falin finds the boiled mandrake quite tasty, and so doesn't question it when Izutsumi gives her a second.

When arguing over dinner, Falin is just as baffled as Izutsumi regarding the Barometz. As they run over, she flips through the guide, discovering the potential danger a few seconds too late.

Izutsumi and Marcille run off to do their thing. Falin panics and does something dumb. She starts barking. She isn't as good as Laios, but it's enough to scare off the wolves. Chilchuck isn't even surprised at this point.

Chapter 45:

Pretty much goes the same. Toshiro plans to report the Chimera, at least so people know to be wary, and Falin is just as careless with the bell as Laios.

As they eat their eggs, the ghost finally catches up and Falin is happy to chat.

Chapter 46:

Our party arrives in the golden country. Falin wants to check out the monster corrals, just like Laios, but while he was ecstatic about minotaur milking, Falin is much more charmed by the opportunity to pet the basilisk chicks.

Falin becomes extremely flustered at the sight of Marcille in a pretty dress. Unlike Laios, Izutsumi lets her pet her.

Since minotaur was not requested, they are served basilisk cordon bleu.

Sadly, the running joke of turning ghosts into ice cream is dead.

"One shall come who bears a staff of living wood." With Laios out of the picture, Marcille is the lion's next choice of champion.

Marcille really isn't sure what to think about this. Her? Become new queen of the land?

She ultimately gives no conclusive answer, but the possibility of gaining dominion over this land where no one ever dies is tempting.

Marcille and Falin share the double bed, while Chilchuck gets the single bed to himself. At least until Izutsumi curls up on him.

Chapter 47:

Breakfast goes smoothly, and they head back into the dungeon.

Things in the cistern go mostly the same, though Falin also thinks the griffon is Laios. Senshi doesn't panic until the griffon actually appears.

Chapter 48:

Marcille puts her plan into action, and Falin carries her.

With the second familiar, Falin suggests shaping it like a dragonfly, since they are very fast and agile. It isn't as fast as the wyvern, but it dodges a lot easier. The third familiar is still sky fish.

Once the griffon is defeated, Falin suggests eating the sky fish. Marcille objects, but she can't say no to Falin's smile.

And Senshi shares his story.

Chapter 49:

Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't push Senshi to try the griffon. She suggests cooking it, since they don't want to waste good food, but Senshi doesn't have to try it if he doesn't want to.

Senshi decides to go for it. You can decide if he's traumatized further, or if changelings follow logic, and meat without any spores on it (since it was cut from inside the griffon), and was then "washed" by turning it into soup turns back into hippogriff. Senshi tastes the "griffon" soup, and is immeasurably relieved.

Changlings are a lot of fun, but they sure open some plot holes. By all accounts, it should have reverted to hippogriff soup.

Look, this is my silly what-if AU, things don't have to be perfect.

Chapter 50:

Falin is a dwarf now. She sucks at magic, but now she can really smash some heads in.

Falin thinks half-foot Marcille is adorable. Marcille isn't sure what to think of dwarf Falin.

When they reach the door, Falin is surprised when her pet pearlipede crawls out unbidden and unlocks the door.

Despite the disadvantages, Falin's mace proves super-effective against the gargoyles, managing to defeat one, but tiring out while one is still left. They flee through the door.

Now that the party knows she has it (and that it's oddly useful), Falin starts wearing her pet as a bracelet.

While preparing dumplings, Falin ponders if maybe the griffon wasn't actually a griffon, but Chilchuck shuts her down before she can accidentally re-traumatize Senshi.

Chapter 51:

Falin notices Marcille's strong adverse reaction to the news that half-foots only live fifty years, but doesn't say anything.

Falin suggests the possibility of using the changelings on Laios, though unlike him, she doesn't consider that the two halves might change separately. She just imagines them turning the whole Laigon into a gnome or something.

When the last gargoyle arrives, Falin's staff gets knocked out of her grasp, and thrown by the gargoyle.

They use the knowledge from the transformed staff to defeat the last gargoyle. Sadly, Marcille does not get to fly.

Falin washes her staff.

Chapter 52:

Senshi grows curious and asks about Laios. Falin talks about how Laios always had trouble fitting in, and it wasn't until he started dungeon diving that he finally seemed able to make friends and be happy. Falin had dropped out of magic school because she didn't want Laios to be alone.

Marcille starts crying and clinging to Falin. She talks about how she used to hate Laios. But as they adventured together, he became like a brother to her. Falin starts crying too. Izutsumi sits by Chilchuck to avoid all the tears.

Senshi proposes his bacon and eggs plan. Falin can't find any issue with his reasoning, and thinks its a great idea, but Chilchuck points out how long it will take to eat that much meat. They start making plans for the foreseeable future.

Thistle tries to stop the Laigon from eating a walking mushroom, but is unsuccessful.

Chapters 53-85

Chapter 86-Finale

[feyclowns]

Ok I’ve got a genuine question this time lol. I forgot when Cosmo was born, half of Fairy World blew up. Does he still manage to do that here. I can’t imagine how easy it was to have him given how magically potent and dangerous he is.

so, after a lot of personal debate on the cosmo thing, i think i've come to an interpretation i like!

cosmo has an incredible amount of magic due to his von strangle bloodline. while his mother and grandmother were above average powerful, cosmo was born with nearly the full power of a proper fey. this wouldn't be so much of a problem if cosmo's central core hadn't began producing its own magic before he was born.

when a fairy is pregnant they're not so much giving all their magic to their baby as sharing it; while yes, they expend a tremendous amount of magic to develop their young, father and baby sort of even out their magic levels between themselves.

what i'm saying is cosmo gave his dad magical backup, which is nearly unheard of in pregnancy. cosmo could handle it for longer, because his higher endurance core system matured way too early. cosmo was given access to a training wand when he began showing signs of magical backup himself at the hospital, and he proceeded to release a magic shockwave that ended up frying a power grid, knocking out half of fairy world's energy. it was kind of a catastrophe overall but euphemia still chose to love and adore cosmo anyway- blaming her own genes if anything for papa cosmo's death.

also cosmo was doing his happy buzzies at the ripe age of 6 hours old

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Been thinking about this one for a bit

Mini Headcannon

How would the M6 react to someone breaking into the shop WHILE M6 and Mc are inside? Like it’s late at night and then all of sudden they hear a window smash and voices coming from downstairs or whatever goes on during a burglary/robbery. How would they react?

- 🃏

( I love when I seen people leave I little emojis so I wanted to do it too )

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When someone breaks into the shop

Julian: ever the reckless one, dashing downstairs with 1 (one) random clothing article to whip in the face of whoever intruded and no plan

Asra: asking Faust to keep an eye on the intruder for them while they concoct a Home Alone-style prank gauntlet to subject them to

Nadia: drawing a sword, leading the way downstairs trusting you to be her backup as she bests them in combat and takes their names

Muriel: heading for the nearest window. except your safety is at stake, so you two can just hide together. Inanna scares them off

Portia: sneaks up with a frying pan, but ends up eavesdropping on their conversation. blackmails them into submission with it

Lucio: the intruder can hear his infuriated squawking from upstairs. between that and the dog's growling they take off quickly

[dunmeshichilchuck]

For That One Guy on Tumblr part 6

Chilchuck x !fem !halffoot reader

The party trudged through the icy floor they'd found you on. 

At one point Laois pointed out where they'd dug you out of the ice. There were what looked like explosions, signs of battle, and a dead ice golem. Ahhh so they'd been fighting something else and your body had just happened to have been uncovered. That made sense. 

You spotted a chunk of fabric attached to...something, and shuddered. Looks like they hadn't collected everything. The experience of seeing your own flesh, disconnected and dead was surreal. Maybe you should take it along with you as a souvenir. Laois would probably be all too ready to help you pickle it. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped. Turning, you saw Chilchuck. 

"Hey, come on, you're starting to fall behind."

You hadn't even realized you'd stopped to stare at the remains of your death, but the party had indeed started to pull ahead. 

Chilchuck turned without another word and you fell in step beside him as you both caught back up to the party. 

The door to the next part of the dungeon opened into what looked like one long hallway, bending to the right off in the distance. You stepped through the threshold and immediately shucked off the blanket you'd had to borrow to use as a jacket. It felt wonderfully warm in here. 

As the party continued walking you noticed that they had been working together long enough to automatically sort themselves into an order that made sense for combat. Laois was up front with Senshi, the two most durable heavy hitters. Then Marcille, presumably for quick backup and/or healing. Then Chilchuck, who would need to be out of the way of any fighting, and would be best equipped to hear anything sneaking up from behind. Izutzumi drifted around wherever, up in front, back behind, racing ahead and then flopping down and digging a stone out of her shoe. You weren't sure what her role in the party was yet, but she seemed extremely agile and confident, so you'd guess she could hit a lot harder than her skinny frame and lack of obvious weaponry would suggest. They really were all very well coordinated and used to working with each other. 

You kept in line with Chilchuck. Both because of all the tactical stuff you'd just run through, and because it was nice to get to chat with another halffoot again. It'd been a year since you'd seen another halffoot when you went into the dungeon, and then another six months or so in the dungeon.

Up ahead Laois and Senshi appeared to be in excited conversation about cooking the remnants of the barometz. From the sounds of it Senshi was looking forward to taking advantage of the tender meat to make delicious stir fry, and Laois was theorizing about the best way to use the plant as bait for larger monsters.

You glanced at Chilchuck. "Laois and Senshi seem to be having fun."  

He chuckled. "Yeah they do that. They're both kinda freaks about monsters, Laois MUCH more so. That guy..." He shook his head ruefully. "I mean don't get me wrong, he's a good fighter, and the monster knowledge helps him fight and survive, and he's even picked up some healing magic so he's a good guy to have on your side, but he just does not understand social or cultural norms or how to deal with people. Plus he's just kinda a freak about it."

You nodded. Up ahead, Laois and Senshi dropped their voices a bit and started discussing meals that would be suitable for you to eat until you recovered from revival sickness. 

You grimaced. "Ah, have they not..."

"Realized we can hear them even if they think they're too far away? No they haven't, they still think of me as a tallman child after all, I doubt they clock that we can do stuff they can't." He snorted and said. "I bet they think of you as a toddler. After all they already think I'm a kid and you're so much shorter than me."

"Wha- hey!" You spluttered. "I'm not the one that's short, you're ridiculously tall! Being around the tall races has warped your idea of whats normal for sure."

Chilchuck grinned. "Regardless of what's normal for us they're still gonna ruffle your hair first chance they get. Mark my words." 

You'd interacted with enough of the other races to know he was probably right. You'd been able to work people underestimating you to your favor sometimes but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying. 

Up ahead there was a strangled yelp, like a cat being sat on. Marcille gasped. "Izutzumi!" And started sprinting ahead to where the corridor took a sharp right turn. 

Laois and Senshi followed suit. You and Chilchuck followed but quietly dropped back to keep some distance.

You came skidding around the corner to see a very mangled walking mushroom and Izutzumi standing over it looking cranky. 

"Izutzumi!" Marcille gasped out. "are you okay?? What happened??"

"I can't stand these things." Izutzumi growled. She turned to Senshi, who was already inspecting the mushroom. "You better not be thinking about putting that into my food! I will NOT be eating-"

You heard a faint series of "chunk" sounds, like a series of very large stones softly falling into place. You whipped your head around, looking for the source. Chilchuck also started glancing around, but no one else reacted. It must have been out of their hearing range. 

it didn't take long to find the source. A solid wall had risen up in the corridor you'd just come down, and doors and turns had opened up in the corridor you'd just entered. 

Chilchuck turned to Senshi and Izutzumi. "Stop squabbling about that! We've got bigger problems." 

Tag list, ask to tag:

@night-shadowblood-writes2

@thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry

@dunmeshimeshi

@leguink 

@gh0st-spider

@reh-llik

@sy1v30n

@qardasngan

@mshope16

@toshi-tori

[alexthebordercollie]

Busy Work

Fiddelford had moved in about a week ago and they were settling into a comfortable routine already. Ford forgot how good it felt to have a human companion around. It was college all over again, in more ways than one. Cracking jokes between them while they crunched numbers for hours. Chewing through ink and paper like it sustained them. Plotting out the workload to meet deadlines.

Fiddleford gave Ford nothing short of an earful when Ford confessed his grant was at jeopardy. 

“Stanford this is how you get audited!” Fidds stressed. Swatting Ford over the head with a rolled-up stack of paperwork. “You want the IRS on yer ass?!” He huffed.

Ford held up his hands in surrender. Ducking away from his friend's corporal punishment. “I know, I know. I’m sorry!” He whined. “I can still fix this!” Ford looked up at Fiddleford pleadingly. Taking his friend by the hand. “We can fix this?”

Fidds tried to maintain his frustration but cracked quickly under the slightest pressure. Letting out an exhausted sigh. “Ya sure we can build this thing in a year?” He asked.

“With your help, I know I can.” Ford asserted confidently.

Fiddleford grinned back at him and pulled his hand away. Thumping the rolled-up documents against his palm. “Well alright then, let’s get on it. No time like the present.”

After a bit of scolding, and with some collaborative effort, Ford and Fiddleford managed to work out a plan for the year. A series of goalposts that felt achievable with what preplanning Ford was able to get done already before he caved and called for backup. Things were already moving faster with Fiddelford here. Not as fast as Ford hoped, though that was partly his own fault. Despite the looming deadline they couldn’t help distracting each other.

It was a productive work day at least when Fidds went upstairs to find an empty fridge. Ford reluctantly agreed to going out for dinner. He’d been neck-deep in his calculations at the time, but he hadn’t eaten all day and Fiddleford wasn’t giving him much say in the matter. Not that Ford regretted it. The diner was a nice break. Ford even got a bit of sunlight when they left the house.  The sun was down now as the two of them laughed over mostly empty plates of chili fries. Jokes about Quantum versus Newtonian physics somehow revealed that Fiddleford had been considering naming his son Newton originally.

“And you went with Tate?” Ford laughed.

“An what’s wrong with Tate?” Fidds blustered. “It’s a good name.”

“He could have been Newton.” Ford stressed. Gesturing exasperately towards the table. “How was that not a downgrade.” 

“Emma liked Tate better.” Fidds replied indignantly. “It’s a nice name. Named him after her favorite uncle.” 

Ford could only shake his head. “Priorities man, priorities. You’d never see me sacrificing my kid’s name like that.” 

“I got fine priorities. This is just what a marriage is Stanford.” Fidds scolded. Scooping up some of the last of his chili on a soggy french fry and shoveling it into his mouth. Mumbling between bites. “It’s a partnership, sometimes ya gotta compromise.”

“Ya well, it’s an unfortunate compromise.” Ford replied. 

“Like you could do better.” Fidds snorted. “What would ya even name a boy if ya had one?” He asked.

“Oh, that’s easy.” Ford replied. Taking a sip of his pit cola. “Nikola.” He replied without skipping a beat. The name of his idol.

It was Fiddleford’s turn to laugh at that. “Yer kiddin’ right? When’s the last time ya met an American boy named Nikola? Ya’d get him bullied on the playground fer that one.” He teased.

Ford puffed up his cheeks in protest. “It’s a perfectly respectable name. Besides, people would just call him Nick. Nick’s a perfectly normal name.” 

“Suppose so. Bit bland.” Fiddleford countered casually. Lazily scooping up another fry.

“Still better than Tate. I know that kid’s getting picked on.” Ford grumbled.

“Not at all.” Fidds beamed. His whole face lit up talking about his son. The biggest prideful smile consumed him as he gushed about how loved Tate was. “Tate’s a real go-getter. Natural born leader that one. Other kids love ‘em. You should see ‘em leadin’ his little crew round the playground.”

Ford was happy for his friend. If a bit detached from it all. “Well, maybe that’s why you’re a father and I’m not. You’re clearly doing something right.” 

Fiddleford seemed to shrink a little. Crossing his arms over the table as his own smile faded. “I’m sure you’d be good at it.” He said. It was clearly meant to be reassuring.

“It’s never going to happen.” Ford stated simply. Swigging down the rest of his drink. 

“You don’t want kids?” Fiddleford asked.

“It’s not that exactly.” Stanford replied. He rolled the pit around on his tongue for a moment before spitting it back out into the can. “Having children would require getting married, and in order to do that I’d have to convince someone to marry me, and in order to that I’d have to convince a woman to like me-” Ford shuttered. Memories of high school failures flashed through his mind like post-traumatic stress. “Let’s just say I don’t see that happening any time soon.” He confessed. 

It’s not like he ever really had much of an interest in women anyway. Stanley and Shermie were always crazy about them. Sandford could take them or leave them really. Well, in theory. No women ever wanted him anyway so he supposed the feeling was mutual. He only ever made attempts at dating in his youth out of a sense of social obligation. That’s just what young men were expected to do.

“Ma still pesters me about it occasionally.” Ford grumbled. “When she remembers to call that is.” Last time they talked was days after his birthday. He was still shaking off the side effects of his bender with Bill at the time. “My niece is doing well in school. I’m proud of her, she sounds like a bright girl. Apparently, Shermie’s been getting his act together. If only I could say the same for Stanley.” He huffed.

“Can’t win 'em all I suppose.” Fidds replied sympathetically. He knew about Stanley. Knew he was a sensitive subject. “Ya ever go home to visit yer folks?” Fidds asked.

Ford gestured out to the woods outside their window. “Why would I? Gravity Falls is a marvel Fiddelford. I have everything I could ever want right here in this town. It’s perfect.” He looked back down at his hand on the table. Tucking in his fingers. “There’s nothing waiting for me back in Jersey.” 

“If ya insist.” Fidds replied skeptically. He scarfed down his last fry and his face lit up for a moment. “Y’know, I’d love to have ya come out to Palo Alto with me sometime. Come meet my boy. I’m sure ya’d love him.” He cheered. 

Ford winced and politely declined. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not exactly popular with children.” He admitted. “I don’t even get trick-or-treaters anymore.” 

Fiddleford laughed and slapped his knee under the table. “Well ya, 'cause ya probably hand out veggies like a square.” He laughed.

“They’re high fiber supplements and they-”

“They taste like the tree bark a squirrel shat out.” Fidds chided playfully. He waved dismissively at Ford as he struggled to contain his laughter. “Look if ya just come out with me I know ya-”

“Closing time. Everyone out.” A voice cut off Fiddelford’s reassurances. Not that Ford needed to hear the rest. He knew he was never going out to Palo Alto. He loved Fidds but the man couldn’t pay him to go make awkward small talk with his wife and young child. Ford could imagine few things more unpleasant and wasteful of his time and energy.

The walk home was brisk. The autumn air was starting to set in. Their path lit by the night sky. It was perhaps Gravity Falls's best feature. It wasn’t anything weird or anomalous. Nothing supernatural. Just the raw unfiltered cosmos beaming down on them as they walked. Ford loved seeing the stars. It made him feel small in the best way. Like the universe was vast and unknowable and waiting for him. Challenging him to explore as much of it as he possibly could.

Returning to the lab pulled Ford back down to earth. From the vast glittering wonder of the night sky to his cluttered little hole in the ground. He could have gone straight to bed but couldn’t help heading downstairs to look over his assignment. He didn’t mean to spend so long at the diner. He’d stopped just shy of his goals for the day. If they made a habit of this he’d fall behind on the project despite Fiddleford’s assistance.

“Ya alright, bud?” Fiddleford asked. Poking his head into the dark, cramped, basement to see what Ford was doing.

Ford hadn’t realized he was so still until Firddleford came to check on him. Lost in thought. “Fine.” He replied softly. “I just want to look over a few more things before bed.

Fiddleford frowned and looked around a moment before backing out again. “If ya insist. I’m tuckin’ in.” He told him.

“Night.” Ford called back as he took a seat at his desk. Just a little more. He just wanted to complete his tasks for the day. Then he could go to bed. As long as he followed his schedule he’d make the deadline.

Ford finished his daily workload and then some. And some more… He couldn’t explain the kind of fevered passion that kept him going well past what was necessary. At least not in a way other people would understand. Other people simply lacked the drive he possessed. Fiddleford could easily live a contented life with the universe's questions left unanswered. Good food, good music, good people, that was always enough for him. Ford couldn’t say the same. Simple pleasures, as nice as they were, never satisfied for long. 

This wasn’t just about the grant money though it was also about that, of course. Ford’s wings would be clipped without the funding it took to conduct his research. This was about the project itself. About the universe of possibility this portal would open up for him. A once in a lifetime opportunity to reach out and touch the cosmos. If he didn’t manage it before the hourglass ran out there was no telling how long he would have to scrape and claw to make this happen.

Fiddleford would leave. 

Once the clock ran out he’d have no reason left to stay. He had his own loving family to return to. He’d apologize if they failed. He’d be deeply sympathetic. He might even offer Ford a place in his life once his career had collapsed to rubble. Ford could never. There was no place for him in California. When the clock ran out, all Ford had left was his work. His work, and his Muse.

“Yer still up?” Fiddleford replied in disbelief the next morning. He'd padded down into the lab with a mug of coffee and slippers on his feet that dampened his footsteps.

“I woke up early.” Ford lied. He hadn't intended to stay up all night. He didn't even notice he had until Fiddleford came down to start the day. There was no sunlight down here to tell him the time and he'd ignored the clock. Too focused on what he'd been doing. He hadn't even removed his coat.

“Mh-hm.” Fiddleford hummed skeptically. He padded over and looked over Ford's shoulder at what he was working on.

Ford paused for the first time in hours. Acutely aware of Fiddleford's chin on his shoulder. The warmth of another person's body hovering tantalizingly close.

“Ya forgot to carry a one.” Fiddleford corrected. Pointing to a missing integer on the sheet.

Ford blinked and squinted at the paper. “I guess I did.” He laughed. Fiddleford leaned back. Ford found himself smiling as something in him unwound. Like he was broken from a trance. He stretched out in his seat and pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I need to pay better attention before you start showing me up.” He teased.

Ford grinned up at Fiddleford. His head hung back over the chair. Fidds looked even softer and squishier upside down somehow.

Fiddleford smirked back and looked away shaking his head. “Good lord. What am I gonna do with you?” He huffed. He set his mug of coffee down on Ford's desk. “You take this’un. Ya look like ya need it.” He lectured playfully. “I'll go get myself a fresh cup and be down in a minute.” 

“Thanks Fidds.” Ford replied sweetly. Picking up the mug and holding it up as a friendly toast.

“Remember we gotta get groceries later.” Fiddleford reminded Ford on his way up the stairs.

“I know.” Ford called back. He brought the coffee to his lips without checking it first and pulled back with a start when it burned his tongue. Huffing fresh air over the slight sting before shouting up the stairs again. “Make a list while you're in the kitchen!”

They got some work done before the grocery trip proved to be another distraction. It was supposed to be a quick trip but Ford couldn’t help it. He found some small creatures stealing produce out of the corner of his eye. Fiddleford didn’t see them but still followed Ford into the alley as he tried to track them down. Every time Ford spotted them it was always in his periphery. Sharp little golden shapes with spindly dark limbs that scurried like spiders. Whenever Ford got close to a direct view of one they seemed to vanish. 

Eventually, Fiddleford convinced him to call it quits. They had to get back to work and get the groceries in the fridge before they spoiled. Ford conceded and frustratedly contemplated making a note in his journal on the way home. Ultimately he decided against it. Whatever he saw, he wasn’t able to properly examine. He’d try to keep an eye out for them again in the future. He’d give them their own entry once he managed to catch a specimen for study.

Fiddelford made some homemade slaw and pork sausage for lunch. His cooking was rarely pretty to look at but the taste was always respectable. Even if Ford was pretty sure Fidds was going to give them both heart failure at this rate. Fidds told him if he cared so much about eating healthy he should take over the cooking before immediately regretting that suggestion.

“On second thought, I guess I can ease up on the bacon fat.” Fiddelford backpedaled. “Better than livin' off squirrel bark.” He shuttered in mild horror at the thought of allowing Ford to provide his nutrition. 

Ford couldn’t help but laugh at the inside joke. “Hey, that squirrel bark is going to get me to ninety-two.” He bosted. “You keep cooking like that and see where it gets you. If I outlive you I’m leaving a pack of supplement bars on your grave.” 

“Ninty-two huh?” Fids laughed as he skimmed over something at his desk. Stuffing a spoonful of slaw into his mouth and passively patting some rhythm into his thigh with his other hand while he compared notes. “Awful specific huh? You do the math yerself?” He teased.

Ford paused. Bill told him that, how long he would live. “It’s a simple equation.” Ford joked back. 

They continued like that for the rest of the night. Each at their own desk on opposite ends of the cramped laboratory. They worked at a comfortable pace. Occasionally looking up to discuss something or to crack jokes at each other. Ford liked this. They didn’t need to be doing anything in particular. They didn’t need to be doing it together honestly. Just passively enjoying the same space together made the lab feel like home in a way Ford hadn’t realized it never had before.

It got late. Ford’s second cup of coffee was wearing off and the night was creeping in. He just wanted to crack this last equation before tapping out for the night. He almost had it. He knew he did.

“Whooo-weee, three already?” Fiddleford whistled in disbelief as he shoved up his sleeve to check the watch on his wrist. “Got so darn focused I lost track of the time.” He paused and furrowed his brow before turning back to Ford. “I remembered to call home an eight right?”

Ford shrugged. “I dunno, I think so.” He replied dismissively. He stopped for a second as he realized he couldn’t remember what Fiddleford and his son talked about that night. Fidds would call his son every night before bed. Ford didn’t pay too close attention to those calls but he could usually recall bits and pieces of them. “He… he got a new toy truck today, right?”

“That was yesterday I think.” Fidds replied. Trying to piece together the days that had startted to blur together for him too.

Ford was no stranger to the nebulous way time passed in isolation. He did feel a bit guilty it seemed to be rubbing off on Fiddlford too.

Fiddleford let out an exhausted sigh. “Oh lord, I’m gettin’ an earful tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry Fidds.” Ford winced. Unable to think of anything better to add he turned his attention back to what he was working on.

 “We better hit the hay pal, fer the night critters come bitin’ at our ankles.” Fiddleford proposed as he got up.

Ford only grunted. “I don’t know of any nocturnal anomalies in the area that behave in that specific manner.” He replied dryly. Tapping his pencil against the paper in front of him and reading over the same line multiple times. He’d forgotten what he was trying to solve for. Fiddleford’s question had disrupted his focus.

Th digits suddenly disappeared from view. Light. Hands, hands on his face. Wrapped around from behind to cover his eyes. “Bed.” Fidldeford scolded. The hands on Ford’s face pulled him back in his seat. He heard his back pop as he slowly eased out of his position hunched over his desk. He hadn’t realized just how bad his posture had gotten until now. He could feel it in his shoulder blades.

“In a bit.” Ford grumbled. Pulling Fiddleford’s hands from his face. He looked back up at him. “I’ll go to bed in a bit. I promise.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He griped.

“You don’t trust me?” Ford laughed.

Fiddleford looked serious. At least a bit more so than Ford was expecting. “I know ya lied to me this mornin’. Yer not a robit Ford ya need yer sleep. If I can’t trust ya to go to bed on yer own then I’ll make you.” He challenged.

Ford turned in his seat to lean over the back of his chair. Twirling his pencil in his fingers as a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “I’d like to see you try Fidds.” He taunted. Fiddleford was a twig. The thought of being manhandled by him was laughable.

“Cocky son-a-bitch ain’t ya?” Fidds shot back. Propping up his hands on his hips. “Fine then, ya asked fer it.” He walked over to the base of the stairs that led back up to the house and lifted a finger.

It took for a second to register what he was doing. A second too slow. Fiddleford began flickering the light switch back and forth in rapid succession. Strobing the lights in the lab and causing Ford to stumble back. He nearly fell out of his chair as his eyes fluttered compulsively in time with the lights.

“Ow, Sweet Moses! Stop! Alright, alright! I yield!” Ford pleaded pressing his hands into his eye sockets to stop the uncontrollable blinking.

“Bed.” Fiddelford scolded again. Pointing up the stairs like a stern parent.

Ford pulled himself out of his seat. “Fiiiineeee.” He groaned. Lumbering across the room to the stairs. His body felt heavy. The fatigue only fully sinking in now that he was standing. He knew he could fight it if he wanted. Push past it, get that third wind. The act of climbing up the stairs though made sleep suddenly a far more tempting offer.

“There ya go ya big brute.” Fidds praised sweetly. Patting Ford’s back as he followed him up the stairs. “Work’ll still be here in the mornin’.” 

Ford nodded and hummed groggily in agreement. Fidds was right. There was always tomorrow. Fidds walked Ford to his study and waited in the open doorway for Ford to settle in. Ford in his haste had forgotten to get a second bed for Fiddleford. He’d been so excited to have him over he’d neglected to properly prepare accommodations. Not that it mattered much. Ford had a futon in his study that serviced him just as well as any bed. Letting Fiddleford take his room was a no-brainer.

“You don’t have to tuck me in.” Ford teased as he shrugged off his coat.

Fidds crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Just makin' sure ya keep yer word.” 

Ford pulled his buttondown and sweater vests off over her head and stuck his tongue out at Fiddelford. Fiddleford smirked but refused to let up. Ford flopped down on his couch, kicked off his shoes, and pulled his legs up. Lying on his back and resting his head in his hands. “There, I’m in bed.” He huffed.

Fidds eyes seemed to linger on Ford for a moment. Some expression Ford couldn’t quite read. It was dark, the only light was coming from the hall and casting Fiddleford’s face in shadow. Ford was able to make out the warm smile though when his friend told him goodnight.

“Night bud.” Fiddleford spoke sweetly. The kind of soft tenderness he offered his wife and son every time he wrapped up their nightly calls. A kind of warm affection Ford wasn’t accustomed to receiving.

Fiddleford pushed off the wooden doorframe before Ford could dwell on those words.

“Night.” Ford called back. Watching the door close behind Fiddleford. He looked back up at the ceiling and stared at the wood beams. His eyes felt heavy. They burned. He tried to map Fiddleford’s face in his mind. That lingering expression Ford had struggled to make out in the dark. It almost seemed… melancholy? Had Ford done something wrong? Fiddleford’s tone implied otherwise. It was probably nothing. Ford was tired. He was probably overthinking things. Again. 

[nicestgirlonline]

Tell me a little more about Hot to go?

Thank you for asking!! It's one of my fanfic for The Bear, my less angsty and sad one haha. It takes place starting in S1 and the reader is a new front of house cashier. She’s very sweet and bubbly, offsetting the stressful environment of the Beef. She fits in like a little sister type to most of the others. I pictured her as an unlucky in love gal, always having a bad boyfriend or going on lame Tinder dates and it burns Carmy up inside but he’s too introverted/trying to stay focused on work to say anything. Of course eventually the jealousy gets to a breaking point ;)

Here’s an unedited snippet from it!

Carmy heard the yelling in the dining room over the bustle of the kitchen but it seemed wrong. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard you yell before, now like that at least. If Richie wasn’t right in front of him, goofing off with Tina, giving him a headache, he’d assumed it was him up front. He heard a clattering of something on the floor and a loud

He burst through the door to the register, “Yo, what’s going on here?” He immediately took in the scene. The large, red in the face man who was screaming at you, while there were coins all over the counter and ground.

“You the manager? She’s got a fucking attitude problem, she is mouthing off to customers willy nilly.”

“Don’t talk to my employees like that. Are you going to order or are you going to leave?” He quickly slid in front of you at the register, making sure he was between you and Mr. Karen.

“What the fuck is this kind of place? Whatever happened to the customer comes first?”

“That only applies to non assholes. It's on the wall.” He pointed to a faded sign that said “no assholes” that hung over the men’s room.

“Now you’re giving me lip, small fry? First this bitch now --”

It all happened at once, Carmy leaping across the counter to shove Mr. Karen to the wall, the rest of the guests scattering and shrieking at the sudden violence. Richie finally decided to poke his head out, baseball bat in hand, ready as backup. You ducked beneath the counter as the two of them removed the man.

You heard the jingle of the door. Richie spoke to the rest of the customers, trying to lighten the mood and assure them everything was back in order. He gave you a nudge with his foot when he took his place behind the register again.

“Take a fifteen kid,” He said softly. “Yo, next customer. Step up, let’s keep it going -”

You slunk to the back, to the small place by the dumpster where you knew you could be completely alone. You’d never been so rattled at a job before. You were ashamed you lost your temper, ashamed of how scared you’d felt, and embarrassed that you had such little control you needed your boss to kick out a customer for you.

You sat with your head in your hands, trying desperately not to cry. You could cry when you got home.

“Hey uh, you good?” Carmy poked his head out, he had his hand in his hair, not really making eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine…are you ok? I’m really sorry about all of that. ” He let out a half chuckle, half sigh.

“It was nothing.”

“Richie grabbed a bat.” you pointed out. He rolled his eyes and took a seat on the curb next to you.

“So look, next time if a customer is giving you trouble and you can’t handle it, just come and get me ok?” He leaned in close to you, his big blue eyes sucking you in.

“I’m going to handle my shit I promise. I mean it, I can handle a rude customer. He just started to fly off the handle over nothing and I’m sorry I couldn’t de-escalate”

“Don’t apologize for customers. I know they’re mostly assholes.”

“He was right though.”

“Huh?”

“It is weird we have spaghetti on the menu.”

Carmy laughed. You started to laugh too.

“I do agree with that. I have no idea what Mikey was thinking with that one. Might have to take it off the menu, to keep my cashiers safe.” He grabbed a cigarette from his apron and offered you one. You shook your head. His mouth twisted for a moment, then he lit his own.

That was the first time he had ever brought up Mikey in front of you. You knew a little bit about the story, Mikey used to own the place before Carmy. Nobody really liked to bring it up and you weren’t looking to pry. You knew it was his brother.

The two of you sat in silence while Carmy smoked. You didn’t feel like crying anymore and you were grateful for that.

[darkserenity24]

𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 - 𝑪𝒉. 1

Loki x Reader

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥.

𝙏𝙤𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙁𝙞𝙘 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙠! 𝙇𝙤𝙠𝙞, 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙮! 𝘼𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝘽𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧, 𝙑𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙎𝙢𝙪𝙩 (𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛!), 𝙚𝙩𝙘.

𝘈/𝘕: **𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩** 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘢'𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘖𝘎 🤙🏾

18+ 𝙊𝙉𝙇𝙔 - 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 18+. 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝘿𝙤 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

𝑷𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 🌹

The steady beep of a machine was the first thing you heard. Peeling your heavy eyelids open with a struggle, you dazedly stared out of focus. You were in a room. It looked like a hospital room, but the usual eye-frying fluorescent lights were dimmed enough for you to only have to squint slightly.

The next thing you spotted were various flower bouquets placed around the room. Before you could get a better look around, you heard the sound of your name being called softly. Slowly turning your head, you were met with the sight of a woman with brown hair and green eyes. 

“I knew you would awake soon,” she said softly, gazing at you with a sad smile.

You closed your again briefly before opening them with a dazed frown. “W-where am I?” your hoarse tone sounded unfamiliar to your sensitive ears.

“You’re still in the tower, on Dr. Cho’s medical floor,” Wanda explained, rising out of her chair to move closer to you. “You’ve been here for a few days, about three. After we found you and Loki…” She trailed off with an unsure expression.

Your eyes opened up a bit wider at that. “Loki!” you choked out. “What happened to him? Oh my god- I- he saved me from Jacob and–!”

Wanda placed a hand on your arm, calming you down from your sudden panic attack. “I know, we know.” She responded before handing you a glass of water from the bedside table. “Drink this first and I’ll explain.”

You nodded, shakily bringing the glass up to your lips. She waited until you slowly downed half of its contents before continuing.

“We got the security alert as soon as they broke into the tower. We were halfway to Europe by then but we had immediately turned the plane around. It was utter chaos.” She breathed, shaking her head. “Tony’s backup feed caught everything that was happening in real-time. Everyone was completely out of their minds. Steve…” 

She closed her eyes briefly as if she was experiencing what happened right at this moment. “He was… not good.” Her eyes opened and you could practically feel the pain they held. “He was out of his mind, everyone was. We couldn’t believe that we failed you again.”

You shook your head slowly, trying not to give yourself a bigger headache than you already had. “No, it wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s fault except for Jacob and those two guards.”

You didn’t want her or anyone else carrying the weight of your attack, it wasn’t fair. 

“What’s… what’s happened since I was out?”

She sighed heavily before returning to her seat. “Unfortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D has gotten involved but we are handling them. Fury is, for lack of a better word, quite furious about the situation and is trying to keep things as quiet as possible. The last thing we need is the US government knowing about this.”

Her troubled eyes met yours. “We may… understand why Loki did what he did, but it’s doubtful that anyone else outside of our circle would. The whole world finding out would be the end of… well, all of us.”

Faded memories of pained screams and splatters of dark red plagued your mind. You didn’t notice that your hands were rapidly shaking until Wanda called your name again.

Your eyes snapped to hers and she was transfixed on your trembling hands. You tried to get them to stop shaking, awkwardly placing them underneath the sheet that covered you.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, looking away from her worried gaze. “How does the team feel about all of this?”

She was quiet for a moment, most likely contemplating on what she was allowed to tell you.

“We have been… a bit divided. This kind of incident has never happened before and I think everyone is still processing. We see death all the time, yes, but this was something completely different. What Loki did to those three men was completely barbaric. I have never seen anything like that in my entire life. Yet if I am to be honest, from what I witnessed on camera, I am not one hundred percent sure that I would have done much different than what he did in his position. Jacob could have killed you,” Her voice slightly broke, but you could still hear the anger and fear in it. “and no matter how anyone else feels about the methods Loki used, they knew that Jacob deserved some of what was coming for him.”

You rubbed your forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Does everyone know what happened to him? Kayla? The rest of the Bale family?”

She shook her head. “No. We… wrote a letter to his family. From Jacob’s email account. All they know is that he was fired from Stark Industries and moved overseas to start a new venture. It was something he talked about with his family often, so it wasn’t very hard for us to make it believable.”

You were stunned into complete silence, mouth slightly agape. If what Wanda was saying was true, that meant that…

“You’re covering it up? His death?” You whispered with a horrified face.

“Yes, we are. Less or more,” Wanda replied quietly.

Slowly, you leaned back into the bed, eyes stuck on the ceiling and head resting on the pillow. Everything was suddenly feeling incredibly disorienting, and it wasn’t just because of your head injury. 

You felt as if you had woken up to a dystopian world. 

The Avengers were covering up a murder, no, several murders, and for who? You or Loki?

Your lip started to wobble as you thought about the man in question. He must have been so afraid of everything that happened. Your memory was a bit spotty but you remembered the quivering sound of his usual steady and confident voice, and how his body shook as he held you in his arms.   

Your head swiveled towards Wanda, eyes focusing on her. “What happened to Loki?”

Her brows rose as she glanced away. “Initially, he was sent into S.H.I.E.L.D’s custody. They claimed that we weren’t able to control him anymore. But yesterday, Tony, Natasha, and Thor had a meeting with Fury to petition for Loki to be released back into our supervision. The meeting took hours, and I have not spoken to them since then so I don’t know how it went.”

You blinked. Thor was of no question, but Tony and Nat trying to get Loki back was certainly a shock to you. 

“If it makes you feel any better, he has been compliant the whole time and hasn’t tried to cause any trouble. Maybe it’s because he knew what he did was well beyond anything else he’s gotten punished for.” Wanda muttered.

“What about when you found me? H-how was he?”

Wanda stared at you with a grave expression on her face before sighing. “It’s… It’s not exactly something I can describe with words.”

Looking at you hesitantly, she rose from her seat and gently placed her hand on your forehead. Your head tilted back and your eyes closed.

The team had burst into the room, doors completely ripped from their hinges as they readied for a fight, but what greeted them was well beyond what they could have ever expected. They were met with the petrifying sight of a murder scene. 

Tony was completely frozen, strapped in his iron suit while staring at the chaos in front of him. Natasha covered her mouth and stepped back, and you could feel tears running down Wanda’s face as she let out a horrified gasp.

Torn limbs, broken body parts, and glass shards were lying in a pool of blood that covered most of the floor. But past all of that, there sat Loki on a bed with you lying unconscious in his arms. His hair was wild and matted with dark red, clothes torn and eyes wild as he shielded over your now blanket-covered form. He did not flinch or look up at anyone else, only continuing to stare down at your bruised face. The same bloody hands that had caused the massacre that laid before them were now glowing a deep green as they held onto you. His whole body was trembling but he was determined to keep a tight hold on you.

While the rest of the team were wide-eyed and in too much shock to do or say anything, Steve was the first to take a step forward before Thor placed a hand on his arm, giving him a look. Reluctantly, Steve stayed where he was while everyone watched as Thor carefully stepped through the nauseating and grotesque mess.

When he got close enough to Loki, he scrounched down to his level and looked at him carefully.

“Brother,” He said softly. “We can take it from here. Pass her to the Captain and I will help get you cleaned up.”

When Loki didn’t move, Thor reached out to grab you causing his younger brother to emit a deep growl and snap his head towards him. This was the first time he was looking at someone else that wasn’t you. 

Thor raised his hands. “Hey, it is alright. We are not here to harm her any further, you understand that. Your powers are low, and you can only do so much. Let us take her to a proper Midgardian healer, please.”

Thor could see so much emotion in his brother's eyes, but the one that shone mostly was fear. He was scared of letting you go. Thor could tell that he had gotten through to him when tears sprung into his wide green eyes and his sharp expression transformed into a pained one. 

Loki shakily turned his head slowly to look back at your unmoving form before rising to his feet with you still in his arms. He caught eyes with Rogers, making his way over to him before carefully placing you into his arms. 

Steve immediately took you out of the room, and Loki stared after you with regretful eyes while Sam and Bucky took hold of him before cuffing his hands together behind his back. 

Your eyes shot open as soon as Wanda released you from the vision. You were utterly speechless. Seeing Loki in that state brought tears to your eyes and you let out a shaky breath.

Wanda backed away, staring back at you somberly.

“That’s enough information for today. I now realize I shouldn’t have shown you that. You just woke up and are probably still in a state of shock. I’m so very sorry.” She shook her head, cursing to herself. “I’m going to leave so you can rest more. I will be back soon.”

You nodded your head while avoiding her gaze, and in a matter of seconds, you were alone again. You laid unmovingly in the bed for a while. You weren’t upset with Wanda for sharing her memory, you were just shaken from seeing everything from a much clearer point of view.

You stared up at the ceiling for what seemed like forever, but eventually, your lids slowly closed as you were pulled into the dark abyss of sleep.

When you woke again, a dark-haired woman in a white lab coat was now in your room. She seemed to be checking on the machines while scribbling on a clipboard. The overhead lights in the room were brighter, and you lightly groaned as you tried to sit up.

“Hold on,” She said, while gently leaning you back down on the bed. “There’s an easier way. See?”

She pulled out a small remote and pressed a button that slowly raised the back of your small bed.

“Um, thank you,” you muttered, glancing at the beautiful woman. “Are you Dr. Cho?”

“Yes, I am,” She replied with a smile, still scribbling on her clipboard. “and you are a very lucky young lady. You had a lot of people scared there for a minute, but you’re pulling quite a speedy recovery.”

You blinked. “I am?” Not that you didn’t believe her, but you still felt like absolute shit.

She nodded, finally tearing her eyes from the papers and meeting your confused ones. “If Loki hadn’t used his powers to begin the healing process, you would have most likely been in a coma for as long as a month. The drugs you were attacked with were poisonous, and he helped extract most of it out of your system.” She scoffed lightly, raising her eyebrows. “It’s a miracle how much he could accomplish without having access to his full strength.”

You swallowed dryly and she passed you your now full glass of water. You squinted down at the glass, “Wait, aren’t you a famous geneticist? Why are you here wasting your time taking care of me? You must have so many more important projects to work on.”

She dropped down her clipboard and sent you a look. “You may not be a project, but there is no question that you are very important. I learned how to be a doctor before I dived into the field of genetics. I am honored to be able to provide care for someone like you. You are a very special girl, for many reasons other than you studying to become a physicist.” She winked at you.

You glanced down at your sore form. You were lying in a bed wearing an unsightly hospital gown and a pair of thick non-slip socks with a sheet thrown over your body. Nothing about you seemed significant at this moment. To be completely candid, you felt pretty ugly and disgusting.

“When will I be able to leave?” You asked her. You were certainly grateful for all she had done for your recovery, but you didn’t know how much longer you would be able to stay in this room without going insane.

Her brows furrowed, lips thinning as she peered back down at her clipboard. “I’m only expecting to keep you for a few more days. Your vitals are looking stronger by the day, but now that you’re awake I need to run a few more tests before I release you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing I can see now. I just want to be one hundred percent sure, that’s it. Nothing you need to worry about.” She gave you a reassuring smile which did not make you feel any better. 

Patting your arm, she backed away towards the door. “Right now you should focus on resting and getting yourself well-hydrated. I’ll release you as soon as all the tests are complete.”

A few more days passed by but you didn’t hear much more from Dr. Cho about your upcoming release. The uncomfortable clinic bed wasn’t helping your stiff limbs, and the best you could do was lift them up and down to get some movement going. You still had tubes stuck in your arms so you weren’t allowed to get up and walk around just yet.

On the first day of your awakening, you did as Dr. Cho ordered, resting a lot, and the few times you did wake up, there was a new card, balloon, or flower bouquet in your room. It was obvious that people were visiting you while you were still asleep, but it saddened you greatly that you weren’t able to be awake whenever they came by. 

On the second day, you were able to stay up long enough to enjoy a visit from your father. Your eyes lit up when he entered the room and you had never been more happier to see him. Yes, your last conversation with him wasn’t great, but he was still the only family you had left.

To his credit, he seemed even more grateful to see you. You could tell that he had been regretting his past choices that directly drove a wedge between you two. It did not have to be said that he felt awful about his part in Jacob’s deception, but to your surprise, he did admit his wrongdoings. 

He looked haunted. His eyes were sunken into his face, his skin a bit ashy, and his body looked at least fifteen pounds lighter. He apologized to you countlessly, and you accepted his apology with a hug. You knew you had a lot more to discuss with him, but this was not the right time to do so, as you were still feeling a bit out of sorts.

When you started looking drowsy, he left you be so you could rest, and the next time you opened your eyes, the whole team had gathered into your room to surprise you. Even through the tragedy of the situation, they made sure to put on big smiles for you and you did the same, genuinely being excited to see them all. 

Thor held a huge cake that had a photo of you on it which you thought was funny for many reasons, one of them being that you couldn’t eat any sugar until all of your blood work was done. It was all theirs to enjoy. 

Tony and Clint talked your ear off, catching you up on the latest happenings and the rest of the team hung out in the room, chatting with you when they could.

Steve made sure to grab a few minutes with you, filling you in on how they moved your entire room into a much larger one that was closer to his and Bucky’s. You wanted to tell him that they didn’t have to do that, but you refrained when you remembered all of the strange things you experienced in your old room. Jacob completely ruined it for you. Furthermore, by the way that Steve was looking at you and constantly asking if you were okay, you figured this room change would reassure everyone that you’d be a lot safer.

You wanted to ask about Loki, but since no one brought him up, you assumed it was too soon. It was no secret that you cared about him so if there was any bad news, they probably wouldn’t want to tell you while you were still stuck in the clinic.

Thor must have noticed the hesitance on your face, as he lingered in the room a bit longer after everyone else left. You gave him an apprehensive stare as he placed his hand in the pocket of his jeans while facing you.

“He is okay, my lady.” He said with a gentle smile. He sent you a farewell nod and exited the room before you could gather the courage to ask him any more questions.

On the third day of your stay in the clinic, you were able to get through most of it without taking more naps than an elderly cat. 

However, you did wake to see a singular flower laid on your bedside table. It immediately caught your eye as it was the most vibrant red you’ve ever seen. It looked to be a poppy flower. You were never a fan of that kind before but this one was entrancing you by how gorgeous it was. You felt as if its mere presence gave you the strength to get through the rest of the day. 

You had a few more visitors but still no news of Loki. 

Then the morning of the fourth day, you woke up to a fresh new glowing red poppy flower that was placed beside the old one. This intrigued you enough to ask Dr. Cho if she knew who was leaving them in your room.

She paused before looking at you with an indecipherable expression on her face. “I don’t know, but security did mention that someone has been coming by after all the staff leaves for the night. They stay for hours before leaving without a word. I would assume that they are on the list of people allowed to visit you, so it could just be one of your friends.”

“But they never wake me to let me know they’re visiting.” You say with a frown.

She gave a thoughtful look. “Maybe they don’t want to disturb you. I mean, they are visiting in the middle of the night so it’s a good thing they have consideration for your rest. It’s needed for full recovery.”

You hummed at that, accepting her answer as it made sense. Could it be Kayla? It was a possibility but you also couldn’t see her leaving flowers for you. At least not that kind.

“On the other hand, I have something else I’ve been needing to talk to you about.” Her face sobered up, making you focus your attention on her.

“Do you know much about your parent's medical history?” She asked.

You shrugged. “I know my dad’s. Not so much about my mom’s.”

She nodded, briefly looking down at the linoleum floor. “Yes, that’s what I thought.” She looked back up at you with a solemn expression. “As you are already aware, there’s a reason I have been keeping you here for this long. My lab has finished running all your blood tests and after double-checking them, there’s something that you need to know.”

You didn’t take your eyes off of hers as you asked the dreadful but unavoidable question. 

“What is it?”

Story Masterlist

✦ 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰. 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 ;)

✦ 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘒𝘰-𝘧𝘪 ✨: 𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘴://𝘬𝘰-𝘧𝘪.𝘤𝘰𝘮/𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺24

𝘛𝘢𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵: @aintnooooway @mischief2sarawr @talesofadragon @cass0419 @lcolumbia1988 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000

[glitteringcrab]

Frying his backups

I'm wondering if various stuff was taking place during this scene that went right over our heads:

(First of all, I'd like to say that I absolutely love the composition of this scene. Rick Prime is bathed in light, yet is almost indistinguishable from the machinery in which he's confined. Evil Morty, on the other hand, is standing on the dark side of the room, yet he's clearly visible; a bright figure among the darkness. Simply a manner of color balance and scene composition?? Symbolism ??? Symbolism of what????)

(Rick C-137, on the other hand, is almost as dark as Rick Prime; his color scheme shifting towards red from all the blood, his body as much machinery and tubes as the chair Rick Prime is currently confined in. Symbolism of their lost humanity? Accidental symbolism?)

A) What exactly happened before Rick Prime came to? This room is clearly wrecked. These metal panels are cracked or broken.

Did Evil Morty break them or did another battle, with some other enemy of Rick Prime's, take place soon before Rick C-137's battle?

Did Evil Morty accidentally wreck the whole room while attempting to extract/insert those thick cables from/into the metal panels in the wall?

Were the thick cables originally part of Prime's chair, or part of the machinery in the wall?

If they were part of the chair, what was their original function? Where were they supposed to connect to?

There are no empty sockets visible on the control panel to accommodate them, and wouldn't they be a trip hazard unless they were to go into the floor, which doesn't appear wrecked?

If they were part of the wall, how did Evil Morty connect them with the chair?

Admitedly, this doesn't look like a chair-oriented chair: it's a piece of machinery. Like, it seems to have served a specific function and not just Prime's butt. It has lights, and the thinner cables that are connected to Prime's brain via fingergun seem to emerge directly from the chair, with in-built openings to accommodate them. The thinner cables emerging from the bottom of the chair and to the tablet seem to be in their normal position, too...

The chair doesn't seem wrecked, either; just the walls, which points towards the thicker cables being part of the chair as well (but then what were they supposed to connect toooo?? And did Evil Morty stuck himself in the wall panels to connect the thick tables to whatever system was hidden in the wall lol?)

And, shouldn't the chair be facing the control panel?? No wheels are visible, can it even rotate?

What was the actual purpose of machinery of the chair?? We've seen Rick Prime fire the Omega Device while standing, using only a tablet. Why did he need his chair to be so sci-fi? What purpose did it serve??

Am I overthinking this?

B) What "picture" are you getting????

You are being murdered. This isn't complicated. This isn't something for you to "get".

Is he surprised that he found himself tied in his own chair in stead of, I dunno, not waking up at all?

...Could he tell from the cables stuck on his head that Evil Morty was messing with his brain? Was this the picture he "got"? In a "ooh, you are reading my mind" fashion? (But Evil Morty did not start stealing his secrets until the end...)

C) Notice that whenever the ends on the mini implanted cables from Eyepatch Morty's fingerguns go bright red, the thin black cables attached to Prime's forehead become visibly overloaded or something, and he always grimaces in pain...

But the mini implanted cables going red and Rick Prime being painfully electrocuted don't seem to coincide with Prime's clones getting fried...!

I'm counting 4 times Prime's clones getting visibly fried that weren't accompanied by a painful electrocution and the mini fingergun cables going red.

It seems to me like two separate things going on: (1) Evil Morty frying Prime's clones and (2) Evil Morty's fingergun weapon doing... something. Interacting with Prime in some fashion.

Either punishing him whenever Evil Morty got slightly mad (but this seems unlikely, Prime did not get electrocuted neither when he offered Evil Morty a job, nor when he insulted Evil Morty's murdering abilities) or... I'm leaning towards the theory that Prime was stealthily trying to override the fingeguns by using his own implants, and his attempts were halted? (whew) And, maybe, he was trying to distract Evil Morty from these attempts by talking to him...?

D) Why was Prime criticizing Evil Morty's murdering technique????

What do you think it is???

Was Prime simply confused that getting tied on a chair preceded getting murdered? In a "why take an unnecessary step" fashion?

Did he think that Evil Morty planned to torture him?

Is this the torture lol?

Cause this insult doesn't really make sense... Sure, it's kinda funny, but it doesn't make particular sense. Prime had just witnessed Evil Morty shooting him, attacking him physically and having a buttload of weapons implanted on his person. Did he think Evil Morty was incapable of finishing him off for some reason? I mean, I wouldn't say "ooh, what are you gonna do to me, huh???" to a guy armed to his teeth lol

Did his own hidden implants interacting with Evil Morty's fingerguns grant him some insight on the nature of Evil Morty's own brain implant and whatever limitations it might have?

Was it just an insult? In a "oh, you like to play tough but you're just a kid" fashion?

Was he confused that the murder wasn't concluded already?

Now you get it??

(I have to give it to Rick Prime for not fearing death, though. He looks slightly worried when Evil Morty drags Rick C-137 into the room, but he gets over it pretty soon. He also looked slightly nervous while Rick C-137 was disconnecting the cables from his head, but he got over it very fast, too. He's a horrible jerk but he ain't a coward)

E) Am I obsessed and do I need to find another hobby?

(Why, yes. Definitely.)

(Part 2 here)

[itsagentromanoff]

Superior Iron Man: Okay, I think I'm getting the pic... [gets shocked by a device linked to his forehead] OW! Frying my backups. Smart. So you're, like, an "Evil" Strange? A clever one? [gets shocked again] OW! All right, never been a sidekick guy, but I'm starting to see the value. You want a job? We could be like Batman and Robin.

Sinister Strange: Eh. I don't need a Robin.

[ms-demeanor]

my thing is I'm capable of any of this stuff up to at least level 3 and can do them for special occasions and if I've rested enough no problem, but I can't do it OFTEN because it just uses up too many spoons. any thoughts on this? besides practice, I already cook as often as I can (which is not very)

Mise en place your life as much as possible. I've talked about this before but this is what I do to make things easier on myself. My baking station with all the ingredients out and clearly labeled instead of at the bottom of the pantry where I have to dig for them makes it much, much, much easier to bake. My knife strip on the wall and the dozen cutting boards in a rack on the wall and the frying pan that lives on the stove instead of under the counter all make it much easier for me to cook.

Like, a lot of what I've been going through and doing in terms of home improvement/home decor is attempting to configure the house in such a way that large bastard and i can easily do the things we want to/need to do. We need batteries all the time, so the batteries live in an organized box where we can see it instead of in the back of the cabinet. We also need to *discard* batteries all the time, so the battery discard tub is right next to that box otherwise we'll start accumulating used batteries on surfaces.

The instruments that live on my kitchen counter are the ones that get used most often so that I don't need to go looking for them and so that I know at a glance if they're clean (if so they're in the canister on the counter) or need to be washed. The appliances that I use the most either live on the counter or get put places where it's convenient - I don't have enough bowls and plates that I need to use the top three shelves of my cabinet for bowls and plates like my parents did, but I do use my rice cooker twice a week so my rice cooker lives in the same cabinet as my dishes (as does my tofu press, my waffle maker, and the easiest-to-use 16oz food storage containers).

And you know what sometimes i just can't do it. Sometimes my back isn't working or my hip isn't working or i got glutened recently and I can't do much of anything.

I've got a variety of low spoon foods that I always have ingredients for (one recent addition to this list is tofu; i went from eating no tofu to eating tofu twice a week because two days a week i can't really use one of my arms to make dinner so i just prep the tofu at lunchtime and when i get home from the plasma center all i have to do is season and pan fry it and make a pot of rice. And I also make a shitload of extra rice because rice with eggs and sweet-spicy sauce is now one of my easiest and best go-to lunches) and whenever I make a pot of soup (something that I do pretty much every weekend when it's cool enough) I will make enough for lunch that week plus usually some extra to go in the freezer as backup "I don't feel like cooking" meals.

So, yeah I guess what I'm saying is get a good list of low-spoon foods that you like and can keep the ingredients handy for (ground beef goes bad in a week, tofu lasts like a month, i love tofu, it's so easy and so cheap to keep a bunch of tofu handy), and throw out the idea of what a kitchen is "supposed" to be like and figure out if there are ways to make your kitchen more adaptive for you.

Get anti-fatigue mats for your home kitchen. Get a tall stool that you can sit at while cooking at the stove instead of standing. Reorganize your cabinets for maximum efficiency for your needs. (large bastard and I have been doing this both with organized visible storage like wall racks as well as putting his stuff up high because bending over isn't easy for him but it is easy for me).

And also, like, consider if it's worth it, or how it can be worth it. How do you want to be a better cook? Do you want to be better at making meals for large groups or do you want to be more comfortable cooking for yourself or do you want a wider repertoire of recipes - all of those things will take a different path and some will be harder than others if you're wrangling disabilities that make it difficult to cook. I'm probably never going to be great at cooking for large groups because it doesn't really suit my lifestyle and it hurts! It hurts a lot and after hosting thanksgiving last year i needed to use my cane for a week because of how much it hurt my back! But I can work on stuff that makes it easier for me to cook, like having my baking station or keeping my rice cooker in an easy-to-reach cabinet.

[chaos-chloe]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of the clooles boys and pregnant reader? You can come up with the plot and what not all I know is that I’m in baby fever so lord help me

Pregnant at Pax - Pezzy x Reader/ Clooless x reader

“Alrighty babe, we have a table- well area- uh I don't know really, but I do know that there is a table and chairs for us to sit at while we talk to fans. You are going to be sitting next to me and Grizzy, then Droid is on my other side while Puffer is on Grizzy’s other side. We got you covered so if you need anything let us know, or whatever. “ Pezzy went on a small rant while I was sitting on our hotel bed in Boston. I was struggling to get out of the bed so I reached my hands out to Pezzy so he could help me up.

“Baby I need help up. I need to pack my snack bag so I don't bother y’all so much.” I said as calmly as possible but I was slightly irritated with how overprotective he has gotten. That thought was soon out of my head as my baby was thinking of how good mcdonalds sounded at 8 in the morning.

“Baby the guys know and don't care, you know that we got you covered in snacks and drinks- what are you- I take that back, what is bean thinking or craving?” He stopped his rant when he saw my face form into a small pleased smile and pleading eyes. Pezzy helped me off the bed following me to the other bed where our suitcases were occupying. 

“Well since you already got our snacks packed, I need to get dressed nice but not too nice. Alllsoo Bean wants a Mcdonald’s milkshake and large fry, or 3 crispy hashbrowns.” I said while moving all my clothes around. I finally found my simple and comfy maternity set that I packed as a backup outfit. I tried my best to put it on without struggling, but I ended up giving up and Pezzy came over to help me in my pants.

As Pezzy zipped up the pants, a gentle smile played on his lips. "There we go, all fashionably ready for our little fan meeting," he teased, giving me a playful poke in the side. I rolled my eyes but felt warm inside, knowing he cared so much.

Once dressed, I practically floated over to the small dining table where we had arranged our snacks. The morning sun streamed in through the hotel window, the golden light illuminating the room in soft hues. I took a deep breath, savoring the smell of the freshly packed treats. Giving more thoughts of the seating arrangement at the tableBetween Pezzy, Grizzy, Droid, and Puffer, I couldn't ask for a more supportive crew.

As I rifled through my snacks, Pezzy lounged against the wall, scrolling through his phone. "What do you think the fans are going to ask us? Probably a lot about our upcoming schedule, right?" 

Just then, a loud knock echoed through the hotel room. Startled, we exchanged glances, and Pezzy walked over to the door. He opened it just a crack, peering out with a curious brow raised. Standing there with an exuberant smile was Grizzy, Droid and Puffer arms laden with coffee cups, McDonald's bags fluttering from the gentle breeze.

"Breakfast is served!" Grizzy announced dramatically, stepping inside and placing down the bounty of food before us. The smell of fries mingled with the rich aroma of coffee, instantly lifting the room's mood. 

Droid shuffled in behind him, his ever-enthusiastic energy filling the space as he chimed in, “I got those milkshakes you wanted! And we even ordered a few extra to share. You can’t resist the milkshake magic—trust me!”

“Trust me Hun, Bean can’t resist the milkshake magic. I just wanted something salty.” I shrugged with a smile gracing my face , while rubbing my baby bump. 

“Did someone say magic?” Puffer, who had just entered the room, leaned against the doorframe with his carefree smile. “All I know is we’ve got a pretty magical group here. Look at this spread!” 

With laughter echoing around us, we gathered at the table, the lively chatter filling the air. I grabbed my milkshake, feeling the sweet, creamy goodness swirl between my fingers, then took a glorious slurp. It was everything I wanted, and instantly, my worries dissipated with each sip.

As the conversations bubbled over and ideas flew in every direction, I relaxed back into my chair, feeling the warmth of camaraderie. Despite my earlier irritation with Pezzy’s protectiveness, I realized that it came from his place of love. 

Just then, Pezzy leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “I know this isn’t a traditional part of PAX and well your tour, but I’m really glad we get these moments together.” I nodded, understanding that amid the chaos of schedules and fans, these little moments—filled with laughter, good food, and the best company—were the true treasures of our journey.  

As Pezzy sat next to me he started rubbing my stomach and the other arm wrapped around my shoulder, everyone started thinking of questions that fans will ask, and how we will respond to them. How we will tell them no I'm not answering that question in a respectful tone.

 As we tossed question ideas back and forth, the thought of dealing with some trickier inquiries crossed my mind. There would surely be questions about my condition—questions laced with curiosity that strayed beyond mere healthy concern. 

“What about personal questions, like about the baby?” I voiced cautiously, catching the group's attention. “How do we handle those?” 

Droid nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Just remember, it's okay to draw boundaries. You can say, ‘We appreciate the love, but we prefer to keep that part of our lives private.’” 

“Respect is key!” Puffer declared jovially, fist-bumping the air. “That way, we can steer the conversation back to the fun stuff, like gaming and snacks!”

“Communication is everything,” Pezzy added, his calm tone laced with reassurance. “We’re a team, and we’ve got each other’s backs.” 

The tension in my shoulders eased as I felt a warm wave of gratitude wash over me. The way they supported not just me, but each other, felt like a beautiful, intricate dance. Together, we’d navigate whatever came our way.

As we collectively crafted responses to hypothetical questions, Grizzy suddenly piped up with a wide-eyed expression, “Okay, but imagine someone asks about secret talents we have! Like, can you juggle? Because I've been working on my juggling skills!” 

“Juggling, huh?” I laughed, my eyes sparkling with amusement. “Show us what you got!” 

Grizzy stood, grabbing some empty snack boxes and setting them up as makeshift juggling balls. The whole group burst into laughter as he attempted to juggle, managing to drop one snack box repeatedly. 

“Not as easy as it looks, huh?” Droid chimed in, feigning a look of mock surprise. 

We all erupted into a fit of laughter, and suddenly I realized how lighthearted the atmosphere had become. In the middle of snacks, silly games, and camaraderie, the worries about the day faded away.

“Hey, we should probably meet up with everyone else soon, it's about an hour and half til we have to be at the table to get us all set up.” I suggested 

“I guess that means we need to save some snacks for later!” Puffer exclaimed, stuffing a hash brown into his mouth as if to emphasize his point. The sight sent us all into another giggle fit, our earlier excitement gearing up for the day ahead.

“Good call,” Pezzy said, glancing at the mess of wrappers and boxes strewn across the table. “We can’t leave a battlefield behind. And who knows, our fans might judge our snack choices!” 

Grizzy attempted to balance the empty boxes on his head, a joke in progress aimed to lighten our spirits even further. “The true test of a great gaming team is their snack strategy!” 

“Alright, let's get organized!” I chimed in, trying to rein in the hilarity to prepare us for the busier part of our day. I began packing up the remaining snacks in my snack bag, grateful for the shared light-heartedness we had cultivated. 

With everyone pitching in, we carefully sorted the snacks. Pezzy’s deft fingers worked to ensure everything was neatly stowed away, while I packed up my milkshake, cradling it in my hand as if it were a treasured possession. 

Once the area was tidied up, I glanced in the mirror across the room, adjusting my hair and giving myself a quick pep talk. I wanted to be fully present for our fans, ready to engage and share in their enthusiasm. 

“Ready to show the world what we’ve got?” I asked, turning back to face the group with a determined smile. Pezzy slung the bag over his shoulder, while grabbing my free hand as we exited the hotel and our room.

They returned my enthusiasm with cheers, collectively pumped for the meet-and-greet. “Let’s do this!” echoed through the small hotel room, harmonizing our shared jitters and excitement.

As we gathered our things, the anticipation in the air seemed to spark with every passing moment. Stepping into the hotel hallway, we faced a bustling PAX world that was alive with the energy of thousands of gamers, creators, and enthusiasts.

The sounds of chatter, laughter, and delighted squeals filled our ears as we made our way toward the expo floor. A vibrant tapestry of colors and sights greeted us—screens flashing gameplay footage, booths showcasing the latest games, and cosplayers parading by in all their elaborate glory. 

As we approached our designated area, the excitement bubbled like the fizzy sweetness of soda. I spotted the long table where we would meet fans, adorned with banners and signs that highlighted our presence. 

Waves of familiar faces began to appear, a mixture of anticipation and joy illuminating their expressions. I felt my heart race. This was what it was all about—the passion of the community wrapped around us like a warm blanket.

“Just remember, we’re here to have fun! Get to know our fans and let them know how much we appreciate them,” Pezzy said, squeezing my shoulder gently and kissing my cheek, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of activity.

The simple gesture—so tender and reassuring—sent a surge of warmth through me. The packed convention center buzzed with energy, but in that moment, everything else faded into the background. It was just me, Pezzy, and the unshakeable bond we shared.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I said, my voice steady as I adjusted my stance, taking a deep breath to fuel my excitement. The thought of meeting our fans filled me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. These were the people who had cheered us on, shared our laughs, and accompanied us through our journeys.

As we approached the table, I caught a glimpse of some fans already waiting, their eyes sparkling with the thrill of anticipation. Some held memorabilia—action figures, posters, and even gaming consoles, eager for us to sign their treasures. Others wore shirts adorned with our logo, a testament of their support. Each face held a unique story, and I felt a deep desire to connect with them.

“Hi, folks!” I called out, an exuberant smile breaking across my face. The fans lit up in response, shouting back greetings that echoed like music in the lively hall. 

“Thank you for coming! We’re so excited to meet each and every one of you!”

A wave of laughter surged through the small gathering. It effectively broke the ice, melting any nerves that lingered in the air. As fans approached, the spirit of inclusion swelled and wrapped around us like a warm blanket.

One young girl, no older than eight, skipped forward with bright eyes glistening with excitement. “Can I have a goofy face picture with you?” she asked, her voice bubbling with glee. 

“Absolutely!” I exclaimed, dropping my silliness meter into overdrive. I pursed my lips and crossed my eyes, mimicking cartoonish characters, and Pezzy joined in, his exaggerated poses doubling the laughter. 

Click! The camera captured the moment, and her laughter rang in my ears—pure, unfiltered joy. 

Afterward, with her heart full of delight, she skipped away, waving her hands behind her. The ripple of happiness she left in her wake ignited a newfound eagerness within me. 

As much as I enjoyed eating snacks, it was the genuine connections I truly cherished. Each interaction revealed bits of our shared passions, and stories flowed like the sweetest honey as fans shared their exciting journeys through gaming, what inspired them, and even their favorite moments from our content. 

“Your songs on the last album release really helped me through some tough times,” one fan shared, visibly moved. “It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.” 

My heart squeezed at the sincerity of his words. “Thank you for sharing that with us,” I replied. “It means the world to know we can be a part of your journey. You’re not alone. We’re all in this together!” 

The day unfolded in a beautiful blur of laughter, gratitude, and the kind of camaraderie that bridged the gap between creator and fan. Pezzy expertly juggled conversations, signing autographs while ensuring that no fan felt overlooked. 

As the clock ticked by, and the line snaked ever longer, I felt a rush of fulfillment. “This is good for the soul,” I mused aloud to Pezzy during a brief respite. 

He smiled, eyes shining with warmth. “Exactly. Remember, this is more than just a job. We’re creating a community, and today we get to celebrate it.”

Just as we prepared for the next wave of fans, a commotion from the side caught our attention. A group of cosplayers made their entrance, dressed in elaborate costumes, each one more impressive than the last. The crowd erupted in cheers, and soon enough, they were heading our way—part of our ever-growing family.

With each laugh, each shared story, and each encouraging word, I felt a deeper connection with the very people who made what we did possible. Today was more than just a meet-and-greet; it was a testament to the joy of human connection, solidarity, and the love emanating from a community passionate about gaming and friendship. 

And through it all, Pezzy remained close, his presence a constant source of strength and light as we ventured deeper into this beautiful chaos. Together, we would forge a tapestry rich with stories—our own and those of the fans whose lives intertwined with ours. This was our world, and we were ready to embrace it.

[ratsoh-writes]

Give us the FULL backstory of one set of skeleton siblings.

Ehehehe alright, cause I’m sure y’all are interested in the fell bros….

It all began in a distant land called hotland, where red was born to fell gaster! Gaster was deeply in love with Felby, a fire elemental who was a total player. Red was an intentional baby that gaster had in hopes that he would get Felby to commit… and we all know how that worked out.

It didn’t if you were curious

Regretting having a child and resentful of his son, Gaster mostly ignored red for his childhood, only paying him mind when the toddler needed feeding. Red grew up being hyper independent because of this. You can blame gaster for his issues in accepting help from others.

As red grew older, Gaster realized his son could be useful. See red was a very curious child. He has a hunger for knowlege and would try to remake the tools he sees the adult monsters using. Recognizing this talent, Gaster finally took an interest in his son and began teaching him to eventually take a place with the royal engineers that gaster worked with. Compared to being thrown out in the streets of underfells hotland all day, being stuck in the Smokey greasy warehouse lab was like Heaven to child red. He threw himself into his education, determined to keep his place with the engineers who barely tolerated the kid running around.

And of course, just when things were starting to get good, gaster had fall right back into felbys grasp again. The two had an on and off relationship for years now, but this time Felby was around more often. Gaster was sure this time, this time his lover would stay for good. Gaster was strong in the art of science but weak in the art of common sense clearly.

The year red turned 23 was the same year gaster had edge, and the last time red would see Felby again until after the crash. Depressed at his so called “soulmate” disappearing off the face of the underground, Gaster didn’t even fry with edge, leaving all the childcare to red. Red tried to resent his brother, he really did.. but he just couldn’t. Edge was so sweet and soft when he was little. Red would give the world for him if he could. Edge spent the majority of his childhood under reds protection, and was like his older brothers shadow. Edge used to be a cheerful and affectionate kid.

When edge was around 13, gaster snapped out of his depressed funk and turned to the next stage of grief; anger. Gaster began taking out his frustrations on edge whenever red wasn’t around. Having many jealous enemies because of his position, red was unable to leave the safety of the warehouse, but leaving edge to gaster was out of the question either. He couldn’t hide his brother, not with his father being his superior. So red had edge shipped off to the royal guard before things escalated. Edge spent the rest of his childhood there, and the kind streak in him was stamped out, replaced with the cold grouch we see today (well, when he’s around new people that us)

Edge and reds relationship was strained greatly with edges move. Edge viewed this as the one person who gave a damn throwing him away, while red was hurt that his brother blamed him when he did so much for him. Only the passing of their father got the two back in contact. The underfell brothers had a shaky truce until edge got promoted to captain of the snowdin branch of the royal guard. Edge quickly left for his new position leaving red behind in hotland.

With gasters death, things weren’t going so well for red. His father was the whole reason he got the apprenticeship with the engineers. Say what you will about gaster, but he was a powerful monster. Red now had to defend his place on his own, without daddies reputation to back him up. Facing sneak attacks daily, red began to grow paranoid. One evening, he was jumped by three monsters, a would be engineer and his backup. Red escaped, but not unharmed. When edge got word of his brothers condition, he forcibly drug red down to snowdin with him, apprenticeship be damned. At this point it wasn’t worth it.

Red stayed with edge, recovered, and became a bitter and resentful sentry guard in snowdin until the crash. Meanwhile edge had flourished in snowdin, becoming close with his dog guard and the neighboring captain undyne (storm) of waterfall. When the crash happened and the AUs merged on ebott, edge had allies he could lean on as their world was turned upside down.

Sensing the change, and growing hopeful at what ebott could become, edge threw himself into his new home. He got a quick and dirty law degree, helped get many of his dog guard buddies homes and jobs, and even started talking to someone about his own issues. Edge was on the path to… well he isn’t sure but he’s on it! There was just one thing holding him back..

Red. His brother is still acting like ebott was underfell. He was constantly getting into fights with others, skirting the edges of the law, and well edge can only take so much. Red and edge had been fighting constantly since the crash, and these spats kept escalating until edge finally kicked red out of his home.

At his lowest point, red got through the days listlessly. He got a cheap apartment and did small odd jobs to keep afloat. He was angry at the world, scared of the future and without anything to look forward too. The world had f*cked him over and he responded by giving the world his finger. Red was stuck in this funk until he met his first real friend.. oak!

Oak doesn’t remember his first meeting with red. Oak doesn’t remember a lot of things really. Ever since his head injury in horrortale, he’s needed lots of repetition for things to really stick. And he finally got out of the institution he was recovering in. Oak was delighted to move back in with his brother willow! … but stars, he shouldn’t have gone out to get groceries on his own. He thought he could remember his street, he remembers his house now, but apparently the street name hadn’t stuck yet. So he paced around the old beat up gas station as he wracked his empty skull doing his best to recall the street. Meanwhile red, who was working there is loosing his mind as this big scarred stalker skeleton passed by the door for the seventh stars damned time in two minutes!! The first meeting ends with red storming out, yelling at oak angrily to get lost, and a tired sad oak replying that he already is lost. Fed up, red shows oak how to track his brothers phone to find his way home. Oak thanks red profusely, seemingly not bothered by his rudeness and goes on his way

This exact interaction happens at least three more times in the next few days before red just tiredly escorts the forgetful famine skeleton at the end of his shift. Within a month red and oak have become tentative friends. Oak is gentle and frankly too helpless for red to ever feel threatened by. And he seems to think reds dry humor is funny. And oak likes having red around, he never treats him as invalid, and he glares at people who stare at the hole in his skull for too long. It’s nice that red noticed it made him uncomfortable

As their friendship developed over the next few months, red began to unwind around oak and started telling the other his worries. After all, the guy is perfect for secrets. It’s a 70% chance he won’t even remember them anyways. When red first tells oak of what happened with edge, oak was horrified and urged him to reach out. Oak was able to point out from reds story that it’s obvious that edge cared for him still. He compared it to his own perspective, of his old au.. the things he had to do for him and willow to survive. Willow had been angry and betrayed the same way edge had been after oak brought back the first.. you know what. But they stayed together through even the worst part of the famine, not out of survival but out of brotherly love and loyalty. Oak eventually wore red down enough with his story that the paranoid skeleton was willing to give edge one last chance.

Five years after the crash, and two years since their last fight, red knocked on edges door. Shocked and angry, but still happy to see his brother again, edge let red in. For months the two would talk a little bit each week as they tried to slowly repair their relationship. Edge had missed red dearly, and red edge. Finally able to listen, red could see where he hurt edge too, and his little brother pretty much blackmailed red through guilt into seeing the same person he was going to so red could work through what happened in underfell

Two years later, red moved back in with edge, and using his old royal engineer position, was able to secure an entry job at an electric engineers guild. He and edge still fought now and then, but nothing crazy like it used to be.

That’s it for their backstory!