#still tweaking without miles

[naahnie]

I havent used watercolors in like a month and suddenly its like ive never used them before😒 anyway happy pride momth

[luvjunie]

Hey sweetie, I’ve been a real big fan. Can you write some HCS or a fic about the both Miles being twins?

a/n: ABSOLUTELY 10000% YES. i had way too much fun with this oml. and omg thank you you’re so sweet! 😭 btw, let’s just pretend that in this au they don’t have the same name since they’re ‘twins’ lmao

— headcanons. miles and miles as twins

Twins? Yes. Polar opposites? Definitely.

They both have a completely different sense of style, but one thing they have in common is that they both love Jordan’s. However I feel like miles!42 is a full blown sneakerhead. Has the better collection and often finds miles!1610 wearing his shoes, because somehow 42 always manages to win the snkrs raffles.

“Are those my brand new fuckin’ 4s?” “Uh… no?” “Take my shit off before I tweak out.”

42 keeps his side of the room squeaky clean, gets upset if there’s even a sock that does not belong to him on his side

Absolutely hates the song Sunflower. Cannot stand it, makes him wanna rip his hair out. The minute it came out 1610 played it into the dirt and 42 swears he can still hear it in his dreams till this day

1610 is the more affectionate one (outwardly) while 42 likes to pretend he’s completely devoid of that as if he doesn’t love his brother with everything in him.

“You got exactly three seconds to get off me.” “Just hug me back, damn!”

They’re the kind of brothers to open soundcloud, turn on a random trap beat and see who can go the longest freestyling. They do that thing where guys bring their fist to their mouths and squeal and shove each other out of excitement when they get a good flow going back and forth

42 is definitely the athletic type, plays football and soccer. 1610 is more in tune with his artistic side. Will play sports for fun but doesn’t care for them like that

42 is introverted as hell, doesn’t really like talking to people. 1610 is more of a social butterfly

They’ve never once liked the same girl. Ever. Their taste is drastically different

“Bro, you like a white girl?” “…Yes? What does her race have to do with anything?” “See me personally—“. “Literally nobody fucking asked.”

Used to help each other break out of their cribs when they were babies. Either that or Jeff and Rio would wake up to find that 42 had climbed into 1610’s crib after they’d been put down and slept with him instead. it was impossible to keep them apart from each other, so eventually they just broke down the second crib and let them use the one.

You can tell who is who in their baby pictures. You guessed it, 42 was the oddly solemn one who always wanted to play by himself. They worried about him for a bit. They also had to tickle him as an attempt to get him to smile in pictures, and just their luck, he’s never been ticklish

When they were eight years old, 1610 accidentally broke the wolverine action figure 42 never went anywhere without, and 42 cried about it for three days straight

They definitely ask for each other’s opinions on their outfits

“Do you think this shirt goes with these pants?” “The entire outfit is black… how would it not go together?”

They both obviously love their mother but 42 is the biggest mama’s boy. Always in the kitchen helping her cook, will watch her telenovelas with her and actually keep up with the plot. He’ll willingly follow her to the grocery store or accompany her on her ridiculously long Ross/Tjmaxx sprees because he likes hanging out with her

They terrorize the fuck outta their dad and have been doing so since they entered this world because they think it’s funny. Stupid shit like dying his boxers pink, or looking up a cracked tv screen video on youtube just to watch him nearly have a heart attack thinking they broke it. They used to twin-swap when they were younger to get out of certain things, but it’s 100% impossible to pull off now. They’re way too different, physically and mentally

Uncle Aaron took 42 to get his ears pierced when he was thirteen, something 1610 would never do. Rio basically had an aneurysm when he came home with them in and Jeff was not pleased but Aaron took the blame for it, said it was his idea. 42 made up some bullshit lie about how if he takes them out before they heal completely they’ll get infected. Still has them in till this day

42 is exactly fourteen minutes older and refuses to let 1610 hear the end of it, but 1610 is taller by an inch and weighs a little more.

“I don’t know why you’re talking shit like I’m not older than you. Pipe down lil’ bro.” “Sorry, is someone talking to me right now? Cause I sure as hell can’t see ‘em.” “Nigga it’s ONE INCH”

They’re definitely scrapping over that, and both get smacked upside their heads by Mama Rio for fighting with each other

42 needs the tv and the fan on, SIMULTANEOUSLY when he sleeps or he’ll be up the entire night. 1610 can’t stand it

1610 will try and turn the fan off after his brother’s been asleep for probably two hours, thinking he’s in the clear until he hears—

“Do you value your life? Turn my damn fan back on.”

Deep down 42 is a big ass softie and loves spending time with 1610, he has no idea what he’d do without him. He’s just not the best at expressing it. 1610 teases him about it simply because he enjoys aggravating his other half

“You still got plans with Ganke tonight?” “Nah, his mom’s dragging him to some baby shower.” “Oh, cool, cool… So what movie are we watching?” “Huh?” “Huh—Headass. What movie are we watching tonight?” “Sorry, I’m not understanding. Are you—asking to spend time… with me?” “Damn, I need to say it in Spanish? Matter fact, you probably won’t understand that either. No sabo ass.”

[marikbentusi]

I wasn't interested much in the Gwenpool Fortnite collab (fingerless gloves are a cute tweak), but someone asked on Twitter about "evil future Gwenpool" being labelled "Dark Gwenpool" ingame (which is what I've been calling my fan character variant since 2020):

"Dark" is a very common prefix for evil alter egos, so even if people occasionally mistake my comics for official material, I was certain this was a coincidence. But then the person also casually pointed out that she's called "Dark GwenPool" on Wikipedia. Huh?

No sources cited as far as I can tell. One of the original Gwenpool creators even agreed that "Dark Gwenpool" was never official:

I hunted down the Wikipedia changelog where apparently someone injected all the Dark Gwenpool stuff on 8th of April this year (2024). So maybe someone on the Fortnite team checked Google/Wikipedia instead of making up the name from scratch.

I tried to hunt down the wiki editor for questioning only to find out they are banned for being a sockpuppet account. In fact, that user was such a prolific sockpuppeteer that they've got their own Wikipedia page listing all 164 suspected alts. One of them is called "Batrocfrogg", what kind of canonization assist from beyond the grave is this?!

Since that lead went cold, I looked at the sources the wiki edit gave when talking about the character more generally. Aside from the official comics where she isn't called Dark Gwenpool, we've got:

"Peter Parker & Miles Morales: Spider-Men Double Trouble #2" – evil Gwen just has a cosplay background cameo there, no name drop.

Marvel Duel, a niche F2P mobile card game, where she's an antagonist.

The person who first pointed out to me that "Dark Gwenpool" was also on Wikipedia dug around and found a screenshot that evil Gwen is indeed called "Dark Gwenpool" in Marvel Duel:

Obviously I assume the Marvel Duel devs just made that one up without knowing about my comics. Case closed on that lead! But I'm not sure if the Wiki edit was based on this.

Marvel Duel, if we can still trust its wiki page, only released in eight countries. They are mostly in the UTC+8 time zone. The edit was finished on ~22:00 UTC+0, which would be Tuesday 05:00 AM local time if the editor is from one of those countries themselves. Of course, maybe the person played an emulated/jailbroken version (the game does come in English), watched a foreign Let's Play, or is just a super night owl. None of these are stranger than having 146 sockpuppet accounts. But it also doesn't exactly help the edit's credibility like I had hoped.

I also don't know if Marvel Duel included the name variations "Dark GwenPool" and "Dark Gwen" that the Wiki editor used specifically (in the screencap above she's stylized differently). The editor also called her the "evil alternator future version" tho, so maybe they aren't a stickler for details.

----

But yeah the TL;DR is that "Dark GwenPool" is currently the main name for evil Gwen on Wikipedia with no source cited. Marvel Duel calling her that as well was probably just coincidence. Maybe Fortnite also made it up, or they copied it from Wikipedia, or maybe they copied it from Marvel Duel itself.

I thought it was weird and funny enough to share. 164 sockpuppets. WTF.

[ellecdc]

Hello Elle!! I’ve been lurking thru your fics (pos) and they’re just so awesome !! May I request a fluffy little fic of male!reader and boyfriend!remus just cuddling and reading together in the gryffindor common room? It doesn’t have to be much,,,just maybe them snuggled up under some blankets and reading their respective books while lightly nudging each other from time to time (you can tweak the request in whatever way you want,,,as long as it’s fluffy it would be super duper nice!)

of course, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to !! Hope you have a great day <33

lurk away babes! I'm so glad to have you here. thanks for your request <333

Remus Lupin x male!reader cuddled on the couch in the Gryffindor common room

You had to admit that you were very surprised at how extremely touchy Remus Lupin turned out to be. 

You had no idea that the quiet spoken, aloof personality you had initially fallen for, followed by the shy flirting and gentle teasing would ultimately lead to this.

That’s not to say that Remus was huge on PDA – he really wasn’t, which was just as fine for you as you really weren’t that kind of person either – but he was almost always touching you in some way.

Sitting together in the Great Hall, his leg would be pressed up against yours (hips, thighs, and ankles). If you were walking to class together, he’d likely have your hand in his, or at the very least his elbow would gently bump into yours with every step. 

And when you were working on your Divination homework whilst he read on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room? Well, he was pretty much sitting on top of you; your legs intertwined comically under the blanket as his thumb gently caressed your Achilles tendon. 

You thought that perhaps the blanket provided enough privacy for him to be as affectionate as he would be if no one else was around to see, which made you very happy considering you’d likely melt on the spot if he tried sitting with you like this in the courtyard. 

You were technically finished your Divination homework already but were going over your answers in preparation for a test next week; this left your attention split between your work and Remus’ muscle twitches and quiet gasps. 

“Merlin, Moons. You’re gonna kick your boyfriend right off the sofa if you don’t settle down over there.” Sirius teased without lifting his head from the game of exploding snap he was playing with Peter on the floor.

You hated to laugh at Remus’ expense, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the horrified look on his face as he began to apologize to you.

“I didn’t kick you hard, did I?” He asked, moving his hands higher under the blanket to massage at your knee.

“I’m okay, Rem. What’s going on in that book of yours that has you so excited?” You redirected, closing your notebook and textbook to give him your full attention.

Remus’ face was a mix of excitement at getting to tell you about his book and shame at having interrupted your homework.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, you can finish your homework.” He offered shyly, a pretty blush decorating his cheeks. You were sure your face looked just as lovesick as you felt.

“I was finished already; I was just studying for the test next week.”

When he still didn’t look completely sold, you dramatically sighed and shifted your body so you were sitting knee to knee with Remus – nearly in his lap. 

“How about this? You catch me up on everything going on in your book now, and you can help me study tomorrow?” You bargained, aiming for earnest but likely missing by a mile at the amount of affection flowing through you for this boy.

“You sure?” He asked, voice full of shy hope.

You smiled. “Absolutely.” 

“Okay, deal.” He agreed, bodily pulling you impossibly further into his side as he began tallying off all of the goings on in his book since the last time he’d updated you on it. 

You hummed in all the right places and even threw in a “oh my gods, you’re kidding”, and a “they did not!”, even though you didn’t particularly care for the story, just that it made your boyfriend so happy.

“Moony, why do you never read to me anymore?” Sirius pouted, throwing you a cheeky wink as he interrupted his mate.

“For this exact reason, Sirius, you always interrupt and then complain that I’m boring you.”

Sirius, never one to be shamefaced, vehemently denied the accusations. “Slander!”

“It’s not slander if it’s true, Pads.” Peter mumbled from his place.

“You’re welcome to join us, Sirius.” You called, even shifting over to suggest there was room beside you should the long-haired boy want it.

To your horror, Sirius actually looked like he was going to stand up.

“No!” Remus shouted, holding his hands out as if prepared to bodily fend off Sirius should he try to sit with you. “Don’t encourage him, love. He’s a menace.”

Sirius clutched at non-existent pearls adorning his neck as he looked at Remus in outrage. “How dare you!? Did you ever stop to think I just wanted to sit with Y/N? He’s far lovelier than you.”

“Sod off, he’s mine; get your own.” Remus mumbled, actually lifting you from your spot on the sofa to pull you directly into his lap. You felt all of the blood in your body rush to your face as you tried to hide behind the blanket.

“Fine.” Sirius harrumphed, finally standing and disrupting the game of cards he’d long abandoned in favour of drama. 

“PRONGS?!” Sirius shouted, causing everyone else in the common room to shush at him. As was usually the case with Sirius, he ignored them.

“YEAH?” James shouted back, clearly sitting in their shared dorm room.

“CAN I COME CUDDLE?” 

“OF COURSE YOU CAN!”

“THANK YOU!”

With that Sirius turned to give Remus his most shit eating grin. “You’re missing out, Moons.”

Remus scoffed as he began nuzzling into your neck.

“Honestly, is it too much to ask to get through one game?” Peter moaned as he began picking up all of the cards that had been discarded.

“You know better than to try to play with Sirius Drama Queen Black and James ADHD Potter, Wormy.” Remus replied, not bothering to remove himself from your neck. 

You turned your head when you heard stomping from the way Sirius had just left to see an annoyed looking Lily Evans. 

“You’re lucky you have a boyfriend with a backbone, Y/N.” She muttered, barely pausing to speak as she headed straight up to the girl’s dormitory. 

“Poor Lily.” You chuckled, which turned into a full laugh when the puffs of breath from Remus’ laughter tickled your ear. 

Feeling particularly mischievous, you turned to peck a kiss to Remus’ nose before mustering up your most sincere face.

“Maybe we should invite her to cuddle with us.”

Now, if you had been dating Sirius Black, your boyfriend would have clutched once again at his non-existent pearls and began singing about the injustices.

However, you were dating Remus Lupin, which meant he chidingly squeezed your side in the way he knew was ticklish and called you a minx.

Lily was right though.

You were very lucky. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Human Body

A Quick & Simplified Guide: On Cells & DNA

CELL

The basic unit of life

You are made up of about 30 trillion of them

Don’t all look the same: A red blood cell looks nothing like a spleen cell, which looks nothing like a cell in the skin of your eyelid. That’s because they each have very different jobs.

But they still share some basic parts:

Nucleus - heart of the cell

Golgi apparatus - packages up proteins and labels them so they get to the right place; "the cell's post office"

Mitochondria - the cell's power generators. Like cars, you run on "fuel" too. It's called ATP (adenosine triphosphate). They do almost all the work of turning the energy from your food into ATP. Without the "fuel", the cell would die.

Endoplasmic reticulum - makes proteins that the cell needs in order to keep doing its job

To survive, cells need:

Food - especially sugars, which contain the energy that is turned into ATP

Oxygen - vital for turning the energy in sugars into ATP

Water - needed inside each cell for nutrients to move into and around it

3 Types of Waste (when making ATP from food)

Carbon dioxide - which you breathe out

Ammonia - after a bit of tweaking by your liver, this chemical passes out in your urine

Water - any water that your cell does not need eventually ends up in your blood, and exits your body in urine, feces, sweat, and breath

How "Big" is your Body?

Though your cells are tiny, they can join together to make big structures. In fact, unpacked, your body is enormous:

A pair of lungs, smoothed out, would cover a tennis court.

If you unravelled the airways within your lungs and laid them in a line, they would stretch from London to Moscow.

In the same way, all of the blood vessels (the veins and arteries and smaller blood-bearing tubes) in your body would stretch two and a half times round planet Earth.

DNA is extremely thin. You’d need 20 billion strands of it, laid side by side, to make the width of the thinnest human hair. But you have so much of it, and so many cells, that if you formed all that DNA into a single strand, it would reach 10 billion miles across the solar system, to Pluto and beyond. Think of it: there is enough of you to exit the solar system. You are, in the most literal sense, cosmic.

DNA

The "instruction manual" for making you.

Almost every single cell in your body has two copies of that manual:

The Double Helix

DNA - made up of two strands connected by rungs, making a kind of twisted ladder called a double helix

Stored inside the nucleus of the cell, in packages called chromosomes

Within your DNA are short sections called genes

A gene is a code that tells the cell how to make a particular protein

Most of the useful things in your body are proteins:

Some speed up helpful chemical changes going on inside you. Others are needed to fight harmful invaders. And others make up bits of virtually all your body parts, including your muscles, your bones and your brain cells.

Different DNA

Your DNA is unique to you (assuming you don't have an identical twin)

Yet in all humans, 99.9% of the DNA is the same.

This makes us all nearly identical.

But my DNA and your DNA will still differ in three to four million places.

Given the massive amount of DNA you have, this is quite a small number, but it’s enough to make a lot of difference between us.

Where does DNA come from?

Almost all of your cells contain 23 pairs of chromosomes.

One of each pair came from your biological mother, and one came from your biological father.

Your DNA is, therefore, a mixture of your parents’ DNA.

But you’ll also have about a hundred of your very own personal genetic mutations.

These are stretches of DNA that don’t quite match any of those given to you by either of your parents – they are yours alone.

Some people have an unusual number of chromosomes.

For example, people with Down syndrome have an extra copy of chromosome 21.

DNA is extremely stable:

Probably nothing you own right now – no item of clothing or game or even computer – will still exist a thousand years from now, but your DNA almost certainly will.

Incredibly, scientists recently managed to get genetic information from a human fossil that was 800,000 years old.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[sanguineterrain]

Hi! I saw your post on Halloween prompts and if your still taking them may I request

Jason was born a werewolf and they're used to their transformations and abilities. They're out on a walk when they find Reader, a human-just-turned-werewolf. Jason decides it's their job to take care of Reader until they're able to use all their powers efficiently, etc. Both didn't expect to catch feelings along the way.

Or

Werewolves are actively hunted down and humans even carry specific silver items and spray to ward them off if they suspect someone of being one. Reader finds Jason, an injured werewolf, hiding in their backyard. They don't have the heart to chase them away, instead opting to heal and hide them away from the hunters after them.

Fem!reader if possible?

Prompts from @promptspa

hi there! thanks for the prompt. i decided to go with the 2nd one, but i tweaked it a little. reader is gender neutral simply because there wasn't any moment to identify gender, but you are free to picture them as female! hope you like :)

werewolf!jason todd x gn!reader | injured jason, tending to wounds, wolf form, reader and jason knew each other when he was robin.

****

"...In other news, reports of animal attacks have skyrocketed, leaving Gotham citizens paranoid. The mayor is enforcing a six o'clock curfew, urging citizens to lock their doors and keep pets inside. Now we have Dan with the weather—"

You mute the TV, stand, and stretch. The wind howls outside, rattling the roof slats. Dan, the weatherman, soundlessly describes how it's only going to get colder this week. That reminds you of Lucy, your Ragdoll. She's been outside for most of the evening.

"Lucy," you call, opening the bag of cat food. Usually, the sound causes her to race into the kitchen, claws clicking on the floor.

But there's no sound. You stop what you're doing and move to the stairs.

"Lucy?"

Nothing.

Animal attacks. Your stomach churns at the thought.

Gotham News often exaggerates that stuff since they're so anti-lycan. Werewolves don't attack animals and haven't done so for centuries unless they're desperate for food. But most citizens don't know that and will happily buy into the scare tactics. You can't afford to, living miles outside of the city.

You head outside when Lucy still doesn't appear. Logically, you know werewolves wouldn't attack your seven pound cat that's seventy percent fur. You know that. But something still feels wrong.

You search around the house first, using your phone as a flashlight. Then you walk toward the shed. That's when you hear meowing.

"Lucy!" you yell. "It's alright, Lucy, come on!"

Lucy makes no motion to move. She meows incessantly, urgent, yowling meows that make you rush over and check her for injuries. She continues to meow, even when you don't find an injury.

"What's wrong, Lucy? What's happened?"

You stroke her back, but nothing calms her. One time, she ran into a skunk, and that had spooked her. It also resulted in three baths to get the smell out.

But the skunk had attacked her then. Here, Lucy is unharmed, but whatever she's seen, it's scared her beyond comforting.

She continues to meow, eyes fixed on the shed. You take a deep breath and go to the shed. Lucy's meows get louder.

"It's alright, Lucy," you say, but now your heart is thumping. The wind rattles the padlock, which is odd, so you shine the light on it.

The lock is broken. You pull open the door, ready to run.

A soft whine comes from inside the shed. You shine your light, and the creature shies away, except it's too big to avoid the light completely. Too big to be a regular animal...

You make out black fur, large ears, and a tail. You gasp. The wolf whines again, curling into the corner like it's trying to make itself small.

There's a trail of blood on the ground. Without getting closer, you can't tell where the blood is from. But if it's enough to make the creature whine, it must be a deep wound.

"I'm not a hunter," you say slowly, and its ears twitch at that. "I'm not here to hurt you. No silver, see?"

You pull out your pockets, unzip your coat, and show your hands. The wolf watches you silently. Its head comes into view, and now you can see that the wolf is male.

And his eyes. His eyes are what confirm your suspicions; they are too intelligent to not be supernatural, glowing an eerie green.

He's an adult wolf, from what you can tell, but still young, his fur dark and thick. His youth doesn't make him any less intimidating, though. He looks much like the pictures of werewolves the antis use to scare people: huge, long body, glowing eyes, claws. He must be double your size, at least.

Lucy has stopped meowing. Now she just stares alongside you, keeping her distance. No wonder she was so distressed.

The wolf suddenly stands, and you take several steps back, heart racing. You hate being scared, hate letting the news report get into your head.

The wolf lies on his back with jerky, uncoordinated movements. He makes a desperate noise and shows his belly.

Knife wounds. Big ones. If he wasn't a wolf, he'd be dead.

"Holy shit," you say. "Oh my God."

This is as vulnerable as any creature can be. But you're just as much a stranger to him as he is to you. Why is he trusting you like this?

You've only known one werewolf in your life. And he's never coming back.

The wolf whimpers again. You nod quickly.

"Okay," you whisper. "It's okay. I'll patch you up."

The wolf sags against the ground, and you run out of the shed, your stomach turning at the thought of another wolf dying.

Lucy follows you, clinging to your ankles, and you try not to trip over her as you gather supplies from the house. She doesn't follow you back outside.

You return to the shed and thread a needle. Then you take a step forward and wait. When he makes no move to attack, you close the distance slowly and crouch by his belly.

His fur is matted and torn in odd places. Carefully, you place a hand on his belly. He doesn't move.

"I'm going to pour the antiseptic now," you say.

The wolf watches as you do. He tenses but doesn't make any more sounds as you clean his wound. Almost like he's used to the feeling.

You feel up his fur for other wounds. That's when you feel a scar that runs from his chest to where his bellybutton would be. It's Y-shaped.

"What—" you say in horror. "What did they do to you?"

The wolf whines again.

"Right, right. Sorry. I'm going to sew you up."

He lets you tend to his wounds without a hitch. He's unusually comfortable with your touch; he doesn't howl or flinch when you touch him, and any warning sounds are gentle.

You finish the stitches and top it with a bandage. He waits patiently, not moving an inch. You haven't done this in years; you never thought your medic training would come in handy again.

Nightingale. That's what the Bats called you. That's who you might've become eons ago, until...

"I won't turn you in," you say when you finish.

The wolf blinks at you.

"But you know that, don't you?"

He protests when you pull a blanket over him. He whines and nudges you away with his nose.

"It's cold here, and I can't carry you inside," you say.

He drags the blanket off with his teeth and throws it onto your lap. You smile and put it back on him.

"I'll be fine. I have blankets inside. Get some sleep."

You start to stand, and his whines become barks. He tries to stand with you, pawing at your knee.

"Whoa, hey! Don't, you'll pull your stitches. What's wrong?"

He barks again, and nods at the forest line outside in the distance. Then he licks at his bandage.

"You're afraid the people who hurt you will get you?" you ask.

He chuffs and licks your hand.

"You're afraid they'll get... me?"

He nudges your shoulder. You touch his head and make a soft noise.

"Okay. I'll stay and keep watch. If I hear anything, I'll wake you, alright?"

The wolf grunts, then finally lays down. He shuffles closer to you, so his body is practically on your legs. He runs hot, and with him so near, you hardly feel the cold.

The wolf falls asleep before you.

****

It has been a long time since you trained with a Bat, and your nocturnal practices have faded since then.

So you wake up in the shed with a backache.

Black fur tickles your hand, and you open your eyes.

But it's not a wolf at your feet; it's a man.

A man wearing a dead boy's face.

He awakens as you do, bare and bandaged beneath the blanket. Those odd green eyes stare at you. They're wrong; all of him is wrong, but his face... you know that face.

"Jason?" you whisper, chest tight.

His sigh is full of grief.

"Hey, Nightingale."

[bblueraven-and-fandoms14]

Controversial take the AA and Narumitsu fandom are going to flame my ass whatever but as an avid Narumitsu shipper and Miles Edgeworth fan (he's my #1 favorite character of the franchise) I love bastard Phoenix but in the specific flavor of him cheating on Miles with Kristoph during the 7yg. Like. Because tbh Phoenix gets attached and loves (obsseses) over people so readily and easily that once he has very little to loose he decides to try and keep what he does have and he wants both. Why CAN'T he have both he wants both. Is it fair to Miles AND to Kristoph? No but life hasn't been fair to HIM either and it's selfish and he's a horrible partner, he feels guilty so so much, but he can't stop, he can't let go of either because he wants BOTH. He clings to both and refuses to let go. He has so much to give why can't he take a bit, too. Why can't he have them both!!!! Miles is his past and Kristoph could be part of his present and he refuses to let go of any of it. Then he fully learns was Kristoph is doing and plays the game and continues because, yeah he'll bring Kristoph down but he still wants both, even if it's not good for him. So he'll keep both as long as he can. Even if he's going to destroy one of them in the end. Once again life is not being fair and this must be Karma, for trying to grab too much, trying to hold too much in his hands. So if it's going to be over and by his own hands, he will keep indulging as long as he can.

Extra points Kristoph absolutely knows and seethes everytime Miles visits because Phoenix goes away during that time even though he ends up back with him once Miles leaves and why is Kristoph once again coming second? He hates Mile's ass (but he wonders what it is about that man. He is curious, in a morbid way. He wants a taste himself, just to see what of Miles is so good that Phoenix can't stop himself from eating from it even now).

Miles doesn't know at first but he starts suspecting and then he learns about it but he... doesn't say anything. He's a self respecting man, he SHOULD say something for his own self at the least but he. He thinks of everything that has happened. He sees how defeated Phoenix is. He remembers being defeted himself. He remembers he owes Phoenix half his life, really. He is so attached himself, and what would he do without Phoenix in his life? So he decides its fine, isn't it? Because it's partially Miles fault, too. He's not There. He's away too much, all the time, during Phoenix's time of need. And Phoenix is just a man. Just like him. And he wonders. He wishes he knew Kristoph more, and he's jealous and angry at him because Kristoph is dignified and not a bit weird in his likes and idiosyncrasies and perhaps that's the appeal, someone who isn't a bit odd and who is actually there. He remembers that one date he's ever been to, back in highschool. He remembers trying so hard to be likable. He remembers failing at it. He sees how easy it is for Kristoph to do what he couldn't and still can't. And he wonders how it is to taste that in a partner.

Anyways in the end I think they should all kiss idk 🧍🏻‍♀️ (there are two specific things I have consumed in this fandom that have built my hc's for Krisnix, Nrmts, and narumitskris during the 7yr gap and the fic specifically is /it/ like that's lowkey canon to me with some tweaks to fit canon timeline and events and characters).

*coughs* I rambled I just think all 3 could have the most interesting dynamic known to man YES including Miles/Kristoph can you imagine the chaos of that? It's Phoenix's worst and best dream come to life. I think Miles/Kristoph is supremely underrated actually. I think they should all fuck nasty and hate-filled. Thank you for coming to my....uh. Insanity.

(I also love the idea of Miles and Kristoph cat fighting over a man who CHEATS like girls get up omg [all 3 are deranged])

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hey Hi! I wasn't the one who asked you for this but it really is amazing!!!

It would really be great if you made a second part, and in case you don't, I still just want you to know that I loved it!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/yaut-jaknowit/743233269339914240/gonna-have-to-fly-in-here-on-the-speed-of-light?source=share

Lost Your Mind Part 2

Pairings: Pel (Male Yautja) x AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 2601

Summary: Time to figure your new life out in a different, robotic life. You learn how your new body work while being able to stay up with Pel, working side by side during hunts.

Author Note: Thank you! I really appreciate all the love. I hope this was a great second part.

Part 1

Masterlist

Ao3

Throughout a week, it has taken you time to relearn how to walk. Your mind was programmed how to with organic limbs yet this robotic body was different. The weight threw you off. The legs were longer, feet slightly bigger. Everything was off from what you originally knew. So, here you are, using a hand on the wall for support.

Pel was nervous to let you roam the halls by your lonesome. It took some time to convince the Yautja that you’ll be okay. It’s just walking. If you fall, its not like it would hurt you. Pain was nonexistent now. You’ve learn a notification will pop up on the side of your vision, telling you you had been damaged in some sort of way. But, there was no pain.

That could be seen as a pro or con in anyone cases. In your second chance of life, you took it as a pro. No more annoying aches or headaches or even when you broke a bone while hunting.

Hunting. Now, Pel says, you could easily keep up with him on his hunts. No more choking for air after running for miles or worrying about your scent alerting to prey. You even moved nearly silently. Then, without a heart or lungs, there was no worry about prey hearing you as well. In this new body, you’ve become the optimal predator. All you need was a guiding hand to relearn everything.

Your mate had help turn off the ability where your processor answered every little question. That had become incredibly annoying. It drove you nearly over the edge into a bout of rage and destroying the ship. All you wanted was your thoughts to be your own. Not some of computer in your mind.

With one foot after another, you relearn how to walk. You took the chance to meander to the cockpit and stopped at the entrance. Pel was in the pilots chair and sat crisscross. His head turned over his shoulder to find you now in the room. The Yautja sat up taller, mandibles clicking happily. Your own face lighting.

“Hello, love,” you wobbled over to him without the support of the wall. Once in reach of his chair, you gripped onto the arm rest. “What’s the plans for today?” A week had only passed but fragments of your memories had resurfaced. Not all of them. But the emotions are what you held onto. The love and adoration you and him felt for each other. And, in a life like this now, you needed every last drop.

The Yautja in question chirped and purred then rubbed his forehead against your shoulder. “Whatever you want, little one,” he replied in a smooth tone and found your gaze. His eyes shone brightly in the dim lights of the ship. You used your free hand to gingerly cup his cheek and hold his head.

A thinking expression pondered over your features. There was still much to unlock between the two of you with your new robotic body. To see its limitations.

You leaned down nuzzled your nose against where his own would lay if he were human. “Why not teach me some basics with weapons? I’d much rather learn from you than the internet. From there, I can choose which one fits my hand the best,” you offered and pulled back to stare into his yellow eyes.

He purred and nodded his large head. Dark tresses swaying with the moment. “That is a wonderful idea, mate!” Pel slipped off of his chair and rounded the furniture to stand at your side. His hands came out to steady you but stopped short. The corners of your lips tweaked into a small smile.

Pel was finally learning that you need to do this on your own. That’s the only way you can be able to grow into the new person you’re designed to be. You can read on his face it’s taken a lot for him relent and allow you space. He’s a lot more open with his feelings, desperate to make you feel safe and comfortable in your home.

“I’ve got this, love. Just give me time, I still haven’t fully figured it out just yet.” You pushed off of the chair and stood up.

Standing is easy. That didn’t require movement. The walking portion was fine. When you tried to figure out how move without falling face first onto the ground… that’s where you struggled. Half of you wanted to turn back on the dictionary portion of your brain. But, you stayed strong. Life’s hard. Clearly since you’re in this position and nearly met their god of death in unfair circumstances.

The dark brown and beige Yautja stayed hovering at your side, hands at the ready. His yellow eyes watched carefully as the two of you made your way towards the weapons room.

Many of his trophies sat out on display here. A show of prowess. Some of them, you knew the two of you hunted together. Slowly the memories returned. The only plausible reason was the trauma of the event hiding them away. But if they were coming back, that’s all that matters.

An array of weapons decorated the only wall lacking trophies. Pel mainly wields a Combistick and bow and arrow for the hunts. That doesn’t mean a hunter shouldn’t be prepared. He has everything else on hand for whatever a hunt may call for.

You stopped to stand in front of the wall. Your eyes raked down each meticulously placed weapon, but nothing called out to you. In your memories, they were still hazy. You couldn’t tell which one you used before. Maybe this was chance to choose anew? To choose something that required more strength. The robotics that formed your body offered more strength than ever before.

Heat washed down your back side as two hand rested on your shoulder. The powerful jaw of your mate settled down on top of your head. “What favors the eye of my mate?” he asks. A soft purrs tumbles out of his throat and spills into the air. You reached for one of his hands on your shoulder and carded your fingers through his own. The two of you holding hands now.

“That, I don’t know. Nothing speaks to me.” An idea comes to mind. “I would love to see you wield each one, show me what they can do,” you suggested and brought his knuckles to your mouth for a kiss. Killing two birds with one stone. Figuring out which one was the best for you and to see your mate in action, flaunting his gorgeous body. Oh, you couldn’t wait for the show.

He let loose a rumble that acknowledge of his pondering. Then, he placed his own mock kiss to your head and stepped around you. “Alright, I shall display their uses.” The way he struts up to the walls was handsome. “I’ll show you the Combistick first. Every Yautja has one in their collection as it’s the first weapon that train with.”

Not only does he have one but three. Since it’s part of his main collection, he must have multiple may one break or if he stupidly loses it. At that point, he should let Cetanu take if he does that. Such a unblooded mistake that would cost him his life in the heat of a hunt.

A collapsed Combistick and pulled down from its hold. A single press of a button unleashes the weapon to the world. For such a weapon to be able to squeeze into a small form then grow like it does was amazing. Your eyes flashed with wonder. Then, the brown Yautja began to twirl it as if it was an extension of his own body. The moves fluent and perfect. The alien may be considered young for his species, but this was his life. The way of his people, his culture.

For the remaining hours of the day, Pel showed what each and every single weapon in his collection could do. It was hard to choose. All of them seemed great. Some better than others. You pondered the entire time, raking over each weapon carefully until two finally came to you.

Tiger claws and claymore. A strange combination to work together with. You would use the claymore as your primary then have the tiger claws as your secondary. Of course, the Combistick would also be part of your weaponry. Not that Pel would allow for you to miss that important part of the training.

Despite your slightly larger stature, Pel takes you to a weaponsmith. One he’s known for a long time.

The town around you is bustling with life. Your hand is entwined with Pel’s as the brown Yautja leads you through the alleyways to stay away from the roaming crowds. With another week and a half of walking under your belt, you’re able to calmly walk about without needing support. Not like you could run and sprint just yet. It’s a start though. A good start.

Though, you won’t be able to train with a weapon yet, Pel wants to get the jump on forging said weapons. It’ll take time for them to be crafted. Hopefully, his goal was by the time Vo completed the job, you would be ready. If not… he would just hide them and gift them to you when you were.

Pel swiftly took you through the back ways and knew the perfect places to slip past the crowds. It wasn’t long before the two of stopped in front of a old, clearly worn building. He takes you inside before the two of you could be swept out into sea.

Warmth washes over your artificial skin, warming the circuits underneath. A bell alerts the occupants to your appearance. Pel’s hand on the small of your back urges you forward towards the counter. He leans against the carefully crafted wood and trills a Yautja call.

“Pel?” a voice calls out from the back of the building. It wasn’t a moment later before an unknown species of alien stepped out. A rag in her hands that wiped off the grim that coated the skin. “Look who it is. Long time, no see. I thought you had perished on me.” She stopped short of the counter and crossed her arms. Four eyes met your optics that swiftly analyzed every inch of her.

“And who is this?” she questioned and scans her steely gaze up and down your robotic form. “He almost looks… human but his skin, it’s metal. Has those pesky humans finally created something worthwhile?” Your eyes narrowed on her bulky form. Despite no only being human physically any more, you took offense to her words.

A hand rested on your shoulder and drew your attention away from her. “Vo, this is my mate.” He says your name, easily rolling off of his tongue. “There was an accident that involved some bad bloods. I couldn’t lose him just yet.”

Her gaze softened. “Oh, I heard about that incident,” she trails off, head bowed down for only a moment before she meets his gaze again. “No one deserves what those scums did to all of those humans. Even if I despise the squishies.” Your tense shoulders relaxed at her words but that only got you thinking more about what happened. Pel wouldn’t say.

The brown Yautja dipped his head, understanding her words. “Yes. With my mate, I couldn’t lose them so quickly after we become permanent mates. So… I had their brain and heart transferred into this new body. It’s been a process.”

She hummed and finally met your optics. “My condolences, human. I am glad you didn’t perish yet. But, you better keep ol’ Pel happy. He deserves it.” You didn’t know whether to be offended or just brush off her comment. If only she knew what memories you’ve unlocked held of your of him. All the things you did together. The love you shared with each other.

“He is. More than anything in the universe,” Pel answers for you and tugs you closer to him. You turn to nuzzled against him. “But, I request your service. For my mate.” His hand rubs up and down the length of your bicep.

The unnamed alien snorts and rests most of her weight on one foot. “Of course you do. You never come back just to talk.” A sigh left her. She picked up a pencil and a sheet of paper. “What is it you’re looking for?”

Pel glanced down at you. “It’s for my mate actually. He wants tiger claws and a claymore. I have one of each myself, but they aren’t designed for his size,” Pel explains and returned his attention to her. You carded your fingers through his own on your arm and laid a kiss on the back of his hand.

A brow was raised at you. “He’s kind of small for a claymore. Think that’s gonna work with him.” From the slight kind she offered you in the beginning, your face dropped into a glared. Pel tightened his hold on your hand to ground you.

“My mate can handle himself well enough. Now, will you do it or not?” His voice hardened in the classic roughness of a Yautja. Gone was the easy, laid back Pel you knew.

Both of her hands raised, pencil and paper in the air now. “Now, reel back on the anger. I ain’t demeaning him or anything. I just stating a fact.” She huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her way. “Alright. A claymore and tiger claws for the human.” She writes this down on the paper.

The two of them got into a deep discussion on the specifics. Most of it went over your head as you glanced around the small lobby of the weaponsmiths. It was homey and quite nice if the owner was being such a dick to you. You couldn’t believe she would say such a think straight to your face in front of your mate. Yet, she has the balls to do so.

When all was said and done, the two of you left the little shop and returned back to the safety of your ship. Once the ramp clicked its lock into place and stopped then crossed your arms. “Well, she was quite rude!” you steamed with a huff.

Your mate stopped and his shoulders sagged, your name falling from his mandibles. “She’s… I knew her father when we were both young. I was there the day she was born, by accident. She’s been around Yautjas her whole life.” He about faced and strolled up to you. His hands cupped your jaw. “Many of my species are rougher than I am. Meaner. Ruder. They take what they want, demanding it. I am considered soft, gullible.”

His words soothed you. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes. “For now, focus on getting stronger, faster. Then, you’ll be ready for your weapons. To go out hunting at my side once more. We’ll be an unstoppable force. No one would dare with us,” he proclaimed and pressed his mandibles to your cheek in a mock kiss.

“I will, love.” Your eyes slid open. His orbs filled with the love the two of you held for one another. “I’ll be beat you in a sparring match when I do,” you snarked off with a grin plastering to your features.

Pel barks a laugh. Not to demean you but at your attitude he loves. “Oh, I can’t wait for the way, my mate.”

[adobe-outdesign]

Could you review the shiny forms of regirock/ice/steel? The change from 2D to 3D did regice so dirty

Regirock: Regirock's shiny is pretty good! Swapping out the light gray for a sandstone-esq brown looks good as it compliments the warm tones of the orange accents and yellow eyes, and it makes sense thematically. I wouldn't have minded them tweaking the other colors a bit more just to go the extra mile, but eh, no big deal seeing as the rest of it's plenty distinct and the whole palette still works together.

Regice: An unfortunate victim of sprite colors shifting; originally, regular Regice was a very dull slate blue, almost gray, and the shiny was bright cyan blue.

Come BW's sprites, and they changed the regular sprite to be more accurate... without changing the shiny to actually retain some contrast compared to the original (this happened a lot—Gengar is another example). Then 3D models came along and now "shiny" Regice is near-indistinguishable from regular Regice.

The obvious solution would be to flip the shinies again—make shiny Regice the same color as the OG Regice sprite. You could also make it an icy white or just... you know, literally anything other than this.

Registeel: Shiny Registeel is at least easy to distinguish from the original, with a light minty-ish aqua color in place of the regular gray. I don't hate it, but I don't really love it, either—I feel like the mint doesn't really go with the red that well, and too much attention is being brought to the outside, flipping the original focus (with all of the attention being brought to the inside due to the darker gray). Also, I don't think the mint works very well thematically; it doesn't read as metal or steel so much as like, 1970s plastic.

I think a better choice would've been to pick out a more metallic color—gold, copper, etc. That would've made a bit more sense thematically and might have helped the balancing issues as well. Still, this one isn't awful—you can at least tell it's shiny, which is more than I can say for poor Regice up there.

Overall: Regirock's shiny is really good. Registeel's is okay but doesn't make a whole lot of sense for the 'mon, and Regice is a straight-up travesty.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Three - The Final Frontier

Part Two

———

People or more specifically organics were not in mind when space bridge technology was originally designed on Cybertron at the beginning of the Golden Age. It would have its tweaks done by other societies later, but most of the bridges opened by Cybertronian’s were not made for organics to go through safely. Groups that stole cybertronian technology didn’t realize that for a rather long time and some still don’t, at least according to the reports. Some simply just don’t care, so long as they are in a certified space craft than that’s safe enough to get through the bridge without much hassle.

Opening bridges in the most random parts of space had become a custom of different species, sometimes to dump things they no longer desired or to hide things from authorities, it was the easy way the intergalactic underworld operated since they left limited traces throughout the vast universe. No one was hurting anyone, most people didn’t go to the Orion Sector, there wasn’t much there other than a handful os uninhabitable planets for the most part. Or unintelligent life forms that still needed to evolve, the perfect place to dump space junk or hide your treasures. If stuff came back through the bridge, it wasn’t their responsibility.

—

Each space shuttle was named after something iconic, usually a ship or command module from the Apollo era. The shuttle carrying the Mech suits was specially crafted for this purpose by Mecha, with assistance from NASA, the Odyssey was titled after the Apollo 13 command module that never reached the lunar surface. It defied the odds assigned to it. The pilots weren’t sure if it was meant to be hopeful or show their fate, but it was titled that non-the-less. The Arcturus missions were projected to use three shuttles and two rockets, the second shuttle was already under construction even before the Odyssey had been moved out of Palmdale. The Iliad and the third thought to be called The Aeneid, but the jury was still out. Supposedly the boss had fallen in love with the thought of the trilogy, even if it abandoned previous precedent, he would leave it up to NASA to cover the change. Usually, space shuttles were built with the capability to return to Earth, landing on a typical runway of sorts from orbit, though Mecha doubted that these three shuttles would be returning anytime soon.

Thirteen days, twenty two hours, and thirty six minutes had passed since they left Earth. It certainly already felt like longer, well over a million miles from home, and their differences shining almost brighter than the sun. The locks to their suits were still currently active, as it was trying to conserve energy for the shuttle as they hurdled through space. So, the pilots were confined to the main bay and cockpit, unable to access their usual and more comfortable spaces. Footage had been sent back to Earth multiple times, but at the moment the cameras were not rolling and Hound was thankful for that, as the twins were acting up, starting to go a little stir crazy in the confined space. They were all back in the main bay, enjoying the artificial gravity, though that meant that the twins could be at each other’s throats with equal footing.

“Nothing is happening and nothing has been happening for almost two weeks, so please, for all our sanity turn off your ‘kicking-butt’ playlist!” Sunstreaker was practically shrieking, pulling at his hair, which Hound thought would be incredibly painful, “I don’t have much other music bro, so just chill. If you and the old men didn’t have such shitty taste, I wouldn’t play just this when it’s my turn to play music.” Sideswipe shoved his brother while gesturing to the MP3 player in his hand, “They are children.” Breakdown had his face leaning against his fist, clearly bored himself as he played solitaire. Nodding slightly, Hound moves over to the airlock back into the cockpit, really not interested in whatever argument they were about to get into; “Just pick something else to listen to! For all our sanity!” They continued to argue while Sideswipe turned the music louder. Hound shutting the door behind himself for a blissful moment of quiet before going through the routine of adjusting to non-gravity, entering the cockpit.

He knew they’d be arriving at Jazz’s last coordinates soon, he for one figured the guy had crashed into some space debris so there wouldn’t be much there, but it was something to report at least. That there was nothing there. Moving up to his seat, he straps in loosely, checking through the system for any messages from Earth, at their ever expanding delay. Sighing slowly, he sits back the best he can and stares into the emptiness; there really wasn’t any way to prepare someone for how much nothing there was out here. The dash lights up briefly, so he presses the receiving button, “This is the front.” Hound sounded tired, which in all honesty, he was. It was hard to sleep the last two weeks, just anticipating today, “Uh, Hound, the airlocks to our suits have deactivated. This part of the plan?” Breakdown sounded outright anxious and the twins were yelling obnoxiously in the background, “Um, yeah, I think so. We were supposed to gain access to them once we got to Jazz’s last coordinates, just in case any kind of recovery could be made.” Even though it had now been years since his disappearance, “Are you sure?” There was something else in his tone other than an anxious tilt, it was more than anxiety and bleeding into worry; “Yeah, but you should all come up here and get strapped in, I don’t want us to get thrown about in whatever Jazz crashed into.” Hound turns off the connection and sighs, checking his watch, Thirteen days, twenty three hours, and five minutes since they left Earth.

Slowly, the others made their way back into the main capsule. Though the twins had both gone through the tubes to their mechs, only to discover they hadn’t gained full access yet. They were still bickering of course, but it had quieted down when Breakdown pulled communications back up with Earth. It was hard, to sit in the dark and quiet space, just waiting to see if there was anything out here of their fallen friend. For the moment, with the movement of everything in the last five years, there was nothing in site other than distant Mars. They all fell silent as the minutes ticked by to the two week mark, to the very moment that Jazz had gone missing. Five years to the moment, Hound cues up the microphone, “Command there is nothing out here for the moment, next report, five minutes.” Sunstreaker sighs slowly, loosening his hold on his seat, “I didn’t know what to expect.” Nodding, Sideswipe clears his throat, “Maybe some aliens but not nothing.” They fell quiet as the seconds ticked by, before the very moment Jazz officially went off radar hit. Breakdown gulp, Hound swore quiet, Sunstreaker held his breath, and Sideswipe clutched at a chain around his neck.

—

They all stared at nothing.

Five minutes till next report, in five minutes they’d send another report to Earth that would have a twenty minute turn around. Their current report hadn’t even reached Mecha command, let alone NASA. They were entirely alone out here so if anything did go wrong, it was just them and their locked mechs.

The locks disengaged distantly as a precaution set on a fixed timer.

Five minutes could feel like forever while they waited, it was the anticipation of it all, right?

—

Every instrument in the shuttle flashed bright as they hit, something. The front window lighting up a bright, green? Before they were re-introduced to a dense gravity, slamming into the base of their seats; “Everyone to your suits, now!” Hound was tearing off his seatbelt and getting to his feet as quickly as he could. Stumbling over the shift in gravitational pull. Breakdown was trying to get the shuttle operational system back online. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stumble out of their seats and throw themselves at the airlock, tugging on it the best they can.

“It’s stuck!” Sideswipe tugs at the emergency handle, Sunstreaker joining in to try to get it open. “Move!” Hound grabs the emergency handle and pulls as hard as he can, getting it to move just enough for them to slip through. Sideswipe was the first one through the door, pulling Hound through next and taking off towards the suits.

The entire shuttle shock violently, the metal heating up rapidly, wherever they were, it seemed they were entering an atmosphere. Sunstreaker fell across the cargo bay hold, sliding towards his suit’s tunnel, “Shit!” He crashed into one of the tables as the whole shuttle tilted.

Hound was the first through his tunnel and into his now unlocked mech, climbing into the piloting chamber while pulling off the top half of his spacesuit. Assisting suit folded in the command chair, system still shut down, he pulls himself into the command seat, “Come on, we’ve gotta survive whatever this is, yeah?” He pulls the visor on first and boots up the suit.

Comms were one of the first things to come online, Sideswipe coming online at the same time as Breakdown was reporting from the shuttle. Everything was heating up as they were dragged towards the surface of somewhere.

“How the hell did we go from being in the middle of no where to being dragged to the surface of a planetoid?” Sunstreaker shrieks as he too comes online, “I have no idea but get ready to brace for impact, alright? We don’t know where we are or how we got here, but we’ve got to focus on landing safely. One of you is going to deploy with me and the other is going to help Breakdown land the shuttle.” Hound was quick to finish his set up in the suit and disconnect from the shuttle, shifting into awareness like the suit was a second skin.

“I call it!” Sunstreaker was quick to deploy too, still setting up his suit though, “Jerk! Alright Breakdown, I’m with you.” His own mech shifting about to help guide the shuttle into not only a more gentle landing but to protect Breakdown’s own suit. If they lost a suit out here they would never stand a chance against the alien’s if there were more than what attacked in the battle of the Atlantic. If they really were going to get to the place where they were originating from, they’d need all four suits operating at their peak capacity.

Hound and Sunstreaker were in a free fall, integrating completely with the system, adjusting their assistance suits on or over their space suits quickly while adjusting the systems to the shift in gravity.

When you were in a suit, it wasn’t like you were actually in a suit, it was as if you became a bigger metal version of yourself. Every pilot would talk about feeling the most themselves when in their suit, feeling at home, but being at home wasn’t quiet the right description, it was like feeling at home in your own skin for the first time. Added joints or an advanced vision, none of that took away from the feeling of being a bigger version of yourself. It was natural, it was just who you were once you were found compatible with the technology.

It was hot, the decent towards the surface. They were all hurdling towards the planet with no idea of where they were, how they got there, or how they’d get back to their planned mission route.

———

A/N:

Again, lol. Alright! Part three done, part four anyone? It’s funny cause I started to write this with of course keferon’s inspo for the Mecha AU, but my sister and I talk about their art and AU’s all the time. So this was at first me writing down our ideas and I’ve just… expanded.

I desperately wanted to include my OC originally, but decided against it cause ew. If they pop up it will be like, a bit piece for myself, but I’m still undecided yet.

Thank you for reading it and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Also tagging those who re-blogged it so they can find the next part.

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixill-jesters-reblogs @pixillandjester

Also would love @keferon to see it but who knows, I know everyone be blowing up their blog with their amazing writing and art too.

[familyvideostevie]

october tenth

day ten: sirius black you and sirius try to watch a scary movie | 18+, mdni, fem!reader, unprotected sex | 1.3k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, fingering/hand job, mutual masturbation, p in v sex, riding, creampie

It's the boogeyman! The boogeyman's outside!

“Why does no one believe little kids in these movies?” you mutter. “Kids always know what’s going on.”

Sirius laughs. You glare at him. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes,” he says. “Are you going to hide in my shoulder the whole time? Or actually watch the movie?”

You smack his chest. “It’s scary, okay?”

“We don’t have to watch it —”

“Yes, we do.” He shifts, sinking deeper into the couch and pulling you with him. Your head is on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his bicep. He’s got his hair loose, black curls a riot.

“Well, you’re not even really watching, love.”

You tweak his nose ring. “I’m listening.”

Someone on the TV screams and you flinch. Sirius actually looks concerned for a second. “We really don’t —”

“I have to prove to James that I can watch the whole thing and you can back me up.” Your boyfriend’s silly mate — yours too, really — bet that you couldn’t last through a horror film. So what if you’re jumpy? So what if you spend the entirety of October avoiding scary things?

“Whatever you say.” Sirius reaches for your legs and pulls them so they’re draped over one of his thighs, turning your entire body a little bit. His hand strokes up and down your side, his normally ringed fingers catching the edge of your top a little each time. He slows when he feels bare skin and you shiver.

Considering it’s a night in watching a movie, you’re in ratty old sleep shorts and a shrunken tank top and no bra. In short, you have a lot of skin on display and Sirius knows it.

“You okay?” he asks. You know that tone. Sirius could smell an opportunity to be cheeky from a mile away and you can tell he’s latched onto whatever this is. You ignore him. In retaliation, he slides his hand fully under your top and palms your stomach, trailing his fingers up and down your soft body and grazing the bottom of your breast.

“Now who’s not watching the movie?” Your question comes out more breathless than you’d hoped.

“Hmm,” he says. “No idea what you’re talking about.” Sure enough, he’s fully facing the screen still, the edge of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. Two can play at that game. You shift in his lap enough that you can press against him more fully and…there. You can feel him half-hard through his sweatpants. He hisses.

“Oh?” You reach for his waistband and he catches your wrist in a loose grip. “Interesting,” you coo. “You know, I’m pretty sure the couples having sex in these movies always die.”

“You’re never watched one of these in your life,” he says. “So, hush.” Sirius fully gropes you under your top, thumb rubbing back and forth over your nipple before pinching it.

“Hey,” you say, intending it to be stern, but it comes out more of a moan.

Sirius makes a noise low in his throat and then he’s changing your position, shifting you back against the couch so you’re more next to each other, one of your legs slung over his thigh, knees far apart.

“Hey, what are you doing —”

He licks his fingers and then, without warning, slides his palm down your shorts and plunges his fingers into your cunt.

“Hey yourself,” he says.

“Sirius!” You squirm.

“Blimey,” he rasps. “You’re soaking. Is me copping a feel really all it takes?”

Two can play at this game. You know your boyfriend well, know that while he can dish it he certainly can take it, too. You shift closer to him as circles your clit slowly. A hiss makes its way past your lips but you manage to tug down his sweatpants and free his cock. He’s fully hard now, bouncing a little, pink and leaking.

“Speak for yourself,” you tell him. The movie is still playing but you can’t tear your eyes from Sirius. You stroke him once, root to tip, and he chews on his lip, head tipped back. A vein in his neck pulses.

“Spit, love,” he says. You spit in your palm and start again. He continues to finger you as you jerk him slowly, almost sweetly. You give his balls a good fondle, which you know makes him crazy, and he slides two fingers into you in retaliation.

“Fuck,” you both groan at the same time. You’d laugh if you had breath to spare.

Sirius’s hand free hand gently grabs your chin and makes sure your eyes are on him. “You look gorgeous like this,” he says. “My fingers inside you, my cock in your hand. Can I fuck you? Please?”

A please from Sirius is like fire in your bloodstream. You nod, dazed at first and then frantic. He pulls his hand from you and you stand on shaky legs to shove down your shorts and underwear and leave them on the floor. He shimmies out of his sweatpants and scoots to the edge of the couch.

Someone screams on the TV again but you barely hear it. Your blood is pounding in your ears and you need him.

You straddle him, balancing on your knees on either side of his thighs. Your hands on his shoulders steady you along with his hand on your hip.

His cock is hard and hot pressed against your cunt. “Ready?” he asks.

“Please.”

Sirius lines himself up and you sink down as he angles up. You take him slowly, inch by inch, until he bottoms out as much as he can in this position.

“Fuck,” he pants. “Just like that.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet, Sirius,” you say, breathless.

He laughs and his hips jerk up. “Says you. You have no idea how good your cunt feels.”

You take that as your cue to move. Sirius is average in length but he’s thick. Usually he’d have fingered you for a little longer but you’re so wet that you adjust to the stretch quickly. He moves with you, matching your movements with thrusts of his own. You’re barely rising off him, really, but this way he hits that spot inside you that makes you arch your back.

“That feel good?” he babbles. “Like my cock inside you, baby? You take it so good, letting it fill you —”

The violence on the TV gets worse, based on the screaming. The room is bathed in the light of whatever is happening on the screen and the sounds of your fucking are louder. Your tandem moans and the smack of your flesh and the wanton sound of your own slick.

Sirius tugs your top down and latches onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it. You wind one hand into his hair and tug. His hips snap up so hard you almost topple off of him but somehow manage to keep your seat.

“Sirius—”

“Soon,” he pants, replacing his tongue with his fingers and pinching. “I’m gonna—”

“— me too,” you say. “Me, too, I—”

He releases your nipple and circles your clit roughly. “Inside?” You pull him close and nod. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yes, inside, please —”

Sirius grabs your hips and fucks you fast and erratic. You almost scream because he keeps hitting that spot and babbling nonsense that makes the hook in your belly draw tighter and tighter.

“Gonna let me come inside you? You let me fuck you so good, gonna lick that cunt later, clean you up —”

You clench and clench and clench and then it happens on its own, your orgasm rushing over you like a wave, like a rubber band that’s snapped.

Sirius’s hips stutter and his words turn to grunts and then he’s spurting inside you. You come back to yourself as he finishes, boneless and sweaty, hanging onto him for dear life. He strokes your back and noses at your clavicle.

“I think we’re going to have to watch the movie again,” he says.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[sunstone-smiles]

A Squeak or a Startled Exclamation?

Original Request: "Hey so for Day 20, can we get Phoenix (and maybe a few others?) teasing Edgeworth into a flustered mess since you can never have enough Lee Edgeworth? Thanks."

Author’s note: Oops! Sorry this is two days late, but here it is as promised! Here’s Day 20 of Tickletober: “Tease,” “Weakness,” and “Posing” from August’s Tickletober List, Crow’s Tickletober List, and Nim’s Tickletober List. I hope you enjoy!

Series: Ace Attorney

Characters: Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Maya Fey, Detective Gumshoe 

Word count: 1,288

Summary: Edgeworth refuses to admit that he made any noise similar to a squeak after Phoenix accidentally startled him, but Phoenix starts to tease him to admit it once he remembers Edgeworth’s little “weakness” that caused him in part to squeak.

---

“I did not squeak. You’re hearing things,” Edgeworth’s arms are crossed and his head is turned away from Phoenix.

“Uh, no. That was definitely a squeak, Edgeworth,” Phoenix counters. “It sounded just like a mouse.”

“Maybe a mouse getting stepped on,” Maya snickers.

Edgeworth whips around to face them, “Well, what do you expect me to sound like when you surprise me like that?!”

“It’s okay, Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe chimes in. “If it makes you feel any better, it didn’t sound like a mouse, it sounded more like a creaky faucet handle!”

Edgeworth face palms. “So reassuring, Detective...”

This whole conversation started because Phoenix and Edgeworth were arguing over how to do a proper Steel Samurai pose. Phoenix had done the iconic pose with his form bent forward and an arm poised like he was holding weaponry at his side, but Edgeworth corrected him. The prosecutor got up and showed the “proper” way to do the pose (basically doing the same thing that Phoenix did). Phoenix shook his head and went over to Edgeworth to begin posing him like a plastic doll. In the process, however, Phoenix grabbed Edgeworth’s sides in order to turn him in the right direction, but Edgeworth suddenly leaped from the lawyer’s grasp with—what everyone but Edgeworth is defining as—a squeak. 

“Okay, so if it wasn’t a squeak, what do you call it?” the lawyer asks.

“A startled exclamation that was higher pitched than average,” Edgeworth makes his alleged squeak sound more refined.

“Hmm, that is a good way to describe it,” Maya says.

Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Edgeworth, all I did was touch your sides–” Phoenix suddenly stops himself. A realization hits him. “Ooh, I get it now,” a smirk grows on Phoenix’s face. “I forgot that Edgeworth has that little weakness.”  

“Wright,” Edgeworth says with a stern tone that translates to: don’t push it.

But Phoenix Wright being Phoenix Wright is absolutely going to push it.

Phoenix holds his hands behind his back and begins circling the prosecutor, like a supervillain about to monologue to all angles of a camera.

“I can’t believe it slipped my mind that the stern and sharp-witted Edgeworth can be thrown off by something so… childish,” Phoenix grins over Edgeworth’s shoulder before passing by him, but not without first giving Edgeworth’s side a quick squeeze. The prosecutor jolts and tightens his elbows down upon reflex, though still keeping his arms crossed.

“Wright,” Edgeworth glares at him, giving him a second warning. His eyes are locked on Phoenix as the lawyer walks back in front of him.

“Don’t you think it’s funny, Edgeworth? You can act all big and tough in the courtroom, but a quick tweak to your ribs, a squeeze to your side, or maybe a scribble into your stomach will send you crumbling to your knees,” Phoenix makes sure to enunciate and draw out the most flustering words of his sentence to effectively tease him, all while he says them with a smirk and wiggling fingers.

Edgeworth reflexively leans back a little, staring at Phoenix’s hand like a cautious cat. When Phoenix steps closer, Edgeworth takes a defensive step back.

“Wr-Wright,” Edgeworth stumbles over his words as he says the lawyer’s name for a third time. “D-Don’t–” 

But Phoenix leaps at Edgeworth and tackles him to the couch behind them. Edgeworth crashes onto the cushions and immediately wrestles away Phoenix’s hands that are trying to get a strike on him. He squirms back even further, his head eventually touching the arm of the couch, right before Phoenix slips a hand out of Edgeworth’s grip and plunges it towards his side. Edgeworth jolts with a yelp, and as much as he tries to restrain his laughter, snickers start leaking their way through his defenses and eventually turn into giggles. 

“Oooh, now I understand the big ‘weakness’ Mr. Wright was talking about,” Gumshoe says. “It’s how Mr. Edgeworth is really ticklish!”

“Thahahank you fohohohor stating the obvious, Dehehetective!” Edgeworth responds with some sass, but he yelps after his sentence when Phoenix moves a hand towards his belly, causing the prosecutor to curl forward a bit.

Gumshoe chuckles, finding amusement in the timing and in the rest of the scene. “Heh he, no problem, pal.”

Maya places her hands on her hips. “Nick! I’m ashamed of you!”

“Huh?” Phoenix briefly turns to her. “For what, Maya?”

She waltzes over towards the couch. “For not telling me you were going to tickle Mr. Edgeworth!” she smiles. “Let me help!” She quickly jumps in and adds her hands to the mix, which sends another ticklish jolt through Edgeworth when she gets one of his sides. “I want to hear his squeaky giggles!”

“I alreheheady told yohohou, I did nohohot squeak!” Edgeworth shouts through his laughter.

“Really? Are you sure, Edgeworth? Because I can replicate the sound right now for evidence,” Phoenix smiles. “It sounded like this,” he suddenly gives a squeeze to Edgeworth’s side, although this one with much more tickly intent than when he was posing him earlier. Edgeworth does indeed let out a squeak-like sound through his giggles.

“No no, Nick,” Maya says. “It sounded more like this,” she gives a scribble to his belly and a high-pitched giggle emerges.

“Hmm, that is pretty close,” Phoenix pretends to ponder. “But it had more of a shriek to it. Like this,” Phoenix tweaks Edgeworth’s ribs, causing another squeak from the man before his giggles rise even louder from Phoenix keeping his wiggling fingers at his ribs. 

Edgeworth tilts his head back and kicks his legs behind them. “Stohohohop that!” he shouts before he turns his head towards the cushions and puts a hand to his face to hide his flustered expression from their back and forth teasing.

“Detective Gumshoe, we need a second opinion,” Phoenix looks over to their friend. “What do you think sounds the most similar?”

Gumshoe puts a hand to his chin. “Hmm, try his ribs again?”

Phoenix gladly gives another tweak to the bottom of Edgeworth’s ribs, earning a mouse-like (or faucet handle-like) squeak from the prosecutor and his hands to shoot down in defense before the flood of his giggles continue.

“Yeah, that one,” Gumshoe smiles.

“Fihihine! Fihihihine! I squeaked!” Edgeworth finally breaks. “Are yohohohou happy nohohow?”

“Yes, very,” Phoenix smiles and pulls his hands away. Maya stops right after him. Edgeworth leans back on the couch, still with his arms to his sides as she catches his breath.

“Nice going, Nick! You got him to admit it!” Maya cheers.

“Eh, what can I say,” Phoenix shrugs, “I’m pretty skilled at getting people to admit things.”

“I’m proud of you for admitting it, Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe supports him. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”

“There’s everything to be embarrassed about,” Edgeworth grumbles and covers his face with both of his hands.

Phoenix taps the side of his hand to Edgeworth’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. Edgeworth. This isn’t a courtroom with a judge, and even then, the judge we know wouldn't judge you for this. This is a safe space.”

Edgeworth simply groans through his hands.

 “And if it makes you feel any better,” Phoenix continues, “a smile suits you better anyway.”

Edgeworth tilts his hands to peek through them, seeing Phoenix with a warm, compassionate smile on his face.

Edgeworth sighs and moves his hands from his head. It’s hard to stay mad at the lawyer when he can tell he’s speaking truthfully.  

“Don’t think this is going to make me forget about our Steel Samurai debate, Wright,” Edgeworth mentions, in his same serious tone as always, though with a soft smile on his lips.

Phoenix chuckles, pleased that the prosecutor is back to his usual self. “Heh. Wouldn’t dream of it, Edgeworth.”

[sparxwrites]

You try. Dear god do you try. You build him a house, make him a home, carry a sword but also a shield. Give your life– your lives. Stay loyal. In the end, the two of you, circle of cactus, body on the floor and spreading blood and setting sun.

Take two. Tweak the parameters

Separated, this time, and you try, you try, you fucking try. Mumbo and Martyn and Jimmy and the stupid fucking spyglasses, and him up on his mountain selling crystals again, and you’re separate. It’s fine. Then dead, and dead again, and dead until the red mist descends and you find yourself up on that mountain with hunger in your heart and a smile on your face. Death trap around his bed, his kiss on the corner of your mouth, yellow again and you  leave and he dies, you die, you both die. All of them die, in the end, but again he goes before you, alone and lost and afraid.

Again. Again. New parameters. Tweak the universe. 

You’re tied together. You love each other. You love each other, and you hate it, run from it, ignore it. You’re pulled back, forced back, bound. You resent it. You resent him. You resent yourself. You fight it, futile, like a child throwing a temper tantrum. In the end, again, the two of you – miles apart but dead together, you in the dark and cursing your stupidity, him under the sun and unaware til his heart stopped beating.

Keep trying. New parameters, new universe. New clothes. New you.

You do so well this time, so well, so well. Different friends, different house. Build a life without him, build a bridge in the sky– build a bridge in the sky, over to him, and again. Again, the mistakes. All these universes, all these parameters, and every time you end up back at him like compass to lodestone. You pull away. Back to your different friends, your different house. New bridge, higher, above him, away from him. And again, in the end, again, you, and him, and death. 

In every universe, through every change, whatever the parameters and the clothes and the you, still this: him, dead. And you, his blood on your hands.

[dykedvonte]

write post about the tulpar crew working at like waffle house also you opinion on what brand of soap they use

Soap first:

Anya washes with dove bar soap first, cucumber cool moisture. Uses one of the Neutrogena liquid soaps like the brown rain bath. Unscented lotions or balms and a very light perfume, thinking something vanilla like or a shea butter. Over the counter cheap perfume that’s a bit to alcoholish but it suits her in a clinical way.

Curly is like high maintenance shower guy. Started because an ex put him onto it and now it's a routine. Special face soap and exfoliating hand brush, bodywash that is way too expensive but he feels dirty without it. Has like a lot of serums and a body oil lotion combo that he has that makes him smell really nice. All of it is uncommon and you need to go to a specific place to get them. Not excessive but he starts tweaking if he runs out of one mid routine.

Daisuke is just as bad as Curly. His bathroom looks like a bath and bodyworks display front. Has a bath bomb for the day, uses a like honey dew mask and soaks. Long as showers and has a teeth cleaning kit. He stare at 9 and isn’t done until 11. Cherry Blossom lotion you can smell him a miles away before you see his ass.

Jimmy uses either unscented dial or Irish springs. Maybe even like the aqua bars from dollar tree. No towel or luffa or anything just rubs his on his hands then washes with the lather. None descript deodorant, mixes with his smell in a weird way. Is the type to do it all at once in the shower, teeth, hair, nails. It’s like all jacked in a way. Shaves his razor blade rarely but thinks his shave is clean always.

Swansea uses like man scents. Sandalwood and driftwood soaps standard rag. Likes to stand in the water, cold shower guy surprisingly, his wife hates it, she never wants to shower with him. No cologne and uses like Old spice because it reminds him of his youth in a nostalgic way. Smells like old man naturally so he just smells like a freshly reupholstered chair and sweat.

Waffle House time:

Anya is the hostess super good at her job but has issues because the waiter is shit and the kitchen is run worse than dashcon. Has ignored a family to rearrange one stack of menues and trips on the grease stains a lot.

Daisuke is the waiter and bus boy and tends to talk and forget about his tables. Once sat and ate off a customers plate with them, whether they enjoyed the company or not doesn’t matter this is a Waffle House

Curly is the manager and is usually dealing with complaints and files in the office. Has had to facilitate more fights after Jimmy was hired but business has improved subsequently…

You’ll see him crying in a booth but he’s real good at acting normal for the customer. Sits with costumers to and it’s awkward cause he’s way too nice to be there.

Jimmy’s the supervisor and cook. He makes the shittiest food that only tastes good if ur coming in shitfaced at like 2 am. Hears a complaint and comes out grease pan in hand ready to “take criticism”

Swansea works there but what he does is between him and god. Sits in a booth playing solitaire and if you come and ask him for anything he mentions how I he did his time for this shift and he’s on an extended break. Treats the fights like a show and dinner.

They stay open even if they actually reach Waffle House’s huricxan threshold

If Curly or Swansea come in to break up a fight everyone scatters like rats

They all chain smoke and hide it from each other. Only Curly really cares because someone (Jimmy) is smoking in the kitchen. Yes he’s blowing it onto the food.

The crash was Jimmy putting ice in the air fryer and it did hurt Curly but like he’s regularly fine they just put him in the office cause there’s still the hurricane outside

I feel like they are in like West Virginia idk just seems isolated enough. I like the idea this could only happen if they are all southern

The restaurant is infested with many things but the health inspectors can’t rip the B rating off so they just say fuck it

Combined with the soap I think the safest thing to eat at the Waffle House is like ice from the bin but by the time it gets to ur table it likely has like mold spores on it.

[pedge-stuff]

thermos (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:

summary: sometimes, love boils on the stove. (set 2021.)

————————————————————————

It had been a long fucking day.  Delayed table read, late picks, emergency rewrites—  the perfect storm at SNL.  

The steady pressure in your temples had gradually increased throughout the day, despite the Excedrine you'd taken early on. This had morphed into an ache at the back of your throat, because of course it had— bad things always came in waves. 

Halfway through the last-minute pitch meeting post-rehearsal, you'd missed a call from Pedro. The same time he called every day,  usually timed well with your walk home from midtown. Sending him to voicemail was out of character. 

Sorry, you'd texted. Rehearsal tonight. Lightly sautéed, gonna crash after work, talk tomorrow? Love  you very much x 

He'd shot back a " :( " and then had been typing for several minutes, the little bubbles appearing over and over. OK, he finally said. Love you too. 

It tweaked your heart, a bit. The two thousand miles between your phones was hard to stomach, sometimes. Alberta felt, for reasons unknown, so infinitely farther than LA, though the mileage was comparable. You picture him, alone in his trailer, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls his phone, waiting for wrap to leave and tuck his old bones into bed.

Ultimately, you are a little too tired, and achy, and frustrated with work, and maybe a little cranky, to dwell on the finality of his "OK."  There's nothing he can do for you, from Alberta; it's not worth worrying him. 

You drag yourself home, resigned to making a weak cup of tea and curling up with the dogs. (Home is your studio apartment, while he's gone, though he maintains a steady campaign for you to just move into his. You haven't yet been able to articulate how fucking lonely his Brooklyn townhouse is without him.) Politely squeeze past the elderly couple who have pushed their sidewalk table all the way in front of the door to your building. Check the mail, of which there is none. Climb the stairs, a slow shuffle, fumbling with your stupid keys, music still playing at street volume in your headphones, eyes burning, lock turning— 

Fuck, fuck. 

Pedro turns the stove off, offers you a shy smile. Your bag drops to the floor. Something inside you snaps, pulls loose. You burst into tears. 

"Oh," he says, and you forcefully close the distance, wrapping your arms around him as you try and stifle quiet sobs. Wonder, for a moment, what the fuck is happening. "Surprise?" 

You laugh, weakly. Run a hand down your face. "Sorry, sorry." 

He pushes you back, apprising you with a gentle and skeptical look. Holds your face in his hands and thumbs away the fresh tears. Frowns. Presses his palm to your forehead. "You didn't tell me you were sick."

Leaning into his hand, you shake your head. "Not sick. Just tired." You pull back. "I can't believe you're here. Jesus. How long are you here for?" 

His attention is drawn back to the stove, beside which he has set your green travel mug. He smiles sheepishly. "Was trackin' ya on Find My." The kettle spits a small whistle as he pours the water. Your heart clenches; this stupidly thoughtful man. 

"I can rally," you offer, even as he ushers you into the bedroom. There is a suddenly conspicuous absence of dogs. 

"They're in Brooklyn. Figured you'd wanna get some shit here, and then we Uber that way?"

"You really thought this through, huh?" There are clothes and toiletries at his place ("our place," he calls it, though the studio is decidedly "your place."), but you pack a few things, just in case. 

It's not a secret that he doesn't love your apartment— it's a little cramped, for two men and two dogs. Plus, his apartment is more of a full condo. And the bathroom's nicer.

He watches you pack, perched on the edge of the bed. It's hard to focus on anything other than studying the soft lines of his travel-weary face. The rise and fall of his chest. Bits and pieces of him that the front-facing iPhone camera cannot pick up over FaceTime. 

— 

In the back of the Uber, mindful of the rearview mirror, you have his left hand trapped between both of yours. The skin of his palm has toughened, calloused slightly from whatever they have him doing in the woods of Canada. It still feels the same as you press your lips to the center. 

"I'm still a little confused," you whisper, "but I'm so happy you're here." 

His steals his hand back, to card it through your hair. "Me too. Was going crazy, trying to keep it a secret. We've got the long weekend off for Veteran's day, so I thought..." 

"Mm. Do you have an agenda this weekend?" 

The Uber makes its final turn. "Yeah. I would like to sleep for one million years, in a bed, with you. And probably see Oscar and Elvira, at some point. Also maybe order Empanada Mama. I ate a Canadian empanada last week that legitimately made me sad." 

You hold onto his hand as you exit the car, cross the street, key in. The tea put you at ease, but with the shock of the surprise wearing off, the weight of the day resettles as an ache across your shoulders. 

The dogs bound down the hallway as you key in. Pedro's suitcase has not made it much farther than the front door, though it has been cracked open and partially rummaged. "I was in a rush," he said sheepishly.

"Mm. You showerin’?” 

“Probably should. We heading up?” 

You nod, kneeling to re-zip his bag; the duties of young knees. (The age gap is disregarded, unless he plays the old card to his advantage.) Edgar pounces on you while you’re accessibly low. Ten different questions die in the back of your throat. Every step between you and the king sized bed on the third floor feels impossible. 

— 

He smells clean, as he wraps his arms around you, skin still damp and warm from the obscenely hot showers he prefers. You have a long day of rehearsal ahead of you tomorrow, then an even longer show day— but none of that matters now.

"Thank you for coming." You mumble, sleepily, into the worn fabric on his shoulder. Fingers card through your hair, brush gently over your temple. You've got a hand beneath his t-shirt, splayed across the base of his ribs.

Pedro makes an indignant noise, low, from his chest. "Not a place on Earth I'd rather be."

[crispyjenkins]

FINALLY got you on my dash again, only to discover you've written an AC fic that you are giving us dribs and drabs of, heathen *shakes prison cell bars* please tell me more about "Miles" before I combust

HI UR MY NEW FAVORITE (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

  “Your name is not Miles.”

  Desmond tenses for a barely a moment before relaxing again, and doesn’t bother to look up from the hidden blade he’s tweaking to have a faster release. Even if he didn’t recognise the voice, the dark blur leaning against the doorjamb out of the corner of his eye would tell Desmond sure as anything who had come to haunt the armoury at his side. “Of course it isn’t,” Desmond eventually mutters to Francesco Vecellio, the only one of Ezio’s brotherhood to wear dark gray instead of white.

  Francesco snorts, eyeing Desmond from under the beak of his hood, Desmond’s own pushed down around his shoulders to better see by lantern-light. “You should have thought to pick a more common name if you did not want others to question it.”

  “ ’Should have thought to pick anything before I showed up.” He grinds his chisel a little deeper into the metal casing of his blade, and then nearly cuts himself slipping on it when Francesco gives a startled laugh.

  “You didn’t have one prepared?”

  Desmond blinks up at Ezio’s highest-ranked protégé, not sure if he should feel embarrassed or not. “I, uh. Didn’t think that far ahead?”

  And for someone who had managed nine years evading Templars and Assassins both, you’d think he’d have known better.

  The look Francesco gives him tells Desmond he feels the same. “You’re smarter than that, fratellino.”

  Desmond scowls. “Well, obviously I’m not.”

  “... You snuck into the main headquarters of the Italian Brotherhood in less than an hour and then fooled us all into thinking you were supposed to be here for nearly a week — Machiavelli isn’t sure even our Padrone could have managed that.”

  Swallowing uncomfortably, Desmond scoffs and tries to return to his hidden blade, but that still leaves his entire profile in view of Francesco’s far-too-discerning gaze. And he’s the only one other than Desmond to have been training for this since childhood: his observation skills are beaten only by Ezio, and even that is mostly thanks to his Eagle Vision.

  Actually, Francesco is a born Assassin, too, does he have EV?

  “Miles–”

  “Do you have the Sight?”

  They blink at each other, and Desmond isn’t sure who is more surprised by the interruption. Snarky he may be, Desmond has also had politeness beaten into him, and deference besides, and everyone in the Brotherhood had clocked it.

  “To an extent,” Francesco eventually admits, sounding puzzled, “Nothing so refined as il Padrone’s.” He looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is... finicky, I can only use it while motionless, and it really only tells me if someone means me harm.”

  Desmond bites back the offer to help train his EV into something far more useful — it would never reach the level of Altaïr’s, or Ezio’s, or Ratonhnhaké:ton’s, because that had more than a little to do with Isu fuckery. However, the Levantine Assassins (at least until Altaïr’s death, though it was Al Mualim who started the practice) were able to train most initiates to have at least some grasp of the technique, as long as they had that genetics-dictated spark to start with. Desmond was lucky enough for his time in the Animus to awaken his own Vision, and living as Ezio slowly mastering it into Eagle Sense had improved it in leaps and bounds for Desmond on the outside, and prepared him for experiencing Ratonhnhaké:ton’s advanced form of it. Though that, and Eagle Sense, never actually awakened in Desmond Miles.

  But “Miles” hasn’t told this Brotherhood that he has Altaïr’s Sight, Ezio’s Gift, partly because Desmond forgot they didn’t know, but now it’s also an active decision, because it would without a doubt make them insist he’s Ezio’s son with even more conviction. And until Desmond has figured out what he’s going to tell Ezio about the whole time-travel–thing, he isn’t going to confirm or deny anything the other members cook up.

  Except Desmond watches Francesco tilt his head, and then his eyes burn golden for just a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  He’s smart enough to guess, but he’s also smart enough not to assume, and patiently waits for Desmond’s response.

  Ahh, fuck it, he’s already screwed up this whole identity thing by talking with Claudia (not that he meant to reveal so much to her but, well, she’s Ezio’s baby sister. And [redacted]. Fuck, time travel is so weird).

  He looks up from his carving again to flash his eyes right back, and is more than gratified to see Francesco glow a steady, deep blue. He tends to avoid looking at the Brotherhood with his EV, he’s too much of a coward to confirm just what they actually think of him, and he’s only looked at Ezio once, before they properly met.

  Francesco smiles in the shadow of his hood, seemingly pleased with Desmond trusting him with such a secret. “Does il Padrone know?” he asks without judgement, and Desmond winces as he looks back down at his tinkering.

  “No, I... I became so used to it that I didn’t think to mention it, and then it had been so long that it was... awkward?” He chuckles nervously at admitting such a weakness, especially when he’s pretty sure this is the longest conversation he’s had with Ezio’s star pupil. He has double blades, for Christ’s sake, despite not being a Master Assassin.

  Oh. Is Desmond jealous of Francesco? Hm, something to think about.

  “And then you did not want the others gossiping,” Francesco agrees, nodding like that is the obvious conclusion. Desmond still doesn’t relax, but he’s glad he didn’t have to spell that out for him.

  Desmond scratches the bridge of his nose awkwardly. “I’m not Master Ezio’s son, but I don’t think any of our siblings would believe me if I tried to tell them that.” And hadn’t finding out his real parentage been an absolute trip; he’s still scarred mentally and physically from it. Which reminds him, he should respond to his mother’s last letter before she begins to worry about him taking too long.

  Having a mother to care about him is... still an experience he’s getting used to. It’s only been, what, two years since he found her again?

  She had glowed a blue so dark it was almost black, a colour Desmond hadn’t seen even once in either of his lives, or the lives he’d lived in the Animus. He knows she kisses her letters before sending them from the indigo left behind like lipstick.

  ... Which is also how Desmond found out he had progressed from Eagle Vision to Eagle Sense, which was also the point he realised he hadn’t told Ezio about his EV in the first place.

  “I believe you.”

  It’s said so simply, Francesco even gives a little shrug, but Desmond whips his head back around and is... absolutely floored. As dehumanised and used as he was in the 21st century, his little jaunt to the past has almost been worse, if he lets himself think about it too hard (and he never does). People don’t just... believe in Desmond.  Something must show on his face, because Francesco offers him a tight smile. Then, blessedly, he changes the subject and nods to Desmond’s hands, “What are you working on?”

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