#my touch screen no longer works which is.. a problem

[rosiecosy]

game over˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(wonwoo x reader) — fluff

"hi, everyone," wonwoo says, adjusting his headset. chat is already going wild, excited for another gameboi live.

but today, there’s a twist.

"so… i have a guest today," he continues, turning to look at you with a knowing smile. "she insisted on playing, so… this should be fun."

"hi!" you wave enthusiastically at the camera. "just a disclaimer—i love games, but i don’t actually know how to play them."

"yeah, i figured," wonwoo mutters under his breath, but the fond smile on his face gives him away.

the game loads up—a simple co-op adventure game. should be easy enough.

"okay, just follow me," he instructs.

"yup! got it!" you announce confidently.

and then immediately run in the opposite direction.

wonwoo stares at the screen. "wait—where are you going?"

"i don’t know! my character has a mind of their own!"

"you’re literally holding the controller upside down."

"oh." you flip it the right way. "okay, that might have been the problem."

chat explodes.

[PLS NOT THE CONTROLLER BEING UPSIDE DOWN]

[wonwoo looks like he’s questioning everything rn]

[he’s so whipped i can’t]

finally, you get the controls figured out—just in time for the first enemy to appear.

"OH MY GOD—WONWOO WHAT DO I PRESS IF I NEED TO RUN?!"

"just move the joystick—"

"WHICH ONE?!"

"…the only one that moves your character?"

you start mashing buttons, and instead of running, your character just… squats.

"why are you crouching?" wonwoo asks, struggling not to laugh.

"i don’t know!! i pressed something and now i’m stuck!!"

"babe," he sighs, reaching over to gently place his hand over yours. "just press this."

his fingers guide yours to the right button, and suddenly, your character moves again.

"OH. you saved me," you say dramatically. "you’re my hero."

wonwoo huffs out a small laugh. "you’re ridiculous." but the way his ears turn pink says otherwise.

chat, of course, notices.

[DID HE JUST BLUSH??]

[wonwoo.exe has stopped working]

[the way he helped her so gently... i'm sick]

the two of you continue playing, and every time something happens, your reactions are so over-the-top.

"AHHHH, WONWOO, IT’S COMING FOR ME—"

"then attack it?"

"WHICH BUTTON IS ATTACK??"

"…you’ve been playing for twenty minutes."

eventually, after some progress (mostly thanks to wonwoo), you reach the final boss.

"okay," wonwoo says. "we just have to time our—"

"YOLO!" you yell, charging in headfirst.

"WAIT—"

game over.

silence.

you turn to wonwoo, trying not to laugh. "…sooooo, do we try again?"

he just stares at you for a second before sighing, shaking his head with a small smile. "yeah. but this time, maybe let me explain first?"

"no promises."

he rolls his eyes but reaches out to fix your headset, fingers brushing against your cheek for a second longer than necessary.

"what was that?" you tease.

"what was what?"

"the way you just touched my face so lovingly."

"i was fixing your headset."

"mhm. sure."

he huffs a small laugh, flicking your forehead gently. "focus, troublemaker."

chat is already going insane.

[“fixing your headset��� YEAH OKAY]

[the way he looks at her… i can’t do this anymore]

[wonwoo’s patience is unreal but also he’s so soft for her]

the game restarts, and as wonwoo focuses on explaining the strategy properly, you lean in slightly, resting your head on his shoulder.

"…what are you doing?" he asks, not moving away.

"recharging."

he exhales a laugh, shaking his head. "you’re impossible." but he tilts his head slightly, just enough to rest against yours.

and chat loses it.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: You and Dave lose your virginity to each other.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: virgin!reader, virgin!dave, dave and reader are in college, swearing, beast/nipple play, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), praise, protected sex, penetrative sex

~ this was requested by multiple anons! enjoy! ~

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

You can't help staring at Dave from where you lay on his bed. He's sitting at his desk, his back hunched and his eyes focused on his laptop screen as he finishes his Composition Lit paper.

You press your pencil further in your mouth, nibbling on the eraser as you're mesmerized by how his hands glide across the keyboard.

God, his hands.

You know if you stare any longer you'll drool all over your notebook so you force yourself to look down at your writing and continue what you came here to do—which is study.

"Finally," Dave mumbles after a while as he pushes himself away from his desk, his head tilting back and his curls falling away from his face. "That took forever," he whines and pushes up his glasses, turning to look at you from beneath his lashes.

Your stomach sinks so deliciously and your cheeks warm up.

You're so screwed.

You turn back to your work but you can feel him watching you. You hear the squeaky wheels of his chair as he wheels over to his bed and looks over your shoulder at your notebook.

"Want some help? I'm not that great at Calculus but," he chuckles nervously, "I can try and help you if you'd like?"

You look up, sitting up and pushing hair out of your face to look at your lovely boyfriend properly. He looks so cute staring at you like he is now, with his hair falling messily around his face and those big blue eyes his staring at you from behind his glasses like you're the most precious thing in the world. Your heart instantly melts. 

"Sure, I have to do this—" You show him the problem and he moves closer. Ultimately, Dave decides he should sit next to you on the bed so he can see the notes better and your stomach feels all warm and fluttery when your knees eventually touch.

After a while, you're feeling too warm so you turn and pull off your sweatshirt, exposing the skin of your arms and stomach as your tank top lifts.

You can feel Dave's gaze on your stomach and you hide a smile. You face him again, having purposefully not worn a bra this morning and you flash him an innocent smile. Dave's eyes are locked onto your breasts and the way your nipples pebble under the white material. 

"Wanna ditch math and touch my tits instead?" you ask a little bluntly and Dave's mouth almost falls open as a deep crimson blush adorns his cheeks. You push your notebook down on the floor and take Dave's shirt, pulling him in to press your lips on his. 

He responds almost immediately, his hands finding your back and then your hair as he kisses you and your breasts press against his chest. Your mind feels hazy as you continue exploring his lips.

You have no clue how you've become so brazen with your desires but as you kiss him, you take Dave's hand and bring it up your stomach and then guide it around to one of your breasts. 

Dave gasps and pulls his hand away, his eyes widening. You hadn't done more than kiss in the past and it was very obvious from the way he was blushing that he hadn't done much more than that with anyone.

You move to press his hand harder on your breast and smile up at him. "You okay, Davey?" you ask sweetly.

He looks like he's stopped working and no words are even forming in his mind, never mind leaving his mouth. He just nods, his cheeks a flaming red as his glasses fall lower onto his nose. His arm is tense and his hand isn't moving. You tilt your head and scoot closer to him. 

You press your lips to his again, "It's okay, I want you to touch me," you whisper, giving him the verbal consent he clearly needs. You feel him squeeze your flesh, relaxing into the kiss a little. 

Clumsily, you straddle his hips as your kiss becomes more wanton, more needy. You wrap your arms around him, his glasses hitting your nose so he takes them off and sets them on his desk.

He moans breathlessly when you capture his lips again and kiss him hungrily, your hands finding his cheeks as you dig your nails into his skin. "I like the sounds you make," you whisper in his ear, kissing behind his earlobe for a second and then moving down his jaw.

"Yeah?" Dave asks in his usual whiny voice, his eyes lidded when he pulls away and looks at you for reassurance. 

"Mmhm," you nod and kiss him again, grinding against him as you use his surprisingly broad shoulders to steady yourself. You kiss him again, moaning into his mouth as his hands roam all over your curves. "Dave," you whimper into his ear and look at him, "Do you have a condom?" 

His eyes go wide and his hands shake nervously as he looks around his room, "U-um yeah, i-in the drawer—but Y/n I- I've never," he stumbles with his words, avoiding your gaze as his foot twitches a little. 

You caress a hand down his cheek and look at him reassuringly. "Me neither," you say, kissing his lips, "We can do this together, m'kay? It's normal that you're nervous, I'm nervous too," you smile and look down at him when you feel his boner pressing into your thigh. "But um, Dave, I really don't wanna be on top for my first time—"

Dave's eyes widen and he puts a hand on your back, scrambling to flip you over. "No, no of course," he mumbles as he moves you to position your bodies so he's sitting in between your thighs, your hair splayed on the pillow.

Dave must not realize how strong he is because as he positions you, you feel like a doll in his grip and it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced.

"Is this better?" he asks, hovering over you and reaching inside the drawer of his desk to fish out a condom he'd kept for future usage. You nod, eyes wide with lust and stomach in knots. You sit up and shed your tank top so you're only in your shorts and panties. You lay down and see that his eyes are transfixed on your nipples again. 

"Davey," you whine and pout at him, "your turn," you gesture to his chest and he jumps a little, awkwardly nodding and taking off his shirt. Fuck, he has abs. "Okay, now kiss me," you whimper and he leans down to kiss you, using an arm over your head to steady you. You wrap your legs around him, your core pressed against his cock. 

He feels much bigger than you'd anticipated. 

You kiss for a while until Dave's hands find your breasts again and he rubs your nipples. You groan against him. You're so horny. He feels this too and lowers his pants as he positions himself. You hold his arm, "Wait, condom, and you have to open me up first," you remind him—especially now that you know he's not exactly small.

Embarrassing graces his features. "Right, sorry, honey," he whispers and sits back on his heels. He looks down at you nervously, not entirely sure what he should do. You glance at him and take his hand, bringing it to glide over your pussy. His fingers find your folds and you moan. Dave loves the sound because he explores you again. He's being extremely attentive to what you need from him.  

You tense when he pushes a finger inside you and he looks at you, eyes round, "You okay?" he whispers and when you nod, he continues to touch you. You stifle your moans, squirming as your juices help the awkward feeling. You've never been much into penetration when you masturbate, so this is slightly foreign still.

You can see that Dave is humping the bed, his hips grinding into the mattress as he bites down on his lip to muffle his moans. He looks up at you, removing his hand as his eyes become glossy and needy as he asks for permission. Permission to use his mouth.   

You nod and his lips attach yourself to your pussy. What he lacks in experience, he truly makes up for in enthusiasm because you're a moaning mess, pulling at his curls and clenching your hands in the sheets. 

Just as you feel yourself reach your peak, you groan and pull him away as you tug on his hair. You look into his blue eyes, now glossy with need. "Need you, now." You pause. "Please," you whine, your hands grasping at Dave's arms. 

He doesn't need to be asked twice as he moves up, pulling on the condom from his drawer. His breath is shaky as he positions himself against you again. You look him in the eyes, wrapping your legs around him as you nod.

He pushes in, groaning, and you clutch at his shoulders as you sigh. It feels weird and it hurts a little but Dave is gentle as he pants, "Are you okay?" You nod. 

Very quickly, once Dave finds a rhythm, the pain turns into pleasure and his weight presses against you, his breath in your ear as he thrusts into you over and over, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as you groan.

"I-I fuck– I l-love you," he groans, his hips hitting yours and you nod, lost in pleasure. 

"Mmh- Dave," you whine as he very quickly (and with help from how well he'd opened you up with his fingers and tongue) makes you come around him and moan into his neck, his curls tickling your skin. 

"Shit," Dave groans, not lasting very long as he spills inside the condom and his arms give way. You groan as his forehead hits your chin and Dave's eyes widen.

He pulls himself up and out of you, panicking now. "Shit, shit, baby, did I hurt you?" he asks and carefully cups your chin in his hand. 

You stare at him, chest heaving, and you laugh. Dave's concern shifts and he leans his forehead onto yours, catching his breath. "I'm sorry," he says, kissing your chin, smiling, and then he kisses your lips. You can tell he's also apologizing by default in case his performance was less than satisfactory.  

You return his kiss and wrap your arms around his neck, your nipples skimming his bare chest as you lean into him. "It's okay. You did well. It was really good. I love you," you whisper honestly, your voice fluttering and the praise fills your boyfriend's chest with pride and love.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you grin, "Now c'mon, let's shower."

[macabr3-barbi3]

CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed. 

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh. 

Right over his head. 

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring. 

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you. 

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of. 

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him. 

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed  Val coming into a room. 

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants. 

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with. 

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“ 

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach. 

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

[bettystonewell]

So I woke up to 100 followers this morning, and I was really surprised.

THANK YOU!

I’m still learning my way here, but hopefully I’m getting better.

I know people on all different platforms do celebrations like writing prompts and stuff, but a) I’m a slow writer and b) I’m lazy. So I thought, now might be a good time to release this:

TO YOU I BELONG

SNEAK PEAK

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺⏱️

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

From Chapter 7: Honeydaying

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out.

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No.

Not if.

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet.

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear.

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

Main Masterlist

—————————————————————

DEAN TAGLIST:

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007

If you’d like to be added to a Taglist for this series or for any of my other Dean works, please lmk or add yourself HERE

[hollowbutcanlove]

Words feel like… Part III

iso x fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, cunnilingus, Cypher knows a little more than the others, difficult experiences, pain, not very human experiences.

18+ only

words: 1828

a/n: the abilities of Y/N are taken from my OC. in short, she can take on the appearance of other people and creatures, as well as copy their abilities.

pt I pt II pt IV pt V pt VI

Sunday started with a call from Brimstone, who called you for an unscheduled assessment of your abilities. Since you have been in the protocol not so long ago and know little about your abilities and their implementation, before the mission they decided to call you for some kind of another test in the training area where the bot Max lived. You took your time because you knew they weren't going anywhere. But you wanted to rest for an extra couple of minutes before this event.

Nevertheless, closer to the appointed time, you still came to the site, where Viper, Bristone, Sage and… Omen? It's strange to watch him, because usually only these three and a few other people were present. Including Killjoy, which you haven't been watching right now.

"Here I am! " - a panting girl came in after you. If you remember the sun, that's a ray. She had some strange devices in her hands that you hadn't seen before. - " I have collected something that will help you track the change in vital signs in the process of your transformation into another person. As well as a few other important things, the names of which obviously won't tell you anything. "

"I can only assume that your ability to copy your appearance and abilities has something to do with the phenomenal rate at which your DNA transforms. And the radianite that created this anomaly gives you the ability to use your copy volume abilities as well,” - Viper concluded, - ”But that's for living people. Today we want to see if you can use your abilities to interact with… questionably living beings."

"Is that why Omen is here? "- you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yes,” - Viper nodded and continued. - "I've asked Killjoy to design a device. Now we'll hook it up to you and we can get started."

The dark-haired German immediately began unraveling the wires and attaching the analyzers to you: on your arms and legs in the form of bracelets, some in the form of suction cups attached under your clothes and on your head. You were a little uncomfortable. The suction cups felt like they were about to fall off, making you uneasy.

"Omen, Y/N. You may begin."

"Just a second,” - Killjoy said, then typed something into her laptop computer. - "It's okay now."

You exhaled, then walked over to Omen. He had always seemed kind of intimidating and mysterious to you, so you had little contact with him outside of general events. He stared at you for a while, waiting for you to act.

"A hand,” - you asked. Normally, touching any part of your body was enough, but you didn't know what was best, so you asked for his hand.

Omen silently held out his clawed palm and you touched it. As you concentrated on taking his form, you began to feel unpleasant goosebumps and shivers. Though the transformation itself took mere milliseconds, it lasted longer for you because of the vivid sensations. But something was wrong. You immediately began to feel painful tingles all over your body that seemed to grow stronger and stronger with each passing second. You felt as if you were about to be torn apart. Something began to beep loudly; you turned toward the sound and saw the red color on the monitor screen and an error sign.

"Oh, shit,” - Killjoy was trying to fix the problem, and you were staring around in bewilderment.

The voices were getting louder, then quieter. The intermingling of the voices made you shriek and clutch your hands to your head. Perhaps because you are human by nature, you felt Omen's every moment was like an eternal, all-consuming agony.

"Y/N, return your form! "- Viper shouted sternly.

You tried to focus on returning, but nothing was working. You backed up and almost crashed into Killjoy. Through the pain, you touched her. It was easier to take on someone else's form than to return to your old one. Within moments, you were relieved, though the pain still lingered throughout your body. You were breathing hard, your heart racing, your pupils fluttering. It was a sensation you couldn't forget. They were terrifying, frightening, unbearable. You felt empathy for Omen.

"The readings showed an extremely high exaggeration of norms,” -Killjoy began. - "Even the program gave an error. That's…something…interesting. I'd like to work on this device some more and repeat the experience."

"I'm not ready,”- you sobbed. - "It hurts like hell. I thought I was gonna die. How did I not faint from the painful shock?"

"Sage was your insurance."

"Thank you,” - you nodded. -" I think… It's… Ah… How to say… Because of the difference in our natures?"

"Because you're human, it's hard for you to take on the form of Omen. I understand,” - Viper nodded. - "Maybe it's a temporary effect and can be trained. What do you think?"

"I don't know,” - you shook your head.

"We'll find out. In time. When you're ready."

"Wouldn't that be cruel to her? "- Sage asked.

"This world is cruel, Sage. So why should we be? Especially such an interesting specimen. Perhaps we can better understand Omen's nature."

"If you want, we'll bring you something for dinner as an incentive,” -Killjoy asked, looking away from the computer. - " You need to rest and some sweetness will help with that."

"A milkshake and some cherry scones,” - you exhaled, starting to take in your appearance.

"Copy that!"

"You can go, get some rest,” Brimstone nodded and began to discuss something with Viper and Sage.

You didn't listen and left immediately. The pain you'd been through was still lingering. You had to stop sometimes to catch your breath. You wanted to relax and take your mind off it. And a crazy idea came to you.

When you reached the common living room, you looked around. Fade and Neon had just disappeared from the kitchen, talking furiously about something. You exhaled, marveling at how fortunate the circumstances were. You knock a few times, and the door opens. Iso shows up in front of you, in his house clothes. He was out of the shower, you could smell it in the room from the humidity of his wet hair and the smell of his shower gel, which admittedly was quite tasty. He let you inside and immediately closed the door.

"Sorry for the suddenness of it,” - you apologized and sat down on the bed.

"I see you've been somewhere,” - he nodded. - "Tense conversation or practice? You don't look so good."

"Sort of. I don't want to talk about it yet. Why don't you just help me de-stress, please?"

"Hmm,” - he said thoughtfully. - "I think there's a way. Short, but effective. I'll have to run some errands afterward."

You didn't question him, since you weren't that close, so you just nodded, putting the initiative in your boyfriend's hands. Iso ran his hands through his damp hair before sitting down on his knees in front of you. His hands gently traced your thighs over the top of your pants, and then he stopped at the elastic band. You understood him without words and lay back, giving him the opportunity to remove your clothes. And you seemed to understand what he was getting at. You didn't mind, and it was interesting to see if the “beginner” could do it so well that you could have an orgasm.

His fingers traveled down your already bare thighs, making goosebumps run up and down your body. Anticipation began to build inside you as the guy teased your thighs.

"Didn't you say you had things to do afterward?" -you asked. - "I think we should hurry."

"These things don't like to be rushed. Enjoy."

Finally he moved to a more intimate area and began massaging your clit through the fabric of your underwear. You waited with interest to see what he would do next. After a few circular movements, he pushed the fabric aside and began to massage the folds directly. Pleasant goosebumps all over your body decided to gather in one place, causing light butterflies in your stomach. And while the first hand was working on the outside, the second hand started on the inside. Iso's fingers begin to explore the space inside you. Probing your walls, he simultaneously watches your reactions, trying to catch the moment when he finds the most sensitive spot, where the nerves from your clitoris' legs run closest to the walls of your vagina. (There's a reason he's read so much about it.) And when he finally finds that vulnerable spot, you twitch slightly at the incomprehensible feeling of pleasure. A light moan escapes your lips. He smiles.

You feel the fingers that had been massaging your clit being replaced by something wet and hot. You exhale noisily. Because of the stimulation of the sensitive point inside you, your clit is slightly more sensitive than usual. His free hand, still wet from your juices that it has managed to collect on the outside, finds itself on your thighs and squeezes them lightly. He then lets his hand go and places one of your legs on his shoulder, you repeat the action yourself already with the other leg. This in a way lets Iso sink deeper into you. You begin to feel the butterflies in your stomach start to move in a special way. Little by little, the orgasm creeps up on you after just a couple minutes of Iso's manipulation.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna...I'm gonna..."

Before you can say anything, a wave of orgasm rips through your body, and you involuntarily squeeze your legs together, causing the guy's head to be held captive. He stops and rests his chin on your lower abdomen, watching you breathe heavily and clutch his sheet. It was too good. What the hell is wrong with this guy? Is he using some kind of cheat codes or something? You didn't know. But the fact that he could make you cum so easily never ceased to amaze you. Doubts about what he said about his virginity were still growing.

"How are you? "- He asked, still holding you close and stroking your thighs.

"Fine,” -you exhale and unclench your thighs, -”I'm sorry."

"It's okay,” - he licked his lips, which made you blush, because his face was still wet with your juices and his saliva.

"Let me guess, this is your first time doing this, too?"

"Not exactly. I've been practicing."

"I'm afraid to ask what or who,” - you laughed, realizing he meant some kind of fruit or vegetable.

"Trade secret,” he picks up his pants from the floor and puts them next to you. - "And now I have to get ready. Today it's my turn to fly to the store with Killjoy."

"Good luck,” - you nodded, pulling on your pants. - ”Then, important note, vanilla milkshake. Just vanilla."

"Hmm?"

"I ordered a milkshake and scones from Kj."

"I'll take note,” - he nodded.

You managed to get to your room without incident. Except for Cypher's messages.

[mikerickson]

I worked as a poll worker for the first time yesterday

After the primaries in the summer, our County recognized that they had a poll worker shortage leading into the election this year and started putting out advertisements to bring new people in. I realized that I didn't know literally a single person in my life that had been a poll worker before and that it was something I had always taken for granted. With this looming shortage however, I decided to step up and do my civic duty because why not? After a three hour in-person training session and a two hour online training session, I was ready to go.

More under the cut because honestly some of these interactions with voters are kinda depressing:

I had only signed up to do a half-day shift from 5:15 AM to 1:00 PM because I figured I'd be wiped out and exhausted if I did a whole day. Well turns out that my replacement who was supposed to take up the evening shift never showed up, so I ended up staying. I got to the polling location (a local high school) at 5:00 AM and left at 9:30 PM, effectively working a 16.5 hour day with only a 1 hour lunch break. I'll get a $300 check in two weeks, which, hey, beats jury duty!

By law our polling center was supposed to open to the public at 6:00 AM sharp, but we were scrambling and not ready yet when the vote-before-work crowd started banging on the door. Very stressful start to the morning and we immediately had a big line that didn't dwindle down until about 7:30 AM. I unironically wish I had gotten there even earlier.

Our polling location had four districts, and each district had four workers (two to man the check-in table, one to operate the voting booths and ballot scanners, and one to float/rotate out every so often). I was paired with a man and a woman both in their seventies and a woman maybe in her mid forties, but they were all clearly uncomfortable with technology. Two of the other districts were also staffed by old people who just gave up at the first sign of a problem with a touch screen or a printer jam. I'm talking just a complete lack of problem-solving capabilities. I ended up running triple duty checking people in, making sure voters were set up in their booths properly, and doing on-the-fly tech support and troubleshooting. It felt rewarding multitasking and hearing, "get Mike over here, he'll fix it" over and over, but I kinda wish I didn't have to?

We only had two voters make a scene over the course of the entire day. During the morning rush right after opening a woman raised her voice asking why there was a line and stressing out that she had to leave to go to work soon (she stuck it out in line and then bolted out of there). Later around lunch time a guy at one of the other districts' tables shouted something like, "oh, so my dad can vote here but I can't?" He stormed out in a pissy mood shortly after, but I never got the full story of what was going on there.

I had one man who had recently moved and hadn't updated his registration with the board of elections, so his address didn't match what was on file. I explained that he could still vote if he did a provisional ballot, which is basically like a mail-in ballot that you put in a special envelope and leave at the polling station instead of taking it to a drop-off box. Apparently that was a step too far and he just said, "forget it..." and left. Seemed odd to me that he 1) physically drove to a voting location to vote and 2) waited in line to sign in, but that filling out a single sheet of paper was no longer worth it.

Once we were fully set up and getting into the flow of things most of the delays and reasons for lines were the voters taking too long inside the booths. It was basically a giant touchscreen monitor to select your choices, then you review everything one last time before printing a physical ballot. I had multiple people enter the booth and then wait about five minutes before calling for help saying they didn't know what to do. Also the second page/backside of the ballot was for the local Board of Education candidates, and this was really tripping up a lot of people. Also a staggering amount of people just did not see the giant "NEXT" arrow at the bottom right hand side of the screen. Poll workers are not allowed to enter the booth with them, so I had to do a lot of blind troubleshooting from the other side of the curtain.

Lots of men coming in with their wives and girlfriends and just waiting by the wall while the women voted but they didn't.

There was a smattering of young people, but not many. I did have to turn one girl away who recently turned 18 because New Jersey is not a same-day voter registration state. She was visibly bummed out and I felt bad about that.

Our oldest voter of the day was this ancient Polish woman who didn't speak a lick of English. Her daughter, who must've been in her eighties herself, had to sign a special permission slip to enter the booth with her mother to help. They were in there for a good 15 minutes, but luckily this was during a calm period of the day.

In terms of voter attire, we only had two Harris shirts and one Harris/Walz hat we had to ask people to cover up because that's not allowed within 100 feet of the polling station. Lots of Puerto Rico flags, and one guy had this obnoxious shirt of a coquí painted like the flag that I loved. Also had one man come in wearing a very sharp suit with the loudest red tie I've ever seen in my life who proudly shouted, "Let's make voting great again!" as he left after he finished.

One older Hispanic lady (I think she was Puerto Rican) had very broken English and had to do a provisional ballot for some reason. She was so worried she was going to do it wrong, but I walked her through it with my very broken Spanish and after about 20 minutes she was good to go. She was extremely thankful and gave me a hug.

I had one woman, maybe in her mid-forties, call me over to help when she was inside the booth. She asked, "why are there so many names?" I asked what she meant, and she started listing the down-ballot candidates in the other rows below President and Vice President. She said, "what is 'Senate'? What does that mean?" I explained to her that there were other contests to vote for, and after a telling pause she responded, "...okay..." Not entirely sure I got through to her.

One woman took her very young daughter into the booth with her and a few minutes later called me over. Her screen displayed a "USB device disconnected" error. I looked down and saw that the printer had been turned off. I asked how that happened and the little girl started laughing. Her mother was mortified, but I got them sorted out.

We had one teenager who we had to help insert her ballot into the scanner because her hands were shaking so violently. It was her first time voting and she was extremely nervous. I hope she's doing okay today.

Towards the end of the night this contractor with filthy hands comes in and he's clearly exhausted but wanted to vote anyway. We were shooting the breeze while he signed his voting authority and I said, "I bet I got you beat though, I woke up at 4:30 this morning." He looks up at me and deadpans, "I've been up since 3:30." I yielded and he laughed with me.

Our second-to-last voter of the day was some early-twenties guy who moseyed on in at 7:55 PM (polls legally close at 8:00 PM sharp) and said, "I heard this was going on today." Somehow he was registered and was able to get in and out in no time, but that was just such a casual remark to make that it floored me.

Our absolute last voter of the day was a woman who was on her cellphone the entire time trying to coax her husband - who was in his own car about two blocks away from the sounds of it - to hurry on over before we closed. I could hear him hemming and hawing over it, making some excuse. He didn't make it.

Closing the polls was equally as confusing and stressful as opening them was because there are a lot of very detailed ballot reports to print and specific zip ties with specific barcodes and serial numbers to close up the machines. We were missing a certain lock for the ballot bag that we was preventing all sixteen of us from leaving (no one can leave until all districts at the polling location are ready). Eventually I (because of course it was me) found it in a trash can; someone had thrown it out for some reason but no one owned up to doing it.

As we were leaving and all saying goodbye, some of the other poll workers joked, "see you guys in four years!" I pointed out that there are elections every year, and that in fact New Jersey has a gubernatorial election next year, and some of them basically said, "I didn't know that."

Overall a stressful but memorable day. Today I was talking to some co-workers that voted at different locations within my County (so using the same equipment I was trained on), and they were telling me stories of waiting between 45 minutes to two and a half hours at most. My location never got a line that bad, which maybe had to do with the location I got assigned, but it's also just as possible that me and one other guy around my age (shout out to Giovanni working District 27!) held our shit down and prevented that from happening.

It was a very long day that wiped me out. In a vacuum I don't know that I would want to do it again, but after seeing the incompetence of the standard ilk of poll workers and learning what was happening at other locations, I really feel like I need to. I'd rather these things be run by people like me than not.

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Fifteen

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

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A/N: Much misogynistic language. Mentions of religious trauma, off-screen violence, off-screen sexual assault, off-screen drug use, off-screen cannibalism. Heavy-handed symbolism. Aisling has a small racism flare up.

Moodboard by amazing beautiful spectacular @olenvasynyt, the light of my dashboard

As I’ve learned how to write these chapters have tripled in length. 2.5k words and calling it good? Who was I, one year ago??

Eris started awake, so certain that the slap Aisling delivered to him had been real that he felt his jaw for tenderness.

The skin was unbroken – of course, it had been only a dream – but… It had obviously been her dream. In his dreams, she lay underneath him dark eyed and desperate, whispering filthy things into his ear. She didn’t slap and claw and cry, or ride his cock so ferociously that – yes, he’d cum in his sleep like he was a lovestruck teen with his first crush.

The fire in the hearth was so hot it was almost blue. Eris groaned, letting the linen bedding fall back, running one hand down his face. He stared up at the green drapes over the four-postered bed and contemplated just how pathetic that was.

In the Court of Nightmares, Aisling had been clever and flirtatious but very self-contained. Whatever Rhysand and his ilk were doing to her, wherever they had her, it was turning her wild and angry.

And vicious. Eris touched his chest where she had clawed him, heart still racing beneath. His cock was still achingly hard – he’d never let a female fuck him like that, but that slap… her blue eyes had been burning with the force of it and she’d been hot and raw with the feeling in his arms. He wished she’d done that when they quarrelled in the Hewn City, rather than slipping straight through his hands.

He huffed out a laugh. He’d been worried about them breaking her.

Eris rolled over, and was met with the solemn eyes of Ticru, the grey hound drooling quietly onto the other pillow.

“You are not allowed to be on the bed,” Eris informed him, which the hound damn well knew. Ticru only sneezed in his face, then grunted and shuffled until Eris relented and scratched his ear the way he liked.

“What will you do when Aisling is here? That’s to be her space. You’ll be ousted to the floor,” Eris mused, as Ticru’s eyes closed in delight. No, the hound’s expression seemed to say, you will be ousted to the floor.

He’d scheduled his entire day for the most unpleasant of the problems that plagued him, thinking to consolidate the suffering to get it over with: meeting with a few of the estate owners in the morning, his brother in the afternoon – a special kind of headache.

Damien had been in the Forest House more of late, rather than governing his own territory on the border with Winter. Eris used the term ‘governing’ rather loosely, given that Damien was often bored by it and absconded whenever possible. After putting him off for a few weeks Eris could do so no longer, finally agreeing to hunt with him as a cover for a delicate conversation. Damien never had anything good to say during these meetings – it was always, always something Eris didn’t want to deal with. He’d been that way ever since he was a youngling, running to Eris for help with every problem, so certain his eldest brother would fix it.

Eris was still mulling on how to manage all the moving pieces while whipping in all the loyalties he needed when he stepped out of the door that lead to the stable yard. The empty stone courtyard greeted him, oddly deserted for the time of day; no horses were tied up on the metal rings mounted to the walls, no grooms or hunt servants on exercise, no hounds baying from the nearby kennels. The only sound was an irate, unhappy horse kicking its stable door rhythmically, somewhere in the stone stables.

Stepping into the mouth of the stable proper, the breezeway with its rows of wooden boxes stretched out before him. No horses hanging their heads over their doors – only his own grey, Bayard, and Damien’s mount already tacked and tied, waiting.

Bayard, who didn’t like to be stood in tack, eyed him impatiently and looked like he was deciding just the angle he was planning on tossing Eris. Neither were kicking, and still the clanging -

“Damien.”

The kicking stopped, and he heard the scuffle of boots on straw.

“Yes,” came his brother’s drawl, a bit muffled. Eris crouched for a moment, glancing down between the row of partitions, and – there, two pairs of boots in one of the stables. Eris hissed through his teeth.

“Are we hunting today or not? You called me here, brother.” Eris threw enough heat on the last word to scald. He could faintly hear some whispering.

“Five minutes,” Damien called, and it took a great deal of maturity for Eris not to set the straw aflame as he untied Bayard.

It was fifteen minutes by Eris’ count by the time Damien cantered up to him on his bay mare, pushing his brown hair off his face carelessly, jacket missing, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t apologise or excuse himself, merely shrugging as if to say What could I do? Damien breezed past him through the gates, stinking of sex, and Eris followed.

The forest stretched out before him, and as always, Eris felt some tightness leave his chest. The Forest House was oppressive and unrelenting, but the forest itself was the only place he felt himself anymore. The trees bowed and sighed and bent themselves towards him, already whispering, already soft with dappled sunlight.

His forest. His trees. His land. By blood, law, and magic.

“Telling Mother I had a consort was foul play,” Eris said, loosing a deep breath as they rode beyond the wards. Bayard danced underneath him, snatching at the bit.

“And yet you admitted to it so readily,” Damien’s teeth flashed, and his tone was flippant. “You should have come up with a lie of your own, then, instead of using mine. How is the darling boy?”

His name for Lucien, heaped mockingly on Lucien’s head after their mother kept calling him that well into puberty.

“How should I know?” Eris didn’t want any of his brothers knowing Lucien’s business – or that Eris had been in semi-regular contact with him. His brothers were sly, though, and cut from the same cloth he was; Damien was particularly good at knowing what he shouldn’t.

Eris hadn’t seen Lucien since that night in the human lands a few weeks ago. He’d let Lucien and Jurian dig for more details about Aisling and all that transpired, giving a choice few. Mostly to rub Lucien’s nose in the fact that he had a mate whom he had fucked, while Lucien’s ignored his existence and preferred to dig for worms in the mud.

Lucien had agreed to see what he could when he went to Velaris, because Lucien was largely a better male than the six other Vanserras combined. In exchange, Eris would continue to rebuff Rhysand from Spring. It was an easy agreement to make; he was invested in Spring’s stability regardless. The largest landowners that were his staunchest supporters in Autumn were largely all along the southern border with Spring, and had been his allies until Tamlin’s latest failure. They wavered now, their wealth and power hinged on the soil fertility and the potent, latent magic that suffused the seasonal courts. Tamlin’s performance supplied a great deal of that magic, and without it, the magic of the land would begin to falter. He had perhaps a year before the bad harvests well and truly bit them, and his allies would leave him to support Beron who still wanted to expand into Spring.

Eris had wanted to create a proper alliance between the seasonal courts for a while, even before Amarantha; he knew it was a necessary step to balance the dominance the solar courts enjoyed. Damien knew this very well, though; and he knew how much Beron and his circle of ancient, traditionalist advisors opposed it, believing in the old ways of isolation and no inter-court alliances.

“Has he kissed and made up with the beast? Someone needs to put him on a leash. The southern lot are growing frantic.”

“Been in Spring, have you?”

“You know me,” Damien shrugged insolently. “I get around. So does the gossip. I hear an awful lot about you, brother.”

Eris felt his face harden when Damien leaned over and grabbed his wrist, winnowing them – horses and all – to a small glade, bordered with bone-bright birch trees. Eris felt the pressure of strong wards, and then the truth of the glade was revealed to him.

A small wooden hunting cottage, nestled between the birch trees and complete with a small well outside and a lazy curlicue of smoke from the chimney. It was a lesser fae’s cottage, built to a slightly smaller scale than would be comfortable for a High Fae; it was pokey and quaint. Somewhere up north, nearer Damien’s estates, judging by the sudden cut of mountains against the horizon.

Eris had spent more than a few nights hiding in variations of these cottages, left abandoned when the brownies and korrigans that occupied them fled Beron and Amarantha. They made good refuges, particularly for High Fae younglings that didn’t want to be found by furious fathers.

“I need to show you something,” Damien muttered, hopping lightly off his horse. “I don’t….”

His jaw firmed as he decided against whatever he was about to say, then abruptly turned on his heel for the cottage.

Eris studied it critically as he waited, Damien stooping to get through the front door. These cottages and shacks had a natural sort of protection, some of the lesser fae’s distinct magic, which Damien had enhanced and built on. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind sighing around the tree trunks and Bayard chewing his bit quietly.

Abruptly, the wooden door shot back open. And of all the things he expected Damien to emerge from the cottage with, a baby wasn’t one of them.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” Eris barked.

“Don’t swear in front of my daughter,” Damien admonished, but he couldn’t quite smother the frightened look in his eye. Eris was suddenly reminded of the way he’d run to Eris when he was little, a broken vase or torn tunic in his hands. Eris, fix it, please, he’d beg, brown eyes making the same pathetic little expression they were right now.

Damien shifted the baby nervously. Not a baby, Eris realised now as he swung off Bayard, a little older than that. A female. All auburn curls and pale little fat limbs. Damien thrust her at him nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

“How did this happen?” Eris demanded as Damien all but threw her into his arms. The toddler blinked her eyes open muzzily, and Mother help him, her eyes were the exact shade of Beron’s brown. She yawned, then nestled her head back against Eris’ chest, rubbing her face against the green wool.

“Well, I don’t know which hole you like to stick it in–“ Damien hissed as his shirt sleeve caught fire, flicking it out quickly.

Eris waited him out, still staring at the toddler, wishing he could clatter Damien across the face if it wouldn’t rouse her. She carried so much of Beron in her features that it was actually a little frightening – had Beron ever truly been a child like this, or had he sprung out fully formed and already vicious? It was unpleasant to think on.

“Her mother is of Winter,” Damien supplied, inspecting the charred hem of his shirt with a frown. “Despite her looks.”

Eris saw the problem at once – this was an Autumn child, through and through – but still asked, “She couldn’t keep her?”

Damien hemmed and hawed for a moment, drawing closer to stare at the toddler as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“Well,” he finally said. “She’s already married. So that was a bit of an obstacle, really.”

Eris did punch him then, one quick closed fist to his left eye.

“It is so like you to fuck up my politics for the sake of some cunt,” he seethed, as Damien reared back with a welt over his cheek, teeth bared. “Fuck’s sake, Damien, Winter? Kallias is already tricky enough since Beron –” was a massive prick to everyone and everything and currently engaged in a minor trade war over the price of timber, not that he could voice that aloud anywhere in Prythian – “insulted Viviane, now you’re getting bastards on his nobles too?”

“It’s not my fault,” Damien groused, the toddler starting to kick her legs and squall at the raised voices. “When she told me she was pregnant, she said she was still fucking her husband so we both sort of just hoped –“

“What a brilliant strategy, you absolute prat.”

“- that the youngling would be the father’s, but…” Damien gestured lamely at her, her face starting to scrunch up, sensitive to the anger of the males around her. “And then her husband nearly threw her out. But he agreed to stay married so long as the child wasn’t in his household, so I put her here with Brunna.” Brunna, his brownie servant, who’d looked after Damien since he could crawl – and now, apparently, Damien’s ill-advised by blows. It was as if Damien had forgotten all about the fact that he’d helped hold Lucien down while Lyam tortured his lover. If there had been a bastard baby involved as well…. Eris shuddered.

“Why can’t she remain here? In secrecy?” Why tell me and drag me into this mess at all? Eris nearly shouted, and it was then that the toddler let loose her first wail and the dead leaves beneath his feet caught fire in a little burst of sparks.

“Because of that,” Damien said brightly, looking pleased at the display of magic.

Eris’ body remembered what to do with a child, the same he’d done with each of his brothers. He fell into the slight rocking and patting that soothed them, stroking her hair as she snuffled, deciding whether he’d like to strangle his brother with his bare hands or run him through with a sword.

To father a child while Beron still lived was an act of carelessness so monumental it bordered on criminal. To have no contingency plans was even more criminal, and very unlike his brother; Damien had obviously panicked, if the way he kept studying the youngling like he could turn her icy blonde and blue-eyed was any indication.

“Her mother called her Niniane.”

Brunna wouldn’t be able to look after her safely if she was already summoning fire. That was Vanserra magic and needed to be trained by those who shared the same. She looked up at him, Beron’s brown eyes wide and trusting despite the lingering tears and miserable sniffles. She stared, and very carefully reached out to touch his face – a child who’d never known not to touch the males around her, who trusted whoever held her to comfort her.

Damn him, they were all so fucking stupid. Every one of his idiot brothers, and him too.

“Not anymore,” Eris decided, as her pudgy little hand touched his cheek. “She can’t have a Winter Court name. Call her something else.”

Damien’s face grew less taut at this. “Nynyve?”

The Autumn Court variation. Eris considered it then nodded shortly, making Damien’s shoulders drop slightly. She touched Eris’ face, then her eyes and hands wandered to his earrings.

“He needs to die,” Damien said, still staring at his daughter. “Whatever you need. I’m behind you. Whatever I….”

He trailed off, and such was the grip that Beron held on them that they still couldn’t give voice to it. But Eris understood. He nodded once more, watching as Nynyve grabbed a handful of his hair – a close match to her own, more crimson than her auburn but still undeniable – and shoved it into her mouth.

He’d forgotten this propensity to gum everything. He winced, Damien chuckling as he carefully extracted the soggy lock. She was a year, if he had to guess. No words yet but she was big and curious, nearly ready to walk. Fire at a year old was precocious; her mother must have been a strong magic wielder.

“Your magic came in early, too,” Eris mused, thrusting his niece into his bewildered brother’s arms. Damien took her willingly, letting her grab on to the gold chain around his neck.

“I’ve always been exceptionally talented.”

Eris ignored that. “Before she’s two,” he said lowly, unwilling to part with too much. Damien had exposed himself to Eris, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust his own brother with the plan he was shaping. It was quick – almost too quick, he doubted it would be enough time to foster more support from the loyalists and the isolationists, but he had his own vulnerabilities to protect. Aisling couldn’t cope much longer, and his nerves were stretched to a wire tautness from every pressure heaped upon him. “Brunna will need to cope until then.”

-

The hour had come upon her to go to Velaris. Azriel had insisted on waiting until nightfall, despite the politest request she could muster, so Aisling had huffed around the moonstone palace for hours after the High Lord left, only growing more nervous.

She didn’t have a suitable cloak, really – it was one constant temperature in the City, so clothes were more for decoration than functionality. Nuala had tried to press one of Azriel’s on her and Aisling launched it through the window, refusing to wear Illyrian clothing on principle.

Nuala eyed her cropped, gauzy shirt and skirt with clear criticism in her eyes, skimming over her bared waist.

“As you wish, lady,” she finally said, grey arms crossed over her chest in clear opposition. “If you wish to freeze, it’s your choice.”

Azriel looked like he’d like to be anywhere put participating in that conversation, staring resolutely out the window until Nuala huffed and sighed. Finally, he cautiously extended a hand to Aisling as if she’d bite it off, such were her nerves.

Aisling didn’t hesitate to take it.

They stepped through the shadows together, and Aisling could feel more distance than she ever thought possible slip by. It was frightening, especially now that she was aware of what was happening – she could feel the pull of shadows elsewhere, wanting to spit them out, like running down a corridor with many doors. The shadows were all connected in one great web, pulsing and alive and very unhappy that she was caught in it.

She gasped for breath when they emerged, releasing her white-knuckle grip on Azriel’s arm. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. The first thing she noticed was that Nuala had been right, annoyingly, she was freezing cold.

The second thing she noticed was the rain. It was a fine, gentle mist; she could faintly see it falling but she felt it landing, settling in her hair, on her bare skin. Aisling shivered in exquisite pleasure, feeling like a raw nerve. The drops clung to her eyelashes and she was delighted, having to wipe them again and again – her hair was wet, her clothes were wet, what a gorgeous feeling –

Azriel was watching her with what she thought was amusement, or maybe derision. Aisling glanced up at him, and then beyond –

They were on a hill, and there were trees (trees!) behind them that she was desperate to touch but ahead of them, visible behind the Illyrian, was a city. Her city climbed up, all spires and towers with bridges that arched between them, but this city spread out over its foothills (hills!) like a rumpled blanket. A river (not as impressive, they had one of those in the City) wound through it, a lazy dark strand of yarn, curving a meandering path through little stone streets. Mountains (smaller than hers, Aisling estimated) ringed the opposite side, a protective shield, clustering the little city against…

The sea. Aisling gaped, delighted all over again, and she must have made a noise because Azriel shook his head. Well, fuck Azriel; she wanted to look at the sea and be happy. He got to look at it every day. He could be jaded if he wanted to, but he couldn’t tarnish the amazement she felt. It was astounding, stretching out to the horizon, further than she could see in every direction. So much water! And the smell of it all was rich and fresh and new. Aisling wanted to swallow it whole so she could keep it with her forever and always.

Two cities. A precious, delightful thing to have seen. She committed the scene to memory, so she could show Niamh in her dreams.

“Are you ready?” Azriel asked, his cold, smooth voice betraying no impatience. “I’ll fly you to the library where you’ll be staying, if you’re amenable. So you might see.”

That pacified her. Aisling nodded, though she wasn’t keen to go indoors again for as long as she lived. She delicately held Azriel’s shoulders as he lifted her. It felt a bit like she was betraying Eris, to be held by another male, but then again – Eris was over 500 years old and had probably had a long line of females in his arms before her.

The train of thought fell away as Azriel took flight. Aisling swallowed a scream as they left the ground, feeling the muscles in his shoulders flex as the wings clapped like a drum and they were off. It was dizzying, and she made a strangled noise as he banked and the world tilted sideways.

“You don’t need to dig your nails into my neck quite so hard.”

Aisling didn’t believe that for a second, and gouged harder as the world tilted sideways the other way, but the city unfolded before them like a painting she could touch and she forgot to be frightened. The houses were pale stone, not grey like her city but white and sandstone, all marching up and down their hills. She could see different fae as Azriel flew, and see the smoke the spiralled from chimneys, and see all the lights that spilled out over the streets like buttery puddles, and that there were cafes and bridges that cut across the river. Her head swivelled like a top, trying to see it all at once, somehow.

It was pretty.

Azriel angled for the steep hill that edged its way into the city, some building crawling up its side and perching on its peak like a sandstone hat. As they came closer Aisling saw the great marble doors cut into the side of it.

Of course. Underneath another mountain. She gouged her nails in once more for good measure as they landed – how did he not break his ankles? The ground approached very quickly – and he discretely held her arm as she caught her balance, somehow out of breath even though she was carried the whole way. The massive doors, at least trice her height, cracked open as they approached.

“This is the library,” Azriel explained lowly, as they came into a cavernous space. Open, tiered balconies crawled all along the side, layers of an enormous carved cake; shelves of books disappeared up and down. He said the word ‘library’ like it was something holy, when the only thing that separated it from the library in the Hewn City seemed to be its size. He let her look, twisting her head around to take it all in.

A great pit beneath, a carved stone ceiling up above; it was not so different from the City.

“Rhys established it for priestesses to come and learn, but it’s also a sanctuary. Any female who has suffered is allowed to come here, to recover, to heal in safety. You’ll stay here as well.”

He said this with more reverence, and that was when Aisling noticed the blue-clad priestesses flittering like moths, trailing between the shelves and on their way to somewhere. Probably to dinner or to an evening service, it was getting late. A few glanced at them, their faces concealed beneath their blue hoods.

“They’re allowed to read?” Aisling asked, and Azriel looked at her sideways.

“Of course,” he said, voice cold. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because they’re female,” Aisling said. It was rather astounding to her – females weren’t really allowed in the library in the City. They could go if they were escorted by males, but all the males Aisling knew extorted her for the privilege. She didn’t mind paying bribes, but the favours she had to perform were far more costly.

She didn’t really like remembering the things she had had to do, anyways. She could only go forward.

They approached a desk that sat facing the entrance door, the obvious guardian of the library behind it: a female, her face veiled in pale robes, her hands smashed in all directions like crushed bugs.

Not an average priestess, a High Priestess – the blue stones that crowned her hood and marked her as such caught in the golden lights. Aisling curtseyed on instinct. She remembered her own lessons at the hands of the High Priestess in the City temple well enough, even after more than forty years. She averted her eyes to the floor, away from the Priestess’ face, away from her hands, away from Azriel. Was everyone in this place so damaged?

“This is Clotho, who oversees the library,” Azriel was introducing them. “Clotho, this is Aisling, whom Rhys spoke with you about. Aisling, I leave you with her. We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

And with that he was gone, leaving her alone in the hollow mountain where they kept all their broken females. Aisling waited for the priestess to say something, staring resolutely down. The hushed quiet was broken by scratching, making Aisling glance up quickly.

A quill scratched its way quickly along a piece of parchment, which then floated to her – sent by the priestess’ magic.

Aisling took it warily. Do you wish to rest? was all that was written on it.

She toyed with the end of a damp lock of hair anxiously, twirling it around her finger in lieu of a ring. What was the right answer? She felt suddenly overwhelmed, chest tightening and breath shallowing. She was a prisoner here, her situation had not changed. Perhaps they only wished to bind her closer in, until they extorted Eris sufficiently. They could not kill her without starting a war, or at least repercussions. Even if Eris were unable to act, the High Lord of Autumn was prickly and would never allow the profane insult to pass –

Aisling was broken from her spiralling thoughts by another piece of paper.

We do not perform the same rites here as our sisters in the Hewn City. You will be safe here. The lights will guide you to your room, if you take the passage behind me.

The dismissal was abrupt, but she’d rather that than have the priestess look too long at her. Aisling was unsettled by her presence; not by her crippled hands, but by the fact that priestesses pierced the veil between this world and the Mother and that was something to be feared. Few enough mothers were kind or held love for their children, and the City priestesses rarely let you forget it.

Surely enough, the golden faelights lit warm stone passages to indicate for her where to go. She felt as if she were a ghost once more, being led up and around this new mountain, trailing forgotten down an empty hallway. These hallways lacked the ornate, gilded carvings that decorated near every surface of the City; Aisling found it almost austere. A door opened, and she stepped into a room that was all but a prison cell.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was so small – this was surely an insult to her. Did they all live like this? She could walk across the room in four strides one way and three the other. A chest of drawers on one wall next to a door, a single bed pushed against the wall opposite, and a curtain drawn over a window beside it. No rug, no art; this was a room meant for a servant of the Mother and the High Lord.

Aisling crossed the room and flung open the curtain furiously, only to see Velaris clinging to the hillsides below her. Warm, well-lit buildings and cosy streets hugged the hills, criss-crossing back and forth across them, a crowded city square at the bottom. She could see the edge of the river as it wound its way through the city, and she could smell the distant sea, strong even despite the sounds and scents of the city below her.

To buy a window with a view like this in the City – even if it were possible to cut their way through their mountain’s strong magic – would have cost her most of her wealth. The elite of the City would have killed for it, and perhaps only the ten foremost of the forty most noble families would have been able to afford it.

And they were just given one, in these shitty little rooms. At no cost or charge, just to create a safe haven for them. This was a place of refuge for females, Azriel had said; obviously females that had experienced great violence, judging by the High Priestess’ hands and muteness.

Aisling had seen beheadings. She’d seen limbs cut off and tongues cut out before. She’d seen eyes removed with hot tongs, she’d seen males disembowelled in duels, she’d seen a banshee hung by her ankles over the throne room to see how long until she died (six weeks, but the last week the banshee had stopped screaming, so some insisted it had only been five). She’d seen goblins and trolls fight to the death for the amusement of the gentry. She’d seen someone been made to eat a plate of ground glass. She’d seen females be forcibly bedded, heard the jokes about the blood that came from between their legs. She’d seen lesser fae split open and their organs eaten so their magic might be absorbed. She’d been fed and smoked and drank every sort of drug, sometimes by force and sometimes so she forgot the things she did. She’d had a cock jammed so far down her throat she coughed up blood. She’d seen Azriel’s shadows swallow someone whole. She’d been sold like a piece of furniture to Eris. All that, and Aisling had never even heard of this library.

What had these females experienced that was worse? Or was it that the suffering endured by females in the City weighed only half that of those born outside? Aisling knew the answer already, could see it in the High Lord’s eyes when he had come to ask for the Darkbringers in the last war against the King of Hybern. If all the females of the City fled to this sanctuary, then who would breed the army the High Lord needed?

He didn’t want them tainting his city, besides. He and the High Lady sat on their thrones and sneered down at them, made all the gentry watch while they growled and petted at each other. The High Lord looked as if he wanted to grind them all beneath his heel every moment he forced them to endure his presence.

Aisling felt a terrible cold sort of clarity, crisp as broken glass; she knew she could safely wager the entirety of her estate that there would not be one single Illyrian female in this sanctuary either. Azriel had said that – he said they clipped their females so they couldn’t leave their mountains, so they had no choice but to submit to the males around them and breed more little warriors.

Aisling felt dizzy. She pressed her forehead into the stone windowsill, so like her own home and yet a different lifetime away, and closed her eyes until she could breathe once more. Her blood was sour, roaring in her ears until all else was black.

She felt it then. A little tug on her ribs – not her ribs, a tug on the magic, a quick burn like a candle lit up in her heart. Eris, somewhere out there; perhaps looking at the same moon and wondering why she was so angry that she went lightheaded.

Aisling cried then, until she fell into the black pit of a dreamless sleep.

Her first day in the library passed in something of a daze. She had been roused by the chiming of a great bell, and numbly followed the blue-hooded priestesses to a dining hall. She was given a wide berth, marked as much apart by her clothing and bared head as by the way they all kept glancing at her – well, she assumed they were glancing at her. She couldn’t see their faces, but she’d been watched all her life and knew when she was a spectacle.

She attended a service because that seemed to be what everyone did, sitting in the pretty temple-cave at the back. It was all very lovely and charming with its smooth red stone walls, the songs about the goodness of the Mother and the light of the world. A priestess spoke at length about the Cauldron, and how beauty and love and forgiveness were Her gifts and should be treasured in their hearts. It was a far cry from the priestesses in the City, who preached obedience and submission and the divine fulfilment of creation.

Aisling’s eyes prickled with heat despite herself, and she blinked quickly until the feeling passed. She had nothing in common with any of these females, she reminded herself as they all bowed their heads. She couldn’t bring herself to pray for love and forgiveness – she didn’t need either of those, for herself nor to give others – but she did pray for trust and patience. Allow me to survive this, she prayed. You gave me this bond. I trust it is the right path.

A priestess caught her elbow as the service ended, beckoning her to follow by saying, “Clotho would like to see you.”

The high priestess wasn’t behind her desk this time, rather in a cosy office stacked with books and scrolls. Piled high, on every available surface; the stone shelves carved into the walls were all but groaning under the weight. Aisling wanted badly to peruse but fixed her gaze respectfully on the surface of her wooden desk instead. As before, she didn’t reveal her face; instead, the enchanted quill wrote a note instead.

I trust the accommodation was acceptable.

“Of course, High Priestess,” Aisling lied, not mentioning that she cried herself to sleep like a child and suspected the stone floor would be more comfortable than that horrendous mattress. “I like the window very much. You’re very lucky to have such a view. My friends will be sick with envy when I tell them.”

The priestess faced her for a long moment, her face obscured. Aisling shifted under the scrutiny, twisting her signet ring around her little finger; she felt suddenly nervous that the priestess was a daemati herself and was poring through her thoughts.

You may call me Clotho. Aisling would rather cut out her own tongue, actually. The priestess must have seen it in her face, because the quill started moving once more.

We are welcoming here, and do not enforce rank. Some may be curious and friendly to you as we do not often receive new faces. Others have had poor encounters with the Darkbringers and may not be so open.

Fuck’s sake. Had she been summoned here for this, to be dressed down for the behaviour of the legion? The clue was in the name – they brought darkness where they went, as they tended to do; it was the High Lord who had requested they fight. Aisling supposed it wouldn’t be enough that they’d bled for this city; now their sins – and she could guess what they were – were being assigned to her as well. The anger that hadn’t really left her simmered up, hot as Eris’ fire.

“You can tell them I’m being suitably punished for the crimes of soldiers,” Aisling said, ripping the note neatly in half. “I’m sure they’ll be much heartened to hear that.” And she hoped all their windows were shuttered, regardless of whatever they’d endured.

You misunderstand me. I ask that you give them the benefit of the doubt, not to chastise you for things you had no part in. The High Lord told me of your circumstances. I wish for you to feel comfortable and safe here.

Aisling read that note twice, careful to keep her face blank, mindful of the priestess watching her. This was a lie that she didn’t believe for a moment. She crumpled it in her hand.

“May I read the books?”

Of course. You may read whatever you like. I only ask that you do not remove them from the library.

“Remove? As in, outside?”

Yes.

“I may go outside?”

The priestess tapped the word with one swollen knuckle. That was an exhilarating thought, and Aisling was sorely tempted. But first –

She smiled in her best simper, looking up from under her lashes. “Do you keep records of this city here?”

-

Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed of a mountain (again, the same? A different one?) that split in two with a mighty crack. Then the mountain was in her hands, and she was trying to fit it together but it wouldn’t mend - the sharp edges grated and splintered and refused to fit, shattering into fragments and shards - then the pieces were of a glass mirror and her hands were bleeding from the sharp edges and she could see her own face fractured into a dozen tiny pieces impossible to put back together. Her hands were slick and clumsy with blood and she couldn’t hold all the pieces, they were getting numb and thick and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, and it was getting so dark -

She woke with a start, Mor’s hand lightly on her shoulder.

Elain opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was, “Neither see nor feel nor know.”

Mor blinked, her brow furrowing. Her blonde hair was tossing in the wind, silvery-gold against the clouded sky.

“I thought to wake you, the sun is going in,” Mor said slowly. “It will be cold soon.”

Yes. That’s right. She was in the garden, and seemed to have fallen asleep on the bench. Elain sat up quickly and smiled carefully, coming back to her own body now: the sun was going in, grey clouds scudding across the sky in great folds. The trees were budding and the early spring flowers had come up; she’d planted this little bench with that exact intention, nestled amongst tulips and daffodils. 

There was a chill, actually. She shivered, suddenly registering how the cold wood of the bench seeped through her dress.

“Thank you, Mor,” she chirped, cringing internally. “The sun was so lovely while it lasted. I’m so pleased spring is on the way.”

Mor was still looking askance at her but seemed much reassured by this.

“Of course,” she smiled. “It will rain later tonight, though. Will that be good for your garden?”

They babbled inanely back and forth for a moment longer like two stupid songbirds, Elain crossing her fingers the whole time that Mor wrote off her momentary madness as just being startled awake.

Elain followed her in through the back door - the one that led into the private family lounge - and stopped shortly, nearly walking into Mor’s back. The blue rug and pale wood floor were covered in glass shards, all sparkling in the daylight;

She was holding the pieces of a broken mirror in her hands Elain forced the vision crowding at the edge of her mind away, smiling so widely her face felt numb. This was just simple, no magic involved - the great silvered mirror that hung opposite the door had fallen off the wall and shattered. That was all. Her magic didn’t need to press in quite so close or insist with such a loud voice.

Rhys was gathering the shards with some magic, sweeping them all into a pile, as Feyre carefully restrained a gleeful Nyx from trying to grab one of the shimmering pieces. Mor picked her way over them, light-footed as a doe, and was gone down the hall with a wave.

Elain, trying to hide the way her vision kept going spotty, crouched down to distract Nyx who squealed loudly in her face at all the excitement.

“Hello, Nyxie,” she said as he stamped his feet. “Did that give you a fright?”

“We didn’t even hear it,” her sister said with a frown as Nyx twisted away from her and flung himself at Elain. “We just came in from the office and it had shattered.”

“I never liked that mirror anyways,” Rhys said, kissing Feyre’s temple fondly. “It was only a priceless antique. We don’t have a painting of just the three of us yet, darling. What do you think? Far better in my view.”

Elain wanted to gag at the thought of yet another painting – was one in every room of the house not enough? - but focused very intently on the view of the garden out the back door to keep that thought from getting fully formed and floating to the top of her mind. Rhys hadn’t noticed, too busy giving Feyre a rather enthusiastic kiss, so Elain quickly scooped up Nyx and stepped out of the room.

Still trying hard not to think of her vision, she narrated to Nyx as she bounced him along in a little gallop, focusing on the words lest either of them eavesdrop on her mind.

“While your Mama and Papa clean that up, we’re going to go make some tea because I’m rather chilly. I think I’m going to have chamomile and honey, perhaps with a slice of lemon-”

“And she’s going to pour Auntie Mor a cup,” Mor chimed in as Elain rounded the corner into the kitchen, laughing at her blush. “I’ll entertain the little bat if you make the tea?”

Elain, still a bit embarrassed, nodded and handed Nyx over.

“I’m back off to Vallahan in a little while,” Mor said, bouncing Nyx as he chattered to them in babytalk. “I can’t stand to be here while we host our delightful guest.” Her sarcasm was so heavy the word practically fell on the floor.

Elain made her best sympathetic face. “Is she so bad?”

“She will be,” Mor said darkly. “I don’t trust them. They’re so….” She trailed off with an angry sigh, brown eyes gone dim and distant. “Well, it’s a new moon at least, so she won’t be showing her face tonight before I leave.”

At Elain’s puzzled look, Mor laughed.

“They do things according to the phases of the moon,” Mor waved her hand dismissively as she drank from her tea. “They’re so backwards. They believe certain phases of the moon are more auspicious for certain things. Weddings always under a full moon, betrayals under a waxing crescent moon. That sort of thing.”

“A first quarter moon always means more murders,” Rhys commented as he swept in, hair mussed. He gave Mor a shit-eating grin as she playfully rolled her eyes at him. Elain’s smile grew taut at the thought.

Mor noted her reaction. “I’m telling you, they’re evil there. And even worse, they’re creative about it. Where your imagination for torment ends, theirs is only just getting started.”

“It will be a shame to lose her line, though,” Rhys mused, more to Mor now. His eyes grew dark as he thought about it, accepting the cup of tea Elain poured him with a nod.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Mor said coldly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “She should stay in that mountain. This is going to go badly for us unless we do something.”

“Her line?” Elain asked pointedly, realising they were already forgetting she was in the room.

Mor blinked, brought out of wherever she had gone. “It’s a big deal for marriages to cross between courts. High Lords are very protective of the magic of their courts and don’t like to let it leave, usually. That’s why we were all so worried about the others finding out about Feyre. This female doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. So once she leaves, all of her magic – just like that, it’s lost to us and now in Eris’ pocket.”

Elain hadn’t heard any of this before. She was starting to realise just how little she knew, and how much she’d blinkered herself by never even daring to ask questions, assuming everyone would just ignore her anyways. Her palms got hot and itchy around her teacup, which she sipped carefully, considering what Mor had said. Rhys hefted Nyx with a groan, sauntering out of the kitchen again, giving Mor a casual goodbye. Elain had to ask now if she wanted to know, before the conversation turned and she lost the moment and looked suspicious if she raised it again.

“What does she do that’s so special?” Elain made pains to ask it as breezily as she could, soaking up what little scraps of knowledge they were casually tossing out as if they didn’t matter - as if she wasn’t hanging on every word.

“Oh, she can put people in an enchanted sleep,” Mor said, inspecting her manicure. “She creates dreams, too.”

Every single hair on Elain’s body suddenly stood on end, and she was careful to slowly, casually, gently put her teacup in the sink and wash it out. Like she would any other day, she washed her hands, dried them thoroughly, checked her nails.

“I, uhm…. I need to go shopping at the markets today. Rather urgently.”

A/N: Nynyve is a variation of the name Viviane, both of which are names for the Lady of the Lake. Bayard is a mythical French horse, who could carry multiple brothers at once. I wanted to give Aisling a bit of a different relationship with religion than we've seen. All three Archeron sisters aren't believers, and none of the POV characters really mention it - but it plays a role in the books, so I wanted to experiment with a character who really DID believe. Like most patriarchal societies, though, I think the Hewn City would use religion as a way to oppress women rather than uplift them like we see in ACOSF. I'm experimenting with how I write Elain's visions, since I'm not really happy with them. She quotes "England in 1819" by Percy Shelley (I think some fourth wall breaking use of poetry is fun, since the visions are meant to be very meta).

[screams-in-writing]

Hehehehehehehe :)

This got longer than expected, but hey, more to read, right? A little background explanation, then there’ll be that preview of what I’ll eventually get to in the fic with mc/reader and Mr. Puzzles.

Keep in mind the fics tags/warnings of the fic since this isn’t on ao3 yet (I’ll tag some things for the post)

Also- note that what’s written here may be subject to some change once the chapters prior to it are posted (and that more edits may be done).

Context-this would be once reader and Mr puzzles are on better terms and have actually spent time together-like some of the other snippets I did where mr puzzles shows himself to be very in others space and touch starved. Like, there is interest in MC/reader yet not acted on, both trying to figure where the other stands on an unspoken friendship of around a month and a half (or two) whether it’s mixed with more since it seems a bit too fast for what little Mr. Puzzles has offered up of where he came from.

But teasing? Teasing and verbal sparring seems to be safe until it leads to a hug in the following future chapter. which would be fine for friends, but the whole hugging your friend while they’re shirtless while also checking them out a bit too closely and experiencing emotions is maybe a little past being just friends? Reverse strip tease I think? Hmu if this needs more tags. I think this is toeing the T rating even if I cut some things out.

Ok enough of me yammering. Short Mr puzzles pov, and then the mc/reader’s.

-

I didn’t anticipate for you to visit me at the edge of town in my pitiful, sparse home I’d claimed the first day I’d arrived. 

It was a welcome distraction, however. Though, spending time with you was becoming less a distraction and more surprisingly welcome company. The only problem was that it was not good timing on your part until I belatedly recall that you’d agreed to meet me here today. 

I’d even given you get a set of keys to the place after you convinced me to set locks into the small, dilapidated house if I really wanted to stay there. I highly doubted this would have been able to be done in a large city, without paying for the place. For some reason, there appeared to be pity for me here on town, and that allowed me to somehow stay here in this building for as long as I needed to. 

There is a knock on the door to the chosen ‘bedroom’ but instead of reacting, I found myself frozen in place as I realized my current predicament. I had just been doing some routine maintenance with the tools this world was able to provide for me, until I heard otherwise from SMG4. 

But this meant that I was not currently dressed for company. I was also so very exposed and it was nerve wracking to think of anyone seeing the upper half of my body without clothing covering it. All that was there was a black towel that I’d loosely wrapped around my neck to help me not stare at the mess my neck had become. What with all the wires underneath skin supporting my spine, and the way bits of wire and metal poked in and out of my skin without the protective layer of fabric I kept around the wires. 

I completely missed the sound of a key on a lock, signaling that you’d opened the front door and locked it. With rising trepidation, I realized I’d foolishly left my door half-open right before you knocked on it. Swiftly, I crossed my arms over my chest and abdomen Thank goodness I’d finished the internal inspection a half hour prior to this moment, while I attempted to work up the nerve to do see to my his back. But that would require me to take my head off, place it behind myself on a table and contort my arms to perform the inspection, though it would be difficult without the tools I needed Smg4 to agree to get to me.

“Puzzles?” It is you. “Are you in there?”

“Yes.” I stuttered. Goodness, I was not well-prepared to be around anyone. “Do give me one moment to get myself presentable-“ My screen flashed to worry upon hearing a soft intake of breath. My shoulders hunched up as I pressed my arms tightly over my front. “I am hideous at present, my dear.” I couldn’t hide the tremble in my voice, refraining from smacking the side of my head to reset it forcibly. “Just…just let me find where I put my dress shirt. I’ll cover up and-“

“You’re not hideous, Puzzles.” You tell me patiently, entering the room with slow footsteps. 

I don’t quite believe it, but I feel there is sincerity in your voice. It made me relax somewhat. I even perked up when I heard curiosity next. 

“I’ve been wondering what you looked like without your dress shirt on all the time.” You commented, before adding. “More so different clothing styles, but also how the heck your body is shaped that way.”

“Oh? You’ve wanted to see me without my clothes? How scandalous.” I teased, slipping more comfortably into a showman attitude to hide the very real fear of the rejection that lurked in my mind that if you saw me without a persona and the confidence as well as the unsightliness of my exposed body, you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore. That you wouldn’t want to get closer to me more than you already were, despite how desperately I wanted to spend more time with you. 

“I can wait outside the room, if you’re uncomfortable with me seeing you like this. I thought you might be resting, after yesterday. Plus, you know, we’re supposed to hang out today and temporarily forget about work? Relax?”

“Relax.” I repeated dubiously, before sighing theatrically without moving my arms from their crossed position. “I do recall that being the plan now, my dear.”

“Do you want me to leave?” You asked again, not having taken another step toward me. 

I hesitate, considering. 

Usually, I never let anyone see me so vulnerable, and yet.  

And yet you and I have had some rather interesting heart to heart conversations over these past few months. It wouldn’t be too bad if I let you see some of me like this? Slowly, I lower my left arm, and held it out to the side, palm up and held rather steadily, I must admit. Then, scrounging up the courage before I changed my mind, I spoke softly as a contemplative expression settled over my face. “You may…come closer, but do not look at my front, please.” I pressed my right arm across my chest nervously. 

(There will be a transition of maybe a few more sentences before it switches to readers pov-so it would be technically a new chapter)

You wondered if you should insist that Mr. Puzzles didn’t have to do anything that made him this uncomfortable; hunched shoulders, leaning forward a touch, antenna poking up out of the hat twitching in what you could only presume was nerves. 

And yet, he held a hand up, clearly seeking comfort because you didn’t need to hold Mr. Puzzles hand to inspect his exposed back. But this also gave you an earlier opportunity than later on to try something you’d been wanting to for at least a week. You weren’t entirely sure how he’d react, and perhaps being without clothing on his upper half might make your half-baked plan coming over here more difficult. 

There was only one way to find out. 

You stepped forward, watching Mr. Puzzles carefully for any other signs of discomfort, but he remained stiffly in place at the edge of the stool he was seated on. Reaching out with your own left hand, you set it on his, but after grasping it in what felt a reassuring way, he let go of you and went back to planting both arms across his chest from the way his fingertips dug into either shoulder lightly, on either side of a black bath towel wrapped around his neck. 

“It’s all right.” Mr Puzzles whispered. 

You’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself.  You’ moved to stand behind Mr. Puzzles after he let go of your hand, momentarily marveling that even seated on a stool the top of the TV set he called a head came to the top of your shoulders while you were standing.

“You’re ridiculously tall.” You commented, dropping your gaze to beneath the towel around his neck as a low chuckle emitted from Mr. Puzzles. 

“Better to oversee everyone in the cafe, no?” Amusement, and nervousness. 

“Sure, and for keeping a lookout for me?” You asked casually as you inspected the way his sleek robotic arms were attached to what was left of Mr. Puzzles’ human shoulder. It didn’t look sore around the attachment area but you weren’t certain if it was normal for where he came from for skin to be colored as it was. Slightly gray from where the robotic limbs were as the color went up what was left of the shoulder and spiraled across over his left and right shoulder blades. 

“I have noticed you, at times.” Mr. Puzzles said eventually, in a causal way. “Though ordinarily when you attempted to sneak up to that podcast area of yours before you so kindly invited me up to visit.”

“Like we didn’t notice you trying to eavesdrop a few times?”

“You could never prove it.” Mr. Puzzles hummed. 

“Probably not. You move pretty quick for being so tall as well.”

“One of my many charms.” Mr. Puzzles said proudly. 

“Running away?” You teased, thinking about the time Mr. Puzzles fled through the back door of the cafe and was gone before anyone could figure out what had happened was that his apron had been tugged at and he thought it was one of your roommates come back to get him for flirting with you. 

You think it was flirting, anyway. 

“Staying hidden.” Quiet. Contemplative. 

That…didn’t sound like a good thing.

You stared at the back of Mr. Puzzle’s tv head, then continued roving your gaze over his back when he had nothing more to say. 

Mr. Puzzles spine was…a distressingly visible bumpy line down his back all the way down to where it disappeared down his pants, the suspenders hanging off either side of the belt. There were no obvious robotic parts, just skin that was that graying color that trailed up past his waistline. Upon closer inspection, you could see what appeared to be a line of raised skin along the entire length of Mr. Puzzles spine. You glanced at the back of his head again, then stepped forward to  lightly brushed a few fingers along the raised skin, drawing out an involuntarily shiver from Mr. Puzzles. 

Scar tissue. 

Really thick scar tissue, as if it had been repeatedly cut open and sewn shut. 

“Hey, Puzzles?” You see the way his head tilts to the side, his fingers digging slightly harder into his shoulders. “Can I…give you a hug?”

A very long silence before a very slow exhale sounded. 

“You may. As long as you don’t…”

“…look at your front?”

“Yes.” Quiet.

“Can I touch or-“

“I would presume so for a proper hug.”Attempted amusement poor hiding of the desperate need for touch. 

“Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop?” You think you hear a muttered ‘would never be too much’ but couldn’t confirm as Mr. Puzzles  merely straightened up and held ramrod still as if he were about to be hit instead of hugged. 

That made you sad to think that he was nearly flinching as though expecting the worst despite your intentions being pretty clear with your words. Stepping forward, you lightly touch a shoulder blade, drawing forth a stronger shiver before mr puzzles practically leaned back into it.  His skin was slightly cooler to the touch than when he was wearing clothes. Then, he seemed to be warmer, and you couldn’t help but wonder if whatever had been troubling him, especially this past month, might be the reason. 

Mr. Puzzles uttered your name in a barely there whisper. 

You take a final step and lean in, deciding first where to rest your head before carefully wrapping your arms around middle, just below where his arms crossed over his chest. It was always a surprise that you could practically touch your own sides if you wished while hugging me puzzles with how slight he was around the middle compared to his ridiculously wide set shoulders and broad chest. But you merely hold your hands over his middle and press your arms into his skin, drawing yet another shiver. 

Was the temperature difference too much?

“That…feels nice.” Mr puzzles murmured appreciatively. 

Ah.

He liked the sensation of you touching him, perhaps a little more than when you had grabbed his antenna and yanked them, only to, after a very long conversation, pet them at Mr puzzles request about two weeks ago. It had left him a happy puddle of static buzzing and a fast heart rate. 

“This okay?”

“Mmhmm.” He sighed near dreamily. 

You decided to unclasp your hands to trace your fingertips along Mr. Puzzles quivering lower abdomen. This caused him to let out a little whine of static, trembling in place as if not sure whether to press into your touch or lean against you. 

When you note that Mr. Puzzles had begun to fidget you stopped, about to move your arms away when his own arms moved to clasp your hands with his own. Mr. Puzzles stayed motionless for a moment as he held your hands, before, with a little shake, settled them over his chest so you could feel his heartbeat. 

And more crisscrossing of strategically placed lines of scars that reminded you too much of a cadaver in a horror game you’d played.

You focused on his heartbeat instead. 

The two of you stayed in place like that for a moment before Mr. Puzzles eventually yet reluctantly relinquished his hold if your hands and dropped his own onto his lap. 

He was being uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Where’s your shirt?” You think he might feel better if he could see you and reciprocate a hug, but for that, he would need something to put on. 

A hand rose to point a digit to the left. 

You step over to the dress shirt (this one gray instead of white) and walked back to drape it over his shoulders. You watched as he slipped the sleeves over his arms and just as he was about to button it up you had inspiration strike you. Stepping obviously up behind him you lean into mr puzzles back again and shooed his hands away as you began to button the dress shirt up instead. 

Look at you go! All those dark morning fumbling with clothes  with buttons on occasion paid off and it drew an interesting reaction from Mr. Puzzles. 

“Not that I’m not flattered with this assistance but may I ask why?”

“Why not?” You respond, doing the last button right before you wrapped your arms around Mr. Puzzles again. “You look good in these clothes.”

“I do?” Uncertainty, then. “Well, of course, I do!”

You coax one of the suspended straps over Mr. Puzzles’ shoulder before he catches one of your arms. 

“I do believe I am capable of dressing myself, my dear.” 

“Yeah, you are, but I think you like me helping out?”

“And you deduced this how?”

“You’re letting me.” You point out as you let the other suspender strap snap over Mr. Puzzles other shoulder. 

“I do suppose that is true.” Mr Puzzles began to do his freaky 180 head turn, only to stop with a full body grimace and hastily turn it back forward. 

You take the opportunity to steal his bow tie that he was reaching for and step off to the side and out of ways reach of long gangly arms. You can’t help but let out a snort of amusement when Mr Puzzles gracefully spins the stool with a leg to face you. He studied you with an expression of amusement on his tv face.  You wordlessly hold up the bow tie and wiggle it. 

“I get up and you won’t get far.” Mr Puzzles said after a moment. The screen switched to a light smile and hooded eyes. 

He was really bad at hiding his interests even if those interests were likely to scoop you up and hold you in his lap or something while he soaked up his ‘allotted cuddling’ for the day. 

“Who said I was going to run?” You offer back. 

Intrigue, then a slightly manic smile.

Oh, you definitely got him interested in whatever it was you had in mind.

Mr. Puzzles stood up, and slowly approached you, watching you closely as he retained eye contact. How he did that with a static expression, you weren’t sure, but it sure was impressive. In two long steps, Mr Puzzles stood before you and held out a hand with a flourish, as if expecting you to bestow upon him the bow tie.

You reach over for the step-stool nearby and make a show of climbing the two steps as though it was an arduous task, drawing an appreciative chuckle for the theatrics. You reached out with your hands, making it clear you intended to do the bowtie for him too.

Mr. Puzzles indulgently stooped while keeping his neck upright. This close to him you could hear the fuzz of the screen and the huff of laughter over you clearly struggling to get the bow tie in place. 

“I guess it’s easier on the tutorial.” You eventually admit, jumping a little when Mr. Puzzles’ hands come up around yours.

“And most I assume are for one wearing the bow tie. Here.” He guided you through getting the bowtie into place, only to switch to a grin when it was done and you’d lowered your hands with his still around yours, as if Mr. Puzzles was reluctant to let go of you. He looked like he might try to pick you up despite his neck troubling him.

“Want to go to the other room?” You asked casually, as if Mr. Puzzles hadn’t just begun to pet the back of your hands with his ungloved ones while retaining a semblance of eye contact with you. 

“How about a change of venue?” Mr. Puzzles asked, his tone a little deeper than before, rougher. “I think it might be more private in the dimension in my mind.”

Okay, giving him undivided attention appeared to bring out the possessiveness, so time for a diversion to defuse that, and a great time, you think, to push things a little farther to let Mr. Puzzles know you did have interest in him and were down for whatever, even if it as cuddling and handholding at this point, like he insinuated yesterday, as if it were scandalous for friends to do. 

You don’t think it is, but whatever. If that was his current comfort zone you’d go with it and back off if your next words and actions went over poorly. “You have a ridiculously grabbable waist that allows a perfect angle to switch to grabbing your ass.” 

“Oh?” Mr puzzles screen flicked through a series of expressions before landing on a curious eyed eke with a smirk. “How raunchy. You’re lucky we’re not on one of my sets where that’d be highly inappropriate.”

“And since we’re not on a set?” You asked with curiosity, only to nearly jump out of your skin as Mr Puzzles has managed to move in that freakishly fast way of his where he now had you  up against a wall, hands on either side of your shoulders on said wall. 

“I would say I’m very…interested, to see where this is going.” Mr. Puzzles carefully lowered his tv head to rest it over yours. That didn’t seem comfortable to press his screen into the wall but he wasn’t found so very hard. 

You didn’t gove yourself time to think and reached out to grasp his hips. 

Mr puzzles trembled in place.

“You want me to keep going?”

“wouldn’t have said I were interested if I didn’t mean you to.”  Mr. Puzzles sounded oddly breathless. 

“You going to be okay, big guy?” You asked. “Just touching your hips seems to have gotten you all hot and bothered.”

“Unoriginal. Use something other than ‘hot’ and ‘bothered.’ Too cliche.” 

“I’ll give you cliche, ass.” And you promptly tugged him forward to grab said ass. His stupid, stupid backside that should not fit his lanky, weirdly built body. 

Mr. Puzzles hands pressed harder into the wall. 

“Any requests?” You asked, as if you weren’t just kneading him through his pants and making him shake. 

“Perhaps it is a bit too much?” Mr. Puzzles gasped out. It sounded like his screen was flashing through a lot of pictures and faces.

You stop, only for him to let out a frustrated whine. 

“I didn’t mean for you to actually stop.” 

You frown up at Mr. Puzzles, take in the pointed not looking at you as he kept his screen pressed to the wall, and then glance down. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“We can stop.”

“No, please continue.”

“We’re going to have another talk okay? Like we did about your antenna.”

A hum of agreement and then a desperate, softly uttered ‘please’. 

“This is okay, what we’re doing right now?” You asked again, wanting to make sure he wasn’t just stuck in the touch starved sensation where anything felt nice.

“Yes, yes it is.” A little snappish as the tv head leaned back for Mr. Puzzles to presumably eye you. “Do your worst. I am perfectly fine with where this is headed.”

“Okay, here goes.” You set one hand lightly on his hip while you followed the urge to give his ass a final slap through the pants that made Mr. Puzzles give a high-pitched yelp of surprise, as if not entirely expecting that.

He sank to the floor on his knees with a flushed expression flashing across his face. Mr. Puzzles buried his screen into his hands, but you catch a glimpse of the screen that showed off blushing, a small technicolor smile and a set of eyes set off to one side away from where you stood.

You decide to let Mr. Puzzles have some dignity while he gathered himself, but you can’t help leaning over pat his head, since it was easier to access when he was crouched or kneeling. The whisper of ‘good boy’ came out unbidden when you pet the side of his screen and an antenna, half-thinking he’d bat your hand away and scoff at you.  You did not expect the noise Mr Puzzles made as he sank entirely to the floor, curling up and pressing his hands into his tv face harder as his expression burned bright, his facsimile eyes on you this time, like he was seeing you in a new light and was very, very curious.

Wow.

Okay.

You knew Mr. Puzzles liked praise with that ego of his, but this flustered demeanor was new compared to the awkwardness of trying to strike up conversation with you in the first week of being here in the world.

[moons-dunes]

Needy

For Kinktober - Prompt: Brat Taming

Kinktober Masterlist

18+ Only MDNI

Pairing: Brat!Steven Grant x reader

Summary: Under that sweet exterior, Steven has a bratty streak. And you’re more than glad to put him back in his place.

WC: ~1.3k

A/N: I’ve never seen anyone write Steven as a brat which is surprising given how sassy he is, so I tried my hand at it. I have a love hate relationship with this one.

This work contains: Bratting and taming obvi (pretty light as far as brat and brat taming goes), dom reader, use of sex toys (vibrating cock ring, ball gag, and soft restraints), mommy kink because I’m a degenerate, bordering on edging and overstim due to the nature of cock rings, orgasm denial and control, riding, PiV, bit of begging and tears for flavor, feel like I have a responsibility to say that if you’re using cock rings in real life that y’all should be careful and do your research. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Your fingers tapped the keyboard of your laptop at a quick pace as you sat at the kitchen table, your eyes scanning each word you wrote. You were so close to finishing your latest chapter, then you could finally post it.

You were so focused on the screen in front of you, you didn’t even look away when you felt warm arms wrap around your middle.

“How’s it going, love?” Steven’s soft voice came through the silence, and he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m almost done,” you responded quietly, only half paying attention.

However, Steven was feeling particularly needy.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips to your skin. That broke your attention away for half a second.

“Steven, honey,” you started, tempted to lean into his sweet touch. “Give me a little bit longer. I’ll be done soon.”

He pressed his forehead into your shoulder instead, his hair tickling your face. You could feel how heated his skin was, giving you a pretty good idea of what the problem was.

“Mommy will take care of you in a bit, baby,” You promised sweetly, grabbing his hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Be a good boy and wait.”

You knew that he wouldn’t, he had been sassier than usual all day. That bratty streak he hid under that sweet and innocent demeanour came out to play sometimes, waiting for you to put him back in his place. And you were more than happy to do so.

He huffed against your shoulder, standing upright again and unwrapping himself from you.

“It’s alright,” he sighed, walking towards the bedroom. “I can take care of things myself. Not a big deal.”

He didn’t see the mischievous smirk that crossed your face.

“Steven,” your tone turned firm, warning him. “You know what happens when you touch yourself without permission. Get back here.”

He looked back at you with a defiant glare and a cocky grin.

“What if I don’t?” He challenged you, crossing his arms over his chest.

And that was how he ended up in his current situation.

His muffled moans made you look up from your laptop, to where you had him sat in the other kitchen chair. Padded leather cuffs held his hands behind his back, keeping him from removing the vibrating ring around his hard and leaking cock.

He clenched his teeth down on the ball gag you strapped to his head, tensing as he reached another orgasm that was ultimately ruined by the silicone ring around his cock.

You weren’t counting but you were sure it had been at least four or five by now. Of course you had been watching and listening to him like a hawk for any signs of actual discomfort.

“Are you still okay?” You asked again as you looked over his quivering form, the view from your seat making you almost embarrassingly wet.

It took a second, but he nodded.

“Good. I'm just about done,” you let him know, and you could see the relief in his wide, teary brown eyes. “Hopefully you’ve had time to decide if you’re going to behave or not.”

Your eyes went back to the screen in front of you, making sure everything was good before you finally hit the ‘post’ button. Closing your laptop and getting up, you slowly walked over to him.

You looked him over with a smirk, watching his chest heave and his thighs tremble. His skin glistened with sweat, his stray curls sticking to his forehead and neck. He looked up at you with doe eyes, a couple tears falling down his cheeks.

“Mommy’s going to take care of you now baby,” you purred, cupping his cheek in your hand. He leaned into the touch immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. You pressed a kiss to his forehead before you moved your hand down lower.

His cock was red and leaking precum, you wouldn’t doubt if it was starting to get painful. You didn’t want to leave him like that for any longer.

You turned off the vibrator on the ring before carefully taking it off, a raspy cry of relief escaping Steven as you did so.

You removed the gag next, putting both it and the ring to the side to properly clean and put away later.

“That’s probably much better,” you soothed him, petting his damp hair and brushing it out of his face. “Now, you were awfully naughty earlier. Did my boy learn his lesson?”

Steven caught his breath, the relief of blood rushing back to his cock still pouring over him.

“Yes,” he choked out, his voice rough.

“What do you say?” You prompted, lifting his chin with a single finger.

He looked so pretty like this.

“Th-thank you, mommy,” he stuttered out, making you smile.

“Are you going to disobey me again tonight?” You questioned with a raised brow, and he shook his head quickly. “You better not.”

You stripped yourself slowly, dropping each piece of clothing to the floor one at a time. You gave Steven a warning glare when you heard him whine, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut again.

You could be so mean when you wanted to be, and he absolutely loved it. He loved that you weren’t afraid to get rougher with him, rather than treating him like he was made of glass.

You positioned yourself on his lap, grabbing his shoulders firmly. He let out a mewl when the top of his oversensitive cock brushed against your wet entrance, and a yelp when you dropped down onto him in one swift movement. You planted your feet on the floor and started bouncing, pulling broken and raspy moans from him.

“All this just for some attention,” you spoke through gritted teeth, digging your nails into his skin. “My needy boy.”

You let out a relieved moan when you found the right angle, moving your hips faster. Steven’s head fell to your shoulder as he choked back his own frustrated groans.

“I.. I,” his words died in his throat, his hands yanking at the restraints that held him. “Please!”

“Not yet,” you ordered, one of your hands gripping his hair and pulling his face away from your skin. You used the leverage you had to tilt his head back, your lips immediately going to his exposed throat. You didn’t bother being gentle, nipping and sucking at his soft skin.

Steven whined louder as holding back his climax became almost impossible, his cock still so sensitive and hard.

You decided to have a little bit of mercy on your boy. He was being good for you, after all.

“Go ahead, baby boy,” you allowed him, and with that he came with a broken shout. You bounced as fast as you comfortably could, bringing yourself to your own orgasm as his cum messily spilled out of you.

He fell against you as much as he could with the restraints still holding him, little high pitched moans escaping with each breath he let out as you kept riding him. When you stopped moving your hips, you both let out a shaky breath.

Once you regained your composure, you freed him from the restraints that held him and helped him into bed. You made sure he drank some water, and cleaned the both of you up a bit. You could worry about the rest later.

When you crawled into bed with him, he clung to you like a koala. You wrapped your arms around him and held him tight, pulling a soft blanket over both of you.

“Was I good?” He asked quietly, his face nuzzled against your chest.

Bless his heart.

“Yes, Steven,” you assured him gently, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. “You’re my good boy.”

[nonbinary-octopus]

recently, I purchased a small bluetooth mouse to assist me in my in-bed reading times. You see, I like to lie down and position my phone in a comfortable spot for reading, held in place by my blankets and sheets.

The only trouble is that this position necessitates a hand by the phone to scroll, but sometimes I would want to have my hands under the blankets, for warmth or just because the position out of the blankets was getting uncomfortable on my joints.

My wife saw a short video of someone using a bluetooth scrolling ring, and mentioned it to me. I desired it immediately and set out to purchase it. Unfortunately, however, I could not find the sort of ring my wife had seen; all I could find were rings intended to scroll through tiktok, and though I purchased one and tried it, it turned out to scroll more than a screen's height when I pressed the buttons, and was thus useless.

So I figured I'd try the next best thing, a very small mouse with a scroll wheel. I purchased the smallest bluetooth mouse I could find, connected it to my phone, and voila! I could scroll. Except, the cursor was visible. And if I shifted the mouse at all in my reading, of course the cursor would move as well. I would position it out of the way near the bottom of the screen, and it would gradually wander back up and be in the way again. I ended up sticking a bandaid over the sensor, which kept it in place.

Unfortunately, each time I connected the mouse to my phone, the cursor started in the center of the screen, so I would have to reposition it each time, and I didn't want to keep putting on and removing the bandaid, especially as the couple times I had done so already had caused it to no longer lie quite flat, and it was an irritating texture to touch.

So I set the mouse aside for a while.

Yesterday, I thought I would try it again, and with a new solution. I crafted a paper cuff that would slide up over the mouse, hiding the motion sensor so that it would stay still

This worked for a couple minutes. But it didn't fit snugly and kept shifting, and more importantly, I had to put it on after turning the mouse on and positioning it, and the mouse would respond to this by moving the cursor down. This might not sound like too much of a problem, but actually, if the cursor goes too far down, scrolling stops working because the mouse is no longer on the active window.

So I added another piece:

a thin strip formed into a loop, taped onto the base of the mouse such that I could fold it back and expose the sensor, and then fold it back into place rather than sliding, and then slide the cuff on. Additionally, the loop fit like a ring to hold the mouse without needing to grip it.

This worked very well! I used it for several hours with only minor issues.

However, those minor issues did exist, and I wished to improve the model further to correct them. Firstly, the cursor did still shift somewhat. This was due in part to the cuff being somewhat loose, and in part due to the paper covering the sensor also being the ring, so when I shifted my grip, it might shift the cover.

Secondly, it turns out that if I hold a mouse in one hand under my cozy blankets for long enough, my hand starts to get Very Tired of the texture of the plastic, and of the bits of tape I was touching—especially the edges. Touching the paper was still fine, however. So now I have version 3 of the mouse sheath:

First: a strip of paper, taped at the base of the mouse and coming up to cover the sensor. Second, a sheath which covers the entire mouse, not just a portion of it. It has a cutout for the scroll wheel. As a bonus, the first strip sticks out of the top, for easier removal from the sheath. Third, a loop taped onto the back of the sheath to stick my finger through. It is very carefully taped such that I shouldn't be touching tape on the inside of the ring, though there is some near it.

I shall be testing this version shortly, and will report back on its usefulness.

[weaselandfriends]

Web Fiction, Recently Read

Hello! I'm still early into writing the Pokémon story I discussed in a previous post. I've been writing and rewriting certain parts to better grasp some of the characters, so while I do have some completed chapters, I still consider the story in the planning phase. At the same time, I've recently read a few webfics, and thought I'd share some thoughts here.

1. Floornight by Nostalgebraist

Floornight is short but dense, and in terms of its plot, themes, and focus shares many similarities with Almost Nowhere, a later work by the same author that I read and discussed in a previous post.

This work is the Problem Sleuth to Almost Nowhere's Homestuck. At least, reading the two works back-to-back, that was the impression I struggled to shake. I would often encounter an idea in Floornight that I remembered being expanded on in much more detail in Almost Nowhere, and as such it became difficult for me to appreciate Floornight in its own right.

It's a comparison that reminds me of a quote from Roberto Bolaño's 2666:

Without turning, the pharmacist answered that he liked books like The Metamorphosis, Bartleby, A Simple Heart, A Christmas Carol. And then he said that he was reading Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's. Leaving aside the fact that A Simple Heart and A Christmas Carol were stories, not books, there was something revelatory about the taste of this bookish young pharmacist, who ... clearly and inarguably preferred minor works to major ones. He chose The Metamorphosis over The Trial, he chose Bartleby over Moby Dick, he chose A Simple Heart over Bouvard and Pecouchet, and A Christmas Carol over A Tale of Two Cities or The Pickwick Papers. What a sad paradox, thought Amalfitano. Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze a path into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against that something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.

An unfair comparison? Certainly. Especially since longer works are not always commensurately ambitious, but instead simply bloated.

Almost Nowhere is ambitious, however, and pushes ideas touched on in Floornight to their limits, which makes reading Floornight afterward a less impressive experience than it otherwise might be. (Nostalgebraist's other work, The Northern Caves, is fundamentally dissimilar from both and thus not victim to the same comparisons.)

That's not to say I disliked Floornight. I was especially fond of the character Hermes Cept, who might be my favorite character in Nostalgebraist's canon. I love characters to whom the reader is introduced from the perspective of another character, giving the reader a certain first impression that is completely decimated when the character is given their own perspective later on. (A lot of Modern Cannibals hinges on this technique.) In Cept's case, what first appears to be an egotistical and incompetent celebrity scientist turns out to have significantly more depth and nuance than the first impression provides. Love it!

Nostalgebraist also shows off some serious writing chops during a certain battle scene near the story's climax. Another reader's longform review of Almost Nowhere comments that the story lets all its major events occur off screen, only to be known to the reader via the reactions of the characters, and to an extent Floornight is similar: Despite a Neon Genesis Evangelion-esque premise of soldiers fighting aliens, there are essentially zero scenes where soldiers fight aliens on screen. The climax changes that, though, and really makes me wonder why Nostalgebraist is so content to let things happen off screen, since he's so good at writing action when it happens.

I've now read all three of Nost's major published works, and there isn't a more exciting web fiction author today, at least that I know of. Can't wait to see where he goes next.

2. Worth the Candle by Alexander Wales

Floornight is a lean 70,000 words. Worth the Candle, an isekai LitRPG, is 1.6 million words.

I started reading this one years ago, but only made it to the second arc before giving up under the sheer immensity of it. The start was slow, and while it was improving steadily, I couldn't see myself wading through something of its size. Compared to Nostalgebraist, Wales' prose is more "serviceable" than exciting, so the value in reading is almost entirely from the plot, characters, and themes rather than the actual line-by-line reading experience. After finishing my own isekai story, Cleveland Quixotic, I decided to take a second stab at it.

Upon the reread, I was more amenable to a story that is simply a fun fantasy romp, and WtC has a strong sense of forward progression despite its length, which avoids the trap most long stories fall into of spinning their wheels without accomplishing anything.

As I got further into it, however, a strong metafictional element increasingly came into play. The conceit of the story is that the protagonist, a tabletop RPG fanatic in his previous life on Earth, has been put into a world eerily similar to the ones he created as a dungeon master. His actions seem to be guided or obstructed by a mysterious, unseen dungeon master with godlike powers, and the story often becomes more about trying to understand and play to the narrative that the dungeon master wants rather than simply brute forcing through challenges one after another.

At the same time, the protagonist's dead friend from Earth seems to have been transported to the world much earlier. Their narrative was Campbellian in nature, Hero's Journey incarnate, while the protagonist's is much more postmodern and subversive. This leads to some fascinating meditations on the develop of narrative over history; one of my favorite scenes is when a story-obsessed villain believes they can kill the protagonist despite his Chosen One status because it's a postmodern story and the protagonist dying unceremoniously wouldn't be out of place.

My absolute favorite part, however, is the climax. Without spoiling too much, it involves a long delve into a seemingly endless dungeon, where characters and abilities fall away one-by-one until what is left is only a bare, emotional finale. I love climaxes that involve some kind of literal and emotional ascent; I did something similar in Modern Cannibals and Cleveland Quixotic.

In general, it's difficult to finish something so long in such a satisfactory way, which only makes the ending more impressive. I was worried this story would Muv-Luv me. A year ago, I read the famous visual novel Muv-Luv, a sprawling work that begins as a comedy slice of life and ends as a futuristic science fiction war epic. My problem with Muv-Luv wasn't that it was bad; it even had many elements I adored. But its ending, while not terrible, was merely okay, and I ultimately felt like what I got wasn't worth the time investment I put into it. Worth the Candle's ending avoided that entirely, so I can wholeheartedly recommend it despite its length.

3. Cowboy Grak 5: Yet Another Fistful of Obols by Remy (gazemaize)

Lastly, this one is a fanfic of Worth the Candle, posted coincidentally one day after I finished reading. It's by Remy, the author of Chili and the Chocolate Factory: Fudge Revelation, one of the funniest stories I've ever read. With this fanfic of a webfic, Remy cements themselves as the comedy master of the webfic sphere. I can only hope they start posting stories with more regularity...

I can't say too much about this story without spoiling almost all of Worth the Candle, so I'll keep this brief. If you've already read WtC, then you should read this 100%.

Web fiction is exciting. People are able to write all kinds of insane stuff that would never survive the streamlined mainstream publishing industry of today. I hope to read some more unique webfics and see people continually push the boundaries of what can be done with a story. (Hopefully they're not all 1.6 million words though...)

[romanestuffsposts]

Hello !

Is it okay to ask for a stucky!daddies x little!reader who has internal problems?? Maybe they’re going through seasonal depression (summer depression is real😢) or maybe they had a hard day at work and one morning they wake up feeling big and daddies try all day to help them fall into little space but it isn’t until night that little has an emotional breakdown and tells daddies what they’re feeling.

Sorry if this is too much or not understandable, it’s my first request :((

It’s also okay to say no if you don’t feel like do it. I love all your stories anyways!!

Hi there love! 💜

I'm sorry it took long for me to write it but i wanted to do it perfectly. You're totally fine, you're request is perfectly written for me sweetie, do not worry! ❤️

I hope you like how i wrote it <3

Enjoy <33

****

Warnings : struggling reader, has a hard time feeling little, works, worried daddies, caring daddies, protective Daddies, paci, bottles,

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

Summary : too much work cause stress which caused other things. Luckily, your Daddies always have an eye on you and a way to help you out.

****

You can't deny that you were busy since the beginning of the week. Steve and Bucky couldn't deny it either. They have seen you going through a lot of different emotions since then and they had hoped to see you letting yourself rest but you couldn't take your mind away from work.

They had tried everything to make you feel a little more little so you could relax and have a calm evening and night in your Daddies's arms. But you were too focus and too busy because of work that they hadn't tried the thing that work the more.

They had prepared everyhting. Steve had hidden your favorite paci in his pocket so he could get it out when the time is right, Bucky has already a warm bottle secured in between his side and the armrest of the couch.

They patiently wait for you to come down for your 8pm snack and toilet break.

After some minutes, they finally hear your footsteps coming from the stairs before seeing your pretty little face showing up. You rub your eyes as you enter the living room because of your computer which make your Daddies smile.

Of course they're sad and worried that you spend too much time in front of that screen for work but that tiny movement of yours just prove them what they needed to know.

"Hi babygirl" Bucky sweetly smiles at you.

You blink a few time to throw away the black hole you create in your eyes from the rubs and then look up at them "hi" you softly say with a tired voice

"you okay, sweetie ?" Steve asks as he frowns his eyes at your voice. You nod and sigh "yea, i just have a lots of work left and my boss can't stop email me to add me more work so i'm on it for a while"

Steve and Bucky shared a look before looking back at you "come here, baby" Bucky pats the space between him and Steve so you would come sit down but you shook your head "i can't. I barely have the time to take the breaks i fixed"

"I wasn't asking" he tilts his head "now come here, little one"

You drop your shoulders and walk toward the couch. Once you reach it, You fall into the comfy thing, between the warm bodies of your Daddies.

"don't be too hard on yourself, baby" Bucky sighs "we know you're doing your best and your boss knows it too but you can't destroy yourself" His hand gently starts to stroke your thigh in a circular motion.

"I know" You let out a whine and throw your head backward, letting it rest against the back of the couch.

"here. Why don't you lie down on our laps and get some rest. You don't have to fall asleep but just rest your mind" Steve suggests, knowing you won't be able to fall asleep if your mind is still in your work.

You hesitate for a moment but decide to lie down. Maybe they're right. Maybe you need to just have a break longer than the other ones and let your mind rest from work.

Once the side of your hear touches the comfy laps of your Daddy, you finally feel full again. You couldn't bear the fact that you weren't near them often. It's not something that happen often, being apart from them like that.

And you hate having to do it. The only things you wanna do is going to bed early and being with them, under their eyes and around their soft touches and words.

Your Papa starts to gently stroke the part of your legs that were on his laps and this sweet movement cause your muscles to relax instantly.

And it feels good, to finally start to feeling relax.

The fingers of your Daddy play with your hair as a sweet and delicate song is hummed in his throat.

"you're our cute little one, aren't you ?" your Daddy smiles. His sweet voice is music to your ears.

He chuckles when you hide your face in his skin so they wouldn't see you blushing. "show me that face, beautiful" he taunts as he grabs your chin. Your Papa smiles more at your face.

"yes, you really are" Your Daddy answers his own question with a serious tone, making you smile softly.

"I have something that might interest you here" he winks at you as he reaches his side. You frown and try to look at his hand but his body and the way you're lying are preventing you from doing it.

"stay calm, princess" your Papa chuckles as he gently pushes you back down so you would stay relax as much as possible.

"open up" your Daddy's voice ring in your ears. You do what he says and open your mouth. You soon feel something entering your mouth causing you to close your lips.

You suddenly feel warm milk sliding down your throat and your body relax even more if that's even possible. You close your eyes and let the warm liquid doing it's job as your Daddies's hands massage your skin.

"what if we make you a bath after ? With lots of soap and your favorite toys. We could also wash your hair" Your Papa says as he peers at your face

"Mhh no Papa, no washin' m' hair" you mumble through your bottle, your eyes still closed.

"okay" Your Daddy laughs as he looks at your Papa "no hair washed tonight then" He looks back down at you "are you feeling better if we do it that way ?"

You nod your head just as you finish your bottle. Your Papa takes the bottle away and quickly slide your paci in between your lips so you won't be too shaken up.

"good girl" your Daddy kisses your temple, making you sigh in contentement.

[carpooling-the-internet]

Star Trek fanfic recs

A long list of some of my all time favorite Star Trek fics. Not in any order. I just combed through my ao3 bookmarks for fics that still resonate with me and really blew me away. I will try to tag the authors if I can find blogs for them. If you know an authors blog I haven’t tagged, please tag them!

I dont have the spoons to write lil reviews for each fic bc theres toooooo many but maybe I’ll come back and edit some in sometime.

And eventually I’m gonna make a list like this for Sherlock Holmes and a few other fandoms. Also want to make one specific to podfics. We’ll see what happens first! This took me way longer than I thought it would…

Recs below the cut!

Star Trek TOS and AOS

The Thousandth Man (56187 words) by Ophelia_j In the wake of pon farr, the events on Vulcan are weighing heavy on Spock and his Captain. But will their attempt to fix the problem only make things worse?

The effect of sucrose on Vulcans (2290 words) by Ophelia_j After a successful diplomatic mission, Jim begins to suspect there's something wrong with Spock. Some Old Married Spirk Fluff for the 2019 OMS Challenge, for the awesome plaidshirtjimkirk.

The Eleventh Hour (8551 words) by Ophelia_j During a joint lecture at the Academy, Spock senses that Kirk is growing tired of the secrecy around their relationship and takes steps to resolve the matter.

A Crazy Little Thing Called Love (14940 words) by VTsuion The development of Kirk and Spock's relationship over the course of The Original Series, told in a series of off-screen moments.

The World Turned Upside Down (24777 words) by Jenna Hilary Sinclair On a planet torn by civil war, Kirk must battle insurgents, a Vulcan Healer, and his own heartbreak to find his way to Spock.

The Ren shat'var Trilogy (184,403 words) by CateAdams A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection.

First, Best Destiny - Parts One and Two (387733 words) by Ophelia_j A novel-length retelling of original Star Trek canon through the lens of one of the greatest relationships ever committed to film. Using missing scenes, episode tags, and original story-telling. Ultimately a Generations fix-it.

All the Time in the World (27856 words) by LSPINGLES The death of Edith Keeler affects Kirk and Spock in different ways. Spock invites Kirk to come with him to Vulcan to heal. Along the way the learn something about their feelings for each other.

Spice (276553 words) by eimeo It’s a question of biology. Vulcan biology. The problem with falling in love with a member of an insanely private species is that it just might take you the best part of a five year mission to work out that the feelings are requited. And then you might discover that he’s already decided that the two of you can never be together. And what are you supposed to do if he won’t tell you why?

Fulfilling the Needs of the One (Or the Both) (8741 words) by plaidshirtjimkirk Spock begins to wonder if his relationship with Jim has been one-sided in his own favor.

Touch Upon the Wonders that You See (4071 words) by waldorph Sarek does not always understand his son, but that does not mean he does not love him.

Entering Orbit (30957 words) by museaway Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch.

Something Smart to Do (21322 words) by kianspo In which Jim finds himself fake-married to his first officer every other month. It's not his fault. Mostly. Dowries and Klingons are involved. Starfleet is decidedly not amused.

Don't Stop Believing (205901 words) by kianspo The story follows Spock from his own days as a cadet at Starfleet Academy to the ‘present day’ when he’s Kirk’s first officer and the Enterprise is on its five-year mission. Essentially, the story of Spock’s first real love followed by the story of him finding the love of his life. Ad astra per aspera.

And Then I Let It Go (10632 words) by kianspo Post-Star Trek Beyond. The crew of the Enterprise gets a breather while they are waiting for their new ship. Jim uses the time to do something he had sworn he would never do.

The Lotus Eaters (93594 words) by aldora89 Stranded on the planet Sigma Nox while searching for a missing away team, Spock and Kirk find themselves pitted against a disturbing native life form. With the captain out of commission on a regular basis and Spock struggling to preserve his stoicism, staying alive is difficult enough – but when a slim chance for escape surfaces, their resolve is truly put to the test. Together they must fight for survival in the heart of an alien jungle, and in the process, uncover the mystery of the planet’s past. Slow build K/S.

Atlas (135529 words) by distractedKat Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning. A novel-length continuation of the 2009 movie told in four parts. Cross-posted from FFN. PODFIC AVAILABLE! https://archiveofourown.org/works/652116/chapters/1187249

The Word Withheld (12032 words) by j_s_cavalcante After retrieving Kirk from the interspatial rift of "The Tholian Web," Spock realizes his oath to Starfleet and his service aboard the Enterprise are in jeopardy because he has denied to himself—and withheld from Kirk—a certain truth about the nature of the Vulcan relationship called "t’hy’la."

this is what happens when you save earth, apparently (5454 words) by WerewolvesAreReal “So, why haven't you settled down with some lucky lady yet?” the interviewer asks. Maybe it's the blinding set-lights, or the fact that he hasn't slept in thirty-five hours. But for some reason Kirk blurts, “Honestly, they all end up getting jealous of Spock.”

Four times the Enterprise Crew didn´t realize that their commanding officers were married to each other and one time they finally found out (4130 words) by razzleberryicedtea In which Spock and Jim casually forget to mention that they are married, and the Enterprise crew is too oblivious to notice on their own

A Star to Steer By (32043 words) by Borealisblue Kidnapped, injured, and headed towards Romulan space, Kirk could only be grateful that his last act was saving Spock from the same fate. And all it had cost was a stolen kiss.

An Open Secret (3495 words) by TransScribe Amanda Grayson knew her son. She could read him, easily. That might've been why she had suspicions about his relationship long before he said anything. It was more likely because subtlety was not a trait Spock had inherited.

the book of love (7297 words) by miss_frankenstein When yet another away mission goes awry, Jim and Spock are left stranded on a hostile planet with nothing to do but talk. What follows is a conversation about art and literature, life and death, love and friendship.

Take My Hand (My Whole Life Too) (5981 words) by pastmydancingdays Whilst in one of the most dangerous situations of his life, Jim Kirk came to a realisation that he should have had a very long time ago. Two, in fact, and he was about to let neither go to waste. A potential epilogue to Amok Time.

Ashayam (3378 words) by Willowe Spock knows he has no right to refer to Jim as any sort of endearment, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. If he had only listened to this logic he wouldn't find himself in this position, standing on the bridge having just called his captain "ashayam".

@ophelia-j

@razzleberryicedtea

@vtsuion

@plaidshirtjimkirk

@cate-adams

@pastmydancingdays

@werewolves-are-real

@eimeo-blog

@aldora89-blog

@museaway

@kianspo

@lspingles

@waldorph

@miss-frankenstein

[winterfireice]

look at me posting a fanfic for the first time in months (also the first time this year so yay) anyway here is some Sophiana because when and doubt write random gay stuff for pride month.

story under the cut

Age 13

I’m walking through the pier with my family, it’s June 15th and my parents wanted to find somewhere to eat with a good vegetarian menu and outdoor seating. My brothers are playing some random game where they try to attach sticky notes to each other’s backs without the other noticing and my mom has tried to stop the game three separate times but since then has given up, they’re both being quiet and that seems to be all my parents care about. 

I on the other hand am window shopping. I’m looking at colorful beach bags and darkly-tinted sunglasses, I pass by all of them without a problem. The only thing that catches my eye is a flowy sundress that looks long enough to touch the floor even if I am wearing heels. But my attention is quickly taken away by a little piece of fabric on the counter. It has all the colors of the rainbow and a thin tan stick anchoring it into a pen cup. 

My mom notices me hanging behind and wraps an arm around my shoulders into some weird side hug and gives me a look I don’t know how to process. Just a second later Fitz, one of my brothers yells out because he finally notices there has been a bright green piece of paper stuck on the back since we left the house and Alvar has just been adding to the collection. Aka Fitz has been losing this made-up game since it started. 

The rest of my family’s attention is diverted to my brothers and even mine is taken away from the flag.

Age 14

I’m on a run with my brother Fitz’s best friend, Keefe. I hate running alone and he was the only one free so I asked him to go with me. My dad gave me an extra long look which I ignored, I’m pretty sure the majority of people we know think we are going to start dating since he’s only a year older than me, and were both single. Plus he’s been hanging out around our house a lot more, one of my friends said it's because he likes me but I’m pretty sure he likes my brother more. 

My side starts to cramp so I slow down waiting for the pain to subside and taking deep breaths. Keefe notices I’m no longer next to him and turns around to find me. He gives me a second to catch my breath and looks around, we are on a residential street a couple of blocks away from my house, and while there are a lot of trees providing shade the June heat is still beating down on us so much I can feel the sweat dripping down my neck. 

I’ve closed my eyes to try to get the sun out of them but when I open them I see Keefe’s head turned to one of the houses. I follow his gaze and see a flag hanging by someone’s front door, it's the same color pallet as the one I saw a year ago and I can see Keefe smile to himself before asking me if I’m ready to finish up our run.

Age 15

I’m on a picnic with one of my best friends, Sophie. She has pined up her long blonde hair to beat the heat of mid-June. She prepared the whole day, made little sandwiches, and packed different fruits and cookies, there are even some baked goods her mom taught her how to make.  

The two of us are leaning against a huge oak tree in the park and watching the neighborhood kids fly kites and chase each other around the other trees. 

“Ooo look a rainbow!” Sophie gasps and points past some clouds on the other side of the park. She pulls out her phone and I notice her lock screen has a photo of her holding two little flags, one is rainbow and the other is a combination of pinks and oranges, she swipes away the photo as she opens her camera to take a photo of the rainbow and I can't ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Age 16

It’s June and I’m sitting in my room with my brother, his boyfriend, and my girlfriend. We’re getting ready for a parade that Sophie and Keefe heard about. Soph is using her phone as a mirror since all the other ones in my room are currently being used but before she opened her camera I saw her newest lock screen which is a photo of the two of us holding up a pride flag just like the one she got me a couple of months ago that sits in an old cup on my desk that I use to hold my pens.

But hey, it's just a cute little flag.

[cdevill]

I don't own Rwby and spoilers ahead for Volume 1. This will be a review/impression of the first volume.

The story in this volume could have been done better.

I feel like the team was trying to do too much but with very little time. In my opinion, they only should have focused on the girl's because they're the main characters and how they've been marketed to be the four leads. Sure, we could have Pyrrha, Jaune especially during the exam process. It shows we have other people that we can come back to but later when we have more resources to make episodes longer. We do have to sacrifice Jaune's arc for the moment but in exchange, we get more screen time for the girls. Ruby and Weiss could have had more time to flesh out their relationship instead of wrapping everything up in a few minutes. Yang can also get some development or even have her and Blake warm up to each other. It felt like they were trying to cover too much. When in reality, they should have been more picky.

Now, I'll give a pass to the animation because it is fairly back in the day and while it's rough. I can understand their restraints on animation.

I do like how Ruby is trying to prove herself and show off because she is two years younger than everyone else. We know it's because no one can take her seriously. Which is why she does her best to impress Weiss. Whom she already annoyed and had a bad first impression earlier in the volume. It's a nice touch that I can understand. Even if it caused more problems, it's an understandable fault.

However, I don't like what they did with Jaune nor with Cardin. I'll get into them both in another post because that's quite the explanation.

Blake does get some development with how she is so quiet and off putting because of her past. It's justified and it helps with her goal to improve Fanus stance in the world. Speaking of the Human and Faunus relationship, Blake's and Sun's past actions only further Weiss's negative stance on the Faunus. Blake being secretive and Sun evading the law. We know Weiss doesn't like the Fanus and let's use it to make her have a character flaw. She's racist, because all her life. She has heard nothing but bad things about the Fanus. It doesn't help that they stole from her Family's Business.

It could be a fault that Weiss has to acknowledge and work on, she has many reasons to not like the faunus but she needs to learn that the actions of a few does not represent the whole. Therefore working on her racism.

Weiss just going, "I don't care." Is not an adequate reasoning to openly accept Blake with such open arms. Weiss has been shown to dislike Ruby for quite a while and Blake should not be exempt from the rule.

If we had more time, Ruby and Yang would try to convince Weiss to give Blake a chance. Weiss obviously refuses because of her negative experiences with the faunus and doesnt search for Blake. Weiss is alone at school while she let's Yang and Ruby search for Blake. Weiss is questioned by Ozpin on why she is alone and Weiss speaks about Blake. She expects Ozpin to discharge Blake but he doesn't before explaining to Weiss on Blake's perspective. If all you do is say that someone is a monster and keep hurting them. They will become that monster. He tells Weiss to think it over and she begrudgingly does. Weiss, doesn't want too but she has to do it because of her own selfish reason. Thus, it's not a, "I don't care" but, "I need to be the best and that requires my team to be the best. I'll give you a chance but only because of what I want."

This helps to let Weiss have character development and motivation. She may not trust Blake or any faunus but we have seeds be planted for that eventual dynamic.

Weiss is not buddy buddy with any faunus including Blake. Indicating that Weiss still has a cold outlook about the faunus. This tells the audience. That despite working on her flaw, not everyone can be perfect. That they will still have issues in the future. It will take time for Weiss to work through this flaw.

Yet we lose something like this because of...Jaune and his arc.

Heck, we can even have Ruby and Yang have development. Yang trying to get Ruby to not only rely on her big sister is trying too hard to push Ruby away. This can further their relationship as Ruby realizes that the job she wants, will not always allow Yang to be by her side. It'll help Ruby become more independent and realize that as the leader. She can't look to other people for help or for comfort.

Yet the plot has to keep being pulled back to Jaune's unnecessary long arc.

I do like Sun, as to show that Im not all up in arms about new people. His introduction and screentime is where Blake screen time is and doesn't take away from Blake. Sun tries to get Blake to accept help and contributes to her arc. If Jaune could have been used like this more often than I wouldn't hate his character as much.

For example, when Ruby is looking for Blake. Jaune comes to Ruby's aid this time and says being a leader is tough. As everyone relies on them to fix their problems and the problems with the team. The two can mutually bond about the situation and Ruby knows that she can rely on Jaune. As a emotional pillar and they can be good friends because of their circumstances. This helps establish Jaune as a kind individual willing to help or even just hear his friends out. It didn't take four episodes to establish him but just two minutes of screen time. As someone Ruby can relate too and vice-versa.

Instead, Jaune serves to just take time away from the girls with 4 episodes dedicated to him. Who still need development and to be fleshed out a lot more.

Blake is quite enjoyable at least in my opinion. I might be in the few who do like her but I can see why others don't like her.

Ruby and Yang need more time dedicated to their sibling relationship. As it would develop both characters, two birds, one stone and mentioning of possible Weiss development is above. This would help to improve the first volume somewhat as Jaune and the side characters would be sidelined. However, since Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang are the main characters. It is imperative that the entire first volume be focused on those four. We can add other characters later.

Overall, I'll give this volume a 5/10. It's not the worst I have seen but the unfocused nature of the volume with its characters does drag it down. Dubbing down Jaune and Cardin to a simple bully relationship also hurts the show. However, Blake and The Fanus situation serve to add life to the world. At least in my opinion, and Ruby is a pretty nice character for this volume. However, more could have been done with her.

[mad-scientist-enthusiast]

"The Haunted Flesh Machine"

@plaguedghosts @iwrotesomeofitdown @notjustanyannie

Here is my slam poem. Thank you for the encouragement!

I'd like to preface this by saying it is a poem of my struggles and fears, and this should not be taken as the most mentally healthy or even correct writing.

CW: discussion of disordered eating, slight suicidal ideation, a little bit of internalized ableism

I’m losing my grip on reality. Each hour of the day slips from beneath my fingertips before I can even close my hand. 

My motor functions are so much slower these days. 

I walk through a persistent haze, going through the motions, but I am never present for them. My body acts on autopilot, but the battery is on low. 

I’m smart—I always have been—I’m an engineer for crying out loud—but I don’t think I can access that anymore. My intelligence is locked behind a firewall in my brain. 

Do you know how insane that is? Being unable to use your own mind? 

All my judgments are tinted because the brightness is turned down. I think my brain is in battery-saver mode. 

The fatigue is the worst because I can feel it all throughout my body. No amount of sleep seems to recharge me. I am perpetually tired and confused and dizzy and unaware. 

I’m sure my eating habits don’t help. I’m just putting water in my gas tank. No amount of Fanta Orange and Lucky Charms is going to make up for the entire sections of the food pyramid I am missing. I try to start my brain up, but water isn’t quite nearly as combustible, and I end up with no output. 

I want to be in control. I want my body to work. I don’t want my vision to get darker with every step I take. 

Another day, another near-emergency. My heart beats too fast, my blood pressure falls too low. Sometimes presyncope lasts for longer than it needs to. 

Sometimes I change colors like a chameleon on its deathbed. 

My code is flagging for errors, but I’m running it anyway. 

I think my computer is getting overheated. My face is hot to the touch. 

If this was the Victorian Era, my symptoms would be romanticized. There’s something poetic about wasting away. 

I fear that I’m getting weaker by the week. 

Another day, another new problem. Which diagnosis does it fit under? I’m too tired to make a spreadsheet, not that I could log it if I did. 

What month is it anyway? How many months have I been here? It seems like an eternity when I’m in pain, but time passes too quickly when I’m not. 

I haven’t taken my meds in a while. I’ve given up on them working. Neglect is also a form of control. 

I’m rotting inside. I’m rotting in my bed. I hardly leave my bed, but when was the last time I slept? 

Surely this will have no repercussions. 

I’m smart for a day, so my expectations are high, and as a result, my workload is too. I’m a workaholic on the days I’m present at all. 

That’s who they see when they look at me. They don’t see that I’m sick. They don’t connect the dots on the days I wear a little less makeup than usual. 

They don’t even bother to look. 

I’m fighting for control over my mind and my body, and they are none the wiser. 

If I were underweight, maybe they’d care a little. Maybe they’d treat me with a little more care. It’s easier to tell when something is wrong when you’re underweight. 

I could collapse in the middle of a busy street and no one would even give it a second glance. They might even walk over me, thinking I was part of the sidewalk. 

On the off chance they did see, what a shame it would be, for the one time I'm perceived, I lack bodily autonomy. 

Is it worth being noticed when you're unconscious? Is it worth it if the one time I am seen is when I have no control over whether my mouth is hanging open or my shirt is riding up? I've spent so long meticulously curating the way I look to others, just to be totally helpless when it matters. 

I can change my wallpaper but that doesn't make my phone work any better. And people don't see the wallpaper first, they see the cracks in the screen. 

Sometimes I am conscious but not responsive. I lie like a corpse, observing, but not interacting as they crowd around me. Observing as they look at me. 

They could not provide the help I need. 

They only see me when I'm outside my body—a freakshow display of my vulnerability. 

Maybe if I hit my head next time, I'll reboot. I could use a factory reset. 

I often think of what it would be like to have a better brain. I think mine is haunted. 

Do you have to be dead to be a spirit? 

My head is possessed by a ghost that lurks in my nerves tissue and flesh. I hear it wail whenever I move, mourning a loss I cannot understand. 

A restless spirit leads to a restless night, and each night I can't sleep I blame the ghost. 

I wish sleep could fix me. I'm so tired all the time. 

The ghost must be what powers my perpetual motion machine. Inertia isn’t enough. I keep going and going until eventually I explode. 

I don’t think I’ll make it to my 40’s. 

My body will break itself down until it can digest me, and I’ll eat myself like an ouroboros. 

I don’t want to die, I just want to rest. 

If I sleep for a good year, maybe I’ll feel human again. I would like to feel human again. 

I dream that one day I will collapse, and people will rush me to the hospital. There, the doctors will find out exactly what is wrong with me, and that it can be treated by taking a pill. And then, I get better. 

My face will look a little softer, my eyes a little less heavy. I’ll walk everywhere I go, and I’ll stand up in the mornings. 

Maybe food will be less of a battle when I’m healthy. 

Maybe I’ll burn in the atmosphere before I crash down to earth. 

Right now, my collision course is set toward hospitals, tubes, and wires. I’ll only have to sign away my autonomy when I check-in. 

Is there early prevention for a trojan virus? 

Did I ever have a chance? Fated to keep running on empty until there’s nothing left to run. 

I have no salvation, I am just a machine. 

There is no happy ending for me.