#i'm nothing if not predictable [finger guns]

[rewriterory]

sometimes I forget that Final Victor was the first time Aventurine and Ratio met and I'm like...imagine you're Ratio and you pull up to work and your boss is like 'you're getting a new mission partner' and you're like ugh probably some average boring idiot, another person who will treat me like a cold and off-putting genius, I'd so much rather be by myself god damnit this is going to suck.

Then, in walks an unassuming little blond man who immediately whips out a gun, gives you bedroom eyes while he loads it in front of you, probably blushing and biting his lip and shit like a freak, puts it in your hand, presses it to his chest, intertwines his finger with yours around the trigger, stares you dead in the face, AND I QUOTE, "provocatively", and fires it. Three times. AND THEN HE PROBABLY JUST LEAVES BC IF YOU'RE GONNA PULL SOMETHING LIKE THAT YOU CANT JUST HANG AROUND FOR DRINKS AFTERWARDS YOU GOTTA FLEE AND KEEP UP THE MYSTERY, SO NOW YOU'RE JUST ALONE IN THE ROOM LEFT TO PROCESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED.

Like what do you even do after meeting someone like that ??? Well in Ratio's case I guess you fall in love but I can't even blame him, I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about him either, doc. I can literally picture Ratio in his fucking Ebenezer Scrooge nightcap and gown that same evening, lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, looking so perturbed just thinking '.....who the hell was that?'

Ratio is probably so used to knowing everybody's next move since he's so smart, people are probably pretty predictable in his eyes. This might have been the first time the man has ever been truly flabbergasted by someone's sheer impulsivity. He met his very first wild card (which honestly just makes me so emo because they get to know each other so well and you know my mushy emo heart thinks nothing is more romantic than truly knowing someone)

Also Aven honey normal people show their new work partners they trust them by like...doing a trust fall or playing charades or buying them a hallmark card or something but forcing someone to shoot you also works I guess I mean you got the man whipped so what the hell do I know

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread.

EP. 1.1 IGNITION (prev.)

EXTRA EP. 1.3 CONFLAGRATION

EP. 2.1 Lead us not into temptation (cont.)

Synopsis: His "brother" turned out to be a shapeshifting demon, who was targeting his mother's memento for some reason.

"You're dead." Dante's voice trembled at the sight of the man in front of you. With their differences only being their hairstyles and the color of their coats, you'd think of the man as Dante's reflection. But, wait—

Brother? Dante's brother, Vergil? You've only heard bits and pieces about him from various sources, rarely from Dante himself, given his habit of masking his trauma. Not that you pried deeper, you respect Dante and you're not going to snoop about his past since he doesn't want to tell you.

Still, you know that Vergil died when they were children, so seeing him here means that he... survived? But why appear now? Your eyes tracked his movements with suspicion.

Vergil smirked and reached out his arm. "Oh, I'm here..." His fingers moved erratically until it stretched towards the both of you in a flash. Dante's eyes widened, hand instinctively grabbing your arm and dodging the attack. "—in the flesh!"

Using the gun you handed him and your own that you snatched from your briefcase, the two of you spun to shoot Vergil in vital areas, his body folding unnaturally upon the impact. With a grunt, "Vergil"'s body contorted and expanded in size, before shaping itself as a one eyed, blue demon.

"Ew." You grimaced at the transformation.

Seeing that his cover is revealed, the demon slithered across the walls, narrowly avoiding the bullets from the both of you, before fleeing through the vents. Seeing that its abilities match up from the demon that got away earlier, Dante smirked, "Oh, you're the demon baby from earlier." Before snatching your gun and aiming at the floor, shooting through the concrete to create a hole. Predicting his crazy move, you jumped and clung to his back as the two of you fall to the basement.

"You alright there?" Dante cocked his head to the side without looking at you. You didn't replied, silently getting off of him and surveying your surroundings as you watch his six. Just as expected, the demon aimed for his blindspot, thinking you were an easy kill due to being human. Well, you weren't Dante's partner for nothing.

"Jackpot." You jumped and avoided the scythe that was slammed to the ground, opening your briefcase midair to procure another gun. The debris inhibiting the visibility of the area, but it didn't mattered, you know where the target is and shot. True to your skills, five bullets jammed itself in the demon's eye, providing an opening to exploit.

The demon screeched in its temporary incapacitation as it transformed its arms to large axes, blindly and haphazardly swinging around in hopes of hitting Dante. "Hand over the amulet!" While already recovered, it can't get a hit due to how nimble the two of you are, easily dodging its swings. Walls started to break down due to the strength of the attacks but your partner doesn't seem to mind the danger of the situation, whooping and jumping around in excitement. "Whoo-hoo!"

"Dressing up as my dead brother is a bit too much." Dante landed on a crate and dodged another whip, shooting mid-air with a grin. "Personally, I would have stuck with being a creepy baby. It was working for you!" Bullets seemed to pass through its body but not its eyeball, but Dante hadn't seem to notice it yet, rendering his attacks useless.

"DO NOT stick with the creepy baby!" You barked and changed weapons to a submachine gun. "Dante!" Swerving to the other side of the room, all while avoiding the demon's limbs and the items launched at you, you flung magazines at his direction. "Aim for the eye!"

The change in target seemed to agitate the demon, transforming into a liquified form and slithering about the room, avoiding your bullets and making you accidentally hit the fire extinguisher. The smoke stills for a moment before something moved to your right, making you swivel to shoot, only for it to be revealed as a step ladder. Realizing too late that it's a feint, you heard Dante get slammed to the wall from your behind. "Dan—"

Electricity crackled as the demon's tongue snaked around his necklace, pulling it towards his mouth, smirking smugly at Dante's trapped form.

Electricity crackled as the demon used its hands to trap Dante's wrists, preventing him from using his pistols, smirking smugly as its tongue snaked towards his necklace. As the accessory lay on its tongue, the demon realized too late that it failed to immobilize the other demon hunter in the room. The sound of a gun cocking had it turn to your direction with a confused trill. Dante's gun is pointed straight to the demon's eye as you smirked.

"'Sup bitch."

The force from your bullet sent the demon jerking, it's face turning inside out to removed the ammunition inside it's eye, giving Dante an opening to break free. The wall cracked and broke as he strained to against his binds, sending the demon flying to a wall with a punch. With a turn, his expression turned from confusion to relief as you hold out his mother's memento in your hands.

"You've been trying really hard to steal my necklace," The demon was rendered into a pathetic mess of goo when the both of you approached it. Dante sneered as he tied his pendant back to his neck, "Why is that?", the two of you pointed your respective pistols at the twitching demon.

"The irony is that I'm a shapeshifter," Its voice was rasp due to its beating, and despite its sorry state, managed to smirk at Dante. "But you're the one who doesn't know what you are...!" With a cry, its body swelled as energy crackles, growing in an alarming rate. You tried to open your briefcase for another weapon when it registered that both of your guns clicks in place, but Dante already shielded you with his body for the imminent explosion.

Which did not came, as the demon only shifted to a bat as it flied away.

Both of you exhaled in relief, but the sound of metal falling off made your head shot up to him, with Dante looking at you in confusion. Your eye twitched as you grabbed his wrist without breaking eye contact, holding it up as more pieces of the the gun you made for him echoed on the floor, only then turning to examine the damage he made. The grip and trigger guard is oh so crushed. Dante knew this situation all too well and sighed, mentally preparing himself for your lecture back home. "Every time..."

"Dante!"

Dante traced the rim of his hat with a chuckle. The chippy dance pop music of Dance Dance Revolution plays while your partner is having the time of his life. "Okay☆" The screen displays the steps you had to follow but Dante confidently ignores it in favor of his own dance moves.

You sat on the couch, unimpressed, when he posed as the music swelled and stopped. His score was counted with an applause, showing a "D" with the game over being announced. "You suck!" You snickered as Dante turned to you with a distraught expression, collapsing to the floor with a whine.

Coming over and crouching beside his collapsed form, you grinned, the two of your oblivious to the chaos that has been brewing behind your backs.

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71

[satorurize]

18+, MDNI, gunplay

Caleb holding you captive this, Caleb holding you captive that but honestly what if you're just as freaky as him lol

Caleb's face is written with this adorable confusion the moment you agree to the fact that you really need him as much feral intent as he does, you might even outfreak him for that matter.

From the way you gush over his colonel uniform and beg him to fuck you senseless while it adorns his body, he only sighs and plants a kiss onto your forehead like the tease he is, leaving you at the doorstep with eyes full of yearning—leaving you to an excruciating wait at home.

Although, he knows what he's doing, predicting that you'll show up to the fleet unannounced, flashing the ring onto your finger to everyone that practically works like a free pass to be a welcomed intruder at his workplace.

You're depraved and he enjoys every bit of this twisted devotion, knowing you'd go any length to be with your husband.

And you looked absolutely stunning to him, bent over with your wrists roped to your thighs, body all flushed and bare.

The leather gloves on his hands provide a satisfying friction everytime he sinks his fingers into your drooling cunt, the giddy satisfaction written on your face lets him know that you'll never be satiated. "My greedy fucking wife couldn't even wait till I came home huh..?"

"Colonel you're far too harsh, I'm only being a doting wife, use me as you wish.." the purr from you consecuted by a small bite onto his clothed bulge makes him jump but chuckle at the attempt to challenge.

He feels his body grow hot under the thick layers of his uniform but he maintains his composure though his longing eyes betray the whole façade. The soft clink of the metal echoes your ears after he leaves your view, the warmth of his body behind yours, Caleb can only feel awe yet pride at the way you moan so shamelessly at the sound of his gun.

He drags the nozzle his gun across the curve of your spine ending onto your heat, watching each small shudder of your skin from the sensation, your body his bible.

"Let's see how much you can take honey.." the nozzle touches your slick, a raspy hum left his throat at the sight of the metal covered with your slick. He watches your hole gape around nothing, twitching with the mere touch of his gun and Caleb feels on top of the world.

"Baby..you indeed are so, so, greedy..what shall I do with you?"

[mlqueen89]

Six | Stakes

I want to know  Everything about you that I've had to dream about  Every single almost that we've been dancing around  I want to know  Who we are when we can stop pretending we're just friends  Let's go to those places that we've never been 

The Way I Wanna by Max McNown 

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick) 

rating: 18+ (minors dni) 

warnings/triggers: 🔥smut in overall series, p in v sex, fingering (lmk if i missed any!)    

word count: 8,518

summary: ellie realizes that she needs to swallow her pride as the stakes are upped in a significant way. 

A/N: i think i have some of the best readers on all of tumblr, if not all of the internet. so, since you’ve been so patient with me and i've been torturing you with all the sexual tension... 

my biggest apologies for leaving you guys hanging! lots of illness and #toughlifeshit going on, but all is looking up.

for those of you looking forward to the glen powell/f!writer oc fic "i can do it with a broken heart," my lovely betas and i are cooking up the launch.

there are a few tag requests that don’t have tumblr usernames attached in the tag form. If you requested a tag and you don’t see yourself tagged, let me know and I'll tag you right away and add you to the tag doc! 

allons-y! 

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ glossary of terms ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥ 

The data was in the red again.  

Angry, relentless, it seeped across Ellie’s screen in jagged lines and pulsing errors. When she closed her eyes, to sleep, to blink, under the spray of a hot shower, she could see it still, just behind the quiet in her mind, burned into her retinas. 

Error. 

Failure. 

Danger Ellie Rigby, danger. 

Was it irrational to think that numbers could taunt her? Because it sure felt like they were. 

She’d been at this for hours—no, days. It was days, now. Days that bled together with routine and numbers that didn’t act the way they were supposed to. 

A symphony of chaos orchestrated by Jake fucking Seresin. 

Pulling flight data, filtering telemetry, layering Jake’s flight logs over top of every other pilot’s log in the system, from testing and from mission training (because why stop with just Rooster and Teak) always resulted in the same findings.  

Jake’s data showed the same maneuvers. 

Same wind shear. 

Same altitude drops. 

Same variables, same route, same conditions. 

But his data didn’t bend like Rooster’s or dip like Teak’s. It broke. Every. Damn. Time. 

She muttered fuck and I'm going to murder him under her breath, dragging the cursor through the heatmaps, watching his flight path curve and zip, carve through her projections and predicted variables like a scalpel through paper. A hot knife through butter. 

It didn’t make sense. Nothing she wrote could predict him. Nothing she coded could contain him. 

No matter how often she adjusted the parameters, no matter how often she read his data and shifted her tech to catch him where he’d dodged, the same red numbers filled her screen. 

It was as if he studied her data sets during pre-flight briefings and quickly noted how they could be shattered until they were unrecognizable. She was almost certain he did, she could practically see it, his eyes, mischievous and fucking twinkling, catching hers as he strode past her toward the tarmac.  

Not even the Anti-Seresin protocol she coded after that first test flight disaster made her feel better when it popped up on her screen. Instead, it made her something that teetered between frustrated and livid.  

If the time constraints weren’t impossibly tight to present something functional, stable and reliable, she might have been impressed. Might have been. 

If it’s not ready... Mav had mentioned, again, just the other day as he dragged her out of the office to get some fresh air and a coffee, almost prying her rigid fingers from the edge of her desk ...we can defer to next quarter.  

It took every ounce of patience she had left to keep her hand from crushing the disposable cup in her grip, to keep her gait even as they walked. She responded as she had before: No, it’s ready.  

Deferring now felt like admitting that she wasn’t cut out for this, and by birth, she knew in her goddamned bones, she was. Even if she didn’t like acknowledging it, she was Rick Neven’s daughter, a top class, damn good Top Gun pilot. Raised on the shoulders of quasi-uncles like Iceman and Mav, Wolfman and Slider. That meant something. 

It had to. 

She leaned in closer to the screen, as if proximity might change what she was seeing before she leaned back in a huff, combing a hand through her hair. 

Nothing held him. 

Not her algorithms.  

Not the predictive modeling.  

Not even the black box diagnostics that she’d demanded access to from the higher ups.  

He was effectively a ghost in the system. Untouchable. Untraceable. Un-fucking-reasonable. 

And yet, all of it would have been easier to deal with if he wasn’t also (unfortunately) the last person she wanted to or should have been thinking about late at night. 

It would have been so much simpler if she didn’t remember the sound he made as he finally gave her what she was begging for and pushed inside her, a low groan against the shell of her ear. It would have been less complicated if she didn’t still dream about his fingers in her hair and the scrape of his teeth against the hard edge of her collarbone. 

She couldn’t fucking think straight anymore.  

It was as if when he was undoing her, with his mouth, with his hands, with the way he moved inside of her like he knew what would set her alight, he’d quietly rewired her brain. Remapped neural pathways until they all led back to him. His smell, his taste, the sound of his voice and the way it hit deep parts of her, so her mind thrummed like a tuning fork. 

Sometimes, more so now after the night she left him at the Hard Deck a week ago, there was very little between her and the overwhelming need to satisfy herself. In a bathroom stall, in the quiet of her office, after hours with the door locked, biting hard into her bottom lip as she came with the thought of him on her mind. 

Nothing ever quite satisfied that need for him though. The pinch of desire still lingering just out of reach, building until she next had to ease the pressure of it. 

Every time, on the come down, she pushed away the suffocating thought that she’d never remembered a time when she’d felt like this. Simultaneously smoldering and yet, burning. 

“You wanted me?” 

Her spine straightened sharply, his voice hitting her like heat. It was something she felt in her stomach. A flop. A flush of liquid warmth that pooled a little lower than her bellybutton. 

She didn’t hear the knock if there had been one. Just that familiar drawl curling through the air, low and casual, laced with something just beneath the surface.  

Ellie looked up fast, heart kicking against her ribs. Across the room, Jake stood in the doorway, tall, golden, and infuriating—his flight suit still on, the zipper tugged halfway down like if was nothing, like he didn’t know what that did to her.  

Except he did—he had to. The night they’d met, when he’d looked at her over the rim of his beer, the same easy confidence in the way he presented himself, the same suit clinging to his body like a second skin. 

She gave a curt little nod toward the chair opposite her desk. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed hard, hoping the thick, hardwood between them would be enough of a buffer. Enough distance so he couldn’t hear the erratic beating of her traitorous heart as loudly as she could. 

When he stepped into the room, he shut the door softly behind him and moved toward the chair. He didn’t sit, instead choosing to hover near it, hands planted on his hips, a trademark smirk exposing dimples. 

“You still chasing my numbers?” he asked, eyes flickering to the screen in front of her. 

“Depends, are you still screwing mine up?” She shot back easily, second nature, but her voice didn’t quite carry the edge that she’d meant it to. 

“Told you I don’t play by the rules, Ace.” 

Admittedly, it was to be expected. Rules and Jake Seresin never did play nicely.  

If she ever had to determine who amongst them had been body snatched, the first sign she’d look for was a version of Jake that toed the line and didn’t fall back into his usual penchant for getting under her skin. No pun intended. 

He smirked, but there was something else in his eyes. Something darker. Pupils blown wide, eclipsing his beautiful green eyes with something hungry. And when his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, she felt her stomach flip. 

“Maybe your system just can’t keep up with me.” He continued, his voice dipping lower still. 

Her pulse stuttered. She looked away—only to find herself looking down. Below the waist, his flight suit clung to the shape of him, already hard and her mind betrayed her.  

Flashes. The way he took her apart without hesitation. The filthy things he’d whispered in her ear like promises of what was to come as she writhed beneath him.  

Hands dragging her hips to the edge of the bed. His mouth tasting her like he was starving.  

The way he looked up at her as she looked down, gripping the headboard and rocking against his mouth, greedy for the next crushing, shuddering wave of orgasm he pulled from her.  

The hot weight of him stretching her open, filling her when she’d begged, desperate, for the kind of release only his cock could provide. 

It was the memory of a night she’d tried to bury in mountains of logic and equation. Tried to shrink into boxes with labels and cautions. Yet, it managed to crawl back up every day when she saw him, every moment he smirked at her with that shared knowledge. It brought back with it the feelings and the swift, intense ache of needing him, a body no grave could hold down. 

She wanted him again. God, she fucking wanted him.  

“You’ve been thinking about it too,” she said then, breaking the silence. It had meant to be a question, but it came out as a fact, low and raw. 

“Every damn night.” The gravelly sound of his voice was all she needed to hear. He never lied to her. 

Then, between them, it was as if something snapped. 

Ellie stood and stepped around the desk, and he stepped forward to meet her there, hands sliding to her hips. She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t anymore. His touch burned through the thin slip of her shirt, and he kissed her, tongue already in her mouth, like they picked up where they had left off. 

Yet, it wasn’t clumsy or rushed. It was a rhythm—one she remembered just as she knew to breathe. Without instruction, he knew where she wanted him to touch her, how to make her gasp into him without guidance. Responding to her thoughts as they passed through her mind. 

His mouth moved to her neck, his hand under her shirt, deftly undoing her bra before he palmed her breast, pinched her nipple sharply until a muted moan parted her lips and her knees threatened to give way. She could feel his smirk against her skin as she clutched his shoulders, holding herself upright.  

He didn’t even need to be inside of her, she thought, she’d come just like this, gripping him as the world melted away while he nipped and sucked where the hickey he’d left that first night had been. If he wanted to mark her, reclaim her as his, she’d let him. 

She stumbled slightly as he pressed her backward until she hit the edge of the desk, breath ragged as he lifted her up onto it like she weighed nothing. She hit the desk with a soft gasp, papers fluttering to the floor, test results and calibration logs scattering like leaves as her hands swept back to brace herself. 

She wasn’t in complete control of her words when they started to come out, unedited, spilling, “You remember—” she began, already breathless, her chest heaving as she tried to find the next word. 

Jake’s voice came out rough, hazy. “I remember every sound you made. Every time you said my name, like you couldn’t help yourself. Begging me to—” 

He was working the button on her jeans now, one handed, as he reached up around the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, his lips crashing to hers like a diver surfacing for air. The button released and he dragged her pants off sharply, pulling her closer to him with the motion. 

Ellie broke the seal of their lips first, tipping her head back a gasp moving through her as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her panties and found her clit, swollen, pulsing. She instinctively clenched around nothing as his thumb brushed her, slick. She watched, entranced as he swallowed thickly, she’d come for him, as many times as he let her. 

“Jesus,” he said it like he had to hold himself back, like the part of him that wanted this to last and the part of him that wanted to fuck her, warred. “You’re still so fucking wet for me...” it came out as a growl, primal. 

“Don’t stop,” she begged, rocking against his hand as he slipped two fingers inside of her, his thumb still moving in lazy circles, just behind the first orgasm waiting to fall out of her. 

Where Jake didn’t like to follow rules, he followed instruction well.  

He didn’t stop.  

Fingers working her just right, like he knew her body better than she did. Like he owned it.  

She was already so close, and he knew it, so when she arched against his hand, the papers still beneath her crinkling and stuck to her skin, he slowed, moving up her body dragging her shirt up to pinch her hard nipple between his teeth. 

“Jake—” she breathed, her brow scrunched. 

Ellie whined as he pulled his fingers out with an obscene, slick sound. When she propped herself up on her elbows, her hand trailing down to fill to void of pleasure, Ellie watched as he pulled the flight suit down, leaving only a white undershirt and his dark blue tented boxers.  

In the light of her office, taking him in, she could see the patch of material dampened with pre-cum. Something in her spiked, her fingers picking up speed as she chased the edge of her ending. 

“Not yet,” he huffed out a breath, his eyes glazed and wild all at once, grabbing her wrist, prying it away. He bent to kiss her clit carefully, reverently, the slightest flick of his tongue and the smallest bit of suction when he came away almost sending her off the cliff face into a freefall. 

Her legs roped around his waist in response as he straightened, holding him to her.  

She was wet and needy and already so close she was shaking from the anticipation of it. It was like muscle memory—he knew her. Knew exactly how to unravel her. 

His eyes caught hers, his hand carefully pulling himself out, the tip already slick with his want. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stepped closer and dragged the tip of his cock through the mess between her legs. The bump of him on her clit had her hips moving forward, chasing it as a moan escaped her lips. In her ears, she could hear the wetness of herself, could feel her empty cunt clenching around nothing. 

“Jake—” his name was breathy on her lips, a whispered prayer, “—please.” 

Her legs tightened around his lower back, trying to pull him forward closer as he slid himself down toward her opening and he hissed something that sounded at once close and far away. 

“Fuck, Ellie—” He breathed out her name and once it fell from his lips, she wanted to hear him say it again. He spoke her name like he was trying to center himself, trying to regain control of a situation he himself definitely didn’t have control over. 

Ash in the wind. 

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he groaned, resting his tip just at her entrance. When he pressed forward, pushed into her, the gasp that tore from her was involuntary. She swore she saw fucking stars as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she closed them into darkness. 

Then—nothing. 

She jolted upright. 

Ellie's skin was slick with sweat, sheets twisted around her thighs, skin flushed and pulsing with the echo of a climax that hadn’t really happened. 

Dark room. Her bed. Alone. No Jake. No desk. No hands. No mouth. Not one inch of his cock inside of her. 

She withdrew the hand between her legs, the wet heat pulsing, aching and unsatisfied. The glow of her phone on her nightstand a beacon in the still darkness: 3:41 AM. 

Her head fell back against her pillow with a loud groan. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Ellie threw off the headset, the clatter as it hit her laptop and then the floor almost inaudible over the loud groan that fell from her lips. 

Today’s test flights had been a disaster.  

Just like the test flights from Monday and Tuesday. 

Just like every test flight since the first when Hangman had dismantled her tech without a care in the world. 

When she screwed her eyes shut a headache thrummed steady, just out of the reach of the Tylenol she’d popped an hour ago. Mashing the heels of her palms into her eyelids, she pressed until starbursts of white erupted in the blackness. 

Maybe she had a tumor. 

It was the only logical explanation, right? 

Maybe her dreams about Jake in the night and the way they clung to the very corners of her thoughts in the day was her body telling her there was a foreign mass lodged in a cortex. She made a mental note to do some spotty research on where she could get a CAT scan in a half-assed attempt to troubleshoot, likely ending with one Google search before being forgotten. 

Until her brain reminded her during the night by way of a (reoccurring) fantasy where Jake, hands placed firmly on her hips, bent her over a pool table and fucked her, wet panties pushed aside haphazardly because he couldn’t waste another second not being inside of her. 

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

She was in the middle of typing “sex dreams and constant headaches correlation to brain tumors” into a new tab when a gradient of blue and white filled her phone screen and Mav’s name flashed, bold and white. 

When she answered, she was flushed, embarrassed as though he had the faintest idea of what she’d just searched, raw dogging it in a non-incognito browser. 

“Mav?” 

On the other end of the line, there was a bluster of air, a scream of a jet ripping down a runway, the unmistakable sound of it taking to the sky. “We’ve got a problem.” 

The problem, as Mav delicately explained, was “monumental”—the Mount Everest of hurdles. It was to their project what the iceberg was to the Titanic: catastrophic and unavoidable. Not enough lifeboats. Women and children first. 

Ellie only half appreciated the candor as she watched Mav pace the length of the P-51 Mustang, a WWII era relic he always seemed to be fixing up, sitting in a hangar he’d somehow managed to hijack for personal use.  

She was sure there was a metaphor mixed in there, for how it looked perfect to her but whenever she asked Mav, it always seemed to need one difficult to find piece or another. Always a work in progress. Never complete. 

“Stark is demanding answers.” He huffed, paused. Paced some more. Kicked a loose nut he came across in his path. Ellie listened to it ting and clatter off something else metallic, lost. “Didn’t say why, but it can’t be a coincidence that some of the Admirals are sitting down with the Office of Naval Research end of next week.” 

Fuck. 

How many 'fuck' moments could she have in one day? 

Her count was already up to three, before 11 AM. 

“Okay.” Ellie stepped up to the table of blueprints, drummed her fingers on top of Mav’s flight helmet sitting on a side table, absently. 

The Office of Naval Research meeting was next week. Stark sitting down with her now meant, she hoped, that the Rear Admiral hadn’t completely given up on the tech’s potential. 

The single word response earned Ellie a hands-on-hip eyebrow raised look from Mav as he stopped pacing. “Oh, you have those answers then?” 

“Depends on the questions she asks.” Ellie could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, magnifying the headache exponentially. “When?” 

When was the hour of their greatest need? When was the march to the gallows? Prayers, prayers, sorrows, sorrows. 

Mav huffed a laugh before he glanced down at his watch. “Now.” 

The conference room was colder than Ellie expected, the air conditioning hummed softly in the background, the shades drawn across the large picture window at her back.  

The ominous feel of doom did not escape her, creeping up the back of her neck as she fought back a shiver. The walls were bare except for the Navy insignia hanging behind Rear Admiral Stark, who sat at the head of the table, expression unreadable. The small, beige timer she’d wound and set on the table, front and centre, ticked away: seven minutes. 

Ellie sat across from her, back straight, hands folded in her lap to keep from fidgeting. Mav was beside her, silent—for now, his posture a bit more relaxed than Ellie’s rigid one, but she could see the seriousness in the straight line of his mouth, the hard furrow of his brow. 

When Ellie had appeared, Mav at her side, RADM Stark had granted him a seat at the table, despite the way her lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. He’d been granted permission to sit in on the firm condition he “kept his mouth shut”, a fact Ellie could tell he clearly wasn’t happy about.  

Rear Admiral Stark exhaled, fingers drumming against the table for only a moment before she broke the silence. “Let’s not waste time, Ms. Rigby.” She nodded at the ticking timer before she leaned forward, her hand waving over the spread of papers Ellie had provided. Her eyes didn’t shift down to the reports, the meticulously gathered documentation, charts and data. “With the meeting coming with Navel Research and the Secretary of Navy, the test results your tech are putting up aren’t where they need to be.” 

Ellie nodded, forcing herself to hold the woman’s gaze. “I’m aware, ma’am. But I can assure you, they are improving. We’ve been within two percent of the projected margin for the last three simulations. If we then adjust for environmental factors, the success rate is—” 

“I don’t want excuses,” Stark interrupted smoothly, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve had weeks. You have some of the best pilots in the world at your disposal. And yet, somehow, we’re looking at numbers that still don’t meet expectations.” 

Ellie swallowed, pulse drumming at the base of her throat. “I understand, ma’am. We’re working on recalibrating the—” 

Stark cut her off with a sharp look, her long finger tapping the paper closest to her. “Ms. Rigby, woman to woman—” her gaze didn’t slip to Maverick once, “—don’t bullshit me and I won’t bullshit you. I’m not interested in projections; I’m interested in results. The results aren’t good enough. Does sixty percent truly look like progress to you? You want me to sit in front of that stuffy old bastard Quigley and tell him as much?” 

Ellie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She could feel Mav shift beside her. She didn’t need to look at him to feel the energy rolling off him. As agreed, he hadn’t spoken outside of professional pleasantries, but she could feel the barely restrained tension pooling in his aura as he silently fought for his life to hold back the words surely backing up in his mind, just on the tip of his tongue, like a jammed printer. 

Part of her wanted to reach under the table to grip his arm, tell him to relax, that she had this under control, but she wasn’t sure she believed that herself. 

“Moreover, do you think pilots are going to be okay flying with tech that gives them a forty percent chance of being scattered over the ocean or enemy territory?” 

“No, ma’am. But—” 

Stark held up a hand again. She leaned back in her chair, assessing Ellie for a long, drawn-out moment, the silence only filled in by the ticking of the air conditioning and the timer. Ellie didn’t shift, didn’t shrink under the weight of it.  

“Do you have any idea what this project is to me, Ms. Rigby?” she sighed, voice even but tinged with the weight of her position as she glanced at the timer ticking away. “It’s my last vote for funding approval. My final act on paper before I turn in my stars in the spring. I have given the Navy everything, sacrificed and borne the weight that comes with my rank. I won’t go out on a sour note. I won’t attach my name to a failure.” 

Stark let it breathe, let it sink in, watching Ellie with a measured look. Then, as if on an afterthought, she exhaled deeply, shifting slightly in her seat. 

Of all things Ellie had expected, it was a dressing-down. But it wasn’t until the Rear Admiral’s lips curled into something resembling a smile, nostalgic, that Ellie realized she may have underestimated just how hard this meeting was going to hit. 

“I know you know what the Navy takes from a person.” Stark’s voice was even, neutral. “Your father was one hell of a pilot. Not one person can question that. But make no mistake, that doesn’t mean I’ll cut you any slack. If this doesn’t work, I back the pulling of the plug. And when I walk away, I walk away clean.” 

Ellie stiffened. Her hands slipping off the table and clenching into fists in her lap before she forced them flat again, her fingers still trembling, clammy. Of course. She should have seen it coming. 

Stark’s gaze flickered over her reaction, assessing, as if she were waiting for Ellie to break—waiting for some sign she’d struck a nerve. 

Ellie made sure to give her nothing. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to, ma’am,” Ellie said, tone steady, even if her stomach was twisting itself into knots. 

Mav shifted beside her, the first movement he’d made in minutes. Ellie didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. She knew the expression he’d be wearing. The barely restrained frustration on her behalf as his mouth opened and snapped shut again just as quickly.  

Mav had always let her fight her own battles; she was sure he knew better than to step in now. 

“Then tell me, ten words or less, why I shouldn’t recommend Research pull funding and scrap this right now.” 

Ellie inhaled sharply, Stark’s words a kick to her stomach. “Because it’s not going to fail.” 

Stark sat back, skeptical. “I wanted to back a woman in the field. Thought it was time for a shift, time to show that women could lead the future of aviation tech, plant the seed for after I’m gone.” She exhaled slowly. “Maybe that was a mistake.” 

Ellie stiffened. “No, ma’am. It wasn’t.” 

“Good,” Stark said simply, then leaned forward again, folding her hands atop Ellie’s reports. “The Secretary is meeting end of next week to go over our funding. If you can’t prove to me that this program is worth the resources the Navy is putting into it, I will recommend we pull the plug. And I don’t care whose daughter you are.” 

Ellie nodded once, firm. “Understood.” 

Stark studied her for another beat, as if trying to decide whether she believed in Ellie’s resolve. 

Finally, she gave a curt nod, seemingly decided. “You have one week. If I don’t see substantial improvement by the time the Secretary marches his short ass onto this base, it’s done.” 

Ellie inhaled slowly, measured. One week wasn’t much time. Frankly, it wasn’t nearly enough. But it was better than nothing. One week was better than having her funding pulled today, here and now. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

Stark glanced at Maverick then, just for a second. “Captain Mitchell,” she acknowledged before rising from her seat, straightening out her uniform. “You’re both dismissed.” 

Ellie stood, reflecting Mav’s formality at her side, but she didn’t relax until Stark left the room, the door clicking shut behind her. 

Only then did she exhale, her shoulders sagging. 

Mav allowed a hand to scrub his face before he let out a long breath, a single word evacuating him on it. “Jesus.” 

Ellie forced her hands to stay still on the table, even though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to move. To act. To do something. Plan. 

Instead, she turned her eyes to Mav, “well, I think that went super well, don’t you?” The dry smile that pushed up the corners of her lips didn’t reach her eyes. 

Mav just shook his head. “You okay?” 

Ellie nodded, because what else was there to say? She didn’t need Stark to cut her any slack, in fact, she preferred it that way. As it was, she’d be picking the thorn of Hollywood’s legacy out of her side until the week was over. 

“What’s our next move?” Mav was already starting for the door, motioning for Ellie to follow. 

Ellie swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “We prove her wrong.” 

“Sounds like you have a plan.” 

Ellie chewed her lip for only a moment. “I might have one.” 

Ellie hadn’t told Mav exactly what her plan was, only that she had one.  

The fact that this was her only plan at the moment wasn’t something she had wanted to divulge, because this plan in particular may just come back to bite her. 

Ellie leaned against the concrete wall outside the locker rooms, hugging her tablet to her chest. When she’d reached the end of the hall, she waited, timing it just right—most of the pilots had already filtered out after mission training, and she just needed a few minutes to firmly swallow her pride and get a moment alone with Jake. 

Coyote strolled past her, chatting animatedly with Fanboy, giving her a tight nod. 

Fanboy, however, slowed as he took her in, assessing—his eyes flicking quickly to the tablet she hugged and then to the way she shifted from one foot to the other. His head tilted slightly, the beginnings of a smile curling the edges of his mouth. 

“Rigby!” Fanboy held out his fist. 

Ellie hesitated, then tapped her knuckles against his. It was enough to make him grin while Coyote rolled his eyes. “Garcia.” 

“You coming out tonight?” Fanboy shifted the flight gear bag on his shoulder, lifting it higher. 

The look of confusion on Ellie’s face must have been enough, he didn’t miss a beat. “Hard Deck. A bunch of us are going.”  

“Oh.” It took her a moment to force a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe.” 

Fanboy nodded, but the look of mischief that crossed his face told her he could see past her attempt at indifference. “You should. You always look like you could use a drink.” 

Coyote scoffed. “Jesus, Fanboy. Drag her, why don’t you. Just say she looks stressed and get it over with.” 

“C’mon man,” Fanboy groaned. “What I’m saying is kick back. Relax a bit.” 

Ellie shifted her weight, her eyes flickering to the locker room door as it swung open and a few more pilots–Harvard and Fritz–slipped out.  

It would have been fair to say she wasn’t entirely focused.  

“Yeah. I mean, maybe?” 

Fanboy looked triumphant, providing a quick, almost reflexive double thumbs up as Coyote grabbed the strap of the bag slung over the Wizzo’s shoulder and tugged. 

As they walked away, Ellie could have sworn Coyote murmured something to Fanboy that sounded a lot like ‘why are you so goddamn weird, dude?’ 

Her face was already in her phone, pulling up her browser where her last search stared back at her, the results mocking her: 

Reddit – r/AmITheAsshole - Thinking about fucking my co-worker – AITA? 

Can Frequent headaches and vivid dreams be a sign of a brain tumor? - WebMD 

Tumors & Sleep Disturbances: When Should You See a Doctor? – Mayo Clinic 

Headaches and Sex: Could It Be a Neurological Disorder? – VeryWell Health 

Urban Dictionary: “Brain Tumor Horny” 

Ellie’s scoffed, but her thumb hovered over the first result. 

Thinking about fucking my co-worker – AITA? – Posted in r/AmITheAsshole 

The absurdity of it almost made her laugh. Almost. 

If it weren’t for the pounding in her skull and the realization that this was, in fact, her reality, she would have. Laughed, that is. 

Instead, she found herself very seriously debating on whether or not to tap into the rabbit hole and ask Alice. 

The sound of the locker room door swinging open and slamming shut barely registered in the background. She heard the boots on the floor moving in the opposite direction, followed by a laugh that sounded like Yale or Payback. When she glanced up, she saw them disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall. 

She returned to the glow of the phone for only the briefest of moments when a voice, too close for comfort, cut through her focus. 

“Didn’t take you for a Reddit girl.” 

Ellie jolted. The phone nearly slipped from her grip as she jammed the lock button and dragged her eyes up, stuffing the device into her pocket. 

Teak. 

Of course it was fucking Teak. 

He, like the presence of a rash of questionable origin, always showed up at the worst possible times. 

“Didn’t take you for a Reddit girl,” He repeated as if Ellie hadn’t heard him. She hated the way his eyes traveled from her hip where she tucked her phone away, back up to her eyes, slowly, measured. 

“And I didn’t take you for someone who sneaks up to read over shoulders.” 

Teak clicked his tongue, shrugged. “Didn’t have to sneak. You were pretty distracted.” 

The breath that left Ellie was sharp, fighting against the urge to let him know how annoying and pretentious and pig-headed she thought he was. 

Instead, she watched as he shifted, a hand combing through his short, still damp hair before he used it to brace against the wall beside her, head tilted like he was about to deliver the sagest of wisdom. If a tree falls in the forest. 

“You know, it must feel fucking terrible,” he mused, and Ellie didn’t miss that his tone dripped with mock sympathy. “Being just... bad at the one thing you’re telling everyone you’re good at.” 

Her grip on the tablet tightened. She didn’t blink.  

If being a prick was an Olympic event, Nathan Hughes would take the podium. Medal in every event. 10 out of a possible 10 asshole points across the board. 

It took her a half second to recover.  

“It’s funny you should mention that.” Her voice was smooth, schooled. “I was about to say the same thing to you. I’m glad you brought it up.” 

Teak’s expression, shit-eating, faltered for the briefest of moments, before he recovered. But Ellie had seen it. 

“If you want to talk about failures, we can,” she continued, her voice level. She barely restrained the sing-song lilt hanging just off stage as she tapped on the screen in her arms. “I have your individual test results right here. Won’t be able to cover it all, of course. But I’d be happy to give you the abridged version.” 

Teak’s jaw ticked. Tightened. Relaxed. When his grin returned, it was razor sharp instead of easygoing, fun. “You’re awful cute when you’re defensive, Rigby.” 

If looks could kill, Teak would have spontaneously combusted. Reduced to a cancerous ash. 

“So, what’s the deal?”  

He glanced over his shoulder at the locker room door before his gaze was back on her.  

“You lookin’ to corner Seresin? Plan to share some of those search results with him?” His blue eyes flicked toward her hip again, the shape of her phone in her pocket. She wondered if the way his tongue swiped his bottom lip was intentional, his gaze lingering longer than she would have liked. “Or were you hoping to find another pilot?” 

He let the insinuation hang between them, watching her, waiting. She felt like a fish in a tank. Teak tapping a finger against the thick walls beside a sign that told him not to. No flash photography. No tapping. 

I’d rather eat broken glass. 

I’d rather listen to Fanboy explain the plot of every single Fast & Furious movie in excruciating detail, complete with Vin Diesel impressions. 

I’d rather spend the next five years in a sensory deprivation tank. 

I’d rather let Rooster give a masterclass, step-by-step breakdown of his skincare routine, including optimal moustache grooming techniques and his thoughts on the benefits of double cleansing while properly incorporating retinol. 

She’d have to workshop her comebacks. 

“Careful, Hughes. Sounds like you’re dangerously close to the neighbourhood of jealousy.” 

Teak didn’t waver, but she saw the moment his eyes sharpened.  

“Nah,” he drawled, lazy, assured. “I think I’ll let Hangman take the ‘L’ on this one. I like my women a little more—” 

Stupid. 

Compliant. 

Broken. 

When he moved, his fingers reaching out to brush the strand of hair that had fallen across her vision, Ellie had already reflexively taken a step back. Oil to his water. If her reaction bothered him, he didn’t show it, instead, his fingers curled back before his hand dropped. 

When the locker room door squealed open, it shook Ellie out of survival mode for just long enough. When she tilted her head past Teak’s shoulder, a pilot, bag slung over his shoulder, glasses held in his grip, stepped into the hallway. 

Bob. 

Relief flooded her, flushing out the cold pit in her stomach. 

Thank fuck for Bob. She’d owe him a beer. Or twenty. She’d never been happier to see him. 

When he placed the glasses on his face, lenses wiped clean on the hem of his tan uniform shirt, Ellie watched his expression shift from easy to something more guarded when he saw her and then Teak, still braced on the wall, too close. 

The door snapped shut before he spoke. 

“Hey Rigby.” His tone was cautious, his gaze cutting to her, his eyes locked on hers as if to say, blink twice if you need help.  

He pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Everything... good?” 

Ellie didn’t hesitate. Didn’t allow Teak, who had already turned and opened his mouth, to speak for her. She imagined he’d tell Bob everything was great. Nothing for him to be concerned about. 

The scorpion ferrying across the river on a frog’s back. If Teak spoke first, he’d smooth this over. Shoo Bob away. 

“Where’s Seresin?” 

Bob blinked as her abrupt tone settled between them. If he picked up on it, he responded anyway. “Still in there. He’s always the last one out.” Bob motioned to his hair with an eyeroll. 

Perfect. 

Great. 

Private conversation. Away from Teak. 

Ellie pushed off the wall, ignoring the knowing look Teak shot her as she brushed past him and smiled at Bob. 

Right now, Teak and whatever it was that he thought of her was a backburner item. 

The heat of the locker room, thick with steam and the scent of soap hanging in the air, hit her hard as the heavy door swung shut behind her. 

The staccato rhythm of her heels clicking on the damp tiled floor was punctuated by the slam of a locker. 

When she rounded the corner, her fingers a white-knuckled grip on her tablet, it didn’t take long to spot Jake.  

Standing near his open locker, towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin.  

He was rubbing another towel through his hair, oblivious to her presence, the deep cut of his muscles on full display, the ‘v’ of his abs disappearing behind the hem of the cotton at his waist. The dog tags on his bare chest caught the dim light overhead as he dried his hair, and Ellie felt the weight of her shifting thoughts before she could stop them. 

Jake, behind her.  

One hand gripped tight on her hip, fingers digging into her soft curve, bitingly painful and firm in a way that sent pulses of pleasure rippling straight to her core. 

Dog tags dragging across her bare back as he leaned forward to sink his teeth into her side, nipping and teasing as he guided himself to her aching, waiting— 

No. Nope. 

Clearing her throat, Ellie knocked on the locker closest to her.  

The last thing she needed to do was watch him take off the only thing wrapped around his waist with her standing there.  

She repeated it to herself until she was convinced it was the last thing she wanted. 

Jake turned, one brow arching as he took her in, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe. His smirk was slow, knowing. “Rigby.” 

She ignored the way her pulse kicked up at the sound of her name in his mouth. The way it rolled off his tongue, light, airy. 

“I need you,” she started, quickly adding an addendum when she noticed how his eyebrow quirked, “your... help.” 

The word weighed a metric ton. The vowels and consonants tasted bitter and acrid on the way out. 

This was her reality now: asking Jake Seresin for help. Her Hail Mary in the dying seconds of the half. Or was it quarter? 

“Well,” he paused for a moment, tossing the towel he’d been drying his hair with to the bench, “this wasn’t on my bingo card for the month.” 

“Don’t start.” She warned, her eyes reflexively rolling. 

“Start what?” Jake’s hands were in the air now, submissive, nonthreatening, but his lips were already curved into the beginnings of a smirk. “Just... I think I might be hearing things. Sometimes the Gs, they mess with your head...” 

She tried to ignore the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he shrugged, tugging at his ear as if it were waterlogged. 

Ellie huffed out a sigh, pulled from deep in the core of her being.  

Why had she thought this was going to be easy? Why had she thought Jake would have let her get away with asking him for help without a mild ribbing?  

Working past the pride lodged in her throat, actively fighting the part of her brain urging her to turn right around and walk out of here, Ellie forced herself to stay. “I need your help.” 

Nope, saying it didn’t get easier the second time around. 

Jake blinked, hands finding his hips as he assessed her, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. 

Was he—? Did he just flex? Ellie’s eyes flicked to his chest for a fraction of a second and she knew he’d seen it. 

“Are you going to say something, or—?” Ellie’s hands flew up before they fell again. 

“Just really didn’t see this coming...” he feigned shock, sucking his lip in, biting down. 

Ellie let out a strangled groan.  

She was going to leave here and tell Mav that her plan had backfired and then she’d take it to the grave of her career as RADM Stark threw a handful of dirt onto the casket. 

Here Lies Eleanor Amelia Rigby Neven’s potential.  

Foolish enough to ask Jake “Hangman” Seresin for help in her hour of greatest need. 

The obituary would request hope and prayer for the career of other women in aviation technology in lieu of flowers. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Seresin.” 

He grinned but, to her surprise, didn’t push. Instead, he stepped in beside her in a fluid motion, his shoulder nearly brushing hers as he tilted his head to get a better look at the screen.  

From the corner of her eye, heart beating erratically at the base of her throat, Ellie watched as his expression shifted, the teasing edge in his eyes giving way to something sharper, more focused. 

“Alright,” Jake nodded once toward the tablet in her hand, “show me what you’ve got.” 

Ellie hesitated for a moment before swiping, pulling up the parameters she’d been tweaking earlier.  

She paused to flex her fingers mid-swipe, the clean, masculine scent of his soap clinging to his skin enveloping her. The awareness of him, his shoulder brushing hers, jarred her concentration, a kite whipping in the wind of a tornado. 

He smelled like that stupid candle she’d been conned into buying years ago at the Irvine Spectrum Center Yankee Candle.  

Mountain Cabin? Or maybe it was Mountain Lodge?  

Tumblr says it’s what the perfect boyfriend smells like! Like, remember that scene in the Avengers movie where Captain America just like, rips apart the log— the sales associate had slipped into a tangent as Ellie carefully placed an overpriced glass jar full of scented wax into her basket. 

Now, she wondered whether or not she still had it, packed away somewhere. 

By the time she found her way back to her winding train of thought, remembered what her voice was again, Ellie had to clear her throat. 

“The system’s good,” she admitted, nudging the data sets around on the screen. “But it’s rigid. It doesn’t account for pilot instinct, for the way you—” she stopped herself for a half beat, “—for the way some pilots push beyond textbook expectations.” 

Jake’s gaze shifted, glanced at her, lips twitching. She heard the teasing edge in his voice and didn’t need to look up to know the twinkle was back in his green eyes. “See, was that so hard to say?” 

He was enjoying this far too much. Smug jerk. 

And yet, Ellie couldn’t help but shake her head, trying to hide a smirk of her own. 

“Excruciating.” 

And yet, she didn’t want to crush up broken pieces of lightbulb and add it to her morning smoothie instead of sharing space with him.  

She didn’t want to listen to Rooster talk about niacinamide as the alternative to being in Jake’s orbit. 

The laugh that rumbled in his chest, a genuine, almost surprised sound, made Ellie’s stomach flutter. Caused her skin to prickle as she fought the shiver edging up her spine. 

She’d have to add another symptom to her ongoing research (Google search) on tumors, because she definitely didn’t want to unpack that right now. 

“Alright, let’s start here,” Jake reached across her, his finger hovering over a spike in the telemetry readings just before a telltale stream of data indicated a system overload redline. “You’re focusing too much on the failsafes—they’re throttling responsiveness.” 

He swiped up, his fingers brushing hers as he manipulated the screen and pointed out another less-than-ideal reading. “See, it’s here too.” 

Ellie frowned, but as he pointed out another, third data spike, explaining where she needed more flexibility, she saw it—saw the gaps she hadn’t considered, the places where the tech needed to adapt instead of restrict, open up instead of close down. 

How had she missed that? 

If it had been difficult for her before, to insinuate that Jake’s flying skills were above average, stellar, if she were being completely honest, her next words weren’t any easier.  

“Fine. Can you show me how you’d fix it, if you were me?” 

When she looked up from the data streams on the screen, Ellie swore she saw Jake’s focus flick up from her lips to her eyes. 

“Yeah, I could.” 

He shifted beside her and Ellie’s thoughts drifted back to the stupid candle, which she’d (embarrassingly) bought three of. Perfect boyfriend, Mountain Lodge. She hadn’t even burned the thing, just opened the lid and huffed it before squirreling it away again. 

“Hard Deck, then? Tonight?” 

At least then she could disguise meeting with him as coincidence. They’d both been invited by Fanboy, part of the “bunch of us” collective, she’d say. 

Jake was already shaking his head, even before she’d finished. 

“Nah. Got a better place in mind.” 

“Where?” She was frowning, her brow scrunched together. 

“I’ll text you the address.” 

Ellie was about to remind him that she hadn’t given him her number, but he was already moving. She felt the coolness of the air in the space he created between them and Ellie stepped forward almost reflexively, chasing the warmth of his presence. 

She watched the bands of muscle in his arms, a magpie distracted by a shiny coin, as he reached into his locker and pulled out his phone. In a moment, it was in her hand, the screen opened to a blank contact card. She punched in her contact information and handed it back. 

“See you later, Rigby.” 

As she turned to leave, Jake grabbed the hem of his towel, tugging it until it fell away, everywhere except for where his hand hovered, just over.... 

Ellie caught the movement in her periphery, but she kept her eyes forward. 

“I’m still here,” she pointed out, pausing near the corner of the bank of lockers. 

Jake hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t stop, moving behind the open door of his locker and depositing the phone on the upper shelf.  

Ellie swallowed tightly. She was certain—certain—that he could have waited until she left, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t in a rush to cover up or dismiss her. If anything, it felt deliberate. An almost wordless invitation: you can stay if you want to. 

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to look away.  

“Text me,” she waved her hand dismissive, and without waiting for a response, she strode out the door, her pulse hammering in her throat, the small, steamy room suddenly short of oxygen and far too hot. 

Behind her, as the locker room door swung shut, Ellie swore she could hear Jake chuckle. 

Hours later, back in her office, Ellie was pouring over the data sets Jake had been pointing out, making quick notes on the data spikes when her phone buzzed against the desk. A new message from an unknown number stared back at her when she flipped it over.  

Hope you’re hungry. 

Below the text was an address. She frowned as she pulled up the map app and punched it in. When the location popped up, she groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

a/n: i am pumped for the next chapter. the tides are changing for ellie/jake. anyone want to take any guesses as to where jake suggests he and ellie meet?

also, the mountain lodge candle theory is real. no, as a canadian, i have not been able to find one. 😫

if you love this series, reblog, comment, like!

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@obsessed-fan-alert @djs8891 @lunatygerqueen @khouse712 @alipap3

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@whatislovevavy @qutequeersstuff @tgmreader @writergirl28 @literal-tv-menace

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taglist if you want to be added/removed!

[lana-llama-in-pajamas]

I'm not her.

part one

disclaimer: this is my attempted at a deepspace fanfic and asking a question, what if we got into the world of these boys? and in the middle of playing so we can only predict certain scenes but we cant fully alter them? I thought this would be a fun brain exercise . also you are you and horribly we are cheating on these poor lads with each other...sooooo have fun! (PS first chapter is a lil rushed cause I'm writing it at like 4 am)

"Isekai'd" is a slang term, particularly popular within the anime and manga fandom, meaning to be transported or reincarnated into another world, often through an unexpected or dramatic event. It's the past tense verb form of "isekai," a Japanese term for a fantasy genre where characters are thrust into a new, unfamiliar world. 

once again at work. I fucking hate this place, this office feels like its straight out of the matrix but ive sadly not met morphias yet. i walk to my desk placing my belongings down. "tablet...water bottle, phone ,pens, notebook..." i check off everything murmuring its name while placing it down on the desk. a large hand holding a match lands on my desk making me look up "Harvey" I smile up at him, Harvey park. was a tall sleek Korean dude. charming tall almost could mistake him for a K-pop idol but he hated that comparison, only outlier is that unlike most in our workspace he choose to be here due to his diploma in computer science. "aren't we boycotting them?" I ask grabbing the cup "my little sister works there, so in a sense I'm fucking with their money by getting stuff for free" he gave a sly smile, I nod in thanks taking a sip "ooh silky" I smile sitting down and powering on my computer "heard you got yelled at for playing a game on your phone" he whispered sitting in front of me setting up his own desk "its nothing serious, it was my break anyway and you know work Karen's" I grumbled remembering "what game?" he asked. I almost choked on my drink. god I cant tell him the truth I'll seem like a creep OR WORSE a femcel. "game? I meant period tracker. I was just checking and she thought it was a game because of the cute characters!" I say with little to no confidence "..." Harvey looked at me not believing it for a second "...y/n...were you playing a naughty game on company time??" he covered his mouth chuckling. I blushed looking away "its not 'naughty' its a dating sim" I whisper ashamed "omg are you serious? what game i wanna know if my lil sis plays it too" Harvey prods more making me heat up in embarrassment even more "love...and um" I stutter before Harvey perked up "deepspace??" he leaned over far too excited " yes" I put my head in my hands over my limit at this point "wooow never thought you the type" he wiggled his eyebrows "ya know people say I'm like Rafeyal , I have no idea what that means but their all pretty so good things I hope" he rambles on as I internally sigh. at least my work friend thinks its more funny than weird. "whos the apple of your eye?" i hear him ask while he starts to type " I don't really have a fave" I say thinking about it "oh how freaky, you want all 5 at once?" I throw an eraser at Harvey making him dodge and laugh "too much? sorry kitten" he says the last part with an exaggerated tone "oh my gawwwwd" I slump in my chair.

hours passed, Harvey and i walked into the parking lot to my car "no but seriously imaging managing a schedule were you have to accommodate 5 men? I'd tear my hair out" he grabbed a tuff of his own hair exaggerating his point "well thankfully its all an app" I rolled my eyes "here she is" i walk to my car "see you harv" I wave but he was still standing there "do you want to hit the barcade that opened up downtown?" he asked quickly making my brain work overtime "uh yeah sure, um meet up there at 8 ?" i ask pulling out my keys "cool see you then" harv finger guns at me before jogging to his car.

we've never been alone together, normally he brings other people...maybe he is and just didn't mention them? i sighed believing the game was giving me more confidence than i should. here i was in a little black dress and thigh high boots, i put on a necklace with a pendant from i game i loved as a kid on it. twirling it in my hand as i drove in bumper to bumper traffic. i sigh turning up the radio, jazz was little unconventional but it relaxed me. i can sometimes imagine slow dancing with them to it, sylus and i would dance to misty by sarah Vaughan, (immensly funny if you listen) cheek to cheek by ella and louis with zayne, la vie en rose for Rafeyal. strangers in the night by frank Sinatra for xavier and funny valentine by chet baker would be for Caleb...

my thoughts broke when i heard a collison.

then?

silence

I couldn't feel anything. I felt...cold?

I could sense someone pulling out of someplace warm to the cold

yelling and cries? faint in the distance, I opened my eyes to see a glow

"ma'am are you there?" I heard but I didn't answer, I was too tired to answer

the screams turned to silence then a soft tune, like it was a room away...sweet perfume and clean linen filled my nostrils

I squinted stretched feeling light and energized, was my workday a dream? I yawned and opened my eyes landing my feet on cold tile "huh?" I whipped my head around seeing a futuristic apartment. it was sleek and magazine like with only meticulous things out of place. i panicked and ran to a door thinking it was the bathroom but nope a closet. running to another slide door i yank it and run in, and run to the large mirror. i gasp clutching now long dark hair, my face was my face but my hair...and my body were different! i stare before collapsing on the floor holding myself "there's no way" i whisper touching my face to check if i can feel. suddenly i hear a sound and cautiously i crawl towards the door avoiding the mirror the sound was so familiar yet distant. it was a phone on the nightstand, it trilled and buzzed as i loomed over it i saw a name 'caleb' i gasped not knowing if i should leave it but instinctively i answer and sit knees to chest on my bed "h-hello?" i manage "hey! pipsqueak i tried calling you last night but no answer" caleb was lively yet disappointed sounding i just started spacing out while listening " still on for grandmas right? i wont let you down , see you there next week love ya" he hung up.

oh dear god. i could feel my heart quicken its pace and my breathing labored, i couldn't handle anything that was happening i heard beeping looking around for the source while shaking led me to my wrist, a hologram emanated showing [[warning. panic attack]] [[contacting akso hospital]] i panicked even more making it repeat the message "no no no no no" i tried to break the hologram with no used as i heard paramedics break in "hello? y/n l/n? please call out if you can hear us" i looked around to hide but lamented "bedroom" i yelled going into a fetus position repeating the words "wake up" in hushed tones as i shook like a chihuahua.

every question i couldn't answer. they shoved a needle in my and wheeled me to a room. i feel hopeless and lost staring at my now manicured hands...no longer having its old imperfections. my moles were all gone only one cute on remained on my face. i looked out the window at a metropolis ive only ever seen through a screen, an Otto bot whirled in front of me startling me "hello! dr.zayne will be here soon to asses the reason for your sudden attack!" it showed his face and my empty report, only showing my name and admittance reason

it goes away after a while and I lay back, I wasn't me anymore...was i dead? was this my last 7 minutes? how did I go? maybe this was real... I pinched myself leaving a mark. I could hear foot steps get closer and there he stood. god he was beautiful, his amber eyes felt cold, his stature was demanding and professional I couldn't help but just gawk like ive never seen a man before. he sat on a chair next to me making us see eye to eye "y/n...are you not doing well? what caused this panic attack?" he asked plainly his brow furrowed at my silence, my staring was probably freaking him out a bit "and your silence? is this panic causing you to go mute?" he asked shifting in his seat. he smelled like mint and Luna rosa by Prada. I wanted to hug him but refrained thinking he was an illusion. I looked to the screens in the room showing trivia and news snippets before seeing one about zayne, i read the date on top then looked down at my hands "id be...like 40 by now.." i murmured making zayne have a more worried look "y/n" I turned to him tears in my eyes "...I love you ...but I wanna go home" I cried, tears flowing down my cheeks and my breathing hitched trying to be quiet. His eyes widened grabbing my arm and pulling me in for a hug.

i cried louder realizing i could feel his warm body and cold hands hold me. i wrapped my arms around his neck, covering his ear from my wails.

this is all a girl like me would've wanted.

and yet all I'm thinking of is my own family. my friends...my old life.

[the-kr8tor]

Oblivion

Ending one

Solo Mission<<<

You chose the escape pods.

“We need to get the fuck out of here!” With a push on Hobie's shoulder, you sprint towards the right where the escape pods are.

Running away with all your might while Hobie shoots back at the creature, whose thudding footsteps reverberate through your bones, your fear encapsulates you. Your fear of him dying, seeing him get devoured by the very thing that killed your friends.

With your console on your wrist, you close each hallway shutters that were built to withstand great explosions but to the grotesque being, it's nothing but a wall of hay as it continues to run through it with barely any resistance.

There's no turning back now.

Its groans of pain, and flesh still burning, it runs towards you with such ferocity that you think it has a spark of humanity left in its distorted body. You could feel your heart pumping in your chest, lungs desperately heaving in more air as with every banging sound from behind, metal breaking and cracking with every shutters closing.

Hobie checks on you with arms lugging around the dismembered hand. Its hundred fingers are still wiggling and bleeding in his grasp.

“Love!” He yells as he sees the end of the hallway with the large circular doors with the written words that you've been waiting for.

“I know!” With one final push, you kneel down, using the momentum to slide on the grimy floors, rifle immediately pointing towards the creature. “Hobie, the finger prints!”

“On it!” As you shoot, Hobie brings the gigantic hand on the scanner next to the door. He checks every finger but none of them have the admin clearance you need. “Fuck!” There's still dozens to go through but the creature is still gunning after you, albeit slower this time as your concoction makes its way into its veins.

“Hurry! I'm running out of—” just as you say it, the creature falls on the ground, sliding its bloodied body on the floors, stopping just a few feet away from you. Panting, you look over your shoulder to meet with Hobie's eyes.

“Holy shit.” His eyes glint with hope. With one remaining finger to scan, it beeps then a green light illuminates his helmet. “Lucky.” He almost chuckles out.

Your eyes glimmer under the red lights, as he helps you up, the creature huffs, reminding you that you don't have much time left.

“Let's go before it wakes.” Hand in hand, Hobie leads you inside the room with its rows upon rows of escape pods at the ready. As you predicted based on the ship's age, one pod could only house one person. Something that has been fixed ten years ago after an incident.

The doors hiss close behind you, granting you one last look at the sleeping monster.

You place the now empty rifle next to the door, running towards the closest pod to check if it's all clear only to find the unmistakable red error code on the panel. “Fuck, this might've been damaged from before. Any luck?”

Hobie checks every single pod, desperation crawling on his neck with every error he sees on each escape pod. “Not yet.”

A deep rumble from outside freezes the blood in your veins. “There's gotta be one that's working!” You scream in frustration, hands trembling as you skim every single one of them. Your hope fades away when you see the very last pod at the end of the line with the same red flashing on its screen.

Hobie’s rapid footsteps recede, “love! Over ‘ere!” You follow him quickly, running towards him with a soft smile. Finding that he's waiting at the last pod, which only means one thing. “You need to take your helmet off or you won't fit in it.” He's already twisting your helmet off before you could protest. “We— you need to get inside, love.”

“No,” his hands grip your arms, pulling you gently towards the now opened pod. “No, not without you damn it!” You push him away, his body almost landing inside the pod as he looks at you with his tear filled eyes. “I'm not leaving without you.” The trilling sounds get louder, and your vision warbles into the same rainbow light. “I can't, Hobie.”

He sniffs, lips slowly curling into a gentle smile, a reassuring one. Calling your name like it's the last time he'll ever say it, he reaches for you again. “You have to go.” His palms rests on your cheeks, catching your tears in his gloves. “I'll find my own way out, yeah? And we'll get that house with the readin’ nook you always wanted.”

“But it won't be a home without you!” You stomp your foot down like a child throwing a tantrum. “I don't have to go, okay? W–we can keep running from it until it starves! Please, don't make me leave you behind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, embracing him fully while you slowly inch towards the pod while his back is turned from it. “Please.”

“‘m sorry, lovie.” He thumps his helmet atop your forehead gently, trying to feel your warmth through the glass. “I'll see you again, in this life or the next.”

Leaning away, your forehead presses gently on his helmet, eyes closed as you savour his warmth. Sliding your palms on his chest, your thumbs caresses the patch you two designed years ago. “No, I'm sorry.” With one strong push, he falls backwards into the hull. You take advantage of his shock, closing and locking the door over him. “You're gonna be okay.”

“No, Please!” Hobie hears the muffled thudding from behind the glass, and your quiet sobbing as you punch in coordinates on the control panel. He tries to push the glass, then punches it to no avail. It doesn't crack or hiss open, despite him pulling the lever to open it. “You should be ‘ere, not me! Love! Open the fuckin’ door!” He keeps punching the glass, heart wretched out of his heart as he watches you sacrifice yourself. He calls your name again, soft and broken in his throat. “Don't leave me.”

The flashing ‘launch’ button appears as you finish putting in the coordinates of earth or any closest space station, whichever it finds first. You could only hope that he gets back there safely, he needs to survive. For his sake and yours.

Your finger hovers over the button as you hear a crashing sound. “I love you, I'm so sorry.” The doors rip open, and the creature's thundering footsteps fade away in your ears while you could only hear Hobie's anguished muted screaming. “I hope I get to meet you again, captain.”

With a press of the button, the last thing he ever saw was your shining smile, and the monster looming behind you.

As the dark space encapsulates him, and the pod propelling him back to earth, he could only see your last smile behind his eyelids and the kaleidoscope of light fading in his vision.

You didn't make it.

[mins-fins]

❀ ONE. angels and demons come and go … ❞

❝ and if you are to love, love as the moon loves; it does not steal the night— it only unveils the beauty of the dark. ❞ . . . isra al-thibeh

𝒘arnings ─ blood, medication, corpse details, death, drinking, violence, and panic attacks. 𝒘ord count ─ 5.4k

YOUR REASON FOR HAVING A REVOLVER IN your kitchen drawer nestled together with your knives is none of anyone's business. it just so happens to be that you're a fortune teller, a psychic who can just tell when you need to whip out a gun to threaten some asshole with.

most of your threats are feigned, you rarely ever load the thing, too many children live in the walls of your building. loud screams and cries in pairing with scoldings from adults weren't exactly your idea of a good time. your courage doesn't extend to shooting people, if anything, the gun is for show.

the clicks are endless, yes, but nothing really happens, nothing substantial anyway.

"you ever shoot a guy with that thing?"

lee donghyuck always smelled of cigarettes, you theorize he probably still does. dating such a guy renders you structured to such a smell, you guess he's hardened you to certain aspects of life.

he tapped his cigarette onto the nearby ashtray, eyes holding a look of morbid curiosity. a hum vibrated from your lips, your knuckles digging into your cheek as you clicked the trigger over and over. "no.. i'm not brave enough to do that".

donghyuck replied with a snort, blowing smoke out of his lips. "you don't need to be brave to point and shoot".

"i'm not exactly sure i could watch myself do such a thing".

you watched your reflection in the rings littering his fingers, his teeth bit into his own lips. "you never know, most people don't keep a gun for show and have it stay that way".

"are you saying i could kill someone?"

donghyuck hummed, eyes narrowed. "greatly injure is what i would say".

and maybe lee donghyuck is more of a fortune teller than you could've predicted.

there is a man groaning on your floor. the ticking of the clock playing a sick song in the background as you watch him clutch at his stomach. your pointer finger stays pressed against the trigger, the metal revolver shaking in your hold. blood begins pooling on your floor as you take in the sight before you.

shit shit shit shit shit—

you just shot him. you just shot a man. you just shot a man with a gun you'd previously known to be unloaded. a small breath falls from your lips, the beginnings of a sentence dying down in your throat.

your breathing remains labored, the man who, a few minutes prior was the aggressor, now lying on your floor, staining it with his own blood. you put a fucking hole in the middle of his stomach.

you guess you have to go back on your word, the gun was for show. you just shot a man in your home, what the fuck.

the continuous ticking of the clock is going to slowly drive you to madness, you might rip stands of your hair out of your head with no issue. it's only 7:12 pm. 7:12 pm. how did all of this manage to transpire in simply ten minutes?

you close your eyes, excessive blinking would not aid in your current panic.

it's not illegal right now. as terrible as it sounds, it's true. the purge has begun. you can leave this man bleeding out on your apartment floor and you won't face consequences for it. you could go slit your bosses throat right at this minute and nothing would happen.

well maybe you shouldn't get ahead of yourself.

you just barely hold back a wince as you catch sight of the wound, stepping over the man dying on your floor as your hands still tremble, barrel still pointed in his direction. "i'm sorry.."

but why are you muttering an apology? it was self defense. is it so demeaning to shoot a man coming towards you in a threatening manner?

you didn't do anything wrong.

i didn't do anything wrong. you repeat it in form of a mantra, trying to contain your humanity as you grab your shoes. you aren't safe here. shit. if a guy immediately jumped at the chance of robbing you no more than two minutes after the purge was announced, who says more of the same fuckers won't show up?

bullets, a hammer, maybe a few knives under your sleeve. you have little trust in your own fists to take you far. the question as to who loaded your gun can be answered by the simple turn up of lips from a certain man.

you were simply defending yourself, you lick your bottom lip as you noticed blood beginning to flow from the opening of a cut. god fuck. the day your medication runs out is the day the purge has to be announced. your luck is truly astounding.

you close your eyes as the man's cries simply grow louder. you just need citalopram, the panic scorching in your heart shouldn't slow you down as long as the bottle is with you.

it isn't even eight o'clock, but there's already someone dying out no more than a few feet from you. you grip the edges of you kitchen table, eyes kept closed as you try to listen in for anything. with the walls as thin as yours in this apartment, the silence is nothing short of terrifying. even the sound of the fellow kids sobbing would be better than hearing absolutely nothing at all.

you slam your first against the wooden table, a few splinters probably driving into your fist as the bang resounds in your unit.

you aren't going to die, it'd be absolutely absurd to die knowing you have a gun, a hammer, and a few knives. you'd be an idiot to let yourself die.

your footsteps shuffle as you slam open your door, the cries of the man left on your floor dying down as you walk further and further away from your unit. it isn't safe anywhere really, but you won't allow death to come to you so soon.

if you're lucky, maybe you'll murder a certain bastard.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS WHEN WE die?" asking such obscure questions was a prospect of donghyuck's you learned to get used to during the span of the two years you dated. the usual smoke leaving his lips made you crinkle your nose, a sigh of slight irritation leaving your lips.

"atonement" you responded, throat heavy with the taste of bitter wine on your tongue as the click of his tongue responded to your answer.

a few strands of his hair gently lifted from their place as a night breeze rushed past the two of you. your nose again scrunched as you again let the horrid wine slip down your throat, you never had any idea how donghyuck could withstand drinking such a thing.

he tugged at one of points pierced into his ears, he seemed pleased by that answer. "and what do you have to atone for?"

"i'm sure i'll know when i come face to face with it".

that night, donghyuck gave you a genuine smile, the tease on the tip of his tongue disappearing into the air with the smoke he blows out through his lips. "your better than most people".

the look you shared could've been mistaken for irritation, maybe if a stranger were passing by they would definitely think so. he took your hand, tracing the shape of a star into your palm. "you only say that because it's me".

your words held some truth to them, and the grin donghyuck shared with you was as terrifying as it was mundane to your eyes.

donghyuck made no additional comment.

your boots stomp against the hardened cement as you make further distance from your apartment building. it would be idiotic to venture out into the barely safe outside world with nothing, but you aren't about to risk having a panic attack in the middle of a fucking danger zone.

even with your now heightened survival need, you still have no idea if you'll be able to wield that gun again, actually point it in the direction of a person and shoot. it isn't exactly impossible, but you're afraid you might vomit up your guts if you even give another attempt at someone's life.

your courage doesn't span that far, for all the bruises having appeared on your knuckles, you still find yourself nauseous knowing there's a man dying on the floor of your home.

but i didn't do anything wrong.

you didn't, y/n, don't be so hard in yourself.

you struggle to believe such words.

you hiss as sharp glass digs into your hand, eyes closing as you clamp your mouth shut.

smart going, y/n. at this point, you should probably get something more along with the citalopram, maybe painkillers.

that's funny, you'll probably end up killing yourself before ever getting someone else's blood on your hands. you narrow your eyes, honestly just the slightest bit baffled that people have already broken into a pharmacy. you keep one of your eyes closed as you work the window pane where it stuck in the middle of your palm. not even an hour in and you're going to suffer from an infection, rich.

you simply hope the clerk made it out safely before anyone got to him.

but your hopes may as well be crushed, the strong metallic smell reminiscent of blood fills the room. you close your eyes, now expecting the worst.

you hear the sound of your own lips smacking as your eyes scour the shelves, your silent sigh of disappointment would be normal if not for your current circumstances.

you catch no immediate sight of citalopram, which already surges the panic you have settling in your own mind.

your eyes cast in the next direction, the blood from your open cut now pooling down onto the floor. come on, where the fuck are you hiding?

panicking about not getting your medication in order to quell your panic disorder seems to be the most ironic part of this whole ordeal.

unfortunately for your quickly beating heart, which just seems to grow faster and faster as you spend more time in such a deserted area, you find no sight of citalopram.

just your luck. you can't even get fucking pills in the purge.

you kick a nearby piece of scrap, cursing at the ones above as you grab a medical kit, stuffing it into your backpack. your panic doesn't die down, but you choose to ignore it instead of keeping your focus designated on it.

you bite your tongue, turning on your heel to begin your walk out of the pharmacy. your luck always seems to run out in moments of dire need, just amazing.

you stop in your tracks as you hear the sound of voices nearby, steps growing closer and closer as the volume grows louder.

you bite into your cheek, stepping back behind the front counter, making your way towards the back exit.

"hey man! you know we see you right?"

you don't spare then any looks, or even stop to register the familiarity of the voice. your head scratches, god you feel like you've heard the same voice somewhere before, but you aren't about to entertain any of your thoughts.

"you know! he kinda looks like y/n!"

there's a pause, your stomach dropping as you hear the familiar sound of your name on some guy's lips. (and why the fuck does he sound so familiar?)

"hyuck will have our necks if anything happens to him".

you stop standing around like an idiot, stomping your feet as you again begin to trudge along the barely safe sidewalk. if you mind your own business, maybe people won't care, you hear car sirens blaring, and you shove your hands into your pockets, nose scrunching at the smell of smoke in the air.

"hey! y/n!"

the sound of footsteps running towards you has you immediately jumping from your spot, hands flying to grasp the revolver you kept clipped to your belt. you drew it and point forward, the person stopping in their tracks. "woah! calm down.."

"who the hell are you?"

"put the gun down!"

"don't yell at me!" you spit, eyes widening in an unsaid manner of fear. yeah, you're terrified, even though you're the one wielding a revolver at the current moment. the irony of your circumstances is so rich.

he raises his hands up in mock surrender, even with your trembling hand, you're still the one with a gun, no smart person would ever risk something like that. your breathing becomes visibly heavier, the air tense. you place a smile on your lips. "now how do you know my name?"

"we had econ together in third year!"

your eyebrows furrow. "what is that even supposed to mean?"

gosh maybe you should shoot him.

"well donghyuck asked me about you and.."

you stop, mouth going dry at mention of the name. fuck. donghyuck. donghyuck is alive. lee donghyuck is fucking alive. lee donghyuck is fucking alive and is asking around for you.

"he's alive?"

"well duh! he's on his way her—"

the moment you hear the words, it seems as if your arm is possessed. you aim for the middle of his forehead, pulling the trigger in what resounds as a loud bang. you don't stay long to watch him fall to the floor with a hole square in the middle of his head, just hear his body fall flat onto the ground, no more words left to be said.

you don't admire your work, instead you run.

you'd rather die before facing what you just did.

WHEN THE ADRENALINE FINALLY STOPS, YOUR MEMORY relaxes and you can picture where you've met the guy before, the guy who you just shot, you just put a hole in his head. god fuck you just murdered someone, willingly, the fear overtook your brain and you shot him, you shot a guy who you'd gone to school with before.

a guy who you'd met before economics in third year.

donghyuck enjoyed the bass of college parties, you? not so much.

but he had somehow convinced you, you would be right there with him, taken there as his plus one. you weren't the most sociable, but donghyuck was, so most people wouldn't know you even if he told them your name over and over again.

"do you usually come around here?"

that was where you met him, you didn't remember that night enough to retain his name in your memory, much too distracted by the irritating smell of weed filling the room. "hm? oh no! i usually can't deal with these kinds of outings".

he raised an eyebrow. lord, you feel sick recalling this memory now. you can barely close your eyes without picturing the hole you put in his head, you feel bile forcing itself up your throat.

"how come? you seem well acquainted with everyone here".

you released probably one of the most performative chuckles of your life that moment. "i don't smoke much or are as outgoing as my friends, i love them but these kinds of parties just aren't for me".

he extended his hand forward, and you blinked at the sight, taking it into yours to shake. your smile remained performed, theatric, your cheekbones beginning to strain in pain. "yejun".

"y/n, it's nice to meet you".

his eyes scanned you, and you let go of his hand rather quickly. "your name sounds familiar".

shock colored your features for a mere second.

"does it?"

"yeah, do i know you from somewhere?"

you opened your mouth in an attempt of a response, but you were stopped by the caress of a hand on your shoulder. "baby! i was looking for you".

instead of the look of horror you'd stare at him with now, you lit up at the sight of donghyuck, who began circling around a spot on your shoulder with his finger. "hi yejunie".

you watched the small look of fear transfixed on yejun's features simply grow, as if the mere sight of donghyuck was what he feared. "oh— your boyfriend is.. um.."

you glanced at donghyuck, who had that permanent smile on his face. "you two haven't met yet, right? i was hoping you would".

he wasn't. the clear lie on his lips got a small look from you, but you kept silent. "well we've met now".

"yejunie, how didn't you know i was dating y/n? i mean.. i talk about him all the time".

the words are delivered like a punch to your gut now that you recall them.

the expression of fear remain painted on his face. "sorry i must've blanked out then".

donghyuck laughed, one of his fakest ever.

you almost puke out your guts as you finally stop running, your breathing patterns simply growing more irregular as you fully take in your situation.

tears prick up in your eyes. you just shot him. you just murdered him, and yeah maybe it's illegal for the next eleven hours, but that doesn't make your panic die down. your breathing is uneven, your chest tightens, and tears freely run down your cheeks as sobs escape your lips.

the pain of an open wound on your hand is no longer the main focus, your vision blurring as you sob endlessly.

you're upset. terribly upset. your shoulders shake as you try to contain your cries, inhaling the smoke festering in the air. you keep the revolver grasped to your side, releasing one final sob before closing your eyes, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. your breathing lowers in volume, back firm against a door as you roll your eyes, letting the dry tears stick to your face as you again weigh your current situation.

your finger runs over the cold silver of the gun, and you suck your teeth as you stare at the cut across your palm. there's no longer a consistent flow of blood dripping onto the floor, it's simply bare now, you assume it'll begin stinging in a few hours, but for now, your left to wallow in your own pity.

you can barely register what the fuck is going on in it's own right, but now you've shot two people. you went from having not wielded a gun in weeks to now committing a crime.

the ways people can change is a miracle.

and maybe shooting someone who you know donghyuck is going to find is idiotic, but you weren't exactly thinking of that when you pulled the trigger.

you click your tongue, finally finished crying as you again shrug your backpack over your shoulder, stomping your boot onto the ground as you again begin trudging the other way.

you memorized your immediate surroundings like a machine ever since you first moved in. you knew where everything was, the pharmacy, the local corner store, the nearby high school, but considering you simply ran for your life, you aren't exactly sure where you are.

and if you don't even know where you are, surely that'll throw you off donghyuck's trail.

you keep your head down, hands pressed onto the straps of your backpack as you avert attention from the desecration you see. it's only been an hour and a half, the sky is not even yet shrouded in darkness, yet so many are dead.

you don't even want to think about the remaining carnage that will be witness in the morning. you just have to survive until seven am, even if that means piling up a death toll. you clear your throat, of course you get fucking thirsty now.

you aren't even sure where you're heading, but you just need to walk any other way. maybe a convenience store will suddenly appear like a guardian angel.

you again perk up at the sound of scurrying footsteps, your grip on the revolver tightening. you hear a yelp in response to your action, just the faintest sight of pink hair hiding behind the building you approach.

you snort, a faint clicking heard. when the person again peaks from behind the building, your eyes widen comically. "yangyang?"

a sigh of relief emanates from the familiar face, who runs his hands over his face and surges towards you to wrap you in a tight embrace. you reel at the feeling of being hugged, almost wiggling out of the whole thing as a whole. your hands remain up, your arms not circling around him as they usually would.

your paranoia remains off the charts, a small breath leaving your own lips. you suck your teeth, still keeping the revolver in your grip, your gaze unmoving. "well! what were the odds of this?"

your smile falls, you already don't like the chances you seem to have. "truly one in a million.. are you alright?"

your eyes narrow at the cut on his cheek, and he lets out a theatric laugh as he quickly swipes your hand away from his face. "i'm okay! honestly it's a wonder that i'm not dead yet!"

a small grimace overtakes your features. you've known him long enough to know the way he stares when he lies, this has to be some stupid clone situation, or he has to an android, maybe you should shoot him to see if he's made of metal or something. he's acting so.. weird.

but then again, should you be surprised? absolutely not.

he seems to scour his mind for words, eventually placing another theatrically rehearsed smile on his face. "are you hungry?" he inquires, as if reading your mind.

you stare, searching for something alien in his gaze, anything that could indicate he might pull out a knife and slit your throat, or that he's leading you to your eventual death. would yangyang really murder you after almost crushing your bones in a hug?

why wouldn't you be able to trust your friend?

you have a loaded gun in your grasp, knives in your backpack, an okay pack of punches, you'll be fine. what could he do?

"yeah.."

he offers his hand out for you, the offer much too tempting. he does it in the same manner donghyuck used to—

and now you're thinking about donghyuck again.

fucking incredible.

you ignore your thoughts, letting him take your hand into his. maybe not all is bad.

you'll learn those words are really just words.

DONGHYUCK CAN THRIVE IN BOTH SILENCE AND SOUND, two years proved that enough to you. though his silence now taunts you in this current day, before you two broke up, the silence was a comfort only you could scope the extent of. when he wasn't running his mouth, he preferred that you'd run your fingers through his hair, it's how you coaxed him to sleep.

you hate the way his soft hands remain firm in your memory. holding hands is one of the most mundane things two can do in a relationship, but you considered it to be a special case.

lee donghyuck himself is a special case, maybe you should've just let yourself suffer in your own head instead of breaking up with him and getting into this whole mess.

you consider the fact that you're scarfing down free food at almost nine pm to be a miracle, you consume energy drinks quite literally all the time, eating actual food is a blessing.

yangyang simply stares, he probably wasn't hungry, but he seems pleased that you're doing fine. "did you actually use that?"

his eyes point towards the gun, it's barrel glowing under the fluorescent lights of this old diner. you let out a small sigh, smacking your lips loudly against each other. "yep".

yangyang's eyes widen to the size of saucers. "your kidding, you shot someone?"

you raise a peace sign. "two people actually".

his jaw drops in an action that seemed programmed into his mind. "oh my god you're a murder!"

you snort. "it's just the purge, yang".

"mm, speaking of that, have you talked to anyone else yet?"

you leap off the counter, sucking your teeth as you sling your bag over your shoulders. "anyone else as in..?"

"jeno, jaemin? mark? renjun? chenle?" yangyang scoffs as he utters the last name. "we all know he's doing just fine, rich asshole" he sounds in the air, grunting as his sweater sleeve gets caught on a nearby pole. "not even donghyuck?"

you merely glare through your peripheral vision, a faint scowl crawling up your throat. "no.. not really".

"shame" he keeps his hands behind his back.

his tone of voice catches you off guard, and you turn back towards him, catching him freeze at your sudden look. "you aren't going to tell him are you?"

"what?" for once, yangyang looks genuinely surprised. how funny.

"because yejun said that donghyuck was asking about me, and so he's asking people about me, which means he probably asked you about me" it's a dangerous move, but you point the barrel of the revolver in the square middle of his chest.

a nervous fit of laughter tumbles out of him as he backs up. "y/n, you're paranoid, don't worry it's completely fine you're just terrifying me right now!"

you let a loud breath fall from your lips as you take in your current situation, and you blink at the sight, reeling away with a tight grip remaining on your gun. "i don't.. you can't tell donghyuck where i am, yejun— i.."

yangyang squints. "you?"

"he's dead! i shot him! and donghyuck is gonna find out and then he's gonna find me and then i'm gonna face him again but i'm not ready and i'm also sort of terrified!"

you slap a hand over your mouth as the ramble comes to an end, sucking a breath in between your teeth. "tell me you didn't tell him".

"you shot yejun?"

"don't change the subject!"

"how could you shoot him!?"

"are you seriously asking me that right now!?" you laugh at your own circumstances, this is funny, this is so fucking funny, you hope he can see the clear amusement painted on your features. "i took like five minutes to cry about it and i'm completely okay now! just don't rat me out to donghyuck please".

yangyang's concern betrays any other emotion he could possibly be feeling. "y/n.."

"don't start".

his arms drop at his sides, and he swallows his own spit. "i.. what's wrong?"

your brows furrow. "excuse me?"

"is this really how you wanted to reunite with me? with us? you avoid us for almost three years because apparently your breakup with donghyuck did you so terribly and now you just shoot people!?"

"don't lecture me! you don't get to lecture me! not during the fucking purge after knowing none of you reached out! you don't get to talk to me about this while you're trying to hand me over to my ex!"

"he isn't going to do anything!"

you raise the revolver, cocking it in his direction. "give me one very good reason on why i shouldn't murder you right now" you drag against each other in motions indicative of your festering anger. jesus, you can't even go an hour in the purge without threatening your old friend with a gun. fucking incredible.

anything to not fall into donghyuck's hands.

"y/n".

"you told him already right? so it doesn't even matter if i shoot you or not because donghyuck will know anyway".

yangyang looks one snap away from bursting into tears. "come on".

"no".

"y/n.."

"don't y/n me you shut the fuck up!"

you're just about to go insane, you haven't taken your medication, and you absolutely do not want to face your ex boyfriend again. you close your eyes, the tip of your pointer finger pulling the trigger as a gunshot rings out in the space before you.

yangyang fuck! you shot yangyang you fucking idiot.

you guess you can let donghyuck pick up the remnants of your mess.

DONGHYUCK ADMIRES THE MOON IN IT'S TRUEST FORM in the night sky. his infatuation with the moon has always been a staple of him, something you picked up on him even before you began making out in closets away from your friends. watching the night sky easily peaks his interest, as it probably still does, you presume.

"you still out here?" you inquired, nose again crinkling at the familiar smell of smoke filling the outside air.

"i like the moon" you only blinked at the cigarette tucked between his fingers, a small him reverberating from him. you leaned in and placed your head onto his shoulder, closing your eyes.

"open your eyes" he chastised. "admire the moon" he tapped his finger onto your cheek, feigned look of sadness on his face as he he pouted sweetly.

"i'm tired, come back".

"you don't want to admire the moon with me?" his breath tickled your hair, a look of elation spreading across his face as he watched your face scrunch up in irritation. "what a terrible boyfriend you are" he snickered.

"it's cold, it's warm with you in bed" he fake cooed at your whine, sticking out his tongue at your misery.

"you are incredibly whiny" he replied, clicking his tongue. he held your jaw in his hands, raising an eyebrow as he observed the look on your face. "kiss me?"

you leaned back, watching a look of dismay wash across his features. "absolutely not, i don't like the taste of cigarettes".

donghyuck furrowed his eyebrows, scrunching his nose. "you won't withstand them for me?"

you stared, licking your teeth. he tilted his head, pondering. you rolled your eyes, intertwining your fingers. "okay now it's time to sleep".

"y/n!"

"shhh baby, it's bed time".

he almost completely collapsed in your arms.

you suck your teeth, again shoving your hands into your pockets. just the tiniest hint of blood stains your shirt. yangyang. jesus. you're an absolute monster. you're no better than donghyuck now.

after this, you should probably check yourself into a mental hospital.

that's if donghyuck doesn't put a bullet through your skull first.

you won't die by his hands, not while you've already sort of lost your mind.

"woah dude are you okay?"

"i'n amazing" you croak, clicking the gun in that stranger's direction. the stranger again squeaks, jumping back. you raise an eyebrow, now amused by the prospect. "have you never seen a gun before?"

"are you going to murder me?"

you have a terrible headache at the moment, your eyesight might go to shit in a few minutes, and you've probably already gone crazy. "should i..?" you mutter, lips turning downward.

responding to people's questions with a question is never a you move.

you shoot him.

you aren't trigger happy, shooting only three people isn't exactly the definition of that. you just the find the mechanics of guns to be interesting, the minimal shooting practice you got didn't exactly make you a professional.

but when you have a gun, you have a gun.

and besides, whose going to reprimand you? it's legal to murder people.

you lick your teeth, scrunching your nose at the now added blood on your clothes. how troubling.

"you can't just do that!"

your eyes narrow, your tongue clicking. "what are you gonna do? arrest me?"

good lord you need your medication.

"you gonna put the gun down now?"

you freeze in your spot.

shit.

a whistle behind your away makes you jump, smacking the person behind you. a giggle tumbles out of donghyuck's lips. oh you're hilarious.

"baby, did you miss me?"

you roll your eyes, an action that doesn't exactly get a smile out of donghyuck. he sucks his teeth. "that's rude y/n, i go through all this trouble looking for you.."

"i didn't ask you to".

donghyuck's laugh is dragged out, and he wraps a seizing arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. "hey, let's go on a trip yeah? i want to get you something".

"donghyuck—"

"come on y/n, i know you like gold jewelry".

he makes it clear there's no room for disagreement, a small pinch to your shoulder blade as he drags you away from the scene, carefully stepping over the guy you just shot. "let's go catch up".

your stomach drops just enough that you feel as if you're going to die.

and donghyuck? donghyuck just smiles at your misery.

[world-in-a-nook]

"Aim for the heart"

characters : Aventurine ; Dr.Ratio relationship : Aventurine x Dr.Ratio (ambigious) art : @glasody__ + official (Dr.Ratio's eidolons) synopsis : thoughts during "The Final Victor" Lightcone warnings : russian roulette ; gun ; suicidal tendencies ; lack of gun knowledge wc: 905 nda : not my native language

"You expect me to believe you ?"

There wasn’t a day where he doubted his intellect but this time something happened that he hadn’t planned, something outside all probabilities. In a world where everything could be planned and meticulously calculated, it was easy to find other’s faults and errors. Yet, this time, he couldn’t find his. Humanity was supposed to save themselves; to strive towards survival yet this man had just done the opposite, just to prove a point. How foolish… He could’ve chosen to offer something else, a statistic about his wins, anything else but this.

He couldn’t understand the expression, the unwavering smile and the faint glimmer in those hypnotizing eyes. Anything could happen. The probabilities were one out of six, and he wouldn’t press the trigger, it was just some kind of act, a provocative gesture to show some kind of dominance.

Click

His eyes widened when the man had pressed his finger on the trigger. One chance out of five now. He hadn’t hesitated. Unmoving pupils, almost dilated. Was it the adrenaline? He couldn’t understand and it was maddening, yet different. He couldn’t ignore the shiver running down his spine, the cold sweat trailing down his nape and the multitude of thoughts coming to him. How did that gambler not move any inch at the possibility of death? Or was it this possible of everything ended that drove him further?

He didn’t realise yet, but his eyes widened when he realized: all his life, his brain had been challenged through trials and error, yet he had never been challenged through his emotions. The gambler had aimed not to his capacity of calculation, but his capacity to feel. The truth that had prior relied upon his capacity to calculate and adapt logically, had now been thrown upside down. The gambler was surely aiming at himself, but this thrill seeker was truly aiming at his heart. Was it some sort of test ?

Of course, he wasn’t. He was the doctor, a professor of great renown. This feeling was nothing but to test of predictable would be the gambler’s death. A scrutiny caused to provoke him. It was just to prove a point. The bullet could be a blank.

Click

And yet what if ? One chance out of four remaining. 25% chance of dying for the gambler. The barrel pressed on the man’s shirt. He would’ve stopped this nonsense and looked at the bullet to see if it was a blank. It couldn’t be: the gambler was a skilled shooter who practiced in his free time. Yet again the question remains: why would he be so ruthless just to prove a point? It wasn’t a test between them either. That gambler wanted to make him feel. What would happen if the stoic doctor had a hand in his life? What would he do if he wasn’t able to think himself out of the situation? And the moment was absurd, yet thrilling, letting him feel free.

He swallowed with difficulty. This gambler had found a crux out in his probabilities. He wasn’t on the other side of the gun yet he felt paralysed. He had been seen.

"Why not, doctor ? Life is a big gamble and I'm always the Final Victor"

What an absurd moment. He had yearned to survive up until today, yet he was now ready to throw it away. His hand behind his back as he seemed ready to pull the trigger. He was ready to put his life on the line to show his determination. If he had to put the most valuable that could exist just to show his determination, then he would. No amount of chip would equal to the value of a life, especially his, yet he was ready to bet it, was he?

No change in his facial expression but his hand gripped the potential to go on, for his luck to reach him once again. The chance that he could survive one more day was what he hanged on to. He would live one more day to spite those who wanted the avgins to fall.

Click

He held the barrel closely to his heart, to the fiery determination that plagued his mind. All his gambles, all his plans had been mind games. Some sort of test to his own luck. Yet the gun was aimed at the true reason he continued to advance. However grand was the pot, he was aiming not at winning against the house but winning the house and making it his own. Full House. Yet his was empty, no family to boast his victories.

The man facing him looked perplexed, confused on who would do a bet like this. He was a source of grounding: someone who thought that everything could be calculated. Yet in a single move, a single bet, he had moved the man’s world upside down. Despite the severe and stoic face, which was usually hiding under the handsome bust, he had this uncertainty in the eyes. The flickering pupils, the trembling hand on the gun, what a handsome look on someone so usually sure of themselves. He enjoyed the hidden shocked expression. The one that he saw when the unpredictable happened.

He had seen through the doctor’s face, his need for recognition. And he was showing it now: he could see him now and he had aimed directly to his heart. They had both everything on the line: Aventurine had put his line while the doctor had his pride. It was in this moment that they truly saw each other.

[dragonshoard]

Throughout the Years: Storm Priestess Jinx Snippets

Helloooo I'm posting short snippets/vignettes of events that occur in my Blue Bird/Storm Priestess Jinx AU. Here is the link of Ao3 if you want to follow: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61497364/chapters/157213474

Chapter 1: AN 993: Homecoming after Azir-Xerath Conflict (Jinx and Silco)

The flame burned a stark blue before dying out with a quiet woosh . Another flick, the smell of gas, light, and then nothing. Over and over again. 

“You haven’t visited in a long time, Jinx.” 

Quiet sobbing, crumbling tunnels caving all around, red purple red red red dripping down down dow- 

“I’ve been busy. Or did you not get my last note?” 

Friction made the sparks, the click click of gears aligned it in just the right position, the right order, and caused a reaction. It was predictable - expected. 

“ Jinx. ” 

Silco was not looking up at her, letting the silence of the sealed office speak for itself, waiting for an answer, an explanation . Jinx rubbed a gun-calloused thumb against the engraved pattern of the metal casing, leaning to let a braid hang off the rafters. 

“I sent multiple letters over the last two years, and the only response I get is an ‘ I’m alive’ - dated last month.” His eloquent tones were tense, stiff with a tempered anger he rarely dared to turn against her. 

Jinx hummed, unconcerned with the scolding. 

“That’s all you needed to know,” she responded simply. 

A loud thump was heard below, 

“You claim to serve Zaun, yet you leave us to rot for upward of two years with no explanation or instruction.” 

The lighter clicked shut. 

Silco didn’t startle at the long-awaited fall, remaining silently expectant from his seat even as paperwork flew off his desk from the impact.

“That’s always been your problem. You always doubt, always question: ‘why are you making friends with outsiders’, ‘why are you taking in the sump rats off the street’, or - my favorite - ‘why are you always gone’.” 

Her hand came down hard, lighter clanging hard against the polished wood of the desk. The tattoos on her knuckles seemed to shift, if only minutely, before settling into the tan of her skin. 

“You have no faith: not in me or the will of the gods.” 

“I believe in what I see. And what I’ve seen shows a lack of care for our people.” 

“You lack vision, Silco. Have you not seen me and all of my miracles? Have I not brought clean air to the fissures? Did or did I not help you foster relationships with Piltover?” 

The metal in her braids chimed softly as Jinx leaned against Silco’s chair, not reacting to the slight tensing as she handled his injector in plain view. The resignation in Silco’s one good eye was palpable. Jinx had, after all, stolen it sometime last week.  

“Haven’t my deals helped you - my allowances, ” she reminded him, deceptively earnest as she pushed her face close to his. One of her leather-clad boots pressed against the chair’s arm, caging him. “Or did you forget that your contract with the Kiramann clan runs through me? ”

A snake’s hold. 

“Or that I allow you to keep distributing your poison .” 

A blur of motion - and Silco’s head roughly hit the leather backing of his seat.

A choked gasp passed through the older man’s lips before he abruptly forced himself to be quiet. Fingers clamped tightly to his jaw, grip relentless and near unmoveable despite the visible struggle in the minute struggle of his head. It forced a disgruntled Silco to finally look up and meet her steel blue eyes; to face the utter disregard she held for him. 

“You’re nervous because you can’t see all the moving parts, the little cogs in the wheel that keep the world spinning.” Jinx laughed a bit, a hint of mocking coming through. 

“We’re in the endgame now. And you’re running out of use, Silco,” Jinx remarked, bringing up the needle of the injector and poising it delicately over the mutated golden-black eye. “I suggest you make your peace with it.”

The whistling wind drowned what was left.

[stray-kaz]

You're The Reason I Hate Champagne : a Jesper Fahey x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Too much. He was too much. That's what you told him when you left. He drank too much. He gambled too much. You loved him too much. Too much.

Jesper stared at you, his eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears.

"You're kidding" he said flatly.

But when you just stood still and said nothing, he shook his head slowly at your silence.

"You're not kidding" he said quietly.

Your fingers twisted violently together in front of your waist, the side of your foot kicking out to brush the packed bag you had thumped onto the floor five minutes ago.

"I don't want to live second to second, wondering if you're dead in an alley or across an ocean, Jes" you said gingerly, trying to close off the upcoming tears. "I cannot live like that. I'll go insane loving you."

Jesper's teeth pressed hard into his bottom lip and he stole forward a step, but you shook your head and he stopped moving, anxious energy pulsing off him in waves. You knew that if he were to touch you, if you got your hands on the untucked shirt spilling untidily over the waist of his trousers, you would never leave. If he kissed you, Saints forbid, you would be trapped.

"Kaz has -"

"Kaz?" Jesper interrupted, his eyebrows rising fast.

You swallowed hard and swiped roughly at the freshly escaped tear threatening to roll down your cheek.

"Kaz has organised a place for me. Please don't try to find me, Jesper. I need a clean break. I need a fresh start."

He blinked and ignored the matching tears that stained his skin, his dark eyes narrowing on you.

"Are you staying in Ketterdam?"

You said nothing.

"In Kerch?"

You gave him a half shrug. Before either of you could say another word, there came the sound of a cane and you turned to see Kaz standing in the doorway, his usual grim expression on his face. He jerked his head at you, his eyes glancing beyond you to where Jesper stood. Jesper gazed back at him in silence, his hands shaking slightly where they hovered, just over his hip revolvers.

"Goodbye, Jes" you said softly, and bent to retrieve your bag. "I hope you live."

You turned away from him and followed Kaz down the stairs and out of the Slat. You did not allow yourself to look back.

Two years passed and a quiet life out of town grew to suit you, or you grew to suit it, perhaps. No more guns, no more thieves, no more gambling or Ketterdam clubs.

No more Crows.

The Appelbroek Estate was just down the road, but you ignored it and its residents ignored you. You lived at peace.

You lived in boredom that you continued to struggle with.

There was no whiskey in your home, because it reminded you of his eyes when they lit like gunpowder. There was no champagne, because it reminded you of the fizz in your veins whenever he kissed you.

There was no nothing.

Kaz had bought you freedom, but the receipt was loneliness.

You lived at peace. Until there was a knock on your door and you remembered that Kaz Brekker always played the game ten steps ahead.

One predictably quiet afternoon, a quiet, timid knock sounded against your front door, followed by a tougher fist hammering on it.

"All right, all right, I'm coming!" you shouted, rolling your eyes.

Out of instinct and old habit, you tucked a knife against your palm and held it behind your back, just out of sight. When the door swung open, the narrow serrated blade clattered to the floor behind your booted feet and your eyes widened with panic.

The younger man blinked owlishly at you, glancing down at the discarded weapon. He inched the straps of his backpack higher, squeezing them anxiously.

"Is that for me?" he asked, uncertain.

The tall, hat wearing man standing beside him shook his head, his soft brown eyes drinking you in, because he hadn't laid eyes on you in years.

"No, merchling" he said quietly. "It's probably for me. Although, if she really wants to stab me in the heart, it might be hard to find. She already broke it."

You winced and dropped your gaze from his, his presence already stirring old flames. Your pulse began to race and your hands trembled at your sides as you fought the desire to hold him again.

"Kaz said he had someone planted near Pekka's country estate" Jesper continued wryly. "Should've guessed it'd be you, love."

The old endearment twisted your stomach and rang in your ears. You put a hand out to lean on the wall nearest you; Jesper didn't miss the movement, his eyes flicking away and back to your face. The man next to him glanced between you, looking nervous.

"Should I go and wait somewhere?" he asked.

The pit in your stomach melted as Jesper nodded without looking at him, your gaze dragged back to his without a word. The heat in his eyes simmered over you, flaring over your skin, running lightning through your veins. You felt just as you always had with Jesper, like you were drowning and needed him to breathe.

He was the air.

Jesper stepped inside and shut the door, leaving the man without a name on the other side. You took a few steps back and he followed you, kicking the knife so it skittered out of reach and hit the opposite wall.

"What's the truth then, love?" he murmured, his boot heels quiet on your wood floors. "Did you break my heart for money? For a cushy sleeper mission? Kaz sends you a wage, doesn't he?"

You closed your eyes so you wouldn't have to see his as you answered him.

"I didn't do it for money" you said softly. "The only way Kaz would let me leave the Crows was if I came here and kept an eye on Pekka for him. He sends me enough kruge to get by every month."

You didn't realise how far you had retreated through the cottage until your back hit your bedroom door. This small knowledge turned your insides to water and you finally looked back up at Jesper again, all too aware he could read the desire in your eyes, the desire of an addict.

He recognised it because he saw it every day in the mirror. And every day, he remembered your words to him and he turned away from that mirror.

"Did you ever love me?" he demanded, his throat aching.

Your pulse jumped, a fluttering hollow under your jaw.

"Yes" you whispered.

Familiar fingers gently grasped your jaw and tilted your head back, his opposite thumb running along your lower lip.

"Do you still love me?"

A sigh quaked out of you as you nodded. Here was the high you had been running from for the last two years, but he was here right now and you weren't strong enough to push him out again.

"I have never stopped."

Both his hands found your face, framing it perfectly, and his lips found yours, and you could breathe again.

Your two years of drowning were finished.

He was the air.

Tagging: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina

[grief-worn]

@patchworkcowboy sent [ readjust ] for a bit of target practice.

Tradition is important. It sets structure and aligns what Shadowheart can predict. Improvisation is, of course, a worthwhile talent she is generously honed in, but she has always been a woman of tradition.

And this? This is heresy.

"PJ, I don't like the weight of this. Not at all." she mutters this, her fingers unsure and inexperienced, wrapping tight around the grip. It feels nothing like the steel she's used to. Not a sword, or a mace, or even a flail. It's dense, compact, and frankly, quite ugly. The cowpoke insisted it would be a worthwhile exercise. A jovial way to waste their afternoon in camp. She'd give anything to go back to prayer.

"How are you meant to keep it steady enough to find aim? It feels like I'm wielding a brick." Her arm extends, the barrel trained on an empty bottle of wine set atop a rock. Her target. Patchwork Jack was accountable enough to brief her on the basic rules. Finger off the trigger. Point it in a safe direction. Assume the gun is always loaded (and it most definitely is). The body of it hums with volatile magic.

"Is this thing going to explode my hand off? I really don't think I should do this. It feels completely unstable —" she's cut off, silenced by the press of something firm against her back. Leather hits her nose and she tenses. His hands manipulate her like a doll. Fixing shoulders, attuning her elbows at a slight bend, even re-positioning her hips.

Well! She most definitely did not give him permission to do that!

"Do not touch me, or at least have the decency to warn me before you —"

KRAK!

Her finger had slipped, clumsily squeezing the trigger and shooting off a blast. There was a tree right next to the wine bottle. Now there is no longer a tree.

"Hells!"

[lordofdragos]

HEY HEY GUESS WHO IS HERE TO TALK ABOUT IN STARS AND TIME (BUT NOT NOW ACTUALLY THE FUTURE)

I swear soon I'm gonna make a post detailing me screaming about In Stars and Time with all the screenshots I've taken and thoughts and musings and predictions and generally just me going insane Its gonna have spoiler tags and read below breaks and its gonna be this whole ass thing I just I really gotta do my online work for this week first I may have put off a lot of that to START In Stars and Time hehe.... But!! When I make that post!! I highly recommend NOT looking at it if you think you may play the game in the future. I don't exactly know what other people call it but to me its one of those "experience" games. Theres nothing wrong with watching a playthrough of it or anything but You can only experience the game for the first time once. If you want to play it, it should be you experiencing it brand new for the first time, yknow? Anyway thats all from me right now *finger guns*

[twoboneswriter]

Both Arms?

I'm dragging him through the dirt because I love him. More of a treat for book readers who know what scene I'm changing but also forgive me if I have the timeline mixed up I'm silly.

Short read. Injury and violence. Driver crying.

The shot missed. The glass crackled and twinkled as it fell.

The bullet made its home in the wooden beam hidden behind the apartment's drywall. Irene yelped, hands up to her ears as she dropped to the ground. Driver shot up, moving towards her to grab and guide her away from the glass and the resetting eye of the gun. Another shot was heard and another bullet found itself inside of drywall instead of flesh. Driver dragged the two of them towards the front door of the apartment, putting a corner wall between them and the windows. He stood there pressed against it, all too reminiscent of the hotel having nearly the same ringing in his ears.

Fortunately, amateurs were predictable, the man kicked away at the glass on the bottom of the window before stepping inside. He grumbled something about wrist pain ruining his clean kill, taking calculated steps towards the corner. The magnum was held out away from the man's body in typical gun-holding fashion, yet being held that far forward made it vulnerable. The gun was nothing more than a field mouse, Driver's hands being the talons of the red tailed hawk.

The man slipped the trigger as he grabbed it, shooting a sharp silence into both their ears, they wrestled and foul play wasn't off the table. The man kicked at Driver's legs without letting go of the gun taking them both down to the ground. While a good move this was, this made the man take his attention off the gun which, while still in his hands, was now bent towards at him. He puppeteered the man's hands, squeezing down on his fingers and having blood splatter onto his face from the now lack there of on the dead man.

Driver laid his own head to the ground, attempting to level his breathing as the pain from the situation started to show face. He became aware of how much more blood was on him then there should've been, then the pain in his arm. The stray fire from earlier had made it home in his arm, well not comfortably enough- it blasted through leaving a horribly torn crater behind.

Yet, there was also a body in front of him with a crater where eyes should be. There's no bullet to pick out, there's no glass to pick out, he has eyes, a nose, and a mouth on his face, he's grateful.

Time to clean it all up.

He had a lazy wrap around the wound, feeling an equally lazy sense of dejavu as he sat in the front seat staring out at the apartment's parking lot. His nose was used to the metallic sting of blood at this point, turning over the engine he took the body elsewhere as Irene gathered what she had. They said their curt goodbyes, thanked him for what he done for her and went to explain how she was just going to be leaving, finding grandparents more than a few states over. He understood. Despite saving her life that night he had still lost her and Benicio.

Coming back to his own apartment he did the same, they knew he lived here and they would come back but he wanted to see Irene off. His arm continued to bleed slow and thick, most of it having crusted over clinging to the soaked bunches of cotton balls. He wasn't a doctor, he would make sure it would stay clean and check to make sure it never looks infected but the rest was keeping it covered, whatever covered may be. As he stood there, packing away what little he owned in the one duffle bag he had, Driver shook. He shook with silent and choked cries. What little tears he had trickled like a creek down his cheeks. It hurt like hell, it all hurt like hell.

Just like that everything he had was gone again. Just like that him and everything he had was on the road again.

It wasn't until he was on the road, off the freeway, and onto the freeway did he let it loose. Barely a sound above the radio as his chest heaved, up and down, jerk, down, jerk, down, jerk, down, a whine no louder than a whisper, and up again. Driver wasn't unfamiliar with crying, but sobbing was different. He's not above letting out a tear, no man is he believes, but the vulnerability of the sob is something he has only shown his steering wheel and the asphalt of the freeway. The two lane stretch of track, surrounded by miles of sprawled land and the ones around California had some nice scenery. Driver couldn't pay attention to it though, much of it being blurred through watery eyes and wet eyelashes.

[eorzeanpages]

Bullet In A Gun (FFXIV Quickfic)

Chel's gun is on the fritz and Emet has a tidy solution.

Shadowbringers spoilers

He watched her from the shadows for a time. The training courtyard was barren save for her, and the shots from her gun echoed almost painfully across the hewn stone. The bullets were not going in the predicted direction, if her swearing was anything to go by. A few more rounds, then the box at her hip gave a high-pitched whine and started emitting a faint blue smoke.

This, it seemed, was the last straw for the dear hero, and Emet-Selch watched her unbuckle the box and throw it into the wall, where it rang and then clattered to the ground. She kicked it as she passed to sit on a bench.

It was here he chose to reveal himself, stepping out from behind a nearby tree.

“Good gracious hero, have you no respect for your weaponry?”

“Fuck off,” she replied, taking a long swig from a flask of water and dumping the rest over her head. Her long Viis ears flicked droplets everywhere. When a few moments passed and she finally realized that he would not, in fact, “fuck off,” she grabbed her box and pulled tools from her satchel to pry it open. She didn't react when Emet-Selch sat next to her on the bench to watch. Inside, some of the wires were melted - to the box, to the crystals, to each other.

“The aether imbalance on the First is overheating it,“ the Viis muttered in explanation. ”Water-aspected can't be used because they tend to leak, and ice-aspected crystals slow the mana transference. The sheer amount of Light present is causing my rounds to be severely underpowered. I can't afford this right now!“

”Find me a shard of crystal,“ Emet-Selch demanded with sudden thoughts.

”Excuse me?“

“Did I stutter? Crystal, unaspected, a shard. Should be plently littering the ground out here. One that will fit in your precious little box.“

The Viis looked confused and wary, but quickly fetched one from the base of the Tower and returned with it. He plucked it deftly from her fingers and held it aloft between his two hands, suspended in the air. It was nothing to will his own Dark aether into it until it practically radiated such. He then handed it back and she took it delicately after a moment's hesitation.

”You know I'm like to use it on you just as much as any Sin Eater?“

He chuckled. ”Hero, were I concerned about your chances, I would not help you.“

”Then why help?“

”I'm bored.“

She snorted. ”Of course.“

The box was quickly wired and screwed tightly. The hero secured it to her waist and faced the training dummy, arm level. One focused breath, and the bolt fired with such force that it left a mark in the wall behind. She grinned and laughed, sheathing her gun.

”I'll be damned, it worked,” she turned to him just as he was getting up to leave. Her eyes widened.

”Wait, hang on!“

He gave a heaving sigh. ”What, hero?“

She grabbed his hand. “Thank you. For helping. Look I know the others are… and Thancred especially is… but I appreciate it.”

They stayed like that a few moments before he gently pulled his hand away.

“You are welcome. Now run along before they think I've abducted you.”

[is-this-ai-generated]

AI generated verdict: provable and confirmed

long post incoming. sorry (not actually sorry).

tells: this was a tough one, at first glance, to point out any one aspect that made me go "that's definitely genAI." chiefly, the subject matter was that special kind of uncanny that triggered my brain to look deeper.

i couldn't find the smoking gun on a cursory investigation with just my eyes. nothing like "that guy's got 7 fingers and an extra arm" here. as such, i speculated that it was done by a very proficient user of genAI, someone who has a lot of experience in crafting prompts and iterating on output.

but that didn't stop me because the uncanny feeling was pretty intense.

in the end, the major things that tipped me off were meta-contextual in nature, if we were to assume this was a real photograph: the practicality of the object, and, crucially, the presumed level of media coverage of the object, were it to exist in real life.

much like with the egg salad machine post from last year, it boils down to two questions: "would this object feasibly exist in the real world? and if so, would it cause media stir/considerable attention if it did?"

put it simply: if you see an image purporting itself to be a real photo and your immediate reaction is "wow! that's really cool, i've never seen anything like that before in my life! it's really impressive, even!" my tip is to reverse-image-search it, to be safe.*

(*if you care, that is. all my posts are written with the assumption that you're reading them because you want to avoid getting tricked by genAI.)

and if, by image-searching said image, you are unable to find any article, no matter how big or small, highlighting its existence, and yet it's somehow all over social media, you can allow yourself to feel suspicious. because it is.

so in my search, predictably, i could not find any such article anywhere about this supposed object. but i did find the inspiration that this image seems to be based around.

there appeared to be a set of arcade cabinets that were carved from marble mentioned in a handful of niche gaming publications and/or other dubiously verifiable outlets in 2023... except it wasn't actually carved from marble. it was an earlier instance of genAI images for proof of concept purposes.

on to the source of the image itself.

source: it required a bit of deep-diving in multiple reverse-image searching platforms to drill down to the original poster.

eventually, i was able to uncover the following account on twitter: https://twitter.com/goo_vision

further than that, i was able to find the original tweet in which they posted this image: https://twitter.com/goo_vision/status/1909308836143362139

this account is self-identified as an "artist and designer" and states that they use "generative AI tools" in their bio. the poster also appears to get a fair amount of AI haters in their comments, to which they've replied defending their use of genAI in their works. lastly, they also post multiple images that all share a very similar theme repeatedly within a short period of time (such as 20+ images of various types of "arcade or media cabinets made of unusual materials"), a hallmark of iterative genAI images.

why is that a hallmark? when you request a genAI create an image based on a text string/prompt, it will often produce multiple feasible images that it "thinks" match to what you asked for. the user can then rate each image, if they so choose, to help educate/train the algorithm to be more accurate in the future. it looks as though this user may be using midjourney (or something similar; i'm guessing midjourney because it's really good at replicating photorealism) to generate these images and are picking through the ones they like best. pretty standard stuff, nothing out of the ordinary there.

bottom line is that this is another example of someone on tumblr reposting something they found elsewhere and not only not giving appropriate backlinks to where they found it, but also failing to tag it appropriately as genAI.

alright, this post is long enough. if you have questions about this one, or any other posts in general, feel free to send me a message; asks are open.

and as always, my ever-present disclaimer for my blog: I do not make these posts to drum up drama, call for brigade-ing/trolling of any identified sources, or insinuate any sort of moral failing on anyone whatsoever for reblogging/liking these images. i also do not make these posts to "dunk on" genAI users or enjoyers.

I created this blog to educate those who want to learn about what to look out for when it comes to AI generated images, how I come to my conclusions, and the tells they can look out for in the future. I do not condone any measure of harassment, bullying, or hate mail sent to the originating artist(s) that may be identified in my posts. this should also not be used as a jumping off point to harass or send hate mail to any blog I reblog from, either.

please check my pinned post for more info on how I run this blog.

[elpida]

' keep your fucking eyes open. ' (from Cristov for Eris)

The attack was unfair, nobody would've seen it coming. She was moving some things from what'd been their little hideout, a box in her hand and that same postal worker had been in an out of this building hundreds of times during their stay.. she'd walked by Eris a hundred times.. so why now? Why did it have to turn out this way now?

People always say it happens fast. That wasn't usually a problem, they knew how to handle fast.. but what Eris couldn't do was predict everything. She held open the door for the postal worker and gestured with the nod of her head that they could pass her and as they passed and Eris was to leave they said something. A brief "Shame to see you're leaving." They hadn't told anyone. Nobody knew why or when they'd come, or when they'd leave.. they didn't make friends here, they knew each other for the job and that was it nobody more than just a passing acquaintance. That is when it clearly dawned on her, but smart as she was... it came to light too late. When she turned that worker lunged at her, knocking the box from her arms and forcing her with cracking thud into the door.

All she saw was the gun, that is all she saw and acted, like she knew to. She immediately forced their arm up to get the aim away from her and Cristov and it was fine, Eris broke their wrist in a second, disarmed them and then used the hilt of the gn to knock the worker out. A single fire would draw too much attention in the middle of the day but.. but it hadn't fired a single shot, and crimson was staining everything.

She was staining everything. It may as well ahve happened in slow motion, the way she opened her arms from her body and looked down at herself. Thick crimson was spreading into the knit of her jumper and wedged into the side of her torso was a blade. The gun hung limply in her fingers until she dropped the thing, she'd put the safety on so no danger there but she was just.. staring at herself.

"Hey, maybe you can take my cut from the-" she couldn't walk it off, act like it was nothing because she was getting pale, fast. She faltered when her knee's buckled and gravity demanded her to be pulled down. Her hands moved closer, cradling that wound but all it did was spread blood to her hands, her fingers that trembled and she had the most calm controlling hands normally. "-my cut from the job." she forced herself to finish. "They.. they got me good Crissy." she managed to breath out but she was in pain, she didn't want to admit it, stubborn as ever but she couldn't make herself get back up.

"They-.." the world was spinning and Eris was barely getting words out between her short, rushed breaths. That's when her eyelids started to flutter. She wanted to close them, no more pain, no more fighting. "Why.. Why not.." she mumbled, this was bad. "I'm so tired Cristov, I'm so tired.." the most genuine thing she'd ever admitted to him.