#logging out || closed starter

[tech-kingthomas]

Thomas was exhausted at the end of the day.  The prolonged blindfold and ear plugs made him feel delirious, that time was going so much slower and the sun was still beating down against his naked skin.  It was horrible, and he couldn’t wait until it was over, and he could crawl back to his home, to his office, and sleep it off.  Magic the pain away.  And a little part of him felt so guilty about that, because these slaves he was standing side by side with were going to be left in the cells.  Would they be allowed to heal?  Will their curfew still be so strict?  It was all unfair.  All he could do was sit and wait here, wait for the day to end.  For most of the morning, he was doing such a good job at not mentally reliving his own slave days, when they’d throw the slaves up for these punishments - though, this was more creative than he could remember, he had to give credit for that - and hopefully, soon, he’d really be able to put it to rest in the back of his mind. @emmanuelxreyes​

[legaciestold]

thread: the prismya incident tuesday, july 25th-friday july 28th, 2006 @everythingheard (leon) also featured in overall incident: @myersbprd, claire, ingrid, mara, & jill

-

tuesday, july 25, 2006 4:45am (stateside local) mild rain, gray morning skies, humid

the screen is eerily blank for multiple seconds, the sounds of clattering items all that's emitted above the gentle static. muttering comes next, a woman's frustration coming through with no visual to accompany it until a silhouette appears, out of focus.

'come on, come on, yes! it worked!'

emits the voice, hushed but triumphant as what can be assumed is keys of what might be an old keyboard by the heavy sounds of it are pressed in the audio. the picture is grainy, as if there's some kind of interference yet it does finally come into focus to display a woman looking at the camera and addressing an agent with a name hunnigan hasn't come across before. the name is typed into a second monitor upon her station though a voice on the phone she's balancing on her shoulder halts her. tells her to wait and watch. the woman on the screen looks a bit worse for wear. there's a small gash on her forehead that looks as if it's scabbed over and the scrubs she wears look wrinkled and disheveled as if they've been worked in a while. it's not what's shocking about the video. hunnigan has seen a lot both in her own field experiences before she'd taken a desk job and in the displays from messages from various agents she aids who are in the field.

she's seen kennedy a hell of a lot worse for example.

what's shocking comes from the words which emit from the woman's lips. she speaks quickly, to the point, an attempt to relay as much information as possible in an efficient manner. hunnigan appreciates it. a final stage of a virus is synthesized and will have enough produced for the final stage of an attack within forty-eight hours. possibly less, most likely less. she's only piecing together what she's been able to hear and catch glimpses of. she's being monitored constantly but one of the other scientists speaks to her as they work, whenever they get the chance to, and he seems to be an ally. the process appears to be faster because of the nature of vampiric materials.

vampiric?!

the camera is shifted, loses focus for a moment when it's lifted and redirected over a blurry file that hunnigan already knows is going to have to get sent for enhancement. she can just barely see the name claire red.field on it though ingrid isn't sure if she actually saw the name clearly or if it's her brain piecing it together by virtue of the fact the woman voices the name a moment later. the camera pans too quickly over a separate video feed, camera on camera distorting the picture with lines-- yet, some can be made out. maybe the worse of it is the sound.

there's screaming. wild, scared, pained.

there's frenzied movement on the screen of the screen. there's what ingrid thinks is a woman attacking a man in scrubs and then her being forced back down and injected with something and she thinks the woman cries something to the effect of 'not again' after some profound swearing in-between. maybe that's really the most shocking part because ingrid has never met redfield but she's seen agent kennedy's file and seen claire's picture in it because the girl and leon had escaped raccoon together and as distorted as the picture may be, ingrid understands in the pit of her stomach what she's seeing is the same woman.

the camera pans back once more to the woman sending it with her rattling off something about redfield having been the key to the virus and a location. about something being wrong. she shouldn't have been able to get to this terminal let alone send this video she's not sure where the guards are but she's uploading the communication now and praying they get it. to please send the bprd or anyone they can. there's a sound, a groan really, which emits somewhere in the room the woman is in and she looks away before turning back and starting to say to 'tell leon...' something... but it's cut off with the transmission going dark and somehow, that's when something else connects in ingrid's mind and she chastises herself for not having realized it sooner. she's seen this woman's picture in leon's file too. it's his cousin that survived the attack on their family when agent kennedy was a child.

okay. ingrid thinks. okay. okay.

the voice on the phone begins speaking again, giving ingrid little time to recover even as she begins opening various windows at her computer station. it reveals more information to her. information about the bureau of paranormal research and defense. of an outbreak in a polish village the year before, about redfield being part of the bprd-- which doesn't exist on paper except as the fbi's special operations division. it tells her mara a kennedy was an informant in a company run by fucking vampires. vampires! it tells her a select few members of the bsaa, valentine and the other redfield have been contacted and are deploying with bprd on route to prismya where there's been some strange reports of attacks in the last twenty-four hours. they'll meet agent kennedy there and she needs to relay all this information to him and get him on a military flight leaving in two hours. it's a lot. it's chaos. but it's a chaos she can handle. she has to. first, however, she needs to finish dialing agent kennedy's number.

she does and takes an unusual step further, tells him he needs to get to headquarters immediately, with no delays. she needs to meet with him in person. and someone needs to meet with him, a bprd agent myers who'd be going on a mission with him, reinforcements already on-route to meet them there. she doesn't tell him why but her vocal pattern shows the seriousness of it. she greets the bprd agent in a room off the corridor of the building where the light always flickers and the work order for it has gone into the abyss of low priorities. when agent kennedy gets there she tells him all she knows, she shows him the video, and she lets the bprd agent tell him the rest of the pertinent information as she goes to gather more information for herself to aid them in the field.

'leon, be careful.'

she calls out to him as she watches him and the other agent leave for the military base (that transport would get them to europe faster than other means). ingrid, rarely calls him by his first name but this was uncharted territory. this was personal territory, at least for him. almost twelve hours later hunnigan has some communication with the bsaa, redfield and valentine, helps them navigate a nightmare on the ground that they'd flown into. she's not usually involved with the bsaa but this whole mission was.. well, there was a lot of players in the game at once and they all had the same ultimate goals. she had the feeling she'd be patching them all into each other the whole time.

fifteen, almost sixteen hours after leon leaves, when hunnigan gets word from that leon and the bprd agent have gotten separated after they'd gotten to one of the companies' facilities where he thinks the outbreak started (an outbreak that wasn't part of the main plot and shouldn't have happened) and that they'd found indications mara and claire had been moved to some location in the countryside but then leon and myers had gotten separated after a car crash outside a local village she's not surprised so she helps him navigate as far toward the castle facility as her access to sat feeds will allow. somehow, this feels a bit like spain all over again. she certainly thinks the stakes are just as high for her agent in the field. this wasn't the president's daughter but it was his family and his friend and a hell of a lot of innocent people's lives at stake.

wednesday, july 26, 2006 8:13am (prismya local) prismya countryside, mountain valley filled with small villages and an expansive castle complex which used to house the local ruler of the region. has held an increase in activity, construction equipment, and people to the area in recent years. also many disappearances. rainy and dark gray skies, foggy, cloudy, low visibility

she's cold. then she's hot. both make her hurt like a fucking train is chugging through her blood stream and making her want to tear into something but they've taken everything away she could possibly break after she'd managed to turn a part of the bed into something she could stab with. it'd been a blunt edge but she'd still managed with a spirt of strength to impale one of the people that'd come into the room to sedate her with it. her mind is scattered, hair messy and in all directions around her shoulder's when she awakens in a new place. mara's no where in sight but claire is sure she'd seen her. she's positive. she wasn't losing her mind. she wasn't. she'd seen her. she had! metal surfaces are around her, there's a camera too. she attacks it with her bare hands. they come into the room. she can't remember what happened after that. she thinks she drew blood. or they drew her blood? no, she'd hurt one of them. she's sure. the feel of a badge, a key.. she'd hurt him, the man injecting her, but he'd slipped her something. why? she doesn't understand. was he the one mara said was a friend? is she imagining it? but he hurt her. did he have a choice?

wait.. then.. now. then wasn't now. that already happened. key.. badge. her body hurts. she's thirsty but she's not supposed to be. she can't let herself be. remember. remember to fight it. mara had said the longer she does the slower the infection will move through her. she'd said that, back at the other place. where is mara? where is she? her body shifts, rolls over where it'd passed out before. flashes of memories playing at her mind. she tires to piece together her memories. her eyes aren't open but she sees....

there'd been a mission. she can remember that. but then.. so much death. she'd fought. injections.. experiments. she'd fought. she'd screamed. she'd attacked. it hurt. her mind scatters. she remembers a desert. no, that was a long time ago. she remembers a police station. no that was further away. blonde hair.. she remembers a dinner with a child laughing and the surprise on their faces when another person had shown up at their door with pizza from that hole in the wall place she'd taken sherry to and mentioned. it wasn't an every-day thing, the three of them getting to spend time together and so they'd held on to it at the time. a thread, it forms a thread into another string of flashes. a chip. anger... understanding.. an email.

'stop being like that claire, just send the god damn fucking email.' she'd told herself.

the thread.. mission. facility. he'd slipped her something to escape. she'd gotten out. they'd chased her. a crash. something spilled. screams. zombies but.. different, she thinks. had to find a lift. had to find a way up. a way out. metal turned to stone. corridors. maze. castle? they'd found her. blood. she'd stabbed. she'd stabbed them, not bitten. she hadn't bitten. but they'd stabbed her too, she thinks. maybe? find somewhere to hide. hide first. figure out next step after. there'd been a room. supplies in it. boxes. she remembers boxes.. utah had boxes. rebecca had gotten shot. the boxes had fallen. circle the memories back. boxes in front of her. climb. hide on top. she wants to see her brother. she wants to see leon. to not have how they last saw each other be the last... claire passed out.

it's cold against her skin but her body feels hot. sweaty, clammy. dark veins creep along her arms. she's only wearing a thin tank top type shirt with pants, she should have tried to find something but there hadn't been time. it wasn't as much of a concern as escape. the blood across her top is crusty. how long as she been there? there's no wound... it healed. but she'd been stabbed.. she can't think about it. not yet. not yet. find mara. get a cure. escape. no she couldn't.. mara had said something about them releasing it.. hadn't she? or had she imagined it? claire's clearer now then she was, and yet not fully clear either. it's hard to keep a hold of her thoughts, takes effort. she can do this. she has to do this. there isn't a choice. one step at a time.

there's sound. a scuffle. a grunt. gun shots. something had spilled before.. she remembers it.. kind of, sort of. outbreak. shit. she thinks there'd been one before too. back wherever she'd been but now.. had she caused this one? in her attempt to escape? or had it come with them like it had antarctica from rockfort, along with the personnel? shit. shit. shit. another gun shot. wooden door splinter's below, figures move into the dark room, crash across it like godzilla to a city. someone hits the boxes, they all fall down with her with it. ouch. pain radiates and blood fills her senses. someone's bleeding. she knows it like she knows what air is. in a way that unsettles her. it makes her mind go fuzzy, the veins on her skin burn. there's fighting in the low light, another gun shot. one of them stops moving.

claire reacts.

she lifts herself from the tangle of boxes and launches herself at whoever still stands with a sudden fury and strength she shouldn't have. she feels like it's temporary. it's not going to last and some part of her seems to realize the more she exerts herself the more the infection is going to take root but she has to get away. and to do that she has to stop whoever else is there. so they can't take her away again. so they can't hurt her again. so they can't make her veins feel like they are on fire and her so thirsty. it's all nails and desperate punches when she lands as if she's a wild and wounded animal backed into a corner. hair blocking her face as she attacks. she remembers the feeling of the injections. she remembers the experiments. she's angry, it's taking hold. it's overwhelming her, clouding her mind. she can feel it. but whoever she's fighting is strong. they react too and her arms are suddenly being forced to halt, her struggling wildly until some of her hair that was blocking her vision shifts and she sees eyes. his eyes and now a war is happening within her. something inside wants to fight. wants to hurt. but she. claire. she sees his eyes. she sees them. she knows them. she's crying. it burns her eyes. it's his blood she smells. she wants it. no. no. fucking hell no! she's not lost yet. she won't let herself be. this fucking infection wasn't going to take her. she wouldn't let it. she wouldn't hurt him. why is he there? her mind starts to clear, a little. she stops fighting and fear laces her features.

"l--leon?" this is real. he's real. she can feel him. and yet it almost comes out as a question as if some part of her is suddenly scared she's imagined this whole thing to cope and is still in whatever room they locked her in for their experiments. "i-- i'm sorry! i'm sorry.. i-- couldn't... stop.. i thought you were.. i thought they found me.. i thought they were going to take me back.. oh my god.. did i hurt you?" horror washes over her.

[eatommo]

Sex on Fire [j.m.]{kd15}

Teasing / Hair pulling

Cw: dbf!joel, Joel and his big dick, unspecified age gap, staring, sexual tension, pet names, oral sex (m receiving), 1 spank, no outbreak/pre-outbreak, teasing

Some leaves crunched beneath your boots, "I think my dad said dinner was at 6?"

Joel grumbles a confirmation, as you stand near the bed of your truck. He greets you in his yard, automatically coming to help you unload the few bundles of firewood you brought for the barbecue.

“Yeah darling, but it’s 2pm. I’m happy to have you but dont a pretty thing like you have plans on such a beautiful day?” You load up his waiting arms up with wood, taking every opportunity to stare at the definition of his chest.

He catches your smile, and watches eagerly as you fluster and turn away, “I thought you might need some help.”

He knows that you’re eyeing him and returned the favor watch your breasts bounce under shirt shamelessly. You dust your shirt off, and wipe your hands on your jeans, “I have to grab the pie and put it in the fridge, then I’ll come help you with the rest.”

“Firewood and a pie?” The words next to each other have their own shared innuendo, “You spoil little old me.”

You hide a smile, an not so subtle sway your hips back and forth as you carry the warm pie and set it on the kitchen counter, looking out over the sink and watching Joel bend to tip the wood into a less than neat pile.

You hear the all too familiar clank of your truck bed and you see Joel carrying the rest of the supplies to the backyard, and you know him well enough that he doesn’t want you to carry it and opted to bear it all himself.

He catches you staring at him this time, but rather than a witty rebuttal he smiles softly. Not wanting to disrupt the near bruising beat of your heart he can practically hear.

“I’m early,” you state looking around at the pristine yard surrounding you, “Got anything left for me to help with?”

He hums, thinking of all the ways he could utilize a pretty little girl like you. He wipes his hands together as he gazes at the pile of firewood you’ve stacked up. They weren’t just any old logs, either. You had gone out of your way to get the good kind.

His eyes trail over to you, raking over your body before meeting your gaze once more. “I could think of a few things, darlin’…”

You look at him, believing in earnest for the smallest moment he needs you to rake leaves or something. Once your gazes lock together it’s clear he means something more. Your breath catches in your throat, “Yeah?”

The slight rasp in his voice deepens as he moves closer, the gap between you becoming smaller. If he takes one more step, the two of you will practically be chest to chest.

“Well for starters, I could do with some company. A certain kind…”

He takes another step, his broad chest now brushing against yours. It almost feels as if the air in your lungs is escaping, your heart beating faster as he looks down at you with a smoldering gaze.

You glance around at the backyard it feels so familiar There’s no windows nearby, it’s completely fenced in and wondering if you’re about to finally about to give in to whatever has blossomed in your relationship, in the very backyard you practically grew up in.

He notices the way you look around, taking in the empty space of his backyard and the trees that surround the area. The privacy is one of the reasons he’s always had his backyard barbecues over the years.

He takes another step, eliminating what little remained of the space between you. He towers over you now, his body pressing against yours in a warm caress. “Don’t worry darlin’, no one’s gonna walk in on us…” His breath smells like whiskey, he’s gotten an early start.

With your bodies so close, he can practically feel the rapid beating of your heart. His lips are practically mere centimeters away from your ear, allowing his deep, rough breath to almost caress your flesh as he teases you with his fingers .

He brings a large palm up to one of your hips, his thumb tracing along the hem of your shirt. The gesture is gentle, the pad of his calloused thumb tracing in a maddening slow pace.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, turning into a puddle of need in front of his very eyes. “Tell me exactly what you want Joel.”

His lips practically brush against your own, warm breaths fanning over your mouth as he lets out a low, guttural growl. His breath is hot against your flesh, the smell of tobacco and heat rolling over you in a wave.

His hand on your hip tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh. “You, darlin’. I want you and I’m damn tired of denyin’ myself of you.”

You whimper partially at the deep longing desire that settles deep in my core, and also because his fingers dig into your skin deep enough to leave bruises, “It’s always been yours to take Joel.”

His fingers dig into you that much harder. He’s fighting himself so damn hard not to pin you against the door of his house and take you right then and there. It’s a fight he almost loses when those pretty little gasps and whimpers fall from your lips.

He leans in even closer. His teeth barely grazes over your ear as he speaks, his voice low and deep, almost a snarl in his want and aching need for you.

“Then get that pretty little mouth over here.”

He all but pounces on you, pulling you into his chest. A low growl rumbles deep in his chest, the kiss rough and greedy; almost as if he’s been dying for a taste of you. He captures your mouth with his own, dominating you, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You whine low in your throat it’s a begging pleading sound, as he completely envelopes your body with his. Making you feel small and insignificant while he himself feels warm and welcoming.

Fingers dipping below the fabric of his pants and allowing yourself to feel how soft his skin is there.

He practically moans against your mouth. Your hands on him is driving him wild, every touch adding to the heat already coiling hotly in his abdomen. His arms come up to cage you in. The kiss rough and bruising, his tongue taking control of yours.

His hips snap forward with a low growl when your fingers sneak below the waistband of his jeans, his body craving more of your touch. His teeth catch your bottom lip, giving it a possessive nibble.

“Inside please Joel.” You plead with him, knowing it’s cold outside and also longing to see him completely naked.

He pulls away from the kiss with a hum, removing his hand and palming your ass before rewarding you with a single spank.

He practically herds you up the stairs, chasing you up the stairs and watching dutifully as your ass bounces in his face. Longing to leave more marks and spanks on you with each passing second.

You reach the foot of his bed, and wordlessly fall to your knees beside him. Youre face to face with the growing bulge in his jeans you lean forward nuzzling and nudging at the thick erection hidden beneath his clothes.

He lets out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a growl, watching you drop to your knees in front of him. His eyes rake over your frame, a feeling of possessiveness over you swelling at the sight. A large palm comes down to rest on your shoulder, his thumb massaging the supple flesh as he gazes down at you.

“Good girl…”

You open your mouth, and he presses his thumb into the space stroking your tongue posessively. His command over you is addicting, intense even.

When he removes his thumb I press a simple hard kiss to where the tip appears to be in the jeans, once again slipping my fingers into his waistband and asking silently for permission to remove them.

He swallows harshly, his body trembling as he watches you tug on the waistband of his jeans. He can’t help the shiver that goes up his spine. He nods slightly, giving you permission to continue.

“Please…” he rasps out, his voice low and thick with need. You comply, tugging the fabric to sit around his knees. His cock shifts, coming just a bit closer to your face as the first layer is removed. You kiss the tip, finding his boxers already wet with precome and licking your lips to get a taste of the salty musk you will crave for eternity.

He sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. Even the smallest amount of contact is driving him wild, his control slipping away little by little. His fingers flex in your hair, tangling the strands further in his grasp.

“Fuuuuck…” he growls, biting his bottom lip to keep from making another pitiful sound. His words spur you on, you wrap your lips just barely taking the tip into your mouth, still using the fabric to dull the sensation of your touch and to drive him even more insane.

He moans lowly, his free hand coming up to slam against edge of his bed frame, his legs nearly buckling with the pleasure. He can’t even form a single thought, let alone a coherent sentence.

“F-fuck… you’re doin’ me in d-darlin’…” He stutters out, his eyes raking over your face with an intense need. His fingers fist in your hair, his breathing a deep and labored sound.

You smile against his skin, feeling the possessive curl of Joel’s fingers and the throb of his cock in your mouth, you feel as if you would willingly take any pain or pleasure Joel feels you’ve earned.

[nonsensical-pixels]

heyyy everyone! a whole 2 months after i started on it, i finally come to you with my answer to @atomtanned's request for max20's garden at home set to be converted to the sims 2. it is not the entire set, i might go back and finish the missing pieces (mostly set deco) later; but for now, enjoy 31 new gardening-themed items for your games! 🌿 this set takes up a lot of file space, too much file space for simfileshare, apparently, so this download is hosted on mediafire only. to make up for this though, i've also uploaded the lot i used to preview all the items! you can grab it from the link below. aside from the cc in the preview, the only other thing it requires is a brick floor by @lordcrumps. collection file and readme are included, as always. more previews and info are under the cut.

this conversion would not have been possible without @tvickiesims and @lamare-sims' garden center collection, from which i cloned and edited the planters in the set from. so shout out to both of them, their set goes amazingly with this one, so be sure to grab it too!

DOWNLOAD: CC SET | PREVIEW LOT 🍀 (warning: large file size)

again, credits go to max20 on patreon for the original ts4 meshes & textures, @tvickiesims and @lamare-sims for the planters i cloned the ones in the set from, and @honeywell-mts for their original garden plot, too. you're all amazing 💞

Close-Ups

click on the previews to enlarge them! * i forgot to picture one of the planters in particular, the 'planter my mother frame', but you can view all the items in max20's original item list.

Items Included

Bath For Bird and Not Only -> 642 polys Big River Rocks -> 440 polys Clover Grass -> 1 swatch, Terrain Paint Columnar Juniper -> 1464 polys Columnar Juniper Short -> 1464 polys, repo'd to Columnar Juniper Dry Fallen Leaves -> 1 swatch, Terrain Paint Flowerbed Good Wood -> 1980 polys Garden Arch Good Wood -> 2308 polys Garden Gate Good Wood -> 3408 polys Gardening Table -> 1992 polys Hydrangea -> 3056 polys Lilies -> 1098 polys Log For Chopping Firewood -> 352 polys Mini Greenhouse -> 676 polys Outdoor Water Faucet -> 984 polys Planter by Handy Wendy -> 188 polys Planter Good Wood -> 438 polys Planter My Mother Frame -> 434 polys Planter with Bevel Good Wood -> 345 polys, repo'd to Planter Good Wood Pots by Handy Wendy -> 285 polys Potted Plant by Handy Wendy -> 464 polys River Rock -> 118 polys River Rocks -> 188 polys, repo'd to River Rock Round Bench Good Wood -> 1968 polys Seedling Starter Kit by Handy Wendy -> 508 polys Set of Watering Cans by Handy Wendy -> 1084 polys Side Bush -> 366 polys Swing Chair Good Wood -> 3786 polys Table Good Wood -> 236 polys Tulips -> 672 polys Wheelbarrow by Handy Wendy -> 1040 polys

Things to Note

The ColumnarJuniperShort is repositoried to the ColumnarJuniper. The RiverRocks is repositoried to the RiverRock. The PlanterWithBevelGoodWood is repositoried to the PlanterGoodWood. The Planters are functional. They're cloned from tvickiesims and lamare-sims' garden planters, which are edits of Honeywell's pots. Any garden plants included in this download do not have seasonal states. I tried to add them and gave up almost instantly. They do have overgrown states, though. The GardeningTable is purely decorative, no slots either. Some textures may be a bit blurry when you zoom in on them. No clue why, it might be like that in the OG download too :/

if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

( @4t2ccdatabase )

[sentientgolfball]

if you’re still doing the cute lil sentence starters can we do: “Let’s share my coat, since you’re so cold.”

for my beloved swiss alps (swiss/mountain)

WOE SWISSALPS BE UPON YOU

I need to write more of these two OUGH

The snow had stopped some time late, when not a single soul of the Ministry was awake save for the odd rodent. It left the land covered in a thick white blanket as far as the eye could see. The windows were frosted over, concealing the early winter morning from those who began to rise. The air in the abbey was frigid as Sibling and ghoul began their daily chores. The fire ghouls worked hard to shelter the ancient building from the bite of the cold. 

Deep in the ghoul den Swiss is wide awake. He normally stays in bed even after the first rays of the sun call to the little bit of fire in, but today he didn’t get woken from its light. Instead he was jostled from sleep when Mountain left the bed, mumbling something about duties when he pressed a kiss to Swiss’ forehead. He wasn’t fully conscious then, but now that he is he can’t close his eyes. 

He couldn’t even if he wanted to. If he had been more awake when Mountain left he would’ve stopped him. Winter leaves him drained, the frozen earth making it hard to hear his element. Yet Mountain continues to push himself. Swiss thought that by turning up his heat and curling close to his side he’d get Mountain to rest, but the snowstorm ruined his plans. Mountain would not rest until he was certain everything was handled. 

All Swiss can do now is go out there and bring him back. If Mountain won’t listen to his body then he’ll have to listen to Swiss. If he keeps pushing himself he’ll get sick, or worse. He doesn’t know what happens to an earth ghoul who refuses their hibernation and he doesn’t want to find out. He tries not to think about it as he fills a thermos with one of Mountain’s favorite blends of tea. Swiss gets himself bundled up before stepping out into the snowy world the Ministry has become. 

He tries the greenhouse first, assuming Mountain might be tending to some of the more versatile vegetation or pumping the place full of earth magick to keep things alive. He comes up short though, no Mountain in sight. No one in sight actually, not even a Sibling or another earth ghoul. He hums in disappointment before stepping back outside. 

“Alright big guy, where are you hiding?” He muses to himself as he scans the treeline. 

His eyes catch on prints in the snow. When he moves to investigate, he finds that they’d rather large hoof prints. They lead straight into the forest. 

“Bingo.” He smiles and begins to follow the trail. 

They lead him deep into the woods, thinning out every so often as the level of snow changes. He hopes maybe Mountain came out here to nest with Ivy in its den, maybe some weird earth ghoul bullshit calling out to him. He knows he’s wrong, but he can still hope. His only other hope is that Mountain isn’t passed out somewhere out here. Swiss may be strong but he’s not that strong. There’s no way he’d be able to get Mountain back to the Ministry. 

Thankfully it’s not long before he hears the rhythmic sound of someone chopping wood. He picks up his pace just a bit until Mountain finally comes into view. Despite the freezing temperatures, Mountain is sweating. His cheeks are flushed and every breath he takes results in large puffs of steam. He splits another log as Swiss calls out to him. 

“Glad to see you’re not dead!” He shouts as he walks over. 

“Why…would I be dead?” Mountain pants, tossing the two halves of wood onto a sizable pile. 

“Because, my love, you’re an idiot.” 

Before Mountain can even reply Swiss steps in front of him, extending the thermos out to him. Mountain hesitates before sighing and taking it from him. Swiss hums in satisfaction, wrapping his arms around Mountain’s shoulders and moving him to sit on a log. He must really be tired because he doesn’t protest, allowing himself to be guided. 

“Made it just for you. With that one rose blend you like.” Swiss crouches in front of Mountain, resting his hands on his thighs. His eyes shift from their normal black and white to orange and yellow as his fire comes to the surface. Mountain sighs appreciatively as the warmth bleeds through the layers of clothing. 

He uncaps the thermos, humming when the scent of the tea hits. He takes a long drink, practically chugging it. Swiss stares at him. Mountain would never drink so quickly, always going on about savoring the taste. When he finally pulls the container away, Swiss gets a good look at him. Past the flushed cheeks he looks pale. His eyes look sunken, dark lines carved under them. He’s exhausted. 

Swiss reaches out to take the thermos from him when Mountain extends it to him. He hisses when their hands brush against each other, “Momo your hands are ice. You need to take a break.” 

“Can’t. The fire ghouls need more wood for the abbey,” he mutters. 

“The fire ghouls aren’t gonna get any wood if you turn into a popsicle.” Swiss stands from his crouched position. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets before wrapping Mountain up in his arms, heat still radiating off of him. He feels him slump into it, muscles relaxing as he nuzzles his face against Swiss’ chest. He’s anxious to get Mountain back inside, maybe go to the bathing pools and lock the door. Let him soak in the hot water until he’s on the verge of sleep. Get him a hot meal and right back into their nest so he can rest. Even so, Swiss doesn’t rush him. He holds him like this until Mountain relents on his own. 

“I’ll let Ifrit know…” Mountain’s words are muffled where his face is still pressed against Swiss. 

He smiles and kisses the top of his head. He’s not going to say it outloud, but Swiss knows what he means. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to drag him back. 

“Let’s get going. I’ll make you that mushroom soup you like.” Swiss begins to pull away but Mountain tightens his grip. Swiss makes a questioning trill in the back of his throat. 

“Warm.” Is the only explanation Mountain supplies. 

Swiss just chuckles and presses another kiss to the top of his head, “Come on you overgrown caribou, I’ll let you wear my coat since you’re so cold.” 

Swiss shrugs off his canvas coat and drapes it over Mountain’s shoulders. He laces his hands with his, pulling him to his feet. They walk back to the abbey in comfortable silence. Swiss keeps his fire going the whole way, making sure his heart never freezes. 

[winchesterszvonecek]

Can we get an Only 1 Bed fic- for whoever you first think of

The Motel - [ Sonny Carisi ]

Summary: You and Sonny arrive at your motel only to find out that your room…only has one bed

Word Count: 2435

Warnings: female!reader, fluff

Masterlist | Sonny Masterlist

It was late by the time you and Sonny arrived in Pennsylvania. Too late to do anything other than check into the nearest, cheapest motel and hopefully get a few hours of sleep before you had to head off again to track down your suspect. Normally in cases like this, you’d have both gotten your own rooms to venture off to sleep in, despite having been partners for years and experienced a hell of a lot more together than a simple slumber party.

However this time, things were a little bit different in that particular department. For starters, the motel you’d come across was small. Like a mere handful of rooms, kind of small, meaning that by the time you had arrived and checked in, there was only a single room left on the entirety of the property.

It wasn’t that surprising honestly, given that it was the time of year when everyone was venturing off on their road-trip vacations and stopping to sleep in every single town they passed through. It didn’t bother you either. You were that exhausted you could have happily slept on a log on the side of the road if it meant getting to close your eyes for even just a brief minute.

Luckily, that wasn’t the case here as you’d managed to secure that last room for yourselves. There was only one slight problem, though. One you didn’t see coming and one the check-in clerk had seemingly forgotten to mention. Or he had simply assumed you and Sonny were a couple therefore neglected to, and that was…

There was only one bed.

“The check-in guy didn’t think to mention that?” Sonny muttered with a minor grievance the second he followed you inside the rather stagnant motel room, closing the door behind him and sliding the safety chain securely into place.

By the time he turned around, you had already set your bag on the large double bed and taken your coat and shoes off, your toes wiggling against the worn-out old carpet as you stretched them out from being stuck in your boots for almost a full twenty-four hours. He glanced around him as you did, his lips falling minutely as he reluctantly set his bag atop the small, barely even a couch, loveseat that he gazed questionably at.

Now there’s something that would be less comfortable than a roadside log, that much he was certain of.

“I guess I’ll take the couch,” Sonny exhaled, slipping his arms from within the soft warmth of his coat as you spun around to face him, your brow furrowing deeply as your eyes landed on the ‘couch’ in question.

You let out a laugh, “Sonny, are you crazy? You’re like seven feet tall, there’s no way that will be comfortable… You take the bed, let me sleep there.”

Lifting your bag from the bed, you moved towards him and picked his up from the arm of the chair, holding it out for him to take. He refused, causing you to sigh exasperatedly as you shook it, widening your eyes to try and encourage his stubborn ass to take it from you.

“Absolutely not,” Sonny protested, raising his hands up as though he were surrendering — when in reality it was simply to stop you from shoving the bag into them. “My mother would smack me upside the head if she found out that I made you sleep there.”

“Who’s gonna tell her?” You tilted your head questionably, finding amusement when Sonny simply frowned in response. He hadn’t thought about that. You set the bag down, its weight from whatever the hell was in it causing your arm to grow numb, and you chuckled, “That’s what I thought. Now move your skinny ass, okay, I’m perfectly capable of sleeping on a couch for a couple of hours.”

Like a child, Sonny shook his head and refused to move so much as an inch away from the couch. He even shoved you away and instead directed you back over to the bed, the back of your legs hitting against it frame and causing you to lose your balance. You fell onto it softly, the springs squeaking beneath you as you straightened and did nothing but watch Sonny lift a blanket from the back of the couch and begin unfold it.

Even the blanket didn’t look big enough to fully cover him, and you knew he wouldn’t sleep so much as a wink tonight if he stayed there. But you also knew it would be pointless to keep arguing with him. He was stubborn, and proud, and you were far, far too tired to keep going relentlessly back and forth with him. So instead you gave in, unzipping your bag with a quiet sigh and grabbing what you needed before heading for the bathroom.

When you ventured back out after doing your nightly routine as best you could, Sonny was already lying rigid on the couch, like he was afraid to move so much as an inch incase the blanket slipped off the small part of him it actually covered. You deposited your stuff into your bag in silence then sat down on the edge of the bed, folding your arms as you drew your eyes along the entire length of his body.

“Sonny, seriously…” You began, gaining his attention and noticing the way he seemed surprised to see you. As though he’d been hoping to be ‘asleep’ by the time you got back in order to avoid the very conversation you were about to begin. “The entire lower half of your legs are hanging over the arm of that couch, will you please let me sleep there?”

“No way, alright? I’m fine,” Sonny replied, almost sternly as he shuffled a little more then sighed contently — which was obviously forced as boy was he uncomfortable. “See, I’ve already got myself settled.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, it really looks like it.”

“Will you just forget about me and get some sleep, please?” Sonny gestured to the bed, “You’re running on fumes and besides, we’ll only be here for a couple hours anyway.”

“Fine,” You sighed, standing up from the bed and rounding it to the side furthest from the door.

You pulled back the covers, giving the bottom sheet a quick once over for any stains or creepy crawlies that may be lurking beneath it. You were honestly tempted to pull out a black light and check it properly, but then again you’d rather not think about what that would reveal and instead, decided to just bite the bullet and get into it. Only, before you could slip in between the cold, crisp sheets, you caught sight of Sonny stretching. He let out a rather rough sounding groan as he did…then nearly wrecked the coffee table by almost falling off the couch.

“If this is how it’s going to be with you all night, then I’m going to go out and sleep in the car,” You said, folding your arms as you peered over at him, watching as he fixed himself back into the cushions and glanced towards you apologetically. He then grew stiff as a board — as though he were afraid to move should you shout at him again. You let out a soft sigh, your shoulders sinking as you dropped your arms back down to your sides. “Sorry, I get cranky when I’m tired.”

“I know,” Sonny said, shifting a little and trying his hardest not to showcase it. But you saw him. He wasn’t at all subtle and you could easily notice the slight grimace to his features when he moved the wrong way and his calf began to tense up.

“Sonny, you’re clearly uncomfortable,” You said, fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie you always wore to bed at the thought of speaking your next words out loud. But you knew you had to. You wouldn’t sleep at all if you knew he would be spending the entire night like this. “If you’re not gonna let me take the couch, then… Why don’t you join me?”

Sonny nearly choked on his own saliva, “I’m sorry?”

“Sleep in the bed with me. It’s big enough,” You said, gesturing to the large bed that would be far more comfortable for a man of his height. And Sonny knew it. He’d been eyeing it up from the moment he entered the room, yet he still almost looked like he was about to throw up. At that you raised your eyebrow, your tone turning playful so quickly, it almost gave you whiplash. “What? Are you scared your mother might find out you’re sleeping with a girl?”

“My mother? Nah, but my grandma…” Sonny widened his eyes a little as he shook his head, not even wanting to imagine his grandmothers reaction. “She’s a lot more traditional than I am and sleeping in the same bed as a woman I’m not seeing is…

“Against her Catholic beliefs?”

Sonny scoffed, “You have no idea.”

“Well I’m not gonna tell her,” You said, climbing into the bed and resting on your knees. “And I know you’re definitely not gonna tell her, so why not? We’re both adults. We’re perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed together if it means we both actually get a few decent hours of sleep.”

“I mean… I guess,” Sonny said hesitantly, scratching at the back of his head as he sat up, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered terribly at the thought of finally getting to sleep beside you. He stood up, his heart warming at the unintentionally sweet smile you gave him as he crossed the room towards you in a few long strides. He pulled back the other side of the covers, waiting until you’d settled yourself before he made his move to climb in beside you, where he immediately joked, “You better keep your hands to yourself otherwise I’m arresting you.”

You chucked softly, “I think I can manage that.”

Sonny couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he fell deeper into the sheets that covered you both. He already felt about a hundred times comfier than he had been on the couch, exactly like you’d guessed he would be now that he could stretch out fully. Even despite the poor quality of mattress the two of you lay side-by-side atop, the middle of which was completely free of space with the way you both hugged the edge of it, as though you were afraid to so much as brush fingers given the unspoken feelings you both had for one another.

It wasn’t that you were purposely keeping them to yourselves for the sake of misery, it was more of a… Neither of you fully realised that the other one felt the same. Everyone else did, though, it wasn’t hard to. You were both practically a couple already despite your hesitance to share a motel room, yet the two of you were simply too blind to see it. But that didn’t mean you both couldn’t feel it. It was so thick in the air around you that it would be impossible not to, but whether or not you both truly picked up on it whilst conscious was the the sixty-four million dollar question.

Subconsciously, however, well… That was a completely different story and not at all a surprising one.

You didn’t realise it until you woke up about four hours later, but you had drifted dangerously close to Sonny in your sleep. Or he’d drifted closer to you. Maybe even both. You weren’t overly sure who was at fault here. All you knew was that you were both now smack bang in the middle of the bed, your legs somehow tangled together and Sonny’s long arm draped loosely over your body. Even your head was resting on his chest, feeling as it gently rose and fell beneath you with each quiet, slumber-ridden breath he took.

You felt your cheeks heat up the split second you realised what — who — your pillow was. You had no idea how you’d even managed to grow so close to him. You were normally a pretty still sleeper so to find yourself so far from where you’d started was honestly somewhat of a shock to you. All you really knew was that you needed to move before Sonny woke up and found you like this, otherwise you’d never live down the embarrassment you’d get over him realising that you’d all but used him as a teddy bear.

“What’s going on?” Sonny mumbled, his sudden, sleepy voice making you freeze in your attempts at untangling yourself from his long and lanky limbs. He cracked open one eye, glancing down at you with such a softness that you almost melted against him, a wave of…God, literally everything you could feel at once washing over you at being caught in this position. “You tryna escape me, darlin’?”

Darlin’. Fuck, if you hadn’t been melting already, you certainly would be now.

“I don’t know how I ended up so close to you, I’m sorry,” You mumbled almost frantically, attempting to pull yourself away from him only for Sonny to tighten his arms around you.

“Don’t go anywhere,” He whispered, seemingly wide awake now as he raised his hand, drawing his knuckles lightly down the side of your face. “Stay with me.”

“Sonny, I don’t…”

“Stay,” His thumb landed on your lips and you fell silent, his eyes gazing into yours in a way that gave you such intense butterflies. “Please.”

All you could in response was nod your head and smile as you didn’t trust your own voice not to give you away, especially with the thick lump that was currently trying to force itself up your throat and escape out into the air. Sonny’s own lips curled up softly as he easily tugged you closer to him, feeling as your arm tightened across his chest and you positioned your head beneath his chin. He tilted his own down to glance at you, nothing but the top of your head visible to his tired eyes and even in that moment…

Even with him being half asleep and out of his mind, just having you this close to him without him even having to try hard to get you there, was like his entire heart had exploded in his chest. He smiled again, leaning down and without taking so much as a single second to think about it, he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and whispered,

“Perhaps one bed isn’t so bad, after all.”

Like Sonny? Apply to his tag list so you don’t miss out on his works!

tagging: @yousigned-upforthis @polkadotpenguin16 @AllAboutFluff @notthatbibble @bvd13

Like my work? Consider buying me a coffee!

[kunikiden]

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki Headcannons ?!

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki loves video games no matter the genre. However, he tends to prefer games that have a pvp aspect or are competitive due to the skill he holds towards these games. For example, Fortnite, Valorant, Mario Kart, etc.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki always has Minecraft running in the background when gaming, so he can quickly switch to it if needed.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki likes to mine the most in Minecraft. When he's not doing that, he's either exploring or killing off mobs. ( Building is NOT his specialty )

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki wears a soft pink headset that has interchangeable cat ears. ( It was a Christmas gift from Panda. )

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki has a headset that is designed to his likes and his gaming tendencies that also matches the color scheme of his setup, but still wears the ones Panda got him out of appreciation.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki prefers gaming on his PC or his Xbox due to its easy controls, better privacy settings, and raw computing power. ( He is an avid Playstation hater. )

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki has both a regular Nintendo Switch and a smaller Nintendo Switch Lite he likes to bring on his person, whether in public or at school.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki used to be a chronic DS & 3DS user as a kid, but now he keeps it preserved on display in his bedroom.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki was always a big fan of the Pokémon franchise, and some of his favorites are Togepede and the Aloan Vulpix.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki's favorite 'old' Pokémon game is Pokémon White.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki thinks fire starter type Pokémon are overrated and always chooses the water types.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki has a microphone for voice chat but only uses it when he is playing with his friends; aka people who understand his rice ball language.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki wears your classic white boy t-shirts while playing. ( Eat sleep game repeat, I paused my game to be here, etc ) In addition, he has a collection of these but refuses to wear them outside his dorm or house

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki used to rage and go absolutely feral over Among Us in 2020

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki has accidentally cursed someone out of rage, forcing them to log off and delete their account.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki bought a fancy gaming chair that can recline and have adjustable height ( as well as a secret massage mode ) that he can play/adjust by using a remote. ( Panda offered to buy him a toilet bowl attachment )

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki often drags his fellow second years out to arcades in competition to see who can win by getting the most tickets by the end of the night. ( He always wins, but Yuta comes close due to Rika's help ( she's cheating ))

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki has a YouTube channel for gaming that he will occasionally post a vlog on

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki first started posting videos in his rice ball language but realized after a while that the reason he wasn't getting likes was because people couldn't understand him. Shortly after, he stopped talking and just started adding subtiltes/captions.

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki has built his own PC with the help of Yuta. ( All he did was be emotional support as Toge rambled on about it and went with him to shops to buy the necessary parts )

Gamer/Streamer!Inumaki is also really good at board games, but for some reason SUCKS at any type of Monopoly besides the cheaters version. ( and chess, he is horrid at chess )

[sstardustt3]

ben drowned general hcs ☆

@pink_halley on insta for ben drowned art

II tags II Ben being a little shit II Ben being a troll II Ben and Nina being gossip whores II mentions of sally, Nina, Jeff, ej, Spamton from deltarune, ena from ena by Joel j II no nsfw ||

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Ben because he’s is a virus has no actual age and can alter his appearance as he wishes

He has the worst mood swings especially if the electricity is sucky which makes him sick

He is the most annoying chronically online mf you will ever meet and he knows what he’s doing too but rarely is he being annoying to other pastas and it’s mostly just people on twitter 

He has gotten into multiple arguments and doxing wars with barbs and k-pop stans over him trolling them

He rarely loses arguments but if he does or they just really piss him off he’ll basically just haunt them and scare them to the point they never log onto twitter again and he thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

Despite him having a  dirty and crude sense of humour he thinks romance and anything to do with that is gross

He has gotten into multiple fights with toby on online video games and twitter

He is the  definition of an angsty 13 year old he hates literally everyone with a few exceptions

He’s is an extremely messy person, a shit starter if you will. Which is why he likes nina, he gets to know drama and mess and he uses it to his advantage

He has fun annoying people to the point they get enough to try and kill him which is why he has a love hate relationship with ej because he has grown to have enough emotional self control not to hurt ben, 

On one hand ben’s offended by this, on the other hand it excites him and motivates him to be his most obnoxious teenage boy self,

 that being said he has gotten close to ej wanting to actually hurt him

Him and jeff bully kids on roblox. I have no further explanation on that

Ben and sally have a sibling relationship

“Thats a child.”

“And thats an ugly pimply bitch.”

Thats it thats all i have to say about that one i didn’t know how to fit that in there but i did and that’s all that matters 

 Ben hates heat because it overstimulates his senses and causes him to glitch out and he physically can not stand being without some sort of fan or ac

Adding onto the thing about him glitching it’s kinda like ena (pls watch ena if you haven’t it’s a work of art) with her mood swings and glitching 

Also if he’s like somewhere were it’s extremely hot he’ll just like completely shut off and will have to reboot

He hates cats and dogs mostly because they tend to chew on his wires and cause him to short circuit which makes his process of infecting people slower

he reminds me of spamton from deltarune and because of this in my mind he talks like spamton

[nonpareil]

good evening lovelies <3 i know its been a while since i've been here consistently and tbh, i don't see that happening for a while. starting a new job has been amazing but also exhausting, so i wanted to just.. share something that's been on my mind with my blog here. after some long consideration, i think i'm going to close my dms to new plots for an indefinite period. this might not be forever, but for now, i think it's best for me. if i'm completely honest with you, i no longer have the time, energy or enthusiasm to begin new plots and message people back at a consistent or considerate pace. obviously, my friendships, long-time mutuals and ongoing plots/dynamics remain exempt. just to clarify, this is specifically to out of character conversation and plots, not new writing prospects i.e. memes, starters, etc. honestly, if you prefer plotting over winging it/sending memes to one another, then please feel free to softblock me. there is no hard feelings there, we are just operating at different wavelengths rn. and hopefully that can change in the future but for now, i really want to just log on and write and not feel any pressure to reply in a timely manner or with the same energy people offer me because tbh? rn i don't have it. honestly hats off to people who juggle a full time job, children, a social life, mental illness and this as a hobby well because i don't know how you do it. my ability to hold a conversation atm is shot, and whilst some of it is to do with low mental health like i said, its because my job is so socially draining that i just want to come home to silence lmfao. i really appreciate all the kindness and patience you have all offered me over the past year, i always feel so loved and supported here and i appreciate you all individually. if you read to the end of this, thank you so much <3

[tech-kingthomas]

The witch was a loner, through and through.  He was the last survivor of his family, who were long dead after he pushed himself to the brink of life for so long, until he found the magic required to keep himself alive for so long.  You didn’t get by for almost two centuries alone by being touchy-feely.  Sure, it got lonely, but that was the price to pay, is what he always convinced himself.  He must have hit a breaking point here, though, because all he wanted was some sort of warm embrace.  For his bed to not be empty for once.  The first person he found he approached, unabashedly, not at all like his reserved, shier self.  “Are you having a nice evening?” he asked, barely waiting to hear the answer before continuing:  “Would you spend the rest of it with me?” @thaliaxmoore​

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Drayden from Pokémon deciding a trainer and his team have no potential, with Drayden eating and rapidly digesting the trainer’s team in front of him before consuming the trainer. Could you also include disposal? Please and thank you.

Oh yeah, this is great!

D.rayden lets out a dissatisfied huff as the trainer before him returns his last P.okemon. This was simply embarrassing. While D.rayden believes that a firm and direct hand can guide most trainers to an acceptable skill level, perhaps there are some that simply nothing can be done about.

This one has a team of strong, fully evolved P.okemon. But he was so lacking in every possible sense when it came to skill and strategy. It really just shows that raw power isn’t everything. If you don’t know how to channel it, it’s a waste.

D.rayden has no patience for those who waste it.

The trainer was grumbling to himself, already turning to leave and heal his team. D.rayden grabs the trainer by his belt and pulls. It makes the young man stumble back and it rips his belt right off, taking the Pokeballs with it.

The trainer whips around, eyes wide. “Hey, what are you doing?! Those are my P.okemon!”

“And you clearly don’t know how to use them,” D.rayden retorts with a gruff voice. “They’d be more useful dead. So sit there and watch what you caused.” D.rayden opens the first Pokeball, releasing the trainer’s starter, an E.mboar.

The big pig looks around, clearly confused as to why he’s still in the gym. He tries to stand but winces and rubs his side. He’s still exhausted from his battle. So he has no hope of escape when D.rayden squeezes his shoulders and opens wide.

E.mboar blinks and stares down into the human’s drooling maw. He’s not really going to..? A hard tug pulls E.mboar down, and he lets out a startled squeal. It’s muffled by his face planting into D.rayden’s jaws and the thick swallow that rings out to suck him deeper.

Despite his bulky and large the P.okemon is, D.rayden’s hard swallows are easily dragging him down. The E.mboar’s legs kick around weakly as they’re lifted off the ground. D.rayden hoists the pig up as he gets to the chest, starting to gulp and slurp down his gut. D.rayden’s own belly is bloating out, stretched tightly over the E.mboar. As the gym leader slurps down a pair of kicking legs, his stomach drags down to rest on the ground, the massive Fire type curled up tightly inside. D.rayden looks the trainer in the eye and lets loose a deep, roaring belch.

“M…My P.okemon…” the trainer says softly, staring with wide eyes.

“Not your P.okemon anymore,” D.rayden huffs. The E.mboar is roaring inside, struggling and pushing around with what little energy it had. It was panicking. D.rayden grunts and closes his eyes, his gut starting to groan deeply. “Now it’s just…” D.rayden’s stomach begins to shrink down. The E.mboar screams louder as its mighty body reduces. Strong abs and frothing acids help to mulch it in moments. The pig’s screaming turns into low gurgling as D.rayden’s belly loses shape and size. Soon, that noise is gone, too, and the gym leader’s gut flattens out. “…a pile of shit,” D.rayden huffs out, opening his eyes again. He follows that up with a roaring, bubbling belch.

As if to make his point for him, D.rayden’s gut lets out a deep, wet groan. He undoes his suspenders and lowers his pants. With his muscular, furry ass on display, D.rayden squats down. He grunts and pushes, squeezing out a thick, dense log. It screams slightly in the open air as it slowly coils up. The E.mboar’s skeleton comes out feet first, mostly intact from its quick flush through D.rayden’s system. The pile comes up to D.rayden’s waist, the skull coming out last with its jaws open. With a huff, D.rayden stands up again and pulls his pants up.

“Look at that,” D.rayden rumbles. “You truly are a terrible trainer. No fat, no muscle—I reduced your P.okemon entirely into shit. It’s less than junk food.” D.rayden takes another Pokeball. “If none of your P.okemon can add even a pound to my figure, you’ll follow them. Shit belongs with shit.” D.rayden looks away from the terrified trainer to let out his next meal.

The next one out is a bit taller than the E.mboar but now as beefy. A towering B.eartic, who fell due to receiving a burn. Even now, he still looks exhausted and winces when he moves. He’s even easier to overpower than the boar, as D.rayden crams the bear’s head into his maw.

The B.eartic doesn’t struggle. Every deep swallow works out a distressed whine as it slowly goes down. Each gulp is tight and uncomfortable, pushing him towards a tight and sweltering out of death. When his head starts pressing into D.rayden’s stomach, and it smells like E.mboar musk, his whines start turning into panicked roars. It’s nothing like the tough and proud bear that had been in battle not long ago.

The B.eartic’s twitching feet are slurped down and he’s packed in tightly behind D.rayden’s abs. And like the E.mboar before it, they begin to shrink down. The B.eartic screams out in pure terror as the walls close in and boiling acids strip him down. The sound downs out into a wet gurgling sound as he’s swiftly compacted into meat slurry and a dense shit.

The pile is added to as B.eartic squeezes back out. Skull first, jaws open wide, baked into the man’s scat, the bear coils up steadily. Ruined white tufts of fur mark the brown mess along with bones. D.rayden grunts as he forces out a bulky ribcage. “This one was hardly mature,” he grumbles. “Screamed like a Cubchoo. Did you even train this one or just force it to evolve?” D.rayden huffs as the last of the bear drops off and moves on.

Next is a K.rookodile, who went down in battle before even being able to fight. He’s barely standing when he comes out and ends up on the ground when D.rayden grabs him. His thick tail is scooped up and slurped into D.rayden’s lips. And the swallowing begins again.

The crocodile tries to claw at the ground, still dazed and sore. His tail goes down fast and his ass starts being engulfed, his legs folding up. It makes the K.rookodile start roaring and thrashing more in confusion and distress. But it keeps going down the hatch, stomach slurped up, and then the rest of its body going down. Its roar is cut off as its head disappears, muzzle slipping past D.rayden’s lips and disappearing for good.

The K.rookodile lasts the shortest. The second it drops into the gut, it lets out a scream, which is swiftly cut off as D.rayden’s gut rumbles hard and flattens out. He grunts and closes his eyes, ripping ass in a rumbling fart that sends black and red scales scattering. The K.rookodile comes out fast, heaping up onto the pile of manure. His skeleton is entirely intact, forming one long and dense log that comes out in high pressure. The skull comes out fast, shit coming out of the jaws and sockets.

“That one was just pathetic,” D.rayden grumbles with a shake of his head. “I’m almost glad that one was dead. How you got so far with it, I’ll never know.” He moves on to the next, dropping a thick and fat S.colipede before him.

The big bug has been lazy in battle, not willing to listen to his trainer. So even standing before D.rayden and a pile of shit clearly made of his teammates, he remains unbothered. At least until he’s seized by the horns and dragged down. The S.colipede’s eyes widen as its muzzle fits into D.rayden’s maw, breath stinking of death.

S.colipede goes down fast. While it’s big and fat, it’s basically a giant sausage. And D.rayden has little difficulty slurping it down like one. The S.colipede’s thick legs kick slightly as it’s hoisted into the air, massive body disappearing from sight. D.rayden shoves down on its fat ass and sends the last of the bug horse away.

It’s easily the biggest meal he’s gotten so far and might be the only one that has a chance to let the trainer survive. The S.colipede trills and thrashes around for a good few seconds, its hide protecting it momentarily. Then D.rayden’s gut flexes hard, the bug crunches, and his gut rapidly deflates again.

The Poison typing is rough on his system. Enough so that he forced out another fart that even makes him wince. The S.colipede slops out in a mess, most of its exoskeleton reduced to chunks in the semi-solid mess that smothers the pile of shit. D.rayden grunts with a slight wince as his gut groans out in mild displeasure. “Urgh…Poison types. This one simply didn’t respect you. I have to agree on its decision…” He grunts as the last of the big drops out. No real pain, just a slight uncomfortableness. But the bug is gone, D.rayden is no bigger, and the next P.okemon is sent out to die.

A large B.raviary comes out, looking around frantically. It sees the huge pile and starts flapping its wings. It’s a coward, and that was its downfall. Now it will be again. It’s grabbed by the ankles and jerked back as it tries to fly. It squawks and flaps, trying and failing to escape. D.rayden shovels its feet into his maw and begins gulping.

The B.raviary’s squawks get more panicked and desperate as its body disappears from sight. It’s wings keep flapping around, up until they’re forward upward by D.rayden’s gullet. The panicked sound continues up until its head disappears down D.rayden’s gullet. Its wingtips follow soon after and the bird is gone.

Like K.rookodile, the process is instantaneous. The B.raviary lets out a squawk before D.rayden’s stomach suddenly flattens. It bubbles wetly and a deep belch explodes out of him, sending most of the bird’s feathers scattering into the air. The B.raviary comes out fast because of how little waste it even makes. The bird slithers our feet first rapidly, bones baked into shit up to its skull, which has cracked. “This one was hardly fit for battle,” D.rayden sighs.

There’s only one P.okemon left. One more life that has to end, but might let the trainer live. D.rayden releases it, putting the mighty Z.ekrom before him. He has no idea how the trainer got his hands on something like this outside of sheer luck. It’s mighty and powerful, but in the hands of such a worthless trainer, it’s been wasted. Terrible moves, a lack of training and strategy, a complete disservice to the sheer potential Z.ekrom has. As far as D.rayden is concerned, this is a mercy. Z.ekrom will be better off as a heap of stinking shut, killed by a human’s stomach, than being this trainer’s P.okemon. So he has no hesitation in bringing Z.ekrom’s muzzle to his jaws and engulfing it.

Z.ekrom is passive other than the annoyed huff it lets out as its muzzle is engulfed. It is just as aware as D.rayden over its misuse, but it is a being of ideals, and loyalty is important to it. It would have to die to reject a trainer it allowed to control it. But it was also defeated by D.rayden…and it accepts its punishment. So it doesn’t move as it’s devoured, slowly and methodically. Its large body disappears into D.rayden’s tight, slick gullet and presses into an even tighter pit behind the man’s abs. Even its massive tail is slurped up in the end, sealing the dragon away entirely.

D.rayden’s gut is well defined, Z.ekrom curled up tightly inside. Even if it wanted to move at this point, it couldn't. It is a mighty being, a living representation of ideals. D.rayden’s gut lets out a deep, rumbling groan and immediately begins to shrink down. Z.ekrom’s clear and identifiable form folds in on itself. The gym leader’s stomach shrinks down, grows rounder and softer, and in only a minute, has reduced to a set of abs yet again.

D.rayden shakes his head and crosses his arms. “An absolute waste in every sense of the word. Look at what you’ve done.” D.rayden looks at the trainer again as he begins to dispose of the last P.okemon. It’s the largest and densest of the piles. Thick and heavy logs weigh down the rest of the pile, dense bones stretching D.rayden one after another and deep black scales poking out of the brown mess. It takes much longer to drop off Z.ekrom than it did to kill it. Even its skull takes a minute to push out, and it plants muzzle-first into the crap pile with a soft splat, sinking in slightly.

D.rayden sighs out and stands up again. “Even a Legendary P.okemon is utter shit under your command. You are truly the lowest of trainers I’ve seen. I’ll feel no regret in being the one to get rid of you.”

The trainer in question has nothing to say. His eyes are wide and his face pale, mouth hanging open slightly. He’s completely gone mentally and hangs limply as D.rayden lifts him up by the back of his shirt. He’s lowered down feet first, allowed to stare down the piles his team got reduced to for his entire trip down the hatch. Darkness only greets him when his head sinks down D.rayden’s gullet.

The trainer is gone in seconds. D.rayden’s stomach doesn’t even bulge out. It reduces the man so quickly and thoroughly that he spends maybe a fraction of a second within the gym leader’s gut. The second his head is gone, he’s coming back out, cooking up on the ground in a meager pile of crap. D.rayden sighs deeply as he pinched the last of it off. “Finally…”

He’ll have to close the gym for a bit now. Get the mess cleaned up, have Z.ekrom’s bones cleaned and sent to the museum, and take a break. There was no effort in turning shit into shit. But it’s always mentally exhausting seeing so many P.okemon that had potential be reduced to nothing. Even before he gets his hands on them. At least they have use as shit.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Six

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.2k

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The Red Force is closing in on the port of Ingles, a town known for its construction services and lumber milling. The island itself is forested and sports mountains that Benn has described as a wilderness. It’s no wonder that the logging and construction business booms in Ingles, and you look forward to seeing the looming mountains. Kuri Island has hills—the Bonn manor is perched on one—but it holds no mountains nor thick forests. Even your best efforts to act ladylike can’t hold back the excitement running through your veins.

Now you are just standing on the deck, hands clutching the railing as you lean out and feel the wind and salt on your face. The white sleeves of the tunic you wear flutter and flap, dancing to the turbulent wind propelling the large ship across cerulean water. The town means you can pawn off your necklace and earrings for Berry, and then get clothes that fit you better.

You are more than thankful to be wearing Shanks’ spare clothing rather than your wedding dress, but the fabric dwarfs your body and is ill-fitting. The sleeves tend to drag when you help Lucky in the kitchen, and you have to use one of Hongo’s bandages as a belt to keep the trousers around your waist. Add the cut sandals practically taped to your feet… To put it simply, you look ridiculous!

But even in the ridiculous clothes that your mother would faint over if she ever saw you wearing such, you can’t help but bask in the feeling of freedom. You’ve never had the luxury of being in charge of your own clothing, you’ve never even worn trousers before, and there isn’t even a corset in sight! You sigh in happiness once more and beam, wondering what type of clothes you’d want to get for your new life.

Dresses wouldn’t be particularly useful to you, not when you find trousers so freeing and easy to move in, but you wouldn’t mind having one simple nice dress to have on hand. It wouldn’t hurt to treat yourself to a nice dinner at one of the restaurants Lucky has been telling you about. Even you know that certain dress codes are expected in certain places. So one dress will do. But you’ll mostly invest some money in tunics, trousers, two pairs of shoes, and a nice hat to block out the sun.

Then there is the glaring fact that you need to ensure your safety. You are no fool. The Blues are dangerous and filled with both good and bad people. Pirates. You are going to acquire a blade and learn how to use it (yet another task of learning you have to accomplish). Dropping your elbow to the railing, you rest your chin in hand.

“So much to do, I haven’t a clue where to start,” you speak to yourself, eyes watching the whitecaps forming as waves curl and crash.

“Well, for starters, we’re getting you into clothes that actually fit,” Shanks' voice softly floats into your ears over the sound of waves and Yasopp’s off-key singing. Twisting your head, you look at the red-haired captain with a pragmatic smile.

“Oh believe me, the first thing I plan on doing is choosing my own clothing. I’ve never been allowed to pick what I wear,” you reply as he takes a spot next to you. Your eyes look at the cloak he has draped over his arm stump. A cloak, you should get one too; everyone seems to have some sort of overcoat or the like. Shanks’ eyebrow pops up at your word choice but says nothing. He isn’t surprised that you’ve never been allowed to pick your own clothes. You’ve been nothing but a porcelain doll for your mother to play with. Shanks rubs his jaw in contemplation.

“The stores in Ingles focus on practical clothing, the type of clothes that are good and sturdy for traveling. It’ll be nothing like what you’re used to,” Shanks slowly explains, wondering if you’ll be bothered by less-than-luxurious fabrics. He doesn’t think you will be, but he’s yet to see you interact outside of the controlled environment of his ship. A thoughtful look crosses your face before you reply.

“Oh, I look forward to that,” you sigh in pure happiness. “These trousers might not fit, but they are a dream.” You glance down at the threadbare and simplistic trousers. “I’ve never had the luxury of feeling the wind against my feet and ankles.” Shanks wants to tell you that normally pants don’t reveal ankles and your ill-fitting trousers are far from luxury… but the glow of happiness upon your face is something he never dreamed of diminishing, so he keeps his silence on the topic.

“Just wait until you learn all about shorts,” he chooses to say, a grin creeping onto his face at the idea of how you’ll react to your entire legs being unhindered by layers of fabric. Shanks is sure you might even flop into a faint of excitement the moment you realize you could choose to wear something so revealing! He eyes your face a little more closely, drinking in the faint laugh lines and natural curves. The pirate is honestly stunned that you can still smile and appear so full of life after living in such circumstances as you had fled from. Turning his gaze back to the calm sea waters, Shanks looks forward to seeing what other delights are in store for you.

You are greatly embarrassed to say that your first few steps off the Red Force nearly have you face-planting with a far-from-elegant squawk. Benn catches your falling body early, large hands clutching your waist so you comically dangle in his grasp with your arms cartwheeling. You are sure that your face would be beet red if it were anatomically possible when he steadies you and all eyes are on you. Clearing your throat, you sway a little and take a deep gulp of air, trying to steady yourself again.

“Is it always like that?” you question as if you hadn’t nearly just made a scene of yourself. Your eyes are going everywhere in an effort not to look at their faces, for you feel like you might cry in embarrassment. Before any hot tears welling up in your eyes can fall, Bonk Punch speaks.

“Shoulda’ seen Monster the first day he was on the ship, took to sea like a champ, but when we got back on dry land for supplies…?” The man rubs his bald head in squeamish contemplation.

“Monkey vomit, for days,” Hongo rumbles, moving past you. “Tell me if you feel sick before you vomit on me, okay?”

“I’m not going to vomit on anyone!” you huff out indignantly, still dangling in Benn’s hold while the rest of the crew lumbers off the ship with containers to be filled. “That would be rude and unsightly of me!” Monster lets out a screech and swings himself onto a barrel to glare at you accusatorily. You regard the primate with a frank look. “I am a lady, you are a monkey. You have no expectations to meet, Monster. I do.”

Your words seem to make sense in the monkey’s brain because he leaps back onto Bonk Punch’s shoulder as Benn carefully sets you back on your feet. You still feel like you are swaying, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

“No one expects anything from you, Aria,” Shanks’ voice comes from behind you as he jogs down the gangplank, adjusting his hat. “So if you vomit on Hongo, no one’s going to judge, or care.” The doctor in question begins grumbling while your face burns.

“I will absolutely not be vomiting on anyone, and that is final!” you clearly state, stamping your makeshift sandal on the dock. “Gods, you are all such… such men!” You erupt, flinging your fingers upwards. Shanks only grins at you and holds out his hand to you.

“I’m glad you noticed. Now, why don’t you stick close? We’re going to be splitting up. The men will get supplies while I get you clothes,” Shanks tells you, watching as your face morphs to give him a look. He takes your hand and pulls you along. “And no making passive-aggressive faces at me, Aria. I already said I was paying and that is final.”

As Shanks pulls you along and away from the rest of the men, Benn leans over to Hongo.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna argue with him when it comes time to pay?” Hongo snorts and shakes his head.

“I’ll double whatever you’re placing… there is no way that little lady isn’t going to dig her heels in till the last second. Stubborn as a mule, that one…” Yasopp drops his arms over the two men’s shoulders.

“How ‘bout we make bets on how much he’s gonna spend ‘cause we all know she ain’t going to be allowed to part with a single Berry.” Hongo and Benn nod in agreement, fully realizing that no matter what you say or do, Shanks will be paying at the end of the day. “Alright! Who’s betting what?” Berry numbers are called as the crew makes their way towards the market.

You’ve been led back to the alteration room by Annie, the seamstress of Ingles, and stripped down to your lace bridal underwear and bra set. The woman hasn’t said a word about the clearly too formal undergarments but has informed her assistant that you will also be requiring undergarments with your purchase this day. Annie is no-nonsense in whipping your undergarments off to be measured, and within a matter of only a few minutes, you are wearing a set much more comfortable and appropriate for your new daily life.

Shirts are the easiest to pick out for you. You’ve indicated that you want practical clothing, something that will survive the seas but look nice enough milling around a market. Annie packages up nearly ten shirts of varying designs and colors, all to match the simple trousers you’ve picked out. Two pairs you’ve picked: cream and black. Those colors go with everything. You have picked a pair of grey trousers that are too short for your legs, stopping mid-calf, to wear out of the shop. Annie has tried to convince you to try on a pair that fits the length of your legs, but you have stated that you want to feel the wind on your ankles, so Annie has acquiesced. Now you are picking out a shirt to wear out of the shop and having trouble deciding on a color.

“What about this one?” Annie’s assistant offers, holding up a green shirt that reminds you a lot of the tunic that Shanks often wears. You blink at it, squint in observation, and nod.

“I like that color and style. It’s not too tight but also made from sturdy material,” you speak in approval. “I plan on spending a lot of time traveling. Is it easy to clean?” The assistant nods as Annie walks over, carrying fabric draped over her arm.

“That material is resistant to stains and tearing, but don’t go looking for knife fights,” Annie agrees, also approving of the choice. “It’ll be a good one for spending time at sea. The dye used is resistant to sun bleaching, so the green will last longer.”

“I hadn’t thought about sun bleaching,” you softly comment, scolding yourself for not thinking of such a thing. Your clothes won’t be hanging in a closet meticulously cared for by an army of maids. Placing your hands on your bare hips, you nod firmly. “I would like to wear that shirt out, please set it aside with the trousers.”

“Now, dear, you mentioned wanting to have a nice dress to wear?” Annie speaks, tabbing through some fabrics on a shelf. “Something to impress your man out there?” Your eyes dart to the front of the shop where Shanks is presumably reading the town’s paper. Heat fills your cheeks.

“Not mine, not mine,” you utter out frantically, holding your arms against your chest as if they would keep your heart from beating out of your body. Shanks is a very handsome man. Kind and generous too. But he isn’t yours, and it certainly isn’t a good idea to entertain such a thought… never mind that you don’t really know him in the weeks you’ve spent on the Red Force, and for all you know, he is a terrible person having a nice streak!

It would be nice to have a man like him, though…

You clear your throat, quelling the heat within your cheeks.

“Shanks is not mine. He is just being incredibly kind in helping me out of a tough situation I found myself in. Nothing more,” you say that last part more to yourself than to Annie, and the seamstress raises her eyebrow.

“Oh?” she spouts, eyeing you closer. You may think that you hide your emotions well, but the seamstress is no spring chicken. “Well, dear, not just any man spends this much on a single woman unless he’s got a claim.” That makes you sputter.

“But I said I would pay!” you erupt, embarrassment quickly shifting to anger. “I specifically told him that I would be the one to purchase my clothing, and he had already done enough for me!” Annie snorts this time and rolls her eyes. Oh, to be your age again…

“Tell that to the stack of Berry he handed to me when you were changing…” she says dryly, enjoying the way you huff and puff in belligerence. “Face it, dear, he’s paying whether or not you want him to.” You are left stewing in place as the woman begins to build the dress you want from scratch.

Annie has pinned the dress to your body and made adjustments until you are happy with the result, then spent an extra hour fussing over each and every detail of the lavender fabric that matches your hair so well. You don’t understand why she wants to spend so much time on a dress meant to be something that would never see a ball or gala… but she has muttered something about liking details and the beauty of simplicity. So you let her fuss.

Now you are dressing yourself in the grey trousers, green shirt, shoes that actually fit your feet properly, and looking at the selection of hats available. You’ve braided your hair back so it will be out of the way and less of a hassle while sailing the sea. Most of the hats will fit your need just fine, but it is going to be your hat. You don’t want just any old hat. Unconsciously you find yourself leaning towards the straw hats, liking the way they are simple yet will do their job perfectly.

Plucking a straw hat with a wider brim than others, your finger traces the black ribbon wrapped around it until you stroke the neat bow at the back. It is perfect! It is simple, will do the job, and has just enough femininity to it to match your wardrobe. Turning the hat, you place it on your head and adjust it before walking over to the floor-length mirror you’ve spent the morning standing in front of.

Oh my.

You hardly recognize your reflection. Gone is the refined lady of the Bonn family, replaced by a lavender-haired woman who holds herself with regality but looks like she belongs on a ship at sea.

“It’s perfect,” you sigh happily, running your hands along the coarse material of your trousers. There is nothing delicate about your trousers, your tunic, or your boots. They are built for travel, for daily trekking, for use. Fiddling with the strings hanging from your new hat, you turn on your heel and look to Annie and her assistant. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before. Does this look okay?”

“You look like an average traveler,” Annie tells you, walking forwards and nitpicking nonexistent creases in your clothing. “Which I believe is the look you are going for? Of course, nothing you wear will take away from your natural beauty, dear. Can’t hide that.”

“I just don’t want to be found by my family. It was trouble enough leaving them,” you sigh, picking at the end of your short braid. “Maybe I should dye my hair.”

“That’d be a right shame if you did, miss,” the assistant speaks up. “You don’t want to erase yourself trying to find your freedom. You might lose yourself entirely if you do.” She has a point; you can admit that. So you’ll leave your hair alone and hope that your luck will continue.

“Alright then,” you say, turning to address them. “How much do I owe you?”

“A smile, girl, and if you offer me Berry one more time, I’m going to sic your gentleman on you.” Annie tells you with a strict look. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a soft groan, realizing that Shanks has indeed won this battle. Very well. So you give Annie and the assistant one of your best smiles and thank them before venturing to the front of the shop. You can see Shanks standing outside, across the road from the shop, leaning against the railing of the overlook to the port of Ingles. No doubt he has felt cooped up in the shop.

Knowing that Annie will have your dress and clothes delivered to the Red Force when everything is ready and packed up, you depart the shop and quietly walk up to the red-haired man.

“Finally done, eh?” Shanks asks, admiring the view of the ocean and the breeze he can feel on his face. It is a rather nice day, he has to admit, too bad you have spent most of it inside. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll have more of a chance to show you around.

“I am not happy you wouldn’t let me pay,” you announce, stopping beside him and enjoying the view. Shanks chuckles and rolls his eyes. He has practically spent the entire day arguing with you over who got to pay for your clothes. Shanks has ultimately put his foot down and talked with Annie about not letting you pay.

“Consider it a gift, Aria. You’re starting a new life.” Shanks chuckles before giving you a brief glance. Looking back at the horizon, his head snaps back to you in surprise. He knows that you will be leaving the shop wearing new clothes, but he hasn’t realized just how fitting and beautiful you’d look in just pants and a shirt. While he stares at you, drinking in the sight and realizing just how well you’d fit in with the crew now, you blink at him and wonder if you look odd to him. He sure is staring for a long time.

“Do I look weird in these clothes? Annie said I looked fine, but I feel odd wearing them since I’ve never picked my own clothes before.” Shanks reaches up and flicks his finger along the edge of your straw hat, reminded of a certain boy he’d left behind years ago. You have the same passion in your eyes. A frightfully attractive passion he is slowly coming to terms with. Better move on before you catch on to the fact that he is unabashedly checking you out.

“You look like you fit in with a crowd, Aria. The clothes are perfect,” he says before straightening up. “I got word that the men finished with the resupply and found a tavern. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Date Published: 1/11/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[rorimoon9597]

Lance has always been obsessed with Keith's hair for some reason. He didn't know why at first, but as time went on, it became so clear that he wanted to run his hands though it and feel it on his fingers.

He made comments about it being an ugly mullet to hide that fact. It didn't work, especially not when he confessed to Keith before he left for the Blade.

What? He was going to lose the chance to say anything anyway! And he was so happy when Keith kissed him to shut him up and told Lance that his feelings were reciprocated, he felt as if he were on cloud nine.

Since coming back from his fight with Shiro's clone (who they're forever going to refer to as Kuro as in 'Operation Kurone'), Keith has experienced some changes.

For starters, his eyes were more purple. Before they'd been a grey colour with purple undertones, but now they were properly purple. Then his canines were sharper, practically fangs, and his eyes would sometimes change. When he was angry, his irises would become slits and the sclera of his eyes would become yellow. It was hot, in Lance's humble opinion (Pidge called him an alien fucker when he said that at first. Lance said that Keith's dad was the true alien fucker. Shiro sprayed the water he was drinking everywhere and choked when he said that).

The most noticeable change happened to Keith's hair though. The ends of it lightened, until they were purple. It looked so cool, and it connected Keith to Krolia more. His hair stayed black, but now when it gets out it was purple.

Keith... Didn't think the same way as everyone else.

"I feel like I'm losing my dad. I've only ever looked like my mom, and the one thing that has ever connected me to my dad was my hair." The team had stopped on a planet for a rest, and Keith and Lance had gone off together to hunt down some meat and gather fruit and vegetables.

Lance stopped and grabbed Keith's wrist, forcing him to stop and turn to face him.

"You're still connected to your dad, Keith. It's just not entirely in your appearance," he said. Keith frowned.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Lance hummed.

"You said that he'd go head first into danger, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"And that he was a hero?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"According to your mom, your dad was kind, and reckless, and a hero and someone she loved enough to leave to keep safe."

"Mom said that?" Keith asked, sounding surprised. Lance nodded. "Where are you going with this anyway?"

"Because those are some things that you have in common with your dad," Lance answered. Keith opened his mouth, then closed it.

"... You're right," he eventually said. Keith reached up to his hair and fiddled with a purple end. "That stuff... Does connect me to my dad..."

"I'm never wrong about people things," Lance said, confidently. Keith smiled down at him (that had happened during the two year time dilation that Keith and Krolia went through, and Lance found that he liked having to look up over looking down).

"You know more about people than I do," he agreed. He pressed a kiss to Lance's forehead. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," Lance said. He pressed a kiss to Keith's lips. "Now, let's go catch something that Hunk can make into a good meal."

"Alright."

They worked quickly, and made their way back to the campsite with food that all of them could eat. Hunk was quick to take care of the food, Krolia helping him while Romelle stayed by Allura's side.

Lance sat on a log, and Keith settled himself between his legs. Kosmo flopped down with them.

Lance ran his hands through Keith's hair, smiling as Keith joked with the others and treated Shiro and Romelle like Lance treated his siblings - by annoying the hell out of them out of love.

Lance leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Keith's head.

"I love you," he whispered. Keith hummed, tilting his head to look up at him. There was a smile on his face reserved just for Lance.

"I love you too," he replied.

_______________________________________

Based off of this post I made

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 2. Lemons

Under normal conditions, it would've been challenging to locate anyone on such a vast property. But a tall, burly man wearing a balaclava and picking lemons? He stood out like a fly in milk.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,021

Notes:

Fluff

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

P-143, check. P-92, check. P-56, check. P-333, ch-

Wait. That’s not right.

You take a closer look at the glass canister.

No, no, no, no.

P-333 is half empty.

What — why? How did you miss this?

You instinctively look out the kitchen window, scanning the acres of land for his tall figure. You notice movement. There he is.

Under normal conditions, it would’ve been challenging to locate anyone on such a vast property. But a tall, burly man wearing a balaclava and picking lemons? He stood out like a fly in milk.

It was his turn to help with the harvest. You’ve already done your part by picking as many as you could. The rest, unfortunately, are too high for you to reach. Fortunately, he is 6'4" tall.

You dash outdoors, your right hand in a fist, your left hand holding a jar, its contents rattling in sync with your gait.

Your movement is intense, your strides powerful as you flounce through the fields - a little too powerful for the distance you’re about to travel. You didn’t think this through, did you?

The safe house is encircled by orchards of lemon trees. Acres extend across the land as far as the eye can see, glistening under the hot, Tuscan sun.

To the naked eye, the plot serves no purpose other than cultivating lemons. In reality, it is used as a hideaway for conducting covert operations and acquiring vital information for regional cases.

Agents like yourself are expected to keep constant watch while maintaining a controlled and protective environment. How do you do that? Well, by keeping a low profile and impersonating a lemon-harvesting farmer, for starters.

You’re breathless by the time you get to him. Physically exhausted and drenched in sweat, you try to act as intimidating as possible. You poor thing. Who do you think you are? Do you even understand whose arm you’re attempting to twist?

“Di...you...ea...stachios?” you mutter between breaths.

“Speak English,” he orders without even looking at you. What an ass. What a beautiful a-FOCUS! That is not the time. Not right now.

Instead of reacting to his snide remark, you shake the jar.

“Did you eat the pistachios?”

“Pistachios?”

“Yes, the pistachios. Did you eat them?”

“We have pistachios?” he asks, unmoved.

“Had. We had pistachios. A whole jar, to be exact. And we needed them.”

“We needed the pistachios,” he repeats caustically.

He continues to ignore your presence. It seems like lemon-picking is far more important than your little predicament. You poor, poor thing.

You carefully observe him as he collects the fruits from the tree. He is meticulous, even when doing something as mundane as this. Efficient too. Mentally breaking the tree into sections and clearing each area before moving on to the next. His moves are repetitive yet purposeful. Tactical; getting the job done.

Under normal circumstances, you would brush this off. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. You had to be informed as per procedure, and Ghost was aware of this.

You close your eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths.

“Do not patronize me,” you plead, throwing your hands up, one of them still holding the jar. “Next time, please let me know if you crave something. I have to log everything.”

He comes to a halt and slowly turns his head toward you. His eyes are cold, yet they burn right through you.

“You mean to tell me that you need to register every pistachio that comes out of that jar?” he asks, pointing at the glass container.

You freeze. Well? Do you? Answer him!

“Everything gets counted and documented,” you reply. “I have to report everything that is either consumed or processed. Shipments to the safe house should be kept as little as possible to maintain a low profile. These are the orders I have from the base.” you add, shrugging.

He keeps staring at you with those dreadful interrogative eyes. You divert your gaze away from his. Looking into his eyes for too long makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. Naked.

The procedure wasn’t as rigid as you made it out to be. Nothing would have happened if you overlooked a jar of pistachios. In essence, this wasn’t a formality issue at all. It was you—your need to regain control over something, terrified of dealing with reality. Consequently, you resorted to micromanaging the pantry. Everything—milk, wheat, eggs, the fucking pistachios—was an excuse. You were diverting attention away from the actual problem: the loss of control over your greatest asset—yourself. He could see that. He could see right through you with those eyes.

You bring the jar in front of your chest, attempting to instinctively block him out. You turn around and begin to walk back to the safe house, defeated.

“’ Twas for the birds.” You hear him mumble.

You turn your head around; the expression he had earlier is now embossed on your face.

“Pardon?”

“The pistachios. I fed ’em to the birds.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Birds? What birds?”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ ornithologist to you, love?” he barks. Best to end this conversation as soon as possible.

But you can’t. You, instead, want to crack a smile. Heck, you want to burst out laughing. Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley feeds birds in his free time. What’s next? Baking pies and making lemonade out of lemons?

“Huh. I thought you said you didn’t have any.” you recount.

“I said I didn’t eat any. Listen, I should’ve informed you as per the procedure. Apologies for that.”

Instead of continuing your lecture, you accept his apology and close the matter once and for all.

It was no surprise that there was vulnerability behind the Lieutenant’s tough facade and emotional armour. Today, you could see in between the cracks of his hard shell. He allowed you in.

However, drilling a Special Forces Operator about pistachios was a bold move, let alone Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley himself. Don’t push your luck.

“I appreciate your honesty,” you respond and continue back to the safe house, this time with a smile on your face, walking a little lighter than before.

———————————————————————

Next ->

[definitelynotstable]

Frozen [Gaz x fem!Reader]

AN: Hello! This one's for my Gaz girlies. Gimme a comment babes – lemme know how I’m doing xoxoxox

Synopsis: You and Gaz are stuck in a safe house and – oh shit. Is that a single bed? Word count: 1.1k Warnings: none (i don't think.) Gaz x fem!Reader (callsign, Ace): Single bed trope ...kinda. Slight hurt/comfort? Gaz is a silly boy and nearly freezes to death.

———

Price had lied. Or maybe he’d been given false intel. The safe house was not a house but a shack. A cold, uninsulated shack with a small fire place, a wooden bench and a single mattress pressed into the corner. A single mattress. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Gaz grumbled, closing the door behind you, the wind still seeping through the cracks.

“Fucking hell is right.” You nod. “This is barely a shed.”

Gaz slung his pack from his shoulder and leant it against the wall by the door. There are snow flakes in his hair, you notice, caught amongst the curls.

‘I’ll get some wood,” you say, dumping your pack next to his and pulling your gloves back on. “You can set up in here, yeah?”

He nods, sweeping some dust away with his foot. “Don’t be too long – it looks like it’s packin’ in.”

“Yessir.” You tease, the door clicking behind you.

———

Christ, Gaz wasn’t lying. It’s become a full blizzard now, snow stuck to your lashes as you squint. You managed to find enough wood for a couple of fires and you curl over it in an attempt to shelter it from the snow. The shack materialises through the snow and you kick the door open with a grunt, a couple of logs tumbling to the ground. 

“Shit, Ace,” Gaz clambers to his feet and shuts the door behind you, and picking up the wood you dropped, “I was about to go lookin’ for you.”

“Got a bit carried away.” You grin, making a pile next to the fireplace Gaz has cleared out while you were gone, “Thought I should grab as much as I could in case we get snowed in.”

Gaz kneels at the fireplace while you peel off your damp jacket. “We better not get snowed in,” he sighs, striking a match which catches the fire-starter and flares to life. 

“Yeah well, can’t hurt to be prepared.” You say, pulling off your boots and setting them next to Gaz’s, “Exfil said they’ll come once it clears, hopefully won’t be too long.” 

You immediately regret taking off your shoes. It’s bloody freezing. You share a couple of MREs for dinner and Gaz whips out an aeropress to make a coffee; claiming first watch.

You settle into your sleeping bag, having pulled the mattress away from the wall so it sits in front of the crackling fire. Gaz settles down, his lower back leaning against it slightly. You accidentally kick him as you shuffle around to get comfortable. He shoves your legs gently over and leans back, his elbows pressing into the mattress. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, the fabric pulled in tight under your nose. 

“’S’alright, just get some sleep, Ace.”

You take his advice and feel your consciousness slip away to the sound of the flickering fire.

———

You wake up mere hours later, frozen and stiff. There is something slightly heavier than the sleeping bag draped over you and your eyes hidden as you realise Gaz has pulled both your jackets over you. The man in question sits slumped over, arms crossed over hs standard issue black shirt; gun in lap with his legs stretched out in front of him.

He must be freezing.

“Gaz,” you whisper, nudging him with your foot. He startles slightly and you notice the slight tremor in his hands. “Gaz!” You whisper again, harsher this time, “You’re gonna freeze to death like that!”

The man shakes himself awake – sleeping while on watch is not like the Gaz you know. He turns to you and you notice the blue tinge of his lips. 

“Christ, Gaz.” You fling the sleeping bag off you and pull the M4 from his lap, giving the safety a quick check before leaning it against the wall. You roughly yank his arms into the jacket that he laid on you as you slept, the sergeant complying; arms floppy like a dummy.  

“Come’re,” you say, pulling him to lie on the mattress, unzipping the sleeping bag and rolling him into it. He blinks up at you in a daze as you zip it up to his chin. 

You glare back at him, shivering slightly now that you’e traded places. The fire has died down and you quickly build it up again with enough wood to last the night before settling down with the M4 between your legs. 

“Idiot.” You mutter under your breath. A hand curls around the wrist of the arm you have leaning into the mattress behind you. You startle slightly as you are pulled around. Brown eyes meet yours. 

“Ace,” Gaz murmurs, “You’ll catch your death.”

You laugh, pulling your wrist from his grip and wrapping your arms around yourself. “Trying to sell me my own advice now, are we?”

The hand grips your upper arm now, firmer. 

“Ace.” He pleads. 

You round in him, angry now. “What do you want me to do Gaz? You’ve nearly frozen yourself solid – someone responsible needs to keep watch.”

His brows furrow, slightly hurt. “‘M’sorry, you were shaking. I couldn’t just let you freeze –“

–“What? And so you freeze instead? The logic isn’t quite there, sergeant.” You scoff. Deep down you know what he’d done was sweet, but the mans lips were blue. Your slight discomfort wasn’t worth him getting frostbite.

He tugs on your sleeve this time. “Exfil will be here soon – Price knows where to find us, we needn’t keep watch in this blizzard. The chances of someone unwanted finding us are slim.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You know he’s right but you’ve gotten all worked up now. “I’m still angry with you.”

He smiles a little. “I know you are.”

“I’m going to stay angry till you’ve been checked by a medic.”

“Ok.”

You sigh, turning to look at him. His hand has curled around your elbow now, his thumb brushing across the sensitive skin in the inside of your arm. He pulls you again and you relent, sinking down to lie beside him. He unzips the sleeping bag, and tosses it over the both of you like a duvet. 

“Come’re.” He echoes you from earlier and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

“Gaz!” You gasp at the sudden movement. He chuckles, hot breath fanning across your face. He smells a bit like peppermint gum, his solution to the lack of teeth-brushing supplies on missions. 

“Don’t argue,” he says, nestling further into the mattress, “it’s warmer this way.”

He’s right again, the bastard. 

The fire has licked at the new wood you fed it and it crackles happily in the background; you feel it’s warmth against your back.

“Fine.” You mumble, relaxing in his hold. “But just because you almost turned into a popsicle.”

He chest rumbles against you as he laughs. 

“Whatever you say, Ace.”

———

Masterlist

[owl-with-a-pen]

“Are you sure about this? Because, if not, I can still cancel the reservation.”

Nia rolled her eyes. This must’ve been the third time Alex had asked her that same question since picking up the call. She shook her head, adjusting her phone against her ear. “No, no way Alex, you’ve been talking about this dinner with Kelly for weeks, you deserve this date. You need this date.” She drew in a breath, closing her eyes. “I can still take Esme for the night, it’s not a problem.”

“I just don’t want you to have to deal with any more stress. Not after—”

Nia winced. Well, there it was again, the big ol’ elephant in the room that Alex had deftly skirted around this whole conversation. Well, technically. She supposed the elephant wasn’t so much in the room with her than he was in the room over, committed to bedrest until further notice.

It wasn’t exactly ideal, but nothing ever ran according to plan when it came to the whole superhero life. Two weeks ago, Nia and Brainy would have been more than capable of taking on Esme for the night. Then, less than forty-eight hours ago, an alien with insane super strength had decided to ruin that by throwing Brainy through a cement wall and over a balcony.

To anyone else, it might have been dumb luck, except Brainy wasn’t anyone, and differential calculus usually kept him at least three steps ahead of an opponent. Nia hadn’t seen it coming either, and her dream instincts had only been getting stronger these last few months.

It was only after the alien had been formally logged onto the DEO database that they realised the species was capable of sending out otherwise undetectable frequencies that affected higher brain function.

Dumb luck indeed, although Nia wasn’t convinced. Neither was anyone else, which was why the DEO had been having a hell of a time drawing up possible tie-ins to recent criminal activity ever since. It was also why Alex was in desperate need of a night off.

And, as for Brainy? The only reason he’d stopped working was on account of the back trauma and three broken ribs.

Nia had to admit, the bruising was pretty gnarly. She’d seen it first while Alex had been bandaging him up, like a pale-yellow rash that stretched across his whole lower ribcage. Since then, the bruising had developed, darkening into the crevices of his broken ribs, spreading out and over his spine like a spilled paint jar. Alex had told him he was lucky he hadn’t punctured a lung, and though her tone had been light, Nia had seen the worry in her eyes.

Brainy had been signed off on medical leave that same day, and he wasn’t expected back until he’d made a full recovery.

The good news? Coluans healed fast, although even Brainy had to admit he couldn’t work through this sort of an injury. For starters, he was barely able to walk, and that was with the alien grade pain meds Alex had prescribed. He was in for a steady recovery at least, but Nia understood where Alex was coming from. Neither of them had expected this when they’d agreed to babysit and, like it or not, Brainy’s assistance tonight was way out of the question.

“It’s fine,” Nia assured her for what felt like the millionth time. “He’s fine. Besides—he’s resting, so actually, I could really use the company.”

“You’re sure?” Alex didn’t sound convinced.

“Totally. Nothing wakes him up in the restorative cycle, so unless Esme comes home with earthquake powers--”

“I mean, that is a real possibility,” Alex warned, although her voice had started to soften, “but I get your point.” She sighed. “Okay look, if you’re really sure, then fine. I’ll drop her off at five-thirty, which still gives you both plenty of time to change your minds if--”

Nia rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you at five-thirty,” she said flatly, hanging up before Alex could argue otherwise.

Nia leant heavily against the breakfast bar, snapping her phone against the cold surface, lowering her head.

She’d meant what she’d said about wanting the company. With Brainy out of commission, the apartment was uncharacteristically quiet. Keeping herself busy was never this difficult when Brainy was out of town or off-planet, but with him so close-by, Nia couldn’t help but gravitate towards the bedroom whenever she didn’t have something else to occupy her time. Aside from bathroom breaks and mealtimes, Brainy didn’t need anything from her - his restorative cycle took care of that - but that didn’t stop the persistent itch underneath Nia’s skin, driving her to do something, anything that could help.

At least having Esme there would give her just that.

In the meantime, Nia found herself back at the bedroom door, hovering just outside. It was dumb, and even though she knew she wouldn’t wake him, she still felt like an intruder when she shouldered open the door. She kept it open just a crack, enough to spy Brainy’s face in the dim light, exactly where he had been that same morning.

He was curled in protectively on his side, one pillow propping him up with another clutched tightly to his chest. His free arm cushioned his head as he slept, the muffled glow of his life projectors casting long shadows over his closed lids.

Brainy’s life projectors always shone a little brighter when he was locked in a restorative cycle - something about his consciousness retreating that bit deeper into his AI core – but whenever he was sick or hurt, Nia noticed that the glow was especially potent. Like right now; even beneath layers of bandages and bedsheets, they shone as fiercely as ever, burning away like tiny suns.

The restorative state couldn’t disguise everything though, and Nia knew that Brainy was still in a lot of pain. There was a sallowness to his green skin, and his blond hair was tufted to his brow, odd ends clinging to his face by a sheen of cold sweat. The meds were helping where they could, but they couldn’t take away all of his discomfort, which was why Nia was relieved he’d managed to slip into the restorative cycle at all. Usually, it only triggered on his back, but the bruising on his spine made that position pretty impossible right now. Thankfully, his body had compensated, making the necessary adjustments to give him the best opportunity to heal.

It didn’t make it easier to look at, and Nia could still hear the impact Brainy’s body had made with the ground every time she so much as closed her eyes.

She only wished she’d been dreaming of it before, not after. Guess she had their alien prisoner to thank for that.

He looked peaceful at least, and she knew the longer he stayed in the restorative state, the faster he would heal. This was a win - she had to remind herself of that. Besides, Brainy had been the one to assure her that Esme was still welcome to stay over. As crappy as things had turned out, he was of the same mind as her:  Alex and Kelly needed this.

It wasn’t like Nia had any hang-ups about babysitting solo, she’d done it plenty of times before. Esme was a good kid and as much of a handful as a young Dyralian could no doubt be, Nia knew she had nothing to worry about.

And yet, that nagging dream sense wouldn’t leave her alone. The one that called out to her at her lowest, that liked to whisper what if, what if, what if…

She ignored it. Bad vibes didn’t mean bad visions. She was just working herself up over nothing.

~~~

Brainy hadn’t stirred once by the time Alex arrived with her overactive payload. The second Nia opened the door, Esme beamed up at her, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Auntie Nia!”

Nia laughed, hoisting Esme up just enough to spin her once before letting her loose into the apartment. “Hey, gremlin, how’ve you been?”

Alex and Nia both watched on fondly as Esme shrugged her overnight bag onto the stool by the breakfast bar, scoping out the apartment as she went. She had a keen eye, instantly marking out the box of toys Nia had left out for her.

“Thanks again for this, Nia, you really are a life saver here,” Alex said earnestly once Esme was out of earshot. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “We’re trying to get her down by eight or nine at the latest.”

Nia offered a mock salute. “Got it.”

Alex’s face creased sympathetically. “I mean it though, Nia, if Brainy needs some peace and quiet or if she gets to be too much of a handful, you can call me, and I’ll be right—"

Nia raised her hand, effectively cutting her off. “Don’t worry about that.” She winked, shooing her off. “Now, go and enjoy your date! You look amazing by the way.”

Alex laughed, nodding sheepishly before finally heeding Nia’s instructions.  

Once Nia had closed the door, she turned back to Esme. “Okay, now your mom is finally gone, what d’you wanna do tonight?”

Normally, that would’ve elicited a squeal from Esme, and about a dozen and a half activities she had primed and ready on the tip of her tongue.

Tonight, though, her attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Esme padded quietly across the apartment, exaggerating her steps like she might come across a stray Lego. She stopped at the sofa’s arm, leaning her whole body into it, balancing with one foot in the air as she peered curiously towards the hallway.

She pointed suddenly. “Is that where Uncle Brainy is?”

Nia’s stomach clenched. Clearly, the kid didn’t miss a beat.

She smiled tightly, folding her arms. “Uh-huh,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I’m uh- guessing your mom told you about that?”

Esme nodded reservedly, her attention aimed solely at the hallway. “She said I need to be on my best behaviour.” She scowled, pushing herself up from the sofa so that she could place her little hands squarely on her hips. “I told her that I’m always on my best behaviour!”

Nia chuckled, ruffling Esme’s hair as she crossed by. “I know you are, kiddo, and that’s very sweet of you to think of Uncle Brainy.” She perched herself on the edge of the sofa, meeting Esme’s eye at her own level. “He’s, well, he’s resting right now, but you don’t have to worry. Coluans have a cool trick they can do when they have to sleep real deep, so you don’t have to walk on eggshells while you’re here, I promise.” She ushered Esme over, pulling her up onto the sofa with her, meeting little resistance. Nia pressed her chin into Esme’s hair, squeezing her against her chest. “We can watch a movie if you want?”

Esme nodded, although she was still a little on the quiet side.

They settled for an old classic: The Wizard of Oz. Kara had kind of managed to get Esme hooked on it the last time she’d babysat. Ever since, Esme treated it as a comfort movie, especially when she was missing her family. With Kara and J’onn currently off-world on Mars, Nia suspected she hadn’t seen much of her family in the last few weeks.

Esme retreated to her own side of the couch once Dorothy had crossed into Oz, her eyes fixed on the screen. At least it had her attention, although Nia couldn’t help but feel like she had something else on her mind.

Her thoughts were confirmed a little after the Tin Man showed up. “Want anything to eat?” Nia prodded.

Esme shook her head, not looking up from the TV.

Nia frowned, nudging Esme with her foot. “Everything alright?”

Esme nodded.

“Hey, I know!” Nia announced, sitting up. “Wanna play the bubble game?”

Headshake.

Nia’s frown deepened. Esme never passed up the bubble game, it was one of her favourites. Now, Nia knew something was really up with her. She pursed her lips, crossing her legs beneath her. “Esme, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t feel him.”

Of all her abilities, super hearing was not one of them. Nia scooched forward, unsure if she’d heard her right. “What do you mean?”

Esme’s nose scrunched at that, as though she was frustrated. She clenched her hands, twisting them against her lap. “Uncle Brainy,” she said, her voice trailing off like a sigh. She shifted, biting her cheek. “My moms told me that my powers are tele-phony.”

“Telepathic,” Nia corrected gently, taking her shoulder.

Esme nodded emphatically. “Uh-huh. Normally—I feel powers when they’re nearby. Yours.” She pointed suddenly to Nia’s centre. “That’s right there. But I can’t feel Uncle Brainy’s. And I always feel his.” She worried her lip, for the first time letting her eyes wander away from the TV. She looked up at Nia, her expression so open and forlorn. “Is it—is it because he’s hurt?”

Nia’s stomach sank. “Oh, honey, no, no, it’s alright. He’s alright.” Nia squeezed Esme’s shoulder, pulling her back up onto her lap. She could feel her little heart drilling an anxious rhythm into her chest. She ran her hand idly through Esme’s hair, folding odd curls behind her ears. “I should’ve explained, that’s my fault, okay? It’s just—that super cool trick I told you about? It’s sorta… a psychic blocker. When Uncle Brainy’s that deeply asleep, nothing can get to him, not even psychic powers. Like… like my dream powers. Or yours, Esme. Even Grandpa J’onn wouldn’t be able to connect to his mind.”

“That sounds scary,” Esme said softly, her hand curling around Nia’s arm.

“It is a little scary sounding from the outside,” Nia admitted, “but for Brainy, it’s kinda the opposite. Like the deepest, most peaceful sleep someone can have. It helps his body heal from just about anything.”

“Is he hurt real bad?”

“Not really, really, but I bet you get sleepy too when you’re not feeling great, right?”

Esme nodded reluctantly.

“Same.” Nia smiled down at her. “Although, I’m sleepy all the time.” She splayed her hand out in front of Esme’s face, a burst of dream energy erupting from her bracelet, springing across every finger.

Esme did crack a smile at that, her eyes wide and full of wonder as she watched the energy dance. Nia grinned, shaking out her hand. “It’s the same for Coluans, too, just, they have a special sleep state for it, that’s all.”

“Okay...”

Nia pressed a kiss into Esme’s hair. “Now, do you want a snack?”

This time, Esme nodded.

Nia smirked. Progress.

She stood up with a stretch, heading over to the kitchen. “Cool, did mom pack anything for you, or d’you think we can get away with ice cream?”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!”

Nia’s smirk grew into a grin. She was sure Alex wouldn’t mind her indulging Esme’s sweet tooth for just one night. After all, she was a life saver.

Before Nia could dish out the first scoop, Esme launched herself from the sofa, trotting over towards the kitchen and her overnight bag. “Wait!”

At first, Nia assumed there was a snack in there she really wanted. That was until Esme produced a different sort of container from her backpack. It was a clear plastic box, with something that rattled furiously inside.

It looked like some kind of craft kit. Nia raised a brow. “Oh, that’s cute. What is it, Esme?”

“Beads and string,” Esme announced proudly, sliding it onto the breakfast bar. “To make bracelets!”

“Oh, you wanna make one while you eat?”

“Mhm.”

Nia grinned, helping lift Esme the last stretch onto the stool so that she could order out her beads with keen focus. As she pulled the lid off, Nia got her first good look at what was inside.

They were… beautiful. Not your average store-bought bead kit, that was for sure. They came in a variety of colours, most of which had a transparent crystalline centre that wrapped around the whole length. Some had little letters engraved on them, but none from a language that Nia recognised.

“Those are some pretty cool beads,” Nia said, sliding Esme’s ice cream over to her. She leant her elbows on the counter, fishing a bead from the container curiously. It was a little heavier than she had expected, like the density of a tiny pebble on the palm of her hand. “Where’d you get them from?”

“Friend from school,” Esme said around a mouthful of ice cream. She pushed the bowl to the side, pulling out a piece of string. “Her dads are from a planet real far away. They brought lots of stuff with them. Rocks and crystals. To make beads.”

Nia’s eyes popped wide open. “So, wait, these are alien rocks?”

Esme shrugged. ���Think so.”

“That’s really cool.”

“My friend told me they have protective hor-hor-uhs”

“Oh, auras?” Nia nodded along. “Yeah, lots of planets have special rocks that can do a ton of things.”

Esme took a handful of beads, evening them out across the table. “She told me these ones protect,” she explained. “So, I made some for my moms, and for Auntie Kara and Grandpa J’onn. And-and I can make one for you, too! And then, I can make one for Uncle Brainy.” She nodded seriously to herself. “Maybe-maybe that’d make him feel better.”

Nia’s lips crumpled into a smile. “Oh, that’s a really good idea,” she told her gently. “Here, I can make my own, why don’t you focus on Uncle Brainy’s?”

Esme agreed, poking out her tongue as she lined her first bead up with her piece of string, threading it into place.

They both neglected their ice cream in favour of bracelet making. Nia had to admit, she may have gotten a little carried away. The beads were gorgeous, and she was even able to find a set with a blue crystal centre that was nearly identical to the shade of her super suit. Needless to say, she could totally see herself accessorising these with all sorts of outfits, which would make Esme very happy.

Although, she did wonder if what Esme had been told held any merit. While the beads were different from anything Nia had ever seen before, she wasn’t so sure they could offer any real protection. Although, as she’d learned, alien rocks could do just about anything, and it would’ve been nice if one could do some good for a change. Most of the time they were out to get people, especially Kryptonians.

Suddenly, Esme tugged on Nia’s sleeve, declaring she was finished.

The second she saw Esme’s design, Nia couldn’t help but grin. “Oh yeah,” she said. “He’ll love that.”

Esme had decorated her bracelet with little green and purple beads, in a sort of three-by-three pattern that mimicked the dot formation on Brainy’s chest, especially when it was pinched in at the sides.

Esme bounced eagerly on her stool. “Can I give it to him?”

“Oh, now?” Nia deflated slightly, glancing towards the bedroom, then at her watch. It wasn’t Esme’s bedtime yet, but time really had flown. Brainy hadn’t surfaced though, which she took as a good sign. As much as she knew the restorative cycle wasn’t going to lift on account of their presence, she was reluctant to put any sort of barrier between Brainy’s most necessary healing function.  

Nia deliberated for a moment. “We can leave it at his bedside, how about that?”

Esme slipped off her stool with a wobble, running ahead to the hallway, beads in tow.

“Wait for me, wait for me!” Nia called out, taking Esme’s hand to still her as she pushed the bedroom door open.

The room was darker since the sun’s decline, the only light issuing in from the steady thrum of Brainy’s life projectors, their intense radiance a sure sign he was still well and truly asleep. Nia bit her lip before letting Esme run ahead.

The glow from Brainy’s light cores illuminated a path straight to his nightstand. Esme followed it dutifully, reaching out her arm to place her gift at his bedside.

At the last second, she stopped herself, spinning towards the bed. “I feel him again!” she announced excitedly.

Nia winced – that was definitely not the indoor voice they’d been practicing. A second later, the mound of blankets shifted as Brainy stirred, his life projectors dulling to a soft white as he lifted his head. Esme must have sensed the end of his restorative state before he’d even begun to wake. Nia couldn’t help but feel a little impressed.

Brainy propped himself up against his pillow, rubbing a hand over his eyes in the low light. “Greetings, Esme,” he croaked, his voice still a little mechanised from sleep.

Esme beamed up at him, holding out her arms. “Uncle Brainy!”

Nia took that as her cue. She rushed over, holding Esme back with a gentle hand. “Steady. He’s just woken up.”

Esme frowned. “Uh-oh, is he grumpy?”

Nia smirked. “The grumpiest.”

“I take offence to that assumption,” Brainy mumbled, a touch of humour in his voice. It was already starting to strengthen, though Nia could detect the strain behind his words. He was still diverting too much energy to his injury.

“How are you feeling?” Nia asked seriously, an arm placed strategically across Esme’s front.

“Improved,” Brainy managed, cradling his chest. He tried to sit up, only to gasp out when the movement aggravated his ribs. “Although not fully… myself. I think I need more time to recuperate.”

Nia watched him carefully. “Can I get you anything while you’re up?”

“I’m fine, just, I should hydrate.” He glanced over to his empty water glass, shifting again beneath the sheets, as though preparing to stand.

Nia spoke up before he could give himself another excuse to exacerbate his injury. “I’ll get you some water,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Before he could say anything against her, she turned on her heel, throwing her voice over her shoulder. “Esme, make sure our patient here doesn’t move! Your mom gave him very strict bedrest orders, understand?”

“Okay!” Esme agreed happily, a little too eager to be a nuisance. Nia grinned as she ducked around the corner, confident Brainy would stay put - if only for Esme’s benefit.

Once she was back with the water, she found Esme sat up on the bed at Brainy’s side, half the covers tucked beneath her feet. She watched intently as Brainy took the water from Nia, popping his next round of pills into his mouth before swallowing them down. Nia counted out the hours in her head as he drank, realising belatedly that he must’ve woken himself the second his next dose was due.

When Brainy put the glass down, Esme shuffled closer, nearly knocking her elbow with his. “I made this for you,” she announced, unfurling her fist so that the bracelet dangled from her fingers.

“Impressive,” Brainy observed, making a quick study of the design. His eyes widened. “Those beads,” he said, “they’re from Alteria?”

“My friend gave them to me,” Esme said proudly. “They’re meant to protect you.”

Brainy lowered his head in earnest, taking the bracelet from Esme as though it was as delicate as a pressed flower. “Then I shall wear it with pride,” he said, slipping it onto his wrist. Nia smothered a smile with her hand. It was adorable watching the exchange, especially while Brainy was trying to accessorise in his pyjamas. “Thank you, Esme Olsen-Danvers,” he continued softly, “this gift will be very useful… and fashionable.”

Esme giggled at that, throwing her arms around Brainy’s waist before Nia had a chance to stop her.

Brainy gritted his teeth, but managed to return the hug before Esme pulled away, eyes wide. “Sorry! I’m sorry! Are you okay, Uncle Brainy?”

Brainy nodded, breathing out a quiet reassurance. He’d paled considerably though, his lips pinched with pain.

Nia swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, taking Esme’s shoulder. “Okay, I think that’s enough excitement for tonight. Uncle Brainy needs to rest.”

“Can I stay and rest too?” Esme asked.

Nia eyed her suspiciously. “What? Am I boring you to sleep, because that’s not how my powers work.”

Esme giggled. “No, silly! But, I wanna stay here with Uncle Brainy. We all should!” Esme held out her wrist, pulling up her sleeve to reveal a bracelet of her own. “Then all our bracelets can protect him, so he won’t get hurt anymore!”

Nia stared at the bracelet for a long moment, not sure what to say. Her heart squeezed sympathetically. “Oh, Esme, honey, I’m not sure that’s-“

“It’s fine,” Brainy said quickly. A little colour had returned to his cheeks, deepening the natural green of his complexion. He was still washed out, and the bruising beneath his eyes really spoke for itself, but he still managed to turn back to Esme, tilting his head in consideration. “That’s… a very logical mindset to have at your age.”

Esme puffed out her chest. “I’m nearly seven!”

Brainy softened. “My error,” he said with wink. “Then you are developing at an expected rate.”

“Heeeey!”

Nia rolled her shoulders out, trying to dispel some of the nervous energy still clinging to her heart. She clapped her hands together. “Alright, Esme, shall we get you in your jammies?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Once Nia had ushered Esme into the bathroom with her change of clothes, she headed back to the bedroom to wait for her, peeking in through the door to make sure Brainy was still awake.

He was.

“Sorry about this,” Nia said softly, climbing up onto the bed. She drew her knees towards her chin, pushing her back against the headboard. “How’s your--?”

Brainy wound an arm around his chest, smiling tightly. “Delicate,” he admitted. “The pills will manage that soon enough.”

“I didn’t realise she was gonna jump at you like that.” Nia snorted, tipping her head back. “I probably should’ve, she’s been thinking about you all night. She made it her mission to make that bracelet for you.” She nodded towards Brainy’s wrist, brows drawn. “Any truth to that?”

Brainy ran a hand around the beads thoughtfully, lowering his chin. “Like many cultures across the universe, faith plays a large part in what precious materials can and cannot do. To the Alteri, their telepathy enables a very real connection to their environment and so yes, I suspect that these beads could to a degree protect those who wear them. Especially if someone with a psychic affinity put them together.”

“Like Esme,” Nia said.

“Or, like you, Nia Nal,” Brainy murmured, leaning towards her. His lips skimmed hers and Nia closed her eyes, sighing softly into his mouth.

When they parted, Nia smiled, glancing down at her own bracelet, comparing it to Brainy’s in the low light. “Well, maybe Esme’s right,” she said. “Maybe three are better than one.”

~~~

Once Esme had brushed her teeth, Nia hoisted her into the bed so that she could nestle between them both. Although she had self-appointed herself Brainy’s personal ward for the night, it surprised no one when she fell asleep first, her head tucked towards Brainy’s chest.  

Brainy lay still in the dark for so long, Nia thought he might have already fallen back into his restorative state, although his life projectors were still muted. She used that soft light to her advantage, studying every inch of her bracelet, the small carvings on the beads she’d selected without knowing which letters they denoted.

After a while, she let a spark of her dreamlight creep up across her wrist, illuminating areas she might have otherwise missed. The crystals appeared to glow under that ethereal swirl, each bead holding within itself a microscopic pulse, a thrum of something more. Magic felt like a silly word for it, but after everything Lena had shown her, Nia was certainly willing to believe it. Maybe it was just a science this world hadn’t discovered yet, or a whole new meaning to the term… life.

Whatever it was, Esme had sought it out just for them. All because…

“Nia?” Brainy mumbled, his voice half smothered by his pillow. “You okay?”

“Huh?” Nia looked up, closing off her dreamlight with a snap of her wrist. “Yeah… fine.” She cleared her throat, flexing her hand out in front of her. “I guess I was just thinking… about…” She glanced down to the young Dyralian bundled between them, her thumb tucked beneath her two front teeth. Nia sighed, folding in on herself with a shrug. “It just can’t be easy when not just your moms, but every adult in your life are superheroes. All this time, Esme’s believed that her family were the safest they ever could be, because they’re the most powerful, y’know? But she’s never seen any of us get hurt before.”

Brainy shifted uncomfortably. “Ah,” he murmured. “Until now.”

Nia picked at her bracelet idly. “You know she made one of these for every single one of us? And yours—she was determined to get it to you the second she was finished making it. She wants to protect us, just like we protect her.”

“It is a noble thing to do,” Brainy mused. His dark eyes flickered to her when he noticed her hesitation. “You have concerns?”

Nia shrugged again. “I dunno, she’s just a kid! She shouldn’t have to worry about that stuff.”

Brainy frowned, pushing up from his pillow. “Nia, no matter how hard we try, she will discover these things organically. That knowledge will help her better understand this life as well as her own abilities. That, too, will protect her.”

“I hope you’re right.” Nia sighed, finding her gaze once again trailing back down to Esme. At how peaceful she was. How perfect. She swallowed, that same dream sense from earlier twisting her stomach into knots. “I guess I never thought about it before, but… Alex and Kelly are the first of us to start a family. Every time I see Esme struggle with something like this, I think… what if— when we—you know—eventually—”

Brainy kissed her again, and Nia’s eyes fluttered, welcoming his warmth. She felt his knuckles against her jaw, working their way beneath her chin. When Brainy broke away, he held her gaze firmly, his breath a buzzing reassurance against her lips. “Then I suspect our child will be the most loved and adept of us all.”

A bubble caught in Nia’s throat and she laughed, nuzzling her nose against Brainy’s. In response, Brainy’s lips continued their path along her jaw, trailing lazy kisses towards her ear. “Esme will fair just fine,” he breathed, a smile curving against her cheek. “After all, she’s already found ways to look out for us, even if she doesn’t understand the power she carries quite yet.”

Nia kept her head inclined towards Brainy even as they settled back onto their respective pillows, careful not to jostle Esme in the process. “She’s strong, that’s for sure,” Nia admitted, stroking a few stray hairs away from Esme’s nose. “In more ways than one.” She reached out her hand for Brainy to take, his pulse a grounding presence on her palm. “Thanks.”

Brainy squeezed her fingers, his lashes fluttering to a close. He was more tired than he would have ever admitted with Esme in earshot, Nia could see it written all over him. She kept her fingers threaded through his, their hands joined on the pillow above Esme’s head.

When Brainy’s projectors intensified as the restorative cycle successfully took hold for the second time that day, Nia let herself relax, allowing the dreams teasing the edges of her subconscious to finally flood through.

One thing was for certain: Alex and Kelly definitely didn’t need to worry about cutting their date short tonight.-