#so Orion has to slide in here

[spotsupstuff]

Read the snippet *cries*

That last writing with Tarrow is beautiful. In my mind was playing Farewell by Bernth and is was a struggle to not cry in public.

I just fell in love with Orion! I love his gentleness, how he just want to give comfort and just AHHHHHH!! That last paragraph just with the hope that Tarrow will see the family that still has is just gets me.

On the side note (and to laugh a little after that beautiful mini story), Crows still is a background character.

OOOOO hey i know that song!!! yeah i can imagine how that'd make it hard to exist in public with some dignity JGDLKJLCMKSL

hah, another Iterator found a way to worm its way into your heart JGKSLLCKMLKS stars, same- the gentleness but also in the contrast of what he's gone through, what that kindness and sweetness had to endure. and he's stern and strict and some would call him a little scary when he talks to them like to some soldiers- promising that if this time around (in the off string au) someone will be caught neglecting their responsibilities like some have done with Mission Self-preservation he will be able to deal with them Personally this time. Notos won't be the only thing they'll have to worry about now. and sometimes he's a little insensitive as a result of that trauma, too. but ultimately? oh gods, ultimately he only wants everyone to be okay and taken care of as they deserve

GSLJKMCKLS fucking Crows.... leave it to the One og character i have in Moon's group to do me a favor and stay as she is meant to be

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ - discussion of postpartum depression, lactation kink.

Orion’s father inserted himself into your life with an authority that, quite frankly, has shocked you.

You expected him to be a dead beat. An absentee. You never really expected to find him in the first place, let alone almost run straight into him on the street.

It was almost like you could feel him on the sidewalk before you saw him. Your body knew, still carried the memories, the imprint of him lingering on your skin, inside you. Orion had his DNA in his veins, and now you had Orion’s in yours.

Shared pieces, twisted together in an imbalanced double helix-

Exposing you for all your transgressions, your failures, your misery.

It’s a special kind of shame, to look your baby’s father in the face and tell him you’re not a good mother to his child. That you’re failing Orion. That you don’t know if you can do it.

The truth is motherhood is not natural or beautiful, like everyone says it is, and it doesn’t come easy, like it seems to do for most. You don’t even feel like you’re bonded to your son, and it’s like you’re a stranger to him. More failure.

They pile advice on top of you in heaps, your mother, your aunts, the friends that have stuck around, sleep when the baby sleeps, let him cry it out, don’t let him cry it out, put him down, pick him up, don’t feed at night, don’t miss a feeding-

All the while, no one shows up. Not truly. They’re here, and there, but your previous fierce independent streak has done you no favors, and no one seems to notice you’re barely holding your head above water. They want to see the baby, hold the baby, cuddle the baby. No one wants to help you wash your milk crusted sheets or clothes, no one wants to pick up your groceries or do your dishes. They want to bring a roast for your fridge, and then they want Orion.

And it’s easy to fake getting by. Struggling but smiling. Motherhood is such a joy. It’s so wonderful. Being a single mom is tough, but worth it. It’s…

It’s so hard.

You don’t have a schedule, a life, a sense of normalcy. Instead of sleeping when Ry does, you cry. You don’t feel like yourself, you don’t know how to do this, you don’t know how you’re even going to make it to the next day sometimes.

And no one really seems to notice you, until Simon shows up.

Simon, who doesn’t seem to care that you’ve tried to assure him you’re fine. Simon, for all intents and purposes, has put a foot down and refused to budge. Simon, who no matter how hard you try to tell him you’re okay, has shouldered his way into your life without a single complaint about the sudden fatherhood thrust upon him.

He’s a stranger, at the end of it all, a man you shared a single night with, a man you know almost nothing about.

Even though that night has always felt like so much more, an impossible connection built in the dark between indecipherable words and whispers.

And now this stranger has planted on himself on the ground in front of you, like a tether to reality. A land line to your sanity. A hand to hold…

A person who sees you.

“I’m right here,” he promised, “I’m going to take care of you.”

He wanted in, and you stopped coming up with reasons or excuses to fend him off. You bent and bent and bent under the pressure of being a mother until you broke-

And he was there.

Someone is calling your name. There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder, and then smoothing over your forehead, fingertips lingering on the apple of your cheek. You blink fuzzily, slowly realizing you must have fallen asleep on the couch. “C’mon mama, let’s get you to bed.” You peer over his shoulder at the kitchen, barely registering how clean it is, the lack of dirty dishes, the empty trash can, the wiped down cabinets and countertops.

“Sorry… I fell asleep. I should’ve-“

“It’s alright, wanted to let you get some rest.” His arms, massive and corded with muscle, slide under your knees and back, and you study his tattoos as intently as you can, for being half asleep. “‘m gonna pick you up.”

“Okay.” You sigh, and his chest vibrates with a low chuckle. It feels safe, you feel nearly relaxed, no fight left in you, all resistance and denial leeched from your bones. “Ry?”

“Fed two hours ago with what you had in the fridge. Still asleep now.” Warmth ghosts atop your head, and you snuggle farther into his chest, unable to help yourself.

“How long was I out?”

“Almost five hours.” You blink, and then, like his words have summoned full body awareness- you wince.

Fuck.

“What is it?” He’s immediately tense, slowly pushing open your bedroom door.

“I’m… sore.” You grimace, trying to keep your chest away from him as he lowers you into bed. “They’re… he usually eats… sooner. They get… too full.” Your face burns, humiliated and awkward. Nothing like telling your very attractive baby daddy that you’re full too of milk. His head cocks.

“Is there a way to fix that?” He’s sitting at your hip, hand casually braced on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles overtop the sheet.

“I could pump but, it really hurts.” Your voice cracks on the admission. You can’t imagine anything you want to do less in this moment, especially with him here. “A warm washcloth usually helps but…”

“I’ll get one.” He tips forward at the waist, and presses a kiss right to your forehead. “Stay put.” You lean back against the pillows, and close your eyes. You hear him the bathroom, tap running, door opening and closing, and then the bed dips. “Can I help you with that?” He points at your t shirt, and you nod. Lifting it over your own head sounds uncomfortable, and you don’t even flinch when his fingers brush your stomach as he peels it up and over.

There’s a moment, a quiet one, where you just stare at each other. His eyebrows crease, dark brown eyes turning soft and sweet, flicking down to your lips and then back up. It’s frighteningly intimate, being so vulnerable, rubbed raw by motherhood and then comforted by the man who gave it to you, and when you look into his eyes, you can feel it all, everything you felt that night, the connection, the desire to know more, feel more, push past everything and dig until your strike true, until you can touch his heart.

Maybe it’s the hormones. The baby. The fact that he’s here, holding you steady, true to his promise.

You loop a forearm over the back of his neck, and tug, jolting him forward, close enough that your noses touch, and his lips graze yours before he pulls back, cradling your face with his free hand. “Want somethin’ mama?”

“Yes.” You whisper. Your breasts ache, but the pain is second to the way you drown in his dark gaze.

“Need you to ask for it, sweet girl.”

“I- I want… to kiss you.” It feels like taking a plunge, ripping a band aid off, and he only smiles at you in return, before leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours.

It’s a memory. An explosion. A rush of the last time, the first time, the only time. Ocean water, spring air, woodsmoke under your fingertips. Fragments of a few favorite things, sealed in a kiss. A dizzying ride that sucks you dry, spills your blood into his, twists the two of together until you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to let go.

You almost, almost whine when he pulls away.

“Washcloth is cold.” He murmurs, making his way back to the bathroom and restarting the process. His muscles flex under his t shirt as he turns the sink on and off, wringing the cloth out. You unhook a bra strap, and when he returns to the seat at your hip, you gulp.

“T-thanks.” You reach, but don’t tug it into your grasp. Instead, the side of your arm bumps against the swollen firmness of your breast, and you hiss.

“I’ve got you. Let me help.” He says softly, peeling the fabric away until you’re exposed, darkened nipples straining in the dim light of your bedroom. Fingertips trace barely there touch across your skin, and he whispers reverently. “You feed our baby with these, mama.”

“They hurt.” Your voice trembles, and he nods sympathetically.

“I know.” He presses the cloth to your skin, brow furrowed with concentration. His eyes flick up to yours, and then back down, thumb gently rubbing a semi circle under the curve of your breast. “Feel okay?” His voice is a rasp, and you nod.

“Y-yeah… um-“ you trail off, half wishing you could disappear into this bed. “I need a little bit of pressure, to help… express.” It’s the least sexiest word in the English language, you think. Express.

He palms you, gently, and then squeezes with easy pressure. The sound you make is a half moan, half gasp of pain, and he soothes you. “I know honey, I know. I’m sorry.” You tip your head back, waiting, hoping to feel the slow pulse of relief, the slow give of an ache subsiding. His thumb traces your nipple and then rolls over it, still kneading and pressing with his other fingers and palm, hot cloth starting to turn cool.

And then-

You feel it. Your body catches up to your brain, finally leaking, warmth spilling over his hand, down the front of your bra and belly. “Oh my god.” You moan, and he huffs, still rubbing your nipple in a soothing pattern, gaze locked on your chest.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, and then gives you another squeeze. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.” You tip your head to the side, watching him, tracing his nose, his lips, the shape of his eyes. Your baby’s face, through and through. “So good.” It spills over the back of his fingers and he pulls it away, lifting his thumb to his mouth. His lashes flutter against his cheeks, and a noise rumbles in his chest. “Oh-“ you lose your words. Your thoughts. Your focus. You’re frozen, confused and electric like a live wire.

“Y’taste good mama. Sweet.” You gulp. He ducks his head, brushing his lips against yours briefly before dipping lower, cupping as much of you as he can and swirling his tongue across your nipple, lips closing around it and sucking with a satisfied sigh.

“Si- Simon.” It feels good. It feels wrong, that it feels good, but it does. You’re spilling into his mouth, pain and soreness flitting away by the second, strong arms cradling you close to his body. It’s the first time in a long time, that you’ve felt something, anything, close to desire. Arousal has been fleeting since having a baby, but somehow, fire burns between your legs. He pulls away, nipple popping free, and you sag in the bed. With a smirk, his eyes wander to your other side, the unattended one, heavy and full beneath his gaze.

“I’ll get a new cloth.”

[brandwhorestarscream]

If d16 was carrying in the movie that could have saved him.

OOH I HAVE. THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

Part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here!

Hear me out, ok. Sentinel Prime heavily, heavily advocates for chastity. He very publicly denounces casual intimacy, waxing poetic about how it's a very special thing that should only be shared with someone you truly love and trust. To give yourself away to a stranger in a one night stand or even casually to a friend is one of the greatest disservices one can do to themselves. Interfacing should only be done with your bonded mate. While it's certainly not illegal, their Prime's warm concern and insistence that they're all special and should be treated as such keeps a lot of mecha's panels closed. The vast majority of them are saving themselves for their conjunx endura.

Now, the real reason Sentinel doesn't want them having sex? He doesn't want them breeding. Specifically the lowest of society, he doesn't want his cogless servants sparking each other up and having babies with t-cogs. It would raise too many questions, and while he has no qualms about taking a newspark's cog out before they're presented to their parents, accidents happen. People slip up. Some sparklings come before their parents can get to a hospital. Some nutcases want home births because it's "more intimate and natural". Some just plain don't realize they're carrying until they start having contractions. Cogless bots popping out babies with cogs will only cause problems, so the best way to prevent such a thing is to convince them that chastity is their best option. Most of them die before they can find someone they want to be with forever, and even among those that do, they struggle to save up enough money for a bonding license. Keeping them repressed and chaste is just another means of his control.

Now, as for sweet D-16 >:) he practically worships Sentinel Prime. He has such blind adoration and trust in him. Orion adores him too, of course, but not quite on the same level. He doesn't look at Sentinel with the same stars in his optics, though certainly has boundless respect and admiration for him. When they're visited by the Prime post-Iacon 5000, they're invited up to his personal suite 👀

Consider: instead of getting immediately jumped by Darkwing, they actually do get escorted up there. It's grander than anything either of them have ever seen, a shining and spotless penthouse with a 360° view of the city, expensive chaises to lounge on and bottles of the finest, smoothest high grade, even a jacuzzi! Sentinel Prime meets them there, and, placing a gentle hand on each of their faces, purrs that he wants to reward them.

"I've never seen anything like what you two did today," D-16 whimpers at his praise, beaming sunshine, and Orion is awestruck. "Come... sit with me."

They follow their Prime obediently and he relaxes onto one of the lounges, pulling the two cute little miners down on either side of him. They talk--or rather, Sentinel talks and they hang onto his every word, each tucked under one of his arms and nestled close against his chassis--and eventually he pops a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. Neither Dee nor Orion have ever had such high quality energon before: it goes down thick and smooth and warm, sending a blast of heat through their little bodies that pool in their tummies and make them start to squirm and feel woozy. Sentinel prompts they drink the whole thing, each of them, and by the time they're done they're gasping and swaying. So strong! Too strong!

The Prime's huge blue servo slides onto D-16's face, admiring his dazed expression. His optics are flickering, shutters at their halfway point, and he's visibly flushed, mouth dropped open and pretty lips parted as he pants. Swaying gently back and forth like that, Sentinel can't resist. He leans down and kisses him, gentle but controlling, and D-16 makes an honest-to-Primes squealing noise.

As soon as Sentinel pulls back, Dee wavers and collapses back against the chaise, optics blown wide even as an uncontrollable smile splits his face. He starts giggling, covering his face and rocking back and forth as euphoria bubbles out of him in uncontrollable, adorable laughter. "Oh my stars-" he gushes. "Oh my stars omistars omistars wow...!" His first kiss has left him breathless and elated, barely able to speak, worship and the greatest joy imaginable shining in his optics.

Sentinel Prime has them, both of them, in his suite, over and over and over again. They're both virgins, have never touched another mech or been touched in turn, and their leader takes great revelry is breaking their seals. Fucking their tight little valves until they're wailing and cumming in his lap, sobbing in ecstasy into his neck, clumsily kissing at his plating and swearing that they adore him, they love him, please more, more, more! He frags them on the furniture, against the wall, on the floor, even in the hot tub. He has them both on their knees in front of him on the lounge, licking and sucking at his spike and pushing each other to lap up drops of his transfluid, asks them to use their mouths on each other while he watches. He even asks them to bear their sparks and they do: he doesn't share his own but he's glad to tease at theirs, and it reduces them to mewling little piles on the floor, twitching and rocking and moaning as they crash through overload after overload. Such beautiful little pets, so eager to please, he could definitely get used to having them around for awhile.

When their time comes to an end they've started to sober up, snuggled against his sides on one of the lounges, still whimpering and panting high on pleasure, excess charge making them woozy and giggly even though the high grade is nearly out of their systems. Airachnid arrives and doesn't even give them a passing glance, informing the Prime that it's time to depart. He sends them back to their home in the mines, promising to see them again soon, just as soon as he returns from his next crusade to the surface.

D-16 and Orion stumble home giggling and shoving each other, still adjusting their armor and poking at the paint transfers spattered all over them. They're euphoric, there's no other word for it, high as a kite on pleasure, on the knowledge that Sentinel Prime wanted them and they were able to satisfy him! No longer virgins and instead claimed by the Prime!

Their batchmates welcome them home with a cacophony of cheers and hugs and jostling--MINERS! In the RACE! Their very own brothers, in the Iacon 5000! And- wait, why are you two all wet...?

They weren't intending to tell everyone, but the way they look at each other and blush and start snickering and struggling to explain is telling enough. Ratchet is already approaching with a wrench to scold them, they know better than to let a moment of excitement cloud their judgement-

"Uh, w-well-"

"Sentinel Prime wanted to-"

"SENTINEL PRIME?!" The entire room screams out in shock at once, before the cheering resumes tenfold. Their batchmates got the attention of THE Sentinel Prime?! Sentinel Prime made love to their batchmates! A couple of miners got the attention and affection of their Prime! If they thought the Iacon 5000 was inspiring that's nothing compared to this: before you know it the entire sector is mining energon at a lightning fast pace and they've hit their quotas before shift is even a quarter of the way done.

Orion and D-16 happily get to work as well, eager to do their best so that when their dashing Prime returns to them, they can tell him about how hard they worked and how much energon they mined and how well everyone is going to eat because of them!

When Sentinel Prime suddenly returns and orders triple shifts, they're surprised. Very surprised. It's not like him at all! Pretty soon the miners are running on no sleep and little fuel, some are injured and being denied time for repair and seek medical treatment. And D-16, despite his best efforts, is starting to fall behind after several weeks of the brutal demands. He's getting dizzy which he attributes to the lack of recharge. His servos keep dropping things even when he's sure he has a tight grip on them. He's nauseous, all the time, and multiple times a shift stumbles away from the rest of his crew to gag and vomit in a corner of whatever energon vein they're currently working in. Orion tries to get him to slow down, to stop, because he's clearly sick and needs medical care, but Dee isn't willing to stop. "Sentinel Prime needs us, Pax! We can't stop now!"

It all comes to a head as they're dragging themselves out of a tunnel with a full load of raw energon to be refined. D-16 suddenly stumbles, clamping one servo over his mouth and running off to the side. Orion hurriedly follows him after making sure Ironhide and Jazz have got the minecart.

"Hey, easy, easy-" he comes to rub his back as his best friend bends over, servos braced on his knees and body already rolling with slow, threatening heaves. He moans that he doesn't want to, he's so sick of purging, it hurts, please Primus, not today! "C'mon, just, let it out. You'll feel better once it's out, Dee."

D-16 groans and hunches over further, arms wrapping around his middle. "No... Primes, please- hgk-!"

"OI!" A miserably familiar voice suddenly bellows behind them, and Orion's sympathetic expression drops to sheer annoyance. Oh, no. "YOU TWO! Whaddo you think you're doin'?!" Darkwing is storming up to them. "Sentinel Prime wants his energon, so GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Darkwing, please," for once Orion is polite, one servo still braced on his friend's back. "D-16's sick, he needs-"

"I don't CARE what you think he needs!" Their superior roars, grabbing them both by the shoulders and forcing then around to face him. "I said, get back to-"

Dee promptly hurls all over the slagger's pedes.

He can't hold it anymore, but he tries, clamping both servos over his mouth even as he purges again. Half-digested energon splashes through his fingers and sprays all over Darkwing's chassis, who roars in disgust and backpedals away from him. Dee crumples to his knees, gagging, both servos planted on the floor before he throws up one final time, emptying his already meager tanks and ejecting a puddle of digestive acid that burns at his throat. It dribbles out of the vents on his neck and nasal ridge, and he sobs. Primus, he feels so sick!

Darkwing's response, naturally, is to grab them both and throw them down to sublevel 50 😌 there they meet B-127, and the plot kicks off, though a bit later than before. They make it to the surface and set out to find the Matrix. The journey is significantly longer with D-16's condition, constantly having to stop so he can rest or purge. Orion, at one point, offers to carry him, and Dee is too miserable to protest. Let's Orion gently hoist him onto his back and promptly passes out with his helm on his shoulder. He's overly warm, Orion notices: feverish, surely a sign that he's getting worse. They need to find the Matrix, soon. Maybe it can help cure Dee's sickness! And if not, well, once energon flows again they won't have to mine, and D-16 will be able to see a doctor as soon as they get home. They'll get him the medicine he needs and he'll be just fine.

When they finally arrive at the Grave of the Primes, D-16 is in bad shape. Shaking like a rust rattler, dry heaving because there's nothing left in his systems to throw up, and very hot to the touch. Orion nor Elita nor B-127 have ever seen a mech in quite such a miserable state, and they're all very worried. Orion sits him down on a rock and tells him to rest, and D-16 just hunches over, helm between his knees and arms folded over his head, the epitome of misery. Whimpering softly and praying to the Primes to please, please, make it stop. Whatever this virus is that's tormenting him, please just make it stop!

Then, they find and awaken Alpha Trion.

The Prime notices Dee's condition. Immediately. He can see it, an invisible aura none but the divine can see: this young mech hosts a precious newspark inside of him. Before he tells them the story of what happened, he opts to examine the little one. He's so young, probably too young to be a carrier yet, but he's undeniably sparked. A few decacycles along.

He tells them what's going on, why D-16 is so grievously ill. "Your sparkling is starving," he tells him seriously. "You are not receiving enough donations. Their protoform is cannibalizing your body, that is the root of your sickness. Where... is the sire? He or she should be caring for your needs."

All four of them are staring at Alpha Trion with their mouths open. D-16 is carrying?! He's pregnant?! But who-

Elita one punches Orion in the face as hard as she can, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a cry of surprise. "OW! What the-"

"You slagger!" She plants one pede on his chassis and presses down til she hears metal creak and he goes 'ow ow ow!'. "It was you, I know it was you! Who else would be so dumb?! You got him sparked up and haven't been taking care of him?! You worthless deadbeat! I should rip your fragging denta out with pliers! One at a time! I should!"

"Omigosh, Dee," behind her, B-127's voice has gone airy and light in excitement. He comes up to the silver mech's side, grabbing his servo to squeeze. "Congrats, dude! You're gonna be a mom!"

D-16, for his part, is sat there in shock. Shoulders dropped and loose, mouth hanging open, staring at Alpha Trion with his optics so wide they're at liberty to pop right out of the sockets and need recalibrating. "I'm..." his voice is barely above a whisper, shaking servos drifting toward his tummy. "You mean- I'm-?!"

He's starting to smile, joy bubbling up in his chest. Excitement, too. And terror. And a million other things that he can't name because he's too shocked, but suddenly despite how sick he feels he can't help but start to laugh. Delight blooms in his chest and forces it's way out of his throat as he starts to giggle and chuckle, and before long he's doubled over holding his stomach and laughing with tears of joy streaming down his face.

"I'm- I'm having a-" he jumps up to run over to Orion, shooing Elita off of him and throwing his arms around his friend. "Pax I'm sparked! I- I can't wait to tell Sentinel, he's gonna be so excited!"

"Sentinel?" Alpha Trion's voice goes cold and harsh behind them.

"Yes! Oh- Oh yes, Sentinel Prime, he-"

"He is NO PRIME!" The old mech bellows, and all four of them turn to look at him in confusion. "He does not bear our name!"

"...WHAT?!"

The grand reveal is even more sour this time around. So, so much more sour. The betrayal runs so much deeper, and D-16 is horrified and sickened. Watching the mech he adores and admires so much bowing to the quintessons and giving away the energon that they worked so hard for. It was already bad, but now? Now, he's carrying that monster's offspring. A sparkling conceived under false pretenses, under coercion, under lies. This baby hadn't been created by love and mutual respect, it has been made by a mech that lied to their faces to get them into his bed, to get access to their bodies to use for his own pleasure however he saw fit.

D-16 feels disgusting. Violated. Worthless. He feels tricked and used and abused. He stares down at his body feeling more nausea already roiling in the deepest pits of his tanks. Sentinel had touched him everywhere. There's not a single inch of space anywhere that's clean of that mech's touch.

No one is surprised when he suddenly folds to his knees and screams. Screams with all the force of his anguish, his shattered trust, his broken and reviled body. Manic, he claws at his chassis with feverbright optics, wailing at them to, "Get it out of me...! GET IT OUT OF ME! I don't want it, I don't- I don't want it, GET IT OUT!"

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devestated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do.

...

Ok im gonna cut this here cuz it's getting long, like really long and my hands are tired. I can barely move my left side today lmao. Poor poor Dee 😌 hope you enjoyed this nugget of angst! If ya'll wanna see a part 2, you know what to do. The box is open uwu

[grassyhorizon45]

Could you do a fic where y/n has did, but it doubting themselves and convincing themselves they don't have it? Or just more fics with did. I love reading them but I can't find very many

ok.. so this rotted my brain a little and ended up becoming maybe quite long :D srry in advanced for all the DID terms and such :3 pt 2 will come soon I promise.

Help.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Marauders x Y/n but she realises something a little different about herself and the insecurity starts to build.

Warnings: A small bit of yelling, mostly fluff...and a few big words :D

Words: 718

It was subtle at first…

“H-Huh? What do you mean potion class was yesterday?”

“How did I end up here again?”

Then the voices, occasional laughs no one else could hear—

“Siri, I'm h-hearing things again…”

Remus heard from across the room. “Again bunny?”  “That's not good, maybe we should talk to a professor about it?” Sirius suggested.

Y/n refused…… refused to alert the professors of her anomaly, refused to admit it was hindering her ability to function—

Refused to admit it bothered her a lot.

“I told you about the party three times already… What do you mean ‘I never mentioned anything about a party’??!”  James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder at the sight of Y/n tensing up. “Calm down Pads, there's no need to yell. 

Sirius took a deep breath, “I just… d-don't understand, love.” 

……I don't understand either. 

* * *

“I think I found an answer,” Remus said when they were hanging out in the boys’ room one day. 

“An answer?” asked James.  “To Y/n’s sudden… forgetfulness.”

“And the voices?” Y/n couldn't stop herself from blurting.  Remus smiled to himself proudly, “And the voices, bunny.” 

“You found the cause, Moons?” Sirius walked over to the boy whose nose was deep into his book, ruffling Remus’ light brown hair. 

“It's called Dissociative Identity Disorder…” 

“Disso- Wh-What?” Y/n couldn't catch the word. 

“A character in this book has it… He's very detached sometimes and he tends to forget events he and his friends witnessed; so kind of like you, bunny.” 

“D-Detached? D-Do I-?” James nodded at Y/n’s question. “Sometimes, baby.” 

“He talks to himself occasionally too,” Remus added about the character’s description. “The protagonist thinks it's schizophrenia, but the narrator says it's cause of the voices in his head–” 

“Imma stop you there, Moony,” Sirius butt-in as he saw the slight panic growing in Y/n's eyes.  “For one, how do we know if this ‘identity disorder’ thing isn’t something the author made up, and two, if our bunny actually has it. Additionally if so, what do we do about it?”

Sirius made a valid point, yet all Y/n's mind could cling on to was how accurate Remy’s fictional character resembled the things she was experiencing. 

“Baby, you okay?” James put a steady hand around her waist. 

Y/n blinked a few times, bringing herself back to the present. 

“Y-Yeah, I'm good,” she assured her three worried looking boyfriends. “C-Can you write the d-disorder down for me Remy? I think I'll hit the library.” 

“Why don't we pay the library a visit together? I'm down to crack this case,” said Sirius, eager to get started. 

“Sirius Orion Black wanting to visit the library?” James gasped sarcastically. “Never heard of it,” beamed Remus. 

Y/n giggled, “Okay, okay. You guys can come too.” 

* * *

Digging deeper into this so-called ‘Dissociative Identity Disorder’, there were subdiagnoses like OSDD: Other Specified Dissociative Disorder or just amnesia itself could be a possibility. 

Y/n's boyfriends all had their heads wrapped around learning things like multiple personalities, dissociative amnesia, headspace theory, and even causes of DID. 

“I d-don't even have ‘alters’......"

"Guys, it's not so important, we can just let it slide you know…” Y/n mumbled, hating the silence of endless research. 

“Plus Jamie, you have a match against Hufflepuff tomorrow… Shouldn't you practice?” 

“You're right,” James remembered. “I do have a match…” 

Remus shrugged, “Go ahead Prongs, we don't mind.” 

James said a quick thanks before hurrying off. Y/n turned to look at Sirius. The black haired was sprawled on the library table, snoring softly. 

Was never a bookworm that man, unlike Remus. 

“Rem, I think we should leave it,” Y/n said to him as he asked yet another ‘are you experiencing this’ question. 

“We just wanna help you figure this out bunny…” 

“I know… But it's not really a big deal and it's probably just me being forgetful and a touch of sleep deprivation anyways. Look, even Siri’s fast asleep… At least take a break, love?” 

“Alright.” 

It wasn't that Y/n didn't trust her significant others, nor was it really because she was tired. All she wanted was to shut off all possibilities that she could actually be mentally unstable, to make sure she wasn't being a walking ‘waste of time’.

Yet...

She couldn't shake the bugging thought that this whole thing was somehow a facade......

A trick her mind had orchestrated for attention...

...what?

[ghostwritermia]

Pairing ~ Remus Lupin x blacksister!reader (slytherin reader)

Word Count ~ 988

Summary ~ With a haunted mind you look for solace in books, when you really needed it from your boyfriend, and he happily gave it to you

Warnings ~ Beginner level writing, angst, mentions of evil Walburga and Orion (they can literally just leave), Remus being a sweetheart, unedited

Note From Mia ~ Second time writing on here....I hope you like it, but I understand if not lmao

You had always been more on the reserved side. Where Sirius had chosen to leave the tortures from 12 Grimmauld Place behind him when the Black Siblings returned to school, you and Regulus had been the opposite.

You couldn’t forget. It wasn’t possible. The horrors you always faced at home haunted you every night, leading into early in the mornings, leaving you restless the rest of the day. The only peace you got was when you could sneak off into the library to bury your nose in whatever book you had your hands on. Whether that was a reread or a completely new genre, it didn’t matter. It was an escape.

So, that is exactly what you were doing now. You had been curled up in an armchair in a secluded corner of the library, reading, for almost an hour now. No distractions. Mind blank. Peace finally washing over you.

Letting out a soft sigh, you flipped the page, getting ready to read another chapter when a shadow loomed over you.

“Hello, Dove,” Remus whispered from above you. “Having a bad day?”

You and Remus had met in the Library on a rainy afternoon, and just sat together in silence while reading. Over time you had started small talk, and that led to conversations, which then led into a friendship, turned secret relationship.

It’s not that you wanted it to stay a secret, however, Remus and you were both scared of backlash from Sirius, and you were terrified of your parents; therefore, they could never find out.

Remus notices that you’re too far, too deep into your book to notice him. To pull you back into the present, he carefully rests a hand on your thigh and rubs gently, coaxing you back into the real world.

You flinch slightly at the contact before looking up to see your boyfriend. “Oh, Rem, hi. How long have you been there?” You ask, shutting your book to give him your undivided attention.

Remus ignores you, smiling gently, not sympathetically though, because he knows by now that you won’t accept it. “What do you need from me, Dovy? To talk?” He’s more than aware that you are not actually going to open up right now, he can see it in your eyes from a mile away.

“Can you just hold me?” You whisper, your words laced with vulnerability. 

Remus’s eyes soften before he shuffles you around, sliding onto the chair behind you, and situating you onto his lap. He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you, gently stroking your hair, occasionally leaving a kiss to the crown of your head. 

When he thinks you're almost asleep, you speak again, “Nothing ever lasts forever, Rem.”

“I know, love. What are you referring to?” He asks, dread filtering into his mind. The lycanthrope has a love-hate relationship with your deep thoughts. Some bring on deep meaningful conversations, whereas others are filled with unnecessary insecurity and doubts.

“Us,” You mutter the exact words that he was dreading.

“No.” Remus says sternly, a tone you rarely hear him use. “I will always love you,” He turns you so you’re sitting sideways in his lap, him making direct eye contact with you, making sure that you hold it. “We’re not doing this, you need to get rid of whatever negative ghosts that are haunting your mind, because we are not breaking up. If I need to help chase those ghosts away, then so be it, but you cannot let them dictate our relationship. Ours, not theirs.”

You nod, burying your head into his neck, breathing in the calming scent of cocoa and old books, mixed with a hint of pine. 

“I want to hear you say it,” He whispers, nudging you with his shoulder.

You lift your head from the crook of his neck and smile weakly. “Ours, not the ghosts.”

“Exactly right, Dove.”

Remus leans in and gently presses his lips to yours, and you reciprocate before he leans back, pulling you into his chest. “I love you,” He whispers, again, knowing you needed reassurance. “And I always will.” 

You nod, “I love you, forever and always.” It comes out in a whisper, but Remus hears it anyway and presses his forehead against yours, but not before pressing a kiss to your nose.

He slowly reaches up and presses the pads of his thumbs where he knows your dimples are and where he knows they should be right now. “Can you smile for me, Love?”

And you do. Because you love him, more than you thought you were ever capable of. You smile crookedly, showing Remus that it is indeed a true smile, and he leaves a kiss on both dimples before pulling away and smiling back at you.

You bring your own thumbs to his face, rubbing gently over the hundreds of freckles scattered along his face.

He kisses you gently once more before grabbing your book, “Now, what were we reading before I interrupted?” He questions teasingly. 

“Well, I was reading that,” You admit sheepishly, pulling out a quill and ink container from your bag.

“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?” Remus raises a teasing brow.

“Oh hush,” You shove his shoulder. “I was in the mood for something different and it was in the muggle book section. It seemed interesting.” 

“No judgment from me then, Dove.” He whispers, opening the book at your marked spot.

And that is exactly how you and Remus spend the rest of your day. Him reading to you, and you drawing thin vines, small flowers, and a variety of constellations on his various scars while you listen to his soothing voice tell the story of a girl with a dog that somehow got sucked into a tornado and transported into the world of Oz. It didn’t make sense to you, but Remus was reading it, and that was all that seemed to matter to you at that very moment.

[frameacloud]

To watch the above video, you need to be signed into Youtube so that you can say you're at least 18. This is the recording of my presentation at Othercon 2024. "Phantom Limbs and Phantom Sensations, Human and Otherwise," by Orion Scribner.

Summary: "When someone has sensations of body parts that they do not physically have, this is part of the phenomenon of phantom limbs. Section one is an overview of the medical literature. What other conditions cause phantoms than amputation? What treatments do people use if it’s painful? This focuses on facts, acknowledges mysteries, and respects people who are disabled or marginalized. Section two is my original research about people who feel sensations of nonhuman body parts, for example, a tail. This comes from my survey of more than 1000 adults. How do people name, describe, and live with these sensations? This is a neutral presentation of differing opinions so you can form your own. People feel phantoms for many reasons. Let's find out what our experiences do and don’t have in common, and what we can learn from one another."

The 18+ rating is because some of the body parts it talks about are sex organs, even though it's similar to a health class. I'm eventually going to re-do this whole presentation, and I apologize for my lecture quality in this one. (I grossly overshot how long my outline would turn out to be, so it feels rushed and unfinished! Am I going to start my own channel where I make four hour long lecture videos!?) In any case, this is also the start of what I'll be turning into a book, so that I can cite from more medical journal articles, and give more detailed information about the results of the survey. My partner @who-is-page and I will also later release the (anonymized) raw data of the survey.

In addition to the above video, here is the slideshow that I used in it, so you can click on the links in them, as well as read the lecture notes below each slide.

[whirligig-girl]

As a lower decker, Ensign Eaurp Guz doesn't have a lot of space for a model railroad. Arguably she could fit like a shelf layout precariously above her tub-bunk, but that's where she keeps some of her model spaceships. So instead, she builds larger scale model engines and runs them on the holodeck. Here's a roughly G gauge model of a Slopspit & Southern Class 80 "Easy"-type 2-6-0 steam engine with decorative smoke baffles. Like most of her models it's built with function in mind, so it's live steam.

Guz's model rockets and spacecrafts are either run in the holodeck, or in certain conditions on shoreleave or staged out of the shuttlebay on actual spaceflights. For example, the Orion Nuclear Pulse Rocket from Guzcomic was planned to make a round trip between Douglas Station and the planet's moon, DbII before it went and exploded itself, and the lunar lander she'd built for the Apollo 11 anniversary was going to actually land on the Moon.

When she can fully recover her models, she keeps them in storage and rotates them in the display above her tub-bunk.

Guz also has plans for a proper model railroad which would replicate a colliery circa 2350 with a late example of a revenue-earning steam locomotive in approximately HO-ish gauge, but it would require having her own quarters.

She's also kicking around plans to make a 1:4800 scale layout which would fit on a microscope slide.

[cherryslyce]

The Avarice Files (I) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead. 

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant. The synopsis has been edited to be more succinct!

Soft clicks emit throughout the sterile hallway, bouncing from the glossy black tiles and toward the arching ceiling as you pace toward the imposing steel doors. The two guards stationed on either side of the thick barrier give you a nod of acknowledgment as you feel your new badge pulse in your pocket, the intangible magic colliding with the intricate mechanisms of the doors. 

The stirring of gears and locks echo between the three of you until both slabs of steel soundlessly swing open, immediately gracing you with a gust of cool air. The outstretch of navy carpet swirls across your vision as the pitch-black ceiling and walls siphon away any excess color. To your right, a large succession of trimless mirrors reflects the beams of white light on the ceiling, lining the walls up until the large desk rooted at the extremity of the room. 

“Welcome, Agent.”

The rumbling voice snaps you from your reverie as your eyes fall upon the stern face of your new boss, his staggering figure nearly washed away by the layers of black robes adorning him. 

“Unspeakable Gawdry,” you greet with a level tone, inclining your head to the side as you briskly make your way to him. “I’m afraid that it's now, former agent, sir.” 

Your light correction fails to faze him as his mouth remains in a firm line, gloved hands splaying themselves across his speckless desk as he moves to sit down on his leather chair. “Actually, agent, I believe such a title will be suitable for your duties here.”  

“Sir?” You trail off, standing across from him as your fingers itch to fiddle with your holstered wand. 

“Now, you didn’t think someone of your caliber would be a mere office assistant, did you? Your skillset on the field is the reason why I accepted you to be my new assistant, Agent.” Gawdry continues, pulling out one of his drawers without looking away. “It’s those skills that I intend to put to use.” 

Before you’re able to respond, the man slides a clipped folder toward you, eyebrows raising as he gestures for you to read through it. 

Tentatively grasping at the folder, you flip through the countless pages with a frown. 

Daily Prophet: Defected Death Eater Dies!

— September 8, 1979

Second son of Walburga and Orion Black and Heir of the Noble House of Black, Regulus Black, has unexpectedly died. Just two weeks since the fall of You-Know-Who, reports from Albus Dumbledore himself confirm the young Black’s prior involvement with aiding the Light side against Death Eater forces. The Hogwarts headmaster conveyed that the young Black’s help was integral to the armistice and defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  

Young Regulus Black, described as a profound force in the classroom by Potions Professor, Horace Slughorn, is said to have fallen into critical condition shortly after his defection. Before succumbing to his fate, the young wizard outlined crucial information that was imperative to concluding the miasma of carnage. 

“It is truly a deep tragedy to watch such a bright mind gradually wither away. With Mr.Black’s death, we must be vigilant in our future struggles against great darkness.” – Albus Dumbledore 

“The loss of such a capable wizard… It is unforgivable. Really, the loss of so many courageous wizards and witches, it is an insurmountable grief for many years to come.” – Minister Mangum

Dear readers, in times of celebration for the new era, we must also keep our fallen in our hearts. The fate of the House of Black remains uncertain, but Regulus Black’s tremendous sacrifice must not be forgotten. 

(Turn to page 5 for exclusive interviews with Arnold Vall)

  

You heave out a small sigh at the flimsy clipping, remembering the day you read the very same article at your dinner table. However, it is not the aged Daily Prophet snippet that renders you speechless, but the stack of papers underneath it– papers you recognize from the Auror Department: an agent’s composite mission profile. 

Regulus Arcturus Black (b.1961 – )

“Death’s Herald”  

Service: 1980 – Present

Status: Active 

Completed Assignments: 501

01.25.80 - 02.29.80: Recovery of Helena’s Trove. Calais, France. 

03.02.80 - 03.05.80: Rescue of Auror Tinsley. Birmingham, England. 

03.08.80 - 03.24.80: Capture of Antonin Dolohov & Augustus Rookwood. 

03.30.80 - 04.16.80: Capture & disposal of [redacted]. 

04.22.80 - 04.23.80: Disposal of Reginold Flint. 

04.26.80 - 04.29.80: Disposal of Pyrites Ingrim II. 

05.02.80 - 05.02.80: Disposal of Leon Wilkes. 

05.06.80 - 05.07.80: Disposal of [redacted] Org. 

05.11.80 - 05.14.80: Disposal of Henry Binns

. 

. 

. 

. 

.

07.15.90 - Pending: Retrieval of [redacted] 

Your eyes are practically bulging from their sockets as you peer up, the fine text of dates and the slew of disposal, disposal, disposal causing your eyes to dry. “Sir? I don’t understand… Regulus is–” 

“Alive and well, Agent.” He softly cuts you off, licking his lips as he awaits your onslaught of curiosity. 

Alive and well and the bloody Death Herald. The hottest topic of debate amongst all ranks of Aurors in your former department. Elusive, unforgiving—and apparently, actually a real person. 

You nearly huff out a disbelieving laugh, slowly shutting the folder in your hands as you persevere in your denial, “How is that possible?” 

“Agent Black was immediately enrolled into the Ministry’s witness protection program for high-profile individuals after his… death as per the request of Albus Dumbledore. He has been handling a number of top Auror missions since.” Gawdry explains, hands clasping together as his words slice through the air with a suffocating revelation. 

“Disposal missions.” Killing people. Though, you eschewed the unambiguous words, not eager to ruffle your boss’ feathers so early into your career. 

Gawdry cracks a wry smile at your comment— as if reading your mind, and hums in confirmation. “Ten years of it. An adept adversary, I pity anyone who finds themself at the end of his wand. He’s the Ministry’s greatest weapon. Such information is highly classified, only high ranking officials and leaders are aware of this fact, so it would be unwise for you to break your code of silence on this, Agent.” 

“Sure, right, no problem. And these redacted parts?” You cough out, a migraine beginning to bloom across your temples. 

The man clicks his tongue and leans back in his chair, “Above your pay grade, Agent.” 

“Right.” Your dejectedness weighs on your shoulders as you will your eyes to stay locked on him. 

He raises a finger and clears his throat, “With the exception of the last one.” 

Before you can press further, a familiar jingle of clicking locks reverberates across the room. Turning around, you narrow your eyes as a tall figure begins to strut into the room without a word. You swallow harshly as you survey the approaching individual, taking note of their dark hooded cloak and fitted apparel. A field agent. Clothes for mobility. Agile, controlled movements. Tense, cautious posture. It was all a dead giveaway—it was like looking at a reflection of yourself, really. 

As the person grows closer to you, you blink rapidly as you realize they’re wearing a mask that enshrouds their entire face. The white face covering is streaked with grey lines, enhancing the expressionless slant of its lips. A warm prickle on the back of your neck draws your attention away from the ivory ridges and toward the blazing green eyes that were now locked on your gobsmacked face. 

“Great timing, Agent Black.” Gawdry rises from his seat and nods toward the newcomer, ignoring your ticked jaw as you silently look back to him for an explanation. 

Your shoulders stiffen as Agent Black halts beside you, an aura of indifference radiating from him. You’re suddenly conscious of the way his body heat emanates toward you, how he vaguely nods at Gawdry’s words, and how he seems to be assessing you from the corner of his eye as well. 

The infamous Death Herald was beside you, and he also happened to be Regulus bloody Black. The very same Regulus who you silently mourned all those years ago, the Regulus Black who you admired from afar during your school days—

“As I was saying before, there is a new assignment. One that you will both complete together.” Gawdry’s eyes are dim, a few stress lines clinging to his forehead as he shuffles out a thick packet. 

Regulus crosses his arms and clears his throat, “It requires two of us? I am capable of doing it alone.” 

—the same Regulus that you wanted to hex at that very moment.

Your eyebrows fly into your hairline as you muffle a scoff, slightly tilting your head toward him as you bite out an acerbic retort. “Apparently not, seeing as we’re both standing here.” 

Regulus merely glances at you before peering at Gawdry for an answer, intent on dismissing your irritation. Your boss appraises you with clear amusement before his stern mask falls back into place as he swiftly slides the packet toward you both, “We are aware of your competence, Agent Black. However, your partner here is trained specifically for retrieval and infiltration assignments.” Gawdry pauses and glances at you, “As well as issues involving our time space.”

If you weren’t still reeling from your previous bristling thoughts, you would have preened a bit at your boss’ words, flattered that he seemed to be backing you. Though, this only encouraged the tiny pride-gremlin in your chest— because take that Black! You’re completely out of your depth at the Department of Mysteries.

You step forward first and pull the hefty envelope toward you, wasting no time in undoing the string tie. “No use dawdling.” You mutter, feeling two pairs of eyes burning into your head. 

As you reach inside the packet and grasp at the stack of papers, your eyebrows furrow once you realize there are three separate folders inside. Bringing the first folder under the light, you nearly roll your eyes as you practically feel Regulus craning to read it, stubbornly refusing to move closer to you. 

You wordlessly maneuver the contents in between you both, opting to return your attention to Gawdry as Regulus softly tugs out one of the folders from your hand. “A time travel assignment, boss?” 

Gawdry nods and cracks his knuckles, “An assignment our Department has been piecing together for years. A few spins of a time turner, in-and-out with the relics. Our recon crew finally cracked down on most of the significant information, so we’ve assigned the best of the best to complete it.” 

“Are you buttering us up because we’re marching toward imminent doom?” You ask, tone inflated with amusement. 

Regulus remains silent, but lifts his head up imperceptibly to look at Gawdry. The older man glances between you both before humming, “It is an urgent assignment and undoubtedly, a risky one.” 

“Well, interfering with time is never a simple matter.” You answer plainly, hands moving to hug the remaining two folders to your chest. 

“When do we start?” Regulus’ steely voice takes you by surprise, the rough tone still foreign to your ears. 

Gawdry leans back and fixes him with an unwavering stare, “Preferably now. It is a time sensitive case, so I expect you both to work together seamlessly.” 

Forbearance embraces you tightly as you nod, already mentally outlining how to work around Regulus’ one-note, detached attitude on the field. Despite that, you had to give him credit, a decade of solitude and bloodshed was bound to foster such apathy, and you weren’t sure you could survive what he did. 

Regulus spins on his heel without a word, beginning to make his way toward the towering doors as you remain rooted to your spot. Gawdry’s eyes remain on Regulus’ retreating figure as he acknowledges you, “Yes, Agent?” 

“Is this going to be a fixed partnership?” Your fingers twitch in anticipation as you hear the doors click shut behind you. 

“That remains to be seen. There is a lot on the line so I’ll be direct, Agent,” Gawdry pauses before finally looking at you, “this was supposed to be a solo assignment, but at the insistence of Head Auror Chao, I accepted her request to let Agent Black tag along.” 

“You mean that this was originally my assignment?” You gape in surprise, barely processing that your former boss was single handedly responsible for Regulus’ presence. 

“Yes. It is quite beneficial for me, don’t misconstrue. Such a case rightfully belongs to the Department of Mysteries, but without a qualified Unspeakable to carry out the brief…” Gawdry explains, nodding as your eyes light up in realization. 

“Then it would have been given to the Auror Department.” You finish with a hum, shuffling your weight to one foot, “So my unceremonious decision to transfer to the Department of Mysteries gave you a window of opportunity.” 

Gawdry nods again, and a sharp grin tugs at his mouth, “Precisely. You can imagine how unhappy Auror Chao was at the loss of such an adept field agent and an extraordinary case all in one go.” 

“That checks out. So, Agent Black is collateral.” You conclude, all semblance of firm professionalism flying out of the window. 

Gawdry does not deign you with an answer, but he shoots a pointed look at the doors with a good natured eyebrow raise, prompting you to swiftly depart from the cold room with a pleased grin. As you pace out of the office, you’re left to toy with your thoughts, still conflicted on how you would have to adapt to Regulus’ methods amidst such a precarious mission. 

Stepping away from the threshold of Gawdry’s office, you squint as your eyes adjust to the lifeless tiles of the hallway. Before you’re able to wander further, you’re stopped in your tracks at the sight of Regulus’ motionless figure ways off from you, his stormy eyes greeting you with glimmering impassivity. 

“Ah. You waited.” You sputter out quietly, striding towards him as he pivots and begins to walk away. 

Your eyes linger on the taut muscles of his shoulders, vaguely visible under the cloth of cloak as he continues walking. Awkward tension settles in the air as you take the lead toward the Atrium of Artifacts, not knowing how to breach conversation as you make way to retrieve a time turner. 

Clearing your throat lightly, you bite your cheek as you finally break the silence. “Oh, we went to school together. I don’t know if you remember, I was a year under you.” 

“I remember.” The answer is immediate and nearly robotic, a clear sign that he was either uncaring for pleasantries or inclined to work in silence. 

“Ah. Well, I’m glad that you’re okay.” I even lit a bloody candle for you. 

Regulus hums out lightly before swiftly segwaying back into work, “I read the brief. We’re retrieving lost files.” 

“Files?” You intone faintly, sifting through your memories for any information on file relics. 

As you round the corner towards the distribution center for time turners, Regulus throws you a small glance and continues, “1958. Clyde Rosier’s Estate.” 

“1958… Rosier? Evan’s father?” You mumble, remembering the blonde boy that often paraded around the halls with the other older Slytherins, most meeting the same untimely fate as him. 

Regulus is decisively mute about your revelation, possibly reminiscing on similar memories of the boy. You were quite positive that they were familiar with each other some eons ago, having been in Voldemort’s inner circle for a brief time together. 

Before you have time to stew further on your thoughts, you’re both crossing into the large hall of artifacts. The atrium stretches skyhigh, evaporating into a blanket of darkness that accompanies the biting chill permeating across the room. Suppressing a shiver, you survey the dark perimeter, appreciating the bulbs of floating lights at the heart of the room, the cluster of orbs pulsing with enough glow to dimly light up the surroundings. 

“Merlin, is the whole department cloaked in darkness? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not being able to see 20 feet ahead of me.” You mumble, eyes darting toward an approaching figure wading through the shadows of the room. 

Regulus lets out a small huff, and you’re almost certain that it was one of amusement and not exasperation, but the cloaked Unspeakable approaching you leaves little time to ruminate on it. 

“Yes?” The raspy voice coils through the air. 

Fishing out your new badge, you quickly flash it to the Unspeakable with a dry smile, “We need a time turner, and perhaps a bag with an extension charm.” It is silent for a few moments before you clear your throat, “Please.” 

The cloaked figure gives a small nod before slinking away, leaving you and Regulus to observe the lusterless environment. 

“Have you ever worked with a partner on your assignments?” You ask, nerves buzzing like static as you drum your fingers against the folders in your hands. 

Regulus’ head tilts toward you, “No.” The hushed answer seems definitive, and just as you’re about to clamber back into your shell, his voice rings out again, “You?” 

“Ah, me neither.” You admit a bit sheepishly, yet still satisfied that he didn’t completely dismiss you. 

The air seems a bit warmer than before, driving you to face forward and continue waiting for the Unspeakable to reappear. 

As if summoned, a faint rustle emits near you before you see the cloaked figure trudge toward you, arms full of parchment and a woven bag. Furrowing your eyebrows, you step forward and reach over to assist them, slowly unfurling the parchment and raising it up to the light. 

Regulus steps forward to read it with you, clearly uncertain of the rules in your Department. 

‘TERMS OF USE: Time Turner.

As per regulations and codes of The Department of Mysteries, this contract constitutes a legally binding agreement. Rights and access to a Time Turner may only be permitted through signature, if you disagree with any of the terms listed in this contract, you are not permitted to use a Time Turner. By signing this document, you and any party involved hereby agree to the terms and conditions listed below. 

Rights to a Time Turner do not extend to distribution, abuse, or irresponsible handling of the object. Destruction or loss of property may be punishable by law or reasonable fine. The Department of Mysteries is not liable for subsequent injury or death as a result of Time Turner use.’ 

“Sign it.” Regulus’ flat words tear through your concentration, and you can feel his figure looming behind you, a flicker of impatience evidently buzzing through his veins. 

Clicking your tongue, you accept the quill that the Unspeakable passes to you, shaking your head all the while. “Don’t tell me you sign every document you get without reading it.” 

You quickly scribble your signature on the paper, admiring the neat streaks as you await Regulus’ response to your quip. When he remains silent, you quickly snap your head around and fix him with a disbelieving frown. “Merlin. Okay, I’m in charge of all the legal stuff from this day onward.” 

After you get sorted with the contracts and take the mandatory oath for the loan, you’re both sent off with a new bag and a polished time turner. Holding the chain up in the air, you fawn over the powerful object in your hands, quelling the adrenaline that was jittering around your nerves. 

“Okay. Date, please.” You hum, shooting Regulus a confident smile. 

His eyes flicker from you to the folder in his hand as he monotonously recites the information to you, “June 18th, 1958.” 

Handing part of the chain to him, you quickly throw it over your neck and steady your finger against the small knob of the charm. “Like Gawdry said, in and out. Simple.” Twisting the ringlets of the device, you watch in fascination as it begins to steadily spin on its own accord, a heavy pressure of magic blanketing you both in the process. 

And before you can blink again, you and Regulus are being thrown through the reel of time. 

TAGLIST: @tomo-tofu @night-fall-moon @darkenwolfie @eliz-eia @justkiyomi @idkwimdahyd @googie-jeon @littleshadow17 @doux-ange @moni-cah @valsarchives

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Hero x Villain Whump Finale (June of Doom Day 29)

Alt. "I'm not okay."

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Hero x Villain Masterpost | <- Previous Part

Fandom: Original Work

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf @doctorsawyer @pinkrangerv @42questionsandaloafofbread

CW: concussion, captivity whump, referenced injuries, delirious, swearing, bridal carry

A/N: thank you so much for all your comments on this work! It has been really encouraging and I've had a lot of fun writing this. Thank you especially to @fourwingedsnake for requesting I pick the Hero x Villain series back up after Whumpmas. This is late in part because I didn't want to rush it and post something that in my eyes sucked.

Love all of you!

----------

Leader had been cocky enough to keep Hero and Villain’s cells relatively close to one another. Not cocky enough to place them next door, but close enough that each could hear the other screaming. Or lack thereof.

When Hero stepped inside the cell after Techie unlocked it, they found Villain slumped against the wall, head bowed, eyes closed. The blood on their face had clotted into a dark red matted mess in their hair and on their temple, and four small, round bruises dotted their cheek.

Where Leader had touched them.

Where Leader had inflicted their powers on them.

“Villain?”

They stirred slightly, eyes cracking open. “Oh… hey Hero…” they murmured, words slurring together. Wincing, they pressed one hand to the side of their head. “Ow… got the worst headache….”

Panic rose in Hero’s throat, but they gritted their teeth against the fear, crouching at their side. “Villain, you had a pretty bad concussion when we got here, and then Leader… they… they used their powers on you.”

“I… huh… so that’s… that’s what happened… fuck that hurt a lot….” Their eyes slid closed and their head drooped down, their hand falling to their side.

“Villain?! Villain!” Hero grabbed their shoulder and shook them, not caring if it made the concussion worse.

They groaned. “Ugh… whaddya do that for…?”

“Villain, you’re not okay.”

“No… no shit…” they muttered, “a child could… could tell I’m not okay….”

Hero took a deep breath. It was strange seeing Villain like this, they were used to Villain being the strong one. But Villain was in no shape for that, so now it was Hero’s turn. “I got you. Can you stand?”

“I dunno… fuck… I’m sorry… so… so useless….”

“You are not useless!” Hero snapped. “It’s not your fault we got caught, you did all you could.”

Villain laughed dryly, a short brief sound that trailed off into a low groan. “...don’t even… have any powers… Leader just kept me around for… for fucking training purposes….”

“Well fuck them! Fuck them and whatever they said to you! They’re a lying piece of shit, and if it weren’t for you Techie wouldn’t have had the courage to take them down!”

Villain’s eyes cracked open at that. “Didya just… say Techie? Took them down?”

Hero glanced over their shoulder at their teammate and jerked their head. Techie hesitated, but took the cue and stepped inside the cell, massive energy gun in hand. They nodded at Villain, a slightly self-satisfied expression on their face.

“Oh…” Villain murmured, “suppose I should… apologize… for punching you in the face… that one time….”

Techie rolled their eyes. “I let you both inside the building. Didn’t think you were gonna attack me like that, otherwise I would’ve locked myself inside the control room until you were done.”

“S… sorry…”

“I got over it.”

Hero carefully scooped Villain up in a bridal carry, their limp form in their arms. Villain groaned slightly at the movement, their eyes sliding closed again. “The light… hurts….”

“I’ll get you medical attention,” Hero said reassuringly as they moved out into the hallway, “there are a few people in your part of the city who would gladly see to your recovery as a favor for protecting them well.”

Techie frowned. “Why do you say that like you’re not going to be watching over them?”

Hero stiffened slightly at the accusation but started walking towards the stairs regardless. “Someone needs to watch over the city. With Leader and Shapeshifter… indisposed… and Youngest out of commission, it needs to be done. You can’t do it alone.”

“About that…” Techie said softly, trailing behind them, “I… uh… contacted one of the other superhero teams. Sent them everything in my database. And I mean everything.”

Hero stopped in their tracks. “So Leader will see justice?!”

Techie nodded, an almost disbelieving smile on their face. In Hero’s arms, Villain stirred. “Hope they… hope they have… a good time in prison… heh… ugh….”

Hero glanced down at them, hesitated, and planted a quick kiss on their forehead. Villain’s eyes flew open in shock. “Hey… no fair… can’t kiss you back….”

“Oh! Of course!” Hero leaned their head forward, their lips finding Villain’s. It was strange, harboring these feelings, these attachments for so long, and finally having them out in the open. It was comforting. Villain loved them back. 

The kiss didn’t last nearly as long as Hero wanted, but duty prompted them to pull away long before they desired to. “Let’s get you medical attention.”

“…m’kay…” Villain murmured sleepily.

Techie watched them leave, Villain in Hero’s arms. When they finally decided to follow, to accompany them to the door, Techie realized they were grinning like an idiot.

Everything was going to be okay.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 9

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: This one got away from me a bit so it's longer than usual. And I've finally started putting this on ao3, so you can also ready here.

Acronym and terminology definitions

---

November 15, mission day 9 Lunar Orbit

The crew wakes in a groggy panic to the sounds of an alarm going off in the cabin, a red warning light flashing over the console. Bucky, dressed in NASA-issue pajamas with his curls stuck up in ridiculous directions from the zero G and lack of product, struggles to unzip his floating sleeping bag, which is suspended in the middle of the Orion capsule and secured at both ends. Alex and Rosie’s seats had been stowed once they were en route to the moon in order to make more space in the capsule for sleeping, working, and generally existing without being right on top of each other, but it only helps so much. They’ve been stuck in this glorified minivan for going on 9 days now, and they are only very slightly sick and tired of each other.

As Bucky tries to drag himself over to the console, his foot catches on Curt’s arm, flipping the other astronaut upside down in his own sleeping bag. “What the fuck, Bucky,” Curt groans. With nothing within arms reach to push off of, there’s no hope of flipping himself back over, so he starts trying to free himself from where he is.

“Gotta see how we’re gonna die this time,” Bucky replies unapologetically, settling into his commander’s seat so he can see the console properly.

“What time is it?” Alex asks with a yawn.

“5:50.” Bucky silences the master alarm, bringing quiet to the cabin once again. They’re ten minutes short of their typical wake-up call.

From the other side of the capsule, Rosie rubs his eyes with one hand. “Jesus Christ, we’d be screwed in an emergency.” The unconcerned way with which they’ve reacted to this alarm is not unlike the way college students would react to their apartment building’s fire alarm going off in the middle of the night for the third time in a row. But that’s because that’s basically what this is. They’ve had a number of false alarms already in the days since leaving low earth orbit.

Bucky ignores him and switches on his coms. “Houston? How do you read?”

Benny’s voice comes back. “We read you Bucky, loud and clear.”

Curt slides into his seat as Bucky squints at the silenced alarm still flashing bright red in front of his face. CO2.

“Looks like we’re suffocating again, Benny,” Bucky informs him.

“Copy that.” There’s a pause as Benny checks with the Emergency, Environmental, and Consumables Officer. “Our readings look fine. Don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Can you confirm up there?”

Curt and Bucky glance at the carbon dioxide meters on the console, and Curt shrugs, sighing in exasperation. “Looks fine here,” Bucky agrees. “Another false alarm.” 

This is the third time the carbon dioxide alarm has gone off without cause, but at least this time it happened relatively close to their normal wake-up time. On mission day 4, the cabin pressure sensor had jolted them all awake around 2:00am GMT. They spent nearly two hours sorting that out with Helen on CAPCOM, checking every square inch of the capsule and every line of telemetry data for an explanation. Turns out it was just some bad wiring, and Houston had to walk Alex through the steps to repair it before it would stop going off.

Fortunately, Dr. Huston and Jack Kidd, as Flight Surgeon and Flight Activities Officer, found a way to work some extra sleep into their schedule that day. Unfortunately, instead of just having a faulty wire, the CO2 sensor itself is fucked.

“We’ll get those sensors checked out when you come back Earthside,” Benny promises. “Unfortunately, our electricians have not agreed to extend operations to the moon. At least, not without a hefty house call fee.”

Bucky laughs tiredly. “The audacity of some people. What has the trade industry come to?”

“I could just break the sensor,” Curt offers.

“That’s a negative, Curt,” Benny responds. “EECOM says no.”

“Maybe EECOM should try wakin’ up to this fuckin’ alarm at all hours of the night.”

Benny kindly reminds them, “EECOM is wide awake with you.” Mission Control operates on GMT, along with the crew, meaning that while it’s 5:50am mission time, it’s actually 12:50 AM in Houston. These flight controllers just started their shifts fifty minutes ago. During a mission, normal work schedules simply don’t exist for the team on the ground any more than they do for the crew in space.

Before either Bucky or Curt can say something snarky back, obnoxious pop music is blasting through the cabin from Bucky’s tablet, which is their designated alarm clock on board Orion. “There’s our wake-up call,” Bucky mutters.

“I got it,” Alex calls over to him, floating across the cabin to get the tablet, which is velcroed to the wall.

“Hey hold on!” Curt reaches his hand out. “Give it a minute!” He starts obnoxiously singing along, jamming out beside Bucky to the point that he loses his grip on his seat and starts floating away. 

“I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, they said babe you gotta fake it ‘til you make it and I did.”

The other three join in despite their exhaustion, Bucky and Curt not even bothering to switch off their coms. “Lights, camera bitch, smile, even when you wanna die. He said he’d love me all his life.” Bucky is, admittedly, very pleased when he realizes he can hear many of the flight controllers singing along in the background. It’s a small thing, but their wake up music choices make everyone’s day just a little better. Alex shuts off the alarm.

“Hey Benny,” Bucky says. “Can you ask Gale if he’ll love me all his life?”

“Ask him yourself in… five to six hours.”

“But that’s too long,” Bucky whines. “I need to know now.”

“He’s asleep. Ask your wedding ring, you idiot.”

Bucky grabs at the wedding ring that’s dangling – or, rather, floating – on a chain around his neck. Astronauts often choose to wear rings on necklaces like this in space, since it’ll be easier to grab them if they float away. Bucky has only lost it once so far, which everyone is quite impressed with. He rubs his thumb over the silver band, and Curt makes a gagging noise beside him. 

“Astrofag,” he coughs.

Bucky gives him the middle finger.

With the false alarm and the morning shenanigans out of the way, Benny composes himself and gives the crew a proper morning greeting as Alex and Rosie put on their coms. “Alright, rise and shine boys, big day today!”

“We’re in space. Every day is a big day,” Rosie points out, unimpressed, before starting to fold up and stow the crew’s sleeping bags. He isn’t wrong. Every day in this space-traveling RV is something new. Every day is a little closer to something historic. Every day is something else that could kill them. But today is the day that Bucky and Curt say goodbye to their crewmates and descend to the lunar surface for a week-long all-inclusive stay. So yes, it is a big day. 

“How about a news update,” Benny offers.

“The news is too fucking depressing,” Alex complains.

Benny agrees. “How about a JSC news update, then? Let’s see…” The crew can hear him as he muffles his com and calls out to the other flight controllers in Mission Control, “Who has news?”

Then he speaks to the crew again. “Croz’s kid turned one year old yesterday. A very happy birthday to the little guy. I’m sure you’ll see pictures when you’re home, he smashed a huge piece of cake right into his face.” Bucky smiles and relays his birthday wishes. “Perhaps more importantly,” Benny continues. “Meatball turns five next week.”

“I know for a fact you don’t know Meatball’s birthday,” Bucky interjects.

“Well, the vets think he’s about five, and I just gave him a random birthday.”

“Naturally.” Bucky double checks their trajectory on the console, taking note of how long they have until Starship has to undock.

“Hey, don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same,” Benny says defensively.

“I know my dog’s birthday.”

“Not all of us are perfect pet parents, John. Some of us win our dogs gambling.”

Bucky snorts. “A great slogan for a pet food brand.”

Benny moves on. “We’re having good weather in Houston this week. Looks like we saw the last of hurricane season on launch day. Blue skies – well, not now. It’s midnight-”

Curt situates himself back in his seat and tries to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “Benny why do I give a shit what the weather is in Houston? Ain’t gonna be there for another 20 fuckin’ days.”

“Fine,” Benny says. “The weather at the lunar south pole looks… unremarkable. 24/7 sun except in the shadows. Hot as hell in the light and cold as hell in the dark. Landing conditions look as acceptable as can be expected.”

“Wait, is Hell hot or cold?” Curt asks. “You’re sendin’ me mixed messages here.”

“That’s it. No more news.”

Bucky chuckles and pushes up and away from his console, floating across the cabin to the food ration storage. “Thanks for the update, Benny.”

As usual, Benny tells them all to get some food in their systems before they reconvene to go over the day’s mission plan. Bucky pulls some silver rehydratable food packages out of storage and squints at the labels. Pickings are slim, but not all together awful. “Alright crew,” he says, holding one of the packages up. “We’ve got oatmeal, wheat chex, or scrambled eggs. Take your pick and eat up.”

—

Nassau Bay, TX

Gale wakes around 4:30am, not alone as would be expected, but instead with two cold, wet noses nudging at his face, attacking from all sides. He and Benny have once again gotten into a habit of co-parenting Pepper and Meatball so they’re not alone for too long during the chaos of Artemis 3. The dogs get to hang out together 24/7, moving from Gale’s house to Benny’s and back each day depending on who's on shift at Mission Control. With Benny on the early shift, Gale has them from about 8pm until he leaves in the morning. Benny will drop by to pick them up once he gets Gale updated on mission activities and leaves JSC. 

Nothing about human spaceflight is normal, not even for those on the ground. They work weird hours, sleep weird hours, and no one ever knows what’s about to happen at any given moment. Gale works the Red shift, from 8am CST until 4pm. This corresponds to 1pm to 9pm GMT, the time zone that the crew and Mission Control operate on. Helen then takes over and works the White shift from 4pm to 12am CST. Benny is on Blue shift from 12am to 8am. Even this is misleading, though. There’s up to an hour of overlap between each shift for one shift to get the next up to speed, resulting in a ten hour work day seven days a week.

Today, that’s all fucked up anyway. Gale has to go in two hours earlier than usual so that no shift change has to occur between Starship undocking and landing, giving the crew a constant Mission Control team through the entire process.

So he yawns as he looks out at the dark, pre-sunrise morning, and he shoves the huskies off the bed so he can get to his feet. After stretching out the sore muscles in his back, he rubs one hand, covered by his sweatshirt sleeve, over his face and pauses to inhale the scent still barely clinging to the fabric. He can imagine John going on and on, wondering how Gale doesn’t get hot at night all bundled up like that. But right now, Gale doesn’t have his space heater of a husband to keep him warm, so he needs to make up for it somehow. He’s been sleeping in the Yankees sweatshirt nearly every night since launch, and he’s dreading the day he can’t pick out John’s scent anymore. For the moment, he smiles softly to himself, assured that it’s still there, and he gets on with his morning.

Opting not to take a jog before it’s even 5am, Gale takes himself through a quick bodyweight workout in the bedroom. Squats, push-ups, sit-ups, planks, all while fending off two massive dogs insistent on shoving into his space. Then he takes what can only be described as a military shower, in and out, before scrambling to find a clean button-down shirt and tie. After starting the coffee maker, he turns the TV onto the news story he’d recorded last night. 

“Tomorrow, The Starship Human Landing System will undock from Orion to carry John Egan and Curtis Biddick to the lunar surface.” Marge, as Artemis PAO, is sitting across from an NBC reporter, explaining the details of the Artemis 3 mission plan.

“And how long will it take the lander to reach the lunar surface?” the reporter asks.

“About half a day,” Marge replies. Then she goes on to outline the landing process. 

“Our two astronauts will perform a controlled burn that will decelerate the lander enough to fall into the moon’s gravity well. This means that they will depart from the current Orion orbit and instead descend into low lunar orbit. From low lunar orbit, they will perform another burn that will slow them down enough to fall towards the lunar surface, where they will land near Shackleton crater.”

“And the remaining crew members in Orion will stay in their current orbit?”

“Yes, Orion will remain in NRHO, a near-rectilinear halo orbit. This means that their orbit is balanced between the moon’s gravity and the Earth’s gravity. It’s an elliptical orbit, taking about six and a half days to complete, where they fly very close to the moon at one end, and very far from it at the other. This period of time will correspond to the surface mission.” A window pops up on one side of the screen showing a simulation of Orion in NRHO, complete with Starship undocking and heading for LLO. 

“So when Orion next completes its orbit, Starship will dock with it again?”

Marge nods. “Yes. They’ll meet up again in about a week.”

“And Shackleton crater. That’s at the moon’s south pole?”

The display window on the screen switches to a map of the Shackleton landing site. “Artemis operations are focused on the lunar south pole, where there’s near constant daylight for mission activities and power generation, as well as craters and valleys that are in constant or near constant shadow. So there’s parts of the surface there that have never been exposed to sunlight. Our astronauts will be performing a lot of experiments on the surface, such as studying lunar geology and searching for water ice.”

Gale pulls out his phone and texts Marge. “Look at you on TV.”

A reply shoots back immediately. “Please bring caffeine.”

Gale rolls his eyes, and then heads back into the kitchen to make up two cups of coffee, one black and one with an unhealthy amount of sugar. When he arrives at JSC, Marge greets him at his car, as is their typical routine. She greedily grabs the coffee cup he proffers and takes a desperate sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gale deadpans.

Marge glares at him. “Thank you.”

“What’s up with you?”

Marge blinks rapidly and pinches the bridge of her nose. Makeup conceals the dark circles that are starting to appear under her eyes, and Gale knows he has them, too. “This mission will be the death of me,” she declares.

Gale doesn’t press, because yes. Yes, this mission will be the death of them all. He wonders if the stress level they feel, the inconsistent sleep and the constant demand to always be at their best, is reminiscent of the Apollo days, when nothing about a single mission was standard. In many ways, Artemis is just as novel, if not more so, to the current NASA team than the later Apollo missions were. Every single person involved has trained hard; every component of this mission has been tested. And yet there’s a vague sense nestled in the back of everyone’s mind that they’re kind of out here winging it.

For what it’s worth, Mission Control is calm this morning. Flight controllers diligently monitor their designated systems, updating or reworking things as needed, an idle chatter popping up in this or that corner of the room. The new shift is filing in, getting themselves up to speed. Gale pats Marge on the shoulder as they enter, and they part ways.

“Morning,” Gale mumbles as he stops beside Benny at the CAPCOM console. “Are they ready?”

—

Low Lunar Orbit

John Egan and Curtis Biddick have landed a lot of jets in their lifetimes. They’ve landed a lot of jets in very precarious circumstances, in all manner of environments. They’ve flown them high and low, fast and slow, day and night, with and without landing gears, and sometimes on fire. They’re good pilots. Some of the best NASA has to offer, many might say.

The Starship Human Landing System is about as opposite of a jet as you can get.

Starship is nothing like the Apollo lunar module that today’s astronauts grew up dreaming about, though in their own ways they may be equally unwieldy. Instead of being small and low to the surface, the Artemis HLS is a tall and narrow vehicle, more akin to what science fiction would describe as a spaceship, with the crew seated near the top. When it was first proposed, there was concern over landing such a tall vehicle, especially with no atmosphere and little gravity to help balance it. But the engineers, the testing, and even the sims claim that it gets the job done.

Commander and pilot spent months in the simulators, learning how to handle this awkward thing of a rocket-turned-space-habitat, and neither of them have enjoyed a single moment of it. “It’s like ridin’ one of those giant unicycles,” Curt said once. He’s never been on one himself, and there’s a damn good reason for that. “It’s too fuckin’ tall.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pilot, Curt,” Benny had admonished him. “Figure it out.”

So here he is, figuring it out. “I’m an Air Force test pilot and this is what I get for it, tryin’ to land in a fuckin’ pringles can.”

“Yeah, sure that’s one way to think about landing on the moon,” Rosie rebukes from Orion, which is still in NRHO now somewhere far away from Curt and Bucky.

Bucky sighs longingly. “I could go for some pringles,”

Curt scoffs. “We got wheat chex.”

Gale: “Curt, think of it this way, only the best pilot could land a pringles can in one-sixth G.”

Curt: “Tryin’ to butter me up, Gale?”

Gale: “Whatever gets you on the ground safely.”

Bucky: “No. No buttering.”

Curt: “5,000 feet.”

Bucky: “Trajectory good.”

Curt: “It better fuckin’ be.”

Curt takes a deep breath, eyes locked on the console in front of him. He hates this. Not being able to clearly see where he’s landing, even if it’s half computer automated, which he also hates. He didn’t become a pilot or an astronaut to be a passenger princess, and he sure as hell isn’t trusting his life to a computerized landing module.

From the windows at the top of their silver tower, Bucky watches the lunar surface grow bigger and bigger beneath them, its curvature disappearing entirely as they approach their landing site at the south pole. He sings quietly to himself. “For here, am I floating in a tin can, far above the moon.” 

Gale: “Starship, be advised, you seem to be on VOX.”

VOX meaning Bucky’s coms are currently voice activated, as opposed to Push to Talk, or PTT. Every time he says something loudly enough, his coms pick it up and transmit it to Houston. It’s been a minor (major) issue for the entirety of the mission so far, but if nothing else, amusing to the flight controllers.

Bucky: “Your point?”

Gale: “Our flight controllers here in Houston would like me to tell you you have a lovely singing voice.” 

Bucky can hear the sarcasm, and seriously? From his own husband? The man who is supposed to love and support him unconditionally? Bucky can almost always make Gale laugh, no matter how moody he’s being, by singing a little off-key and pulling him into a reluctant dance. 

Bucky: “They should be so honored.”

Gale: “Houston would also like me to remind you, once again, that everything you say is being transcribed.” He relays these words, but he sounds defeated and unconvinced. He’s right to be. If Houston hasn’t convinced the crew to stop being little shits by now, it won’t happen for the rest of the mission.

Curt: “Fuck Houston.”

Gale: “Still on VOX.”

Curt: “If I were on PPT I’d still say that over coms.”

Gale: “I know, and I’m starting to think we’ll need someone to go through and redact these transcripts cause of your language. Top brass isn’t pleased.”

Curt: “I live to displease.”

Curt squints at the console in front of him, running the numbers in his head before he points out the discrepancy he’s seeing to Bucky. Bucky glances out the window.

Bucky: “Houston, we seem to be entering a roll.”

Gale: “... Come again? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Bucky switches his coms to PPT to make the transmission clearer. “A roll. We aren’t supposed to be entering a roll, are we?” He waits as Gale discusses with Bubbles, GNC, and Croz, FIDO.

Gale: “That’s a negative. We’re working on sorting out why the control software authorized that. Can you course correct?”

Curt: “I’ll try.” He fires the thrusters and manages to stop the roll. “Fuckin’ computer.”

Bucky stifles a laugh as he reads out their coordinates. 1,500 feet to go, and he can see Shackleton Crater ahead. The part of Bucky that isn’t a highly qualified professional is buzzing with ‘are we there yet’ energy, trying to keep his heart rate from spiking in anticipation.

Curt: “What are the odds of this thing tipping over on us, Gale?”

There’s a mildly concerning pause.

Gale: “We don’t have exact numbers on that. Is ‘low’ a good enough answer?”

Curt: “I’ll take it.”

Bucky: “Coming up on Shackleton. I can see the site.”

Curt: “500 feet.”

Bucky: “Jesus, that’s something, isn’t it?” The vehicle flies right over the massive crater like it’s nothing more than a pothole in the road. A pothole that’s 13 miles across. Below the rim, it’s completely consumed by darkness. 

Gale finds himself holding his breath in Mission Control, something he’s been doing a lot this mission. He hasn’t yet sorted out if he’d be doing that no matter what, or if it’s because Bucky is on that lander. He twists the wedding ring around his finger as he listens to Croz calmly relay Starship’s altitude. The thrusters lining the top of the lander fire, controlling its descent at the top of a ridge near Shackleton.

Curt: “Easy, easy babe.” 

Starship sets down on the surface, barely any harder than a bird landing on a tree branch. Everyone, in Mission Control, on the lander, and on Orion, can breathe easy again. Bucky leans his head back in his helmet and pumps a fist.

Curt: “Houston, we have touchdown at Shackleton crater.”

—

Houston, TX

Later that night, Gale leans back against the bartop at the Hundred Proof, glass of soda in hand. On the TV behind the bar, there’s another news story playing about the upcoming moonwalk. By the end of Gale’s shift today, Bucky and Curt were settled on the lunar surface, preparing for the week ahead. They would take the night to eat, rest, and do some basic housekeeping. Tomorrow they will take their first steps on the moon.

Gale looks around the Hundred Proof, taking a sip of his drink. Much of Red Shift, as well as some of Benny’s Blue Shift, made the pilgrimage to the bar to decompress tonight. Croz, Bubbles, and Jack are playing pool in the back. Gale’s seen a few of his other team members milling about with drinks in hand, playing darts or watching sports on the other TVs. Even Clark has taken the time to join his team in letting a load off, laughing as Croz fails miserably to make an eight ball shot.

For just a few hours, no one would even know that these men and women have the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“It’s fuckin’ crazy, what we’re doing.” Benny joins Gale at the bar, leaning back against the counter as he sips a beer. 

“The two of us are just on the ground,” Gale replies. 

“Takes a village.” Benny crosses his arms over his chest, his beer resting against his bicep. He’s dressed in a dark lightweight sweater and jeans. Gale, on the other hand, is still wearing his button down and slacks, his tie loosened and his top button undone the way that always makes Bucky grin and grab onto the tie, dragging him in for a kiss. Bucky’s on the moon, though. And Gale’s just tired.

“It’ll be you next, anyways,” Benny adds, tilting his head to glance at Gale. “You know how jealous I am?”

Gale can’t help the way the corner of his mouth turns up in a little half smile, but he shrugs. “You were just on the station. Too soon to send you back. If you’re lucky, we’ll survive past Artemis 4 and you’ll get yourself on 5.”

Benny takes another swig of beer, and Gale mimics him, sipping his own drink. He rubs his thumb over the condensation gathered around the sides of his glass. “We’ll survive,” Benny asserts.

Gale really hopes so. Seeing Artemis end so soon would break his heart. But you never know what tomorrow will bring, and he wonders if Apollo-era astronauts felt the same way. He thinks they did. “What makes you so sure?”

“Sure is the only thing you can be around here, isn’t it?” Benny shrugs. “And if we’re not sure, we have to act like we are.”

Gale knows he’s right. If they don’t believe in a future here, then no one else will. He glances around the bar, at his coworkers and friends joking and drinking and having a good time. Every single one of them believes wholeheartedly in what they’re doing here, and every single one will fight to keep it going. Come what may.

The Hundred Proof has this transcendent, timeless quality. Classic rock plays through the speakers, and a vintage charm seeps from the walls, lined with NASA memorabilia like a time capsule over half a century old. It’s hardly changed a bit since its early days, with the exception of new televisions and perhaps new drinkware, although no one is really sure about that one. Just about every astronaut who has ever suited up for the United States space program since Apollo has walked on these floors and sat at this bar. Tonight, as it offers its comforts to weary flight controllers ahead of another history-making shift, it feels as if time has stood still. It could just as easily be 1969 or 1972 or 1995. It could just as easily be another era, another mission, and another unknown.

Gale wonders if flight controllers like him and his friends sought out this place in decades past, preparing themselves for the next shift, the next landing, the next moonwalk. If they had the same fears and the same hopes. He wonders if this place looked the exact same as it does right now, harkening back to a past that was too long ago, a hope for the future that NASA has dragged itself back to tooth and nail.

It’s possible that no space mission in this lifetime will ever compare to the way Apollo 11 captured the attention of an entire nation. Of the entire developed world. When Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the moon – “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” – nearly every household and every TV-owning establishment in the United States was tuned in. Everyone dropped what they were doing to stare at the fuzzy black and white video feed and watch a man walk on an extraterrestrial surface for the very first time. Everyone who remembers that day can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing the moment those first footprints were pressed into the fine lunar soil. 

After that, though, moon landings were seen as routine. By the time Apollo 17 came around, the glimmer of futuristic hope and novelty was fading. Anyone who knew anything about it would tell you that there’s not a single thing that’s routine about landing on the moon. But it didn’t matter; for the public that would never be in that Mission Control room or on that space capsule, it lost its grandeur. 

The funding stopped. 

No one in power wanted to prioritize a lunar program anymore. America had made their point. They’d proved they could do it, proved their superiority in the space race. And dreams of landing on the moon were left to children with stars in their eyes and adventure in their hearts. 

Children like John Egan and Curtis Biddick. 

John Egan has wanted to be an astronaut for as long as he can remember. A little boy with unruly hair and an even more unruly spirit, climbing trees so he could be as close to the sky as the Earth would allow. He went to sleep with his ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars and built model rockets with his dad on the weekends. Almost every decision he’s ever made has been with this end goal in mind. 

He told Gale the first time they ever met that he intended to be an astronaut. He went to school for engineering even though he and mathematics didn’t get along, forcing him to forge through calculus and physics with a blind determination to get himself to where he needed to be. He joined the Air Force ROTC. He became a pilot. He took to the sky and never looked back, always more at home in the clouds than on the ground. Other than Gale Cleven, sitting in a cockpit was the only thing that could settle Bucky’s wayward energy. When the time was right, he applied to NASA, just like he always said he would. It took two tries, but they accepted him. He became an astronaut candidate. He flew on the international space station. He even did it all with Gale at his side. He did everything he’d always dreamed of doing, except one thing:

Step foot on the moon. 

But after tomorrow, he’ll have done that, too.  

Mission Control will be packed tomorrow morning; almost every flight controller on every shift will be there to watch the Artemis 3 crew leave the first footprints at the lunar south pole. Gale will be there, as a flight controller, as a NASA astronaut, and as a husband. He will watch his husband emerge from the Starship hatch and step down onto that lunar surface. He’ll be sitting in a front row seat to see the culmination of nearly two decades of watching John Egan work his ass off to accomplish his dreams. He’ll be right there, his voice guiding John through every step as his legacy is broadcast live to the entire world.

He couldn’t be more proud. Even if he has no fucking clue what will come out of John’s mouth when his boots hit the ground. He can only hope it’s nothing catastrophically embarrassing.

–

It was only weeks ago that Gale walked into their living room, Pepper trotting at his heels, to find Bucky laying on his back on the floor in front of the couch with his hands covering his eyes. A notebook and pen were haphazardly on the floor beside him. 

“What are you doing?” Gale had asked, as Pepper took over her role of protector and started licking Bucky’s face, trying to bring him back to the living.

Bucky had just groaned loudly, pulling his hands away from his face to stare up at Gale forlornly. So Gale bent down and picked up the notebook, which he wasn’t aware Bucky even owned. Flipping through pages of chicken scratch writing, he sat on the couch and tried not to laugh as he read through the brain-dump words. “Are these things to say when you land on the moon?”

Bucky sat up and crossed his legs, which Pepper took as an invitation to lay half in his lap. “Yep.”

There has been absolutely no shortage of people reminding Bucky that he will be the first person to set foot on the moon since 1972. It’s a big deal, and it will be broadcast live to the entire world. He’s been wracking his brain for things to say at such a significant moment in human history, knowing he has massive shoes to fill but not wanting to sound too cheesy, too outdated or philosophical, too… anything. How do you measure up to Neil Armstrong without sounding like you’re trying to be Neil Armstrong? Sometimes Bucky feels like nothing more than a little kid playing astronauts in the yard, pretending to be his childhood hero. 

No one ever expected him to get this far, and now the world is watching. Most of them adore him. Others hate him. If we’re lucky the fag will die up there. Planet Earth is a tumultuous place, but Bucky’s grit and determination have never faltered. He just never expected to be anyone else’s hero.

What words are there to bring a world together when every day it feels like it’s crumbling? Does it even matter what he says? Is it enough that he’s there? Do people actually care about what comes out of his mouth? Will his first words be stuck to him for the rest of his life – a legacy or a shackle? Will they print them in the history books, resound them for future generations? Or will they fade into obscurity like the words of every Apollo astronaut that came after Armstrong? Just a few more words said by another guy whose name most people won’t remember a few decades from now.

“‘With a single step, we return to the unknown for all mankind,’” Gale read from the notebook. “That’s… not bad?”

Bucky shrugged. “A little on the nose.”

“‘As we step onto the lunar surface once again, we bring with us all that we know, and all that we love, to move forward into a brighter future.’”

Bucky made a face as Pepper nudged at his hand with her wet nose. He stroked the top of her head gently, thinking that she had him trained and not the other way around. “Feels sappy.”

Gale glanced down at him. “You are sappy.”

“You’re the only one who knows that.”

Gale rolled his eyes and flipped a few more pages. Bucky closed his eyes as he waited for what was coming, knowing he’d been slowly devolving into madness. Gale choked on a laugh. “‘Hello world, I’m on the fucking moon.’ ‘To all the professors who tried to fail me, who’s laughing now.’ ‘I have the high ground.’ – God, you’re a nerd.” Bucky stuck his tongue out at him before he could continue. “‘Welcome to the shit show.’ ‘Hold on, let me take a selfie.’ ‘We’re here and we’re queer, fight me.’” Gale squinted at the page, running his thumb along some concoction of supposed letters. “I can’t read this one.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the couch so Gale could hold the notebook in front of his face, pointing to a barely legible scrawl across the top of the page. “We’re back, bitches.”

Gale nodded thoughtfully. “Alternatively, the bitch is back.”

“And then I’ll lower my visor like sunglasses,” Bucky nodded. “Stare off into the lunar sunrise. Make a moment of it.”

“Probably not the moment NASA wants,” Gale acquiesced, throwing the notebook to the couch cushion beside him. “You could sing Into the Unknown from Frozen.”

“Oh sure.” Bucky chuckled, scratching at Pepper’s ears. “I can see the headlines. ‘NASA Sends Crazy Queer to Space.’”

“We’re all mad here.”

“This ain’t Alice in Wonderland.”

“It’s true though.” Gale reached his hand down, making a grabbing motion until Bucky noticed and twined their fingers together, letting Gale tug him up onto the couch to Pepper’s dismay. Bucky settled against Gale’s side, mindlessly fiddling with Gale’s fingers like he often does. Gale smiled and leaned his head against Bucky’s, pressing his lips into soft, dark hair. “I’m a fan of welcome to the shit show.”

“Something tells me NASA won’t be.”

A few moments passed, and for those few moments, they weren’t anyone special. They were just a married couple curled up together on the couch. 

Then Gale said, “Maybe something about why it’s so important? Why we’re going back at all.”

Bucky thought for a moment, staring out the window at the night sky beyond. An entire universe that they’ve barely cracked the surface of, worlds and worlds that they may never get to explore. Both Bucky and Gale have always been endlessly fascinated by the infinite unknown. 

“We return to the moon not as a final frontier, but as a stepping stone on humanity’s expedition to explore the wider universe.”

“Mmm.” Gale tilted his head, considering. “That might be too optimistic. Don’t want to be making promises on NASA’s behalf.”

“In case we can’t get our shit together?” Bucky scoffed. Gale nodded, and Bucky had to agree. “Okay, how about, ‘this is the best fucking day of my life.’”

Gale frowned, pulling away to look at Bucky more directly. “I thought marrying me was the best day of your life.”

Bucky’s hair brushed against Gale’s cheek as he turned to look at him, too, letting himself drown in perfect blue eyes as he lifted his hand to cup the side of Gale’s face. “It was,” he breathed out. He kissed Gale then, with a gentle passion that carried with it a silent promise of you are my everything, you are my home. I will come back to you. When Bucky pulled away, he stroked his thumb over Gale’s jaw and let himself marvel at this life he’d made for himself. He’s doing everything he’s ever dreamed of, and he can’t ask for much more. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so damn lucky even on top of all of that. This man in front of Bucky, holding him in his arms with such love and warmth, has always been, and always will be, the best thing to ever happen to him. “Gale?” he whispered. 

“Yeah?” Gale’s voice came out in a puff of breath against Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you.”

–

So that’s what Gale thinks as he watches the screen at the front of Mission Control, which is showing video feed from the camera Curt is holding as he follows John to the hatch. It’s what he thinks as he watches the hatch open and John – not physically recognizable because of his bulky EVA suit and yet unequivocally John – stops at the top of the steps that are lowering to the surface. I love you. I love you I love you I love you. 

He can feel everyone in Mission Control holding their breath again. The whole world is holding their breath, crowded around TV screens and computers and phones, waiting. Waiting to see John Egan and Curtis Biddick step foot on the lunar surface. Waiting to hear what John will say to commemorate this moment.

Gale is pleasantly surprised, and admittedly relieved, to hear the words that Bucky has chosen to speak into the world. As the Artemis commander grips the side of the hatch, he looks out at the lunar surface beyond, at the untread terrain that they have the honor to explore. “It sure took us a long time, but we finally made it back,” he remarks. Then he takes a deep breath and hesitates, and Gale knows that, despite Bucky’s cocksure attitude and impulsive personality, he wants to get this right. 

“As we step foot into this beautiful unknown once again,” he says. “We do it not just for ourselves, but for the people of planet earth. We do it for everyone who dares to dream of a brighter future. Everyone who dares to step with us.”

Then he steps delicately onto the surface, and his boot sinks into the fine lunar soil below. One foot, and then the other. One step, and then another. 

He’s on the moon.

“How’s it look, John?” Gale asks.

Bucky turns slowly, open-mouthed, thinking that he feels like he’s on another world before his brain catches up and remembers that it is another world. They’re at the top of a massive ridge connecting two even more massive craters. The sun is just above the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the surface where it hits the crater rims. It’s silent. Peaceful. Like he just wants to sit right down on the ground and take it all in for a while.

“John?”

“Hi angel,” Bucky says, too in awe to realize he just called his CAPCOM “angel” on a globally televised broadcast. Neither of them will ever live it down.

But Gale only chuckles. “You okay up there?”

Curt, stepping down off the lander behind Bucky, adjusts the camera so he can record their surroundings. “I think we’re just a little in awe, Buck,” he says, since Bucky seems incapable.

But Bucky manages to find his words again as he steps further away from the lander, Curt recording him from behind as they both test out the gravity on the surface, taking a few bounding strides forward. “It’s incredible,” Bucky breathes, raising his arms out to the sides as if he can somehow absorb this experience into his mind and body. 

He motions to Curt, grabbing for the camera so he can get some airtime, too. He records as Curt bounds a few long and ungainly slow-motion steps away, trying to work out the best way to move in this new environment. Bucky follows behind clumsily.

“See that, world?” he says as he pans the camera around, giving visual of their lander stretching up to the dark sky, the beautifully foreboding crater some distance behind it, the rocky terrain on all sides streaked with long shadows, Curt dropping to his knees into the rough and sandy regolith. “You’re looking at the lunar south pole. No one has ever stepped foot on this part of the moon, but you’re seeing it right now. It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“It sure is, Bucky,” Gale tells him, as their only link to the rest of the planet.

“Buck,” Curt interrupts as he lets a handful of the soil, fine and sharp like grains of glass, sift between his gloved fingers. “Can confirm the moon is not made of cheese.”

“Alright, Curt,” Gale replies, all too serious. “Thank you for that observation, we’ll note it down. Just please don’t taste it.”

“No promises.”

After a few more minutes of bounding around in wonder and narrating what they’re seeing, Curt and Bucky sign off from their live broadcast.

“O2 levels look good,” Gale informs them. “How’s the pressure feel?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky replies. “It’s dropped just a bit. A little easier to move. I expect it’ll keep improving as we get going here.”

A suit that decreases pressure in increments was NASA’s solution to their decompression sickness problem. When the body is too quickly exposed to low pressure environments, gases dissolved in bodily fluids, namely nitrogen, bubble out, causing a whole host of health issues called ‘the bends’ or decompression sickness. Designing a space suit that maintains the same pressure as the crew cabin – which is the same as mean sea level pressure on Earth – would result in a stiff suit that is impossible to move in. Typically, astronauts on the ISS spend many hours before an EVA pre-breathing – breathing pure oxygen to allow the body enough time to naturally purge the nitrogen – making it possible for them to safely wear EVA suits with a much lower pressure. To shorten this amount of time, astronauts may do physical activity while breathing pure O2, making the body rid itself of nitrogen even faster.

NASA wanted to reduce pre-breathing time as much as possible on Artemis. So on top of some time spent pre-breathing during exercise, the suits are equipped with oxygen regulators, which gradually decrease the suit pressure over time as the crew is out on the surface. Their suits are at a higher pressure when they first start the EVA, and as their nitrogen levels drop during the EVA, the suit pressure decreases, making it much easier to move around.

NASA didn’t come to the moon to play. They’re here for the future. To learn and to work and to push humanity to new heights. It’s a testing ground of sorts, to see how extended extraterrestrial missions may be feasible. The mission is designed for maximum productivity, and they have a lot to do here in the next week. Every single element has been designed with that in mind.

“Good to hear,” Gale says. “Now let’s get to work.”

…

…

Part 10

A3’s planned flight path for those interested:

(Image from NASA)

[engie-ivy]

@wolfstarmicrofic 28th: Water

718 words.

Remus surprises Sirius at the finish line, in more ways than one.

What Waits at the Finish Line

The thrill is always there.

No matter how many times he has done this, crossing that finish line after a 42k run still sends a rush through Sirius’ body.

He comes to a stop and walks a few metres catching his breath. He enjoys the feeling of being physically exhausted, but at the same fulfilled. On top of that, it's a beautiful day and the Paris marathon is one of his favourites.

Sirius has been running marathons regularly for a few years now. He started when he was going through a rough time. His parents were suing him over his uncle's inheritance, and it was like it all suddenly sunk in. What he had gone through during his childhood and how messed up it had all been. He had felt a lot of pain and anger that he didn't know what to do with.

So that's when he started running. Something to give him focus, something to put his energy into. In a way, running saved him.

Well, that and Remus.

Sirius honestly doesn't know what he would've done without Remus during those days. For that matter, he doesn't know what he would've done without Remus period.

Sirius stretches his muscles, gives some friendly nods to a few other regulars, and grabs a bottle of water from a stand. Around him, he sees runners being festively welcomed by their friends and family, cheering them on, holding up banners and carrying balloons. Remus usually isn't there, which makes sense. Sirius often runs multiple marathons a month, and travels all over the world to do so. Besides, marathon running is Sirius’ thing, just like his art history courses are Remus' thing. It's not like Remus is disinterested. He's always eagerly waiting for Sirius to come home and asks him all about how it went.

Sirius opens the bottle and chugs down half of its contents, and splashes the rest over his head, the water dripping down his chest and wetting his shirt till it sticks to his body.

"If I had known you finishing a marathon was this much fun to watch, I would've done it more often."

Sirius whirls around. "Remus!" He exclaims. "You're here!"

"Hi babe," the man unexpectedly standing in front of him simply says.

"Oh my god," Sirius takes Remus' face in his hands and kisses him. "You're here! How are you here? You didn't say you were going to be here!"

Remus grins, revealing a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. "Surprise?"

Sirius stares at the flowers as he takes the bouquet. Then he looks up at Remus with a teasing smile and raises an eyebrow. "Surprising me at the finish line and giving me flowers? You're not turning sappy on me, are you, Remus?"

Remus huffs. "Don't worry. This is purely self-interest."

"Is that so?" Sirius says, while inspecting the bouquet admiringly. "And how is you giving me flowers in your self-interest?"

"It increases my chances," Remus replies.

"Increases your chances at what?" Sirius carefully lifts up a peony from behind a rose to get a better look at its colour.

"You saying yes."

"Saying yes to wha- Oh my god." Sirius’ eyes snap over to Remus and widen as Remus drops down on one knee and holds up a ring. "Oh my god. Remus. Oh my god."

"Sirius Orion Black," Remus says, managing to keep his voice steady. "I am truly in awe of you. Not only because of how bloody sexy you look in a wet shirt, or how you manage to run marathons like it's nothing, or even how strong you have been throughout everything you've been dealing with. I am just in awe of the whole person that you are. Therefore, Sirius, my love, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" Sirius exclaims instantly. "Yes, Remus, yes, I will!"

Remus grins widely, looking happier than ever, and slightly relieved, like there was ever a chance Sirius would say no. He gets up to his feet and slides the ring around Sirius’ finger.

Sirius looks at it for a second, before tackling Remus into a hug. Then he quickly lets go again. "Oh, sorry," he says, stepping back. "I forgot. I'm all wet and sweaty..."

Remus immediately pulls Sirius back into the hug. "Come here, you bloody idiot."

Now with a silly, short epilogue😋

[ikykwklk-ash]

"Would you like a cigarette?"

W/c: 3101

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x reader

Synopsis: It's night when a tall guy offers you a cigarette, stay silent every night. Until one day he asks you if you want a late night coffee and you accept... His friends are also at the bar and after a long time of feeling alone, you finally have a group of friends

Warnings: Maybe a little sad at first, but everything works out!!!

Rating: FRIENDSHIP !!! Reader x ot8 fluff

A/N: I started writing a "Hyunjin x reader", then this simply came out. Hope you like it!!

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

It was night. Maybe midnight or maybe one o'clock. You don't know and you don't have a watch to see the time and it is too cold to take your hands out of your jacket pockets and grab your phone to check. So you stay still and look at the stars, your head reclined back leaning against the back of the bench where you have decided to sit after your long walk. You don't want to go home. You would be alone inside four cold walls, feeling the pain you have felt all these years without anyone to help you, to listen to you, to talk to you. Your days are all the same: you get up, you go to work, you come home and then you decide to go for a walk, with music on your ears, and you walk the exact same route, every night, alone... but you are used to loneliness now, because it has become your best friend after everyone you cared about in the past left without explanation.

So this is yet another night that you are alone, on the same bench, with music on your headphones, looking up at the night sky. You look at how perfect the Moon is tonight, its faint light faintly illuminating the structure of the slide in front of you; you look at the various constellations and spot Orion, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, tonight strangely you also spot the constellation of the Dragon and the constellation of Leo. "The stars are so beautiful today..." you think.

You don't know how long it has been since you sat in the park, and you don't even have the strength to check, you hear a movement to your left and turn slightly to check. Next to you sits a tall man, with dark wisps of hair falling from under his hat, with gentle features, from this angle he looks like a prince. He looks so perfect....

You didn't realise you'd been staring at it for a long time, trying to capture all the details of the face, the almond-shaped, dark, deep-set eyes of someone who has lived too long a life and doesn't know whether to keep surviving or look for a way out; the straight nose that ends slightly downwards and the thin, rosy lips. Wow.

<<Do you want a cigarette?>> he asks you, handing you the packet you don't know he had opened.

<<Uh...>>

<<If you don't want it, don't worry, I won't eat you, you know?>> even his voice is soft, unfortunately you can hear the faint accent of tiredness, that negative sense of weariness, that makes you not want to get up in the morning, open the windows and let the day pass with someone.

<<I...>>

He looks at you waiting for your answer and in the meantime holds the cigarette between his lips, taking a lighter from his jacket pocket and makes to light it.

<<I don't see why I should refuse a free cigarette>> you say in a tired tone as well and the boy's smile is unmissable, it seems to have lit up the night so brightly. He doesn't say anything else, he simply offers you the cigarette and you take it, placing it directly to your lips, he lights his and then leans in to do the same with yours.

You remain silent; you watch the little clouds of smoke that you both throw out after inhaling a puff, in this cold they become darker and denser. You close your eyes and lean your head back, again, who knows why this guy is here.

<<What's your name?>> the boy asks you, turning towards you.

<<Y/n, you? >>

<<Y/n.... is a nice name... I'm Hyunjin>>.

You remain silent and nod. You finish your cigarette, put it out and throw the butt in the bin next to the bench. You stand up and curtsy to the boy, he returns by sitting down, gives you a half smile and you leave, going back home.

The next evening you are still there on that bench, with your music and deep in thought. Who knows if this will ever change. Who knows if I will still be on this bench tomorrow?

<<Do you want a cigarette?>> It's the same guy from yesterday.

Nod, you don't even have the strength to speak today, you are so tired....

And like yesterday, you remain in silence, listening to the sound of the cold winter wind moving the branches of the bare trees; and like yesterday, you finish your cigarette, put it out, throw the butt in the bin and leave, with the music on your ears and bowing to greet the boy.

Days have passed, weeks, and now January is over and February is also coming to an end. Every night you are on that bench, alone with your music, every night the same boy comes and asks you if you want a cigarette and every night you accept, and every night you remain silent until you go home. Every night...

And every night he is more beautiful than the night before.

Every night you wonder if you will talk more that night and every night you don't. You feel a little sorry, because you realise that, inexplicably, you have fallen in love with the boy in the park whose name you only know. A little you think that maybe you should start a conversation, but you are too insecure, too undaunted to meet someone new, too afraid to trust someone who you feel could leave at any moment. Every night you think that you should overcome this fear, every night you think that he might be the person who could finally stay with you a little longer than the others, but like every night you cannot overcome this phobia of yours.

And like every night, you are sitting on the same bench with your music, and like every night the same guy comes and sits next to you.

<<I won't... I won't ask if you want a cigarette>> whispers this night to your surprise.

<<Oh...>> and you nod, remaining to watch the stars above you.

<<I want to ask you... I would like to know if... here...>> you scratch your neck in embarrassment and sigh heavily. She plays with the eyebrow piercing you only noticed today and continues <<I wanted to ask you if you would like to have coffee with me>>

You turn to him and look at him intently, you don't know whether you dreamt it or it is reality, you frown and nod slowly.

<<Well that is... yes only if you're not busy or already seeing someone else>> he whispers again looking you in the eyes.

<<N-No...>> you clear your throat and continue <<No I don't see anyone, I'd love to have coffee with tea, I just... I wanted to ask you the same thing, but yeah in short I'm not good with people>> you whisper the last part continuing to move your head in a positive sign, you play with your fingers out of anxiety and lower your head.

<<There's... there's a 24-hour place, a friend of mine works there... if you want to go there now>> he asks you and you nod, because even though it's night you can't do without coffee and then you don't really want to go home, you want to be with Hyunjin again, just for a little while longer, you want to allow yourself to take a breath in the fresh air, just a few more seconds. Allow yourself y/n...

The raven nods and stands up beckoning you to follow him, you get up and walk beside him. The walk is short-lived at the end, taking you inside this practically hidden bar. The green neon 'Chan's room' sign illuminating the boy's face makes it even more beautiful you think. You enter and look around.

There are six guys sitting at a table laughing and joking with each other while one is standing with his hands on the shoulders of one of them who looks like a hamster. You can't quite make out the words they are saying, but you see them laughing after one of them resembling a cat says something.

<<Hyunjin!>> the standing boy greeted him warmly and went to hug him.

<<Chan, make me a coffee and put honey in it>> says the raven.

<<Coming soon>> the boy you guessed to be called Chan makes to turn around, but then sees you and smiles slightly <<Hello! Shall I prepare something for you? >>

You nod and say you are having a bitter coffee, you notice that the six guys at the table have started to be quiet as soon as Chan has greeted you and taken your order. You feel embarrassed and look down not quite sure why they are staring at you. Hyunjin clears his throat and steps forward looking at you.

<<Sorry... I didn't know all my friends were here too, they usually don't feel like going out at two in the morning...>> she whispers to you before turning to the others. <<Hey guys, what are you doing?>>

A boy, blond with long hair and freckles replied <<We were bored in the flat and came over to help Chan, but he didn't want to and forced us to stay seated>>

<<Who are you?>> the question is put to you by a muscular, somewhat short boy with dark hair covering his forehead and slightly hiding his alert eyes.

You look at Hyunjin and then at his friends again <<O-oh... I... I'm Y/n>> you say slightly embarrassed. The boy who asked you nods and remains silent, as does the rest of the group. Hyunjin sighs, but says nothing, the only noise in the background being Chan's whistling from across the counter.

After a few minutes, he arrives with coffee for Hyunjin and yours, you notice that he has added some milk to it and with the cocoa he has drawn a little star and a moon, you look at him with furrowed brows <<Milk sweetens the bitter and you looked like you needed to sweeten your thoughts>> he replies to the question you had implicitly asked him. You nod and sip your coffee, remaining silent.

<<Chan is the group's dad, a great philosopher and a good listener... he understands when someone needs something without you even asking him>> who spoke was the boy in front of you, who smiles at you and you immediately notice that when he smiles his eyes get so thin that they seem to disappear, two dimples appear on the sides of his lips, you tilt your head slightly and think he looks like a white fox. <<I'm Jeongin, by the way, we're usually more welcoming to new people. But you know, hard to trust someone at this time of night and especially you are the first person Hyunjin brings to Chan>> continues the boy.

<<Hey if I had known you would be here, we certainly wouldn't have come here for a normal first outing>> retorts Hyunjin and the one who looks like a cat chuckles.

<<Jinnie you'd better shut up. We are awesome and you love us so much. I'm Minho, nice to meet you>> you nod and bow your head slightly in greeting, you continue drinking your coffee slowly.

<<I am Jisung, but you can call me Sungie or Han or Sung>> the squirrel-like boy smiles at you.

<<Sungie don't frighten our new friend with your chatter.>> Minho taps him on the neck and laughs as he rests his arm on the back of the other's chair, which he mocks.

<<Do you like chicks?>> the question comes from the blond boy from earlier and you try not to laugh, but fail because the question sounds a bit bizarre to get to know someone.

<<Felix what kind of question huh? I'm Seungmin, probably the most normal-looking one in here>> chuckles the boy next to Felix, he looks like a Golden Retrive puppy, you smile kindly.

<<Well they are cute chicks, but when they grow up I don't like them anymore>> you try to answer the question posed by the blond boy, who nods and smiles at you <<I'm Felix, sorry for the bizarre question but I couldn't tell if your vibes were that of a chick or baby dolphin>>

<<Felix associates people with animals when he gets bored>> replied Hyunjin.

<<But don't worry, it's normal. He gave us all a representative animal. I am Changbin>> the muscular boy nods at you.

<<Oh yes, Channie hyung is a wolf, Minho hyung is a cat, Binnie hyung is a mix between a bunny and a piglet that we nicknamed Dwekki, Jisungie is a squirrel; which by the way is the same as a squirrel especially when it eats, Minnie is a golden retriever puppy, and Innie is a little fox. I am a chick! >> Felix resumes speaking.

<<Lixie, honey, don't scare our guest>> Chan shouts from the counter. Felix mutters something under his breath and Changbin, who is sitting next to him chuckles and then grabs the blond's hand and lightly massages it.

Minho turns to you and looks at you, narrowing his eyes and resting his chin on his hand <<How old are you Y/n? >> he asks you after a few seconds of silence.

<<Twenty three>> you reply. You look at the time on the hand clock above the door of the club and notice that it was now four o'clock in the morning.

<<I have to get home...>> you whisper, lowering your head. Hyunjin nods and asks if you want me to accompany you, you shake your head and politely say thank you. You put your coat back on and take out your wallet to pay for your coffee.

<<Put it away, it's on the house>> Chan tells you, looking at you. You reply that you want to pay anyway and that you would feel guilty not to and he insists that you don't have to. Eventually, you leave the bar defeated because he would almost drag you out of the bar himself if you continued to insist.

Returning home you think back to the evening you spent with them, you had a good time with them, as strange as they were as people you liked them, they were nice and Hyunjin seemed happy. He had a spontaneous smile that you didn't see during nights spent on the bench. You slip your keys into the keyhole as you arrive at the front door, enter and sigh. You take off your shoes as you enter and feel a chill run down your spine from the cold as soon as you take off your coat. You put on your pyjamas and slip into bed, closing your eyes and waiting for the sun to rise.

You wake up after a few hours and make your usual coffee before putting on your work uniforms.

During the day you think about the previous night's outing and can't help but think how good you had it with them.

You are still sitting at the usual bench, you don't know if you are waiting for Hyunjin to arrive or if you are just here out of habit, you close your eyes concentrating on the song you are listening to (Low by Coldplay). You are in a state of relaxation like you haven't been in a long time.

<<Do you want a cigarette?>> someone to your left asks you.

You open your eyes and see Hyunjin's bright face, nod and take it. He lights his and then lights yours. You remain silent for a while, you look so good right now.

<<Thanks for inviting me yesterday>> you tell him after you take the last drag from the cigarette.

<<Thank you for accepting. Would you like to go back to the bar? All my friends shouldn't be there this time, only Chan>>

<<It was no problem to meet them, they're fun>> you smile slightly at him and then continue <<I'd love to have another coffee with tea>> you lower your gaze because you're slightly embarrassed, but he takes your hand and makes you stand up.

<<Great! I was hoping you'd say yes. You're really good company, you know?>>

You give him a sincere smile, one you haven't done in a really long time, one you didn't even know you could do again, and you follow him. He takes you back to the bar, holds the door as you enter, and sits you down at the table from the night before.

<<Hi Y/n I'll bring you coffee with some milk again tonight?>> Chan asks you from the counter and you nod simply remaining silent, Hyunjin takes an orange juice and then sits in the chair next to you. A few minutes later Chan arrives with your orders and sits down in the vacant chair.

<<How come you are still here? It's 3am>> Chan asks you with a serious look. Hyunjin snorts and rolls his eyes.

<<I wasn't sleepy, you know that Chan. It's no use lecturing me if it's four times you've been working the night shift at your bar>> he tells him, sticking his tongue out at him and puffing out a light laugh. Chan rolls his eyes and says the other guys are always tired.

<<Why are you awake at this hour? >> Chan looks you in the eyes waiting for your answer. You notice that when he smiles he has two dimples on the sides of his mouth, you smile slightly in return.

<<I am not sleepy these days and prefer to take a walk around the streets after a tiring day>> you shrug slightly as you take a sip from your coffee.

You stay up all night chatting and at some point Hyunjin and Chan's other friends arrive, continue talking about you until you see the first light of dawn, so you get up and laugh as you leave the bar, each going your own way.

You exchange phone numbers so you can go out more often. On the way back you realise that you have found a group of friends who do not judge and who listen to what you have to say and you feel happy. You look forward to going out with them again, because for the first time you are not alone, you are no longer alone, you are moving on and you are doing well.

Take a deep breath before you close your eyes and fall asleep with a smile on your face and the promise that tomorrow will be a different day.

[krisdreaming]

Counting Stars

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

Warning: Reader has lighter skin / faint freckles, so not as inclusive as I usually try to be!

WC: 471

A/N: So this is a tad bit more self indulgent than usual ahaha don't hate me. I know this scenario is as old as time itself but I couldn't resist. PS kiss requests are coming later this week, I already have a few written up :3

The movie is over, but neither you nor Tetsurou can be bothered to extricate yourselves from your tangle of limbs. Throughout the course of the movie, he had pulled you closer and tucked his legs around yours. Now that it's over, he turns you so that he's nose to nose with you, his back to the still-glowing tv screen. The light reflects on your face, and his eyes trace it in silence for a few moments.

"Hey," He says in a whisper, "Did you know that you have these really faint freckles?" His fingertips lightly skim your cheeks, making you shiver.

"I mean, I've looked in a mirror a time or two," You chuckle softly.

"Funny," He breathes back with a huff of his own laughter. "But I don't think I've ever noticed them before." His brow puckers slightly, and he studies your face more closely.

Slowly, he begins to dot his fingertip in the barest touches across your cheek. It tickles, and you crinkle your nose. "What are you doing?"

"Counting them," He murmurs, "And you just made me lose track." A smile slides across his lips, and you sigh. "Hold still," He prompts, the fingertips of one hand steadying your face as he dots across it again with the other. "One, two, three..." He continues counting, traveling across the bridge of your nose to your right cheek. "Twenty-three." He finishes with a quick peck to his final dot. "You have twenty-three freckles on your face." He announces seriously.

"Oh?" You hum, unable to keep the smile from your own face.

He nods, his hand still steadying your face. "And..." He traces out a small pattern on your left cheek. "Those ones look like Cassiopeia." His fingers drift across your nose. "And there's Orion's Belt."

"Isn't that one just three stars in a row?" You quirk an eyebrow.

"Yes," He says, "And it's right here on your face." He traces it again, and you can't help the soft laughter that slips out.

"You're such a nerd," You poke him in the chest.

"I prefer, 'you have such a well-rounded base of knowledge.'" He laughs, nudging his nose against yours.

"Too many words," You murmur, feeling yourself being lulled closer to sleep by his gentle ministrations. His expression is unbearably soft, and you can't resist surging forward to press a kiss to his lips. He returns it, fingers sliding into your hair as he deepens the kiss.

"I guess I'll accept that," He says under his breath after he pulls away, his thumb skimming your cheek. You let yourself linger somewhere between asleep and awake, the pathways of his fingertips across your skin still tingling pleasantly.

"Oh, twenty-four," He says suddenly, breaking the silence. "I missed one, right here." He presses his lips above your right eyebrow to the final freckle.

[brandwhorestarscream]

part 4? can we get a part 4? holy fuck

i love these stupid pregnant robots . what da hell

big dad alpha trion also just Y_Y is so good.... what an utter papa bear

Here we go anon, as requested! I love stupid pregnant robots too uwu

Previous parts are here: part 1, part 2, part 3

And yes I agree, Alpha Trion is such a big cuddly papa bear 🥺 I'm so glad you see my vision. Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy part 4.

...

“You…” he takes a shaky invent. “Y-You really… wouldn’t mind?” Orion nods in affirmation, and Dee gives his first, weak little smile in days. “Ok,” it comes out in a whispered rush. “Alright… y-yeah, ok… let’s- l-let’s do it.”

It’s a small comfort that the cave is spacious, with many side caverns and walls to duck behind for privacy. Dee can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing, of being on display. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him, nor does he want to see anyone else… no one but Orion.

They’re both nervous, and unsure of what to do. They sit side by side in a cozy, private little alcove away from the others, side by side with shoulders pressed together and EM fields mingling gently.

Beside him, Orion is warm. An ever comforting presence.

D-16 swallows, and inches his fingers over toward Pax. Their digits brush and he flinches minutely but Orion isn’t bothered. He turns his servo over, pressing the back of his digits into the dirt, leaving his palm open and waiting. Dee slowly, carefully, sliding his hand into his, fingers curling together to hold each other gently.

“...I’m scared.” he admits in a tiny, croaking voice, and Orion squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he leans over to lay his helm on the silver mech’s shoulder. “I am too.”

“How…” Dee shifts his weight. “How do we… I mean-” he covers his face, embarrassed. “H-How should we… start…?”

This is unexplored territory for both of them. They’d never interfaced with anyone properly. They’d never been taught how. And after everything with Sentinel, well… they’re both worried.

Orion looks up at him, optics twinkling. He offers a shaky smile. “Well, uh… i-in the books, we- we would, um-!” he lets out a sudden, anxious sound almost like a breathless laugh. Heat gushes out of his vents and he startles, beginning to stammer. “I- I mean, it’s just- you know, in- in the books we’d- ah, s-sorry, I- hehe…!”

It’s rare to see Orion so flustered he can’t get his words out, and Dee’s spark warms in his chassis.

“In the books, we‘d…?” he jostles his shoulder as Orion’s face visibly discolors in flushed embarrassment. “What? We’d… kiss each other?”

“Y- Yeah!” his best friend’s optics are darting around, looking at anything but him. “That. Can I…? I mean, i-if you’re ok with it?”

When Dee nods, Orion sits up, wringing his servos nervously before leaning forward, reaching out to him. His servo delicately cups one silver cheek, thumb brushing over the soft, beautiful expanse of his face, and his optics soften. A gooey smile spreads on his face, and Dee squirms as his sparkpulse quickens. Orion’s never… looked at him quite like that before. “I’m,” Orion looks just as nervous as he feels. “G-Gonna… kiss you, now. Ok?”

Again, Dee nods, wholly trusting, and lets his optics fall closed, face slack and lips slightly parting in preparation.

Their first kiss is soft, and clumsy, and a bubbling, flying euphoria erupts in his chest with such intensity he actually reels back. D-16’s optics fly open wide when Orion’s mouth connects with his, and it’s every bit as wonderful and magical as he always dreamt it would be. Jazz had once described it as having a nest of scraplets in your tummy, which sounded wholly unenjoyable, but now that he’s living it? He feels like he’s floating: it’s like gravity has released it’s chains on him and he’s free of the shackles. The joy and contentment, the love, that springs forth in his core at that one, simple act is indescribable.

They separate and Orion’s optics flutter: he feels it too, the rising excitement, the rush of emotion; his face splits into a beaming smile and he starts giggling, before grabbing Dee’s face in both hands and kissing him again. Not forceful, just excited, and Dee can feel the way delighted laughter makes his frame tremble. Despite himself, he starts laughing too, and kisses him back, bringing his arms up to clumsily wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

They tumble into the dirt together, giggling and holding onto each other. They're clumsy and inexperienced, and sometimes the kisses are even downright sloppy, but they're both happier than they've been in awhile just to be there with each other. Hands running over each other's bodies, stroking at seams and shyly looking for sensitive spots, they work at steadily building charge as one.

It's not long before Dee is squirming: his insides feel warm and gooey, and there's a throbbing, hungry sensation deep down in his core. His valve feels wet and slippery, his spike feels tight inside it's housing, and they're both pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His interface panel retracts with a soft click, and Orion kisses his neck. “...are you nervous?” The blue mech asks, and D-16 can feel the warm gush of air from his vents.

“...yeah,” he shivers and curls closer to Orion, snaking one leg between his. “But… I wanna do this. I,” he swallows. “I'm ready.”

A blue servo gently cups his face, and Orion gives him the gentlest, softest kiss that makes his spark stutter in his chassis. A punch of heat rolls into his belly, and D-16 whimpers, needy.

With great care, Orion sits up as Dee lays out on his back. He slides his hands up thick silver thighs, intently watching his friend’s face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, and rather, he tries to wiggle closer. Orion gently parts his thighs, maneuvering himself between them, taking a moment to admire D-16’s bared array. He's beautiful, chubby spike bobbing in the air with every shallow inhale and exhale, pulsing softly with yellow biolights, a drop of pearlescent, glowing fluid gathering at the tip and growing larger with each breath. His valve is even cuter, lips round and plush to protect his most intimate area, already visibly wet, pink lubrication collecting like dewdrops all along the rim. He trembles under Orion's gaze, cheeks discolored as he mumbles, “Hey, c-c'mon, don't stare…”

“Sorry-” Orion sounds breathless, struggling to pull his optics away to look up at his face. “I'm sorry, you're just-” his glossa darts out to moisten his derma. “P-Pretty.”

Dee's vocalizer makes an embarrassed squeaking noise, and he covers his face, a bright but undeniably flustered smile spreading on his face. He giggles behind his fingers, and Orion can't help but snicker along with him, leaning down to kiss his forehelm. Pulling back, he rubs his thighs a few more times before delicately moving his servos toward the bared interface array. His fingers just barely brush the other mech's spike, and D-16 gasps, hips jumping. Fluid dribbles down his spike, and his biolights flash fever bright.

“Sorry-!” He's biting one finger, looking down at himself with wide optics. His fans have kicked on full blast. “S- Sensitive!”

Orion smiles, and lowers himself down, sliding into the dirt so he's laying on his belly between his legs. He's never done this before–except for with Sentinel, and that did not count–but he'd read plenty of explicit novels, and in those, starting off with oral was always a safe option. He wraps both servos around Dee's spike, exhaling a breath over it and smiling at the way his hips jerk again. He kisses the tip of his spike then sucks it into his mouth: above him, D-16 helm drops back and he moans up the ceiling above. He tastes salty, and sweet, and Orion hums to himself as he works it to the back of his mouth, glossa swirling around the length to wet it and aid the slide. Dee swiftly unravels, every vent paired with a wheezy moan as Orion works him over.

When the head of his spike bumps the back of his mouth, Orion pulls back, till only the tip is between his lips. He suckles at it, swirling his glossa around the tip, before sucking it back down in. Dee thrashes, hips stuttering and trying to roll into the sensation: Orion sets a pace as well as he can, bobbing his helm up and down, sucking and licking like he's one of those cold, dissolvable treats Ratchet sometimes gives them when they inevitably overheat during the hot season.

“Pax, Pax!” D-16 is swiftly coming undone, servos clawing at the ground, vents fast and shallow as he tries to warn him, “I'm gonna- gonna-!”

He overloads with a wail of Orion's name, a warbling affair that tapers off into wordless moaning. His spike swells in Orion’s mouth and hot fluid gushes onto his tongue, smoky-sweet and nearly scalding. He chokes in surprise, a trickle of it splashing over his bottom lip, but he swiftly gulps the rest down, swallowing more on reflex than anything. It tastes good, he realizes, pulling back to let the spent spike ease out of his mouth. He licks his lips, wiping one hand over his chin to clean up the mess; his glossa is already halfway through licking up the transfluid on his fingers before he even realizes it. 

D-16 looks incredibly relaxed, splayed out on his back and twitching softly, mouth open and panting, optics flickering as he stares up at the ceiling.

“...was it good?” Orion asks hesitantly, hoping he did alright.

Dee responds with a noncommittal noise and a shaky thumbs up. Orion preens, feeling proud of himself. While his partner is still cycling his vents and coming down from the high, Orion sits up again. His interface retracts with an audible ‘schlkk!’ and D-16 twitches.

“Sorry-” Orion tries to stuff his spike back away, but it's uncooperative, straining and hard despite his forceful pushing. Dee’s dazed optics are fixed on him, blinking sleepily. “S-Sorry, it's ok, we can wait, w-we don't have to if you're not ready yet-”

One silver leg lifts and clumsily wraps around him, trying to pull him closer. “‘m ready,” he murmurs, sounding dazed as he reaches both arms out toward Orion. “Please, Pax… I'm ready.” The smile on his face is fragile, but so deep and genuine it makes Orion’s spark feel gooey. “I wanna… do it with you. Touch me… please?”

And there his spark goes, swelling with such tender, affectionate emotion it could only be love. He nods, throat suddenly feeling tight. “Kay- O-Ok!”

He inches closer, hands sliding over his thighs to grab Dee-16 by the hips, pulling him close. He can feel the heat radiating from between his partner's legs, and it makes his spike throb desperately. It's a bit awkward, trying to line up with his valve, and after two unsuccessful attempts he dips his helm, cheeks feeling hot, wrapping one servo around his spike and nearly yelping at the sensation. Primus, he's sensitive! He guides the tip of his spike to the lips of Dee’s valve, and just bumping against the warm, wet entrance has him clenching his denta and willing himself not to overload already.

Beneath him, Dee whimpers, and he catches a glance of his expression. His optics are wide and round, something frightened at the edge of his expression, as if bracing for impact, and Orion knows he's unwillingly thinking about Sentinel.

“...hey,” he uses his free hand to take one of Dee's, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. He pulls his hand up to kiss, nuzzling the back with his nose. “It's ok. It's just the two of us, he can't get you. It's just us.”

D-16 sobs, and Orion leans down to kiss his forehelm. Dee let's go of his hand, instead winding both arms around his neck. “I know,” his expression is watery. “Y-You're not him. You're not,” he presses his face into the underside of Orion’s neck. He takes several deep vents, then says, “...ok. I'm- I'm ready now. You can, um-” he squeaks in embarrassment, unable to voice their word. “G-Go ahead.”

Orion's spike breaches the rim of his valve, and the silver mech keens. Both legs tense on either side of his partner, and his arms tighten around him. Orion sinks in slowly, as slow as he possibly can, gently pushing his spike further and further in. There's little resistance or friction, but it's still an incredibly tight fit. Dee’s valve flutters around him, slippery and warm, and he bites his glossa. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, don't cum yet-!

Beneath him, D-16 whimpers, and his lips begin pressing clumsy kisses to his neck. Over two sensitive neck cables, then his glossa ghosts over a very particular nerve cluster, and Orion breaks. Overload rockets through him like a surge of electricity and he crumples forward onto his partner, pressing him into the cave floor, spike twitching and suddenly letting off a burst of transfluid before he's even fully sheathed inside his valve. Orion moans and tries to stop it, but he's helpless, hips stuttering in mini thrusts as he spills his load.

“Pax-”

“I'msorry-” he lets out in a rush as he finishes, shame burning at his audials. “I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean-”

Beneath him, D-16 snorts, to his dismay, then starts laughing. His EM field suddenly flares to life; where it had previously been tucked in and nervous, suddenly it's warm and relaxed and happy.

“Aww, Pax,” Dee gently lifts his helm, optics warm and smile loving, contrasted by Orion's embarrassed pout. All the previous tension has bled out of his frame, and he brings his servos down to gently cradle his partner's face. He kisses the tip of his nose. “S'ok. Really. Don't be upset!”

Orion's brow furrows, cheeks puffing out as he averts his optics. “S'not funny.”

“It's cute,” D-16 insist, before pulling his face close to kiss him. He feels better now, honestly, so much more comfortable. Orion has no experience, same as him. They're figuring it out together, they've not had a chance to build their skills. It's comforting, honestly, knowing that they're stumbling into uncharted territory together. It makes him feel safe. Like an equal. The kiss deepens after a moment, Dee's glossa rubbing at his bottom lip and into his mouth–only to recoil, sputtering. “Primus!” he coughs at Orion's confused look. “Is that what I taste like?!”

“Pfffft-!” That breaks Orion's self-conscious cloud, and suddenly he's laughing, too. “I mean… yeah?”

“Augh!” Dee shakes his helm, sticking his glossa out. “Gross!”

“I liked it.” an impish smirk spreads on Orion’s face, and he moves to kiss him again, but Dee blocks his mouth with one hand.

“No!” He yelps, snickering. “You are not kissing me like that, not til you wash your mouth out!”

“Fiiiine,” he pops an energon cube out of storage, chewing it as fast as he can to freshen his breath. “Better?”

Dee kisses him again, nodding. “Much.” He gently wiggles in place, and a half-moan tumbles out of his lips. Orion's spike is still buried deep inside him, still hard, still throbbing against sensitive nerve clusters. His valve tightens around him, trying to pull him in, and Orion whimpers.

D-16 reclines back against the floor, pulling Orion with him. Their hands entwine, lips tangling together. Their first time interfacing is clumsy, gentle, and rife with overwhelming love and trust. Embracing in the cavern, they make love to each other for the first time, EM fields blending as one and sparks singing in euphoria between them. Pleasure builds between them to a great, soaring crescendo, and they cling to each other, sobbing in ecstasy when imminent overload swallows them both.

D-16 clings to Orion in all aspects: chest to chest, mouth to mouth, fingers grasping tightly to him as his legs lock around his hips, keeping his spike buried deep in his valve. He feels overstimulated in the best way, electric pleasure thrumming through his whole body and he sobs in ecstasy through his first and second and third overload. He can feel Orion’s transfluid filling him up, siphoned into his gestation tank. The transfluid levels creep from red to yellow to green, and his middle begins to feel heavy and warm and full. He imagines the sparkling growing inside of him, body grown from the seeds of a mech he loves and adores so much. An adorable child with his and Orion's features alike, perhaps with his lover’s crooked smile or his little helm horns or the shape of his optics, and the thought is so enticing a fourth overload rolls through his body. All he can do is hang on and moan, trying not to drool.

By the time his gestation tank is topped up, they're both sweaty, sticky, and swollen: Orion collapses on top of him, vents heaving great clouds of steam as D-16 pants and gasps beneath him.

The blue mech rolls off and then, with a final heave of strength, switches their positions. Orion laying in the dirt with D-16 half on top of him. Gazing at each other, dazed, the tips of their noses touch. Orion cracks an exhausted, barely there smile, and Dee returns it, using his last bit of energy to move his head forward, pressing their forehelms together.

“I love you…”

The murmured declaration comes as they snuggle against each other, afterglow lulling them to recharge. It’s like being surrounded in the warm glow of a lantern, cuddled together like that: he’s never felt quite so warm or safe or loved, and laying his helm down on Orion’s chassis, he truly feels that everything will be alright. So long as they have each other, so long as he can bask in this connection forever, nothing could ever be unfixable or impossible. Orion’s arms come up to hold him, one servo bracing gently on his belly, and D-16 turns his helm to press a sleepy kiss against his chassis.

They’re going to be ok.

...

And that's a wrap on part 4! Sorry it took a bit longer than anticipated, I really wanted to nail these two in this scene. Awkward, sweet first-time sex gave me more trouble than I thought it would. I'm out of practice lmao.

Aaaaaanyways, I hope you enjoyed! Same thing as always, I'll get started on part 5 and post it once ya'll lmk you wanna see more. Beat the crap out of my ask box, do the rebloggy thing, comment, you know what to do!

[terrifying-acceptance]

ok so APPARENTLY i haven't posted about my take on TotTMNT Casey yet which is a TRAVESTY, so i present to you all...

CASEY JONES!!

this is very much me projecting onto a character who hasn't appeared yet, so bear with me for a sec, ok?

Casey is a 15 year old street hockey enthusiast with a taste for chaos. He does aggressive roller blading (because i think it's really cool) and I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AGWUGWBSJENSJ

April and Casey go waaaaay back. Both have been going to school together since kindergarten and used to be besties. Then some ✨drama✨ happened (idk what yet) and they hate each other now. April is convinced that Casey was one of the people who drew on her locker, but he never did. He still kinda liked her (AS A FRIEND Y'ALL OMFG) even after everything

The way he was first known to the turtles (or rather Donnie) was when he cheated off of Donnie on a test. He got an A but Donnie got failed because the school thought that Donnie cheated off of Casey (even tho Casey makes C's at most, it's totally mutant-ism). Donnie has developed a one-sided HATRED for Casey and ofc bitched about it to his brothers. That's when they found out about what went down between him and April

I'm not entirely sure how they end up meeting and becoming friends, but i do know that it was during a fight and Donnie, recognizing Casey through his mask, "accidentally" hit him in the head with a fire extinguisher. He will deny that it was on purpose for the rest of his life, but it totally was

Here are some close ups on his hockey stick and roller blades! :DDD

Some other facts:

He has braces like Mikey

He's Turkish-American because i am

His outfit is a jersy over a black t-shirt OVER a gray long sleeve shirt with light gray shorts (+ his roller blades)

This isn't about Casey per se but i ship tottmnt Rasey

The reason the 2 inner wheels on his roller blades are smaller is because it's anti-rocker (to slide on rails and curbs easier)

Fav Album: Cosmic Candy - The Orion Experience

Feel free to add onto anything i've written here or draw him !!

[kiwi2229]

Saving each other

(James Potter / Regulus Black ; Sirius Black & Regulus Black | 697 words)

For @jegulus-microfic prompt: Alive

CW: child abuse (Walburga and Orion A+ parenting)

It was a night James is sure he will never forget. The picture of Sirius, bloody, his hair mass and a hunted look on his face, with unconscious Regulus in his arms, firmly burned in his memory. It was a regular boring Wednesday until late at night someone frantically started knocking on their door. And everything changed.

James has never been this scared in his life. His hands were trembling when he wrapped them around Regulus to hold him. His voice broke when he called for his parents to help him when Sirius collapsed on the ground.

It's the morning of the next day. Sirius and James are sitting on the sofa in James’ bedroom talking in hushed voices.

“… after mother raised her wand, I don’t remember much,” Sirius says. James needs to know what happened, but he hates that his best friend has to live through it again. “I don’t know for how long it was happening, but they left me there on the ground in the end. That’s when Reg…” Sirius wipes his wet cheeks. “That’s when Reg came. He snuck out of his room to help me, but our parents heard him.”

James looks at the bed where his boyfriend is still sleeping. He hasn’t woken up since they arrived. But his parents and the healer say he should be alright, his body just needs time to heal. James would gladly take every curse instead of him. Just to spare him the pain. But he can’t. He just has to sit here and wait.

“He locked the door.” Sirius continues. “I could see the moment he made the decision. He pushed me into the fireplace the second our mother stormed in furious. Don’t you fucking dare to come back, Sirius. I got this. He yelled at me. He trowed the floo powder and called the name of an abandoned house we used to play in.”

James wants to burn the world to the ground. And most of all he wants to burn everyone who laid a hand on his best friend and boyfriend. He gave up a long time ago on trying not to cry.

“The last thing I saw was how the curse hit his body. My little brother. Screaming on the ground.” Sirius gets up to check on Regulus. He does it a lot. They both do. As to make sure he is still there sleeping. Sirius sits on the ground next to the bed. “I couldn’t leave him there, Prongs. I went back there in the middle of the night. No one expected me to, so they didn’t see us leaving. But they will know it was me. They will come for us. That’s why Regulus wanted to stay there. So, they would leave me alone.”

James slides down next to Sirius pressing their shoulders together. “You are safe. We will work this out. My parents are already talking to aurors.” Sirius gives him a sad look full of hopelessness that twists James’ stomach.

“I need you to take care or him, James. He will be mad at me when he wakes up. And he will need you.”

“Why would be mad at you?”

“Because I didn’t listen to him.”

“You saved him, he can’t be mad at you.”

“It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he is here, alive.” Sirius closes his eyes like he has to repeat the last word several times in his mind to convince himself that it’s true. “Will you take care of him for me please?”

“Of course. I always take care of him.” Sirius knows this. But he still looks relief when he hears the confirmation. “I will go to call Remus.” He says and walks out of the room.

James sits on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t touch Regulus. For one he doesn’t want to wake him up, but he also knows it might scare the boy. So even if his arms are aching for him to wrap them around his boyfriend, he doesn’t. He settles for watching Regulus’ chest rise and fall. Each breath is a demonstration of the words: alive, safe, here with me.