#i have zero nostalgia left but...man

[kari-izumi]

The most surprising thing about the Voltron news is the complete and utter lack of reaction from any of the BNFs who were around at the time, on the platform where the fandom was largely birthed from.

the only post I found with more than 100 notes was understandably more concerned about She-Ra 's fate after May 2026.

I don't even got nothing to say really except that it truly makes you think

[loganwritesprobably]

I Can't Do This Anymore (A.S.)

Inspired by some chatting about Shanks I was doing with @fanaticsnail and @maritimebird

Content/Warnings: Shanks/GN!Reader, breaking up, arguing, hurt/no comfort, Shanks is characterised as a bad guy/ kind of toxic

Four years. Four entire years of your life dedicated to Red Haired Shanks. He was globally revered and respected, considered one of the strongest of a generation, a real contender for Pirate King as an apprentice and honorary son of Gol D. Roger. He was also a scumbag. It seemed like you were the only person who knew that, though, and frankly you were ashamed it'd taken you this long.

You'd woken up today feeling stronger than you had in ages, and when you sat for breakfast alone once again, you knew it was over. You were already gone, you'd emotionally left your partnership months ago, you'd just been hanging on for the sake of nostalgia, because of the man he'd been at first, who you'd wanted him to be. Who he hadn't been in a long time. Plus, you were finally coming up on an island and the Red Force would be docking, so you'd be able to completely leave Shanks, the ship and the crew. A clean break.

He wouldn't wake up for hours, you knew that now. No matter how many times you'd told him it would be nice to spend the morning together, to be quietly present for each other when you first woke up, he never stirred til after noon. It was because of his drinking of course, and you knew that, but he wouldn't cut back on that either. Why would he do that?

You left the kitchen before Lucky had even finished preparing breakfast with just a slice of toast in hand. You didn't feel like food this morning.

You sat on the deck with Beckman while he smoked, and you explained to him what you were about to do. He accepted it, had even seen it coming, and agreed to help you leave without Shanks clinging on or lingering on the island to try to make you come back.

When Shanks finally emerged after lunch had already been served, you headed to take a shower while Yassop and Hongo helped to pack up your stuff from Shanks' room, wanting to cause as little suspicion as possible.

Freshly washed, in the perfect outfit for the occasion which made you feel confident, you returned to the deck. Shanks sat with Beck, one smoking and the other drinking, idle chatter occasionally passing between them.

"Shanks, I need to talk to you." You said, interrupting whatever they'd been speaking about. "Sorry doll, I was just chatting with Beck, can you give me ten mi-" "No. I can't. This is more important." You said, voice firm, expression stony. "Oh c'mon just a few-" "No Shanks. Not this time. We can have this conversation here and now if you really want, I don't care, but it might be better for your ego to go somewhere more private." You said, and Benn awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, clearly wishing he was anywhere but there. "Go on then, gorgeous, what's up?" He asked, taking zero regard for your serious tone or the look on your face. Of course he didn't, nothing ruffled the feathers of Red Haired Shanks.

"You are, you overgrown child," you hissed, surprised as the words came out of your mouth, you'd been intending on separating peacefully but clearly that wasn't going to be happening, "I am sick of you, and your bullshit Shanks! This? Us? It's over, I'm done. I'm getting off at the next island, and I'm not coming back." Shanks paused, looking temporarily confused, before a smile came back over his face and it made your blood boil. "Oh c'mon, is this cause I missed breakfast? You know I try, I just don't do mornings. I'll try again tomorrow." You'd never wanted to strike someone more. "I don't know why I bothered even trying to have a conversation - I can't even have a damn argument with you! I'm fucking leaving, you cannot grin and laugh your way through or away from that. I'm leaving this ship, this crew - I'm leaving you." You couldn't stop your anger from pouring out in your words, your hands slightly trembling from the rage coursing through you. "That feels like a bit of a rush decision, love, are you sure you've really thought about that?" Shanks replied, now looking concerned for you, as if you were experiencing some sort of meltdown.

"Oh- I've never been so fucking angry. Rush? I've been planning on leaving you for months! I'm so tired of the way you treat me, Shanks. You treat me like I - and frankly like nothing else - matters! You can't just laugh and shrug all your problems away, and ignore my attempts to communicate and tell you when there's a problem in our relationship. I have dedicated four years of my life to you, and most of those years were spent being delusional and convincing myself that it wasn't that bad, and I just had to remember how could things could be. But they never went back to being that good. I'm not even sure they were that good to begin with, you just charmed me with your words." It was a lot to scream at someone in public, knowing the crew had all stopped what they were doing to listen to you, to witness what would happen when you raised your voice at the Captain like that. "There's no need to yell doll, c'mon. This should be private." You couldn't believe him. A wave of unstable, humourless laughter overcame you that you couldn't help releasing, and Benn eyed you warily. "Oh you are so lucky you're stronger than me, because if I thought I had any sort of chance, I'd attack you." You told him, still laughing just a little. It was a cruel sort of power imbalance between you really. "Is that a threat?" Shanks asked, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, the humour passing and being replaced by just.. exhaustion.

"Benn, my stuff is all packed, I'm going to go sit with it until we dock and then I'm gone." You said to the first mate before turning on your heel to walk away. "Where are you going? Are you seriously just walking away from me like that?" Shanks yelled after you, standing from his chair. "Yes! That's exactly what I just told you I was doing!" You replied, but you didn't turn to look back at him, just continued on your way.

When you docked, Shanks appeared to have disappeared. You hauled your stuff from the ship, and hugged the crew goodbye. It wasn't fair that you'd lose your friends just because you'd split with Shanks, but that was just the way of things. They were his men, not yours. You sat on top of a crate, rubbing hands over your face as you shoved down the rising tide of emotion in your chest.

"Hey," Benn said, stepping up to stand beside you, "if you ever need anything.. I mean it anything, just call." He said, handing you two pieces of paper. One piece held the number for his den den, while the other was blank - his vivre card. "Thank you." You said emphatically, and then he walked away, back to the crew.

You sat there, just observing, as the crew ran to quickly board their ship with their small restock, and undocked from the port, Shanks stood on the deck observing you.

The red force sailed away, and you heaved a deep sigh of relief. You finally felt like you could breathe again.

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

[simpforrooster]

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

masterlist.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Remember That Night? Chapter 1/4

Summary: What happens when your boss whom your head over heels for calls you in the middle of the night to go for a drive and things go further than they should? Will they make it work or will it end in tragic heartache?

warnings: boss/employee relationship, nostalgia, deep descriptions of heartbreak

italicized is past tense.

The case files spread out across your desk were all mixing together in a blur. It felt like there was no end to it and this was the one you thought was gonna stick with you. The rest of the team had left except for Aaron. He was sitting in his own office looking for anything that could stand out exactly like you were.

Glancing up you saw his eyes scanning the papers intently with one hand resting on his forehead. In your heart you missed the bond that you shared with him deeply but the chances of anything happening again were close to zero and it made your heart ache to think that he’d never be yours.

A few months after Haley passed Aaron was having a night just like the one you’re having now and he needed closure. The night still replayed in your mind at moments like this but you’re okay now. It had been five months since the two of you cut whatever connection you had romantically off. You’ve moved on and entered the dating world, it was for the better. Closing the case files you began to put them back in order and erase the case from your mind for the night. Right when you were about ready to get up and head out Aaron approached you at your desk and sat down in a chair across from you. “It’s late. Every one else went home hours ago. Everything okay?” His intent gaze stared deep into your eyes but you didn’t allow yourself to get lost in him. “Yeah, I just don’t understand how some people can be so cruel. I think this is the one that’s gonna stick with me and it worries me but, I know I need to get home and get rest.”

“Y/N, you know I’m always here if you need to talk or vent.” You nodded in response. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, you couldn’t help but see him twiddle his thumbs a bit, it looked as if he was in deep thought, his eyebrows were knitted together like they always were when he was like this. “What about you? Are you okay? Everything going well with Beth?” He stopped all movement and his eyes connected with yours once more. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’m an open book ask away.” He shifted in his chair, leaning forward a bit. “Do you remember that night? The first night?” All of a sudden the memory came flooding back like hurricane.

The night was beautiful out, a clear sky, twinkling stars, streetlights lit up the roads just outside of your apartment. The vacation you were currently on from work was much needed, thoughts of Aaron filled your mind at times. You couldn’t imagine how he was coping, being a single father, going to sleep in a bed without his wife. It had to have been difficult, you knew the crush you had on him was silly and that it would never go anywhere but you couldn’t help the feelings you had for this man. 

Settling down onto your couch you turned on the television to catch up on one of your favorite shows, avoiding the news at all costs you wanted all crime to be out of your head for your entire week off. Cracking open a beer you grabbed a blanket and settled it over your legs. About halfway into the episode your phone rang causing a groan to escape your lips but your heart fluttered when you saw it was Aaron. What could he possibly need it was 2:30 am. “Hello?” 

“Hi. I’m sorry to be calling you this late I hope I didn’t wake you.” When he spoke he sounded like he hadn’t slept yet and that he may have been having a bad night. “No, you’re okay. Is everything alright?” 

“Y/N I just really need someone right now. I hate to bother you on your vacation but would you like to go for a drive? If you’re too tired I understand.” You couldn’t help but respond as quickly as you did, this is the moment you had been waiting for. “I’m all for it. What’d you have in mind?” You couldn’t see it but Aaron was smiling on the other end of the phone. “I know a place.” 

For the fifteen minutes it took him to get there you didn’t want to get too dressed up, it was the middle of the night after all. You left your sweats on but changed into a snug fitted shirt before brushing your hair and throwing on a pair of tennis shoes. Water was splattered on the bathroom sink from you washing your face and brushing your teeth to disintegrate the alcohol smell on your tongue. When you heard the knock on your door your heart skipped a beat. Glancing at yourself one last time in the mirror a big bright excited smile took over your flushed face. Your mind guessing where he would take you as you walked to answer the door. 

On the other side Aaron stood there also dressed in sweats and a t-shirt he looked absolutely breathtaking even out of his suit. His hair was slightly disheveled and when he spoke “Hello” to you the small dimples next to his lips formed from a smile. Aside from that you were completely locked in and lost in his eyes, he was really here. “So are you ready?” You nodded in response and he moved out of your way to excuse you into the hallway. “So where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise.” 

Once outside he opened your car door for you like a gentleman before getting into his own side. The way his hands curled over the steering wheel and his veins popped out sent so many thoughts swirling in your mind. The car ride was filled with endless conversation, mostly him asking about your vacation and you asking how the team has been doing but neither of you talked about any cases past or present. It was nice. 

He maneuvered his car into a parking lot, there was a hill toward the top of it, looking like it would be overlooking something. 

Once out of the car the wind blew slightly causing leaves to flutter around, he noticed you cross your arms together. “Are you cold? I have an extra jacket in the car if you’d like it. I keep it in there for Jack because he tends to cold with how much I use the air conditioning.” A small chuckle escaped your lips. “No, it’s okay, it feels-“ Before you could finish your sentence he was opening the back car door and pulling out one of his gray zip up hoodies. “I insist.” As if you weren’t trying to hide your blushing cheeks enough they surely came out now. 

Putting on the jacket, Aaron stood by your side as you walked up the small hill. When you reached the top there was a single bench looking over a sea of water. “I know it’s not much but this is where I tend to go when I need to think.” 

“Aaron this is- this is beautiful.” 

“I’m glad you agree.” He patted the bench, motioning for you to sit with him. The both of you sat in silence for a few moments just listening to the waves hitting the shoreline and the breeze causing leaves to fall from the tree and dance in the surrounding area. Small clouds were starting to roll over in the sky. In that moment you felt Aaron’s arm slide behind you, pulling you in a bit closer to him, his hand resting on your upper arm. As close as you were, you wanted to be closer, wanted to be snuggling with him but you didn’t put any pressure on it and just took the moment in to yourself, thankful that this was happening. “So is Jack with Jess tonight?” Aaron nodded in response. 

“He is. Had the house to myself was feeling lonely and even though it’s been a month since Haley has passed it still manages to bother me at times like tonight. I’m really glad you came with me.” He looked over his shoulder at you taking in your beauty and you did the same taking in how handsome he was. “Me too.” The two of you gazed into each others eyes searching for someone to make a move, you both leaned in simultaneously and your lips smashed together in an electrifying kiss. His lips were extremely soft, tasting of mint and had taken your breath away. Neither of your eyes had opened during the kiss. His free hand rested gently against your cheek deepening the kiss. At that moment little sprinkles landed on the top of your head but neither of you had a care in the world. When the kiss finally broke a part of the strong feelings you had for him came out. “Would you maybe want to stay with me tonight at my place?” His eyes glistened in the rain. “I’d love nothing more.” 

The night consisted of gentle spontaneous love making and you fell asleep in the arms of the man you had loved for so long more than anything, it was perfect.

He knew he had hit a nerve with your blank expression, but some part of him was just curious if you ever thought about it? “I um- I do but I try not to. No offense. It’s just I finally have moved past us and the future is looking great for me but Aaron you know I still-“

“I know, you don’t have to say it.” He spoke so gently and his face was of pure care and solidity. “I still do too.” His hand rested on yours for a few seconds as you both just sat in each others company. There was something about him that still had a hold of you, a place in your heart and just when you think you could replace it you have a moment like this with him. Every thing in you wanted to quit on the spot just so you could have him but you knew in your head that things don’t work out like that. He got up from his chair and offered to follow you home to ensure you make it there safely but you politely declined. That was when your phone rang. “Hi- Yeah I’m headed home I’ll be there in a bit- I miss you too- Okay- Bye.” Aaron wanted to ask who it was but he had no right to and he knew that so he let it be. “I will see you in the morning then?” You nodded before bidding each other goodbye once again. It shouldn’t but it felt like the first time, like you lost him again.

Arriving home you threw your keys onto the table and kissed your boyfriend whom was staying for the night he noticed the pained look on your face, the sadness that filled it. “Every thing okay babe? What’s wrong?” He took you into his arms as you cried, letting every thing out. You couldn’t love someone else the way you loved Aaron, this unexplainable connection you shared with him killed you after moments the two of you shared like tonight. If he had never brought up that night you would have been fine, but he did and here you were crying over Aaron Hotchner once again, just as you were getting back to life without him in it. You ended up telling your boyfriend it was the case you were on which wasn’t fair by any means, but as he drifted into sleep next to you, you couldn’t help but look at him and get upset. He wasn’t Aaron. No one was. That was when the night he broke it off entered into your mind.

“Y/N I’m your boss and we’re getting too close. I think it’s better that this is the last night we share together in this way. We need to stop.” It felt like a tidal of waves crashed into your heart and completely shattered it. All happiness in your face disappeared. This was the last thing you expected to happen tonight. 

You sulked in your seat, tracing your thumb around the salted rim of your glass. His eyes searched your facial expression, being a profiler you knew he was reading you like a book. His hand moved a strand of hair from your face, placing it behind your ear. “Please don’t be upset. We’ll still be close, and see each other at work but I think that’s where it should stay.” A scoff escaped your lips, shaking your head you grabbed your glass and finished off the remaining alcohol before aggressively setting it back down. 

“Yeah, well not as close as I’d like.” 

“ Y/N-“ 

“Just don’t.” When you stood up out of your chair you fell back a bit and the grip of Aaron’s hand was on your arm gently right away. “At least let me drive you home you can’t drive like this.” Putting your hand up you dismissed him completely. “I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning, boss.” Walking out of the restaurant the rain poured as if it knew how you were feeling. As soon as you were out the door away from him the tears flooded out as you walked to your car. How could he do this to you? All the dates, the phone calls, the photos, they were completely meaningless. You read him all wrong, this situation all wrong. You were head over heels in love with Aaron and you thought he felt the same. Reaching into your purse you retrieved the first keychain he had bought you, and threw it into a bush by the entrance. You wanted anything and everything that reminded you of him gone. The car ride home felt like it was never ending. The rain made it difficult to see and the only songs on the radio were depressing love songs about heartache. Walking into your apartment you tossed your keys onto the table before turning on the lights and setting the alarm. 

Making your way into your bedroom you glanced around the room, you thought to yourself how your never going to be graced with Aaron’s face or presence in it ever again. Falling into your bed you clutched your pillow tightly tears flowing out like an ocean while his side of the bed lay empty. A hole in your heart is all that you felt, you couldn’t even imagine having to see him at work tomorrow. You could just see yourself excusing yourself to go cry somewhere. You really thought he could be the one but all hope of that had vanished. The next morning your tear stained face made you look a mess your clothes were disheveled, hair a mess but you couldn’t find a care in the world. You wanted to walk into work and make him see what he did to you. The buzzing of your phone dragged you out of your thoughts. A voicemail notification from Aaron popped up. As much as your head told you not to listen to it your heart spoke differently. “Hi, I wanted to make sure you got home safely and that you’re doing okay. If you could let me know that’d be great but if not I’ll see you at work. I truly hope there’s no hard feelings Y/N. Well I guess that’s all goodbye.” How dare he, no hard feelings? Does he not realize how much he broke you? You wanted to throw your phone and cry again but you decided to keep yourself composed and get ready for work and head in. Of course Aaron ended up calling in because Jack got sick, and he did text you about it but you reluctantly responded with, “I don’t think we should text or call anymore about anything personal. Strictly work.” He hadn’t responded for hours and the day completely dragged out you couldn’t focus and the team took notice especially Emily and Spencer because they were the closest to you but you didn’t tell them anything about your situation just that you were having a bad day. They were understanding and said they would be there whenever you’re ready to talk about it. When you went home for the night digging for clean clothes you found one of Aaron’s work shirts in your hamper, it must have been the only one not washed because it still smelled exactly like him. As much as your head told you not to put it on your heart spoke differently. As soon as you slipped it on the tears began again and you just spent the night in your apartment alone, sulking, listening to sad music, watching sad movies, cooking dinner for one, yourself. Things were different and you hated it, your body hated it, and you barely knew how to function mentally, physically, and emotionally. Was there ever going to be an end to this pain?

Little did you know Aaron did follow you home to make sure you got there safely, you didn’t put any thought into the car following you because all your thoughts were about Aaron. He watched and made sure you got in the door but to his surprise a man opened the door and he was ready to get out of his car to come protect you until he stopped with his door halfway opened as he saw you kiss the man. You had moved on, but you were unaware of the fact that Aaron had gotten the papers for his two weeks and had broken up with Beth a week ago. That’s why he never answered how she was earlier because he hadn’t been talking to her. He couldn’t be upset but he was and it was completely selfish. So against his will he drove home, to an empty apartment like before and went to sleep in an empty bed, holding onto the memory of you being next to him as he cried and held onto a shirt you left at his apartment that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of.

[tireddovahkiin]

favourite metal gear? favourite metal gear character? the most evil metal gear character? favourite vr mission type? favourite gameplay feature? your favourite metal gear idea/idea that has your attention at the moment? unpopular metal gear opinion? have you played merry gear solid and merry gear solid 2, fan made christmas themes metal gear games? (the last one is shameless promotion bc i liked them a lot and wish they were more hyped)

YASSS THERES SO MANY LETS GO

1. Metal Gear REX, the good ol' classic.

2. Maybe an absolutely overrated choice, but for obvious reasons. Solid Snake. I love that damn man. The legend😔❤️

3. In my opinion? Hm. I think Volgin. There was no hint of anything "good" in his intentions in MGS3, he was just a selfish bastard who longed for power and destruction. A typical corrupt man. (He didn't even give a fuck about his country or men T0T)

4. Weapons mode! The missions where you can use weapons against enemies!

5. Oh, the STORYTELLING, CHARACTER AND AESTHETICS/SOUND designs for the games, IT SCRATCHES JUST THE RIGHT PARTS OF MY BRAIN, Kojima knew what he was doing. (I think my favorite game aesthetic would have to be MGS1.) Now, I know some people don't like that the cutscenes are so long, but personally, that is no problem for me, it's like watching a mini movie AND playing the game at the same time!

6. There's SOOOO many... That's why I'll have to go for the idea that currently has my attention, and it's the pathogen virus from MGS5 and it's concept! I think it's literally so creative to have a virus spread due to usage of WORDS. And recognizing motherfucking LANGUAGE patterns. And Skull Face using that virus in order to erase all languages from the world except English... That plan maybe is extremely risky, but hey, it was still working at some point. Genius!

7. Metal Gear Solid 4 doesn't get much attention as it should, I even have a feeling it's overly... Hated by the community😭? At least in most part, that is how I feel. I think it's because of the immense popularity of Snake Eater and Ground Zeroes/Phantom Pain, and people just don't like the ending, giant ammount of cutscenes, this, that, I don;t even know.

But to be honest, Guns of The Patriots left the BIGGEST emotional impact on me out of all games, so that is why it's an extremely important part to me. Sure, it has many flaws, of course. EVERY game has it's flaws, but nothing can be made to be 100% perfect, and that IS what makes it perfect.

It's supposed to represent the perfect wrap up of the MGS timeline, and Snake's career as a soldier, and his short spanned life. The 'nostalgia' you feel through it, remembering both Snake's memories, and YOURS, during your MGS gameplays, it just hits different, man.

8. And no, I haven't played merry gear solid nor merry gear solid 2 lmao I GOTTA CHECK IT OUT😭Thank you for promoting I'll make sure to play them😤

[crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy]

So I just saw the MCD 10 year anniversary video. I haven’t watched it in full yet, and I’m on the fence about whether or not I will. But this series made a huge impact on my life, so I skimmed through it and went to multiple timestamps from the comments. Here are a few things I freaked out over:

LAURENCE!!! KATELYN!!! DANTE!!! LUCINDA!!!! THE GARMAU CATCH!!!!

So many things and so many feels even from what little snippets I saw.

I was delighted to see Dante in his old uniform. I loved MCD Dante. He was such a sweet guy when Aph first introduced him, and I was always a little bummed at what he got turned into during MyStreet.

Laurence’s new VA sounds amazing!! 1.) I appreciate how similar he was to the old VA, and 2.) “But for this lady I just might” had me cackling. There’s our Casanova (/affectionate). The only thing missing was a “*he winks at you*” I didn’t realize how much I missed MCD Laurence until now. I was always a Garmau shipper, so when I was younger I wasn’t able to fully appreciate Laurence. But I just got hit with a wave of memories and now I really want to rewatch Diaries because I miss the old Laurence from season 1. He was such a fun character and his banter with Aph and Garroth was so good!

I don’t have very much to say about Garroth because I haven’t seen the whole thing yet, and I think I’ve always been a little bitter about how he was handled towards the end. Early-mid season 1 Garroth was perfect and I loved him to pieces when I was younger. And then he just… wasn’t the same character I’d fallen in love with. Not by a long shot. I miss season 1 Garroth. I’ll probably go rewatch Diaries season 1 and stop not too long after Katelyn is introduced. For the nostalgia.

A small aside before I get to what hit me hardest from this whole thing: “Yeah he let his heart control him, REGARDLESS—.” Kestin’s line delivery is always such a joy! He’s the reason Zane was tied for my favorite character during MyStreet, 100%. Alright, the thing that hit me hardest: Vylad. Yep. Post Garroth’s-Downward-Spiral, I was a Vylad girlie. Had a full blown crush and everything. I adored this man and every second of the handful of videos he was in. It didn’t matter to me if it was MCD or MyStreet, story or mini game. If Vylad was in it, I watched it many times over. I really didn’t expect he’d be included in the video, but the way he was??? Perfection. He showed up for literally all of 10 seconds, dropped off baby Levin (I’m assuming), spoke zero lines of dialogue (and stole my heart again anyway), threw a smoke bomb, and left. It was just so Vylad and I loved it. It made me so incredibly happy and I did so much internal screaming and yet I also kind of felt like crying? Anyways, I’m so glad to have seen him again. He’s got a special place in my heart, and even after all this time I think about him whenever I create characters of my own. I still haven’t been able to make one with brown hair and green eyes without picturing Vylad instead.

Anyways. Ramble over, I’ll probably watch the whole thing later and freak out over it because of nostalgia. I just want to rant about the few things I did see :)

[aiseuki]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓 | peter parker — chapter one.

READ IT ON... WATTPAD or AO3

───── Heather Fitzpatrick has no use for heroes, least of all Spider-Man—the poster boy for feel-good justice that never reaches Brooklyn’s forgotten streets. As Maverick, she takes matters into her own hands, doling out justice with fists first and questions later. Heroes chase headlines; Heather chases results. But when alien-tech weapons flood the city, turning New York into a war zone, even her brutal brand of vigilantism isn’t enough to hold back the tide.

Heather has no choice but to team up with the one hero she trusts the least. Spider-Man may represent everything she despises, but if they can’t find a way to work together, Brooklyn’s survival hangs by a thread. As enemies become allies, Heather is forced to confront the limits of her own code—and what it truly means to be a hero.

SNEAK PEEK

Heather had a sneaking suspicion that the universe treated her life like a science experiment—one of those middle school projects where the kid with zero regard for ethical boundaries decides to see how much caffeine a hamster can handle before it keels over. If there was a cosmic scientist, they were definitely prodding her limits just for kicks. And honestly? She was teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Exhibit A: She had slept through her alarm. Again. To be fair, patrolling the streets of Brooklyn at ungodly hours wasn’t exactly conducive to the eight-hours-a-night wellness influencers kept preaching about. Add in the ever-growing collection of bruises she’d been racking up lately, and yeah, her body had every reason to revolt. But still. Did it have to betray her this spectacularly? She only woke up when Valentina barged into her apartment, key in hand, with all the subtlety of a marching band practicing a halftime routine.

"Morning, sunshine!" Valentina chirped, framed in the doorway like a judgmental guardian angel with combat boots and an unshakeable sense of purpose. “Why am I not surprised you’re still in bed?”

Heather groaned, her voice muffled by the fortress of blankets she had cocooned herself in. "I’m conserving energy. You know, for life-threatening emergencies."

Valentina rolled her eyes, a gesture so exaggerated it practically made a sound. Within minutes, they fell into their usual rhythm—that unspoken choreography reserved for best friends and platonic soulmates. Valentina disappeared into Heather’s room to change into her school uniform while Heather dragged herself into the bathroom to confront the horror show waiting in the mirror.

And what a look it was.

Her reflection could’ve inspired a whole new subgenre of horror films: “Post-Apocalyptic Teen Vigilante, Part IV.” Tangled hair that had likely achieved sentience, dark circles that raccoons would envy, and the pièce de résistance—a vibrant purple bruise blooming around her left eye. Last night’s "light scuffle" (read: an all-out brawl with a guy who clearly mistook himself for Batman) had left her looking less like a competent crime-fighter and more like the before photo in a particularly grim makeover montage.

By the time Heather reemerged, half-dressed and wielding a tube of concealer that had been reduced to a stubby, battle-scarred warrior, Valentina was already in the kitchen. She was flipping pancakes like she’d been summoned to a Food Network competition, her movements precise and smugly efficient. The kitchen itself—a relic from Heather’s childhood—seemed to sigh under the weight of nostalgia. The tiny table, scarred with crayon marks and stray glitter from long-abandoned craft projects, had once seated a family of three. Back when her mom’s laughter still filled the room and her dad still cared about things like toaster ovens and being emotionally available.

Now, it was just Heather and Valentina. The honorary sister who lived next door and single-handedly kept Heather from spiraling into full-blown chaos.

Heather slid into the chair across from Valentina, whose pancakes were annoyingly perfect, golden discs that practically gleamed with smugness. She stabbed one with her fork, her stomach growling in betrayal. "You know," she said between bites, "you could’ve been a little less dramatic with the wake-up call."

And from that, the day spiraled. First, the toaster decided to stage its final rebellion, popping out charred crumbs instead of toast. Then Heather ran out of concealer halfway through trying to camouflage the bruise on her face, leaving her looking like she’d either been in a bar fight or had a very unfortunate run-in with a rogue paintball.

Cue a frantic pharmacy run for the cheapest concealer they could find (spoiler: it wasn’t great), a pit stop at the sandwich shop down the street (because the day was already bad enough without having to resort to school's lunch), and an emergency online order for a new toaster. By the time they finally made it to the subway station, they were running so late that “fashionably” didn’t even begin to cover it.

But of course, when a day starts badly, it has no choice but to double down.

READ THE REST OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF START A RIOT ON WATTPAD OR AO3

© aiseuki | junophecy

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Holiday spirit

Happy holidays riconti fandom! Please accept this gift of festive fluff 🥰 Rated G | 3.2k words | ao3 link

Felix still feels strange being back in his hometown. 

The Coburg market square is bustling with life at the annual Christmas market. Felix was never an avid visitor before, but this time the nostalgia is kicking in full force: the smell of street food and mulled wine, the glow of string lights and the big Christmas tree, and even the obnoxious holiday jingles make his chest ache with familiarity. It’s almost like he never left Coburg in the first place.

Except for the fact that one Ace Visconti is here with him.

Ace has a mug of Glühwein in his hands and is blowing on the hot beverage, his eyes eagerly drinking in the busy market. It’s a couple degrees below zero and a gentle snow is falling, but despite Felix’s best efforts to the contrary Ace is thoroughly underdressed for the weather. He has neither gloves nor anything to cover his head, and his windbreaker jacket and pants might protect him from the nonexistent wind but not the late-December temperature.

But even if Ace must be freezing, he hasn’t complained once.

…Unlike Felix, who complained first about the long line to the sausage kiosk, then about the awful apple punch they made the mistake of trying, and then about a family of stupid tourists blocking the street. But that’s neither here nor there.

Ace’s nose and ears are already red and Felix should probably be annoyed at him for not dressing properly, but instead he finds it oddly endearing. He doesn’t know how long it will take Ace to get used to German winters after decades of sun on the west coast of the USA, but today is clearly not that day.

A group of teenagers pass them on the street and briefly pause to stare at Ace—who’s currently browsing a selection of wooden crafts—and a few of them giggle and continue on their way. Felix really can’t blame them: the bright, clashing colors of Ace’s outfit stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of muted winterwear in grayscale and neutral colors. Looking at the neon pink and green for too long would probably give Felix a migraine; but then again, he only has his past self to blame for deciding to flirt with a man who combined a leopard print shirt with purple sequin pants.

Felix smiles to himself. If awful fashion sense was a dealbreaker for him, their relationship would probably have lasted less than twenty-four hours total.

“What’re you grinning at?” Ace asks, having caught him staring.

“You,” Felix says bluntly. “And your outfit that is horrendously unfit for this weather.”

Ace scoffs. “It’s not that cold.”

Felix simply smiles. “Come on,” he urges, “We should try the crepes next.”

Ace obediently falls into step beside him. Felix’s hand twitches in a familiar urge to touch—born out of countless times of patching up injuries, pulling each other up on their feet, and sitting by the fire leaning against Ace in quiet solidarity—but there are too many people here and too many eyes on them.

Of course, it doesn't help that Ace is wearing the equivalent of a big flashing sign saying “Look at me!”

“You know, I wasn’t too sure about this market when you first told me about it,” Ace says while they walk. “But it’s actually really cozy with the snow and lights and all. And any event that boils down to drinking wine and eating good food? I’m sold.”

“I’m glad,” Felix says. “It was never my favorite, but I wanted to show you. And even I missed it, after…”

He trails off, and something in Ace's eyes softens. 

"I love it. And I'm glad you wanted to take me here," Ace says. And then, because getting him to be earnest for more than five seconds is like pulling teeth, he grins and adds, "Even if I'm pretty sure all these 'handmade Bavarian' souvenirs came straight out of a Bangladesh sweatshop."

Felix grimaces. He always hated how the tourist crap seemed to overtake more and more of the event each year.

That being said, he still stopped to buy a terribly overpriced and absolutely hideous knit hat while Ace was busy refilling their Glühwein mugs at another stall. It will make a nice Christmas present to match his questionable excuse for a winter jacket.

“So how exactly are crepes German or festive?” Ace prods.

“Because the French can't take credit for mixing milk with flour and throwing it on a pan,” Felix huffs. “It's bad enough they got to name them. Pretentious little shits.”

Ace smirks. “I’m telling Élodie you said that.”

“Trust me, she has much worse opinions about Germans.”

“Ah, sweet neighborly rivalry,” Ace sighs. “I can't wait to meet the Lyras again so they can try—and fail—to argue that Brazil is better than Argentina.”

He looks at Felix expectantly, clearly waiting for him to agree.

“I wouldn’t know,” Felix says. “I’ve never been.”

“Maybe you should do something about that, then,” Ace says. His voice is playful and his smile casual, but he’s still looking at Felix a little too intently for it to be a joke.

“You just have to tell me when and I'll be there,” Felix says and fully means it.

“Yeah, right,” Ace snorts. “I bet Lauren would love for you to go touristing in the middle of a big project.”

“You’re vastly overestimating my importance in the company,” Felix says. “Lauren survived five years without me. I don't think a week will even make a dent in her schedule.”

Ace regards him silently: he knows that Felix took on much less responsibility upon returning to work—“Richter & Golder” was practically just “Golder” these days, and Felix was grateful Lauren even wanted him back on the team at all—but Felix suspects it’s another thing to see it in practice.

“You'd really come to Argentina?” Ace finally asks.

“Of course,” Felix says. “But only if you want me to.”

Ace beams up at him, then throws his head back and groans dramatically. “Oh, god, my sisters will eat you alive. Please don't learn any Spanish before the trip. Or Italian. You know what, just wear noise canceling headphones whenever they’re around. Actually—”

Felix watches Ace ramble with a smile. He’s leaving for Buenos Aires in just a few days to spend the holidays with his sisters and their families, having reunited with them after their escape from the Entity. For as much as Ace sang the praises of Las Vegas and America for the last few years, he doesn't seem to care much about going back to the USA compared to Argentina and Germany.

“—though, full disclosure, if you don't like Dulce de Leche I'm breaking up with you,” Ace says.

Felix chuckles. “I suspect I won’t, but I’ll be sure to lie for your benefit.”

“That’s all I ask,” Ace says with a grin.

They’re finally coming up to the crepe kiosk and Ace turns to look at the menu. It’s a little strange to imagine not being with him for Christmas, seeing as they’ve—admittedly not by choice—spent every holiday together for the last few years. Even if said holidays mostly consisted of Dwight in an elf costume distributing firecrackers and styptic agents around the campfire.

But Felix knows they both have more important places to be. Ace hasn’t spent quality time with his family in decades, and Felix's number one priority for the foreseeable future will spending every moment he possibly can with his own new family:

His five-year-old daughter, Klara.

Felix's ex-girlfriend has invited him over for Christmas eve to have dinner and open presents together. It will most likely be indescribably awkward—especially with both his ex’s parents and her new husband there—but they’re all doing it for Klara, who seemed very excited about the idea.

Or possibly just about the extra presents.

Regardless, Felix immensely respects his ex for not only managing to build a stable home for their daughter when he disappeared, but for being honest with said daughter from the start. Even when she was furious with Felix for seemingly abandoning them, for five years she told Klara stories about her other father building houses and showed her pictures of him. And when Felix finally showed back up and tried to pick up the pieces of his broken life, he got to meet his daughter for the first time and she immediately recognized him.

Felix clears his throat before washing down the sudden lump in his throat with some Glühwein. He’s not sure what he's done to deserve so many incredible people in his life—the survivors, Lauren, his ex, Klara, Ace—but he’s determined to be a man they can all be proud of.

“Che.” Ace nudges Felix's side, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Is the crepe guy okay?” Ace whispers, leaning closer to Felix while staring at the shopkeeper frying a batch of crepes. “He just chucked three whole chocolate bars on a crepe and wrapped it up like it was normal.”

Felix snorts, his somber mood instantly elevated. “It's a Kinder bar too. That has to be some kind of crime against gastronomy.”

“I know.” Ace only pauses for a beat before asking, “Should we get one of those?”

Felix doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

Ace shoots him a lopsided smirk. “You really do have a soft spot for tacky things,” he says, then turns to place their order.

Felix bites his lip to suppress a thoroughly dorky smile. Just five years ago, he would have scoffed at the mere sight of children’s street food and retro windbreakers, all to preserve the image of a man nobody even liked. And even if the motto of “be yourself” first seemed like an impossible task after half a lifetime of hiding everything genuine about himself, it’s been slowly but surely resurfacing—through trials, friendships, and having someone by his side who never judges.

Felix doesn't have to filter himself with Ace. Even his worst foot-in-mouth moments only earn teasing remarks in response and more often than not end in both of them laughing. Ace doesn’t take offense to Felix's bluntness and he more than pulls his weight in the playful bickering that has become one of Felix's favorite pastimes.

And Felix knows the feeling goes both ways: all their years together have chipped away at Ace’s compulsive lying just like it has for Felix's play-act. Ace has never had to avoid talking about his past of crimes and addiction and betraying people for money, because Felix doesn't judge him by who he was before, but rather by who he is today.

Just a few days ago, a seemingly harmless question about whether Felix could chip in for Ace’s plane tickets derailed into a serious conversation, with Ace sitting Felix down and making him swear to never give him a significant sum of money or gift him anything valuable that could be returned. There was always a part of Ace that would crave the thrill of gambling and the risk of relapsing increased significantly if he had easy money lying around—no matter if he knew said money was meant for rent, bills, or a plane ticket.

Felix was silent for a long time after that revelation. Ace tried to joke it off and desperately switch the subject, but after Felix quietly stood and pulled him into his arms, Ace just slumped against him and exhaled a long and shaky breath. Neither of them had to use words, because the meaning was clear:

Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for understanding me. Thank you for being here.

“Biological weapon acquired!” Ace strolls up to Felix with a grin, holding a cardboard plate with a crepe and two forks sticking out of it.

Felix probably shouldn't be making heart eyes at a man in full neon carrying a glorified candy pancake, but he does. 

Ace steers them to an unoccupied table and hands Felix his fork. They proceed to eat a few bites in expectant silence.

“It’s good,” Ace says, clearly surprised. “Why is it good!?”

“It’s way too sweet,” Felix complains. He still keeps eating the crepe.

“Let’s just agree that after three mugs of wine we’re too drunk to know better,” Ace says.

“Speak for yourself, you lightweight.”

“Well excuse me for not being six-foot-two and born with German beer in my veins!”

Felix snorts and proceeds to almost choke on his bite, then bows his head to wheeze quietly instead.

“That’s it, no more Kinder for you,” Ace says, holding the plate protectively against himself. “I should have known that shit is like crack to Germans. No wonder it’s banned in the States.”

Felix wheezes harder and has to lean against the table for support, his shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter. He dimly registers someone muttering, “What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” in German, but he really can’t bring himself to care.

When Felix has somewhat collected himself and looks up, Ace is smiling smugly at him around a forkful of crepe.

“Drink?” Ace asks, pushing his mug closer to Felix’s empty one over the table.

Felix nods and accepts the item, and in quiet understanding they turn to stand side by side and look over the market while Ace polishes off the crepe and Felix finishes his drink.

He enjoys these moments of silence between them just as much as the usual back-and-forth or long conversations at the campfire. Felix knows that they still have a lot to figure out when it comes to adjusting back to a normal life, with the logistics and long distance and Felix's daughter. But instead of the existential dread that’s plagued Felix for most of his life, these days he only feels a deep calm when thinking about the future.

Things have been so much easier when there’s a constant in his life, something that’s not dependent on Felix's career or family name. And every time Felix wakes from a nightmare or starts second-guessing himself on whether all that horrible shit really happened, he just has to listen to Ace snoring next to him or touch one of the numerous lucky charms he insists on showering Felix with.

Ace is tangible proof that Felix went through hell and came out stronger for it. He’s been Felix's anchor for years and even when he’s across the world, Felix still feels just as grounded as he does with Ace right by his side.

Ace glances at Felix and catches him looking—Felix has been watching him for quite some time instead of observing the market—and he quirks an eyebrow as he tosses the empty plate in a nearby bin. 

“You’re staring again,” Ace says. “Are you gonna keep nagging about my jacket?”

In response, Felix simply leans closer, then hesitates and searches Ace's eyes. Understanding dawns on Ace’s features before his mouth splits into a bright smile, and then he’s grabbing Felix by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down for a kiss.

Ace’s nose is cold where it bumps into Felix’s cheek but his lips are warm, stained with chocolate and mulled wine and soft against Felix’s. Felix cups Ace’s head and sinks into the gentle press of their mouths, simply enjoying the closeness.

Felix doesn't care if people are watching. He doesn’t care if someone sees him with a man or thinks they’re being inappropriate. He doesn’t care that they still have many challenges to face. For the first time ever, Felix knows exactly what he wants to do with his life and he’s going to do everything in his power to get it.

Starting with kissing the man he loves in the most crowded place in all of Coburg, apparently.

Ace is trembling when they pull apart. Felix could flatter himself by thinking his kissing prowess was enough to make him weak in the knees, but the truth is that the weather must finally be catching up to Ace.

And he still won't admit it, the stubborn idiot.

“You know,” Felix starts, brushing his thumb over the stubble on Ace’s cheek. “There’s a pub I like just down the street. Why don’t we go and warm up for a little while?”

“Oh, thank god,” Ace groans and thumps his forehead against Felix’s shoulder. “I’m fucking freezing and this supposedly famous wine really isn’t all that great.”

“You could have told me you were cold.”

Ace pulls back enough to give him a defiant stare. “And listen to your ‘For the love of god, Ace, I told you five times to bring a scarf’ all the way home? Not a chance.”

“I would never,” Felix says. Ace huffs a disbelieving snort, and Felix can’t suppress his smile as he continues, “Because I told you at least ten times and also asked you to bring gloves, and a thicker jacket, and—”

“Okay, okay!” Ace exclaims. “Christ, the word Besserwisser was probably coined just for you, wasn’t it?”

Felix chuckles and reaches into his pocket for the knit cap he bought earlier. He was planning to wrap it and gift it properly another day, but practicality usually trumps sentimentality where Felix is concerned.

“Here,” Felix says, holding out the item. “Merry Christmas.”

Ace stares at the hat while most likely silently judging both its cliché reindeer pattern and questionable orange-brown color scheme.

“It’s traditional Bangladeshi reindeer,” Felix deadpans.

“Thank you,” Ace finally says slowly, then puts on the hat. “How do I look?”

Felix tries not to laugh as he takes in the sight. The cap somehow looks even worse when it’s worn because of the pattern stretching and distorting. The price tag also still dangles loosely from the too-big pompom on top, and the muted orange and brown somehow makes the neon of Ace’s jacket pop out even more obnoxiously.

“Fucking hideous,” Felix concludes.

Ace barks out a laugh and Felix chuckles too. Despite Felix’s harsh words, they’re both leaning into each other, Ace’s arms wrapping around Felix’s waist and Felix gently tucking a few errant strands of gray hair into the cap.

“Good,” Ace says, then looks up to meet Felix’s eyes with an overly exaggerated pout. “Now hold me, I’m cold.”

Felix smiles and slings an arm over Ace’s shoulders to pull him even closer. “Come on. It's not far.”

Ace lets himself be led to a quiet pub around the street corner, insisting on paying for their drinks while apologizing for not having anything to gift Felix in return. Felix maybe gets a little sappy and confesses that just having him here is the best gift of all, and in response Ace tugs him into a corner booth and kisses him longer and deeper than is probably appropriate.

And despite the cold and crowd and fashion hiccups along the way, this year’s Christmas market will remain Felix’s favorite for a long, long time.

Or at least until next year when they no doubt visit it again.

Thanks for reading! 💞 Ace’s outfit is from his leaked winter skin, because it’s tacky and I love it. (Minus the headpiece. What the fuck is that beard.)

[fallen-savior-mmz]

Fallen Savior Chapter 2;

Burning Bridges-

X huffed, his body aching as he twisted and stretched. His armor pulled and pinched at his sore muscles, never fitting quite like it was supposed to. He wished that his synthetic muscles and bones wouldn’t hurt like they did, but he supposed it was another sacrifice he had to make. 

The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, and he was only one tired, old reploid.

The concept of age never really had bothered X before. He knew he was old, he had been old since the day he awoke. He had never felt old, and he certainly never looked it. Even now, nearing 300 years of age, X still retained his ever youthful face, as if he had just turned 20. His systems were ever evolving, always two steps ahead of current technology.

That didn’t change the weariness he felt all the way down into his soul. It didn’t change the sheer centuries worth of emotions and physical trauma he had endured. Mega Man X was exhausted, deep down into his core. 

X was old.

His head pulsed in pain when he heard a knock at the door. He groaned lightly, stretching one last time as he got up to make another sacrifice. 

X opened the door, greeted by two young, Neo-Arcadian soldiers. Reploids from the looks of them, and still new to the world. Their eyes hadn’t seen the Elf Wars, they must have been created after.

The tired angel sighed, what would prompt such young souls into a life of danger and violence? He had seen it so many times before, far too many bright young souls lost.

He remembered a reploid not unlike himself in his younger days, his auburn hair flying wildly out the back of his helmet, his X-shaped scar across the bridge of his nose adding to the mischievous air about him.

Oh how X dearly missed his friends! That particular stab of nostalgia and grief left him as quickly as it struck him. He had work to do.

“Greetings Master X, Dr. Weil ordered us to escort you to the docks for today’s patrol.” one of the young men spoke, a slight waver to his voice. It wasn’t often one got to meet the Legendary Mega Man X in person. 

X nodded, his armor glinting in the dim light of the inner sanctum as he stepped out of his quarters and into the hallway.

“Very well, I thank you for this. Let’s be on our way.” X didn’t wait for the two young men, stepping away and down a path he hadn’t taken since the Dark Elf was sealed. Even now, he felt her tugging deep in his core as he walked further and further away from Yggdrasil.

This is a mistake. Please don’t let anything happen, please…

X pleaded in silence. Was he pleading to Zero, or perhaps Dr. Light? Maybe he was pleading to some foreign higher power. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was the feeling of dread filling his entire being had only increased tenfold since the previous night.

He was vaguely aware of the two reploids behind him, whispering excitedly to one another as they walked.

"It's amazing, he's amazing!"

"I know, I never thought we'd ever meet him, he's shorter than I expected but he's still so cool!"

X almost smiled at that, reminded of his own days as a Maverick Hunter. Long ago, he had been that starry eyed hunter, gushing about meeting someone with so much perceived power.

Power...what power, as if it could stop Omega and the Dark Elf. Power is a false god that too many spend their lives praying to….

Ah, Zero, when did I get so philosophical? Wallowing in my own sorrow…

With X’s mood now soured beyond repair, he ignored the reploids behind him as they continued their journey.

On and on, the hallways of Neo Arcadia’s inner and outer sanctums stretched, making X wonder if he had forgotten his way to the outside world.

He had helped design the city, been one of the ones there from its initial concept to its construction after Omega had been defeated. He should know these hallways, shouldn’t he? Was that how out of touch he had been with everything?

Grief and sheer exhaustion had muddied many of his memories of those days, only able to glide through each waking hour with the help of his Council, even Dr. Weil. He really should thank the man more for guiding him through that tumultuous time. Even now, the managing of his schedule kept him from slipping too deep into depression. 

He really ought to thank his council, even when they frustrated him like this.

Just when X was beginning to wonder if he’d need to ask the young men behind him for reassurance that he was in fact, heading to the loading docks, the hallway turned, and opened up into a large, cavernous room. Trucks of varying sizes were parked all around the room, tanks and other war machines from the Elf Wars lined the walls. The wall farthest from X had been opened, leading out into the desolate air and empty highways. Early morning light streamed through, causing X to wince and have to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment.

A kind of hush fell over the reploids and soldiers in the room, everyone watching their leader step forward and walk towards the open door. X felt the Dark Elf’s connection to him thrum, the pain seemingly magnifying with every step, as if she could sense how close X was to leaving Neo Arcadia.

He ignored her, his mind solely set on the clear blue sky and warm sunlight in front of him. It had been years since he had last stepped outside of the sanctum, years since he had truly felt the sun’s golden rays on his body.

Mega Man X gasped when he fully stepped outside of the city, the seal on the Dark Elf and himself straining under the force of her attempting to escape, the term “dormant” being used incredibly loosely for her containment.

X again ignored her as he sighed happily, the sunlight muting the pain he felt through their shared connection. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed being outdoors, feeling the sun on his face and warming his body. Even with the stress of the Dark Elf, he hadn’t felt so content in years…

“Master X, I’m sorry to disturb you, but the convoy must leave on time. If you’re ready…?” one of the convoy captains stepped forward, calling X back from his basking. The android reluctantly returned to the trucks, leaving that tranquility and blissful feeling at the entrance to the garage.

The convoy captain that had approached him led him to his vehicle, introducing him to the reploids that would be accompanying him on their patrol, including the two young soldiers who had escorted him here. 

X offered them a small smile, a distant echo of the commander he used to be, before turning back to the captain. It was the least he could give them for being kind to him.

“So, our route will take us around the wastelands to the edges out the Forest of Dysis, and then back through the Old Residential District before we return to Neo Arcadia. The patrol shouldn’t last for more than eight hours.” the captain finished his report of the route to X, looking up at him to ensure that the android was listening.

X nodded, mentally tracking what kind of route that would be and how close to the forest they would get. A little flicker of hope sparked in X’s chest that maybe they could scan for Zero, just to see if maybe, in some one in a million chance that he was still alive, that they could find him.

He stamped that hope out as quickly as it appeared, not letting himself believe even for a moment that his husband was still alive.

“This all looks excellent Captain…?” he glanced up at the reploid again, asking for the Captain’s name.

“Captain Tria, Master X. Dr. Weil assigned me as leading Captain today.” Tria answered, holding his hands behind his back. Pride seemed to radiate off of the reploid, being Weil’s chosen clearly doing a lot for the young man’s ego.

“Ah, thank you Captain Tria. I assume we’re in safe hands then. What kind of opposition will we be facing?” X wished they could stop discussing the mission and just leave already, his entire being wishing it could be back out in the sun, ignoring the Dark Elf’s prying connection.

“Rogue pantheons and mechaniloids, mostly reported here, around the edges of the Forest. We’ll check as thoroughly as we can there before we send any salvage teams.” Tria held a data pad out for X to take, a holographic map showing little red dots where higher activity had been reported.

X sighed, rolling his shoulders to help alleviate the stiffness in his joints and chase away the dull pain. He handed the data pad back to Tria, walking over to his assigned truck. He was pleased to find that his buster had already been placed in the truck.

X’s iconic Mega Buster had been lost long ago in the wars, his entire arm having been smashed beyond repair by Omega during one of their later conflicts, the reploid’s mad obsession with violence finally taking full hold as he had attempted to shred X apart piece by bloody piece. 

X supposed he had been lucky to make it out of that one. His arm hadn’t been so lucky.  He found, however, that he actually preferred the buster he had now to the old one, instead of it being an actual weapon attached to his body, being a hand held pistol. He liked that his weapon was no longer part of him, something he could separate himself from whenever he wanted.

It was freeing, in a grim, morbid kind of way. Something capable of so much destruction being ripped from his very being.

X ran his hand over the weapon, hesitant to use it again after so long of leaving it. His “gut” twisted as he realized it had been years since he put the weapon down, and here he was, picking it back up again.

“Master X...are we ready to proceed?” Captain Tria spoke from behind him, clearly anxious to get going.

“Yes, lead us out. And let us hope for an easy mission.” X spoke, not turning to face Tria, drowning in his memories once more. He mindlessly boarded the truck, taking the passenger seat so he could help watch for any potential threats.

The convoy set out onto the highway, X’s truck taking the middle spot. As it drove out onto the open sea, the android’s eyes were drawn to the ever turning blue expanse, watching as they crashed against the pillars holding the highway up.

Melancholy filled him as he watched the water, just as it always did when he looked at the ocean. The deep blues and greens reminded him of his younger days, days spent with Zero and his friends in between wars. Precious memories that he held close to his heart. He visited them more often than he cared to admit, allowing himself to experience what little joy was still to be had in those days.

Sure, they weren’t perfect, X knew that. He was a hunter, a unit commander, and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But they were there to help me. Alia, Signas, Douglas, Axl, Palette, Layer…

Zero…

X didn’t pay attention the rest of the ride, the Neo Arcadians in the back of the truck conversing and laughing, living their own lives as X lived out his memories in silent torture. Hours passed, the ocean fell far behind them, and the great leader of Neo Arcadia existed only in his mind, even the Dark Elf’s incessant beating against his systems falling into the back of his consciousness.

Captain Tria’s voice brought him back to reality, along with the sheer strain his body felt as the connection between him and the city stretched so far. X almost gasped as he was suddenly made aware of his current existence, the pain from the seal taking his breath away for a moment. It had never felt this intense before, not even the initial sealing itself had felt this painful.

X pushed it aside as he answered the Captain’s call.

“Master X, we’re approaching the Forest of Dysis. We will be slowing the convoy down and scanning the length of the highway. Please be prepared to alert us and make contact with any mechaniloids or pantheons you may find.” Tria instructed, the convoy slowing as it approached the raggedy sea of half dead trees. X pinged back a quick confirmation before grabbing his buster and climbing out of the truck.

The driver spluttered, attempting to call him back in as the vehicle was still moving, but X ignored him, the pain making him act somewhat rashly.

He positioned himself on top of the truck, buster in one hand, and his other hand placed gently on his helmet. Dr. Light’s armors and upgrades from all those years ago paid off, as his scanner was more advanced than most around, even without the Second Armor.

Meticulously, X began scanning the surrounding area, taking time to ensure he swept every possible crevice around, the Neo Arcadians below waiting and ready for Mega Man X to call out the signal of an attack.

But none ever came.

As they continued down the length of the highway, X became increasingly confused. Nothing was coming up at all, no stray pantheons, no mechaniloids, nothing. 

Captain Tria called for the convoy to stop as they neared the end of their route. X leaped from the top of his truck, wincing as the landing shook his already aching body, the pain still heavy enough to cause him to hesitate before making his way to Tria’s truck.

The captain himself sat in his own truck, puzzling over the data pad he had shown X earlier. The android rapped his knuckles against the side of the man’s door before opening it.

“Greetings Master X, I’m just ensuring that we have the correct route here. This doesn’t make any sense…” the man muttered, his eyes still glued to the data pad in front of him.

“Maybe we got lucky this time. I scanned every inch of this highway and there's nothing out here. Is there any chance the data is wrong?” X scanned their immediate area again, unsurprised to find everything coming up as empty.

“No, no...This was the latest report we got from the last scouting mission. This is supposed to be the most updated data we have. They couldn’t have all just...vanished, right?” Tria looked up at X, clearly attempting to appeal to X’s experience and wisdom.

“You’re right they wouldn’t. So either your data is wrong, or something went wrong with the equipment. One thing is for certain though, there’s nothing here. We might as well head back.” X glanced in the direction of the city, its shining gold and white pire completely lost in the distance now.

Tria nodded, tossing the data pad to the side. “Yeah, you’re right. There’s nothing around so we might as well go home. Thank you for coming with us on this mission Master X.” the man gave a slight smile, his eyes tired and almost regretful.

What would Tria have to regret about an uneventful mission? X decided not to think about it, as the only answer was that he WANTED the violence.

“Of course, I’m only grateful for a quiet expedition. I hope we have the same peace on the way home.” X responded, patting Tria’s door twice before slamming it shut and returning to his truck.

In a few moments, the convoy started again, the scanners still active but not being as closely monitored. X turned his off, instead focusing on blocking out the pain from the Dark Elf and relishing his remaining time outside.

As dangerous as the escapade out of Neo Arcadia had been, it felt so relaxing to be out and in the open air again. Much of the planet had been destroyed and polluted by centuries of war, so “fresh air” was a stretch, but the sentiment was there.

The convoy set off for the Old Residential District, still scanning the area as it went. Many of the Neo Arcadians in the back of the truck took to napping or sitting silently as they made the journey home. X found himself slumped against the window, his eyes threatening to close. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a proper nap. 

Probably not since before the Elf Wars. Maybe his last nap had been wrapped in Zero’s arms, safe and sound before the world descended into chaos.

X imagined Zero was here now, holding him and telling him to rest, he had earned it…

“INCOMING!”

If the panicked shout over everyone’s comms hadn’t scared X out of his sleepiness, the resulting explosion of one of the trucks would have.

There was a moment of silent affirmation as everyone looked out of their respective windows to see the last truck in the convoy go up in flames, X’s own core going still for a moment as he watched the vehicle turn into a pile of blackened metal, any of the poor souls trapped inside being lost in the initial explosion.

What happened next could only be described as absolute chaos. All of the Neo Arcadians began shouting, calling for orders, formations, confirmation on where the attack was coming from. X grabbed his buster, leaping out of the door and hitting the ground running as his scanner picked up dozens of enemies.

“They’re surrounding us, don’t let them cut us off from the city!” X called over the comms, shooting a pantheon as he ran by, the creature raising its weapon to begin firing at the convoy.

Plasma shots and missiles flew out of every corner of their path, the trucks being peppered with fire as they slid to a stop. 

X didn’t have time to let himself grieve as he heard the cries of the Neo Arcadians being shot down by their enemies, only able to concern himself with eliminating as many of them as he could. The faster he destroyed the mechaniloids, the more of the Neo Arcadians would survive.

Mega Man X tore through droves of enemies, the Dark Elf’s presence completely muted to him as he fought to ensure their survival. Decades of fighting experience came back to him, every movement he made feeling as natural as it ever had.

He had almost forgotten he had been built for combat by his hypocritical father, all those years ago. A being that strove for peace but had been built for war.

“Master X, help! Please!” 

One lone cry that rang out above all else gave X pause, snapping his attention around back towards the caravan. 

It was a massacre, the sheer amount of pantheons and mechaniloids easily overwhelming the Neo Arcadian forces. The same people X had shared the day with now lay in varying piles of burnt, destroyed parts and synthetic flesh.

The voice that had called out to him was one of the young men who had escorted him that morning, his eyes wide in terror as a pantheon warrior gripped his body in its massive, mechanical arm.

The man reached out for X, his eyes pleading as he gasped one last time before the pantheon crushed his body, tossing him aside as it turned its horrible gaze to X.

X could only stare, rooted to the spot in agony as he had watched the reploid’s death. It was happening again, his supposed “power” not enough to save the very reploids who looked up to him. They needed him, and he could only stand by and watch as they died.

“X, move! Now!”

Tria’s shout didn’t register to him, but the explosion at X’s feet did. His entire body was thrown backwards, shrapnel decimating his pristine white and gold armor. He could feel the molten pieces of metal ripping through his body, shredding everything they came in contact with. The little wings on his helmet were ripped off, his legs barely holding on from his thighs down. The pain was so great that X actually didn’t feel it, laying instead gasping in a pool of his own blood.

He didn’t hear Tria’s voice in his ear, telling him he was okay, and that they’d make it out of this. He didn’t see the few remaining Neo Arcadians grab what they could of his armor, his buster and their fallen comrades. He didn’t feel them dragging him towards the last remaining truck and piling what they could in the back.

X could only stare at the ceiling of the truck, feeling it rumble as it sped away from the horror scene. Tria’s face entered his vision, wiping his hair from his eyes and speaking to him to keep him calm. The poor reploid couldn’t have known that X could barely understand him, his processor dedicated to keeping him from experiencing the full effect of what could only have been a grenade detonating against his legs.

X didn’t know how long he sat there, his eyes flickering from Tria’s face to the roof of the truck. He wanted to go home, he wanted to be back in his bed, his body hurting from the seal and having boring meetings all day. 

He wanted Zero back. He must have spoken Zero’s name accidentally, simply because of Tria’s reaction. The man reached around and grabbed X’s buster, holding it out in front of him and saying something along the lines of “I don’t know who Zero is, but here, maybe this will help? Just stay calm Master X, we’re almost home…”

X wanted to reach up, grab the buster and throw it away. His arms, however, stubbornly refused his call to move. Tria couldn’t have known that X was talking about his long lost partner, and not him not having a weapon.

Maybe, Zero wouldn’t be so long lost anymore...X could feel his life draining around him, death closing in on him like the gentle embrace of night.

The truck stopped, X could feel it by how the inertia moved his body. It felt like too much was open to the air and sliding around, unstable and free. 

That wasn’t right, in fact it was quite rude of his body to be so open like that.

How dare it.

X turned his head to the back of the truck, watching as Tria jumped out to meet Dr. Weil and the rest of the council. He was speaking quite animatedly, panic clearly written on his face. 

Weil nodded, taking X’s buster from Tria’s hand as he listened. X wondered why no one was rushing to help him, or panic over his broken body. 

Perhaps they’d come after they helped Tria, X knew he needed it.

Weil nodded again, still holding X’s buster in his hands.

With one hand, he charged the pistol and leveled it at Tria’s head.

The resounding shot shocked X, but the sound of the Captain’s body hitting the floor shocked him more. What the hell just happened?

Something bitter filled X, overcoming the encroaching blackness of death. That simple act of merciless violence snapped something in the android. Was it rage he felt? Indignation?

Or was it a realization of sorts?

X wouldn’t have time to think it over, the veil of night finally covering his eyes as Weil turned to him. For the first time in X’s long, long life, he felt genuine fear as he gazed into those dark eyes.

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

“Magnificent...his entire body is magnificent...I never had the chance to work so closely on him.”

X’s consciousness danced at the edges of awareness, catching a man's voice as he felt hands all over his body.

He decided he didn’t like that before disappearing again.

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

“Damnit, I needed him dead, why can’t anyone do one fucking job correctly…”

X was more aware this time, and he really wished he hadn’t been. Something was being taken from him, he could feel it, something deep inside his code being ripped from him.

He wanted to scream, but had no way to do so.

X faded again.

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

“If I can’t break the seal...I will weaken it until this bastard machine dies.”

X’s eyes flew open, the pain hitting him so quickly it caused his processor to short out for a moment. Everything inside him felt like it was on fire, the Dark Elf’s code wreaking havoc on his own stripped body.

He knew Weil was in the room, he could sense him. He also knew in that moment what Weil had been doing.

The system errors he was getting were too deliberate, too perfect. Bits of code taken here, pieces of his systems missing there. 

X was being stripped for parts while he was still alive. The thought alone made him violently ill, that he was being taken apart from the inside by the people he trusted.

He knew Weil, the man had been there to help him create Neo Arcadia, he had helped X with everything since the day Zero left.

How could he do this? Why?

X paused his morbid ministrations, noting that Weil had left the room. This was his chance. Like hell he would stay here and let the man he had once called trusted root around his insides like he was some experiment.

The android heaved himself to the side, gasping as he felt the remnants of his torn body collapsing off of the table and onto the floor. The pain made him cry out, his whole being shaking violently from the stress of movement. 

X hazarded a look down, trying to assess the damage. Things were not where they were supposed to be. His entire torso had been opened up, mechanical parts and reploid “blood” barely staying inside of his body. His armor had been peeled off of him, his legs barely held together. He looked like a mechanical skeleton.

He whimpered, trying not to make himself sick at the imagery, his own body horror driving his need to escape even higher.

His helmet was still seated on his head, and his scanner still worked. Perfect.

With a great deal of effort, the skeletal remains of Mega Man X stood, one arm wrapped around his midsection while the other kept him steady, helping him regain his balance.

Escape. Run, X!

The voice in his head prompted him to move, whether it was his own or maybe his father’s, he didn’t know. He simply began moving, the lab that had contained him scattered with pieces of his armor and body.

With shaking hands, X grabbed and replaced what he could, pain clouding his thoughts. The only thing he could make out was escape.

Once sufficiently repaired enough to move faster, X stepped out from the lab, noting it was one very close to Yggdrasil. The Dark Elf’s seal felt so much more active than ever before, fire racing through his code as the virus rewrote him and attempted to corrupt him. 

X grimaced, turning away from the direction of Yggdrasil, and focusing instead on making it down the hallway. Every step sent pain lancing through his body, but he grit his teeth and kept moving. 

If I can make it back to the garage...I can take a truck and escape…

God but where will I go? What will I do? Fuck, this is bad. This is really bad....

X tried not to whine, despair flooding him as he realized he had no plan other than escape. Maybe he could go and die somewhere in the desert, somewhere Weil couldn’t touch him. Maybe he would find Zero…

“Hey! There he is, he’s over there!” 

A shout, followed by footsteps rang out of the hallway. X turned as fast as his shaking body would let him. Reploid guards stood further down the hall, calling to one another before running towards him.

“Shit...shit shit shit…” X hissed under his teeth, forcing his body to pick up the pace. His knees wobbled and threatened to give out under him, a hobbled trot the only thing he was capable of. The hallway turned, leading into a straight corridor with windows on either side. 

They were gaining on him, and X knew he wouldn’t outrun them here. He eyed the windows further down, panic building in his throat.

If that was his only means of escape, then so be it.

With a cry, X ripped the remnant of his charred white and gold armor from his chest, the last piece of the armor he had been forced to wear. He turned and threw it towards the curve of the hallway, not watching as he heard the satisfying thunk as it hit the closest pursuer as they turned the corner.

X hobbled as quickly as he could, his eyes glued to the one open window. Other reploids and his own council appeared at the other end of the hallway, Dr. Weil leading them as they all attempted to catch him.

Weil looked furious, his hands reaching out for X as they all sped closer.

X wondered for a brief moment who would reach what first. Would he reach the window first, or would Weil catch him before then? The panic and pseudo-adrenaline coursing through him told him that he needed to reach the window first.

Everything else disappeared as X’s vision narrowed onto the open window sill, his hands reaching out for the frame. 

He couldn’t have known that Weil had almost grabbed him by his hair as he launched himself out of it, into the crashing ocean below.

As X twisted and turned in the air, free falling into the roaring sea, he realized that Weil had planned all of this. Weil meant for him to die on that patrol.

Weil had betrayed him, and all of Neo Arcadia. No, he had betrayed all of the life on earth, jeopardized everything that X had sacrificed so much for. Everything that Zero had sacrificed himself for.

As X’s body hit the water, he decided that was truly unforgivable.

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

“You are all FUCKING IDIOTS!” Weil roared in rage as X leaped out of the window, taking everything Weil had been working on with him.

TK-31 shrank deeper into the shadows, he wasn’t having a very good day. How unfortunate could one get to find themselves in the middle of an attempted assassination/coup?

“You should have killed him while he was in your lab Weil, what are we going to do if he comes back?” one of the council members, a shorter man with a balding head spoke up, gesturing to the open window.

“I couldn’t have killed him, anyone who looked into how he died would have seen that it was deliberate! The reploid boy ruined it by throwing a grenade at his damn feet, X was supposed to die to a fucking saber.” Weil turned to the man, shaking in wrath.

Why would anyone try to kill Master X? Wasn’t he the only thing keeping the Dark Elf asleep?

“If he had died this morning on the patrol like I had planned, none of this would be happening. It would have been clean, with no damage to his hardware so I could take his parts to repair Omega and bring back the Dark Elf! That stupid boy I sent to escort him this morning KNEW that when we set the trap!” Weil collided his fist with the shorter man's face, sending him reeling.

“If he had died this morning to pantheons, we could have framed it to the humans that it was the reploids’ fault, getting them on our side and finally destroying the rest of these idiot reploids. We wouldn’t have had to cover our tracks because these stupid humans would have believed any lie we spoon fed them about their glorious leader’s death.”

“Instead, we now have no X, no Dark Elf, and only pieces of X’s data.” Weil finished, his hands still held in fists at his sides.

Frame reploids? For Master X’s death? But why? That would cause war, reploid kind would be falsely persecuted, X would become a martyr for nothing.

Something about the whole situation made TK-31 angry, indignant that someone was attempting to use Master X’s name to cause suffering.

He couldn’t do much about it though...

Best to stay hidden for now, his message for Master X clearly wasn’t going to get delivered.

“Doctor, do you really think he would have survived that fall?” one of the other council members, a thin, tall woman spoke up. Her face was gaunt as she watched the scene unfold around her.

“Let’s hope that he didn’t. In the meantime, we need a solution for X’s disappearance. He still makes his rounds and meetings. No one can know that he’s gone.” Weil grumbled, making his way towards the hallway X had run from.

Dr. Weil turned his back to TK-31, this was his chance! The messenger reploid began creeping away, sticking to the shadows and hoping that his blonde hair wouldn’t give him away.

Wait…

Weil stopped in front of what looked like a piece of scrap metal. Stooping down, he picked it up, smiling devilishly as he did.

“I think I have a plan for our missing leader. I don’t think anyone would notice if he had been replaced with a Copy…” Weil chuckled darkly, turning to face the remaining humans and reploids in the hall. “No one is to speak of what happened here tonight. If you do, there will be consequences.”

Weil turned from the council, the armor in hand, and began walking back to his lab.

The man couldn’t have known about the little messenger reploid staring in horror as he hid around the corner.

He had seen the whole thing! TK-31 trembled, he couldn’t tell anyone about this, he had to keep quiet.

The reploid slipped away, going down the opposite hallway as Weil had, desperately wishing he hadn’t been seen.

[glamgoblin]

TAG SOMEONE YOU WANT TO KNOW AND/OR SOME OF YOUR BESTIES

Tagged by: @newyearknwwme HI BUDDY! Thank you for the tag! 🫶🏻🫶🏻 Sorry this took awhile!!

Last song: Sleeping In - Postal Service (I'm a sleepy baby idc that sleep is not what the song is about, it is to ME)

Last movie: it's been mostly Halloween rewatches lately, sooo aadams family and halloweentown rewatches! I finally saw Unicorn wars too! and got to see a mini preview of the boy and the heron (thank you film friend who are cooler than me)

Currently watching: My Dear Gangster Oppa. It's! So! Good! Like unfairly good for a mafia x gamer boy show

Other stuff I watched this year: oh soooo many things! Most recently Only Friends, but I cannot explain the grip that LITA has on me after I watched it this year. Also a lot of play throughs of games and video essays. Oh! My Beautiful Man Eternal!

Shows I dropped/didn’t finish: I try so hard to finish shows because I am stubborn! But....TharnType, I could NOT get past the first few episodes. I have tried. More than once. I'm sorry besties. Also My School President. I have one episode left! I will go back to it! I will! 🫣

Currently reading: Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk (also shout out to the translation work on this one!) and! There There by Tommy Orange

Currently listening to: She's the Prettiest Girl at the Party, and She Can Prove it with a Solid Right Hook - Frank Iero (long song titles giving me nostalgia, but seriously this song gives me so many emotions)

Currently working on : avoiding responsibility lots of kinnporsche and LITA fics, and perhaps a bg3 fic

tagging @padfootstolemycrumpets @ella-norah @wintercrushes @virtualbearfox and @loveable-sea-lemon if you want to but absolutely zero pressure!

[mjonthetrack]

vision

PAGE FIFTY-FIVE

[11:58 PM]

Seth Rollins You up?

He stared at the message on the screen like it was a confessional booth.

Delivered.

Read.

Shaq replied in less than six seconds.

Shaq 🦖 Bro don’t start. It’s midnight. Either you need bail or a therapist. Which is it?

Seth Rollins Hypothetically... if you had a soulmate. Like actually. And she walked out after you introduced your mom—who showed up uninvited btw—and then she left you on read… what would you do?

Shaq 🦖 💀 💀 💀

Shaq 🦖 First of all... wtf Second, you’re asking a 7-foot man who’s been divorced about soulmates??? Third... she bad?

Seth Rollins Like... Vogue feature meets Wakanda-level elegance bad. British. Black. Brilliant. Intimidating as hell. Fashion editor. Calls me “Mr. Rollins” like she’s allergic to first names.

Shaq 🦖 Damn. So you fumbled.

Seth Rollins It’s not even funny I think I actually did

There was a pause.

Shaq 🦖 Text her again.

Seth Rollins She left me on read, bro.

Shaq 🦖 That’s not a no. That’s a “do better.”

Seth Rollins I hate this.

Shaq 🦖 You love this. You like the challenge. You always liked games where you’re down 20 in the 4th. Just don’t be annoying. Or weird. Be you.

Seth Rollins What if me isn't enough this time?

Shaq 🦖 Then upgrade the damn software. You still using “cocky football guy.” Give her the man. Not the model.

Seth stared at the screen, lips twitching into the kind of smile that came with being dragged by someone who wasn’t wrong.

Meanwhile, across town—

Sokhna was already back to being the executive-level ice storm she was known for.

Nails lacquered. Face dewy. Slide deck opened. She flicked through the GQ spread mockups one last time, not for nostalgia—but out of sheer completionism.

Project: Closed. Experience: Filed. Emotional engagement: Zero.

Her lips parted slightly as she selected the folder, dragging it to a labeled archive on her external drive.

"Rollins, Seth – FINAL"

Click. Gone.

Her job was not a dating service. Her office wasn’t a meet-cute waiting room. And her silk didn’t wrinkle for just anybody.

She sipped from her Baccarat tumbler, ice cubes clicking gently.

“That was that,” she said aloud, mostly to herself.

And Sokhna Dime? She meant it.

PAGE FIFTY-SIX

The phone buzzed against his nightstand.

Seth blinked groggily, still half-buried in the hotel sheets, hair wild and mouth dry. He reached blindly, grabbed the phone, thumbed across the screen—

New Message: Sokhna Dime Have yourself a good flight back home, Mr. Rollins.

Seven words.

Seven surgical words.

He stared at it like it was a letter of rejection from the universe itself. The period at the end? Criminal. Cold. Final. He could practically hear her saying it in that accent—clean, composed, and emotionally bulletproof.

He dragged a hand over his face and fell back onto the bed, phone pressed to his chest, exhaling one long, pained, “fuck.”

Meanwhile… Midtown Manhattan. 8:01 AM.

Sokhna Dime pushed through the revolving glass doors of the GQ building with the smooth, easy glide of a woman who was not thinking about any man—especially not a 6'1" ESPN darling with bedroom eyes and a bone structure that belonged in Louvre.

She was dressed casually today—if “casual” meant vintage Helmut Lang jeans tailored to her hips, a cream Jacquemus blouse, oversized Céline shades, and a deep green Bottega Veneta tote swinging from her shoulder.

Her curls were pulled back into a loose knot, edges clean, skin radiant like she’d slept on clouds and exfoliated with gold.

“Good morning, Ms. Dime,” the front desk greeted.

She smiled politely, not slowing.

“Good morning.”

By the time the elevator doors slid closed, she was already unlocking her phone. A flood of GQ Slack messages, an email from London Fashion Week press, and an update from her intern about next week’s spring spread approval.

Not even a blink at the top text she’d already answered earlier.

She’d said what she said.

The shoes clicked gently as she stepped off the elevator, headed toward her office like the Virgo moon perfectionist she was.

New day.

New layout deadlines.

And Mr. Rollins?

A beautifully dressed memory.

PAGE FIFTY-SEVEN

The condo was exactly the same.

Every book on the shelf sat in the same place. The hardwood floors still gleamed. His record player still had the old Miles Davis vinyl halfway spun. The espresso machine blinked to life with a mechanical chirp when he stepped in.

Still, it all felt... empty.

Grizz came waddling out of the bedroom, snorting like a little piglet, nails clicking across the floor.

“Hey, buddy,” Seth murmured, dropping his carry-on and crouching low.

Grizz huffed and slammed his weight into his human like a brick of unconditional love and confusion.

Seth scratched behind the bulldog’s ears, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Missed you too, man.”

They sat like that for a while—Grizz nestled against his shin, Seth crouched with his hand in the dog’s wrinkled fur, forehead resting against his bulldog’s round head.

Then the silence started to creep in again.

Not the good kind.

The kind that felt like loss.

The kind that reminded him he was back in the city he thought was his place, only to realize maybe it wasn’t anymore. Not fully.

Not now.

Not after Sokhna Dime.

He finally moved, standing up and making his way to the couch, Grizz right on his heels. Seth sat down with a thud, letting the cushions swallow him whole, remote untouched. TV off.

On the coffee table was the GQ magazine.

The final print.

The silk. The editorial. The image he never thought he’d see outside his eighteen-year-old vision.

And her name in clean, understated font on the side:

Curated by: Sokhna Dime.

His thumb hovered over her text thread. Still the same:

Have a good flight back home, Mr. Rollins.

He could still see her walking away in those stilettos, unbothered, poised, probably already calculating her next spread while he stood there like a man who’d watched his future take the elevator back to the 60th floor.

Grizz let out a grunt, laying his squishy face on Seth’s thigh.

Seth ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah… I fucked up, huh?”

Grizz sneezed in response.

PAGE FIFTY-EIGHT

The sunlight seeped through the blinds, cutting sharp lines across the hardwood floor—like prison bars.

The condo felt less like a home today and more like some distant, bleak Alcatraz of his own making.

Walls too white. Silence too loud.

Even Grizz seemed to sense it, curling into a tight little ball on the couch, eyes half-closed.

Seth sank into the leather chair, fingers drumming on the armrest.

He stared at his phone, scrolling through the thread again.

Then, with a sigh that rattled his chest, he hit FaceTime.

The screen blinked, and his sister’s warm smile lit up instantly.

“Hey, big guy,” she said, voice like home.

“Hey,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “Got a minute? Because I need to unload.”

She nodded, settling in for the long haul.

Seth told her everything.

The vision at eighteen, the sudden GQ shoot, the way she looked at him like he was a mystery she didn’t want to solve, and the text.

Have a good flight back home, Mr. Rollins.

He wasn’t good at this—opening up—but with her, it was different.

“I don’t know what to do, sis. It’s like… I got one shot at this and I missed the damn target. Feels like I’m stuck in this goddamn prison, watching the train leave the station without me.”

She listened quietly.

Finally, she said, “You’re not alone in that cell, Seth. But sometimes, the walls only stay up as long as you let them. You gotta decide if you wanna break free or just keep pacing.”

He sighed, the weight of it all pressing down.

“But what if breaking free means losing everything I thought was real?”

Her smile softened, eyes steady.

“Then maybe you get to find something better.”

Grizz snorted.

Seth cracked the barest smile.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

PAGE FIFTY-NINE

Seth’s thumb paused mid-scroll, heart hitting an uneven beat.

The new cover shoot? Fire. Unapologetic. Exactly Sokhna.

But then—bam—he stumbled on something different.

A sun-soaked snapshot, not polished, no editorial gloss.

Three women, sun-kissed and laughing like they owned Martha’s Vineyard itself.

Sokhna right there in the middle, radiant and real, arms thrown around two women tagged Noémie and Bri.

Swimsuits, messy hair, pure effortless glow.

The kind of photo that screamed freedom.

He stared at it longer than he should’ve.

And then—he texted.

“Got room for one more?”

His fingers hovered, then hit send before he could rethink.

Because damn, he needed to find a way into that light, into her world outside the glitz.

And maybe, just maybe, that meant crashing the party she didn’t know she was throwing.

PAGE SIXTY

Her phone buzzed against the polished marble countertop, breaking the calm rhythm of her morning.

Sokhna’s eyes flicked down, scanning the message.

“Got room for one more?”

She arched an eyebrow, lips twitching with dry amusement before her thumb moved deliberately.

“Girls trip.”

Two words. A period. The unspoken message: Not happening.

She put the phone face down, already shifting focus back to the email thread blinking on her laptop. No time for distractions. No space for complications.

Miles away, Seth’s phone sat heavy in his palm, the glow illuminating the faintest crease between his brows.

He read those two words over and over.

Girls trip.

A closed door in just two words. But instead of frustration, a slow grin spread across his face—part challenge, part stubborn hope.

He wasn’t used to taking no for an answer.

Not when it came to things that mattered.

Seth’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, then began typing a message—no, a plan:

“I’m coming. Just say when.”

Before he could rethink, he hit send.

The screen blinked, the message sent into the void.

But somewhere deep inside, he knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

PAGE SIXTY-ONE

Sokhna tossed her phone on the polished kitchen island at her Martha’s Vineyard rental, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Noémie and Bri exchanged exasperated looks, lounging on the plush velvet couch like two queens who’d been through this song and dance too many times.

“Girl, he’s across the whole damn country,” Bri said, shaking her head, voice thick with disbelief. “Seattle to here isn’t just a commute. It’s a whole trip. Why he keep humoring this?”

Noémie smirked, scrolling through the messages on her own phone. “And he definitely didn’t get the memo last time. Like, the ‘don’t date white men’ part. Again.”

Sokhna rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “I’ve told y’all since high school, I don’t date white men, babes.Especially not the ones who think mesh and latex are wardrobe staples. No ego, no drama, no bullshit.”

Bri leaned forward, voice playful but sharp. “So, what? You’re just gonna leave him hanging? Let him keep thinking there’s a shot?”

“Let him think whatever he wants.” Sokhna grabbed her purse, slipping on her shades with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “I’m too busy living my life to waste energy on a man who can’t even take a hint from two words.”

Meanwhile, halfway across the country, in Seattle, Seth’s phone glowed cold against the dark leather of his couch.

No reply.

Just that haunting blue checkmark.

He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening like it was made of steel.

Left on read.

His fingers clenched into a fist.

That wasn’t a door closing — it was a challenge.

One he was damn well ready to take.

PAGE SIXTY-TWO

Sunlight bounced off the waves, casting sparkles across the glossy deck of the yacht where Sokhna, Noémie, and Bri lounged like queens owning the summer.

Noémie cracked open a bottle of rosé, the pop cutting through the lazy hum of the ocean breeze.

Bri waved her fork with theatrical flair, a ripe strawberry dangling between her fingers. “Ion know, boo — he kinda fine. Like, long hair, tan lines, all that.”

Noémie laughed, smacking Bri’s arm. “Girl, for real. Vanilla can be good sometimes. And vanilla pairs real nice with…”

“Chocolate,” Bri said, cackling, eyes sparkling as she nudged Sokhna.

Sokhna rolled her eyes hard, glancing at her mimosa before taking a slow sip. “Y’all make me sick. I’m not pressed over Goldilocks anymore. Can we just enjoy the fresh air and freedom? We outside, city girls up indefinitely.”

The breeze tugged at their scarves and laughter as the yacht cut through the calm waters, the world melting away.

Across the country in Seattle, Seth lounged in his sleek penthouse, the city lights twinkling below like stars caught on earth.

He swiped through his phone with a calm, confident ease and called his manager.

“Jet ready for tonight? I want the works. Flight, car, everything.”

His manager’s voice was smooth, “Already handled, Seth. Private jet’s on deck, ground transport lined up. Just say when.”

Seth smirked, eyes flicking to a framed photo on the wall — a single image of a radiant woman he’d seen once at eighteen.

“This isn’t just business,” he murmured, “It’s personal now.”

“Understood. We’re making it happen.”

Seth’s grin deepened, that steady fire burning in his chest.

PAGE SIXTY-THREE

The private jet sat gleaming under the wide-open Seattle sky, its polished fuselage reflecting the amber hues of the late afternoon sun. Seth stood just outside the cabin door, cool and collected, though inside his chest beat with an electric hum—an impatience wrapped in quiet confidence. The faint scent of fresh leather wafted from his meticulously packed Louis Vuitton bags, lined up like silent sentinels at his feet, their supple surfaces catching the golden light.

His fingertips trailed absently over the grain of a bag handle, the smoothness grounding him, steadying the whirlwind of thoughts racing beneath. Somewhere behind him, his manager was locking in last-minute details with a terse professionalism that only made Seth grin. This was his moment, the culmination of years—both business and something deeper he wasn’t quite ready to name aloud.

The gentle hiss of the cabin door opening was a call to arms. He stepped inside, greeted by the cool caress of pristine white leather seats and the faint musk of polished chrome. The subtle scent of cedarwood from the cabin’s diffuser mixed with his own spicy cologne, creating a bubble of calm and power around him. Settling into the plush seat, he ran a hand through his dark waves, eyes shadowed but burning with a quiet fire.

Elsewhere, the yacht rocked gently over the glassy waters of Martha’s Vineyard, the salt-kissed breeze threading through the laughter of three women basking in golden sunlight and friendship. Sokhna leaned back against the polished teak railing, the warmth of the sun kissing her flawless skin as the cool tang of ocean air teased her senses.

Noémie, always the instigator, laughed as Bri animatedly recounted the latest celebrity gossip, her voice a blend of amusement and disbelief. “And then she totally snapped back with that shade about his new girl—like, who even does that?” Bri cackled, waving a strawberry between her fingers like a scepter.

Sokhna’s fingers toyed with a loose strand of hair, the silkiness a welcome contrast to the crisp designer fabric of her vintage Burberry blouse. “I’ve been thinking about switching up my look. Maybe some long box braids with those delicate gold cuffs. Something bold but easy.”

Noémie nodded, eyes sparkling with mischief as she scrolled through her phone. “Girl, I’m hooked on that new show, Queens of Harlem. It’s like the drama we live for.”

Bri groaned playfully, “Please, I’m still all about The Real Housewives. Those tea spills never get old.”

Sokhna smirked, tilting her head to catch the sunlight, the slight curve of her smile holding a secret. “Leave it to us to turn yacht days into a full-on episode.”

The sound of clinking glasses mixed with the gentle slap of waves against the hull. The scent of sunscreen and ocean mingled with fresh citrus from their sparkling mimosas, crafting a perfect bubble of freedom and sisterhood.

Seth’s fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, his mind a steady rhythm of anticipation and resolve. This trip wasn’t just about travel or work—it was the moment the years of distance and unanswered questions finally bent toward something new. As the jet lifted from the runway, the city lights shrinking beneath him, the horizon stretched out wide, full of possibility.

PAGE SIXTY-FOUR

The salt-tinged breeze tugged playfully at the hems of their sundresses as Sokhna, Noémie, and Bri stepped onto the weathered wooden deck of The Lobster’s Catch, a sleek seafood spot nestled right on Martha’s Vineyard’s harbor edge. Lanterns strung overhead cast a warm honey-gold glow, their light flickering against the glass windows where the soft clink of crystal met the hum of low conversations and the distant call of seagulls.

Sokhna’s sandals tapped confidently on the planks, toes painted a muted coral, perfectly matching the glow on her cheeks from the fading sun. Her Burberry crossbody bag swung gently with each step, her whole aura relaxed but undeniably chic—Black Barbie energy, undeniable and effortless.

Inside, the rich scent of buttered lobster, roasted garlic, and fresh thyme wrapped around them like a warm hug. The subtle hum of the jazz trio in the corner wove seamlessly into the clatter of plates and murmured laughter.

Settling at a corner table with panoramic harbor views, the trio toasted crisp glasses of rosé, the bubbles dancing in the light like tiny stars.

Between bites of flaky scallops and the briny pop of oysters, Sokhna pulled out her phone, fingers deft and practiced. With an effortless smile, she framed the moment—the three of them, glowing against the soft glow of candles and the restless sea beyond.

Her caption hovered as she tagged the restaurant: #HarborNights #MarthasVineyardMagic.

The small propeller plane touched down on the grassy runway of Martha’s Vineyard Airport, its wheels kissing the earth with a soft, almost tender thud. Outside, the salty breeze carried the unmistakable scent of pine needles mingled with the ocean’s endless hum—a calming contrast to the buzz Seth had left behind in Seattle.

Stepping onto the sun-warmed tarmac, Seth inhaled deeply, the fresh island air filling his lungs like a promise. His designer leather duffel hung effortlessly from one shoulder, sunglasses catching the early evening glow as he navigated toward the waiting car.

His phone buzzed again, screen lighting up with a new Instagram story. His thumb swiped up without hesitation.

There she was.

Sokhna, framed by the soft amber light of a waterfront restaurant. Her laughter shimmered through the pixels, her sundress catching the last blush of golden hour. The location tag glared: The Lobster’s Catch, Martha’s Vineyard.

His jaw tightened, a slow, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

No time wasted.

He tapped his manager’s number.

“Get me to The Lobster’s Catch. Now. I’m not missing this.”

As the SUV’s tires crunched along the gravel path toward the harbor, the distant call of seabirds and gentle slap of waves against wooden docks echoed around him—an island serenade to accompany his rising anticipation.

Tonight, the game changed.

PAGE SIXTY-FIVE

The SUV cruised slowly down a narrow lane flanked by blooming hydrangeas and weathered clapboard cottages. Seth leaned back, the leather seat soft beneath him, while a salty breeze slipped in through the cracked window, tugging at his shirt collar. The low hum of the engine mixed with distant seagulls and the faint slap of waves against the shore.

His phone buzzed again. Without hesitation, his thumb swiped up to reveal Sokhna’s latest Instagram story — a warm, golden-lit snapshot of her and her two friends seated outside a cozy waterfront restaurant. Her radiant smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the effortless way she held her glass of rosé — it all stopped him cold. The location tag read The Lobster’s Catch, Martha’s Vineyard.

He locked the screen and murmured to himself, “Alright... time to make some moves.”

—

On the wooden deck of The Lobster’s Catch, a soft chorus of laughter mingled with the gentle evening breeze. Sokhna sat surrounded by her closest friends — Noémie and Bri — the clinking of their glasses punctuating their easy conversation. She pushed back a loose curl, the cool air teasing at her sundress, and took a slow sip of rosé.

Noémie smiled, watching Sokhna with quiet affection. “You seem lighter out here. This place is good for you.”

Bri nodded, leaning in with a teasing grin. “It’s like the city can’t touch you here. The noise, the pressure — gone.”

Sokhna laughed softly. “Exactly. It’s a breath of fresh air. I needed this.”

The three friends settled into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the harbor wrapping around them like a gentle lullaby — distant calls of seabirds, soft waves lapping at the dock, and the faint clatter of plates from the kitchen inside.

—

Back in the SUV, Seth’s eyes stayed fixed on the glowing sign ahead, anticipation simmering beneath his calm exterior. Tonight, the island wasn’t just a place — it was where the next chapter began.

PAGE SIXTY-SIX

The night air was crisp but not cold, carrying the faint salty scent of the ocean mixed with the distant crackle of boardwalk lights flickering softly. Sokhna and her girls strolled side by side, arms linked, their laughter low and easy, the kind of laughter that only comes when you’re miles away from deadlines and noise. The wooden planks beneath their feet creaked softly as they made their way away from the restaurant and toward the glow of the boardwalk.

Suddenly, a voice sliced through the calm.

“Sokhna.”

She froze mid-step, the name landing like a splash of cold water. She turned sharply from between Noémie and Bri, her brows scrunching as she locked eyes with the figure approaching—a man with that confident stride and those unmistakable long waves framing a face she thought she’d put behind her.

“Seth?…” Her tone was equal parts disbelief and challenge. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I was gonna be? You stalking socials now, Mr. Rollins?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her posture remained regal, unflinching.

Seth’s lips quirked into a half-smile, unapologetic. “Call it persistence. Or maybe just knowing how to do my homework.”

The breeze tugged at her sundress, mingling with the scent of her perfume—notes of jasmine and something smoky, familiar yet elusive. He took a step closer, voice steady but low.

“I saw your story. Thought I’d catch up in person instead of just liking your posts.”

Sokhna crossed her arms, glancing briefly at her friends who gave her subtle, knowing looks.

“Well, you caught me. But don’t think this means I’m just gonna pick up where we left off.”

Seth met her gaze, steady and sincere. “Yeah, I’m not here for a rerun either.”

The tension was thick, but underneath it simmered something electric — a moment neither expected but both couldn’t ignore.

PAGE SIXTY-SEVEN

The salty tang of ocean air teased Sokhna’s senses as she stood on the cobbled sidewalk, the faint hum of the boardwalk behind her mingling with distant laughter and the clink of glasses from nearby cafes. Her heels clicked against the stones — sharp, deliberate — as she faced him, cool and collected, arms crossed like she was guarding the last word in a war of wills.

Seth Rollins was standing there, the same man from the Knicks game lounge, the one whose parents had gatecrashed their last encounter, that awkward moment still fresh in her mind. He looked different now—less firebrand wrestler, more tailored NFL analyst: dark waves of hair falling just right, his confident stance softened ever so slightly by something she couldn’t place.

Her gaze fixed on him, unblinking, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “A rerun?” Her voice was calm, deadpan, but laced with an edge. “The last time I saw you was at that Knicks game lounge. Your family shows up unannounced, and I left before it could get any weirder. And before that? The GQ cover shoot—which, by the way, wrapped up a week ago.”

Seth winced, a flicker of discomfort crossing his usually unshakeable face. He ran a hand through his thick hair, fingers tangling in the dark waves as if trying to smooth down nerves he rarely showed. “My parents,” he said, voice low, a slight shake of the head in disbelief. “They came to surprise me. I didn’t even know they were coming. Totally unplanned.” He gave her a half-smile, one that tried to bridge the distance between them. “And yeah, the shoot’s done. That’s old news.”

He shifted his weight, eyes finally meeting hers squarely, earnest and direct. “But I didn’t come here to talk about work, Sokhna. I missed you. Thought maybe… maybe we could talk.”

Sokhna’s brow arched in amused disbelief, her homegirls giggling softly behind her, nudging one another with playful smirks as they slowly drifted ahead, giving the two space like a cage about to be unlocked. The world around her blurred just a little — the hum of nearby conversations, the distant crash of waves, the faint scent of saltwater mingling with the earthy aroma of aged wood from the boardwalk.

“To talk?” she echoed, voice sharper now, tinged with skepticism. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just enough to challenge. “If you had questions about business, you could’ve sent them through your agent. Instead, here you are, creeping on my Instagram, stalking my location like some desperate fan.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she folded her arms tighter, standing tall in her vintage Chanel dress that fluttered gently in the breeze. “Honestly, Rollins,” she said, voice dripping with playful menace, “I don’t know whether I should be flattered or start drafting a restraining order.”

Seth chuckled, a deep, genuine sound that warmed the cool air between them. He took a small step forward, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the ocean breeze, confident but respectful. “Maybe a little of both.”

Their eyes locked, the distance closing just a fraction, the world narrowing to the space between them — charged, electric, unsaid. Sokhna’s smirk softened, just barely, like a crack in the armor.

“Alright,” she finally said, voice low and teasing. “You’ve got two minutes. Make it count.”

Seth’s grin widened, the spark in his eyes igniting. “Challenge accepted.”

PAGE SIXTY-EIGHT

Seth’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it stretched wider, a smug, knowing curve that said he was already three plays ahead, just waiting to see how she’d react. The kind of grin that had probably gotten him out of parking tickets, into VIP lounges, and out of more trouble than most men could imagine. But Sokhna wasn’t most women.

The warm golden hue of the early evening sun painted the boardwalk in honey, streaking pastels across the sky behind them. Her sundress moved with the breeze — pale cream silk trimmed in black piping, effortlessly luxe, whispering along her thighs as she shifted her weight. Seth’s eyes lingered there a second too long, then snapped back up when she cleared her throat with intentional sass.

“Minute forty-five left,” she said, glancing down at her Cartier watch with mock impatience.

Seth snorted, stepping in with the lazy confidence of a man who knew the game and played it well. His voice dropped, low and slightly gravelly — the timbre more intimate, like velvet over smoke.

“Alright then,” he started, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark slacks — custom, obviously. “I’m not gonna stand here and act like this isn’t insane. You ghosted me. Flat-out left me on read.”

“I sure did,” Sokhna cut in smoothly, lips pursed around the rim of her champagne-colored gloss, eyes unbothered.

“I deserved that,” he admitted without flinching. “But I didn’t come here hoping you’d make this easy.”

Her lashes fluttered — not in flirtation, but calculation. “Then what exactly did you come for, Rollins? Redemption? An ego massage? I’m not the welcome committee, and I don’t offer second takes.”

“No,” he said, now fully serious, tone dipping low. “I came to stop thinking about the fact that I had one shot — one literal second — to see the person I’m supposed to end up with at eighteen, and it was you, Sokhna. And then I blew it.”

Sokhna’s expression froze. A second passed. Two. The air tightened between them. The background world faded into blur again — her girls’ laughter somewhere in the distance, the clatter of utensils from outdoor seating, the flutter of seagulls overhead — all white noise to what now sat thickly between them.

“I’m not here to tell you some cheesy story,” Seth went on, his gaze intense but not forceful. “I’m not expecting you to light up and say it’s fate or some cosmic coincidence. But I saw you. You. And I’ve been seeing you ever since.”

A beat.

Sokhna blinked, her posture still straight-backed and poised, but her arms slowly unfolded. Her tongue ran along the inside of her cheek like she was chewing over whether to tell him off or just walk away. She glanced down briefly, then met his eyes again.

“That supposed to impress me?” she asked coolly, though her voice had softened, just a notch.

“No,” he said, stepping even closer, now nearly toe to toe with her stilettos clicking softly against the pavement. “It’s not. But I hoped it’d at least make you pause.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Finally, Sokhna clicked her tongue and tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning his face like she was recalibrating everything she thought she knew about him. “You really flew across the country… to pause me?”

“Maybe I just wanted a reason to hear your laugh again,” he said, that cocky glint twinkling in his eyes like gold under spotlight.

Her lip twitched, betraying a crack in the ice. A very small one. But still.

“You’re lucky I like dramatic men in expensive shoes,” she muttered.

Seth’s grin was dangerous now — not arrogant, but pleased. “So… is this where I earn minute number three?”

“No,” she said, smirking as she started walking toward the boardwalk again, her hips swaying with the kind of grace that made grown men rethink life choices. “But if you can keep up, you can walk with me.”

Seth didn’t hesitate. “You always walk this fast?”

“I walk like my time’s valuable,” Sokhna shot back without missing a beat, her voice cool like diamonds on ice.

He followed, of course.

Always would.

PAGE SIXTY-NINE

Their footsteps echoed in sync on the wooden planks of the boardwalk, the gentle lapping of waves against the docked yachts below creating a soft rhythm beneath their silence. The golden-hour sun cast a bronzed glow across the ocean, turning the water into molten glass, and the scent of sea salt clung to the breeze like perfume. The occasional gull cawed overhead, and far off, the faint notes of a saxophone played by a busker floated on the air, lazy and warm.

Sokhna didn’t rush. She walked like a woman who never had to—each step deliberate, each sway of her hips a paragraph of poise. Her sundress swayed around her calves, slits revealing glimpses of toned leg, her sandals clacking softly with each measured step. She’d tied her locs up in a silk scarf earlier, only a few strands falling loose to frame her glowing, cocoa-rich face. The glow on her cheekbones alone could bring a man to his knees.

Seth walked beside her, hands tucked into his slacks, his dark button-down sleeves rolled up, revealing veined forearms and a chunky silver watch catching the sun just right. His bun was a little loose from the flight, but somehow still artfully messy—like it was done on purpose, like he always looked that good without trying.

“You know,” Sokhna finally said, voice calm but edged, “I should be offended. You stalking my socials like an ex with no self-control. A little pathetic, don’t you think?”

He chuckled low, the sound lazy and gravel-soft. “If it makes you feel better, it was my sister who found the tag. I just… seized the opportunity.”

She side-eyed him, one brow lifting as she slowed her pace a hair. “So this is a family obsession now?”

“You’re not easy to forget,” he said simply.

Sokhna clicked her tongue. “Flattery won’t fix things.”

“Didn’t expect it to.”

They walked another few paces in silence. Down the boardwalk, the light from the restaurant spilled out in soft gold, and laughter echoed from a nearby patio where couples dined over candlelight and rosé.

“So what now?” she asked, glancing over at him. “You came, you found me, you dropped your charming lines and walked with me into the sunset. Do you think I’m just going to… what? Invite you to brunch tomorrow and pretend everything makes sense?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t expect anything. I just… didn’t want the last memory of you to be walking away in that Chanel dress without even looking back.”

Her jaw flexed, but she didn’t respond right away. The air thickened with something unspoken—like tension and unsaid feelings made tangible. She looked out over the railing to the sea, her hands brushing against the edge.

“I didn’t look back because I wasn’t sure I wanted to see disappointment on your face,” she admitted softly.

Seth blinked, surprised. “Disappointment?”

She sighed, the sound barely audible over the water. “You don’t seem like the type of man who gets told no very often.”

“I’m not,” he replied with a faint smirk. “But I’ve never wanted a ‘yes’ to matter this much, either.”

That made her pause. Just for a moment.

“I’m not some prize at the end of a fairytale, Rollins,” she said. “And I’m definitely not something you get to chase across the country because you had a vision and suddenly it all makes sense.”

He turned to face her now, really looking at her. “You’re not a prize. You’re the storm and the sun after. And I didn’t come here because of the vision.”

She arched a brow, crossing her arms. “No?”

“No,” he said, the words slow and sincere. “I came because when you laughed at that burger joint, I forgot what it was like to feel like a person again. Not a brand. Not a former pro athlete. Just… a man having dinner with someone who could absolutely ruin him and not lose a wink of sleep.”

Sokhna stared at him a long moment, her expression unreadable. She tilted her head slightly, lips parting—but no words came.

Just then, Noémie called from up ahead, waving her hand. “Y’all good back there or do we need to cue the romantic movie score?”

Bri added, “Y’all movin’ like molasses in November, damn!”

Sokhna glanced at them, then back at Seth.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her voice firmer again. “You caught me off guard. That’s all.”

Seth didn’t push. He just smiled softly. “Then let me keep catching you off guard.”

And with that, they kept walking.

Not side-by-side, exactly.

But not apart, either.

PAGE SEVENTY

They reached the hotel just as the sky finished bleeding orange into indigo. The building loomed quiet and elegant, the kind of place where even the bellhops looked like they’d been handpicked by Vogue. Outside the polished doors, the soft whoosh of the ocean barely cut through the hum of jazz floating from the rooftop bar.

Sokhna stepped ahead of him, her heels clicking against the pristine stone as she paused in front of the elevator. Her suite was just up the next few floors, her girls already scattered across the penthouse they’d all chipped in for—hairpins flung, makeup bags open, room service half-eaten on white linens.

But here, in the quiet hush of the hallway, she turned toward him.

Seth had one hand in his pocket, the other idly tugging at the collar of his shirt. He didn’t speak first. He knew better now.

Sokhna rocked once on her heels, hands neatly folded in front of her Balmain dress, posture poised like she was born to be admired—and knew it.

“Well,” she said, voice smooth but dipped in that dry British sarcasm, “this has been… informative.”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “Informative?”

“Yes. I've learned that a man with a sports career, a broadcast job, and access to first-class travel still doesn’t understand what ‘leave it alone’ means.”

Seth chuckled, eyes flicking to her lips. “I heard it. I just ignored it.”

She scoffed under her breath, a small smirk curling on her face despite herself.

“I don’t play games, Mr. Rollins.”

“And I don’t play for short wins,” he said, stepping a little closer—not enough to cross a line, just enough to exist in her space.

Her eyes didn’t flinch. “You came all this way for… what exactly? A redo? A rom-com montage? You think this is some kind of poetic full-circle moment where I magically forget I’ve already mentally filed you under ��aesthetically pleasing, emotionally inconvenient’?”

Seth tilted his head, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t come here for magic.”

“No?” she asked.

“No. I came because I wanted to see if the way I feel when you talk to me like I’m not special is something I imagined.”

She blinked, genuinely thrown for a split second.

He smiled wider, “Turns out, it wasn’t.”

Sokhna huffed a laugh, looking away as her hand reached for the keycard tucked into her purse.

“Cute,” she said, “but still not enough.”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said, his voice softer now. “No dinner, no date, no trip down memory lane. I just wanted to remind you I’m here. I see you. And I’m not going to pretend it didn’t matter to me.”

She stood there, card in hand, eyes lingering on him a beat too long. Then she slowly turned, slid the card into the door slot. The soft beep and click sounded louder than it should have.

Sokhna pushed the door open halfway, then paused.

“Thanks for the walk,” she said, not quite looking at him.

He nodded once. “Anytime.”

She stepped inside, heels quiet against the carpet now, but before she could close it all the way, she peeked back through the gap in the door. Her expression was unreadable—but there was something… softer now.

“I like strawberries,” she said suddenly.

Seth blinked. “Huh?”

“Earlier. At the GQ shoot. You asked about candy shop picks,” she said, a little smirk teasing her lips. “I never said strawberries, but it’s at the top. With sour belts. And lemonheads.”

The door clicked shut before he could respond.

He stood there for a second.

And grinned.

PAGE SEVENTY-ONE

It was the sound of her door unlatching that snapped him out of his daze.

He'd barely taken a step when the door eased open again—just wide enough to see her.

Sokhna stood there, barefoot now, heels discarded somewhere behind her, her makeup still impeccable but softer under the warm gold lighting of the suite. Her eyes… they weren't as guarded this time. The usual steel was laced with something quieter. Uncertainty. A hint of conflict.

Her bottom lip was caught under her teeth, her arms folded across the silky bodice of her sundress like she hadn’t decided if opening the door was a moment of clarity or pure madness.

Neither of them said anything.

The distant hum of jazz from the rooftop bar drifted down the hallway again, faint and moody, mixing with the hush of late evening and the distant crash of the Atlantic along the shoreline.

Seth didn’t move until she blinked—just once—and exhaled softly.

He stepped forward, slow but steady, giving her room to change her mind. She didn’t.

Her fingers released the edge of the door, and he crossed the threshold.

Inside smelled like linen and vanilla and some expensive candle that probably had “saffron” or “oud” in its name. Her suitcase sat half-zipped near the coffee table, sunglasses perched on the back of the velvet couch. The penthouse suite pulsed with quiet luxury. One wall was all glass, revealing the dark, moonlit ocean stretching wide beyond the shoreline.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just… looked at him.

Like she was trying to figure out what the hell she was doing, and if she should stop herself.

Seth tucked his hands into his back pockets, his voice low, “You okay?”

That snapped her out of it.

Sokhna scoffed, turning her back as she walked toward the window, arms still crossed. “You show up in my city, my job, my vacation—and ask me if I’m okay?”

“I didn’t plan the Knicks thing,” he said, voice gentler now, watching her silhouette outlined by the glow of city lights beyond the glass. “And I didn’t come here to make a scene. I just... I couldn’t let that be the end of it.”

She turned halfway, one shoulder still to him. “And what exactly is ‘it,’ Rollins? You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

Her brow lifted. “From what? A week-long shoot and a burger?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “from a vision I had when I was eighteen.”

Her lips parted, and for the first time since he met her—really met her—Sokhna looked completely uncomposed.

“You… what?”

Seth ran a hand through his hair, pacing a small circle like he needed to shake something off. “I wasn’t gonna tell you like this. Hell, I wasn’t gonna tell you at all. I figured you’d think I was crazy, or worse, manipulative. But the truth is, Sokhna… when I was eighteen, I got a glimpse. One single vision. A woman I’d never met. A moment I didn’t understand.”

He turned, eyes meeting hers without hesitation now.

“It was you. Every detail. Down to the exact way your hand moved when you picked up your wine glass at lunch that first day. You were wearing a soft gold watch, hair swept to the side, same energy. Same eyes.”

Silence.

He waited.

And Sokhna?

She just stared at him. Like she was deciding whether to slap him, kiss him, or both.

Then finally… she exhaled.

Long. Slow.

Her voice dropped a little. “You’re out of your mind, Rollins.”

“Maybe,” he said, his smile crooked, boyish. “But at least now you know.”

[bluroux]

People Id like to get to know better

Tagged by @spotsandsocks

Last song- I Found by Amber Run

Last movie- She's The Man, which is kind of nostalgia, but also not, because I have been hearing people talk about this movie and seeing clips and stills of it forever, but I had never actually seen it before.

Last tv show- Network tv was S.W.A.T. Yeah, yeah, I know. I got hooked, what can I say. Streaming service original was Make Some Noise.

Last thing I googled - Dr. Fahad Razak - he's the medical expert that my local news has been bringing on since the whole COVID reporting began, and he always makes me think of Nick Mohammed, who played Nate on Ted Lasso

Looking forward to - above zero C temps, which we are supposed to get at the start of next week, quick, someone knock wood so I'm not jinxed.

Current obsession - dyeing yarn. I just dyed what I hope works out to be a self-striping skein in the Ace pride colours

I had to overdye the black and grey sections, because the dye broke and left them redder/browner than I wanted, so in the first pic, those are the only sections that are wet, which is why the white and purple are bunched up out of the way. Gonna knit a pair of socks out of this soon!

Tagging the last 10 people in my notes: @theredrenard @round--robin @mwoeodieotteoke @rpepperpotshipssciencebros @snooziep @dunkthebiscuit @spinningbear @subtlybrilliant @myntti @lazyscience plus anyone else who wants to play

[lesren]

Neon Absurdity

“…that I can’t find its meaning?” I mused out.

“Da, that is the point.” He responded simply.

I don’t recall the last time I took this headset off; it was hot I was sure of it; my skin was slick and the air thick. A rancid stench attacked my nostrils, but if I focused solely on only what my eyes and ears told me, I would get lost and the real world would fade away, out of mind. I was tired, I know I’ve been up a long time. My body ached and every breath felt like I was drowning. It was quiet for a while, and I looked around, confusion overtook me, and a haze set in as I stood up. We were suddenly loaded into a phone booth.

“What’s your name again?” I said, looking at them.

“You know my name…” He paused before realizing my confusion. “Just my username is fine."

It took me a moment to move my eyes up and read his username "Смерть.” I wasn’t sure how to pronounce it, especially given my friend's Slavic accent.

“Should I just call you C?"

“Whatever is good." he simply replied.

“I feel like I’ve heard your name before, have we met?”

“Yes…and no.” He simply replied.

After greeting him I looked around this familiar place. The place you load into is a phone booth, and once you exit it you find yourself in a concrete courtyard between four buildings. I start to walk to the only open door, covered with dead TV static, simply labeled "№ 1".

We walked through, to be greeted by large windows to our right, showing the static of a dead TV screen. In front of us was a mirror, showing our avatars. To our left were stairs to go up and explore this world. Above the mirror № 1 showed four symbols * * * *, and a picture of a maze. My mind took a few minutes to understand that I was not in my real body. I looked much younger, though I do not recall what I really looked like. A pale pudgy child with dark hair and too thick glasses. This, I was sure of it, wasn’t my real body. This was just in fact, a bunch of ones and zeros. Though it felt real, it at least fooled my sight and hearing, which was enough that I stopped focusing on it. C had a simple avatar, a pale slim man with black hair and clothes, dark bags sagged under his eyes. He appeared as if he’d never slept. As we made our way up the stairs, we were greeted by a hallway with many apartment doors. Almost everything on the walls was written in Cyrillic, a language I was unfamiliar with.

“Did you grow up in a place like this? I mean, like in brutalist-style apartments.”

“Maybe, other than the strangeness of this world. It gives off a…I’m not sure the English word for the feeling.”

“Nostalgia?" I asked.

“Da.” He replied, nodding his head. “Did you grow up here?”

“I’m not sure…it feels nostalgic, I’ve been here in the real world, but I don’t recall when or why.”

I couldn’t find a solid memory that placed me here, but I walked the yellowed musty hallways and made my way around. I must’ve unconsciously known where to go, we entered this room I call the mailroom. It's six stories tall and has nothing but overfilling mailboxes. From the overstuffed mailboxes low-poly mail drifts down like snow. Seven chairs sit in the middle of the room, surrounding an eighth knocked-over chair, which no matter how much I try to move it, my hand passes through it, unable to fix it.

“Why fix it?” C said

“Because…" I struggled to think of a why. "I want them to all be upright." I settled on.

"There doesn’t always have to be order." C retorted.  I stood up from my hunched position trying to move the chair, my eyes strained and I closed them for a moment, moving my hand to my temple, trying to think through the haze.

"Just makes more sense to have order."

C would just reply with a dissatisfied hmph. He started to walk to the next area, I lagged behind him, upset at the question. Though I wasn’t sure why. We walked for a long time, taking in the world around us. It's interesting to walk through this world, unlike the real world, the impossible can become possible. The yellowed hallways go on forever, mind-bending twists and turns, and a subway train goes up the wall where an elevator is supposed to be. A sight that repeats itself. 

I’m sure it means something, this whole world has too. But I’ve yet to understand it and possibly I never will, and it pains me. C I think notices this as we enter the second area, he speaks up without turning around.

"I’ll never understand why people get upset by those thoughts."

"What thoughts?" I retorted

"Trying to know the meaning of the world. You know you’ll never be able to know it." He said plainly.

"Weren’t you the one that said everything has meaning?"

"Yes, but your efforts would be better spent reconciling the fact that your world is absurd." He replied.

I didn’t understand. I don’t know if I can with this haze. I just accepted his answer for now and kept walking. The area we had just arrived at had a new mirror, I’m older now, but still young. A full curly beard covers my face, and long black hair runs around me. I still wear thick glasses and have some fat around me. Just above the mirror №. 2 displayed, and now the numbers displayed 2 0 2 4, this time through a small heart is displayed next to the numbers.

"Wonder what that’s supposed to mean."

"Life…love, things your kind finds meaning in." C responded.

"Do you not believe in that meaning?"

My question was spoken to deaf ears, he showed no emotion to the question, and he started off walking ahead.

This area was a broken bridge, connecting two halves of a city. A river infinitely far below us cut the city in half, and tall buildings that made the Tower of Babylon seem small were crammed together on both sides. It was raining, but it couldn’t cool my real body, though the sensation still ran over my skin. Rail tracks went over this bridge, and we walked along them, dodging holes in the ground that would have us dropdown. This area had an ambient soundtrack, something all too familiar and foreign.

"Why do you think this world is made the way it is?" I queried.

"You should know."

"How? I barely recall how we got here. Besides, I’d remember creating a beautiful world."

C only shifted and looked at me with a puzzling look and smirked, shaking his head. It left me feeling anxious. His look told me he knew something I didn’t.

Ahead of us, an escalator takes us up into an old office building. Once inside there is a singular desk, and behind it a stairwell. We make our way up, and it takes a while, to the point that I lose track of everything. We eventually made it to where the stairs end. We walked down a hallway till we hit a room with large windows, looking out to a large room. On all sides of this room are other buildings, other than the opposite of us, which is a glowing static screen. It's somehow raining out there.

"So, you don’t think this has some sort of meaning?" I asked as we looked out the windows.

"Maybe…but that’s not for you to know." He said, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly disgruntled, I wasn’t getting whatever he meant.

"Why not?" I said bluntly looking down at him

"Because it is humanly impossible."

"How so? How can it be?"

"If it wasn’t humanly impossible, I’d tell you…I liked you more when you were smaller and accepted my answers." He went on to speak in some Slavic language, I assume mocking my inability to grasp what he meant.

I went back to looking out the window, the reflection of my false body I’m now acutely aware of. I couldn’t help but smile and laugh. I don’t know why I found it funny. But it was. C just looked at me, his sour face sweetened a bit. Maybe I was starting to get it, maybe I was just going insane. We kept walking and I was trying to keep track of the world in my head. Through the turns of the hallways, we should’ve been intersecting ourselves, going back to rooms and hallways we’ve been through. The power of this world is that it doesn’t have to abide by normal rules I suppose. We got to a room with many intricate pipes going to an abstract sculpture. A rhythmic hum played on, and an open elevator greeted us, which we entered. We stood a little close for comfort and I was happy my rancid smell couldn’t fill this space. The elevator took us to the next area, a library.

We exited onto the first floor, we were greeted by a №. 3 and 2 0 4 5. Here an image was next to the numbers, it appeared to be a brain. There wasn’t a mirror here, but I felt older. My hand gently stroked my greying beard, and my glasses felt heavy. There were bookshelves everywhere, slightly taller than me and we walked amongst them. It's one of the few times I’ve been upset at the limitations of technology, I’ve always loved the smell of musty books and the feel of old books.

I got lost for a long time, looking at titles I couldn’t read, and browsing at my own leisure. However, my attention to the books was broken as I looked around. I couldn’t find C anywhere. Though I knew where he’d likely be. Towards where we’d entered there, I’d find the stairs going to the second floor. They were grandiose and wide. My footsteps echoed in the stairwell, bouncing off the granite floor and walls. When I got to the second floor, it was a gallery. It was a maze to walk through, but all images were interesting to look at. Though the art was different than last time, at least I think it was. It was all blurry, out of place, or nonsensical in nature. Some of them depicted brutalist architecture, the insides of buildings. They felt familiar, I couldn’t help but feel I had taken these photos, or painted them, or had I? Something was rising in my chest, fear. I started to run through the maze until I bumped into C.

"Fuck man, watch where you’re going. You could knock someone over." He said

"Hah…yeah," I said, catching my breath. "Wait…ha-ha, you’re funny." I said sarcastically.

C just stared at me weirdly for a few moments, trying to analyze me before he spoke "Yeah…why were you running?"

"I was just running to try and find you man…" My sentence trailed off towards oblivion as we stared at each other.

"You’re scared of it…aren’t you? The truth of it all." 

"No…just… drop it, man." I said

A long silent moment followed while I caught my breath, my lungs ached and filled up with less air than before.

"I’m not scared of the truth…but over the fact that I don’t understand it."

"You will, in due time. We’re close to the end, do you feel it?"  I couldn’t help but nod, a looming fear started to overtake me. Though the haze I’d felt started to diminish.

"Why does it all feel familiar? Are those my photos? I thought this was VR or something." C smirked "You’re starting to see. This world is your construct."

Before he could talk or try to continue this conversation I started off towards a nearby staircase, racing up for a while, and started to struggle. I was scared, I wanted to run from him. I felt as though I had been running upstairs, my lungs felt full of fire. Soon I got to a door which had a sign above it that was green with a little stick figure running to a door. 

Once I passed this sign it all felt familiar, it all felt real. It looked like the reception to a hospital, though squeezed into a hallway. Above the reception, №. 4 is displayed with a cross the four numbers now 2 0 6 7. The walls were painted pale green, and though I know I couldn’t have possibly smelt the smell, it smelt of cleaning solutions. There were cardboard boxes in this hallway, paperwork and such spilling out of it.

I walked forward some before turning back, his footsteps echoed up and down the hallway. The end of the hallway where I entered had transformed and now was a window overlooking the river and buildings. I backed away in terror, but then stumbled into a shoddy hospital bed. My breath was shallow, and my lungs ached for air. I was too tired to fight my way out of this deathbed.

"Want me to push you from here?" C asked as he approached.

"Why am I filled with dread? Why am I scared of what's to come? Why do I fear you?"

"You fear what you do not know." His accent changed, and I could understand him better now.

"I’m not in VR, am I?"

"You constructed this world, to try and understand, to try and find meaning."

"Will I?" 

C just chuckled lightly, "You are human, so it is hopeless." For a long time, we stayed there, while I contemplated what was next.

"Please…I want to see the rest of what I’ve made." I said softly, my voice starting to crack.

C would move to the head of the bed, behind my vision, and begin to push, the bed rattling as we went along. The world here felt unfinished, random almost. A bench curved along the wall, impossible for someone to sit on. A massive hole in the wall shows the guts of the building. Chairs, wheelchairs, and beds were strewn around. Posters on the walls I couldn’t decipher. On and on we went, through corridors until we pushed past a tight door into a new room. A pool was in the middle of the room, beyond it were two tables of sorts.

"What are those?" I weakly asked.

"Autopsy Tables." He replied bluntly 

"That will be my next bed?" I asked.

"Da." He said in a cold voice.

"Why show me this?" I simply responded, which was met with silence.

C would pull me back and we went into the corridor, moving along. I couldn’t help but shake the feeling he wanted me to see its meaning. But why? If he’s trying to show me my mortality, why does he act like it matters? Besides, he said I couldn’t possibly know the meaning anyways. It all felt absurd, like some cruel joke. 

In my thoughts, I missed a lot, only breaking out of it when a cold wind snapped me back. We were looking at a sphere, above and below were infinitely tall pyramids, their tips pointing to a sphere with a quarter missing. Swirling arms like that of a galaxy spread out as far as I could see, orbiting the sphere. The path was narrow, and it led to the sphere, beyond, darkness swallowed everything. I was able to get out of the bed with C’s help and we walked down the path. Once before the sphere I could hear the slow rhythmic beeping of a machine, it sounded like a heart monitor. Tears welled up and my vision blurred.

I walked over, we stood where the quarter of the sphere was missing. A small bed and heart monitor were all that this area held. C would let go and let me wander over to look down upon myself. I looked old, and frail, but a smile erupted across both my faces.

"So why did my mind make this world?" I asked, falling against my bed, looking at myself.

"To try and make sense of it all. To find meaning." He spoke.

"So, what happens next?" I said looking at him.

C would not respond, only to walk over and put his hand on my shoulder in a last act of comfort.

My lungs struggled before I felt them fail. The monitor started to make an ugly sound play and the world started to collapse around us.

"There is a purpose to life." He said, looking at me.

"Isn’t it absurd then…"

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 308

The Scar

I’m gonna catch up on doctor who over the weekend. After the stupid af end to the work day, running errands, and then building a cat tree, I’m wiped

“The Scar”

Plot Description: with little recollection of his disappearance, Dean sports a mysterious scar. Jack fights to save a dying girl’s life without his powers

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died

It’s BARELY a beard. It’s a glorified goatee

Omg…yeah, I had the same reaction, Dean. Please, Sam, you do not need to—ok at least he asked them not to call him Chief

Y’all…..

CAN IMMORTALS STOP SCARRING DEAN?!

Oh shit, was that the Kaia doppelgänger?? I was hoping that wouldn’t have been completely dropped

Despite being the de facto leader of everyone in the bunker, the amount of trepidation Sam is exhibiting is a little concerning

Ok but what does he want Dean to talk to him about? If Dean remembers nothing about when Michael was possessing him, what CAN he talk about when it comes to the past few weeks?

Ok. Dean clearly has to process SOMETHING but like….what? Does he even know?!

Fucking hell, Jack. You can’t leave the same way Nick did…man, he gave up on Maggie super quickly and is now focused on this new girl lmao

Oh, these must be some of Michael’s hybrids that au Kaia killed and…kept the heads of to put on spikes

When the witch who took this girl in said that she kept her young, I think she meant literally

Mmmmmmmm, Dean can’t live with what Michael did in his body. He might not know the full details, but he knows enough to know it was BAD. So he’s choosing not to face it. Cool, Dean

Actually, her putting the hybrids’ heads on spikes makes a lot more sense in the “don’t send more. This is what will happen to them” way than just a cruelty way, even if au Kaia isn’t like regular Kaia

I can’t believe Dean has named au Castiel and Bobby Bad Cas and New Bobby lmao

I already figured out that the witch meant it literally, Jack. Keep up. Now, you do have the ability to do the rest that I can’t: destroy the cursed jewelry. He cured her! It is a little like sleeping beauty!!

God…Michael made Dean dress like an absolute douche. Hey buddy, peaky blinders called, they want it all back (that joke would land better here if I told you that Dean told Sam earlier that duck dynasty called and wanted it all back in regards to his beard)

Just because au Kaia left doesn’t mean she’s gone….yeah. She just went to get her spear to kill the hybrids

Omggggg Cas recognizing that Jack has the mind and heart of a hunter and offering to take him on a hunting trip….you know, if Jack wants 💖

I’m not trusting this cough Jack has now though…

Oh fuck. It was more than just that Michael was (and still is) creating near indestructible monsters at at the helm of Dean’s body. It’s that Dean tried fighting him that whole time and it felt like drowning, and he feels like all of this is his fault for saying yes in the first place

No, Jack. That’s not a normal amount of blood to be coughing up. The normal amount is ZERO

[real-jane]

nftn: if it weren't for you

(bucky barnes x female!reader, shield)

summary: just the thought of what your combined future could bring has bucky seeking deeper intimacy with you.

warnings: do i 'warn' you that this is 70% smut? mmkay, smut. reader yelling at steve rogers for a second, the 'm' word coming up, sweet and awkward first time sex, sex toys, p in v, oral (f receiving), bucky is remembering what intimacy can be, reader being self-assured sexually and prepared, we love a prepared queen

word count: 7,112

a/n: part six of ‘nostalgia for the new’. let's pretend for the sake of fiction that all SHIELD agents, of any gender, have some sort of personalized birth control implant to prevent de bebes. sex can be awkward and sweet and silly, and our babes deserve it. this took me like twenty hours to write. enjoy!! (my sibling follows me on tumblr. ignore this, sibling!)

series masterlist - now featuring a playlist!

Steve Rogers didn’t run. Nobody could mistake what that man did around a track for a morning jog or even a light sprint (and you had a sneaking suspicion that the only benefit he got from doing a zillion laps every morning was impeccably blow-dried hair, as his body didn’t even break a sweat)... and yet, he stood next to you in his white New Balance sneakers, like the centenarian he was, and waited to join you for your walk, in Bucky’s place.

“How’d he do out there?”

The question rankled.

Steve had this habit of gauging Bucky’s status by asking you, and it was getting to the point where it seemed like avoidance… like the closer you got to Bucky, the less time Steve spent with his best friend. And it had been a week since your trip off compound, so. This man had reported to Director Fury about how he did out there. This should have come up sooner, or at least he should’ve spoken to Bucky about it instead. But, Bucky wasn’t here, he was packing to spend a few days in Wakanda for a routine check-in, and you had left to give him some space.

You tied your stubborn shoelace, the one which had become Alpine’s favorite toy. You didn’t have the heart to rob your furry kitten of such delights, so… stubby strings would have to do. If only you had worn thicker socks. It was as chilly as an early November morning could reasonably be, without inspiring precipitation.

“Y/n?” Steve pressed, reminding you he had asked an annoying question.

“Who’s asking?” One glance at Steve and you realized… he was frowning. You sat back.

“Me.”

You snorted. “You, as in… Captain America, Nick Fury’s mouthpiece? Or… you as in, Stevie, the punk kid from Brooklyn, known for picking fights in dark alleys?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in an excellent approximation of his best friend’s smirk. “Number two.”

You sighed. “Well…I think he was fine.”

“And the panic attack…”

“He trusted me to keep him grounded; it only took him a few minutes to get back to zero. He didn’t lose his appetite, which--” you laughed, and Steve couldn’t help but let down his shoulders from where they had hitched themselves to his earlobes.

“He’s been so happy not doing that stupid paleo-bullshit Shaw had him eating. I could’ve cried when he let me feed him cinnamon roll.”

You stood and nodded towards the track, which was always empty this early in the morning. Steve fell in step beside you. Your ankle wasn’t physically ready for a run just yet, but this was the start of your new training regime, and apparently Cap was along for the ride.

“How’d he do with the bike?”

“Like it was an extension of his body. I know he only gets to ride that thing around the test track normally, but it purrs for him. Even in the rain, he was steady. With a kitten in his jacket, in a lightning storm. Steady as a--”

“Tin soldier?” your companion offered lightly.

“Sure…” You shrugged. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Steve.”

“No, no… that, um.” He stopped for a minute, finding his words carefully. “That’s enough. I was expecting the worst, and I see that I had no reason to.”

You blinked at him. “...are you inviting my opinion, or--”

“Mmm. Don’t know if I can take it.” His ears turned pink with the admission. His old man sneakers squeaked a little with each step on the slightly damp rubberized track.

“What are you asking?”

“What do you want with him?”

“Wow. Direct--”

“I don’t mean it like what the hell do you want with him, just… what kind of future do you think about, for you two?”

How do you say everything?

You’d been dreaming the last few nights of a small house with light filtering through the windows in the early morning, and coming into the kitchen to find Bucky making something on the stove. He’d smile at you--the one that was all teeth and wrinkled nose--and the dream would filter into little domestic moments, in a place of your own.

You could have that with him, anywhere.

“I think he’d do well near the sea, in someplace with buildings no taller than two stories,” you said softly. “I don’t know how well vibranium does with sea salt, so… maybe further north. Maine, or something. He’d make a great lobsterman.”

Steve breathed out slowly. “Sounds nice.”

“Or maybe sharing a third floor walkup in Brooklyn, in your old stomping grounds. Or New Mexico. Become art collectors.” You glanced at Steve. “I don’t really know what kind of future we’ll have. Whatever we do, we’ll find our own kind of happiness. Is… is that what you were looking for? I can whip you up a PowerPoint when we’re done here.”

Steve didn’t speak for a moment. You counted out the beat in measured footsteps. It took fifty-three before Cap could speak again.

“There was a time when I was envious of how everything just came so easy to him--the Army couldn’t get enough of him!” he said finally, wincing a little to mention such a thing to you, but he shrugged. “They made him a sniper, a sergeant--you’ve never seen a more dapper guy than Bucky in his uniform.”

“I’m sure.”

“Suffice to say that he was the paragon for everything my life could be, but wasn’t...”

“Awfully high pedestal you have him on.” You looked at him pointedly.

He reddened. “Right... And I had to look his mother in the face and tell her that he fell from a train car in the Alps.” Steve shook his head. “I thought he was dead for over half of my life.”

The very thought was choking--thinking that Bucky was gone when he had been everything to you. “That must have been hard.”

“I… god, kid. If you could’ve seen me when he died. I think there’s still a hole in me that is Bucky-shaped.” He stopped walking, grasping your elbow. “Please, don’t… don’t tell him that I miss who he was, it’s not like that.”

Something about Steve’s tone made your blood rise. You frowned, tugging out of his grasp. “He’s a different man, Steve.”

“I know.”

“And… you’ve been operating like he’s still gone, or… like he’s going to disappear again if you don’t help keep him reined in. Does that pretty much cover it?”

Steve said nothing, but you knew the arrow had landed. You crossed your arms.

“Bucky is a sweet man trying to figure out where he belongs in this world, but he is also capable of so much more than what he’s being allowed to do. He’s smart. Brave, focused. One day on a date off compound with me doesn’t invalidate or prove that. But if you’re waiting for him to explode again… he might. He’s human.”

“We can’t afford what happens when he explodes, Y/n.”

“Oh boy,” you breathed, “don’t ever let him hear you say that. You’ll break his fucking heart.” That stung, right between the ribs. You couldn’t take any more of this conversation, not when Bucky was packing to spend a few days with Shuri in Wakanda--the place where he was freed from the risk of detonation. You could be with him.

“Y/n--”

You held up a threatening finger. “No! Listen to you! Blubbering about him as if he’s not a flesh and bone person, a part of your life right now!.”

“You see a side of him I don’t get to--”

“The night I met you, you seemed so surprised to learn that your best friend was miserable. It’s no wonder you didn’t realize that the testing was going on.”

“That’s not fair, it's a complex issue--”

“Ten minutes in his company was enough to see how he was suffering, but here you are martyring yourself on behalf of your friend who died--He did. Let that version of him go before you miss out on this one.” You took several steps backwards and held up your hands as he made like he was going to follow you. “Thanks for the help getting him out last week. I’ll take it from here.”

“Wait. Y/n.” His voice was solemn, but firm. You paused with your back to him. It seemed like eons before he finally said… “You’re right.” Steve touched your shoulder.

You stiffened. “I know.”

He huffed out a sad laugh. “I’m so sorry my failings fell to you. He’s very lucky you’re in his life.”

You looked over your shoulder at him. “He chose me.”

“Yes, he did. And I’m glad, even if you make me feel like an idiot.”

That made you smile, against your will. “Yeah, well. Go with the feeling.” He looked positively cowed, and you couldn’t help but think he deserved to sit with that. For a bit. “God, Steve. I could be distracting him from packing right now, you know.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

You knew it was hard for Steve to admit when he was wrong, especially when it came to Bucky. It was a hard-won victory to hear him apologize for it, but. Still felt like a breakthrough. It’s not that Steve’s way of loving Bucky was invalid, it was just outdated. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to miss out on the best version of Bucky.

“How did things get to this point?” you asked. “You used to bring him books and try to get him into the gym. When was the last time you spent some decent time with him? And don’t use my presence as an excuse, I don’t own his time.”

“God. It’s been a while,” he admitted. “Maybe I’m just… scared to lose him again.”

“There’s people with expensive degrees you can talk to about that. Unless you want to pay me for this conversation…”

Steve laughed, then, scratching his cheek. “Back, uh. Before he broke through, when…”

“When he was the Asset,” you finished for him.

“Right. Nobody understood why I wouldn’t fight him. Even Sam told me once that Bucky wasn’t the kind of guy I could save. I mean--we did have several confrontations, but every time, I saw him in there. I had no idea how it would go, if he’d ever come around--”

“But he did.”

Steve nodded. “Every time.”

“Couldn’t fight his true nature.”

“He has always had that goodness rooted deep. And… going forward, know that I’m open to accountability for wavering in that belief.”

“I have one ask.”

“Shoot.”

“Anticipate that you’re going to fuck up again,” you said gently, “and don’t put the work on me to fix it for you, or absolve you. I do things for Bucky because it’s the right thing to do, and because we’re in a partnership with mutual benefits; I don’t want the man I love to suffer anymore. I can’t control his recovery, but I certainly can ask questions of the people around him who seem to think they can. The bottom line is... I’m not the person you should be apologizing to. I think he would like to hear from you how good you believe he is.”

“I’ll… I’ll talk to him.”

“Good. Before he leaves today?”

“Yes.”

Steve opened his arms in a silent request. You stepped into his embrace. His hug was brief, but he held you tight. He nodded to the track. You took him up on finishing your walk.

It was good to see the human in Steve, even if he was still figuring out how to balance the right level of concern with his duty as Cap. He was far more answerable to the machinations of the Avengers, and even SHIELD, than just about anyone--especially to the public. But his duty often clouded his judgment where his friends were concerned. You had seen it a few times since getting closer to the small group he considered family, and it was evidenced by his disconnect from Bucky.

Bucky would surely wave off the apology when it came--and say something dismissive to let Steve off the hook far sooner than you were willing to. But he’d think about it all the way to Wakanda, and that was good enough.

Most of the laps passed in relative silence. The air had lost its dewy crispness, so it was just plain chilly. Even bundled as you were in Bucky’s hoodie, a jacket over the top, hat, etc… you were shivering. Steve, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content in a long-sleeve t-shirt. He also had, peeking just out of his collar… something that looked awfully like a love-bite.

“So. Help me win a bet.” You bit back a conspiratorial laugh which threatened when he narrowed his eyes. “How long have you and Nat been a thing?”

Cap groaned. “I knew you knew.”

***

He was only going to be gone a few days, but Bucky had still begged out of your morning walk to at least try to pack like a reasonable person. He’d need activewear for the physical--Shuri liked to make him catch heavy things falling from heights, so he would require clothing with some stretch. And then something… more formal, because His Majesty insisted on a dinner every time Bucky came for a routine check-up. He’d have to settle on a tux jacket he’d only worn once, and a pair of black pants with the fewest holes. Suddenly, this felt far more like a business trip than the tune-up it was. Bucky sighed.

You’d be better at this. You knew where all of his clothes were, anyway. He should just ask you to come along with him, Shuri would love you--and then she’d stop trying to insinuate that anything should come of the time he spent with Ayo. It was easy to forget that Shuri was still a teenager when she was programming his arm and deprogramming his brain. And you were just the kind of woman who would earn her respect.

No patience for idiots. You and Shuri were alike in that way.

A quiet knock echoed through the mostly-empty suite; all Bucky stored in there anymore was his extra clothes. He slept, bathed, lived in yours. He opened the door to Captain America.

“How’s packing going?”

Bucky stepped to the side and let Steve in. “Slowly. None of my clothes seem good enough to have dinner with the Wakandan royal family. I should’ve planned better. Ramonda insinuated that I have no fashion sense, last time I was there.”

Cap snorted. “You don’t.”

“You punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the desk. “So, uh. Y/n had a lot to say to me this morning.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Really?”

“Yeah. Um… I haven’t been doing right by you, Buck.”

“...what do you mean?”

“All the stuff she’s done, getting your surveillance dialed back and the trip off-compound. I could’ve done that.”

“Nah, Steve--”

“Please, I gotta get this out while it’s fresh in my mind. I spent so long trying to get you back, and once I finally had you… I stepped back, I stopped fighting, because at least you were here. Which meant you were fairly miserable and isolated, which was in my power to change. And since I didn’t, you suffered. I should have been better than that, and I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” Bucky murmured. “You did the best you could.”

“I’ll do better. Yeah? You’re a good man. You deserve it.”

Bucky blinked back a heady rush of emotion. He beckoned his first, best friend to him. Steve sniffed, too, embracing Bucky tightly.

“I didn’t realize Y/n felt like that,” Bucky said.

“Y/n’s got more clarity than most people,” Steve sighed. He patted Bucky on the back. “She did say something really interesting.” Steve pulled from the hug and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Not to put pressure on you, or anything.”

“Christ, what?” Bucky sat on his bed, subtly wiping his eyes in his sleeve.

“Well, after relentlessly roasting me about you, and then about Nat and me, she may have suggested marriage was in our future. So, I asked her if she would marry you.”

“...and?”

“I believe her exact words were ‘what wouldn’t I do for James Barnes?’”

Bucky rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re serious.”

“Have you thought about it?”

“No,” he said honestly. “It’s never been a blip on my radar, why would it? If she weren’t so persistent, I’m not sure I’d ever have given any woman the time of day.” He stared, not really at anything in particular, as he thought about it. “God. Me, married. Can you imagine?”

Bucky hadn’t ever thought about himself and marriage in the same universe, but as the thought infiltrated the folds of his brain, some little flashes came through.

This is my wife, Y/n.

My wife loves that movie.

How’d I meet my wife? Funny story…

Oh, you like it? My wife picked it out.

Wife.

Total-body warmth blossomed outwards from the center of his chest, where an idea so special as to be phenomenon implanted itself. You. His wife. Bucky Barnes’ wife. Forever.

“Maybe I should be thinking about it,” he breathed.

“Certainly proved she’s committed to every vow, without the formal recitation.”

“Where’d she go when you left her?”

“To hers. Said she was gonna clean up before your flight leaves tonight.”

“Great. Great.” Bucky stood and shook Steve’s hand vigorously. “Great. I gotta go.”

“You gonna propose to her right now?” Cap laughed. “You haven’t finished packing!”

“T'challa will forgive me for wearing a leather jacket!”

Bucky burst out of his room and bolted for the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Bucky chuckled. He felt lighter than air. What the hell was happening to his body?? It didn’t matter.

He turned his key in the lock and let himself into your room. Alpine mewled in delight to see him from his cozy nest amongst the blankets on the bed. The sound of the shower running was all that could be heard in the tiny suite, except for the faint hum of your voice. He knocked on the washroom door.

“Love?”

“Hey,” you called back. He opened the door a crack and the foggy steam swirled around his face. “You finished packing?”

“More or less,” he chuckled. “Can I… join you?”

Immediately, your face popped out from behind the curtain with wide doe eyes. “You sure?”

His heart swelled. “Yeah.”

You nodded, and a little smile crept in. “Far be it from me to deprive you.”

You disappeared behind the curtain again and Bucky felt the prickle of anxiety in his muscles. He shook out his hands to dispel the feeling and quickly stripped.

He curled his fingers around the curtain and stepped into the shower. Your back was to him, and you seemed to be washing some soap from your face. The curve of your back, the way it gave way to a vast and beautiful softness--Bucky breathed out hard. He had seen you naked before. He knew you were a masterpiece. And even though his nerves were threatening the integrity of his knees, he wanted you to know it.

Bucky raised his hand to your bicep, and smoothed down your arm, stepping closer tentatively. You peered at him with your mouth in a pleased moue.

“Hi.”

He pressed his lips to your temple. “Hi.”

“This is new.”

“Mmhm.”

“Not a complaint.” You shivered when his vibranium fingers found your waist. Bucky wrapped his arms around you fully, and nestled his face in your neck. “As long as you’re comfortable.”

“‘M always comfortable with you.”

You let your head fall against his shoulder. “I missed you on my walk.”

“Sounds like it was interesting,” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Apparently you had a lot to say.”

“Baby, he loves you, but…” you sighed. “I’m sick of him pretending like he’s powerless to help you. And I told him that.”

“Mhm. He apologized to me.” Bucky felt the chill of being near water but not under it. “Switch me?”

“Sure.”

But he didn’t let you step away--Bucky just lifted you, and turned around to put his back into the spray. You laughed.

“Oh my god, Buck.”

“What? I didn’t wanna let go.” He tilted his head back so the water could rush over his head.

“What did Steve say to you?”

He sighed. “That he’s sorry he didn’t look out for me, that he will do better.”

“Hmm. Good.” You sagged into his hold, and Bucky made little circles on your tummy while he carded the other hand through his hair.

“Yeah?”

“I really laid into him.”

“Apparently you said nice things about me too.”

You giggled. “Oh yeah, told him you’d make a fantastic lobsterman.”

Bucky shook with laughter. “How kind.” He kissed your cheek, but then he took a long moment to just nuzzle your hair and the fresh lilac scent.

You turned in his grasp, and wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up with those piercing eyes of yours, which always made Bucky feel like you saw through whatever facade he had put on that day. Your cheeks drew in subtly as you felt him stiffen against your stomach. Oh. Bucky let himself just… linger, running his hands along your back.

“Baby,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Steve pressed me a little, about what kind of future I see with you.”

The sensation of your fingers tracing where metal met flesh in the deep tissues of his chest made Bucky shiver, but he didn’t miss the way you blushed. Your lower lip disappeared between your teeth as you found some bravery.

“I want you to know,” you murmured. “I would do this forever. I think it’s silly not to say it when you feel it, so. If you want to live here for ten more years, or become a lobsterman in Maine, or get married, or whatever, I will.

“I--you’re my life, Buck. I know we haven’t been together that long, and I don’t say it lightly… god knows lesser men than you would run the other direction. Pretending the intensity of my feelings is any less than this would be doing you a disservice. I want you to be the last person to know my body intimately, and the first person I see every morning, for the rest of our lives.”

Bucky cupped your cheeks. He had to look up, look away--or tears were going to fall before he could speak. He shook his head. What was it with people making him cry, today? And how in the hell had he found this? Him, a sad sack with enough trauma to drown in vices innumerable, with no family to speak of and no home to offer a woman--just a motorcycle and a kitten.

“Can you say something? You’re making me nervous,” you peeped. Bucky folded, touching his forehead to yours.

“I want that,” he breathed. “All of that. Can I show you how much?” When you nodded, Bucky thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. “It has been…” he trailed off and cleared his throat.

God. His muscle memory could be carbon-dated. He couldn’t even remember the last woman he held like his--no, never like this, at the edge of the rest of his life.

You stood on your toes and graced your lips with his, centering him. Little rivulets of water ran down the column of your neck, between your breasts, and he allowed himself to fully take you in. You smiled, grasped his wrists where they rested at your jaw.

“Discover me, then.”

Bucky nodded. “And... you tell me what you like.”

“You’ll be able to tell,” you said with a soft smile. “Maybe kiss me to start? Pretty good at that, already.”

“Here?” he smiled against your mouth.

“Wherever.”

He paused in the space where your breath commingled. Oh. Like. Wherever. First, he tested what your cheek felt like beneath his lips, and then your jaw. You tugged his wrist, trailing his fingers down the side of your neck, expanding his potential exploration. Bucky hummed into the skin behind your ear, but he didn’t… quite know what to do with his hands. Giving control to you in that regard seemed safest. Maybe he should tell you that…

“You, um. Can maybe put my hands wherever,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” you breathed, tilting your head back to give him better access to your skin. “Well, I--mmph.” Bucky froze at the base of your neck, in the hollow above your clavicle, where he had just spent a moment mapping the rise of bone and muscle. “No, no. Good. Right above that. Pulse point.”

“Here, love?” He nosed the spot.

“Mmm. Suck on that spot just a little.”

Bucky gave that little sweet spot a lav and noted how it made your breath come in slow, contained drags. When he did as you asked, your knees wobbled. You released his vibranium arm and he held you close, bearing your weight against his side. With his other hand, you guided his touch to the curve beneath your breast. He stretched out his fingers. The map of your skin gained form, and he watched your reaction. When he graced the back of his knuckles up the swell, you arched towards him. When he found your nipple, the skin pulled taught beneath his thumb.

“Can I… kiss them?”

“Be insulted if you didn’t,” you said.

You had found your way to the wall beneath the shower’s spray--how, neither of you could be absolutely sure, but Bucky reveled in the sight of your half-lidded eyes. He knelt… and got a face full of water, with the way it streamed over his shoulders and hair. He gripped your waist as he laughed, swiping the water from his eyes. He pulled you closer to him. You’d have to keep your own balance, but he wouldn’t let you fall. Bucky nosed your nipple. You gasped.

“I can’t believe I get to hear you,” he breathed, before testing what other sounds you might make if his tongue flickered against the rosy bud. That inspired your fingers to find his hair, tugging in a way that sent prickles shooting down his spine. If he wasn’t already absolutely straining, the swirling of your fingers against his scalp would’ve done the job. He closed his lips around your left.

“Mmm. No teeth, please. But touch this one.” You tapped his metal hand at your waist.

He released you with a peck. “Sure?”

“Just little tugs and circles. This arm’s cold, it will play with my senses.”

Bucky’s head dropped against your stomach and he groaned. “Oh my god.”

“What?” you laughed. “Overwhelmed?”

“Oh. Nothing,” he said, though his voice was muffled in your damp skin. “I’m in heaven. That’s all. Carry on.”

He allowed you to lift his left arm and position his fingers in just such a way--god, he could feel you, even through the vibranium. Shuri had wired it so precisely that this is what it was supposed to do--behave like his normal skin--but he never felt so well with it, not like this. Maybe it was in his head, or went back to his theory that the arm responded to you specifically. Whatever it was, the slip of dampness between your pebbled skin and the plates in his fingers gave him a rush.

Note to self: ask Shuri to up the touch-sensitivity factor…

“Baby? My knees are gonna give out. Can we--”

He was on his feet immediately. “We can stop. I’ll dry you off--”

“No!” you laughed, grabbing his elbow before he could bolt from the shower. “I don’t want to stop. I want to relocate. Bed?”

His ears pricked up, and Bucky reached around you to turn off the faucet. The spray ceased. He bent forward and braced his shoulder into your hips, and then looped his arms behind your knees. In one movement, he hucked you over his shoulder and booked it from the washroom. Alpine gave an indignant mewl as he was evicted from his comfy bed for the safety of the armchair by a large wet hand, but Bucky had no time!

“Bucky! Put me down,” you laughed, smacking his entirely unclothed ass. He jumped.

“I can’t believe you!” He tossed you onto the mess of covers and then launched himself behind, pinning you to the mattress. Which resulted in him realizing he was feeling absolutely every part of your skin against his, and immediately locking his lips over yours.

He wasn’t gentle anymore--he wasn’t quite sure how to be when you were responding so strongly. You arched into his chest. His tongue was demure in demanding entrance, but his lips worried your bottom one with desperate drags. He knew exactly how you liked to be kissed, and exactly what it did to him, and when you pulled your knees up on either side of his hips… he felt what it did to you, too.

He nipped your chin. “Can I touch you, doll? I feel you already, I’m--”

You let your knee fall to the side so you could guide his right hand between you. Any more he could have said died at the back of his throat because he felt how slick you were. So warm… god, you were burning just like he was. He dragged just one finger along your center.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Did I do this to you?”

You smiled, lips kissed so red and perfect and hair wild and wet on the pillow behind your head. “Do you like how it feels?”

He blew out a sharp breath. “Apparently I’ve done this before, but you are so perfect--I don’t ever remember it feeling like this.”

“It wasn’t us.”

“Wasn’t us,” Bucky echoed. He dipped the end of his finger further, seeking the spongy softness of you. Your passage gave him no trouble and he groaned. “Jesus, love. Another?”

You nodded and he tested the addition of a second finger. You clenched around him, breathing through the slight stretch, and he kissed you through a tentative thrust. A moan escaped between your lips.

“Curve them up,” you instructed. Bucky was a quick learner. He found the spot which made your mouth drop open. You slid your hand down between your bodies. “Thumb here.” You positioned his hand so that his thumb was flush against a swollen bundle of nerves. “I don’t--fuck, baby, that was the spot,” you laughed breathily. “Don’t usually come with just penetration,” you explained. “So. Touch my clit, not too hard. She’s sensitive. And--oh my god, Bucky, pause for a sec.”

He couldn’t help but grin because he felt you fluttering around his fingers, and he knew you weren’t far off from coming, and he did that. God, I’m going to be insufferable once she does, he thought. You shook your head with a faint smile.

“You’re amazing. Zero complaints, but… um. You are fairly… large. And it’s been a long time for me, so. You’re going to have to prepare me a little.”

“How. Tell me, I’ll do it.”

You patted his cheek. “Your dedication to the cause is inspiring, baby. Well... you can continue on course but add a third finger. Can’t speak to your hand’s stamina. Perfectly acceptable option, given that… your hand is already inside of me.” He gave you a languorous stroke to punctuate that, and also to wordlessly tell you that he would continue on said course even if his hand muscles atrophied, if that’s what you needed. Your eyes rolled back and you grabbed his wrist in warning.

“But, also, I have. A, um. Collection of other things that can help.”

“Collection.” He blinked.

“Yeah. Open the bottom drawer of my night stand.”

Bucky slowly removed his fingers from you and leaned down to do just that. There certainly was a collection of items there… some brightly colored, some less so. Several electrical cords. A few bottles. Not a heaping collection, but many of them… phallic. He raised his eyebrows.

“What am I looking at, doll?”

“Toys. For pleasure.” You rolled onto your side and pointed down into the drawer. “Grab that grey bottle with silver writing, and… that.”

“Okay… oh. It’s like. Squishy.” He handed you over the toy that you had requested.

“Yeah. It’s silicone. Synthesizes skin, sort of. So, if we use this--” you held up the grey bottle-- “it’s lubricant, completely safe for use inside the body, although…” You peered at the back of the bottle, where there was extensive writing. “Is coconut or sunflower oil bad for vibranium?”

Bucky shrugged. “Shuri oils my arm every time I get an upgrade. Probably fine.”

“Is this a very unsexy conversation?” The corners of your mouth turned up, but you began to look a bit worried. He shook his head rapidly.

“You brought this up because you want me to fit inside you without hurting you, doll. Do I look as if I’ve been turned off?” His cock certainly didn’t. He pointed to the toy. “Teach me.”

You beckoned him forward with two fingers and kissed him softly. “I really love you.”

“I love you. This is the best day of my life.” He meant it hyperbolically, but you gave him the sweetest kiss in return that he made a personal note in his head… hyperbole in bed is good. She enjoys that. Do that more.

You showed him how to prepare the toy, how it worked… Bucky thought he might come himself, watching you demonstrate. He settled between your knees and took over for you.

“So. This toy, plus this--” he thumbed your clit softly, in vague circles which floated the nerve endings just so. “You come for me. Yes?”

“God. Yes.”

“And then…”

“Then, I’ll be ready for you.”

Bucky started with two fingers as before--you were sensitive enough that he could feel how you relaxed, even as your body wanted to take more. Then, he tested the toy, dipping it into your opening while he gave your clit extra attention. An idea hit him--one he had a feeling you wouldn’t mind… he leaned down, watching your face for reaction, and kissed that sweet bundle of nerves.

“Swear to god,” you moaned. You bit your lip and he was home.

He mimicked the movement you had shown him for your clit with his tongue, offering a soft suck to the bundle every few strokes. You gasped, and he pushed the toy further into you. You took it so well, raising your hips in pleasure--Bucky needed you to come. He needed you to release so he could feel your core around him, already. He purposefully ignored his own issue but he was aching now.

He couldn’t take it. He ground his own hips into the mattress as he thrust the toy in and out, the taste of you and the lubricant mixing into a heady essence for his tongue. You gripped his hair when you were on the brink of orgasm. He moaned against you at the stimulation, and that was enough to send you over the edge. He sucked on your clit hard, flickering his tongue wildly to pull every last keen from you.

“Oh my god, you’re going to kill me,” you said, as he finally relented. He pulled the toy from you and wrapped it in a cloth you indicated in the drawer (by letting your hand fall to the side of the bed--there was no way you could make any coherent gestures for a moment).

Bucky sat back on his heels with a triumphant smile, wiping his mouth with his hand. “Was that okay?”

You opened your eyes to slits and glared at him. “You’re unreal. All I said was ‘I can’t do only penetration’ and you go down on me like you know my body better than anything. Christ, Bucky.”

He took in the sight of you--wet and sprawled, breathing heavy. “I’m an overachiever.”

“Cocky, too?” You gestured for him to lay beside you, and he did so readily. “Has a girl ever done that to you?”

He winced. “Um.”

You laughed. “So, yes.”

“It just didn’t seem gentlemanly to say.” He brushed your hair from your cheek. “But yes.”

“Where?”

“Doll--”

“In a car?”

He looked away and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Hmmm. Hot.”

He put his hands over his face. He wasn’t embarrassed to be talking about sex but it felt so weird talking to you about women he did things with two lifetimes ago, especially things he didn’t really remember. Except… he did remember that one. But. Not well? And it had been awkward at the time, and here he was--fuck.

Warmth and wetness surrounded his cock, and Bucky just about hip-checked you off the bed. Your hand grasped him around his base--your hand was slick, maybe from the oil--moving up and down, giving special deference to the vein which ran along the base.

Your tongue was heaven.

“Seven decades is a long time without an orgasm, baby.” You ran fingers up the inside of his thighs and back down again, with the points of your nails sending thrills of awareness through him.

“Please, please--oh love. I won’t last two minutes if you do that.”

You pulled away, kissing the tip of him. He glanced at you out of one eye. “Next time?”

“Might kill me, but yes. Please just come up here.” He laced his fingers with yours to help you balance yourself on either side of his waist.

“I’m still really sensitive,” you said softly. “Can you wait a minute?”

“I waited seventy years for you.” He tucked your hair behind your ears. “What's a minute or two?”

You wrinkled your nose, and cupped his chin. “I’m… really happy, Bucky.”

“Oh, love. I don’t know how I found you,” he said firmly, though he wasn’t sure he was capable of any other coherent thought at this point. “Through all the guilt, and the nightmares, at least at the end? You. You’re here. That--” Bucky pointed to the chair where Alpine was so undisturbed by your machinations that he was wheezing a tiny kitten snore. “That is our cat. This is our bed.”

“Mmmm. Yes it is.” You reached down between you to feel him and Bucky hissed. “You ready?”

“Yes. Here--” he swiped the lubricant from the bedside table, dripping a little pool into your waiting palm, and some into his own. He tossed it to the side, causing you to laugh. While you prepared him with sweet, gentle touches… Bucky used the slick oil to swirl around your nipples.

“This stuff is brilliant.”

You bit back a groan and gave him a warning glare, before tucking the head of his cock right where you needed him. He plucked at your nippes as you worked yourself onto him, slowly--he could’ve sworn he saw stars in your eyes. He certainly felt them in his own, the way every nerve in his body stood at attention. When your hip bones met his, he left oily finger tracks from your breasts to your thighs as his grip switched to hold you still. He just needed you to pause, just for a moment.

“Baby-doll, I am going to go off like a rocket if you move a muscle, but I will make it up to you--”

“You made me come so hard I think I burst a blood vessel. I don’t care. You feel incredible. Do you want to come?”

“Can’t disappoint you--”

“Are you kidding me?” You pressed your chest to his and ran a hand through his hair. “You coming would be a victory for my ego.”

“If you’re sure, I just… move, please, fuck what happens to me.” Bucky pushed himself up to sitting, with his right arm around your waist. You clung to his shoulders for purchase, both of you seeking a kiss to center yourselves. Bracing his left arm behind him on the mattress, he rolled his hips upwards.

You followed his movement, pulled at his hair, scratched his skin and made him lose all touch with reality. It did not take long for him to find his release and you canted your hips to grind down over him. From what he could glean, behind the white-out behind his eyes, and the way your sensitive walls clenched him in a vice, you found a second release. He forced his eyes open enough to see you touch yourself through the tail end.

Then, he hugged you so tight, his arm creaked.

“I… shit.”

You shook, laughing against his neck with a breathy sigh. “How you holding up?”

“I think I time-traveled just now.”

“You… fuck. You have about an hour before your flight leaves. Shower?” You nodded to the little digital clock above your door, the standard issue clock in every suite in the compound.

Bucky kissed your jaw. “I don’t care if it’s freezing cold, if you’re there and still naked, I am in.”

“Come on, loverboy.” You disentangled yourself from his arms, but pulled off of him with such care that you pressed your forehead to his before the groan of loss. He kissed your brow.

“Let me use the facilities… then you can come in, once the water is running.” You walked on wibbly knees all the way to the washroom. “And then I’m gonna wash you, okay?”

“You don’t gotta do that!” he called back.

You peered around the door jam. “Baby. It’s called aftercare. Let me take care of you.”

His heart felt like it was gonna burst for the seven-thousandth time that day. “Okay.”

You disappeared again and Bucky laid back on the bed, completely spread-eagle. Holy shit. All this, because the thought of calling you his wife made him… oh. That made him shiver. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d go to Wakanda and show Shuri how much he had healed, and then… when he was back? Well. He’d talk to Steve about an idea that was brewing at the back of his mind, to solidify a partnership with you beyond the bonds of owning a rescue kitten together. He turned over and looked at the tiny white ball of fluff.

“Take care of your Ma,” he whispered to the little unconscious thing. “When I come back…”

“Babe, you coming?” He was shaken back to Earth by your voice calling through the crack in the washroom door. The shower water was running, and he was not about to miss another second to be naked with you.

Part 5

Part 7

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[mulberrytea]

all i can say is that the traumatized little girl version of me who moved strangely through the world and was emotionally neglected didn’t just disappear because she got older. she’s still there inside of me and she comes out more often than i realize. i was given so many names at birth that i can give her one and call my present self another. and i take care of her, nurture her, parent her, and calm her down. she didn’t deserve what she got and she is still inside of me and she always will be. i carry her with me and i protect and love her.

sometimes something will change and that change will change you

This is for me This is for the breaths I have yet to take, for the memories I have yet to unfold, for dreams I have yet to discover This for the struggles I faced in the past, to which I will part ways with comradeship for they gave bruises to my knees and made me realize that falling down does not mean it's the end This is for my passions and strength, seemingly lost beneath the shadows of myself This is for the sunshine in my laughter, the constellations in my eyes, the flowers beneath my skin, and the moon in my heart This is for me This is for who I was This is for who I can be

"How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard"

— Winnie the Pooh (A.A Milne)

just another birthday

1/2

67. @/ladylazarus33 (via @/likorys) 68. Imagine Finding Me by Chino Otsuka 69. (Were we always doomed to suck the sweetness out of nostalgia? Is there anything left to discover?) (@/asoftwrongness) 70. @/archbudzar 71. Judith Hanson Lasater 72. the fool tarot card (art by Lisa Sterl) 73. Papilio glaucus, the eastern tiger swallowtail (This butterfly symbolizes a positive change soon. It indicates that something important will change and you cannot prevent that change. A butterfly with black and yellow flaps also signifies death. It is a sign of the end of a life cycle.) 74. Beautiful Zero: Poems by Jennifer Willoughby 75. Goodnight Moon by Margaret Brown (art) and Class of 2013 by Mitski (text) via @/crushing-on-nico-di-angelo 76. All I Could Do by Kimya Dawson 77. earnestly screaming because of these youtube comments on the song ribs  (@/tylorswift) 78. When You Were Small. (@/hannahlockillustration) 79.  green grass, s.t. (@/ryebreadgf) 80. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Corpse by Heather O'Neill 81. from a book i made a couple semesters ago (@/julykings) 82. Inside Problems by Andrew Bird 83. photo series “Girl Pictures,” shot between 1997 and 2002 by Justine Kurland 84. Is it normal to feel your youth slipping away at 20? 85. I am feeling sad because I missed out on my teenage years. 86. a poem for myself (@/nostalgicjoy) 86. testing out some fun text + a handsome little man i met on a walk (@/demiiwhiffin) 87.  Winnie the Pooh by A.A Milne 88. The Sleep of Reason (2020) by Valeria Duca