#i do blues/fusion just fine

[thesixthstar]

I think its really interesting to watch bc its specifically the follow who clearly knows the song, so its a great study on lead/follow dynamics like, how to lead while giving your follow room to make choices, and how the lead follow communication/listening/response is *not* just a one way street. Leads have gotta listen to what their follow is communicating and respond to that. The lead is clearly not *as* well versed in the kind of styling the follow is laying down, but he sees that his follow has something in mind and gives him room to show off and does his best to match where he can (especially relevant in performance/competition - they're wearing numbers so this is taking place at a competition, but this may be something they're competing at or it could be a for-funsies/practice/etc thing at the competition)

Oh, this is incredible.

Improv swing dance to a Todrick Hall song?

And they killed it!

*thanks to the people who pointed out my oops

[fierykitten2]

Not entirely sure what I was doing on The Cutting Room Floor but I think I accidentally tried to hypnotise myself by staring at the gif of Walking Wake’s shiny and now I’m thinking about an idea I had a few months ago (before I got the DLC) where Game Freak could make the imagined fusions appear in-game (as alternate forms for Wake and Leaves but the Beast fusion has Fire and Bolt included while the Sword fusion has Boulder and Crown included) but have them event raid exclusive and be shiny for no particular reason (because somehow when there are probably less instances of their individual species put together than the shiny chance denominator three of the few instances that made it through are shiny? Like that just makes no sense). Also I’ll admit it, Wake and Leaves’s shinies are pretty

[baronessvonglitter]

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[asonofpeter]

Insanity

Pairing: Jaime Reyes x F!Reader

Summary: Your lack of sleep makes it seem like you're going insane, then again, your boyfriend has an alien inside of him...maybe insanity makes sense.

Warnings: reader has emotional distress, description of skin and flesh? mentions of sleep deprivation and male genitals, SPOILERS FOR BLUE BEETLE! there's also some light SMUT but it will be labeled by 🦋 so you can skip if you want and must be 18+ to read!

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Second part? Umm hell yeah! I gotta go see this movie again cause I wanna see Jaime wink wink. Thank you for all of those who reblogged the last part! If the smut confuses you, be aware that I'm a whore and my page mainly consists of smut. Please make sure you're 18+ when reading and enjoy! 💕💕💕

I don't consent to my work being copied, reposted, or translated.

“Where could he have possibly gone?!” you ran your fingers over your hair, tears streaming down your face as Miliagro tried to comfort you. “What the hell was that thing?” you shook your head, dumbfounded.

You had been standing, staring up at the hole in the ceiling for the last few minutes, completely dumbfounded that your boyfriend was somewhere up there. You were in hysterics compared to the rest of the family.

“Amá is calling the police, I’m sure we’ll find him,” she rubbed your shoulder, tears streaming down her face too.

A few moments later, your heart rate spiked up the moment a loud crash was heard in the dining room, the already collapsed table now housing your fainted boyfriend who was completely naked.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hand over your mouth as you ran over to aid him but he awoke abruptly, incoherent words escaping his lips. About to stop him from moving to prevent any injury, you felt your face heat up when he stood up.

“His huevitos!” Rudy shouted, the rest of the family’s breaths hitching before Rocio and Nana started reminiscing about Jaime’s childhood. 

You stepped forward, trying to give Jaime some concealment but he pushed passed you, entirely dazed until he crashed on the couch.

“Ten, tapaló,” Rocio handed you a blanket and you quickly covered him. That’s when you all realized what was on his back. 

“That is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen,” Millie gagged beside you and you frowned at the sight of the bug fused into his back.

~

You sat at Jaime’s head on the couch, Nana waving the vapor rub in front of his nose. You combed your fingers through his hair, the smell, and your touch slowly coaxing him awake. 

His eyes opened, body jolting in shock to see all of you sitting around him. “Where?” his brows were furrowed and he stared down at himself, realization growing on him and being confirmed by a peek under the blanket. “Oh god,” he gaped, shooting up from the couch and keeping the blanket wrapped around him.

“Jaime, wait,” everyone called out, following him but he shrugged everyone off, going into his room.

“Follow him and tell him,” Millie pushed you forward and you got the message as you managed to slide into his room before he slammed the door shut.

“Jaime,” you called out, a smile forming on your face when you saw his bare ass, unable to help yourself. “You need to know something,” you wrung your fingers together, staring at the glowing blue fusion on his back. 

“Hang on, Y/N, I can explain everything. It’s all fine, this is all normal,” he struggled to put clothes on, mainly muttering to himself. “It’s all good,” he laughed, shirt in his hand as he walked over to you, a humorless laugh escaping him as he grabbed your shoulders. “I missed you,” he inhaled before leaning in and kissing you.

You were taken aback by the sudden gesture, but welcomed it nonetheless when you recalled how worried you’ve been about him. 

“Jaime,” you said when he pulled away, licking your lips as you opened your mouth to continue. “Look in the mirror,” you exhaled just as he pulled his shirt over his head.

He paused, doing as you said, his eyes widening when he got a look before a scream left his mouth.

“Just breathe, okay?” you hurried towards him before he panicked even more. “We’re gonna find a way to fix this, okay?” you grabbed his shoulders and he seemed to calm down a bit before you engulfed him in a hug.

“We’re gonna fix it,” he repeated, arms slowly wrapping around you. “I need to find Jenny”.

~

“That’s Cesar to you!” Rudy shouted at Jenny after she became the reason the Taco was ruined. 

You were all sat around the table after Jaime had driven off to go find Jenny to explain everything. You weren’t too pleased he left so suddenly, worry still raking through you from the day’s earlier event. You kept your anger under wraps, thankful to Rudy for laying it on them. 

A few moments later after hearing Rudy cry about the damage done to his truck, he came back in, fury still bubbling in his words. 

“I can’t believe you did that to my truck, after everything,” he cried. “This is all your fault,” he pointed at Jenny. “First, you put a bug inside my nephew and now my truck?!” he screamed, shaking his head.

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Jenny darted her gaze around the table and Jaime sighed. 

“He means this,” he said, turning around and pulling his shirt over his head so she could see the blue and purple bug glowing along his spine, his flesh pink in the areas it fused to the creature.

“Oh my god,” the family shouted, Milagro gaging at the sight. You on the other hand had grown a quick immunity to the sight, your face straight as you stared at it.

“I’ve seen worse,” you and Rudy said at the same time and you shared a glance for a second before Millie butted in.

“Where?” she furrowed her brows. 

“You don’t want to know,” you said at the same time again, your gaze narrowing at him.

“What the hell is this thing?” Jaime pulled his shirt back down, leaning over the table between you and Jenny.

“It’s a scarab, given to my dad when I was a kid. It’s some type of world-destroying weapon,”  she shrugged, the sight of defeat written across her face aware that this news was not one taken well by the family.

“Great,” Jaime inhaled deeply, hands running through his hair as he walked into the kitchen.

“So did you know this was going to happen when you handed it to my brother?” Millie asked, shooting daggers at Jenny. 

“No! I swear I didn’t. The scarab isn’t activated by any person, it chooses you,” Jenny elaborated. “So that means it chose you,” she turned to Jaime, a look of disbelief on his face.

You were sitting silently beside everyone, arms crossed over your chest as you took in the information you were given. Emotions trickled through you, you were sure you’d experienced all of them at least once today, but hearing the words come out of her mouth, you couldn’t help but crack your stoic face and double over in laughter.

“That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, you’re joking,” you managed between laughs, the family sparing glances at each other and Jaime placed a hand on your shoulder to check on you.

“Ignore her, she hasn’t slept since yesterday. Night shift,” Millie excused you.

“Are you sure she didn’t get the alien inside her? Seems like she’s going insane,” Rudy butted in, twirling his finger by his temple to say “cookoo”. 

“Ay, Rudy,” Rocio waved him off. “As you can see she’s a little out of it from the lack of sleep”.

At her statement, the laughing stopped and you straightened up, composing yourself with a clearing of your throat.

“I’m not out of it,” you defended. You were sure you slept a good hour this morning. “I’m just finding it a little hard to believe that there’s an alien inside my boyfriend’s body, bonding to him as we speak,” you exhaled. “It’s insane!”

“It’s okay,” Jaime reassured, his other hand coming up to massage your shoulder. “You said it chose me, so how do we make it unchose me?” he asked, turning back to Jenny who had a look of softness cross over her eyes as she stared at you two.

“I’m not sure. But if I can get access to the proper technology, we can figure out a way,” she claimed. “I just need a key. It’s located at Kord Industries though,” she said, face falling. 

“I have a way in,” Rudy said. “Come on, cabezon, we’re gonna get that thing outta you,” he pointed. 

“Okay, Jenny, Rudy, and I will go. You guys stay here,” Jaime said, mainly looking at you.

“Are you crazy? I’m going with you,” you shook your head, standing up to meet him.

“Y/N, you haven’t slept since yesterday. You should sleep,” he cupped your face.

“I’m not tired,” you pulled away from him. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you go out on this without me,” you argued. “I don’t want to miss this,” you frowned. “You have god-knows-what inside you, I should be there,” you reaffirmed, glancing at the floor.

“She’s right, mijo,” Alberto sided with you and Jaime let out a defeated sigh. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he agreed.

~

The former Kord Estate was a magnificent abandoned haven. The secret passageway entering Jenny’s dad’s lab was insane and other-worldly. Nothing about this day made sense and you only hoped there was a cure so you could get on with your lives. 

After Jaime decided a better fit of clothes would be preferred, you followed him and Jenny upstairs. You were both shown into an empty bedroom, presumably a spare one seeing as it had no personal touches added to it. 

You were staring out the window while Jaime was in the bathroom when Jenny came back with a blue tracksuit be she left, a kind smile on her face as she departed. The door shut behind her as Jaime walked from the bathroom.

“I have accelerated healing,” he brushed his fingers over his cheek and you sent him a puzzled look. “Look,” he walked closer to you to show you his perfectly unbroken skin that was red and cut only a few moments ago.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “This is still too insane to believe,” you pressed a hand to your forehead, shaking out a laugh and your boyfriend smiled before pulling you in for a hug. “Does it hurt?” you asked, referring to the scarab.

“Not really,” he shrugged before he pulled off the muscle tee, leaving him shirtless in front of you. “It looks bad, but to be honest, it feels,” he paused for a second. “Normal”.

“That’s something then,” you wrung your fingers together, trying to sound as supportive as you could.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, alright? We’re going to get it out of me,” he rubbed your arms reassuringly and you sighed. “I love you, you know that?” he rubbed his thumb along your cheek and you nodded. 

“I love you too,” you recited. “It’s weird,” you added, glancing around the room. “The silence,” you tilted your head, able to hear nothing. “I’m now realizing I haven’t had a moment alone with you since you got back,” you chewed on your lip, cheeks heating up.

“I mean, we’re alone right now,” he suggested, a knowing look washing over his face.

“I want to savor it,” you nodded, staring into his beautiful brown eyes.

“You can do whatever you want, mi amor,” he traced patterns on your hip with his thumb. 

“I really do need the distraction,” you licked your lips, gaze falling to his lips. 

“Same here,” he swallowed. 

“I think we have time,” you added, hands coming up to wrap around his neck softly. 

“We definitely do,” he agreed, one of his hands sliding underneath your shirt. 

🦋

With that, you both leaned in, pressing your lips together in a soft gentle kiss, one filled with desperation but screamed all the reassurance you both needed.

You ran your fingers through his hair, his hand squeezing your hip as he pulled you closer.

Living with five other people in a small house wasn’t as fun as it usually was. You shared a room with your boyfriend’s sister, your boyfriend was in another city for four years previously, and now that he was back, your schedules never coincided with your night shift. To keep things quick, you and your boyfriend rarely have sex.

His hands ran over your back, one hand finding its place on your waist while the other snaked up to cup your jaw. Your moans vibrated against each other as you pressed your bodies together, closer than before.

You pulled away, guiding Jaime to sit on the closest chair before you straddled his lap. Your kiss resumed as his hands glided over your ass and under your thighs while you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging on his curls. 

He made a move to take off your shirt and you followed through, leaving you in your bra until you got up quickly to shimmy your sweatpants off. 

“Fuck,” Jaime threw his head against the chair, frustration laced in his tone. 

“What?” you frowned, pausing in your movements. “Did you?” you led on, gaze dropping to his crotch. “It’s okay if-,” you shrugged, disappointment in your voice but his eyes shot open. 

“No! Not that,” his cheeks tinted with pink. “We don’t have a condom,” he explained, and you tilted your head up in realization. 

“Oh,” you said. “Well shit,” you exhaled. “So much for a distraction,” you bent down to pull your pants back up before you sat back in his lap, head resting against his shoulder. 

“Soon, baby, soon,” he mumbled into your hair as he placed a kiss.

🦋

You smiled, reaching up for a kiss before a knock on the door was interrupted. 

“It’s Rudy, I’m not coming in cause of last time, but we need y’all downstairs,” he shouted through the door and you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up at the thought of last time.

“We should go,” Jaime said once you heard Rudy’s steps fade away. 

You agreed, getting up to move and letting him change before you opened the door. Your boyfriend stopped you though, hand wrapped around your wrist, you glanced at him expectedly.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said and you grinned.

“Me too”. 

~

Reblogs are the best!

[tteotlma]

Dialed In

phone sex - foreplay - dystopian

Deadpool/Reader (3.3kw)

a/n: KINKTOBER DAY THREEEEEEE -- i wanna explore w more characters so if you have any suggestions let me know. i liked writing w deadpool (it was my first time)

tw: 18+ MDNI, sexual content, strong language, adult humor, dystopian themes, violence, phone sex, masturbation, graphic dirty talk, intimate photographs, crude humor, isolation, separation, anxiety

---

The world has currently gone to hell, overrun by rogue AI and corrupt government forces, forcing many to isolate and go into hiding. Being Wade’s “Sexy Pants Love Nugget” (as he likes to put it) comes with perks. When everything went to shit Wade made sure to keep you safe in some surprise underground bunker he had. 

“Oh, this?” Wade gestures around the bunker. “It’s my secret underground love lair.” He says turning to you. You only blink back at him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Okay, fine,” he huffs, clearly upset you won’t play along, but he gets it—whole world potentially ending and everything. “But it is my secret underground lair. Every superhero—or, anti-hero, in my case—needs one. Sure, Batman has his cave, Tony Stark has his fancy mansion, but me,” he thumbs his chest with a grin. 

“I’ve got a bunker, baby. Way cooler.” He winks playfully, grabbing your hand and leading you to the slightly crusty-looking sofa pressed against the wall.

“People thought I was nuts, but I planned for this whole dystopian thing ages ago. Call it my ‘just-in-case-the-world-goes-to-shit-and-I-need-to-hide-out-with-my-favorite-person’ bunker.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Stocked with essentials: Raisin Bran, chimichangas, and—wait for it—pajama onesies. We’ve got a blue unicorn, a white one, a purple one, and a whole collection of Hello Kitty undies. Oh! And the entire Golden Girls DVD box set,” he adds, pointing at a dresser stacked with DVDs and an old TV stand.

He then gestures proudly to the back wall, packed with an insane amount of weaponry. “We’ve got bean bags, grenades, Korth Super Sport Revolvers, Wilson Combat EDC X9s, Beretta 92FS Fusions…” 

“Okay, I get it—you’ve got a lot of guns, babe,” you cut in, scanning the dimly lit space. It's rough, but you can tell he tried to make it somewhat livable.

“Thank you! I could’ve gone on forever.” He drapes an arm around your shoulders and walks you over to an area closed off by a curtain. With a flourish, he pulls it back, and your heart melts. “I-it’s not exactly home, but…”

You see that Wade has recreated your shared bed from home—favorite blankets, pillows, and even the sheets you love so much. The walls are decorated with photos of the two of you, Polaroids capturing goofy selfies and candid moments.

“Wade, are those my tits?!” you screech, pointing at a very questionable Polaroid.

“Whoops! No idea how that got there,” he says, ripping it off the wall and shoving it into his back pocket. “Let’s replace it.” He grabs another photo and sticks it up—a shot of his bare dick. 

“Half-mast,” he says with a smirk, patting the photo. “So you don’t miss me when I’m gone.” With that, he dramatically flops onto the bed, blankets billowing up around him.

“What do you mean, ‘when you’re gone?’” you ask, your voice softening as you slide onto the bed next to him, immediately resting your head on his chest. His arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you closer in that familiar, protective way. Beneath the layers of humor and bravado, there’s always been something deeper with Wade—something he doesn’t say out loud.

He hesitates for a moment, his usual playful banter faltering. “Oh, you know... just in case I have to run out and save the world or do something *really* heroic, like buying more chimichangas. Super serious stuff.” His voice lightens, but you can tell there’s more beneath the surface, the words left unsaid.

You gently trace your fingers over the zipper of his hoodie, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. “Wade...”

He sighs, the weight of the moment catching up to him. “Look, babe. We both know the world’s gone to hell. I mean, have you seen outside? It’s a total dumpster fire out there.” His fingers absentmindedly play with a strand of your hair as he talks. “And in my line of work, well, there’s a pretty high chance I’ll have to go out there, guns blazing, and… you know, maybe not come back. But don’t worry, I’ll leave you the last chimichanga. It’ll probably be stale, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to make light of the situation, but there’s a knot tightening in your chest. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” you mumble into his suit, holding him tighter. The idea of losing Wade, even in this chaotic, end-of-the-world scenario, is a thought you don’t want to entertain.

“Aw, babe, you know I’d never leave you behind. I mean, who else would make sure I don’t do something stupid like try to fight a sentient toaster again? You’re basically my safety net.” He grins, trying to break the tension, but his eyes give him away—there’s a flicker of something more vulnerable there.

The space around you, dimly lit by the flickering lights of the bunker, feels oddly intimate in this moment. You look around at the effort he’s put into this hideaway—the mismatched sheets that remind you of home, the Polaroids plastered on the walls, capturing your life together. Even the ridiculous weapons display on the far wall feels like an odd testament to how much he wants to protect you, how much he’s planned for every possible disaster.

“I didn’t just build this bunker for me, you know,” Wade murmurs, his voice unusually soft. “It was always about you. Us. I didn’t want to drag you into all my… crazy, but look at us now. Dystopian lovebirds, right?” He chuckles, but there’s a certain warmth behind his words.

You look up at him, meeting his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out together—whatever ‘saving the world’ means today.” You reach up, cupping his face, feeling the rough texture of his skin beneath your fingertips, a reminder of all he’s been through. All the battles, the scars, and the fact that despite everything, he’s still here with you.

Wade gazes at you for a long moment, his usual bravado melting away as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re too good for me, you know that?” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You smirk. “Maybe. But you’ve got great taste in blankets,” you tease, pulling the fluffy fabric around you both, cocooning yourselves in warmth.

He chuckles, his arm tightening around you as he settles back into the pillows. “Damn straight. If the world’s gonna end, at least we’ll be cozy, right?” There’s a brief pause before he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Also, not to brag, but I do look fantastic in a unicorn onesie.”

You burst out laughing, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little, and Wade grins, clearly proud of himself for making you laugh.

“Okay, okay,” you say between giggles, “but seriously, we’re sticking together, right? No going off and playing hero without me.”

He nods, his expression softening as he strokes your hair. “You got it, babe. No solo hero gigs. We’re in this whole ‘dystopia survival’ thing together.” 

You let out a content sigh, resting your head back on his chest as his heartbeat thrums steadily beneath you. “Good,” you whisper, closing your eyes and savoring the moment of peace. Despite the world falling apart outside, in this little bunker, wrapped up with Wade, you feel safe.

“Besides,” he adds, his voice back to its usual playful tone, “how could I possibly leave when you’ve got a *killer* set of boobs and a healthy appreciation for my half-mast photos? I’d be an idiot.”

You groan, smacking his chest lightly, but you’re smiling, and that’s all Wade wants right now. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but your heart is light again.

“And yet, you love me,” he quips, leaning down to kiss you on the top of your head. “So, unicorn onesie or Hello Kitty undies tomorrow? Gotta plan for our next ‘post-apocalyptic fashion show.’” You laugh but don’t say anything, instead just toying with the fabric on his chest. 

As you both lay there, wrapped up in the makeshift comfort of the bunker, the moment feels almost peaceful. But deep down, you know it’s only temporary. The world outside is falling apart, and Wade—despite all his jokes and deflections—has his part to play in it. 

“Hey, babe…” Wade’s voice cuts through the quiet, a note of seriousness creeping back in. “About that whole ‘not going anywhere without you’ thing?” His hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your back as he speaks.

You tense, instinctively knowing where this is going. You lift your head, looking up at him, your face inches from his. “Wade…”

“I know, I know,” he says quickly, trying to keep it light. “But, I gotta head out for a bit. You know, just a quick, heroic, ‘save the day’ kinda thing. Be back in a jiffy.” He tries to throw in a wink, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays the attempt at humor. 

“How long?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s hard not to feel the weight of the moment.

“Not long. A few days, tops,” he replies, sitting up and gently pulling you with him. “Just gotta check in with some ‘less friendly’ neighbors, make sure the whole ‘end of the world’ thing doesn’t get even worse.” His hand moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”

“You always have a plan,” you say with a half-smile, trying to sound reassuring.

“Damn right I do,” Wade grins, but it’s softer this time. He pulls you in for a kiss, lingering just a little longer than usual. When he pulls back, his eyes are serious again. “Hey, I’ll call. Every night. Promise.”

You nod, trying to push down the unease rising in your chest. “You better.”

He kisses you once more, then with a quick, exaggerated salute, he hops off the bed, grabbing his weapons and gear in a flurry of movement. “I’ll be back before you know it. Save me some of those Raisin Bran boxes, will ya? Don’t go hogging all the cereal.”

With one last glance back at you, he’s out the door, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bunker.

A Few Days Later

The first few days without Wade pass slowly, the silence in the bunker oppressive without his constant banter and chaos to fill it. You’ve been waiting for his calls, clinging to the brief moments of contact, even if all you get is his voice crackling over the speaker.

And then tonight—finally—your phone buzzes. You grab it immediately, heart skipping a beat when you see his name flash across the screen. You pick up, the sound of his voice instantly soothing the tension you didn’t realize you’d been carrying.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” he purrs through the line, his voice lower and rougher than usual. “Miss me?”

“Maybe a little,” you tease, leaning back against the pillows, letting the warmth of his voice wash over you. “How’s the whole ‘saving the world’ thing going?”

“Ugh, overrated. Lots of running, shooting, not nearly enough hot dog carts. But let’s not talk about that. What’re you wearing?” His voice dips into that playful, flirtatious tone, and you can practically hear the smirk through the phone.

“Wade,” you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “I’m literally in one of your Hello Kitty onesies.”

There’s a pause, then a low, appreciative whistle. “Now that’s a visual. Wish I could see it, babe.” His voice deepens, taking on that familiar, sultry edge. “But I guess we’ll have to get creative, huh?”

Your pulse quickens at the change in his tone, warmth spreading through you as the playful conversation takes a turn. “Oh yeah? What exactly do you have in mind, Wade?”

“Well,” he drawls slowly, “I may not be there in person, but I’m pretty sure I can still make you squirm. What do you say we have a little fun, babe? You, me, and a whole lot of imagination…”

The spark between you flares to life, and as his voice wraps around you, you find yourself sinking into the moment, ready to close the distance between you—if only for a little while.

Your heart races as Wade’s voice lingers on the line, playful yet dark, and you can already tell where this is headed. The tension between you two, even across a phone, is undeniable.

“So, babe,” Wade purrs, his voice low and suggestive, “tell me… are you touching yourself yet?”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his directness. “Already jumping to the good part, huh?”

“Well, time’s a-tickin’ and I’ve got bullets to dodge, but I always make time for you. Besides,” his tone dips, slow and deliberate, “if I were there right now, I’d already have my hands all over you.”

Your breath catches a little, the way he says it making your pulse quicken. You lean back against the pillows, the soft fabric of the onesie brushing against your skin, but your thoughts are far from the cute outfit.

“Oh yeah? What exactly would you do, Wade?” you ask, your voice dropping a little, wanting to draw out the game just a bit longer.

His low chuckle vibrates through the phone. “First, I’d unzip that onesie of yours, real slow, because damn, I bet you look so sexy in it. I’d start at the top, pull that zipper down until it’s just barely clinging to your shoulders. I wanna see that skin, baby.”

You bite your lip, following his lead, your fingers trailing down the zipper of the onesie just as he describes. The fabric parts, revealing your chest, and even though Wade isn’t here, the image he’s painting is so vivid, it feels like he is.

“Are you doing it?” he asks, his voice husky with need. “Tell me what you’re feeling, babe. I wanna hear you.”

“I am,” you murmur, your voice soft, already feeling your body respond to his words. “The onesie’s almost off… feels good.”

“Mmm, I bet it does,” Wade groans through the line. “Now slide that thing off your shoulders, let it fall down your arms. God, I wish I was there, helping you out of it. I’d be kissing every inch of that skin, so fucking slow.”

You slip the onesie off, letting it pool around your waist as your fingers graze your bare skin. The way Wade’s voice dips into that raw, hungry tone sends a thrill through you, and you close your eyes, imagining him there, hovering above you, his rough hands tracing over your body.

“Are you touching yourself yet?” His voice takes on that teasing lilt again. “I need details, babe. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Your hand moves instinctively, trailing over your breasts, feeling your skin warm under your own touch. “Yeah, Wade,” you whisper, your breath a little shaky. “I’m touching myself.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “You know what I’d be doing right now? I’d be right there, kissing your neck, working my way down to those perfect tits. I’d take my time, sucking on those nipples until you’re begging for more.”

A soft moan escapes you, and you know he heard it because his laughter on the other end of the line is thick with satisfaction. “There’s my girl,” he breathes. “God, I love making you squirm. Are you wet for me yet?”

Your body reacts to the words, the heat spreading through you. “Yeah… I am.”

“Good,” Wade says, his voice low and gravelly. “Now, slip your hand between those legs. I want you to touch yourself the way I would. Make it slow, babe. Imagine it’s my fingers on you, working you just the way you like it.”s

You do as he says, your hand slipping lower, your body already aching for more. His words, that deep, dirty tone, only fuel the fire burning inside you.

“Fuck, babe, you have no idea how bad I want to be there. I’d have you spread out on that bed, legs wide open for me. I’d start by teasing you, just like this… soft touches, barely there, making you crave it until you can’t take it anymore.”

Your breath hitches as your fingers move, mimicking his words, teasing yourself, and imagining his hands instead of yours. The tension coils tighter with each movement.

“Wade,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, “I need more.”

“Oh, you need more?” His voice is all taunting pleasure. “You gotta tell me, babe. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want you inside me,” you breathe, the words slipping out before you can stop them, your body already on fire.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you can practically hear him adjusting himself on the other end of the line. “God, I’d slide into you so slow. You’d feel every inch of me, stretching you, filling you up. I’d make you scream my name, babe.”

You moan softly, your fingers pressing deeper, following the rhythm he’s setting, your mind lost in the fantasy of him inside you.

“You close, babe?” Wade’s voice is hoarse, filled with desire. “I wanna hear you come. I wanna hear you fall apart for me.”

You’re right on the edge, the heat pooling low in your belly, your body tightening with every stroke, every dirty word falling from his lips. “I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice breathless, trembling.

“Good girl,” he growls, his voice dark and commanding. “Come for me, baby. Let go. I wanna hear every fucking sound you make.”

And that’s all it takes. Your body shudders as the release washes over you, your moans filling the quiet of the bunker as you ride out the waves of pleasure, your fingers slowing, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Wade groans through the phone, clearly turned on by the sounds of your pleasure. “God, I wish I was there to see that. You’re so fucking sexy, babe.”

You lie there, spent and flushed, the heat still lingering in your veins, your chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of the orgasm. “Wade,” you murmur, smiling despite the exhaustion. “That was…”

“Epic? Mind-blowing? Something you’ll want to do again tomorrow night?” he offers with a chuckle, his tone lighter now but still thick with affection.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “All of the above.”

“Good,” he says, the smirk evident in his voice. “Now get some rest, babe. I’ll be back soon. And then we can pick up where we left off… in person.”

You can’t help but grin, already looking forward to it. “You better come back in one piece.”

“I’ll try my best,” he teases. “But if not, I’ll always have my half-mast pic to keep you company.”

“But you know I need more,” you tease, a playful edge in your voice.

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, then Wade’s voice drops, lower and rougher. “Oh, trust me, babe. When I get back, you’re getting all of me. No holding back.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart warming at the promise in his tone. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he purrs, “because I plan on giving you a lot more than just pictures when I’m done here. Stay safe, babe. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Stay safe, Wade,” you reply softly, feeling the warmth of his words even through the distance.

“I will. Now get some sleep… and dream of me.” There’s a pause, followed by a mischievous laugh. “And maybe that half-mast pic.”

You laugh softly, feeling lighter despite the ache of him being away. “Goodnight, Wade.”

“Night, babe,” he says, his voice soft and sincere for a moment before the line goes quiet. “My Sweet Sexy Apocalypse Babycakes.”

As the phone call ends, you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, already counting down the hours until he returns. The world outside may be falling apart, but somehow, in moments like this, it feels a little less daunting.

---

a/n: i luv feedback (GIVE IT TO ME)

[holylulusworld]

Entitled rich people

Summary: Your boyfriend and his family are the worst.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader

Warning: snobbish rich people, cocky Bucky, running away with a stranger trope, a break-up

Your boyfriend and his family are the worst. Entitled rich people at their best. 

One moment they greet you sweetly, and the next they ask about your father’s business, and if the rumors are true.

To hell with rumors. Your father’s business was in trouble for a while, but he’s a smart and eloquent man.

He mastered the challenge and saved his company. But this doesn’t matter to people like Linda Drysdale.

If she finds a weak spot, she’ll hit you hard, and without mercy. 

“Oh, it’s so sweet of you to visit us with Ransom while your father’s business is in trouble. I thought you’d prefer helping your father,” Linda coos, her eyes set on you next to your boyfriend. 

“Business is fine,” you are your mother’s daughter, and never back down. Especially not in front of Linda Drysdale. “Sometimes the sea gets a little rougher, you know.” You flash her a perfect faked smile. “Luckily my father is a very good sailor and knows how to run his business. Unlike other people.” 

You dip your head to glance at Joni and her daughter. Two perfect examples of people who know how to live off the money of someone else. In their case, Harlan Thrombey. The only bearable member of this fucked up family.

“Sure, sure,” she waves your words off as if you are only an insect to her she can squish with her boot. “Your father knows best.” Linda sneers. “I hope he can save his business.”

“I think he already did.” You dip your head to look the man’s way. “Or so I heard. It was all over the news. Something about a fusion, and Miracle Inc. doing better than before.”

“Who asked you?” Linda’s nostrils flare, and she glares at the man daring to talk without her allowance. “I hired you for the garden, not to interrupt my conversation. People these days.”

“Right, people these days,” the cocky man mirrors her attitude. You chuckle. This guy doesn’t bow in front of Linda Drysdale, and it’s refreshing. “And you didn’t hire me for the garden.”

He steps closer, giving you a once-over while passing you by. He’s wearing black jeans, a matching black leather jacket and black boots. He looks like a bad boy, but his soft blue eyes tell you there is so much you don’t know about him…yet.

You glance in his way, waiting for him to say more. His voice is deep and rough. Something you like about a man.

“What? Of course, I hired you to take care of the garden. I remember our conversation,” she argues, but the stranger won’t have it.

“Lady, you didn’t hire me,” he points his index finger at her. “Your son,” the stranger now jerks his head toward Ransom standing next to you. Your boyfriend stiffens, and he shifts from one foot to the other, “came to my store, bought a bike, and never paid for it. I’m here to get either my money or the bike back.”

“You bought a bike like some vulture?” A gasp escapes Linda’s mouth. She stares at her son, shell-shocked at the news. “Y/N! Why didn’t you stop him? I knew you were trouble when Ransom brought you here for the first time. Before he met you, Ransom would’ve never done such a thing.”

“I’m not his mommy,” you huff, frustrated. “I have better things to do than watching your son’s every step. Unlike him, I got a job.”

“Because your daddy is bankrupt,” Ransom huffs, and pouts. He glares down at you, making sure you know your relationship just ended.

“No. Because my parents raised me right. They gave me roots, but freedom. I work because I want to make my own money, and not live off my trust fund. Which,” you grit your teeth, “by the way is way bigger than yours.”

“Back to the bike,” the stranger interrupts your break-up scene with Ransom. “Money, or my bike. Now!”

“I’ll call the cops. This is a home invasion,” Linda points at the stranger. “You better leave my house.”

“You better teach your son how to pay for the shit he buys,” the man grins. “Don’t you worry. I know where he parked my bike. The pretty boy fell off the bike the first time he tried to get on it.” The man chuckles now. 

“I want you to leave. Now.” Linda repeats. “Or I’ll call the cops.”

“Do it,” the man says. “We will see if you get away with stealing my bike.” He crosses his arms over his chest and quirks a brow. “I bet all your nice little friends would love to hear that your son is a thief.”

“No one will believe the likes of you,” she sneers and looks him up and down. “I’ll call my lawyer.”

“How about you call your lawyer, and I'll call mine,” he smirks. “If you want the public to know the Thrombey’s cannot pay their bills any longer.” 

You sigh deeply. “As much as I enjoyed this get-together, I’ll go home now. Ransom, lose my number.” The stranger looks at you when you throw Ransom an angry look. “Never call me again. I’m tired of being your arm candy, and to bear your family.”

“If you need a ride, I can help you out.” The man jerks his head toward the door. “It’d be my pleasure to offer my help to a lady in need.”

“Y/N,” you take his offered hand.

“James,” he says, eyes dropping to your hand in his. “You can call me Bucky, though.”

Bucky promised to drive you home, but he had to stop at this bike shop first. One of his partners called him on his way out of Harlan’s house.

“Y/N, this is Steve,” Bucky points at his friend. “He’s my partner and best friend.”

“Hey, what about me? I got the bike back!” Another man holds out his hand. “Name’s Brock, sweetness.”

“I hope you got it back in one piece,” Bucky jokes. “And no flirting with the lady.” He suddenly wraps his arm around your shoulders. “This one is mine…”

Tags in reblog.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - July 7 - Week 27

Sorry this is so late in the day, friends! I spent most of the week visiting my ailing grandfather--we know he’s got very little time left, so grabbing a chance to get to see him was really great, but it’s got all my days off and I just realized it’s Sunday! So you get six fic today as a bonus for being so late in the day. Remember to leave some comment/kudos for the authors who’s stories you enjoy! 

*

how light carries on endlessly by meidui

“I'm fine. I always heal up fine.”

“Do you?” Tony asks, two little words flaying Steve open. Steve looks up at him, and against the dusky light, Tony Stark strangely looks nothing like his father.

-

Between a near-drowning in the Hudson River, a panic attack in the middle of a mission, and a kidnapping, Steve learns to be happy.

my thoughts: ok. So. Listen. If you read one fic off the list this month, make it this one. The care in how Steve’s mental health is handled in this fic, both by meidui and Tony, is just very very special to me. I loved the twists on canon, and the slow growth of their relationship and just how broken Steve is allowed to be, because he never gets that in the MCU and dammit, he lost his whole world he should be given time to grieve and heal. ANYWAY. It’s excellent. Go read it. 

you've really missed a trick when it comes to love by meidui 

Steve thinks he’s happier than he’s ever been, or at least he should be. This is the closest he’s ever come to having everybody he loves in one place and the Compound doesn’t echo with emptiness anymore, and he’s seen more of Tony in the past few months than he has in the last seven years.

He’s still getting used to being with Tony again, this softer, older version of him, and how difficult that makes keeping his hands to himself because all he wants to do is touch him.

my thoughts: i’m a huge sucker for the way that @meidui portrays Steve and how soft she is with him, and this was just--incredibly well done. 

good enough for you by tinystark616

Steve is having self-esteem issues because he feels like he isn't good in bed. Tony finds out and decides to do something about it.

my thoughts: Steve being so worried and Tony being so incredibly satisfied with their sex is just. So good. 

Through the Dark Tide of Memory by scifigrl47

As the Human/Kaiju war drags on, with no end in sight, the occupants of the Malibu Shatterdome have come to be known, worldwide, as the Avengers. No matter how many Jaegers fall, how many battles are lost around the Pacific rim, the Avengers will always come to the rescue.

Until, of course, there's no one left...

my thoughts: Pacific Rim is my not so secret guilty pleasure, and this fusion is just so well done, I love it, especially that @scifigrl47 delves into not just the pilots, but the people who make the jagers work, and why they are so important. Utterly perfect. 

Heavy is the Head that wears the Crown by BladeoftheNebula

“Just remember, and this is essential, you call the King ‘Your Majesty’ during the first introduction and afterwards it’s ‘sir’. Queen Maria is likewise ‘Your Majesty’ and thereafter ‘ma’am’, and Prince Anthony is ‘your royal highness, the Prince of Wales’, and ‘sir’ thereafter.”

Steve was never going to remember all this. Thank god he was never going to meet any of them.

When Steve Rogers moved to London he was expecting the bad overpriced flat and the metric system.

What he never could've expected was that the heir to the throne would fall for a skinny asthmatic from Brooklyn.

my thoughts: i am picky about pre-serum steve fics, but this series does it so well, plus the royal Tony aspect is just--perfection. 

The Song Without Words by Lelantus

Everyone knew what happened when soulmates touched each other. Whether it was hands clasping together, fingers brushing across a jaw, or lips meeting in a kiss - it didn’t matter. Any skin-to-skin contact and chests started glowing with soft, white-blue light. Soul-light, it was called.

Tony woke up in a cave in Afghanistan with a hole in his chest and wires coming out of it and felt his blood run cold. He knew instinctively what it meant. He’d lost his ability to produce a soul-light. And so no matter how much he yearned for it in the secret, hidden corners of his heart, Tony would never find his soulmate.

my thoughts: i’m such a sucker for soulmates and the way that they chose each other and loved each other despite Tony’s inability to have a soulmate is everything to me. 

[tsams-killswap-au]

Theoretical question (mainly for Moon, since its more science-y than i think Sun would like to answer) Lets say you two didn't decide to make a whole new body, but instead carefully stitch your codes together as a more safely structured base.

If that were to happen, i have heard from other sources that it wouldn't be two to come out with a bunch of risks, but one singular being with minimal risks.

Would you two have chosen to merge in a way, than to be separated?

Moon, Would you have done that as a liable option to not risk Sun's ai and body, or your own body?

And Sun, even though Moon doesn't appear for work often, do you still take at least a little break to recharge, either literally or mentally?

Moon: Me and Sun MERGING? 

Moon: That’s a new one. The idea never even crossed my mind. 

Moon: First of all– Hmm– yeah, I could probably pull that off. It shouldn’t be any harder than what it took to separate us. 

Moon: Second of all, the fact it carries way less risk is something to consider. We thought separating was the only option, and accepted everything that could go wrong, but we could have weighed the pros and cons if we’d known about merging.

Moon: But I don’t know if I’d WANT that. 

Moon: When I first woke up, I was trapped in Sun’s head. We were already stuck together, and we both hated it. I don’t think I’d want to fuse together. 

Moon: Maybe if it was the ONLY way to stop the pain we were going through, but to be honest? I just wanted to be my own person. 

Moon: And it wasn’t just MY decision. When me and Sun stopped fighting and agreed to be brothers, we BOTH chose to do this.

Sun: WHAT are they asking? 

Moon: They brought up the idea that we could have fused into one person, instead of separating. 

Sun: Huh–  You mean like… Garnet? 

Moon: Yeah, sure. Like Garnet. I was thinking Fu- sion - HAH. 

Sun: Huh! We can do that? 

Moon: Yeah I probably could have figured it out.

Sun: Well that’d be kinda weird, don’t you think? I mean, I’m ME, and you’re YOU! If we fused, wouldn’t we cease to exist and someone else would replace us!? 

Moon: Mmmmm actually yes, that’s probably EXACTLY what would happen. 

Sun: What would happen to our personalities!? I love kids and you hate them, so what would this hypothetical new guy think!? 

Moon: You know, that’s a damn good question. What do you get when you mix care and hate together? 

Sun: And you’re smart, and I– aaaam– NOT smart! Would our brains be mixed together, making this new guy slightly smarter than you are now? Or would ME subtract from YOU and they’d be dumber than you but smarter than me? 

Moon: Ooor maybe a fucked up patchwork of all our traits mixed and matched.  

Sun: And you’re a jerk and I’m NICE! Which one would this guy be!?

Sun: Besides!! I’m Sun and you’re Moon! What would that make us, if we fused into one person!? 

Moon: *Snrk* I mean let’s just think here, Sun! There’s only one thing you COULD call it. We’d be an Eclipse. 

Sun: Ahh yeahhh. But you’re blue and I’m yellow and that makes GREEN! So… wouldn’t that make us an Earth, since the Earth’s the only thing in space that’s green? 

Sun: (I mean it’s blue, but it’s also green!) 

Moon: Don’t people usually call the Earth, like, “Mother Earth?” 

Sun: Ohh, yeah. 

Moon: I mean, I don’t really care, I’d be fine with it. 

Sun: You’re right, you’re right though, an Eclipse just makes more sense!

Sun: But, I dunno! 

Sun: I like being myself! And I like Moon being my Brother!  I like that we’re our own people! 

Moon: Yeah, I like that too. I wanted space, I wanted FREEDOM. I didn’t want to be turned into someone else. 

Sun: I definitely don’t want to be turned into someone else!! I don’t want to die and get reborn as someone different! I want to be ME! 

Sun: So naaah, nah, I don’t think we’d have done a fusion dance.

Moon: So even if we'd had both options back then, we still would have chosen to separate, even if the risk was a lot higher than merging was.

Sun: But it’s neat to think about and imagine!

[votederpycausemufins]

My Xisuma gemcyt design on a sheet. Originally I was gonna have both him and Evil X in one post but I had too many thoughts.

the whole gemcyt au got kicked off by @chrisrin so make sure to check out their stuff and all the stuff they reblogged if you haven't already.

Variation of the sheet above but with more notes below the cut.

Alright. Originally I had just been searching for gems to be potentially fusions as I was planning to do a ZIT and/or ZITS fusion, then noticed that tango and impulse don't have a fusion yet. (tango and skizz don't either, and there's no ITS yet, but whatever)

I was scrolling through potential gems and stumbled upon the existence of purpurite. And there's all the theories of Xisuma being a voidwalker or something and having the mask bc end air is thinner and the overworld atmosphere is too thick, etc etc. But like! Purpurite like how there's purpur blocks in the end. And xisuma's two main colors are purple and green and purpurite is apparently purple and green! I had to make him as a purpurite!

His outfit is trying to adapt his skin/the doomguy armor into a gem style. Xisuma himself is essentially shaped based on Holly Blue Agate since that or jadeite seemed like the most similar gem (ish), and i couldn't see him looking like a jade. Also there was another agate on the show that looked more like the various jaspers that had been corrupted, so there is variety in shape anyway!

I almost have him green spot markings, but they just never looked good, so he doesn't have them. Maybe I'd try again to try and match with Evil X's markings, but maybe the opposites are fine.

Instead of a regular gem weapon, he has a mask. And while it was never confirmed, the main theory about Garnet's glasses is that they're Sapphire's 'weapon'. Plus, Jasper had a helmet, so straight up weapon isn't necessary. I'm planning to do an extra sheet for both of the 'sumas, and for Xisuma it will probably show how he emotes even with him wearing the mask 24/7. If you've seen the Fool's Gold series by Dingodoodles, I imagine it vaguely similar to how Gothi emotes.

And finally, the x's. Like, the x shaped on his outfit/form/whatever. I have it similar to how Rose has the star around her gem. It's just that X has an x around his gem as a cutout from his cuff glove bracer thing. Originally, it was just that his backside felt empty and I wanted something there, so I put another x on the back, but then I got ideas and now there is a very good reason why he also has one there. But I'm not covering that here.

And the actual last part is that the sheet mentions its from Cabochon Cut. I'm actually working on a one shot under that title that I will hopefully post tomorrow. Hopefully. We'll see.

[sapphicseasapphire]

I apologize in advance but I'm going to ramble incoherently for way too long in this ask.

I just got caught up on a lot of cryptid AU stuff and Sky and Groose's relationship is very interesting to me. At first I was like, "????" but then you explained in the post and now it makes sooo much sense and I actually really really like it. I have DID and his whole situation with two halves of a whole becoming one is so fascinating. (I went through something similar so I'm very interested in this kind of stuff.) I love the birb boi very much and I'm happy he's your fav 'cause he's mine too. :3

(The alt who went through, essentially the same thing as Sky, may or may not let me write fanfic of the two meeting & him helping Sky adjust, would that be okay?) Wild. Can I talk about Wild? I've been dying to talk about Wild. Cryptid Wild touches something in my soul. Just. The silence. The curiosity. The innocence. The tragedy. The wanderer. The watching from afar. The Lost Boy. I just. Ajkhshtrsj. He makes me feel deep and profound things and I adore him for that.

I want to give him a giant hug and just hold him for a while and tell him he's not alone and that it'll be okay but I get the sense that he would NOT vibe with hugs or contact out of the blue. (You can't stop me from hugging Sky though, birb boy's getting tackled off a cliff. HE HAS WINGS IT'S FINE. :D)

... Has Sun ever ridden on Sky's back before? How would Sky feel about that?

I want my favs (Sky & Wild) to interact but idk how close you plan on them being or how much interaction you plan on having between the two of them. I don't even know what kind of dynamic they'd have in your AU if any, they both seem kinda lost in their own heads/situations.

They're kind-of inverses of each other, now that I think about it: Wild's trying to grapple with being someone he can't remember, and Sky's trying to grapple with being TWO "people" he CAN remember! A memory vacuum and memory overload... man now I want to see them talk about that.

How much does Wild think about who he was before? Sky's kinda smacked in the face with it, but Wild seems (fittingly) very distracted by the moment. But is it distraction, avoidance, or both? He still has the soul of Link (... right?), but he no longer remembers what that means. Does he want to? Does he feel overwhelmed even thinking about trying? adkutfkuvluyvlig. Too many Wild thoughts. ♥

Also why doesn't Legend like Wind turning into his water form (I forget what it's called)? He looked freaked out by it and asked him to not do that; why? Did I miss something? /gen, I don't think I've caught up on everything yet.

Anyway thanks for this AU sorry for the novel-length ask I just had a Lot of Thoughts. :)

Bro all I ever do is ramble too long, don’t even worry about it. I love getting asks like this.

LONG ONE, under the cut!

Okay I’ll try to break this up to answer all of your questions and ramble a bit haha!

SKY AND GROOSE! Yeah, there’s a lot of tension there. Sky is… an entirely new person. He has the memories of both Link and Aepon, but he interprets those experiences differently than either of them would. Link and Aepon both had entirely different mindsets, so of course the result of their fusion would be left to interpret things on his own.

Link never cared enough about himself to care about what Groose said to him/did to him. Self sacrificing to a fault and very forgiving. (Kind of by design, too. Hylia needed her Hero to be willing to risk his life for the good of others). Aepon was Link’s other half, his Goddess given protector, and thus he had the traits that Link lacked. He was a strong, proud bird. He cared enough about Link to care what Groose had to say about him. And then he was kidnapped! And Groose just kept hurting Link! And Aepon’s!!! Not!!! Having!!! That!!!

And so Sky was very conflicted about Groose. His Link half wanted to be friends! His Aepon half wanted nothing to do with him! And then Groose… said some very unkind things. I think that Groose is a very defensive person. When he feels hurts or threatened in any way, he lashes out. He had been at a point with Link where they were close! They were friends! They faced the end of the world together! And then suddenly all of that changed and Groose doesn’t understand why. Just. Suddenly Sky started giving him the cold shoulder. And that… hurt. And when Groose is hurt? His first instinct is to punch back.

So Sky was on the fence and Groose started falling back into old habits, just being so so rude. He called Sky a monster, treated him like he was just some thing that had stolen his friend away from him. And if Sky was undecided before, that pushed him right over the edge. Sky is not fond of Groose.

And you’re more than welcome to make any kind of fanart or fanfics! Just so long as you tag me so that I can see them!!

(Sun has not ridden on Sky’s back, but he wouldn’t be opposed! He loves taking people on flights! It’s just that he was only home for three days after Demise and he hasn’t been to his era in so long. Kind of tragic that Sky’s spent more of his existence away from home than he has actually on Skyloft or even in his own era. But in the future! After the Cryptid Adventure is done! Sky will fly with Sun! Now, Sun does still have Aria, but they’ll take turns haha!)

WILD!!! He does not vibe with hugs. Pretty much ever. Anyone who grabs him, he will immediately take that as being restrained and he will run away. He is a FREE SPIRIT!!! He’d like to keep it that way.

Sky and Wild do interact! Like, a lot! I think there’s this misconception going around that the Cryptids don’t like Wild? Particularly I’ve seen it with Legend haha! But no!! Wild is so loved! The others are annoyed by his constant thievery but to be honest, it’s kind of endearing! When Wild is focused on one of the members of my Chain, he’s SO focused on them. He’s caring, he’s genuinely very sweet. AND he can be bribed with cool rocks and colorful leaves so. Winning.

Sky and Wild have this whole arc surrounding the Master Sword. Sky’s inseparable from the blade but Wild… he knows something’s not right. He wants to see what will happen if he takes it away. (Sky will not let him steal it).

And… okay. So. Wild struggles so much with the whole being Link thing. He is definitely 100% avoiding it. He spends all of his time running away from Flora, but he’s really running away from who he used to be. He has no memory of ever being mortal- his life is completely irrelevant. Link and the Child of the Mountains are separate. WILD WOULD LIKE TO KEEP IT THAT WAY. He does not want to remember. He does feel overwhelmed.

Still… there are certain things that he cannot run from. And that bothers him SO MUCH.

LEGEND AND WIND!!! What’s Legend’s issue with Wind’s natural form? Please don’t hate me, but Legend is being racist. I have a lot of lore written out about their dynamic and the circumstances that led them to this point. Here’s a post about the War! And here’s a post more specifically about Wind!

But basically, to sum it up. There’s this big war that spans across the timelines between the Mer and Aquili. In Legend’s timeline, the Mer won and he was taught to hate “Sea Monsters.” He was chased from his home by an Aquili scavenger and was never allowed to return, and so he had a very deeply seated hatred AND FEAR of Aquili. In Wind’s timeline, the conflict is still ongoing but it’s not as extreme since Hyrule flooded. He lives on an island of refugees- Mer and Aquili who fled the ocean to find peace. Because of this, the war is distant to him. Something that he’s not connected to. Although… in loosing ties with his people, he’s lost ties with his culture.

I actually have so much more to say about Outset Island in my au! I’m planning on making another big lore post soon where I can go in detail about it!

And I promise that Legend will come to his senses! Soon!

Thanks for sending in this ask! I love rambling about my guys! I hope this helps?

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Omfg 4 babies. Ok so those are gonna be premature for sure and need intencess care the first 1 year or so of life. Real scary but at about 5 years they will be like any other 5 year olds

How the bones feel about that ?

The first part of the ask is right here!

Undertale Sans - He got this. He was a scientist in a previous life, it's never too late to panic-learn how to watch over a premature child. Or four actually. Sans is a bit stressed in the first months but he starts to calm down once he's realizing his babies are actually fine and that they're growing well. Thankfully, he can also call Toriel at 3 am, close to a panic attack, so she can do a preventive healing spell when he's freaking out for the littlest thing.

Undertale Papyrus - Don't worry. As soon as he knows the kids are going to be premature, Papyrus starts reading tons of books on how to take care of premature children. He is ready when they arrive. Ok, that's actually a lot different than what they said in the books, but he's adapting fast. Naturally optimistic, he's the one keeping your spirit up! The babies are fine, they're going to be fine and you two are excellent parents. Repeat after him!

Underswap Sans - He's scared and not ready. Blue will take a really long time to find his place as a dad, leaving everything to his S/O because he's terrified of doing something wrong. He also struggles to bond with his children, and the fact that when he sees them, he has PTSD of how bad he neglected Honey as a child is definitely not helping. That's too much, too fast and he grows a little distant. He will get there eventually, but he needs time.

Underswap Papyrus - He's a "little" stressed. And by that I mean he's living 24 hours a day in the same room as his children for the first months, terrified to not look at them for even one second. You will have to drag him out of the house to take care of his own health because it will reach a point where he will lose a lot of weight and show clear signs of physical and mental distress. He has to learn to let go as the children grow up, but he's still freaking out when one of them gets sick. He's very fusional and protective, but he needs to chill a little.

Underfell Sans - He knew what premature babies were and still, when the doctors put the littlest babies he had ever seen in his hands he had a panic attack. They're so small, how the hell are they going to survive? He doesn't want to get attached immediately, because small babies like this had no chances to survive back Underground and he just assumed they would die or get killed at some point. Except he badly failed the "do not get attached" thing. After like a week he turns Poppa Bear, very protective and running to them at any weird sound. You even find him making huge efforts to overcome his panic fear of loud noises by... burying the babies and him in a closet lol. He's going to be fine. He doesn't think he is, but Red is actually a very good dad and he's great at taking care of children. He's a natural at this after some encouragement.

Underfell Papyrus - He is TERRIFIED. That never happened to him. Damn, even fighting Asgore and almost dying was not that SCARY. He was told he would have to protect the babies from the world because they were coming early but he never expected them not even knowing how to breathe on their own? He thought it would be protecting them like he protected his brother by sacrificing himself stupidly and enrolling in the Royal Guard? He's not ready to monitor if they're actually breathing. The first days are full of panic attacks and Edge literally not wanting to pick the babies up by fear they break in his hands or something. He's going to need a few weeks to calm down and finally starting to adjust to the situation. He's overprotective, not wanting any stranger to touch the babies inside his house, and when friends and families are visiting, all of them can feel his breath on their necks as he's staring at what they're doing over their shoulders. He's going to be like this until the doctors say the babies are developing as they should, so probably after two years or so. Then he starts to relax and actually starts to appreciate to be a dad, and not just like a royal soldier on constant duty. He's going to be fine eventually, just hold on.

Horrortale Sans - He's worried, but it's ok. He knows he definitely can handle that on his own, and he learned enough from his past mistakes to ask for help. Willow, Toriel, and Grillby are acting as secondary parents in the moments Oak can't physically be a dad. Oak has bad days where he can't stop thinking that if Undyne didn't mess his head he would be a way better dad than he is, and he feels a little bad the kids also call Willow's dad and not just him, but he doesn't complain, like always. He loves his kids and his efforts to take care of them are actually training his memory, so he improves as he becomes a dad. Added to that, Willow can read him like an open book and he knows when to let him be present for his children. He just wants his brother to be happy. He's an amazing dad, he just beats himself up a little too much.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's a bit stressed at first as they are all very small and he has very big hands. The babies can actually fit in his hand, and it's so scary for him. But he quickly gets over it because that's a lot of work and he doesn't have time anymore to be scared. The babies are here either he's scared or not. Willow doesn't hesitate either to sacrifice his sleep so his S/O can rest from time to time. He's never complaining and he loves spending time with his kids. He makes the most of the situation while he can still carry his babies around. As they grow up, his back can't follow. At least he could carry them a little longer than normal parents could!

Swapfell Sans - Between Toriel harassing him and the constant crying at home, Nox is a little burned out. He tries his best to be there for his S/O and his children, and he really wants to be there, but the Queen takes advantage of how tired he is to manipulate him even more and keep him away from his family for long periods of time. Eventually, Rus calls him out, telling him that would be a shame for him to treat these children the way he treated him: not being there, and that was enough of an electroshock for Nox to actually decide to take an entire year out of the Royal Guard. He wanted to quit, but the Queen didn't accept it. One year is the best he could get. Nox calms down now that he has time and supports his S/O the best he can with his children. He knows he's far from the perfect dad, but he's learning fast and he's sure he can be decent eventually.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus never really had a parent model to teach him stuff so everything is really new for him. He's clumsy, and yes, he might almost drop one of the babies once, but he's trying really hard to learn. He actually stopped pranking people during that time, by fear one of his jokes hurt one of the babies. As soon as they grow older though, he turns back to his usual self, finding matching costumes to dress the babies with and doing endless hours of plane flying in the house with them. He never thought he could be a great dad, but he's doing decently.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's getting even more maniac and you didn't think it was possible. The doctors said the babies could catch any illnesses because of their weak immune system, so now no one is allowed to enter the house with a face mask, gloves, and a shower. You tried to explain to him that's maybe too extreme but he won't listen to you. He even put mines in the garden because he doesn't have time to patrol anymore and you're a bit scared of when the babies will be old enough to, you know, WALK OUTSIDE. You're going to have a complicated few months/years. Good luck with that.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - You know how mama cats sometimes hide their babies in random places when they're not feeling comfortable? Coffee has a bad habit of doing that. You will have multiple panic attacks wondering where the hell the babies are. And then randomly finds one like... In the bathroom closet. He can't help it. It's instinctive. He can't explain it either. He just... needs... to hide the baby.

[chatty-cat-cafe]

Moving Day!

“But Sliiiiiing!” A voice whined out as Sling was packing away his stuff, tail idly swishing behind him. Sling was happy the mantis demon had decided to help him with moving out, but Shuri’s insistent whining that the feline demon stayed was getting a little annoying at this rate. “Shuri, please.” Vine’s voice called out as she carried some of Sling’s bags to the front door, a gentle sigh escaping her lips. Shuri pouts as he does the same, trailing behind his sister in annoyance. He didn’t want Slingshot to leave, but he knew there was no amount of whining that would stop the blue demon from going. Sling snorted a little, he didn’t have many bags luckily enough, just enough to carry his clothing and accessories, his various cooking supplies and books and some other little items that the feline demon couldn’t part with. The bags were placed at the front door, the gentle “thump thump thump” of them making soft contact with the floor chimed out. Sling reached up and adjusted his headband, tail continuing to swish back and forth, brushing up some dirt that hadn’t been swept yet. Vine moved over and placed her hand on Sling’s back, gently patting it with a smile. “It’s going to be quite different without you here, Slingshot. Hopefully you’ll be okay in Playground.” “I’ll be fine, Vine! You don’t gotta worry about me, okay? I’ll be living with Skate and Boom, remember?” Vine blushes a little and nods, a soft giggle escaping her throat. “I know, I know! I’m just always going to worry for you, Slingshot. Just like I do with Shuri and sensei!” “Speaking of sensei…” Sling began and peeked out the front door’s little window, frowning softly. Where was Katana? He had told Slingshot and the others that he wanted to be present when Slingshot left the faction. “I’m sure he’s just running a little late, Sling. How about we head off to the front gates, hm?” Sling nodded and grabbed his bags, slinging two of them over his shoulder and holding the others in his hand. Shuri puffed and slouched slightly as he shuffled up to the other two demons, watching as Vine unlocked and opened the door, holding it up and letting both Sling and himself out the little apartment the three of them shared before she herself followed in toe. The walk to the front of the faction was admittedly a touch far, but the trio made their way there and were greeted by none other than Katana himself! The elderly red demon was dressed in his usual clothing and haori-jacket fusion, chest slightly exposed to show off the bandages wrapped around it, concealing the many scars and wounds from years of traveling and fighting. Sling smiles, hurrying over to the elderly demon and giving him a hug, his tail wagging slightly when Katana reached around the younger and patted his back gently. “Sensei! I thought you forgot about me leaving!” “I would never.” the older stated, the smile in his voice could be heard despite the mask he wore hiding his face. “You’re gonna like- Come back and visit, right, Sling?” Shuri pouted once more and kept his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t like that Sling was leaving, Sling was the only person he could really have fun with! Katana was too old and Vine always told him off for being stupid and reckless. At least Sling TRIED to have some fun in this faction! “I will, Shuri. You don’t need to worry about that! Maybe I’ll bring Skate and Boom with me too, hehe.” Shuri’s little mantis tail perked up at that, his eyes widening in excitement as he smiled.

Conversations flowed between the Thieves’ Denizens. Little stories from childhood, memories shared between the four individuals and tales from past phights. Slingshot was happy, really happy. He was happy to share this moment with demons he loved the most. His tail was perked up, wagging happily before it froze up. A truck’s horn beeps a couple of times, causing the four to go silent as they look over. Zuka was there in his truck and waiting for the blue demon to come over and get in.

Sling breathed in and turned to the others, giving each of them a hug before he pulled back and picked up his stuff. “I’m gonna miss you guys… I promise to come back and visit!”

“Farewell, Slingshot.” “Take care, Sling! Please be careful!”“You better come visit me, Sling! It’s gonna be snoresville without you here!”

Sling giggled a little and waved goodbye, turning and hurrying over to the shark’s truck. He paused, looking back at his faction members. Thieves’ Den has been his home for years now, he never imagined he’d be moving to an entirely different faction. But this is what he wanted; he was chasing after his happiness. With one last shout of a goodbye, Sling got into the truck and vanished into the distance with Zuka. Playground, here he comes!

[mylordshesacactus]

Tag Game - Writing Patterns

List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

1.Smoke and the sharp tang of blood drifted over Teldrassil. (Reunification, Warcraft)

2. It was a nameless backwater moon in a nameless backwater system, and Ahsoka had never wanted to be anywhere less in her life. (Riposte, Star Wars)

3. Padawan learner Barriss Offee scuffed her heel idly against the duracrete. (When These Moments Have Passed, Star Wars/Fox and the Hound fusion)

4. “Going somewhere, Lady Crowley?” (Shadows and Goldclover, Warcraft, E)

5. It’s a good place for an ambush. (some desperate small creature, Warcraft)

6. Sunrise on Rannoch was—Tali’s chest constricted painfully. (Housewarming, Mass Effect)

7. “Again,” the instructor ordered, voice crisp. (Quicksilver, BG3)

8. The world grows quiet. And their time grows short. (Truesilver, BG3)

9. A boy dreams of a wolf’s whelp. (an unkindness of ravens, Assassin's Creed: Valhalla)

10. FOREWORD (By Miranda Lawson) | In 2196, a young asari named Ashethe Matolis was granted asylum by the Alliance. (257 Years Of Unanswered Correspondence With An Ardat-Yakshi Monastery, Mass Effect)

-

I think the most prominent pattern here is that I definitely have a strong preference for opening "with two feet down", as my high school mentor and creative-writing teacher put it. Not necessarily in medias res, though I do love doing that--but immediately grounded, placing the reader IN the scene from the first sentence.

As such a lot of these involve sensory details, an immediate touchstone for the character's physical location or surroundings, or both. The worst thing you can do for immersion is have your reader spend several hundred words either unable to picture the characters in context, or THINKING they're picturing the context correctly and then out of the blue dropping that they're actually somewhere completely different.

(Unless you're deliberately misleading the reader in order to deliver a punchline, obviously, but I think that should go without saying.)

I also tend to make my opening lines direct and to the point, and rarely open a fic with a full paragraph. In order to give the reader that sense of standing on solid ground--essentially of "landing with two feet down," falling into the fic and looking around to see where they are--you gotta give that opening line a little room to breathe.

The only exceptions on this list are 4, 9, and 10, and honestly, only 9 really counts!

-> The structure of 257 Years is an epistolary fic, so it actually IS serving as that immediate sensory grounding--It's establishing from the very beginning the sense that you are, in-universe, picking up a book and opening it to the front page.

-> Shadows & Goldclover is my fun little Tess/Lorna porn, and the setup is in fact that Tess is startling her in the garden. So the initial brief disorientation (I do immediately give some setting details in the next paragraph) is exactly the sensory experience I want my readers to have, it puts them in the same headspace as Lorna

-> Unkindness Of Ravens is, genuinely, one of the best stories I've ever written and I hope people are willing to give it a chance even if they're not really asscreed people--it stands on its own just fine as an exploration of fictional Norse queerness. And in that case, the deliberate sense of....an unmoored, vague, disoriented lack of any solid physical setting, is exactly what I was going for! It's a prophetic vision; it should feel otherworldly. I deliberately avoid giving the reader ANY solid ground until after the scenebreak..at which point they are IMMEDIATELY given sensory details and a place name, because the whole thematic point of the fic is Valka being brought in from the cold and finding acceptance, security, and a place to belong.

[autistic-wolf-pack]

Hey! So, I’m not sure if this is a weird or invasive request since I don’t really have a point of reference to go off of except my own, but would you mind making a post just a talking about yourself? Like, if you’re ok with it, It’d just be interesting and informative to hear about the type of system you have and what the others are like. If you interact much, do you prefer to talk with them in your head or out loud? Do you ever decide on important decisions by casting votes? Just those sorts of things, or whatever else you’d feel like sharing.

I’m more than fine with this! I always enjoy getting a chance to de stigmatize these disorders!

Quick disclaimer: You cannot dx based off of a tumblr post, you cannot determine if you or someone else is or isn’t a system based off of one tumblr post!

What type of system do we have?

For a while us and our therapist thought it was OSDD, but after further digging we found it it was more likely to be DID (amnesia covered up amnesia until we really started tracking it and realized it didn’t have to occur between every switch)

How do we interact?

For us communication is hard. We can’t really talk to each other unless we’re dissociated, with the exception of like one gatekeeper, we tend to use notes and things to make it easier, we will talk out loud sometimes but that’s more of a “thinking to myself out loud” type of thing than it’s really intentional for communicating.

How do we decide on important things?

We usually try to do something similar to a vote, but we only really communicate with frequent fronters, just because communication is a pain in the ass for the most part for us. Sometimes someone will make an executive decision in the moment out of either impulsiveness or necessity.

What is it like living with this disorder?

It’s really hard, to be honest. There’s near constant dissociation and half the time I don’t feel like a person. It’s scary to not remember when something happened, and knowing someone else can make a life altering decision for you. It gets even trickier when not all parts are okay with final fusion but a lot don’t want to be in a system. There are some good times, don’t get me wrong, and life isn’t all suffering when you have it, but overall it’s not a fun alternative disorder, it’s kind of terrifying.

What does switching feel like for us?

For us it feels like one of two things things:

One person phases in while the other phases out- The best way I can describe it is when you have two different colors, let’s say blue and red. Blue is the base, and you want to add in red, you add the red in at 1% opacity, and lower the blue down to 99% then you go to 2% and 98% and so on and so forth, and it’s a very gradual shift, but it’s noticeable internally if you take a moment to reflect if you’d have said this say 3 hours ago. This tends to take a while longer and is more covert both internally and externally.

Just kind of spawning in- I don’t know how else to phrase that except when you’re doing something and then you just randomly get the feeling like you stopped zoning out, only you never zoned out, but you can’t remember what you were doing and then you look around and you go “oh ok, guess I’m doing this now!”.

If anyone else has any questions feel free to ask! Worst comes to worst we just wont answer because it’s uncomfortable, but no shame on anyone for any questions!!

[tsaomengde]

“The Mission”

A short story about love, time travel, healing, spaceplanes, and making the world a better place, even when no one will ever know.

---

After the TAG forces shot me out of my cockpit in low orbit, I floated there for about six hours.  Something – probably debris from my fighter – had hit me in the back, hard, and I couldn’t feel anything below my waist.  My suit’s maneuvering jets let me correct the initial nauseating spin I was thrown into, but they didn’t have sufficient thrust to get me out of my unstable, highly eccentric orbit.  

My suit told me I had about eight or nine trips around Titan before my periapsis wobbled low enough into the atmosphere that drag would bring me down below escape velocity.  At that point, gravity would catch up with me, I would fall, and I would crash into the surface and die.  The suit had an emergency beacon, but no built-in communications beyond that.  I was alone in the silent dark.

I sped around the moon at a little less than ten thousand kilometers per hour.  The view of Saturn, for the parts of the orbit where it wasn’t eclipsed by Titan, was gorgeous.  That was a small comfort, as my brain endlessly analyzed the ways I could go.  A bit of debris from the battle could kill me outright at these speeds, or it could puncture the suit on a glancing hit and it would be a toss-up whether I would die of suffocation or extreme cold.  My oxygen meter also claimed I had about three hours of air left, which meant I would probably be unconscious or dead by the time I actually hit the ground.  And, of course, there was the matter of my probably-broken spine.  I suspected I was bleeding internally from that.

Later, when I woke up in a hospital bed on the Agamemnon, they told me that the TAG brass had transmitted a formal surrender eighty-seven seconds after my fighter had exploded.  I was officially the last casualty of the Earth-Titan war.

They fitted me with prosthetics so I could still walk, but as the physical therapist with the cute dimples explained to me, there was some kind of incompatibility with my chromosomal something-or-other that meant I couldn’t use them at a hundred percent, which meant I didn’t qualify for combat.  My spine, which had indeed been broken, was too damaged to repair with conventional methods.  That left experimental regenerative genetic surgery, which was more expensive than the navy was willing to shell out for.

So, at thirty-one, after thirteen years in the navy, I got out with an honorable discharge, a pension that was decent enough but far from what it would take to fix my spine, a chromium heart for my injury, and enough PTSD to fuck me over for the rest of my life.

--- 

“I don’t care about my legs,” I said to Kate, the first time we ever met.  We picked a bar about halfway between us for our first meeting. She had a gin gimlet with cucumber simple syrup.  I had an old fashioned.  “They get me from point A to point B just fine.  I just miss flying.”

“Were you good at it?” she asked, blue eyes very wide.

“I certainly thought so. But then some TAG dipshit blew me out of my fighter above Titan and ended my career, so maybe I was less good than I thought.”

“You can’t fly for one of the intrasolar shipping companies?” she asked.  “Or transport?”

I gave her a patient smile. “Do you know what a pilot actually does aboard one of those big fusion torchships?”

“No, actually.”

“They point the nose where the destination is going to be, fire the engine for half the trip, then flip the ship around and fire the engine for the other half.  There’s nothing to that.  I miss flying.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”  I could tell she didn’t, not really, but that she wanted to.

I moved in with her a few months later.  Part of me wondered if it was a good idea, moving so fast, but I was two years from Titan and still waking up screaming in the middle of the night, convinced I was back in my suit, in the dark above the moon.  The greater part of me, the selfish part, was happy that someone was there to touch me, to talk to me, to root me back in myself and pull me back to earth from up there in the black.

In that sense, Kate could have been anyone.  I never thought of her as replaceable, but there was always a vague sense of guilt, of knowing that I was definitely getting more from the relationship than she was.  I voiced this to her once, and she told me I was being silly, and that she loved me, and that was all she needed.

So when she first approached me with her idea for the Mission, I like to think it was that part of me, the part that wanted to be more for her, that moved me to say yes to what was honestly an idiotic idea.  Not the part that missed flying.  Just selfless altruism and desire to help the woman I loved.

I like to think that a lot.

---

We cracked time travel about a decade after I was born.  Much to our collective disappointment as a species, it was not the fun kind of time travel that lets you go back in time and kill Hitler.  

Kate, as she told me once we were living together, was part of a DOD think tank tasked with finding some kind of use for the technology.  After a lot of experimentation, they came up with what Kate called the Four Rules.

1.      It’s time travel, not space travel.  If you want to meet Julius Caesar, you had best make sure you’re in Europe when you travel back.

2.      It only works by going back.  There is no forward travel because the future hasn’t happened yet. The only exception is returning to your point of origin.

3.      If you actually do meet Julius Caesar, it’s because your meeting him will not change history in any measurable way.  If you try to go back in time to change something significant, it simply doesn’t work.  The little box makes the noise, it uses up a lot of energy, and then nothing happens.

4.      The corollary rule to number three, then, is that when you travel back in time, whatever you do end up doing has already happened.

I asked Kate what this meant about determinism versus free will, and she primly replied that she was a theoretical physicist, not a philosopher.  The DOD was not known for employing philosophers and paying them the kind of money they were paying her.

---

The Mission’s personnel consisted of four people.  Myself, the heroic pilot.  Kate, the brains behind the time travel stuff and the one who came up with the Mission to begin with.  Leon, the aerospace engineer slash DOD contractor.  And Ash, the director of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. We would go over to Ash’s place, have dinner, and conspire.

Over one such dinner – mac and cheese with broccoli, I remember it vividly for no adequate reason – we discussed the logistical difficulties involved.

“We can’t use anything from the last century,” Leon was saying around a mouthful of mac.  “All the guidance systems on those ships are keyed into the orbital satellite network.  There’s nothing like that at the target time.  We need a craft that can achieve orbit, rendezvous, and de-orbit in a single stage, without remote guidance.”

I nodded.  “That means we need a spaceplane.  Not just a fighter, but an actual spaceplane.”

Ash chewed over the problem as well as their food.  “There might be an SR-75 in decent enough shape we could appropriate from the displays at the museum.  The hardest part will be bribing the transport operators to take it to home base instead of, you know, a navy cache where highly dangerous military surplus equipment is supposed to go.”

I raised an eyebrow at them. “That’s going to be the hardest part? What about getting the parts to get it into decent working condition, or the fuel?”

Leon waved a hand dismissively.  “Do you know how many spare parts I have lying around at work?  How many millions of tons of liquid hydrogen and oxygen are stored in poorly-guarded places that I have access to?”

“No.  I’m guessing the answer to both is ‘more than the general public would be comfortable knowing about.’”

“Exactly.”

I looked at Kate.  “Is the magic box going to be able to send a whole spaceplane back, kitty?”

She wrinkled her nose at me for using her pet name in front of our friends, but let it go for the moment. “The magic box can send anything back given enough juice.”

“Okay, but is the shitty little battery at home base going to be able to give it enough?”

“Probably.  If we strip everything nonessential out of the spaceplane, get the mass down as much as possible.  I need to know the exact mass of the plane, plus us, when it’s ready for travel.”  Kate shrugged.  “If it won’t be enough, we can always add to our list of capital offenses and steal a torchship, then use its fusion reactor for the power.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.  “Last resort.”

---

“I don’t really understand why we’re doing this,” I told her one night, in the silence following her helping me out of another flashback.

She shifted a little in bed so she could look me in the eye.  “You said you were on board.”

“I am.  I’d do anything you asked, kitty, you know that. And obviously I’m excited to get to fly again.  But nothing we’re going to do is actually going to matter.  That’s one of the four rules, right?”

With a little shrug, she began running her fingers through my hair, which I’d stopped bothering to keep short after I was discharged years ago.  It was pretty long by now.  “It’ll matter to us, won’t it?  And to her?”

“I mean, sure, but the risk-reward ratio is way off.  You and Leon and Ash could all lose your jobs, we could get prosecuted by the Justice Department –”

“Vee, why did you sign up to be a pilot?”

I stopped.  “I mean, I always wanted to fly.”

“Yes, but what was the reason you put on your application?  And the reason you told me on our first date when we were still trying to look really good and put together for one another?”

That took me back, and I snorted gently.  “To make the world a better place.”

“Exactly.  Does there have to be a minimum threshold of goodness increase in order for an altruistic act to be worthwhile?”

I weighed that particular bit of moral utilitarianism in my mind before I committed to an answer.  “No.”

“So, that’s why we’re doing this.  To make the world a better place, even by the tiniest, slimmest margin.”

I gently snaked a hand out from under the comforter to lightly boop her on the nose.  “And the real reason, since we’re not on our first date and this isn’t an application you’re filling out?”

She stuck her tongue out at me.  “I know how much you want to fly again.  And I want to see my magic box used for something other than letting rich assholes reenact Bradbury’s ‘A Sound of Thunder’ without any of the nuance or lessons learned.”

“Dinosaur leather shoes is not the outcome you probably had in mind,” I agreed.  The time-travel hunting industry generated billions for the government every year now.

We fell asleep that night, and the next morning, we took a magtrain to Vegas, and from there we went to home base.

---

Home base was an abandoned aircraft hangar in the middle of the Nevada desert.  Leon had said something about centuries-old top-secret aircraft testing, when we first conceived of the Mission, and lo and behold, there was a facility with room for a spaceplane.  We spent far too much money on the highest-capacity quantum battery civilians could buy, hooked it into the Vegas grid, and watched it take eight weeks to charge.

It had also cost far too much money to bribe the transport operators to bring the SR-75 here, but the deed was done and they hadn’t sold us out so far.  They probably assumed we were aviation junkies.  What domestic terrorists would bother stealing a hundred-year-old spaceplane when there were far cheaper and more effective ways to kill people, these days?

Kate, Leon, Ash, and I sat at a small table in a corner of the hangar, drinking coffee and going over the ascent profile.  Ash’s part was done, having delivered the goods, but they wanted to be here for everything, and I certainly respected that.  The spaceplane took up the majority of the hangar space, a sleek black dagger with barely a suggestion of wings to either side.  The underside was dominated by a pair of huge jet intakes, and the rear of the plane sported three engine nozzles, the center much larger than either of the ones flanking it.  A gracefully curved tail fin slightly forward of the engines completed the vessel’s profile.

“The plane looks like it’s in good condition,” Leon was saying.  “I’ve sourced the fuels we need.  The main problem is going to be the timing, not the equipment.”

“How so?” Kate asked.

I spoke up.  “The SR-75 should theoretically be able to hit escape velocity just on the air-breathing engine mode, but the target has an extremely elliptical orbit, and we’re launching much closer to the equator, so we’ll have to adjust our inclination, too.  That means either a lot of burns with the rocket fuel mode once we’re in vacuum, or a very steep climb to orbit.  That pronounced an angle of attack might affect the engines’ ability to get enough air to achieve escape velocity.”

Kate blinked.  “Still not seeing how that affects the timing.”

I pulled out my personal comm, laid it on the table, and put it in draw mode, so I could trace pictures on its screen with the tip of my finger.  I drew a little ball, the Earth, and traced a messy, elliptical orbit around it. I indicated the very top of the orbit, where the line peaked like a mountain summit.  “We have about a thirty-minute window to achieve rendezvous with the target.  We need to rendezvous at or near its apoapsis, here, where its orbital speed is lowest and matching relative velocity will be easiest.”

I loved Kate, but it was endlessly amusing to me how she could understand quantum and temporal physics and articulate mathematical concepts I could never grasp in a million years, yet still not understand basic orbital mechanics.  She gave me a blank look, then just said, “And that’s hard?”

“Yes.  It is very hard, kitty.  We are trying to hit a target the size of, roughly, a bullet train car, except the target is going twenty-eight thousand kilometers per hour.  We need to come alongside it, match velocity with it, perform our docking maneuver, and then decouple.  And the parameters of the Mission mean that there is exactly one half-hour window we can do this in if we’re going to avoid violating rule three.”

“I think the best solution is going to be adding some external rocket fuel tanks,” Leon said.  “Not much, since we have to think about flight performance and transit mass for the magic box, but even a few hundred extra meters per second of delta-vee might make the difference in your ability to match orbits with the target.”

“Agreed.  Just make sure the Goddamn things aren’t going to come loose at Mach fuck-you.”

Leon grinned at me.  “I love your optimism, Vee.”

---

Unlike with most modern fighters, and indeed with even-older jet aircraft, the SR-75 did not have a fully enclosed cockpit.  The pilot sat in a big swiveling chair in front of the instrument panel, and the main cabin of the craft was accessible from there.  It was a spaceplane, and therefore supposed to be able to perform orbital docking maneuvers exactly like the one we were about to attempt, which necessitated the crew being able to actually get up and access the docking port without going fully extravehicular.

Kate sat behind me in a second chair that Leon bolted in there for her.  She had the magic box in her lap, hooked up by a pair of very fat and long yellow wires to the bulk of the quantum battery, which squatted heavily just slightly off-center in the SR-75’s main cabin.  (“Gotta keep that center of mass where it’s supposed to be,” Leon had said.)  She was doing something with the box’s controls, squinting at the small readout which displayed some kind of complicated waveform.

“I’ll initiate the breach when we get to fifteen thousand meters,” she told me.  “It wouldn’t do for anyone to actually see us at the target time, because then it just wouldn’t work, but I would rather not get shot down by our modern-day autonomous airspace defenses.”

“Sounds good,” I told her. “Hey.  Kate.”

“Yes, Vee?”

I craned my neck around as best I could while strapped into the pilot’s seat.  “I love you, kitty.”

Her cheeks darkened a little and she smiled.  “I love you too.”

I keyed in the ignition sequence and the SR-75 roared to life.  Leon and Ash, both standing a safe distance away outside the hangar so their eardrums didn’t rupture, started waving and giving us thumbs-ups.  I gave them a thumbs-up in return, projecting more confidence than I actually felt, and brought the throttle up just a little.

The spaceplane practically leapt out of the hangar.  Ruggedized, smart landing gear wheels hit the Nevada desert ground like it was perfectly maintained asphalt.  Within twenty seconds I pulled back on the yoke and the SR-75 was in the air, starting a steep climb.  I opened the throttle up the entire way and was slammed into my seat with the gee-force.

“JESUS CHRIST WE ARE GOING TO FUCKING DIE!” Kate screamed.

I glanced over my shoulder at her.  “You okay, kitty?”

She was clutching at her chest, magic box forgotten, and for a long, terrible moment I thought she was having some kind of heart attack.  But then she nodded, looking pasty.  “I just got taken by surprise,” she shouted over the roar of the engines.  “Sorry!”

“Okay!”  I returned my attention to the instrument panel.  We were already moving at a good clip, and the altimeter was increasing fast enough that even the digital display was having trouble keeping up.  For a long, pure moment, I just relaxed into my seat, hands on the yoke, feeling the currents of air spiraling around the ship.  Now, more than ever before my prosthetics, it felt like an extension of myself.  I was flying again.

“We’re at fifteen thousand meters!” I told her.

Kate pressed a button on the magic box.  Everything blurred like someone just messed with the focus on a camera, except the camera was my brain.  When it re-focused, we were still in the plane, climbing toward space at an impressive clip, but all of the global positioning systems were dead.  There were no satellites to receive data from, not in this era.  However, we had accounted for this; the SR-75 had its own onboard suite of computers dedicated specifically to calculating orbital information.

It was at this point that things began to go wrong.  I felt a sharp tug on the yoke.  Swearing to myself, I corrected, keeping the plane on course, and keyed a status readout. The SR-75’s onboard systems insisted that nothing was wrong, but that the plane was experiencing significant and unexpected drag.

It hit me.  “Fuck me!” I snarled.  “Leon’s fucking external fuel tanks!  I told him they needed to be secure!”

“What’s going on?” Kate asked.

“One of the external fuel tanks Leon spit-soldered onto this Goddamn thing has come loose, and the drag is killing our velocity,” I told her.  “I need to get it off of us, now.”

My gaze was fixed on my instruments, so I couldn’t see the horror in her big blue eyes, but I could hear it loud and clear in her voice.  “How?”

“Shearing force.  Hold on, this is going to fucking suck.”

I stomped down on one of the SR-75’s rudder pedals with my right foot, the motion almost as smooth as it used to be even with the prosthetic, and spun the plane in a sharp, hard three-hundred-sixty-degree roll.  I nearly blacked out, and I know Kate did for a few seconds, since she didn’t go through flight training.  But there was a sudden, violent wrenching feeling that went through the yoke into my arms, and afterward the drag was gone.

“Did it work?” Kate asked blearily.

“Yup.  And apparently an external fuel canister from several hundred years in the future crashing in the Nevada desert doesn’t fuck up the timeline, since we’re here at all.”

“Are we still going to be able to make it?”

I eyeballed the delta-vee readouts on the navigation display.  The lost fuel tank didn’t exactly have a ton in it, and of course, the reduced mass of the ship now that it was gone meant the net loss was slightly ameliorated. But even so, the situation was grim.

“Well, yes and no,” I told her.

“That is never the answer anybody wants to hear, Vee.”

“I should, should, still be able to match velocity with the target and achieve rendezvous. But our margins are basically nil now. If I don’t do this perfectly, we’re going to miss completely.”

I felt her reach out and place a hand on my shoulder, give it a squeeze.  “You can do this, Vee.  I know you can.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I told her, and was surprised to hear that it didn’t come out sarcastic.

The ascent became a delicate balance.  I was trying to hit escape velocity while still using the air-breathing mode of the engines, which was incredibly efficient compared to the rocket fuel.  But as I got higher, the engines needed to work harder to ram enough air in to function, which meant my thrust decreased.  Without the global positioning system to feed me flight info, I needed to do it all by feel and eyeballing the orbital information given to me by the onboard computers.

I trimmed a couple degrees off my angle of attack, trying to find the sweet spot between still gaining altitude and not starving the engines of air in the increasingly-barren stratosphere. The SR-75 shuddered, engines straining, and began to threaten me with a stall.  I swept my gaze across my instruments.  “Fuck,” I muttered, and switched the engines to rocket mode.

Instantly, we were slammed back into our seats again as our thrust suddenly increased dramatically. I glanced at our projected apoapsis, counted to three, then shut the engines down.

In the sudden silence in the absence of the engines’ roar, Kate asked, “Did we do it?”

“Yes and no.”

“Goddammit, Vee!”

I looked over my shoulder at her and gave her my most reassuring grin.  “Sorry, couldn’t help it.  The drag from the fuel tank breaking loose meant that we lost velocity, which meant we took longer to get to the speed we were needing, and the spin I had to put the plane through shifted our course a little bit.  Our inclination is about five degrees off of where it should be.”

“Okay.  What does all that mean?”

“We are going as fast as we need to be, but we’re not in the place we need to be going that fast.  I’m going to need to do correction burns at certain points in our ascent.  We can still make our rendezvous, but we won’t have the fuel to do a proper deceleration burn. I’m going to have to perform emergency aerobraking.”

“In English, Vee!”

“On our way back down I am going to use the atmosphere to slow us down the old-fashioned way.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Is this plane designed for that?”

“Probably.”  I shrugged.  “Assuming we don’t burn up, I’ll be able to switch the engines back to air-breathing at a certain altitude and land without the need for lithobraking.”

I could see her trace the Latin roots of litho and arrive at the gallows-humor definition of the word.  She went even paler than before.  “Certainly hope so.”

I let my grin fade as we continued to coast on our momentum, rising inexorably up through the mesosphere into the thermosphere, our speed gradually slowing as we crested toward the very top of our parabolic arc.  At key points, I reoriented the SR-75’s nose, now using chemical thrusters to maneuver the craft in the absence of air for the control surfaces to manipulate, and fired the engines in rocket mode, tweaking our orbital inclination until it matched that of the target.

The computers suggested to me, at that point, that we would be able to achieve equal relative velocity, and it would leave us with enough delta-vee to then de-orbit ourselves. We would not be stuck in orbit forever until we died.  I blinked hard, banishing the memory of Titan as it suddenly threatened to overwhelm me, and repeated the affirmations Kate taught me.  I am not there anymore.  I am here, now.  I am safe.

Safe was, of course, a relative term in the vacuum of space, going tens of thousands of kilometers per hour.  But Kate took my hand from behind and gave it a squeeze, and I was good again.

“We’re going to do a long burn once we’re within ten kilometers,” I told Kate.  “That’ll bring our relative velocity to zero.  From there we just point our nose at the target, fire the engines for half a second, get as close as we can until we’re either about to hit or miss, fire them again to bring ourselves back to zero relative velocity, and then we do that over and over until we’re close enough to dock.”

“I don’t need to know all the mechanics,” Kate replied, and I could see she was fighting to keep her teeth from chattering.  The environmental controls were working just fine, so it was fear she was dealing with, not cold.  “I just trust you, Vee.  Make it happen.”

I suited action to words. It took ten long, arduous minutes, and by the end of it we were very short on time to actually execute the retrieval, but I successfully brought the SR-75’s docking port, which sat on the dorsal surface of the spaceplane, in contact with the target’s own.

Not that they were remotely designed to be compatible, being hundreds of years apart in origin, but fortunately the SR-75 had the advantage of smart materials incorporated into its construction.  Its port sealed itself tight around the target’s, flashing a green light and hissing open to reveal the shiny metal surface of the target.

Kate was already out of her seat, plasma torch in hand, and the acrid smell of it hit my nostrils as she ignited it and started cutting through the ancient hull like butter.  It was joined less than a minute later by new smells: faint traces of iodine and ethanol, urine, feces, and a wet, animal musk.

And, of course, I heard barking.

“Got her!” Kate called to me.  “She’s in pretty rough shape, but she’s alive!”

“Strap back in, and get her secured too,” I told her.  “We’ve passed apoapsis and I need to fire the engines right now for the Oberth effect or we’re going to be stuck in orbit forever.”

I keyed in the command for the docking port to close on our end and release.  The leftover atmosphere inside the target puffed out of it in sudden decompression, pushing our two crafts apart, but not hard enough to seriously perturb either of our orbits.  That was the engines’ job, and I brought them to life as soon as we were clear.

They sputtered out as they burned the last of the rocket fuel.  I looked at our orbital readout.  “Ah, shit,” I muttered.  “This is going to be a bumpy ride.”

---

We all but rammed into the atmosphere with the entire length of the plane.  The yoke bucked in my hand and the instrumentation suggested to me that I was a fucking moron that had doomed us all, but with polite numbers instead of those exact words.  I kept an iron grip on the yoke, worked the rudders with both my leaden feet to keep us perpendicular to our approach vector so we would generate more drag and thus lose more speed, and prayed to every God I could think of.  Behind me, Kate’s teeth were audibly chattering, but she managed to avoid screaming again, and the dog was remarkably quiet.

The interior of the SR-75 got incredibly hot, naturally.  The instrument panel helpfully informed me that it was almost fifty-five degrees Celsius inside, and that was with the life-support system working as hard as it possibly could to cool it.  The one saving grace we had was that the spaceplane’s designers had anticipated the need for this kind of extreme aerobraking, and the skin of the craft was designed to tolerate it – in theory.  I sweated, and I panted, and I watched our velocity slowly decrease until we were no longer going to boomerang back up out of the atmosphere.

Then I pointed the plane’s nose down, let gravity take over, and switched the engines back into air-breathing mode.

They decided they did not want to start.

“Well, we’re fucked,” I laughed.

“This is a plane, right?” Kate asked through clenched teeth.  “Aerodynamic?  You can fly it without the engines, right?”

“Well, glide, yes. Fall slowly, yes.  Land… maybe.”

I let us half-glide, half-fall until we were back in the troposphere.  “Magic box time,” I told Kate.

Everything unfocused again, and when I was able to see once more, my global positioning displays were back online.  They told me that, if I did nothing, we were going to crash into the ocean just off the coast of Hokkaido.

I tried the engines again. Still nothing.  The reentry had fried them, as far as I could tell.

I started the plane’s nose trending up again, trying to bring us out of the dive and into a climb. The control surfaces bucked and the plane fought me.

“I’m sorry, Vee,” Kate said.

“Don’t start,” I told her. “We’re not dead yet.”

“I couldn’t go back and save you from what happened at Titan.  I thought, if I could save Laika, maybe –”

“I know exactly what you were thinking, kitty.”  I looked back at her, and the scared-looking mutt buckled into her lap.  “It’s okay.”

“I just – when I read about how she died, all alone, in that terrible little capsule –”

“I said don’t start, Kate. I said it’s okay and I meant it.”

She kept going like she hadn’t heard me.  “She was supposed to have enough food and oxygen for a week.  But the satellite was rushed, and the temperature control system failed.  So when she was –”

“FUCK me!” I shouted.

That finally got through to her.  “What?!”

“Temperature control.” I quickly hit a series of switches. “The jet intakes were superheated by our reentry.  When you switch the engines to rocket fuel mode, they have shutters at the front that close so you don’t get trace amounts of gaseous oxygen mixing with the liquid fuel. Those shutters are probably half-melted shut.”

“And?”

“There’s an emergency release that just drops them completely.”  I pressed the button, felt the SR-75 shudder as explosive bolts fired and it shed hundreds of pounds of metal.  “Okay. Now –”

I was cut off as the sudden force of the engines firing slammed me hard into my seat.  The plane began to corkscrew wildly as the engines put out differing amounts of thrust for the first few moments until the oxygen feeds equalized.  Clearly one of the intakes had had less of its shutters blown off than the other, and the plane had needed some time to adjust.

Kate coughed.  “The engines?  They’re working?  We’re not going to die?”

“Oh, we’re still going to die,” I told her.  “Eventually, of old age.  But probably not today.”

She smacked the back of my head.  “Jackass.”

---

The vet gave us a very suspicious stare as we paid our bill and accepted Laika’s carrier back from his nurse.  “I have never seen an animal in that kind of shape before,” he said.  “Malnourished, half-dead from heat exhaustion, matted shit in her fur, and primitive bio-monitoring equipment surgically grafted into parts of her. I assume you didn’t do this, since it would be colossally stupid to come into my office and ask me to fix her up if you did.”

Kate shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t us.  She’s a stray.  Found her while we were out on a trip.  We felt so bad for the poor thing that we brought her back with us.”

Somewhat mollified, the vet nodded.  “Well, make sure to give her the antibiotics for the rest of the week, and call me if there’s anything else she needs.”

We stepped outside, and I opened the carrier to let Laika out.  She staggered out, still a little loopy from the anesthesia, and I got her leash onto her without too much trouble.

“You know,” I said to Kate, “when we first shacked up, I said I didn’t want any pets.”

She grinned at me.  “For someone who was so against the idea, you went very far out of your way to get me one anyway.”

---

About six months after we brought Laika home, a very humorless man in a snazzy uniform, accompanied by many more humorless men in uniform with large guns, came and visited our house. The humorless man in charge sat and chatted with us for a while, and Laika sat in his lap and let him give her pets.

Nothing else ever came of the visit.

There is no neat bow to tie on this story, unfortunately.  I still wake up screaming in the middle of the night, though not quite as often. That probably has more to do with the passage of time and a lot of therapy than pulling a time-travel dog rescue, though.  The only point to any of it is that we spent a lot of taxpayer money (since Kate, Leon, and Ash are all paid by the government) and risked our lives to make the world a better place, even by the tiniest, slimmest possible margin.  

And perhaps having read about it will have made your world a little better too.

[britt-kageryuu]

A video of clips from a VTurtles! Vod.

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

The brothers are in front of a huge tier list board.

Leo: Okay, so we're doing a teir list of the many Pizza Places we've eaten at.

Mikey: We must agree to Run of the Mill in it's own teir, I work there, amazing Pizza, but we would all be braised.

Donnie: Very much agree, Señor Hueso would be a bit annoyed to have his fine establishment compared to some of these excuses for Pizzeria.

Raph: As long as this doesn't get worse than the Pizza festival route arguments.

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

The camera has been zoom out so the names already on the board aren't cut off.

Leo: Wait, was this place the one near that weird Bodega that sold snake oil, or the one close to the 'Always Going Out of Business' electronics place?

Donnie: You forget the are TWO 'Always Going Out of Business' Electronic stores. Both with pizzerias nearby.

Mikey: Are you sure that isn't the one that got bought out by that pizza chain, and shut down?

Donnie: Shelldon, River some assistance pleace!

Shelldon: Dude the one Blue is asking about is the Chinese/Italian fusion place!

River: Yeah, the name doesn't really fit, but a search does bring up the menu.

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

There is currently a shouting match featuring the brothers top places, and weather they belong in A or S Tier.

River: Makes me almost glad I can't eat real food.

Shelldon: True that Sis.

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

Mikey: Can we all agree Albeartos was overrated, and their pizza is lacking?

Raph, Donnie, Leo: Agreed!

Donnie: Especially after their Animatronics went haywire at that kids birthday party.

Leo: The poor server who had to clean up, because the boss was a major Jerk!

Mikey and Raph look at the camera each with a lifted eyebrow ridge.

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

Donnie: Well I believe that was all of them, Mandarin?

Mikey: Yeah, at least so far, apparently there's a few places we haven't been to yet.

Leo: Let's hold off on that idea, we just listed what 200 places? We can leave those for later.

Raph: And hopefully not scared the servers.

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

Masterpost

This and two other ideas were stuck in my head all day. Opinions are welcome!