#lately the criticisms from my past writing experience

[tockamybeloved]

500 words this morning. Slowly, slowly, piecing together this chapter.

I was focusing too much on the step by step of character A does x, followed by character B does y. Instead, I am going to present it slightly distanced. What is in her mind, how certain things feel in the air around her.

The end of the chapter is dialog which will be much easier.

[janitorhutcherson]

Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up. 

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?" 

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows. 

"Use your words," he demanded. 

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes. 

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

[cherimoyatea]

𝑪𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖… – A sequel to Tipsy

Pairing: Rafayel x You Synopsis: Sequel to Rafayel's Tender Moments, Tipsy. You miss him like crazy and send him a song that reminds you of him while being away for two months. Tags: Fluff, Romance, Long-Distance Relationship, Music related theme, Confessing. A little teasing from Rafayel’s end (no smut or anything). Oh, and I made a little reference to his 5 Stars Card Floral Promise if you notice. Word Count: 2677K Side Notes: So, I had this little fic in my head after listening to Can't Stop Loving You by Artemas shortly after Tipsy was released, and decided to write it down eventually. I recommend listening to the song to enhance the experience, but it's okay if you don't. Or maybe you enjoy the song and don’t like the story; that’s also fine. 🩷 Also: While I’m not new to writing, I don’t consider myself as professional as other writers. I appreciate constructive criticism as much as kind words, if you have any! 💕 Okay, here we go~

It's been six weeks since Rafayel saw you off at the airport and you boarded the plane that took you away from him. Six weeks since you saw his cheeky grin or his endearing pout in person. Six weeks since you sank into his arms or breathed in his familiar scent. And only two weeks left until your time at the training camp is finally over.

Yes, you were allowed to use your phone on weekends, and you counted down the days until Friday would finally turn into Saturday again so you could spend hours talking to him. But it wasn't the same, was it? It only made you miss him more...

You sigh deeply as you lie in the bed of your shared room. It's late, past midnight and it started raining a couple of hours ago. Your roommate, another Hunter, is fast asleep while you toss and turn in your sheets, unable to find sleep. Though you were used to being apart sometimes due to your irregular missions and Rafayel's busy schedule, this was the first time you hadn't seen each other for almost two months. It was harder than you had expected, and you only survived the intense training and nerve-wracking tasks during the week because you knew you'd be able to communicate with him soon. Lost in thought, you subconsciously grip the necklace around your neck, feeling the weight of the locket he gifted you on your last evening before your trip. Recalling how sad and lonely he looked, almost pleading for you not to forget him, makes your heart ache even more.

Rafayel did his best to support you from afar, by holding back his desire for you to return to him and showering you with encouraging words instead. His lingering gaze would always betray him whenever he looked at you through the phone, playfully responding in his usual cheeky way as you talked about the tough training, strict rules, and how sore your body felt. He looked at you with a sense of loneliness that tore at your heart in ways you never thought was possible. While his lips curled into a bright smile, pretending he was busy with his artwork, he was probably running a countdown on his phone, counting down the days, hours, minutes, and even seconds until you were back.

Only the constant ticking of the clock on your wall reminds you of how much time has passed since you lay down and started listening to the faint droplets tapping on your windows. You still have a few hours left until Monday morning, so you grab your wireless headphones from the nightstand and connect them to your phone. Opening the music app, you hope it will help distract you from your aching...

🎶 And the sirens sang out the sweetest lullaby It's the best I've slept in a hundred thousand nights I couldn't help myself I was hoping you would love me one more time... 🎶

...but as the soft strokes of the piano resound in your ears, you feel your heart sink further, unable to stop your thoughts from drifting to the purple-haired man you love. Every line of the song you're hearing reminds you of him and how much you long for him. Was he still awake? Maybe you weren't the only one who couldn't sleep. Without a second thought, you tap the share button on your screen and send the song to your beloved.

🎶 I'm perfectly sane, I'm fine Do you think I've lost my mind? You shouldn't be surprised Swear that I just really miss you I'd go to hell just to kiss you And I've got a couple of issues... 🎶

Your eyes grow heavier as you look at the picture of Rafayel on your nightstand, with your phone being the only source of light in your otherwise pitch-black room. It's one of the pictures you brought with you–the ones that Rafayel accidentally found and teased you about the day before you left for the training camp. You would usually hide them inside the drawer of your nightstand after your roommate caught a glimpse and almost spat out her tongue in surprise. But tonight, you decided to leave his framed picture out to find little comfort in those sunset eyes.

"Wait! Your boyfriend is Rafayel?! The renowned artist, Rafayel?? No way!!"

You chuckle quietly as you remember your roommate's wide eyes and open mouth when you asked her to keep it confidential, nodding at you excitedly. While you feel proud to be his girlfriend, causing a fuss at your training camp is the last thing you want.

''...only two weeks left... hold on, MC.''

Another sigh escapes your lips in an attempt to embolden yourself. You grab Rafayel's photo from your nightstand and give the framed version of your beloved a gentle kiss before pressing it against your chest, feeling your heart flutter at the mere thought of reuniting with him in just a few weeks. Soon, your heavy eyelids eventually close, and you drift off with the frame pressed against you, succumbing to a short, yet deep sleep.

Another week passes while your daily routine in the camp is dominated by lectures, training sessions, and intensive sports units. Like every Monday morning, you and the other hunters have to hand over your phones to your supervisors to avoid distractions and stay focused on the tasks ahead. So when you finally get your phone back on this Saturday noon, you can't wait to talk to your beloved and see his beautiful smile again.

After taking a shower, you are dressed neat as a pin, prepared for a long video chat as you tap on his name in your contact list, your heart beating in anticipation.

No answer.

''Huh?'' You frown and take a quick look at your watch. It's exactly 2 p.m., the time you both agreed on for your chatting dates. He usually picks up after the first ring and greets you with his cheerful smile, but this time is different.

You try again, but the line seems busy, and after a while, your call goes directly to his Voicemail, only adding to your confusion. The rest of the day is clouded with restless thoughts while you try to call him over and over. Your mood switches from worry to frustration, then back to sadness and irritation as you consider all the possible reasons why he stood you up.

The other hunters left hours ago to spend their free day in the town center while you declined the offer to join them and stayed back to talk to your boyfriend. But now, you bury your sulking face in your pillow and feel like crying as your phone remains silent. His phone was dead–no messages, no emails, nothing.

Hours have passed, and you're still lying on your stomach with your phone next to your pillow. As you hear your roommate enter the room after her trip to the city center, you reluctantly turn onto your back, forcing a smile to hide the disappointment you feel.

''You missed something! There was a little fair today with all kinds of snacks and street food!''

You listen patiently as your roommate excitedly describes the food stalls she and the other hunters visited, but in reality, you just want to sulk in peace.

''Oh! You wouldn't believe it! I saw someone today who resembled your boyfriend!''

You perk up your ears and look at your roommate with a surprised expression, lifting your upper body onto your elbows slightly. Rafayel? She must be mistaken.

''You're seeing ghosts; there's no way he could be here.'' You say, shaking your head with a slightly irritated smile as you shift your gaze back to the ceiling with a deep sigh. He probably just fell asleep after pulling another all-nighter and forgot to charge his phone.

''Yeah, I guess so. Because when I approached him and asked for an autograph, he drew an ugly pot on the back of my hand instead!'' Your roommate pouts as she lifts her hand, showing you the drawing. ''I mean, if he really were your artist boyfriend, he could've done better than a hideous doodle, right?''

''A pot?'' Your eyes widen as you recognize the drawing on your roommate’s hand. You jump up from your bed and grab her wrist, taking in the fine strokes you know so well. The resemblance is uncanny…

''This… this is not a pot! It's a fish head!''

You grab her shoulders, shaking your roommate desperately as your cheeks flush. Could it be? Was he really here? ''Where did you meet him? Around what time? Please, I need to know!''

After a brief description from your puzzled roommate, you storm out, rushing through the hallway of the dorm. Your heart races as you leave the camp, desperately trying to find your beloved. It's already getting dark outside and you wrap your long cardigan tighter around your body. Although the days are summery and warm, the evening chill sets in, signaling the change of the seasons. You just pass through the huge gates of the camp when you suddenly feel someone grab your shoulder from behind. You flinch at the unexpected approach and turn around to stare into a pair of familiar pink-blue eyes–the ones you've been longing to see.

''Gotcha!'' Rafayel grins at you, his bright smile wide as he takes in your surprised expression. He is holding a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers with the wrapping paper slightly crinkled.

''Rafayel!? It’s you! It’s really you!'' Your heart skips a beat as you look at him, your eyes wide, hoping they aren't just playing tricks on you. After all the yearning, he's really standing in front of you, his lilac bangs swaying gently in the evening breeze as the last rays of light quietly disappear behind the horizon. ''What… what are you doing here? Why are you here?''

''Why am I here? For you, dummy!'' He pokes your cheek, still amused by your baffled expression, trying to play it cool while his own heart bursts with joy at seeing you again. He hands you the bouquet with an apologetic smile as he notices the crinkled wrapping paper. You feel his sweaty palms brush against yours and can't help but wonder if he's a bit nervous. As if reading your thoughts, he clears his throat and quickly pulls his hands away.

''I heard the song you texted me last Sunday, and while I couldn’t ask you directly, I spent the whole week analyzing the lyrics.... and then eventually came here to ask you personally.''

You feel flustered as you recall sending him the song, not expecting it would lead to such a big gesture. Quickly, you change the subject. ''What about the fish head you drew on my colleague's hand? What was that for? You stood me up on our date earlier, and your phone was off! You could have at least texted me!''

Rafayel's bright smile fades into a sheepish grin as he rubs the back of his neck, lowering his head slightly. ''Yeah, my bad. I was thinking about a surprise visit, but everything went wrong. I spent the whole day arguing with your authorities and making calls, but they're super strict and don't allow anyone inside their camp. So, I had to find a way to make you come to me instead... without ruining the surprise, you know?''

He rubs his chin thoughtfully, eyes drifting to the side as he recalls the day's events. ''Then my phone died, and I overheard a group talking about the tough training while I was in town, buying a power bank. I was about to approach them when a girl tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was your boyfriend. That's when I knew she must be the roommate you mentioned. But I didn't want to draw attention, so I doodled the same pot ehm-I mean fish head that you once drew on my hand. I knew you'd recognize it and come out to look for me!''

As you listen to him, your eyes widen in disbelief. All this trouble–just because of a song you sent in a moment of emotion?

''Okay, but Raf... you could have simply asked me on the phone why I sent you the song. It's actually pretty straightforward. The lyrics are about missing someone, and...''

Your words get caught in your throat, heat rising in your cheeks. Shifting your gaze away, you nervously fiddle with your sleeve, trying to come up with something that would feel less embarrassing to confess.

''…and? And what, cutie?'' Rafayel raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes, his smile softening. It's clear you're struggling to finish your sentence with your cheeks turning pink as you avoid his gaze.

''Let me help you. After analysing the lyrics and playing the song on a loop for hours, I concluded that someone must be madly in love to send a song like this during the early morning hours. After all, that’s what the title says… 'Can't Stop Loving You', isn't it?''

He leans in and gives you a soft peck on your warm cheek, catching you completely off guard. ''Now that we've solved this mystery, there’s something else I need to know…''

Your heart nearly skips a beat as you look up at him, still flustered, lips slightly parted. He's so close, that you can feel his breath on your flushed face, stirring something deep inside you. You gulp and nod, waiting patiently for the words to form on his pretty lips.

Rafayel's lips are inches away from yours, and his beautiful eyes darken as he whispers, making your knees go weak. ''Tell me… do you really memorise every freckle on my back?''

Another lyric reference. Great.

With an amused chuckle, he suddenly pulls away and winks at you, a smug grin on his face. You groan and roll your eyes, trying to hit his chest playfully, only for him to catch your wrist midair.

''You! Stop teasing me!!'' You pout, feeling a little disappointed that he fooled you and ruined the romantic atmosphere. But you can't help but chuckle along with him. He always knew how to brighten your mood and keep you on your toes, and you adore that carefree side of him. But as the hand holding your wrist loosens it's grip, your smile falters when you notice the watch on your wrist–it's almost 9 p.m. You need to be back before 10 p.m. to avoid getting into trouble for breaking camp rules.

''You didn't need to fly all the way to me, Rafayel... I'm so happy to see you, but… I need to go back in a while. You troubled yourself for nothing…'' You lower your gaze, a sad smile on your lips as you feel his slender fingers grip your chin, gently lifting your head to meet his gaze.

''What else am I supposed to do when I want to see you? It's not like I can cast your name like a spell and have you magically appear before me, huh?'' he says, as his expression softens. Rafayel locks eyes with you, cupping your cheeks in his freezing hands. While you can feel his thumbs caressing your skin, you almost tear up from the rush of love swelling in your heart as you realise how long he must have been waiting for you outside for his hands to be this cold.

He leans in, resting his forehead gently against yours, whispering softly as his hands find yours, holding them firmly. ''I heard you calling out for me and I followed... simple as that. And I would do it again, even if it means seeing you for only a moment…''

Your grip on the bouquet tightens as you look up at him, emotions flooding over you. A warm smile spreads across your lips as you finally find your voice again, your words faintly whispered.

''We still have one hour left... let's go somewhere warm, shall we?''

Thank you for reading!

Cheri 🍒

[inthelittlewood]

How do you deal with hate mail so casually?

I think like most people it affected me in the earlier days (late teens / early twenties) when I didn't have really any confidence and I severely lacked life experience. But I've done so growing and exploration this past 15ish years whilst doing YouTube that I've been granted the power of PERSPECTIVE, which is the greatest firewall of all.

The perspective that my key goals every day when I wake up are to be a great father / husband, attempt to inspire and humor others with my work and be creatively fulfilled in the process. And those tasks alone gobble up my energy almost in its entirety every day, so I truly don't have time to waste fretting on some faceless 1's and 0's on a screen ya know?

And that's not to say all comments are worthless, but I give priority / luxury to positive comments, or ones that offer constructive criticism or rightfully hold me accountable for any mistakes I make via lack of understanding / perspective as we never stop learning.

99% of negative comments are from people wrapped up in a ball of frustration, jealousy or anger. Some use it as a vehicle to blow off steam if their own lives/situations aren't so great with no real perspective (take a shot every time I say it) on the impact it may cause because it's so easy to write one, but desperately harder to read hateful words. That's why I'll still respond to the odd comment but usually in a comedic or disengaging manner to hopefully act as a wake up call that things aren't that serious or they could be better spending their time on other things.

I have such a strong self of self worth / love now and I know in my heart I conduct myself honestly and warmly every day, so I find peace in that :)

[thankskenpenders]

I'm a huge fan of Ian, but one criticism of him that I've seen that I kind of agree with is that he sometimes falls into "look how much I know about Sonic" in his writing. For example, a number of references in Frontiers like Tails namedropping Dark Gaia out of nowhere. It's a nice change of pace from Sega not knowing where they wanted to go with Sonic for like a decade, but it might be too far in the opposite direction. What do you think?

There's definitely a thin line between Ian's love of references and lore and lyric quotes being fun and grating, yeah. I think he tends to do it well, choosing things that will support and enhance the story he's trying to tell rather than just dropping random references for the sake of it, but sometimes it can kinda make me roll my eyes and go "okay, Ian, settle down buddy." He readily admits that sometimes he just really wants to play with all the toys in the toy box.

I think an example I might point do would be some of the Classic Sonic comics for IDW. The Tails special in particular felt like it relied very heavily on Ian being excited to use the Witchcarters again, and to use Flicky Island as a setting, but I felt like the story left me wanting a little more beyond just "this obscure old stuff is back again." (The art in all the Classic stuff is phenomenal, though, of course.)

Frontiers absolutely is jam packed full of references, but I think it works there because acknowledging and building off of decades of continuity is one of the main points of the story in Frontiers. It's part of a greater effort Sega has been making to acknowledge Sonic's legacy after much of the late '00s and early 2010s were spent being kind of ashamed of that stuff and trying to streamline the series. Frontiers, meanwhile, wanted to look back on all those past adventures and their inconsistent writing and figure out how to wring some proper character arcs out of them, so that the cast can reflect on those arcs and figure out what they want to do next. Mining hit-or-miss old material for a compelling throughline like that has always been something Ian's excelled at - it's literally what he did to the Archie comics when he started out - and having the characters acknowledge their past adventures is a part of that. It gives us a sense that Sonic and co. really have gone through a lot together, and that those experiences have shaped who they are today.

It's also worth remembering that a ton of more casual Sonic fans aren't as immersed in the state of the canon or Ian's referential writing style as we are. When Frontiers came out you'd see people say stuff like "OMG, Sonic mentioned Jet the Hawk!! I didn't know Sonic Riders was canon to the main series! I loved those games!" That kind of reaction is probably a big part of why those references are there. Sega wants fans to know that Sonic DOES have continuity, unlike a series like Mario where every game and sub-series is kind of its own thing, and that all the old stuff still matters. And if that's what you wanna do, then Ian's the guy for the job.

[heliads]

Hi!

I love your writing so much!

I would love to request an angsty Strollonso fic where Lance gets into a crash and the team doesn’t tell Nando how bad it was and he finds out later from another driver and freaks out and goes to the hospital to see him. Maybe Lance has to calm him down and keep him from going after his dad or something.

This is my first time requesting so I hope it’s okay lol.

If you don’t get to it, no worries! Thanks!

'didn't get the call' - fernando x lance

masterlist

It’s race week. Things always get real during race week.

One would think that a couple decades of seasons of Formula One racing would prepare Fernando Alonso for the frenzy of a long weekend spent overseas, but he’s had ample time to determine the contrary. Sure, he’s gotten better at shaking off the nerves a little, sloughing off like an old scar the urge to run or lash out, but part of it still remains inside his lungs, rattling the tissue more than he feels is necessary. It’s race week. What’s the worst that could happen?

That same sentiment, however, doesn’t seem to apply to the rest of the paddock. Everywhere Fernando goes, he seems the same sort of tension bubbling to fury underneath everyone’s skin. The few gazes that dare to lift to his are strained, the undereye bags larger than usual. Even his race engineer seems skittish, and after a year of dealing with Fernando watching live race broadcasts while making overtakes and other various misdemeanors, Fernando has assumed that nothing could shake the guy.

Fernando tries to think about what could have possibly gone wrong to demand this level of response, but nothing comes to mind. In the end, it was, truly, just another weekend. Fernando had done reasonably well– a fourth place result, while frustratingly shy of a podium, is still a good result. Aston Martin as a whole has been down as of late, and even though they would rather appreciate the points boost of a podium, fourth position is still better than the points of sixth, or eighth, or not even getting points at all.

All in all, it had been a relatively decent race from Fernando’s point of view. He’d had some good overtakes, and provided some good defense against the challenging Red Bulls until they passed him like they do against every other car on track. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t mediocre, either. That’s Aston for you. That’s life.

In fact, Fernando had even felt so satisfied after the race that he’d gone ahead and asked how Lance had fared while he was turning his car towards parc ferme. It’s been a little indulgence that Fernando has allowed himself out of late, caring about his teammate. Call him overly cavalier, but this is, actually, quite a sign of change in Fernando, especially after the past two years at Alpine. Fernando hasn’t always been in the business of viewing his teammates as more than obstacles.

Perhaps that’s just a sign that he’s getting old, Fernando thinks fondly as he meanders towards his driver’s room. The apparently advanced age of entering his forties is making him sentimental. How charming. Then again, it’s something altogether different when one’s teammate is, well, Lance.

Lance.

Fernando had been careful when he first arrived at Aston Martin. Lance was the boss’ son, for one thing, and Esteban’s close friend, for another. Of course he would have to be careful. It’s not as if Aston Martin would be dramatic enough to fire Fernando if he let slip a critical comment of his teammate in yet another drawn-out press conference, but they’d probably retaliate with something below the belt, like a pay cut.

So he’d watched his tongue, and watched his temper. The only thing Fernando hadn’t kept in check was his heart. Maybe that was because he assumed he wouldn’t have to, that years of experience would have made him as cold as his teammate’s home country, but as it turns out, even a two time world champion can be wrong on occasion, and Fernando was wrong about Lance.

Fernando isn’t quite sure that he could put into words what Lance means to him. He’s not sure that he wants to try. Some things are best kept secret, hidden under the protective cover of supposedly forced team bonding and aggressively proud post-race interviews. Overcommitting to an overtake before you know you’ve got it can ruin a race. Spelling out in precise, heart-stopping red syllables what Lance Stroll means to Fernando could ruin his whole enterprise.

Even still, small things slip through the self-imposed barrier. Fernando squeezes Lance’s shoulders when they run into each other in the media pen and pretends he doesn’t notice how Lance’s entire body wracks the second Fernando touches him. He certainly doesn’t store that information away for later use. And, his latest vice, Fernando keeps asking his race engineer how Lance has done in the race, making it public that Fernando is interested. People know now. How daring.

This time, though, his race engineer had been surprisingly tight-lipped, mentioning only that he would have to get back to Fernando on that front. Usually, the background chatter from the pit wall is quiet so as to not distract the driver, but this time an uproar of static had cut through the engineer’s words, making it more difficult to make him out. There had been rumors of a red flag coming out on the last lap, but as it happened most cars would be able to clear without trouble, so nothing had been mentioned. His race engineer had also been silent on that front.

Who is Fernando to worry, though? If something bad had happened, he would have been informed. Fernando makes it a habit to stay aware. It wasn’t him, it couldn’t be his teammate, and thus Fernando’s capacity for caring is significantly limited. He’ll put out a somber Instagram story later if his PR agent reminds him. All will be well.

The further he travels through the Aston Martin motorhome, though, the more uneasy Fernando feels. Everyone is rushing around, all speaking to each other in terse whispers that he can’t quite pick up. Fernando feels as if he’s the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by restless whirlwinds of deep green water.

This doesn’t make sense. Eventually, Fernando’s impatience gets the better of him and he stops one of the trainers, who’s been parked in a corner of the room and frantically texting so he doesn’t get in the way. The man practically jumps out of his skin when Fernando nudges his arm, he’s so keyed up. Strange. Also unsettling.

“What’s going on?” Fernando asks. The confusion makes his voice terse, it sounds like he’s a soldier out on a battlefield. He doesn’t even feel that worried, not yet, but from the way everyone else is acting, he feels as if he should be.

The trainer avoids his eyes. “Nothing,” he says evasively.

“Oh, and that’s why you look as if someone just shot you in the leg?” Fernando deadpans.

The trainer grimaces. “Alright, but I’m not supposed to tell you. Lance, uh, got in a crash. Last lap of the race. The engineers wanted you to focus on reviewing your data so you aren’t supposed to know about it.”

This is the part where Fernando should assure the trainer that they’re both on the same page and of course he won’t say a word about it, but a complete blankness has settled over his brain, erasing the ability to think anything at all other than the same question over and over again:  Lance crashed?

“What happened?” Fernando asks. He hardly recognizes the sound of his own voice. “Was it bad?”

“Not bad,” the trainer says, but he’s still not looking directly at Fernando. “We’re still checking him out, obviously, but he should be good to go for the next race.”

He coughs pointedly, and this is when Fernando knows it’s time to move on. He’s been assured that his teammate will be fit to race next weekend, and as a hardened driver, that’s all he should care about. Still, as he walks back down the hall again, Fernando can’t convince himself to let it go. Would everyone really be this worried if it was just a small collision? They would tell him, surely, if it was worse. They would have to tell him.

Maybe they just don’t know yet, Fernando reasons with himself. Maybe they legitimately have no clue until Lance returns from medical testing. Even the most insignificant fender-benders can have lingering damage if your hands aren’t in the right place or something else goes wrong. Everyone could just be stressing until they hear back for sure that everything is fine.

Fernando returns to his driver’s room and shuts the door. He sits down absentmindedly in a chair. After about five minutes, it registers that he forgot to turn the light on. He’s not in total darkness, a window is half open, but Fernando can’t quite convince himself to try and flip the switch. Lance was in a crash. Lance is hurt, maybe.

It unravels Fernando down to the last stitch. Lance had been in the bike accident in January, Fernando is not unused to being in a situation in which Lance is hurt, but for some reason this feels far, far worse. He doesn’t like knowing that Lance isn’t alright. It unnerves him, like a car running with a mismatched tire. All of Fernando’s systems are off-kilter.

His phone pings by his side, and now Fernando’s the one who feels like he’s leaping several centimeters out of his chair. Running an absentminded hand through his hair to calm himself down, Fernando reaches for his phone to check the notification, but the message he reads does little to steady his spirit.

Mick Schumacher.

Why aren’t you at the hospital?

Fernando responds immediately.

What are you talking about?

Mick’s answer is swift and to the point.

Lance.

Instantly, Fernando’s blood chills.

They told me he was fine. Why is he in the hospital?

This time, Mick takes a while. Unable to take the pressure, Fernando gets up and starts pacing back and forth in the confines of his driver’s room. At last, Mick responds.

Bad crash. He’s been unconscious but just woke up.

Fernando is out the door before he even finishes reading the text. He’s still in his disgusting race suit, but the sweat will just have to keep cooling, because there’s no way Fernando is sparing so much as a second for anything but getting to Lance. He manages to ask Mick what hospital Lance is occupying while fishing around for his keys, and then he’s off, breaking what he’s sure are several speed limits and a myriad of traffic violations while he’s at it.

Fernando bursts through the door, feeling eerily like a guy out of a rom-com his older sister, Lorena, used to watch. He’s buff enough for the role, certainly, but nothing about this is movie material. Real life is ugly. People get into crashes and don’t miraculously walk out. Beautiful boys with dark eyes lie unresponsive in hospital beds and no one talks about it until it’s too late.

Mick is already in the waiting room and stands up when Fernando arrives. He takes in Fernando’s bedraggled appearance with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I did ask you to get here fast, but I appreciate your dedication to it.”

“Of course,” Fernando says distractedly. “How is Lance?”

Mick nods, again, the raised eyebrow. “He’s been asking for you. There are a couple of Aston Martin guys here, but they just kept ducking the question whenever he brought up where you were.”

Fernando makes a low, ugly sound in the back of his throat. “They did the same thing to me.”

Some of the tension leaves Mick’s face. “They really didn’t tell you, did they?”

“Not at all,” Fernando makes out. “Where is he?”

Mick tells him the number and points him in the right direction. “Be careful,” is all he says before Fernando is too far gone to hear him.

Fernando hurries down the hall. Some of the nurses make an attempt to stop him, but he just ducks around their questioning gazes until he’s knocking on Lance’s door. He can see a vague silhouette through the half-closed blinds, but it’s not until a faint, groggy voice tells him to come inside that Fernando can decide for sure that yes, this is Lance, and yes, Fernando should have been informed of this immediately.

Fernando shuts the door quietly behind him. He walks quietly to the chair, and he sits quietly, breathing quietly, looking quietly, until Lance rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not going to die if you act normally, you know.”

Fernando relaxes a little bit. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Not me,” Lance says, that smug smile starting to surface even despite the IV in his arm, the bandages across his chest, the–

“Stop looking at those,” Lance says unexpectedly, cutting off Fernando’s train of thought. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

Fernando looks at him askance. “You sound like half your car is lodged inside your ribcage. Is that fine?”

Lance pulls a face. “Okay, I’m a little less than fine. It’s alright, though.”

“Tell me what happened,” Fernando says. He didn’t think it came out as an order, but instantly Lance straightens up even despite the constraints of the hospital bed and starts speaking, a faint blush on his cheeks. Interesting. Another thing to remember for later.

“There was a crash,” Lance begins somewhat uncertainly.

“So I’ve heard,” Fernando says, somewhat bemused. Humor is easier. It distracts him from the fact that Lance is lying here, practically lifeless, looking no more likely to move a muscle than get up and start running laps. It kills him, the inability to do anything other than sit here and crack jokes. This is not who he was supposed to be. Nothing about this is right.

Lance looks at him, playfully annoyed, and then continues again. “There was a crash. I don’t remember most of it. I was coming out of a series of turns, I think. Someone hit me. I don’t know who, steered right into me. Not their choice, I’m sure, but it took both of us straight into the barriers.”

His face contorts with confusion as he attempts to remember what happened. The lapses in memory startle Fernando more than he would like. “You must have gotten a serious hit to your head,” he says, unable to keep a grim tinge out of his words.

“That’s what the doctors said,” Lance confirms, grimacing. “I don’t really remember a lot between the crash and waking up here. They said I was out for more than half an hour.”

Fernando presses a hand to his face, dragging it roughly across the skin to try and wake himself up out of this terrible nightmare that has somehow become his reality. “All of this, and no one saw fit to tell me?”

Lance’s brow furrows. “Dad was going to make sure you knew. He told me that himself.”

All of Fernando’s grief leaves him a swift rush, replaced with blind fury. “Lawrence said that?”

At last, he has a culprit for why so much time passed before Fernando heard about this accident, and it was Lance’s own father. Disgraceful. As if Fernando hasn’t spent all of his time at Aston Martin trying to get in Lawrence’s good graces to promote the wellbeing of the team. As if he hasn’t held back on what he really wants with Lance in the name of good faith in the face of the team owner, and now this? Well. Maybe Fernando should have pulled his favorite card and simply done what he wanted in the first place.

He stands up before he realizes it. “Where are you going?” Lance asks, confused.

“I’m going to have some words with your father,” Fernando announces.

Lance’s face falls, and he starts trying to pull himself more into a seated position on his elbows. “Wait, no. He didn’t– he wasn’t trying to hurt you, Fernando, he just didn’t want you to worry.”

“The only thing I want to do right now,” Fernando informs him, “is worry.”

“Charming,” Lance says, then, in a voice verging on panic as Fernando nears the door, “Seriously, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“What wouldn’t be?” Fernando asks, deceptively calm despite the inferno boiling between the bars of his ribcage.

He’s already at the door. Fernando can see Lawrence talking on the phone in the waiting room, where Mick is eyeing him icily– he’s on the phone while his son is in the hospital, what an asshole– and he’s about to go out there and tell Lawrence exactly what he thinks of this, bystanders be damned, but then Lance’s voice comes again, soft and quiet, and Fernando stops, fingers resting on the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Stay with me. Please.”

That’s all it takes to slow Fernando’s insatiable temper, as it turns out. Who knows how many managers and PR officers would have killed to get that information, and they’re only four words. Four words spoken by Lance Stroll, which makes the difference.

Fernando returns to his seat by Lance’s side. Lance looks distinctly pleased with himself. “I didn’t know you were so open to receiving instructions. I think I’m going to remember that.”

“You’ll forget this by tomorrow. Strong painkillers do that sometimes,” Fernando insists.

Lance’s lips curl into a catlike smile. “Sure thing, Fernando.”

Maybe he’s right after all. Fernando thinks that he might not ever forget the peace of a room when it’s just the two of them, how the heart monitor sharply upticks when Fernando reaches over to take Lance’s hand and both of them pretend they don’t notice it. Lance will be alright eventually. Wounds will heal, scars will fade, and a ferocious driver named Fernando Alonso will accept that the biggest chink in his forged-by-fire armor is a young man named Lance Stroll, and there is nothing wrong about that at all.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[utilitycaster]

I was asked by several people to elaborate on why I thought people hated Essek and specifically treated him as some spontaneous disruption rather than a choice driven by cast members, and so here it is.

An overarching theme is this: Matt, the creator of Exandria and DM for Critical Role, created Essek. The entire cast of Critical Role likes him. Liam O'Brien, as Caleb, chose to romance him. Now, none of this prevents you from disliking him, but I think people pile their hate on Essek because they don't want to admit they are upset with choices the cast members have made. (For what it's worth, this is why I think it's healthy to be able to express that you are frustrated with a cast member's character choices or with developments in the campaign or creative choices generally, and treating expressions of dislike as taboo or worse, inherently problematic, ultimately makes for a far more toxic fandom than one in which people can comfortably say "I don't like this"). Essek is an NPC, and as the post that led me to write this up states, he is a character who represents Matt's narrative decisions and the cast's choices in Campaign 2. To be mad at him is to be mad at a puppet because for whatever reason you are unwilling to admit a dislike for what the puppeteer is doing.

Now: why Essek specifically?

People who shipped Caleb with Jester do this a lot. I'll admit to my own biases re the C2 ships but I do reject this being pure fanwank because people who shipped other Caleb ships and were still around in the late campaign either mostly acted like adults, or just kind of threw Essek into the mix. The thing really is that a lot of people who shipped Caleb and Jester are very big fans of Liam specifically, and Liam and Laura's dynamic, and are loathe to say that Liam decided not to have Caleb significantly pursue the relationship; that Laura chose to have Jester act utterly unaware of the relationship; and that Liam decided, instead of having Caleb pine endlessly, to pursue another potential romantic interest. I also suspect that some abuse of power in specific fandom spaces gave people false hope and inflamed resentment. A lot of these people also hate on Fjord but tend to be quieter about that because it's harder to pretend a PC isn't deeply tied to a cast member.

There is a subset of fans who treat mlm ships and wlw ships (or male and female characters) as locked in some kind of zero sum game in which the existence of one dims the light of the other. This is preposterous. I cannot imagine a more wretched and unhappy fandom experience than miserably tallying up fics and art and judging success not by quality and enjoyment of what content there is but rather whether there's more for your ship or more for other ships. I have joked that when my favorite character is popular I enjoy that they're popular, and when they're not, I enjoy that I clearly have refined and superior taste and I recommend others adopt this mentality. I also have half-joked that it would be fascinating to do a survey tallying the quantity of posts complaining about, say, Caleb and Essek's relationship someone has made, vs. how many posts they've made about (for example) Beau and Yasha's relationship, because a lot of the time the energy spent complaining, or worse, harassing others over their preferences could have addressed the problem had it instead been devoted to creating fanworks for your ship of choice.

Also very generally, while it's true that there's no shortage of annoying fans of Essek, I promise, there's no shortage of annoying and shitty fans of basically every character and ship including the ones you like.

For his appearance in Campaign 3 specifically, I think people are blaming Essek for the fact that this is the Chickens Coming Home to Roost, Avengers Assemble campaign. If you take issue with the characters of Bells Hells being overshadowed by those from past campaigns, the time to make that complaint was when Laudna and Orym showed up as PCs with strong ties to Delilah and Keyleth, or at the very least when Keyleth was brought in as a ringer to help resurrect Laudna (and, as someone who did make those complaints at the time and has since accepted this is the Past Campaigns Campaign...this has not been the case). Multiple party members (as played by cast members) expressed interest and excitement in Aeor before Essek (even as Seth) was mentioned. Bells Hells (as played by the Critical Role cast) want to go to Aeor. You do not have to like it, but this is not Essek's fault, as he is an NPC as part of the story driven by the cast's choices.

I've said this before but it bears nonstop repeating: when the CR cast says it's their table, it does not mean "it's their table and above criticism." It means "they are making the choices they make to play a game that they will enjoy." You can and should say that you're not enjoying it. It won't change what they do, but you'll feel better. But Essek isn't a real person with real agency. If his appearance is upsetting you, you need to attribute that to Matt's choices and decide if this campaign is still something you wish to watch and if this fandom is still something in which you wish to participate. Acting like Essek is some kind of horrible natural disaster ruining your lovely picnic and not a very deliberate choice by Matt is a transparently absurd denial of reality.

[faulty-writes]

[ Hello my dear followers and or fans. I present to you a Keigo piece, written for the Hawks Big Bang 2023. This was exceptionally fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy this piece. Hopefully, I'll come up with a few more ideas for some Keigo-based fan fics in the future. ]

[ As a support specialist, you were used to receiving attention, and it wasn’t just because you were the child of Endeavor, but you had your suspicions that might be why a certain winged hero liked you. Furthermore, it might explain why you were assigned to create his new feathers. Unfortunately, you run into a certain complication while trying to craft them. ]

It wasn’t easy being the child of Endeavor, the number one hero. When you think about your past, all you remember is how busy he was and how you constantly pleaded for his attention, especially when you came up with invention ideas.

Yes, your love of technology and keen sense of curiosity set you apart from the rest of your family. It was common for you to spend time in your room creating blueprints, drawings, or lists of the inventions you wished to create growing up.

On more than one occasion, you’d fall asleep at your desk with blueprints scattered underneath your sleeping head, half-made prototypes lying in front of you, and your hands still loosely gripping a screwdriver or wrench.

This made it difficult for your siblings to spend time with you and it was always a fight to get you out of your room and away from your passion. You recalled being dragged away by your caretaker with your nails scraping against the floor of your bedroom more than once.

But even this wasn’t enough to tear you away from your life’s purpose. The desire to change the world through your inventions led you to enroll at Yuuei, despite your father’s wishes, and though countless support manufacturing companies offered you positions after you graduated, you chose to start your own business.

Many thought this was impossible, but you knew that your inventions were unique and that potential customers would come to you for your customization abilities. The fact that you never said no to a challenge, no matter how difficult, was another characteristic that set you apart from other support item specialists.

In that aspect, you were sure you had inherited your stubborn nature from your father, but at least he had softened his attitude since Shoto had started attending Yuuei. However, despite your success, you have been unmotivated as of late and who could blame you?

Touya, your oldest brother who happened to be alive but turned into a villain, was responsible for attacking and critically injuring your father and youngest brother. You had originally thought focusing on your work would help you forget about him and the heavy overwhelming feelings that consumed you.

Clearly, you were mistaken. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the current events you were dealing with, causing your chest to ache so fiercely that you almost wished you had inherited your mother’s quirk so you could numb it and feel cold.

In any case, you didn’t inherit your mother’s quirk, at least not in the way you had hoped. Just like your father, you possessed a fire quirk and like your brother, Touya, the fire you produced was blue but…cold. Yes, you had some sort of cold flame ability, but it was nowhere near as powerful as the ice quirk your family possessed.

You weren’t as able to control your fire as Touya, Shoto, or even your father either. Although, like your older brother and sister, you didn’t use your quirk for anything practical outside of experimenting with some inventions that were powered by it.

You will always remember the first time you tried this new type of quirk-powered technology. You thought it was going to be a breakthrough, a new source of energy. Of course, you were still a support student at the time and that could have played into your naive nature.

Anyone in the support business knows that sometimes your inventions don’t go as planned and, in some cases, literally blow up in your face. This is what happened to you, instead of your quirk-powered invention doing as it was designed, it went haywire and blew up when you were within close range of it. 

As a result, your dominant hand’s thumb, index, and pinky fingers were severed and the Development Studio was off-limits for a couple of weeks while you adjusted to living with seven functional fingers. Unlike most rational-thinking individuals, you refused to have them reattached.

Rather, you saw this as an opportunity to make another version of your failed invention which is where the origin of your robotic fingers came in. Countless individuals chose to have certain body parts or limbs replaced with robotic ones and in that sense, you didn’t feel any different.

Of course, it had been tricky learning how to channel your quirk to your automated fingers and gauge just how much of your power you needed to make them work efficiently as you needed them to, but eventually, you mastered it.

Now only if you could master the ability to turn your feelings off, but you knew that was impossible. Even so, the latest project you had been given by the Winged Hero: Hawks could distract you for the time being.

Even though most would feel honored to create prosthetic feathers for the number two hero, you felt guilty knowing that those wings were burnt by your brother’s flames. Then again, maybe this was a way to help atone for his wrongdoings and this wasn’t the first time you had been assigned to craft something for Hawks.

He had been coming to you for several reasons since you graduated, and part of you thought it was because of your connection to Endeavor, who he was a big fan of. As time passed, you began to associate his unexpected visits with his desire to spend time with you.

The only problem was that you were too busy for him, and he often disregarded this. You leaned away from your work table to examine the blueprints you had created. “At least these feathers are pretty straightforward,” you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips being careful not to break it with your artificial fingers.

They were made up of three parts to give realistic joint movement, and these three parts gleamed the faintest blue color. The fingers were attached to a special device worn over your hand that looked like an ordinary compression glove but was made from a special type of metal.

As with your artificial fingers, it had a lining that glowed, and three circles across the top, and each circle was connected to one of the three mechanical fingers via a small wire. You paused when a soft vibrating sound filled the air causing you to look at the table.

You noted that the noise source was your phone. If there was one thing people should know about you, it was that you hated being interrupted when working. You sighed when you grabbed it and noticed a familiar number flashing across the screen.

“Bothering me already?” you muttered. You placed the device back down and grabbed your blueprints. “He can wait until I’m done with these,” it was standard for your customers to have your number, but you noticed Keigo had a bad habit of calling you whenever he pleased, and you didn’t have time for that.

You couldn’t even imagine how he had time for that, especially in his current state. He couldn’t even speak and needed a voice assistance device. Of course, it was only temporary and most likely given to him in the rush of everything else that was going on.

Still, you couldn’t help but think you could have made him something better. But it was time to forget about that. You glanced over the table which was currently cluttered with scraps of metal and beaten-to-death-looking tools.

“Let’s see…” you leaned over to the bulletin board that was hanging on the wall directly in front of said table and proceeded to hang the blueprint up. It was good to have a reference to look at when you were creating, although you were the type to tweak things here and there along the way.

Luckily, it never resulted in anything catastrophic. “There,” you leaned back, placing your hands on your hips and smiling proudly. “Now it’s my favorite time of the day,” you pulled your work stool out from under the table and sat down, pulling up the sleeves of your hoodie.

Well, okay. It was Natsuo’s hoodie, and you might have stolen it out of his closet without permission. But he had a million more and as much as you hated to admit it, the simple piece of clothing did bring some comfort.

You cracked your knuckles before leaning over to grab your work computer that was resting against one of the legs of the table and opened it. A few clicks sounded and seconds passed before a building program popped up on the screen.

Yes, even support item specialists used building or modeling software, and if you wanted to create prosthetics, feather prosthetics at that, you had to build a 3D structure that you could work with. However, unlike when you crafted things by hand, certain programs used to create more specific support items needed to be precise.

This also meant you had to spend hours and hours perfecting each little detail based on the hand-drawn blueprints you created before moving on. It wasn’t uncommon for you to get so caught up in your work that you drowned out the world around you. Noises such as your phone vibrating were deaf to your ears.

“Mm…” Keigo frowned, shrugging his shoulders. His yellow-golden eyes were fixed on his phone screen. Since he couldn’t talk right now, he wasn’t sure why he was calling you. However, his concern was heightened with every attempted call as they all went to your voicemail.

Tsunagu, more widely known as “Best Jeanist” noticed the distressed state the younger hero was in. He narrowed his eyes and approached, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. As expected, Keigo glanced up at him. “Perhaps it’s best you leave them be,” he suggested.

While he would normally support a fellow hero and their pursuits, he didn’t think it wise Keigo continue bothering you. It was evident that Endeavor was still recovering from his physical injuries, and his family was suffering emotionally now.

Keigo blinked and refocused his attention back on his phone, seeming to disregard the elder man’s words. He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, looked at Tsunagu again. His thumb quickly glided over the screen of his phone, and he typed out the message, “I need to check on them.”

Tsunagu sighed, pressing his hand against his forehead. He had his suspicions as to why Keigo wanted to see you, and it wasn’t just because you were assigned to create his new feathers. He didn’t want to see a fellow hero go down the dead-end path of romance.

At the same time, he knew far too well that he could not tell another adult, much less another hero what to do and in that sense, he could not rightfully refuse Keigo’s request. “Very well,” he replied, trying his best not to sigh and turning to walk to his car.

“Finally!” you leaned back, grinning at the 3D model of a prosthetic feather on the screen. “Now all that’s left is to print it,” you dragged the mouse over to the ‘File’ button and scrolled down. You were about to click ‘Print’ when you heard something.

“Hm?” your head turned to look at a small monitor nestled in the corner of the room, it was activated by a motion camera and much like a phone notification, it chimed when someone approached. You narrowed your eyes when you noticed the individual standing in front of the door.

His ash-blond feathery hair caught your attention first, followed by the medical bandages that were wrapped around his head but still exposed his face. The next thing was the respirator mask he wore, and the black button-up shirt he had on.

In his right hand, he was holding a small device which you assumed was his phone. The only thing that was missing was what you were currently working on, those beautiful bright red feathers that made up his wings. “What the?” your eyebrow twitched, and you clenched your jaw, immediately feeling annoyed by his presence.

‘What is he doing here!?’ you thought, balling your trembling hands into fists. ‘Well, I’m going to find out!’ With that, you stood from your seat and marched over to the door just as a few knocks sounded. You roughly pulled the door open, ignoring how it smacked against the wall.

You glared at the injured hero. “What do you want?” you demanded, crossing your arms. Yes, most wouldn’t be rude to pro heroes especially when they were as injured as Keigo. But, in your defense, he should know better than to bother you while you are working.

He stared at you, and you weren’t sure if he was in shock or disbelief over your words. “You ignored my texts” he replied. You furrowed your brow. “Texts?” you repeated. With a pointed artificial finger, you said, “You didn’t text me!”

You expected him to make a smart remark, but silence followed, and his attention was focused on your finger. In response to the glowing blue finger, his body stiffened and memories of the flames that had stolen his wings and voice came flooding back to him.

You noticed the blue-hued reflection of your finger in his eyes but quickly turned to march back to your work table and snatched your phone off it. After unlocking the device, you looked to see…you were wrong. There were several text messages from him and a few missed calls, but you weren’t sure if all of them were from him.

“Told you,” a robotic voice said. “Ah!” you jumped and turned around, swinging your fist at him. Even in his weakened state, he was quick enough to block you. “Whoa there,” his facial expression softened as if he had enjoyed the fact, you almost punched him. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” you rolled your eyes, looking back at your phone.

Part of you was curious to see what Keigo’s text messages said while another was annoyed that you were wasting your time, you had work to do! You clenched your jaw, lowering your phone before snapping, “Why are you always bothering me!?” Keigo leaned back, his eyes widening.

You could only imagine the shocked or disbelieving expression that was hidden underneath that respirator mask. He blinked once or twice before typing into his phone, “I wanted to see you today.” Well, that didn’t answer your question.

You sighed, placing your hand against your head and being careful not to let your hair get stuck in the small spaces of your robotic extremities. Keigo stood there, his eyes shifting ever so slightly as he absorbed each detail of you.

Even though he could see Endeavor’s anger and stubbornness in you, it was more charming, even cute coming from you. Yet, it was still hard for him to accept that you were the child of his favorite hero. “Look,” he immediately shifted his gaze to your face when you spoke.

“Your feathers aren’t finished yet, and you’re distracting me, so leave now!” you demanded, pointing to the door. You turned your back to him. “Jeez…” you muttered, slamming your phone back onto the table. You couldn’t fathom why he had wanted to see you, since you didn’t see yourself as interesting.

In addition, your life was consumed with work. There was always something to be done. Day in and day out, inventing, fixing, and creating. It was a miracle you even had time for your own family, let alone others. Keigo frowned, although he knew this was how you’d react.

He assumed Endeavor taught you to keep to yourself and to keep everyone at arm’s length. But that only made him question what were you trying to hide or was it that you were afraid of what would happen if you let someone in? He understood how that felt, given his neglectful and abusive childhood scars.

There was a part of him that wondered if life had led him to you only to remind him that he was nothing more than a villain in disguise and that his effort to dirty his hands to keep yours clean was all for nothing since he could never reach you no matter how hard he tried.

He curled his free hand into a fist, hearing the gentle cracking of his knuckles. But heroes and villains had one thing in common: they never gave up. So, damn the world because he’d keep trying, and with everything going to hell in a handbasket, now was the ideal moment to capture your heart and fuck the consequences.

His eyes lingered on you, once again taking in every detail. Although he was struck with curiosity when he noticed the hoodie you were wearing, it looked a bit too large for you and he swore he had caught a musky scent earlier that contrasted your typical fruity but spicy fragrance.

His suspicions were heightened and frankly, he didn’t like the fact that you were wearing another man’s clothing. He intended to disregard your wish, not that he would abide by it anyway, and he anticipated how you would react when he leaned forward, pressing himself against your back.

“What the-” You tensed up and lifted your arm, fully intent on elbowing him in the stomach, but once again he was too fast for you. The sound of his phone hitting the table echoed through the room. “Hey!” he grabbed your left wrist and pinned it against the table.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” you demanded, feeling him pin your right hand against the table as well. It was a tad odd to feel the cool metal touch of your artificial fingers against his. Part of him wondered if you missed the sensation of being able to feel or touch.

After all, even you couldn’t invent something that brought back the nerves that were taken away after that incident years ago. Yes, he knew about it, and he was still at a loss for why you didn’t choose to simply reattach your fingers.

Then again, there was a chance that even if you did, they’d hold no or very little feeling at all. But flesh or not, nothing was going to stop him from tightening his grip and enjoying how his fingers fit perfectly between yours.

When he rested his chin on your shoulder, you tensed up in response. He tried to get a glimpse of your face before he moved your wrist closer to his phone and used the bottom of his palm to keep it pinned against the table while his fingers typed out another message.

“Whose hoodie are you wearing?” The question threw you off and you looked dumbfounded before knitting your eyebrows and the sound of your growling filled the air. “Why do you care?” you replied, glaring at him from over your shoulder.

An expression of distant longing filled his eyes, and he offered no words in response to your question. “Huh?” you froze when he released his hold on you and stepped away. Although he knew it was dangerous, he didn’t care since he had nothing left to hold back.

The moment you saw him reach up to remove his mask, your eyes widened. “Wait!” you cried out, grabbing his hand to force it away from his face. “What are you doing? Are you crazy!? You need to keep your mask on!” you exclaimed, almost hating yourself for showing that you cared about him.

Your words were met with silence, and his eyes remained with that distant look as if he didn’t comprehend what he was doing or what you were saying. Although your robotic fingers might be digging into his flesh and causing him discomfort, you tightened your grip.

After a moment, however, you took a deep breath and dropped your hand. “Fine,” you said, crossing your arms. He almost hated the frown you wore, but he knew you needed to hear his voice even if it physically pained him to speak.

“Do what you want!” you yelled, latching onto your lip, feeling embarrassed that you had let your emotions slip. Yes, maybe you did care about Keigo, a little, but he didn’t need to know that! He lowered his eyebrows and resumed removing his mask. “Mm…” you glanced back at him, dropping your arms instantly.

Your eyes widened and your mouth hung agape. The left side of his face was marked by a jagged scar, which ran down to the side of his neck. It was red and in the process of healing. You wondered if it still required treatment, but his hardy and struggling breathing distracted you from any further thoughts.

“You…wearing another man’s…clothing,” his voice was barely audible, “makes me jealous.” Your eyes began to water at the sight of the damage left on his skin and at the sound of his vocal cords straining to speak. Stepping closer, you said “I-It’s Natsuo’s hoodie,” and cursed yourself for trembling when you spoke.

“Mm...” his eyes narrowed as if he were debating whether you were telling the truth or not. “Is…is that what you really care about right now!?” you growled. “You are so…” you wanted to call him stupid, an idiot even. Instead, you swallowed and looked at him, with a few stray tears running down your cheeks.

Your hand came to rest on the side of his injured cheek, and you almost wished you didn’t have these damned metal fingers so you could properly brush your thumb over his skin. Your compression glove’s cool metal texture made him recoil and at the same time, a sense of sadness filled him.

He would have much preferred to feel the touch of your warm palm, of course, then you wouldn’t have the use of a thumb period. “Did Touya really do this to you?” he frowned at your question and reached up, clasping the side of your face. It was apparent that your tears were now streaming over his hand and down his wrist.

Although most tears felt warm, yours were cold and left faint red lines on his skin. He quickly assumed this was because your quirk was cold enough to burn and partly wondered if your tears would leave a kiss of frostbite or at the very least, leave his skin feeling cold for a while. Not that it mattered.

He almost wanted to laugh, because unlike your brother, who shared that his tear ducts were burned, yours seemed to work just fine. Seeing a hero in such a fragile state, one that everyone looked up to, was always hard to accept.

But this was reality, and he didn’t fear showing you his weaker side, he just wished you’d do the same. Although you were already going through a lot emotionally, he felt a tiny bit guilty that he was only adding to it. At the same time, he felt hopeful that he was getting closer and closer to tearing down your walls today.

As he cradled your face in his hands, he gently moved his thumbs, collecting your chilly teardrops and wiping them away. You latched onto your lip, feeling your heart speed up at the caring and gentle gesture he was performing.

You were typically someone who bottled up their feelings and if you had to cry, you usually did it in private as you believed it was a sign of weakness. But it seemed that you and Keigo were both weak and needed to lean on one another for the time being.

The answer to your earlier question was obvious, and frankly, you didn’t know why you had even asked it in the first place. “Damn it…” you hissed under your breath and tried to turn your head, but Keigo refused to allow you to look away from him.

His noisy and raspy breathing made you cringe, and you hoped that he wouldn’t collapse. Your eyes closed and you pressed your teeth together, you couldn’t take any more drama. A soft hitch of breath came when Keigo stepped closer and pressed his forehead against yours.

Tears continued to trickle out of your eyes, possibly a sign of all the emotions you had been holding back until now. Silence filled the space between you, apart from the man’s continued breathing and it was only in this moment that you noticed the unfamiliar heat coursing through your cheeks.

As he cautiously stepped closer, his hands slipped down to your shoulders, drawing his breath against your face and you felt the warmth of his lips so dangerously close to yours. “I’m...not a good...guy,” he said, struggling with his words once again.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You lowered your hand from his face, how could he say that? Yes, you were aware of what he had done. Your brother had told Japan that the Winged Hero: Hawks had murdered Twice, the villain.

However, you knew from your own experience that heroes aren’t always heroic. Your father was a prime example of that, but as of recently, he aimed to improve himself, despite the hatred the world now held for heroes. You could only assume that Keigo was following in his footsteps.

His hands brushed over yours and he took them in his grasp, holding them to his lips. As he kissed each one of your knuckles, he closed his eyes, taking another breath. “You…make me…feel like one.” Tingles ran through your body, and when he opened his eyes again it felt like those golden orbs were staring directly into your soul.

Yet, you felt comfortable for a moment. As if all the troubles you felt were suddenly lifted. Your eyelids lowered and you squeezed his hands, almost unconsciously pressing yourself against him. The tiniest smile came to your face, and Keigo’s eyes softened when he returned that smile. It was good to see you in this state.

Maybe now he could…he paused, releasing your hands and instead, wrapped his arms around you. His fingers almost possessively dug into your back, and he leaned forward. A soft coo escaped him as he carefully nuzzled against your neck making you tremble in response.

It was hard to tell if you were shocked by the way he embraced you or by the bird-like noise he made. Of course, you should have expected it given his quirk. Your hands remained at your sides, and you thought, ‘Should I hug him back?’

You were never one to express your affection physically, but it seemed the two of you were already past that. “Mm...” you hesitantly slipped your arms beneath Keigo’s, allowing your fingertips to graze along his back while remaining conscious of not harming him with your robotic fingers.

Your eyebrows knitted as you felt two distinct bumps on his shoulder blades and quickly realized they were the remains of his wings. ‘Oh right...his wings…’ you thought bitterly, glancing to the side. ‘I should be working on his damn feathers, what am I doing!?’

Despite your rational thoughts, your body didn’t listen. ‘Why…why can’t I move away?’ Was it because this felt nice? His body was warm and comforting despite being bruised, beaten, and fragile. Your eyes began to water again, and you tightened your embrace.

Your fingers, or at least the flesh and blood ones, were trembling. As soon as he noticed this, he drew back but kept his arms around you. He noticed your watery eyes first, followed by your frown and overall look of hurt across your face.

He wanted to ask what was wrong, but words were useless. Maybe he should show you that everything was okay or as okay as he could make it at this time. Pulling back his hand, he lightly grasped your chin and grazed his thumb along your bottom lip. The moment he leaned forward, your heart pounded faster.

What was going on? Was he going to…and why did you want to? Your eyelids lowered, and your lips parted, prepared to feel the warmth of his against them. However, the door opened right as your mouths touched, and both of you froze. Then a familiar voice came, “Y/n?” 

You instantly pushed your hands against Keigo’s chest and glanced past him to see your father. What was he doing here, shouldn’t he be in the hospital!? Well, unless he got discharged. But if that were the case, then Fuyumi should have informed you. Then again, you weren’t exactly paying attention to your phone today.

You expected him to react with anger, but instead, he frowned and lowered his eyebrows, confused at what he was seeing and why Keigo was so close to his child. “Apologies,” Tsunagu’s voice came and seconds later you watched him squeeze past your father.

“I attempted to explain to Endeavor that you were currently engaged in conversation with Y/n, but it appears he favored disrupting regardless.” Well...in addition to ignoring your phone, you realized that if someone was preoccupying your attention, you also ignored the chime of your motion camera. Lovely. “However, they are his child and I believe we have interrupted Todoroki family matters enough,” he was somewhat concerned as to why Keigo hadn’t turned around yet. But knowing the young hero, he was more than likely attentively listening to and acknowledging the two men now present in the room.

In addition, due to his years of conditioning as a hero, it was also likely he was continuing to shield you because he wanted to make sure you and everything else were safe. Enji glared at Tsunagu before shaking his head and looking back at you and Keigo.

Though he didn’t say a word when he walked over, his eyes burned with an intimidating gaze that made you tremble. “Uh...hi Dad?” you awkwardly said and, with some regret, stepped away from Keigo. Without warning, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away.

You were surprised that he said and did nothing given the fact that in the past he had no trouble laying his hands on Keigo and threatening to turn him into fried chicken. Maybe double-fried chicken in this case. You shifted your gaze to Tsunagu as you passed by, and he merely shrugged.

“Mm…” your cheeks were flushed, and Enji loosened his grip on your wrist when the two of you got closer to the door and instead, took a secure grip on your hand. As he yanked it forward, three distinct snaps echoed through the room.

You paused, realizing that he had unintentionally taken your artificial fingers off, but luckily that was part of their design. It enabled you to replace whichever finger you wanted or fix them if necessary. He paused and looked to see three metal appendages now in his palm. His eyes widened, and he looked back at you.

“Shouldn’t have pulled that hard,” you said, holding your hand up. The metal compression glove remained, but the three wires that connected to your fingers were hanging against it. Judging by your father’s frown, it was difficult for him to see just two flesh and blood fingers because it reminded him of his shameful past.

After losing your fingers, he should have been stricter with you and consulted you about what you needed to do. He curled his hand into a fist and grabbed your wrist with his opposite. “Let’s go,” he finally dragged you past the door, leaving the two fellow heroes behind. 

Upon hearing Keigo fumble with his respiratory mask, Tsunagu asked, “Is this what you meant when you said you needed to check on them?” Keigo ignored his words and grabbed his phone from the table, briefly glancing at your computer which was left open.

He noted the odd program you had displayed on the screen and the strange feather-like image on it. He turned to Tsunagu, “They’ll be back later,” he typed out. “Endeavor wouldn’t distract them for long, after all, they’re obsessed with their work,” he noted before walking past the fellow hero.

“We need to make sure to lock the door, I don’t want Y/n’s possessions to get stolen,” he paused in the doorway, focusing his gaze on a black vehicle pulling away from the building in a hurry. It was safe to assume that it belonged to Endeavor.

Your hands curled in your lap when your father finally got you into the car, though it was a tad odd to see the three stumps where your fingers used to be. “Hi Y/n,” Fuyumi greeted but only received your glare in response.

It must take a lot out of her mental health to have to force herself to remain optimistic over everything she does, and part of you hated her constant positivity even when there was none to be found. You shifted your gaze to Natsuo, who, like your father, had a temper.

But he was at least honest with you and expressed his opinions without remorse. He saw the truth in everything and accepted it no matter how hard. Shoto seemed to be missing, but you presumed that his injuries would take more time to heal and further presumed that your mother was with him.

“Mm…” you turned to Enji, holding out your opposite hand and he hesitantly handed you the metal fingers. After clicking each one into place and ensuring they worked properly and that the wires were firmly reattached, you muttered, “Thanks” and looked out the window.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t annoyed that you were once again being distracted from your work. Enji frowned, staring at the back of your head, and contemplating his next words. “Stay away from Hawks,” you looked at him in disbelief.

However, your reaction was not surprising to him, and he remained with a stern expression and crossed arms. “What?” you hissed out, your eyebrows slanted, and your teeth bared as if ready to pounce on him like a hungry animal after its prey.

“Wait…” Fuyumi said, her voice full of concern. “Hawks visited you?” she frowned and pressed a hand against her chest. ‘That must be why Dad was so upset,’ like your father, she was unphased by your glare and her facial expression reflected her concern and loving nature.

She cared about this family as hellish as it was and wanted nothing more than to take care of her younger siblings, especially in the absence of your mother. Granted she decided to come back into the picture quite recently, which was yet another emotional toll you had to deal with.

Like Shoto, you kept a distance from your older siblings, and no matter how hard they tried to connect with you, there never seemed to be anything in common between you and them. You preferred to stay indoors and often refused to play with them growing up.

This, of course, was a result of your passion for support items which drove you to confine yourself to your room where you spent hours creating, fixing, or making blueprints of inventions. You paused and glared at her again, was she really asking such a dumb question?

You turned to Enji. “He’s not that bad you know. After everything he’s been through because of Touy-” a deep growl rumbled from his throat. “I know very well what happened,” he remarked, anger seeping from his words.

Guess he didn’t want to be reminded of the awful deeds his own flesh and blood committed. Natsuo sighed, pressing the tips of his fingers together. He felt hopeless that he couldn’t do anything about Touya. He glanced at you, crossing his arms before pressing his back into his seat.

“Lay off Y/n,” he demanded, now glaring at your father. “It’s not their fault that Touya ended up the way he did,” he noted, ignoring Fuyumi’s hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say that Natsuo,” she urged in a quiet whisper, why she always felt like defending your father was unknown.

You sighed, glancing out the window again. “What did he want?” Natsuo asked, catching your attention. “Hm?” you responded, not fully catching his question. “What did he want?” he repeated, slightly annoyed. You knitted your eyebrows and huffed. “Nothing,” you replied nonchalantly.

Natsuo narrowed his eyes, with the way you were dragged out the door, he didn’t buy it. Before he could inquire anything further, Enji said, “So it was Hawks who initiated it then.” You stared at him silently as you pressed your lips together.

He narrowed his eyes, returning your stare. “I’ll have to have a chat with him later,” he stated, it wasn’t in his interest for Keigo to have a romantic relationship with his child. “What?” you replied before pressing your hands against the empty space between you and Enji.

“No, you won’t! Nothing happened between us, he was just…” Your words faded into the air, and your eyes shifted back and forth. “Just what?” Enji asked, daring you to complete your sentence. “W-why does it matter?” you replied, knowing you were acting like a love-sick teenager.

As you stared out the window yet again, you took notice of the clouds passing by. “Y/n,” Enji snarled possessively. You sighed. “What?” you asked, glancing at his reflection in the glass of the window. He was wearing a frown, and his eyes held a hurt expression.

“I want to protect all of you,” he stated, once again attempting to show his softer side. You heard Natsuo huff in response while Fuyumi remained quiet. You lifted your hand to brush the cool metal tips of your artificial fingers against your lips, ignoring the blue-tinted hue that reflected off the window.

You recalled the feeling of Keigo’s breath against them and the faint butterfly kiss of his mouth against yours. ‘What would have happened if Dad didn’t interrupt us?’ You weren’t sure if you wanted to know, but one thing was clear.

“You can’t protect someone else’s heart,” you replied, your voice soft but audible. That hurt expression on his face deepened, but you didn’t bother turning your head or looking at his reflection any longer. Instead, you were more concerned over the realization that maybe, just maybe you liked Keigo after all.

[hurt-care]

It's allergy season and I was looking back through my old writings and found this short allergy-centric fic I wrote several years ago in response to a request. I don't know that I ever posted it here on Tumblr, but even if I did, there's a lot more people here than back in 2019 when I wrote it.

It's OCs, modern day setting, takes place in Egypt. Thom is a grad student in Archeology doing a practicum placement in Egypt. Turns out, there's still pollen and allergens in the desert... enjoy :)

---

The jingle of a cell phone ring broke through the cloud of white noise coming from the air purifier and the AC unit. Thom rolled over and reached for the phone, almost knocking it off the bedside table as he fumbled sleepily.

He squinted at the display and toggled the slider to answer.

“Mhm? Hello?”

“I'm out front. It's ten past.”

Thom sat up with a start and blinked at the clock across the room.

“Oh fuck. I'm sorry Asha, I overslept. Give me a few and I'll be right down.”

He kicked off the sheets and tore through his closet in the small flat for a fresh pair of khakis and a thin linen shirt. He splashed some water on his face and ate a banana quickly while he refilled his water bottle and searched for his baseball cap. Thankfully, his backpack was still stocked from the previous day of work, so he slung it over his shoulder, grabbed his keys, and raced down the two flights of stairs out into the busy Luxor street.

Though it was barely seven, the sun was already blazingly hot. Asha sat, idling her motorcycle and chatting with a street vendor.

“Sorry, sorry,” Thom said as he approached. 

“Doctor Rutledge is gonna kill us,” she said, pushing her helmet back down and handing the spare one to Thom. “Let's go.”

Thom sided onto the bike, put on the heavy face-shielded helmet, and took hold of Asha's waist. The bike roared to life and they sped off towards the dig site.

He'd first met Asha two months ago when he'd come to Egypt for his practical experience under the tutelage of renowned Egyptologist, Doctor Emila Rutledge. Asha was a daughter of Luxor, born and raised in the city and her knowledge of its winding streets and the surrounding archeological sights had proved very useful. She was a local assistant on the dig, helping with some of the more tedious sorting and packing of artifacts. And her motorbike was a much faster way to reach the desert than taking a bus and then walking.

They turned down a street leading out of the city and towards the Theban Necropolis dig site. The bike slowed as they turned down the side road and came to a halt where the road turned to sand.

They tugged off their helmets, the sweat dripping down their faces drying instantly in the arid climate. With Asha pushing the bike, they walked the last bit down the sandy path to the tents that marked the research areas. 

Thom blinked in the dry air and rubbed at his left eye, turning it a little pink. As they ducked under the canopy of the first tent, he cleared his throat and took a deep swig of his water bottle. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, capping the bottle and putting it back in his pack. “It's my fault. I didn't set a proper alarm.”

Doctor Rutledge looked up from her table of equipment and glared at him.

“There's limited time out here during the storm season,” she warned him. “Don't waste it being late.”

March and April in the desert meant sandstorms and sometimes they struck unexpectedly, plunging the camp into a fog of dust and undoing weeks of excavation work. Thankfully, none had hit the site thus far in the season.

Thom set down his things and turned to his work, Asha at his side, cataloguing a tray of rocks that had eroded off a nearby statue. 

“You alright?” she asked, looking at him critically. “Your eyes are kinda pink.”

He blinked and rubbed at his left one again. They did feel a bit gritty.

“Still half asleep,” he said. “Didn't have time for coffee.”

She laughed.

“You'll have to suffer until break then.”

Thom nodded and made a mark in his notebook about one of the artifacts. He rubbed the back of his hand to his nose distractedly, pawing away an itch.

In the distance, the air was growing murky and dim as a far-off storm kicked up sand into the air, turning the sky an unworldly red. 

His throat felt drier than usual out in the heat of the open desert. Putting his notebook down, he reached again for his water bottle.

“You sure you're fine?” Asha asked suspiciously. “Your eyes look awful.”

Thom pushed his water bottle cap shut and opened his mouth to answer her, but he was distracted by a sudden, very urgent itch. He wrinkled his nose and turned away, cupping his hands to his face.

Hurh-TSGHT!

“Blessings to you,” she offered. 

Thom sniffled and wiped at his nose. He could feel the familiar burning of an allergic reaction growing in his respiratory system and suddenly his stomach sank. In the haste of his departure that morning, he'd neglected to take his allergy medication.

He'd always been someone who struggled with allergies, to everything from cats to pollen to mold and dust. His youth had been full of inhalers on the sidelines of the soccer pitch, extra allergy pills packed for sleepovers, and his own air purifier for his college dorm room. Adulthood had not improved things as much as he'd hoped. He'd expected that the dry air of Egypt would be a relief to his hayfever, but he'd been warned about dust-storm season and the large amounts of pollen and mold and dust kicked up by the strong winds. The local pharmacy had put out a display of face masks only a week prior.

“Oh shit,” he groaned, digging through his backpack. Maybe he had some spare pills stowed away.

“What?” Asha asked.

“Ugh, my allergies,” he said, sniffling again. “I forgot my medicine this morning.”

“Wow, you really did fuck up the start of your day,” she teased. “You have allergies? Bad ones?”

“Yes, bad ones,” he said, reaching to the bottom of an outside pocket and feeling his rescue inhaler. At least that was some relief. “Bad enough to need a prescription daily.”

“And it's storm season,” she said. “The worst for that.”

“I've been told,” he said miserably. He could feel his eyes beginning to water and he ran his tongue along the top of his mouth and back towards his throat, trying to settle an itch.

Hhrr-TSGHHT!

He sneezed roughly into his shoulder.

“Well,” he said, pulling a bandanna out of his pack. “This might help a little.”

He tied the triangle of cloth over his nose and mouth, tucking the excess into the top of his shirt.

“Very mysterious,” Asha teased. “My work partner, Zorro.”

Thom went back to his notes, but concentrating was extremely difficult. He wrinkled his nose under the bandanna and tried to focus on his work, but the itching was too strong. 

Hehh-ehh-GSHTT!

A damp spot blossomed on the bandanna under his nose.

He clamped a hand over the fabric and pinched his nose, turning away from Asha.

NghT! Hehh...eh-TSGHT! Tsh'GXHT!

Three rapid stifles tumbled forward, held in by his fingers. 

Tsgh! Ehh-TSGH!

“Wow,” Asha said, watching. “You were not kidding.”

“No,” he said miserably, letting go of his nose. “This is pretty mild, actually. Usually I...I..hehhh...heh-TSGHT!”

He sneezed once again into the bandanna and tugged it free from his face, using it as a proper handkerchief. 

“I'll ask around to see if anyone else has some medicine,” Asha offered. “Sit down a minute.”

He sunk into a camp chair with the bandanna over his nose.

Hehh-ehhhh-GSHTT!

By the time she returned, his breath was growing wheezy and his eyes were swollen. He coughed hoarsely into his fist and swallowed hard.

“No luck,” she said.

“What going on over here?”

Doctor Rutledge was standing behind them, looking expectantly at them both.

“Thom is having an allergic reaction, Doctor,” Asha explained. “I was looking around to see if anyone had any medication.”

“And?”

“No one does,” she said. “I'm sorry, Thom.”

“That's okay,” he croaked. “I just need a minute. I—heh-SGHHT!”

He sneezed thickly into the bandana and pinched his nose before giving it a sharp blow.

“It's storm season, Thom,” Doctor Rutledge said. “The longer you're out here, the worse it'll get.”

Ehhh-GSXHTT!

He was starting to feel the strain in his lungs and he fished in his bag, curling his fingers around his rescue inhaler just in case.

“I think you should go back home, Thom,” Doctor Rutledge said. “It looks like the winds are headed this way.”

He could barely see her through his watering eyes.

��Are you sure, doctor? I could go work in one of those more covered tents across the way.”

“No, that isn't necessary. Asha, will you get him home?”

“Yes, I'll do that.”

Doctor Rutledge turned to head back to her work as Thom launched into another fit.

Ehh-tsxSHTT! Ngh'GSHT!

Thom curled in on himself, sneezing rapidly.

Tsgh-GSHT Tsh'GHT! TXGHT!

He blew his nose hard into bandana and surfaced from the fit with a wheezy gasp.

“Hold on,” he croaked, raising the inhaler. “I need this first.”

He took a puff and breathed in the medication, holding it in as long as he could before he started to cough and exhaled nosily.

Asha sighed sympathetically and held out her water bottle. He took a deep swig from it and thanked her.

“Let's go before you get worse,” she said.

They returned to the motorcycle, going slowly along the path because of Thom's swollen eyes. He shoved the helmet over his leaky face and climbed on the bike behind Asha.

The ride back into Luxor was a blur of exhausted sniffling and two very unpleasant sneezes inside the helmet before they pulled up in front of Thom's apartment.

“C'mon,” Asha said gently, taking his arm and leading him inside. He started to climb the two flights of stairs but on the first landing he was forced to pause as another fit took over, wrenching him forward with several forceful sneezes that tore out of him rapid-fire.

Hurhhh-TSGHHH! Ngh-TSGHHT! Hehh....ehh-TSCHHH!

They staggered up the next flight and into Thom's flat. He swallowed two of his prescription pills from the medicine cabinet before slouching down into his sofa and taking another puff of his inhaler.

“I thought leaving England would be the end of all this mess,” he said miserably.

“Oh no, we've got all our own special allergens here too. Storm season is infamous. I'm sure you've been told.”

“I have,” he said. “I probably would still be a bit of mess with my prescription, but I can't believe I managed to forgot taking it at all!”

“I guess we'll see,” Asha said. “There's two months of this dust. Maybe invest in a mask. Lots of people wear them this time of year.”

Eh-TSCHH!

Asha shoved a box of tissues across the coffee table towards Thom.

“And maybe invest in a few more of those too. Sounds like you might need them.”

[geraskierficrecs]

I’m going to be honest for a moment:

One of the worst things about being a writer on a fandom platform is when someone takes the time to write out a critical comment about how they were unsatisfied or disliked the story. It takes advantage of one of the biggest sources of stress for a creator. That niggling little voice in your head that says, ‘what if it’s not good enough?’ ‘What if readers don’t like it?’

You spend hours typing out chapters and planning out stories between life and school and work just to open your email to someone pointing out your faults or ripping apart the story entirely. It’s heartbreaking. It’s lingers in the back of your mind each time you open a new doc or start writing.

In the last month, I’ve gotten some really critical comments left on stories that I really enjoyed writing and hoped you all would like reading. The commenter wrote as though there isn’t someone on the other side of the screen trying their best. For me, writing for this fandom was a way to heal from a lot of awful experiences writing in academia and I cherished all the support and new friends I found.

I guess what I’m trying to advocate for is the choice to simply step away from a fic that doesn’t satisfy you instead of tearing into the story. You might be able to forget that brief interaction but I promise that it’s not so easy for the writer who wrote it. I, for one, have found myself struggling to keep writing lately without questioning if it will even be liked.

I’m just tired. I don’t know if I should keep writing when I have to dread the next new critic who finds one of my stories.

For those of you who have always been supportive, thank you. You don’t know how often I push past writers blocks or exhaustion thinking about how you’d like to know what will happen next. I cherish each and every one of you.

[littlemissmanga]

Personal nonsense below the cut. I struggled with whether I should even make this post but it's my blog. Even if no one sees this I need to get it out.

I'm struggling. Hard.

Mostly it's work stress, but it's reached critical mass and it's sparking my anxieties even after I log off of work.

There's nothing I can do about the stress at work, nothing I can do to change the situation or make it better. And I can't leave because my mental health will suffer more without the stability my job gives me.

But lately, when I turn to Tumblr or writing to refocus and escape, it's not escaping. I can't write - i have no energy to find inspiration. I'm completely drained. It's taking so much just to comment on everyone's amazing stories. But without creating the content I want to see, I feel like I'm getting left behind.

I saw a post about commenting on old fics and it said:

 Fanfic authors feel constant pressure to create more and crippling fear of being forgotten, useless, and being literally kicked away from fandom.

And that's exactly it. That's what I'm feeling so acutely. Because it's happened before. And this fandom isn't that one and I know no one thinks this way about my work but me. But I still gotta live with my own thoughts and they're telling me it's true.

I had the extreme privilege of finding this lovely and amazing community over the past year and I am so grateful and I can't help but fear losing it if I take time away from it.

But what's hurting the most is my own inability to talk about it. It never feels like an "appropriate" time to bring it up in conversation because everyone has their own issues and I don't want to pile on/take attention away from them. I don't like calling attention to myself because it feels conceited and selfish - even though the only way I know how to connect with people is through my personal experience, so even without talking about my actual issues even just responding to support someone feels incredibly self-absorbed of me.

And again I know if anyone said that to me, of course I'd make space for them. But my brain can't make space for me, so I don't say anything. Even to my friends off of Tumblr - they're all going through the ringer right now and I just ... can't. I haven't had a night without a breakdown in over a week and I'm really struggling to get through this funk.

I know it's probably best for me to take a step back from Tumblr if I feel I can't keep up, but it hurts to potentially lose my favorite leisure platform and community just because I can't handle the other stress in my life.

It's not fair and I hate being in this place.

[mtap-comics]

Welcome back to my Bad Things Happen Bingo!

Fandom: My time at Portia

Pairing: Arlo x Female Builder

Summary: Elenya had always been proud of her good reflexes. Combined with her clumsiness, they had saved her from so many injuries and broken glasses. But today this blessing was proving to be more of a curse.

Word count: 7'742

Prompt: Bleeding Through the Bandages

Well, look who's back! It's been a while since my last story, but I started a new job at the beginning of February and haven't had much time to write for a while.

But now I welcome you back to my Bad Things Happen Bingo!

You'll experience the usual angst, followed by enough sweet Arlo to rot your teeth. It's once again quite a bit to read, so make sure you have enough time for it!

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Stitches, Fainting

Read on AO3: Link

Healing Hands

Elenya had always been proud of her good reflexes. Combined with her clumsiness, they had saved her from so many injuries and broken glasses. But today this blessing was proving to be more of a curse.

It was a mild late summer morning in Portia and Elenya was in her garden, as she often was, working at her workbench. Paulie had posted an order for 3 grinding saws on the commission board and as luck would have it, she still had 3 blade blanks in stock and just needed to sharpen them. She had already finished the first two and the third just needed a final polish to give it the outstanding quality she had become known for in Portia over the last year and a half.

With an exhausted sigh, Elenya lowered herself onto the small stool at her workbench and took off her leather gloves. It was only 10 o'clock in the morning, but she would have loved nothing more than to go back to bed. She had been working almost non-stop for the past few days, finishing the pump and boiler for the new hot springs that Mayor Gale had planned. In theory, she needn't have rushed, but if she was honest with herself, she couldn't wait to relax in the hot water herself.

She had been able to install the machines yesterday, and now all that remained was for Albert to finish the building. And even though she had finally gotten enough sleep that night, the exhaustion still lingered in her bones.

But it was no use. Work never stopped in Portia.

With another sigh, she reached for the water bottle in the corner of her workbench, took a deep drink and put it back. Unfortunately, she wasn't careful enough and bumped her elbow against the nearly finished grinding blade, which immediately slipped over the edge of the workbench.

Without even thinking about it, she grabbed the blade with both hands in a flash, and while this ensured that neither the blade nor the wooden floor underneath the workbench was damaged, the blade slipped a few, but critical, millimetres through her hand, leaving deep, burning cuts in her palms.

The pain shot from her hands through her entire body, and it was only with great difficulty and a great deal of swearing that she managed not to drop the blade and throw it back onto the workbench. Blood immediately began to flow from her palms.

Quickly moving her hands away from her body to avoid bleeding all over herself, she frantically looked around for something to stop the bleeding. Her eyes, blurred by rising tears, fell on her textile machine, which had just finished sewing a fresh piece of fabric.

That would have to do.

On trembling knees, Elenya hurried to the machine and grabbed the fabric, squeezing it tightly between her palms. Another unsavoury curse escaped her as more pain shot through her body, but she gritted her teeth and didn't let go of the fabric. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!

How stupid could a person be? What was she supposed to do now?

The fabric between her hands was already turning red and through the pain she tried to grasp a clear thought.

Stop the bleeding. She had to stop the bleeding somehow. Where was her first aid kit again?

A few single tears escaped her as she stumbled uncoordinated towards her front door, but she managed to open the door and get deeper into her house.

Once in her bathroom, she managed to use her elbow to open the door of her bathroom cupboard and take out her first aid kit. She still held the piece of cloth between her hands and didn't dare let go. 

But how was she going to open the box, let alone take out the bandages?

Elenya decided to drop the box to the ground and wedge it between her knees. It took a moment, but with the help of her elbows, fingers and teeth she finally managed to tear open a pack of compresses and a bandage.

She took a deep breath. Now it was time to let go of the fabric.

Carefully, she slowly released her left hand and immediately her stomach turned and she got lightheaded. The cut was deep and blood was still flowing from it.

Normally she had no problem with blood, but when it was her own and in large quantities, her circulation could not keep up. At least she could still move her fingers, so nothing important had been cut, but she was afraid the wounds would need stitches.

Just thinking about it made her even more dizzy, and she shook her head vigorously, trying to clear the black dots from her vision. She had to pull herself together!

Elenya let go of the cloth with her right hand and laid it roughly over her lap and the floor to catch at least some of the blood that was dripping again. Then she grabbed a compress and used three fingers to press it firmly against the cut on her right hand, leaving her thumb and forefinger free.

With these two fingers, she tried as best she could to wipe the blood from the other hand, apply a compress and wrap a bandage around it. She didn't succeed very well. Her hands were half numb with pain and she couldn't muster enough strength to tighten the bandage properly.

She repeated the process on the other side and then collapsed exhausted against the wall behind her. She carefully placed her hands on her drawn knees to hold them above her heart and closed her eyes with a sigh. Pain was still pulsing through her hands and the stress of the whole situation was sapping the last of her strength.

She would have preferred to sit here forever, but the temporary bandages wouldn't last long and she needed to get up to the clinic. She waited a few more minutes for her heartbeat to calm a little and the pain to subside, but then she couldn't put off the inevitable any longer.

With another deep sigh, Elenya slowly straightened up, and as soon as the black dots disappeared from her vision, she set off, holding her hands carefully to her chest.

Without really noticing, she reached the gate to the village, her body automatically following the familiar path. As soon as she turned the corner, however, she collided with something and lost her balance. Fortunately, this something, or rather someone, also had good reflexes and grabbed her shoulders to prevent her from falling. Had it not been for that, her reflex would probably have been to catch herself with her hands, and that would not have been a very good outcome for her.

But now she found herself leaning against a strong chest, her throbbing hands trapped between them, and a warm, familiar voice reached her ears.

"Oh, Elenya, sweetheart! I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Are you all right?"

Elenya's knees went weak as she realised who she had walked straight into. Arlo, her wonderful boyfriend, tightened his grip on her back as he felt her lean into him even more and she could feel his worried gaze on her.

Despite everything, her heart leapt with joy at the gesture and she couldn't help but nestle even closer to his chest. The warmth of his body filled her with a sense of peace that made her forget the stress of the last half hour for a moment. She was no longer alone with her injured hands and only now did she realise how much that fact had affected her subconsciously.

"Elenya?"

Arlo's worried voice sounded again and Elenya finally lifted her head to meet his gaze. Blue eyes rested warmly and questioningly on her face and she tried to smile reassuringly at him. Judging by his expression, she didn't succeed.

 "Hey Arlo, I, um..." She didn't really know what to say. How do you explain that you were stupid enough to catch a sharp grinding blade with your bare hands?

Before she could think any further, Arlo finally caught sight of her roughly bandaged hands and his eyes widened in shock.

"Your hands! What happened to your hands?"

He quickly took a step away from her and gently gripped her wrists so that he could see her hands better. Blood was already seeping through the bandages and the sight made Elenya dizzy again. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Oh God, what was wrong with her today? She usually had no problem with blood!

Instantly, the grip on her wrists tightened as she swayed in place and was pulled back against Arlo's chest. Exhausted, Elenya let her head sink against his shoulder.

"Woah, hey, it's all right. I've got you. Come on, I'll take you up to the clinic."

Leaving one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Arlo pulled away from her, planted a soft kiss on her temple and then led her along the path she had intended to walk alone until a moment ago.

~~~~~~

Elenya didn't know exactly how long it took them to get up the hill. She was completely focused on Arlo's warm, reassuring presence, blocking out everything else, including the constant throbbing of her hands. It was only when they entered the cool interior of the clinic that she became aware of her surroundings and found herself face to face with Dr. Xu.

"Oh god, Elenya! What happened?" Concerned, the doctor approached her and cautiously grabbed her hands, which she was still holding protectively to her chest. Two startled sounds rang through the room as she opened her fingers, and Elenya dared to look at her hands again.

The bandages had almost completely bled through, and a few drops of blood were already running down her hands again.

She quickly looked away before she could get lightheaded again.

Why haven't the cuts stopped bleeding? How long had it been?

Dr. Xu also seemed very concerned about the amount of blood and quickly led her over to his desk and instructed her to sit on the stool. Arlo stood close behind her so she could feel his warmth and she was incredibly grateful to him. Now that the inevitable stitches were imminent, panic began to creep back into her.

Dr. Xu quickly cleared the table, placed a flat cushion on top, threw a clean sheet over it and instructed her to put her hands down.

Elenya silently complied.

As soon as her hands touched the sheet, Dr. Xu began to remove the first bandage from her left hand. Elenya did her best not to look at her hands. She felt that if she saw the cuts again, she would faint.

It was only when a large, warm hand rested on her shoulder and a second began to soothe through her hair that she realised her whole body was shaking slightly. Almost immediately, some of her tension was released and she leaned gratefully against Arlo. He supported her like a warm stone in the surf.

Again, two startled sounds echoed through the room as the first bandage was removed, but this time she managed to suppress the reflex to look at her hands. However, she could not suppress a painful hiss as Dr. Xu presumably pressed a new compress firmly onto her wound and wrapped a new, tighter bandage around it. The hand on her shoulder squeezed reassuringly.

"This definitely needs stitches. God, Elenya, how did this happen?" Dr. Xu's voice sounded horrified and Elenya dared to look up at him. Dark, worried eyes met her gaze and she shrugged her shoulders, blushing.

She really didn't want to tell him how this situation had come about, but she could feel Arlo's gaze resting on her, tense and worried, so she gave in with a soft sigh.

"Well, I was working on some grinding saws for Paulie..." She recounted how disastrous her morning had been, hissing painfully several times as Dr. Xu tended to her right hand. When she finished, a soft sigh sounded behind her and a gentle kiss landed on her head.

Tilting her head back, Elenya looked up at Arlo and met his exasperated but loving gaze.

"Oh sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?" He stroked her cheek lovingly and she leaned into the comforting gesture, a sheepish smile forming on her lips.

"I'm sorry." For a moment, she lost herself in her boyfriend's deep blue eyes until Dr. Xu's throat clearing brought her back to reality. She quickly raised her head again and looked forwards.

"Okay, before I take care of your hands, I have a few more questions. First things first: can you still move all your fingers?" The doctor observed her attentively and she nodded. At least in that regard she was still lucky enough.

"Can you show me?" Dr. Xu turned his gaze to her hands and, without looking, Elenya carefully moved each of her fingers. Pain throbbed in her hands as she moved, but Dr. Xu quickly seemed satisfied and indicated that she could stop. Relieved, she sank a little more against Arlo's supportive body.

"That's good. At least the blade didn't hit anything important. Do you know roughly how long ago the accident happened? It's really worrying that the wounds are still bleeding so much."

"It must have been about 10 o'clock." A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her that it was now almost 11 o'clock.

Was she really still bleeding?

Without being able to stop it, she looked down at her hands and immediately regretted it. Dr. Xu had tied a new tight bandage directly over the cut on her left hand, but her right hand was exposed and her stomach instantly turned and the world spun before her eyes. Everything went black for a moment and when she came to, she was hanging slightly sideways from the stool, two strong arms wrapped around her torso and horrified exclamations met her ears.

"Elenya!" It was Arlo right next to her ear. He must have caught her. 

Had she really just fainted at the sight of blood? Shame crept up her spine and she quickly tried to sit up, but her body wouldn't obey. The arms around her upper body tightened their grip and gently lifted her up until she was sitting upright on the stool again. Exhausted, she slumped down and wished she could hide her face in her hands. 

Could this day get any more embarrassing?

Fortunately, she was able to resist the temptation and instead looked into the worried eyes of Dr. Xu, who had stood up and was now crouching in front of her.

"Does your body always react like this at the sight of blood?"

Ashamed, Elenya shook her head and Dr. Xu's gaze became thoughtful as he scrutinised her face.

She felt completely stupid. Sitting here, Arlo's arms still wrapped around her torso, his tense chest behind her - had he knelt down? - and her injured hands still outstretched on the table in front of her.

"Would you rather lie down?"

Another shake of the head. She just wanted to get this over with.

"Have you been getting enough sleep lately?"

Arlo's arms tightened around her and Elenya had the feeling she'd better not answer that question. But her silence seemed to be enough of an answer for both men and with a sigh, the tension drained from Arlo's body behind her, and his supportive grip became more of a warm embrace.

"Oh sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?" His words rang out again and apologetically, she snuggled against him. Her tendency to forget about her own health as soon as she had a project in front of her had always given him a headache and she was sorry that he was worrying about her again.

"One day I'll get you to look after yourself first and then the town." Warm lips pressed a gentle kiss to her mop of hair and a sheepish smile crept across her lips.

She wished him good luck with that.

"Well then, I'll leave that problem to Arlo. Let's take care of your hands now, okay?" With a sigh, Dr. Xu straightened up, took a small bottle from one of his cabinets and explained: "Here, this is for the pain. Can you help her drink it, Arlo? I'll get everything else I need in the meantime."

"Of course." Arlo took the already opened bottle and then leaned over her to gently place it to her lips. Slightly ashamed that she needed this help, but grateful, Elenya drank the painkiller. 

A bitter taste followed by the sweetness of honey washed over her tongue and she had to force herself to swallow the concoction. She knew that Dr. Xu was always trying to improve his medicines, but unfortunately the taste still left a lot to be desired.

As if the latter had already known this, a glass full of water appeared in front of her shortly afterwards and Arlo took it with a soft chuckle. He also held it gently to her lips and she gulped down the water greedily to get the taste out of her mouth.

"Thank you." Elenya turned her grateful smile first to Dr. Xu, who waved her off with a simple hand gesture, and then to Arlo, who still had an arm around her back and was looking at her lovingly from the side.

"Of course. Anytime for you." A warm kiss on her forehead followed Arlo's soft words, then he positioned himself behind her again, his second arm wrapped back around her waist, and with a sigh she let herself sink back against his strong chest.

Her hands were still throbbing with pain, her stomach was churning with nausea and she still felt like she could faint again at any moment, but for a moment she could forget all that and just concentrate on the familiar warmth.

Without noticing, her eyes closed and she was only jolted back to reality when something cold - burning - suddenly flowed over her hands. With a startled hiss, she sat up abruptly, barely managing to stop herself from pulling her hands protectively towards her.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I should have warned you. But I'm afraid that wouldn't make cleaning the wounds any more pleasant." Dr. Xu looked up at her apologetically for a moment, but quickly turned his attention back to her hands, and Elenya had to do her best not to look there herself.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to bear the burning sensation, but the feel of the disinfectant flowing over her open hands felt all wrong and a new wave of nausea spread through her.

Oh God, please let this be over quickly.

"Breathe, Elenya. Come on, you can do it, sweetheart." Only when Arlo's voice suddenly appeared next to hers did she realise that she was holding her breath and that black dots were already appearing in her field of vision. Startled, she took a deep breath.

"That's good. Take a deep breath..." He inhaled behind her and she did the same. "And out again. That's it. Nice and slow." 

For the time it took Dr. Xu to clean her hands, she followed Arlo's breathing and was once again so grateful to have him by her side. 

"Okay, that's that. Fortunately, the bleeding has almost completely stopped by now. I'm going to apply an ointment now to numb the skin around the incisions so that I can put the stitches in, okay? How are you holding up?" Dr. Xu's dark eyes searched her gaze warmly and, exhausted, she could only nod.

She just wanted to go home.

In the five minutes it took for the ointment to take effect, Dr. Xu got everything ready for the stitches. Once again, Elenya tried not to look. She generally had no problem with needles, but this wasn't the first time she'd had stitches and the feeling of a thread being pulled through her skin was more than unpleasant and always made her feel nauseous.

Arlo seemed to notice her growing discomfort and positioned himself so that he was now kneeling to her left, his right arm still wrapped supportively around her back and his other hand gently cupping her cheek.

"Hey, are you all right?" He looked at her with concern and affection and she leaned gratefully into his touch.

Her voice trembled slightly as she replied, "I hate having to get stitches."

"It's going to be all right, okay? I'll be here the whole time. And it'll be over before you know it." Encouragingly, he leaned his forehead gently against hers and she instinctively breathed in his soothing scent. Some of the tension drained from her body and she gratefully pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

However, the sound of someone clearing their throat startled her and she turned back to Dr. Xu with slightly flushed cheeks. He smiled at her reassuringly and then pressed his now gloved finger to a spot next to the cut on her left hand and asked her: "Can you still feel anything?"

It felt strange. She could somehow feel the pressure, but she couldn't feel the warmth or the rubbery surface of the glove, which meant the ointment was working and Dr. Xu could start the stitches. She swallowed hard, but then shook her head.

"No. I think... you can start." At her shaky words, the arm around her shoulders tightened and she hid her face in Arlo's chest as best she could. It wasn't easy in her position, but Arlo moved slightly towards her, burying his free hand in her hair to hold her close.

"Don't worry, I'll be as careful as I can." Dr. Xu's reassuring voice reached her ears, but even his words couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling as he made the first stitch. Instantly, nausea spread through her stomach and with a soft whimper, she pressed herself even closer to Arlo. Her heart pounding, she tried to concentrate on his warmth and the hand that was gently stroking through her hair.

"Shh, it's all right. It'll be over in a minute."

And indeed, it wasn't long before her first hand was treated. Elenya felt her hand being gently washed again, the wound disinfected, and then a tight bandage tied around her hand to her wrist. She dared to take a look at it.

The bandage was pristine white, no blood in sight, and with relief she looked up into Dr. Xu's warm eyes.

"You're doing great. Ready for the second hand?" She felt like a little child at the doctor's words, but she probably wasn't behaving much differently and so she just nodded, her cheeks slightly red. The sooner she got this over with, the better.

Before the next stitch could be placed, she quickly hid her face in Arlo's chest again. His hand found its way back into her hair, though a soft laugh rumbled through his chest.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound. Even though he was laughing because of her, it was still her favourite sound and it filled her with warmth. She could melt every time she heard it.

The left hand was finished almost faster than the right, and she wondered for a moment if the cut wasn't quite as long, but it didn't matter. The main thing was that it was over, and she no longer had to endure that horrible feeling.

While Dr. Xu bandaged her second hand, Elenya let herself sink completely against Arlo. Now that most of the stress was over, exhaustion caught up with her and she struggled to stay upright. Immediately, Arlo changed his grip on her to better support her weight.

"You okay, sweetie?" Warm and concerned, his voice rumbled through his chest, and she nodded slightly. She felt warm and safe, a light fog in her head, and she suspected that the painkiller had finally taken full effect. She only realised that Dr. Xu had finished with her hands when he gently lifted them from the table and placed them in her lap. Her muscles sighed in relief. Holding her arms out for so long had become very uncomfortable after a while.

"All right, that's it. You did great, Elenya. How do you feel? Are you still in pain?" Dr. Xu's voice rang out from behind Arlo's back, and with difficulty she managed to pull her head away from Arlo's chest and look up at the doctor with a blurred vision. She had to blink a few times, but then the gentle smile came into focus and she smiled back automatically.

Arlo's gentle laugh reached her ears and she couldn't help but turn her smile towards him at the sound. Warm, loving eyes caught her gaze and her smile widened even more.

Another laugh and Arlo said without letting go of her gaze, "I think your painkiller is working wonderfully, Xu. Am I right, sweetheart?"

Elenya nodded with an approving hum, even if she didn't know exactly what she was agreeing to. But if Arlo said something, it was bound to be right.

"Well, I'm glad." Dr. Xu also let out a laugh, but then became a little more serious. "I'd like to discuss the next steps, but it looks like I'd better do that with you, Arlo. I don't think she'll remember much later."

More words followed, but a new wave of exhaustion washed over Elenya, so she snuggled back against Arlo's chest, leaving the thinking to him. Wrapped in warmth, she let the conversation flow over her.

She caught words like 'don't get wet', 'clean daily' and 'not touch anything'.

Wait... what?

A brief rush of adrenaline gave her enough strength to completely detach herself from Arlo and look up at Dr. Xu in horror.

"You want me to do what?"

Xu met her gaze sympathetically. "For the next three days, you should touch as little as possible. Ideally, you shouldn't grab anything at all. The less the cuts are moved, the better and faster they can heal. I know that's a lot to ask, but if the wounds can't heal properly, the scars could harden and affect your range of movement.”

She was even more horrified. This could not happen! She needed her hands! She couldn't work without them!

But how was she supposed to not touch anything for three days? She wouldn't even be able to pick up a glass of water!

Desperation must have been written all over her face, because two warm, rough hands softly cupped her face and gently turned her gaze back to Arlo.

"Don't worry, darling. I'll stay with you and take care of you, okay?” Full of love and care, he held her gaze and she looked back, confused and uncertain.

"But... you have to work. That's much more important than me.”

"First of all, nothing is more important than you, alright?" She felt herself blushing. 

"And secondly, as luck would have it, I was actually on my way to you earlier to tell you that Sam and Remi have banished me to holiday for at least two days with the words 'You work too much'. I'm sure they could also manage without me for three or four days. Fortunately, it's very quiet at the moment."

A mixture of warm relief and guilt spread through Elenya.

Relief that Arlo wouldn't leave her alone, and guilt that thanks to her stupidity she was now taking up all his precious free time. Without being able to do anything about it, tears welled up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." A sob escaped her lips and soon she found herself pressed tightly against Arlo's chest, his strong arms holding her together.

It was all too much right now. All the stress, the pain, the exhaustion and the difficult days ahead. She felt helpless.

“Shh, it's okay. It was an accident. We'll get through this. Together." Arlo's warm words washed over her head, but they only made her cry more, and she spent the next few minutes buried in Arlo's chest, her body wracked with violent sobs.

She didn't know how much time passed, but eventually she ran out of energy and just hung limply in Arlo's arms. He didn't hesitate for long, loosening one arm from around her back and sliding it under her knees instead, carefully lifting her off the stool. With just a few steps he carried her over to one of the hospital beds and carefully laid her down on it. He placed her hands gently on her chest and then moved away from her.

She missed his warmth immediately.

"Get some rest for a moment, sweetheart. I'm just going to get some things so I can stay with you for a few days, okay? I'll be right back." A lingering, warm kiss graced her forehead, followed by a gentle caress of her cheek, and then Arlo was gone and she fell into a light sleep.

She awoke when the door to the clinic opened again, but she was in no mood to open her eyes. Instead, she listened to the sound of soft footsteps, the muffled conversation between Arlo and Dr. Xu, and the soft clinking of glass vials. She almost fell back asleep.

But then a warm hand cupped her cheek again and Arlo's voice rang out softly: "Hey sweetheart, ready to go home?"

"Mmmh." Tired, Elenya opened her eyes and was about to use her hands to sit up, but luckily Arlo quickly saw what she was trying to do and gently grabbed her wrists.

Damn, she wasn't going to be able to get used to this.

"Careful. Let me help you." Arlo helped her sit up and with a grateful look, she glanced up at him.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt exhausted, her body heavy with the weight of everything that had happened.

Arlo smiled at her, his hands steadying her as she shifted her legs over the side of the bed. "Of course. Can you stand?"

She nodded, feeling a little more awake now. "Yes, I think so."

With his help, she slid out of bed. Dr. Xu approached her with a small smile, holding a bag. "Here are some extra supplies for cleaning the wounds. Make sure you follow the instructions and come back in three days for a check-up, okay?"

As Arlo took the small bag and placed it in the rucksack she now noticed he was carrying, Elenya nodded with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Dr. Xu. For everything."

He waved her off with a friendly gesture. "It's my job. Take care of yourself, Elenya. And Arlo, make sure she follows the instructions."

Arlo chuckled, his arm securely around Elenya's waist. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she does."

With a final nod, Dr. Xu stepped back, allowing Arlo to guide her out of the clinic. The walk to the exit felt longer than it actually was, each step reminding her of how weak and exhausted she felt. But Arlo's steady support kept her going.

The journey back to her home was a quiet one, with Elenya concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, while Arlo remained a steady presence at her side. When they reached the door, Arlo helped her inside and shut the door.

"Sit down for now, sweetheart. I'll just take your medicine and bandages to the bathroom, okay?" With gentle pressure on her lower back, Arlo led her to her couch, onto which she sank gratefully. She had declined Arlo's offer to carry her - her legs still worked fine after all! - but she was still glad to be able to sit down. Her exhaustion was growing, and she couldn't wait to lie down for a few hours.

With a quick, gentle kiss on her forehead, Arlo made his way to her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. Elenya watched him go, lost in thought, and even after he was out of sight, she continued to stare at the doorway to her bedroom. She still felt so stupid and guilty. Here she was, having spent the last year and a half building impossible things and fighting all sorts of monsters, and then managing to incapacitate herself for several days because she couldn't control her clumsiness or reflexes.

But before she could indulge her thoughts any further, Arlo reappeared in the doorway. Much quicker than she had expected and his face devoid of any colour.

What had happened?

Before she could ask, he hesitantly opened his mouth. "Um... d... do you still need that piece of fabric? I don't know if we can save it..."

And suddenly she remembered how she had left the bathroom behind. The contents of her first aid kit strewn everywhere and a piece of fabric soaked in blood on top. And who knew where else she had left traces of blood.

Oh God, no wonder he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Startled, she jumped to her feet. "Oh shit. Wait, let me..."

She didn't get any further. As soon as she stood upright, her vision went black and her legs buckled. She fell uncontrollably back onto the couch, luckily without falling on her hands, and when her vision cleared, Arlo was already leaning over her. His strong hands cupped her shoulders and gently guided her into a lying position.

"Careful. Let me do this, okay? You just stay here and rest. I just got a bit scared at the sight." He held her gaze firmly and with an annoyed sigh she let herself sink into the cushion of the couch.

She hated this whole situation already. She wasn't used to sitting around idly and certainly not when someone else had to clean up her mess. She wanted to help!

Arlo's big, warm hand cupped her right cheek and she reluctantly met his understanding gaze.

"I know you want to help, but you have to take it easy. I really don't mind looking after you. In fact, there's nothing I'd rather do. I love you and I want you to get better quickly, okay?”

Damn, how could she not melt at those words? 

"Okay... And I love you too." Her words of agreement were rewarded with a short, soft kiss and then Arlo straightened up again.

“Good, now that we've got that out of the way: What do you want to do with the fabric? Do you want me to throw it away?"

“Yes, I don't need it urgently. It wouldn't be worth the effort.” She could always make new ones.

“Okay. You rest and I'll tidy up.” Another quick kiss was planted on her forehead and then she was alone in her living room.

With another sigh, she sank deeper into the couch and, without meaning to, dozed off again.

~~~~~~

Strong arms slid under her back and knees and lifted her up, but before she could be startled, a familiar smell reached her nose. With a confused sound, she tiredly blinked her eyes open and was greeted by Arlo's neck.

"It's all right, sweetheart. I'm just taking you to bed.”

Bed? Oh right, she had fallen asleep on the couch.

She tried to lift her head to look at him, but her body felt like it was filled with lead, so she contented herself with snuggling even more against his warm chest. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before she found herself in her bedroom.

Arlo gently set her down on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering to steady her. "Let's get you into something more comfortable, shall we?"

Elenya nodded weakly, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. She felt his hands move to the buttons of her shirt, his touch gentle and careful. A wave of shame and frustration wanted to spread through her, but she was too tired for such emotions and so all that remained was gratitude to Arlo.

His strong, battle-hardened hands were always so gentle with her, so loving, and so she didn't feel the slightest discomfort as he dressed her in a soft t-shirt and warm sweatpants.

"There you go," he said gently, smoothing the fabric. "Now let's get you comfortable."

He helped her to lie on her side and carefully positioned her so that she could put her hands in front of her. He placed a soft pillow under her head and another behind her back to support her.

"How does that feel?" Eyes as warm as his voice watched her.

"It's good," she murmured, feeling the comfort of the bed and the softness of the pyjamas. "Thank you, Arlo. For everything."

Arlo smiled and leaned down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. "Anything for you, Elenya. Get some rest now. You'll feel better when you wake up."

Before he had even pulled the blanket over her and tucked her in, she was drifting off into an exhausted sleep.

~~~~~~

When she woke up again, the sun was a lot lower and she felt anything but better. Nausea churned in her stomach, cold sweat covered her body, her head ached and her hands throbbed and itched terribly. Everything felt off.

With a soft groan, she opened her eyes and was surprised to see Arlo sitting in an armchair next to the bed, intently reading a book. She looked at him for a moment, transfixed, admiring the way the late evening sun made his red hair glow and the way his lips moved silently as he read, as they always did.

But then the terrible itching in her hands picked up again, and with a croaked "Arlo." she drew his attention to herself. His head immediately shot in her direction and he put his book aside to kneel down beside the bed at the level of her head.

"Hey, darling. How are you doing? Feeling any better?" His eyes rested warmly and attentively on her face, but she could only answer with a pained expression and a shake of her head.

His eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Oh no, what's wrong? Are you in pain?" 

"Yes, that too, but... I don't feel well. Everything hurts and my hands itch like crazy."

Worried, Arlo pressed his hand gently to her forehead, his eyes filling with even more concern. "I think you have a slight fever. That's not good at all. I hope the cuts haven't gotten infected. What exactly hurts?"

Fever? That would at least explain why everything felt so wrong.

"Everything hurts. My hands are throbbing, my limbs are aching and my head is burning. But the worst part is the itching. Can we please take the bandages off? I can hardly stand it."

It took all her willpower not to scratch.

"Technically, we shouldn't change the bandages until tomorrow morning, but I think it would be better if we checked right away to see if anything is infected. Then we can clean your hands and hopefully reduce the itching a little. Come on, I'll help you up."

With practised movements, Arlo helped her to sit up. The world spun before her eyes as soon as she was upright, and with an unconscious whimper she buried her face in his stomach. The nausea intensified, but Arlo's soothing scent and his hand gently stroking her hair quickly brought relief and she felt well enough to stand.

With Arlo's arm around her back, they took cautious steps into the bathroom where he carefully lowered her onto the toilet seat. He got everything he needed from the bathroom cupboard, filled a small bowl with warm water and then knelt in front of her.

"Let me have a look. I'll be very careful, I promise." He gently reached for her left hand. He cradled it oh so gently in his, her palm facing up, and she couldn't help but marvel once again at how much bigger his hands were compared to hers. Bigger, rougher and yet so tender.

With deft fingers, he began to remove the bandage from her hand. Unconsciously, she followed his movements, her mind focused on the warmth of his palm. It flowed up her arm, filling her heart with calm and easing part of her headache and nausea.

When he pulled the cloth off, he winced at the sight of the cuts, but he quickly composed himself. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Her nausea intensified at the sight of her reddened, stitched-up skin and she quickly turned her gaze to Arlo's face.

He was examining her wound intently, his eyebrows knitted in concern. "Hm, the wound's a bit red, but I don't think it's infected. That's good." His warm blue eyes met hers, his gaze reassuring. "The fever is probably your body's reaction to all the stress from this morning. Hopefully it'll be gone by tomorrow. Let's get you cleaned up anyway. I hope that helps with the itching."

He gave her a gentle smile, then dipped a cloth into the warm water and began to clean the wounds, his touch so gentle it barely caused her any discomfort. Elenya watched him work, her heart swelling with gratitude and love for his care.

After cleaning the wounds with antiseptic, he applied fresh bandages with a tenderness that belied the strength of his hands. He repeated the process on her right hand and then pressed a feather-light kiss on each of her injured palms, making her heart melt at the sweet gesture.

"Thank you," Elenya whispered, her voice full of gratitude and awe at his tenderness.

He answered her gratitude with a gentle kiss, his lips warm and soft on hers, and she automatically followed him as he pulled away. Her movement earned her an affectionate chuckle and another brief kiss, but then he really pulled away from her, reaching instead for one of the small vials he must have gotten from Dr. Xu.

"Here, according to Dr. Xu's instructions, you are allowed to take some painkillers again. It should also help with the nausea and, with any luck, the fever." He uncorked the bottle and held it carefully to her lips.

She could tell from the taste that it wasn't the same mixture as before, but that didn't make it any better. But to her surprise, her nausea didn't get any worse, as she had expected.

As soon as the vial was empty, Arlo set it aside and started to put away everything he had used. As Elenya watched him again, she suddenly began to shiver, and before she could even say anything, Arlo took off his grey sweater and pulled it over her head instead. She was instantly enveloped in his familiar scent and warmth, and with a happy sigh, she buried her nose in the soft collar.

Oh, how much she loved this sweater.

As soon as he had finished tidying up, Arlo turned back to her. "You should eat something, even if it's just a little. It'll help your body recover."

Elenya grimaced. "I still feel nauseous. I don't think I can eat much."

Arlo insisted gently. "Just a little, for me? How about some crepes with fruit sauce? I'll make them just the way you like them."

Damn, he just knew her too well.

She agreed, and he helped her into the kitchen, where he sat her down at the small dining table. She watched as he moved around the kitchen, preparing her favourite crepes with practised ease.

The kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of baking crepes. Arlo's movements were efficient and confident, the result of the countless times he had prepared this dish for her. He whisked the batter, heated the pan and expertly flipped the crepes, always keeping an eye on her to make sure she was comfortable.

He brought her the finished crepes, pulled one of the chairs close to her, and picked up a piece of crepe with a fork, holding it out to her. Full of frustration and shame, she glared at the fork as she realised he was trying to feed her.

She had been wrong earlier. Her day could get even more embarrassing.

She almost snapped at Arlo that she was no longer a child and could eat on her own, but luckily the logical part of her brain was able to intervene before that.

Because firstly, no, she couldn't eat alone right now, no matter how much she wanted to.

And secondly, Arlo was not at all to blame for her shitty situation. It was all her fault.

On the contrary. Without him, she would have been completely screwed and the last thing he deserved was to be snapped at by her.

Arlo still held the fork in front of her face, his gaze patient and full of understanding love, and her brain finally gave in. For it was Arlo sitting next to her. Arlo who loved her and whom she trusted with her life. There was no need to be ashamed in front of him.

So she let him feed her, and despite her initial reluctance, the crepes tasted wonderful and comforting. Each bite gave her a little strength, and the sweetness of the fruit sauce was a soothing balm for her frayed nerves.

After dinner, they moved to the couch where Arlo wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled up against him. He picked up the book he had been reading and began to read to her, his voice a balm to her weary soul.

The warmth of his body against hers, the familiar hum of his voice and the captivating story created a cocoon of safety and love around her. She closed her eyes and let the rhythm of his voice carry her out of her discomfort and into the world of the story.

When it was time for bed, Arlo helped her into the bedroom. She lay back down on her side and he climbed into bed behind her. He gently slipped his left arm under her head and wrapped the other around her waist, pulling her tightly against his chest.

"Good night, Elenya," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I love you."

"Good night, Arlo," she murmured back, feeling his love and warmth surrounding her. "I love you too."

With Arlo's steady presence by her side, Elenya finally drifted off to a more restful sleep, knowing that no matter how hard things got, they would always face them together.

[xb-squaredx]

A Final Look at Splatoon 3

A little over a year ago I put out this post going over my frustrations with Splatoon 3 and my hopes that with another year of planned updates they could address these issues and end on a strong note. As of this writing, Splatoon 3 seems content complete without any plans to add any more substantial content, so it’s time to do a deep dive on how this game spent its final year of updates and come to terms with how this trilogy will close out.

REWORKS AND ROADMAPS

First off, let’s recap my main complaints from the original post and see just how Splatoon 3 addressed those points: I had issues with the game’s online stability, the seasonal update cycles, Salmon Run’s reward system and the quality of the multiplayer stages. To be honest…very few of these complaints were addressed, though I kind of expected that. The online experience in Splatoon 3 is largely the same now as it was back when I made that post, and any alleged improvements aren’t all that noticeable to me. Rooms still break down at random when matchmaking, and you still see a lot of players disconnecting at all points of a match. There was a patch not too long ago that seemingly tried addressing lag issues in matches, though I can’t say I noticed any major differences. For a while the game seemed to disconnect me and then punish me despite doing everything in my power to stomp out issues, though that did diminish greatly over time. Other than that, it’s the same ol’, same ol’.

I didn’t expect the seasonal content droughts to really be addressed and they also went mostly unchanged. In fact, we got LESS per season near the end with less weapons and stages. There was an attempt to improve the frequency of the various Challenges with wacky rule sets though. I’d still argue they were too infrequent and I was often not able to play even when they were active. There was a fun one where Rollers were super-fast, so that was neat I guess. Salmon Run also received a patch that awards players some silver and gold scales per shift if you do all your rewards, but that’s a bandage being slapped on that game’s horrid economy that comes too little too late. The shop still makes you buy things just to see what else is on sale and the prices are still FAR too high most of the time. There’s only one thing I think this game really did that felt like they were responding to criticism and that was regarding the stages.

For one thing, many of the later stages added post-launch got better with time. Starting with Drizzle Season 2023, I think the devs were finally willing to budge on some of their early design decisions with stages. Crableg Capital had a lot more verticality for starters, with Shipshape Cargo Co. having a lot of wide open space and multiple ways to get around and into the enemy side of the stage. From there Robo ROM-en was a really fun stage with a good theme and an interesting lower route that allowed you to actually flank your opponents. Marlin Airport made use of fans that would move platforms around for an interesting stage gimmick too. Our final brand new stage, Lemuria Hub, was an interesting take on asymmetrical stages with more moving platforms as a hazard to make it stand out. Admittedly, Bluefin Depot’s return was a bit underwhelming but it still has a very unique layout that helps it stand out. But the real talking points here were all of the stage reworks.

Starting with version 5.1 Splatoon 3 would start doing stage reworks as they have done in the past two games. First up was Mahi-Mahi Resort, which ended up addressing a lot of my problems. The stage was made a lot bigger even before the water levels dropped, with the side routes on the left side being made bigger and a better flank route overall. It still doesn’t hold a candle to Splatoon 1’s iteration of the stage but it was a great step forward. That said…I think we kind of peaked there. The subsequent reworks for Mincemeat Metalworks and Undertow Spillway were a lot less impactful. They did make the stages a bit better with extended routes out of spawn or slightly reworking the middle of the stages but they were still largely the same and barely count as a rework in my mind.

(Compare the launch version of Mincemeat Metalworks (LEFT) with the reworked version (RIGHT). Sure they're some changes, but at a glance could you even notice?)

The Version 8.0 update ended up changing MULTIPLE stages at once though. Hammerhead Bridge and Barnacle and Dime would also receive reworks, alongside multiple other stages getting smaller changes across a few of the modes. That said, these final reworks were a bit all over the place. Barnacle and Dime did add a new route on the left of the stage and slightly reworked paths out of spawn which was appreciated, and Hammerhead Bridge did extend the routes out of spawn a bit alongside a one-way drop into the middle of the stage on the right side of the stage…but the stage itself was still a glorified corridor. In the other ranked modes (aside from Splat Zones), these changes were barely notable. When it comes to the other assorted changes, some ended up being more notable than expected. Eeltail Alley added some blocks that allowed you another way to get up to the center bridge (though only in Turf War), and the changes made to the lower flank routes on Museum d’Alfonsio and Brinewater Springs were pretty major changes. Adding a random block here or there on Manta Marina…doesn’t really set the world on fire though. Oddly enough, Um’Ami Ruins received a lot of changes that I count it as an unofficial rework, getting a completely revamped right path out of spawn with a new ink rail to get to the middle of the stage faster. To be honest, this game did end up changing more stages than I thought they would, and we are definitely in a much better place with stages now then at launch or even a year ago. But at the same time, the issues these stages faced are systemic and would take way more time to change than a simple patch would allow. I can only hope that Splatoon 4 isn’t afraid to let players ink walls and have more routes to get around. I feel like making sure stages could be modified for extra modes like Big Run or Tricolor Battles, alongside all of the other ranked modes led to stages feeling less dynamic and interesting across the board. Still, as perhaps my biggest beef with this game, I appreciate the effort. With that said though, let’s talk about some of the NEW stuff the final year of this game’s content cycle would give us.

SPLATOON GOES ROGUE(LITE), WITH A GRAND FINALE

Teased way back before the game even officially launched, the single player expansion was hotly anticipated…and they ended up taking quite a bit of time to release it. That said, I think it ended up being well worth the wait. Side Order ends up serving as a bit of a follow-up to the storyline from Splatoon 2’s Octo Expansion while also being a very experimental side mode. Side Order is a roguelite adventure, with Agent 8 having to scale a tower in a digital world in order to take out the embodiment of order itself to save Pearl and Marina. Players start with a weakened main weapon but each floor they ascend gets them a random power-up that can help turn the tables. For every given “run” of the game, failure or not, you get currency to purchase permanent power-ups to ensure the next run goes smoother. It ended up being a lot of fun with some really addictive gameplay that kept me playing until my thumbs hurt. While maybe not quite as large as Octo Expansion was, it was definitely filled with more than enough to keep me coming back again and again until I cleaned my plate and did everything. All the power-ups cataloged, runs with all the weapons, and even the special run with the Order Octo Shot with no upgrades. For Nintendo’s first crack at a rogue-lite I’m happy that they nailed it so well, and it makes me hopeful future Splatoon games continue to experiment with their single player content. If nothing else, Splatoon seems to always nail their single player modes.

That said, as the end approached it was clear that we’d have to say goodbye…and the game did everything in its power to ensure the final main Splatfest would be one to remember. The Grand Festival didn’t just feel like the finale to Splatoon 3 but a celebration of the entire trilogy. All three main idol groups came together to form the Now or Never Seven, performing for an extra-long Splatfest that lasted three entire days. For this event players were also transferred to a completely different locale this time around, the Grand Festival Grounds near the desert crater where our story first began in this game. It felt like a real full-circle moment, and the fact that the developers went and made a HUGE venue filled to the brim with characters and little details that would only be used for three days was pretty impressive. We live in a world where game devs do everything they can to reuse assets and make sure players see everything they worked hard on, and a lot of this stuff was only available for three days! You know, assuming you don’t own an amiibo of the idols.

Adding to that, prior to this event we got a sneak peak of the final Tricolor map, the Grand Festival Bowl with the final Big Run of the game. Once again, introducing content that wouldn’t be readily available afterward, it was a cool way to tease the stage. The prompt for this final Splatfest was also an interesting one, asking players what they valued most: the Past, the Present, or the Future, with the three idol groups all picking a side to represent them. In the end though…it was a blowout. The power of nostalgia dictates that people value the Past more (or maybe they just like the Squid Sisters the most?), and while Present had a decent showing…in the end Future ended with zero points. How fitting that the final Splatfest of this game would once again demonstrate how hard it is to balance three choices without creating a third wheel that doesn’t really contribute to the greater outcome. That bummer aside, I think the Grand Festival was a really special sendoff for the game on the whole. It’s worth noting we’ll still see reruns of some seasonal Splatfests as time goes on, so it isn’t the TRUE end to the game, but its close enough. That said…as good as this finale was, I do think the true final state of the game does come up a bit short.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

With confirmation that no more major updates were planned for this game, fans will have to more or less accept Splatoon 3 for what it IS rather than what it COULD be. I do find it strange that, for a game as obsessed with the number 3 as Splatoon 3 is, we never did get third kits for weapons at all. It is worth noting Splatoon 3 has more weapons than either Splatoon game before it even WITHOUT third kits though, so I’d argue there is still a lot of variety. That being said, the lack of more options for some weapons can really hurt, especially when you consider the long wait some weapons had to even get their second kit (Bamboozler mains I feel for you!) thanks to the seasonal updates. The fact that we got brand new weapons such as the Decavitator right at the end of the game’s life with both kits at once stings all the more.

Considering how much work this game put into multiple versions of stages for certain modes and events, I am a little shocked a final update didn’t let players do private room Tricolor Battles or even be able to add on the modifiers from the random Challenges. Seeing as Shifty Stations became fair game after the Final Fest of 2¸I don’t see a reason for not implementing something similar for the likes of Tricolor stages, or even Big Run stages. I understand that making something limited-time only makes it feel more special (I even just praised this about the Grand Festival), but considering what past games have done it’s hard to feel like 3 isn’t dropping the ball a little bit.

Just so we’re clear here, I still think Splatoon 3 is a game bursting at the seams with content. Between two solid single-player experiences, by far the most stages and weapons in the series (especially if we’re counting variations for modes like Big Run or Tricolor Battles), a more fleshed-out co-op mode with Salmon Run, it even manages to have smaller stuff like a card game hidden within. Both Splatanas and Stingers are interesting new weapons and some of the other new weapons added later on in the game are pretty interesting. I’ll still hold firm that the Zipcaster is one of the coolest special weapons they’ve ever made. The game has a lot of technical polish and the visuals, even if they aren’t a huge leap from past games, feel all the more refined. I put hundreds of hours into the game across these two years and some change, and I enjoyed the vast majority of it. Playing with friends on the weekend was a pretty common activity, as opposed to the other two games that eventually boiled down to dusting it off every so often for a Splatfest and then turning it off again for months at a time. Splatoon 3 is a great game and in a lot of respects a great finale to the trilogy, but I won’t deny I still feel a little let down.

We have no idea what the future holds for this series now. Final Splatfests have had some impact on the next game in the series. Marie having more of a role in 2’s story, or the entire “chaos” theming for 3 on the whole…so who knows how Past winning will impact the hypothetical Splatoon 4. The devs have mentioned the trilogy closing the chapter on the current plot, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw a total clean slate moving forward. Maybe we’ll get a game set in the past to get more of that juicy lore. Maybe we’ll get a game that’s geared more towards design elements from the first game even! One can hope, I guess. The Splatoon trilogy has definitely had its share of ups and downs, so I don’t want to paint this as something that only 3 had going on. The first game was at times an unbalanced mess, since it was a new IP that wasn’t sure what it wanted to be yet. The second game got rushed out the door to hit the launch window of the Switch too, and had its own share of strange design decisions (here’s looking at you, Sting Ray). With 3 I had hopes the devs would finally have the time and resources, not to mention past experiences to draw from, to make the best game in the series and…3 was not that at all. But it was also a game made during a pandemic, with a new Nintendo online infrastructure, on top of being on aging hardware that may or may not have once had a “pro” version in development. All things considered I think Splatoon 3 came out OK. It still delivered on a sense of style that stands out from the rest of Nintendo’s games, and kept me coming back for more even with all of these issues, so clearly they were doing a lot right. Whatever the future holds, I’ll always be down to make a mess with some ink.

Stay fresh.

-B

[needtoloveoutloud]

Apparently, a hot take on hive-mind tumblr?

Every time I see a post that equates pro-shipping or difficult, problematic themes in (fan) fiction and books and other stories with actual, real-life SA or whatever the topic is, I automatically assume that the OP lacks critical thinking skills and media literacy, fell for the dangerous Puritan movement that's sort of going on in the US (and other countries, too) right now and is likely 14 y/o (or at least mentally stuck at that age) and simply jumped up on that dangerous bandwagon of wanted censorship.

Also, a little bit of hope dies within me.

I could write a damn essay on why equating the “experiences” of fictional (read it again: fictional aka NON-EXISTENT characters) with the trauma and experiences of real-life people is incredibly harmful and hurtful.

To somehow put the plot of a story on the same level as what actual victims went through under the guise of "omg you write/read something like that, so you must support this" is so disrespectful, on so many levels. To everyone affected.

(for example: in my story, I wrote about a 4 y/o girl that got kidnapped by child-traffickers. Does not mean that I a) condone that shit in any way shape or form in the real world and b) am a kidnapper and/or child trafficker myself...? I don't even know why this needs to be clarified?)

Only because some people don't like something that does!not!actually!harm! a real-life person, doesn't mean that that thing should be forbidden or censored. This is so, so incredibly dangerous. I feel like we have learned nothing from history. How about we just start burning books again? That worked out amazingly in the past and wasn't a catalyst for any big issues at all, right?

Assuming stuff is properly tagged, it's your own responsibility for what you consume online. If you are under 18, this applies too. A lot of authors feel uncomfortable to sharing their work with minors, which is completely fine, and they are in the right to do that. If you still continue to read a story (or in the case of AO3, click "accept" when the warning pops up that a story might include adult themes (graphic description of violence, sex, language, whatever, really): then it is on the minor (or the parents who didn't oversee their child's internet activity). Authors are not their parents or guardians. If minors have unrestricted access to the internet (which I am not sure they should have, at least not when you're 12 or something, but then again: I'm no one's parent), then all you can do is learn by experience. You lie and pretend you're older than you are? You click "understand" and read a story that involves adult themes?

If you do all that, despite the site's warning or the author's warning, then you do not get to complain that the story is intended for people who are older than you, have more media literacy and critical thinking skills to be able to differentiate between fiction and real life or the fact that the story contains adult themes — as it was tagged. WHATEVER adult themes are included.

Trying to censor stuff or illegalize things only because YOU subjectively think they are wrong or immoral or whatever opens the door to a lot of dangerous effects that we, in a civilized society, had to work hard to bounce back from in the past — historically speaking.

Some countries still have major restrictions and censorship of stories, books, and whole websites (that do not harm people) and it was often possible to implement such laws and censorships because it was argued (in the beginning) that it was for the protection of young people or because all porn is inherently bad or stuff like that. Then, it opens the doorway to a lot of other censorship, and then it's too late or very, very hard to reverse.

Idk, there are just so many things wrong with the notion of "anti-shipping" or "I wanna censor shit you read/write because I don't like it/think it's immoral" and, personally, it just rubs me the wrong way.

God, I can already feel people starting a discussion or blocking me or unfollowing me or whatever. And you know what's the beauty of it? You can do that — because we, luckily, have the power and responsibility to be in charge of what content we actively consume online. :)

P.S. I shouldn't have to say this, but obviously (as stated) my take on all of this only applies to fictional characters. Writing SA stories on real, existing people (celebrities or not) is not okay.

Feel free to ignore this, feel free to jump in to discuss this topic like adults, idc, really :D Just wanted to voice my thoughts to the vast void of the interwebs

Also: feel free to help educate me if you think I lack background information or stuff.

[dreamingkelz]

I’ll admit, I’m a little nervous writing this, but I’ve been thinking in circles a lot lately, and I thought writing my thoughts down would be helpful and maybe alleviate some anxiety? This isn’t really criticism about anything, so much as observations and analysis and just a general attempt to understand some of the weirder things I’ve experienced being in this fandom.

With that said, let’s get started.

I’ve talked in the past about how protective I feel when it comes to the eggs. I don’t like people threatening to kill them. I don’t like when the story puts them in danger. I don’t like how neglect deaths are still a risk. And after a few close calls over the past few days, egg welfare is in the front of my mind again, and I’ve found myself questioning why I feel this way. It’s strange, isn’t it? As many people have said, they’re just a bunch of pixels in a video game, aren’t they?

First and foremost, I want to preface this by saying I’m a writer, and more specifically, I’m a writer who loves angst. I’ve always drifted towards tragic narratives. I want to see the characters I’m invested in get tested. I want to see them cope with trauma and loss. I love when a story can make me cry. I’m not necessarily a fan of child death as a narrative device, but of all of the stories I’ve written, my favorite does see the main character watching four of his five children die in increasingly horrific ways over the course of fifty chapters, so it’s definitely not a dealbreaker for me. If the QSMP was an ordinary story, I think I would love the tension and the horror of the situation. As is, there have been some interesting character developments to come out of the constant threat of death, or the trauma caused by past deaths on the server.

So then why? Why does the thought of egg deaths still fill me with a nauseating sense of dread?

To start with, the QSMP is not an ordinary story. I don’t think any story told through this particular style of Minecraft roleplay is or can be. This is real-time player-driven roleplaying, and I think there are three medium-defining factors at play here. One: every player (usually) streams their perspective. Two: characters appear and disappear from the story based on the players’ streaming schedules. And three: while they are online, we will experience every single thing that happens to the players.

Combined, we end up with a narrative that simultaneously has characters that are better-developed than can be found in any other medium, while also somehow being worse. Any character is likely to have a vivid, colorful personality, deeply engaging relationships with the people around them, a rich inner life, and their own unique perspective on any events that occur on the server. But that same character might inexplicably be absent from a plot beat that they are heavily invested in, solely because the streamer isn’t available for that particular stream. Plotlines get dropped for any number of reasons. Backstories are, more often than not, cobbled together from references to past servers that the player has taken part in. All-in-all, narrative and even character takes a backseat to the players - their identities, their schedules, their playstyles, their comfort.

It is also worth repeating that everything that happens on the server is unfolding in real time. The narrative doesn’t cut away when the story stops, at least not for most of the players. There are a handful who might log in with a single focus for the day, stream for one or two hours, then log off again. But many more are there nearly every day for several hours at a time, and a lot of that time will be dedicated to non-story events - building, doing dungeons, making machines, or just hanging out with the other players. While any player on any stream can be prone to breaking character to talk about events from their offline lives, these long, lore-light streams are especially prone to it. And there are some players who specifically try to avoid participating in lore altogether. At the end of the day, they are streamers first, and actors in a story second.

The result of all of these factors is a server with an incredibly thin line between fiction and reality. There is a distinction between the player and the character they play, yes, but in any given stream the difference between the two can become murky.

But how does this tie to the eggs?

In the beginning, it wasn’t necessarily so bad. The eggs were just cute little blobs that followed their respective players around and needed to be taken care of. There was even a lot of confusion in the earliest days as to whether or not they were controlled by AI. If that was all they had stayed, perhaps we wouldn’t have gotten so attached? The problem came when they started talking.

Suddenly, the eggs were able to communicate things they liked and projects they wanted to work on. They were able to tell jokes, and express complicated emotions, and let the personalities they’d already started fostering shine. They started carving out niches in the community of the server - people ask Dapper for help with engineering projects and mod-related information; Richarlyson’s art is plastered over every other business and he even does concept art for builds; the eggs form relationships outside of their assigned player, with eggs and players alike. Some of them even have their own ongoing storylines. Parents are careful to make sure that every egg is taken care of every week, and everybody freaks out if they see an egg go down in chat.

Yes, the eggs are cute. They’re small and meant to evoke human children. The players are explicitly told to protect them, to raise them, and keep them healthy and happy. Of course everybody would become attached. But isn’t it strange to get this attached?

If cute child characters were all they were, I would think so. But that isn’t the case. In practice, the eggs are effectively players themselves.

Players that only exist in the context of the server.

Players that the server is actively trying to kill.

And I think that is the problem. The eggs are characters in a story, but the story has such a murky line between fiction and reality, that they wind up feeling real. After all, they follow the same rules as the other “characters” when it comes to portraying a character. This isn’t like a Cucurucho or a Walter Bob who come online once in a while to hang out, but clearly have an off-screen role to play in the story as well. The eggs may not stream their perspectives, but they spend nearly one hundred percent of their time interacting with players, and if they’re not with a player, they’re assumed to be sleeping. Furthermore, depending on whose perspective you watch, you’re going to spend a minimum of three days a week watching egg content, and when they log on, they tend to stay for hours. If you were watching in the beginning, they were online every day. That is a LOT of time to “get to know” these characters who so convincingly mimic the players.

Effectively (and unintentionally), the QSMP has tricked the audience into forming parasocial relationships with a handful of fictional characters.

I have never cried over the death of a fictional character, or even had a particularly strong reaction. When a character is in danger, usually my reaction is excitement over the narrative possibilities the situation could create. I love tragedy in fiction. I love horror. I love drama. And on the server itself, this is how I’ve consistently felt about inter-player conflicts. My engagement is at its highest when there is some kind of narrative tension between the player characters (and the fandom reactions to this kind of thing deserve their own essay).

But when Dapper lost his first life, I was so viscerally upset that I nearly dropped the series to protect my mental health. I have pointedly refused to watch any stream where an egg dies if I know it’s coming, and I tend to avoid streams dealing with the aftermath of their deaths as well.

Because no matter how much logic you throw at the situation, it still feels real. If a player character perma-dies, or is banned, or just chooses to leave, they may no longer have a presence in the server, but it’s still clear to the audience that only the character is dead. The player exists outside of the server, and for the parasocially invested, it’s usually still easy to keep up with them if one wants to. The eggs broadly do not have that luxury. Once they’re dead in the story, they cease to exist altogether, and in an environment where the fiction/reality line is already so blurred, that is going to have a strong impact on the audience. No amount of hearing “they’re pixels in a video game” is going to mitigate that.

I think the best case scenario is that they grant the eggs the same immortality as the players, whether it be through hatching or some other means, and allow them to come and go as suits them. The eggs have fulfilled their initial purpose, and the server would really benefit from removing this hurdle that disincentivizes chaos and recklessness and incentivizes harassment from a highly-stressed audience. Multiple players have already said they have no intention of returning because they don’t want to deal with the fallout that will come from potentially hurting an egg. But all of these eggs have carved out a real place in the server, and it would be a shame to lose that.

The eggs are important to the QSMP and a major draw for a lot of people. And I don’t think that needs to change. But I do think that there are ways to use the eggs for narrative drama without having to force your audience into subconsciously believing that their favorite streamer has died. The QSMP, and servers like it, provide a unique storytelling medium with its own advantages and challenges. And as with any medium, it’s important to be aware of what these challenges are in order to tell the best story possible.

[gtbutterfly]

Jen and Gabby chapter 7 (FINALE)(kinda)

hey! so this is the seventh chapter of my first gt story and serves as the climax and finaile of the story so far. BUT, that being said, this isn't the end. I still have to write an epolouge to wrap everything up. and then after that, I have some more ideas for these characters and this world, so let me know if you'd like to see that! thank you for stayting with this story this whole time, and as always, criticism is appreciated.

cw: cages, dehumanization, some stabbing, near death experience (no one dies, don't worry.)

heres the previous part:

and heres the first part:

thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it!

______________________________________________________________

It was late at night, past nine pm. It was raining again, though a lot less than before. Sara was solemnly looking out the window at the raindrops streaming down. The ground out there looked cold, wet, and muddy. It was so dark, the only light was coming from streetlights and from the windows of houses that were still up. There were large, dark brown puddles on the ground from the grass being overflooded. Some of the water was flowing downhill, and into sewers, sweeping everything in it away. It was dreadful for Sara to think of what could happen to the borrower from earlier, who insisted on leaving and going out there to save her sister, but Sara couldn’t stop looking outside, thinking of where she was, where her sister and the tiny that was with her were, thinking of what else she could’ve done for them. She was caught off guard when she heard the front door open behind her. It was Sara's mother, holding some bags with groceries in them. 

“Damn, traffic was crazy with all that rain out there,” Sara's mom chuckled. Sara gave a light smile. 

“Hey Mom,” She said, walking towards her and helping her with the food. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Sara's mother said, “sorry I took so long, probably too late to make dinner now,”

“It's fine, we had leftovers,” Sara rubbed the back of her neck as she put the food away on the fridge and cabinets, “so, dad went back to work for…something important, I guess,”

“Oh, he can never get a break from work,” Sara's mother said, “I swear, he spends more time at that damn place than in his own bed,”

“So… Mom, can I ask you something?” Sara said, before turning towards her mother,

“Sure sweetie, what is it?” Sara's mother said,

“Uh, do you know…what a ‘lili’...’lilipotan…..” Sara struggled to pronounce the word her father said earlier,

“Lilliputian?” Saras mom asked.

“Yes, you know what a Lilliputian is?” Sara asked,

“It means small and trivial,” Her mother said, “something that people act like is important but is actually meaningless and stupid,”

“...oh…” Sara said, a bit offended for the tinys she met earlier that are apparently called that,

“The word comes from this old legend, about islands with little people, and giants, and horses, and such, your father was obsessed with that old story back when we were in college,” Sara's mother said. “He usually doesn’t like fairy tales like that, so it was weird how into it he was,”

“Dad was into that when he was in college?” Sara asked,

“Yeah, he was majoring in bio-testing, and he liked the idea of experimenting on smaller humans for better results. I used to call him a mad scientist for it,” Sara's mom laughed, “I think he like, jokingly followed some conspiracy theory club about those things from the story being real, crazy, huh hun?” 

“Uh..yeah,” Sara said, looking down, “so….you should probably like…sit down or something for what I’m about to tell you,”

“Huh?” Sara's mother looked confused, “what is it?”

Meanwhile

“What happened to your hand?” 

The scientist was at a sink, wrapping their right hand with bandages after cleaning it. Their face still winched in pain from the wounds and the feeling of soap and water disinfecting them. They looked at the other scientist who asked the question.

“It was stabbed by one of those things, Dr. Smith,” the scientist said as they finished treating their hand.

“The lilliputians?” the other scientist asked, “they didn’t have any weapons when they were brought here by me, did they bite you?”

“There was a new one,” the scientist said, “they were dark-skinned and female, like the young one still in captivity, but they were older and had a sewing needle and a sling bag. They stabbed me in the hand, then the ankle, and then they ran away with the male.”

“There's another one?” Dr. Smith said, “Where did it come from? Is it connected to the two we already have?”

“I don’t know, it just showed up in the room that I left the male in, unlocked it from the cage, and stabbed me.” the other scientist said, sounding annoyed and angry, “I’m clocking off work, you can deal with the two loose subjects,” They said as they walked away. Dr. Smith took the radio off his belt and spoke into it while pressing a red button on it.

Jen and Tim were under a janitor's card while waiting for the main hallway to be clear. Jen was wiping her needle off with a small ripped-off piece of paper towel. Tim looked at her.

“You really, uh, went all out when that scientist came back…” he said,

“Thanks, I had to,” Jen said, “I’m not letting what happened at the house happen again,”

“So that's why you attacked the ankle?” Tim asked,

“I was aiming for the heel actually,” Jen said, looking out from under the cart. “So where is Gabby?”

“Back in the room the human took me from,” Tim said,

“Where in the room? Was it like, a cage, or a jar, or the thing you were in,”

“A cage, it was up high on a stack of other cages with white bars. The door was similar to the one I was in, but there's nothing in front of it to hold onto, so we’ll have to hang onto the bars without falling,” Tim said,

“That sounds easy enough, the hard part will be getting Gabby down,” Jen said, “she's never had to go down a string like that before,”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Tim said, “by the way, how did you get here? Aren’t we far away from where we were?”

“Oh, uh,” Jen rubbed the back of her neck, “I got help…from…” she sighed, “you know,”

“Rebecca?” Tims eyes widened, “so, you trust her now?” 

“Just to bring me here and bring us back,” Jen said, “not with anything else, especially not Gabby,”

“Oh,” Tim looked down, “well it's a start at least you trust her  little now,”

“Can we stick to the point?” Jen said, annoyed and a bit embarrassed from Tim finding out that she needed help from Rebecca, help from a human. “Come on, lets go,”

“Wait, where is Rebecca?” Tim asked,

“outside, in the car.” Jen said, “she's waiting for us to get out.”

“Oh,” Tim said,

“Come on, we’re wasting time,” Jen held her needle as she stepped out from under the cart. She looked around before waving for Tim to follow her. The two borrowers traveled much in the same way Jen traveled alone. They would quickly and quietly move along the side of the wall, being careful to stay in the shadows and hiding wherever they could whenever a human got near. They noticed some of the humans were specifically looking behind potted plants and under chairs, and going in and out of empty rooms for seemingly no reason. They were looking for something, more than likely them. Jen kept her needle drawn at her side. She gave Tim the fishing hook she had so that he would have something to defend with. It was a lot slower getting back to the room where Gabby was than it was for Jen before, there were more close calls with humans looking around. The door was already open when they did eventually find their way there. Jen stepped through the doorway first through the side, and Tim followed. The room was very white and cold. The walls were tiled and the floor was concrete. There was a desk in the middle of the room and counters at the walls, one with a sink. There were tall metal wire shelves with boxes of equipment and scientific instruments. There was one shelf made up of metal cages that seemed to be for rats or mice. Tim pointed at the stack of cages,

“That's where me and Gabby were,” he said to Jen. Jen nodded and looked around for a way to get up there. She looked up at one of the metal shelves. She took the fishing hook out of her bag and threw it up the shelf, latching it onto one of the metal bars.

“Come on, let's get up there and see if we can find a way to get to her before anyone comes in here,” Jen said, beginning to climb up the rope.

“Did the human from before leave this door open?” Tim asked, following Jen up the string, “I don’t remember the door here being left open,”

“Well, when he put you in that other room, he left to get something.” Jen said, “Maybe he went back here to get it. That or it was someone else,” she pulled herself up to the first shelf of the metal rack. She pulled up Tim and then threw the hook to the next shelf. 

“Maybe, but it seems weird, right? Why would any of these humans leave this door open for us to get through?” Tim wondered. Jen started climbing again.

“Maybe one was in here, but they left thinking they would be back so soon, they wouldn’t have to close it,” Jen said, “if that’s the case, we have to hurry and get to the top of this thing,”

“Right,” Tim said, climbing after Jen. The borrowers made it to the second shelf, which was on level with the counters around the room. Jen and Tim got onto the counter and got to the side of the stack of cages. The counters were mostly empty, other than some glass measuring containers and unused beakers. There wasn’t much to hide behind, which made Jen anxious. The side of the tower of cages was made out of metal. The front of the cages were bar doors. Jen turned to Tim and handed him the fishing hook. 

“Hang onto this, I’m gonna try something,” JEn said. Tim nodded as Jen took the other end of the string and leaned over the edge of the counter. Tim held on tight to make sure Jen didn’t fall off. Jen held onto the string with one hand and tried to grab the bar of the cage. She managed to grab onto it and pull herself onto it. She nearly fell as she pulled herself onto the front of the cage. The door had metal bars close together, and a side lock similar to the one from the top of the container TIm was in earlier. Jen put the end of the sting in her mouth and started climbing the bars like they were a ladder. Tim looked at her from the side of the counter. Jen looked down at him. She took the string out of her mouth.

“Keep a lookout. If a human comes in here, tug on the string, but don’t make me drop it, alright?” Jen said,

“Got it,” Tim said, wrapping some of the string around his hand. Jen put the end back in her mouth and kept climbing. She got to the top of the empty cage and started scaling the second one. 

Meanwhile, 

It has been nearly over an hour now. Rebecca was still in the car, waiting for Jen, Tim and Gabby to get out. Every so often she would check around the ground outside the car to make sure the borrowers weren’t waiting there for her. Part of her was worried that someone would come out of the building and tell her to leave, though she was more worried about whatever was happening inside. Rebecca checked her phone. It was eleven forty-three. Jen said to go in and find Tim and Gabby at midnight, but Rebecca was so anxious, she was considering going in now. It wouldn’t have been the first time she went to find the borrowers before they wanted her to go find them, earlier she promised Jen not to go out and find them until the next morning, and she went out that night instead because of the rain. Jen didn’t mean to mind too much then, though that could’ve been due to her needing help at the time. Rebecca didn’t want to betray Jen's trust, even if it was for the tiny's own good. But she couldn’t bear to think of what could be happening inside. if Jen was caught, if she was too late, if she was still looking or stuck somewhere. Rebecca was antsy, practically squirming in her car seat trying not to go inside and look for Jen before she was supposed to. Suddenly, another car pulled up a couple of spots away from Rebecca's parking spot in front of the building. It was a gray minivan driven by a woman with dark, blondish hair. In the passenger's seat was a girl, no older than 16. With unnatural-looking black hair that seemed to have been dyed. They both had green eyes like the eyes of the kid Jen said took Gabby. Rebecca watched them silently from her car as they got out of their car and went inside. The woman seemed mad about something. It seemed like she was speaking sternly to the secretary at the front of the window. Rebecca decided to step inside for a moment, 

“I’m telling you, I desperately need to speak with my husband right now,” the woman said, 

“My apologies Mrs. Smith, your husband is busy right now with something important,” the person at the front desk said.

“This is urgent, we need to talk to him immediately,” the woman said, “you have to send him up here,”

“Ma’am, when Dr. Smith came in here, he said he was here for something very important that couldn’t wait for anything,” the secretary said, “you and your daughter are just gonna have to wait for him to be finished,”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing! He's doing something terrible!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed. Her daughter spoke up from next to her,

“At least leave a message for him that we’re here,” Sara said, leaning over the desk.

“Sorry, he specifically said not to be disturbed.” the secretary said. “He's the head scientist here, there's nothing I can do,”

Sara and her mother sighed and walked away from the desk.

“Sorry honey, there's nothing we can do right now.” Sara’s mother said, “We’ll have to wait for him to come out on his own.”

“Maybe we could try calling him again,” Sara suggested,

“No, it’ll just go to voicemail again,” Mrs. Smith said, before sighing again and looking down, “we’re not leaving until we talk to him about this. I can’t believe your father would do something like this… completely disgusting.”

“Thanks again for believing me about this, mom,” Sara said, “I thought you would think I  was crazy,”

“Don’t mention it sweetie,” Saras mother said, sighing and gesturing to some chairs in the lobby. “You go sit down. I’m gonna keep trying to get a hold of your father,”

“Ok mom,” Sara said. She went over to the chairs and sat down. They stared at the floor for a moment thinking about everything, as a woman walked inside from the rain and sat a few chairs away from her. Sara looked up at her. She had light brown hair, blue eyes, and wore a black rain jacket. Sara recognized her as one of her neighbors, she had seen her around at neighborhood events and remembered going to her house while chaperoning Danny on halloween. The neighbor looked over at Sara, who quickly stopped looking.

“Hey,” the neighbor said with a small wave. Sara looked back at her.

“...hi,” she said awkwardly.

“We live on the same street, right?” the neighbor said,

“Yeah, you’re that lady living alone at the bottom of the hill,” Sara said.

“Well it takes a lot of work to afford your own house on your own nowadays,” the neighbor said. “I’m Rebecca,”

“...Sara,” Sara said, scooting away from the stranger. 

“You have a little brother, right?” Rebecca asked,

“Uh, yeah, we went to your house last halloween,” Sara said, 

“He’s the one with green eyes, just like you, right?” Rebecca asked,

“Yeah, we get that alot. Everyone in our family has green eyes,” Sara said.

“Yeah, I think he took something that…um, doesn’t belong to me, per say, but, uh,” Rebecca looked down, “well, he took something I’m fond of,” 

Sara was silent for a moment, “....yeah, he’s… a brat…sorry,” Sara said, wondering if Rebecca was talking about what she thought she was, “...what was this thing? That Danny took?”

“Uhhhh, nevermind that,” Rebecca said, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck,

“Was it something small?” Sara asked, “something…tiny?” She was trying dog whistles to see if this lady was talking about the tinies. Rebecca's eyes widened when she heard Sara ask her that.

“Um, yeah, actually, it was…” she said, “it was actually something I…uh…borrowed,” Rebecca looked down.

“Uh, cool, cool.” Sara said. it was obvious now, this woman was here for the lilliputians too. The only thing was there was no telling if she had good intentions for them or not. “So…why are you here so late?”

“Uh, I have a…friend here…and I’m waiting for them to get back…they’re….looking for someone here, hopefully won’t be long,”

“Oh, really…” Sara said, looking down, “uh, how is this friend of yours? Um, short? Curly hair?”

“Um, yeah, actually. Way short,” Rebecca said awkwardly, “you’ve seen them?” 

“Yeah, yeah, earlier, a couple hours ago, they were…uh…looking for their sister, right?” Sara asked,

“Yeah, she was.” Rebecca said. “They’re also…pretty close to the precious thing I lost, too.” she rubbed the back of her neck, “so, why are you here,”

“Me and my mom are trying to…uh, talk my dad out of something. It's a uh, experiment he's doing that…might ruin his career and stuff…y’know, ethics,”

“Oh, cool. He, uh, works here?” Rebecca asked,

“Yeah, yeah. We would just go and see him, but we can’t just walk around and find him, so my moms trying to get him to come here.”

“So, you’ve been here before?” Rebecca asked,

“Yeah, plenty of times,” Sara said, 

“For no reason, do you know  where the uh…animal holding center or whatever is?” Rebecca asked,

“Hmm, well, that's upstairs,” Sara said, “but the place they do the tests on animals, like the ones they just recently found, would be near the end of that hall, to the left,” she gestured towards a hallway that the lobby opened into.

“Oh, well, that's interesting,” Rebecca said, “well, nice talking to you, Sara,”

“Yeah, see you later, Rebecca,” Sara said.

“I’m gonna go…find the bathroom,” Rebecca said,

“Alright,” Sara said, “see ya,”

Rebecca got up and casually walked away from the chairs. She walked past the secretary desk, where Saras mom was still negotiating with the worker there, letting Rebecca go down the hallway unseen.

Jen was nearly at the top of the stack of cages. She was at the one which was second to the top where Gabby was. It seemed like she was finally going to make it. She had just then reached the top of the cage below the top one. Meanwhile, Tim was still on the counter to look out if any humans were close to the entrance of the room. He hoped there wouldn’t be, there weren’t many places to hide where he was, and especially not for Jen, holding onto the bars above for dear life. There was a sink nearby he could jump in, but then he would be stuck, and it would be only a matter of time before he was found. Luckily, for the time being, it was pretty quiet around that room. There were no shadows looming outside the open door, no footsteps vibrating in the ground, no human voices appriching in the distance, at least not yet. Tim considered going to the door to try closing it, but it was a large metal door, the kind that slammed when it closed. Tim wouldn’t be able to push it closed, and even if he could, he didn’t want to leave Jen up there, so Tim just stayed put. The borrower looked around the room some while Jen was climbing. The room was very sterile and white. The counters were all gray and the ceiling was made up of cardboard tiles, with a few vents spread around. Tim wondered if it was possible to escape the room from the ceiling, he knew from his time with Rebecca that those ceiling tiles were movable. Maybe Jen could throw the hook up there and they could break through one and escape undetected through the ceiling of the building. He looked around more at the ceiling and noticed something. It was like a piece of glass, or plastic, it was hard to tell. It was in a dome shape, and was attached upside down on the ceiling. There was a glowing red dot in the otherwise black objects. Tim could have sworn he’d seen one of those before.he’d been out with rebecca to various public places humans went, and there were plenty of black dome-things just like that one scattered about a place humans called “the store.” he thought he remembered what Rebecca said they were for, to keep people from stealing, but it never made sense to him how. Then the name of the device came to him, a security camera. He really thought about that much before. From what he knew a camera was something that humans used to “record” things, which wasn’t helpful because they also used microphones to  “record” things, and would “record” information in books and such. Except microphones recorded sound, and books recorded information. What did this leave cameras to record? That was when he realized.

Oh. oh no…

Jen finally made it. She grabbed the first bar of the top cage and pulled herself up in front of it. She heard quiet, mild crying coming from within the enclosure. She pulled herself up more. She keeps climbing upward and upward, eventually getting to the side lock of the cage. She unlatched it, and looped the end of the string around one of the cage bars, still hanging onto the end. to the inside of the cage bars. Still holding onto the door, she pushed against the rest of the cage, sending her backwards. The sound of crying stopped at the sound of the door opening. Jen, still holding onto the string, swallows her spit and jumps from the door. She swinged into the side of the cage below, and started again pulling herself up. The rope rubbed against and burned her hand. Her arms and legs ached from the climb. Her ribs were still sore from being kicked earlier. Her needle poked her slightly in the thigh while she was climbing the rope. There was a pit in her stomach from being up so high. She grunted as she climbed, finally putting her arm over the side of the cage opening. She used her remaining strength to pull herself up one last time. She climbed into the cage, taking a moment to  catch her breath before standing up. She looked forward. Their eyes met for a moment. There was silence.

“.....Jen…” Gabby said, her eyes widened,

“Gabby,” Jen said, her face breaking into a smile. The two sisters ran towards each other. Jen got on her knees and they hugged each other as tight as they both could. Gabby put her head over Jens shoulder. Jen squeezed Gabby in her arms, holding her.

“Jen, I missed you so much,” Gabby said, tears in her eyes,

“I thought I lost you…” Jen weeped, “I’m so sorry Gabby, I’m so sorry,”

“I thought I’d never see you again, Jen” Gabby cried,

“I’m sorry I let you get taken, I’m sorry I lost you, I’ll never let anyone take you ever again,” Jen said, hugging Gaby tighter,

“Th-thank you for coming for me, Jen, thank you,” Gabby said,

“Your…you're welcome,” Jen said softly. They stopped hugging for a moment and looked at each other. “Gabby, are you ok? What did they do to you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m…I’m ok, Jen….I’m ok,” Gabby said, “I was so scared….I was in a jar, then a…a human helped me…and fed me strawberries, then I was taken here with Tim, and Tim was taken away,” tears swelled in Gabbys eyes,

“It's ok, it's ok,” Jen hugged her sister again.

“I was so scared, I couldn’t be brave like you are,” Gabby said, 

“Are you kidding?” Jen asked, putting her hands on her sister's shoulders and smiling softly at her, tears of joy in her eyes, “you were so brave, you were just as brave as I am,”

“But…but I was scared,” Gabby said,

“That's ok, Gabby. You were still brave, you talked to a human by yourself, you gave yourself up to save Tim, you were very brave.”

“I was?” Gabby asked,

“Yes, you were,” Jen said, hugging her again. “I was afraid too, afraid of a lot of things,”

“Really?” Gabby asked,

“Yes, really,” Jen said, before sighing in relief. She got up from her knees and stood before Gabby. “Come on, let's get out of here.” she said. Gabby smiled. The two sisters went to the edge of the opened cage. Jen looked to the side, at the counter. Tim was waving his arms and yelling. Gabby's face brightened.

“Tim! You're alive!” She said, looking down at him. Tim seemed worried about something.

“Hurry up! Get down from there!” Tim yelled. It was just about audible for Jen and Gabby to hear. Jen nodded, and pointed at the string for Gabby.

“Gabby, your going to have to climb down from this string,” Jen said,

“Wh-what?” Gabby asked,

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Jen said, gulping. She grabbed the looped string around the metal bar and started tying it into a knot. “Wrap your legs around the rope tightly, and either put one hand over the other to go slowly, or wrap your sleeves around the rope and loosen them slightly to slide down, just make sure to slow down near the bottom.

“I…I want to go slowly,” Gabby said,

“Ok Gabby, just…hold on tight. I’ll be right above you the whole time, ok?” Jen asked,

“Ok,” Gabby said, “I’ll try to be brave,”

“Atta girl,” Jen smiled softly. Gabby grabbed onto the string and wrapped her legs tightly around it. She slowly put one hand over the other, letting herself slide down. She had her eyes closed tight. “There you go Gabby, you're doing great!” Jen said, “You've almost passed the cage below us, keep going!”

“O-ok, Jen,” Gabby kept her eyes closed and kept climbing down. Jen looked down at her sister and started to climb down the rope too, but right before she stepped off the edge of the cage, there were footsteps in the distance.

“sh*t,” Jen whispered to herself. 

“Jen? Whats that?” Gabby said, hearing the footsteps coming closer to the room.

“Gabby, Slide down!” Jen yelled, “wrap your arms around the rope and slide down, quickly!” 

“What?!?” Gabby yelled, opening her eyes and looking up at Jen, “but..but what if I fall?” The footsteps were getting louder. 

“It's ok, Gabby, I believe in you,” Jen yelled, “you're brave, remember? You're brave! You can do it!”

“I’m brave….” Gabby said, looking down at herself, before closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around the sting. “I’m brave…” she loosened her arms slightly and screamed as she slid down the rope. She didn’t slow down near the bottom, like Jen said, but Tim had the end of the rope, and managed to get Gabby to fall over the side of the counter. She fell on her back and was pulled up by Tim. 

“Gabby, are you ok?” Tim asked. Gabby hugged him.

“Tim, thank you,” she said, before letting go and looking up at the cage. She couldn’t see Jen from where she was, she was still up there.

“Come on, Jen will get down on her own, let's get out of here,” Tim said,

“No!” Gabby yelled, “I don’t want to lose her again!” 

Just then, the human walked into the room. It was the scientist that brought them there. Saras dad.

“Hey!” he yelled, seeing the Lilliputians on the counter, not noticing Jen in the shadows of the cage. 

“Gabby, Run!” Tim yelled, as Gabby started sprinting as fast as she could. The human rushed to the counter. Tim bit the string that was wrapped around the fishing hook and started running after Gabby. Meanwhile, Jen took out her needle as the human got here. She let out a deep breath, before running towards the edge of the cage. She leaped from the door and landed on the scientist's shoulder. She stabbed the human flesh and pulled the needle out, causing the human to yell in pain briefly before reaching for Jen on his shoulder. Jen got grabbed, but she stabbed the inside of the human's palm. She was let go and grabbed the human lab coat. The borrowers swung from the humans coat buttons while Tim and Gabby got down the metal shelf. Gabby looked back.

“Jen!” she yelled, before being pulled away by Tim. The scientist was stabbed by Jen through his shirt before he managed to pull her off and throw her, and the needle, onto the desk. He went after Tim and Gabby, and managed to grab Gabby from the ground. Tim yelled and ran around the human's legs, stabbing him in the heel with the fishing rod. The human screamed and kicked Tim backwards. The scientist turned around and picked Tim up. Gabby was squirming and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“JEN! HELP!” she screamed. Jen got up and picked up her needle again. She ran towards the human from the desk and jumped on him again, stabbing him multiple times in the hip. The scientist threw Gabby onto the desk and grabbed Jen off his hi, squeezing her in his fist. Jen grunted.

“don’t touch her!” JEn yelled at the top of her lungs. The scientist was completely silent. He just stared at the borrower for a couple seconds. It was almost awkward, or scary. The human's large green eye twitched. He was completely emotionless. He just looked at Jen, as if inspecting her. Finally, he cleared his throat. He dropped Tim onto the desk and kept holding Jen.

“We only need an adult male and a female lilliputian to make our own population” the scientists said, almost out of nowhere. His voice boomed in Jens lungs.

“Wh-what?” Jen asked, sounding angry, but genuinely confused too.

“We have no use for a Lilliputian child.” the human said, reaching towards Gabby. Gabby backed away, almost falling off the edge of the desk before being grabbed. TIm couldn’t do anything.

“L-let go!” Gabby yelled,

“What are you going to do to her?” Jen screamed. The human was still silent, staring at them through his glasses. “ANSWER ME!” Jen screamed again. Without a word, the human started putting pressure on Gabbys throat. Gabby couldn’t scream, there was no air in her throat. The human kept adding more pressure, but never enough to break any of Gabby's bones. Jen realized what this was. She kicked. She screamed. She tried to get her arm loose so she could use her needle. Nothing worked. There was nothing she could do. Gabby started making violent coughing sounds as tears started falling from her eyes. JEn started crying to. It was all happening again. There was nothing she could do, soon, there would be nothing left. Everything was hopeless until,

“Hey!” 

a voice came from behind the scientist. He turned around with the tinies in his hands. His grip on Gabby loosened, and she let out a large gasp to catch her breath. The human grip on Jen also loosened. 

“What are you doing?” The voice asked angrily. Jen looked up at the source. It was Rebecca.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” the scientist said sternly. “Who are y-”

The scientist let out a gasp of pain. He held up his now empty hand, which was covered in blood. He looked down. Jen was on the floor. She drove her needle into the humans shoe. He screamed and let go of Gabby. Gabby screamed as she fell. Jen dove to catch her, leaving the needle in the scientist's foot. Jen got  Gabby to her feet and ran out the door, passing Rebecca. Jen looked up at her as they ran past. Rebecca exchanged a glance back, before looking back at the scientist, holding his hand in pain. She looked behind him and saw Tim standing on the desk. Rebecca shoved passed the scientist and scooped TIm into her palm.

“Tim!” Rebecca said, smiling. Tim smiled back,

“Rebecca! It's so good to see you!” He said,

“Oh god, I’m so glad you're safe,” Rebecca hugged TIm to her chest. “Come on, let's go home.” 

Rebecca started to walk out of the room.

“H-hey! You can’t…that's…” the scientists started to say, ‘you can’t just….. Get back here!”

Rebecca ignored him, and walked down the hall, catching up with Jen and Gabby.