#gate pass management system

[tereotechsolution]

Benefits of Visitor Management Solutions

visitor management system India may help you manage the workplace for safety and provide a full audit trail via the use of technologies like touchless entry control. A visitor management system need not operate in isolation from the rest of your security infrastructure.

[circeyoru]

Future Power Couple = Requested

The Request

[Sung Jinwoo x S-Rank Player!Reader]

! ALERT

- A new Player has joined the System.

That was months ago. You have received noticed on how well this new Player did from time to time, sounded like the System was mighty happy with this Player’s progress. Well, it wasn’t like you could do anything when you knew this person was in the same situation as yourself. While it was good that the System helped you level up to be the strongest S-Rank Hunter, you were sort of a test run for the real Player. You didn’t like being used as a trial run. 

You returned back to Korea after your exchange a bit too late. By the time you returned, the Jeju Raid ended in success with a major lost. Had you known he joined the raid, you would have joined too. Min Byung-Gyu and you were close but different, while he was the only Healer class S-Rank, you were his opposite as you were the only Assassin class S-Rank in Korea. Still, the uniqueness of your singular class among the fighter and mage class made the two of you bond like siblings with him being the other one.

So, without question, you attended his funeral. That’s when you caught a glimpse of the new S-Rank Hunter the Chairman was talking about. Sung Jinwoo, a mage class, former E-Rank and the Weakest Hunter of All Mankind. It was clear as day that he was the new Player the System noticed you all those months ago, and continuously praised. But that was all that happened, you didn’t stray away from the main objective that day and it was to honour your brother-like friend’s sacrifice and work.

“Can you join Hunter Sung to deal with a gate that appeared in the middle of the road?”

“Ha?” You side eyed the phone next to your ear. Just your luck that you were immediately given a dungeon to clear, and with Jinwoo no less. “He can handle it himself, right?” After all, he was raised by the System and leveled up to the point of gaining S-Rank. “There’s no need for me to join him.”

“You could see him in action.”

It was an enticing offer. You’ve only heard of Jinwoo’s powers and abilities, never did you see him fight or what he actually did during the Jeju Raid, since you were distraught about your friend’s death. You hummed and tapped your feet repeatedly, you want to go and don’t want to go. “Fine! Send me the location!”

Chuckles could be heard on the other side. “Haha, thank you for your work.”

Clearing a dungeon with a lack of teammates was nothing compared to what you usually do. You were the Association’s exclusive S-Rank Hunter, also known as The Underworld Assassin, due to your class and the fact that you do the Association’s dirty work. You were a feared Hunter unlike those that were treated as celebrities. 

While Jinwoo seemed to be stopped by an officer in charge of the gate, you came up behind her. “Hey, let him pass, he has permission from the Chairman.”

It was obvious that she flinched from your sudden appearance, “Huh?! Oh, yes! Please!”

“Let’s go.” You told Jinwoo without sparing him another glance. All the better if he didn’t follow behind you and you had to deal with this situation alone. Just ilke always.

To your surprise, he followed. The two of you eyed each other when you got a good look at your surrounding. No doubt thinking of the same thing. This was definitely a Red Gate. It felt like a scam and it is one.

“I can handle it on my own.” Jinwoo proudly stated while his Shadows appeared behind him.

“Yeah? Well, I was sent to clear this dungeon by the Chairman too.” You glared at him, taking out your weapons from your inventory. 

“You’ll be in my way. I have an army to help me.” Jinwoo gestured to his Shadows. 

“Relying on your soldiers to do your work?” You teased with a smirk. “Some Hunter you are. I can manage all on my own.”

In the end, admist your argument with Jinwoo on who would clear the dungeon, the two of you had already destroyed the surrounding forest, weaker monsters and boss while Jinwoo’s Shadows tried to calm the two of you down. The argument only ended when you accidentally slipped and fell through the reopened gate, while pulling Jinwoo with you of course. 

(It was Tusk that used his gravitational ability, Beru’s idea, and Igris’ agreement that made the two of you fall for each other. Literally.)

After your first raid with the Hunter, your System gave you stupid quests to meet with Jinwoo outside of work. Ridiculous missions like <Meet Your Partner!> or <Have A Meal> and Jinwoo got the same. The two of you worked out your little secret to growing strong. Turns out he was approached by Norma Selner as well, an offer to join their country’s ranks. Similarly, both of you declined. 

“You’re too slow.”

“You’re too stiff.”

“Your form is weird.”

“You’re not acting like a mage.”

“An assassin doesn’t use bow and arrow.”

“A mage doesn’t use daggers.”

“Want to get punched?”

“Want to get stabbed?”

It was decided that once in a while, S-Rank Hunters would gather at the training grounds to train together and even have mock battles. Whenever you and Jinwoo were in the same hall, the two of you would immediately get into a spat then a mock battle. Because the two of you had the System and quicker recovery, you two would let loose. No unique skills and back-up (Jinwoo’s Shadows), just pure physical talent. Which always result in childish bantering back and forth between blows. 

Your mock battles with Jinwoo always have to be timed else it could and would go on for hours. Cha Hae-In would rush to drag you away while Jinwoo had to be held off by Baek Yoonho and Ma Dongwook. Then the two of you would be sitting in the dialogically opposite spot glaring at each other, even resulting to making weird faces and hand gestures. The other Hunters could only sigh, unable to bear with the consequence if they stepped between you two.

Look at his silly face… Definitely not a better S-Rank Hunter than me. You looked away while drinking your water for a moment. But his speed is impressive… It’s been a while since I could let loose.

Being feisty again. Isn’t an assassin purposed to be quick with their target? Jinwoo would sneak glances at you while Hae-In requested to train with you and compete with a mock battle. Holding back? Guess mock battles with me is more fun. Ah, that form really brings out all the right qualities…

“They’re at it again.” Woo Jinchul sighed, calculating the damage cost that was done during the mock battle you had with Jinwoo. 

“Young love is wonderful isn’t it?” Chairman Go Gunhee chuckled, watching the two of you look at each other when the other’s attention was elsewhere. Of course, noticing the facial expression change and the faint blush on your faces. 

Jinchul groaned at the numbers, “We might as well have an entire island as their battle grounds.”

“That would give them the privacy needed.”

“Yes, that would help with the cost—” Jinchul did a double take to what the Chairman said, “Pardon sir?”

Gunhee only smiled and turned to his trusted aid, “If the two most powerful Hunters in our country were officially a couple, don’t you think they’d be a power couple?”

“...I suppose…”

Note: Yay! This is my first request for Solo Leveling! Hope it's done as you expected or wanted, Anon! Feels like everything's all over the place, but it's what it is. Enjoy!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (none)

[vintagerpg]

Leave it to World Champ Game Co. to find the edge of a pretty established sub-genre and push past it into something weird and new. This is Cybermetal (2022), an unholy fusion of cyberpunk, heavy metal and black magic. In an alternate timeline, a heavy metal band sacrifices Ronald Reagan on stage to resurrect their dead guitarist and eventually, the gates of Hell open and demons conquer America. In the wake of their victory, they turn a Midwestern city into Pentagram City, a place isolated from the rest of the world by walls of hellfire.

Being cut off meant a greater reliance on analog tech, like radio and walkie talkies and a LAN called the Pentaweb, but citizens of Pentagram City also have access the cybernetics developed during the Hell War to combat the demons. The neuronexus makes skill learning easy (think the Matrix) and combat slow and personal (the tech basically makes the user flicker on a different frequency of reality, so fast weapons just pass right through). In addition to humans, you can play as mutants, demons and husks, which are sort of cyberzombies created in the wake of the Y2K bug.

The software system provides lots of cool skills (turn your headbanging into a deadly weapon!). There’s crafting, there’s cyber surgery, rules for gang creation and management and long-term gang projects. There is a bunch of source material on Pentagram City and so, so many passing references to heavy metal. It’s sort of shocking that A. Adam fit all this text in and had room for so much gnarly art, B. That the art in question is as aggressive and unrelenting as CyBORG’s, but also of a totally distinct temperament and C. That the game is so smoothly playable — it uses a percentile skill system and does everything you’d expect from a tightly designed modern light rules set.

[leonw4nter]

Warmth For The Winterfall

ID!Leon x GN!Reader ; roommates/house decorating || Leon Secret Santa || 🎁: @uhlillie 🎄: @leonsecretsanta <3

Leon's operations always proceed as follows: infiltrate, carry out, and slip out covertly. It's always that easy in principle, but in practice, things never turn out the way he had hoped. He's tired of it all; it's the holidays, goddamn it, but work won't let him take a break for even a moment. A gloved finger releases the safety catch as a far-off, rhythmic vibration brings him out of his reverie. He is driven insane by the absence of any other sensory cues than touch, sound, and sight, as well as the darkness trails behind him where his flashlight isn't focused. The experienced agent feels as though he is heading down a path with no assurance of return since the tunnel seems to go on forever in front of him.

“Hunnigan, are you sure this is the right one?” He asks into his comms, voice low. “I’ve been walking for 30 minutes but I did hear a noise earlier.”

He hears her type into a keyboard and click a mouse before she responds back to him. “Yes, I’m tracking you now and you’re exactly where you need to be. The tunnel is purposely long to throw any wanderers off; years ago, there were functioning gate systems for every kilometer walked but it appears that they’re not employed anymore and haven’t been for a few years now. Stay vigilant Condor One, I’m picking up a heat signature somewhere in the system. Stay safe.”

“Copy,” he responds before turning it back off to listen to his environment better. He sighs before he continues forward, unable to speed through things and wrap it up for the year– he can’t afford to do that.

After a few more minutes of walking, he reaches a seemingly unassuming manhole in the ground and after receiving instructions from Hunnigan, he opens it with some effort and descends down the narrow opening. Before he can totally reach the ground, something grabs him by his ankle and yanks him down with enough force to smack him down; the impact forces air out of his lungs, stunning him for a moment as he tries to take in large amounts of air. He recovers quickly though, retrieving his loaded gun and aiming at his beastly assailant: an alligator as tall and long as a double-decker tour bus in the roads of LA, its scaly body covered in green grime and some sort of slime mold. The BOW lunges at him, its hideous maw wide open as it charges but Leon dodges the charge, aiming expertly at fatal points but his bullets do little damage to its thick hide; he realizes this, also recognizing that using a grenade in this space would kill him as well, opting to run to safety to avoid the gator as much as he can. Luck not being on the agent’s side, the alligator is a lot more intelligent than he thought it was, using its tail to slam Leon and send him flying into a wall, landing awkwardly into his forearm before a particularly nasty fall. Pain struck through him like a thunderclap, a resonant ache too powerful for Leon to ignore, amplifying the sickening awareness that something had been horribly misaligned. His consciousness was ebbing, bending to the will to cave into the fresh surge of torment, yet he managed to retrieve a grenade from his gear. With his good hand, he pulled the pin and sent it to the gator’s direction. Right before it explodes, he gathered whatever strength he had left to find the most secure spot around to duck in. A white-hot brilliance is followed by a roar that interrupts the air, from the grenade or the BOW Leon isn’t sure but he’s relieved that the damn beast is in chunks and bits now, turning on comms again to relay information back to HQ.

“Mission cleared,” he grunts. “Request back-up… broken arm…”

“Report your status agent,” Hunnigan asks to repeat.”

“Just said my arm’s broken,” Leon repeats with a slight edge of impatience. “Rat bastard flung me against the wall… goin’ to fucking pass out…”

“Copy,” she responds. “Hang in there Leon, I’ve dispatched a rescue team and they’ll be there in 20. Stay with me.”

“I’ll… try…”

He groans a little more, trying to limit movement in his bad arm as he props himself up from his previous ball curl position. Such a simple injury shouldn’t render him this weak but that hit was just too strong for him to make it out unscathed, his consciousness beginning to give way to a creeping desire to fall asleep. The world began to darken around him, vision unfocusing but he kept his resolve steadfast: if he could make it through this one, he won’t let the holidays pass without him letting you know your laugh, your kindness, and your mere presence had kept him fighting. He’d trade his silence for vulnerability because if he could survive this madness, he’d be able to survive the terror of telling you that he’s loved you from the start. He admires your mind, how your thoughts could dance between profound and playful, how you could say something so wise and crack him up with a stupid joke at the same time; he adores the way you make him feel understood and be his truest self, and how enchanted he is with the way you can be fiercely independent and also nurturing– your existence is proof that the universe fought tooth and nail to bring such a blessing in his dark life.

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The scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, and a soft pillow supporting his head greets Leon as he stirs awake from his unconscious state. The blinds are drawn around his bed and his bad arm is now in a black sling, taken care of by the doctors who tended to him. He quietly groans, running his hand through his face and feeling the prickly stubble that’s begun to grow on his cheeks and chin. Somewhere in the room, he hears Hunnigan’s faint voice conversing with someone and since it sounded like she’s the only speaker present, it must be over a call. He doesn’t have the energy to eavesdrop, preferring to close his eyes and fall back asleep for a little longer but his FOS agent interrupts his plans, pushing aside the curtains and greeting Leon.

“You’ve been out for nearly an entire day,” she points out. “How are you feeling?”

“Crusty.” He deadpans, earning a nod from her.

“Makes sense.”

Silence fills the room again before the FOS agent speaks up again. “Called HQ today and field for a 2-month rest and recuperation period for you. You deserve it after 7 years of non-stop work. They’ll still need a written report from you though but I told them to cut you some slack since your arm’s broken and the holidays are right around the corner.”

She purposely leaves out the part where she nearly instigated an argument because her and Leon’s higher-ups refused to let him off, standing her ground fiercely and convincing them to let the man off the hook otherwise she’ll personally email the President herself and send in documented reports of over fatigue, violation on ethics, and liability regarding an overworked employee being denied a recuperation period; Leon certainly wouldn't like hearing about her nearly getting nasty with his boss so she decided to keep this to herself.

“Thanks, Ingrid. I appreciate it,” he says with a closed lip smile. “So, uh… when do I get discharged? And the hospital bill?”

“You’ll be discharged in about… 4 hours and the agency’s got your bill covered, just focus on getting better soon. Anyway, how’re things between you and them?”

A barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lip though briskly concealed carelessly with a clear of his throat that gave away the simmering nervous excitement beneath his nonchalant exterior.

“I’ll do something about it soon,” he carefully responds, it being his tender affections kept lock-and-key in his heart. He looks up at Hunnigan whose arms are crossed, looking down at him with a look that shows that she doesn’t quite believe that that is all he has to say.

“What?” Leon asks with a shrug. “You look like you want me to say more.”

“Because I know there’s more than just that,” she points out. Leon looks down and stays silent, remembering the promise he made to himself moments before he passed out. “Don’t act like you don’t spend your work break talking to me about them and texting me at ass-scratching hours of the night because Jill and the Redfields are sick of you not doing anything.”

“Guilty as charged,” he says with a half-smile. He took a moment to collect himself internally, to shift in his hospital bed that will display a convincing feigned indifference that will redirect attention away from the telltale crimson burning in his ears. “But I… I promised myself that I won’t let the holidays pass me by without letting them know that I’ve loved them for so long, so that's something, right?”

“Mhm.”

“They deserve to know how incredible and precious they are to me but there’s this voice that tells me they’re better off not knowing, and I hate how much I listen to it. It sounds selfish of me but I don’t want them to walk out of my life just because I couldn’t keep myself in check.”

“Why do you think that they’re better off not knowing? Sometimes we assume that silence is safer but it can create a distance when there doesn’t need to be any,” Hunnigan begins. “It’s okay to feel scared but don’t let it rob you and them of a chance to experience something genuine. Do you trust them to treat you well, Leon?”

“Yes–”

“Then trust that they’ll handle your feelings with care. Certainly you’ve got reasons on why you trust them and I’m sure that it’s because you’re treated kindly and valued so why not trust them with your feelings? With your heart?”

Chapped lips parted with the intent to say more words but instead, a soft sigh of resolution is released. Hunnigan gave him an encouraging pat to his shoulder before walking to the other side of the bed, letting the nurse who came to do their rounds in. “Good to see that you’re back with us, Mr. Kennedy. How are we feeling?”

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In the meantime, he will have to accept rides from friends or use public transit a bit more frequently; his beloved XDiavel will have to spend the next six months gathering dust in the basement parking of his apartment complex. It will take some time to get used to using his left arm, and asking for help from others will make it even more difficult. He is unsure of how he will handle this aspect of his life for the time being, but he is aware that he will need to practice putting on shirts with his less dominant hand, especially sweaters and button-ups now that the weather calls for layering clothes. He will definitely miss the thrill and breeze that riding his bike brings him, but it's a welcome change if it means allowing his arm to heal properly. 

The car ride to Leon’s apartment is filled with comfortable silence, neither agent energized enough to start small talk, especially at 2:17 AM. As he looks out the car window, blue irises meeting the sight of ice white like the sclera of eyes, he internalizes the fact that he’s lucky to make it to the end of the year, still alive to see another Christmas; the year has been rough, like last year and the year before last year, but he’s amazed at how long he’s kept going despite it all. Instead of the weariness and stench of his line of work sticking to him, it’s the stingy scent of hospital disinfectant that clings to him like a distant memory. He leans his head against the window, the coolness of the external environment oddly grounding as he thinks of his dear roommate and a clandestine focal point of his most tooth-rotting indulgent domestic dreams– you, who unknowingly filled in the cold and empty spaces of his life. Even when he’s out in the field, hyperfocused on the mission objectives, his thoughts always find a way to circle back to you: he swore to protect you from the horrors he’s faced, even from afar, yet he’s too terrified to ask for more of you. For the longest time, as a man who is no longer a stranger to losing people he cares about the most, the idea of being your trusty roommate was enough for him.

“Catch some sleep, Leon.” He cranes his head to look at his coworker from the corner of his eye.

“We’re still a few minutes away. I’ll wake you up once we’re there.”

Leon mumbles a faint ‘thanks’ before settling cozily into his seat, succumbing to the bone-deep exhaustion and dozing off to a light slumber.

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He tries to keep his footfalls as light and muted as possible, a conscious effort to make the pads of his heavy combat boots lighter. Now, he stands in front of the door; he’s sure that you're fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the world around you as you’re somewhere in dreamland. Carefully, he unlocks the door and steps inside a dark home before locking it once again behind him; everything is neat and in order, just like how he left it 3 months ago, though the couch definitely looks a lot cleaner, the throw pillows have cases he’s never seen before, and the air smells faintly of mistletoe room spray. He walks down the hall, careful to avoid bumping into anything, and turns the corner where the bedrooms would be– yours to the right and his to the left. He doesn’t mean to be creepy or unsettling but as he stands near your door, he listens closely for any noise and to his relief, he only hears soft snores which ever so slightly tilts the corners of his lips skyward. Once he realizes that he’s grinning fondly, he brings a hand to rub at his stubbled chin as he chastises himself for foolishly folding for something as simple as a soothing slumber of the one person who unknowingly occupies all 4 chambers of his heart.

“Mushy,” he inaudibly scolds himself while still sporting a stupidly-in-love grin.

Shaking his head to rid his mind of such soft thoughts, he decides to head into his room and have the first proper sleep he’s gotten in months. He forgoes a shower– too tired to have one, fuss around with his sling, and wait for the water to run warm. Grabbing a clean blanket from one of the cabinets inside his bedroom, he kicks off his boots then lays down on his bed and drapes it over himself, laying on his bare mattress in his Levi’s and the same black shirt, his leather jacket now on the ground somewhere near his boots. 

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Morning comes, prompting you to start your day a minute before your alarm disturbs the tranquility. After your morning rituals, you cook yourself a packed lunch to bring to work in order to save up for a gift for Leon– that is, if work won’t hog him until Christmas. You’re not even sure what he likes aside from sleek watches and neat jackets, something within the bounds of your salary. A shaving set? Premium leather cleaner? A gift card to a popular barbershop in town? Something for a grill? Does he even own a grill?

“I swear, Leon, you’re so going to get Vaseline lip balm from me because I don’t know what you want that I can afford,” you tell yourself as you flip the food over to thoroughly cook the other side. “What the hell do you even do for a living to earn 6 figures? How are you still living in an apartment and not in some mansion at a mountain overlooking an ocean, seriously. Might just be a man thing.”

“Not really a big fan of huge houses,” a raspy and baritone voice coming from behind you responds.

Your heart leaps and lodges into your throat, turning quickly as your breath hitches while you come face-to-face with the owner of that voice with your eyes wide. A soulful, honest-to-god scream coming from the depths of your chest crawls its way out of your chest and it’s now Leon’s turn to be wide-eyed and off-guard, his face nearly mirroring the same shock from your own face.

“Easy, it’s just me!” Leon explains, voice tinged with his own nerves– too much for just having woken up in the morning.

“You scared me! Why are you freaking out?!” You say with a flinch. “What the hell, Leon?!”

“Smelled something good cookin’ so I got up,” he begins to explain as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Missed your cooking.”

Unable to form coherent words with the overwhelming blend of emotions, you opt to go in for a hug. In your haste, you don’t notice the black sling that nearly blends in with his shirt. To your confusion, he steps away an inch and politely extends a hand to place some distance between you both.

“Arm,” he points to his injured left arm. “I just got it treated yesterday so uh… we’re gonna have to find an alternative to the usual hugging.”

With the dramatic overload of information dumped on you all at once in under a minute, you end up sobbing instead and you’re certain you don’t look a single bit attractive which definitely won’t work in your favor if you want to woo your roommate.

“Don’t scare me like that again!” You sniffle as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. “And your arm too, that looks like it hurt like a bitch.”

He chuckles and steps closer to you, bringing you into a one-armed hug as you press your face to his chest and cry a little more at him being back home safely, at the injury he sustained, and at the unintentional scare he gave you.

“It’s so good to see you again, Leon. I was wondering if you’d even be back for the holidays,” you say as you begin to calm down.

“Yeah, me too. I’ve missed seeing you,” he regrets his words when he sees your eyes subtly widen at his phrasing. “And uh… I’ll be here until March so you can have me as long as you want. Feels good to not be bothered for a couple of months, y’know.”

“That sounds great. You’ll finally be able to watch the DVDs you have stacked,” you motion to the neatly kept stack on the center table beneath the wall-mounted TV.

“You can watch them with me if you want,” he instantly offers. You’re not sure if his cheeks have always had that subtle flush in them or if his pupils are normally large, but you agree to take his offer anyway.

You finish up cooking your miraculously unburnt lunch, packing it in tupperwares as Leon watches from the dining table while he nurses a mug of instant coffee; it’s a little sweeter and creamier than how he usually has his but he doesn’t mind, you cared enough about him to even share some of the sugary coffee you enjoy. You chatted about whatever happened in your life while he was gone– being a contender for a promotion, a plan on adopting a kitten around the new year, unproductive coworkers making workload heavier, and other random things that come to mind. Leon chuckles and offers his own commentary, missing your voice more than he previously thought; he notes how your hair is now a little longer, there’s slight bags under your eyes, and you’ve got a new bracelet; he wonders from who.

“Sorry but I’m going to cut my yapping short, I gotta clock in to work now.”

He nods, getting up to place his mug in the sink before walking you to the door.

“I’ll be here waiting, it’s not like I can go anywhere with this arm.”

You smile and give him a kind pat to his right shoulder. “Right. Welcome home, Leon. Feel free to grab some sweets by the way, they’re in the left cabinet.”

He nods and watches you leave, only shutting the door once you’re out of his sight. Looking down at himself, he decides to take a shower but first: he’ll have to figure out how to put on the waterproof cast by himself and thoroughly clean himself up.

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In the days leading up to Christmas, your routine merges with his in order to help him out; frequently seeing Leon shirtless becomes the norm along with helping him put on button-up shirts, slip his arms into cozy sweaters, changing his slings, and cooking meals for two… almost like how couples do. Despite how often you see his chiseled midriff, fingers cautiously ghosting over scar tissue and lean muscles, you always require a breather afterwards in order to rid your face of that telltale redness. Just hours ago, your cheek brushed against his and you swear you felt him rein in a sigh from escaping his lips; you wished that he was feeling just as clammy and nervous as you were, hearts synced in beats and powerful emotions. His eyes trailing your movements as you secure his sling doesn’t help your confusion too, causing you to frequent ‘signs that he is in love with you’ articles each night. On a more surely positive note, his fast food intake has been reduced and he’s been enjoying healthier meals that you cook: constantly giving you compliments and his detailed praises for each dish and technique. You cringe at yourself whenever your mind automatically drifts to your wild imaginations at being happily married to him. 

Leon finds himself unable to fall asleep; he’s tried everything– white noise, a sleeping mask, and getting off of his phone but to no avail. Each time he sleeps a little deeper into his slumber, images of the grotesque and macabre dance through his mind and drive him mad. It’s not like he can even get into his usual sleeping position due to his arm, preventing him from fully getting comfortable, so he sits up with a groan before slipping out his room and into the living room; christmas decorations are half-up, some adorning the room in festive reds and greens but there are some that appear as if they were placed there without a care, a little more of the decorations still in boxes. You did note that you’ve been busy covering shifts and working overtime, leaving no time and energy to finish furnishing the house in time for Christmas. Struck by a brilliant idea, he takes the initiative to complete the rest of the decorations so you’d wake up to a Hallmark movie dreamscape in the morning… and it’ll all be thanks to him and you’d smile real wide and call him charming– he’s getting ahead of himself, a mindless smile once again gracing his features. He gets to work on what he can, finding little to no trouble on using one hand for this task.

He shocks himself with how good and fitting his pairings are: the decorations, tinsel, wreaths, and holiday charms complementing each other a lot better than he expected. Maybe he should come over to the Redfields and help them put up decorations, Chris could seriously use some lessons on coordinating and matching. One break per hour turns into two then three and eventually, he’s conked out on the couch with a box of christmas balls on his lap and tinsel on his free hand; his mouth his open, head thrown back and some brunette fringe curtaining an eye. You’d love to spend the entire day giggling and describing the state you found your endearing roommate, teasing him to no end– the poor man woke up confused, seeing the first rays of daylight filter in and hear your muted chuckles as you took pictures of him.

“Fell asleep decorating?” you ask, though it’s a little pointless to ask: you know the answer.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck before setting aside the box and standing. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I decided to get busy. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I seriously don’t mind. I could use some help since I’ve been so busy and tired so you’re heaven-sent for putting some of it up, thank you again. You’ve done so much for me already–”

“No, you’ve done so much for me already. Don’t give me all the credit,” he says with a timid grin.

You walk around, stopping around the walls and tables and in front of the tree. “You’re really good at this! You even swapped out some of the things I already put up– no biggie though, it looks even better now. Who knew Leon Kennedy could make a–”

“Hallmark movie dreamscape?”

“Yeah!”

The entire thing isn’t particularly funny or the pinnacle of comedy but you both find yourself sharing a fond chuckle and you feel your hummingbird heart rattle against its bone-cage and Leon already knows he’ll be obsessing over this moment all day long.

“You’re great at this, Leon– genuinely. It’s so… pretty and magical and basically the stuff of dreams. I love the arrangements, I don’t know what’s better to keep staring at: you or this Christmas wonderland.”

He’s sure to yap Hunnigan’s poor ear off all afternoon while you’re out.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

From that day on, he spends most of his days (and sleepless nights) planning the perfect confession: writing it down on paper, pacing around the room acting it out, and mumbling the words he’ll use. He knows he’s acting and treating this like a silly teenage boy with an out-of-league crush and in a way, he thinks you are: you’re heaven-sent, God’s apology for all the evil and scum in this world. He giggles and chuckles at the prospect of confessing to you, getting all wiggly until an ache in his bad arm cuts it short and causes him to wince for a moment before getting back to where he left off. Claire calls him delusional, Leon thinks he’s being a romantic visionary. 

The sight of Leon’s brightened, reinvigorated puppy eyes stuck with you until you reached your workplace; those bedazzled eyes, coupled with his perfect smile, is the kind of thing that belongs to someone who has it all: charm, looks, and confidence. If there were already others interested in him, surely you can’t compete: he deserves someone bolder and more upfront, not just someone fumbling with half-hearted attempts to be seen by their secret darling. Every attempt to flirt and hint at your affections seemed to go unnoticed, his responses always polite but never suggestive of anything more; maybe you weren’t clever enough to capture the attention of someone as effortlessly suave as Leon Kennedy

“It’s not his fault,” you bitterly thought to yourself as you bit on the edge of your pen. “I’m just not that outstanding for him to leave an impression…”

“Who’s fault?” your coworker asks, peeking over their cubicle.

“Nothing,” you quickly dismiss the slip-up. “Work must be getting to me, I’m talking to myself now, haha...”

There’s already an ‘incident’ wherein you took the time to shape the foam in Leon’s coffee into a heart. “Thought I’d sprinkle some love for your day.”

“Lattes aren’t really my preference but thank you,” he responded that one embarrassing morning. “Mm, this is really good.” Despite him enjoying the coffee enough to take it to work, it still left you red-faced and ashamed of yourself.

Unwilling to let other embarrassing memories like these get the best of you, you push those thoughts down before they have a chance to simmer up and bother you so you occupy yourself with work.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“I can do it myself,” Leon mutters half-heartedly though his predicament betrayed his words: the remaining sleeve of his favorite sweater dangling around his neck like a sad scarf.

You ignored his stubbornness, hands gentle as you fumbled with his sweater as you fixed it up for him before slipping his bad arm inside with tender care.

When the sleeve finally aligned, it’s as if your heart overrode your ability to logically reason with yourself and so, you placed a hand on his stubbled cheek to steady him. The touch lingered for a little longer, the seconds stretching on a little longer. Leon’s breath camps out in his throat, too terrified to make a little move and shatter the magic. Unfortunately for him, you took your hand back as if his face was a cup of hot cocoa too hot to hold.

“Sorry,” you whisper before backing off, leaving an achy emptiness in the blue-eyed agent’s heart. “Is it all okay now?”

“Huh? Right– yes, it’s fine now. Thanks, by the way.”

You nod, excusing yourself from his presence to occupy yourself with something else, the awkward void palpable than ever though you both know that you felt a shared crackle of something precious.

The night is all so perfect and cozy– a delectable Christmas feast, soft Christmas sweaters, and a comforting atmosphere settling over your shared apartment with Leon. You don’t want this night to ever end, for this feeling to dissipate come morning time. It’s now or never, so you direct Leon to stand with you in the arch of the doorway. Taking a deep and steadying breath, you let your feelings be known before the fear can ruin everything again.

“I know you probably think that this is sudden,” you carefully begin. “But it’s not. It’s been simmering for a year and 3 months now– each time you come home from some work-related thing or when I make you smile or when I help you out with your sweaters and shirts, there’s this feeling that threatens to crumble me deliciously and it’s all because of you.”

Leon tilts his head, unconsciously mimicking a confused puppy. “What do you mean…?”

“Under this stupid mistletoe that I placed while you were taking the pies from the neighbor, I can’t let this moment pass without me being honest to you: you mean so much to me– so much that if I lost you, I’d go insane. I’m completely, overwhelmingly, and all-consumingly in love with you and honestly, it’s impossible not to.”

Your voice trembled and if even the slightest thing didn't go your way, you’re certain you’ll cry from the immense pressure on you. You laugh softly, trying to soothe yourself as a nervous warmth flows through you.

“You’re not the only one,” Leon speaks up, voice thick with emotion, “who’s been thinking about this moment.”

He steps closer, cautiously perching his right hand on your hip.

“I was going to say something first but you beat me to it first,” he adds while sporting a tantalizing smile. “I planned on telling you later tonight but guess I’ll have to let you win this time.”

Your eyes locked with his, the weight of formerly unspoken feelings suddenly lifting and giving way to something charged. Taking a tiny step closer, you cup his face in your hands again and you sigh at how perfect the fit is.

“So… what did we learn?” You jokingly ask.

“That we both suck at keeping secrets?” He jokes back.

A shared and equally shy giggle erupts between you two like you’re both teenagers new to the whole shtick of love.

“So… you do know what being under a mistletoe requires us to do right?” he softly asks.

Beneath the mistletoe, time seemed to stop and the seconds that flowed were tinged with genuine nervousness intensifying as your faces drew ever nearer.

“I love you,” Leon says before meeting your lips with his, gentle and feather-light with hints of hesitation. It was slow yet sweet, sweeter than all the combined holiday treats you both had. The shared warmth and affection blurred the rest of the world into insignificance; each brush of lips were delicate like falling snowflakes. As you both pull away to catch air, you rest your foreheads together and share a giggle in the tingly aftermath of your first kiss.

NOTE - Happy holidays everyone <3 I would like you to give yourself either a tight hug, a pat to the shoulder, or both for making it to the end of the year. The year certainly wasn't smooth or easy for some of us but I'm proud of you for ending the year with me and the rest of us who deeply care about you. I hope that every single one of you are warm and cozy in your homes, with stomachs happily full from a tasty dinner, and content with your lives right now. If you're currently going through something, please hold on and stay strong: things will all be okay in the end and if they aren't okay right now then it's not the end just yet-- rest and slow down if you must but never give up <33 You got this and I know you do because I believe in you, sending virtual hugs and kisses to every single person who sees this post on their dashboards *<]:D !! If you're seeing this, thank you for taking time to read and interact with this post :3 I <3333 UUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are made by @cafekitsune (the moving red line divider), @bernardsbendystraws (the Christmas lights divider), and @wcnderlnds (the red and blue snowflakes) + the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[t-folklore13]

Sleep, I’m not going anywhere - Eddie Munson

*

18+ MDNI

Summary: you get sick and your bestfriend Eddie helps you get better

Warnings: vomiting, mild cussing

Not proof read wrote this at 2:00am

Best friends to lovers

I wake up and immediately feel like shit. My body aches, head hurts, nose is absolutely stuffed and runny which makes no sense. I roll over and see 6:30 flash across my alarm clock. I have time to get ready and its hellfire tonight anyways so might as well tough it out through the day.

I slowly get up and move like a zombie to get ready. I put my hair in a bun and start really getting ready, As I’m picking out pants to wear with the “Mandatory attire’ as Eddie calls it i can hear him down the road

How do I know it’s him? No one else is gonna listen to slayer at the ass crack of dawn in the middle of winter. He turns the radio down and I can hear the door bell. The muffled voice of my mom is greeting Eddie and he’s being as charming as always when the door flys open, donut in hand one for me and one for him. “hey I got this for you from the kitchen… are you okay?” I take the food out of of his hand and smile “I’m fine but we should get going dont wanna ruin your perfect attendance”

He fake smiles and flips me off and I know it might be a good day, oh how wrong was I.

When we get to the front of the school I rush inside and Eddie looks confused running after me. I run into the girls bathroom and start throwing up what little food I had in my system. I hear a knock on the stall and turn around “Eddie your not supposed be in here” someone laughs and I open the stall confused “oh hey robin sorry i thought you were eddie’

“It’s okay he actually sent me in here to check on you though he said he “cannot pass the gates of women privacy” or whatever so he found me and sent me in” I smile weakly and she hands me water “thanks” I drink half of it and sigh ‘is he still out there?” She nods and shuffles around in her bag giving me gum “that should make you feel better for now do you want to go to the nurse?”

“No I have a test in O’Donnell and hellfire tonight I can manage” she hugs me and the bell rings “shoot I gotta go but promise you’ll at least get medicine”

“yeah I can do that” the late bell rings and we walk out of bathroom “hey are you okay? You totally scared me” I smile and nod “Yeah I’m fine but we gotta go we have a test remember?” He groans loudly and I laugh. We both walk to class and I try to keep my happy front up

*

Lunch finally rolls around and I just want to try to eat something. I feel someone grab my hand and instantly know it’s Eddie, we walk in silence till we enter the cafeteria “hey you sit down I’ll get you something

“What about you” I look up at him and he shrugs “I’ll just steal from mike and Dustin I’m sure whatever their moms packed is enough”. I smile and walk over to the table finding somewhere to sit, placing my head on it I don’t know how much time passes but I suddenly feel an arm around me then Gareth and Jeff arguing about who can sit where Eddie sits. “here you go my fine lady lunch is served and I stole cranberry juice for you from wheeler”

I take the food and start eating when I get super tired and just lean on eddies chest after a debate on what Eddie had planned for the campaign I hear “hey dude she’s asleep” I want to open my eyes and show them I’m in fact not asleep but cannot find the energy to do so when i feel Eddie shaking my shoulder then feel my head “Oh shit she’s burning up” I feel a cold sensation on the back of my neck and smile snuggling into Eddie further. “Hey sweetheart wake up we’re going to the office”

“What for?” he lifts me up and we start walking “I’m taking you home” I want to argue but I can’t I’m too tired and my bed doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now “hey we are gonna leave she isn’t feeling well” The office lady looks at me holding onto Eddie then him “she looks sick and will be excused but you will not’ I hear him scoff and scribble on some paper “I’m over eighteen I can do whatever I damn please and if I wanna take care of my girl I will, so we’re leaving” I must really be sick because I just hallucinated Eddie calling me his girl

Eddie opens the door and the air feels great against my hot skin. I try to talk but mumble instead and Eddie just picks me up “We’re almost there sweetheart okay hold tight the office called your mom and said I’m with you its okay” I hear the door open and he places me into the van I fully fall asleep and the last thing I feel is Eddie rubbing my leg.

I start to wake up and look around but it’s really dark in my room, just then Eddie walks in with soup, medicine, and more blankets “hey I didn’t know if you had a migraine so I kept it dark but you need to eat so I made you soup” I look at him while he sets everything down and smile “thank you Ed’s how long have I been out?”

“Only an hour but your mom called and said she’s stuck in Illinois because of weather so I’m staying here and taking care of you” I partly take in the information and reach for the soup but stop and lay back down “you need help sweetheart?” I I mumble and he starts to hand feed me the soup

My throat suddenly burns and I start having a coughing fit, Eddie rubs my back and holds my hair “hey you wanna lay back down?” I take a deep breath and cough again “yes” as I lay down I hear him getting up and shuffling away, so I grab his arm and grumble “no eds stay please” he sighs and crawls over me, getting under the blankets and wrapping his arms around me

“Sleep, I’m not going anywhere”

I smile and he rubs my stomach slowly pulling me back to slumber

~

When I wake back up again for the second time Eddie isn’t here and I feel like I got ten times worse “Eddie?” It comes out weak and horse, I feel like crying did he leave? Did he get bored? I feel a knot in my throat when the door opens “oh hey your awake are you okay sweetheart your eyes are watering” I smile and grab onto his arm “I’m okay now”

As soon as I say that I feel bile build up and rush past Eddie to the bathroom, he runs behind me and hold my hair back after throwing up the only food I ate today and dry heaving for five minutes it finally stops “Ed’s it hurts”

“I know it does baby do you want to take a bath relax your muscles a bit?” I nod and he starts running the water and I hand him the bubbles, when the bath is filled he grabs my bath towel and a new shirt “hey sweetheart are you okay from here?” I nod and when he’s about to walk away I grab him “um before I get in the bath could you stay by the door and when I say it’s okay could you come back in I don’t wanna be alone”

His neck flushes pink and he nods “um yeah when your decent just yell my name” I undress and look at the bun Eddie put in my hair smiling, I ease myself into the bath and sigh at how good it feels making sure there’s enough bubbles to cover me “Eddie? You can come it now” the door opens and he has his hand over his eyes “are you sure?” I laugh and shake my head

“Yes you goon now tell me about the upcoming campaign” while hearing his soothing voice as well as his imaginative story telling I start to feel sleepy everything is so nice right now “hey your falling asleep on me do you wanna lay down?” I nod and feel super weak “could you just turn around while I get situated”

“Of course” I dry off and put my clothes on then tap his shoulder “I feel weak could you help me to the bed” he picks me up effortlessly and starts waking to my room “are you getting worse? Do you need more medicine or a doctor” I shake my head and he sets me down “I just need you” he smiles and lays down next to me

“I think that’s the medicine talking” in my hazy state my mouth works faster then my common sense “no it’s me talking duh because I’m so in love with you and I feel safe around you” a faint kiss on my forehead is the last thing I hear as I again fall asleep

“I love you too baby”

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts.

Word count: +3,5k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

"Jason and Greg were little Atlanta rich boys," Gale explained to the group as they made their way through a narrow alleyway. The walls were plastered with graffiti, but one piece caught Iris's eye: a hauntingly detailed Ghostface painted on the wall, its hollow eyes seeming to watch them as they passed. Of course, this was the kind of place that suited those two lunatics perfectly. "Apparently, they used fake names to rent this place."

"How did you find it?" Kirby asked, walking beside Gale, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

"It's called investigative journalism for a reason," Gale replied, her tone dripping with confidence. Iris exchanged a glance with Sam, who rolled her eyes. Here it comes, Iris thought, suppressing a smile as she noticed the weird dynamic between those two.

"How didn't you find it? Weren't you tracking them?"

"I went through their financial records dozens of times," Kirby shot back, her frustration palpable. "This was not in any of them. It doesn't make sense."

"Don't worry," Gale murmured dismissively, waving her hand as if swatting away a fly. "I'm just really good at my job. You'll get there one day." Kirby rolled her eyes, letting out a loud sigh that echoed through the alley.

Gale strode over to a heavy door marked with rust and age, fiddling with the entry system until it clicked open, once she swiped a card. With a confident push, she bounded inside, the group trailing behind her. Iris couldn't help but wonder how Gale had managed to get her hands on a keycard that could unlock all the doors to this place. It felt both impressive and a little unsettling.

As they stepped inside, Gale produced a flashlight from her bag, its beam slicing through the darkness. The light illuminated a narrow corridor ahead, revealing another fence that needed to be unlocked. Gale approached it, pushing the gate open with a loud shriek that echoed off the walls.

"What's with this place?" Sam asked, her voice reverberating in the eerie stillness. "What's with all the security?"

Gale flicked the light back on, and they all stopped in their tracks, jaws dropping as they took in the sight before them. The room was expansive, filled with rows of glass shelves, but it was the stuff inside them that left them speechless.

"It's a movie theater," Tara realized.

"It's not just a theater," Gale corrected, her lips pursed in a serious line as she scanned the room. "It's a shrine."

"That's a funny way of saying this is the dollhouse of some psycho," Iris muttered, her gaze flickering from the creepy altar of the murders  to the large stage that loomed ominously at the front.

"What the hell?" Mindy whispered, taking a step closer, her curiosity overshadowed by unease.

Iris began to stare straight ahead, her heart pounding as she took in the scene. One by one, the others followed her gaze, their expressions shifting from curiosity to shock. The room was a museum dedicated to the Stab franchise, filled with clothes, weapons, and haunting photographs. The curtain that usually shrouded the stage had been pulled up, exposing a chilling display of Ghostface costumes but the masks were absent. The sight of the Ghostface outfits, each representing a different killer twisted her stomach into an uncomfortable knot.

"Wow," Sam whispered, her voice barely audible, mirroring the stunned silence of the group. Mindy and Chad brushed past them, eager to investigate more.

"They've got the whole goddamn franchise," Mindy exclaimed, disbelief etched across her features. She turned to her brother, her eyes wide. "Chad?"

"Hmm?" he replied, distracted by a particularly striking costume.

Mindy gestured toward a faded black t-shirt hanging on the wall. "This was Uncle Randy's..." Her voice trailed off as she took in the vast collection around them. "They've got everything."

Iris's gaze drifted past a series of photos featuring a younger Sidney and a portrait of Dewey, who looked so vibrant and full of life. She felt Gale's presence beside her and couldn't help but speak. "He was so young in this picture."

"Yes, so handsome too," the older woman replied softly, a sadness glimmering in her eyes. They exchanged a brief, bittersweet smile before Iris stepped away, sensing that the woman needed a moment to herself.

As she continued her walk, she spotted Kirby staring intently at a stripped blue shirt and a knife displayed behind the glass. "Kirby, is that...?" Iris asked carefully, her heart sinking.

"The knife I was stabbed with," Kirby replied, her voice heavy with sorrow. Iris instinctively rubbed her arm in comfort, trying to ease the weight of the moment. As she turned her attention to a dark blue crop top on a nearby shelf, a chill ran down her spine. She leaned closer to the glass case, her breath hitching when she saw the name inscribed beneath it. "Belonged to Olivia Morris."

"How the fuck do they have that?" Iris gasped, pressing a hand against the glass as if to will it to disappear. The reality of the place began to suffocate her.

"I don't know," Kirby said, grabbing Iris's arm gently but firmly. "Let's move on. Don't look at that."

Tara noticed the distressed expression on Iris's face and approached her, concern etched in her features. "What happened?" she asked, her voice low and soothing.

"They have a shirt that belonged to my sister, like it's some kind of trophy," Iris admitted, her words tinged with sadness. The weight of loss settled heavily on her chest as Tara wrapped her arms around her in a comforting embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Ris," Tara murmured, her voice soft and sincere.

"It's not your fault," Iris replied, pulling away reluctantly. She took a moment to steady herself before heading over to join Chad and Mindy, who were engrossed in examining another set of weapons.

"How did they get all of this stuff?" Tara asked, glancing around the room with a mix of disbelief and horror. "Isn't this evidence?"

"Well, cops like money," Gale replied nonchalantly, her tone dismissive. "And evidence can get lost pretty easily. Present company excluded, of course." She shot a pointed look at Kirby, who was already glaring back at her, with her arms wide open.

"Um, why am I here exactly?" Ethan piped up after a moment, his tone laced with irritation. "My alibi check out."

"So we can keep an eye on you," Chad said calmly, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned casually against the wall.

"You're not excluded, pretty boy," Iris chimed in, her voice sharp. At the same time, Mindy made a gesture with her eyes, a clear indication that she was keeping a close watch on him.

Gale nodded, her expression turning serious as she surveyed the room. "He must've found this place before he murdered Jason and Greg," she deduced, her voice low but urgent. "And then he took the masks off the mannequins. All nine, from Stu and Billy to Amber and Richie."

As Gale spoke, Iris and Sam made their way toward the Ghostface outfits, each drawn to different displays. Sam approached her father's outfit, her expression unreadable, while Iris found herself standing before Amber's costume. It felt surreal to look at something that belonged to the girl who had caused so much pain.

For the first time in a long while, Iris stared at the costume without feeling sadness or betrayal. Instead, a simmering anger boiled inside her, anger that she hadn't been able to stop Amber before she hurt Wes, Dewey and Liv. The memory of their faces haunted her, and she clenched her fists.

Chad approached, his expression shifting to concern as he noticed her distress. "You okay, Ris?" he asked softly, his voice comforting as he stared at the costume of the girl who used to be his friend.

"Yeah, just tired of this bullshit,".

"I feel you, girl," Chad said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in a reassuring gesture. Together, they stepped away from the horrible display, ready to rejoin their friends.

As they made their way back to the group, the air felt thick with tension. She looked around, catching glimpses of Sam standing by her father's outfit with Tara beside her and Gale flipping through various shelves trying to find some type of clue.

"So, somebody killed these chucklefucks and took over?" Chad crossed his arms, his expression showing disbelief.

"Someone who believes that Sam masterminded Woodsboro," Gale replied, her tone grave as she surveyed the room.

"If this were a normal Stab movie, this would be the killer's lair," Mindy added flatly, her eyes scanning the surroundings as if trying to piece together a twisted narrative.

"Jesus, this is insane," Iris muttered.

"Which means this isn't a normal Stab movie," Kirby confirmed, her voice steady but laced with anxiety.

Kirby's words hung in the air, echoing in Tara's mind. Something shifted within her, and before anyone could react, she darted down the small steps of the stage and out of the large room, urgency propelling her forward.

Sam and Iris exchanged worried glances, their concern deepening as they quickly followed after her. They found Tara in the hallway, visibly shaken as she took a deep breath from her inhaler.

As Tara turned to face them, the worry etched on Sam and Iris's faces was unmistakable. "You okay?" Sam coaxed gently, her voice soft and reassuring.

"Sam, when do I get to be a normal person again?" Tara asked, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to shield herself from the world. A silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating.

"I don't know," Sam admitted, shaking her head, a frown deepening on her brow.

"I don't want to be a part of this," Tara continued, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't want to be part of some stupid legacy because I'm—"

"Because of me,"

"Sam, it's not your fault," Iris interjected, her voice firm yet gentle, desperate to defuse the tension building between the sisters.

"Just drop it," Tara murmured, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Without another word, she hurried away, making her way toward the second floor.

"I got her," Iris assured Sam as she followed Tara's retreating figure.

As she ascended to the second floor, Iris turned into a random room, her heart racing with concern. There she found Tara leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed on the floor as if the ground might swallow her whole. The vulnerability in Tara's posture struck Iris, and she felt a rush of sadness.

"Hey, you okay?" The words hung in the air between them, soft but heavy, as Iris watched Tara's shoulders slump.

Tara looked up slowly, her eyes tired, a little lost. She gave a half hearted smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It's not easy to be here". She sighed, staring at the floor, her hands fidgeting nervously.

"No, it's not. " Iris said softly, taking a cautious step forward. "But you know it's not Sam's fault, right?"

Tara let out a long sigh, her shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "I know. I was a total jerk, wasn't I?"

"Yep. But she understands you didn't mean it. This place has a way of driving everyone insane."

"I'll apologize, she didn't deserve that."

"Good." Iris smiled gently, relief washing over her. "It's important that you guys stick together."

Tara glanced at her, concern evident in her eyes. "How are you holding up? I know this is hard for you too."

"Yeah well, It's not that bad. I mean, I'm extremely mad about my sister's clothes being here. But what can I do? I just have to hope we get justice for her and for all of us."

"That's really mature of you," Tara remarked, a hint of admiration in her tone.

"You almost sound surprised, I'm a little offended," Iris teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Tara chuckled softly. "It's just... you're usually the one who's ready to lash out." Iris could not disagree with that.

"And what about seeing Amber's costume? Are you okay?" Tara asked, her tone shifting to something more serious.

"Honestly? I'm great. I haven't felt anything for her in a long time. Maybe just anger that I didn't have a gun sooner," Iris admitted, a smirk creeping onto her face.

"Ah, here comes the sadistic side again," Tara said, shaking her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Don't lie to me, you kinda dig it." Iris nudged Tara playfully with her shoulder, trying to draw her out of the heavy atmosphere.

"Maybe," Tara said, allowing a smile to break through.

"You okay though? You seemed really mad" Iris asked.

"I'm just overwhelmed, you know? Everything that's happening... it doesn't help to see it all laid out like this. It's like a constant reminder of what we've lost."

"I know, this sucks," Iris replied, her voice tinged with empathy. She took a step closer, her voice lowering, trying to offer some comfort. "But hey, it will be over soon, I promise. We'll make it through this.

Tara nodded slowly, but it didn't seem to reassure her. She glanced around at the room, the yellow walls, the relentless buzz of fluorescent lights above them and the poster of older films "I don't know," she muttered, her voice shaking slightly. "It doesn't feel like it'll ever end." Iris understood. The situation they were in wasn't one that could be easily escaped, not with their lives on the line every day.

And in the silence that followed, Tara spoke again, almost as if the thought had been eating at her from the inside.

"Do vou ever think about what would happen if we died?" Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as though she wasn't sure if she even wanted to know the answer.

Iris blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. She ran a hand through her hair, unsure how to respond at first. "Well, I don't really think about dying, so... no," she said lightly, attempting to ease the atmosphere with a touch of humor.

But Tara wasn't laughing. Instead, her eyes narrowed, her hand reaching out and giving Iris a playful slap on the arm. "Asshole," she muttered. "I mean it though. I think about it a lot, especially now. More than I'd like to admit."

Iris raised an eyebrow, her expression softening with concern. "Why?"

Tara hesitated for a long moment, her gaze drifting off, as though she was lost in her own thoughts. She exhaled, the air leaving her lungs like a deflated balloon.

"I guess I just don't want to go with any regrets, you know? Like, I don't want to leave this world without having done the things l've always dreamed of." Her voice dropped. "I've spent so much time worrying about everything, and now... now it feels like I don't have enough time to do all the things l've put off."

Iris's chest tightened as she watched Tara struggle to voice the thoughts that were clearly haunting her. She moved closer, her voice softer now. "And you have a lot of those? Regrets, I mean?" She tilted her head slightly, noticing how close they were standing.

Tara's eyes flickered briefly to Iris's face before returning to the floor. "I do," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Like I have a whole list of things I want to do. I want to see the world, finish my major, do something that matters." She laughed bitterly. "But instead, l've just been stuck here, letting the fear of what ifs ruin everything"

Iris took a deep breath, trying to steady her own emotions. She reached out, touching Tara's arm gently. "Well then, what are you waiting for?" she asked, her voice firm but gentle. "Once this is over, you should do everything you've always wanted to do. No more waiting. What comes to your mind right now?"

Tara's lips twitched upward in a small smile. "Like going on a cruise, mavbe?"

Iris froze for a moment, her brows furrowing. "You want to go on a fucking cruise?" she asked, her voice filled with amusement. "They kinda suck"

Tara shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a spark in her eyes. "What? Don't look at me like that, it would be amazing," She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Here I was, about to invite you to come with me and everything."

Iris's lips curled into a grin, her heart skipping a beat at the thought. "Count me in," she said without hesitation.

Tara's eyes widened for a second, but she quickly recovered. "But you just said cruises suck" she reminded her, crossing her arms with a teasing grin.

"I did." Iris admitted, shaking her head in happiness "But if I'm going to be stuck on a filthy boat, it might as well be with you." She paused, her voice lowering as she took Tara's hand in hers. "I would go anywhere with you, Tara. Even on a horrible cruise."

The words hung in the air between them, a silent promise. Tara squeezed her hand in return and for a moment, it felt like everything else faded away and it was just the two of them.

Tara's breath caught in her thoat, and she pulled her hand back slightly, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "That's not the only thing I want to do, though," she said, her voice suddenly quieter. She stepped back, her gaze flickering to the ground as she struggled to say what was on her mind. "There's something I need to do first. Something that comes before anything else."

Iris raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Well then you should also do that, whatever it is".  She placed a hand on Tara's shoulder, her voice steady. "We'll end this nightmare, together."

Tara shook her head, the sadness in her eyes apparent. "You can't promise that," she whispered. "Not everything is in our control."

"Maybe not, but there's one thing I know for sure." Iris moved closer, the space between them almost nonexistent as she looked directly into her eyes. "I know that I'm going to protect you, no matter what happens. I'Il do anything to make sure you're safe."

Tara's heart skipped a beat at the words. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "Why?" she finally whispered. "Why would you do anything to protect me?" Tara's eyes softened, but there was still a depth to her gaze that Iris couldn't fully read. She hesitated, biting her lip as if the words were stuck in her throat.

Finally, she exhaled, her voice barely audible. "Well, I... because you're my best friend," she stuttered. "And I don't want you to die."

"God, I hate that word so much," Tara whispered, the intensity of the moment thickening the air around them.

"Which one? Die?" Iris tried to laugh, but it came out forced, nervous as Tara's gaze locked onto hers.

“No, best friend. I hate it when you call me that”.

Tara grabbed the back of Iris's neck, her fingers tangling in her hair as she pulled her in, their lips crashing together with a force that took them both by surprise. Iris hitched her breath in shock, the warmth of Tara's mouth sending ripples of sensation coursing through her.

As the kiss broke, she pulled away just enough to catch her breath, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Their eyes locked, both of them momentarily speechless, Iris's mind raced, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that surged between them.

Tara's cheeks flushed a deep pink, and her gaze flickered between her eyes and lips, a spark of desire igniting in her expression. It was a look Iris had never seen before, raw and vulnerable yet filled with longing.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Iris wrapped her arms around Tara's waist, drawing her in closer as if trying to merge their bodies into one. The move was instinctual, fueled by a longing that had been building for what felt like ages. She pressed her lips against hers again, this time with a desperate intensity that spoke volumes of the feelings she had kept locked away.

Iris felt Tara melt against her, her body responding to her every touch as they lost themselves in each other. She placed her hands on Tara's waist, feeling the warmth of her body beneath her fingertips as she pressed her against her body. Iris's fingers slipped to the small of her back, holding her tightly as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, savoring the taste of her lips.

Tara grabbed onto the side of her jaw and ran her tongue across Iris's bottom lip, every brush of their mouths was electric and made her crave even more. Tara wrapped her arms around her neck, her fingers tangling in her hair. She tugged gently, the sensation sending shivers down Iris's spine, and she couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, opening her mouth slightly to allow Tara to easily slip her tongue.

Iris moaned softly at the sudden contact, and with a gentle yet firm pressure, she pushed Tara  until her back met the cool surface of the wall behind them. She wasn't willing to let go of her, not now, not after everything that had led them to this point.

One hand pressed firmly against Tara's lower back, pulling her even closer, leaving no space between them. Her other hand drifted through Tara's hair, her fingers weaving through the soft strands, relishing the feeling of her body against her.

Tara's hands roamed up to her shoulders, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her shirt as if anchoring herself in the moment. Tara responded to her touch with a soft sigh, her body arching into her as if instinctively seeking for more. Iris could sense her excitement, the way her fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her closer still.

She explored the curve of Tara's waist with her hand, a sensation that made her heart race even faster. Iris could hear the soft gasps that escaped Tara's lips, each sound sending a thrill through her. She had never experienced anything like this; this raw, unfiltered passion that seemed to consume them both.

As their kisses grew more fervent, Iris couldn't help but lose herself in the moment. She marveled at how right it felt to hold her like this, how natural it was to be entwined in each other's arms. Finally, as the lack of air was starting to become present, Tara pulled away, tugging on Iris’s bottom lip and releasing it before speaking, making the girl chase after her lips.

"That's what I wanted to do more than anything," Tara whispered, her breath warm against Iris's lips. "In case you were wondering"

Iris felt a rush of heat wash over her, her entire mouth tingling. With her eyes still closed, she leaned her forehead against Tara's, both of them trying to steady their breaths. "Tara, that was..."

"We should go. Let's find Sam, we have things to do" Tara replied, pressing a gentle kiss to Iris's cheek before pulling away. She stepped outside of the room, leaving Iris standing there, her mind racing with questions.

[mclarengf]

la vida es tan dulce (contigo)

race day with dad!logan sargeant

[2.3k] 

note: woooow this got out of hand quick… well, enjoy my first proper full length fic! #didntknowhowtofinish x

“come on honey, time to go,” your boyfriend calls into the hotel room, still holding the door open for your daughter. 

lottie sargeant, every bit her dad’s lookalike, runs out, a tiny hand placed above the cap on her head to prevent it from falling. 

you stifle a laugh at her mild panic, readjusting the purse on your shoulder as you follow her out. logan closes the door behind him and holds out his arm for you to take. lottie, seeing you’re both ready to go, leads the way to the elevator, hitting the down button as if to summon it faster.

you squeeze her hand as you step in, “are you excited, lottie baby?” 

she grins up at you and nods, seemingly too happy for words.

“you’re gonna do amazing too, honey.”

logan looks up at this and shoots you a nervous smile. he’d qualified p14 the day before, a genuinely impressive result for the twisty streets of monaco. 

“all thanks to my lucky charm,” he’d said afterwards, kissing the top of lottie’s head in thanks. 

“i’ll just be happy if i can stay p14, y’know?” he says now, fidgeting with his watch, “at least it’s pretty tricky to overtake here.”

“daddy’s gonna win!” lottie, having regained the ability to speak now, wraps herself around logan’s leg, a hug of support. logan laughs at her blind faith and pats her head as he leads her out of the elevator and out to the street. 

“thank you, baby, i’m gonna try so hard just for you, yeah?” 

williams had managed to get you holed up in a hotel only a couple of blocks away from the paddocks, so you’re walking a bit slower than your family because of the heels you’re wearing, having wanted to dress up a bit for the prestigious monaco grand prix. lottie, who’s now found herself atop her dad’s shoulders, develops a system of tapping the top of his head whenever she looks back and you’re a bit too far behind for her liking, so that he stops and you get an opportunity to catch up. 

although lottie’s brilliant stratagem means you get there a few minutes later than planned, you all eventually arrive at the paddock entrance. logan puts your daughter down to grab his pass as rifle around in your purse for yours.

“lottie, have you got your paddock pass?” 

lottie reaches for her neck, only to find it empty and pass-less. 

“mummy…” her lip wobbles and her eyes turn sad as she realises what this means. 

logan stops as he’s about to scan his, already thinking of ways to get her in without a pass. she’s a kid- she’s his kid, surely it’ll be fine, right?

“oh look, darling, here it is!” you produce lottie’s pass from your bag, along with your own, and hand it to your girl on the verge of tears. instantly, she brightens and runs back over to her dad. 

relieved he doesn’t have to smuggle his own daughter in, logan lifts her up so she can tap her pass on the gate, before doing the same with his own and pushing through the turnstile. you follow suit, cringing at the photo which pops up on the display. 

just as logan hands lottie back over to you on the other side, a fan recognises him, and then another, and another. soon, logan’s being swarmed, and you’ve been pushed off to the side. lottie, to her credit, isn’t much disturbed by the sudden separation, but does cling to you tighter, probably for fear of being pushed away from her mum as well. logan’s head pops up above the sea of people, eyes searching for you and you gesture vaguely in the direction of the garage and hospitality areas when you spot each other. he sticks a thumbs up in the air before ducking back down to focus on autographing mementoes and taking selfies. 

you’re only stopped a few times on the way to hospitality, by a couple of fans who recognise you as logan’s partner, and a few photographers, looking to snap a ‘candid’ picture of the sargeant family. 

the williams team principal is engaged in a lively conversation with a few team members when you emerge on the second floor of the williams area. 

as soon as he sees you, he crosses the room for a hug, greeting you with a, “how’ve you been? it feels like it’s been ages!” 

“ah, you know, busy with this one always,” you return the hug and help lottie to stand on a chair. 

“hello lottie!” james is ecstatic to be fawning over your daughter, “don’t you look lovely today?” 

she’s dressed head to toe in williams merch, a team jersey layered over a white tutu and tiny williams-blue sneakers. her team cap is slightly askew from the journey here, but at least her pigtails seem intact for now. 

“hi grandpa james,” she reaches for him to hug her, and giggles as she’s spun around in his arms. 

“where’s logan?” james asks you, peeking over your shoulder to spot his missing driver.

“ah, we left him at the gates; i didn’t want lottie to freak out about the crowd.” 

he hums in understanding, still holding lottie. 

“it’s looking good today, you know,” he nods down to where the garage is on the floor below, “weather’s fine, car’s performing; we’ve high hopes.” 

you start to reply when he’s called over by an engineer with a clipboard. he hands lottie back to you with an apology, which you wave off. 

“come on baby, where do you wanna watch the race then?” you shift her weight into one arm as you free the other to fix her hat. 

lottie furrows her brows in deep thought, pondering your question, then points towards the balcony. 

the view from up here is incredible; you’re looking out over the pit lane and back straight of the circuit, and can see all the yachts lined up in port hercule. 

just then, lottie makes a small squeak, looking down at the pit wall. you follow her gaze down to see your partner walking over to gaëtan, greeting his engineer by dapping him up and pulling him into a hug. logan’s already dressed, wearing his fireproofs and overalls, tied at the waist. the two part and start discussing something or rather— most likely the next two hours of racing.

you know the race is supposed to start soon, but if logan’s only now saying hi to gaëtan, surely you’ve still got a little while. enough time to pop down and wish your boyfriend luck, at least. you adjust lottie in your arms again and make your way downstairs. 

logan’s no longer in the pit lane when you reach the garage, so you head towards the drivers’ rooms in the back. you go to knock on the door just as benny pushes it open on his way out. 

“oh hello!” he smiles at you as you catch the door with your foot, but his arms are full of god-knows-what training equipment, so you forego a hug and settle for returning his smile. lottie waves at him as he goes.

“baby?” you turn your attention back to the room, hoping to see logan sprawled out on his massage table, or standing in the middle of the room stretching out. instead, he’s sat on the floor, staring at his phone. 

“hey!” he gets up and takes lottie from you. she settles easily, head dropping onto his shoulder to watch her parents talk. 

“how’re you feeling now, log?” you shake your arms out- lottie’s getting so big so fast- and wrap one around logan’s waist. he rests his chin on your head, breathing in deeply and letting out a sigh. 

you stand together in silence until, “i don’t wanna disappoint the team,” he mutters into your hair eventually, “i’ve finally got a good quali position and i don’t wanna fuck it up for everyone.” 

he takes care to turn his head away from lottie as he swears; she’s at the age where she’s picking up words left and right. 

you move your head back to look at him, taking in every detail about him; the slight bags under his eyes, the freckles dotted across his face, the 5 o’clock shadow growing in. there’s a piece of hair hanging in his eyes which you brush aside as you take his face in your hand. it’s these quiet moments you really adore, where it’s just you two (and lottie) against the world. the sargeant family. even if you’re not technically a sargeant yet.

“you’re gonna do wonderfully babe,” you smile as he leans into your touch, watch as the stress in his face leaves it. standing in front of you now isn’t logan sargeant, the american who made it to f1, or logan sargeant, the other williams driver, each version of himself burdened with massive responsibilities. right now, he’s just logan, the boy you fell in love with.

 “and for what it’s worth, we’re already so proud of you, no matter how you do in the race.” 

at this, lottie perks up and reaches her hand up to logan’s face too, wanting to join in. he melts at the gesture, taking her hand in his to press a kiss to her palm. 

“that’s worth everything.” 

he sits lottie down on the massage table to kiss you properly for the first time today, arms settling around your waist. his hand drifts lower as the kisses get lazier, and soon it’s fully rested on your bum while you exchange slow, open-mouthed kisses. 

remembering where you are and your audience in the room, you pull away first, placing one more peck on logan’s lips as he pouts, wanting more.

he holds you tight as you say, “you’ve got a grand prix to race in now, handsome,” and is only incentivised to let go when you remind him how much lottie’s been looking forward to helping him get ready today. 

lottie helping her daddy get ready consists of watching him pull his race suit over his shoulders and watching you zip him up. she holds his gloves out as he slips his hands into them, and then- logan’s favourite part- gives him a good luck kiss. 

he’ll put his balaclava and helmet on just before he gets in the car, which lottie can’t help with today because you’re watching from upstairs.

“i love you, logan. race hard, yeah?” 

you kiss him one more time before you leave, relishing in the way he doesn’t want to pull away. 

“i love you too. keep your fingers crossed for me- both of you?”

lottie frowns at this; she’s not yet mastered how to cross her fingers by herself, but you laugh at her little expression and promise you’ll help her once you’re upstairs. 

pre-race rituals complete, you tug her away from daddy and return to hospitality. 

logan gets a good start when the lights go out, though a slow reaction from an aston martin ahead means he has to swerve to avoid a huge crash. he manages an overtake on kevin magnussen through the chicane, earning cheers throughout the room, and no doubt from the garage below too. 

the race ends with logan p13, but after zhou guanyu gets a 5-second penalty for leaving track limits, he finds himself in p12. 

logan’s post-race radio plays from the tv playing sky sports f1, “-good race today guys, thanks for helping me not look so bad in front of my daughter,” he laughs. 

crofty is saying something in response but lottie, already ecstatic because of the energy in the room, has stolen your attention by squirming happily in your arms as she hears her daddy talking about her on tv. you decide to take her back into the paddock so she can run around and let off some steam.

logan’s in the media pen when lottie spots him, and, full of excitement, she slides her hand out of yours and is halfway to him by the time you can react.

“-yeah, really happy,” you hear him say before he’s interrupted, “oh-? what are you doing here, baby girl?” 

he picks her up and looks around for you, smiling when he finds you.

“and who’s this gorgeous girl? is this who you were trying to impress in the car today, logan?” the interviewer- thank god- doesn’t seem annoyed by the intrusion, and instead welcomes it, holding the mic up to lottie, awaiting her answer.

“i’m lottie,” your girl says brightly, “my daddy’s the best racer in the whole world!”

logan, the interviewer, and logan’s press officer all laugh at this, while lottie smiles proudly. logan takes the opportunity to carefully adjust the williams cap on lottie’s head, which has been knocked askew from her running.

“lottie, do you want to be a racer like your dad?” 

logan angles her away from the mic before she can answer.

 “oh, let’s not get those ideas in her head yet. she’s already a handful without the stress of karting and racing right now.” 

this earns another laugh from the interviewer, thoroughly amused by father and daughter. the rest of the interview is uneventful due to lottie preoccupying herself with waving at the other drivers as they travel around the pen.

logan makes a beeline for you when he’s released. 

“hi baby,” he lets lottie down and scoops you up just as quick. 

“i’m so proud of you, log. for real.”

he says nothing, enjoying the moment, though you can feel him smile into the crook of your neck as he stays holding you up. you’re accutely aware of some people stopping around you and filming, but you’re just focussed on being with logan and lottie. your family.

[sanakimohara]

“COLA” B.C. PT.2

“Wish you wanted it a little bit. More, but it’s a chore for you to give…”

Synopsis: Having a crush on her best friend’s older brother was a secret Y/n L/n had managed to hide for years. She presumed those feelings had disappeared over time, but when Chris—or rather, Chan, as he’s called by the rest of the world—makes a surprise visit to Australia to spend his last break of the year with his family, Y/N is bewildered to find that she, in fact, is still infatuated with her best friend's brother. Unbeknownst to her, Chan is already well aware of it and isn’t above taking advantage of her innocent crush on him. All fun and games, right?

WARNINGS: [MDNI! 18+] pining, fluff, smut, a bit of angst, cursing, smoking, and alcohol use. oh and the DDGL dynamic is implied…

A/N: Let’s hope I don’t scrap this and at least finish writing it…also Chan is his current age 25 and the reader is 18+

—————————————————————

—————————————————————

People.

She hated so many people around her but had no other place to go.

Airports always irked Y/n. Maybe it was because she’d been to so many in her childhood, forced to behave like an adult in the presence of a crowd all the time, and always afraid of losing her parents when they were there. Which was rare to say the least.

The repulsion and discomfort never really left her system when it came to large crowds. Even at the ripe age of 19 Y/n would rather walk all the way to the Bang residence then deal with constant bustling of an airport.

Unfortunately, walking to her destination would be miserably hot in the Australian weather so she was stuck with waiting for her planes boarding announcement to be made all alone. Thankfully, she’d arrived at a decent time and since it was a continental flight it wouldn’t be long before said announcement would be made.

She occupied herself with a book, earbuds tucked securely in her ears, and her favorite boba drink nestled between her thighs as she read to pass the time. Y/n’s eyes scanned every word on the worn pages of her book, soaking in every detail it could give even though she’d read twice before, but an enticing dark romance novel tends to keep her attention better than anything else.

She delights in the fantasy that’s described in its pages. Where the plot is lack, steamy and disgustingly lustful filler scenes are written, and when a major event does take place it dwarfs in comparison to the impact of headlines the next smutty paragraph brings.

Dark romances are her escape in some way, an acceptable binge she’s allowed herself to indulge in. It’s not a dirty secret or a guilty pleasure for her to read them but rather a way for her mind to envision less then pure fantasies of her design.

Each one of them involves Chan is some way.

She’ll never admit it to anyone, nor dare to say a word alluding to her desires, but it’s hard to put down a book that helps you satiate a hunger you can’t manage right?

Whatever the answer is, Y/n continues to bury herself in the images described in the pages she scans, and if anyone who knew her had walked by they would’ve recognized the tale tell blush starting to coat her cheeks. A sure sign she was either flustered or perpetually turned on.

Luckily, no one around her noticed the tinge to her cheeks, and so she was left to enjoy her book in peace for the time being. Thirty minutes and a couple of sips from her drink later Y/n heard the announcement that informed passengers it was time to board. “

Flight C18 to Sydney, Australia is now boarding. Passengers please make your way to gate 3 and loading dock 3A.”

Y/n nearly jumped out of her skin as the announcement echoed around the waiting area. Her heart thumped in her ears as people around her started to make her way to the designated gate. She clutched her book close as a few strangers briskly walked past her. For some reason or another she assumed they’d judge her if they saw what she’d been reading.

A ridiculous fear, but a fear she favored anyway.

With a few swift movements Y/n packed her book away into her carry on bag and finished off her drink before gathering her bags and phone. She double checked if she’d grabbed everything before making her way to Gate 3 but stopped when the subtle echos of cheering sounded from somewhere in the airport.

“Wonder what’s that all about…” a man asked another as they walked past her.

Y/n had the same question and looked around to pinpoint where the shouting was coming from. When she pinpointed the oncoming noise she rose to her tip toes to see who the crowd was bombarding all of a sudden.

Her investigation was cut short though when a woman tapped her shoulder. “Are you line for the ticket check miss?,” she asked and Y/n nodded sheepishly before responding, “I am, sorry I got a bit…distracted.”

The older woman only nodded in understanding, following behind Y/n as she walked up to the gate assistant and handed them her ticket to check. “Must be some sort of celebrity with how much racket those people are making…” the woman scoffed under her breath and Y/n stifled a giggle at how annoyed she sounded.

“Maybe,” she mumbled to herself, taking one last glance back at the moving crowd heading towards the gate before going to board the plane.

By the time Y/n had officially steeped onto the plane she could hear the shouts of excitement roaring where she’d been standing only moments ago. She didn’t bother to look back, deeming it impossible to get any clue to what’s going from staring again, and opted to find her seat. Which was in Business Class as per usual.

One of the few perks she was happy to have due to traveling so much with her parents when she was younger. Less people were crowded together in Business Class and she sometimes ran into interesting or famous people too.

That was if they were seated next to her and as of right now she hoped no one would be. Sleep and read was her only objectives during this short flight and being next to someone might force her to be social at some point.

Y/n found her designated spot, sat down, got comfortable, and placed her carry on in the seat next to her. The cabin was still fairly empty and so she assumed it would stay that way. All there was left to do was wait for take off which the pilot announced would be in a matter of minutes.

She took the opportunity to text Hannah before putting her phone on airplane mode for the flight.

<< Boarded and about to lift off Han! 💕

>> yay finallyyyyy

>> can’t wait to see you. Mom and dad keep asking how long it’ll take you to land lol.

<< that’s sweet of them :) tell them I’m excited to see them after so long btw!

>> what about me??!? :(

<< Han you’re so dramatic…

<< of course I’m excited to see you too dummy..

Y/n smiled at her phone as she hit send, finding it cute how clingy Hannah could be, but her happiness was cut short as someone came to stand beside the seat her bag was placed in.

“Uhm, sorry but I think that’s my seat..”

Her heart fell to her stomach and if it weren’t for the cushioned seat underneath her she would’ve fell straight through the floor of the plane out of shock.

Her cheeks flushed pink and she gulped softly as the familiar voice spoke up again.

“Miss, sorry, but this is my se-“ Chan immediately cut himself short as the girl in front of him lifted her head to look up at him.

His mask hid most of his shocked expression when their eyes met but Y/n could still see the recognition in his chocolate brown eyes.

She didn’t know what to say, how to say it, or even how to react to seeing the one person -the one man- she’d hoped not see.

This can’t be fucking happening…., she thought watching his eyes crease into crescent moons from the smile forming behind his mask.

“Long time no see, princess,” he greeted her in plain English, accent clearly coming through as he called her the same nickname he’d given her the last time they met.

Hearing it, hearing him call her that again, and just being face to face with him had her chest feeling light and her mouth running dry.

She hadn’t moved or stopped staring at him since their eyes met and Chan was slightly worried he’d startled her into a permanent stupor, but then she blinked slowly and timidly spoke back to him. “H-hi Chris..”she inwardly panicked hearing herself stutter and fought the urge to bite her lip in embarrassment. He’d know she was incredibly flustered then and whether that’d make the situation more awkward or not was the least of her concerns now.

Chan laughed softly when she addressed him as Chris. Even after years of knowing him she’d refused to call him anything else. Every once in a while she’d slip and call him “Channie” but that was rare. He didn’t hold it against her though, moving her bag, and sitting himself down next to her instead. Y/n instinctively flinched form his sudden close proximity and avoided looking at him as he got comfortable next to her.

She was almost certain he could hear heartbeat thudding like rolling thunder in her chest and she prayed to god her face wasn’t ten shades of red.

It definitely was.

Chan didn’t point that out though, choosing to enjoy her flustered state rather than teasing her further.

*buzz buzz*

Her phone vibrated on the floor, laying right next to her feet, and it caught Chan’s attention.

She froze, wondering when she dropped the device and how she failed to notice, but snapped out of her thoughts when Chan spoke.

“Let me get that for you.”

He reached down before she could react, picking up the device and placing it back in her lap. Y/n felt her skin grow hot as he gently returned her phone, his hand grazed over her thighs as he withdrew and it felt like he’d shot electricity through her from the subtle touch. It was an accident, she reminded herself as he leaned back into his seat again.

A pure, one time, accident. That’s all.

She shifted her legs, unconsciously pressing her thighs together as a ripple of warmth coursed through her core, and she cursed herself for wearing a shorter skirt than usual.

“Thanks,” Y/n whispered to him, not fully composed yet, and still trying to act normal around him.

Finding her footing felt impossible the longer he sat near her though.

Chan removed his mask, flashing her a kind smile, “You’re welcome. I did sort of scare you, so it’s the least I can do, Princess.” He nudged her shoulder with his and Y/n forced herself to smile despite wanting to scream from the feeling of his muscular arm against her.

This was going to be the longest 5 hour flight of her life….

And he was going to enjoy every last second.

*********

Soon, the plane was off the ground and headed to Sydney but Y/n was still trying to maintain her demeanor towards Chan.

She was failing miserably.

During take off all she could do was stare out the window and try to breathe like her life depended on it.

Ascent and descent on aircraft was her worst enemy and Chan only had to take one glance at her to notice how pale she got as her manicured nails dug into the lush leather of her seat.

He wasn’t the type to not help someone in need or at least a girl who hated ascending turbulence on a plane. So, he reached over, gently resting a hand on her leg, massaging the expanse of her thigh as a gesture of comfort.

At first Y/n was board stiff under his touch, quite literally considering hurling herself out of the plane the second she felt his firm and warm menstruations on her thigh.

Ever so slightly she started to unwind, welcoming the steady pace of his hand running up and down her skin. She let out a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper -Chan couldn’t tell but it made his head spin a little hearing it.

She was so cute.

Still the same pure girl he remembered.

He watched her expression transform from anxiousness to relief as the plane leveled out. She lifted her head off the window, glancing at him with a look of gratitude on her face, and he bit back a smile at the docile action.

“Feelin better?,” he inquired just loud enough for her to hear and she nodded, eyes fixed on his hand that was still on her thigh. He’d stopped stroking it when she sat up right but had yet to withdraw his hand completely.

Y/n swallowed thickly as her mind delved into what would happen if he just slid his hand a little higher up her skirt. But….his hands felt and looked so perfect on her thigh and she could see every vein in them too.

What would it feel like to have them wrapped around her throat, or better yet, clasped over her mouth while he fucks her-

She bit her tongue hard as self inflicted punishment for imaging such inappropriate things but it was proving difficult for her to not let him do it.

He’s your best friends older brother…snap out of it, she scolded herself for what felt like the 50th time since Chan’s surprise appearance…

She took a breath, peeling her doe eyes away from where his hand was and looked him dead in the eye. With the little confidence she had left she answered his question assertively, “Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you for…comforting me.” A shy smile graced her lips and Chan hummed in approval, satisfied with her response, and finally willing to retract his hold on her.

“Good…I’m glad I could help…” he held her gaze, voice uncharacteristically low, and his dark chocolate eyes sharpening on her when she looked away from him.

Y/n had to fully cross her legs at this point, needing pressure on her mound in someway or another. She masked the action as an effort to fix her skirt and then lowered it as if she were some proper lady of a royal family.

Chan didn’t comment, smirking to himself at her innocent attempt to be modest. He’d seen and slept with enough women in his time as an idol to know the signs.

She couldn’t hide anything from even if she tried.

Y/n, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting, every now and then squirming in her seat as if to get comfortable. She wasn’t obnoxious about it, more naive of her arousal is what Chan called it, and he found it increasingly adorable as the flight went on. If he so much as stared at her for too long she’d squirm like an ant under a magnifying glass. Chan could only imagine how’d she react to him touching her intimately.

That thought alone gave him a hard on.

He controlled himself well though, not letting on how he felt was a skill he’d mastered after years of practice.

Eventually, they made small talk at some points of their trip. She asked why he was in Australia despite his supposed ‘busy schedule’ and he told her the truth.

“I wanted to surprise my family. Since I didn’t get to see them on my break earlier this year I’m making that up with this trip.”

Y/n smiled, forgetting the heat persistently pooling between her thighs, and finding it endearing how much Chan valued time with his family.

“That’s sweet of you Chris…” she chirped with a beaming smile.

He nodded, “I’m guessing you’ll be staying with us again for the holidays?”

Y/n hummed in agreement, “Hannah wouldn’t let me say no.” She giggled softly and Chan laughed lightly at the mention of his sister.

“Yeah, she was pretty ticked you didn’t come last year..”

His face shifted from joyous to slightly reprimanding, “I was too..”

She bit her lip as he stared at her, “I…I got really busy…”

That was a lie. A lie that Chan didn’t believe for a second .

Y/n glanced into his eyes but regretted it seeing the stern haze in them. He knew she was lying and he hated being lied too. That was a fact she’d discovered while watching him and his members on some reality show a long time ago. She also knew it from Hannah herself. He mentioned his hatred of lying many times in many coded ways in his weekly ‘Chan Room’s’ as well.

Of course he saw right through her but at least she’d attempted to cover up her faults from last year.

Y/n did not want divulge her true reasons for ditching her plans with the Bang family but she knew his next words would be, “Don’t lie to me…” and at that point she’d have to tell him.

She’d have to tell him he was the primary reason she chose to cancel.

It wasn’t something she wanted to reveal, ever, so before Chan could interrogate her Y/n stood from her seat and excused herself to the restroom. “I’ll be right back.,” she chirped with a false sense of calm

However, this meant she’d have to shuffle past him to some degree. Not ideal, but necessary if she wanted to escape his questioning.

Chan raised a brow at her. Letting her squeeze past him and into the aisle. Her skirt rode up a bit as she did so, giving him a split second glance at what she wore underneath, and that gained her an instance of much needed distraction on his part.

Pink lace, I knew it…, he thought.

Y/n hurriedly smoothed her skirt back to normal, trying very hard to ignore his lingering gaze as she scurried off to the restroom. Her head was spinning the whole ten foot walk there and it felt like the air was swallowing her whole until she shut herself in the semi-clustered bathroom.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” she whispered as her nerves blazed and her mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse to answer Chan’s oncoming questions. Nothing seemed to be sufficient. Every excuse she thought of he’d probably disprove or see though. It was impossible.

The throbbing in her core was no help either, it intensified every time she thought about him, and at this point she couldn’t think straight at all.

“God, I can’t do this…” she whined in defeat, going to the sink for cold water to dab on her neck for some sort of relief. The shitty attempt at control helped for milliseconds before the feeling of Chan’s hand running up and down her thigh had her body shivering again.

A quiet moan escaped her throat and Y/n dabbed more cold water on her neck to relieve the tension she desperately needed to release.

“Pull it together,” she scolded herself, glaring at her reflection, and attempting to find any flaws that might be there. If she walked out of this bathroom worse than she came in Chan might out her completely.

He already had, years ago, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

Still, that just wasn’t an option she’d like to choose right now and so after a few minutes of steady breathing paired with a silent moment to think Y/n felt composed enough to exit her seclusion.

She opened the door, expecting to walk right out with no problems, but there stood Chan already peering down at her.

A very heavy silence passed between them.

Y/n managed to hold his gaze despite her heart rate accelerating. On the other hand, Chan wasn’t sure why he’d followed her. At first he chalked it up to a sort of proactive protectiveness.

She was his little sisters best friend after all and any stranger could try to harm her. He’d do the same for any other friend…right? Wrong…

Another lie.

An invisible little truth he told himself was valid to justify his urge to watch over her.

The truth was he had less than pure intent to guard her and more interest in helping her solve a problem she clearly wanted to hide from him.

“Sorry, do you need to?…” she politely shifted away from the entrance, allowing him the opportunity to pass by her if he needed to, but he didn’t move a muscle…

Y/n swallowed thickly as familiar sparks ran up her spine the longer he held eye contact with her.

“You okay Chris?..” she sounded concerned, successfully masking her real reaction to his unwavering gaze.

Her voice snapped him out of whatever trance he’d been in and he returned to his normally friendly disposition.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Princess. You were just gone for a while and I thought something might be wrong.” He laughed softly, as if to throw her off with the sound so she wouldn’t think too hard on what he’d said, but Y/n held onto his every word.

He’d followed her, waited for her to come out, and admitted it too.

Creepy,,,but something in her liked it.

Her stomach was doing flips, cheeks turning a light shade of pink as a soft “oh..” slipped past her lips. It felt odd to have someone this interested in her, especially Chan, but he seemed to be like that with everyone he knew.

She couldn’t take this one instance as anything more than her best friends protective older brother looking out for his sisters pleasantly naive friend.

Nevertheless , she found it attractive. The idea that Chan wanted to protect or guard her was enough to feed her fantasies for the rest of her life.

Chan shifted, standing to the side and motioning for her to walk past him, “Shall we.” Y/n nodded, smiling softly as she walked past him and back to her seat. He trailed after, stopping to reach into the overhead compartment for his carry on bag.

She caught sight of his shirt lifting, his skin taut with muscle underneath the black hoodie he wore, and his jeans resting on his hips perfectly to show off the band of his boxers that hugged his sculpted v-line just right.

Y/n wanted to reach out and graze her fingertips over his skin, have the blessing to touch him just once, but settled with just stealing glances at him as he retrieved whatever he needed from his bag. He suddenly looked down at her, a smirk on his face as she quickly turned her head towards the window. He’d caught her staring where she shouldn’t be and gave her no time to act as if she hadn’t been.

“You okay?,” he asks her, gaze lingering on her frozen posture before refocusing on the items in his bag. She clears her throat quietly, nodding in response, and shifting in her seat.

Chan didn’t pry further, knowing she was the quiet type of girl who’d get even more shy under pressure, so he let her be. Y/n kept her eyes fixated on the cloud filled sky outside, hands tucked under her legs.

Embarrassed couldn’t begin to describe how she felt right now but it was dangerously close.

Chan had caught her staring and not even at his face.

She was fucked.

Totally fucked.

—————————————————————

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TAGS: @imastraykidsfan 🖤 + @channniesslefttt 🖤

Just wanted to thank you all for supporting this series and all my other posts. It’s good to know I’m not the only delulu and extremely unhinged stay out there….thats all I have to say lol 🖤

BONUS CONTENT +

[talenlee]

Why Is Druid?

Say that like ‘where is Wizard Hut?‘

I love the 4e Druid. This is a marked change from how much I liked the 3e druid, or how often you might see me playing a druid in a Baldur’s Gate game. Back in 3rd edition, the druid, despite being very powerful, never really engaged me, in part perhaps because I was always trying to find something exploitative and powerful rather than merely accepting the juggernaut of a toolkit the game just left in the Player’s Handbook. You couldn’t get clever with the Druid, you just had to pick it up and use it, like some sort of society of creative anachronisms where one of the anachronisms available to the players was has gun. Valid, but hardly sporting.

The Druid in 4th edition is different. Wildly different. Weirdly different, and different in one of those ways that shows what I think of as a seam in the design between 4th and 3rd editions of D&D.

The Druid was one of 3rd edition’s great mistakes, a full spellcasting class with healer capacity to serve as a pinch-hitter healer in a group that wanted things a little more varied, addressing an enormously complex potential build from its earlier edition, 2e, and all in the process, resulting in some deeply confused mash up of abilities that attempted to address confusion with volume. The druid of 2e had a special unique set of rules compared to the Cleric — for example, at a certain level, you passed into a specific category of Druidic ability and now you were technically a Hierophant, and Hierophants had seven extra spells of every level. Of course there was a limited supply of Hierophants in the world, so there was a question of if you could level up if another one existed, and maybe there’s a one-in, one-out policy? First in, first fired?

Anyway, I can’t speak to how it played, but I am at least aware, on the edges of it, that the 2e druid was odd. It had a lot of things it could do, but much of how it worked, reading the books, seemed to be interesting but challenging to manage. You could wild shape, you could heal, you could cast utility spells, you could even fight with some melee weapons — personally, I didn’t see any of it worth it, because none of the things it could do it could do very well.

3e addressed this seeming difficulty by instead taking all those different options and bringing them all up to the same level. Wild Shape worked by checking traits of monster units, which meant that you weren’t limited to specific reinterpretations of animals and instead could do what a druid feels like it should do — you know, turn into an animal. The spells were rebalanced and shared across different classes, which meant that they tended to work in a more standardised way. Armour rules were aggregated, and weapons were made less terrible.

The result was that the 3e druid went from being ‘decent’ at a bunch of things to ‘good’ at everything it wanted to do. The problem of the druid then became about picking the thing you wanted to at every opportunity, and doing a good job of it — you’d have druids carrying wands of healing so they could dedicate their spell slots to more important tasks, like Flame Striking opponents, or messing up the battlefield with roots. You’d also see druids keeping the ‘best’ list of animals on hand, and every new monster book presented a new chance for druids to develop a new best form.

It also created the strange question of What does the druid do?

The answer was ‘everything.’

The 4e Druid, in comparison and contrast to these designs is something very different that touches, at best, on the periphery of what the 3e Druid could be. I mean it stands to reason, you can only ever touch on doing everything when something you’re working from is so powerful. 4e with its role system of Defender, Striker, Leader and Controller, and its reliable, reusable balance math suddenly was confronted with fitting an elephant into a shoebox.

How do you represent something busted that could do everything in the context of a new system that sought to explicitly prevent that? I joked when the game was new that the four roles were Defender, Striker, Leader and Miscellaneous. That any class too powerful, with too much stuff it could potentially do, got thrown to the Controller role as suggested by the first Controller we ever saw being the Wizard. Oh and back in Player’s Handbook 1, the Wizard had a few builds that were pretty ridiculously pushed — the pinball wizard, I’ll talk about it sometime — and that meant that it was easy to feel like the Controller Does Everything.

That impression diluted through experience, of course, and eventually it came to that while yes, the Controller sure has some Miscellaneous vibes, the core of what the Controller was there to do was to attack the enemy action economy. Nice and obvious to a non giga-nerd, right? Okay, how about this: The leader lets you do more things, the controller stops them from doing more things?

And into this space, they poured the druid.

It works beautifully, for my tastes; the druid needs to do lots of things to feel properly druidy, but you need to make sure the doing lots of things doesn’t unbalance the game. Controllers have the widest variety of things they can do and ways they can do them – inflicting status conditions, changing enemy position, preventing specific action types, making areas on the battlefield inaccessible, these are all ‘controllery’ things, and that means there’s a lot of different ways you can flavour them. The Invoker is most famous for making zones in the play space hard to deal with, the Wizard has a build that slides things all over the place, and the psion controls people with immense penalties to their damage rolls.

Obligatory pause where, while reading this aloud, for either Fox or I to comment on how amazing it is that Dishearten is an AOE power.

Anyway, the druid was designed to be a mode switcher class. That is, there are two ways a druid can do things. One is a melee controller that makes a single target’s life harder, the other is a ranged controller that makes a large group of enemies’ lives harder. This mode switching then adds a new element to the class that your powers can interact with, where you now have control powers that can add a mode switching element to them as well. This is your Wild Shape – you transform into some kind of nonspecific beast, which can use your Wild Shape powers. Each form has fewer powers to manage, and you can build your druid to specialise in one or the other or do a mix.

This lets the druid do the ‘a lot’ without letting them actually do everything. You have a lot of choices and a lot of ways to play with those pieces, but even just how often you use the mode switch is part of what the druid does to control the battlefield. When I first played a druid, it was not uncommon to start a fight out of wild shape, use the first turn to make some kind of area control power, then shift into wild shape for the rest of the fight kicking people into that area control power. There are druids builds that work like wizards and only ever shapeshift to get away from problems, and make a hit while scuttling away, or to sit on a specific type of problem. There were druids who focused on summoning monsters and using them as kind of turrets on the battlefield, positioning allies in a way that benefitted them around those summons.

Lone artillery combat encounters, where you have a bunch of stuff in front of a long-ranged attacker? Druids love those. Even at level 1, that artillery is spending their days completely stuck underneath a Fire Hawk power.

Problem is, of course, that if you want to do Everything doing a Lot is going to miss something. That was what led to the subclasses of the druid, the ones that added healer elements to the druid, because the druid back in 3e could do that. It added animal companions, because the druid back in 3e could do that. Now I don’t worry too much about these things because if I wanted an animal companion on my Druid, I’d take a theme for that, but also because these changes were introduced in an Essentials book.

Which is to say, they’re crap.

They’re not crap crap, like I try to defend Essentials as giving players a choice for simplified character builds, but in the specific case of the Essentials Druids, in order to work with the simplified choices, these Essentials druids with their animal companions and their healing powers have to look at all other Druid powers and not use them. The only use they get out of their animal companion is using the specific subset of powers that make them work, and that makes combat more samey. But again: That’s a thing you probably want if you want a simplified build.

Still, it gives rise to my favourite joke – I mean like, funny thing, not really a joke, there’s no subversion of reality or anything here – about the Healer Druid. See, every Leader in the game gets an encounter power, usable twice a combat at level 1, that heals an ally with a bonus. Every class gets their own version that lets them distinguish their class specifically and add some interesting detail that shows how this Leader differs from other Leaders.

The Healer druid build gets Healing Word.

The Cleric power.

Literally, the same power, same name, listed as a Cleric power.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[flipomatic]

A New Normal

Word Count: 2100

Summary: So Caitlyn took that moment, the one Vi so generously offered to her, to write another line on her paper before gently placing her left hand over Vi’s. A second later their fingers intertwined, fitting together exactly as they should be. Soon after Caitlyn could feel Vi’s head rest against her shoulder, nestling in place as she continued to work. For a few minutes, only the scratch of her pen broke the silence.

Vi being here like this, even late at night when she was crazy enough to get out of bed and work, was a change, a new normal that Caitlyn longed to continue.

Author Note: Spoilers for the end of Arcane. I have a lot of thoughts about the series, so I wanted to reflect on it just a bit. Kind of a character study of Caitlyn, but not deep enough to really be a proper character study.

___________________________________________________________

In theory, what was an itch? A temporary annoyance or distraction, something that could be remedied with a quick scratch. It was an urge that could easily be fixed.

But what if it couldn’t be, if the itch, like so much else, was beyond Caitlyn’s reach. Trapped behind the eye patch it lingered and waited for the worst moments to pounce.

Caitlyn opened her remaining eye slowly, blurrily looking up at the dark ceiling. Opening only one eye was still a strange feeling no matter how many times she did it. It also did nothing to relieve the burning itch beneath the surface of the other side, the desperate screaming of her skin as it slowly healed.

The doctor had told her, in no uncertain terms, that any dirt or contact with the injury could lead to an infection and even death. No matter how badly it seared at its peak—which it bloody did now—that feeling would pass. The only thing Caitlyn could do was wait.

Of course it picked the middle of the night to act up. Caitlyn turned her head to the side, towards the other occupant of her bed. Vi’s shoulders were barely visible against the dim streetlamp light from the window and even the vibrancy of her tousled hair was faded in the darkness. With each breath she took her form moved ever so slightly, rising and falling in the same repetitive motion. Caitlyn still marveled that they were both alive.

She would never forget Vi finding her in the medical tent after the battle, collapsing in her arms and sobbing for Jinx. When Vi calmed down enough to explain what happened, how Jinx had sacrificed herself to save her one last time, the weight of that action sent a chill down Caitlyn’s spine. The last time she’d talked to Jinx was at the jail cell, where Jinx asked Caitlyn to kill her. Now she was dead. News that would’ve once been a sign of victory was now the opposite. Caitlyn pulled Vi even closer, the tears from her right eye dripping onto Vi’s shoulder.

Later as she turned over a small monkey grenade head in her hand and looked through the Hextower blueprints, she’d had to reassess those feelings. The idea that Jinx could have escaped through the air ducts, a system she knew nearly as well as Caitlyn did, was a distinct possibility.

As she wondered where the ever-elusive Jinx could have gone, the itching behind her eyepatch finally began to subside. It eased from a raging torrent to a slightly more manageable thrum, still present but much more tolerable.

Caitlyn shifted her body and closed her eye once more, willing sleep to return to her. She breathed deeply, slowly, trying to push those thoughts from her mind.

They were replaced instead by other events of that day. The fighting at the gates stuck with her too, and not just because she lost her eye in the conflict. Teaming up with Mel to fight Ambessa, using her magic to finally overpower the woman who had always been and indomitable obstacle in her path. Caitlyn took all of her regrets over her past actions into the battle, wielded them with her spear. The sacrifice to take Ambessa down had been worth it.

As for others at the gate, the many who had died in the fight, Caitlyn preferred not to think about them. Despite that desire they continued to haunt her.

Opening her eye with a sigh and a grimace, she gave up on the battle with sleep. She slipped silently from the bed with practiced ease, feet moving gingerly against the cold floor. Vi didn’t so much as stir at the disturbance.

Caitlyn left her there to sleep, taking measured steps out of the bedroom and down the main stairs. She had walked this path thousands of times before, but seeing it with only one eye like this, her perspective skewed, made them feel foreign to her. That feeling stayed with her until she reached the library, where she lit a candle on the low table. Its glow illuminated the mountain of papers waiting for her.

If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well work.

The first pile of papers belonged to enforcer applicants, citizens who wanted to sign up after the battle. Caitlyn had started a new recruitment drive almost immediately, trying to fill the gaps left by the battle. Of course, none of those spaces could be completely filled. Each person left their own unique shaped hole behind.

But the patrol shifts still needed to be run, and for that applicants needed to be vetted. There was nobody left to do it besides Caitlyn.

She held the papers up one by one near the candle, reading through each person’s qualifications and combat experience. Most were from the topside, with only a few from the undercity. Even though that was expected, it was still disappointing to see. Things were changing slowly.

Of all the applications, there was also notably no application from Vi. Caitlyn had wondered if she would rejoin the enforcers but hadn’t pressured her or even asked her about it. It seemed she had her answer.

One by one Caitlyn sorted them into piles to review again the next day. Some would make fine enforcers while others, well, needed a bit more experience before signing up. Integrity was part of this process too, but it couldn’t be determined just from a piece of paper. No, the next phase would be in-person interviews. When would she have time to schedule those? Not this week unless she cancelled something else. The very thought made Caitlyn’s wounded eye twinge.

Once they were sorted, she set the applications aside. Beneath them the next task waited for her. Her fingers brushed over the edge of the top paper; for a moment she indulged the thought that maybe it would be better to work on something else.

That notion quickly passed, replaced by a steeling of her jaw. This was part of her job too, part of her responsibilities and irreparable failures.

The top page contained a list of names, those assigned to patrols before the attack. With a steady hand and a frown, Caitlyn started crossing names off the list. She crossed off Loris, who had helped nurse Vi back to health after trying to save Vander. Her pen continued to move, removing so many who had fallen, all of whom she had known.

When she reached Maddie’s name she paused. The tip of her pen tapped against the paper, once, then twice, before striking her name through as well.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask Maddie, words she had not been able to form in the last few moments of Maddie’s life. When did she betray her? Had she always been on Ambessa’s side? Caitlyn hadn’t exactly returned her feelings, but had those feelings even been real? It was pointless to wonder. To ask these questions of the dead would only result in cold silence.

Caitlyn continued her work.

At the end of the page she flipped to the next, to the actual schedule for patrol. Until they hired new enforcers, the hours would need to be severely cut in order to maintain the patrol routes.

It was during this process that Caitlyn heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching down the main staircase. They were accompanied by an adorable little yawn, one clearly stifled behind a hand.

Vi announced her entrance in her typical cheesy way. “It’s too early for breakfast, but I’m always hungry for cupcakes.” She sounded a little hoarse, as if she had just woken up.

“Very funny.” Caitlyn replied dryly, not even shifting her attention away from the paper. “I’m sorry for waking you.” She wrote a new time for one of the shifts, shortening it to try and make it fit with the new schedule.

“You didn’t.”

To her left, Caitlyn could hear the sound of the other chair being dragged along the ground. It would’ve been in her peripheral vision, if she had any remaining to speak of. Instead, she turned her head to watch as Vi moved the chair next to hers. The other woman collapsed heavily into the chair, likely still quite tired from not getting a full night of sleep. The light of the candle danced entrancingly across her face.

“What are you working on?” Vi asked, reminding Caitlyn that she was in fact supposed to be working and not staring.

She gestured towards the paper. “Just redoing some patrol shifts, we have to make do with a shortage for a while.”

“Ahh, right.” Vi rested her right hand on the arm of her chair as she leaned over to squint at the paper. She only got close enough to read it before pulling back, but her hand remained practically dangling over the edge. It was an invitation.

This wasn’t the first time Vi had invited Caitlyn like this, far from it in fact. In times of passion she often acted decisively, and she could flirt with the best of them, but in quiet moments like these things were different. At first Caitlyn thought it was hesitation, but she realized over time that wasn’t it. Rather, Vi patiently waited for her to be ready.

So Caitlyn took that moment, the one Vi so generously offered to her, to write another line on her paper before gently placing her left hand over Vi’s. A second later their fingers intertwined, fitting together exactly as they should be. Soon after Caitlyn could feel Vi’s head rest against her shoulder, nestling in place as she continued to work. For a few minutes, only the scratch of her pen broke the silence.

Vi being here like this, even late at night when she was crazy enough to get out of bed and work, was a change, a new normal that Caitlyn longed to continue.

“Oh, have you heard from the construction team?” Vi asked, as if she had just remembered something.

Caitlyn paused to think for a moment. “They’re still picking leadership for it, from what I last heard.” The council was putting together a crew to work on rebuilding from the battle, both in Piltover and the undercity.

“Then I still have a chance.” Vi’s hand shifted in Caitlyn’s. “I want to help out, to rebuild things rather than punch holes in them.” The words were practically whispered against Caitlyn’s collarbone, like a prayer for only her to hear.

Wanting to rebuild, Caitlyn understood that desire completely. This patrol schedule too, this was part of rebuilding. Was it really going to work with these changes? Shouldn’t she build it differently than before? The realization struck her that what she was doing now, it wasn’t going to work. She was falling into the same habits, the same patterns as before, but things had changed.

Vi was the one who showed her that. The schedule could wait just one more day for her to come up with a better plan. Caitlyn set the paper and pen down on the stack, turning her gaze to Vi.

“There’s no way they’d turn you away.”

Vi chuckled lowly in response. “We can only hope so.” She lifted her head to meet Caitlyn’s eye, with an unmistakable glimmer in her own. “I am one of the strongest people around you know.”

“Oh yes I am quite aware.” Caitlyn smiled softly, lifting one hand to slowly caress Vi’s cheek. She leaned in with the gesture, brushing their foreheads together. So many words lingered behind her lips, more thanks than she would ever be able to say, pleas to stay together forever, and three simple words of love that pressed desperately against her teeth.

Though those words clamored for release, it was too soon, too fresh. Just as Vi waited for her, Caitlyn waited patiently for Vi too.

In silence, Caitlyn closed the remaining distance between their lips. The kiss was short and sweet, intimate and yet just barely enough.

“Are you ready to go back to bed?” Caitlyn whispered as she pulled back.

“Are you?”

Caitlyn nodded and stood, pulling Vi with her to her feet. They blew out the candle and retreated together up the familiar steps, seen from this new and unfamiliar angle.

As Caitlyn settled back in bed with Vi, her injured eye still itched. Her brain still ran amok with thoughts of before and the battle and especially how to adapt to all of the changes ahead.

Caitlyn watched as Vi’s breathing evened out, her own eye sliding shut as she drifted towards slumber. Whatever the world threw at her, she knew she would face it with Vi at her side.

[tereotechsolution]

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[drunkenskunk]

Four Hours

Hour 1:

Shit was fucked, and everyone knew it.

Alarm klaxons loudly blared from every single loudspeaker in every single corridor... but Scarlet could barely hear it over the rest of the chaos. Panicked shouts and desperately barked orders, as well as the cracks and booms of distant gunfire and explosions, echoed through the station. She tried to block out the noise, focusing only on her task: get all this ammo to a cut off militia unit on the other side of the hab ring before they were overrun.

It all started when a passing blinkvoid disabled the local Omninet, effectively cutting off Hell's Gate from most external communication. And then, the very instant they were isolated from everyone else in the system, the station went into red alert: an unidentified hostile warship had appeared out of nowhere, and started immediately launching boarding torpedoes. It was a perfectly timed attack that caught everyone in the station with their pants down, and it was only through sheer luck – and a few spare coldcores acting as decoys in an empty hangar – that the Strategic Response Team managed to even get inside their mechs in the first place, much less push back the initial assault.

Once the first fight was over and they got a single moment to catch their breath, that's when the team found out exactly how fucked up the shit was. And the answer: comprehensively. Because it wasn't just any warship attacking them. It was The Tachyon: the ship from a (possible?) nightmare future that had contained the cascading NHP god of the local apocalypse cult. Scarlet was sure she and the rest of the team had seen that stupid ship explode in orbit of Chameleon months ago when all this madness started, but...

Then again, Andros Capella died on that fucking ship, and he came back because that future NHP could apparently just DO that, just like it brought back Ignatius Aurum after that asshole got murked, and time travel was also involved somehow, so who the fuck knows anymore! All this shit was melting Scarlet's brain, and it was pissing her off.

What she did know was that the Hell Hounds – having seemingly been absorbed by The Faith of The One – were now intent on boarding the station, and the militia was offering a well practiced rebuttal: “Hippity-Hoppity, Get Off My Property.” Now, that? That, she could wrap her head around.

So that's why Scarlet – still wearing her interface jacksuit underneath a set of heavy combat armor, loaded down with guns and ammo for resupply, and still juiced on the combat stims in her system from the fight less than half an hour earlier – was running at full speed towards the sounds of gunfire and explosions off in the distance.

“Heads up grunts! I'm inbound on your position with resupply!” Scarlet said into her helmet comm, with no idea if anyone from the militia was even still alive and on the frequency to receive her. Up ahead, the sounds of violence seemed to be petering out, and that was either a good sign, or exceptionally bad. She tried her damnedest to pour on more speed (which wasn't easy considering how heavy all this fucking ammo was) and every heavy footfall shook the deck plating under her and sent a violent shock up her spine.

She rounded a corner and the makeshift command post and barricades beyond the bulkheads finally come into view, and she was momentarily gripped with panic at the number of bodies and spent shell casings she saw littering the floor. Was she already too late? But then the moment passed and she let out a sigh of relief: it looked like nearly everyone here was still alive, just hunkering down behind cover. She'd worked with Zinfandel the last few months to make sure the militia had prepared for this exact scenario with dozens of “all hands, repel boarders” drills, and it was clearly paying off.

“Was that the last of them?” Scarlet heard someone ask from somewhere up ahead. A pair of milita troopers were taking cover behind a flash-printed chest high wall, and one of them quickly peeked over the edge before ducking back down again.

“I dunno,” he said. “Probably not for long. I don't think we can hold against another assault like that...”

“Good news, fellas!” Scarlet yelled, grabbing the attention of everyone still alive. “I got beans, bullets, and bandaids! Load up!” She unbuckled the ratchet across her chest, undoing the makeshift harness made out of tie-down straps holding the giant metal crate to her back. The 4-foot cube loaded to the brim with ammunition, weapons, grenades, and directional mines dropped down unceremoniously with a colossal thud.

“Scarlet? Issat you?” one of the militia she recognized – a kid by the name of Flavor Profile – asked from where he was taking cover behind a nearby pillar. He peered out from beneath his helmet and adjusted the grip on his shotgun. “Christ the Buddha, you're a godsend! I think I'm down to my last two shells.”

“Where in the hells did y'even get all this?” another one of the militia, Spud Wrench, asked while she peered into the giant box of munitions. “We had to beg, borrow, and steal just to set up this chokepoint!”

“Called in a favor,” Scarlet said with a shrug. “Couple of smugglers I know, offered to 'share' some of their inventory. Now, I'd ask for a status update, but shit's kinda obvious,” Scarlet unslung the bullpup carbine off her shoulder and into her hands. “Anyone too wounded to fight, there's a med station that got set up, 'bout two sectors spinward. Everyone else, pull back, regroup, and reload. When the next wave hits, I'll hold them here and buy you some time.”

“What, by yourself?” Flavor asked incredulously. Before he could get an answer, however:

“CONTACT!” came a yell from up ahead, followed swiftly by the bark of gunfire. Without another word, Scarlet was in motion, leaping over the barricade. Violence was no longer imminent, it was here, and it was as if a switch in her head flipped. A sharp electric tingle buzzed in the back of her brain, like the rush of dopamine she always got from fighting in Big Red.

Several armored figures hove into view, their haphazard combat gear painted in faded Hell Hound colors unevenly obscured by iconography of The Faith. The heads-up display on her helmet lit them up like beacons, and with efficient, almost mechanical precision: POP! POP! POP! Scarlet squeezed off three bursts and dropped them before any of them could even get a shot off. She didn't bother to stop, intent on countering the charge of these zealots with one of her own.

Just as she got to the bend in the corridor, she heard the unmistakable sound of a small revving engine. She skidded to a halt just as an arm swinging a rusty chainsaw blade appeared, passing through the spot she would've been. A wild-eyed cultist appeared, carried by his own momentum, and swung the blade again. Scarlet was so high on stims it was like she was watching him moving in slow motion, and it was clear he was aiming to chop her head off. She ducked, and the chainsaw missed her helmet by inches. She let go of the carbine's foregrip, shoved the barrel up under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

There was no time to stop. Scarlet grabbed the dead man by his chestplate, and held the lump of meat ahead of her as she pressed forward, rounding the corner. Seconds later, she heard the bark of automatic fire, followed swiftly by the sound of several wet impacts against the dead man's back. Scarlet hunkered down behind her makeshift cover, tucked the carbine in close, and continued forward, bullets either ricocheting off the corridor all around her or hitting the dead man.

As soon as she felt she was close enough, she shoved up against the body she was carrying with all her might, and threw it forward; it crashed into one of the cultists, sending them tumbling. In one fluid motion, she tossed the carbine into her left hand, reached down for the pistol on her hip with her now free right, and leveled the carbine at one of the cultists trying to duck behind cover. She fired off a quick burst, quickly aimed her pistol at another, and pulled the trigger.

For a split second, it felt like she was back in her mech; she'd been making a habit lately of firing the Leviathan mounted on Big Red's shoulder in one direction to swiss-cheese an opponent, while shooting the assault rifle in another direction at a completely different target.

“So,” Scarlet stood over the man trying to pick himself up off the floor, and very deliberately leveled her carbine at his face. “You gonna come quietly, or am I gonna have to clean you off my boots?”

“My death won't matter,” the cultist said, while trying to be subtle about reaching for his discarded weapon and failing miserably. “Feather will burn this corrupt and cruel universe to cinders and start anew. Let the final verse be written, so the page m-AUGH!” He yelped as Scarlet stomped on his hand before he could reach the rifle.

“You talk too much,” was all she said before smacking him in the head with the butt of her carbine. Scarlet quickly scanned the corridor for more targets, but it seemed the current assault was over, if only for a moment. She flipped the unconscious man onto his front, reached into one her pouches for some zip ties, and began binding his hands; it was a longshot, but maybe Shelly and Zinfandel could get some decent intel out of a prisoner who didn't know when to shut the fuck up.

When he woke up, that is.

- - -

Hour 2:

Things were still bad, but... far as Scarlet was concerned, they could be worse.

The militia platoon defending this particular section of the station had done wonders with all those supplies. On top of refortifying their position, nearly every maintenance corridor surrounding them had been booby trapped. A few enterprising cultists had already tried to flank their position by cubbying, and ended up getting turned into greasy smears. That dissuaded the rest, funneling the cultists into a heavily defended killbox, and right into all of their bullets. Over and over and over again.

Scarlet had no fucking idea how there were so many of these lunatic apocalypse cultists, or where they were even all coming from, since there seemed to be no end to them in sight. They weren't going to get anywhere if they kept on the defensive and just waited to be overrun; no, they had to push forward, and find some way to kick these idiots off personally.

So, Scarlet did the most sensible thing she could think of: she asked for volunteers, and put together a strike team. With any luck, that would give the rest who'd opted to stay behind time to further dig in, and maybe reestablish communication with the rest of the station. There were a total of five of them in this op, with Scarlet taking point, and things started off well. Enemy resistance had started to peter out the further they got from the militia checkpoint... so maybe the Hell Hounds had finally run out of reinforcements?

And then it all went to shit. Again.

She wasn't sure who fired first, but as soon as they reached the atrium where the boarding torpedo had landed, the bullets started flying. Scarlet and the rest knew the terrain better, but there were far more of the cultists, and they just kept coming, heedless of their own safety. It was like a fucking clown car! How could so many fit in that one fucking torpedo?!

An extremely loud shriek drowned out everything else, muffling the explosions and gunfire all around, and it made Scarlet's blood run cold. It was a sound that made her feel like every single nerve ending around every port and connection that would normally have plugged her into her mech had suddenly pulled taut: the whine of a set of miniaturized IPS-N ramjet engines spooling up.

The corridors in this section of the station were too narrow and had ceilings too low for most mechs, which is why Scarlet had felt confident to be boots on the ground instead of in a cockpit for this op... but most mechs wasn't all mechs, and they had now run into the worst case scenario.

“FALL BACK!” Scarlet yelled, already on the move and trying her best to disguise the rising panic in her voice. “NOW! WE'VE GOTTA GO NOW!”

A blur of burnt red and dull gold metal emerged from the darkened torpedo entrance in a motion almost too fast to see. It was so fast, in fact, that two of the cultists weren't able to get out of the way in time, and the half sized mech plowed straight through them as if they weren't there, aerosolizing them in an instant. The unmistakable silhouette of an IPS-N Caliban emerged through the rapidly expanding clouds of blood that had been it's allies a second before.

Scarlet and the others were already running, and she just hoped they would all be fast enough to escape, but what the fuck could they even do? This is the exact situation the Caliban is designed for! If she could get to Big Red it might level things out, but... even if her mech wasn't on the other side of the station, that big fucker couldn't fit in these corridors!

“Machete!” Scarlet yelled at one of the squad as they all rounded a corner. “Get that bulkhead sealed!” She pulled a grenade off her kit, and tossed it like a baseball straight at the charging mech which seemed to fill the entire corridor. The grenade exploded with a pop, and a cloud of dirty black smoke appeared at the mech's head-height for a fraction of a second.

The Caliban didn't even notice. And then, the mech raised its left arm, a pair of shotgun barrels glinting in the fluorescent light.

“FUCK!” She dove for cover behind the bend just as she heard a titanic boom, like an angry god slamming a car door. All the color was washed out by the intensity of the muzzle flash. An immense cloud of flechette darts, ball bearings, and superheated magnesium strips filled the corridor they had just barely managed to escape. The metal walls, floor, and ceiling all got torn up or melted, and nearly every electronic panel and light fixture simultaneously exploded.

“BULKHEAD!” Scarlet yelled again through the tinnitus. She fought the urge to keep running as she watched Machete reach for the lever to activate the emergency seal. All the stims in her system made every motion feel painfully, agonizingly slow, until they finally grabbed the lever and yanked it down.

The Caliban appeared around the corner, mere feet away. Even through the tinnitus, she could hear that distinctive, terrifying whine of the ramjets spooling up again. Scarlet realized in that moment that there was no way out... so if this is how it was gonna be, she was going out fighting, even if she knew it was pointless. She raised her carbine, thumbed the safety to full auto, and just unloaded. A second passed, and half a dozen bullets impacted against the Caliban's armored chassis amid a hail of sparks, every shot bouncing off harmlessly.

Just before the mech started to move, the heavy metal bulkhead slammed down hard, sealing the corridor and trapping the mech on the other side of several inches of heavily reinforced metal. Steam and smoke spilled out of the barrel of her carbine, and Scarlet let out the breath she was holding...

There was a loud ringing BANG against the bulkhead. And then another. And then another. It was the sound of heavy metal fists punching the solid slab of metal separating the Caliban from its prey...

“That's not gonna hold it,” Scarlet said through ragged breaths, slowly backing away, and motioning for the others to do the same. “We've gotta get out of here... find some way to stop it.”

How any of them were going to do that, Scarlet honestly had no fucking idea...

- - -

Hour 3:

Scarlet leaned against a bulkhead back at the checkpoint. She was starting to feel sluggish, and checked the auto-injector mounted on her armor: one stim left, and all the rest were empty. Fuck. She hit the magazine catch on her carbine, and checked her remaining ammo: 10 shots left. Fuck.

“How we doin'?” Scarlet asked, already knowing the answer.

“I mean, we're not dead?” Machete shrugged, ignoring the blood trickling down her temple.

“What about comms? We still cut off?” Scarlet peered around her cover. Nobody coming yet. That was good, at least.

“Yeah, for the most part...” Machete nodded. “Short range works, but we can't reach anybody further out than, like... 4 sectors? I think? I dunno if they've got a jammer, or there's some kinda paracausal shit goin' on, or what. We've got some runners, but... takes way too much time.”

“What about that Caliban? Anybody have eyes on it?”

“We got Spud working with a couple other sigdivers, trying to keep it busy. Opening and closing bulkheads to direct it away from us, keep it going' in circles, tryin' to get it lost... but, I mean... I guess we're lucky those cult fuckers seem to be just as scared of it as we are, y'know?”

Scarlet furrowed her brow inside her helmet, trying to weigh her options. They weren't going to get far if they couldn't deal with that damn mech. If Agarin was here in his Caliban, That Which Poets and Artists have Eternally Sought: The Power to Move, this wouldn't be a problem. Not only would he would wipe the floor with that amateur pilot, he'd personally turn every one of these cultists into chunky salsa without breaking a sweat. But... hell, even if comms weren't down right now, the rest of the SRT was in the same boat as her: dealing with too many crises all over the besieged station, all at once, and with not enough time to fix everything...

And then, an idea crossed her mind.

“Hang on... do we have any thermite charges left?” Scarlet asked. Machete did a double take, staring at her as Scarlet left cover to head deeper into the checkpoint.

“We have thermite?” she shook it off. “Wait, where are you goin'?”

“Got an idea. Gonna find Spud, see if we can funnel that Caliban closer to the station skin...”

- - -

Hour 4:

This was either a brilliant idea, or it was the single dumbest thing Scarlet had ever come up with.

“Scarlet, you set up yet?” a crackling voice said through her helmet comm. Scarlet surveyed the corridor one last time before replying. Hopefully the thermite charges were disguised well enough that whoever was piloting that monster wouldn't notice...

“As I'll ever be, Spud,” Scarlet adjusted her grip on the SMAW resting on her shoulder. “That Caliban getting close?”

“He's taking the bait,” Spud replied, amid a hail of static. “Be ready, he'll be on you any second. I'll seal him in as soon as you give the word.”

She could hear heavy footfalls, thudding in the distance and getting closer.

Well. It's now or never. She raised up the SMAW, aiming it at the far end of the corridor, finger resting just above the trigger...

The Caliban rounded a corner, filling the hallway with its (relatively) immense bulk, and it came to a stop as soon as it noticed Scarlet. The hallway behind the mech was lit up by bright blue flame, as the shrieking whine of the ramjets spooling up began once more.

“Backblast clear, I guess...” she muttered, squeezing the trigger. The end of the tube exploded in flame and smoke, and even inside the armor she could feel the concussive force of the rocket engine buffeting her. It screamed down the hallway for half a second, directly at the mech, before it impacted dead center with its chestplate. The deck beneath her feet shook as the end of the hallway was consumed in a fireball, briefly enveloping and obscuring the Caliban.

She knew that wouldn't stop it, but it wasn't supposed to. Scarlet tossed the empty SMAW aside as quick as she could, reached over for the already primed bulkhead controls on the wall next to her with her left hand, and pulled the detonator off with her right. The fire and smoke at the end of the hall was violently pushed away as the Caliban charged down the corridor, ramjet engines screaming; Scarlet slammed down the lever as soon as she saw it emerge, and hoped against hope that she was fast enough...

THUD. The bulkhead slammed shut, and she could just barely hear the Caliban screech to a halt on the other side.

“Now!” Scarlet said into her comm. “Seal it now!” Without waiting for a response, she hit the button on the detonator. The corridor shook once again, and there were a series of muffled thuds from the other side of the bulkhead as the carefully placed thermite charges detonated... and then, every sound beyond the sealed metal came to a swift stop.

After all, sound can't propagate in a vacuum.

“Holy shit... I, uh... I think you got him!” Spud's voice crackled, the channel still flush with static. “Let me see if I can link into one of the external cameras... oh yeah! Yeah, you spaced the fucker!”

Scarlet sighed heavily, and stood there for a minute or two. A part of her wanted to let the tension that had kept her in a vice grip evaporate, but... it didn't. It couldn't. She couldn't let it. The Gate was still in danger. Her friends were still in danger. Her home was still in danger. There was no time to rest. There was no time to stop.

Not yet.

[cloakedsparrow]

‘Tim Joins the Bat-Family Early/Jason Sickfic’ AU Idea

Jason’s immune system wasn’t in great shape when Bruce adopted him, so before the Robin training and everything, Bruce, Alfred, and Leslie first focused on strengthening it. They adjusted his diet, made sure he was up to date on all his vaccines, made sure he got enough sleep (that one was mainly Alfred), ran allergy tests, all that not-so-fun-but-very-necessary-for-good-health stuff.

And it worked. Jason hardly ever got sick after the first year he was with them. Which is why neither Bruce nor Alfred immediately questioned it when he decided to sleep in late one fine Summer morning. Eventually, Bruce left to get some work done with Wayne Enterprises and Alfred headed out to run some errands and have lunch with an old friend.

Despite his good health since being adopted, Jason had his ass kicked by the flu enough times in the past before that to recognize what was happening when he woke up miserable and feverish.

He knew either Bruce or Alfred would happily come home to take care of him, but he felt a little silly calling on either of them. Bruce needed to work and Alfred only got to leave the Manor like once a week unless he was stuck driving Bruce somewhere. Jason didn’t want to call either of them back.

Dick, however, he didn’t mind calling. His big brother had made it clear that he could call him any time for anything (advice, help, a friendly ear, needing someone to yell at Bruce, anything). Jason's hazy, fevered mind, light sensitive eyes, and sore joints led to him hitting the contact number that read ‘Drake’ instead of the one that read ‘Dick’. (Either Tim had given Jason his number and Jason just never used it before or Janet and Bruce had made sure their kids had the others’ home number for emergencies)

Tim answered and, while Jason honestly wasn’t sounding all that coherent, understood that the older boy was sick. He’d had to wait out the flu on his own before and knew how much it sucked, and the Waynes were just on the other side of Bristol, he wouldn’t even need to cross into any bad neighborhoods to go help. So he packed up some of his tried and true flu fighting supplies and hopped on his bike to head to Wayne Manor. He parked the bike outside the gates and just slipped his scrawny ass between the bars to walk up to the huge home. He knocked and waited politely for a reasonable moment, then walked around to the service entrance and punched in the pass-code that he shouldn’t have known (he’d seen Dick use it once but if anyone asked, he guessed. He’d mention to whichever member of the Wayne household he ended up speaking to that your eldest son's birthday wasn’t the best pass-code). Tim makes his way to the family wing upstairs and tries a couple doors before finding Jason's room.

Jason is in bad shape, but Tim manages to get him to take some fever reducer and stay hydrated. He fills a bowl with tepid water and finds washcloth from the nearest bathroom to place on Jason’s head. He reads from the book on the nightstand. He gets Jason to eat some applesauce. He takes his temperature every half hour and writes everything down for whoever comes along to take over.

Eventually, Alfred returns home (maybe he got help up by Gotham weirdness) and is surprised to find a strange boy in the Manor. However, his primary focus in on Jason. He’s happy with the care Tim gave his grandson but, naturally, takes over from there. Tim leaves a note about the pass-code and lets himself out.

A few days later, when Jason is feeling better, Alfred asks him about Tim. Jason doesn’t remember a whole lot about when the kid arrived and only had bouts of lucidness here and there before Alfred took over. He honestly hadn’t been sure if they’d adopted another kid or if he was a relative of either Bruce or Alfred’s but he hadn’t really been in the best place to question it much. He’d felt safe though. And cared for.

After Alfred comments that he, too, was impressed with the care Tim had administered, Jason has a red flag go up. Tim is two or three years younger than him. He’s a child. His first response to such a strange call out of nowhere should have been to get an adult. He shouldn’t know how to tackle the flu on his own like he did.

Jason decides he should thank Tim. Maybe spend a little more time with the kid, since he seems cool. Maybe look into his home life a little while he’s at it.

Maybe he’ll just end up keeping him. If Bruce can bring home a random child in need, why can’t he?

And then he does just that.

[bluesest]

A Followers Anecdote #2 "New year Accident"

It was new years eve and Dave was out celebrating with his boyfriend, Matt.

Having spent most of the night out drinking the pair made their way back to Matt's house and climbed into bed. Admittedly by this point both guys were rather drunk, but were both horny and it didn't take long before they were pumping eachother full of cum. Normally they would make the effort to clean up afterwards but being full of alcohol and now jizz they both passed out now being fully satisfied.

The next morning they got up still a little drunk so the hangovers didn't have time to kick in they went straight back to the pub to meet friend paul for breakfast. The pub was packed out but they managed to fill their bellys and get a drink. Suddenly Matt felt everything moving very quickly south, he needed to shit and he needed it now! Usually it was only the ladies toilet that had the queue but the gents was out of order so they all had to wait for the 1 disabled stall.

Matt knew he couldn't wait thankfully Paul only lived down the street Matt begged him to go back to his to use the toilet. They all got up and started to shuffle towards the exit, Matt had turned bright red and started sweating as the guys made it outside

Matt couldn't hold it anymore the steps at the front of the pub were too much for him he looked at Dave and groaned loudly as the contents of the night before started falling out of him a mixture of beers take away and daves thick load from the night before were filling his boxers and he couldn't stop it. Dave couldn't help but chuckle little did he know he would soon get his comeuppance too. Matt made it to Paul's house, although Dave was caring to Matt he knew if the tables turned Matt would laugh too.

Matt slammed his ass down on the toilet and exploded for 5 more minutes. The new Christmas boxers Dave had got him were destroyed. He borrowed some jeans and boxers from Paul then got straight back to the pub.

Having spent most of the day with Matt, Dave had sobered up enough to drive home. They said their farewells, Dave not letting Matt forget about his earlier incident, and Dave proceeds on the hours drive home.

He decided to call in to see a close friend on the way home and exchange Christmas gifts. Dave ended up staying for dinner and spending time with the family. After dinner, cups of tea were made, halfway through his cuppa Dave felt his stomach suddenly drop. He needed to shit and it felt like a messy one, but not wanting to destroy his friends toilet and probably whole house he decided to ignore it.

Dave stayed strong and after a while the feeling went away. He thought he was in the clear. As he got up to continue his journey home he said goodbye and made his way out to the car he unlocked his car and felt the urge again this time it felt like only a fart.

Having recovered from his cramps and hour or so had now passed and he assumed it was safe. He pushed slightly but before he knew it a torrent of wet mushy shit filled his boxers. He groaned and clenched trying to stop it, little did he know his little push to fart had opened the flood gates, as he clenched to stop the flow another sharp cramp hit him forcing him to let go he stood by his car helpless as the beers, take aways and Matt's thick load took their revenge on his system as it continued to flow out he groaned partly with relief and partly with horror as Matt's accident was tiny in comparison.

At this point Dave was in so much pain he had no choice but to completely let go a final explosion blasted out of him and it was all over he stood trying to compose himself wondering what to do next too embarrassed to go back to his friends house he desperately weighed up his options, his car was parked in a square overlooked by all the houses so he couldn't sort himself there and getting in the car wasn't an option his tight boxer briefs hadn't had enough elasticity to contain the explosion, lucky for Dave he had yesterday's boxers in his car he made his way into the woods round the corner ditched his trousers socks and boxers using them to clean up walked back to the car in Just his boxers and continued home.

Karma's a bitch!

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Some (scary, Huge) fake peppi sketches i managed to get out recently

Ramblings under the cut heehee

Wanted to emphasize his HUGE and Hulking body. Hes got Similar movesets to the ingame fake peppino, but theyre fundamentally very Peppino-esque; he is strength and speed based just like Peppino instead of being (primarily) unpredictable and speedy. Thinking of the grab still being one handed but its more like him grabbing Peppinos shirt/body, and immediately chucking him against the wall (similar to peppinos two-armed grab)

The shouldercheck that Peppino does is mimicked with Fake Peppino using his hand as a mace/heavy weighted head weapon.

Runs up the wall on all fours instead of the regular run he does ingame (similar to Peppino using his hands to help with wall climbing)

He is INCREDIBLY loud and shrill during this fight; his voice echoes over itself and its very fast and unintelligible. Hes got very loud and nervous laughter bubbling up alongside the shrill screaming so its just NOT a fun time for Peppino at all.

He is normally very docile, but bc of some hcs I have wrt to him and pizzahead (and the tower overall), he is EXTREMELY stressed out and out of control when Peppino goes through his boss gate. Once he gets his ass handed to him AND he exhausts himself w the chase sequence, Fake Peppino is calmed down enough to think rationally again. And he has decided that Fighting Sucks and he would much rather just keep making pizzas lmao

(yoinking this from discord bc i do Not want to paraphrase lmao)

[I make my peppino SO hulking despite being short so i wanted to convey that same kind of Hugeness but like, if he had the extra height to go along w it Like peppino throws his weight around so i wanted fake peppino to do the same; hes very fast but also incredibly destructive and brutish]

[Im trying to find the best way to put it but like. In the same way getting angry gets u worked up and ur face gets hot and ur heart starts pumpin, the same thing will happen to fake peppino, only it translates into his body starting to bubble up and boil. Which looks AWFUL and it FEELS awful and it further aggravates him when hes burning up and falling apart So he will escalate very fast and essentially go blind w rage until he either passes out or gets knocked out]

[I want him to be a somewhat close parallel to peppino; act first think later. Everything makes him emotional and just like peppino, it will build up out of control very fast, and make him blow up in anger before he can think of a better way to handle it]

[ALSO wrt to fake peppino fighting i want the direction to be less ‘oh that is a weird freaking thing’ and more like ‘that a scary huge monster what the fuck IS that’ Like he makes the ground shake in his own pizzeria when hes chasing after peppino like hes throwing his weight around in such a way that makes him feel like the tank from left 4 dead. Big mans. Charges after peppino, misses; and where peppino would just bonk the wall, fake peppino makes a crater in the wall before shaking off the debris]

[hes not really throwing temper tantrums hes like. JUST as emotional and unable to ‘mask’ as peppino is but he does not have the 40+ years that peppino had to at least have the awareness to be ‘im destroying my own home’]

[I feel like. He is just as fast and strong as peppino, the difference being that peppino has Self Restraint, even if its not Alot And body limitations like breaking limbs n such, but fake peppino does not have that hindrance]

[He and peppino arent like emotionally unstable they are just incredibly volatile when under immense stress. Like most people!! Peppino is just under maximum stress 24/7 and fake peppi is a brand spankin new peppino that finds everything raw and stressful

(From a tagentially related convo)

[hes got a weirdass hobbled together nervous system (since u always see those nervous system diagrams laid out w a floating brain lol)

Its very human like but also inconsistent in some places ie he can feel pain but not All the time. The human body is very VERY complex and theres so many things working together to make shit happen. A nervous system but no bones to help hold it up and send it through the body; its floating in doughy goop ALL the time. His skin isnt Real skin so it doesnt have the same kind of like. Setup to easily receive pain and touch overall. Stretching his body out makes it hard to actually access the nerves so hes often unaware of Pain. But he can Feel things happen. I dunno]

[(responding to the idea of Fake Peppino getting hit with something blunt vs getting impaled or stabbed and grazing his nervous system)

[YES its like literally hitting a raw exposed nerve. The same pain youd get from a fucked up tooth i think however, if u managed to do that his instinct to protect himself would go haywire and hed literally try to maim you or die trying. He has no built in shock response to extreme pain like a normal human does]

[dyslexic-mess]

Suits and Stars AU part 2

(Part one)

Suits where not really Dannys thing.

For one, the shoulder pads made him look much too square for his liking. The fitted waist was all to exposing and three layers? Absolutely not. As he approached the building, a shimmering skyscraper that practically screamed ‘you can’t afford to look at me’, Danny decided it wasn’t worth the hassle and took off his blazer. A vest and tie where enough, right? Besides, its not like he actually worked there. The dress code wasn’t really his problem beyond looking vaughly like he fitted in.

The stiff fabric hooked over one arm, he strutted into the building with all the zeel of a man who worked a wall street office job.

“Nicholas Halden” he said to the receptionist, putting his hands in his pockets as she clicked on her computer. “Your not on the system” she replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “First day.” he countered, easily. “Inturn?” damn, what was this girl, a cop? Danny brightened his smile a little more “new P.A, actually”

She gave him one last look over her glasses, scanning him. “I don’t have any ticks or fleas. Promise.” He crossed his heart with that, leaning into his smile so it became more of a smirk. The woman finally cracked a little, huffling through her nose with an up turned lip before flipping through a folder. She handed him a lanyard “make sure you keep it that way, Mr. Halden” Danny took it and began to walk backwards in one motion, towards the security gates. “Nick” he offered. She finally smiled at him. “Nick.” she corrected in a slightly warmer tone. “Get a proper security pass before next week”

“Will do!” He responded as he turned to walk properly, shooting a finger gun over his shoulder as he did.

Receptionists. They held the keys to the castle and they knew it. Thinking about it, Danny would rather get grilled by a cop. They where easier to charm.

The office itself managed to be both claustrophobic and far to big. Rammed with people in suits of varying quality, tapping on keyboards and scribbling on paper. They chattered to each other about one thing or another and it was absolute murder on Dannys over sensitive ears. He fought the urge to cover them as he made for the office at the top, of course, that was sectioned off by a glass wall and a door twice as big as it needed to be.

He recognized his employer inside, looking more commanding in his own set of shoulder pads and dress shoes. Danny would almost believe you if you told him this guy and the tussled looking dude from last night were different people. Almost.

They were still the same in some very key ways. The tightness in his movements, the way his eyes scanned his surroundings so he noticed Danny long before he approached and, of course, that scowly tilt to his brow that darkened his features and shadowed those mottled blue eyes.

It was a shame, really, and Danny found himself, briefly, wanting to make the man smile.

He did not smile when he clocked Danny. Infact, that serious scowl seemed to deepen slightly as he waved him in, dismissing the other men in equally stuffy suits he'd been talking to.

"You got past reception?" He questioned, seeming surprised. Danny shrugged "don't panic, most people wouldn't"

Tim just hummed, positioning his laptop so it faced away from his office facing window. He pulled up a very official looking document with 'Nicks' ID and employment files. "Nicholas Halden. That's a little on the nose" Danny crossed his arms. "Does that make you Burke?"

The other man snorted "yeah. It dose." He handed Danny another lanyard, this one looking more official than the 'guest' card he was wearing. "I'm not dumb enough to let a known criminal walk around without keeping tabs-"

"-I'm not known" Danny butt in, a little prideful. Tim waived a hand at him.

"I know. In any case, this'll track your movements."

"Your not a convicted fellon so you can leave it at the door at the end of the day but if your on the clock, your wareing this."

The way Tim was debriefing him made Danny wonder if the nervous, flighty looking man he'd met last night had been a mask. This guy was clearly no stranger to being in authority and had no problems dolling out orders. It was, in a way, reassuring. He just hoped Tim could back up his thunder.

He directed his attention back to the computer, where Tim pulled up work schedules, fake contact details and a bit of fabricated history for nick. Just in case.

"Nick is my new P.A, employed with good recommendation, on a probationary period. That gives you clearance to do most things on the grounds I asked for it. Just don't go abusing the privilege-"

Danny rolled his eyes, Tim didn't bother acknowledging it.

"You work the job. You find my rat. When we've tied the loose ends, Nick starts underperforming and we let him go."

It was Dannys turn to hum as he looked over the startlingly good fake documents. Damn, even tucker would struggle to produce something like this! Did it make him curious? Hell yea but for now he was gonna mind his business.

"Its a good plan" he commented, flicking through the tabs a few more times as he did. "Though I don't remember you mentioning I'd have to do actual work around here when we spoke last"

Tim glanced at him "What, think you can't handle it? Or do you just have an aversion to legit work?" Danny huffed and rolled his eyes again "whatever, sure. Book you a taxi and reserve you a restaurant between actually doing what you're paying me for. Piece 'a cake"

"Better be" Tim sighed, closing his computer. "This has a time limit. The-"

"Yeah, yeah, the longer they get away with it, the more confident they'll get in what they leak. I got it." Danny finished and Tim raised an eyebrow. "Don't do that infront of the other employees. You might not answer to me but Nick does." He dead panned.

Danny just gave another one of his easy smiles, picking up his new ID, which felt more like a tracking collar, and spinning it on one finger. "You got it, pretty boy"

Tim puffed out his cheeks in the biggest expression Danny had managed to get from him, pointing a finger in his direction as Danny went to leave. "And don't call me that either!" He called after him.

Oh yea. This was gonna be a fun couple of weeks.

(Part three)