#talking and motor skills and even things like. nodding or whatever. are all learned and formed in that foundational period

[doubletrucks]

does it make anyone else absolutely crazy insane that like. you and every single person you talk to or interact with in the world is a product of being cared for. regardless of what happened later someone had to feed you and hold you and keep you warm and safe for you to even be wherever you are. regardless of who it was... someone cared enough to come to you when you cried and to pick you up and talk to you and put you down to sleep safely as a baby.... we're all products of care!!! we don't get anywhere alone!!!!

[corroded-hellfire]

I don’t know if this would be of interest to you to write for the AYW universe, but I’m kinda curious about Eddie & Brittany in the early years. Like Eddie’s reaction to becoming a dad for the first time, poor sweet Eddie trying to make things work with Brittany (I’m a sucker for angst, what can I say 🤷‍♀️) just a little insight to how our favourite mechanic was in the beginning

I love the opportunity this gave me to think about Eddie's past, especially in relation to his relationship with Brittany. @munson-blurbs was kind enough to write this with me and she came up with the best possible title for this story: It's Brittany, (The) Bitch

Warnings: childbirth, pre-Reader, Brittany being Brittany

Words: 4.6k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie pulls his rusted van into the driveway of the small shoebox that currently serves as the Munson residence. He’s been working overtime to help save up for a bigger house, proving difficult with childcare expenses already beginning to pile up despite the fact that the baby won’t arrive for two more weeks. 

He takes a deep breath as he kills the engine, preparing himself for the daily crisis; sure enough, he hears Brittany yelling on the phone before he even sees her. It can only be one of a few people that she’s talking to, and he just hopes she’s at least sitting down in a chair and not pacing back and forth. 

Eddie lets out a sigh as he steps into the kitchen to find Brittany basically walking laps around the kitchen as far as the phone cord allows, one hand holding the receiver and the other on her 38 week baby bump. 

Careful not to interrupt her conversation—if one could even call it that—he clears his throat with a soft ahem. Brittany raises an eyebrow at him in question, to which he responds by nodding his head to the vacant kitchen chair closest to her. 

Brittany looks irritated, but takes the seat nonetheless. 

“I have told you,” she shouts into the phone as she lowers herself into the chair, “I don’t give a shit what you think Uncle Julian is entitled to, he’s not getting a goddamn dime of Dyeda Alex’s money.” 

Eddie long ago learned that it’s all around better for him to stay out of whatever drama Brittany’s family is currently brawling about—and there always is something. If there isn’t, they’ll create it, as evidenced by the Great Cheesecake Battle of 1990.  

Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Brittany’s head, and she gives him a small smile as he walks out of the cramped kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.  He cleans himself up from work, washing motor oil from his palms, and slips back into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Sometimes Brittany would make it, but Eddie’s been more and more insistent that she stay off her feet lately. Besides, Wednesday evenings mean that Wayne is coming for dinner; there’s something about providing a meal for the man who put his life on hold to raise him that warms Eddie’s heart.  He only wishes that his cooking skills improved with practice, but based on the food he makes never tasting any better, they’re not.

He’s in the middle of tediously peeling potatoes when Brittany pushes herself up out of the chair, waddling over in the direction of the phone base on the wall. “If you tell her that, I swear on all that is holy, I will end you.”

Eddie smiles to himself as he goes back to the potatoes. He very well knows his wife means what she says, and her threat should not be taken lightly.  

“Whatever. Bye.” Brittany slams the receiver down on the phone base and lets out an irritated groan.  

“So,” Eddie starts off smugly, “how’s the Sobachkin family doing?”

“They’re all assholes,” Brittany mumbles as she walks over to get a water bottle from the fridge, chugging it like she’d just run a marathon. 

Your sister is the biggest asshole of all, but you seem to love her, Eddie thinks as he washes off his hands, drying them on a nearby dishtowel. 

“How was work?” Brittany asks as she plops herself back in her chair, already relieved to be off of her feet again. 

“Okay,” Eddie says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Wish they’d fire Mark, though. He’s more trouble than he’s worth with all of us having to fix his mistakes every time.” Eddie glances over his shoulder and sees Brittany staring at her nails, tuning out his side of the conversation. He sighs and goes back to preparing dinner. His fault for thinking she might actually be listening to him, he thinks. “How’re you feeling?”

“Pregnant,” she says flatly, placing a hand on her stomach. “Remind me why I decided to have your kid again?”

Because you allegedly love me, he says to himself, biting back the retort to avoid her wrath. But he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking the same thing. 

After a dinner of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes (neither of which were burnt, to Eddie’s delight), Eddie and Wayne sit on the front porch in identical wicker chairs. It’s a warm summer night, the fireflies occasionally blinking in the dusk, crickets chirping their familiar mating calls. 

Brittany is inside resting; Eddie had asked if she wanted to come out with them, but she’d just wrinkled her nose and said it was too hot. 

Wayne watches his nephew’s leg bounce up and down and his grip tighten on his can of Budweiser. They remain in silence until the older man can’t ignore it any longer. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on before you crush that full can of beer you got in your hand?”

Embarrassment paints a blush on Eddie’s cheeks, unable to deny the surge of relief flooding his body that Wayne brought it up. “Just…anxious, I guess.”

“‘Bout what?” Wayne asks, taking a swig from his own can.

“Becoming a dad. I mean, I had you raising me, but before that…” he bites his lower lip as he searches for the right words. “I’m worried I’ll be more like my old man than like you.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Eddie, you were meant to be a dad. And that kid is gonna adore you.” He offers a small smile as he recalls, “You’ve always taken care of people. Even back in high school, you were always looking out for the younger kids in that fantasy game club you ran.”

Eddie chuckles, but everything Wayne says is true. If he saw someone looking lost and lonely, he brought them into the fold. Don’t know how to play D&D? We��ll teach you. Welcome to Hellfire. 

“I guess so. It’s different when it’s your own child, though.”

“I know you can handle it.” Wayne claps him on the back. “And I’m always here for ya. Whatever you need.”

Eddie smiles at him as Brittany comes outside, wearing the frown that seems to be permanently etched on her face. 

“Eddie.” Her tone is clipped and irritated, though Eddie can’t remember doing anything wrong. 

He quickly stands up, nearly spilling his drink. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

She rolls her eyes. “You left me inside by myself while you two bullshit out here.”

“Eddie just needed to talk to me,” Wayne tries explaining. “We were about to head back in.”

Brittany crosses her arms on top of her baby bump. “Forget it. Clearly, I’m not a priority for you.” She motions to Eddie. “I’m going to bed, and I want to lock up, so you can come in now or sleep outside tonight.”

Eddie bites back his anger. She’s having your baby; just be patient. “Yeah, let me just toss this…” He shakes the empty can. 

Brittany huffs, waddling back into the house without even saying goodbye to Wayne. 

Eddie stops and gives his uncle a long hug. “Next time I see you, I might be a dad,” he grins. “Scary to think about, isn’t it?”

Wayne chuckles. “Nah, kid; you’re gonna be great.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his words, before deciding to say what’s in his heart. “Listen, Ed; about—”

“Eddie! Let’s go!”

Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets. “I, uh, gotta get going. Thanks for coming over.”

Wayne slowly exhales as he watches his nephew shuffle into the house. “God, I hope he realizes he’s worth so much more than how she treats him.” He shakes his head and trudges to his car. 

The sound of crying jars Eddie out of a peaceful sleep. His first instinct is that he needs to go check on the baby, only…the baby hasn’t been born yet. The fogginess of sleep clears away just enough for Eddie to realize it’s not the sound of a baby crying, and it’s coming from right next to him. 

The moment he recognizes Brittany’s sobs (as he’s heard them many times over the course of this pregnancy), Eddie bolts up in bed and flicks his bedside lamp on. 

“Britt? Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice hoarse from disuse. 

Brittany’s shoulders shake as she cries into her hands, awkwardly—and probably uncomfortably—leaning back against her pillows. She tries to calm herself enough to speak, but she just keeps sputtering over her words. It makes Eddie even more nervous as he scoots closer to her and gently rubs his hand along her arm.

“T-The nursery isn’t done y-yet,” Brittany weeps before hiding her face back in her hands. She leans forward, bent in half as much as she can get with the swell of her belly so large.

The adrenaline coursing through Eddie’s body starts to calm down now that he realizes the life of his wife and child aren’t in danger. He yawns and reaches one hand over to rub soothing circles into the back of Brittany’s silky pajama top. Slowly, she pulls away from his touch and situates herself so she’s able to face him better. 

“It’s not done yet!” she repeats, as if he didn’t hear her the first time. A hint of anger has joined the despair in her voice, the amalgamation of hormones creating another perfect storm.

Eddie lets out a sigh and runs a hand over his face. “Britt, I—”

Brittany doesn’t let him finish; she throws the blankets off of herself and starts pacing back and forth in the space between their bed and the wall. It’s not a large area, so really, she mostly looks as if she’s waddling around in a circle. Under different circumstances, Eddie might laugh. 

“The baby could be here at any time and the nursery still isn’t finished!” A wail comes from Brittany’s lips and he knows that, as difficult as Brittany could be sometimes, this is fueled by hormones—not even she would be this worked up in her usual state. 

Quickly, Eddie jumps out of the bed and walks around to her. He places his hands on her shoulders and stands in front of her so she can’t continue her walking. When she doesn’t look at him, Eddie ducks his head until their gazes catch. 

“The walls are painted. The crib is put together. The shelves are up. Clothes are in the closet. All that’s left to do is put the last pieces of furniture together.” He tries to logic this out with her, hoping it’s the best course of action to get her to calm down. 

“The dresser, the changing table, the toy chest…” Brittany rattles off the list.

“Which all can be done after the baby is born if it needs to be,” Eddie assures her. He cups her cheeks in his hands and takes a deep breath, wanting her to copy his actions. 

Brittany begrudgingly takes a few deep breaths with Eddie, following his inhales and exhales until her system is a little calmer. 

“They should be done before the baby is here,” Brittany says, sounding only slightly less upset than a few moments ago. She rubs at her runny nose and Eddie wipes a few stray tears from her face. 

“We’ve got two weeks until your due date, hun. Don’t worry, it will get done.” Eddie truly believes this, but he knows his words probably don’t sound the most convincing since he was just jolted out of sleep. 

Brittany nods but the emptiness in her expression leaves Eddie unsure if she actually heard his words or not. He’s too tired to question her on it though, so he gently leads her back to bed and helps her get situated. Or at least, as best as she can be this far along. Eddie knows how hard it’s been for her to get comfortable being this close to the end of the pregnancy, so he does anything he can to help. 

Finally, Brittany is settled down in bed and Eddie goes back around to his side. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and flicks the lamp off. Regardless of the dark room, Eddie closes his eyes just to give himself a moment to try and compose himself. 

By the sounds of the steady breathing, Brittany is already back asleep. These last two weeks were going to be hell for Eddie, he just knows it. They’re almost at the end of the tunnel when it comes to the pregnancy, but who knows what insanity will come along when the baby is finally here. 

Figuring he should try to lighten the load that will be put upon him, he pushes himself off the bed and walks into the bedroom across the hall. Eddie tugs on the longest string connected to the ceiling fan and light floods the room, illuminating the partially completed furniture and the pale yellow walls. Eddie winces at how bright the lights are and tries to avert his gaze until he finds the small pile he put his tools into once he finished putting the crib together. 

“Well,” Eddie sighs, “here we go.”

His stiff bones protest as he sits down on the floor. A few plush rugs are rolled up in the corner of the room, but since they’re not yet laid out, Eddie’s bony ass is about to be sitting on a hardwood floor the whole time. Pulling the necessary tools over to him, he gets to work on the remaining pieces of furniture. 

By the time he’s done, he only has about an hour until his alarm goes off for work. The tightness and achiness in his body are even worse than they were before as he trudges back to bed, ready to take full advantage of those precious sixty minutes. 

When his alarm goes off, Brittany gets up as well—she has to pee, unsurprisingly. Eddie takes a cold shower to try and wake himself up, and the moment he steps out of the bathroom, Brittany is sobbing and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He wasn’t expecting her to be there, let alone, coming at him with a force like that, so he staggers back a few steps as he holds onto her. He’s glad he tied the towel around his waist as securely as he did, or he’d be a lot colder standing there in the hallway. 

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Eddie asks. Brittany sniffles as she pulls back and looks at her husband through watery eyes.

“You put the rest of the furniture together,” she says through some wetter sniffles.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, still half asleep. 

Brittany just buries her head in his neck again. Eddie loosely drapes his arms around her waist and lays his head on hers. He’s pretty sure he almost dozed off that way when Brittany pulls back and wipes the tears from her rounded cheeks.

“Thank you, Eddie. I know I overreacted last night.”

Eddie knows it too, but he’s not dumb enough to say that out loud.

“You’re allowed to have emotional reactions to things, babe,” Eddie tells her. He softly trails his fingertips down the swell of her belly. “You’re carrying our baby. Kinda gives you a bit of a hall pass.”

A week later, Eddie’s finishing up a brake job at work when his boss tells him his wife is on the phone. Immediately, Eddie knows it’s about the baby. He could probably count the number of times that Brittany has called his work on one hand in all the years he’s been working here. 

“Hello?” Eddie answers the phone, not caring that he’s getting black, greasy fingerprints all over the receiver. 

“In labor,” Brittany pants out, clearly in pain. “M-Meet at the hospital.”

“I’m on my way, hun.”

Everything is a blur as Eddie washes his hands, punches out, and climbs into his truck. Brittany’s in labor. Which means the impending arrival of the baby is upon him. Eddie feels a little dizzy at the thought, which is probably not great since he’s going about twenty miles over the speed limit on the way to the hospital. 

The truck is barely in park as Eddie hops out of it and jogs over to the hospital doors. He asks the woman at the front desk where the maternity ward is, and he keeps mentally repeating the directions to himself so that he won’t forget them. 

A nurse tells Eddie that Brittany is in room 361 and points him in that direction. The only noise filling the sterile, white corridor is the occasional beeping of machinery from the different rooms, and the squeak of Eddie’s work boots on the shiny linoleum tiles. 

The first person that catches Eddie’s eye when he walks into room 361 is Sandy, Brittany’s sister. It takes everything inside of him to keep the disgusted noise he wants to make to himself. She’s not really his focus right now though, so Eddie forgoes a greeting to push past and get to his wife. Brittany is lying in the bed, a hospital gown on, and what seems like dozens of wires connected to her. 

“Hey,” Eddie says as he approaches the bed. “How are you—”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” Brittany gripes, looking him up and down. A nurse steps into the room, walking over to read some of the numbers on the machines Brittany is hooked up to, so his wife leans in and says through clenched teeth, “This is a hospital, and our baby is about to be born. Go home and clean up.”

Eddie’s tired and frazzled. He figured Brittany would want him by her side while she’s dealing with this initial pain. But her face clearly tells a different story. Eddie looks down at his coveralls and sees the oil smudges and grease handprints all over it. He should change, but he can’t bring himself to leave.

“Go home?” Eddie asks, voice small and confused. “By the time I get there, get cleaned up, then back here, it might be too late. Babe, what if I miss the birth?”

Brittany doesn’t seem too concerned with this, simply shrugging her shoulders and eyeing every little speck of dirt on the dark blue jumpsuit he’s wearing. 

The nurse who is inspecting the machines looks up at Eddie and gives him a smile. “It’s still going to be some time now before the baby is born,” she assures him. “How far do you live?”

“Uh, about ten minutes away,” if Eddie recalls correctly—which he thinks he does, there’s just a lot flying around his brain right now. 

“Oh, you should be fine, sweetheart,” the nurse says, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s still not fully dilated yet.”

As reluctant as he is to leave, the nurse’s words make the hesitancy lessen a little. 

“I’ll, uh, be back.” Eddie turns and heads out of the room. He follows the reverse directions that got him to the maternity ward, back to his car in the parking lot. With speed that any NASCAR driver would be jealous of, Eddie gets back to the house and jumps in the shower.

In total, Eddie was probably in the house for ten minutes. But to him it felt like eternity. He’s itching to be in that hospital room with his wife and zooms back down the way from where he just came.

When Eddie gets back up to the room, nothing has changed—except for his clothes and cleanliness. Brittany’s in the same position, same miserable expression on her face. But in what is a pleasant surprise, Sandy vacates the chair next to Britttany’s bed so he can sit at his wife’s side. Eddie gives his sister-in-law a nod of acknowledgment as he takes his seat. 

Eddie reaches for Brittany’s hand, and this time, she lets him touch her. He presses a few kisses to her knuckles before he gives her a small smile.

“How ya feeling?”

“Like I’m about to shit a bowling ball,” she responds, flopping her head back against her pillow. She does give Eddie a small smile in return though, which has him questioning how much pain medication they’ve already given her. 

“Did your water break?” Eddie asks.

Brittany nods and her eyes dart over to her sister. “Sandy came over to keep me company and went into the kitchen to get us something to drink, but as I went to sit down on the couch, I could just feel this trickle of water going down the leg of my pants.”

“I heard the pop and thought she knocked something over with her pumpkin of a belly again,” Sandy says from behind Eddie. 

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Eddie says. No matter how much he may dislike Brittany’s family, he does have to give credit to Sandy for always being a good big sister to Brittany.

The nurse from before wasn’t kidding when she said that Eddie would be fine to come home and then come back. The next couple hours just turn into a waiting game. Each time a nurse comes in, the three in the room will perk up and hope there’s some news about when Brittany can start pushing. But so far, no dice. 

Eddie tries to talk with Brittany to keep her occupied and her mind off the pain. Anything that seems to come to his mind is deemed stupid by Brittany and she won’t carry a conversation. So, Eddie tries to get her to talk about things that she enjoys. 

“Do you still want to see that surfer movie that’s coming out soon? Hmm? The one with Patrick Swayze, who you love so much. Should I be jealous?” Eddie smirks, to show he’s just playing around with her, but Brittany couldn’t care less.

“Do you honestly think I’ll be able to go to a movie theater at all this month, Eddie? Really? I think I’ll be a little busy being up to my eyeballs in dirty diapers,” she snaps. 

Her constant putting-down of his attempts at conversations is wearing on Eddie. He clenches and unclenches his fist as he takes a deep breath. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through right now, he thinks to himself. Eddie nods to himself, as if he’s psyching himself up to take all of this in stride. 

Finally, one of the nurses’ visits pay off when she brings a doctor in who informs them that Brittany is fully dilated. Now, the staff scrambles to get necessary tools that are needed and set up near the foot of the hospital bed.

“They couldn’t have done this earlier?” Brittany grits out through her teeth, low enough for only Eddie to hear. 

“All right, Mrs. Munson,” the doctor says as he slips his hands into a new pair of latex gloves. “Are you ready to try pushing?”

“You’ve got this,” Sandy says. She walks over closer to the bed and Eddie can feel his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s grasping the bed rail. The nurse who told him that he had time to go home earlier is in the room now and must notice Eddie’s obvious distaste for Sandy. The nurse catches Eddie’s attention by walking into his peripheral vision. When he glances up at her, the nurse looks in Sandy’s direction, then back to Eddie. Her eyebrows raise and eyes widen, as if she’s asking, “You want this bitch gone?” Eddie gives a subtle nod of his head, and amongst the flurry to get the room ready, the nurse leans in so that Sandy and Brittany can hear.

“It looks like we’re going to try pushing now,” the nurse says, a sweet professional smile on her face. “Which means we can only have the father in the room.”

Part of Eddie knows he should feel bad. But he’s paying for this room, and he wants it to be just him and his wife welcoming this little bundle of joy to the world for the first time. 

Sandy presses a kiss to the top of Brittany’s already sweaty head, and even pats Eddie’s shoulder before heading out the door to find a waiting room to relax in. 

Eddie tentatively takes Brittany’s hand, unsure whether or not touching her is the right choice, breathing a sigh of relief when she accepts and squeezes the hell out of it. Maybe it’s to offset the pain—or to punish him for getting her pregnant in the first place—but he chooses to believe it’s because she sees him as a source of strength and support. 

“You’ve got this, Britt. You’re strong as hell, you can do this,” he cheers softly, tears already prickling in his eyes in anticipation of meeting his child. “Come on, baby. Just a little bit more to go.”

Thirty minutes and nearly one broken hand later, shrill little cries fill the room. It’s the most beautiful music Eddie’s ever heard.  

He cries as the doctor announces that Baby Munson is a healthy little boy, handing Eddie the clamp to cut the umbilical cord. His son—his son!—is still covered in blood and vernix, but he’s still absolutely perfect. 

While the nurses take the newborn to clean him up and wrap him in a blanket, Eddie takes the opportunity to give his wife a kiss on her perspiration-soaked forehead. “I’m so proud of you. You did so, so well. And…and now we have a son.”

Brittany is exhausted, making her a bit more mellow, and she hums her approval. She moves her head to kiss Eddie, eyes starting to flutter closed from exhaustion.  

Once the baby is all bundled up, the nurse hands him to Brittany, maternal instincts kicking in as she awakens to hold him. Eddie watches in complete awe, unable to comprehend that this baby is his son. A little being that’s half him. 

When Brittany hands the baby to Eddie, he holds him close and starts crying again, this time through a beaming smile. The way his tiny body fits perfectly in the crook of his arms sends a surge of overwhelming joy through Eddie’s veins. He instantly knows that being a dad is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and is the best thing that ever will happen to him. 

He brushes his forefinger against the baby’s knuckles, comically small compared to his own. “Hi there. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m your daddy.”

“Do Mom and Dad have a name picked out for this little guy?” The nurse asks with a grin. 

Eddie nods; they had already decided on Ryan for a boy or Riley for a girl. 

“Ryan Wayne Munson,” he announces proudly. He’d always planned to honor the man who had raised him, even if it meant arguing with Brittany, who had claimed the name was “too old-fashioned.” Eddie rarely put his foot down with his wife, but this was a matter he’d insisted upon. 

Two hours later, between constant check-ins and breastfeeding demonstrations, Brittany is able to sleep. Eddie sits in the corner of the room, just holding Ryan. He stares down incredulously at the baby in his arms, unable to take his eyes off of him.  

Softly, Eddie begins to speak to his son. “I promise you that I will be the best dad I can be for you. I won’t be perfect, but I will do my best.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“It’s amazing how I’ve loved you since the moment I knew about you. And now you’re here, in my arms. God, I love you so much more than you will ever know. My little Ryan.”

[votederpycausemufins]

alright, i took a break of about 20 hours (less if you don’t count me sleeping) but hey, it was a break at least!

@petrichormeraki

The trip back to the portal left Mumbo shaken up. Dream didn’t follow them which seemed like the last thing he would do. Mumbo was somehow able to get parrot Grian to turn everyone back to normal which was fine. That was just his Watcher powers. Nothing to do with any Vault God powers he may or may not have. And he didn’t have any.

Eventually the portal was back up and running and Mumbo chose to believe that was just because Dream was lying, or again it was just Grian’s Watcher powers. Or maybe even that he was a hermit and the portal had hermit origins.

The smp members tried to question Mumbo, asking what they would do now. Dream was still on the loose and had more power than they realized. Not everyone was willing to go to Hermitcraft and leave everything behind. Right now, Mumbo was really the only person who might have answers, but he just felt bombarded by their words until he finally snapped.

“Look, I have no clue what to do. I didn’t even really want to be here in the first place. Right now Grian, the person I am closest to is stuck like this even though all of you are fine and I just want to help him before I deal with all of this!”

Mumbo winced when he saw the look on Tommy’s face. “So what, just going to abandon us all then? He’s my brother, bitch!”

“I know that and I am sick of having that thrown in my face! It was bad enough when we didn’t know the two of you were related. I wouldn’t have minded if you never showed up so we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place!”

Tommy froze, only moving to take a step back in shock. Mumbo looked equally horrified at his own words, and not knowing what else to do, he ran through the portal and went back home.

Mumbo hoped that he could just get some peace by going home, but instead, moments after he returned his communicator started buzzing wildly with messages. With shaking hands he tried to turn it off, but instead managed to drop it and didn’t care enough to pick it back up. He grabbed the rockets from his inventory and equipped his elytra to fly back to his base. 

He just got into the sky when another hermit flew past him, likely to greet him. He tried not to curse as they changed their direction to fly after him, and even though he knew it would hardly do anything, Mumbo started spamming rocket after rocket to get away as fast as he could.

He collapsed onto his bed, finally letting go of Grian who started hopping around. He watched the parrot for a while before pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to keep from crying in frustration. Why did they even have a useless spoon of a hermit in this world?

Grian had completely lost track of how long he had been in this infinite white expanse, but other than the lack of everyone he knew and the occasional having to relive horrific nightmares of memories, it wasn’t all that bad. He had started feeling a little more tired, but he assumed that was more from boredom than anything serious. It was okay since one perk of this place was getting to rewatch the dreams he had just had. 

Not having anyone around was making him feel lonely, so Grian had started to watch the same memories over and over. He memorized his own lines so that way he could talk to his friends and they responded back.

“I still don’t understand why you put Mumbo faces everywhere.” Mumbo seemed to be holding in a laugh.

“It’s a house for you, I had to make it right! Mustaches everywhere!”

“Well I certainly noticed them. Now how about you open the door?” Mumbo gestured to a lever. Grian ignored the tingling feeling that came with intersecting his memory copy as he pulled the lever.

“Oh, well that’s pretty cool.” He echoed as he and his coppy watched the piston door open and he walked in. “But you’ve tainted it with redstone everywhere, look at this! You didn’t even bother covering it up!”

“Wasn’t sure how to go about it and make it look good. Besides, I’m a fan of exposed redstone.”

“Well, we can work on your building skills. What’s this over here?” Grian walked over to the closet and waited for his copy to open it. “AHH! Oh! Oooh. Hah… haha…”

Mumbo started laughing, nearly falling over as his legs became weak from laughing so hard. It no longer scared Grian after watching it so many times, so he just laughed along with Mumbo. “H-How about you go to the study n-next. I-It’s awesome!”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it is.” Grian tried to stop laughing as he spoke. They reached a sign which he read aloud. “Super Hollywood film set. Oh you’ve redone the whole area, what is this?” Grian watched as he and Mumbo walked around the room. “Super editing suite, activate moving set part two. Part two?”

“There’s more than one, I just labeled them with numbers.”

Grian flicked the lever and watched as cobblestone in front of a bike started to move to imitate a moving foreground. “Oh that’s so cool. That’s so cool!” He flipped the lever for the background. “Oh! It’s for the motor bike!” The copy hopped on the bike and Grian himself found an empty area on the back of the bike to sit. He started making motor noises as the two of them rode the bike, Mumbo flipping another lever nearby. 

Lights came on and Mumbo moved the camera to point at him. “Oh, using your filming knowledge properly I see. Three point lighting system?”

Mumbo nodded, then turned everything off for them to continue. “Let’s continue shall we?”

“Oh, what’s all this?” Grian asked as they came to an area filled with dispensers.

“Well, if you’re going to be filming, you’ll need some costumes.” Mumbo helped Grian into one of the spots and suddenly the builder was covered in gold armor.

“Oh that’s nice. I like that.” As Mumbo tried to go on, Grian doubled back and hit all the buttons, putting all the armor in his inventory. “I’ll just keep that for later. What’s next?”

“Over here. Secret room under the stairs.” Mumbo pulled a lever. The stairs pulled down and Grian was briefly reminded of the shenanigans of the secret base bros. He let himself get distracted by thoughts about that, turning his attention away from the scene. He tried not to listen to his panicked shouts as Mumbo tricked him by closing the entrance behind him.

“Grian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize that would scare you! Mumbo let the copy of Grian out and the real Grian could see how he almost moved for a comforting hug, something he never noticed when this had all first happened.

“I-it’s fine. Just bad memories. C-Can we continue with the house?”

Grian forced himself to stop thinking of the memory, making the white void return. Being with Mumbo that first time was a good memory. Sure there was that one bad part, but for Grian, that was good too. It showed how Mumbo cared for him all the way back then and how they’d learned more about each other over time.

After calming himself down, he started it up again.  “C-Can we continue with the house?”

“Right, let’s go in here next.”

“Wha- MY KITCHEN! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY KITCHEN?!” Mumbo started laughing again.

‘Anyone could do this. Anyone! Xisuma or Scar or Iskall or anyone else.’ Mumbo thought to himself as he was looking over Grian. ‘I’m just better at this because Grian and I are linked or whatever. That’s all. Nothing to do with this being done by a Vault God and me also being one. Because I’m not.’

Multiple hermits had tried to visit Mumbo, but he had shooed them all off. Stress was the one to stay longest, having arrived with the bots who were complaining about not seeing their dads for a while. Mumbo tried to ask them to leave a few times before he snapped at them. He tried to push the hurt expression that was on Jrumbot’s face out of his mind.

He just had a rough few days. He wasn’t sleeping much and was barely keeping himself from starving. But right now Grian was important. More important than him. He might have had this done sooner, but he was being extremely careful, used to dealing with non-organic things most of the time. 

He’s just wondering if he should look up puzzle boxes, wondering if those would be easy enough to rest his mind with, but also not get too off topic when he thinks he’s done it. “G… Grian?”

“Guh Grian?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Do know who am. Know who I am.”

Mumbo started crying in joy. “Oh thank goodness! I was so scared you were stuck like this forever!”

“Tommy...” Grian mimicked his copy, though he was more happy while the copy was more stunned. “How do you know that?”

“What? Blood for the Blood God? My brother says it all the time.” Tommy thought he read Grian’s face well enough. “I’m sorry, I can stop saying it. I know my brother is a bit vio-”

“Techno or Wilbur?”

Tommy paused, he didn’t think he had told Grian their names. “Uh, Techno obviously. I would think if you knew their names you would know he said it. Um, something wrong Big G?”

Grian smiled, his copy continuing to cry. “Tommy… Tommy Tommy… th-they’re my brothers. Oh gods I’m the blood god… that’s what I always called myself. They hated it because I always started causing trouble.”

Tommy looked confused. “What are you talking about? I would think I’d know I had a brother named Grian.”

Grian started to open his mouth, ready to mimic his memory, telling Tommy a name he hadn’t used in ages. But instead he suddenly felt like he was falling. Grian let out a yelp in surprise. When he landed the white expanse was gone, but he realized that was from his eyes being closed. Nervously, Grian opened them and saw Mumbo staring at him, seeming quite large.

“G…” He seemed stunned. “Grian?”

Grian let out a little chirp, realizing that apparently his parrot voice box was the one working right now. “Guh Grian?”

“Do you know who I am?” Of course Grian knew Mumbo. Had he not before? Was that why Mumbo looked so worried.

“Do know who am. Know who I am.” Grian used Mumbo’s words to let the redstoner know that he could remember. He then had to hop back as Mumbo started to cry.

“Oh thank goodness! I was so scared you were stuck like this forever!” Stuck like wha- Grian started to wonder before it hit him. Oh, he couldn’t talk right and Mumbo looked so large because he was currently a parrot. Had something gone wrong when Philza was trying to teach him? Honestly, Grian couldn’t remember what the last thing to happen to him was before he ended up in the white infinity room. He had been in there so long and re-experiencing other memories that the one for when this started was sort of… gone.

Mumbo had apparently spoken a little with Philza because he was able to help Grian back to his humanoid self. The builder held Mumbo’s hands to steady himself as though he didn’t remember it, his muscle memory seemed to have gotten used to being a parrot.

“Well, while I’m sure being a bird has wonderful perks.” Grian paused, giving a yawn, still feeling tired. “I don’t think I really want to do that again for an extremely long time if I can get stuck like that.”

“Grian, how much do you remember?” Mumbo asked and Grian shrugged.

“Only thing I’m sure of is that I recently went to see the other Watchers. Something was going on, but that was a while ago and since then I’ve been stuck in an infinity room.” He looked at the worried expression on Mumbo’s face. “Mumbo, what happened?”

“So, the admin from Tommy’s world was a Vault God.” Grian’s wings puffed up at Mumbo’s words. “He ended up messing with your Watcher powers and got everyone back to their world and sort of wiped everyone’s memories. I’ve been here trying to fix whatever he did to you so I haven’t really been paying attention to everything that’s been going on since I got us back. Last I checked they all had their memories back… but Dream might have done something more.”

Grian jumped up. “I have to tell the other Watchers about this. A bad admin is one thing, but a Vault God admin that messes with Watchers is worse!”

“He may also be a sort of exiled Vault God based on what he said.” Mumbo added on and Grian seemed to get even angrier.

“Yep, definitely talking to the other Watchers now. I can’t believe he was right under Gxrgeous’ nose!” A portal opened up behind Grian and Mumbo tried not to look at Grian’s multiple purple eyes. “I’ll be right back. And Mumbo?” Mumbo looked up. “Take a shower. While I like that you spent all your time looking for me, I don’t think I even need enhanced senses to tell you need a shower.

Mumbo laughed sheepishly and then got up to do that. Grian chuckled in return then walked through. “Hellooo? Pixlriffs? Zloy? Gxrgeous? Any of you around?”

“Oh my god, Grian you’re alive!” Grian was suddenly tackled from behind.

“Noah! Ugh, get off my literal back!” Grian flapped his wings pushing the Evo Watcher off. “I’m looking for the hermit Watchers and Gxrgeous. You seen them?”

“Yeah, they’re busy freaking out about Gxrgeous’ world. You and Mumbo went through and then they lost connection to it completely. What happened?”

Grian shrugged. “I thought they would know better than me.” He lightly knocked the side of his head. “No memory of what was going on. Mumbo says the admin from there was a Vault God the whole time. I can’t believe I didn’t see it from the start.”

“You mean Dream? He’s a Vault Go- ohhhhhh. Dream… Dreamon. Why didn’t we realize that at the start?”

“Yeah well, something that should really be talked about with Watchers other than you since at this point I really want to connect the worlds so he can’t do anything more to my family.”

“Right, Pretty sure they’re this way.”

The talk had gone well and Grian was surprised to see the Vault Gods so willing to work with them on this. Grian supposed it was because of Dream’s status, but it was still odd to experience.

Zloy had given him a new communicator because his old one had ended up broken somewhere in the mix of things. The moment he was back out of the portal, he started to send a message.

<Grian> Based on what Mumbo said, they’re not here sooooo <Grian> Where are my children! <GoodtimewithScar> GRIAN!!! <Stressmonster> They’re with me. Are you doing okay? <Zedaph> Since he’s not here, I’ll do it for him <Zedaph> *fortnight dances* <ZombieCleo> He would NOT! <Grian> Speaking of, where is Tommy? <TangoTek> No clue, he didn’t come back with you and Mumbo. <Impulse> Don’t text and fly Tango <TangoTek> He knows what he did <Zedaph> welp, bye! *default dances away* <TangoTek> ZED!

Grian chuckled at the messages before sighing and flying to where the infinity portal was. He was glad to see it still sitting there and what looked like someone’s pet cat nearby. The avian was surprised when he landed and heard said cat speak.

“Hey! Can you get my friends? Dey went in there and haven’t come back and Sprinklez said I can’t go through.”

“Sure, I’m going in to get some people myself. Who are you after?”

“Tommy and Tubbox. Dey wanted ta be my friends and we had fun until a big bird thing attacked us!”

Grian winced, realizing that most likely was him. “Yeah, sure I was after Tommy anyway.”

Crumb nodded, but then thought of something. “Wait, Sprinklez said I couldn’t go alone, but but but, he didn’t say I couldn’t go with someone else!”

Grian smiled a mischievous smile and then pulled out his communicator. He asked Crumb’s name and then sent a message.

<Grian> Hey, I’m going with Crumb to pick up some people. Be back soon! <CaptainSparklez> What? Where? <Crumbl> Tommmu ans Tubboc

Before Grian could look at whatever was sent back, he gave out a mischievous cackle and picked up Crumb, taking them through the portal.

[luidilovins]

You should turn your post on the Uncanny Valley into a book or something. I am not even kidding, it's brilliant and sorely needed information. Thank you for it.

Tbh its just speculative that the uncanny valley is an inherent biological trait and not cultural or a learned behavior at the moment. A good example would be the cultural phenomenon of colorophobia where in the US we have a longer history of using clowns in our horror pop culture genres than countries like Japan.

Clown entertainment has been around since the Egytian times and maybe some people have always been freaked out by them it honestly just takes one director or author to have an disproportionately irrational fear and good cinematography skills to convince people that they SHOULD hate clowns just as much, (I could say the same about the movie Jaws but thats a bit of a tangent,) or a memorable event that damages the public's trust in something that SHOULD be innocent or harmless. (A good examples being the John Wayne Gacy trials.)

Clowns are also thought to be in the uncanney valley so ita a fairly good argument on cultural phenomenon versus genetic traits. Up until aroud the 60s-70s clowns were actually fairly well liked by the US general public and a lot of older generation still find a fondness in it that would scare the living shit out of their grandchildren.

As far as evidence that I may be right about the "uncanney valley might be because of rabies" theory, there has been a small case study suggesting that the movements of a non-human robot that trigger the effect in us, is also present in people with parkinsons but the sample size is too small for me to be thoroughly convinced.

And don't be mistaken I also dislike this concept because saying that ableism is an inherent human trait is just as bad as saying racism is an inherent human trait. There is little to gain from distrust in the disabled and little historical evidence to suggest it was common or beneficial to discard disabled people. Disabled people's remains have been found time and time again to live to incredibly long livea and be cared for, and participate in their communities. I'm highly critical of this particular case study and I take it with a grain of salt because its on cosmo, but evidence of human disabilities and compassion can be sourced by actual bones and it's been placed on VERY credible sources. NPR, NBC, Discovery, Nat Geo, NY Times, literally the clostest you can get to creme of the crop news articles on DOZENS of accounts and if you have a goddam problem then pay for a tour to the Smithsonian, find an archeologist and coherse them into showing you the bones and then explain phorensics to you because you probably wouldn't understand unless you too were a phorensic archeologist yourself.

What I DO BELIEVE tho is that if the uncanny valley is a legitimate inherent trait, that like most evolutionary traits, it made it this far for this long because it somehow served us benificially. And the biggest benifit I can think of is identifying neuro-infectious diseases because they can spread agressivley, many of them lead to death or lasting effects and are fucking MISERABLE to catch. We're talking brain swelling, fevers, uncontrollable vomiting, tremors, hallucinations, motor and vocal tics, difficulty swallowing, seizures. This could all happen because they eat infected deer meat or because of one bad fox bite. It's miserable if you survive and horrifying if you dont. Rabies can survive in your muscle tissue for years before infecting your brain and once it does usually you only live for about 5-10 days in and out of concious knowledge that you're going to die painfully, and disease aggrivated psychosis. It would be hard to pinpoint the causation because the amout of time before full blown infection would vary too much to assosiate for a long time. So your only option is to hone in on telltale signs.

The disabled people who would suffer from herdeditary or developmental neurological disorders run the risk of prejudice from mistaken identity, but if a human is part of a community, and doesn't die within a week from having a wobbly head, it would sooner or later become apparent that they're not dangerous. I think nowadays culturally people don't press to learn more about disabled people due to social and political prejudice and never fucking grow up past that. Mistaken identity or not. You learn about people from the patterns of their behaviors so even ones that seem abnormal to you become a normal recognizable pattern for them. Fancy that.

We don't get grossed out by chimps or gorillas, who are even more distant cousins, and the proof that we don't have a search and destroy button for anything immediatly related to us is a bunch of bullshit can be found in almost every human's blood on earth. And not just neanderthals, but denisovans as well. And that's not even accounting for genetic backtracking the crossbreeding of other sapiens species before we were whittled down to just the three. What makes the tweet even stupider is that when neandertals still roamed the earth humans were shorter, hardier, and overall more rough looking so we looked even indistinguished then. We Also Chewed On Bones and neandertals handled cold climates better than us based on a study on chest cavity density and, skull nasal intake and heat circulation, providing genetic diversity and the upper hand in survival in the tundras or mountainous regions spanning over Eurasia. If it wasn't for humans fucking neandertals we might not have been able to spread over the contient or diversify the way we did.

So my full hypothesis is that if the uncanny valley is a genetic inherent human trait it was used to benifit people from catching agressive diseases in a time where the benifit of fearing a group member with rabies outweighed the cost of fearing a group member with a disability like parkinsons.

WHAT PISSED ME OFF was the idea that we are DESIGNED to be unwary of our evolutionary cousins could easily be used for white supremacist spaces to justify racism BECAUSE IT ALREADY HAS

So that one tweet that might seem like a quirky thinkpiece in my eyes is just fuel for eugenics trend round whatever number we're on. It's like we don't fucking learn. It would be REALLY easy to retool the concept that it's natural for people to be fearful of whatever the bullshit definition of sub-humans are. Claiming that black people were sub-human thus deserving of mistrust and submission to white ownership worked like a fucking charm.

Maybe if I go to college and major in psyche/socio/civics it'll be my college thesis. Right now I'm more of a hobbyist than anything, but what I DO know is that anyone can make an untested hypothesis to combat another untested hypothesis and it should hold just as much goddamn value. I combatted the idea that the idea that human othering was funneled into an unconfirmed effect that causes disgust and terror based on non-human sapiens is in fact racist and gave what is in my opinion a more evoluntionary practical approach to the uncanney valley.

The generalized links that I used APARENTLY weren't good enough for some people but aparently a single tweet that says "hur dur heedle dee uncanney valley exists because of human cousins" was taken at face value even tho it was probably tapped out in five seconds without regards to the reproccussions. I find a huge discomfort that less than studious links about the evolution of monkey social behaviors that I used as a guideline to explaining my concerns became the focal point for people to nitpick without even having the gall to "well actually" on the subject. That absolute ravaging NEED to rip apart at it and devolve into name calling because I MENTIONED racism is fucking suspicious and I don't trust it. I had to stop looking at the responses because some people were only reblogging and arguing with barely half of my argument and i was getting nowhere fast.

There were a few people that made actual points with cited sources that made their own rebuttle arguments. That I respect. It's just as valid an argument as mine and I'm ALWAYS willing to take on more credible sources to strengthen my stance or gain perspective.

But it's the utter dismissal of a concerning concept that just seeped into the subtext that gnawed at my gut. Some people on top of hating the linked sources I provided, admitted they didn't read it, refused to read between the lines to purposfully misinterpret or derail my main points, and detract that my claim that the tweet was a result of systemic white supremacy saturated into modern science was a bunch of bullshit because I claimed that 1500s anglos invented racism.

The thing is we did invent the racism that we fucking currently subscribe to.

We practice the science that we formulated based on our own social prejudice. Real people die from this.

We remain uncritical of our own theorums that we postulate then pat ourselves on the back like we're philosophical geniuses even though racism is a family heirloom with a new paint job.

We preach the eugenics ideals that we pulled out of our asses to benifit from fearmongering, promises of national security and unpaied labor.

White supremacists create subtext with the intention of it being consumed by accident or in ways that seem palatable.

Fuck.

That.

I don't hate the person who wrote the tweet. Chances are that they gave the tweet as much thought as they took the time to write it and went on their day as a fun little thinkpiece. Everyone on the internet does it. But its that kind of thinking error that needs to be adressed as a progression of historic and scientific prejudice that gets rehashed, recycled and untouched and continually damages and is weaponized against marginalized people. I am not wrong for taking it seriously especially when a bunch of people were sitting around nodding their heads just as effortlessly.

I don't owe the internet any more sources than the tweet. I don't owe anyone on the internet a full scientific ananysis. And the people's reaction to what I had to say was actually what further convinced me I might have hit the nail on the head.

[lovebug5151]

It happened again

Alrighty! I managed to type this out in record time once i saw This Comic by @grians-of-salt and it inspired me! This is some angst and fluff including Grian and Grumbot and Jrumbot. I might actually write more of this because I love the interaction they had.

Wow 1510 words. Im pretty happy with this, Hope yall are too!

Uhh Spoilers for Grians newest video. This also contains mentions of NPG and RobotGrian.

It was the night after Voting day, and everything was quiet. Everyone had voted, and the next day the Hermits would begin taking down all their Mayoral campaigns. There was one person awake, however. Flying quickly towards the Shopping district, needing to remedy a problem they had caused.

As Grian landed and stared up at the broken Grumbot, he too felt broken. He didn’t know how much Grumbot had heard when he was breaking down, but he hoped he hadn’t heard their laughter. His was shocked, horrified laughter, and he was too caught up in his horror to listen to Mumbos laughter. God he hoped it had been horrified, and not giggly laughter. The only thoughts that had been running through his head were ‘Not again. I did it again. Not again. Not again. No no no no no no no! Not again!’ He had been in shock the rest of the day. He couldn't even remember who he had voted for, though he thought it wasnt Mumbo.

He shook his head and took a deep breath, as he couldn’t stand there forever, he needed to get this done. There was a reason he decided to do this at night after all. Grian went to the back of Grumbot, and opened up the latch to see the inner mechanics. He had the thought that being short actually helped for once, and smiled vaguely. He searched for a moment, before finding it. 

He’d had Mumbo explain everything he was doing to make Grumbots AI, and explain all the parts to creating him entirely. He wanted to learn, to get better. This object was the main part to Grumbot. His Heart, or his Motherboard, whatever you wanted to call it. It contained who he was. It contained how he acted, how he thought, everything to make him a person. Because he was a person. He wasn't just a robot. Grian had made that mistake twice already, and wasn't about to do it again.

Grian moved forward carefully, seeing all the wires and smoking parts, until he reached the Heart. He looked it over, his past of building robots helping him to unplug it safely. Once he had unplugged it he picked it up to carry it outside. It was heavy, but he could handle it. It was too precious to drop. Once he was out in the open, he carefully put it in a shulker. The shulker had things to soften the fall if Grian did drop it. 

Once he did that, and picked the shulker up, he also headed to Jrumbot. He opened the back of the shop, to show a smaller Heart. This one was only to protect the shop, or was supposed to be. Grian carefully picked This one up too, not wanting to break either. 

As he headed back to his base, only one thought was in his head. ‘I can’t let this happen again… I won’t let this happen again.’

Grumbot felt… something, when he was booting up again. He didn’t know what it was, hasn’t been able to live long enough to know what it was. But something  he did know was that his Dad's voice was murmuring to him. 

“There we go. Your booting up. I hope you like this body, uhh, I hope I did good, I’m sure I can fix anything if i did do something wrong…” 

Grumbot opened his eyes to see Grian staring at him. Grian smiled softly, nervously, and said “hi Grumbot, how are you feeling?” 

It took him a moment, but Grumbot accessed the area that let him speak, as he suddenly had one, and didn’t have to communicate through paper.

“I- am alright. What- happened Dad?”

He managed to stammer out brokenly. When he asked what happened, he saw Grian’s eyes flash with sadness. 

“When, when we asked you what to do for the election on voting day, you,” he paused as if searching for a word. “You melted. You were panicking, and overheating, and you broke.” His voice broke and trembled on the last word.

Grumbot froze hearing that. He then remembered, and looked down before he spoke. “You, you were laughing. Both of you were laughing.” He sounded hurt, and it was only the sob from Grian that made his head raise. 

Grian had tears coming out of his eyes, and was shaking. He lunged forward to hug Grumbot as he started trying to talk. 

“I-I’m so (sob) so sorry Gru- (sob) Grumbot! We (sob) we shoulda been able to help! We- we couldn’t and you (sob) you got hurt, and I’m sorry, I shou- (sob) should have protected you, I shouldn’t have laughed I’m sorry, I’m so sorry son, I’m (sob) I’m so sorry”

He was clutching onto Grumbots shoulders, and Grumbot slowly brought his hands up to hug Grian back. 

“I-it’s okay Dad I-“ 

“It’s not okay!” Grian suddenly yelled out, letting go of Grumbot to look at him “I should have stopped Mumbo from laughing! I shouldn’t have laughed! We shouldn’t have pushed all this mayor stuff onto you! We- we shouldn’t have done that to you, you’re,” he paused here, tears were still streaming down his face, and Grumbot knew that Grian didn’t mean to laugh. He was hurt by his own reaction. “You're just a kid.” Grian murmured. “You shouldn’t have had to worry about anything like that.”

Grumbot hugged him, and felt Grian freeze. “I forgive you dad.” He was crying now too. “It’s not your fault!” Grian sobbed again, and hugged him back, and they stayed like that for a couple minutes. 

“Umm,” Grian muttered, pulling out of the hug. “I uhh, I built you a body. As you, can, uh tell.” He chuckled awkwardly. “It’s closer to human size, and uhh, you're welcome to change it however you want cause, it’s your body. Umm, I made you a voice box, and I built you some stuff to help you move, you have extendo arms and legs, that was uhh, that was fun to build.” He laughed, and was about to start rambling again when Grumbot grabbed his arm.

 “Can you help me walk?” Grumbot asked, kinda embarrassed he couldn't do it automatically. Grian laughed quietly and nodded. 

“Sure. Here lemme just-” He grabbed Grumbots arms, and helped him slide off the table he was on. Grumbot stood up tall, and realized he was at least a foot taller than Grian. He giggled quietly and Grian smiled at him. “Yeah, I wanted you to still be tall ya’know?”

Grumbot started taking small steps as Grian stayed nearby. Once Grumbot was able to walk all around the room they were in, and jump and crouch, Grian took a breath.

“Oh, another thing Grumbot.” Grian started talking and Grumbot turned around to look at him. Grian took a deep breath before saying “I also grabbed Jrumbots Heart, though he didn't have as much AI coding, and I wasn't sure where to go with it. I built his body, but didn’t want to mess up more AI’s so I wanted to know if you wanted to help me make him a full AI.”

Grumbot paused for a moment before nodding. “I would like Jrumbot to be able to move and be alive too. This is way better than being stuck in one place!”

Grian laughed softly and nodded. “I know what you mean buddy.”

Once Grumbot got more coordination down, they started working on Jrumbot. He actually wasn't missing as much as Grian had thought, and was able to be brought alive rather quickly.

As Jrumbot booted up, Grumbot looked at the body Grian made for Jrumbot. It was small, probably a head smaller than Grian. He looked more childlike, and cute, than Grumbot did, as he was built after his first look.

Jrumbot beeped as he raised his head, and his eyes clicked and lit up.

“Hi Jrumbot,” Grian murmured smiling, “How do you feel?”

Jrumbot giggled and squirmed, much like a child would, and said “I feel good! Hi dad! Hi Brother!”

Both of them smiled at how Jrumbot had chosen to call them, and Grumbot reached over to pick Jrumbot up. He smiled down at Jrumbot and Grian smiled at both of them.

After making sure all of Jrumbots motor skills were working, and nothing was breaking, they went up into Grian’s mansion. The lowest floor was actually a floor with lots of rooms, instead of it being just a place for farms it was a house. Grian led them into a living room, and they all curled up on the couch, all falling into a nap.

While later would be time for Grian to explain about Mumbo, and why they had to hide for a bit, now was peaceful, calm, and quiet.

Before he fell asleep, Grian made a promise to himself. He would never make the same mistakes he made with NPG and RoboG with these two. He would make sure these two knew they were loved, and that he would never leave them without a fight.

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

Yeah! Hope yall liked this, I will hopefully post more Dad!Grian to Grumbot and Jrumbot because I really like writing them.

[scribblingfangirl]

GLOWING IN THE DARK #1 | The Punisher - Billy Russo

not my gif!

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Author’s Note: Thank you so so much for the wonderful reactions to the first part of this series! I’m so happy you’re enjoying it and are interested in reading more! I honestly wasn’t expecting that! I hope you enjoy this part as well! I know it’s a bumpy ride: English is not my first language, I’m slowly trying to ease myself back into writing and this wasn’t beta-read. So please excuse the horrible mistakes! Also: As I’ve been asked I’m now including a taglist for this series at the bottom. If you want to get added to it just shoot me a message! (:

word count:  ~ 3k

summary: A few years after making the deal with Frank Y/N arrives on a new base and promptly runs into a handsome dark-haired man, or rather he into her, as a game of British Bulldog is played. 

warnings: suggestion towards rape (if I forgot anything, please tell me!)

| previous part | - | next part | - | series masterlist |

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The silence was almost deafening and the cold humid air a relief after sitting in the loud helicopter, earmuffs could only do so much, and the hot dry air the rotators and motors brought to you for the past four hours. You were the first one out the helicopter, the rest of your crew with the exception of the pilot following suit.

"Welcome home... I guess?" Kosky, your crew chief, threw you your bag from the helicopter.

You heard a desperate sigh and turned around to see Dane, the co-pilot, poking at the ground. “That’s… that’s sand-like. Where the hell are we and how long are we going to be here? I didn’t pack for… whatever the hell this is,” he complained.

 “Don’t be like that Dane,” Garth muttered as he leaned out the pilot door of the helicopter. “Don’t you have beauty products for all kinds of environments in your bag? Anyway, nothing to worry about. I’m sure Y/L/N will lend you some of hers if your sensitive skin breaks out or something.”

You snorted, closing the door behind him as he stepped out of the helicopter. “You’ll better be glad if I find an old, still usable Chapstick in the depths of one of my pockets. That will be the best thing I can offer you.”

“Anyway,” Kosky tried to bring your attention back to him, “I’ll go and talk with the commanding officer of this base and try to figure out why we were stationed here and if we’re going to be the only ones or if others will follow later. You guys try to find someone to show you around.”

“Sure, I’ll just quickly-,“ you started to say while you moved towards the helicopter again to get your mechanic kit, but shut your mouth when you felt, and then saw, Kosky glare at you.

"No. Pete's been a good boy. He deserves his rest and so do you. One that involves a good shower and some food. Let's go!"

x-x

Freshly showered and in clean clothes you made your way around the camp, catching some of the last sunrays of the day. You had lost Garth and Dane after running into a fellow Marine that showed you around and left you in front of the showers. Seeing as there were no other women on the base, and therefore, no need for separate showers the boys had proposed to stand guard while you showered after them. Why or when they decided to leave you alone was a mystery to you.

Braiding your wet hair, you walked around trying to recognize or remember anything you were shown or told during your quick tour. However, you only managed to catch a glimpse of Pete through the tents. ‘Better than nothing. Might as well quickly check him out and then go find someone. Who knows? Maybe someone will find me.’

As if your thoughts had manifested him a tall man with slicked-back dark hair and a rather well-groomed beard appeared from the other side of Pete. “They told me I’d find you here.” He gave you a once-over and chuckled. “Well, this certainly explains their usage of ‘she’ and ‘her’. Come on. You’re probably just as hungry as them.”

You followed the man quietly through the different tents until you started to hear noises. They grew louder and you finally realized that you were hearing voices and the clinking of kitchen utensils. A nice scent filled your nose the moment you entered the dining tent and almost immediately your stomach let out a loud grumble.

“Yeah, that’s what I guessed. Don’t worry. There’s still plenty of food. We eat in shifts and you’re just in time for the last one.”

You turned to face the man beside you and saw that he was already smiling down at you. ‘His eyes are just as dark as his hair. But they can’t actually be black, right? I’ve never seen such a deep brown in my life. They’re beautiful.’

“Y/L/N. Nice to see you found your way to us as well. I guess I’ll have to talk to Jandro and Dane tomorrow about team spirit and human manners. They’re back there,” he pointed to the back of the tent where you could make out Danes blond hair and a man with his face deep in his food, who was looking like he’d be eating his plate as well. Probably Garth. “They’ll show you to your tent. You three are roommates. I’ll brief you tomorrow about everything. Have a nice evening.” Leaving the tent, he nodded at the dark-haired man and disappeared from your view.

“Damn, a whole tent for just three soldiers? Normally I’d be jealous but seeing what nice friends you have there I’m not so sure anymore. I prefer knowing they got my back and don’t run away at the first sign of food.”

You laughed and waved that comment away. “You see the guy who’s currently almost eating his plate as well? That’s Jandro, but we all call him Garth, which is short for Garfield. I’m used to food being chosen over me. Hey, I don’t think I caught your name-”

“Y/N!” Dane and Garth shouted simultaneously over the heads of the soldiers as they saw you. “We’re so sorry! We were going to wait, but then someone passed by and told us it was dinner time. You’re a big girl, so we weren’t afraid of you drowning in the shower.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh you rolled your eyes as every last head in the tent turned towards you. Great. Pressing your lips together you just gave them two awkward thumbs-ups and thankfully everybody turned their heads back to their food.

“Come on, looks like they’re going to eat me next if I don’t finally deliver you.” The man pushed you through the space between the tables until you were seated next to Garth who pushed a full platter in front of you. Eyeing this gesture the man faced you one last time before disappearing somewhere in the dining tent. “Name’s Billy by the way. I’ll be around if you ever… decide on upping your friend game.”

x-x

After dinner, the boys showed you to your tent. Dane started to do his nightly routine while you and Garth decided to enjoy the early night exploring your new temporary home for the time being.

“I’ll go search for some of the guys who were sitting at our table. Don’t," he grabbed your wrist and raised his index finger to emphasize his words, “go checking on Pete.”

Walking around the base you once again saw Pete in the distance, crossed paths with familiar faces from dinner, to whom you nodded politely and even passed the showers. It would take you one or two days and seeing the base in broad daylight, but you knew you’d soon be able to find your way around.

A familiar tune caught your attention and you followed the sound of a guitar being played, accompanied by an oddly familiar, but really beautiful, singing voice.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

Without any second thoughts, you pushed aside the plastic tarpaulin covering the entrance of the tent and stepped inside. The first thing you saw where the lined-up beds on either side of the tent. Somewhere occupied with men reading or writing something, but most of them were vacant, as their owners were sitting together either on or around two beds towards the end of the tent, creating a circle.

And then you saw him. There, leaning carefully against the tent wall, his trusted guitar in his hands, was Frank. But he wasn’t the one singing. Your eyes slid over the flock of men until they rested upon the dark-haired man – Billy – who was sitting on the bed beside Franks and just finishing the song.

An old memory shot through your head. Maria, Frank and you sitting in a car going to the airport. ‘That's why you've been pestering me into introducing her to Billy.’

Frank’s voice brought you back to the present. “You always have a guitar in deployment. Sit around, you got time to, uh, you know, learn new songs, come up with new shit."

Smiling you decided to make yourself known and stepped forward. "Yeah. You were always really good at the shit part. Though honestly? Where the hell do these new guitar skills come from? This actually sounded good!"

Frank’s head shot up and a smile took over his facial features. "Y/N!"

"She’s just being honest here, Frankie boy. This was by far your best- Wait, hold on. You guys know each other?"

But before either of you could answer Billy or anybody else could say something as well, Frank had thrown his guitar into the lap of the guy next to him and himself around your neck. “I knew it! When they told us a UH-1Y Venom with the callsign Blackbird would be arriving shortly I thought it might be you. But I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And then I saw the helicopter but couldn’t find you at dinner…” He had led you back to his bed and waved the guys away who begrudgingly dispersed back to their own beds or left the tent altogether.

“Billy, this is Y/N. The marine friend I told you about. She was a foot soldier as well but betrayed us for the sky. Not that I think it’s any better up there. Down here you can be naïve and only see what’s right in front of your nose, but up there… well. Anyway, met her through Maria. She was actually one of the women who had the guts to laugh at my excellent guitar skills. Y/N, this is Billy-”

“The guy you’re only allowed to introduce me to if you beat me in a round of friendly combat. At least as far as I remember.”

Billy smiled at that exchange and looked at Frank. “Ah yes, the deal. I heard stories about that. Didn’t think there’d actually be any truth to that though. I guess it’s a good thing we already met. You can’t possibly think of ignoring your knight that saved you from starvation by leading you to the glorious dining tent, sweetheart.”

“No, but I could try to arrange for you to be eaten by my boys if you keep calling me sweetheart.”

Raising his hand in surrender Billy turned around to lay completely on his bed and grabbed a book from the ground. “She’s got fire Frankie boy, gotta give her that.”

You got a quick glimpse of the title page of the book. The Picture of Dorian Gray. ‘A man that knows his literature, interesting. Would not have given him that one’.

“Though, sweetheart,” Billy said as he lazily opened the book and flipped through it, searching for the right page, “As much as I think I could handle your boys. We wouldn’t want that, would we now? God made me this way for a reason. Would be a real shame if I weren’t able to share the complete wealth anymore.”

‘Ah well, there it is. Never mind. Just another dude who is full of himself.’

Sensing your eye-roll from a million miles away Frank turned you towards him. “We like to call him ‘Billy the Beaut’. He still has to grasp the ‘quality over quantity’ concept. And! Before you ask, because I know you will, Maria hoped you’d become the quality. Frank leaned closer and shot a quick glance at Billy who kept on reading, “Deep down Billy’s a great guy. It’s just his defence mechanism.”

Sighing you stretched your arms into the air to relieve your back of some of the tension accumulated by the long flight and you didn’t even realize that your shirt raised a little bit to reveal the skin underneath. You did feel the looks the other men gave you though and felt how Frank quickly pulled the shirt back down.

“Watch it!” His tone made Billy look up from his book and take a confused look around. “This ain’t a space for a woman. They’re hungry, like feral dogs. Not that I like to think like that about my fellow Marines, but we are surrounded by war. Wouldn’t be the worst thing they do.”

“Fine…,” you stood up and faced the rest of the tent. “If you’re such dogs, let’s play fetch! This way I can show you that you shouldn’t cross my path… or of my boys.” You added that part specifically for Billy. “But don’t worry, we’ll go easy on you.”

You moved to face Frank again. “After all. You do kinda still owe me a friendly round of combat.”

“Tell us. What did you have in mind kid?”

x-x

It had started to rain in the time it took you to gather the majority of the base, including Garth and Dane. Laughing you shook your head, spread your arms and greeted the cold and heavy rain on your warm skin.

Garth, Dane and you were positioned opposite to the rest of the men (thanks to your big mouth), or where you guessed they would be. The dying light and lack of any other light source in addition to the rain didn’t make this an easy game. But a fun one.

“The rules are simple!” Frank’s voice boomed over the playing field and not even the rain was able to quiet him down. “Only one bulldog per player – we’re all grown-ups and do not need help or serious injuries – and to turn a player into a bulldog they have to be restrained to the ground for three full seconds. Be it on their back or their stomach, both count! Ready? Set. GO!”

At first, the splashing caused by multiple boots running across the playing field was the only thing you heard. Then came the first shout, shortly followed by another. Out of the corners of your eyes, you saw Garth and Dane crashing into two soldiers, taking them down with them and just in front of you, you were able to make out a shadow running straight towards you.

With a yell, Frank dove to the ground and knocked your legs out from under you. Creating a splash, you fell on your back, already trying to flip yourself to the side to have more possibilities to block anything Frank might throw your way. But Frank wasn’t there anymore.

Confused you stood up, blinking against the merciless rain trying to find Frank. Around you, several silhouettes were fighting each other. Some were still standing, others rolled around on the ground. Lone shoes and some t-shirts were spread on the playing field, almost undetectable under the rising level of water on the ground.

You heard him too late. With another yell Frank sprang on your back, making your knees buckle under you due to his weight. With a groan you hit the ground face first, his large body covering yours, making it impossible for you to move.

“Last time I checked I was the bulldog,” you panted, spluttering on the horrible muddy water accumulating in your mouth.

“Last time I checked you were the one who wanted a friendly round of combat. Obviously, I won, but don’t worry, you’ll get another chance.” And then he was gone again, and you gasped for air.

x-x

You had no idea how long the game had been going on. If it was still going on. Due to the conditions, it was impossible to know who was still a player and who had been already turned into a bulldog. Soon the others had taken you and Frank as an example and the game had turned into several friendly combats.

Just as you were contemplating asking around if the game was over, a body slammed into yours and took you straight to the ground with him. Automatically your legs went around his waist to try and flip you both around with the momentum, but the mystery man grabbed your throat lightly and put his elbows and part of his weight on your chest. You were trapped.

“What was this big speech about not crossing your path, sweetheart? I don’t see any actions following your words.” His breath and touch were scalding hot on your skin.

You weren’t even given the possibility to answer as a new voice boomed over the playing field. “Alright! That’s enough boys! To bed with you!”

In an instant, Billy let you go, stood up and disappeared in the darkness.

“Hey! We weren’t done yet!” you shouted through the sound-dampening rain.

“Give it up. You’ve been a helicopter gunner for way too long, you’ve lost your touch,” Billy answered from only a few feet away, grabbing some forgotten items to bring back to the soldiers. “It’s late and we’re frozen to the bone. We do have better things to do than catching pneumonia, you know?”

You huffed, almost swallowing a mouthful of water while foolishly trying to wipe the wet hair out of your face. "Like what? Reading literature and complaining about beans in your food and the unavoidable fart fest in your tents? No. You know what I think? I think you’re glad it ended. You’re afraid that I could actually kick your butt."

Billy smirked as he turned around to you. "I’d let you do much more to my butt than just kick it. I mean…," he stepped closer, leaned down until you could feel his breath on your neck and whispered, "If you want to see my backside, there are other - less violent and more pleasurable - possibilities to get what you want. All you gotta do is ask."

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

Taglist:

@blackbirddaredevil23​

[writingpaperghost]

There is a Me Who Can Become Strong (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4: An Operation Called Dash!

The newest Rider appears. He's a bit of a character, but aren't they all?

Yeah, so after some thinking, I never decided to change Kiriya. Also, Kiriya is very fun to write.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32857183/chapters/82153645

Emu looked through the file for his next patient. He still couldn’t believe that he’d lost his Gashat to Nico the day before. When he’d agreed to that wager with her… It wasn’t that he didn’t know she was skilled, even before remembering who she was, he just knew that she had to be. No, he’d just thought that he’d be able to win, having at least a few more days of experience as a Rider… She’d saved his life, but she’d also taken his Gashat. How was he supposed to fight Bugsters and help their patients now?

Emu tried to read the file again. Kiriya Kujo, it read, age six. Okay, sure, that was easy, he should be here any minute now. He was just going to go over some of the details again really quick before he gets here…

“Hey.” A voice that is definitely not that of a child’s says, prompting Emu to spin around and face the doorway. Standing there was a man in a red jacket, wearing an ugly red and yellow poppy printed shirt underneath. There’s a nervous man following behind him. The first man plops down on the examination bed.

“Sir, I have a patient soon,” Emu blinks, responding in a bewildered tone. It wasn’t like it was normal for someone to just walk in here.

The man responds perhaps a bit to gleefully, “Yeah, me,” He leans forward, throwing his arm around Emu’s shoulders, causing Emu to stiffen none to subtly. “Name’s Kiriya Kujo.”

There were several things spiraling around Emu’s brain at that moment. Most prominently, this man, Kiriya, was touching him. Just like touching him. And not stopping. Emu did not like that, but also didn’t exactly have a lot of room to move around. Second, and the one that Emu voiced was… “You’re not six.”

“Nope!” Kiriya nods cheerfully, “Listen, my friend here, he’s really sick and I think it’s right up your ally. You see, he’s got this little thing called Game Disease, you know what that is. I figure you can help.”

Finally, he pulled away, allowing Emu’s brain to work properly. He stares at Kiriya for a moment, wondering how to respond. “Well… I don’t exactly have my Gashat right now,” He said, “And shouldn’t you just take this to the CR as a whole?”

Kiriya claps him on the back of the shoulder, causing Emu to flinch, “Not to worry, Ace!” He declared, “I’ll get that Gashat back for you! You just worry about your new patient.”

---

Masamune Dan walks into the CR with the casual manner of someone who owned the place. He didn’t, but he contributed greatly to it and the technology used against Game Disease and Bugsters. He’s greeted by Haima and Poppy, both of whom seems to be somewhat startled to see him.

“What brings you here?” The director asks, “You hadn’t mentioned a visit…”

“There are simply a few things I wish to speak to you about, Director Kagami,” Masamune responded, “With the knowledge that Zero Day was caused by a glitch in ten Gemn Corp game prototypes, placed there by my son. Kuroto used a demonstration that day to spread the disease.”

Poppy pipes in, “He disappeared after and lots of people were infected,” She recalls, “And those games represent the ten strains of Game Disease.”

Masamune nods, “Yes, we’ve spent the past six years refining those prototypes, until they were more usable, resulting in the Gashats currently in the possession of the four Riders.” Haima and Poppy’s brows furrow at the mention of there being four Riders. They’d only had Para-DX, Brave, and Snipe… but there must have been someone they were forgetting. “I thought it would be pertinent to inform you that we’ve begun to refine four more, to be used with the four currently completed.”

Director Kagami nods, “Yes, thank you for informing us,” He looks at Masamune, “That will certainly be very helpful in fighting the Bugsters and clearing all the strains of Game Disease.”

Then, Poppy gets a call. Masamune watches and listens, at an unfamiliar voice on the other end. “Poppy,” The voice said, “I’ve found a patient, get Saki.”

“Emu, really?” Poppy asked, “How?”

“It’s a bit of a story, just get here.” Masamune noted that this “Emu” was the one that Saki had talked about before. He kept that information for later, he’d need to look into him.

---

Emu sat across from their newest patient, Yoshitaka Nishiwaka. “I really don’t care what happens to me,” He said, nervous but apathetic at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” Emu smiled, ignoring the nagging feeling that something was wrong, “Saki’s great at this. She’ll cure you in no time.”

Before any response could be given, Asuna’s voice cut in, “You,” Emu turned, seeing Asuna glaring at Kiriya, with Saki standing beside her, her face a neutral expression.

Hesitantly, Emu asks, “You know him?”

“Three years ago,” Asuna began, “Kiriya Kujo found out about Zero Day and bargained his silence for a Gamer Driver and a Gashat. We haven’t seen much of him since, until now.”

Looking over at Kiriya, who didn’t seem terribly bothered by Asuna’s words and their harshness, Emu wondered aloud, “Then why did you need our help? Why not cure Mr. Nishiwaka’s Game Disease on your own?”

No answer was provided. Instead, the loud voice of Nico yelling was heard, “Hey, weird dude! What did you even want me here for?” She stamps over to Kiriya and glares at him, “If this is some joke then you better get running because I’m not nice to jokesters.”

Kiriya responds by moving his hands in what Emu suspects is supposed to be a placating motion, standing up and walking away a bit. “I had a friend who died on Zero Day,” He said.

Before he could elaborate, Nishiwaka, still sitting at the table, cries out and a Bugster appeared, taking the appearance of a wheel. Emu sighs, knowing that even with his Gashat he wouldn’t be much help.

“Hey, gamer girl!” Kiriya called out, catching Nico’s attention.

“That’s Genius Gamer N!”

“Whatever, how about a game?” Kiriya shrugged, pulling a Gashat and Gamer Driver out, “Whoever beats that Bugster gets Ace’s Gashat.”

Bakusou Bikes!

Nico runs up, “Oh, you’re on!”

Bang Bang Shooting!

Let’s game! Metcha game! Mucha game! What’s your name? I’m a Kamen Rider!

When the character selection screen appeared around Kiriya, he kicked his selection. Around him, his Level 1 armor began to form. Notably, he had handlebars on the sides of his head and tires connected to his arms.

“How extra,” Emu muttered, watching the transformation.

The two quickly began to fight the wheel Bugster, Nico choosing to utilize her gun to shoot from afar, and Kiriya using the wheels on his arm to hit the Bugster. After a bit, Kiriya gets a power up from the things that spawned for him, some kind of trophy, and manages to beat the Bugster, causing it to change forms. Now the Bugster looked like the final racing opponent from Bakusou Bikes, Motors. He quickly summons a motorcycle that’s also a Bugster and begins to speed off.

Level Up! Ba-Ba-Bang! Bang-Ba-Bang! (Yow!) Bang Bang Shooting!

Nico quickly transforms to Level 2 and is about follow when Saki appears having already transformed into Brave, also about to follow.

“Hey!” Nico calls, elbowing Saki, “This game’s between me and bike man!”

Behind her, Kiriya sneaks up and grabs the Mighty Action X Gashat from the holster on her belt. He throws it at Emu, “Catch, Ace!” Emu catches it as Nico spins around and seemingly glares at Kiriya, who seems unphased. “Now come on, we have a Bugster to catch…”

Kiriya watched as Emu ran over to Nishiwaka, “Mr. Nishiwaka, are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Kiriya turns in the direction that Motors took off in. “Guess I’m doing this myself,” He flips the lever on his Gamer Driver.

Level Up! Bakusou dokusou gekisou bousou! Bakusou Bike!

Unlike Saki or Nico, when Kiriya switched to his Level 2, he did not become anything resembling a normal person. Nope. He turned into a motorbike. He then quickly sped off after Motors.

Emu calls over to Saki and Nico, “I’m get Mr. Nishiwaka to the CR, you guys follow Kiriya and the Bugster.”

Nico huffed, “Why should I do what you say, M?” He was already getting Nishiwaka to the CR. Nico shakes her head, “Whatever,”

Looking over at Saki, she sees that she’s turned her back to Nico. Then Nico sees why. Stalking towards them was a Rider who looked like Para-DX, but black and purple. He held some kind of hammer in his hand. In his other hand, he holds what seems to be a Gashat.

Shakariki Sports!

Placing the Gashat into the Driver, the armor of a colorful bicycle forms around his shoulders and chest.

Shakariki! Shakariki! Bad Bad! Shaka to Riki to Shakariki Sports!

“What?” Nico can’t believe her eyes, “Using two Gashat’s at once? How the hell? Can you even do that?”

Falling into a fighting stance beside her, raising her sword, Saki responds, “Seems so.”

Raising her gun, Nico growls, “Well I’m not letting this guy interrupt the game!” While Saki ran forward, slashing at the Rider only to have it blocked by him, Nico fired several shots at him. They continued something of this kind, only for the Rider to continually shrug it off.

Finally, the black Para-DX inserts his second Gashat into his hammer, raising it to attack at the pair.

Shakariki Critical Strike!

Once the attack landed on the pair, knocking away their armor, the black Para-DX disappeared.

Nico rolls over and looks at where he once was, “Yeah, hi, what the hell?”

Sounding equally annoyed, Saki comments, “Just who is that?”

---

“Why didn’t you go and help Kujo?” Nishiwaka wondered, now lying in the bed of the CR’s patient room. Emu sits beside him.

“Because, it’s more important that I learn what will stress you,” Emu answers, “That will tell me where the Bugster will appear.”

Still, Nishiwaka seemed hesitant. “I’m not really…”

Instead of pushing that angle, Emu tried a different one, hoping that it might provide some answers or at least something to go off of. “Do you know how you got infected?”

After a moment, Nishiwaka finally answered, “Well this… monster appeared. I think he infected me.” He paused, then startling Emu, added, “He kidnapped my sister, Riko!”

“Your sister…” Emu breathed, “That would cause you stress…” He shakes his head, “Well then, we’ll just have to save your sister, too!”

Nishiwaka didn’t seem entirely convinced, but Emu had gotten what he needed, so he left him be. Now he just needed to figure out where Riko was and that would probably lead him to the Bugster too…

Then an arm was in his way. Kiriya stood, leaning against the wall, supported with his arm. Startled by Kiriya’s sudden appearance, Emu stumbled and fell to the ground. “Wow Ace, I must be a very pleasant surprise.”

Emu blinked, “How did you get in here?”

Kiriya shrugged, “Wasn’t too hard,” He didn’t elaborate, “Now listen, Ace, I need you to ride me.”

That was probably the weirdest sounding thing that Kiriya could have said and definitely not what Emu was expecting. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but definitely not that. “Wha-what?”

“If we’re going to clear Motors’ game, Bakusou Bike, we’re going to need to use my Gashat to beat him,” Kiriya explained, “I can’t reach my top speed without a rider, though.”

In response, Emu blinked again, “Okay,” He says slowly, “I guess that makes sense.”

“Cool, the, glad we’re clear there, Ace,” Kiriya watches Emu as he stands up, “So ready to ride me?”

Eye twitching slightly, Emu begged, “Please don’t keep saying that,” He then shakes his head, “Besides, you haven’t even seen me transform. Why are you so insistent that it’s me who… helps you beat Motors?”

Kiriya gestured at him, “Well you’re Genius Gamer M, right?” He asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer, “So obviously you should be the one to ride me.” Internally, Emu really wished he stop phrasing it that way. It was accurate, yes, but it sounded weird! Not that Emu could place exactly why.

“Fine, fine,” Emu finally concedes, “I’ll… ride you,” It almost physically hurt him to say that. Like, he’s hoping that Kiriya isn’t watching him too closely, or else he might catch a glimpse of something Emu doesn’t want anyone seeing.

“Great!” Kiriya grinned, once more throwing an arm around Emu – to his dismay and amazement given how much taller than Kiriya he was – and leading him out of the hospital, “We’ll just have to find them, now. Should be easy enough.”

“Yeah…” Emu weakly agrees, “Could you, uh, not do that?”

Glancing at him, Kiriya asks, “Do what?”

Emu reaches a hand up and grabs at Kiriya’s arm, moving it off… Not really Emu’s shoulders, given his height compared to Kiriya, but more around Emu’s midsection. “That,” He repeated, “Touching me.”

Seeming startled at the statement, Kiriya drew his arm back the rest of the way, “Sorry,” he said and he sounded genuine, “Guess I didn’t expect the pediatrician to be the one to have lots of personal space.”

Looking away from Kiriya, Emu responded, “Well, you’renot a kid, and we’ve just met,” He rubbed at where Kiriya’s hand had been before, “And like, it’s weird to just touch people you’ve just met. Kids are different but adults…”

Once more raising his hands in a placating manner, Kiriya says, “No, no, it’s fine, thanks for telling me,” He gives Emu a grin, “I’ll try not to do it again.”

Regarding him for a moment, Emu finally answers with a polite, “Thank you,” and the two continue their way.

After a while, Emu realizes that Kiriya’s been leading him somewhere, not just walking aimlessly. When they arrive at their apparent destination, they’re greeted with both a woman, tied up, and Motors.

“Time for the race, Ace,” Kiriya, says, pulling out his Gamer Driver and using the stage select feature to take them to a racetrack. Riko was now at the end, tied up above the finish line. Kiriya quickly transformed.

Level Up! Bakusou dokusou gekisou bousou! Bakusou Bike!

The face part of the motorcycle that was now Kiriya turned towards Emu expectantly, “Come on, Ace, we don’t have time to waste.”

“Right,” Emu nods, pulling out the Mighty Action X Gashat.

Level Up! Mighty Jump! Mighty Kick! Mighty-Mighty Action X!

As Emu gets on Kiriya, a sentence that Emu never wants to hear or think again, Motors drives up to them, also on his Bugster bike. The racers take off, but it seems even with Emu, Motors is still out racing Kiriya.

Then Emu remembers Bakusou Bikes, a game that has little rules to its name. It was probably no coincidence that items were spawning on the racetrack. Motors begins to toss bombs back at them, forcing Kiriya to try to steer out of the way.

Taking out his weapon and switching it to gun mode, Emu aims at Motors. He shoots at the Bugster, sending him into the air. They were all too close to the finish line not to take things seriously. He also shoots at a few of the items lying around, hoping one might give them a useful power-up.

“Hey, Ace,” Kiriya calls, “Time for a critical strike, wouldn’t you say?” As Kiriya steered towards one of the power-ups, Emu began to prepare Kiriya’s final attack. They launch into the air and land their finisher on Motors.

Bakusou Critical Strike!

The pair of Kiriya and Emu cross the finish line, Motors now on the ground behind them.

Game Clear!

They grab Riko and Emu gets off Kiriya, setting Riko down. He wanted to see if she was hurt or anything. Kiriya, though, returns to his Level 1 and runs towards Motors.

“By the way,” He calls out, “I lied about having a friend who died on Zero Day. I just want this Bugster.”

Emu’s first reactions is a startled, “What?” Then it was to think of his words following. I just want this Bugster. Why did Kiriya want the Motors? Why want a Bugster at all?

Kiriya continued, reaching and about to grab Motors’ arm, “I want to study it. See how it works and all.” Something about that statement unnerves Emu and he starts to wonder if his initial read of “pretty okay guy, all things considered,” on Kiriya was actually totally off base.

Beginning to walk over to Kiriya, Emu asks, “Do you really think you’ll find much out…”

Except then he freezes. Stalking over to the two, with some kind of strange, colorful bicycle armor added on, was the black Para-DX. He inserted his second Gashat into his weapon and takes aim.

Shakariki Critical Strike!

The attack hits Motors, destroying him entirely, and then Kiriya and Emu, lowering the health gauge on their chests down to their last bar. With that last attack, he turns to leave.

---

A man with short, dark hair stumbles into a room, clutching his chest. He’s wearing some odd mix of formal and casual, a dark gradient shirt, with a black blazer and slacks. He’s leaning against the doorway, then stumbles towards a desk.

Looking up from a sofa, seated across from the desk, the man in the Mighty hoodie looks up. His hood is down, now, his bangs parted and clipped on each side so that both his eyes are uncovered. Today he’s wearing a Bakusou Bikes shirt, with the sounds of revving engines coming from the Gemnboy in his hands.

The hoodie man looks concerned, “Kuroto,” He says and sets the game down, standing up from the couch, “Are you okay?” He quickly rushes over and helps the other man, Kuroto, to his seat at his desk.

Kuroto takes a deep breath, “Yes, yes, I’m… I’ll be alright, I just need a bit.”

“Are you sure?” The other responds, sounding unconvinced, “You seem like you’re in pain…”

Taking out a Gamer Driver, a black Mighty Action X Gashat, and the lime green Shakariki Sports Gashat, Kuroto sets them on his desk. He regards the black Mighty Action X Gashat for a moment, before saying, “Prototype Gashats, like this Mighty Action X, are… hard on the body. They have negative side effects.”

The hoodie man was startled at the statement, “What? Kuroto why are you using that?” He seems very worried, “If it’s so hard then what if it killed you?”

“…I have no other choice. Shakariki Sports is not designed to be used in such a way, and the other finished Gashats must stay accounted for and in the hands of those that father has given them to.” Kuroto responds, picking up the Prototype Mighty Action X Gashat, “I’m working on a solution, but it will take a while.”

“So in the meantime you’ll just be hurting yourself,” The other frowned, crossing his arms. “Kuroto…”

Kuroto sighed, “I know, Mu. I know.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before the man in the hoodie, Mu, leaned down and wrapped his arms around Kuroto in a hug, “You keep doing so much to complete the game,” He said, “You should let me help more.”

Eyes widening in realization about what Mu meant, Kuroto’s eyes widened, “No, it’ll be too dangerous?”

“More dangerous than the game when it’s completed?”

“Well… no…” Kuroto admitted, “But… Mu, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Mu took the Proto Mighty Action X Gashat from Kuroto’s hands, “If this is anything like the game, and if I’m going to beat the game, I need some practice,” He said, spinning the Gashat on his finger and watching it. He then returned his attention to Kuroto, “Besides, I don’t want my big bro pushing himself too hard. Let me help a bit, at least.”

Though clearly still hesitant, Kuroto sighed, “Fine,”

“You won’t regret this,” Mu cheered, “Besides, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m a genius gamer, after all, and this is sorta like a game, right?”

“When you’re next going out to get the Rider’s attention,” Kuroto began sternly, “Graphite’s going with you. We’re going to set up a little plan that will shock Brave.”

With a happy smile, Mu responded, “I’ll make all three of you proud!”

[ooops-i-arted]

Part 2 of Anon’s prompts, “Give me attention.”

-

Yod’ika 55 held out his hands, and the marbles he was holding slowly started to float up into the air, then circle around and around each other.

“I knew you could do it!”  Din didn’t have his helmet on, and he was glad his son could see his smile, especially when Yod’ika 55 returned it.  “That’s amazing.”

“I did it!”  Yod’ika 55 threw his hands up in triumph, the marbles scattering as he lost focus.  Din deflected one from Yod’ika hovering by his knee and reached out to pat Yod’ika 55’s head.  “You did so good, ad’ika.  You should be proud.”

Yod’ika 55 beamed, leaping forward into Din’s arms for a hug, which Din happily obliged.  “I told you that you would get it if you practiced,” Din said.

“I did it, Papa!” repeated Yod’ika 55.  “I did it!”

“Jate, jate, ad’ika,” said Din.  Yod’ika 55 beamed and went off to chase down his marbles.  Din started to stand, but was stopped by Yod’ika tugging on his pants.  “Dad, I want to show you my picture.”

“When it’s your turn, Yod’ika.”  Din had started the system of the children taking turns getting his undivided attention both for his own sanity and because Omera had said that learning how to take turns was good for social development and age-appropriate for the children.  Din wouldn’t have objected even if there was no benefit, truth be told.  He was pretty sure the only times he wasn’t being eternally called over by his children was when he was asleep or when he managed to escape to the ’fresher.

“But Dad,” whined Yod’ika, but Din shook his head, not wanting to let his eldest build up steam or he would never stop.  “A few of your brothers already asked to show me something.  Wait your turn.”

“It’s my turn now, Daddy!” chirped Yod’ika 22.  He held up a piece of paper with red and yellow crayon marks scribbled all across it.  “I drew Boga Jr.”

The picture only resembled the varactyl in the colors used, but Din studied it carefully anyway and nodded at his son.  “It looks just like her.  She’ll like it.”

Yod’ika 22 laughed.  “She’ll just try to eat it again.  Can I put it on her house?”

“Of course.”  The little shelter Kuiil had constructed was currently covered in artwork, which was fine because Boga Jr. rarely used it, preferring Din’s bed to her own.  It had become a play area for the kids instead, though they liked to include the varactyl in their games.

“My turn, Buir!” said Yod’ika 63, standing by an impressive block structure.

“I’m still showing Daddy!” snapped Yod’ika 22.  He held up the paper again.  “Can I go put it on Boga Jr.’s house right now?”

Din considered, but the area was very safe, he had a whole perimeter of warning sensors, and Omera had advised him to encourage small acts of independence.  That, and Boga Jr. was somewhere outside and wouldn’t let the kids wander off, and Yod’ika 22 was not one of the ones inclined to wandering anyway.  “Take one of your brothers with you, and come right back, but yes.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Yod’ika 3, and the two held hands and toddled off.

“Dad,” said Yod’ika, patting urgently at Din’s knee again, “Dad, I want to show you my picture now.”

“Wait your turn!” said Yod’ika 5.  “You always try to cut!”

“Be nice,” Din reminded him.

“You have to wait,” said Yod’ika 10.  “It’s Yod’ika 63’s turn, then Yod’ika 32, then mine, then yours.”

“Your brother is right,” said Din, patting his eldest son’s head.  “Wait your turn.”  Yod’ika pulled away, now closer to Yod’ika 63.

“Buir!  Buir, come see my blocks!” said Yod’ika 63, hopping up and down with excitement.  “I made a space station!”

Din had scarcely turned around when Yod’ika thrust out a hand, and the block structure crumbled and Yod’ika 63 was knocked onto his bottom.  Instantly, and loudly, Yod’ika 63 burst into tears.

“Yod’ika.”  For once, Din’s voice came out sounding stern.  “That is not how you treat your brother.”

Yod’ika scowled defiantly at him.

Din scooped up Yod’ika 63.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, rocking him close.  As for his eldest, he scooped him up too, but carried him over to the basket in the corner that had been designated the Thinking Place and set him there.  “You can stay here for a minute and think about how you are supposed to treat your vode.”

The noise level doubled as Yod’ika started wailing too.

Din forced himself to turn away, much as he didn’t want to, carrying Yod’ika 63 back to where his ruined block structure was.  Omera had told him that rewarding negative behavior with excessive attention would only increase it, but Din had figured that out even before she confirmed it.  All the children wanted Din’s attention and had difficulty waiting and Din was still teaching them.  But Yod’ika went after Din’s attention like a nexu hunting prey, and didn’t much care who got in his way.  Din wasn’t sure how to get it through his eldest’s head that his attention had to be shared.

Right now, though, Yod’ika 63 was the one who needed attention.  “It’ll be all right,” Din told him, bouncing him a little and letting Yod’ika 63 wipe his face on Din’s shirt.  “We can rebuild it.”

“I w-wanted t-to show it t-to you, Buir,” sobbed Yod’ika 63.

“Show me how you built it.  We can make it again,” Din said, patting his back and reaching out for some of the blocks.  “What’d you start with?”

“I can help too!” said Yod’ika 10, echoed by several of his brothers, including Yod’ika 22 and Yod’ika 3 as they returned from outside and rushed over.  Suddenly there was a whole swarm of flapping green ears and helping hands; blocks flew through the air as the Yod’ike starting putting the tower back together.  Yod’ika 63 sniffled, clinging to Din, but raised his hand and started adjusting the blocks as they stacked higher and higher.

Din glanced over at the corner.  Yod’ika was sitting with his arms crossed, his tear-streaked face twisted in a miserable scowl.  As soon as he saw Din looking, he started wailing again.  Din turned away quickly, trying to tune out the miserable sound and the way it made his throat tighten.

The block structure was now rebuilt, the cluster of Yod’ike beaming proudly.  Din scrambled to identify everything he wanted to praise.  “It looks very good.  Strong and sturdy.  And it was kind of you to help your brother.”

Yod’ika 63 sniffled faintly, but scrubbed at his face with his sleeve and smiled.  “Vor entye,” he said.  “Thank you.”

“Let’s all play with it!” said Yod’ika 10, snatching up one of the plasticine figurines Omera had given them.  His brothers agreed, Yod’ika 63 climbed off Din’s lap and jumped into play, and Din was able to stand and let them at it.

He glanced over at Yod’ika.  He had stopped screaming again, and had his face pressed into the corner.

Yod’ika 10 and Yod’ika 32 were engaged in the block structure and were clearly not about to fuss about turns right now, so Din walked over to the Thinking Place and sat by his eldest.  Yod’ika stubbornly pressed his face further into the corner.

“Yod’ika?”  His eldest tried to scooch further into the corner.  Din almost reached out but hesitated.  “Yod’ika?”  Din suppressed a sigh.  It was so hard to know when to talk and when to give one of his children space.  Doubly so when he knew he only had a minute before someone else was demanding his attention.  “It’s your turn now,” Din said finally.  “What’d you want to show me?”

Yod’ika leapt into his arms, crying, and Din held him close and patted his back.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Din repeated.  He spent half his day saying that, it felt like sometimes.

“D-D-Dad,” wailed Yod’ika.  “I just wanted to show you m-my picture…”

“I know,” said Din, still patting his son’s back and hiking him up higher so Yod’ika could wrap his arms around Din’s neck.  “I know you did.  But all your brothers want to show me things too.”

Yod’ika sniffled, burying his face in Din’s collarbone, but Din pulled him away just enough to gesture at all the other children playing in the room.  “This is your aliit.  Your vode.”  Yod’ika was the best at Mando’a and always liked it when Din used the language with him, and his ears were perking up a little.  “Mhi me’dinuir.  We share with our vode.  And that includes time and attention.”

Yod’ika said nothing, leaning against Din’s shoulder.

“You would be very upset if all your brothers tried to take their turn when it was yours,” Din reminded him, taking one of Yod’ika’s little hands in his own.  “You would be upset, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.  Elek,” said Yod’ika grudgingly.

“Go apologize to your brother.  Then you can show me your picture.”

Din held his breath, half-expecting another tantrum, but after a moment Yod’ika hopped out of his arms and toddled over to Yod’ika 63.  Din watched, unable to hear the words, but Yod’ika 63 smiled at whatever Yod’ika said and pointed at the blocks.  Yod’ika shook his head and rushed back over to Din.  “I ’pologized, Dad.”

“Jate, ad’ika.”  Din patted his eldest son’s head.  “Now, what did you want to show me?”

Yod’ika clambered into his arms.  “Will you carry me, Dad?”

“Of course.”  Din felt Yod’ika’s claws dig into his shirt, but his ears went up when he was up high and the only one with Din’s attention right now, like they usually did.  Yod’ika’s tantrums were difficult, but at least soothing them was always easy.

Din carried him over to the little art table he’d fashioned for the kids - a flat thick board with holes drilled into it as places to put supplies and set him down.  Yod’ika toddled past his few brothers still there, waving their artwork at Din; Din told them he would look in a moment and returned his attention to his eldest as Yod’ika brought over a still-wet painting and held it up for Din to see.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” asked Din, pointing at a green blob with two vaguely ear-shaped blobs coming out of its sides.

Yod’ika beamed.  “Yes!  You can tell?”

“Of course,” said Din, determinedly not glancing at the drawing Yod’ika 6 was waving in the air, a much more distinct self-portrait.  The children had been educated at the lab, trained in fine motor skills even if the Kaminoans hadn’t encouraged creativity like Din tried to, but the effects were obvious when Yod’ika tried to draw as well as his brothers.  He’d been trapped in the pod for so long, never encouraged to use his fingers or given the opportunity to handle a pen, and he was smart enough to realize that he was behind the others almost his age, no matter how much Din tried to downplay it.  “It looks just like you.”

Yod’ika grinned broadly.  “And I drew you too!”  He pointed at another blob, this one a mix of gray and brown, but with a vague T-shape in black over it all.  “It’s both of us!”

“I thought I was looking at a mirror,” Din said, and Yod’ika laughed.  “What are we doing?” asked Din.

“I dunno,” said Yod’ika, shrugging.  “I just wanted to draw us together.”

Without thinking, Din pulled Yod’ika back onto his lap and hugged him close.  Children won’t say ‘Give me attention,’ Omera had told him.  But they will find ways to ask.

“Mesh’la.  It is a beautiful picture.”  Din carefully helped his son hold it out so they wouldn’t be smeared with paint.  “When it’s dry, can I hang it in my room?”

“Yes!”  Yod’ika squealed in delight, jumping up to hug Din as best he could.  “Elek!  Elek!”

“Jate,” said Din, catching the painting before it smeared over his sleeve.  “Are you done?  Can I put it up to dry?”

“Yes!” said Yod’ika, and Din carefully held him as he stood and placed the painting to dry on the shelf that had been designated for that purpose.  “Jate,” Din told him again, gently stroking one of the ears the way Yod’ika liked.  The other children at the table were clamoring for him, and he turned to remind them to wait before returning his attention to his eldest.  “Some of your vode want a turn to show me things now,” said Din.  “You can go play, if you are going to be a good vod, or you can go back to the Thinking Place if you still need quiet.”

“I will be good, Dad.”

“Jate.”  Din hugged him again, which Yod’ika returned before pulling himself up to press his forehead against Din’s.  Din smiled, gently bumping their heads together before finally setting down his son and watching him hurry over to join his brothers at the blocks.

“Papa, look,” said someone at the art table.  “I painted myself!”

Translation:  give me attention, Din thought before turning around to deal with the next issue.

[miss-choco-chips]

College au part 2

Home, a place where I can go to take this off my shoulders- someone take me home (Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors & Bebe Rexha – Home)

They are there for each other, the good and the bad. That’s what family is for, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-

-I'm so gay -sighed Miguel almost dreamingly, stopping next to Slobo by the doors leading to the backyard.

Blissfully unaware of them, Tim was going through his usual routine of what seemed a mix of gymnastics, various martial arts and parkour, with a side of dancing to spice things up.

His friend snorted without even raising his eyes from the motorcycle engine he was trying to fix. A blasphemy, in Miguel's humble opinion, to have such an amazing view and to not take advantage of it.

-I know.

He dropped to the ground, head resting on Slobo's shoulder, gaze unwavering in his appreciation of slim muscles and perfectly controlled strength. Tamed power to the fullest.

-I mean like, really really gay.

-Yeah, what else is new? Pass me the motor oil.

He blindly patted the ground for it, picking something vaguely shaped like a can and thrusting it to where he thought were the other's hands.

When Tim bends over and starts stretching, Miguel wheezes and drops the can.

-I'm so stupidly, non functionally gay.

Slobo rolled his eyes and picked it up, his other hand going to close Miguel’s jaw.

-Dude that's all old news. Either come here with fresh gossip, be helpful, or leave. I don't need you making a mess of my stuff. You are getting your hormones all over my individual bubble.

Miguel sighed again, eyes almost physically turning into hearts when Tim stretched his arms over his head.

-Fuck, I can’t handle this much inner gay. It’s overwhelming.

-Nothing inner about it, dude. You’re dripping it all over my work station. Can’t you go be a disaster gay somewhere else?

-Tim is here, so no can do.

-Can’t you just ask him out and save us all the pining show and second hand embarrassment? 

A few meters away, Tim had taken out the bo staff and was practicing some moves. He accidentally brushed a branch (a thick one, from the pine tree Kon’s grandparents had made him plant upon moving there), and snapped it in half. He seemed kinda sheepish about it, which was both adorable and terrifying. Miguel was scared and horny.

-He’d destroy me.

Slobo hummed, hand reaching up to pat Miguel in the shoulder.

-Sounds like something you’d be kinda into, though.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-This coffee tastes like dirt -complained Tim, while chugging half the pot in one long gulp. 

Distantly, Cassie noted there was still steam coming out of the liquid. Hadn’t Tim just brew it? Also, was it completely dark? No sugar? 

Like her future?

Despairingly, she let her head fall again on the table.

-Why did I get into politics?

-Your pathological need to fulfill Diana’s expectations -replied Cissie, sitting across from her, long hair in what could have been a bun once upon a time but now looked more like a bird’s nest. That had been hit by lighting. Repeatedly.

It strangely suited her. Or it could be Cassie’s adoration for her friend speaking, who the fuck knows.

-Which, I might add -interjected Tim, not waiting for them to say ‘you may’ before continuing. Because he was a rude bastard like that- you invented by yourself. Diana only hopes you don’t end up in jail. And if it's for the right causes, she might even forgive that. 

He dropped to the ground for no discernible reason, back to the cabinets where they kept the fine cutlery they never used. He was staring at the halfway empty pot like it contained the key to conquering mankind.

Knowing Tim, it might actually be true.

-Don’t try to take over the world -she asked, worried he might. Cissie made a confused sound, not privy to Cassie’s internal monologue, but Tim just nodded distractedly, which was all she needed before turning back to her half done paper.

-How are you doing, sis?

-Sis like sister, o Ciss like Cissie? -came Tim’s voice from behind her, probably still sitting on the ground. 

-Yes.

-Oh -the girl in front of her blinked- sorry, you were talking to me? 

-I mean… Tim is not ‘sis’.

-I resent that, I totally could be. Also, seriously, why does my coffee taste like dirt?

-Don’t drink it then. You were saying, honey?

Cassie rested her chin on a hand, elbow carefully to the side of her paper. 

-How are you doing?

-Wondering why did I ever thought studying psychology was a good idea. Why? Who started me on this path, and can I punch them? -her voice raised higher and higher the more distressed she got- Tim? Do you remember?

-Your therapist back in high school got you out of your toxic home life and helped you basically re-build your sense of self worth. Also you like to get into everyone’s business so Kon suggested making a career out of it.

-Remind me to punch him later.

-You could break your hand, and you have an archery competition this friday.

-Kick him, then.

-Got ya.

-Can I just die? -interjected Cassie, phone at hand. Her screen displayed a text sent by a classmate, who updated her on their due date. Apparently, she had calculated wrong and it was way sooner than what she thought- What’s the worst that could happen if I die? I’m sure people would get over it.

-You’d be losing all the progress you made in your career so far -reminded her Cissie.

Tim’s voice joined from behind- Included, but not limited to, that one class you had with the douche professor. Imagine if you lost your progress and had to start over. Imagine having class with him again.

She shivered- That was both incredibly motivational, and unholily terrorizing.

Greta entered the kitchen then. She looked fresh and cute, which was probably due to her having a full night’s sleep.

-Wow, you three have been here the whole night? -she asked, obviously concerned, looking over Cissie’s shoulder at her assignment- Did you guys even make progress? At all? -her eyes discovered Tim’s half assed project, on the place next to where Cissie sat.

If Cassie didn’t love her so much, she would punch her in the face.

Tim sighed.

-I can’t get up. I can’t feel my legs -he admitted. Cassie thinks, she should be worried. Losing sensibility seemed like a serious problem. But, whatever, Greta was here, and she was perfectly well rested. Let her take care of the worrying.

-Tim? Oh my god, are you alright? -she rushed to his side.

-I think the coffee stopped making effect, and my three-on-a-row all nighters caught up to me. Just let me die, Greta. If coffee is not longer working on my body, I might as well let the grim reaper do its thing. 

Cassie couldn’t see her any longer, since she was at her back by Tim’s side, but she could still somehow sense her concern growing.

-Tim... Did you use this bag by the coffee maker to brew it?

-I can’t move my head to look up at what you’re pointing, but I guess I did.

-Oh, honey… that is soil for Kon’s vegetable plot. Not coffee grounds.

-...so that’s why it tasted like dirt. Thank god. Excuse me while I faint.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-I think Conner is dead on our living room -announced Miguel entering the kitchen. Slobo, Anita and Greta didn’t even blink, just kept their... poker? game going.

-He’s probably just sleeping -the other man waved a hand dismissively- Did you check his pulse or something?

-Ew, no. What if he’s really dead? I don’t want to touch a corpse. Greta, you go touch it.

-Why me? 

-If anyone will need to put their fingerprints in a veritable crime scene, who better than the only one with no criminal record?

-Tim doesn't have it either, go knock on his door and tell him to do it. I’m about to swindle both these jerks.

-There’s a difference between never getting caught by the police, and erasing all virtual proof of your crimes. Tim belongs to the second group. Also, last I checked, he and Bart were working on something on his room. I’m not approaching that danger zone without protective equipment.

-Speaking of -Slobo raised his head, looking around- has anyone bought them food in the last couple of hours?

-Kon, probably. 

-He is dead -he reminded them- Cassie and Cissie are still asleep, and I’m not waking them up. Greta?

Out of their group, Conner was Tim and Bart’s official handler (when Tim was not micromanaging them all, at least; little control freak).  Many people believed he lifted at the gym to get all the girls; in truth, as the boy had once told Miguel, it was so he could carry both his friends to bed in one trip to tuck them in at the same time, because if he did it separately, the one that got to be second always tried to make a run for it. 

In the event he was unavailable, Cassie took over. Her skills with a lasso and years of practice at the rodeo came in handy then, and it never failed to crack him up when he saw how swiftly she caught them both.

And if she wasn’t close or was busy, then Cissie took over for Bart and Greta for Tim, as they could only handle one at the time.

The rest of them were last resource. Second to last was Jason Todd, who as both Tim’s brother and Bart’s TA held a fair amount of power over them.

If Jason told them to fuck off, then Slobo, Miguel and Anita would talk it out among themselves. Slobo would suggest knocking them out. Which, considering Bart’s speed and Tim’s mindblowing ninja training (and where the hell did he learn that, they would never know), wasn’t a very realistic option. Anita suggested drugs; but between Bart’s ADHD medication and Tim’s antibiotics for his lack of spleen and antidepressants, the adverse effects made them all a little uncomfortable with the idea.

Miguel’s own suggestions, which involved a lot of tender care and coddling, where ignored with a few laughs and a shrug.

-Fuck you, I’m not leaving this table so close to cleaning you both up. If you are worried, you go feed them.

Slobo shrugged.

-If they die, I call Tim’s room. Having a roommate is the worst.

-Excuse you -raised an eyebrow Miguel, walking to the fridge for a drink. He might as well watch the game.

-If I have to listen to you practicing your singing before showering one more time...

-If I can deal with you cursing at your phone at five am, you can deal with my melodious voice -Miguel blinked- That’s not poker.

-We are playing Truco.

-What?

-It’s a popular game in Argentina, or so Tim said. He taught us when he was having a coffee break this morning. And by the way: Truco, bitches!

-I’m in! -Slobo yelled back.

Greta looked at her cards impassively, then at the ones laying on the table between the three of them, before raising an eyebrow- I call Re Truco.

Miguel watched them go for a while. He wasn’t sure on the rules, but from the way they kept yelling, he knew it was highly competitive. It also seemed to involve a great amount of deceit, bullshiting and being as poker faced as possible. It made sense that Tim had been the one introducing them to the game. Speaking of…

-Maybe if I knock on the door with a coffee offering, he’ll listen to me without punching my nose in? -he mumbled to himself, aware that the others were ignoring him. Decided to test his luck, he climbed to his feet and readied the coffee maker.

The rest of the afternoon saw Miguel sitting on Tim’s bed, watching from the sidelines how both he and Bart built… something. It had a chainsaw and a mini shield, so maybe a fighting bot? There were some (not very legal) competitions around campus...

It was almost dinner time when he remembered a tiny, small detail.

-Man, I’m so hungry. You guys think dinner is ready? -asked Bart, hand sweeping the sweat off his forehead- Who was in charge of it tonight?

Lightning-like realization hit Miguel.

-Oh, yeah, speaking of that… Kon was probably dead, last time I checked. Maybe we should order a pizza or something?

-Cool, I could do pizza. 

-I’m sorry, Kon was what?!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-You guys need jobs -told them Tim one morning over breakfast. They had just moved in together, and classes were about to start. Nobody seemed willing to talk about responsibility yet, but he felt like they needed the push to do it.

-I have a job -proudly smiled Bart, eyes never leaving the TV where his character was beating Kon’s into a bloody plump. He didn’t elaborate past that, and Tim made a mental note to investigate further later. Bart’s career was enough, they needn't add another unsolved mystery.

-Where is this coming from, though? We have loads of time for that -scoffed Slobo, watching the game intently.

-Classes are starting soon, and people will be getting all the good jobs. I did some calculations, and the money you guys have been saving for living expenses will run out in two, three months tops. Greta has the coffee shop thing and Cassie just got called back from the movie theatre, but the rest of you need to find some money maker. Stat.

-And what about you? -threw Cissie back, internally agreeing with him but despising the reality check.

Tim looked at her, completely deadpan. Silently, he took out his wallet, fishing three cards (one silver, one golden and one black) from it and showing them to her.

-Even before being adopted by a billionaire, I already was a rich trust fund baby. And now that I’ve said it, I’m gonna avoid getting punched by making my exit. Good luck job hunting.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cassie and Anita’s room was ground floor, along with the kitchen, living room, laundry area, a medium size bathroom with a shower, and a very small one with only the toilet and sink. The second floor housed Bart and Conner’s room, along with Miguel and Slobo’s, and Cissie and Greta’s, plus the biggest bathroom, with both a tub and shower. The attic had been claimed by Tim, who won that right by paying the deposit for the house on top of his part of the rent. It was the biggest room, the size of the entire house without partitions, with only one separation in the form of the small sized bathroom. He loved his room, would pay twice what he coughed up to have it. It was worth it, every cent.

He loved his attic; The bathroom, however, was another thing. It ran out of warm water constantly.

-This is the second time this month. I love you, but you aren’t burrowing our bath -denied Cissie firmly, arms crossed as she waited outside the door for Greta to finish her shower-. If it was any other day I’d say yes, you know I would, but you aren’t the only one that needs to get ready for the movie, and there’s six of us sharing here. Go ask the girls.

Defeated but understanding, he went another floor down, arms full with his skin and hair care products (he had a image to keep, and one never knew when paparazzi would be around; he and his brothers had a steady competition on who got caught in camera being a ugly mess the least, that he wasn’t willing to lose) and clean clothes. 

Anita shrugged when she opened the door, still naked except from her towel and hair dripping.

-Yeah, Cassie already took hers. Just remember to lock the door, dude. Since its ground floor bathroom, someone always tries to get in to pee when you’re showering, it’s annoying. Also, don’t come at me with complains about hair in the drain, okay? 

Thankful beyond caring, he nodded and hurried towards it.

He wasn’t expecting what he found there. Already halfway to the shower, he stopped to leave his folded clothes on top of the cabinet near the sink when he saw...

-Why are there weapons here? -he couldn't help but scream, clutching a towel to his naked chest. He felt distinctly like a victorian lady preserving her virtue from a foe. It was a very curious feeling.

-I said no judgements!! -Anita yelled back from across the hallway.

-Yeah, regarding hair on the floor! Nobody said anything about weapons!

-So I forgot my katana there after my shower, big deal. Just don’t fall on it, problem solved.

-No, I’m used to seeing your katana, but why the fuck do you girls have cat shaped brass knuckles?

-They are cute and useful! Aren’t you taking a shower, dude? The movie starts soon!

Deciding that this wasn't a battle worth picking, he turned on the warm water. Ahh, nice, wonderful hot water.

-Oh, Tim! -came Cassie’s yell- Don’t lock the door, forget what Anita said! I need to put on my make up and that mirror is better than the one in our room.

-I’m gonna be showering though.

-And?

Yeah, she had a point. Shrugging, he made sure the door was unlocked before stepping under the water and closing the curtain.

He heard her coming in and rummaging through one of the little bags he saw on the sink cabinet. He couldn't help but ask.

-Why do you guys keep weapons here?

-They are for when we are most vulnerable.

-With thighs like yours you’re never vulnerable.

-I love you. But just pretend I have noodle legs, for argument’s sake.

-Mkay. 

-Well, name one instance when you’re more weak and exposed than when you’re taking a shower.

-...Yeah, I follow. Still seems a bit excessive, but I do like that pointy needle thing you have by the blow dryer. I need to get my sister one of those, cute and deadly like her.

-That? Oh, honey, no, that’s a hair pin. 

-If you put your hair in a bun and use that as an ornament, you’d never be unarmed, that’s all I’m saying. Again, cute and deadly. 

-...You’ve opened my eyes.

-You’re welcome. May I borrow your eyeliner?

-Sure, but why? You don’t usually use makeup.

-If I make myself long enough wings, maybe I’ll be able to fly away from my problems. Or look fabulous enough to not care about them.

-In moments like this I’m reminded of my undying love for you. Do my eyes too.

-Gotcha.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He came home five minutes after receiving the text, chest heaving from the run and heart beating furiously for a entirely different reason.

Cassie, phone at hand, was waiting by the door. Her eyes were solemn.

-What happened? -he asked, not bothering with niceties as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.

-Family dinner went wrong -she shrugged-, not that he told me. Bart was playing games when he walked in and he texted Jason, who told him, and then he came to me.

Fuck them, Kon thought uncharitably. The Waynes were both an awesome family, and boarding on toxic. Guessing which kind were they going to be any given week was like playing lottery. It was such a Murphy law thing that they went for shitty this particular weekend, where Tim could have used their love and support the most.

-How is Jason? -he asked, not that he cared too much, but because he knew Tim would want to know sooner or later.

-Bart didn’t say, but he did mention he was hanging out with Kori and Roy, and Artemis said in the family group chat to not bother her tonight, so I’m assuming she’s there too.

-Biz is still at the farm, but three is better than nothing -he sighed, taking off his coat and walking towards the stairs- Bart?

-He just convinced Tim to take a bath in the big tub, so he’s probably standing guard by the door.

A nod, Kon’s steps hurried with purpose now that he had a clear destination in mind.

-The others?

Cassie waved vaguely towards the arch on the wall leading to the living room. Kon could see someone moving there from the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn to check; he wouldn't be derailed from his path.

-Greta went to the attic to clean Tim’s room a bit. You know he doesn't have the strength to do it himself right now, but seeing it like that also makes him feel worse. Cissie and Anita are readying the living room for a movie night, picking up all the pillows and blankets in the house. A pillow fort might be in the making.

They were on the second floor now. Kon could see Bart ahead, back resting against the wall, just by the side of the door.

-Slobo ran to Tim’s favorite pizza place -Cassie kept going, keeping pace with him- and should be back soon; Miguel went to the store to buy comfort food, sweets and stuff. Ice cream too, probably.

Conner nodded again, glad to see everyone was following their protocol for these kind of situations. All their housemates accounted for, he stopped in front of Bart and patted his shoulder comfortingly. He was very empathetic, tended to pick up on everyone’s moods, specially Tim’s, and let himself be influenced by them. The shadows on his eyes were probably a mirror image of how their friend currently taking a bath was doing. Not so hot, apparently.

-I’ll take it from here, you guys go put on your pajamas and help the girls get everything ready -he suggested, eyes going to Cassie’s. She nodded, understanding that her mission now was to calm Bart down. Helping Anita and Cissie would do wonders for him.

On most situations, the group tended to follow Tim’s lead, their indisputable commander in chief; when he couldn’t be there, or was too emotionally compromised, Cassie would take over. However, in this particular scenario, everyone deferred to him for some reason. Maybe because he’s been with Tim for the longest time, maybe because he knew him best. It didn’t matter; all he cared about was that it made his work easier, and they seemed glad to have a task they could focus on, rather than dwelling in concern.

Softly, he rapped his knuckles against the door.

-Tim? I’m coming in, dude -he informed him, voice low as to not spook him if he was dissociating. The last they needed was him slipping in the shower.

When no answer came, he entered the steamy bathroom, door closing behind him. As Cassie had predicted, Tim was sitting in the almost full tub, knees hugged to his chest and chin resting above them. His eyes went to Conner when he approached him though, which was a good enough sign to make him visibly sigh in relief.

Tim’s eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to snap at him that he didn’t need them to take care of him, but then he just deflated and looked ahead again, not nearly strong enough to fight.

Knot growing on his chest, Kon sat by the tub’s edge- Hey there. You’re not looking very cool right now. Have I ever told you I despise like 66% of your family?

-Three out of six is not 66%.

-Three? I only like Alfred and Cass.

-You don’t dislike Jason.

-I mean, it varies from moment to moment. But I’ll give you that since you’re feeling bad, and concede on 50%.

Tim snorted a little, and his eyes didn’t look as dead as they had when Kon first came in, so he gave himself infinite Best Friend points.

-Want to talk about it? -he asked gently, hand on Tim’s wet shoulder. He felt more like saw him shrug.

-Nothing to tell, really… It was more of the same shit. I love them, but sometimes they…

-Don’t make it easy, huh?

-...yeah. I don’t even know why I’m so fucked up over it, I’m used to this.

Kon squeezed his shoulder- Your psychiatrist warned you, this week was gonna be tough even without the family drama.  Your body is adjusting to the new medication, and it…

-Yeah, yeah, I know -he sighs, sinking deeper into the water- I just… I just hate this. That my brain works like that, that I worry you all, that I can’t just fucking deal with it alone. You know what Jack used to say about mental illness…

-A stupid bastard’s words shouldn't be taken seriously. And you know we don’t like the J word in this house, it’s one of the rules.

Tim’s smile, small and tentative, was a thing of beauty. It never failed to remind Kon why he put so much effort into making the situation better for his friend, when he saw that it actually did help.

-You guys can’t just erase my father from my memory by sheer force of will and avoidance of the topic.

-Sure we can -he gave his shoulder a  light pat-. The boys will be here soon with food, and I heard a movie night is in order. You done with your bath? We could stay here longer if you want to, though.

Tim’s smile grew a little bit, cheeks warming, delighted despite himself at the love and care that was being bestowed upon him. Some time ago, he might have fought them over it; the progress was hard earned, but Kon wouldn't change a single thing about it.

-Yeah, I just have to put conditioner on and comb my hair -he hesitated a bit, glancing down at his arms hugging his legs and probably weighing their strength-. Could you, uh… do it for me?

Kon had already been reaching for the bottle even before he asked.

There was little he could do to help Tim, medical wise. But there were professionals for that, and after many late night talks and specially bad episodes, Tim had gotten better at seeking their help when needed.

What he could do was no less important, though; making sure their home was a safe, supportive, non-toxic place for him to come back to.

That’s what best friends-- what family was there for.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 51

~*~Sebastian~*~

I love stupid drinking games. One of the reasons Marvel press is fun is because of the dirt we have on each other from drunken nights and hours of waiting. Both result in otherwise inappropriate questions. This was just an organized version. When Boone said you never had fun with who you were sitting next to, I started counting people between and wrote a dare to make out with the person three people to your right.

Eli went first because it was his invention. Plus, since everyone did the never have I ever and could jump in with the truths, and the point wasn't to win, it didn't matter who went first. Straight in he pulls out, "Never have I ever had a threesome."

Me, Boone, Eli, and Alissa drink. I didn't know about Alissa. Will didn't drink, but he did laugh, "Bunch of whores."

Alissa shrugged, "Everyone experiments."

Kirk looked at her, "Not everyone. About half."

Emma was next, "Last movie that made you cry? Easy A Star is Born. I cried twice during. Sat threw the credits crying. Then absolutely sobbed in my car for another ten. Then went to see it again the next day and cried just as much."

Everyone shared theirs. Mine had been a month ago when ET was on late-night TV.

Alissa got two squares, so she got a question and a dare. Angry sex or makeup sex. Me, Eli, Kirk, Boone, and Emma were in for the angry sex. Alissa had to take off her bra and hang it from a light.

Boone had to share his worst sexual experience. That led to some funny shit. Eli had a woman throw up on his dick. He claimed the tour bus gave her motion sickness. Emma's was a guy who said his own name when he came. Mine was in the back seat of a car, missing a stroke when the cop banged on the window and thinking I’d broke my dick.

Angie pulled, "Never have I ever sent nudes." All of us drank. Will's truth was his virginity story. Kirk's ended in tears, but he wasn’t the one who cried.

I got a double color. Least favorite sex position and why. Sixty-nine because I can’t fully enjoy either and I wind up focusing more on my blow job and do a shitty job taking care of her. Emma's was reverse cowgirl because there's a problem with angle of entry and an unflattering view of her ass.

"There is no unflattering view of your ass." That just popped out.

Angie agreed with Emma, "She's right. Because in reverse cowgirl your ass is going to connect with his body and jiggle. Gravity works much better to smooth things out in doggy style."

Will smiled, "The jiggle is a feature, not a bug. But I do agree with the dangerous angles." All the straight men cringed.

My dare was to switch places with either person beside me, have the next person sit on my lap, with my hand on their inner thigh until my next turn. I ended up feeling up Angie in my lap. If I’d gone the other direction, I’d have Eli in my lap. My way was better.

Kirk read, "Never have I ever had phone sex."

Emma didn't drink, but she did glare at the woman in my lap. I raised an eyebrow, "Opposed or opportunity?"

She smiled as she said, "Opportunity."

I hummed, "You'll be in Georgia and I'll be in Canada next Sunday."

"I know."

"A lot of distance."

I started to say something about getting to be the teacher, but Angie swatted me and pointed a finger at Emma, "Any erection he gets is going to poke me in the ass, so stop what you’re doing."

You get the idea. Conversations about sex, preferences, and dislikes. Some basic shit with movies and music. Some good questions, so not so much. I learned Emma loves lazy morning sex, but not lazy evening sex. She learned I like it when she takes my hand because that's her wanting the contact. Everyone had to answer how many times they had sex in the last week. That wasn't fair. Not because I'm embarrassed by the number, but because it’s a lot to remember. I said, "Seven?"  Emma pointed up. "Eight?" She nodded.

Angie and Alissa exchanged a look, "No wonder her parts we still tingling the day after he left."

Will got a dare to explain in detail his last sexual experience, pick someone else to share, and then everyone had to vote. Wonder who he was going to pick? I prepared myself. Will and Alissa had a perfectly acceptable Thursday night with three position changes. She orgasmed during position two, switching to three to finish him. He told a good story that made his wife blush. He finished and looked at me. What did I say? I knew he’d picked me. Only he didn’t. He pointed to Emma.

Emma threaded her fingers together, turned her hands out, and cracked her knuckles.

What followed was a rather detailed accounting of our shower this morning. The physical part anyway. With just the physical description I realized just how much we talk during sex. I was filling that part in as she wove the story. Specifically, her asking if she should finish me and how her question nearly did. She didn’t share that part and her eyes darting to mine gave me a thrill.

As soon as she stopped talking everyone pointed at her, including Will. He nodded in my direction, “He alludes to a four-letter word starting with “W” and you’re blushing, but not one hint of pink from the erotic shower story?”

She took a sip of her drink, “I don’t like to lose.”

Angie raised her hand, “How did you not fall over? Showers are so slippery.”

Emma stood up and put her foot on the futon, “Tiled bench on the wall and a cut out shelf to hold onto to.”

I saw her put her hand on Eli’s shoulder and covered my face with my hands, “Somebody make her sit down.” I shook my head, “So fucking thankful Angie isn’t in my lap anymore.”

I heard Kirk laugh, “I think she’ll do fine with phone sex, Seb.”

His words got my attention. I dropped my hands, “Oh shit!”

A perfectly innocent question, “What’s your favorite thing about your birthday?”, took a turn. Angie had answered buying her favorite cupcake and two new ones from a bakery close to her school. Emma answered how it was her guilt-free day to be pampered and do whatever she wanted. Will smirked, “Birthday sex.”

Heads nodded with agreement. I shook my head, “Birthday sex means anal.”

Everyone laughed and Will shoved me. Hard.

Alissa crossed her arms over her chest, “Do not even act like that’s the only day you get it.”

Eli snorted, “I never get birthday sex.”

“You’re not getting non-birthday sex tonight either.” Beside me, Angie crossed her arms over her chest too.

I half expected Emma to cross her arms in solidarity.  I was struck with a drunken laughing fit. Others joined in.

Eli was not one of them, “How’s your birthday, Seb?”

“My birthday is in August.” See how I dodged the question.

Kirk started laughing so hard I thought he might piss himself. “Eli never gets birthday sex. Will has bonus birthday sex. I have lots of birthday sex.” He looked at me and pouted, “And poor Seb doesn’t know what he gets for his birthday.” He let out a very loud snort, “Straight people and anal.”

Emma pulled, “Pick a stripper or lap dance song.” I was fascinated by the way her eyes shifted from up and left to up and right and the way she chewed on her lip as she thought. She was thinking hard.

Eli elbowed her, “It’s not that hard of a question, Emeliana.”

She flipped him off, “Don’t Let Go, En Vogue.”

I have no idea what anyone else said. I was too busy finding the song on Spotify and creating a playlist. Will elbowed me. I looked up to see everyone looking at me. “Oh, not doing either. Naked is fine. Naked and dancing . . . nope. Too many body issues for that.”

Eli looked at me strangely, “Damn, if you’ve got body issues the rest of us are fucked.”

Emma smacked the back of his head, “You damn well know that outside and inside don’t necessarily match.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry. Fuck, that hurt.”

My text alert went off. It was from Will, who was sitting next to me. “Keep her.”

The questions and stories went on. The “game” ended when Eli reached the Candy Castle after skipping a big chunk of the board going through some sort of wormhole involving dots on spaces. I think he made it up.

We all did a celebratory shot and Emma pulled Angie off the couch, dropping down next to me. Alissa squished in between Emma and Will, so when we put our arms around the women, we brushed hands. Us, being us, we held hands for a few minutes. Long enough for Angie to take a picture and text it to Emma and Alissa.

I don’t even know how long we sat talking and sharing laughter. It was a good night. The kind of night you want to remember and never want to end. I would have never imagined a guy who’d dressed me over ten years ago on a TV show would be part of a couple who bridged my world and the world of a woman I met in a grocery store. A woman I adored more every day.

Everyone seemed to decide the party was over at the same time. We shared an Uber with Will and Alissa back over the Williamsburg bridge, dropping us off first. Inside the elevator Emma attacked me. Damn woman lacks self-control. I was going to wait until we got into my apartment. Instead, I found myself trapped in the corner, a hand on the back of my neck and one on my crotch. Sloppy, sloppy kisses were a preview of what was sure to be equally sloppy sex. We zig-zagged down the hall, fell through the door, and started shedding clothes on the way to my bedroom. She pushed me onto the bed and we fought with my jeans, laughing the whole time. Finally, we figured out my shoes had to come off first. I slapped at the nightstand drawer a few times before finding the handle and managed to get the condom on. Emma had much better luck with her shorts. I’d already pulled the drawstring on our way, so I gave her a head start. She straddled my hips and sank down on me.

I groaned loudly, “You feel so fucking good.”

Emma’s fingers pressed into my stomach, “You too.”

I used my thumb on her clit while she rode me. At least, I think I did. I was in the general vicinity. Precision with fine motor skills is one of the first things that go for me. I tried. It felt good, but I wasn’t getting any closer to an orgasm. I held onto her hips and rolled us over. Luckily, it only took two or three strokes to realize I wasn’t inside her anymore. We laughed as I got us back on track. A lot of groping and messy kisses later I pulled out and rolled onto my back. I looked over at her, “This isn’t gonna happen for me.”

She convulsed with a laugh, “Me either.”

While we laughed, I took her hand and held it against my stomach. “I don’t think you’re a real couple until you’ve had a sex failure.”

“And I have no confetti to throw.”  That started us laughing again. “Hey, your dick’s not broken and nobody yelled their own name, well, any name.”

“It could be worse.” I let go of her hand, lifting my arm for her to cuddle up. “Let’s go to sleep and forget this ever happened.”

“Not a chance.” She kissed my chest.

I pulled my head back and glared at her, “I don’t like you anymore.”

Emma kissed me very softly, “Yes, you do.”

I smiled, “Yeah, I do.”

~*~*~

About seven I sprang up in bed finding it hard to breathe. Night terror. Emma was sleeping soundly and I didn’t want to wake her. I picked my underwear off the floor and went to the other room. I sat in my favorite chair, focusing on my breathing to pull myself out of this. The racing heart and hyperventilating had me feeling dizzy and with numb extremities. Middle of the night panic is the worst. If I’m awake I can usually catch it quickly and do what I need to manage. In the middle of the night, I’m a couple of steps behind. Takes a little longer to calm down. When I left the calm place I visualize and opened my eyes I was better. The panic had passed as it always does. It would take a little while for the adrenaline to metabolize. I padded quietly to the bathroom, not wanting her to wake up and see me like this, to brush my teeth and wipe away the sweat. Back to the kitchen, I grabbed the biggest bottle of water I had. My journal was in the office. I swung by for it before heading back to my chair. My rule for this is to just write. Thinking or trying to figure out what was going on never worked. I would look back later, but for right now it was just stream of consciousness.

I heard Emma in the bathroom about an hour later. Putting my journal on the coffee table, I turned in the chair to be able to see her. When I’d gone to the bathroom, I’d moved our discarded clothes to the bedroom. She must have found them because she was in my shirt. Talk about something to put an instant smile on my face. I reached out a hand for her, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Emma took my hand, letting me lead her to sit on my lap. She pressed her lips to mine before laying her head on my shoulder. “I missed your warmth.”

Kissing her head, I hugged her closer and made an instant decision to tell her. “I’ve been up for a while. Had a night terror. Fucking hate waking up in that panic.” Now, as I say it aloud, I realize even more than the panic, I hate feeling weak and out of control.

Emma lifted her head, her green eyes meeting mine with soft concern. She ran her fingers from my temple, around my ear, down my neck, over my beard, and finally to rest on my chest. “What do you need to take care of you?”

I smiled and kissed her. Fuck. I should have woken her up because the last ten seconds had done more to calm me than everything I’d done in the last hour. “I’m ok. Meditated, water, journaling.” I pointed to my journal.

“Any luck identifying the trigger?”

I shook my head, “Na, just wrote. I see my therapist on Thursday. She’ll tell me.”

She laughed, “Will she? Mine won’t tell me anything.” She imitated a voice I didn’t know, “I’m here to help you find your answers, not give you mine.”

“Good point.” I kissed the bare slope of shoulder not covered by my shirt.

“It’s been years, but I remember the after felt like bugs crawling through my veins. And the shaking.”

I held out my hand, watching the slightest tremor, “Not so bad.” Her fingers laced with mine, steadying more than my hand.

“Why don’t you go for a run and burn it off?”

“Thought about it, but didn’t want you to wake up to a note and think something was wrong. Too much to write out.” The thought of her thinking this had anything to do with her was enough to get my heart racing again.

“If there’s a next time, I’ll know.”

I like that she didn’t automatically tell me she wouldn’t have wondered.

Before I could voice my thought, her hand was on my face and she kissed me, “Seriously, Bastien, go for a run.” She nodded toward the door.

“And leave you here?”

“I will be right here when you get back.”

There’s a comforting thought. “Ok.” A run sounded good. Usually, I’d head to the gym early and hit something cardio and I’d be back to normal before the rest of the guys got there. She stood up and took my spot when I went to put on some clothes. I pulled my running shoes out of the closet and sat on the couch to tie them. “I won’t be too long.”

“Take as long as you need. I’ll shower. Maybe switch around some of your drawers and cabinets.”

“Sounds good, enjoy yourself.  Still want me to show you around today?”

“Absolutely.” She put her hand over her stomach, “You’re going to have to feed me.”

“I can do that.” I kissed her and headed out the door.

I put in my earbuds, cranked up the music, and just ran.

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

loose lips

Rocket Raccoon x Reader

Summary: requested by spacesuitsforemergency. you overhear rocket talking to quill about his feelings for you. you tell gamora, and gossip spreads on the ship until drax outs him in front of everyone.

Characters/Pairings: rocket/reader, peter quill, gamora, baby groot, drax, mantis

Warnings: minor strong language?

Word Count: 3,050

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“Would you can it already, Quill?”

You sighed, stopping halfway up the ladder to the cockpit and rolling your eyes. All you were hoping for was a chance to ride shotgun and maybe learn a few things about piloting the ship while everyone was still on a success-high from a mission well done, and for once, fully paid. You should have known the collective good mood wasn’t going to last. Groot grumbled from his place on your shoulder, apparently sharing your sentiments.

“I’m just saying—” Quill’s voice was colored with laughter.

“I know what you’re sayin’, Quill.” Rocket barked back irritably, and you felt the ship shudder slightly – undoubtedly, he had adjusted course a little too aggressively. Groot’s tiny hand tightened in your hair. “And I’m tellin’ you to knock it off.”

“I don’t hear you denying it, man.” Quill teased. You paused as you made to move back down the ladder again, curiosity getting the better of you. What in the galaxy could Rocket have to hide that Quill would interesting enough to be bugging him this much? “Why don’t you just admit it?”

“I am Groot?”

“Shh,” you hushed Groot, holding a finger to your lips. “Just a second, sprout.”

“I ain’t admittin’ anything to you, Star Bitch.”

“C’mon, man.” Quill sighed, almost exasperated. Whether that was with the conversation or the alteration to his self-assigned moniker, you couldn’t be sure. “Maybe I can help you out. You know, I am a legendary—”

“Asshole?”

“Just… okay?” Quill groaned, almost childishly. “You like her, man. It’s pretty damn obvious. I mean, she probably already knows – you never call her a bitch. From you, that’s like a marriage proposal.”

“Aw… you jealous, Quill?” you could hear the smirk in Rocket’s voice despite his annoyance. The cold metal of the ladder was digging uncomfortably into your palm, so you wrapped your elbow around it, the sleeve of your jacket padding it slightly. Groot grumbled quietly on your shoulder, reminding you that you should just climb back down and carry on with your day or climb up and rescue Rocket from this conversation entirely, but you couldn’t. Some part of your mind was catching on to what Quill was implying, but you couldn’t quite reach it. Not yet. “Now, would you just drop it already?”

“Nope. Why won’t you just admit it?”

“Because it don’t matter if I like her or not.” Rocket snapped. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna change just because I say somethin’ out loud.”

“So, you admit there’s something to say?” Quill tried snidely, a victorious lilt to his tone. There was a long pause, and when Rocket answered, his words were quiet, gruff. An unwilling confession.

“She… she called me ‘sweetheart’.”

“Oh, shit.” you muttered, eyes widening.

“And…?”

“And it don’t matter that I like her!” Rocket growled, deflating as he continued. “I’m… we ain’t the same. She ain’t gonna be interested in somethin’ like me.”

“I don’t know, man.” Quill replied, and you could practically see him shrug. “Y/N isn’t like that, she—”

“I am Groot!” the little plant on your shoulder said impatiently, way too loud. You hurried to clamber back down the ladder again, cursing as Groot wrapped vines around the top rung and pulled himself away from you and up to the cockpit. You swore again as you slipped, knee banging painfully against metal. Eyes watering, you dropped as quietly as you could down to the floor.

“I am Groot!”

“Groot?” you heard Rocket say in confusion. “How’d you get up here?”

“Shit.” you hurried as fast as you could with an aching knee to your bunk, closing the door and leaning against it. “Well… shit…”

***

“So, are you going to tell me how you managed to injure yourself without even leaving the ship?” Gamora asked, nodding pointedly at the ice pack resting on top of your now-swollen knee. You were sitting on your bed, back against the wall and leg stretched out in front of you, a book in your lap. You avoided her eye, keeping it on the pages as you turned one.

“Nope.”

“So, can I assume it was something dangerous or embarrassing?’

“Assume away.”

“Y/N.” Gamora replied, unimpressed. She sat down on the edge of her own bed, rescuing her boots from the floor. She raised an eyebrow at you, almost tired with your weak attempts at avoidance.

You sighed, tossing your book onto the mattress beside you. “I hit it on the ladder.”

“On the ladder.”

“Yup. On the ladder.”

“And you forgot the basics of motor skills, why?”

“I didn’t.” you deadpanned, and she gave you a slight smirk. “I just… I slipped.”

“You slipped.”

“Why do you keep repeating what I’m saying?” you asked irritably, gesturing at her. “I slipped. On the ladder. Sometimes people who aren’t amazing, invincible warrior women aren’t one hundred per cent steady on their feet, y’know.”

Gamora’s smile widened. “You know, you only start telling me I’m impressive when you’re hiding something from me and you’re trying to distract me from that fact. And you wouldn’t blush if all it had been was a simple slip on a ladder.”

“Well, it works on Quill.” you grumbled under your breath, folding your arms over your chest petulantly.

“Not all of us are so easily distracted,” she said, pulling on her boots. She looked up at you with a raised brow when you didn’t speak, and you sighed.

“I kind of… eavesdropped on Quill on Rocket.” you admitted. “I was halfway up the ladder, and I kind of just… heard what they were talking about. I didn’t mean to… it just kind of… happened.”

“And what exactly were they talking about?”

“Nothing important.”

“Y/N.”

“Me. They were talking about me.”

Gamora didn’t say anything, but she sat back, her jaw tightening slightly.

“Nothing bad!” you explained quickly. You ran a hand through your hair. “It’s uh… Rocket.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing! Nothing, he just… he might have, like… feelings?” you wrinkled your nose distastefully. “Dear God, I sound like a teenager.”

“Y/N.”

You sighed. “Rocket apparently has some feelings for me.”

Gamora ave you a blank look.

“Like… in a romantic sense?”

“I know what way you mean,” she replied, her tone flirting with impatient. “I just thought it was obvious.”

“What?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Is everyone on this ship completely blind? Or is this a Terran trait?”

“I don’t—”

“Rocket isn’t as complicated as he thinks.” Gamora told you plainly. “I’m sure projecting that tough exterior at all time seems like a wise idea—”

“Speaking from experience?”

Gamora gave you a pointed look.

“What? You could say that about like sixty percent of this crew at any given time.”

“—particularly after everything he’s been through – whatever that is – but with how short tempered he is, it really just makes it easier to see when guard’s down. And it’s almost always down, a least a little, around you.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve really never noticed?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… I just figured… we’re friends, y’know? I didn’t think he was talking to me any diff—”

“When was the last time you heard him call Drax ‘doll’?”

“Okay. Fair point…. Has he never called you…?”

“No.”

“Oh.” you repeated lamely.

“Is it a problem?” Gamora asked, tucking her hair over one shoulder. “The way he feels about you?”

“I… I don’t know. It’s not like we’re… we aren’t the same.” you said, realizing after a moment that that was exactly what Rocket had said too. “We could never really have… I mean, we couldn’t have a relationship. He’s… he’s a raccoon, Gamora.”

“I’m aware, Y/N.” she said dryly.

“So, where does that leave… whatever this is?”

“That would be up to you.”

***

“Hey, you hungry?”

You looked up from where you were straining to rescue one of Groot’s toys from under some random equipment, flat on your belly and hair in your eyes. The little plant was standing on your back, tiny hands locked in your hair. He bounced impatiently, eager to have it returned to him.

Rocket was watching the two of you with a raised brow, and you felt your cheeks stain pink – you’d been doing your best to avoid him for the last few hours, at least until you didn’t feel like a complete dick for listening in on his conversation. You turned back to what you were doing, partly because you wanted to hide your blush, and partly because Groot was now tugging at your hair.

“He just had his dinner.” you grunted, back under the equipment and reaching almost painfully. Your fingers barely brushed the edge of it, and you swatted the toy back towards you. It skittered out across the floor, and Groot let out a little whoop, bounding after it happily. You cursed to yourself as he almost took the hair he’d been holding with him.

“I was askin’ you.”

“Oh.”

“Y’know, you look like an idiot lyin’ down there like that.”

“Yeah? Then tell your kid to stop throwing his shit under the machinery.” you shot back, wiggling back out and turning to grin at him. This kind of back and forth you could handle – clearly, he didn’t know about your transgression – and his usual abrasive attitude was in place. Which was always fun.

“You know he can get it out himself, right?”

“If you can get him to realize that, all power to you, Rock.” you told him, sitting up and dusting off your hands. “And why would ever deny you a chance to mock me?”

Rocket scoffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Much appreciated, doll.”

You smiled, stretching out a kink in your neck. “Now, what’s this about food?”

“Quill picked somethin’ up planet-side. You want some, you better hurry your ass up.”

“Since when is my ass any of your concern?” you asked with a teasingly raised eyebrow as you stood. Nothing in the way you spoke to him had changed, but now you found yourself watching his reaction. And if he could, you were sure he’d be blushing. “And whether or not I eat for that matter?”

Rocket scratched at the back of his head, and you pressed your lips together to hide an amused smile as he rolled his eyes. “Jus… you wanna eat or not, humie?”

“Aw, you come up with the cutest nicknames.” you joked, snickering as he scoffed loudly. “Lead the way, dude.”

Rocket grimaced at you as you fell into step beside each other. “Since when do you call me ‘dude’?”

“Don’t like that one, huh?” you said with a shrug as you entered the kitchen, reaching over to ruffle the fur on top of his head without really thinking about it. The rest of the crew were already squeezed inside – Quill was sitting on the bench for some reason, but with Mantis recently joining the rest of you, space was starting to become an issue. Rocket surprisingly didn’t shove your hand away; instead, he ducked away from you, paws hurriedly fixing what you’d mussed. “Is there something you’d prefer?”

Gamora raised an eyebrow at you pointedly, and you saw Quill wink at Rocket out of the corner of your eye. When he realized you’d seen him, he feigned an itch, rubbing at his eye and avoiding your gaze. You rolled your eyes.

Rocket cleared his throat as you sat next to Gamora, shaking his head. “We eatin’ or what?”

You smirked, filling a bowl from the pot on the counter and pushed it across the table to him before helping yourself to one.

“So…” Quill dragged out the word, the beginnings of a smirk half-hidden behind his fork. “What were you two just talking about?”

“Rocket’s apparent aversion to nicknames,” you told him, leaning back in your seat. You felt a tugging at your pant leg as Groot clambered his way up your leg and into your lap. Apparently, he’d grown bored of the toy you’d spent ten minutes rescuing and had decided to join the group. At least, you hoped that was what it was. If you had to dig it back out from under god know what, you were going to be really annoyed.

“He doesn’t hate all of them…” Quill asided with a grin, and Rocket shot him a glare.

“I thought calling each other by the wrong name was a tradition in Terran romantic relationships.” Drax said casually, spooning up a mouthful of noodles. “Have you decided to forgo it?”

You choked on your dinner, coughing and eyes watering. You dropped your dish on the table in front of you, and Groot clambered hastily from your lap over to Gamora’s. Rocket rounded on Quill, teeth bared.

“You mouthy piece of—”

“Hey!” he protested, hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

Drax looked unabashed, continuing with his meal. “The rodent has feelings for Y/N. I thought that was obvious.”

Rocket’s eye found yours for a second, and his ears drooped as he quickly averted his gaze.

“It’s true.” Mantis piped up helpfully from where she was squeezed in between Drax and Rocket. She was leaning back in her seat awkwardly, towards Drax, clearly worried that Rocket was about to lose his temper.

“How would you know?” Rocket said defensively, eyes narrowed. “You ain’t never touched me.”

“Oh no, I’m too frightened to.” Mantis replied, nodding pacifyingly. “I’m afraid you would try to bite me again.”

“Good.”

“But Drax has explained to me the courting habits of other species—” Quill rolled his eyes at that “—and it is very apparent that you have romantic feelings for Y/N.”

“It’s not—I don’t have—” Rocket scoffed, flustered. He floundered for a denial, an excuse… something before he met your eye again. You bit your lip and he shook his head, pushing himself back from the table. “Screw this.”

The rest of you sat in silence as he stormed out, and the quiet stretched out between you all for a long moment.

“Uh…”

“God, I’m going to have to deal with this, aren’t I?” you groaned petulantly. “Thanks a lot, Drax.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Y’know, the fact that you really don’t get sarcasm makes shit so much more annoying.” Quill snorted as you stood with a sigh. He opened his mouth to say something and you held up a finger as you headed out of the room. “Rethink that idea, Quill.”

***

“Rocket?” you knocked hesitantly on the doorframe of his bunk, watching as he tossed tools and junk metal over his shoulder irritably. He didn’t look up or even pause when you spoke, and for a moment you considered just walking right back out. “You got a second?”

“’m busy.”

“Putting a dint in every surface of your bunk?” you suggested, stepping aside as a spanner he threw blindly bounced towards your shin. It clattered to a stop in the hall behind you. “And apparently the hall… you wanna watch where you’re chucking that stuff?”

“You wanna get out of my space?” he shot back without looking up or turning around.

“Honestly? I’d love to,” you shrugged. “I’d pretty much throw myself out of the trash release if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. But, hey, I’m quirky that way.”

“Just get out, would ya?” Rocket growled, evidently having run out of things to throw. Whatever he’d been looking for he hadn’t found it. “I swear, you are the biggest damn pain in the ass on this ship.”

“High praise considering the other contestants,” you deadpanned. “Now, you wanna actually talk to me or do you wanna throw out a couple more insults?”

He stayed silent, arms folded petulantly over his chest.

“Fine.” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Enjoy your night, Rocket.”

You turned to go, annoyed, and were already out in the hall by the time you heard him speak.

“It wouldn’t work.”

His voice was so quiet, almost uncharacteristic for the brash little creature, that you almost missed it. You stopped, inhaling slowly. Sure, you were the one who had tried to start this conversation, but that didn’t mean you were actually prepared for it to happen. Part of you had been kind of hoping that he would be completely happy with playing dumb.

You turned around slowly, coming back to stand in the doorway. He hadn’t moved, and he didn’t look up. You didn’t say anything – you just waited for him to continue.

“It doesn’t…” he said after a minute or two. He sighed defeatedly, running his paws down his face. “It doesn’t matter. What I… it wouldn’t work. We ain’t the same.”

“Rocket.”

“So, we don’t really need to be talkin ‘bout it.” he shrugged. “’s fine.”

“Y’know… I don’t really know… what I was going to say in this conversation.” you admitted awkwardly, and he huffed a laugh despite himself. You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I mean, I’ve been on this ship as long as you have… I’m still trying to get used to the idea of being on different planets and talking to actual aliens. I’m not really sure if I really know where to go forward. But I… I do think that you’re putting too much thought into this.”

Rocket finally looked up at you, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. It was almost enough to wipe the defeat from his expression. “It ain’t much. We ain’t exactly similar.”

The side of your mouth quirked in a smirk. “I don’t know. We’re both sarcastic little fuckers. Both like a good drink. We both care about Groot…”

“You know what I mean.” he said with a shake of his head. “…Physically, we ain’t—”

“Who said anything about physicality?”

“We— well, I—”

“Rocket, you are such a guy.” you chuckled lightly. “Can we just leave it at you’re you and I’m me and we don’t really need to think of anything beyond that. That stuff… it’s not the be all and end all of relationships, y’know?”

Rocket’s ears perked up, and he straightened. “Are you sayin’…?”

You smiled, touching a hand to the top of his head. You ran your fingers through the soft fur, mussing it slightly. “Like, I said. You’ve been putting way too much thought into this.”

.

.

.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @spacesuitsforemergency @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @dragon-chica

[thedistantstorm]

Day 10: “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Hawthorne/Zavala

Warnings: Executor Hideo is still a jerk. Emotions.

-/

Suraya Hawthorne only lies to him about one thing.

Until that point, she had been open and honest, committed to working with him. They had gotten to talking about the City and the lands outside of it and he had been curious. How old was she when she stepped into the wilds from the safe harbor of the City? Seventeen, she'd said. His eyes narrowed on her, and she looked away. 

Lie. She was younger. 

How long did she prepare? Oh, for a while, she brushed him off. Generalizing to prevent herself from lying to him further because he, she’d learned and learned quick, would know. She’s intelligent, but he’s unlike many she’s dealt with. She kept up with his moves, tried to change the subject.

Zavala let her do it, maneuvered around the conversation skillfully, patient. When they came full circle, as he’d masterfully planned, he asked her one question. 

“Why?”

She plays it off coolly, almost with a Hunter’s sense of comedic self-depreciation. "I wanted to see what was out there. Y'know, just stretch my legs."

"Really?" He asks, interested. Gut churning.

"Yeah."

"There’s more to it than that,” He presses a bit further, touch and go.

She nods. The movement is too fast. She's blinking more. This answer will be flippant and generalized. "What is there to say? There’s a great big world out there, Zavala. The City is only a tiny part of it.”

The Commander does not push her. There is an animal sort of desperation laced into her posture, an anxiety that coils in the darkness of her gaze.

It’s enough intel to form a working theory: Suraya Hawthorne did not leave the Last City entirely by choice.

-/

When she comes into the Farmhouse, he watches her shrink back. Two men in red stand beside him, speaking in hushed tones of the survivors of New Monarchy. They pause, only to look at her with open disdain.

“Is something the matter?” Zavala asks, careful to keep neutrality in his tone.

“Nothing at all,” They reply. After that, they talk softer with her down at the other end of their makeshift command center, and when they leave, he hears one of them say something as they pass her. Even if he hadn’t heard what it was, the tone is soft and scathing.

“What did they say to you?” He asks.

She shakes her head. “Nothing important.”

Zavala coughs, deciding to try and untangle what he can. “It sounded like a slur.”

“It wasn’t.” Lie.

“New Monarchy is safe in a western portion of the City. They have bunkers, supplies, food. Their scouts monitor the flight patterns and do their best to stay hidden. Their casualties seem to be relatively low.”

Suraya nods. “Good.”

“They made the insinuation that they tried to make contact before,” He mentions, when she returns to looking at a map and he’s pretending to check inventory of available munitions.

Tense isn’t the right word to describe her posture. Uneasy or wary are better more appropriate, he thinks. “They did reach out,” She hedges, speaking quietly. 

“And?”

“I offered to setup evac.”

“And?”

“They refused.” She’s looking out the window now. Thinking about how she can escape.

“Why?”

She shakes her head. Does not look at him. She’s hiding something. “You’d be better off asking them. They seemed rather chummy with you.”

She does not speak to him for the rest of the day, and the entirety of the one after that. His gut tingles.

This response is local to New Monarchy. She deals with FWC and Dead Orbit nearly daily, without issue.

-/

When she comes around following her walk in on his briefing by New Monarchy’s field scouts, he tries again, asking her why she left the City.

She walls herself off completely. 

“I need to know, Suraya,” He tries, watching her in earnest. Pleading with her on a personal level rather than professional.

“I already told you.”

“You were lying and we both know it,” Zavala scoffs. “The truth. Please.”

Hawthorne shakes her head, and instead of anger, defensiveness - as he expects - she surprises him. She only sounds tired. “Listen, I can’t explain it.” She closes her eyes. “You’ll have to trust me.”

She does not expect him to stop there. It's clear she's drawing a line before he starts banging on the walls she's drawn around her heart. She underestimates his patience, and clearly is not used to her limits being respected. He has to give in order to get.

It's fair, he thinks. After all, look what she's giving to everyone. She, someone who left the City, who has no desire to return (she'd been honest there), did return in their darkest hour. She's been doing so much good, and fighting so hard to keep them all safe and be a good, inspiring leader.

"Okay," Zavala answers, careful not to let anything that might insinuate irritation bleed into his voice. "I won't pry."

His eyes search hers, and somehow, that crippling anxiety he sees reflected in them is only worsened by his acquiescing. He has some ideas about that, with regards to her. 

She's afraid of making attachments to people, he gathers. She's been alone for a long time. Cooperation, communication, trust… it sounds almost like friendship. Falcon excluded, she does not have companions. She expects to leave or be left - he's not sure which upsets her more - after this war is over. This distance she keeps, this social awkwardness (to an extent), this aloof persona… it's all a defense mechanism.

-/

Months later, Suraya only accepts his offer of a position within the City hierarchy for those she would be serving, guilted by their people's pleading. He does not love the idea that she does it out of guilt, but another leader not obsessed with power is a boon they will always need. 

Their first Consensus meeting falls on a cold, rainy day that reminds him far too much of Towerfall.

Even so, decisions must be made. Tower reconstruction is to be abandoned in lieu of reappropriation of space and resources to a more habitable part of the wall. Whatever could be salvaged, would be salvaged eventually, but the majority of the structure is not safe for exploration much less removal of weighty supplies.

"Next order of business is appointing a new member of our council," He explains to the room. "It was agreed upon that we required a Clan liaison to consult both the Vanguard and City Government with the massive rise in unionization amongst the population in its entirety. Formally, that ambassador would become a member of the Consensus."

"New Monarchy objects," Hideo immediately presses, even though he knows Zavala is not done speaking. "I know who you want, and we do not want that woman's ideas in our City. She is an outsider. She is not needed here."

"And why is that? Your nose still sore?" Lakshmi says, with narrowed optics. Arach Jalal laughs beside her. "I oppose, but not because I'm afraid someone will find out my underhanded dealings," She and the Arach share matching - as much as Lakshmi's build will let her - grins.

“Now, now,” Jalaal croons, “He’s the one who threw her out, so of course he doesn’t want her back in.”

Ikora looks to Zavala, Hideo scoffs but swallows hard, and Cayde smacks his palm on the table because he'd lost control of his motor skills as he'd nodded off Zavala isn’t sure he’d feel better about things if Hideo lied, trying to deny it. The Executor’s flippancy makes his blood boil.

-/

It's like an avalanche, the way his feelings all seem to roll downhill, landing squarely on his back, dragging him down with them. This is a rarity, that he doesn't know which of his emotions to feel first, only that they're demanding to be felt with a vigor he's not used to.

Normally, he'd will himself to control and then speak. But what comes out is a rolling thunderclap of, "He exiled you!"

"He didn't."

Zavala is beyond uncomfortable. He's furious. Furious the City - his City - failed her. The City he's spent centuries protecting. The City that was torn down by enemies in an instant. 

The City they'd never have been able to reclaim without her.

"Look," She says, sounding tired. How many times has she played this conversation out in her mind, he wonders, "I'd been thinking about leaving, he just forced my hand."

"You weren't even the age of majority. It's unethical. Immoral You might have known what you wanted but you shouldn't have been able to make that choice. You were a child."

"I understand that," Suraya agrees, "But-"

The real issue isn't what's been done. That cannot be changed, it's happened, etched into time without the ability to go back and change it. No, the real issue is something else entirely. 

"Why didn't you tell me? Why lie about it?"

"I am who I am, Zavala," She says, and those deep dark eyes land on him, rooting him to the spot. "I wanted your trust because of what my decisions made me. Not because you felt bad. I'm proud of my choices. Even the dumb ones." Her lips turn into a smile, and how she finds grace in this moment astounds him. He's just so, so- 

"Don't be angry on my behalf," Suraya urges him. It's like something between them shifts, has shifted. They aren't who they were back when this was a war for survival. They are more. "Just don't let him do it to someone else."

"Help me do that," He manages, hoarse, unable to look away from the openness of her gaze. 

She nods, and he sees her usual sarcasm smothered by sincerity. A metaphorical wall between them destroyed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Thankfully," He admits, equally as honest. Her shoulders come back and her chest rises, as if she's been pulled to full height by an invisible thread. Confident. 

It strikes pride into his chest to be the one to make her feel this way. He endeavors to do it more often.

[chiauve]

Aquarius - 3

Over the months, Chris learned several things about Raccoon City.

First, that it wasn’t really a city but a large town, isolated and almost quaint, and Chris couldn’t for the life of him figure out why a unit of STARS was needed here. Not that he was complaining, he loved the job and his new home. The tourism during the summer months encouraged a modern growth but the rhythm of the private fishing ships that slid out into the bay and beyond every morning had probably changed little in the last hundred years or so. It was a very different feel than New York City where Chris grew up and he was surprised to find he liked it.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder yet Barry assured him that the isolation of both the town and the bay had a bad habit of inviting unsavories such as drug dealers into their midst. Before Chris had arrived they’d routed some kidnappers who’d holed up in a cabin on the other side of Raccoon Bay.

The town was on the cusp of one age to another, but couldn’t seem to make that last step to cross the line into the modern era. Along the water, unique to Raccoon Bay, grew herbs with miraculous properties, it had drawn the Native Americans to the bay centuries ago and then the colonists after. Several major pharmaceutical companies had apparently tried to install facilities in Raccoon City to make use of this herb, and while such industry would give the town the boost it needed to become a true city, for some reason these deals always stalled and industry remained elusive.

Second, for such a quaint and friendly town, theft was rampant, especially on the beaches and boardwalks that made up the focal point of the tourism. Jill warned him not to take his eye off anything valuable even for a moment when he was out near the water.

“Maybe it’s the Umbrella People,” Chris sniggered and she laughed with him.

“If so I hope they enjoyed my walkman. I lost it while jogging one morning.”

“Then we should thank them. Get some CDs already, Jill.”

“The player skips when I go running!”

Third, not all the locals thought of the Umbrella People as a joke, most notably the fishermen. While Chris’ pay was hardly enough to grant him impulse splurges he couldn’t help but purchase a small, used boat with an outboard motor so he could go fishing on weekends and enjoy the bay overall. He rented a trailer and went to pick it up only to fear he’d never get to use it as the previous owner carried on and on about his own adventures on the water. Chris found them interesting enough but really wanted to get back.

The old man’s mood suddenly changed from jovial to serious, looking Chris dead in the eye. “Now when you’re out there, stay away from the lagoons on the east shore where those herbs grow.”

“Why?” Chris hadn’t had any reason to go anywhere specific in the bay but now his interest was piqued.

“Just keep your distance. That’s their space, those are their herbs.”

This had to be a joke. A local trying to punk the new guy. “Who? Oh, the Umbrella People?” he asked with a grin.

The man just frowned and Chris began to worry he wasn’t joking. “Whatever you want to call them, they don’t mess around and don’t like people in their territory. But if you don’t bother them they don’t bother you, got it?”

Chris didn’t take him seriously, he was an old man who’d been on the water for ages, no doubt he’d seen things and attributed them to the usual sea monsters, or maybe he’d been telling tall tales so long he was starting to believe them. Chris thanked him for the advice and took his new boat home.

The local joke cryptid just got a bit more interesting and Chris made a mental note to dig into the lore a bit more sometime.

Last, and worst, was that Chris suspected that he was developing a crush on Captain Wesker.

He didn’t know when it started. That first day months ago at the firing range when Wesker praised his skill and told him he was hired? The first time he took off his shades and looked at Chris with those pale blue eyes just to berate him? If so what the hell.

Wesker was an attractive man, yeah, but nothing amazing. Chris hadn’t felt any interest when they met or when he started working, but...

The other day the STARS captain offered him a coffee and Chris found himself grinning very wide and must have looked like a serial killer considering the arched brow Wesker shot at him.

Aside from the obvious fact that Wesker was his superior, there was the even more obvious fact that they were both men. Chris hadn’t put his finger on what the town’s overall opinion of that kind of thing was and he was in no position to risk his job over it.

And why Wesker? The man could be an asshole, had a cruel-streak that would put a college fratboy to shame, was distant, mysterious, knew his job well, was dedicated, made really intense eye-contact when he was talking to Chris like he was the only one in the room, had a really, really nice ass...

Fuck.

No. He wasn’t doing this. Wesker was his superior, was a man, and was obviously not interested. The eye staring was Chris’ own twisted hopes and Wesker made mention of ‘lady friends’ often enough.

Chris scrubbed his face and switched off his computer. He could finish these reports tomorrow after their weekly transport maintenance. It was his and Brad’s turn. Not so bad, really, Brad could get through his helicopter checks in a blink. Say what you want about his bravado but the man knew his birds.

“Finished, Redfield?” Wesker asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

Chris flinched. “Just about, but it’s past five and well...”

Wesker nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and started gathering his things. “G’night, Captain.”

[friking-awsom-kitten]

Sleeping beauty just need some coffee IASA Chapter 4

He gasped, sitting up in shock. However, something refrained him from getting enough air and was shoved up deep into his throat. He chocked and grasped whatever was blocking his airways, ripping it off. Suddenly he could breathe again and he took big gulps.

His eyes flitted around the room in a panic, not recognizing where he was. Something to his left caught his eye and he stared at the woman that had been checking a machine next to him.

The woman dropped what she was holding and screamed.

He screamed back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam had been staring out the window for a long time now. She didn't pay attention to whatever the teacher was saying. Few kids did.

Word of Danny had gotten around pretty fast and by the end of the first day everyone knew. It had been chaos.

Some people were angry and wanted to bill the Fentons for all the damage Danny's fights had gotten them. Some wanted to report the parents for child abuse. Most were furious at the GIW for disrespecting basic human rights and trying to capture a boy and were pestering the government to shut it down. The president, however, wouldn't back down, saying they were the best of the best at ghost science and this town needed them.

But almost everybody was grateful for Danny and all he'd done for the town.

A lot of people had visited him in the hospital. Including several of Sam's classmates.

They would also continuously ask the two friends questions.

About how it happened. If Danny's parents had known. Whether they got to fight ghosts too. Whether Danny would keep protecting the town or if he was ok.

Sam honestly didn't know. It had been two weeks. She'd never been more worried than she was now. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, though. He had been exhausted. Physically and mentally. He was probably on the bridge of collapsing anyways and that blast must have depleted his energy reserves.

She sighed and glanced towards Tucker, who was staring at his phone. The device was turned off and pushed far away on the table, but the boy didn't take his eyes off of it.

All of a sudden, a sharp ring interrupted the teacher. Everyone jumped a bit in their seats and they turned to look at Tucker, who was scrambling to pick up his phone and putting it on his ear.

"Yes? For real?!" Tucker's eyes widened and he looked at Sam. "He's awake!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They burst in the hospital room. They had memorized the way long before and could walk from the receptionist to the ICU wing in their sleep.

Their eyes immediately fell on the small family in the corner.

Maddie looked about ready to cry and Jack was standing still with furrowed eyebrows. It was not a sight Tucker and Sam had expected to see.

The cause of all this grief was sitting up on his bed with a frustrated expression. He didn't have a breathing mask on anymore and the IV had been removed.

"Danny!" Sam cheered and sprang forward to hug him. He tensed under her hug and she frowned, letting go. "Danny?"

The boy huffed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "So I've been told. Who are you?"

She was so perplexed her arms went slack. Tucker sucked in a gasp and they both turned to the doctor that had been standing next to them. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Daniel seems to suffer from Amnesia. From what you have told me and what we discovered, this was caused by a combination of sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and recent stress. The severe concussion he recently got sealed it. It affected his hippocampus." The doctor stopped reading from his paper and looked Danny over before continuing. "From what I have gathered up to now, he seems to only be affected on the explicit memory, meaning the memory of the places and the times and the people. Or the who, what, where, when and why. However, the implicit seems normal, thankfully."

"The what?" Tucker breathed out, barely able to form words as he tried to understand everything happening.

"That means the skills he has learned. He can walk, talk, breathe, and all the motoric functions he has learned throughout his life, as well as riding a bike or reading. However, I'm not sure whether his semantic memory is damaged. This is the common knowledge. For example the days of the month. Or when his birthday is. The damage on that may vary."

The raven gave an exasperated sigh. "If you go through that explanation one more time I'm gonna give myself another concussion."

"Well," Tucker smiled weakly, even though tears were threatening to fall, "he didn't change personality-wise."

The other boy grinned. "He did say I still have the skills I learned. Must have practiced my sass a lot because I'm a pro."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. You did." She turned to the doctor. "But they will come back, right? This isn't permanent?"

For the first time, the doctor's face fell. "I- we aren't sure. Retrograde amnesia, which is what this condition is called, doesn't have a cure, but there are some ways to coach old memories to come back. Most patients remember their oldest memories, but Danny doesn't seem to even have that. If he does regain some memories, it will most likely be from early childhood. However, we can't be sure. It could get better, worse, or stay like this for the rest of his life." He looked at the pale faces in the room and smiled encouragingly. "But I don't think it will get worse given that this was a brain injury, first and foremost."

He nodded towards the parents. "Before I run a blood test and prescribe anything, I need some questions answered." He took out a list and a pen. "Did Daniel take medications? Any past health problems? For example seizures or strokes or infections? Did he take drugs?" He crossed over every time they shook their heads or wrote down when they mentioned something about a panic attack or how he had had an accident in the portal.

The doctor shook his head. This kid was a walking medical catastrophe. It was no wonder he ended up with amnesia. He sighed and put his papers down. "I'll send for a drug test and he'll have an MRI scan. After that he will have to stay in the hospital for a few more days until he is fully healed. Daniel, will you let us put back the IV?"

Danny scrunched his nose. "Ugh why. I'm awake now. I just need some food. Do you guys have some fries?"

"We'll get you appropriate food after the IV is back on. Your body is still short on nutrients."

"Please, Danny." Maddie begged. "The sack also has some ectoplasm. It will help you heal faster. You will be able to get out of here sooner."

Danny pursed his lips. This woman claimed to be his mom, and let me tell you how weird it is to not even remember your own mother. He wasn't even sure if he could trust these people. They could be lying to him for all he knew. But he had no other option. Besides, that woman gave him a comforting vibe. He smiled at her unconsciously and nodded. "Alright, but the second I'm out I want pancakes."

All the medical procedures had been run and the doctor had decided Danny would stay two more days before he could go home. All Danny's injuries had been healed during his coma. He claimed nothing hurt and only complained about getting food. Something nobody was surprised about. The boy hadn't eaten normal food in weeks. What they were surprised about was that he was so restless. He should be tired. In fact, he should still be unconscious. But nobody was about to complain about that.

What Danny really wanted was a bath. He felt dirty and gross. He was horrified to learn he'd been washed during his slumber and couldn't look at any nurse in the eye after that.

However, he felt especially uncomfortable when groups of strangers walked through the door and grinned at him and gave him presents and took pictures.

He glanced at the table next to him. It was simply covered in 'thank you' and 'get well' notes and some kind of merchandise. He had also gotten many pictures and drawings, but they were so confusing he couldn't figure heads or tails of it. On the other side were also some balloons and a few stuffed animals and to top it off, all around him were flowers.

I must have been some kind of celebrity, Danny thought. But why were they thanking him?

A girl suddenly burst through the doors and tackled the poor boy. He let out a yelp and she let go just as fast as she'd latched on and started rambling.

"I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I heard and then the plane was delayed and I first had to arrange a short vacation and I had to finish this assignment and they wouldn't let me go saying you weren't in danger of death and they said 'Alright, you can go, but if you don't get that degree it's on you' and I swear I was about to strangle them."

Danny couldn't understand what she was talking about so he took the time to inspect her. She had long brownish-red hair and he could honestly see the resemblance to his apparent mother. This must be Jasmine, his older sister.

The girl seemed to catch on that Danny wasn't responding and she paused, looking at him good for the first time. They stared at each other in silence for some time, taking in the other sibling.

Jasmine held out her hand and smiled. "Hello. My name is Jasmine, but you can call me Jazz. I'm sorry about just now. I was a bit worried."

Danny blinked in surprise. Why was she introducing herself? She must know he had amnesia. He grinned. It felt nice to know at least someone didn't come asking him if he knew them or expecting something from him. He shook her hand. "I don't think I need to introduce myself since you probably know me better than I do. You're my sister, right?"

Her smile brightened and he silently congratulated himself. "Yes. I'm two years older. So I'm nineteen and you're gonna be seventeen in Oktober 27. It's July 13 today. I just came from college."

Danny smiled softly, grateful for all the information she was giving him. He felt awkward having to ask such simple things. "Are you in the first year?"

She nodded. "I'm studying creative therapy. To put it simply, it's a kind of therapy for people who can't put their problems into words so instead do it with their hands. The therapist then can study their movements and results to see how they think and how to help them. There are many types and I'm doing a mix between drama and art."

She continued talking and Danny listened. He learned so much. She told him all about her and her life and her friends and even what recently happened in college. It was as if they were catching up on old times.

She didn't mention anything about Danny, or what he used to do or what they did together and he was grateful for that. It would have felt like she was telling him what he should have done and he would've felt obligated. It was an insane thought, given that all that had happened in the past, but he didn't want people telling him who he was.

They talked for hours. Mostly she was the one speaking, but Danny often put in his opinion or input in something and she would laugh.

At one point, a violet-eyed girl and a dark-skinned boy walked in and joined them. Danny remembered them as the two people who were there when he woke up. He tensed a bit, but they just greeted him and sat down. They said some words to Jazz and turned to look at him.

The boy wiped his hands on his pants and cleared his throat, but at a look from Jazz he smiled at Danny. "Hey, man. I don't think we told you our names. I'm Tucker Foley and that's Sam Manson."

Danny nodded towards them, but frowned at the girl. "Are your eyes naturally purple?"

Sam rolled said eyes as Tucker laughed. "No." She admitted. "They're blue. I got these contact lenses from my grandmother. She didn't want them to go to waste."

Tucker laughed some more. "Her grandmom used to be really rebellious as a teen. She saw potential in Sam," he told Danny and so the conversation went into flow again.

Sam and Tucker telling Danny about themselves and complaining a bit about school. They also told him how they met.

Apparently, Danny had known these people for practically all his life. Since kindergarten. That was a weird thought.

Jazz had glared at them for bringing that up but Danny sighed. "It's ok, Jazz. I'm gonna get this a lot from now on."

Sam winced. "Sorry. Just thought you'd want some background information. If there's something you don't like talking about we won't. Just tell us, alright?"

Danny shrugged. "That's just the thing, Sam. I don't know anything about anything. Everyone expects me to know all kinds of stuff and then it's just gonna get awkward." He huffed, frowning. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'll just figure out what my life is now."

Jazz grinned, beaming proudly. "That's the way to look at it, Danny. Just start off fresh."

Except that wasn't entirely possible. The moment Danny was admitted out of the hospital he knew his life was way weirder than he had thought at first.

When he was let out there was a crowd waving him off and cheering and he got a green sock thrown at him so that was a nice way to enter the world fresh.

Then there was the house he apparently lived in.

He honestly had no idea what to say about that. It looked like aliens had infiltrated earth and were doing a terrible job at laying low.

He sighed, ignoring all the paparazzi and following the two adults inside. It was much better inside. It was very clean. As if it had been prepared for his arrival. That just made him feel more guilty.

Maddie and Jack were grinning at him as they gave him a tour of the house. Maddie more nervously, while Jack was excited.

The first and second story were pretty normal. On the first was the kitchen and the living room. Then upstairs were all the bedrooms. Danny paused in what was apparently his room. It looked pretty clean and neat. He must have been either a perfectionist or his mom had tidied it up for him. He was gonna go with the second one.

Finally, he was shown the basement and the op Center, which is what they called the UFO on the house. The UFO looked exactly how Danny imagined a UFO would look like. It was huge and had a lot of wires. Somewhere something was beeping, but he couldn't figure out what.

Then the basement. Danny shivered as soon as he entered. He saw millions of weird machines and guns and a milkshake maker he decided not to trust. The name Fenton appeared everywhere. Like a logo.

Then there was a door at the other side of the room. It had a beethemed pattern as if warning people of toxins. Danny felt like he should put on a face mask or something to protect himself. His father was wearing some type of protective suit.

"What do you do for a living," he asked, exasperated.

"We're ghost hunters!" Jack grinned, leaving Danny with a baffled expression.

"Why do you hunt ghosts?" He asked, stumped and curious. The part about ghosts didn't surprise him much. It felt as normal as the fact birds were chirping outside.

Jack's expression fell and he exchanged a look with Maddie. "Well son." He started cautiously. "We're ghost scientists. We have been studying them for years. We sometimes catch one to learn more about them from up close."

"Like they're animals." Danny frowned and his parents grimaced.

"They're not all sentient, Danny." It was Maddie who said this. "And Amity park has been haunted by ghosts for years. Most of them attacked and destroyed."

"Well maybe most of them just stayed home minding their own business and the ones that did mean bad came here so we don't see the other side of their world."

To his surprise Maddie smiled softly. "Yes. You may be right."

They didn't tell him much about the things in the basement. In fact it was the shortest they had been in a room and they practically shoved him back up the stairs.

They stayed in the living and talked a bit and Maddie went to the kitchen to cook some dinner because it was already pretty late in the afternoon. Danny had a foreboding feeling. Probably because how Jazz paled and sent him a few scared looks.

Danny stood up and followed his mother to see her fumbling around the fridge, trying to find something that didn't try to bite her hand off. "Hey?" Danny started, unsure if this would be seen as impolite. "Do you want me to help you cook dinner?"

The woman brightened considerably as she slammed the fridge shut and smiled at him. "Are you sure? I mean. Yes, I would love it if you did this with me."

Danny nodded and rolled his sleeves up before washing his hands. Maddie's eyes widened when she realized she'd forgotten to do that.

"So what are we making?"

Maddie scrunched her face. "I'm not sure yet, Danny. There isn't much left that is edible."

"Where do you keep all the food?" Her boy's eyes searched the small kitchen and she remembered he had forgotten all of that.

She pointed out the fridge and a few cabinets and he looked through them, bringing out many types of ingredients and selecting a few out. He asked for the pots and the pans and she pointed it out. He asked for herbs and she showed him. He asked her anything and she gave him the answer, watching in amusement as he fell right into his element.

Maddie settled back a bit as she saw him swiftly cut some carrots and dump them in the pot. She smiled. It had been a long time ago that Danny had taken the job of a cook in this house. Given that no one had any insight in it or kept mixing the sauce with the wrong chemical (what do you mean chemicals aren't supposed to go in food?). The raven had looked up recipes or he would cook ready-made food.

He'd started simple and after a while started mixing in his own stuff and experimenting. He had loved it. Maddie had let him drop a few chores so he would have time to prepare and make dinner. He would write a list of groceries and tape it on the fridge and Jack would go buy it.

In fact, Maddie could see the last note he had written still on the top left of the refrigerator. Her eyes watered a bit.

"Are you ok?"

She wiped her eyes and nodded. "Just that onion you were cutting just now. It's fine. Go ahead. You're doing a great job." She smiled. "Anything else you need?"

He shook his head as he flipped some pieces of meat on the sizzling pan. "Well, not for now. There are no more potatoes. And when was the last time you refilled the salt? And I had to use something else instead of the paprika because that's all done too. And you got way too much beef. How are you going to eat it all before it expires."

Maddie's smile turned nostalgic as she saw all he listed right now written on the little sticky note on the fridge. "We usually don't," she told him, earning herself a look of disgust.

Finally, the dinner was ready and they all say down to eat. Each family member congratulating the boy on the excellent food and what would they do without him. They didn't mention how they'd barely survived the two weeks he'd been absent.

Jazz was just in college, but Jack and Maddie had to constantly order pizza or eat in a restaurant every night. Even something as making some toast was always a hassle. Not only because the toaster sometimes malfunctioned and threw up the bread so hard it stuck on the ceiling, but Maddie was also very sure bread shouldn't be green.

Now they had Danny back. Everything had changed. Just....everything.

But he was back.

They talked a bit more. Danny asked about the many drawings they'd had to carry back home along with the rest of the presents. Who was that man on the drawings that looked to be made by kids ranging from three to fifteen?

Jack looked excited to tell him something, but Jazz had shushed them. She smiled at Danny reassuringly. "How about we talk about that tomorrow. You have enough to think on right now." She stacked the empty plates and brought them to the sink. "You heard the doctor. Get some rest. I'll do the dishes. Don't worry about school yet. You have a few weeks to recuperate and get used to life."

Danny looked at each of the people in the room, taking in their appearance and demeanor. If this was his family, no matter how crazy, he loved it. He smiled and turned around, bidding them a good night.

He walked up the stairs and paused, trying to remember where his room was.

He had a small moment of panic when he couldn't recall right away. What if he forgot more things? What if he forgot whatever he did today? What if the doctor was wrong and my amnesia isn't just of whatever happened before the concussion and I'll keep forget- oh wait his door was the one in the left hall.

He sighed in relief when his assumption was proved correct as the door opened. He closed it behind him and took a good look around.

The walls were white, but they had been covered in many posters about some kind of egg band or about a Doom. He wasn't sure. There were also some NASA posters and the wall next to his desk had a big board covered in pictures. There was a blackhaired boy with Sam and Tucker. A lot of those actually. And some about random places Danny had no clue about.

But his eyes wandered to that boy again. Was that...him?

He hadn't looked in the mirror yet. It was strange. Not knowing what you looked like.

Was that really him?

He found a mirror next to the dresser and the closet. It was large. It could fit his whole upper body and a bit of his legs.

He paused before taking a peek. A pit in his stomach and a bit of adrenaline made him jump forward and stare at the boy in the mirror.

He looked a bit older than in those pictures. But he still has black hair, blue eyes, a small nose and smallish eyes and thin lips and fat cheeks and freckles. Although he felt better knowing he had a bit of a jawline and the baby fat was less than in the pictures. His hair was also longer. And it was messy. Probably hadn't been brushed in weeks. Even if they had washed it, as they said, it still looked greasy and dirty.

He didn't feel like doing much of his appearance right now.

He wanted to explore.

He put to the side the pile of presents his father had dumped in his room after having brought it from the hospital and went rummaging through his room.

He opened every drawer, looked at every piece of clothing and squinted under every piece of furniture and he learned a bit about his past self.

He didn't have much variety in clothing. It was mostly T-shirts, jeans and sweaters. There was one neat suit shoved in the back, though.

He had some kind of obsession with stars.

Same thing goes for ghosts. There was even a map in his dresser. Along with a long list of names and some kind of description behind them.

He looked in the bathroom, which he had found he had right in his room. He found a first aid kit shoved under the sink, which he found odd. The rest was just normal supplies for in the shower.

But for the rest, his old life was still a mystery to him. Danny wondered if he would ever gain it back. Had he always been this famous? Wasn't it exhausting? And why had everyone been thanking him?

He suddenly wondered where his phone was. He should have one right? He'll ask his mother tomorrow.

But he really wanted to look up amnesia on the internet.

His eyes fell on a beat up laptop and he tried to turn it on, but it had a password. The hint wasn't even helpful. It just said 'bitch' and Danny honestly felt attacked and offended.

He plopped down on the bed with a deep sigh.

Everyone told him to get rest, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt so energetic and restless. He didn't think that should be normal. He was pretty sure patients just coming out of comatose shouldn't feel rested.

Sigh, just one more thing he wanted to look up on the internet.

He also wanted to know how he went into a coma.

The doctor had vaguely mentioned a concussion or another kind of head injury. Must have been bad. He'd also made it pretty clear Danny was up long before anyone had thought he would be.

Maybe if I had slept for a bit longer, Danny thought, I would have been able to keep my memories.

He groaned quietly. Nothing made sense. Life was a weird jumble of gibberish and with every piece of information he made out it just became even weirder.

He lifted his arm to look at one picture he found he liked. A white haired anime man was standing with hands on his hips and a cape fluttering behind him. Sparkles had been thrown around as well as glitter that had been glued on.

There wasn't a note or anything, just a boy's name. Joey. Along with a small drawing of a dinosaur that Danny didn't think had anything to do with the rest.

That same anime boy turned up everywhere. On the balloons. On the plushies. On the shirt he'd gotten. On the posters the poeple seeing him off from the hospital were holding.

Who was that dude??

And what did Danny have to do with him??

Danny stood up and walked towards the mirror again. He cocked one hip as he put his hands on them and frowned at the image.

"Who are you?" He asked the boy with exasperation. "And just how crazy is your life?"

[jencala]

Fanfic Author Challenge

The challenge is to post segments from 4 of your favorite fics you have written. They can be as long or as short as you wish, and you may provide the readers with some insight on why you chose this fragment.

I know I was tagged by a couple of people but it’s been a while and I’m finally getting around to it.  Sorry!  And oh boy, this is hard to choose!

1. Of Masters and Slaves

Sirius didn’t speak for a moment, but held his mother’s unwavering stare. “I understand.   Mother .”

“Oh dear, I don’t think you truly do.” Walburga’s quiet laughter teetered on madness as she raised her wand and aimed it at her son. “I think you need another lesson to truly drive home the point. Crucio !”

Sirius crumpled to the floor, convulsing under the onslaught of the curse.  His muscles felt like they would burst into flames as the feeling of liquid fire raced through his veins, his limbs twisting as the sensation of his bones breaking and melting caused an inhuman scream to tear its’ way out of his throat.

Remus could only stand there, cemented to the ground as he watched— unable to do anything to help Sirius or stop the madwoman from torturing her own flesh and blood.  His hands curled into themselves, his nails drawing blood as he restrained himself from reaching for Sirius when every fiber of his being was telling him to move—to do something other than just stand there.

The Black matriarch finally released the spell and stood over her son, watching with a pleased quirk to her lips as Sirius still shook from the effects of the curse, tremors racking his body. “Very well then.  Have you learned your lesson today, Sirius?”

Sirius slowly opened his eyes, excruciating pain coursing through every cell of his body as he tried to focus on the imposing figure standing above him.  

“Ah, I see you need some reminding of what the lesson was about, so let me explain clearly.”  Walburga smiled almost pleasantly. “You see, I do believe you were under the mistaken impression that by allowing you to defile yourself with this beast it was a reward of some sort for agreeing to marry Bellatrix.  Oh no, my dear.”  Her chuckle struck fear deep in Remus’ heart. “You see, you will marry Bellatrix by month's end regardless of whatever creature warms your bed beforehand. It is dear Bella’s decision as to how she deals with your predilections after your vows. However, Fenrir will be coming to collect the beast for his own within a fortnight.”

Sirius struggled to speak. “Wh-what for?”

Walburga raised an eyebrow coolly. “Whyever should I have cared to find out?” She turned to leave, but stopped and leveled her still shaking son with a sneer. “Do clean yourself up, Sirius. It does not befit the current heir to our Most Noble House to lie on the floor like a common gutter rat.”  With that parting comment she swept from the room, head held high.  

Remus remained motionless for a moment, staring at the empty doorframe in shock.  At last, his motor skills returned as he rushed to where Sirius still lay prone on the floor.  He lifted Sirius’ head gently onto his lap.  “Are you alright?”

Sirius felt the tremors recede a bit at the gentle stroking of the fingers through his hair. “I w-won’t let him take you.”

Remus stared down at him incredulously. “That’s what you have to say? Your mother just tortured you and threatened to murder you and you’re worried about Greyback?”

Sirius licked his dry lips and nodded, savoring the feel of the fire in his muscles ebbing away slowly.  He flexed his legs slightly trying to regain some control of his limbs as they were still sporadically spasming.  “It’s not the first t-time she’s used that s-spell on me. I’ll be alright.”

This fic is really special to me and differs in style and story in how I normally write.  It was my first multi-chaptered fic and I am actually almost done with the next chapter of the story so yes, I promise I will be updating soon.  It was started originally as a response to @asktheboywholived‘s Empire prompt and I just love the world they prompted and the story I have created here.  It’s extremely angst-filled which is a challenge for me because I love our boys happy and fluffy with a HEA. I have the entire story arc done and it should be another ten chapters until the end. I hope you all enjoy what I have planned.

2.  Textually Yours

10:46 am: Moonbeam, have I told you how delicious you look in that jumper?

10:48 am: I'm in class. 10:48 am: And thanks *blushes*

10:49 am: I'm in lecture right now too 10:50 am: I can still daydream about how tasty you look in my favorite jumper

10:55 am: Can you possibly daydream to yourself? I really want to pass this course. 10:56 am: Why is it even your favourite? It has bobbles on it.

10:58 am: It's touching your skin right now 10:58 am: Like I wish I was 10:59 am: So it's my favorite **wink wonk**

11:01 am: Oh sweet jebus. 11:02 am: Padssssss, the lecturer is talking about character structure, I reallly need to pay attention 11:04 am: You aren't going to listen to me, but, you're my favourite :)

11:06 am: My lecturer is droning on about Masaccio and his use of light in his paintings 11:07 am: I'd much rather wax poetic about the way the light hits your skin 11:07 am: when you're lying naked in my bed

11:10 am: Well guess what idiot dropped his phone and now everyone is looking at him. 11:11 am: I'll give you a hint, he's in your favourite jumper

11:12 am: oh my poor Moon Pie, did I fluster you? 11:13 am: I can do many other things to you 11:13 am: that you'd like even more ;-)

11:15 am: Okay I'm intrigued now. What. What other things?

11:17 am: ah, my ever-studious Moony is intrigued? 11:17: am: I like when you think naughty 11:18 am: I'd start by taking that ridiculous jumper off 11:18 am: It's only my favorite when it's on you 11:19: am: I'd much rather see it on the floor

11:22 am: Holy.. I might have to take it off anyways. You're making me blush. And hot.

11:23 am: and I haven't even started… 11:24 am: I'd kiss those luscious lips first 11:24 am: then I'd run my hands down your chest and kiss your neck 11:25 am: you so like it when I nibble on your neck 11:25 am: you make the most wonderful sounds when i do

11:28 am: I have a ROB. 11:29 am: I cannot move.

11:30 am: What is a ROB?

11:32 am: Prongs teaches you nothing. Randomly Occurring Boner. I'm now stuck in this chair whether i like it or not

11:33 am: imagine if I was there to help you out with that 11:34 am: right now

I am a sucker for texting fics and I wrote this with my dear friend @josiemoone.  we had so much fun writing this together and I just love how sappy our boys are in this as well as how their relationship comes out.  it was just such a fun piece.

3. Saving Me

Rage coursed through his body, his thoughts whirling.  Wormtail’s alive.  The little bugger is still alive! As he read through the article, his fury intensified.  The boy in the picture, Ron Weasley, would be heading back to Hogwarts—presumably with his pet rat—straight to Harry.

Sirius's godson was in terrible danger, and there had to be a way to warn him, to help Harry, and get his revenge on Wormtail.

He threw the paper down and began to pace his cell.  He didn’t know how or why, but Peter Pettigrew, the reason he was in Azkaban and Lily and James were dead, was with the Weasley family.  Sirius just knew it was him.  He had to get to him somehow.  

Wormtail had to pay for his betrayal.  

And Sirius would be the one to make him pay—finally.

His mind finally clearing, he sensed the cold from the approaching dementors and unconsciously shifted to Padfoot.  They never bothered him in his Animagus form, and it had become instinct to retreat into it whenever he felt them near.  

Thoughts became simpler as a dog, and he suddenly struck upon the answer:  Sirius couldn’t escape from his prison, but Padfoot could.  

He waited until the Dementors passed, the screams of other prisoners ringing in his ears more acutely through his canine hearing. He ignored them to slide his emaciated form through the cell bars.  He supposed there was some merit now to the fact that prisoners were never fed enough.

Padfoot made his way through the labyrinth of corridors, ignoring the calls and sights of the other prisoners along his way, and he used his sense of smell to lead him to where he caught a whiff of the sea the strongest.  He found himself entering what looked to be a small office, most likely used by some of the human guards.  It was, thankfully, empty—luck on his side for once.  

The window at the back of the office was much larger than the tiny one at the top of his cell and though fitted with bars, was open and he could easily slip through them in his canine guise.  He did just that and found himself perched precariously on a wide ledge overlooking the dark, churning, sea about 50 meters below him.  

Sirius knew his chances were slim; it was a long way down and an even longer distance to swim to shore in a violent sea.  But what choice did he have?  Spend the rest of his days in a prison while the person who killed his family tried to finish the job with his godson or take a chance and try to help in whatever way he could?  

There was no prince coming to save him from his tower.  

It was up to Sirius to save himself.

Padfoot took a deep breath and jumped.

The moment he hit the water, it felt as if a thousand frozen needles were trying to pierce his skin.  The chill was excruciating, but he fought his way to the surface, gasping for breath.  After taking a moment to get his bearings, he started paddling his way in the direction he presumed the shoreline was.

It felt like hours, but it could have been mere minutes in his diminished state.  He swam as hard as he could, but he could feel his limbs losing what little strength they had.  His magic not strong enough to keep his canine form, he shifted back to human, fighting against the waves as fatigue drained every muscle in his body.  He tried to focus on getting to shore, to Harry, but his thoughts kept drifting to Remus.  

This fic was my first ever entry for a fest and it’s also the fic that’s closest to canon.  It details Sirius escaping from prison all the way to his seeing Remus for the first time in the Shrieking Shack and I loved delving into his psyche and exploring Wolfstar while still remaining in canon.  I love how I tell a bit of their story through flashbacks while Sirius almost drowns and how he questions his sanity and honestly at one point doesn’t care if he’s actually insane as long as he gets to keep his hallucination.

4. Drawn Together

Marlene spotted him first, a sly grin on her face as she greeted him.  “Back already, Re? Pretty-boy must not have been very good.”

Remus rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink, careful to avoid looking at Sirius.  “That’s none of your business, Marls.”

“We thought you’d left,”  Dorcas piped in, smiling at Remus.  “I’m glad you came back.”

“I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

He heard Sirius’ snort and finally looked at the other man, sitting on a stool across from him. He raised an eyebrow. “Alright there, Sirius?”

Sirius stared at him for a moment, his grey eyes cold. “I’m fine, just never heard a hook-up referred to as fresh air before.”

“I never said I hooked up, and even if I did, what business is it of yours?”

He watched Sirius take a long pull from his cider before he deigned to answer. “Oh, it’s definitely none of my business, I just thought you were hanging out with your friends and not working .”

“Excuse me?”  Remus’ eyes widened indignantly.  “ Working ?  Are you implying I’m a bloody prostitute?”

Sirius huffed a harsh laugh. “Oh, no, Remus, of course not. You don’t charge for your services.  Or wait—you do get paid for the column you put all your sexual escapades in, don’t you?”

Remus tried to fight his growing anger, but the sneer on Sirius’ face enraged him more. “You’re a fucking twat, Black.  A hypocritical one, at that. I seem to recall you’re getting paid for the artwork for my so-called sexual escapades !”

“Oh, that’s right!  Maybe I should thank the bloke who just got you off?” Sirius took another pull from his cider before slamming it down on the table, his eyes hard as flint as they met Remus’ and stood up. “Would you like to take me back to where you just fucked that bloke so I can get the details right for my piece?”

Remus ignored Marlene and Dorcas’ pleas for them to both calm down, and he stepped closer to Sirius. “You really are a bloody hypocrite, aren’t you?  I saw you getting some action on the dance floor before I left!”

“I was dancing not fucking some random bloke in a back room!”

Remus grinned maliciously. “Is that the problem, Sirius?  You wish it was you I was fucking back there, not a random bloke?”

He watched with satisfaction as Sirius’ eyes widened, nostrils flaring, before he pressed closer to Remus, his striking features twisted in anger. “Listen up, Lupin, and listen well.  I wouldn’t t-touch a slag like you with someone else’s cock, so get whatever idea you have about me fancying you out of that thick head.”

He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut with those words, but Remus refused to let Sirius see how his comment affected him.  “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Black. The last thing I’d ever do is want to touch a sodding twat like yourself. I prefer real men who can satisfy me, not a bloody prude.”

He turned to Marlene and Dorcas before Sirius could respond and kissed them each on the cheek.  “It’s been lovely girls, but I’ve got to run. I’ll give you a call this week.”

Dorcas gave him a pleading look. “Re, please don’t leave.  I don’t know what’s gotten into Sirius— “

He held up a hand to cut her off. “It’s fine, Dorcas.  Sirius is just being the twat I knew he was. Don’t worry about it, it’s between him and me, nothing to do with you, love.”

Marlene hugged him.  “Remus, just don’t disappear on us, alright?”

He kissed the top of her head before stepping back. “No worries, love.  I really will call you this week.”

Remus forced a smile at his friends before turning back to Sirius.  “Black.” He turned to walk away, but Sirius called his name and he turned back. “What?”

Sirius smirked, pointing at the hem of Remus’ shirt. “You missed a spot.  Black lights are a bitch, aren’t they?”

Oh this story will forever hold a special place in my heart. This was my 2018 Wolfstar Big Bang fic and I stressed about it so much, but I got to work with @yumenouveau who is just such a fabulous artist and friend and it was an amazing if stressful experience.  I love the AU world I created and the sexual tension and snark between my favorite boys is endless.  It’s a slow burn and even as the writer there were times I just wanted to scream at them to just kiss already, but my boys were stubborn, Sirius especially, and I love how this fic turned out.  

I’m tagging @ami-talks, @shayalonnie, @captofthesswolfstar, @maraudererasmut, @moonllotus, @yumenouveau,

[trade-baby-blues]

The Birds and the Bees

Pairing: Jim x Reader

Word Count: 2661

Warnings: angst, jokes, animal injury, Jim injury

A/N: This was a request by @thefabulousgosling​! Hopefully I did it justice. I was fighting through a serious case of writer’s block trying to write this lol. Also “Kovas” is the Baltic god of war, which I thought was a funny name for the bird! I only did a brief reread so if there’s any mistakes please feel free to point them out and I’ll fix them!! 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” The ensign in front of you flinched away from your voice, rising like the red in your cheeks as you puffed yourself up. “This is an entirely unknown species - an avian species, no less - and your first instinct is to shoot it?! Why don't you give me that blaster and we’ll see how you like being shot you piece of-

“Woah, woah slow down,” Jim said with a chuckle, grabbing your hands before you could lunge for the ensign’s blaster. “It's just a bird.”

You snatched your hands back. “Just a...just a bird? We’re the ones invading its territory. Ensign Jessup had no right to shoot it. Just a bird. God that's like saying my bed is just a bed.”

“Okay, I get it I’m sorry, but what do you want me to do? It's against policy to bring unknown creatures onto the ship.”

“It's also against policy to bang your lead zoologist and yet here we are.”

Jim blinked quickly, trying to come up with an adequate argument, but gave up almost as soon as he’d started. Whatever trouble he’d get in for bringing the bird on board was nothing compared to the trouble you’d give him. He raised his hands up in surrender: “Fine, but the bird is your responsibility. If it gets out or mauls an ensign it’s on you.”

“My hero,” you said sarcastically before grabbing your backpack. You dumped the contents on the ground, hoping it would work as a makeshift carrier for the time being.

The bird squawked in fear as you approached, attempting to fly away. It lifted itself an inch off the ground before tumbling back down, scattering iridescent blue feathers and green blood across the ground. You took the opportunity to throw the bag over it and scoop it up, zipping the bag shut. The bird struggled in the bag as you shouted for Scotty to beam you back up.

After much coaxing, you convinced the bird to come out of the backpack in your office. Jim had brought a few pieces of fauna from the planet in hopes he’d win back some of your favor and even agreed to postpone leaving a few days so the “botanists can continue studying the planet’s surface.” At least that's what he’d said. You knew he was trying to give you time to patch up the bird.

Kovas, as you’d taken to calling him, healed like a champ. He healed nearly three times as fast as birds on earth and, with the added help of the osteo and dermal regenerators, Kovas was happily walking around your lab. His wing wasn’t healed enough for sustained flight, but he managed to flap them around enough to make a mess of your lab. While you thought it was cute, your coworkers disagreed, counting down the minutes until Jim asked you to let the bird go.

With a heavy heart and much arguing, you finally agreed, beaming down to the planet with Kovas perched on your shoulder, nibbling on your hair. You kissed the top of his head. His feathers felt coarse and firm. Almost like catfish spines. He nuzzled his beak against the underside of your chin and you felt a pang of grief as you raised your other arm for him to hop onto. Kovas did happily, allowing you to set him back onto the ground.

“Be good out there, Kovas, okay?” He tilted his head at your voice. You cleared your throat as you stood, trying to ease the tightness growing there. It was stupid to get so worked up over a bird you’d only known a couple days and yet still knew next to nothing about, but here you were.

Jim sensed your distress and took a step towards you, brushing his fingers against yours. You smiled weakly at him and nodded. Your sign that you were ready to go before you changed your mind. Jim made the call to Scotty and you felt the all too familiar sensation of the transporter picking you up. You waved one last time at Kovas.

As the gold light wrapped around you, you heard a terrible sound. Harsh and grating and filled with sadness. It morphed as you listened, twisting into what almost sounded like the word “No.” Then you felt a sharp impact to your chest, sending you staggering back as your feet finally touched back down on the Enterprise. Your arms went up instinctively, cradling your chest and the weight against it. Kovas stretched his beak up against your chin again, spreading his good wing out around your arm.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jim said.

After attempting to let Kovas loose on the planet surface three more times (including once when Jim went by himself and came back with his hair ruffled, shirt in tatters, and Kovas clinging to his arm like a bat) Jim finally agreed to let him stay on the ship for “scientific study.” You and Kovas hardly left the lab after that, eager to learn everything you could about each other.

The first thing you noticed was his diet. Kovas was mostly carnivorous, preferring to nibble at pieces of chicken or fish than the oats and seeds you’d offered him. Another interesting discovery about his eating practices was his beak. Initially it seemed to be very similar to a cockatoo’s beak, but as soon as Kovas ate you saw it was also hinged in the middle of the bottom jaw, allowing him to open his mouth in three parts. Needless to say, you nearly fell out of your chair the first time you’d seen it.

The second thing you noticed was that he seemed to be nocturnal. It was a difficult transition at first. The days on Kovas’s home planet were longer than days on the Enterprise, but you did your best to help him adjust, spending most of your nights with Kovas in the lab to ensure he settled in. It was during one of these sleepovers that Kovas finally spoke. Well, kind of spoke. It sounded more like a child learning a new word, but it excited you all the same.

Kovas’s vocabulary quickly grew from a few single syllable words into patchwork sentences. He was even able to call your name when he wanted attention. You encouraged him excitedly, pushing his vocabulary and his motor skills. He could open boxes and play with toys - his favorite was a stuffed mouse on a string.

“He’s so amazing,” you explained to Jim over breakfast. “Every day I learn something new about him. God I can’t wait to see how he reacts to birds on Earth. They look the same physically - I mean, Kovas is much bigger obviously - but they’ve got some really similar mannerisms and-” Jim cut you off by standing up abruptly and skulking out of the mess hall. You stared after him, words still hanging off your tongue, and looked at Bones for an explanation. He shrugged and dove back into his breakfast.

You were in your lab with Kovas going through some flight exercises to help his wing heal when the door opened behind you. Jim hovered there, more unsure of himself than you’d seen him in awhile. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his uniform shirt as he stepped in and focused his gaze on Kovas instead of you.

“Hey, babe,” you said as you stood from your chair, pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek. He tensed lightly under your touch and you pulled away worried. “What’s wrong?” You tried to run your hand through Jim’s hair the way you knew he liked, but he took a step back from you. Your heart sunk.

“I haven’t seen you in days.” His voice was barely a whisper, eyes still focused on Kovas as if Jim didn’t want him to hear.

You laughed. “What are you talking about? We saw each other at breakfast.”

“And all you did was talk about this stupid bird.”

“He’s not stupid,” you snapped back. “Kovas is surprisingly intelligent and has shown an aptitude for-”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Jim interrupted again. “We never see each other anymore and when we do you’re always going on about this bird. I’m glad you’re happy. I’m glad you’re advancing your career, but I miss you.”

“I’m right here, Jim.”

“But you’re not.” Jim turned away from you, running his hands through his hair. “You know it was our anniversary yesterday? I cooked dinner.” You sighed, checking your watch to confirm the date. It couldn’t have possibly been your anniversary already. That was supposed to be weeks away.

“James...I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just….I just lost track of time. I-I had a gift for you and everything. It was gonna be so romantic. God, I’m such a mess.” You ran your hands down your face, noticing for the first time how tired you felt. You could remember the last time you’d slept a full night period, let alone a full night in a bed.

“I have a gift for you, too.” Jim looked down as he fished around the pockets of his uniform pants. Whatever he pulled out, he kept closed tightly in a fist as he looked back up at you. “Our feathery friend aside, these past couple years have been the happiest of my life. I’ve been trying to come up with ways to show you how thankful I am, but I couldn’t get Bones to agree to starting a flash mob on one of the observation decks, so hopefully this will do.” Jim cleared his throat to keep his voice from shaking and slowly sank to the ground. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I thought exploring space was the greatest adventure, but it’s nothing compared to loving you. I want to spend the rest of my life waking up with you and having water balloon fights in the hallways and giving Bones’ gray hairs. You with me?” Jim opened his hand to reveal a ring that glittered under the fluorescent lab lights, and you couldn’t help but let out a squeal of excitement.

Nothing about this moment was how you’d pictured it. You thought Jim would propose over dinner. That you’d be in something nicer than a pair of old scrubs and a lab coat. He’d get down on one knee looking up at you with the same lopsided grin you fell in love with. Then, he’d stand and you’d pour all your love into that next kiss to let him know you felt it too. That he was safe with you and you were safe with him. You certainly didn’t expect to hear Kovas screeching as he lunged at Jim.

“Baby,” Kovas yelled, talons out, already tearing at Jim’s yellow shirt. “Don’t hurt my baby girl.” You sprang into action. Jim was on the ground, covering his head with his hands as Kovas snapped and tore at skin and clothing alike.  

You sprang into action and pulled Kovas off Jim as quickly as you could. He flapped against your clutches, eager to sink teeth and talons back into Jim as he chanted “jealous Jim” in something eerily similar to your own voice. You hissed at him to stop but he continued taunting Jim like a child on the playground.

“Get to Medbay,” you implored Jim. “I’ll join you in a second.” Jim slinked out the door, eyes never leaving Kovas. As soon as the doors to your lab slid closed, you let him go. Kovas danced around the floor chirping happily.

“Man who hurt you is gone. You're safe now.”

You crossed your arms and squeezed your eyes shut, reminding yourself that, despite his superior intelligence, Kovas was still just a bird - a young one at that. “Jim was not hurting me.” You said it as simply as you could to avoid any confusion.

“No,” Kovas responded shrilly. “Jim always want to take you away. Jim make you yell. Jealous Jim.”

“Jim doesn't want to hurt me,” you said, kneeling on the floor in front of Kovas. He was so big know you could almost meet his eyes at this height. “Jim wants to take care of me like I took care of you.”

Kovas cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “But who takes care of Kovas?”

You reached a hand out to stroke his cheek and he pushed his face against your hand, chirping happily. “You can take care of yourself. You're old enough. Don't you miss being around others like you? Your family?”

“You are family.”

“Jim is family,” you countered softly. Kovas looked away from you and hung his head, suddenly interested in preening the feathers on his wing. He seemed to understand the error in his thinking now.

“Kovas is sorry. Sorry to Jim.”

“Do you want to tell him?” Kovas bobbed his head eagerly and you couldn't help but smile, letting him jump on your shoulder even though he was getting too big for it.

Jim’s heart rate spiked on the biobed as you and Kovas entered. You’d only seen this kind of fear in his eyes a few times and never expected you would have anything to do it. You felt a pang of guilt for bringing Kovas on board, following by an even greater pang of guilt for wishing you hadn't, especially when Kovas so clearly needed you. It was a difficult situation to be in, but it was clear you’d come to the climax: let Kovas go or lose Jim.

Thankfully, Kovas made it easy. He jumped from your shoulder onto Jim’s bed. His large wingspan made Bones recoil and Jim sink further into the bed. Kovas took a few steps forward, lowering his head and tucking his wings back.

“Kovas is sorry, Captain.” His voice was low and serious, hanging in the air with such sorrow that you wanted to take him in your arms again. “Kovas only wanted to protect, babygirl.”

“That’s not her name,” Jim snapped.

You stepped forward and put a hand on his forearm. “It's what you call me. He thinks it's my name.” Jim rolled his eyes. Kovas started his apologies again.

“Kovas knows Jim is a nice Captain. A good captain. He is smart, kind, and has a good ass.” His voice took on a lilt like yours again as he continued and you covered your face with your hands, ears turning red. “Jim will take care of baby girl for Kovas, and Kovas will return home.”

Jim eyed Kovas warily, finally relaxing. “Can't argue with that.”

And so you found yourself yet again on the surface of Kovas’s home planet, knees against the lush Earth and arms clutching the feathered body in front of you. You wanted to remember every aspect of him from the hard feel of his feathers to the faint metallic smell they gave off. Kovas nipped at your hair, wanting to remember as deeply.

“I’ll miss you,” you whispered. It took every ounce of your concentration to keep from crying.

Kovas bumped his beak against your nose but turned away when he heard a bird call like his own. He called out to match it, spreading his giant wings and taking off while leaving you kneeling in the dirt behind him. You watched Kovas disappear into the trees before you finally stood.

Jim stepped towards you, one arm in a sling and the other going around your waist. He kissed the side of your head and nuzzled his nose against your ear. “I'm sorry you had to let him go.”

You shrugged. “I’m not. He has is family. I have mine.” You looked to Jim and he smiled.

“Your fine ass family.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, pushing him lightly.

“Ow,” Jim winced playfully, cradling his arm against his chest. You rolled your eyes. “What? You're not gonna kiss it better?” 

Tags:  @outside-the-government @martinawalker @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie   @pabegay1 @brooke-taylor0323 @anotherotter @slither-in-a-half @cuddlememerrick  @8bit-arc-reactor @jimtkirkisabitch @sjlovestory @kristaparadowski