#so i read the instructions and i was like well. i have a treadmill so i basically have no excuse not to do this

[itsrainingbubbles]

Luffy goes to the gym for the first time and he has absolutely no idea how to use any of the equipment

Of course he's strong and when he figures out how to use the machines he does it with ease but that involves a lot of trial and error on his part (he completely ignores the pictures on the machines telling you how to use them)

Hes been at the gym for roughly 2 hours when law approaches him, having been on and off watching Luffy while he's been struggling

Law thinks he's cute and takes pity on him so he decides to help him and shows him how to use the machines

All too soon (in luffy's opinion) law declares he has to go much to luffy's displeasure because law didn't even wanna exchange contact information! ("No I don't want to be friends I'm just trying to help you so you stop making a fool of yourself")

Not one to give up Luffy continues going to the gym at the same time hoping to run into law again, and a few days later he does see law again

He tries to talk to law but law insists that Luffy go do his own workout and to leave him alone, Luffy pouts about it but then he gets an idea

"but I need more help! I don't know how to use those machines"

"I told you this last time, just look at the drawings and read the instructions"

"I...can't read?"

"really now?"

So Luffy is obviously lying and is looking to the side like he always does when he's lying but it's amusing to law so he plays along and "helps" Luffy, who is doing it exaggeratedly bad, Law has to reposition his body on pretty much all of them

It started with just his hand placements being off and law repositioned him but Luffy kept progressively doing it worse and worse so law would put his hands on him and help him

When Luffy did one particularly bad, his cheeks flushed and avoiding eye contact, law just raised his eyebrow at him but said nothing as he grabbed him by the waist, which is exactly what Luffy wanted, and moved him to the correct position

When Luffy deliberately kept his arms and legs in the incorrect position law repositioned them too

When they meet again at the gym Luffy pulls the same stunt, law just looks at him with an amused smile but one again says nothing and continues to "help" Luffy

The next time they meet Luffy has pretty much run out of machines

"you can't tell me you don't know how to use a treadmill"

"I don't!"

"Well for starters, stop doing a hand stand"

"uhh- I don't know how?"

"Seriously?"

So law has to pick him up and put him right side up, then he has to turn him around because Luffy insists he doesn't know what law means when he says he has to face the other way

Law obviously knows Luffy likes him, and he likes Luffy too otherwise he wouldn't have kept playing along, but he refuses to say anything just to see how far Luffy will go

Law even starts going to the gym daily so he sees Luffy more often and Luffy runs out of excuses even faster

"I heard you need to stretch before a workout but I think I'm doing it wrong"

"i forgot how to use this machine, can you teach me again?"

"I'm tired after using this machine, can you help me up?

After Luffy "forgets" how to use every machine at least twice and goes through the most obscure warm ups that law hasn't even heard of, law gives in and asks Luffy out though not without teasing him a bit

"id ask for your number so we could text but you apparently can't read, so I don't think this will work out because I hate calling"

"I can read! I uh, just learned, so it'll work!"

Law will never let Luffy forget how they met and how obvious he was even years later he'll still bring it up

[annbourbon]

My List for this Year

Glow up Plan.

Meaning? I need to lose weight, and start dressing according to my body type. I'm still hitting up my ballet classes. BTW I now have added to my routine my new treadmill and my stationary bike. And I'm giving my cats a ride after every meal.

Learning French

Ok, I'm already learning it but I'm still trying to keep up because? Well, one is part of my heritage, and two, it's easier to understand ballet instructions once I know what they're talking about. I could just learn ballet terminology in french but I'm not the kind of person who does things halfway through. I'm all in.

Although I'm not going back to japanese just yet ╥﹏╥ I'll practice it from time to time to not forget everything. Maaaaybe I'll be doing what I did to learn English: Translate a book. But in French, of course. If anything (because let's be honest, I'm not lazy but I'm busy), I'm gonna watch a lot of stuff and set everything in french. And make sure my dad speaks to me in french too lol at least I have that.

Writing and reading

Because last year was almost everything about research. So this year I'm gonna tackle it and finish it all. I have a huge list that should be piece of cake considering how fast I work and read. I'm not allowed to take more time anymore.

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆

Did I reach my goals?

It's November and I can say this~

* I lost 10 kilos.

* My hair finally reached my tailbone.

* I didn't read as much as I would have liked.

* I did a lot of interactions with beautiful people.

* Broke several friendships because~~ TMI lol

* Downspiraled between September and November. But tried to pull myself together after that.

* Got better at understanding French. I did not study. Just watched a lot of shows in French.

* Got myself dragged by the Cheritzverse lolol and loved every minute of it (sadly I gotta go back to my writing projects)

Now:

♡ ❄Winter Arc❄

⋆₊☽ * ₊ ⋆ 2025 List⋆₊ ☽ *₊ ⋆

The goals are almost the same.

♡ Janeanuary

♡ Keep losing weight

♡ Glow up

♡ Study French

♡ Read a lot

♡ Write a lot

♡ Practicing my embroidery skills~

[faithnfrivolity]

Chris Kratzer wrote...

"You may not like what I'm about to say.

You may not like the way I say it.

My writing is both message and art, and most importantly, purposed on giving real voice to the spiritually oppressed and chasing the evils of toxic Christianity out of the shadows.

Reading ahead is your choice.

……………………………………

They don't give a f*ck about you.

You think they actually care?

You think they have your best interests at heart?

If they are following conservative Evangelicalism, if they are believing it all the way, they don't give a f*ck about you.

They can't, and they won't.

How do I know?

This is how.

Their faith system insists that self-love is dangerous. It's evil and leads only to debauchery. In their minds, self-love leads you away from God and towards the devil. You are depraved, fallen, evil, and a "sinner." Nothing to love, only everything to hate.

Therefore, in order to turn and be faithful to God, you must suppress your heart, hate your humanity, deny your mind, and see yourself as inherently wicked and separate from God. And even if you "come to Jesus" and somehow, your faith in Christ makes you into a "new creation" you must constantly face an inner battle to shame your so-called "flesh" and embrace the so-called "spirit," or else.

It's a never-ending religious treadmill of spiritual exhaustion and desperation. Under conservative Evangelicalism, there is always something about you to despise, demonize, condemn, or pin down. Therefore, any spark of self-love is to be quickly filled with apprehension, fear, conditions, and rigid restrictions, and ultimately should be snuffed out just to be sure there'll be no chance of embracing evil.

So, with all of this, when they attempt to follow the highest instruction of Jesus to "love your neighbor as yourself," they actually do just that. They love you just the way they love themselves, which is with hate, fear, conditions, shame, condemnation, and deep apprehension.

Shackled to insecurity and self-degradation, they can actually do nothing else but hate you, because, in essence, they hate themselves. All their inner shame, condemnation, and fears of love are directed and projected upon you. This is why hate feels like love to them.

In the end, seeing themselves as fundamentally flawed, and you as the same, they exchange loving you for making you into their spiritual project to entice you into joining them in their misery-ladened desperate pursuit of finding righteousness and acquiring special standing with God. Not because they love you, but actually because they hate themselves, and misery loves company.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about you.

To them, you're a project not a person. A notch on their belt, not a human to be served. If they can get you to buy into their religious plight, it makes their self-righteousness seem real, special, and true, and their hate seem like love.

In fact, receiving any sense of lasting community and genuine care from them comes only when they convince you to hate yourself enough that you join their religious misery of trying to overcome it. There is no interest in you beyond you joining them in learning to fake it and convince yourself, as they have, that you and Christ have, and are continuing to make yourself uniquely whole, saved, righteous, and separate from everyone else.

That's right, as spiritual, good, and holy as they can make it all look, they don't give a f*ck about you any further than your willingness to join with them in their shallow, religious hell of self-righteous believing and living.

In fact, you can be sure that their teachings on hell, eternal suffering, biblical inerrancy, and needing Jesus, are actually all just tools of submission and conformity. The ultimate narrative for the ultimate exploitation.

Yup, it's true.

They don't give a f*ck about you. Your eternal destination, your well-being, your happiness, or your success. They just want you to comply or get out of their way. Get on board or get buried.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about the environment.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about fostering true equality.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about solving poverty.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about their worshipping of a lying, criminal, racist, sexist, adulterous, and gluttonous president.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about stopping mass shootings.

This is why they don't even give a f*ck about abortion as it's just a political bait to hook their base.

This is why they don't give a f*ck about breaking the law, abandoning the vulnerable, or enabling the rich.

If it doesn't serve white, heterosexual, patriarchal, conservative Evangelicalism, they don't give a f*ck.

Need proof?

Just see how they treat you when you leave their church.

See how they treat you when your child reveals they're gay, or you no longer see being queer as a sin or contrary to God's design.

See how they treat you when you stop tithing.

See how they treat you when your disabled family member disrupts their polished worship service or needs special assistance or accessibility.

See how they treat you when you question the leadership or want equal representation of women, queer people, and minorities in all levels of leadership.

See how they treat you when you no longer see the Bible as inerrant or Jesus as the only way to salvation.

See how they treat you when you no longer have the time or energy to serve in ministry.

See how they treat you when you challenge their biblical interpretations or visions for ministry.

See how they treat you when you ask to see the church budget - including salaries, expenses, and priorities.

See how they treat you when you suggest that the church should revolve around serving the community without agenda or expectation of return, instead of a weekly slick worship service.

See how they treat you when you doubt it all and wonder if Christianity is just one big scheme.

It won't take much and it won't take long to see that my 20 years of having been a conservative Evangelical pastor have revealed the truth they don't want you to see… they don't give a f*ck about you.

Grace is brave. Be brave."

[echoghost1]

How are you even lifting that, bro?

Summary: What started off as routine picking on Fenton quickly escalates into Dash and his friends pushing his limits. If he even has any?

Word Count: 788

Prompt: How strong is Daniel Fenton, really? Dash and co. are determined to find out by any means necessary, and Sam almost doesn't find him until it's too late. (PR217) @what-even-is-sleep

AO3 link

or you can read it down below the cut

It started as just a one-off gag. Something dumb and impulsive, but that's all.

Nothing else was planned.

Then again, with Fenton involved, things tended to get weird.

Gym class was in the weight room that day and all the dweebs beelined for the stationary bikes and treadmills. Typical.

Fenton was late as usual and missed his chance as the last bike was taken by someone else.

Tessloff wouldn't let him just stand around doing nothing, so she directed him towards the free weights.

Dash offered to give him a quick lesson on how to use the equipment.

Doing so not only gave him brownie points, aka get out of detention free cards, but also meant that she'd leave them alone to babysit the other nerds.

"I think I can figure this out on my own, Dash," Fenton said with an eye roll.

"Oh yeah? Then catch this!" Dash said just before he tossed the nearest thing he could get his hands on.

The medicine ball.

But Fenton caught it.

With one hand.

And then he had the guts to say, "Now what?"

Dash hated it when Fenton did weird shit. It was, well, weird.

Why was he like that?

Why couldn't the freak be normal?

Dash snatched the medicine ball back and passed it off to Kwan, perhaps a bit too roughly based on the grunt.

There was no way that pipsqueak should be able to hold a 10 lb weighted ball like that.

Dash herded the should-be-weaker-than-him boy over to one of the weight machines.

Fenton made a face when Dash pushed him into the seat but didn't say anything to protest.

At least he was doing that part right.

"Stay," Dash ordered and nodded to Kwan who set the weight pin on the lightest setting.

Fenton rolled his eyes and crossed his arms but continued to behave.

"Do a set."

"You say that like I know what that is."

Dash could not believe this dork didn't know such simple things.

"Why don't we start with 5 reps then." Kwan offered a bit too politely for Dash's taste.

"Reps?"

He had to be doing this on purpose. There’s no way he was this dumb.

Dash grabbed his hands and placed them on the grips. "Just hold this," he pulled forward and ignored how cold Fenton’s hands were, "and push and then go back to start."

"Okay geez, you don't gotta rip my arms off to say that."

Dash let go and smirked when the weights clicked as Fenton dropped them too quickly.

"Five more."

"Don't you mean four?"

"First one doesn't count, Fen-twig."

The first set went on without any more trouble.

"Alright, now wait a second, and then when I tell you, do another set."

Kwan pulled the weight pin and was about to just go one lower but Dash didn't want to do this slow and steady.

"Lower," Dash instructed.

"Here?" Kwan asked, pointing to the weight one slot lower than before.

"Nah, put it here," Dale said as he pushed it even further down the rack.

"Yeah that's good," Dash confirmed.

"Am I allowed to have any input here?" Fenton asked. Like an idiot.

"No. Now lift."

The boy sighed but gripped the bar and did another set.

Only he didn't look like he was struggling at all.

He did it the exact same way as the first time.

That didn't make sense.

"The pin's in right?" Dash asked under his breath.

"Should we keep going?" Kwan asked.

"Uh, yeah," Dale added before eagerly switching the pin to an even heavier weight setting.

"How many of these do I have to do?" Fenton complained.

God, he just sounded bored.

That was so annoying.

"Until I say so! Now go again."

And he did.

And he still wasn't struggling.

What the hell was going on?

Dash got impatient and put the pin at the heaviest setting.

There's no way he wouldn't struggle with that. There was no way in hell this scrawny wimp could just lift 250 lbs like it was nothing.

With what muscles?!

"Again!" Dash ordered.

Just as the freak was about to start his impossible set, someone interrupted.

"Danny! There you are," the goth girl squeezed her way between Dash and the machine and took his hand, "why don't we try to balance this workout with one of the leg machines."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to become a Dorito," Foley added as he slipped his arm to link with Fenton’s.

The weirdo trio weaved their collective way away from the jocks, easily getting lost in the crowd of the class.

Dash wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard Manson scold Fenton about "not using ecto-strength at school".

Whatever that meant.

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Jersey Bros by writer-ofstuff

"So, how did these two do?"

"What do you think? Failures. Just like the others have been."

"I don't know. I wouldn't say they were total failures." The lead scientist mused.

"Sir? What do you mean? The super soldier serum didn't work." His assistant said.

"Yes, while that is true, it does tells us we are on the right track to perfecting it." The scientist said. He types on the computer and brings up their two subject's readings to show his assistants what he means.

"Look at their readings. Their DNA is already changing due to the serum. Which means we are closer to our breakthrough. We just need to do some more adjustments to the formula to get it exactly what we want it to do." He explains.

His assistants nod their heads in understanding and then busy themselves with work that the lead scientist instructs them to begin.

"Sir, what should we do with these two?" One of the asked, gesturing towards the two men who lay asleep on the metal table in the next room.

"Toss them out on the beach. They are no longer of any use to me now." He says dismissively.

The assistant nods his head and calls up a few soldiers who stood guard outside to help take Dean Winchester and Derek Hale's sleeping forms out of the lab and into a truck. Driving them down to an isolated part of the beach just as the morning sign rises and leaves the two sleeping men on the sandy beach.

------

Derek awakes with start, sitting up and looking out at the ocean while the gentle waves wash up and down the sand shore. He rubs his hand through his hair, not caring he is getting small pieces of sand in it.

He feels like he is forgetting something, like the last few hours there is just a hole in his memory. Derek turns his attention to the man sleeping close by him. The werewolf rolls his eyes when he hears Dean starting to snore rather loudly. He has a hard to believing this guy his a feared and bad ass hunter when he is passed out with his ass up in the air and a little drool coming out of his mouth.

Derek doesn't quite remember why he and this hunter teamed up, that being part of the missing pieces in Derek's memories. Yet he still for some reason remembers meeting Dean.

Derek gets to his feet and walks the short distance between himself and the sleeping hunter and lightly kicks him with his foot. The action jars Dean away who quickly rolls over and hits up, sand falling off his face from where he had laid asleep.

"Wake up."

"Wha? I am up." Dean says in a sleepy voice. Rubbing his face clean of the drool and the sand that was still on his face.

"Derek? Why are we on a beach?" Dean asked.

The hunter had sounded just as confused as Derek felt. So Derek doubts asking Dean if he knew what was going on here would be of any help.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Derek says.

He offers his hand out for Dean to take to help the other man up. As soon as their hands make contact a strange feeling jolts through both men's hands. The two men are so startled they let go of their hands and Dean falls on his ass.

"Oops, sorry bro." Derek says.

He frowns when he thinks about why he just referred to Dean as bro. That wasn't a word that Derek would use yet it just slipped out when he spoke. Derek thought nothing of it, besides Stiles said bro all the time so it must have just slipped into his speech.

Thinking about Stiles, Derek started to wonder where the younger man was. He had an odd feeling that he had been looking for him and grew tense at the thought.

'Was Stiles endanger and he didn't remember it?' He thought for a moment. But then his mind felt a little dizzy and then he thought about how the younger man is just at home relaxing.

Derek glances at Dean who looks lost in thought as well. Derek wants to ask him what he is thinking about, but he refrains from it. Dean was a hunter so Derek didn't want to bother to get to know the other man.

Now that he thinks about it, why was he even with Dean? He asks the human and sees Dean's confused frown deepened as he pauses walking.

"Huh, I don't know either." Dean said.

This honestly should alarm both men, yet Derek felt himself feeling relaxed instead. He assumes Dean feels the same way since the other man doesn't make a move to get away from Derek by walking in the other direction.

As they continue to walk side by side down the sandy empty beach Derek's mind wonders. Thinking about how the pair ended up on the beach anyway. Surely there was a reason wasn't there? At the moment he couldn't think what the reason was. When he asked Dean the other man shrugged his shoulders and didn't say a word.

When Derek stole a glance at him he frowned when he noticed that Dean's hair looked lighter than before.

'Wasn't his hair brown?' He thought to himself while he looked at Dean's now bleach blond hair. The hair style even looked different. Looking a little longer and styled differently with hair products to give Dean a fluffy faux hawk style hair do.

The hairstyle even made Dean look younger to Derek. The older man now looks like he is around Derek's age instead of a man pushing into his late thirties.

This was really starting to confuse Derek, but the more he pondered what was going on here the more those thoughts left his mind and he got distracted by something else.

"Did you change your hair?"

Dean hears Derek ask and he turns his attention to the werewolf.

"Sorry, what?" Dean asked. He wasn't really paying attention to what Derek said. Busy in his thoughts about why he was on a beach with a werewolf.

"Your hair. It looks different." Derek said.

Dean touched his hair, feeling how it was a little stiff from the hair product he put in this morning after his shower. It felt like his usual style, telling Derek as such.

When Dean looks over at Derek it's his turn to be confused since Derek's facial hair looked different. He could have sworn Derek had a thick amount of stubble along his jaw and around his mouth. Yet now Derek's face was all clean shaven except for some scruff that covered his chin.

Dean had intended to ask Derek about it, but he then thinks against it. After all it would sound rather odd to ask Derek that. Since obviously Derek just had the chin scruff prior, Dean must have just been mistaken is all.

He started to second guess himself, wondering what if something was going on here with himself and Derek. Especially since he couldn't quite explain why the two were even together in the first place.

The two men reach the boardwalk and continue to walk side by side in silence. The pair were both lost in their own minds trying to make sense of what they were doing when Dean noticed a gym to their right.

He pauses and stands outside it, looking inside through the glass windows. When Derek notices he isn't by his side the werewolf pauses and turns around.

"You alright bro?" Derek asked.

His voice sounded off to him and he clears his throat and asks again.

Dean didn't answer him so Derek walked up to stand beside him. He peers through the window of the gym like Dean is doing.. For a moment nothing happened but then Derek starts to get flashes of memories in his head. He sees himself inside the gym, working out with Dean. The two chat like they are best friends while they spot one other while they work out.

The memories he recalls aren't really, he knows this, but at the same time they feel like they are real to Derek and he hates that.

"Come on bro, let's get goin yeah?" Derek asks. Again his voice sounds off to him, but he can't quite place why.

"In a bit dude, I need to see somethin." Dean replies.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but before he could Dean confused walking into the gym without another word.

"Fuckin hell." Derek grunted.

He paced a little outside, debating on what he should do. Running his hand through his hair, as soon as his hand falls back to his side his hair shifts. The sides shaving down to a buzz style while the mid section of his hair style back as it lengthens.

He thinks about just leaving Dean. Clearly something strange is going on here and that is the reason they feel holes in their memories while also having these fragments of new memories.

"Fuck it." Derek grunts and follows Dean into the gym.

------

Dean can't explain the urge he felt to go into the gym. Like Derek he gained those similar memories of himself and the other man coming here. In those false memories it seemed like they were close friends despite the two men hardly knowing one another.

He told himself this was to get to the bottom of things. Instead though Dean just wanders through the main area of the gym. He only sees men in the gym, some guys alone working out while others are grouped up and chatting while jogging on the treadmill.

What makes it strange is how some of them address him by his name, as if they know Dean. Rather than question how they know him Dean just rolls with it, greeting them back. While he does and continues deeper into the gym. His body alters, muscles becoming more toned and defined. Gained from years of working put and maintaining this kind of physique rather than Dean having earned it through training.

The tattoo on his left pec that wards of possession starts to break apart. The ink traverses along Dean's chest under his shirt. Wisps of ink branch off to spread along Dean's arms while the rest form into different styles of tattoos.

More false memories bombard Dean's mind and the hunter clenches his head as he attempts to push those new thoughts out of his mind. He looks ahead of him Dean sees he is standing a few steps away from a large wall mirror. He can see his green eyes darken and for a brief moment he fears he is being possessed by a demon.

"Demon? Demon's don't exist," he then thinks.

His green eyes turn brown, his lips get a little fuller, nose wider and the bridge of it becomes slimmer. Dean grunts, watching his face change before his eyes and unable to do anything but throw his arms up and start to pose. Smirking at his biceps and admiring how large they are. Giving into the admiration of his own appearance finally pushes Dean over. His mind purging his own self from it finally as his new dimwitted and vain self takes over.

He lifts his shirt up to admire his hard earned abs and pecs next once he has had enough flexing. Only stopping to look around and wonder where his best bro is at.

📷

----------

Navigating through the gym was making Derek feel uneasy. What connection he had left to his werewolf abilities was telling him something wasn't right about this place. The men he walked by all seemed like the same type. Self absorbed meat heads who cared only about themselves and showing off.

Derek despised shallow men like this. So whenever any of them tried to stop and talk to him he would give them a glare and ignore them to continue his search for Dean.

The further Derek ventured into the gym the harder it was to recall past memories of his. Thoughts he would have would shift to random things.

'I'm totally bigger than that dude.'

'Jason's here? May need to see if he wants to fuck in the locker room again.'

'Mike's here too. Should talk to him about getting another tat.'

'Where the hell is Dean at? My bro needs to spot me.'

Derek tried to shove those thoughts away but it felt like the more he tried to, the more adamant they were to linger in his head.

He needed to find Dean and get out of here. When he reaches the back area of the gym he finds a tattooed dude posing in front of the mirror.

Derek thought of what a self absorbed guido the guy was. The type of guy you would hate on a trash reality show. He releases only to realize a moment later that this man was somehow Dean.

Astonished, Derek quickly approaches Dean, opening his mouth to ask what happened to him.

"Looking good bro." He says instead. Taken aback by his own words.

Dean turns to look at him and grins.

"You see yourself bro? You hitting the iron hard ya?" Dean replies.

Derek wants to deny it, but he can feel his body surging with muscle. He tries to repel the ongoing changes, but it proves to be useless. His pecs inflate to large and firm pectorals. While his biceps gained quite a bit of bulk to them. The rest of him gained a significant amount of solid muscle while Derek also felt himself growing a little taller.

His pale skin darkened with a tan gained from walking around shirtless and hitting the tanning bed when he could.

Derek tries even harder to repel these alterations happening to him. Not wanting to end up like some self absorbed dick like Dean had become. He assumes being a werewolf has given him an edge that made whatever caused this work slower on him.

He can feel himself being overweight by whatever this is, wincing when two diamond studs appear in his earlobes and his mind shatters a few moments later. Derek stood there in a daze while his old thoughts were overrun by a new persona.

Derek then blinks himself awake, a slow grin spreading on his face as he flexes for Dean.

"Fuck yeah bro. You know I gotta keep this bod in shape for the studs." Derek said with a heavy Jersey accent.

He stands beside Dean and the best bros make faces and pose for a picture. Uploading it to social media before the pair get back to their workout routine. Neither of them remembering anything of their past selves.

📷

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Five)

Word Count- 3921

Morning had come around a lot quicker than you had hoped it would, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and birds singing outside making drifting back off an impossible task. Though you felt well rested, you simply just didn't want to move anywhere any time soon. Last night had begun with Mycroft shyly placing his hand on your hip as your back pressed close to his chest, but this morning had ended with Mycroft on his back and you with your head resting between his chest and shoulder, hand crossing over with fingers hooked over the pyjama's pocket. You'd never expected to be the type to wake up earlier than Mycroft Holmes, particularly not two days on the bounce, but you wouldn't complain. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the sunlight turning his auburn hair far more ginger, his freckles on his nose matching. You slowly reached one arm backwards, blindly feeling around for your phone on the bedside table and reading through your messages. You grinned seeing a text from Greg and had to fight the small laugh that threatened to escape you.

'Hey, just thought I'd check in on you both and see how you're getting on. I hate to feel pushy but we do really need to start that paperwork, today ideally. Figured I'd pop round later if it's alright- I need a sodding nap first though. Spent the majority of last night receiving phone calls about mysterious activity around St James', load of dodgy cars sending people away, loads of papers.. don't suppose you saw any of that down your way did you, makes life easier?"

Your fingers typed a response- 'Uhh..guilty as charged.. Myc was in jeans and a Who top, daren't be seen by the public..I'll get him to fix it when he's up x'- a grin playing on your face. Yeah okay you felt a little bad, but Greg had dealt with worse. After pressing send, you scrolled further through your notifications, spotting one from John. Nothing major, just checking in and inviting you both over for late lunch, mentioning briefly how it'll do Sherlock some good seeing his brother, even if he doesn't believe it himself- evidently also receiving a message from Greg as he also explained how it would make Lestrade have to do one less visit for paperwork if you popped over a little earlier. Before you could type an answer, you felt Mycroft shift beneath you, stretching out the arm that wasn't trapped beneath your body.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." You teased, turning your head and placing a small kiss on the Holmes' chin. Mycroft blinked, rubbing his eyes and offering you a 'good morning' in response as he eyed up you typing on your phone.

"Needed to be whisked away to catch a criminal mastermind already?" He asked, sitting up a little as you moved to give him a little more space, his arm still loosely tucked behind your back, though his torso now free.

"Your deductions in the morning are lacking.. though close. Mastermind, but not criminal. John and Sherlock have invited us to late lunch, Greg's popping over to start the first part of paperwork handling, only the basic stuff this time round, so figured it would make it easier on him only having to go to one home before we left." Mycroft breathed deeply, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd have rathered the criminal." He spoke, already mentally planning the afternoon, the conversations he would likely have, the way Sherlock would behave. What if he still hadn't forgiven him? It was surprising enough that you had let him off so easily, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was a Holmes, and someone of whom already had feudal tendencies with Mycroft, it was bound to end terribly. As though you had read his mind, you moved your hand to take his from his face as you noticed his fingertips whitening as he pinched harder.

"Hey, it'll be fine. He doesn't blame you, he's been far too silent for that to be the case. From the way John sounded, it actually seemed more like he was worried about you, though you know he'd never admit that." Mycroft hummed in response, not being able to find the right words to say before reaching over and grabbing his own mobile. "World ending yet?"

"Not yet. Though with any luck, quarrels could happen before lunch." He mused, one side of his mouth raising slightly in a playful smirk.

"Mycroft you can't wish for conflicts amongst empires to get out of a meal with your brother."

"Can't I?" He raised a brow.

"Anthea wouldn't allow it anyway. We're on strict instruction to not go into work for the next couple of weeks, nations be damned. Lunch sounds far more appealing too." You slid yourself out of bed and grabbed one of the bags from Anthea that you brought upstairs last night, taking a handful of clothing items and tucking them under your arm.

"But it isn't lunch, is it? It's LATE Lunch, settled approximately around 3pm, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's impractical by any means; you starve yourself at real lunch so you do not ruin your appetite, and then by dinner time you're hungry once again. And if you eat at both of those times as well as the late lunch, your feeding schedules become on par with a bloody Hobbit." You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. "Though you may be more accustomed to such choices given the height similarity between yourself and Mr Brandybuck."

"Cheeky sod, not all of us have glorious Holmesian legs. I'm sure you'll survive a few hours.. Oh, you also owe Greg an apology." You chuckled, opening the message back up and tossing your phone in the general direction of Mycroft's lap before going to get dressed. After reading the message, you heard Mycroft let out a laugh from the other room, the rare kind that you knew made the sides of his eyes crease and his head tip back slightly in amusement; you were sorry you missed it.

Leaving the bathroom, you couldn't help but notice the silk pyjama clad man standing mindlessly in front of his open wardrobe, glancing over each individual item of clothing. Wandering behind him, you moved up on your tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the rows of suits. You were still dressed relatively comfortably in a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, which you felt was appropriate for the later meal that would likely be somewhere like Angelo's- but you equally knew that Mycroft's idea of 'comfort' lay within his three pieces, pocket squares and oxfords.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to begrudge you of your precious suits today. You deserve it after actually going through with my wardrobe choice for you.. I didn't actually expect you to do it." You laughed, squeezing his shoulder fondly. "We slept in late again, there's barely any morning left." You commented, glancing over at the clock that read 10:53am. "Can I tempt you in Elevenses, Mr Baggins?" You grinned, your Lord of the Rings reference not being missed by Mycroft. He cast you a playful glare, fighting the urge to childishly poke his two fingers up at you. "What? Not judging my bedside manner this time?"

"It is useless to meet revenge with revenge; it solves nothing." He quoted Frodo without hesitation, bastard probably already planned that you'd quip back with something smart and already armed himself with Shire related comebacks. You, in contrast to Mycroft, did have the tendencies to become childish and did opt for the two fingered response, an adoring smile unnaturally paired.

Not many people got to know of Mycroft's little nerdy side, and you took pride in being one of the few that did, though you took more pride in him for being able to easily reel off the quotes. Though he had told you before that The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been his favourite of everything you made him watch, then when he read the books? You wouldn't hear from him for hours at a time while he binge read through them for the tenth time round, and of course you had noticed the varying editions of the three books on his bookshelf in his personal office, rather than lining the shelves in his small library room. If anything, it just made him more endearing.

Though it was nothing compared with his love of Doctor Who. Bless his heart, you had taken him to watch David Tennant's Richard II a few years ago for his birthday and he was insistent on waiting behind after the performance to catch David leaving and got him to sign his special edition box set of his DW seasons. He even had a photo taken with him, his expression being easily comparable to the likes of a child who just got a puppy for Christmas- and, much to his dismay, the photograph had had a prime place on your desk at NSY since the event.

You made your way downstairs, calling out something about making omelettes and leaving Mycroft alone to get ready. His fingers skimmed across the expensive fabrics, tugging out an olive green suit and red tie and pocket square to match. The smell of the food you were preparing began to fill his nose, making his stomach growl as he rushed to the bathroom to get dressed. After removing his pyjama top, Mycroft caught a glance of himself in the mirror, prodding at the pudge of his stomach that settled just over his pyjama bottoms, before sucking in flat and looking again. Maybe he should forego the omelette and just wait until later.. another growl.. okay maybe just a little, just so he didn't raise suspicion. He sighed, stomach relaxing back to its natural state before finishing his morning routine, tugging his trousers up a little higher than usual to tuck away the offending belly fat.

Mycroft had always suffered with his weight, he knew that. He also knew of his past, how he would skip meals, or spend hours upon hours on his treadmill, or the time he was under Doctor Chinnery for just shy of three years following his habits of completing his meals with his fingers down the back of his throat over the toilet just after his job promotions exceeded and he found himself in much higher rankings- public appearance being far more important than any personal preference. Though his eating disorder had improved, the years of therapy didn't miraculously improve his self-confidence. It was one of the many reasons he preferred inviting others for dinners, or at the very least having his days to himself when he knew he would be going out later in the evening. Spontaneous meals out like the one he would be attending in a few hours, or having somebody at home with him while he waited for said meals threw him off balance completely- his usual routine of fasting beforehand as to not appear rude or raise suspicions when he ate in public being disturbed significantly. You knew of his past, deduced it, actually, and had been nothing but supportive, trying your best to convince him for years that he was perfectly healthy and encouraging him to eat better, to actually consume meals. He was thankful, of course he was, but it didn't help his insecurities around you, no matter how welcoming you had been or however many compliments you gave him. His body was covered in stretch marks and areas of loose skin from his weight loss over the years, his chest hair, though scarce, was a coppery ginger and his body was covered in so many freckles he looked like an explosion at a dot to dot factory. It led him to remember the other reason why he had never previously attempted to pursue a relationship with you; if he was disgusted and horrified at the appearance of his nude body then what on earth would you think when that time eventually came around? He daren't even try to imagine your face. You'd worked with Sherlock long enough to have seen him wander around naked and Mycroft had to admit that his brother at least had a body worth parading about in the nude, then there was Gregory who, despite not having an exactly chiseled body, still had the rugged good looks and toned chest- a physique that clearly represented the physical aspects of his occupation- there was no doubt you'd compare him to them and he would come up short every time.

"Myc? You gonna be long? Yours is going to be freezing!" Your voice had knocked him out of his thoughts and he quickly shrugged on the rest of his clothes, straightening his tie in the mirror and plastering on a small smile as he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Apologies.. the cufflinks failed in succession to cooperate at first." You had eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Mycroft had worn enough suits in his lifetime that he could probably find a way to put one on to completion in 5 minutes in the dark with oven mitts on.

"I know I've been so against the suits, but I have to admit that you look incredible.. I think that one's my new favourite." You commented casually, placing a quick kiss to his temple as he sat at the table. "That colour is lovely." He quirked a brow.

"New favourite? You've had old ones?"

"Obviously." Imitating Sherlock. "Charcoal pinstripe with that light blue shirt- brings your eyes out wonderfully... and your bum." You winked, positively enjoying the pink that dusted the man's cheeks, and the way he would open his mouth to speak and then close it before any words came out. In his defence, he was really not used to receiving such compliments. And in your defence, you weren't particularly used to giving them, not like that anyway. You'd blame Greg, he was a terrible influence and an incredible flirt- using his charm to at the very least try and make you laugh when you had shitty days.

You lay his plate in front of him, a coffee to its side, before beginning to tuck into your own meal. You had learned early on that if you didn't wait until Mycroft was able to eat then he likely wouldn't eat at all. While drinking his coffee fairly happily, you hadn't missed that the vast majority of Mycroft's breakfast was still on the plate, cut in smaller pieces and rearranged to appear as though he had eaten more than he truly had. Frowning, you didn't press- knowing better than to point out his behaviour and just being thankful he had eaten anything at all (about a third of the omelette and half a slice of toast if your judgements were correct) but had elected to keep an eye on him. You finished your own food in silence before crossing the cutlery over on your plate and beginning to speak.

"I figured if we left now we could have a bit of time for you to go through the first set of paperwork, Greg should be getting there in the next 10 minutes or so, and then by the time we finish and have a cup of tea it'll be time to go out." You suggested, taking Mycroft's plate to clear away after he had sent a nod to show he was finished. He made a small groan at the need to go at all, but soon acquiesced, sent a text for a car and stood to go to the front door. Tugging on a hoodie, you opened the door and took a step back, the wind shooting in your face and making you scowl. Mycroft made an amused sound and offered you the scarf of his that you had worn last night. Rather than taking the garment, you stood and waited for him to wrap it the same expert way that he had the night before. "I also text Greg to run by my flat and grab my coat so I'll be able to stop stealing your expensive scarves soon.. though this one feels so lovely I may text him again to leave it on the tube." You laughed, stepping back outside once again and walking with Mycroft to the end of the road where a car was waiting. Mycroft had wanted to respond, to make a comment about how he didn't mind letting you wear his things, how he actually quite liked it. But he stayed silent, offering a small smile instead and a soft hand at the small of your back. Mycroft opened the door for you, climbing in after and settling against the plush seats of the lavish car.

As the car began to move you tensed a little, a thought popping into your head.

"Myc.. does Sherlock know yet? About us? I might have hinted at it a little when I spoke to Lestrade earlier but I didn't press.. I just.. I didn't know if you were telling people." You asked awkwardly. Christ it made it sound like you were in some forbidden relationship. Mycroft's jaw clenched a little.

"I wasn't aware it was secret knowledge, if that's what you are asking Y/N. In response to your question, no. I haven't spoken to Sherlock at all since.." He trailed. "And I am not the sort of man to walk into a room and actively announce that kind of thing. But you should know that he will likely deduce it the moment we walk through the door being as you are wearing my clothing, your hair smells like my shampoo and your skin still has traces of the scent of my soap. So if you didn't want anybody to know, then I strongly suggest we rearrange our plans for this afternoon." Who was he kidding? Of course you didn't want people to know that you were actually together now- you would look ridiculous being such a pretty young woman with a man like Mycroft in tow. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "If you are going to say you could argue the soaps then it would simply be futile, he knows I have your regular brand at your disposal; he'd know you used mine in the form of... sentiment." The last word felt wrong on his tongue now, knowing you had hoped to keep your.. relationship.. behind closed doors. Mycroft Holmes was a very private man, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want knowledge of your relationship to be at least semi-public, having felt a little giddy when you'd chosen to cross that line with him.

"What? No, I wasn't going to talk about the sodding shampoo." You grinned, reaching a hand over to place on his knee. "Jesus Myc, I asked because I didn't know if YOU were comfortable with people knowing. I'm pretty sure everyone inside that flat knew I fancied you the last few years, I'd proudly walk in and show that my pining eventually paid off. I just know you have appearances to keep up and I didn't want to ruin that, or embarrass you in front of Sherlock." For what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days, your words surprised Mycroft. He felt his jaw loosen and he took a breath, moving only to briefly place his hand over yours for a small squeeze and moving back again. You didn't expect him to say much, he was Mycroft Holmes, not Romeo Montague, but the small smile you sent back his way let him know that you understood his thoughts. The drive to Baker Street was only 10 or so minutes from Mycroft's home so you soon arrived in no time at all, the slick black car smoothly pulling up outside number 221.

"I can only hope my dear brother deduces our relationship correctly and doesn't make a vast attempt to embarrass me in front of his peers.. again." Mycroft knocked on the door, his words casting you back to a Christmas you had all shared a couple years ago.

It was a small gathering, consisting of the pair of you, the Baker Street boys, Greg and Mrs Hudson, and a few weeks beforehand, after multiple arguments of whether or not presents should be shared, Mrs Hudson had come up with the wonderful (terrible) idea of secret Santa which, incase you wasn't aware, isn't a fun game when played with two Holmes' that knew everybody's present and Secret Santa before the packages were opened. You had pulled Mrs Hudson and couldn't have been more thrilled, neither could she when she opened her new tea set- a simple floral design decorated its sides, but she was thankful no matter the pattern, the last teapot having been found at the hands of Sherlock housing human eyes. Conveniently enough, Mycroft had pulled your name and elected to subtly buy you a personalised travel mug for work. After you had opened it, Sherlock had scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "Mycroft isn't that shit at buying presents. He bought you a necklace at first but felt too embarrassed to give it to you in such a public setting and panic bought that cup." Continuing on about how Mycroft had put a lot of thought into your original gift and how it was unusual and how it "obviously" meant he favoured you and was attracted to you. Mycroft had left shortly after that, not making eye contact with any of the silent people in the room and climbed into the back of his car, but you had followed suit and clambered in after him- easing the tension by ignoring Sherlock's allegations and giving him the envelope that you had in your pocket. You had told him you had bought him something special anyway, even though he wasn't who you were supposed to buy for, because you cared for and appreciated him- he had opened the envelope slowly and his eyes widened, that rare smile appearing on his face when he was presented with the Richard II tickets. After your exchange Mycroft had given you the necklace anyway, spouting derogatives about his brother's deductions as he did so. It was a small silver chain necklace with a sparkling silver pendant that, upon closer inspection, you had noticed was a police badge.

You smiled fondly at the memory and instinctively placed your hand above your sternum, feeling the small piece of metal beneath your clothing that you hadn't taken off in two years. You turned to face the man beside you a little more, placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on your tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips, moving back only when you heard the latch unlock in front of you, and noticing the ever so slight pink tinge to Mycroft's bottom lip from the lip balm you had put on earlier. "That should make it easier to get it right." You commented, fighting the small grin from your face as you noticed Mycroft standing in the same way, lips parted slightly from where your own had been moments ago, a matching pink dusting his cheekbones. The door opened revealing a smug looking Sherlock.

"Be careful Mycroft, you'll catch flies like that if you aren't cautious enough."

[seijorhi]

i just want to thirst because i keep imagining iwa being a gym rat/gym instructor and helps y/n out with her form. but whenever he helps his hand is placed lower than what's necessesary 👁👄👁 ngl i just want iwa to do this to me 😩 it's gonna give me the motivation i need to actually work out

BBY!! I have had this exact fucking thought. Y’all have some big brains 🧠

TW dub-con (I guess?) Iwa being a creeper

They make you fill out a questionnaire when you join the gym - it’s part of some promotion, sign on for a full 12 months contract and get 10 free personal training sessions. You’d be an idiot not to take it up, especially because you’re kind of new to this whole... gym thing. But hey, you have to take the plunge right? And if you have an actual trainer who can show you the ropes, well, that has to be a good thing!

Except you don’t want somebody to scream at you until you cry, and you don’t really want somebody who’s going to push you further than your limits - at least not to begin with. You just want somebody who knows what they’re doing, understands that you don’t have a fucking clue, and can actually help you not make an idiot out of yourself whenever you step away from the old, reliable treadmill.

So when you arrive to your first session a little early and catch your new PT - ‘Iwa,’ the girl at the front desk had helpfully supplied, ‘you’re gonna love him!’ - finishing up with the guy before you, yelling at him, snarling as he baits the larger man to hit the boxing pads he’s holding up, you’re suddenly not so sure that that message got across.

As he waves the other guy off with a snort and his attention turns to you - wide eyed, nervous and about thirty seconds away from heading back to that front desk and asking whether another trainer might possibly be available instead - he grins, and you’re left with the distinct impression that he’s sizing you up.

It’s too late to run, he’s seen you now.

But despite your initial misgivings, Iwa is kind of amazing. He doesn’t just throw you in the deep end - he’s not easy going by any stretch of imagination, but he respects your limits... most of the time. And he’s all about the fundamentals. Your form has to be perfect or you’ll end up doing more harm than good - he’s told you a thousand times. Honestly you’re pretty sure that you spend more time with him correcting your stance than you do doing the actual exercises themselves.

You get used to Iwa’s touch, the warm hand on your lower back, rough fingertips gliding along the side of your waist as he instructs you to ‘breathe deep for me... good girl.’ You cant help but preen under his praise - you like it when you do well, but there’s a part of you that likes it even more when he’s the one to tell you that. You want to do well, to improve and get fitter and stronger, it’s why you signed up in the first place. You’re glad that he’s so supportive - not at all the demanding beast of a trainer you’d seen him act as for with some of his other clients.

He’s always adjusting you, sliding up behind you to shift your hips, make sure that your tailbone is tucked tight and that you’re engaging your core like you should be. It was a little unnerving at first, the way his eyes were always so focused on you - but you get used to it. He’s just looking out to make sure everything is moving as it should be and you’re using the right muscles groups.

Without him you’d honestly be lost.

And he’s a stickler for a proper cool down and stretching; ‘It’s how dumbasses get themselves hurt after working out.’ Most of your training sessions are late when the gym is quieter (read: deserted) - it seems to be the only time he can fit you into his busy schedule, and it’s not like you mind per se. But it means there’s nobody to rush you, and with you being his last client, there’s no need for him to race off either.

It means he can take the time to make sure you muscles are properly stretched and limber before you head home - settling down between your legs to help loosen up your hamstrings and glutes, pressing up behind you to guide you into a downward dog, relaxing the muscles in your back. And afterwards he’ll insist on staying to make sure you’re using the foam roller he recommended - more often than not stepping in to take over because you’re not doing it right. If it were anybody else, your cheeks would be burning from the moans and whimpers that slip out when he presses down hard and drags it along your thigh, but you’re comfortable with Iwa and if he notices he doesn’t seem to mind. You trust him.

It’s just a shame that you can’t afford to keep doing the one on one sessions after you use up all of your freebies.

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 1)

And the winner of the Scarlet Vision Drabbles Voting is... Advanced Settings! With Custom Skin as a close second. Luckily this one is turning out waaay longer than I thought it would be, so I had to break it into two parts. Second part will come out later this week. 

It’s been awhile since I’ve fanfic dabbled, so this has felt really nice. I feel I will be writing more about these soulmates.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

Wanda made her way down the narrow stairs, holding her two bags close to her person. The creaky boards protested against her dainty weight and brown chips of aged paint flaked away with each step of her boots. She strode to the stained plaid couch in the musty living area and plopped down her burdens. A roach scurried out from between the cushions and zoomed to the sanctuary of a hole in the upholstered armrest.

No… she would not miss this location.

“Has anyone seen my… oh, I see it.” Wanda walked to the defunct treadmill in the corner of the room, plucking her ear-pods from the treadmill’s control panel. The train ride would be long and music was the only way she would survive it. She shoved the corded earphones into her jacket pocket with her phone and smoothed the sides of her hair behind her ears as she ran through her mental checklist again.

“Got your ticket?” Natasha inquired over a near empty dinner plate, supplying the reminder, not out of real concern but rather a sense of familial normalcy. She was a stern but stunning mother hen.

“Ah… yes!” Wanda had to pat herself down and found the ticket in her back pocket. She held it up victoriously before putting it in the smaller of her bags. “I think I have everything…”

“Not everything.” Steve’s rich tenor voice cut in over the hissing and bubbling of the shabby kitchenette that occupied the same small space as the living area. He placed a plate of peppered chicken, plain rice, and steamed broccoli in front of Wanda before draping a dish towel over a toned shoulder. “No one should travel on an empty stomach. Eat up.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at the the corny paternal grin he gave, but accepted the plate. She took her seat at one of the mismatched chairs that occupied the dingy room, refusing to sit on the couch with food. 

“Moscow… my old stomping grounds.” Nat sighed, before taking another bite of chicken. “Shto-to s chem-to.” Her Russian was comically muffled by food.

“I’ll take pictures.” Wanda promised, scarfing rice. “I’m forcing myself to take in more of scenery this time. But I swear once I’m in a hotel, all I want to do is shower and never leave the bed.”

Wanda winced as soon as she dropped that setup.

“Oooooh? Do tell…” Wanda had actually forgotten that Sam was in the room as well, as small as it was. He had been unusually quiet, nursing some leg soreness from a tech-recalibration injury. Nothing seriously hurt, save for pride. The plastic baggies of ice duct-taped to his thighs sloshed and clacked as he shifted in the only run-down chair with padding. “And when exactly are we gonna meet this mystery boyfriend of yours? Who pays your way to exotic locations and expensive hotels, hmmm?”

Wanda gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… and forked more food into her mouth to occupy it.

Sam chuckled at the intentional silence. “I see how it is.”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets.” Nat supplied, taking her plate to the sink to rinse. “Besides, I don’t recall you being very open about your copious tawdry affairs back at Avenger Headquarters.” Wanda smiled down at her food, thankful for the deflection of topic.

“Copious, yes. Tawdry… never.” Sam grinned back, putting his joined hands up behind his head in bemusement, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an open book about the ladies, Steve can tell yah.”

Steve shook his head, but acknowledged it was true with a dimpled grin. A far cry from his blank expression that used to overshadow his stoic face at any mention of Avengers history. It had been 8 brutal months since the fall-out with Tony Stark and the US government.

“And as I seem to recall, Romanoff, you were caught more than once coming back to the compound. Late. Shoeless….” Sam continued.

“Late night scrapbooking.” The ex-assassin responded dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

“And then we have Mr. Virtue over there. Clamped tighter than a nun’s thighs…” Sam continued.

Steve gave an innocent shrug. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Nat was looking down, but gave a small grin, arms folded over her chest. Wanda briefly wondered if the two had ever connected on a level other than as a commander and his right-hand.

“Tony, well… Tony had Pepper.” The topic was exhausted, but he kept talking. Steve turned away, back to the grimy stove to tidy-up. “Brody,  shit, I don’t know how Brody had time for anything other than cleaning up after Stark, but he consistently wowed even me with all his ‘war stories’ in the battle of love.”

“And Clint was the honorable family-man.” Wanda said half-heartedly. She turned her wrist up to check the time on her watch.

“Yeah. Good man. Good man.” Sam nodded, respect for the settled existence that Hawkeye had found and chose over a life on the run. “And then there was Vision...”

Wanda’s grip on her fork slightly tightened. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure that guy out. He invited to his room, like, twice to talk about a painting he purchased. Twice. One of the three things in his room. A little odd…”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. The painting was a New York Street Artist’s rendition of the Tree of Life. The artist was also blind. He created a picture from memory, using odd colors to convey a synthetic translation to the image to stand out against what would be considered normal and correct. It created something beautiful and breathtaking in the process. It resinated with Vision deeply. The proceeds went to a medical facility that specialized in therapeutics for children with disabilities. Wanda had been there with the Synthezoid when he had become enamored with it at first sight. Had come to his room numerous times afterwards to talk about it, or just sit with him, staring at it’s mastery as he read aloud.

“I don’t think he ever…you know?” Sam finally said. It cut through Wanda’s thoughts. “I mean, how could he? I don’t think he even had the… machinery… for it. Poor guy.”

“Sam…” Steve didn’t have to look at Wanda to feel her bristling. He didn’t always understand it, but he knew that she had a close friendship with the synthezoid.

“Oh don’t tell me you never wondered about it.” Sam huffed.

“No, Sam. I don’t wonder about a teammate’s junk.” Steve turned around, impatient that his friend wasn’t picking up on his annoyance. He took a sip from a mug of black coffee.

“Or lack, there of.” Sam countered, oblivious.

“I have to go.” Wanda stated, louder than needed. She went to the sink with her plate.

“To be fair, Vision has molecular control of his physical structure and density.” Natasha continued, to Steve’s surprise. “So, in theory, he could get the job done. But it would be very one-sided.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “How so?” 

“I imagine it would be like using an over-elaborate vibrator. All sensation for the partner… nothing for him.” Nat shrugged. “A safe and controlled simulation, where there is nothing asked of you.”

Sam blinked at the thought-out response. “Damn, Romanoff…”

Dishes clanked loudly, even angrily, at sink. Wanda didn’t meet Steve’s concerned look. “Sorry I don’t have time to clean these.” She strode to her bags on the couch and muttered a farewell before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed shut with the flick of Wanda’s wrist and a flash of bright scarlet energy. 

Sam’s brown eyes drifted from the door where the youngest teammate had just left. He glanced at Steve and Nat. “Did I say something?”

“We all did.” Steve put his mug down on the counter, brows knit in concern. “Vision is her friend. She misses him.” He gazed at the hot brown liquid in his mug thoughtfully, thinking of those who he missed. “We shouldn’t have talked about her friend that way.”

“Oh…” Sam blinked, and then frowned at himself. “I didn’t  think… Should I go and-?“

“Just stop talking for a sec and take your pills.” Nat interrupted, striding over to him to offer two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I’ll go talk to her. Smooth things over before she leaves.” Sam nodded sheepishly and accepted her offerings.

Steve made a noise of protest, to perhaps leave Wanda be, but Nat gave him an understanding “Time for Girl Talk” wink before stalking after her companion’s trail out the door.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with Wanda, who walking down the stretch of road to the nearest bus pick-up to take her to the station.

“Hey.” Nat called, not even out of breath after the jog. “You did forget something,” she held up a flash drive. “…with the next meet-up location, job details, instruction on-“

“How could you say all that about him?” Wanda shot back.

Nat considered her young teammate… her friend… for a moment. “Well, it’s the kind of thing I would say if I didn’t think that you had an intimate relationship with Vision going on, currently.”

Wanda’s lips thinned into a firm line. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

“It’s the kind of thing that throws the boys off the trail about what I saw in the Netherlands when I tailed you.” Nat shook her blonde-dyed head. “I hate lying to teammates. Especially Steve. But out of respect for you and female bonding, I’ve kept my word. Keep yours and don’t let your feelings ruin your focus.”

“If you think my focus is a problem, why even let me go?” Wanda asked.

“I wouldn’t.” Nat retorted. “But Rogers seems to think you deserve some semblance of a young-adulthood. He thinks your mysterious Euro-boyfriend phase is healthy for you. And that’s of utmost importance, considering how closely your control is tethered to your emotions.”

Blunt, as always, but Wanda appreciated the honesty. And the freedom. She reached out for the flash drive after a moment. “I’ll keep my head down. Check in when I need to.”

Nat nodded approvingly, then turned to leave.

“Natasha,” Wanda called, halting her friend. “Did…did you mean what you said, though?” She searched Nat’s guarded blue eyes for truth. “That…he can’t feel what I...”

The silent response was deafening.

“That I’m  just… using him?” Wanda finally ventured.

“I won’t pretend to understand… any of that.” Natasha shrugged. “But what does it really matter what I think?”

It wasn’t reassurance. And the cold sentiments expressed in the apartment would loop themselves in Wanda’s head, no matter how loud she turned up her music on the bus. And then later on the long train ride.

As farmland and rolling hillsides blurred past, Wanda kept her forehead pressed against the cool glass of her window. She felt like Vision, her mind endlessly running and playing out memories and scenarios whether she wanted it or not. Analyzing and computing to try and find a solution to ease the pit in her stomach. 

She knew that Vision could feel. She had stumbled upon that realization during one of their first few kisses, 5 months ago. What linked her given abilities to it’s source in Vision’s forehead, though unexplainable, proved that what she felt for him…label-less yet profound…he definitively felt for her. And her absence from him, the lack of that engulfing feeling, caused him a wounding loneliness. It’s what had made Wanda want to give herself fully to him.

But with the introduction of intimate relations 1 month later…

Vision had learned everything there was to know about her body and what delighted it. What actions and sentiments yielded the most sincerest, and surfeited, responses. Always so lost in her desires and satisfaction, she always believed it when he said that his greatest pleasure was bringing about hers. But if she really thought about it…. really thought about it…

Wanda pulled her knees into her chest, boot heels digging into her seat. 

He didn’t moan. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t heave. He didn’t lose himself like she could completely in him. His eyes never left her face even when she had to close hers in convulsive ecstasy. His broad and handsome smile was always waiting for her when she would come back to reality. Waiting and in need of no reprieve.

She hated this feeling. This feeling that she was doing something wrong. That she was taking and taking without giving when she would literally set the world on fire if it meant Vision’s well-being.

Wanda was so consumed that she didn’t look up to take in the environment of Moscow as the taxi pulled in to take her to the hotel. She almost dreaded it. She was tugging at her sleeves to cover more of her hands. Did Vision have resentment about this? That she could flaunt how human she could be when he couldn’t? She hadn’t thought about that when she took the plunge to have him. She had followed instincts and emotion… like always. Wanda rubbed her forehead, upset with herself.

She checked in as usual, requesting a key to a room under “Victor Shade”, always left for her at the front per Mr. Shade’s instructions. The front desk clerk was beaming at Wanda, expressing how nice Victor was and how he talked about his world-traveling girlfriend with so much admiration. Wanda smiled weakly and accepted the extra $100 room credit gift because Victor was just “so sweet to hotel staff”.

Wanda stepped off the elevator and drudged down the hall to their room. She arrived and took her keycard out, ready to use it on the card-scanner, when the door swung wide open. 

Vision was there, beaming down at her stunned face, keycard still held up in her hand. Though of course, at the risk of being seen even for an instant, he was visible in his human mapping. Blonde hair smoothed with a slight, playful waive. Skin fair but peppered with human imperfections like freckles, freshly shaved skin texture. But his cerulean eyes were the same piercing blue true to his actual form.

“The front desk computer confirmed your arrival.” He said, to quell her surprise. “Wanda. Darling.” He said, deeply, and reverently. “Welcome to-“

Wanda let her bags fall to the floor and leaped up into his arms, legs wrapped as high on his torso as she could manage, lips crushing the end of his sentence. Vision grinned handsomely against her needy lips.

“I’ve missed you.” She managed finally, pressing her cheek against his.

“I reciprocate your sentiments.” He combed graceful fingers through her auburn hair. “Considerably, so.

***

Ever the perfect gentlesynthe, Vision carried his barnacle of a girlfriend to the suite’s luxury bathroom. She detached from his waist with a gasp as he showed her the candlelit bathroom, large clawfoot tub frothing with lavender scented bubbles, soft piano renditions of movie love-themes emanated from a portable radio he had relocated from the bed stand. He gave a controlled ray from the mindstone in his forehead to bring the lukewarm temperature of the bath back to a simper again.

“Vision… this is…”

“Exactly what you need after a long day of training and travel.” He placed a hand on either side of her head tenderly and tilted her forehead up to plant a kiss. His human facade shimmered away with the contact. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Wanda then realized that she didn’t even eat her whole dinner. Hours ago. She reconsidered. “Well…”

“How about Olivier Salad? Or Shuba? Better known as ‘Herring under a Fur Coat’? A Russian delicacy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at Vision.

“Cocktail shrimp and cheese sticks it is. “ He grinned at her default preference.

“And wine! You know the kind I like…” She added, unzipping her jacket.

Vision smiled, emitting a chuckle. He left her in privacy to unwind and rejuvenate, while he called down to the front about room service to be delivered in 30 minutes. He then sat down to compose a note on hotel stationary, thanking the staff for the lovely presentation of the room and the warm reception for his Wanda. Satisfied with the flourish of his penmanship, he then accessed streaming guides to find vintage sitcoms that might please Wanda.

Only 10 minutes had passed when he heard his name being called from the bathroom.

The synthezoid was there in an instant, concern conveyed in his tone. “Wanda, I’m here. Are you-“

“I’m fine, Vis.” His human girlfriend peeked over the tub’s edge, visible only from her shoulders and up. Her long hair was wound in a sloppy bun, piled atop her head. “I just… wanted to look at you…”

Vision felt his lips curl into yet another smile. A frequent, unprompted state of expression when Wanda was near. “And…?” He inquired, kneeling to the floor to gain eye-level with her rich hazel gaze. 

Wanda bit her lip, taking his hands in her own, lacing her soapy fingers with his maroon digits. “And… I think you are wearing far too much. For a bubble bath.”

“You would like me to join you?” Vision asked, after a beat of processing the subtextual request. “Would that not defeat the purpose of… relaxing?”

“I’m tired of relaxing alone.” Wanda retorted, leaning her head down against their joined hands. “Come assist me.”

Vision stood, untangling his fingers from hers, and began stripping down. He could easily phase through his clothing, but he found the act of undressing much more interesting and human than being unencumbered by the physical properties of clothing. It also slowed down his naturally speedy rhythm of existence, which he observed pleased Wanda. The human drank in the sight of her nude synthetic boyfriend, mindlessly swirling her index finger around in the warm water she soaked in.

One long vibranium-infused leg stepped into the tub. Wanda maneuvered to the far end to make room, until Vision had sat down, adjusting his sculpted length to the confined space. She floated herself to sit on his lap, her back leaning heavily into his chest, auburn head resting against the dip of his shoulder. She signed deeply and emitted a noise of contentment at the feeling of him against her. Vision brought a hand up to cup her dainty shoulder. The other slipped across her belly, splayed out to absorb the toned smoothness of her.

“This feels nice.” Wanda murmured. Vision smiled into her neck, planting a firm kiss at the base. “Does this feel nice, Vision?”

Something in her tone of her inquiry sounded peculiar. As if there was an answer she was desiring. It puzzled the Synthezoid, who had most of her variations of responses and phrasings committed to his memory. But humans were complex and ever-evolving. Wanda was no exception.

“I am very content  to be a variable in your relaxation.” Vision retorted. He was met with silence. She was unable to see the smile on his face falter. “Unless… you wish for something more stimulating now…” HIs hand skimmed through the water, over slick skin, down her navel, to the her silky region. Seeking her sensitive entrance…

Wanda lightly clenched her thighs together, pulling his hand up out of the water and kissing his knuckles. “I just want to sit like this for a bit, Vis.”

There was a pause before his response. It made Wanda wince. “Of course, darling. Whatever you desire.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Is this alright?”

“Yes…it feels nice. It always feels nice.” Again, her words said pleasant things, but conveyed a tone ill-at-ease.

“Wanda?” 

She turned to face Vision, straddling his lap. Chest to chest.

“I’m sorry….I…” She sighed deeply. “Natasha said something and… it got to me.” Wanda looked up into Vision’s cerulean eyes. “I don’t… use you… do I? When we are together?”

“Use me?” What an odd statement.  His hand cupped the side of her face. “I have no qualms about being put to ‘use’ by you, Wanda. Ever. If that is what you ask.”

“No. I mean… ugh, how do I say this….”

“You know you can say anything, Wanda. I’m made of vibranium. I won’t be damaged.”

Wanda smiled weakly. He had come so fair in his speech patterns. Had learned personality traits that he obviously preferred. She could feel… him… a soul within, if that was what it was. She took comfort in that. 

“When we come together, intimately-“

“Sexually.” Vision supplied. Unabashed.

Wanda huffed. “Yes…sexually… you give so much. And I’m not complaining. At all. It’s… unreal.” 

Vision smiled tenderly, placing another hand on her other cheek, kissing her lips the way she had showed him awhile ago. He liked the little noises she made when he did so. And would watch her face as their lips departed from one another, her eyes usually heavy with serenity and arousal.

But not tonight.

“What do I give you, Vision?” Her inquiry was direct. She rested a cream-colored hand against the rich maroon and reflective vibranium of his chest.

Vision tilted his head at her. “Your pleasure and well-being is of paramount significance to me.” His eyes blinked excessively as she pulled her face away from his contact. He had said something unsatisfactory. “Is that not enough?”

Wanda’s gaze was now downcast. “I suppose I underestimated how much it would mean to me. To not be able to give you pleasure. To not see you able to take it for yourself, instead of just for my sake.”

The sythezoid’s eyes darted away as he processed. Avoiding her returned hazel glance. He knew it would betray his discomfort. But stoicism was not what he wanted with his Wanda during moments like these. He wanted her to see him… really see him… even in time of uncomfortable vulnerability. 

“This body was not made with human reproduction in mind, but synthesized evolution.” Vision said, finally breaking the silence. “Pleasure, desire… arousal… these are constructs that I loosely understand in definition only, and by observing how they manifest in you…who I care a great deal for. And that was enough for me.”

“Was?”

He finally brought his eyes back to her face. Her expression, contorted in aching sympathy, made his eyes close. The repressed hurt upon his face seemed an honest response, though he knew it would further upset the situation. He sought to remove himself before causing Wanda more distress.

“Vision, no…” She gently protested, but his form  disappeared from the tub and rose outside of it. The vibranium striations across his broad back glittered from the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “Vis…”

He turned towards her, his smile was back, as if it had never left. “Room service will be here soon. I surmise it best I not greet them naked.” He stooped to kiss her on top of her head, then collected his clothes before leaving her presence.

[pluto-art]

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind. 

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

-------------

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

[trashfanficdump]

Jacking, Chapter 2

"You've gotta be kidding me," Tags stared at the captain, then he started glancing back and forth between her and the screens, desperately hoping he was seeing things, that he'd just forgotten how to read the code.

"Nope, that's our new target," She didn't seem bothered by the cramp in his brain. "S'why I called you up right away, you know him, right? He's that one you ran into on that one op?"

Of course. Tags thought, of course she already knows that. He broke eye contact with her and just stared at the screen, at JD. "I… that's… that's why it's a bad idea… can't we just give it to another ship?"

"Nope, that's our new target," She didn't seem bothered by the cramp in his brain. "S'why I called you up right away, you know him, right? He's that one you ran into on that one op?"

Of course. Tags thought, of course she already knows that. He broke eye contact with her and just stared at the screen, at JD. "I… that's… that's why it's a bad idea… can't we just give it to another ship?"

"Either you don't handle it and it's a bad idea or you do handle it and it's a good idea. I trust you to make sure you take the second option. Besides, there isn't another ship," she said, plainly, like his discomfort wasn't obvious. The truth was, she just didn't care; if the CO giving instructions wasn't enough to get through to someone having an attack of the awkwards, then she would deal with it directly, and Tags was still listening to her. "The only other ships at broadcast depth are the Caduceus and the Neb. The age rule is gospel as far as Ballard cares, he won't do it. Morpheus is already tracking a target, thinks he's found the One, because of course he does."

That distracted Tags for a second, making him think if Morpheus' bullshit was actually real, JD would be saved soon anyway. Tags knew not to rely on bullshit, though; he had no way of knowing if it was real or not, so he would assume 'not' instead of relying on it. He kept his eyes on the screen, because watching JD on his treadmill at the gym made it easier to come up with more excuses than making eye contact. "He is too old…"

"So were you," she shrugged, the idea that Tags had turned out fine was left unsaid, but it was clear. "Besides, even if we could pass it off, he's not looking for information about the Matrix. He's not a hacker trying to figure out what the government is covering up. He's looking for you. He wants to find you, he's making noise with your name. It won't be long before the Agents notice, and even if we just ignored him, who knows if they figure out some way of using him. Besides, we're down a man. If he can handle it and he can handle serving, we need him. We have a small window here to do this fast, and the fact that he trusts you makes it easier."

Tags had served on the ship long enough to know everyone well, as they knew him in turn. He knew when the captain was giving him an order even if she didn't say the word.

"Okay," said Tags. "Okay… let's do it." He leaned closer to the screen so he could clearly see the code and figure out everything going on around JD right that second, wondering what the best way to make contact with him would be. He said to himself, "Guess the Oracle was wrong…"

"Tags," the captain had started walking away to get ready, but she'd turned back.

"Yeah?" He looked up at her.

"'Fast' doesn't mean 'sloppy,’” she said, “He still has to choose for himself. Make sure he knows how big the consequences are if he makes the choice we did.”

“Yeah,” Tags just nodded.

"So you're the Oracle," Tags tried not to sound dismissive, but he couldn't help it. After the time he'd spent on the ship, after learning the truth, after being on his second week eating the food… the smell of the brownies coming out of the oven was more than a little distracting.

"Sure am," the old lady scootched over to the table and put the pan of brownies down. She took her pot-holders off, sat down, and lit a cigarette. "You can say this isn't what you expected, but you won't. Still thinking too hard about the idea of there just being an Oracle in the middle of everything you've been through?"

"Well," Tags was going to deny it at first, before he realized there really wasn't a point. Her cigarette was worse than the brownies, too, giving a serious craving he hadn't felt since he'd woken up after being fixed. "Uh… yeah… is that strange?"

"Why would it be strange," the Oracle shrugged. "Because you recently learned reality as you know it isn't real? Because there was a blur and when you opened your eyes, all the mundane things were gone and you're part of a war you never could've imagined? Maybe it should open your mind to what kinds of things are possible, sure, but one extraordinary thing doesn't just necessarily follow from the other."

"So you're not for real then, is what you're saying," Tags mostly blurted it out, suddenly feeling bad for being rude. "You don't see the future?"

"No, I'm just saying one doesn't necessarily follow the other," the Oracle took another drag from her cigarette and grinned up at him. "Not like I can convince you right here, you just have to decide what you want to believe yourself. Downside of choice is, just because you don't know what the right choice is doesn't mean you can take a pass on the consequences."

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, Tags focused on his own breathing, making each breath deep and slow. "Guess I'd just choose whatever choice doesn't have consequences in the first place."

"Oh, now you're just being silly, all choices have consequences, we just don't bother thinking of them," she gestured at him with her cigarette and, that done, she put it down on the ashtray. She picked up the knife on the table and started cutting into the brownies. "I could choose to let these cool off a little before cutting in, but there wouldn't be time for me to give you one." She didn't look up until she was. "Would your life have gone the way it did if you'd made different choices? Maybe you reenlist, but still end up here… or still end up in the studio, just later on."

"Oh god," Tags looked down at his boots, and tried to shove his hands further into his pockets. The Oracle being a lovely old lady to such a disarming degree made this worse than his parents finding out, or his last girlfriend. "Of course you know that," He briefly glanced at the refrigerator before looking back at the Oracle, desperately wishing it was so interesting he would never have a reason to turn away.

"Don't need to be an oracle to know who you were in your last life, kid, just need to know how to use the Internet." She finished fishing one of the brownies out of the pan with a spatula, put it on a small plate already on the table, and slid it over towards the other side. "And I'm not judging, just giving you an example. Have a seat, take a bite. Don't worry, I only put the strong stuff in my cookies."

The plan was set, the crew was in position, the ship was ready to go for a fast pickup. Tags went over all of that in his head, because all he needed to do now was knock on JD's door, and he didn’t want to.

If Tags could say anything about himself, however, it was that he’d get things done, so, he knocked.

It took a few seconds; JD was pulling on a pair of pants as he answered his door, and the way he froze once he looked at Tags meant he probably hadn’t bothered looking through the peephole. “Holy shit!”

“Hey,” Tags said, plainly, dumbly.

“Fuck, man, don’t just stand there,” he stepped back, “Come in-”

“No!” Tags interrupted him. “There’s no time. Just,” he forced himself to calm down, raising one hand, awkwardly. “Just… hang on.”

“I don’t understand,” JD stood there, practically broadcasting his confusion.

“I know you’ve been looking for me,” Tags blurted out.

Taking a second to process his thoughts, JD slowly nodded.  “Yeah, you said I’d have to find you if I wanted to know what the hell happened.” When the awkward pause started, he added, “I… kinda took it as a challenge.”

“Oh.” Tags glanced away, lowering his hand. “Fuck, guess I said the wrong thing…”

“You just… came to me again though,” JD prodded, holding onto the side of his door like an anchor. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Yeah, looking and finding were interchangeable, in this case,” Tags said. “Do you still wanna know?”

“Hell yes,” JD didn’t hesitate now.

“Alright, come with me.” When Tags saw JD lean down to grab his sneakers, he said, “Don’t bother, we’re not going outside, and we don’t have time, just…. come on. Please.”

Staring at Tags for a few seconds. He was definitely starting to realize things were even weirder than he already thought, but he walked out into the hallway with Tags and closed his door behind him.

“This way,” Tags said, and he led JD down the hallway towards the elevator. His stride broke halfway when they reached the vending machine in the hall, where Tags quickly shoved in a few quarters and pushed the button for a bottle of water. Once he had it, he handed it to JD and moved again without a word.

“If we’re not going outside,” JD had to jog a few steps to catch up; he wasn’t expecting a fast walk. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“One floor up,” Tags answered, not turning his head. He hit the ‘up’ button for the elevator when they reached it and it opened instantly, as if it were waiting. “The apartment above yours is vacant.”

“Okay,” JD let the world drag out, hoping it would prompt Tags to tell him more. When it didn’t, he stayed silent for the moment, and just followed Tags out when the elevator opened again.

Tags stopped in front of the door for the apartment above JD’s and turned to him. Taking a prescription pill bottle out of his pocket, he started playing with it, rolling it between both hands. He rolled once on the heels of his boots, and took a deep breath. He wanted to continue, he really did, but his apprehension won out for a moment. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, long day.” JD just twisted the cap off and took a gulp, seeing no reason not to. “Had to do a scene with that asshole Vadim, decided he didn’t want to bottom at the last minute, so much drama…”

“Yeah,” Tags looked down at the bottle, briefly thinking of work, then back up at JD. “You need to understand something, and it’s not easy because I can’t tell you shit, but you need to try to understand this.”

“Okay,” JD said again. “Hit me.”

“If you go through with this, there’s no going back.” Tags squeezed the bottle harder between both hands. “And I mean no going back to anything. Anything. I don’t know if you’re happy with your life, but going forward means you’re done with it. You’re done with everything you hate, you’re also done with everything you love. Everyone important to you, they won’t be important to you anymore. There’s no fucking way I can make you understand how serious I am about this, and normally we… ‘talk’ with potential recr- with people for longer than this, but you have to choose, and you have to do it now.”

“Choose,” JD repeated, “Choose what? How?”

Tags emptied the two pills in the bottle into his left hand. He tossed the pill bottle down the hallway, kept the blue pill in his left hand when he held it up to JD, and held the red one up in his right. He shook his left hand, drawing JD’s attention to it. “You take this one, you turn around, you go back to your place. Tomorrow, you won’t be sure you even really saw me. The life you’re living now goes on, sooner or later you’ll forget anything weird ever happened to you. You never find out the answers to the questions you have.” He drew JD’s attention to his right hand. “You take this one, you accept all the consequences I just warned you about. You get all the answers. You go through what I went through. You learn everything I learned. It’s not easy. Hell, it’s fucking insane, but you’ll know.”

JD’s eyes shifted between the two pills. “This, uh,” he sounded worried, “This is kinda… it’s starting to sound like you got your head screwed with by some kind of bullshit cult, like Scientology or some shit.”

“I know, it can’t be helped,” Tags said. “Actually, it’s usually way worse, most of the people who find us are looking because they think there’s something wrong with the world.” Stopping himself before he went into full-on babbling, Tags shook the pills in his hands again. “I don’t know how much you trust me right now, but if what I say means anything, there’s one thing I can tell you, and it’s that I’m not bringing you to a loud dude behind a cheap podium who’s gonna tell you why it’s a good idea to drink bad Kool-Aid.”

Pondering the pills again, JD slowly reached… and his hand moved for the blue pill. Tags actually felt relief, and he hadn’t been expecting to, he really had no idea what he was hoping for but at least JD wouldn’t have to go through any of it…

Then, JD stopped, his hand balling into a fist before he took the pill. “Was it worth it,” he looked Tags in the eye, “Getting the answers, I mean.”

Tags’ eyes went wide. It really hadn’t been a question he’d expected JD to ask, and it threw him for a loop. He glanced at the red pill he held, his own choice flashing before his eyes. “I… I shouldn’t tell you that… you… you need to choose for yourself…”

With Tags stuttering off, JD cracked his knuckles, his hand still closer to the blue pill in Tags’ left hand. “I can’t tell if you’re saying that because you don’t think it was but you still want me to go along with this,” he focused hard on that pill, “Or if you’re saying that because you do think it was, but you’re worried I won't.”

The moment stretched from that thought, until JD finally made his decision. He took the red pill from Tags’ right hand, popped it into his mouth, and gulped it down with some water. He barely had the bottle away from his mouth before he coughed and drank more to clear his throat.

It’s done, then, Tags looked JD over, somehow expecting something to be different already, even though he knew he wouldn’t be. He motioned for JD to hand him the water bottle; when JD did so, Tags said, “Come on,” and finally opened the door.

Walking in, Tags put the water bottle down on the desk he passed by, stopping at a chair and motioning for JD to follow. JD got the message that Tags wanted him to sit down, but he moved slowly, busy looking around at the paraphernalia that had been moved into the otherwise vacant apartment.

He saw a rack of servers, but the cables running to and from them were thick and black, not networking cables. A woman sat at a table with a pair of blacked-out goggles resting on her forehead as she worked what looked for all the world like a really old joystick. She didn’t look up when he walked into the room, but when she spoke, she was definitely talking to Tags. “Are we a go?”

“We’re a go,” Tags confirmed, motioning again for JD to sit in the chair.

As JD sat down, he noticed another person, a man, smaller than Tags with an expensive suit and equally expensive sunglasses sitting at the desk Tags had put the water bottle on, looking around a bank of small mismatched TV-screens. Once JD sat down, the man picked up a phone, set it down onto a modem that looked even older than the woman’s Atari controller, and set it dialing a sequence.

He had to cough again, harder, and without water anymore he stuck his face into the crook of his elbow to hack up a few breaths. Once that was over and done with, he looked around more, seeing a cable from the old modem running to the ground, across to the table and to the goggles on the woman’s head, ending in a hodgepodge of copper wiring reaching out from one side.

Shortly thereafter, she pulled them down over her eyes. JD only noticed that Tags had strapped his arms to the chair after it was done but he decided not to say anything yet, he'd already decided to trust him, after all.

"Thought you'd need me to come check on you, Tags," the man at the desk said.

"Actually worried about me?" Tags glanced over to him.

"Nah, I knew you'd be quick," the man answered. "I just pretend you're incompetent so I can give you grief."

When Tags grabbed what looked like a sensor for an EKG machine with one hand and silently flipped the man off with his other, JD’s focus went back to him. He didn't sense any real animosity so the apparent medical equipment held his interest. As Tags stuck it to the side of his head, JD said, “You really went through all this too?”

“All of it,” Tags answered. He stuck another sensor on JD, and several more after that. A leather band with wires attached to it from who knew what was next, going on around the top of JD’s head. Getting it on was a little awkward when JD coughed more, but Tags was done soon enough.

“Ty, is this safe?” JD asked. Having electronics attached to him certainly wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d made his choice.

“The way you mean? Yes,” Tags sat down in the next closest chair and went to work at his own collection of retro electronics, glancing between JD and his readouts.

It was probably the wrong thing to say, because JD turned his head to keep him in sight and spoke with more than a little shock. “How many ways are there?”

Before Tags could answer, the woman with the goggles glanced over to them, even though she couldn’t see them. “Oh don’t worry, hon. Usually, what I’m doing is your friend’s job, but I’m plenty good at it. We just figured it would be better if he was the one who made contact, since you already know each other.”

“Huh,” JD nodded. The confidence she spoke with made him feel better, enough that he didn’t even notice she had not, at all, answered his question.

“Tags,” she said, “Make sure we’re ready on the outside.”

“Right,” Tags pulled his phone from his jacket while JD watched him, the words he spoke through it making no sense. “We’re locking on now, ready on the signal.”

The woman smiled, the goggles making it look a little weird. “Piece of cake, this is an easy one.”

JD thought of another pertinent question. “Is this gonna hurt?” In a whisper, he added, “And why the hell are they calling you ‘Tags?’”

Tags ignored the second question. “It's… uncomfortable, but mostly it’s just scary as hell,” He didn't bother looking at JD as he said this. He’d held the phone down away from his head and he almost moved it back up to get back to business, then he paused long enough to look JD in the eye.  “JD, you're gonna see some shit in the next few minutes… whatever you feel, whatever you see, I promise you, we’re on our way. We’re coming for you.”

“But,” JD coughed, “You’re… you’re already here. With me.” He coughed again and the scratch in his throat was more overwhelming than he was expecting this time… but on the third cough, he wretched without realizing something was coming up. What felt like the biggest loogie in the world came out and landed right on his lap. Except, as JD stared down, he realized he’d actually just coughed up what looked like a blob of quicksilver… and it was spreading further across his lap, more than could have possibly been in his throat. “What…”

“That’s the thing, JD,” Tags told him, “We’re not.”

JD watched as it covered more and more of him, turning him into a chrome mirror. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve been fascinated or horrified as it crawled up his chest, if it kept going it would be in his mouth soon. “Ty…”

It didn’t get that far before the woman moved the joystick one last time and pressed the single button. “Found him, got it!”

Never looking away from JD, Tags put the phone back up to his head. “Now!”

JD couldn’t tell if the liquid chrome just shot the rest of the way over him or if the world had gone black, but he didn’t have much time to think about it before awareness of anything just... left.

Tags didn't want to leave JD's side once they picked him up from the drains, so he started helping on JD's reconstruction as soon as he was scrubbed clean on the table, and just hoped everyone understood that he had every intention of spending every free minute he had doing so.

A day passed… another… then the first needle came out.

A day passed… another… and Tags was there when JD regained consciousness for the first time.

He watched JD's head turn very slightly, all he could manage. JD was trying to open his eyes, stymied by his eyelids twitching instead of doing what he wanted. He had better luck making his voice work. "Where… Ty… help…"

"I'm here," That leaned down so he could keep his voice soft and JD would still hear him. "You're safe, JD. You're safe." He shuffled over and put a hand on top of JD's.

"Everything hurts," JD croaked. "Got hit by a truck…"

“I know,” Tags pressed down on JD's hand. "Keep your eyes closed, they'll hurt too. Just rest, while we fix you."

"I trust you," JD murmured.

"I love you," Tags said, and then he heard his own words and froze. He didn't notice his shipmate looking over to him and then shaking his head before going back to removing another needle.

"What," was all JD could say with the last of his strength.

Tags took his hand away and went back to work.

A day passed… another… and another. Tags got to work fitting JD's plugs when his muscles needed a break.

A day passed… another… and another. Tags was on shift in the cockpit when a sentinel found them. He found a place to set down like his own life depended on it, and the squiddie bugged out rather than risk an EMP. Tags watched it fly away through another tunnel with a determined look on his face; he was ready to go outside and fight the thing one on one before he'd let it take JD.

A day passed… another… and another. JD could move a little on his own and open his eyes. He didn't need the food tube anymore but Tags didn't mind that JD couldn't feed himself yet.

"Fuck is that," JD made a face over his first spoonful of hovercraft rations.

Swirling the goop around a little, Tags told him, "Rations, basically. Don't worry, there's better food at home." Thinking about that, Tags said, "I mean… not necessarily good food, but better."

"Oh," JD groaned, and he was out like a light. He needed to sleep off the medication and sedatives; escaping the food was probably good motivation, so Tags stuck JD with a needle that had a saline bag on the other end.

A day passed… and Tags carried JD to the empty bunk room. He stayed there like he'd stayed in the infirmary.

JD woke up for real, surprised at his own lack of a headache, or any kind of ache. He looked down and saw the worn clothes he'd been dressed in, pulling at the shirt to get a better look. Worn, but comfortable and warm, at least. A pair of boots had been stuck on his feet before they'd been laced up, and he could feel socks on his feet underneath.

He saw the IV needle in his arm, inserted into what looked like some kind of plug on his skin. He saw more plugs on his arms… then, he saw Tags sitting in the corner of the room, opposite the rack he’d woken up on.

Tags was asleep, awkwardly propped up against the wall. He'd passed out with one knee pulled close and the arm on top somehow had managed to stay there.

Careful not to move his arm too far from the saline bag, JD shuffled a little so he could reach over. "Ty?" Shaking his leg a little, JD slightly raised his voice. "Ty…"

His eyes shooting open, Tags sat there otherwise unmoving for a moment. He blinked a few times, reached up to rub the sleep out, and finally leaned forward. "Hey, you're awake."

"Am I?" JD asked him, seriously.

"If you're not, you're dreaming me and I wouldn't know," Tags chuckled. "Do what I do and just try not to think about things like that. It'll give you a headache. Give me your arm, let me get that thing out."

JD watched as Tags took his arm and pulled on the needle. It slid out slowly and cleanly, but the metal needle scraping on the metal of the plug was a sound terrible enough to make him flinch. He looked again at all the other plugs and he realized he could feel that he had more under his clothes… and he saw them on Tags’ arms, too.  "What… what is all this," he said, his hand going to his head. "What happened to my hair? What happened to your hair?"

"You've just started growing it," Tags mirrored him and ran a hand over his own head. "And I just buzz mine every couple of months."

"Where's 'here' anyway?" JD glanced around the room.

"We're," Tags started, but he decided he'd try to coach his answer a little. "This isn't going to make sense, but, just try to hear this… literally, okay? You're going to be confused about how anything I say is possible, so just… try to accept what I'm saying is exactly what's happening for now, then we'll get to the 'how.'" When JD nodded silently, Tags continued. "This is the hovercraft I serve on. It's called the

Damocles

. The captain's name is Reaper."

"The hovercraft you," JD cut himself off, "Wait, so… you joined the military again, but… you're also supposed to be a criminal…"

"I joined a different military," Tags looked up to the ceiling, stretching his arms before he put his hands behind his head to rest against the wall with a little support. "Do you remember anything? Anything after you took the pill I gave you?"

"The room, the chair, the weird… whatever it was I coughed up," JD's mind went through the events until they turned foggy, but he wanted to remember, he wanted to know what Tags was asking about. He focused on that last moment in the room, with Tags and the other people… and he started to remember. He remembered waking up, soaked in… something. Then the cables jammed into his skin popped out, something grabbed him, there was a chute like a water park from hell, and something at the back of his…

Tags watched JD reach up to the back of his head, slowly, carefully. He knew JD had found it when JD's eyes went wide, so Tags leaned forward again, bending down so JD could see the back of his head, and he tapped at the port with a finger.

"You have one too," JD breathed.

"Told you I went through everything you did," Tags straightened up and got to his feet, offering JD a hand up. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew," he paused, taking a breath. "We'll show you what's going on, and I guess… I guess then, you can decide if you hate me or not."

Looking at the hand Tags had offered, JD took it and let himself be pulled up. "Why would I hate you?"

When JD wobbled a little in his feet, Tags put his hands on his shoulders to keep him steady, to give him a second to get used to walking again. "When I told you there was nothing I could say that would let you understand what it really means to be here? We're gonna show you, and you… you're gonna realize you really couldn't make an informed choice, it just comes down to whether or not you think it's worth it to know." He waited to see if JD wanted to say anything. When he didn't, Tags let him go and opened the door.

JD had caught sight of the ship's name plate when Tags brought him to a larger chamber, and from there he started looking around at the mishmash of electronics and chairs. The sight of this place confused him even more; he couldn't imagine any military looking like this. He snapped back from the distraction when Tags started introducing him to the other people present.

"Fluke, our operator," Tags motioned towards a man wearing a headset JD hadn't seen before, hunched over a workstation with several monitors. "Haze and HABIT, all caps," Tags said this like it made sense, and JD recognized Haze as the man Tags had given the finger to, HABIT was a tall woman who, like Fluke, he didn't recognize.

It took an immense amount of willpower to refrain himself from asking if he was really supposed to believe these were their names, but unlike Fluke, Haze and HABIT actually acknowledged his presence and dropped what they were doing to pay attention. "Hi," JD nodded towards them.

"New guy's finally up?"

Everyone looked behind JD towards the source of the voice, and he turned to see another woman climbing down a ladder. The wrinkles on her face didn't look particularly natural; she was definitely middle-aged, but she was also definitely younger than she looked. She'd been the one wearing goggles.

"And, Captain Reaper," Tags finished. Her presence distracted him from JD for a second. "You don't have to be here for this, Cap."

"Hey, if you're going to do my job for me, the least I can do is be present," she looked JD over. "Looks like reconstruction went well, at least."

"So you," JD couldn't help himself from saying something to her, he was going insane feeling like he was in over his head. "You usually… show people around?"

"Oh, you're mostly done with the showing-around part," Reaper said. "Not exactly much to see, is there? But yes, that and telling you what he's about to tell you is usually something I take care of. Same thing as when we busted you out; we figured since we have someone here you know, that might be easier."

Trying desperately to figure out what she meant by 'busted out,' JD just nodded.

"Over here," Tags had JD sit down in a chair once again, this one flanked by cables, equipment, and a monitor. "Fluke?"

Fluke didn't so much as turn in his chair, but he gave a thumbs-up and called back, "Good to go!"

Grabbing a cable from nearby, Tags watched JD sit down in the chair and lay back, his eyes darting around as he tried to keep track of everything. "Think you're as ready as can be for answers?"

It wasn't lost on JD that Tags apparently didn't think it was possible to actually be ready, but that just lined up with everything Tags had told him so far. "If it includes why you're dressed like a hobo now, then yes." He glanced down at himself before resting his head back down again, keeping his eyes on the ceiling, trying to be prepared for whatever was going to happen. "Or why I am too, for that matter."

Tags tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help a chuckle getting out. "Actually yeah, it does."

JD saw Tags lean over at the edge of his vision. When Tags shoved the plug at the end of the cable into the jack in the back of his head, JD startled at the sensation, at the push against his skull, but the world went white before he could move.

Reaper had told Tags there really wasn't anything he could've done differently. There were no better words to say; the newly freed were basically going to react poorly as a fact of life. The kids took it better, they weren't as attached to the reality they started in, but JD was older. His life had more things in it to be rendered meaningless.

Tags didn't feel better about it. JD had gone near-catatonic, responding to stimuli but very nearly losing the will to do anything that wasn't involuntary.

Before Tags tried to carry him to his bunk, he threw JD's arm over his own shoulders and tried to walk him back. JD's feet did more dragging than stepping, though Tags took it as a good sign that there were attempts, that JD hadn't completely turned off.

JD moved more than an inch for the first time after Tags laid him down on his bunk, silently turning onto his side and curling up into himself as much as he could, facing the wall.

After Tags put a pillow under his head, he looked towards the door, and wondered what he should do. It was just another choice he couldn't know the consequences of ahead of time.

Closing the door as quietly as he could, Tags put a hand on JD's shoulder, lightly. "I'm gonna stay, okay? If you need anything, I'm… I'll be right here."

He stepped back and sat down on the floor, once again with his back to the corner.

After two bites, Tags forced himself to chew more slowly, to truly savor the brownie he knew he wasn't really eating. The taste felt real enough, and the Oracle certainly baked some mean sweets. "Thank you," he tried to say, his mouth full wondering if it would be rude to ask for something to wash it down with later.

"You're welcome, kid. Enjoy it." Maybe the Oracle was reading his mind, maybe she'd already predicted his thoughts, or maybe she just thought it was common sense, but after patting Tags on the hand, she stood and retrieved a carton of milk from the fridge. "You don't need me to tell you you're not what Morpheus was hoping you'd be, but, may as well say it out loud, right? Last thing you need is to have it bothering you because you're just not sure. I don't think you have any world-altering choices ahead of you, most people don't," she took a glass from the nearest cupboard and started filling it, still talking despite her back being to Tags. "Everyone wants to feel special, but it's not what it's cracked up to be. You feel a lot less free when your choices can make the whole world go a certain way, change things for everyone in it, believe me."

The Oracle set the glass of milk down on the table and Tags gulped from it almost instantly. "I guess I'd rather be unimportant."

Sitting back down and picking up her cigarette, she told Tags, "We're all important, kiddo, to someone. It's just a matter of how many someones. Sooner or later you'll bump into one of those someones, and it'll be time to make another choice."

Stopping halfway through another bite on the brownie, Tags put it down on the plate. "What choice?"

"The obvious one," she grinned, looking for all the world like a grandmother sharing some wisdom. "Do you tell them the truth, or tell them they just couldn't understand and walk away? It's like being in love and deciding whether or not to go for it. No easy answers, really just depends on the people involved."

"Who, uh," Tags poked at his brownie, feeling guilty for wanting to get back to it. "Who are we talking about here?"

"Oh, that I don't know," she shrugged apologetically. "I just know you're going to have to make a choice about what to say; one choice they follow you out, the other choice, they don't. It's not an easy thing to get through, but it's easy to understand."

"Huh," Tags picked up the brownie again, inhaling deep, savoring the smell before he took another bite.

Tags wasn't sure how much time had passed. He didn't fall asleep again, he tried to meditate but his concern for JD was too overpowering to let him quiet his mind.

He kept wondering, over and over, if staying with JD had been a good idea. The inability to know what was best screamed through his brain and deafened him. If JD hated him for this, sitting there was just making things worse. If he doesn't hate me… and I leave him… can't just abandon him…

At long last, JD saying something grabbed his attention, though it still didn't help his sense of time.

"Is this real," JD said, without moving.

Tags really didn't know if JD wanted an answer from him, or if JD was just talking to the wall. Still, he wasn't going to ignore him. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

JD moved in stages. He propped himself up on an arm and stayed like that for a minute, still staring at the wall, before he sat up and turned halfway around. He finally got to the edge of his rack, where his legs could hang down. Staring at his boots, he swung his feet back and forth, letting the heels thump on the wall underneath. When he finally stopped, he said, “How… how did you handle it?”

“Cried like a bitch,” Tags chuckled despite everything, remembering his own patheticness. “For hours."

"Really?" JD stopped looking down and turned to Tags, eyes wide.

"Yep. I spent a few minutes just… stunned, feeling like an idiot for taking everything for granted... then I cried. And I wanted out, just didn't know what 'out' really meant. Surprised?" Tags almost laughed, but he was so focused on JD it just didn't come out.

"Well," JD looked down again, "Yeah."

He wasn't sure it was a good idea, but Tags got up and sat next to JD on his rack. He left some space between them and fought the urge to touch him, even just a hand on his shoulder. "JD, I might not be a guy who takes shit from anyone, but trust me, having all this knock you on your ass? It's not a sign of weakness."

"I can't even decide what to think about," he grabbed at his own head, tight with both hands. "One minute I'm thinking, it's all gone and my life was meaningless anyway, the world is dead, there's a war because we're slaves, I could die tomorrow," JD took a breath. "The next, I'm trying to remember what I was supposed to do today; is my rent due? Who was I supposed to do a shoot with? Did I miss my mom's birthday? I can't remember any of it, because none of it ever mattered.”

“I wish I could say something that would make it okay,” Tags kept his eyes off of him. “Your experiences were real, though. The Matrix isn’t, but the feelings you felt, the ‘you’ that you turned out to be, that’s real.”

Scoffing, his shoulders sagging, JD said, “The ‘me’ I was? Fuck, Ty, I'm a… I was a porn actor happy I didn't need to find a real job."

"Yeah, like I said, we're not typical," Tags nodded. He shifted his weight, wondering about details now that he wasn't in a rush. "Thought you'd gotten out of the biz before I left, though.

"Yeah, well… like I said, better than a real job," JD said. "I'm even less typical than you, right? You said these people usually go for someone who feels like there's something wrong with the world, right? Then you said, you did feel that. I didn't have a clue, I just thought life sucks, make the most of it, I got lucky and I'll enjoy it. I never…"

"I had the mindset, I didn't have the background, and I was older than usual, too." Tags took a deep breath, eyes wandering around the room. "We don't have the resources to free everyone who just has the feeling, we focus on the ones who go looking for answers, too. Usually aspiring hackers, kids who feel it so much they go looking for answers in places others don't know exist, who can find us, or at least come closer. Plus, it's easy to communicate through electronics, so it makes establishing contact easy."

"I'm not a hacker," JD sighed, before he realized what Tags was actually telling him. "You're not a hacker."

"Well, I am now," Tags smiled, indulging in a little ego. "I wasn't, though, you're right. I was just in the dark place you go when you spend months thinking nothing seems right and you can't figure out why. Not depressed, no problems going from one day to the next, keeping up all the routines… just this nagging sensation that this can't possibly be how the world is supposed to go, driving you crazy.."

When Tags didn't volunteer more information, JD prodded for it, sure that knowing would make him feel better, even if there was no reason to. "So how'd it happen?"

Chuckling, Tags said, "Random chance, for real. The crew of another ship, the Nebuchadnezzar, was tracking a potential recruit. It went bad, the Agents were even faster than normal, they lost the target. Their Operator just happened to catch sight of me while getting them to an exit. I just happened to be feeling so trapped in my own head at the moment." Another deep breath, and Tags continued. "The Neb's captain is this guy named Morpheus, he's a crazy-person. He, uh… there's a lot of weird shit, but, all that really matters is, he thinks he's gonna free someone really important one day. So, his target's lost, his Op just happens to see someone who's got that feeling no one ever should've noticed? He decided to go for it."

Smiling for the first time, if only a little, JD said, "I'm guessing you're not Mister Important."

"Nope, just a random jackass," Tags answered. "It was obvious real quick, yeah? I'm good, if I do say so myself, but I'm not win-the-war good. They took it in stride, well, most of them did. This one guy on his crew seriously needs a vacation, told me to be glad we figured it out fast or I'd be dead in a week thinking I could take out an Agent. Anyway, once I learned to cope they still trained me, treated me just fine… but the Neb didn't have room for more crew so, when I decided I wanted to serve, I got sent to a ship that did, and here I am."

"You know," JD rolled over the story in his head, wanting to sit on it for a minute. "You still haven't told me why everyone calls you 'Tags.' Which, all things considered, is the most normal sounding thing anyone calls anyone else."

Tags told him, simply, "'Cause it's my name." When JD didn't seem to really understand, he continued. "I meant it when I said that the things you felt while you were in the Matrix were real even if the world wasn't, but… this is the real world. Who I was then is a part of who I am now, but that's all. No one's the same here as we were there. Everyone else is just attached to their 'cool' hacker names," Tags made air quotes, "'Cause by the time they were freed, they already felt like that was who they were, and the names their parents gave them were another thing that didn't feel right."

"Yeah, but you didn't have a 'cool hacker name,'" JD didn't repeat the air quotes, he just let the sarcasm in his voice speak for itself. "You just added XXX to your name on social media, so that still doesn't explain 'Tags.'"

"Yeah, I," Tags forced the words out; talking about it was weirdly difficult. "I didn't think anything of it at first, may as well stick with 'Ty,' once I was out I sure as hell felt that was more who I was than my given name. I guess I just… went through the same thing everyone else did, delayed. It started feeling more and more wrong. The first time I was in the Construct like you just were, when Residual Self-Image was explained to me? I had my tags around my neck. My dog-tags from when I was in the military. I'd tossed 'em when I got out, wasn't attached to them like some vets are. Except, apparently I am, in some way. So..."

"So," JD nodded, "'Tags.' Do you, uh… do you want me to call you that, ‘cause I’m not sure I can get used to it."

“I don’t mind either way,” Tags shook his head. “It’s not like, taboo or anything, like I said, these just are our names. Kinda wonder if you’ll be like me or if you’ll stick with ‘JD,’ actually. Hell, no reason you can't just be 'Danny.'”

“Oh, I think that's off the table, I understand exactly what you meant, my real name isn't me, after this. Feels like it never was,” JD shook his head before scrubbing at his face. “I guess… I guess I need time.”

“Well, barring an unfortunately sudden end to the war in the Machines’ favor, you actually do have a lot of that,” Tags chuckled. “No one’s gonna tell you you’re not coping fast enough. I'm not gonna say this life cured the human race of assholes, but… some things are big enough even for the assholes to keep their mouths shut. Whatever you choose to do, you won’t be judged.”

Almost before Tags had finished the sentence, JD blurted out, “I want to stay here with you.”

“Uh,” Tags’ mouth opened and stayed that way while he waited for more words to come. “That’s… that’s not a decision you should make without a lot of thought.”

“It’s why you took me out, isn’t it?” JD glanced around his bunk. “That’s why this room is mine. You said the ship that freed you didn’t have space for more crew, this one needs someone, right?”

“That… wasn’t the main reason,” Tags tensed up a little. He had to force his shoulders to go down. “We took you out because you were looking for me, and we… we weren’t sure what would happen, someone looking for one of our old names if we ignored it, if they’d ignore you or if I’d go inside on an op one day and find you with a gun to your head, or anything in-between… so Reaper made the call even though you weren’t… standard. You’re right though,” it felt like a confession, “She’s hoping you’ll be fit to sign on with us. She can conscript you, but it's not her style, I don’t think she wants someone on her crew who doesn’t want to be here.”

“Ty… Tags,” JD put his feet up onto the edge of his bunk, pulling his knees as tight to his chest as he could, looking at Tags like he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else. “I can’t do this alone. I can’t handle this… all of this, alone, I can’t!”

“That’s,” Tags paused, again needing to think of the right words. “That’s not unreasonable, but it shouldn’t be the only thing you think about. Being here is dangerous. Being free is dangerous, but it’s a lot safer in Zion than it is on a ship.”

Having a question distracted JD for a moment, if a short one. “Zion?"

“Home,” Tags said. “You'll see it soon. We live underground, we use geothermals for heat and energy, it’s… living in a city of a quarter-million that’s been built into a cave isn’t exactly living in the lap of luxury, but you’d live better than you would on a ship. We live in the salvage and ruins of the old world, but the old world wasn't the one you know, it was a world that could make thinking machines, hell, even flying cars; even slumming it, there's tech for creature comforts.”

“How well I live doesn’t really matter to me right this second,” JD answered.

“It might, later,” Tags said. “You don’t have to decide now. You don’t really have to decide for real until the next time we dock at Zion, that’s about the limit of any crew wanting to cart someone around who isn’t sure they want to be here, I think. If you want, I can start training you, maybe it’ll help. Maybe just help you decide you want off this ship ASAP, there's still some shit you don't know, about how we operate...”

“What would I even do otherwise?” JD shrugged. “Sit in here?”

“Mostly,” Tags shrugged. “And get grabbed by whoever could use an extra pair of hands at any given moment.”

“I just have to do something, anything,” JD stood up, with more energy than he’d displayed in a long time. “You’re, uh… you’re really gonna teach me to… be in the military? I guess it’s good I’m used to going to the gym...”

“Thinking you never even considered the idea and you can’t possibly handle it?” Tags’ grin grew a little more devious. “Don’t worry, it’s not what you think.”

Tags handed JD off to Fluke and, once Fluke had JD jacked in, shoving things into his brain, Tags left. He knew JD wouldn’t be able to pay any attention to him during the process. JD not being able to miss him was a window of opportunity, so he told Fluke to just come get him when they were done.

He needed real rest that wasn’t passing out up against a wall. He needed a goddamn nap, and his rack was such an upgrade over the corner of JD’s room that it took him roughly ten seconds to pass out.

“Tags… Tags!”

Tags’ eyes opened slowly, lazily. His brain refused to move with any sense of urgency, and the first thought he managed to formulate was that he actually didn’t realize how tired he was. This became evident when he finally realized he wasn’t shaking because the ship was pulling several Gs, he was shaking because Fluke had come into his room and started shaking him awake when banging on the door hadn’t done the job.

“I’m up, I’m up, stop already,” he groaned. Once he could think enough that he realized it must’ve been time to get back to JD, he could finally sit up and stretch. He couldn’t help the yawn, though. “You done?”

“Will be in ten minutes, figured you’d want some warning,” Fluke said. “Clearly, I was right.”

Standing and stretching again, Tags bent down to un-lace his boots, absent-mindly wishing he hadn’t slept in them. “Good, just enough time to grab a shower. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Fluke left him without a fuss, satisfied he didn’t need to do anything else.

A quick shower and shave later, Tags felt good to go for the day, or whatever time it was; he didn’t bother checking, he just got dressed and carried his boots with him to the core of the ship rather than mess with putting them on without being able to sit down.

He realized he’d probably taken more than ten minutes when he saw JD sitting up in one of the chairs, waving his arms back and forth like he was trying to jazz himself up.

When JD saw him, he hopped onto his feet, and practically started bouncing. “Ty, holy shit, dude, I know stuff!”

“I figured,” Tags smiled. Seeing JD in good spirits lifted his own, maybe more than he realized. He sat in the adjacent chair and pulled his boots on, not bothering to lace them up. “How long have you been at it?”

“Oh, he got it all in one sitting,” Fluke yawned. “Took twenty hours, got HABIT to take over for me in the middle, but he didn’t take a break.”

“Better start while you’re still wired, ‘cause that’s gonna catch up with you soon,” Tags grinned at him. Surprise at how long he'd slept was relegated to the back of his mind.

“Right!” JD hopped back onto the chair and waited for Fluke.

Fluke plugged JD back in first, then Tags. As he walked back to the Operator console, Tags turned his head as much as he could and said, “Hey, Fluke, don’t give us the usual training environment, I fucking hate that whole dojo thing.”

“Roger-dodger,” Fluke called back, not looking up from his monitors as he started entering commands.

The familiar rush came, and when it passed, Tags realized Fluke had put them in a standard urban setting. He adjusted his leather jacket and looked JD over; his RSI had changed since his first time in the white void of the basic Construct. Purple chucks, jeans somewhere between loose and baggy, a flannel jacket over a blue V-neck, a full head of hair, more than Tags ever remembered him with… “You look different… better.”

JD looked down at himself as well. "I feel… less helpless. A little.”

“It’s a process. That’s a good start,” Tags nodded. He looked around; they were on a short street, the nearest building had an open door. It was a commercial area, with storefronts and apartment buildings on top of some of them, but, as he expected, no people. “Where do you think we are?”

Looking for relevant details, JD decided Tags wasn’t looking for an in-depth answer. “A city, obviously? I don’t recognize the area, but… this is the same as when you explained everything to me, right? The computer is just set to ‘city’ instead of ‘empty space.’”

Nodding once, Tags said, “Very good.” He was actually impressed with JD getting that so fast, but he decided not to say so yet. “The laws of physics don't determine the rules of this world, its programming does, which means you're not as beholden to those rules as in reality. I'm gonna help you understand that more. What else is different about you?”

“I know how some of the tech works now,” JD bounced a little like he had in the real world. “I know how to fight, man!”

“Excellent,” Tags said, even though he knew it already. “‘Cause this isn’t a video-game where you get to trample all over the computer, you’re gonna fight me.”

JD became a little more apprehensive at this. A little nervousness worked its way into his voice, and he stilled. “We’re gonna fight?” After Tags nodded again, he said, “It’s okay though, right? Because it isn't real?”

“Well, I’ll put it to you this way,” Tags’s grin turned into a full, devilish smile. “I’m not pulling my punches.” He shifted his weight, one hand behind his back, one hand out, ready to go. When he saw JD lean back into a more defensive stance, Tags motioned him over, taunting JD just enough. “Get over here, and hit me.”

JD flopped onto the floor and groaned, his back covered in dust. The wall he'd left a dent in kept dropping small pieces of concrete on him.

"That's good technique," Tags didn't wait for him to get up before he started talking. "You're not trying the same thing over and over when it doesn't work, you're using the environment…"

Looking up at Tags, JD shook his head and finally started dragging himself up. Frustrated, he snapped back, between heaving breaths, "Don't fucking patronize me, Ty, I didn't lay a damn finger on you…"

Tags took JD's anger in stride. "I said you have good technique, I didn't say you're not doing anything wrong. Why's it so hard for you to land a hit on me?"

Trying to work a kink out of his back and regain his breath, JD said, "Because you've been doing this longer so you're better than me?"

This not being an answer Tags expected, he made a face and thought of how to respond for a moment. He finally said, "Well, yeah, that's how it is with anything. Specifically, though, what am I doing better?"

"You're faster," JD said, "You can stop everything I do before I connect, I can barely keep up, and you haven't broken a sweat!"

Oh, that's perfect, Tags thought. He flashed JD another grin. "Well, that makes sense, I'm laying down on a chair, may as well be taking a nap. Why would I break a sweat?" He let that sink in for JD, and when the beginning of realization showed in JD's eyes, he added, "Come to think of it, that's what you're doing too, kinda weird that you're out of breath."

"Well yeah, out there," JD answered. "But we're in here…"

"In 'here?'" Tags said. "Did we go somewhere after we sat down? What's 'here?'"

"In a computer," and so, JD began the journey towards freeing his mind. "Set to 'city.'"

Moving his head to one side and then the other, getting a good crack from his neck, Tags bent his knees and raised his hands. "Hit me!"

This time, when Tags helped JD to his room, there was very little dragging. JD's arm over his shoulders was almost a formality… almost. JD was still limping, and nursing a spot on his jaw with his free hand. "Christ, you could've warned me it'll hurt for real."

"Sorry, but," Tags stopped in front of the door, and carefully helped JD swing his arm off of him. "It's honestly better if it smacks you in the face, so to speak. Drives the point home."

"Yeah, I guess." JD leaned against the door. "When you said being out here is dangerous, you didn't just mean the, uh… the Machines."

"Yeah," Tags nodded. He expected that to be it, but the way JD was looking at him made it hard to say 'good night,' and a pregnant pause settled. Shuffling his weight a bit, Tags made a show of glancing at the door. "Well, this is you. I know you could use some sleep-"

"Ty," JD looked almost panicked. It wasn't like the shock of reality when it shut him down completely, his eyes suddenly glazed over with fear and he reached out like it would physically stop Tags from leaving. "I… you… would you… could you… stay with me again?" Seeing Tags suddenly become a deer in headlights, JD said, "Please, I… you've done so much already but I can't," his voice lowered, "I can't be alone…"

"JD, that's," Desperate for a way out, Tags actually glanced up and down the corridor, hoping for someone to come to him with a sudden emergency. No such escape presented itself. "I don't think that's a good idea… I… you…"

"I remember what you said to me," JD told him. "When I was on the table and I couldn't move, when you started fixing me."

Tags found his voice cut off by an enormous lump in his throat, and he was sure he felt his heart speed up. When he finally said something, it was all he could do to not to fall over. He felt like he'd been busted with another forty days in jail waiting. "I, uh… I figured… you just didn't remember any of that…"

"I actually remember it vividly," JD said, calmly and clearly. "All the times I was awake, I mean. I dunno, I guess stuff just gets into my long-term memory quick."

Another strange moment of silence passed. Tags nodded, though his eyes were turned down. He motioned for JD to open the door, and followed him in.

JD sat at the far end of his rack, back against the wall, one leg hanging off, the other pulled close. Tags sat at the other end, cross-legged, trying to take up as little space as possible while they just looked at each other for a moment.

Tags felt like throwing himself off of the ship and forced himself to talk, to get this going so he could get it over with faster. "JD, I'm sorry, I just… I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry I made this harder…"

"Harder, are you kidding," JD let out a laugh. Now that he didn't have anything keeping him occupied, he looked tired. The bags under his eyes were more obvious. He talked slowly, he hardly moved. "You don't realize how much I just keep thinking of you, you're just… you're something familiar in all this, I needed you, to stay sane. I need you, I… learning stuff was cool, but, fuck, man, I'm so lost…"

"I guess… if nothing else, the captain was right," Tags pawed at one of the plugs on his arm. It started to itch, and he started rubbing his thumb around the edge. "It was a good idea for me to… well, handle you."

When Tags didn't say anything else, JD became more direct. "How long have you… you know…"

"It's complicated," Tags blurted out, before he really thought about what he was saying. "Well, maybe not complicated, just… I, uh… after we did our shoots together way back when, I had… feelings for you."

"Okay," nodded JD, hoping Tags would go on, and would realize he was listening.

Now picking at the seam between his skin and the plug, Tags said, "I didn't say anything 'cause that's just asking for trouble right? Fucking drama. Plus it was probably just… it was a little surprising, I was a horn-dog, I still am a horn-dog, never mattered to me what anyone has in their pants, but I never saw myself actually feeling anything halfway deep for another man. I figured you just… set off some hormones for my brain to swim in, so I just ignored it, got over it and moved on."

"Guess you didn't," JD chuckled.

"No, I did." Even Tags didn't think he sounded believable, but how else was he supposed to say it? "I know how stupid that sounds, but I did. I went on with life, or I tried to, but my big problem was… well, I told you how I felt about everything. You asked if I thought it was worth it, well, yeah, I did. I do. I was so fucking lucky to be freed, JD, and then, you weren't just in the past, you were in a different world, you and everyone else I ever felt anything for or so much as railed. I didn’t think about you every day, I didn’t feel like I’d lost my soul mate or anything, but then… then I ran into you.”

“Literally,” JD nodded. He sat back, head resting on the wall, eyes heavy. He'd have fallen asleep right there if he hadn't had Tags to talk to.

“Yeah… it just came flooding back. You were standing right there, and I… I guess I just lost my fuckin’ mind. I thought that would be it, it was over and done with again, then you started looking for me...”

"I made myself hard to forget," JD mused. "Yeah, like I said, when you didn't think I could find you, it just made me want to."

Tags swallowed hard as he thought back, wishing he'd been smart enough to get more detail out of the Oracle. "I'm sorry," Tags spoke without thinking once more. "I'm so sorry. I should've told you something different, I should've just told you to forget about me, I should've just kept running, and you'd never… you'd never have…"

"Hey, I made the choice to be here," JD leaned forward, putting a hand on Tags' knee. "You were right, I really had no idea how serious you were… but I made my choice and I'm not sorry. I'm just… I'm scared, Ty."

JD's hand on his knee suddenly felt less like a comforting gesture and more like JD was holding on for dear life. Tags put a hand on top of JD's, feeling like it was the first time he'd ever touched another human being. "This isn't… you're vulnerable right now, I'm the last person who should be with you…"

"Does it really even matter," JD's eyes were soft as he looked into Tags.' "Fuck, if we're talking about getting feelings for someone under crazy circumstances… well, you're not the only one."

Tags broke eye contact and looked down at his hand over JD's. His thumb was moving around, tracing circles. He wanted to remind JD that, really, they barely knew each other and circumstances were just making it feel like they were old friends, but it didn't come out in so many words. "If you can say that out-loud, you know what you're feeling isn't real, it's just the stress..."

JD just squeezed on his knee. "Who the fuck cares? That doesn't mean I'm not feeling it! What is real, right? I don't give a shit if we go our separate ways in a week. This is how I feel right now. Right now, I… goddamn, Ty, I need you."

"Okay," Tags breathed. He still felt like this was a bad idea, that he just needed to get over this, but… JD needed him. "Okay."

JD melted as soon as Tags leaned into him, his exhaustion taking it as a cue. Tags shoved his back to the wall and pulled JD into his chest; it was really the only way they could manage on a rack made for one, short of JD using him as a pillow.

"Just rest," Tags said. He realized he'd forgotten to take his boots off, but it was too late for that.

"Hmmm." JD began drifting off. He didn't notice his shirt chafing under him or one of his plugs being pressed on by the bedframe. He felt Tags breathing at his back, the warmth from being close, the hand on his chest holding him. He managed to free a hand and slide his fingers in-between Tags.'

Tags took a deep breath, held JD's hand tight, and closed his eyes.

[kpoppwriter]

I really liked where you were going with Sweet Boy! Seokmin in real life, but Hard Dom! Camboy! Seokmin online! What if he found out you watched? Would he tease you on camera, asking how much you’re liking the show? Would he tell you that he thinks of you when he’s doing his shows? The possibilities are endless!! 🤯🥵🥵

THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS AND MY MIND IS RUNNING LIKE IT’S ON A TREADMILL RN OK LETS DISCUSS 

Option 1: teasing you on camera. Y’all know Hard Dom!Seokmin is gonna be into teasing anyway, especially for his viewers. He’ll be palming himself through his sweatpants with a smirk plastered on his face. He’d chuckle to himself, thinking of you watching his stream. He wouldn’t say your name but he’d make it clear he was talking about you. “Are you enjoying the show?” he’d hum, “Is it hard to even look at me when all you can think about is watching me get off?” Your face would flush immediately. You swore he could read your mind. “I bet you like this though. I see how you look at me,” he’d chuckle darkly, “How naughty.” He definitely knew you had been watching when you came into the coffee shop the next day and couldn’t look him in the eye. 

Option 2: talking about you. Ok so Camboy!Seokmin is a JOI camboy, meaning he usually gives instructions on how to touch yourself and edges you on with his words. But when he found out you were watching, he decided to do something a little different. He talked about you. He didn’t mention your name, thank gods, but he did make it obvious that it was you. “There’s this girl that comes into my work every day. Honestly, it’s the highlight of my day when she comes in,” he laughed to himself, “She’s so pretty. The way her hair always looks so good and her makeup makes her look so cute.” He paused for a moment, a small groan coming from the back of his throat. “Fuck she looks so cute sometimes but I know she’s not. I swear she does things just to tease me.” He looked right into the camera and your heart skipped a beat. His eyes were clouded with lust. “She’s always dressed up for work, wearing these short skirts and tight dresses. And when it’s warm out, she wears these one pair of shorts that just accentuates her ass so well. Fuck, what I’d give to have just one night with her.” You may have worn those exact shorts the next day when you visited the coffee shop, just to see his eyes cloud with lust again. 

Option 3: teasing you in person. After your encounter at the coffee shop when he gave you his number, you started seeing a bit of Hard Dom!Seokmin seep into Sweet!Seokmin’s life. He’d send you flirty winks from time to time and make a lowkey suggestive comment on occasion. Nothing too much but it was enough to get you flustered every time it happened. Eventually the sexual tension would just get too built up and you had to take him up on his offer for having a little fun with him.

[blarrghe]

"Watching me while I sweat from exercising" for Dorianders because... of reasons? XD

Up on AO3 or uner the cut! (the formattinig is probably better on AO3 tumblr is the actual worst)

--

Befriending Magister Dorian Pavus continued to be the worst decision Anders had made since the one that had landed him in Tevinter in the first place. Not at the least because being friends with Magister Dorian Pavus was, on a scheduling level, practically impossible. It was almost maddening, how neither of them ever seemed to have any blighted free time. There was Dorian, very important and very busy, always rushing off to meetings or press events or fundraisers or galas, only available for a quick coffee or for trying to convince Anders to go out clubbing at two in the morning. Which, frankly, he had less than no interest in doing — for several reasons, only minimally to do with the fact that the music gave him a headache (the thought of standing by and watching Dorian dance and practice his smarmy lines on attractive club goers made up most of the rest of it). And then there was his own life, overflowing with unkempt medical notes and overdue bills, and a schedule packed with night shifts and on-call hours that made maintaining a regular sleep schedule impossible, never mind a social life. But despite all that, it was nice to have someone to talk to again. Someone passionate and revolutionary and witty and… just about as lonely as he was, so better not to go messing it up. Better to try to maintain this one terrible friendship — the only one he had that wasn't with a "work friend", or a cat. It was just a really difficult thing to do, between the unrepenting workdays and restless nights filled with dreams of his beautiful Maker-damned face.

 Dorian, however, was remarkably good at being his friend. He always managed to make time. Drew it out of thin air, it seemed, conjured it up like magic between his press conferences and business trips. He had this impossibly serendipitous way of always seeming to send a text offering to meet for coffee right as Anders' break was coming up, and thanks to his own life of impossible hours he was always amenable to a spot of caffeine well into the evening. Other times, he'd offer up an address, saying "meet me here tonight if by the end of your shift you're still alive", and Anders would reply "doubtful", and then show up later anyway to the movie theater, or concert hall, or burlesque playhouse, only to fall asleep in his seat once the lights went down — which, at the burlesque playhouse at least, everyone seemed to find incredibly amusing.

 Today, his shift would be finished at an uncommonly early hour, having started at one that was painfully so. And even though his work-to-sleep ratio for the week was currently hovering at around four to one, when a text came in from Dorian during his break that read simply, "lunch later? Meet me if you have an hour free." He cheerfully replied "I'm off at noon!" And decided to postpone his much-needed afternoon nap. Friends with Dorian, he smiled, terrible decision.

  ----

Anders did not work out. Whatever strength he had he came by naturally, by way of pushing hospital equipment around and running up and down stairs all day. His calves, as a result, were particularly firm, and he had defined, if skinny, biceps. His core was probably strong enough, what with the constant balancing act that was keeping up with his daily life, but if he had wanted abs he would probably have to do something about his diet; more protein, fewer sugary carbs, meals that weren't eaten while standing on a city bus. But a personal beauty routine had always been low on his priority list. If he was looking to impress someone, he usually tried to get his bad jokes and the somewhat trashy rebel-mage aesthetic (which he also came by naturally) to do the job for him. It was not, historically, the best strategy. But he also wasn't looking. Dorian, on the other hand, had beauty routines for his beauty routines. Apparently the way to make up for the sleeplessness of a busy life was to exercise regularly, drink exceptionally expensive vitamin concoctions (despite the fact that his friend, who was a doctor, had told him repeatedly that the vitamins in such quantities were oversaturated, contradictory, and essentially useless), and to apply a laundry list of products to one's skin and hair — that, at least, seemed to work.

And so it was that when Anders showed up at the designated spot, practically asleep on his feet and slouching eagerly off the bus towards the promise of an hour of good company and food, that he discovered that the place Dorian had instructed him to meet at was not a restaurant, or even a coffee shop, but a gym. A gym with wide glass windows facing the street, so that the gorgeous, obviously affluent, gym-membership-holders could sweat it out while on display for the benefit of all the less beautiful and less lucky passersby. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and rich people got a kick out of running in place for their health while watching working folk run breathlessly after the busses that pulled up to the dirty old bus shelter on the street outside. Anders didn't know, he didn't go to gyms. But Dorian did; he went to this gym. He paid an exorbitant membership fee and wore a tight t-shirt branded with the gym's logo while he ran himself sweaty on a treadmill, spraying fancy water into his mouth like he was advertising the stuff, and towelling himself off with the clean white towels provided while still running, panting with the efforts of his impressively athletic exertions. This, Anders discovered by staring at him as he did it, through the clear glass window from the street, his mouth falling open and throat going dry until Dorian spotted him, and he snapped his mouth shut while his cheeks went red. Dorian's cheeks were also red, a bead of sweat dripping down over one in a long glistening trail from his temple. He pressed some buttons on the treadmill, slowed down to a walk, smiled, and waved. Anders, like a dumbfounded puppet on a string, raised his hand and dropped it again, in some approximation of returning the greeting.

Ten minutes later, Dorian met Anders outside the door of the clean, white and minimalist setting of the gym's lobby with his regular (still tight) clothes on and his damp hair fragrant with some kind of rich, flower-infused cream.  

"You got here faster than I expected, sorry you had to wait."

"Good bus timing," Anders shrugged, pointedly not looking at him. One intolerable sensation at a time, and he still smelled amazing.

"You know there's an app for the schedules, GPS tracking and everything." Dorian commented. Why he knew that, when he'd probably never taken public transportation in his life, Anders couldn't guess. But then, Dorian was infinitely more organized than he was; good with schedules. Anders, meanwhile, struggled to keep his own thoughts straight, never mind the kinds of itineraries that Dorian kept. So he just nodded along, certain that he would never remember to check, or even download, the recommended app.

Dorian led them up to the intersection, and pressed the button at the crosswalk, every simple movement somehow upright and deliberate. "So, lunch? I'm starving, there's a great place across the street."

Anders glanced back at the gleaming white and chrome of the gym, and the equally sleek boutiques to either side of it. He frowned, fingering the well-worn leather billfold in his pocket. "How great?" He asked, cautiously.

"Great as in healthy, all vegan food and local produce and the like." Dorian smirked at him, and Anders made the mistake of looking at it. He blushed, and frowned some more.

"Oh, great." He said, with very little enthusiasm. A twelve dollar salad and one of those ludicrous vitamin waters, just what he and his malnourished billfold needed.

"You're a doctor, you can't live on cup noodles and granola bars all the time. It sets a bad example." Dorian berated, lightly, in return.

"At least cup noodles have salt." Anders protested, "Maybe too much, but that's better than none at all. And you know organic is just a buzzword, not everything organic is healthier. And the hoops of getting branded "Organic" just make it harder for actual family owned farmers, who grow perfectly healthy crops, to market to sellers," he ranted about it, albeit halfheartedly, until Dorian sighed and shook his head.

"Which is why I said local, not organic. And I've been, I promise they use seasonings. You really think I'd debase myself by dining somewhere that didn't know how to properly use spice?"

Anders grunted, still disapproving.

"It's good, really. You'll like it there, they have cats."

"They have…?" Anders spun to watch Dorian, squinting in confusion at him as he brightened the world about him with another one of those obnoxiously perfect smiles.

"Cats, they're all very tame. You can sit with them while you eat or play with them afterwards. An endeavour of the local animal shelter to help encourage adoption, as I understand it." Dorian explained casually. Then the light changed and he set off walking. Anders followed, significantly less grumpily, though now his stomach was turning flips for an entirely different reason besides hunger.

Forget Kirkwall, actually. Befriending Dorian was, hands down, the absolute worst decision he’d ever made.

[jaehyunspeachparty]

The tour - part 1

"And that's Natalie and Y/N they're in charge of organizing the concerts. If you need anything, then please contact them."

You look around and try to remember a few faces. But then you recognize a familiar one. It was dimple boy and he smiled slightly when he noticed your look. A bit embarrassed you watch quickly down to the floor and concentrate on what else was said. The meeting took place in the hotel and in four days the first concert would take place in New York. Actually, you had a small apartment here, but your company still wanted you to sleep in the hotel so you could always be there if there was something wrong. Natalie was your co-worker whom you least liked, but she was the best next to you and you two are fighting for the next promotion. In the beginning you should have had to share a room, but you persuade your boss that each of you got a single room. Otherwise you would argue the whole tour. For weeks you would be on the road and you were glad that you had room only for you.

Once all are instructed, you had nothing to do. Natalie went annoyed to her room and you stay in your room also for a while. You turn on the TV, but somehow you couldn’t concentrate on a show. You decide to just release some pressure and put on your sports clothes. You read that the hotel had a small gym and you just wanted to free your mind a little bit.

When you opened the gym with the chip card, nobody was inside. You were glad about it, so you could just run out. After you picked the perfect playlist, you were ready to go. You try to run faster and faster, you want to push your limits. The music was perfect, you had the power, but then the treadmill started to make strange noises. The display started flashing until the whole device turned off.  You were annoyed, because it was the only pastime that could satisfy you at the moment. You pack your things again and wanted to leave, but there where someone behind you.

"Sorry, I didn’t wanted to scare you." It was the charismatic dimple boy. He smiled and also had a towel and a water bottle.

"No, I’m fine. I just didn’t expect anyone here." You also smile and throw your towel over your shoulder. There was an unpleasant silence for a moment, until you decide to keep going.

"How is it going with your boyfriend?" He turned around quickly before leaving the gym. You look astonished to him. You didn’t think that he would remembers the conversation. You shake your head. Two weeks ago, you end the relationship with Harvey. Jaehyun had somehow made you think. You couldn’t stop deliberate how unhappy you were, and so you ended the relationship. Things felt different, but still not good.

"You don’t look really relieved." He noticed and you had to agree with him.

"Well, my ex-boyfriend and I have known each other for a long time. We were friends first, and with the end of our relationship, our friendship has come to an end too." You didn’t love your ex-boyfriend anymore, but somehow you just want to talk to someone without any restrictions.

"I understand." Jaehyun smiled and put his towel on the bench. It was, in your opinion, a awkward reaction and you finally decide to leave him alone.

"Ok, I'll go then." You look back at him and he nods with a big grin.

"See you."

You didn’t think that this would happen so soon that you will see him again. You decide to continue your work at the bar. So you took a few files and sit with your Martini Dry on the stool and try to overcome the loneliness with alcohol.

"Another one." You raise your glass and point to it. With a big grin the bartender came to you and filled it for you.

"Slow baby, or I'll have to lead you later into the room." He winked and pushed the drink to you.

"Thanks, I know when it's enough." you snippet back and the bartender raised his eyebrows and let you work again. You sigh as you devote yourself to your documents and as you pause shortly to take a sip, the charismatic dimple boy stood in front of you again.

"So we meet again." He said and smiled as he leaned against the bar. He tried to order a drink, but the bartender ignored him, as he was already with another woman, who paid him far more attention.

"Wow, twice in one day, today is my lucky day." You were ironic and empty your martini glass with one sip.

"Sorry I didn’t want to disturb you." Jaehyun noticed your tension and you feel bad. He was the least reason of all for your bad mood.

“Sorry, I'm just a little annoyed." You close the folder with the documents and lean back in the armchair. Jaehyun took this as an opportunity to sit down on the bar stool next to you.

"Don’t you have to go to your coworkers?" You watch him make himself comfortable and still try to make eye contact with the bartender.

"Oh no, I have them 24/7 on my side anyway." He leaned with one arm on the wooden plate and you now turn to the bartender.

"Hey," you called to the other side of the bar and the bartender finally turned around.

"Another Martini Dry and for my friend ..." You turn to him and Jaehyun ordered a glass of red wine.

"Are we friends now?" He laughed and his dimples appeared. You didn’t know why, but they somehow fascinated you.

"Well you already know something about me." You shrug and nibble on the olive attached to a toothpick.

"Okay then we are friends." He grinned and at that moment the bartender pushed your drinks to you, and he was almost disappointed that you were not alone anymore.

You never thought that this evening would be so nice. Hours pass and you always found a new topic that you could talk about. Everything felt so easy with Jaehyun, so carefree.

"You really like cigarettes after sex? Would you be jealous if you knew I met them?" Jaehyun's eyes widened.

"What are you serious about?" You drink the last sip of your Martini and nod.

"We also did their tour and they have been our customers for a long time." Jaehyun wanted to asked so many questions and wanted to hear so much more, but at that moment the bartender came to you.

"I'm sorry people, I have to close the bar now." Jaehyun looked at the clock and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Wow it's already 4am. We should really go to bed." You were surprised about the time, but also about his watch. His wrist was overlaid by an expensive piece.

"A Rolex? A man of class." You wink and get up from the seat. Jaehyun smiled modestly and then hid his watch under his sleeve again.

"Where is your room?" He asked you this when you just took your things from the bar.

"Do you want to write the drinks on my room bill?" You're laughing and you just wanted to take your credit card to pay everything, then Jaehyun waved.

"Is on me." He didn’t even look at you and took his jacket.

“No, that's not necessary, I ... "You were just speechless. You didn’t expect that.

"I already paid and it was a nice evening, let's just leave it there." He smiled and you make your way to the elevator.

"Which floor?" He asked when you were inside.

"14th and yours?" You look curiously at him and see how he just pushed one button.

"Also." He smiled and you realize that there was a tension between you. Not a bad one, it was different than before. He stood close to you and you could see his chest move up and down. It was suddenly so quiet between you and the tension drove you crazy. If he didn’t still have his girlfriend, you would think that there was something erotic between you two. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you got very hot and you start to look at his body. He was muscular but thin. You could see his veins protruding through his skin. And somehow you found it attractive. You bite your lower lip and try not to stare. That's why you decide to stare at the ceiling.

When you arrived at the 14th floor, you stopped at the second door.

"This is my room." You lean your back against the door and pull out your hotel card. Jaehyun stood near to you, almost too close.

"I live three rooms further, room 147." He smiled and he looked at you. You look up at him with wide eyes and you would like to invite him to your room and have fun with him until dawn. But that was the alcohol that spoke out of you. You were single and horny. There was an idol who was in a relationship not a good choice for you. His face was suddenly so close to yours and your breath was getting heavier. He had a girlfriend, but somehow you wanted to know how his mouth tasted and how his lips felt. You didn’t care that he was in a relationship, he didn’t love his girlfriend anyway. In those seconds, you had no inhibitions. But just before Jaehyun touched your face, he smiled and his dimples appeared.

"Good night." He didn’t move away from you, so he was still close to you. After defusing the situation, you could breathe again. It was better that way, before one of you made another mistake. You turn around and Jaehyun took a step back.

"Good night." You smile, go to your room and close the door.

About us masterlist

daddy jaehyun masterlist

[wrightchatter]

Basic Programming

Back in the summer of last year, during our first lockdown I was busy putting the finishing touches to a program I’d been writing using the BASIC programming language. Are you of a certain age and remember trying to program in BASIC (Beginner’s All-Purpose Symbolic Instruction Code)?

I’ve found an app for iOS called cbmHandBasic.

That’s the ‘what it looks like in the App Store’ image. This allows you to do a bit of BASIC programming.

But before you try out your own programming you wanna sample my terrible programming skills and play my interpretation of Hangman, don’t you?

Assuming you said yes to that question, here’s what you need to do:

🔸Install cbmHandBasic on your iPhone or iPad

🔸Copy the entire contents of my BASIC program which appears below onto your clipboard.

🔸Launch cbmHandBasic

🔸On a new line type Edit “hangman.bas” and hit the Return key

🔸A new screen should appear with something like 10 PRINT “Hello World”

🔸Just ignore this and tap the screen, so the cursor is on a new line

🔸 Tap the screen a second time and the options ‘Select | Select All | Paste’ should appear

🔸Tap on ‘Paste’ and the contents of the clipboard should appear

🔸Tap on ‘Save’ at the top of the screen and you will go back to the original screen

🔸Now on a new line type Load “hangman.bas” and hit the Return key

🔸Finally type Run, hit the Return key and the program should run

Don’t get too excited it’s far from perfect and there’s no graphics in the program. The word you have to try and guess is chosen at random from a selection of 52 words I’ve built into the program. There’s no check made as to what your previous word was so there is a possibility that you could get the same word twice in a row.

If you’re feeling really adventurous you could add more words, which if you know BASIC you’ll easily see where they should go within the program. The only restriction being that you can only use letters a-z, no numbers, punctuation or spaces. It doesn’t matter if you use upper or lower case as the program converts all into upper case.

If you do add more words it is most important to make sure the last DATA line reads: DATA “end”. An error will occur if this is not the last line.

If carrying out the above procedure to get the program any subsequent times you wish to play Hangman you just need to type Load “hangman.bas” and hit the Return key followed by Run and hitting the Return key.

Have fun! 😊

Here’s the program:

10 REM HANGMAN

30 CLS

50 PRINT"HANGMAN by Jeff Wright"

70 PRINT

90 GOSUB 1300:REM CALCULATE NUMBER OF WORDS

110 INPUT "What is your name";NAME$

130 IF NAME$="" THEN LET NAME$="Anonymous"

150 IF LEFT$(NAME$,1)=>"a" AND LEFT$(NAME$,1)=<"z" THEN GOSUB 1000

170 CLS:PRINT"HANGMAN by Jeff Wright":PRINT

190 PRINT"Hello ";NAME$;"!"

250 RESTORE

270 DIM W$(N)

290 FOR L=1 TO N

310 READ W$(L)

330 GOSUB 1200:REM CAPITALISE WORDS

370 NEXT L

390 LET G=INT(RND(1)*N)+1

400 PRINT

410 PRINT"Let Us Play HANGMAN"

420 PRINT"You have 10 Lives"

425 PRINT

430 PRINT "Guess the word, it has ";LEN(W$(G));" letters"

450 LET SOFAR$=""

470 Q=LEN(W$(G)):PRINT"So far guessed: ";

490 FOR F=1 TO Q

510 LET SOFAR$=SOFAR$+"-"

530 NEXT F

550 PRINTSOFAR$

560 LET LIVES=10

570 PRINT

590 PRINT"Make a guess: >";

610 GET K$:GOSUB 1500:REM CAPITALISE GUESS

630 IF K$="" THEN GOTO 610

650 PRINTK$

660 LET FOUND=0

665 LET SF$=SOFAR$:LET SOFAR$=""

670 FOR F=1 TO LEN(W$(G))

690 IF K$=MID$(W$(G),F,1) THEN LET FOUND=1

710 IF K$=MID$(W$(G),F,1) THEN LET SOFAR$=SOFAR$+K$

723 IF K$<>MID$(W$(G),F,1) THEN LET SOFAR$=SOFAR$+MID$(SF$,F,1)

730 NEXT F

750 IF FOUND=1 THEN PRINT "Well done ";NAME$;", you have guessed a correct letter!"

755 IF FOUND=1 THEN GOSUB 1600

760 IF FOUND=0 THEN PRINT "Sorry ";NAME$;", incorrect letter, you have lost a life!"

765 IF FOUND=0 THEN LET LIVES=LIVES-1:GOSUB 1630

770 PRINT"You have";LIVES;"lives remaining"

773 PRINT"So far guessed: ";SOFAR$

780 IF LIVES=0 THEN PRINT:PRINT"Sorry ";NAME$;" you have lost all your lives"

790 IF LIVES=0 THEN PRINT"The correct word was: ";W$(G)

800 IF W$(G)=SOFAR$ THEN PRINT:PRINT"Congratulations ";NAMES$;" word correctly guessed!"

850 IF W$(G)<>SOFAR$ AND LIVES>0 THEN GOTO 570

860 PRINT:PRINT"Would you like to play again (Y/N)?";

870 GET K$:GOSUB 1500:REM CAPITALISE GUESS

880 IF K$="" THEN GOTO 870

890 IF K$="Y" THEN GOSUB 1800

892 IF K$="Y" THEN GOTO 390

900 CLS:PRINT"Thank you for playing HANGMAN by Jeff Wright"

910 PRINT"Goodbye"

920 END

1000 REM SORT NAME

1020 LET K=ASC(LEFT$(NAME$,1))

1030 LET NAME$=CHR$(K-32) + RIGHT$(NAME$,LEN(NAME$)-1)

1040 RETURN

1200 REM CAPITALISE WORDS

1210 FOR M=1 TO LEN(W$(L))

1213 LET T$=""

1215 LET K=ASC(MID$(W$(L),M,1))

1220 IF K>96 AND K<123 THEN LET T$ = LEFT$(W$(L),M-1)

1230 IF K>96 AND K<123 THEN LET T$=T$+CHR$(K-32)

1240 IF K>96 AND K<123 THEN LET T$=T$+RIGHT$(W$(L),LEN(W$(L))-M)

1250 IF K>96 AND K<123 THEN LET W$(L)=T$

1260 NEXT M

1270 RETURN

1300 REM CALCULATE NUMBER OF WORDS

1310 LET N=0

1320 READ T$

1330 IF T$<>"end" THEN LET N=N+1

1340 IF T$<>"end" THEN GO TO 1320

1350 RETURN

1500 REM CAPITALISE GUESS

1505 IF K$="" THEN RETURN

1510 LET K=ASC(K$)

1520 IF K>96 AND K<123 THEN LET K$=CHR$(K-32)

1530 IF K$<"A" OR K$>"Z" THEN LET K$=""

1540 RETURN

1600 REM CORRECT SOUND

1610 ALERT 1

1620 RETURN

1630 REM WRONG SOUND

1640 ALERT 5

1650 RETURN

1800 REM RESTART

1810 CLS

1820 PRINT"HANGMAN by Jeff Wright"

1830 RETURN

2000 DATA "Responsibility","Originate","Supernova","Treadmill","Wasteland"

2010 DATA "Locomotive","Fundamental","Dragonfly","Nincompoop","Outrageous"

2020 DATA "Posture","Publication","Rocketry","Monetary","Sandpaper"

2030 DATA "respiratory","scaffolding","seasonal","solution","consequence"

2040 DATA "uncharacteristic","upholsterer","voluntary","wavelength","worrisome"

2050 DATA "zigzag","aversion","backstroke","cabbage","dictaphone"

2060 DATA "esplanade","flapjack","garrison","historical","impassioned"

2070 DATA "juggernaut","kindergarten","lowland","mechanism","newfangled"

2080 DATA "orphanage","packaging","quotient","reception","seasonable"

2090 DATA "townspeople","unification","venturesome","windscreen","xylophone"

2100 DATA "youthful","zodiac"

5000 DATA "end"

5010 REM Hangman

Jeff Wright, 10th April 2021

[legobiwan]

Gotta to ask, do have any TV show, book o fanfiction reviews (especially Losing So Much and Undead Chosen One AU, love those fics) for these pressing times?

So for fanfics, I made a rec post a few days ago that might be instructive. Also, if you search my blog for #fic rec or #fic recs, anything not in that post will show up. As I’ve said, I’ve been a little out of the fanfiction consumption side of things the past few months, which is why I have reached out for suggestions. 

TV! Okay, so a rundown of shows I have enjoyed that are non-Star Wars. 

Psych (hilarious and at times poignant. The whole cast is fantastic, but James Roday especially is a damn good actor and shines in the few-and-far-between serious moments on the show. Plus, I am a complete sap for stories focusing on the relationship between parents and their adult children.) 

Russian Doll (captivating story and an easy binge. Think Groundhog day, but with more drugs and cats and based in New York.)

Santa Clarita Diet (season 3 lags a little, but it’s a great twist on the whole zombie thing and Sheila and Joe’s relationship is actually really fun to watch. Lotta gore, though.)

Slings and Arrows (Canadian show featuring Paul Gross as an eccentric theater director in a faux-Stratford Shakespeare Festival organization. Each season features a different play as the backdrop of the show, and if you’ve ever worked for an arts non-profit as a performer or admin or both, you will definitely appreciate how they portray the ever-present war between both sides and the eternal struggles of art vs. business. Plus, it’s just damn funny and you know, Shakespeare.)

Due South (speaking of Paul Gross. This is an oldie, but a goodie, 1990s-style buddy-cop/fish-out-of-water show that is both funny and heartfelt. I grew up on it and it holds a special place in my heart.)

Bojack Horseman (holy shit, this show. What started out as a zany portrayal of entertainment life in LA turned into one of the most piercing social commentaries on gender issues, death, addiction, mental health, sexuality, and inherited trauma. It gets dark in the later seasons, and the next-to-last episode of the whole series is one of the most haunting existential things I have ever watched on television. But it is fucking brilliant and funny and really holds no punches. Plus, if you are familiar with LA at all, the little references are especially hilarious.)

Umbrella Academy (I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but this is a great show if you haven’t checked it out yet.)

Agents of SHIELD (If you’re not in the Marvel fandom, I don’t know how much you’ll dig this, but I personally enjoyed a lot of it, especially Phil Coulson. The first few seasons are a little campy, but it gets darker later on with the digital reality arc and I really found myself enjoying it. Also, this was the first show I treadmill-binged, so it has a place in my heart for helping me to totally reimagine my gym routine.)

Dead Like Me (so someone recommended Dead to Me, and because I’m Very Smart, I ended up starting the wrong show. But this has been an intriguing watch, a very different take on life-after-death which is quite raw at times, but always interesting, especially as it kills off the 18-year-old protagonist at the start. Season 2 isn’t quite matching up to Season 1, but I’ll finish it off sometime in the next week or so.)

Farscape (this is quality Scifi television. Weird, amazing characters, amazing arcs, amazing aliens - definitely an underrated show of its genre)

Daria (ah, this one. There are a lot of reasons this show is personally hilarious to me, but let’s just say that it’s a full-on 90s disaffection cartoon that is smart with a highly relatable protagonist.)

Metalocalypse (this show is 100% over-the-top weird and I am here for it. Plus, Mark Hammill is a VA in it!)

Broadchurch (David Tennant in his glorious natural accent in a British detective series. Season 1 is amazing, emotionally raw and captivating television. I had a hard time trying to get through Season 2 and actually haven’t finished. But the first season is definitely worth it.)

Frasier (ah, a classic. The later seasons after “the event” aren’t as good but Seasons 1-5 are excellent and the humor is out of this world. Great show and one that stands up to multiple viewings.)

There are other shows I enjoy, like Brooklyn99 and 30Rock that I assume are more well-known on this site, and thus I haven’t included them on this list. I’m also not including the shows I watched that were fine, but I didn’t feel enthusiastic about (Witcher, Jessica Jones are the first two that come to mind). I’m also sure I’m forgetting something or somethings. 

Books! I read too many books. I have no idea how to rec books except in terms of things I’ve read recently (at least, books that aren’t specialized music-academic offerings). Olga Tokarczuk’s writing is fabulous, I highly recommend any of her works. Going older, I read Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man a few months back and that was superb. Another book I read a while back that stuck with me was Tom Wolfe’s Bonfire of the Vanities. Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City also sticks out as a recent favorite. Neil Gaiman’s American Gods is also great, and to be honest (here comes some heresy), it’s a better book than Good Omens. Since I move a lot, I tend to read books and then give them away, but beyond my Shakespeare, Tintin, and Harry Potter collection, one of the few books that I always carry with me is David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, which is a singularly haunting and fascinating novel and I am transfixed every time.

In terms of Star Wars books? That’s pretty easy. Kenobi, Dark Rendezvous, Plagueis, Master and Apprentice, and - pending the conclusion - Thrawn. Shatterpoint was also excellent. There are other SW books I’ve enjoyed, but these have been the easy standouts of the lot.

[whumpishstuff]

*Alaric and Beau part 4*

*part 3*

  “Good morning, darling.” Alaric stands over Beau and runs his fingers through his hair. Beau flinches, remembering the day before. Being suffocated, almost to the point of unconsciousness, again, and again, and again.

  Alaric seems pleased by his fear. He leers down at him, a small smirk on his face. “It’s time to try your routine again, and hopefully make it all the way through this time.”

  Beau swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing slowly. His lungs still burn from the previous day’s torture. He’s already decided to go along with Alaric’s plans, not wanting to invoke his wrath again.

  “Yes, sir.” He tries to keep his face neutral, and almost succeeds. There’s still a spark of anger in his eyes that he can’t hide.

  “Good boy.” Alaric nearly purrs the words, pleased by his compliance despite his thinly-veiled fury. “Now let’s try this again. Breakfast is on the table. I have something I need to check on, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.

  He turns on his heel and leaves the room. Beau sits at the table and eats with vigor. He was starving, having refused to eat for the entire time he’d been there. He knows he has plenty more time, so he sips the tea, green, which is admittedly his favorite.

  By the time he’s finished, Alaric re-enters the room, with a pleased expression. “Very good job, darling. You actually did what was asked of you. But this is just the first step of the day, let’s see how you fair with everything else.”

  “Next is exercise.” Alaric suddenly yanks Beau out of the chair and pins him to the table.

  “Wha-?!’ Beau’s head hits the table and he hisses in pain. Alaric pins his wrists behind his back and tightens a zip-tie around them. 

  “Why?!” Beau shouts. “I didn’t do anything!”

  Alaric chuckles deeply, “This is just a precaution, darling.” He slips a blindfold over his eyes and pulls him upright. He takes him by the shoulders and leads him out of the room. It’s only moments before he removes the blindfold, and cuts the zip-tie. Beau opens his eyes to find himself in a very well stocked home gym.

  “Oh...” Beau is unnerved by the large room. “So I’ll be ‘training’ or whatever here?” 

  Alaric, still standing behind him, grabs his chin firmly enough to hurt. “Are you forgetting something?”

  “Ah, Sir.”

  “Good boy. And yes, you’ll be doing your physical training here.” Alaric walks around him and gestures to the multitude of equipment in the room. “I’ve had a friend of mine formulate a series of workouts for your specific body type.”

  Beau has to stifle a laugh at the thought of Alaric having friends. He manages to keep a straight face and asks, “So what should I start with, uh, Sir?”

  Alaric smirks at him and points to a list that’s pinned to the door. Beau leans forward to read the list and almost immediately jerks back. 

  “This is crazy! I can’t do all this!” He gapes at the list, it probably contains more exercise than he’s done in his entire life.

  Alaric spins him by the shoulder, and backhands him so hard he’s knocked to the ground. Beau vision blurs from the force of the blow. Alaric crouches down next to him and growls out, “Did. You. Forget. Something?”

  Beau nods, not trusting himself to speak with how disorientated he is.

  “And what did you forget?”

  “I-I didn’t say ‘Sir’. I’m sorry, Sir.”

  Alaric’s smile returns, and he helps Beau off the floor. His smile widens when Beau has to cling to him to stay upright. He gently strokes Beau’s back until the dizziness recedes.

  “Now, let’s get started. I’ll be sitting over there, and if your form needs correcting, or you start to faint,” He murmurs, on the edge of mocking. “I’ll help you.”

  Beau nods, demure for the moment, and reads the exercise routine again. First on the list is warming up on the treadmill so he steps on, but doesn’t know how to work the surprisingly complicated machine. He glances over at Alaric, and sees him smirking, unmistakably amused by his struggle.

  “Do you need help, darling?”  

  “Yes, Sir.” Beau flushes, humiliated by having to ask for his help.

  “Yes, what, Sir?” Alaric looks incredibly smug and it grates at Beau terribly, but he can’t risk punishment again so he gives in.

  “Yes, please, Sir.”

  Alaric smile warmly and he saunters over to the treadmill. He turns it on and explains, “It’s set to increase in intervals. Try to keep up.” 

  Beau just steps on, not wanting to talk anymore. It’s slow at first, it’s pace set to walking. Beau know that this can’t be all.  Soon enough, he’s jogging. He starts to sweat, leg’s burning slightly.

  Then he’s running at a decent pace. The muscles in his legs sting and sweat is dripping down his back.

  “Is- is this really a warm up,” He gasps out, “Sir?”

  “You know, you really shouldn’t speak unless spoken to.” Alaric’s eyes are glued to Beau’s body, he doesn’t even glance at his face as he speaks to him.

  Beau grits his teeth and stays quiet. He has other things to focus on anyway, like the fact that his sweat is dripping into his eyes and blinding him. Or how his legs feel like they’re on fire and might collapse under him.

  Suddenly, the machine stops. Beau’s legs give out. Alaric approaches him, and shoves a bottle of water into his hand. “Drink.” 

  Beau doesn’t argue.

  As soon as he’s gulped down what in the bottle Alaric pulls him upright and leads him to another machine. He sits him down and guides his hands to the handles. “This one targets your chest, the next two are for your arms, and then one for your legs. After all that, I’ll explain your ab exercises and you’ll complete them on that mat over there. Finally, stretches. I have a video that will guide you through those.”

  Beau can still hardly believe how much he’s expected to do. But he doesn’t have a choice, he has to at least try. He completes the reps, chest burning from the strain. He starts to get off the machine, but Alaric snickers and shakes his head from his chair.

  “That was just one set, darling. You still have four more sets to do.”

  Beau is suddenly sure that Alaric is trying to kill him.

  By the time Beau finishes with the machines, he’s panting so hard he’s ready to faint, and it feels like his muscles are about to fall off of his bones.

  He flops down on the mat and Alaric lists off the ab exercises. Beau audibly groans and Alaric shoots him a stern look, but there’s laughter in his eyes. “You had better get going, darling.”

  Various crunches, planks, and leg raises, over and over again. Beau is certain he can’t continue, but the glare Alaric sends his way terrifies him. He pushes through, although Alaric has to physically fix his form several times.

  When he finishes his sets, Alaric manhandles him into a standing position. Beau’s head swims so strongly that he starts to fall and Alaric has to hold him by the shoulders until he can hold himself up.

  As soon as he’s sure Beau won’t faint and give himself a concussion, he turns on the large screen on the wall. “This is a video of fifteen minutes of stretches, you’ll be doing more in the future, but I doubt you can handle that today.” 

  Beau swoons at the thought of doing one minute of anything with how exhausted and weak his body feels. But the video starts regardless. 

  Thankfully the first stretch is done sitting down, so he flops gratefully to the ground. He follows the instructions, stretching his legs straight in front of him and reaching for his toes. He can’t even get close. Alaric tsks from above him and shoves down on his back without warning.

  “Ow! Ah, Sir!” Beau’s eyes fill with tears. He didn’t think the pain in his muscles could get worse, until he was roughly shoved down again. Alaric wordlessly holds him down.

  “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “N-no Sir.” Beau is too exhausted to do anything other than agree.

  “Now on to the next one.” Beau can’t see it, but Alaric has a look of complete gratification spread across his face.

-

  He didn’t die. He was seriously starting to think that he would just keel over and die, but here he is. Every inch of his body aches like someone took a hammer to it. He’s jolted out of his stupor by Alaric’s deep voice.

  “My, my. You are absolutely filthy.” Alaric reaches down to where he’s spread out on the floor and pinches his sweat soaked shirt. He then grins and pinches his tear soaked cheek. “Next up is your shower. Let’s get going.”