#then i think i want to collect everything and some thoughts into one large post

[bees-n-bones]

week 3!

highlights include; the designroom connected to that clone lab from last week (complete with working gun-wall!), a room with two chambers labeled imaging and response, and a large control panel wich can do stuff like start playing caramelldansen with a light show, or self destruct the entire facility :D

[cybernaght]

The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 

Part two. Microanalysis 

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake 

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why 

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 

Three, Intentionality 

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo? 

I do. 

[purple-babygirl]

in the far corner of the forest I

Pairings: Orc!Bucky Barnes x f!human!reader Word Count: 3,867 Summary: For the longest time, the kingdom has used Bucky as their number one fighter, forcing him to win their wars for them. The only thing he asked for in return after he was done was that they give him a wife, and they did. They handed him the orphan he picked on a silver platter; it wasn't like anyone would miss her. It would've been perfect if she actually wanted to be there though. Warnings: drugging, sort of kidnapping, crying, a lil dirty talk, nudity, unwanted intimate touching, forced/arranged marriage. 18+ content. A/N: I thought I'd start small and see what you guys think first before posting longer chapters. Please let me know your thoughts if you can and please enjoy xx💜💜

~

“Don’t be dead already, dammit.” She heard a low voice mutter as she regained her consciousness bit by bit.

Her body felt so weak, her mind so fuzzy. Her head felt heavy as she turned it to the side with a groan, slowly opening her eyes.

The room she was in looked warm and kind of homely. It was a large room that looked like it was both a living room and a bedroom, only illuminated by the light coming from the fireplace and a couple of storm lanterns hung around.

“Ah, finally awake! How ya feelin’?” The rough voice asked her, now sounding louder.

She’s never sat up faster than she did when she saw the strange man standing at the end of the large bed. 

Her vision went black for a second and her head hurt, but she fought to open her eyes, deeming it unsafe to close them with a strange man around.

Wait, was he even a man? Shit! Was that a metal arm on him?! He appeared to be wearing dog tags.

Has she been kidnapped? Arrested? But what for? She didn’t step into forbidden territory, did she?

“Are you—?”

“A real orc? Yeah.” He smirked confidently.

“And your arm…” she started, sitting herself up straighter as she cradled her head.

He only chuckled, feeding more wood to the fire warming them up.

“Is—is that—”

His smirk widened, “a real metal arm?”

She nodded.

The orc nodded back mockingly and her head was back to spinning.

She was alone, in an unfamiliar place, with a massive snow orc, who had a metal left arm.

It seemed surreal. She felt high; like she was dreaming or making everything she was seeing up in her head. Her mind must be doing an Alice-in-Wonderland bit on her.

“I need to go,” she whispered, more to herself than the stranger, trying to get her feet on the ground but the soldier tutted at her and she froze.

“Not gon’ happen.” He walked closer, watching her cute, little face twist in confusion and fear.

“What?” she asked dumbly, her voice small and shaky.

“You’re not leaving.” He stood before her, huge arms crossed.

“Please, I- I didn’t mean to trespass. I swear. I barely even leave the orph—”

“What are you talking about?” He raised an eyebrow, his large hand getting closer to try and touch her forehead to see if the sleeping potion gave her a temperature.

She immediately flinched, dodging his touch as she started panicking inside. She took a couple of steps back as she tried to rearrange her thoughts, but she couldn’t.

“I— how did I get here?” she asked, her voice sounding way more scared than she had wanted.

“You’re my bride,” the orc informed her with another smile, tusks glinting, and if she wasn’t so terrified she might’ve thought that was a happy smile.

The previous events rushed back to her mind as she remembered her encounter with the orphanage manager just days ago. So the woman did end up giving her to the soldier as promised. She didn’t protect her from that terrible fate.

The woman who had raised her just so easily put her to sleep and let some savage stranger collect her as his trophy wife even after she'd begged her not to.

“Who did you think an orphan like you was gonna marry? A prince? This is not a fairytale kingdom! I’m doing you a favour.” She remembered the woman’s demeaning comment and how she mocked her in front of the rest of the girls.

“No, no.” She shook her head, tears pearling in her frightened eyes, “there must have been a mistake.”

“Oh, little human, quit whimpering. There’s been no mistake; you’re my mate.” His big thumb swiped across her chin. “I have you now and I’m never gonna let you go,” he told her with longing she didn’t understand.

His words made the dam collapse as she burst into tears, loud sobs tearing through her chest as she hunched over and cried.

This couldn’t be her fate. She knew she wasn’t the prettiest or the slimmest of girls out there, but she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to end up as a reward for some metal-armed monster. She was a good girl, she’s always been good. She deserved better.

Why did it have to be her that they offered? Why did it have to be anyone? Everyone knew what he was and who he was and they still handed her over like she meant nothing.

“Shush now, enough crying. I don’t like the sight of puffy eyes. Come on, you’re ruining our wedding night,” the orc said, his expression bored as he started to take his heavy sweater off.

She wished she hadn’t looked up at him.

He was big. Huge. What wedding night was he talking about? Was he trying to destroy her? End her?

“What are you doing?” She trembled as the words left her.

He raised a suggestive eyebrow and she chocked on a sob.

“No, no, please.” She shook her head again, crying harder.

“Stop. Crying,” he warned, grinding his teeth and she stopped her wailing at once, swallowing the lump stuck in her throat.

“Much better. Now get yourself out of these clothes,” the orc demanded, his fingers hooking themselves under the hem of her oversized, handed down pullover.

“Please don’t do this.” Her heart was hammering in her chest, her eyes frantically searching for an exit.

“You have one minute to be standing bare in front of me or I’m gonna have you find out what I do to those who make me repeat myself,” he seethed, his eyes hard as they pinned her in place.

“I— I’ve never…” she muttered, her face growing hotter as she fiddled her fingers, “please, I can’t.”

“Oh, you’ve never been fucked, little human?” He teased her, his smile bordering on a smug smirk.

She winced at his vulgar language but nodded, “I’ve never been with a man, in any way.”

Tears were back to her cheeks again at her humiliating confession. She knew it was her last hope and if he didn’t have mercy on her because of that then nothing was going to stop what he was about to do to her.

“Never?” He asked again, circling around her just to see her tremble under his starved gaze.

“Never,” she whispered, feeling as uncomfortable as never before.

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you all the tricks,” the orc chuckled, playing with her hair and she could all but sob again, "I'm only half orc after all".

Was that supposed to be comforting?!

It just made her sob harder.

“What did I say about crying?”

“Please let me go.” She begged, body shaking with her sobs.

“No.”

“W—Why not? I’ll give you all I have if you let me out of here. Anything you want. Please.” She cried and pled although she knew she had nothing to give him.

“I have all I want right here.” He leaned forward to smell her hair, his huge arm squeezing her side almost gently.

If she wasn’t so terrified of what was to come next she would’ve seen the way he was looking at her like she was the most precious thing he has ever seen in his miserable life. Like she was an actual trophy that only he was lucky enough to win.

“Please—”

“40 seconds, little human,” he warned, his face scary and showing nothing but impatience and anger.

There was no way out of this, was there? The door was too far and even if she managed to get out, he would easily catch her and who knows what he’d do to her then. At least he’s asking ‘nicely’ for now. Nice enough for a rough snow orc with a metal arm.

Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she grabbed her pullover and just stood there fiddling.

“Could— could you look the other way, please?” she pleaded, her eyes too ashamed to meet his.

The orc huffed before giving her his back and allowing her these few seconds of privacy.

He thought it was ridiculous though because he was going to turn around and see her anyway, but decided he’d try and be understanding just because it was her first night with him.

“You’re not wearing that many clothes,” he complained after a minute and she whimpered behind him.

He took it as his cue to turn around and when he did she was as naked as the day she was born, holding the large sweater to her chest, trying to cover up.

“Let me see you now, come on,” the orc cooed, licking his lips at the sight of what was exposed of her before slowly pulling the item of clothing out of her death grip.

She stood there shivering from both cold and fear, shyness gnawing at her insides as the brute’s eyes skimmed down every nude inch of her.

Hell, she was beautiful. Goddesses had nothing on his bride.

“Now why would you hide such beauty from me, hmm?” He bit his lip, taking her hand in his larger one, “come here.”

She choked on another whimper as he forced her closer to his body. She could feel the heat radiating off of his chest and it made her shiver more.

The orc’s rough palms massaged her arms before settling on her bare hips, holding her close to him.

“The name’s Bucky, just so you know what to scream,” he whispered in her ear, softly kissing the spot behind her earlobe.

He felt her tense in his hold and tried to ignore the way it made him feel.

“Please,” she tried one more time but swallowed the rest of her words when Bucky’s face showed irritation.

“I’m sure I can make you cry and beg just fine, little human. Stop wasting both outside of bed,” he told her, his voice firm and authoritative, making her wipe her tears away at once.

“Speaking of the bed, go lay down for me, will you, sweet thing?”

His soft tone scared her more than his harsh one and she didn’t know what was real. It still felt like a nightmare that she would wake up from any moment.

Every muscle in her body was taut, tense with anxiety. Her face burned with disgrace from being exposed like this for the first time in her life and not willingly either.

This wasn’t how her first time was supposed to be. She shouldn’t be forced into it, let alone with an enormous half orc who had no feelings for her and neither she for him.

She desperately wanted to cry it out, but squeezed her eyes shut before she could so Bucky wouldn’t scold her again.

He climbed on top of her, caging her legs between his as his muscly arms framed her head, supporting himself up.

It might’ve been her mind trying to calm her down, but she didn’t think she saw Bucky looking at her with lust. She was expecting to see nothing in his eyes but hunger, like a ravenous beast would look at a piece of meat, but instead she could see… admiration?

Bucky wanted to kiss her but thought against it and pressed his lips to her cheek instead, letting them travel down to her jaw so he could reach her neck.

“Please go easy on me,” she whispered her plea when she felt Bucky’s ‘thing’ poke around her naked thighs.

He was big. So big.

Even if she had had sex before this night, she knew no man could have been enough preparation for the size she was making him out to be.

Bucky didn’t reply, letting his lips kiss and suck on her neck and when he pressed them to her pulse point, he felt like shit about himself.

Her heart was beating like crazy, pounding so hard it must’ve hurt inside her chest.

She didn’t want it at all. She was clearly scared and if her heart was hammering like that he could only feel bad for making her do this.

Bucky pulled away to look at her, her eyes were shut tight, her body trembling still and her fists closed up by her sides as she desperately tried to regulate her breathing.

He let his hand touch her tummy and she quivered but didn’t try to move away. He kissed between her breasts and she whimpered in fear, quickly biting her lip after.

Bucky took a deep breath before gliding his hand up her leg, watching as she her teeth almost drew blood from her lower lip as she bit down hard to prevent herself from crying, panting through her nose.

When he reached her inner thighs she was digging her fingernails in her palms so hard she was sure she’d hurt herself.

Bucky tried to be gentle as he slowly slipped a thick finger up further to touch the cut of her.

She whimpered again but Bucky didn’t stop, dipping the tip of his finger in just a little bit to feel her. He could see her trying so hard not to close her legs as her thighs shook and she started nearly gasping, her eyes still tightly closed.

Bucky swiped his finger between her lips and she was dry as a desert.

She wasn’t wet for him at all. She wasn’t anything but petrified. Nothing about her told him that she wanted this.

Bucky took his hand away and sat back, letting out a sigh as he ran his big hand through his hair.

He didn’t care what the humans of the kingdom thought about him, he knew he wasn’t actually a monster. He thought he could do it even if she didn’t want it, but he couldn’t. He thought it was enough if he wanted and knew how to do it, but it wasn’t.

He knew he didn’t need love to make babies, nor did he need her agreement. But Bucky just couldn’t hurt her, not like that.

He could get her wet enough with his tongue, but he couldn’t find it in himself to force her into this, not on their first night and not in a million years.

He couldn’t set her up for a war she would lose with her own body when her heart and mind wanted nothing to do with him. He knew how big he was; he knew it would be torture for her if she didn’t want it.

Bucky hated that she looked so scared of him. He didn’t want to scare her further. Maybe at first he'd found it amusing, but for some reason that wasn’t the case anymore.

The way she was hiccupping and trembling under him was anything but a turn on.

He couldn’t go through with this.

“Get dressed,” Bucky said as he got up from the bed, pulling his own pants up his thick thighs, ignoring his hard cock.

“W-what?” She opened her eyes, her eyelashes wet with unshed tears as she stared at him blankly.

Was she imagining this?

“Now, before I change my mind.” He really didn’t like repeating himself.

“O-okay! Thank you.” She hated that he made her stutter so much.

Bucky gave her his back, putting his own sweater back on and she got up quickly, nearly stumbling off the bed as she reached for her underwear and slipped it on. Her pullover was next and when her head was through, she noticed Bucky standing by the door, watching her.

She went to grab her shoes but Bucky’s chuckle stopped her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, making her unsure again.

“Getting my shoes?”

“I can see you. Why?”

“So— uh.. so you could take me back?”

“Take you back where exactly?” He folded his arms again and she felt nervous as she swallowed, coming to learn that this was probably not a good sign.

“To the orphanage? I mean, you’re letting me go, right?” She sounded so hopeful, he hated it.

“No.” His definitive answer shattered her hopes.

“What? Why not?” She started to tear up again and Bucky found himself turning his eyes away from her distressed ones.

“You’re my wife, that’s why.”

“But it isn’t supposed to be me! Marry someone else!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face.

“But it’s you I have here. I don’t want anyone else. You’re my mate now.”

Mate? What was he talking about?! They didn’t know each other! And she wasn’t an animal!

“But you’re not mine!”

“I will never let you go and that’s the end of it.” Bucky’s growl shut her right up.

She stared at him in horror and maybe even contempt, but Bucky didn’t care.

“But you said get dressed,” she cried out her disappointment because she really thought he had had mercy on her and was letting her go, but it seemed like he only decided to postpone her torture instead.

“Don’t try to leave because I’ll find you anyway and if I don’t, well, you’d probably be eaten,” he told her, ignoring her comment before grabbing his axe and a lamp.

“Where are you going?” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

She might hate him but that didn’t mean she wanted him to leave her alone in the middle of nowhere.

“Gonna go get some more wood to get us through the night. There’s food and water in the kitchen.” She nodded and he opened the door and stepped out.

“B-Bucky?” It was the first time she said his name since the night started and the orc had no idea his name could sound so sweet.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you anyway,” she said, her hushed tone grateful yet laced with sadness.

Bucky only nodded before shutting the door behind him, locking it from the outside.

~

Bucky found himself slamming his axe down on the wood more vigorously than usual. He had a lot inside of him and it had to be released. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she cried and bit back sobs at his touch.

What’s happened to him? Bucky loved nothing more than scaring these pretentious humans of the kingdom! He found incomparable joy in the way they would cower down before his intense gaze whenever he would growl or flex his left arm. He had no problem talking them down, taunting them or even threatening them. So why on earth was it so difficult for him to continue to be like that to her?!

Why did he care so much all of sudden?! Why was it so hard for him to continue to be hard on her?! She seemed like someone who would follow orders just fine. Why didn’t he give her some?

Bucky picked her because she caught his eye. Because he deserved her. He deserved a bride and a family after all that he’d lost while fighting the kingdom’s people’s fights for them. It was the least they could gift him in return. A woman, a new life.

Another growl left Bucky’s chest as he slammed his axe down again.

He couldn’t go back to the cottage with a hard cock. He only had so much control. He needed to get it all out now.

This was going to be hard.

~

She continued to cry after Bucky was gone. She wasn’t really thankful he didn’t rape her when he could have, she just didn’t want to fall under his wrath had she tried to argue further.

She was always so scared, of everyone and everything. Always bending to the storm and never fighting back. And look where that had gotten her…. A cast out orc’s wife.

Was that really how her fate was drawn? Was that what was meant for her after so many lonely years in the orphanage?

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of the key turning followed by the cottage’s door being kicked.

She swallowed the rest of her whimpers as she watched Bucky’s arms enter first, a bunch of cut wood in them.

He was so strong. She was sure he could crush her skull with his bare hands if he wanted to. The thought alone sent yet another shiver down her spine.

Bucky kicked the door closed before walking to the fireplace and setting the wood pieces beside it. He put some inside to keep the fire alive before getting up and looking at her with a look she couldn’t pin down.

“Have you been sitting here the whole time?” Bucky asked her upon noticing how she was curled up on the floor next to the bed, her face streaked with dried tears and her nose and lips swollen.

“Y-yes.” Her voice was hoarse from the constant sobbing.

“You didn’t eat anything?”

She shook her head and Bucky sighed loudly.

He walked to the kitchen and she could hear a fridge being opened. Then a match was lit and something metal sat down on the stove.

A few minutes later Bucky was coming out of his kitchen with a large glass of warm milk. He looked at her as he put the glass on the table.

“I put honey in there to help soothe your throat.”

“I- I don’t want to. Thank y—”

“Come here and drink your milk.” One glare and she was scrambling to the only seat on the table before the steaming glass.

“Don’t leave one single drop in there,” he told her before walking to the wooden closet in the corner.

Bucky got himself something clean and comfy to wear as well as a towel.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” he informed her in case she needed to go to the bathroom but she only nodded so he went on his way.

She watched the door to the bathroom shut and let out the breath she was holding before standing up.

Walking around the room, she found a stack of papers on the smaller table by the window. One was their marriage certificate that she hasn’t even gotten the choice whether or not to sign. She thought about throwing it in the fire, but it would likely cause her more problems than she would want to handle at the moment. Under it was what looked like a contract that they made this orc sign. Her chest tightened and tears pricked her eyes again.

It wasn’t enough that they gave her to a stranger, but they’d handed her out to an exiled orc, signing contracts to close their deal of selling her. What had she done to anyone to ever deserve this?

The room was suddenly too quiet when she looked around again. The milk before her looked tempting and she was hungry, but the door looked better and she was entrapped.

She slowly walked closer as she could hear water running inside the bathroom and when she twisted the handle, the door opened. Just like that. Bucky had forgotten to lock it and now was her chance.

The thunder cracked outside once more as if in warning, but she didn’t pay it any mind. It was now or never.

Part II

~

Tag List:

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[kislnd]

possessive - george clarke~

synopsis: george has to collect a tipsy y/n after a night out with her friends - there he is introduced to one of her old coworkers.

notes: i managed to accidentally post this several times before finishing it lol (pain) 😭 thanks to anon for requesting this plot x

warnings: alcohol & angst (good resolution dw guys)

word count: 2.4k

masterlist

"are you almost ready?" george called out to y/n, who was in the bathroom finishing up her makeup. she knew her friends were here to collect her for their night out and george was just making sure she didn't end up keeping them waiting for too long. "yes, just give me a sec!" she replies, throwing a brush in the general direction of her makeup bag haphazardly.

"all done," she smiles, coming out of the bathroom, finishing touches all complete. "you look gorgeous y/n." george beams, wrapping his arms around her middle. "thank you." she returns the hug and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to walk towards the front door, with george following behind her. "have fun and be safe," he says, "and when you're ready to be picked up just give me a text." y/n nods, she was always grateful that he was willing to do things like that for her no matter what time of the night it was. "see you later then," she grins, a grin that he couldn't help but reciprocate, and steps outside to join her friends.

the pub that y/n's friends had chosen was a local one, but one that she had walked past countless times without ever giving it a second thought. she wasn't sure what to expect upon entering the establishment, but that didn't make her nervous. she had always thought that trying out new things or places was one of the things that kept life exciting.

once over the threshold, her senses were immediately flooded - loud music blaring from what appeared to be karaoke (something she anticipated she would have to pry her drunk friends away from later in the evening), several conversations, most of which were shouted in a desperate attempt to be heard over the music, and a strong smell of alcohol. at least, y/n thought, the people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

"we can either sit next to the speaker and go deaf or nearer to that group," one of her friends gestured to a fairly large group of rowdy guys near the bar, "and also go deaf." they all laugh at this, although their laughter was short-lived - the options really weren't good. "i vote anything but that," y/n scrunches her nose up thinking about the group - if they were already unpleasant from the safe distance at which she was observing them, god knows how insufferable it would be to spend a few hours practically on top of them.

after some deliberation, y/n and her friends settled on a table closer to the music. with everyone situated and ready for the night, a few of the girls made their way to the bar to grab some drinks.

"is that everything?" y/n questioned, scanning the array of drinks that had been poured for them. "seems about right," her friend shrugged, "we'll figure out if we ordered everyone something when we give them out." y/n nods, she was right. thankfully, enough of them had come to the bar to help out that what would have otherwise been a horrendous balancing act, was actually a swift and tidy transportation of drinks. y/n placed the last few glasses down on the table before turning to one of the girls and saying quietly, "i'm just going to pop to the toilet."

"do you want one of us to come with?" she asked, to which y/n shook her head - the bathroom wasn't far from where they were sitting and she wasn't worried about anything else. they had specifically chosen to sit across the room from the disruptive group of guys so she figured they wouldn't bother her.

either way, y/n decided she would move as quickly as possible, sliding past the few people nearby and into the room. she didn't want to spend more time than she needed to in there - pub toilets were unpleasant at the best of times and she also didn't really want to miss out on anything. nevertheless, she took a moment to freshen up - her makeup was still in position and her hair didn't seem to be so different from when she originally styled it so she simply gave her hands a wash and made for the door.

grabbing the cool metal handle, y/n threw the door open and set off with the intention of walking briskly back in the direction of her friends. instead, her stride was broken by a figure colliding with her as she stepped out of the bathroom. "oh!" she jumped back, her body flush with the door, "i'm so sorry." she exclaimed. the person, whom she had now realised was a man who had just come out of the bathroom himself, smiled warmly down at her. "don't worry, i wasn't really looking where i was going." y/n studied his face for a moment, she could've sworn she recognised him but she couldn't quite put her finger on where from. "sorry," she brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, "do i know you from somewhere?" she paused, wondering if that had been a strange question, "i just feel like you look familiar," she added.

"you're y/n aren't you?" the man cocked his eyebrow, but didn't wait for a response. "we used to work together." realisation hit y/n, she couldn't believe she had managed to briefly forget him, they had spent almost every day for a number of years side by side. she couldn't even blame this one on alcohol. "of course!" she laughed at her own silliness and also in the hopes of relieving some tension - she was praying she hadn't offended him. "we had some good times." she smiled. much to her relief, he smiled back, "absolutely, i can't believe how much time has passed. i'd love to catch up with you." y/n liked the idea - she had to admit that she had wondered what he was up to and this would be the perfect opportunity to check in. however, she also recognised that she was here with her friends and it would be wrong to abandon them, especially when they were the ones that organised the evening.

"i'm kind of with people at the moment," y/n gave him an apologetic look, she had tried to word it kindly, in a way that didn't seem like a harsh refusal of his offer. "no worries, just whenever you have a free moment later on," he smiles, "drinks on me, of course." y/n returns the smile, "see you later then."

//

y/n could feel her head growing fuzzy and she could tell her friends felt the same, so it had been a collective decision to end the night there. with everyone calling taxis or friends to collect them, y/n decided to drop george a text to come and collect her in around half an hour's time. as promised, she found her way to her ex-coworker's table, telling herself that she could only accept one drink out of politeness and as to not hate herself too much the next morning.

"so what'll it be?" he asks grinning, digging into his pocket to find his wallet. "just whatever you're having," y/n slid into a chair and waited for him to return with the drink. soon enough, the drinks arrived and after getting over some initial awkwardness, they were back to chatting like old friends. y/n was so caught up in conversation that she hadn't realised george had texted her numerous times that he had arrived until he entered the pub himself and informed her.

"i've been trying to get you to come outside for a bit now," george says, approaching the table where they were sitting. he wasn't angry, he was aware that y/n would be caught up with her friends and therefore a little slower to check her phone, but he was confused. who was this guy? he'd met y/n's friends on countless occasions, and she often mentioned them, but this stranger hadn't ever seemed to come up in conversation. "i'm sorry," she looked up at him with flushed cheeks, the alcohol had definitely gotten to her. george was about to open his mouth to ask her who the mystery man was but before he could get there, she interjected, "this is my old coworker, from when i worked at the shop."

suddenly it made sense - maybe y/n had mentioned him in passing, he was sure she'd talked about her time at the shop a couple of times previously. "well nice meeting you," george didn't really feel like engaging in any formalities, all he really wanted was to get y/n home and go to bed. "we'd better get home." he smiled somewhat apologetically, and took y/n by the hand in an attempt to coax her to stand up. "honestly, please join us," the man, who george still didn't know the name of (nor did he really care to find out either), said. "we were only just beginning to catch up." george glanced at y/n, although he wasn't so sure if she was in a good position to be passing judgement.

"that would be nice," she smiled softly, "george?" she looked up at him with big eyes, eyes that he often found very hard to resist. george still wasn't sold on the idea. "are you sure? it's getting quite late now." he questioned, in the hopes that she would agree and they could go. he really was not a fan of how eager this guy was to spend time with her, and it was made worse by the fact that he hardly knew the guy. "please?" y/n tightened her grip on his hand, willing him to just take the seat next to her.

at this point, george obliged. it was clear y/n was enjoying herself and this guy didn't make her uncomfortable. it was not worth ruining her night and mood by forcing her to come with him. "alright." he said flatly, admittedly through gritted teeth. y/n raised an eyebrow at his tone but brushed it off, maybe he was just tired and besides, he absolutely could tolerate sitting down and talking for a short while.

//

the more he talked, the more george was sure he couldn't stand the guy. the way he looked at y/n with such blind adoration in his eyes, the way he kept reaching out to touch her on the arm briefly during the conversation and his body language, completely focused towards y/n as if he wasn't there - it was all far too much.

george made a point of blatantly checking the time and announcing it to the table, "right, i think we should call it a night here?" he turned to y/n, who was obviously more tired than she had been when he first arrived, who solemnly agreed. george stood up first, quickly helping y/n up and wrapping his arm around her shoulder protectively. "thank you, that was a lovely evening," her former coworker smiled, "we should do this again y/n." the fact he had purposely left george out of the conversation, without even having the decency to offer an invite to him (or to any of her friends) confirmed every suspicion.

george's body stiffened, his grip on y/n tightening slightly. "i don't think that would be appropriate." he said calmly, masking how truly infuriating it was for him to be witnessing this behaviour. "we're leaving now." he didn't give y/n a chance to wave goodbye or say thank you to her old friend, and instead took off briskly towards the exit and to the car.

"what was that about?" y/n looked puzzled, to her the night had simply been catching up with someone from her past and nothing more. "could you seriously not tell?" george himself was dumbfounded, it was beyond him how she could be so oblivious. "tell what?" y/n snapped back at him, "all i could tell was that you hated him. your face was sour the entire night."

"well forgive me for not taking a liking to the guy who was practically undressing you with his eyes," george began to raise his voice, he didn't like getting angry and wouldn't ever want to upset y/n but it was impossible to contain his rage in the moment. "he was not!" y/n protested, "he is just an ex-colleague, what has gotten into you?"

"to you maybe," george still felt disgusted, "i mean, did you even notice that he was constantly trying to touch you?" y/n shook her head in disbelief, "i think you're being dramatic. even if he was flirting with me, why would it matter?" silence clung to the air. george stared at the ground helplessly, he knew that no matter the number of ways he tried to explain this to y/n she would just be adamant he wasn't making advances on her. "i like you not him." she reached out to touch him on the arm, "george, i'm not angry at you. i think i was just surprised."

y/n stepped closer to him carefully and slotted herself under his chin, wrapping her arms around him in the most reassuring hug she could muster - he did the same. "i'm sorry." he mumbled into her hair where he had buried his face, "it's hard to not get jealous when you have such a beautiful girlfriend." y/n grinned, "you are silly." she paused, contemplating whether or not to share her thoughts. "and for the record, i do think you are extra hot when you're jealous."

"oh?" george raised his eyebrow, "well, as long as you don't keep meeting up with random co-workers that definitely have a crush on you, i can live with that." he chuckled. "don't worry, you definitely scared him away." y/n laughed, "i am not at risk." george mocked offense, "hilarious y/n," he smiled sarcastically, guiding her towards the car and opening the passenger door for her to climb in before getting in himself.

"i do love you, you know," she stared out of the windscreen in thought. "i know you do, and i love you," george patted her knee, "let's just worry about getting you home now."

[paper-mario-wiki]

Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?

From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.

At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.

Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.

Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.

My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:

0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.

I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.

I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.

I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.

I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.

I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.

This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.

I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.

[nqmonarch]

Good Boy/Girl [Pt 2]

Okay another post about like Good Boy/Girl because like. Some characters I just simp for. Last one was I want to make you extremely happy so I'll say it because I love you this one is when that one character that really flusters you says it.

Characters: Ningguang (Genshin Impact), Sunday (Honkai Star Rail)

Ningguang

Ningguang is always so busy, tirelessly working away, sometimes you have to remind her to take a break. When walking alongside her in the city of Liyue it's no surprise heads are turned and staring right at you.

More accurately, they're staring at her. If not for her fame as the Tianquan, then her beauty, the way her eyes pierce through every object and price she sees while shopping, calculating but not cold. The clothes she wears cling to her figure perfectly, they make her stick out but aren't gaudy. She is a God among mortals. You can't help but feel self conscious around her.

Your shoulders shift inward, and your back naturally slouches, hoping to appear as small as possible next to this colossal. You'd voice your worries to her before--

"What if people think I'm unfit for you? You can do better," Your voice lacked any confidence it normally had when you'd first met the Tianquan and flirted shamelessly with her, expecting to never be given a second glance.

"Does it matter? It is my decision if you stand by my side, and yours too," She replied confidently but her eyes gazed down at you full of warmth, a hand reaching out to your shoulder to hold it. An anchor, whenever your thoughts spiraled too deep that hand would be there.

You looked back at her, still worried, but moved your hand up to rest on top of hers. It was rather uncomfortable for you, and at the slightest change of your expression she moved her hand down to your heart. Your hand followed hers. A conversation with no words.

She smiled down at you, "Good Y/N."

You relaxed at the term of endearment, feeling your hand rest against hers which lay motionless on your chest. You looked up into her eyes, but you couldn't see any of Ningguang the Tianquan, you simply saw Ningguang, your lover.

-- "Y/N, what do you think of this necklace?" She suddenly asked you, pointing out one with a large gem in the middle. It was alright. You reached your hand out to hers.

"It's nice," You admitted, feeling your fingers interlace even through the gloves you could still feel the warmth, "It's not as beautiful as you though."

She let out a charming laugh, "Good Y/N."

Sunday (I love this man I can't wait until he comes out. Personality is going mainly based off of leaks.)

Sunday was lovely, everything you could want from an ideal partner. He was kind, caring, the epitome of perfection. Except he wasn't. You were one of the people that knew him best. Beneath everything he showed the public was a selfish creature.

"Y/N?" His voice was sweet, like an angels and you could trick yourself into thinking he was one if you tried hard enough.

You looked over at him wings fluttering from behind his head, normally calm and collected eyes holding a sense of anxiety. It was a stark difference from the Sunday you first met. Just that look of weakness on him made you want to forgive him.

You took your time with a pause, "What is it?"

You could see him struggling to form the words, shifting around uncomfortably. It wasn't often he had to speak like this to others, normally he would be the mediator, the diplomat, the leader-- not the problem.

"I'm sorry." It was only two words that were needed to soften your heart. You let out a long sigh, telling yourself to not let him off the hook just yet.

"For what?"

"It's just, there was an emergency meeting all of The Family was needed--"

Of course, that was his first reaction, Sunday was much to use to manipulating others. So, even when it no longer gave him pleasure or happiness, he'd default to it in a panic, "Save your excuses for later, tell me what you did first," You said sternly, "You told me to hold you accountable for the next time this happened."

He looked away from you for a moment, "I... I did tell you that, yes." His hands fiddled in his lap and you wished to take those gloves off and lay kisses on every knuckle. "I'm sorry for..." He closed his eyes tightly, as if he didn't want to see what would happen next.

Sunday took a deep inhale and then almost yelled out, "I'm sorry for shoving you off the bed in the middle of the night! I didn't mean to."

You let out a small laugh and walked over, sitting down next to him, "I know. I don't know why you even made me do this," You said sheepishly, looking down at his knees, "It's impossible to not forgive you when you make that face."

"This one?" He asked, and as your eyes moved up you were met with puppy eyes. In order to escape them you practically dove into his arms, holding onto him tightly, and burying your face into his chest.

"I hate that you're able to do that on command," You grumbled, it made you feel weak.

You could hear the smile in his voice, "Thank you, for holding me accountable though."

"It's dumb."

"Interrupting my darling's sleep is anything but dumb!" He quickly interjected, "I deserve to--"

You leaned up and silenced your mouth was his, moving fast enough to cut him off but moving away quickly, not wanting anything to escalate. The warmth of his lips followed you and you could still see them after he was silenced.

"You deserve love." You rested your head on his shoulder looking out the window at all of the city below you. One of his wings poked your cheek and you leaned into the plumage.

"I don't deserve you." His words were quiet but mattered nonetheless.

You turned to face him, and found his face turned to face yours putting the two of you nose to nose, breaths intermingled. "You deserve the world," You replied.

He flushed under your words, and you got the satisfaction of seeing his skin blossom with color. "You're so good to me... Good Y/N." He rested his face in your neck. You thought it would've been uncomfortable for him since your chin still rested on his shoulder but he didn't show any sign of discomfort.

"My Good Y/N," He said voice soft as his wings, and closed his eyes.

I just want someone to love who will love me, is that too much to ask?

Also question, for nonbinary folks and other people that like going by they/them what do you think is a good gender neutral term for good girl/boy? I went with good (name), here since I feel like that's chill but if you can think of anything else I'd be happy to hear it! :)

[generalluxun]

Half-Baked, An ML fanfiction.

So this comes out of my 'Chloe goes back in time' AU. set after she's stolen the black cat Miraculous, but before the repercussions of that have really gone full swing.

This AU came about mostly from asks, so the tag can be searched on my blog for getting up to date on our collective ramblings for it.

Super short Summary: Post S5 Chloe goes back in time into her Origins-timeframe body. She is angry at everyone and everything. She gets herself akumatized early on and steals the Cat Miraculous from Cat Noir(who wasn't taking things seriously, it's S1) Seeing it's Adrien she freaks, breaks akumatization and runs off before Ladybug arrives. Adrien is keeping who stole it a secret(though he tells LB he lost it) hoping he can get it back himself to make up for losing it.

Fic is under the cut because it is 4172 words. I'll also be posting it on AO3 tomorrow.

With the smell of fresh baked goodies taunting her nostrils, Marinette dodged between racks laden with hot trays and mixing bowls of fresh dough. She was already late for school, but seeing her parents frantically running around made her pause.

“Dad?”

Tom flashed her a big smile but immediately turned and fled into the back. Her mother turned from where she was scooping still-warm pastries off cooling trays and into boxes too soon. “Honey, your father and I are very busy today. A large catering order came in unexpectedly. It was extremely short notice, but you know your father.”

Marinette couldn’t help but puff up a little, “It’s the Egyptian opening at the Lourve, right?”

Sabine paused. “Why, yes honey. How did you-”

Marinette gushed, “I knew dad was bummed about missing out on it, so yesterday I took a few freshly baked pastries over to the museum before school. I managed to find a way back to the curator’s offices and wouldn’t leave until he tried one. You should have seen the look on his face! ‘Young lady I think that is the best confection I have ever tasted.’ It looks like it was worth being an hour late.”

Marinette froze mid-pantomime. Her story had run away with her again, perhaps to a few places her mother didn’t exactly need to know.

Whatever Sabine’s thoughts, she kept a gently serene face. “That’s… very clever dear. Only… perhaps you could ask before helping next time? This really is such short notice.”

Marinette winced. “Is it really? I could help! I can just call in sick, then I would be able to-”

Rushing back towards the kitchen, Marinette snagged her foot on one of the giant mixing bowls. She tripped and collapsed into it as it spun, coming to rest blinking up into her mother’s even more concerned looking face. Sabine reached down and helped Marinette extract herself, brushing some wayward flour dust off her backside.

“No, no, that’s quite alright, dear. Your father and I will handle it. It’s not as if sleep is necessary every night. On your way now. You don’t want to be late, again.”

That last word carried the only hint of maternal reprimand, but it was enough. Marinette let herself be ushered out the door. On the way to school she managed to convince herself everything would be okay. It would be fine. It wasn’t the end of the-

The Agreste Limo pulled up in front of the steps to the school, and ‘end of the world' took on new meaning. Adrien got out, but his walk up the steps had none of its usual spring. Even knowing the truth, it was hard for Marinette to overlap the image of him with Cat Noir. Hard, and maybe a moot point.

Marinette shook herself. No. Not a moot point. We will get the ring back. I will get it back. Anyone can make a mistake. She hop-stepped to catch up with Adrien and gave him her biggest smile, “Morning, Adrien!”

He might not know it, but he’d helped her become Ladybug. Now it was up to her to return the favor.

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

Time was not on Marinette’s side though. Not even half the day had gone by when the school shook as if in an earthquake. Sirens sounded in the distance. Alya had her phone open to a news cast before anyone else even had theirs out.

“-eaking News. A giant man…monster…thing… has once again been sighted in downtown Paris. Police are on their way, but as we approach the presumed akuma I have to wonder, what can they hope to do? Will Ladybug and Cat Noir show up once again to save our fair city?”

Nadja’s voice rose clearly from the tiny screen. Marinette couldn’t make out the akuma clearly as the helicopter circled though. All at once the helicopter lurched.

Nadja turned to ask someone off screen, “What’s that smell?”

The camera jostled, the helicopter lurched again, and the image went dark.

Marinette jumped up, “We have to do something!”

“Do something?” Kim blurted out from the back before anyone else. “Ivan got turned into a giant monster and almost turned half the class into crepes! What are you gonna do? …No offense big guy.”

Marinette heard Ivan mumble something even as she watched Adrien’s shoulders slump in front of her. She had to think fast. “What am I gonna do? I’m gonna go to the bathroom! Can’t think on a full bladder, right? Haha. Ms. Bustier can I go please?”

Another rumble shook the entire classroom.

Nino scrambled to his feet, “It sounds like there won’t be a bathroom to go to pretty soon.”

Ms Bustier raised her voice clearly but gently, “Alright class, everyone out. We rendezvous at the park. Stay with your seatmates.”

Sorry Alya. Marinette bolted for the door.

It wasn’t until she set eyes on the akuma that Ladybug’s forebrain took control back from her reflexes. Fear grabbed ahold of her and queasiness dropped her on unsteady legs on the nearest rooftop. The akuma was huge, topping even stoneheart. It was visible head and shoulders above the rowhouses. The only saving grace was a strange familiarity. It was dressed like a baker, complete with toque on its head and giant wooden peel in its hands.

The combination of silliness and fear forced a nervous giggle from her lips. The giggle reminded her that she was alone this time, her partner couldn’t help her. That sealed her lips once more with fear. It’s all up to me, alone.

Doomsday scenarios pressed into her thoughts even as the akuma strode on in the distance. What’s its power? Why is it here? What is the item? Where is it go-

Ladybug’s brain did the math and drew the line from the akuma right through the school towards… Our bakery!

She was in motion instantly, vaulting two streets closer. She was crouched for another leap when her senses shoved another fact through her emotions. Screams.

Screams weren’t surprising, but the tone was wrong. The akuma swung its peel and something scattered below it. If only for a cat’s sight. Screams of fear turned to joy then fell silent.

Ladybug balked again. She had to think. Emotion wanted her to act, but she couldn’t afford to be wrong. How close could she get? The akuma moved on and she followed from a distance, trying to pick up any clues she could. How close is too close? The akuma plowed through a building in its way. More screams of fear, a swing of its peel and fear turned to joy then silence again.

She needed to get closer. But-

Ladybug was stuck.

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

“Go away!” Chloé stalked across the square, away from the class.

Sabrina trotted after her. “But, Chloé… we’re seatmates! We’re supposed to stick together.”

Chloé spun around and screamed, “Stick together? Is that what you call it? You sure didn’t stick with me when I needed it! Save me the trouble and go play with your new friends right now. Go!”

She jabbed a finger over Sabrina’s shoulder, but didn’t wait to see the results of her outburst. Her stomach felt hollow and sick. Her fingers tingled and her eyes itched. She wanted to scream until she ran out of air, but that hadn’t done any good before.  So instead she was getting away from the others as fast as she could. Chloé jogged across the street from the park and was around a corner in seconds. Sabrina didn’t call after her again.

For some stupid reason that made the sickness in her stomach worse.

Chloé stalked blindly, immune to the cracking of masonry and the heavy tread that threatened to knock her off her feet. Out of her tunnel vision a single figure resolved in the distance. Red, spotted, standing still on a rooftop. Ladybug.

She was just…standing there. The crunch of another building rang out but the hero didn’t move. “DO SOMETHING!” Chloé howled at her, unheard.

She hated Ladybug. Ladybug was lame. Ladybug was a loser. Ladybug was a failure. Ladybug was a traitor. Ladybug… was a hero. Ladybug was supposed to be saving the day. The thoughts rattled around and fought until Chloé squeezed her eyes shut and dug her nails into her hair in frustration.

With a sudden clarity Chloé’s eyes snapped open again. She whipped a hand around in front of her. “You! Come out now!”

The black cat kwami sparked into existence, anger evident on his tiny features.

“Tell me how to transform!” she demanded.

He crossed his arms smugly and replied, “hmmm Mm mffm Hmm.”

Chloé growled, “Talk! You can talk! Tell me!”

The Kwami gasped but still grinned, “That’s the one thing you can’t order me to do, Miraculous or no.”

“Rrraaaaaggh!” Chloé pointed at the distant Ladybug, “She’s not doing anything. Tell me the password or we’re doomed!”

Plagg crossed his little arms, “Give me back to my rightful holder, and she’ll have a partner again.”

Chloé stomped her foot, “No! I can do this! I know what to do better than any of them do right now! I’m the hero!”

Pagg seemed unimpressed. He rolled his eyes,”You? Nobody would make you a hero. What would you even do with a miraculous?”

Chloé's world narrowed again,to a haze of red with a floating black blob in the center. She advanced on him, “I’ll cataclysm the stupid  akuma. I’ll cataclysm stupid Hawkmoth. I’ll cataclysm everyone and everything that gets in my way. No one will take you away and nothing will stop me this time.”

She was seething. Memories of disappointment, failure, and humiliation broke down into the core emotions and blended into a hateful spiral. She waited for the next barb to come, but instead Plagg’s green eyes turned towards her with a spark of devilish curiosity in them.

“Really?” he drew the word out, “That just might be interesting to see.” One fingerless hand thrust at her face. “Don’t think I’m out of tricks though. You just watch yourself.  It’s ‘Plagg, Claws out.’”

Emotion spoke before thought could form, “Plagg, Claws out!”

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

The akuma waded through the remains of the school and Ladybug knew she had to act. The bakery was at hand, and though she couldn’t see from back here, she could just imagine her father standing out front with a rolling pin. She still didn’t have a plan. She hadn’t risked getting close enough to get a good look. It had seemed prudent, but a nagging voice whispered she might just be too scared on her own. Had Cat No- Adrien been brave enough for both of them?

She tensed for a leap, but a sound like a thunderbolt stopped her. A black blur streaked at the akuma. It struck clean, staggering the giant, and clung before scuttling across the akuma’s bulk.

Ladybug was airborne before she had time to doubt. The blur had resolved into a person, a cat person. Her foolish heart leapt for a moment at the impossible idea her partner might have returned. No- it wasn't him. This person darted and leapt from point to point, tearing at the akuma. Buttons, hat, pockets were all ripped and torn. The akuma reeled and swatted at the attacker. One meaty hand connected and sent the black-clad fighter into the pavement in an impressive crater. Ladybug didn’t even have time to gasp before the fighter leapt from the cracked road and was back in the fight.

Ladybug landed, still one block away. In part she was still gathering information, in part she wasn’t sure how to engage with that black buzzsaw in motion. She had time now, her partn-

The other fighter was buying her time.

Ladybug was still trying to understand the ferocity of the assault. The -Ladybug mentally decided on cat hero just to organize her thoughts- was fended off time and again, taking blows that had to hurt. They were -she was- was relentless though, rebounding from being knocked clean through nearby buildings.The akuma’s apron fluttered to the ground like a torn parachute.

It clicked, akumatized object!, just as the akuma found space to swing its bakery peel. This time Ladybug could discern pastries showering down from the end of it. The cat hero was crouched for another leap but instead raised her head and sniffed the air. She reoriented herself and pounced… the confections.

Ladybug had her info. She raised her yo-yo, “Lucky Charm!”

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

The smell was irresistible. Chloé dove at the showering pastries, and she wasn’t the only one. Civilians swarmed out from everywhere, her classmates among them. Each and every one scrambled for the treats. There was no stopping it. Chloé bit down on a tart even as she scooped up half a dozen croissants. That she was aware of the compulsion made it worse. She growled around oozing jam and ground her teeth on buttery crust.

The too familiar feeling of helplessness was poison in her veins. Control, she needed to have some kind of control. She couldn’t stop so she pushed in the other direction. She crammed her mouth full until her jaw ached and she could barely breathe. It worked! She had a muffin in each hand but she could move freely again.

She launched herself at the akuma again.

A patch, no. A giant thermometer, no. She broke and broke. The muffins were goo, smashed against her palms. She couldn’t breathe but she wouldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t. Did. She bent double while crouching for another jump. Trying to inhale had dragged a chunk of her food-muzzle into her throat. She choked, coughed, heaved, choked again, and gasped for air. Her stomach twisted around the magical treats she’d already swallowed and dropped her to her knees.

Ziiiiip *thwip*

She was wrapped in a too-familiar away, airborne, grabbed, thumped on the back. She was spun again, free, something was shoved up her nose. Her overstimulated senses finally managed to focus. Her vision focused. Ladybug stood before her, with a tissue box in hand and polkadot tissues up each nostril.

Chloé hissed, “What do you think you're doing?”

“Saving you!” Ladybug grabbed her arm, “What do you think you are doing?”

Chloé pulled free and snarled, “He’s got an akumatized item on him somewhere, I’ll find it.”

Ladybug reached for her, “Do you have any idea what it is?”

Chloé recoiled and scanned. The akuma had turned away from them. It looked over the Dupain-Cheng bakery of all things. A petty part of her wanted to let it smash the place. That part of her became one more thing to be angry at.

She bared her teeth over her shoulder. “No, but I’m not the kind of hero who stands around doing nothing.”

She vaulted away with a protest lost in her wake. She landed and jumped again, elation mixing with rage. Her claws scored the doughy skin on the back of the akuma’s neck, checking the downward bakery-dooming swing of his peel. He swung it at her instead, showering her with sugary bait that no longer had any power over her. Her mouth was open, panting as a part of her breathing. What next? She picked a target and broke it. Then another, and another.

“The peel! Destroy the peel!” Ladybug’s voice rang in her ears.

Ladybug was a loser and probably wrong, but that wooden peel sure was big and this sure would be fun… “Cataclysm!”

She met the akuma’s swing with an outstretched hand. A grove’s worth of wood turned to powder at her touch. The butterfly flew free.

*Thwip* -snap- Ladybug caught and purified it. The akuma shrank to a befuddled looking baker. Chloé stood victorious in the center of a wasteland of violence and destruction.

Elation beat out anger, for just a moment. She threw her head back, spread her arms and, “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh!”

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

The primal scream from right beside her made Ladybug cringe and fumble the lucky charm she had been about to toss into the air. Once she recovered herself the fact that the crisis had passed gave her a moment to actually evaluate her erstwhile companion. Evaluate, and remember that she was not a partner, she was a thief.

A ragged looking thief. Her blonde hair -did the cat miraculous make the user blonde?- was a voluminous mane down her back, bedecked with black metal hooks and barbs throughout. She turned post scream to give Ladybug a maniacal grin, revealing her needle-like fangs in place of incisors. Her heterochromatic eyes, one blue and one green, were feline as Cat Noir's had been, and her pupils were currently giant black moons swimming in color. 

“What are you looking at, Ladybum?” The thief drawled, raising the hand still dusted with cataclysm remains and flexing her fingers slowly.

Her gloved fingers ended in wicked looking black ‘claws’. She wore black leather, that much remained consistent too, but her V-neck collar was torn, not tailored.  Lastly, in place of Chat’s amusing belt-tail she had a razor thin wire wrapped around her waist with a heavy cat's paw pendant hanging from the end.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes, “You stole Cat Noir’s miraculous.”

The thief turned her hand, revealing the paw print ring with three toes left. “Finders keepers.”

Ladybug swapped hands and spun her yo-yo up, “Give it back.”

“No!” The thief lunged, catching Ladybug’s yo-yo mid-spin.

Ladybug countered, wrapping her line around the other girl’s arm ensnaring her. The thief’s other hand went for Ladybug’s neck. Ladybug blocked the lunge with the remaining length of her string, but the other girl’s palm pressed within scant centimeters. They were locked taut. Whoever gave ground would lose.

Those wild eyes were narrowed to slits. No akuma had ever scared Ladybug this badly. The anger melted from those features but the fingers still stretched for Ladybug’s throat. Ladybug felt a prick against her skin. “It has to be a pun, doesn’t it? Of course it does. Call me… Purrge. I’m going to turn Hawkmoth to dust, and anyone in my way.”

Ladybug strained. Her own anger fueled a push that took Purrge’s claws from her skin. “You’re crazy! I’m taking that ring back. You don’t deser-”

*Chirp* *chirp*

The overlapping sounds cut across the tension. Purrge’s eyes darted to Ladybug’s earrings. Ladybug’s were drawn to Purrge’s ring. Her mind raced. Has it been three or four?

Purrge’s lips curled into a sharp fanged grin, “You used yours first. You think you can take me down in time?”

Ladybug wanted to, oh she ached to, but there was more riding on this than personal satisfaction, but how to- A very slight easing of the pressure against her line; was it a ceasefire? Ladybug took a chance.

She pulled back, letting the line go slack. No claws cut off her breath. She didn’t wait. She scooped up the lucky charm and turned, “This isn’t over!  Miraculous Ladybugs!”

Ladybug tossed the charm even as she began her swing. Triumphant cackling bubbled up behind her. She didn’t look back. Paris rebuilt itself as Ladybug swung further away, seeking out a quiet spot and settling for behind a dumpster.

Marinette burst from the shadow of the dumpster at a run. If she got back quick enough maybe she could catch a glimpse. Maybe there would be a clue. Maybe she could get her partner back.

There wasn’t, and she couldn’t. Not yet at least. All that awaited her was the rest of the class. Alya almost knocked her over, grousing and shaking her by the shoulders while delivering a friendly but stern dressing down. At least she wasn’t the only one gone. Chloé had unsurprisingly run off and still wasn’t back. It took some of the heat off at least.

A few of the class, plus her parents, were gathered around a baker who sat head in hands on the curb. Marinette recognized him immediately, from even before the akuma. She scooted into the semi-circle.

“Mssr. Levure?”

He looked up in confusion.

Marinette gave him a guilty smile, “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

She saw surprise, anger, then guilt pass over his features.

She continued, “I’m sorry. I think I’m at least partly responsible for all this. I convinced the curator to switch bakeries. I just wanted to help my family… but I didn’t stop to think about how doing it this way would impact them, or you. I know my dad and he’ll run himself into the ground to do all this work. Not only that but our bakery will probably be closed so he can do it. All our other customers will suffer.”

Marinette looked at her parents, who watched her with proud curiosity. She looked back to Mssr. Levure.

“Maybe… both bakeries can share the catering? I’ll make signs. We can promote both and have an even better, more varied selection for our guests. Would that be okay?”

Marinette held her breath. Mssr. Levure, her dad, and her mom held one of those ‘glance and head tilt’ conversations adults so often did. Then he stood and brushed his hands off before holding one out to Tom. “A temporary partnership?”

Tom shook hands, smiling. “Done.”

A small cheer erupted from the half dozen onlookers, and Marinette had the satisfaction of righting at least one wrong today. Still, there was one other… She looked around and spotted Adrien sitting by himself.

“What a day huh?” She announced her presence.

She might be right next to him, but he was still sitting far apart. “Did you see? Ladybug’s got a new partner.”

“Partner?! Oh no no, that’s not what it looked like to me at all. More like a new enemy, or a stray cat, or an enemy cat, or a stray enemy. There’s no way Ladybug would just replace her partner.”

Adrien turned to face her for the first time. The hope on his face was heartbreaking. “You really think so?”

Marinette fidgeted. Instinct said he needed a hug, but, but… he was… and she was…  Nervous laughter bubbled up without warning, “Ha! Sure sure No way! Oh look! It’s Alya! No one knows Ladybug like her. She runs the Ladyblog! Why don’t we go ask her together? I’m sure she’ll know! Come on!”

She waved her arms frantically to signal Alya, kicking herself internally the entire time.

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

On a rooftop balcony nearby Purrge landed hard. What should have been a hero landing turned into a stumble, a stagger, and a few lurching steps. A flash of green enveloped her, then Chloé collapsed face first onto the pavement.

Plagg zipped in a wide loop through the air, “What a debut! I think you broke three whole blocks before Ladybug put it all back together. Crack! Boom! That was fun, and you still beat the akuma, so Master Fu can’t yell at me!”

Chloé’s persistently prone repose caught his attention.

“Kid? Kid?”

He floated over, sitting atop her head, no response.  He turned an ear down against her skull, then floated to her back to do the same.

“Tsk, You gotta let the timer run out when it wants to, kid. You’re still pretty small.”

This got a response. The fingers of one of Chloé’s hands curled into a white knuckled fist for the space of a breath before uncurling again.

Plagg hmphed.

A CCTV camera, set up for security footage but never watched, recorded something odd that day.  The blanket from Chloe’s bed lifted itself by a single point and dragged itself out to the balcony(after one of the balcony doors mysteriously rotted off its hinges) The blanket was spread haphazardly over the recumbent heiress.

A little later the trashcan in the suite tipped itself over, and trash began emptying itself onto the floor.

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

“Master Please! Calm, Master! Here, your beads.” Wayzz hovered nervously with the prayer bracelet in his hands.

“Calm? Calm!” Master Fu paced between the gramophone that hid the miracle box and the small TV in his room. He would stare at the TV, then go reach for the gramophone, then pace back to the TV.

When he turned to Wayzz his face looked pained and afraid, not angry. He pointed at the TV, “How can I be calm when… that?!”

Frozen on the TV was a still frame of Ladybug and a Black Cat wielder who was obviously not Cat Noir, locked in a struggle.

“The Cat Miraculous is out there in an unknown holder’s hands. It could be in danger. The Ladybug could be in danger. If Hawkmoth were to get his hands on the Ladybug…”

He went back to the gramophone again and laid his hands atop it,

“We must get it back. We must be careful, but we cannot delay. Ladybug will need help in the meantime, someone she can rely on, a power that can aid her when there are so many variables in play.”

“Master, do you mean…?”

Fu keyed in the secret combination to open the antique player, and reached for the Miracle Box hidden within. “Yes Wayzz, him.”

[shimonerin]

Secret Santa w/ the Jujutsu High Students

Content: Giving Itadori, Megumi, and Nobara their favorite gifts Tags: fluff Words: 1.7k

a/n: literally my first time writing again after a year or two and also my first time actually putting myself out there and posting lol I apologize if it's messy or lengthy TvT

Itadori Yuji

I feel like Yuuji would ask for a DVD/cassette collection of his favorite movies and TV shows since he really is a “TV child” and grew up watching those. And also because DVDs/cassettes are not really a thing nowadays, it kind of gives him nostalgia to be watching the same movies he used to when he was younger. 

Another thing I think he’d like is a snack basket. Just a basket filled to the brim with sweets and snacks and sodas. Just something he can eat and share with someone while he’s watching his shows.

Yuuji doesn’t ask for much and he’d be completely fine if you only managed to buy one of them or even a completely different gift. I mean, he’s basically going out every weekend in the cinemas and he’s more than capable of buying a few snacks for himself at the store. Everything else is just a bonus.

What he didn’t expect was for you to go out of your way to buy him everything on his wishlist and even gave him a meal voucher to one of the popular ramen restaurants in Japan. You know he likes rice bowls a lot and what’s better than giving him a voucher that’s worth at least three different rice bowls.

“No way! You bought all of this for me?” He exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with stars as he looked over the rack full of DVDs, a large snack basket, and a meal voucher. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes, seeing you make an effort into giving him something special. 

You smiled fondly at him, chuckling softly at his lightly pouting face “I might as well, right?” You tell him so casually, as if you didn’t just crawl your way into this man’s heart with your gifts.

Without a second thought, he threw himself at you, wrapping you in a tight, almost suffocating embrace before burying his face at the crook of your neck “You’re so awesome, you know that? I was secretly hoping you were my secret santa.” He murmured softly, which you find extremely endearing. Nobara and Gojo snickered behind you and you knew you’d find yourself in the middle of another teasing session over the next few days.

As soon as Yuuji let go of you, he grabbed both of your hands, holding it in front of your chest “We should definitely stop by that ramen restaurant later! You’ve only been there once, right?” He suggested as he shook your hands excitedly like a child.

As much as he wanted to hang out with his friends this Christmas, he didn’t want to miss out on some one-on-one time with you. He’s basically begging the universe for it so he wouldn’t trade it for the world or for an extra day of training. That can wait.

Megumi Fushiguro

I feel like Megumi isn’t even interested in joining Secret Santa. Poor boy was just forced by Gojo and Itadori lol. As he’s not interested in receiving any material gifts anyways, at most he’d probably just ask for a book.

He didn’t even give you any specific book he’d want you to buy so you had to ask Gojo “Oh, he’s not really into fantasy books, if that’s what you’re thinking,” He tells you as he leaned back onto the sofa “He’s leaning more towards nonfiction novels. Like the classics, you know?”

Heading straight towards the bookstore after training hours, you decided to go for “In Praise of Shadows” by Junichiro Tanizaki, simply because the title reminded you of his cursed technique. Though, the synopsis for the book isn’t too far off from his tastes.

Giving him only the book felt empty so you decided to look for mini figurines for his shikigamis at a nearby pottery shop. You wanted to give him something to symbolize his immense care for these animals, which was one of the things you loved the most about him. In the end, you had bought a total of 10 mini clay figurines. You placed it alongside the book inside a neat box with Japanese wrapping paper and a small bunny origami that resembles one of his shikigami on top to finish it off.

When it was time to give your gift to Megumi, he was quite impressed with the way it was wrapped but kept his reactions to a minimum “Ah, thanks.” He’d say, with a hand behind his neck

Only when he opens his present will you see the visible change in his expression. He pulls out the book and the mini figurines of the Divine Dogs, his gaze darting all over it in subtle fascination.

You purse your lips, tilting your head slightly “Do you like it?” You asked him, albeit a little nervously.

“Hey! Say something, won't you?” Nobara shouted, crossing her arms at the boy “Don't just sit there and stare!”

Megumi lifted his head off your bundle of gifts as he gazed back at your smiling face, a sudden feeling of happiness swelling in his chest but he kept it in.

“It’s…nice. I like it.” He spoke quietly, as if he’s only talking to you, blocking out all of the other sounds around him “You shouldn't have bought so much.”

He wanted to say more than that but his real feelings can't be summed up in a few words and he didn't want to come off so cheesy in front of his friends.

You laughed in response, waving off his words “No, no, I want to! You seem so indifferent with Christmas and I just wanted to give you something to smile about!” You lightly teased him, knowing you would have loved him either way.

At this point, Itadori and Nobara were forcing Megumi to smile for you as a joke, poking and prodding at his cheeks like they always do.

In the middle of the teasing session, you could definitely make out a small genuine smile from his otherwise stoic face, one that's easy to miss if you’re not looking closely enough. 

Later that evening, when you finally got home, you received an unexpected call from Gojo, saying “Hey, just called to tell you Megumi loved what you gave him.” He tells you “In fact, he’s arranging those figurines you bought him at his bedside table.”

Without a second thought, you could hear Gojo put his phone closer to Megumi’s room, as the faint sound of soft clashes of wood on wood fills your ears.

Gojo puts himself back on the call “Oh, and the book that you gave him? Yeah, he started reading it on the way home. Looks like you really got him this time.”

You couldn't help the smile slowly spreading across your face like a child “Really?” You say, trying not to let your voice give out what you're feeling “That’s…that’s great! Tell him to cherish it for me, Gojo-sensei!”

Unbeknownst to you, you were on speaker the whole time.

Kugisaki Nobara

Oh it was anxiety-inducing to think of what to give to Nobara. She’s a girl who knows her worth and knows exactly what she deserves. And while that was an aspect of her personality that you love and admire a lot, there’s only so much that you can do with your allowance.

Her wish list states that she wanted stylish clothing, accessories, or anything that looks good on her, given how much she loves shopping. Of course, she didn’t ask for Balenciaga or Onitsuka Tiger. She’s not that delusional.

But you can’t help as if every gift you’d think of wouldn’t be good enough for her. You only wanted to give her the best things because that’s when you’ll see her smile the brightest. And you’d probably do anything to see it on her all the time.

Over the weekend, you made a plan to go to Shibuya, going straight to the popular fashion mall, Shibuya 109. Entering one of the more affordable clothing chains in the establishment, you purchased a cute, oversized graphic tee for her. You also decided to buy her a box set of accessories like hairpins, bracelets, chains, and scrunchies.

Buying one last thing for her with the money that you have, you go to a local chocolatier and order a box of macaroons. Nobara has always been a fan of sweets, after all.

On Christmas Day, when it was your turn to give your gifts, you glanced towards Nobara who was sitting beside you before handing her a beautifully wrapped gift with a ribbon on top.

“Merry Christmas, Nobara. You’re gonna love this.” You’d sweetly say as she widened her eyes, delicately loosening the ribbon string.

As soon as her eyes landed on the top you bought for her, chic accessories, and the box of macaroons, she couldn't simply contain her excitement.

Her eyes were basically stars as she immediately tried on the shirt, twisting and turning to see how it looked “(Y/N), this is gorgeous!” She exclaimed 

Opening the box of accessories next, she quickly tried on the hairclips and wore the bracelets, hurriedly trying them on all at once “Where did you buy all this? It honestly looks so good.” She asked you, a wide smile plastered on her face

You scratched the back of your head and grinned “I…I honestly went to Shibuya this Saturday. I thought I might find you something different from the shops there.”

She immediately dropped everything she was holding and perked up in interest “And you didn't bring me with you? That would have been the best Christmas gift you could give me!” She says, her warm hands immediately wrapping around yours “Then maybe you shouldn't have spent all your money on me. I heard some stores there are so expensive.”

Your grip on her hand tightened into a gentle squeeze “You don't need to worry. I got my money's worth so it’s okay, really.” You reassured her.

You could see the tears forming on her eyes, only for her to wipe it off as she pouted “Well, at least let me share my macarons with you!” She tells you before picking one from the box and feeding you a strawberry cream-filled flavor macaron.

Nobara made a promise to be the one to take you to Shibuya next time and even go as far as to spoil you, even when you told her not to. 

How could she not? She’s so picky with everything but you’re the only one who seems to pinpoint her tastes so well. She’s never met anyone who could match her as good as you do so she’ll make sure to return the favor.

Happy holidays x

[i-am-not-meh]

ORV X OG!CALE

More under the cut because this post is a bit of a long one!

When the apocalypse first started, Cale did not think he was going to survive because he did not like the idea of killing someone. However, Ron came to save the day! Ron got his kill and made sure Vicross got his before ordering him to protect Cale much to Vicross' dismay. Ron basically subdued multiple people who looked like they were going to kill the Henituse family and brought them for others to kill. (He mainly does this because he sees this as a good time to repay a favor and later stays because he sees there is some stability still in the Henituse territory.) This allows the Henituse family to survive.

Cale was honestly surprised he made it even if he didn't really have to do anything other than kick down and stomp onto his morals. Now, as time continues on, surviving with his family and the scary duo of Ron and Vicross becomes easier, and they start to see through his trashy mask.

Because would trash repeatedly check up on them and donate coins when they are running low? No, trash wouldn't, but Cale does. Cale starts to hunt monsters with Vicross for food (someone help him, he's terrified but not of the monsters.)

So, the relationships of the family are still strained, but there is a lot less awkwardness. Who knew that all it would take was the end of the world for some improvements. Moving on, on one of their monster hunting trips, they ran into Rok Soo, who was becoming quite popular as a hero. However Cale’s problem was that this dude looked just like him!

There are a lot more run-ins between Cale and Rok Soo before they start talking. Later, when things are becoming even more dangerous, Cale decides to make a deal with the man who was becoming closer and closer to a God each day. Cale said he would do everything and anything for Rok Soo if Rok Soo kept his family safe and happy, Rok Soo had agreed because he needed to Cale act as him.

This later becomes a very common occurrence, Cale would travel places while acting as Rok Soo to confuse the enemy on Rok Soo's whereabouts. This has even worked against the constellations before. Cale helping out Rok Soo so much was beginning to bring up his fame too, his fame as a hero.

He didn't know how to feel about that, but he does know that he has begun to like his lookalike. And that he has gotten very used to having extensions in his hair.

This is why he was rather sad to see his friend become a constellation, but him becoming a constellation was to save their world so he doesn't dwell on it.

With everything over, Cale thought he would go back to being an alcoholic but he was scouted by a group who was trying to revive the arts after the devastating apocalypse. This included dancing and painting, but more importantly, theater. Cale’s acting as Rok Soo has made the group try and bring him into the theater world.

Cale, with nothing better to do, agrees and becomes known as a famous actor. He normally gets casted as Rok Soo (even when he is a character in the play, they cast him as Rok Soo)

He thinks the best part of his new job as an actor is that his family attends all of his plays. He had sent out an invite at first with little hope, but when he saw their faces in the crowd- he didn't know how to describe the feeling.

That's the end of that! And now I give you a very large collection of drawings.

Cale after his performance, it's a bit messy but I was very out of my element here!

Next, we have Cale and Rok Soo hanging out.

Cale was meant to say, "Yep! But only you can tell." Or something along those lines.

And lastly is Cale when this all started.

That's all I got! While I'm here I would just like to thank the people who have left comments on my stuff, it really makes me smile and I always want to reply and say thank you but I don't want to sound like a bot! I always worry about things like that, but I'm trying to get better at it.

[iaure]

𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁; 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟthe dearest collection - part one/beloved 𓆩♡𓆪 part two/prized 𓆩♡𓆪 part three/devoted 𓆩♡𓆪 part four/desperate 𓆩♡𓆪 part five/blind 𓆩♡𓆪 part six/watcher 𓆩♡𓆪 part seven/ardor 𓆩♡𓆪 part eight/fervor this is very heavily inspired by @//clusterfuck-yandere's yandere leon headcanons; please check out their works. this is something of a love letter to their puppy obsession series.

yandere leon s. kennedy headcanons; reader is a survivor of raccoon city.

tw: general yandere behaviour, NSFW (leon has an erotic daydream/slight somnophilia + it is marked by a large page marker like the one below), stalking, ptsd, mentions of mourning

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i am very excited for part four! this one was much longer than the rest; this makes me happy. i may potentially take a slight break from this as i want to see where i want to take this small series; i want to deliver the best product i can to all of you ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ i also want to take time to create my own persona for this blog; i am thinking a sheep. what do you think? ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒

he'd been getting worse.

♡ the truth of the matter was that this was an addiction.

♡ Leon could manage to quit smoking. but this was entirely different. how do you quit someone?

♡ and it's not like it was hard to love you.

♡ gaining entry into your home wasn't difficult. you kept a spare key above the doorframe, and Leon was always careful to replace it.

♡ your apartment always smelled of you, felt like you, and whenever he went in, he couldn't help but imagine a life where he lived with you-as your boyfriend. Your fiancé? Your husband, if he dared.

♡ and he made sure to take care of you, even if you didn't know!

♡ he knew how hard it was for you to take care of yourself, especially with your work.

♡ when he saw that you had made yourself a list of things to do, he was so proud!

♡ he knew you were taking steps to live better. what was wrong with helping, just a little bit?

♡ a dish here, a wipedown there, a dusting every now and then. small things.

♡ he'd made a handful of habits, such as watching you sleep or snagging the occasional piece of clothing for his own purposes.

♡ your closet had just enough space for him to stow away if you ever showed signs of waking up.

♡ you were just too sweet. obsession was staring down Leon's love, and you didn't even know it.

how was he supposed to stay away?

♡ as for your work, Loen had made his peace with it.

♡ as alarming as it was that you were in possible danger every day, it also meant that you were happier, getting more sunshine, and the opportunity to get yourself nice things.

♡ your happiness always came first, after all.

♡ secondly was the blessing that Leon got that was seeing you whenever he could, just by strutting down from his gym and watching you brew some sort of ridiculous concoction.

♡ overall, your work was more positives than anything. besides, Leon could simply watch you walk to and fro from work to make sure you were safe.

♡ his perception of you had completely expanded as well.

♡ back then, on the AOL forum, he only knew a few vaguely scattered personal details that you'd hint at in posts and comments, mentioned offhand, like your brother.

♡ but now, he knew so much more.

♡ he knew your favourite colours, foods, hobbies, who you liked, who you didn't, what you thought about your work, your opinions on just about anything-you'd share them if he simply asked.

♡ you were so sweet, so clueless, and he loved it.

♡ you would spend hours with Leon simply talking about little to nothing, and it meant everything to him.

♡ you were so kind, so soft, and every word that fell from your lips was divine.

♡ for the last two weeks, he'd been as sneaky as he possibly could.

but you were bound to take notice.

♡ he was hanging out with you as you closed the bakery, counting out the tills and setting aside the deposits. Leon was simply happy to be in your presence.

♡ you began speaking about how you felt unsafe, about how you felt someone staring at you in the night.

♡ instantly, Leon felt guilty.

♡ he didn't mean to scare you. he was trying to protect you, for goodness' sake!

♡ he wasn't frustrated with you, though. of course. he never would be. you were perfect and did no wrong.

♡ he wished there was some way that he could convey he didn't want to hurt you on those nights where he made sure you were safe, but nothing seemed like a good idea.

♡ the guilt chewed away at his insides until you asked him that...holy, divine question.

"would you walk me home?"

♡ he might've gotten on his knees and wept.

♡ what opportunity was this? walking next to your warm body, in the rain, under an umbrella...almost like a couple.

♡ the idea sent Leon's heart into overdrive, pounding in his ears as all sorts of ideas filled his head.

♡ upon his enthusiastic agreement, your face filled with comfort, and Leon couldn't help but feel a bit delighted.

♡ he didn't care if he was going to get soaked. as you locked the door to the bakery, he took care to cover you entirely with the umbrella. you asked him if he was cold at all, but no. the heat of your body was enough to light him on fire.

♡ Leon was in heaven.

♡ during the whole walk, he made sure to keep an eye out on the off chance that there were bad actors around. he even made a show of whipping his head back and forth, which he knew you noticed.

♡ and several times, you laughed. oh, what a sweet angelic sound.

♡ how he wished this walk could last forever; your hand brushing against his, the gentle lull of your voice as you made conversation.

♡ he wasn't sure which god or entity or spirit or soul he pleased, but he was thanking all of them.

♡ when the two of you reached your apartment, he could feel himself deflate a bit. he was so endlessly grateful for the time you gave him, but he dared to want more.

♡ he knew he wouldn't be satiated, no matter what you did. but he could hope. he could pray.

♡ whatever prayer he said worked; you turned with an almost guilty look-as though you could ever be guilty-and asked him if he wanted to see the inside of your apartment.

♡ he practically cheered.

♡ when you turned to finish opening the door, he couldn't help a low whine from leaving his throat. his chest was tight, his heart was pounding, and it was like all his dreams were coming true.

♡ he had seen your apartment dozens of times. at that point, every photo and speck of dust had their locations memorised.

♡ spending time alone, with you, in your apartment, with your scent and your signs of life surrounding him might've even been too much to bear.

♡ but he accepted, because what insanity would it be for him to say no? what lunacy would have to possess him?

♡ upon stepping in, he did everything a polite guest should do; took off his shoes, set his bag and umbrella down, and proceeded to try and shake off the excess water.

♡ your laugh at his shake made his heart swell.

♡ you were trying to dig for food, and you had bent over at the waist; it made Leon delirious.

♡ he couldn't not stare.

♡ you either didn't notice or didn't mind, because you gave up, ordering a pizza instead.

♡ he tried to pay-this was dreamy enough, you didn't need to do anything else-but you insisted, saying it was your way of thanking him.

♡ thanking him? for what could you possibly be thanking him for? that walk was no burden, it was a blessing. why would you need to thank him?

but you refused his money.

♡ he felt guilty, but you turned on your TV and began watching some romantic sitcom that he'd never heard of before.

♡ was it a sign? Leon couldn't tell.

♡ the peace was domestic, crumbling away at Leon's self-restraint. why couldn't every day be like this?

♡ if he just told you, then you'd understand. you would forgive him. you would hold him close.

♡ his mind began to wander. did you think of him like that? did you even consider him as a romantic interest?

♡ would you? if he asked?

♡ the question, confession, was on the tip of his tongue.

♡ you were good. you were kind. you wouldn't be creeped out.

♡ he opened his mouth, and-

the power went out.

♡ his heart dropped to his toes, and all the courage he managed to muster disappeared as you got up to light some candles.

♡ he went back to his bag, rummaging for his military-grade flashlight that he kept on hand.

♡ he'd rather you have it, than something go wrong and you stumble in the dark.

♡ he'd rather walk home in the pouring rain than you risk anything for a second.

♡ you lit a handful of candles, setting them aside as he passed the flashlight off to you.

♡ he figured it was time to go, licking his wounds and dragging his pride and courage behind him.

♡ but you didn't say goodbye.

♡ instead, you asked where he lived. his heart seized.

♡ he could do two things from here. one, admit that he lived maybe a fifteen minute walk away.

♡ or he could lie.

♡ he knew how your heart worked, for the most part. you felt like you were in debt. you wouldn't make him walk back in the rain.

♡ so he could pretend that he lived far away, even by car. he could just...manipulate you.

♡ after a beat too long, he made his choice.

♡ he 'confessed' that he lived thirty minutes from his gym, which was ten from the bakery, which was five from your apartment.

�� and he could see you think in real time.

♡ your eyes flickered from the door, to his still-damp hair, to the half-eaten pizza on the counter, to the flashlight.

♡ and god, the guilt was going to eat him alive.

♡ he knew you were kind. he knew you were soft. and he abused that. he abused your sweetness and goodness. for what? his sick kicks?

♡ but your pretty lips pursed, and they formed around those words that he wanted-no, needed-so desperately.

would you want to stay the night?

♡ the guilt disappeared, his heart wept for joy!

♡ yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes! always! yes!

♡ you seemed relieved, disappearing into your room and coming out with men's pyjamas.

♡ they were a little snug on Leon, hanging a bit low, but he certainly didn't mind. this was effectively the greatest task of his life.

♡ he had to be a viable partner for you. he had to show his worth.

♡ you were quick to go to bed. with the power still out, you clearly just wanted to wait it out.

♡ Leon pulled a blanket out of his bag, but you insisted on giving him several more, as well as a pillow.

♡ and oh god, how was he supposed to control himself? they all smelled like you.

♡ maybe he'd take one in the morning. for safekeeping.

♡ as he lay on your couch, the thought crossed his mind to wander while you were asleep, to see everything with the daring of you being inside your own home.

♡ but he knew better. or, at least, he thought he did.

♡ ten minutes turned into thirty. thirty turned into an hour, turned into two, into four, before he finally cracked.

♡ he literally had you at his fingertips, in a situation where he'd most likely be excused. he had to use it. he had to make the most of it.

♡ and, despite everything he could do...he wandered into your room. and he watched you.

♡ you snored, just a little bit. it was a cute snore that Leon liked. you also slept a bit erratically, sometimes throwing your body in weird positions.

♡ part of your blanket was on the floor, your head was between two pillows, and you were out like a light.

♡ or apparently not, because after about ten minutes of Leon standing there, you woke up abruptly. you gave a small gasp, bleary eyes still trying to grasp what you were seeing. you asked what he was doing.

♡ and what was he doing, honestly? he was watching you sleep. but he couldn't admit to that, not in a thousand years.

♡ so, he said the first thing that he could come up with, in a voice that lost every shred of pride he had left.

"i thought you were gone."

♡ and he can see the pity on your face, and he can't help but almost feel childish at how he hoped you'd comfort him.

♡ your eyes wandered over him, as though putting pieces together. you finally lay your head back down, and pat your bed.

♡ Leon goes into overdrive. again. for how many times this night were you going to do that? how many times were you going to make his heart leap into his throat?

♡ he, for a second, isn't sure what you want. there's no way you'd...

"do you want me to...sleep with you?"

♡ his voice was weak, and he asked, again, until you nodded. maybe you were just moving in your sleep. he asked another time. you nodded again. he asked once more. you said yes.

♡ he started shaking. his grip on your blanket was white-knuckled, his knees were ready to buckle, and the world was spinning.

♡ you did. you wanted to share your bed with him. you wanted to sleep with him. you want him. you wanted him!

♡ he gets into bed with you, gently setting the blanket over your body and trying to not freak out.

♡ you were so warm and so close to him. everything was invading his senses, and when you realised he was staring, you shot him a smile that turned his insides to goo.

♡ he had to take this chance. and he moved a little closer.

♡ you didn't move.

♡ and you were just so unguarded, so gentle. Leon's mind was wandering.

♡ what would you look like in a far more intimate scenario?

♡ what would your kisses look like? feel like?

♡ Leon squirmed a bit.

♡ what would your skin feel like? the skin that he couldn't touch? your neck, your stomach, your thighs...?

♡ his eyes wandered down the silhouette of your body under the covers.

♡ how would you feel underneath him? if he was touching your chest, suckling on your neck, leaving hickeys for everyone to see?

♡ how would you feel if he had his hands everywhere, pinned under his body and rutting into you?

♡ how would you act if he had his cock in you? how would you moan? would you try to close your eyes? or would you keep them open and watch how he loved you?

♡ would you be quick to orgasm? or would you take time, and Leon would be blessed to have your body for so long?

♡ he thought you would maybe try to cover yourself with your hands. you did seem the shy type. oh, but he'd be greedy, and he'd ask if you could move them-he wants to see all of you.

♡ he thinks that you'd be quiet at first, trying to stop yourself from being loud in case it woke your neighbours. but Leon would be in so deep into that tight, divine warmth, and you'd call out his name.

♡ and he'd swallow it. he'd take your lips in his and devour every gasp and moan that left your mouth.

♡ he'd never make you beg, either. he'd do everything to make you be so perfectly spent, fucked out of your mind and left limp on your bed. and even then, Leon wouldn't be satiated.

♡ he'd need more. he'd take you in his mouth, even if you had passed out, just to keep working you until your taste was all over his tongue. and when you woke up, he'd still be hard at work, trying to get more, begging for more.

♡ and maybe you'd decide to take him, instead, as thanks for taking care of you.

♡ you'd be on top of him, sucking sweetly at his cock, and he'd cry out your name with no inhibition. he didn't care about the people in your apartment complex. he just cared about you, and that you would know just how much he loved you.

♡ he'd fuck you for hours, days even, to finally have the curve of your body and the taste of your cum memorised.

♡ but let's be honest.

♡ he'd never have enough.

𓂋 ʚ♡ɞ taglist

@theybotomy ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @kujosuke

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

He Fell First (She Fell Harder)

A You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes (I'm Not a Game You Want to Lose) Oneshot

Past!Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: The Five times Bitsie couldn't keep her eyes (and thoughts) off Jake and the One time Jake couldn't keep his eyes off Bitsie.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: This fic encompasses the entire timeline of the events happening in You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes. As such, there are mentions of cheating, some cursing, sex, sexual themes, as well as a look into Bitsie's mental state during the rough non-consensual sex mentioned in Love Has No Limits, Part Two of the main story.

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 7202 

A/N: Hi All! So remember when I mentioned I wasn't ready to let Jake and Bitsie go when I ended the main series? Here we are! I'm so happy to share this new installment in their story with you all! It's also my first time writing a 5 plus 1 style fic, so I hope you all love it.

A lot of this story will not make sense if you've not read the main part of the series linked below.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for reading over this oneshot as I was trying to figure out how to write a 5 plus 1 style fic!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

1. Before Bradley Bradshaw

You're not sure why the blond on the other side of the aisle at the Commissary is staring at you. He's beautiful. You know that for a fact because you have eyes, and you're a little weak at the knees at the sight of how he fills out his khaki uniform. He’s probably only staring because you're a mess, with your hair in a messy bun, standing in the commissary wearing a ratty, holey T-shirt and ripped-stained jeans. Moving sucks. It feels like your spine is just stretching out again after hours in the car. Honestly, you’re not sure why you decided to have all your things shipped to Lemoore instead of directly to North Island. Three trips in your car later, and you’ve got everything you need with you, but you now have an avalanche of boxes waiting in your living room to unpack.

Your entire life in boxes is another reason you’d retreated to the commissary. It’s already 6 in the evening, and you want nothing more than to eat something and flop onto the sofa for the night. You’re hoping, at the very least, to pick up a few important groceries, such as milk, bread, eggs, and cheese, to tide you over until you can run to Whole Foods or Wegmans off base. It’s as you’re debating what type of cereal you should buy that the blond first catches your attention. It’s a Wednesday, and there are a surprisingly large number of khaki-clad navy personnel walking up and down the aisles collecting items they need. You’re probably one of the few in casual clothing, but that doesn’t warrant his staring.

It takes far too much effort to turn your attention back to the two cereal boxes in your hands. You can still feel the prickle of his gaze against the back of your neck.

“Y’know, if you’re deciding between Honey Bunches of Oats and Frosted Mini Wheats, I have to tell you that you’re probably thinking too hard.”

You startle, fumbling with the boxes, and stumble back into a broad, firm chest. His laughter is warm and musical as he steadies you with big, warm hands. 

“I’m sorry.” You’re flushed and hoping that you’re not as sweaty and disgusting as you feel with this Adonis of a man so close to you.

“I startled you, huh?” His grin is crooked and wicked, making you grin sheepishly.

“Yeah, you kind of did.” You turn and gesture at the cereal boxes. “So, what makes you think you know the best cereal?”

“Well, I've been eating it my whole life, you know?” His eyes seem to twinkle as he responds.

“So have I. I happen to like Honey Bunches of Oats, you know?”

“All that tells me, gorgeous, is that you haven't put something truly delicious in that pretty little mouth before today.”

You squeak a little because you're not sure you've ever been so close to a man before.

“So, I would suggest Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sweet and spicy, just like you are.”

You can feel yourself flush, even as he reaches past you, pulls the correct cereal box from the shelf, and places it in your cart.

“See you around, beautiful. I hope you enjoy your time on North Island.”

You’re a flustered mess as you checkout at the counter several moments later. You think about this flirty stranger as you unpack your house and put everything away for the rest of the week and most of the weekend. A part of you isn’t sure how to handle such casual flirting. Could that stranger have been serious? Did he actually want to see you around North Island? Or was that just something he was saying to be kind?

2. Befriending the Daggers

As silly as it seems, you feel like you can taste cinnamon sugar on your tongue when you and your team are introduced to the Dagger Squad in one of the hangars at North Island.

The reason why is simple. The blond who had been haunting your thoughts all weekend is standing at attention in the front row. His cocky smirk makes your knees weak, and you’re sure that his eyes on you make you stutter as you introduce yourself. Throughout that first briefing, you can feel his gaze track across your form as you take notes in your spiky hand. You think you see him smirk when your hand cramps, and you need to shake your fingers out. Still, it catches your attention in a fleeting moment, not keeping it for longer than a few seconds before the briefing grabs you again.

What follows is a day full of briefings, the problem with the laser targeting system setting your mind ticking into overdrive. Looking at the faces of the others on your team, you can see hints of the same curiosity and the same drive to solve this problem. Of course, it would be asking a bit much to be able to view the plane telemetry data and hardware logs and hear the comms recordings so soon after your introduction to the team. Something tells you you’ll have to wait for that. 

“So, you’re joining us for drinks, right?” It’s one of the female lieutenants, Trace, you think her name is, who invites you out. “We go to this little place on the beach called The Hard Deck. Penny’s amazing!”

“You should join us, Bitsie!” His voice sounds just as good in the hangar as at the commissary, if a bit less worn and tired. The nickname is new, but coupled with the grin he’s leveling in your direction, you’re willing to accept it. You smile sweetly at the blond as he walks up behind Lieutenant Trace. 

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin. How’d you like the Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

Before you can respond, though, Trace muscles her way back into the conversation. “Stop making her feel awkward, Bagman.”

You smile gently over her shoulder at Jake as Natasha walks you away, talking a mile a minute. The Hard Deck is a surprisingly homey place. It’s warm and brightly lit, smelling of lemon polish and faintly of yeasty beer. It bothers you a little bit how Natasha doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Jake’s been waiting, sweetly, this whole time. You want to thank him for his cereal recommendations. But she’s introducing you to the others, and you're actually having fun.

Before long, you find yourself in a circle of women, and you’re surprised by how nice it feels. Mara, you've known and worked with for years, but you've never been close. Callie and Natasha are like two sides of the same coin. Both of them are whip-smart and take no shit. They’re the perfect counterparts to you and Mara.

 Looking back, you've never really had many female friends. Most of your colleagues are males, males who don't want anything to do with you outside of seeing you every day and inevitably getting shown up by you. So it’s nice standing at one of the bar’s high-top tables while getting to know your new colleagues and hopefully your new friends.

You’re laughing and smiling, vacantly swaying to the song's beat pouring out of the jukebox when the song cuts out. You startle, then hum as you hear the plunking of keys from the piano on the other side of the bar. When you’d walked in, talking to Natasha, you’d thought the piano was just an ornament, something defunct and unplayable. The tune leaves the wooden instrument echoing with age.

Natasha crows with glee at the sound; all the Daggers roused into a festive mood in moments. “C’mon, you two! You’re in for a real treat tonight!”

The raspy voice that starts singing melds beautifully with the old instrument, lustily belting the words of an old song into the air. It seems to be a normal occurrence. As Natasha dances and pulls you into the fray surrounding the piano, you feel relaxed enough to dance along awkwardly in her wake. The other Daggers are arrayed in a half-moon around the back of the piano, facing a man with auburn curls wearing a cheerful printed shirt. You recognize him as one of the Daggers you haven’t been introduced to yet. He’s feeling the jazzy beat of the song as his fingers dance across the yellowed ivory keys. 

When he peers over the rims of his RayBans, his eyes meet yours. In that instance, the world stops because his smile takes your breath away. You’ve never felt this seen, this beautiful. His eyes sparkle, the color of the whiskey in the glass atop the glossy wood of the piano. You’ve never heard this song before, but damn, if you don’t want to learn the lyrics via osmosis just to see him smile at you for singing along. You’re not sure when the song ends, or even that it does, notes echoing in the suddenly quiet expanse of your mind. You swallow when he stands up from the bench and downs the watered-down whiskey, tracking a droplet of the amber liquid as it drips down his neck. You have to remind yourself to be cool, to avoid glancing at his mouth as he swaggers up to you.

“Hi,” His voice is like woodsmoke, dark and gorgeous as it drips into your ears. “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, but you can call me Rooster. I’m one of the Daggers, but if I’d met you before now, I’m not sure I would forget.”

“Bradley…. Bradshaw?” You’re not sure when Natasha, Callie, and Mara moved away, but when you look, you’re all alone in the corner of the bar with just Bradley Bradshaw for company. 

“It’s a family name.” He drags one of his big hands through glistening curls, his bicep bunching alluringly in the frankly silly shirt he’s wearing. “My dad wanted the alliteration. My mom loved him too much to say no. So here I am.”

“It sounds like you love them a lot.” 

His smile falters at your earnest words, a frown dipping his lips down for a few seconds before the smirk rises back into place. “Yeah, I did.”

Your mind churns, because you feel like you’ve pressed unwittingly onto a still un-healed old wound. You feel like you should apologize, like you have to apologize, but he doesn’t let you. The play of emotions on his face is lightning-fast. Before you can think, he’s already leading you to the next conversation topic: you.

“But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.” 

You flush and let your life story, a highly edited version, drip off your tongue. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel seen and inexplicably gorgeous, faced with a six-foot-tall man whose eyes seem to see right through you. He makes you feel giddy. 

“What’re you doing tucked away in this corner with Bradshaw, Bitsie?” Jake’s voice makes you smile in a completely different way than when Bradley was making you giggle earlier.

“We were just chatting, Jake.”

“Yeah, Bagman.” It surprises you to see the nearly cruel look on Bradley’s kind-looking face. “We were just chatting. Piss off.”

Jake lifts his hands as he backs away, though you don’t miss how he mouths, “Later, pretty girl” to you over Bradley’s shoulder. You don’t miss the frown creasing on his handsome face, either.

“Does he call you Bitsie often?” Bradley sounds surprisingly concerned as he curls one of his big hands around your waist.

“He just started today.” 

Bradley’s face makes you bite your lips. “I’m pretty sure he’s just teasing me, Bradley. It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not.” You can hear the rumble of his voice in your chest as he leans closer. “Sweetheart, he’s making fun of you. He doesn’t take you or your job seriously. He took your cute, little introductory speech and turned it into a mockery!”

“He isn’t making fun of me, Bradley.”

“Yeah, he is, sweetheart.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. “Bagman makes fun of everyone and everything. He doesn’t know how to give a compliment seriously if he tries.”

“He’s just going to hurt you, gorgeous.” 

“No, he’s not.” You scoff.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You turn as bidden, expecting to see Jake looking at you with that same sweet look on his face. Instead, what you see is Jake smirking down at a gorgeous willowy blonde with big boobs and sweet, dainty features. 

You, in your frumpy little business casual pants set, look terrible in comparison. When his eyes rise to meet yours, the smile falls a little, but it grows into something smarmy and ingenuine as his eyes meet the man standing behind your shoulder.

“See, sweetheart? The man flirts just to flirt. That’s all he means when he calls you Bitsie. He’ll flirt and then go home with someone else. You’re not his type. But luckily, you’re mine.”

His words make you smile, and you devote the brunt of your attention to Bradley Bradshaw again. You can feel the itch of eyes on you all night long. But when you sneak furtive glances over your shoulders at where Jake is standing with that blonde bimbo draped all over him, his attention always seems to be on her. But you can still feel the itch of his gaze in between your shoulders. 

3. Dating Bradley Bradshaw

After that first night, you keep a close eye on the Daggers, especially how they interact with each other. Jake Seresin always seems to be on the outskirts of the group. Only Coyote goes out of his way to include Jake. Even when he is a central part of the conversation, Hangman seems to prefer biting commands and witty repartee, which doesn’t endear him to his squadron. You hear them all, though, noting the jokes that are so sly and cerebral that they pass the others by. You notice his concern, the tightly wound worry in every muscle as he tries his best to ensure everyone comes back home safe and sound, even in the midst of training.

Something about his attitude still bothers you, though. Or maybe it’s how he always insists on calling you Bitsie instead of your name. He can’t seem to bring himself to give you any respect, either, and it’s starting to piss you off. If you didn’t know differently, you’d assume Jake Seresin didn’t believe you belonged here, working on this team and completing vital work for the Pentagon and the US Navy. So, you dread walking into the pilot’s ready room on base for coffee. You’ve been dragging all day, and you have it on good authority that the pilot’s ready room has the best coffee on base. 

Well, your thermos from home is empty, and you could use the pick-me-up, so you head over there, hoping you can avoid Jake Seresin. All you want is a decent cup of coffee before you’re back to staring at flight diagnostics until your eyes bleed.

The ready room is quiet, barring the ever-present roaring hum of jet engines in flight, and to your satisfaction, there is a pot of coffee waiting for you. You sniff at its contents, a little disappointed because there’s only enough for half a mug once you’ve assured yourself of its relative freshness. You make your mug happily, doctoring it to your satisfaction and taking the time to look around. Bradley and Nat have told you about the days they've spent here between hops while training for the Uranium Mission. The walls are covered in pictures, and you take the time to examine them as you sip your coffee.

When the radio flickers on with an echoey buzz as it connects to the comms of the jets in flight, you startle and whirl around.

“If you’re looking for the Chicken, he’s up in the air.” You have to fight to keep your dismay from showing on your face. You must be at least a little unsuccessful since there is an imperceptible smirk growing on Hangman’s face as he looks at you from one of the sofas. “At least you’ve found the coffee.”

“It’s the best coffee on base, after all.” 

You refill your mug and try your best to ignore Hangman. But when you go to take another sip, you’re met with only the dregs at the bottom of your mug. There’s silence between you as you scramble into the cupboards, looking for the fresh coffee. When you measure the beans into the grinder and fire the grinder up, you deliberately avoid looking for the aviator lying supine on the sofa. You find a modicum of your composure as you measure the grinds into a new filter and fill the carafe of the coffee maker with fresh water. You hit the buttons decisively and hum appreciatively as the scent of fresh bitter coffee wafts from the pot. From the radio set, you can hear Phoenix and Bob on the comms, mostly Bob, as he clues his pilot onto unseen perils in the sky. On occasion, you can hear Phoenix’s measured tone and Bradley’s rough rasp, too.

“So, Bitsie, how do you take your coffee?”

 You startle, sending crystals of sugar skittering across the countertop as Hangman’s voice gets even closer to you than it was before. You’re always impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew, so you always add the creamer and sugar to the bottom of your mug before pouring in the coffee. Hangman chuckles when he sees the sugar dripping lazily out of the torn open packet in a glittering stream. 

“Sugar, huh?” He pushes you away and begins to wipe the sticky substance away but stops once he sees the bottom of your mug. “Fuck, Bitsie, do you pour any coffee into your mug at all?”

“Oh, trust me,” you snap, on the defensive at the sound of his voice so close to you, “I desperately need the caffeine to put up with you, after all.”

Something about the joking look on his face fades away at your tone, though the smile doesn’t. 

“I drink my coffee black, you know?” He chuckles, leaning against the counter as he holds your mug hostage on the other side of him. “I like my coffee hot and full-bodied, a little bitter, but oh, so smooth on my tongue.”

He takes two measured steps into your space. With how close he is, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne and the bitter tang of jet fuel. “Coincidentally, I like my women like that too.”

“And how do they like you?” One of his eyebrows rises at your statement. “Your women, Bagman. How do they like you?”

“Oh, honey.” He grins as he fills the mug up and turns around. “I promise they don’t have any complaints.”

He sips insolently out of your mug, tongue lapping at the traces of coffee left on the spoon he used to stir the steaming beverage before handing the mug filled with hot liquid back to you. Your mind stutters as Jake Seresin stares you down like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “Your coffee isn’t half bad either, Bitsie.” You can feel the warmth of his touch where his fingers brush against yours. “A little sweet, but it figures when the drinker is as sweet as you are.”

When you sip from the mug with your face on fire, it tastes even better than when you make it for yourself. You slip out of the room when a crackle of feedback attracts Jake’s attention. It doesn’t occur to you until you’re sitting in your chair and staring at the after-action reports of the Uranium Mission that you’re placing your mouth exactly where his was in an indirect kiss. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you find your mind tracking to green eyes and a sweet smile bared genuinely in your direction. Your brain feels like a stuck record, trapped futilely in the crosshairs of his gaze from when he’d been teasing you about your coffee preferences.

Worse than the bonfire lighting up in your stomach, there’s the guilt swarming in your belly after what happened. What happened with Jake in the ready room could classify as cheating, right? You’re not exactly sure because you’re not the most experienced. You also don’t want to tell Bradley because what if you have been unfaithful to him? You can’t confide in Natasha either, because she’s Bradley’s best friend. 

Suddenly, your coffee goes from tasting like god’s ichor to tasting like ash on your tongue. Fucking Jake Seresin. Why did he have to go out of his way to make your life miserable?

4. A North Island Night Out

The more time you spent around Bradley Bradshaw, the more it felt like you could fall in love. Bradley’s sweet and kind, and he never once makes you feel bad about your career choice. Sometimes, in those long afternoons stuffed inside a hangar with ceiling fans barely pushing at stagnant air, you wish you could say the same about Jake Seresin. The worst part is how he has reasons to be as cocky and arrogant as he is. He flies his jet like a man possessed, or maybe like a man with nothing to lose. Some of you can’t help but wonder what you would have faced if you'd been going out with Jake instead of Bradley. You're not sure you would have been enough to change his ways.

Bradley, on the other hand? He's like your knight in shining armor. He never minds your rambling or how you babble when you get sucked into a conversation. In fact, you'd argue that Bradley Bradshaw is the first person who has ever taken you seriously. He makes you feel superhuman, like there is never any problem you can't solve. His smile still has butterflies taking flight in thick, cloying swarms in your stomach. He makes you laugh, and god when he kisses you? You feel radiant, like one word will have you taking off faster than an F-18.

A part of you can’t believe him, even now. He hadn't laughed when you'd told him how inexperienced you were, in truth, what you wanted him to give you for your first time.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He'd groaned into your ear, “Just let me make you feel good, on your terms, as fast or slow as you want me to be.”

You know what he's offering. As fast or slow as you want me to be is his way of telling you to take your time. But you're sure you will explode if you have to make out with Bradley Bradshaw again while rubbing a wet patch into the thigh of his jeans, while his fingers massage over your nipples and his tongue tangles languidly with yours. 

You’ve had sex with him before, the sweet, gentle missionary kind. In fact, you’d argue that it was the perfect way to lose your virginity. But you can’t help but wonder if there isn’t more to sex with a man you love than a few slow moments in bed. You’re not even sure you orgasmed that night, or at least, it never felt like how you’ve made yourself climax. But ever since then, he’s kept you at arm's length. Sex was supposed to be the last step before all of the walls came down between the two of you. Maybe you can finally get Bradley to give you what you want, then? If only this date weren’t starting at The Hard Deck, though if you think back, most of yours do. It’s not like the Hard Deck isn’t a nice bar - it is. But The Hard Deck isn’t the most romantic of venues. 

When you drive up to the Hard Deck in your little car at promptly six in the evening, you’re dressed to the nines, wearing a cute little sundress with a flared skirt and fitted bodice. It pushes your tits up and is nearly completely backless. You’re not wearing much under the dress, just a little lace-edged thong and strappy heels elevating you a few inches. Stepping through the door, it seems like the entire bar falls silent. For several long moments, all you can hear is the tapping of your heels against the floor. People seem to float out of your way as you greet Penny, grabbing your drink from her, a soda in a glass bottle dripping condensation, and walk towards the pool tables in the back of the bar.

Heads turn as you walk past, and you can feel a smug smile curl your lips. On any other night, the arrangement of the Daggers around the pool table would have been normal. You’d be joining them by now, taking your place next to Bradley to hang besottedly on his every word. You’d be the only one not in uniform.

 Tonight, there isn’t a uniform in sight. Tonight, you’re dressed to impress. But you’re not dressed to impress the other Daggers, only Bradley. You hope your sexy little dress will be enough to have the romantic moment you’ve been longing for, finally. All your boyfriend needs to do is turn around and see you. 

Nat and Bob confer in hushed tones as Bradley racks up against the pool table with the cue in his hand. He’s wearing those jeans that you adore, the pair that fits like a glove and with fabric so worn that it’s soft against your hands. Hangman and Coyote are on the other side of the pool table, identical frowns on their faces as they strategize over the configuration of the balls on the worn felt emblazoned with jets.

But it’s Hangman who sees you first with a clattering of his cue as it impacts the floor. His eyes bug out, mouth parting as his eyes rake over you from head to toe. His reaction causes silence to ripple outwards with him at its epicenter. Dagger after Dagger pauses to stare at you. It’s a gratifying feeling. Nat and Callie wink at you, and Nat carefully prods a pink-cheeked Bob into resuming their conversation. The only person arrayed around the pool tables who doesn’t seem to know you’re there is the man you dressed up for. Jake is nearly mute as you clack forward, sipping on your drink greedily because something about his gaze has you feeling hot and flushed. The only time he backs off is when Bradley seems to realize you’re right there.

“Fuck, baby.” Your boyfriend groans in your ears. His voice makes your skin flare hot, and a desperate ache starts between your legs. “Look at you all pretty and gorgeous for me. Let me finish this last round, and then I’m all yours.”

One round turns to two, and then three, and before long, you’re left all alone in a corner of the bar while the Daggers, including Bradley, party like you don’t exist. All of that effort to make it a romantic night, and you’re sitting here like you don’t exist. If you have to watch another badge bunny drape herself all over your boyfriend, you are going to scream or do something drastic. Maybe making out with Jake will get his attention.

“It’s a shame, you know?” You nearly topple off of your stool at the words emanating from next to you. “You look so pretty, Bitsie, and Bradshaw can’t even open his eyes to see his girl waiting for him.”

Hangman sounds so sure of you, so sure that you’re better than Bradley Bradshaw deserves.

“He just wanted to grab another drink.”

“That was three hours ago, Bits.” When Jake chuckles, you can feel your hackles raise. “Didn’t you have dinner reservations or something like that?”

Before you can respond, because yeah, you did, Bradley’s standing there.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Bagman?” Bradley is slurring his words, listing from side to side as he stares the other man down.

“She’s mine, Bagman. Don’t you forget it!”

“If she’s yours, why are you ignoring her and walking around with badge bunnies draped all over ya?”

You can tell by how red Bradley’s face gets that he is one more word from launching himself at Jake. You’re unsure what prompts you to step in, but you do, sliding your hand up to the sweaty curls at the base of your boyfriend’s neck and whispering into his ear. You breathe your need, your want for him, into his ears. You have to ignore the scent of alcohol and sweat wafting sour from his skin, but you succeed in grabbing his attention. 

But a part of you wishes your seductive ploy hadn’t.

You got your wish; your need to have sex with your boyfriend granted. But it’s not anything like you expected it to be. Bradley left bruises on your skin and bruises on your heart. He’d been rough with his touch and his words. But more than that, you can’t help but wonder if this would have happened with Jake. If he’d make you feel better than Bradley ever could. Isn’t sex supposed to feel good? 

Faced with Bradley’s fumbling, you’d been anything but wet between your legs. You’d only started to get there when you thought, selfishly, of Jake. There was no foreplay, no making sure you’re alright. No kissing, no touching. There were no hallmarks of any of the care and gentleness Bradley usually treats you with. The whole experience has you feeling worse than you did in the car as he called you a slut for talking to a colleague and friend. Slut. It’s a word he’d used often with you in bed that night, too. A word that makes you feel guilty, dirty, and disgusting all at once. 

What does it say about you that you had to think of a colleague and friend to get wet instead of your boyfriend?

Whether you realize it or not, that’s the first crack in the shaky, perhaps already crumbling, foundations of your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw.

5. After Bradley Bradshaw

You have work to do; you know you do. But it’s been under a day since you told Jake Seresin how your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw imploded easier than if it had been bombed. Realizing Nat had known, known what he did and condoned the betrayal, his cheating, is another stab to the back that you weren’t expecting. You can't believe how Bradley could harbor less remorse and guilt over having sex with Britney than you did over some harmless, practically meaningless flirting.

What happened to ‘sisters before misters’ and all sentiments to that effect? You’re thankful, truly thankful, that Jake didn’t know and that Mickey and Mara were unaware as well. Being so far away from North Island has given you a sense of clarity you never thought you were missing. 

You’d be lying if you said Jake Seresin doesn’t have something to do with your newfound clarity, too. 

One night, a bushel-load of tears and an unburdening of your heart, and he’s already raised himself in your esteems. It’s in how he’d listened to you, which has your thoughts spinning. Back when your relationship with Bradley was still rock solid, you'd thought Bradley was the only man who could make you feel like the most important person in the world. But you didn't realize how often Bradley’s eyes would glaze over when you got excited. You’re not sure you’ve ever been able actually to talk to your ex. 

Jake let you cry, cry like you’d lost your reason for living. He’d held you while your suppressed grief had unleashed. He’d heard you spill your heart out to him and release all of your pain into the squalling storm winds. Then there was the rage in his face, in his voice, the rage he’d held tightly coiled in the corded muscles of his arm, in the jut of his proud jaw, when he found out Bradley had broken you, dominated your spirit, for a bet. 

You’re not sure why he’s been so nice. He has nothing to gain by being kind to you. He didn’t when he wanted to get you off deck in the middle of the storm last night. Though uncharitably, you’re sure he’d likely wanted you off deck so he could get off deck himself. He didn’t have to make you a cup of coffee or raid his own special stash of granola bars, either. But more than anything, you’d love to know why he let you cry snot and tears all over his uniform when it was well past lights out. You keep thinking back to how it felt to be in his arms, how good it felt.

Unbidden, you pull out the paper Jake had handed you while you were eating lunch in the commissary with Mara and Mickey. It’s nothing special, just a note written in ballpoint pen on run-of-the-mill lined notebook paper. The paper is silky smooth against the pads of your fingers, the edges ragged like he’d ripped the page out of a notebook he had lying around. You can feel the indentations the pen had left on the other side of the page. You can see how the letters slur across the page as he’d written, the ink smudging imperceptibly as he wrote hastily. They’re just lyrics transcribed on the page, and they shouldn’t be thought-provoking. 

It’s from a song you’ve heard a thousand times before, played ad nauseam on the radio with a catchy tune getting stuck in your head. More than the song lyrics, it’s the thought behind those lyrics. Honestly, you’re not sure how he got them for you. He called his sister in the middle of the night when he likely had to get special permission to do so just so he could get some stupid lyrics for you.

You can still see the twinkle in his eyes as he blushed crimson. He’d seemed proud, proud he was the reason for your laughter, proud that he’d pulled the wool from your eyes and showed you how ill Bradley had actually treated you. That look on his face made you feel like levitating. 

You can’t deny it anymore. Bradley Bradshaw may have made butterflies swarm in your stomach, but Jake Seresin made you feel like lightning arcing through the air. He makes you feel wild and free.

+1. The Day Easton is Born

A part of you feels like you should be angry that it took only four years before you stopped being the sole item of your husband’s attention. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way that Jake did, especially because the cute little thing that’s caught his attention has caught yours, too. 

He’s about four hours old with squishy cheeks, a red face, and a voice that would make his daddy proud. You’re sure that his voice is just like his dad’s, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard Jake’s voice ever hit the octaves this adorable sweetheart hits. It hurts a little bit that you’ve been ordered not to move, too, because everything in you is itching to pick your baby up and hold him in your arms. But Jake’s on baby duty at the moment. If it’s a poopy diaper, you’re more than ready to let him take that burden on.

You tilt the bed up until you’re reclining and tip your head gently to the side until you see the heart rate monitor reassuringly blinking your vital signs at you. When you turn your head to the other side, Jake's standing over the small changing table in your room, leaning down and looking into it. His face looks gentler than you've ever seen it, soft, like a man stripped bare to his basest parts. He has no walls up, no fears, just wonder as he stares down at the little bed. Well, maybe he’s looking a little less awestruck and a little more disgusted because your newborn son does, indeed, have a soiled diaper.

He’s not wearing a shirt. This fact doesn't surprise you because Jake wanders around your house half-naked all the time. At the same time, you’re both in a hospital, and it’s at least 10 degrees colder than it should be. You’re wrapped up in a soft pajama set and wearing a thick cardigan, but you’re still cold. When Jake hefts the small wriggling body of your son into his arms and settles him against his chest, now clean, your heart swells. The baby coos, a little snuffling exhale of breath that squeaks a little as he settles into Jake’s arms. Jake doesn’t seem to realize that you’re awake, either.

“Awww, hey, Buddy.” His voice is a tender rumble, big hands cradling precious cargo with the same surety he flies his jet. “Let’s not wake up Mama, huh? She’s so tired.”

“You took us by surprise, our sweet boy. We weren’t expecting you to show up in the middle of a Longhorns game, for sure. I will say that your arrival was a little more exciting than a game-winning touchdown. I wonder if your Uncle Javy will let Daddy watch the game on his DVR when you’re home? In any case, I do not look forward to replacing my Longhorns rug. You had to pick that rug to make your appearance on, didn’t you? Say, East, what’s the likelihood that your Mama would let me keep it if I wash it off?”

You have to stifle your snickers because the baby chirps and half burps in response. You can vaguely see the dark blue of the baby’s eyes as he blinks in Jake’s firm hold. East’s lips purse and part, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in need again. But you’re so in love, and hearing Jake talk to your son might be your newest favorite thing.

“Yeah, I had that feeling. You’ll learn sooner or later that your Mama’s words are law. She’s going to be the disciplinarian between the two of us, for sure. You’re already wrapped around my fingers. I’m not sure I could tell you no for anything.”

He sighs, sounding choked up as he trails a finger down the baby’s soft cheek. “I’ve got so much I want to teach you. How to smile and utilize those perfect Seresin dimples. How to talk your way out of any problem you face. How to make your Mama smile (and maybe cry) every Mother’s Day as we show her how amazing she is.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of the baby’s head and rocks slightly back and forth on his heels, an action that doesn’t soothe your son even a little. East is squalling already, and you have a feeling he will ratchet up a bit higher in volume if he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Hey, Cowboy.” Your voice is soft as you get Jake’s attention.

“Morning, Bitsie-baby.” His smile is wide as he stares down at you.

“There’s no way it’s morning, Jake.” He shrugs and rocks back and forth a little more as the baby objects a little louder with each sway. “And gimme my son.”

Jake smirked as he transferred the baby, eyes softening as you situated East against your chest, snickering as the baby latched hungrily onto your breast for his midnight snack. 

“So he’s your son when you want him, but he’s mine when he’s got a nasty diaper?”

“Sounds about right, Seresin.”

“Well, he’s a Seresin, alright.” Jake snickers when you swat at his abs. “Made right for your tits, and aren’t they a pretty sight.”

“Not in front of the baby, Jacob.”

“Well, I dunno when I’m going to see them again one on one!”

“Try me when East’s two years old. Because I’m going to need that long to recover from having your big-headed child.” Your voice is as dry as the Sahara Desert as you laugh at your husband.

“Fair enough.” He tucks a wild strand of hair behind your ear and settles on the edge of the hospital bed. You snuggle into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’ll take beautiful over the complete mess I probably am.”

“You look gorgeous, Bitsie!”

You snort. “Jake, I haven’t showered in 48 hours, I was in labor for most of it, and I just had a baby. So what about me looks beautiful to you at this moment?”

“Everything.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’ve given me the best things in my life. You gave me your heart and a second chance with you. You gave me a family in you and our little Easton. You’ve changed my life.”

“If I didn’t find you gorgeous because of all of our relationship, then I’d definitely argue it is the memory of the lingerie you were wearing under your dress at last year's Navy Gala.”

“I think that lingerie was pretty life-changing for both of us, Cowboy.” You cradle Easton close and gesture for one of the many burp cloths arrayed on the table on Jake’s other side. “I’m about 90% sure that was the night we made East.” You pat the baby’s bottom gently, grimacing when he lets loose a surprisingly loud belch before cooing angelically. “Well, you certainly burp like your dad, don’t you?”

“Hey!” Jake tugs the baby out of your arms, swaying side to side as the baby’s eyes droop closed. He snuggles East close before laying him into the crib. You watch approvingly as he pulls the crib closer, the same worries about your newborn son in his mind as yours. “I’ll have you know, kiddo, that your mama loves my burps.”

“Don’t lie to our son. He’s not even a day old, Seresin, and you’re already lying to him!”

“Am I lying if I’m telling him the truth? His mama does love me.” You wrap your arms around his waist as he settles back into the hospital bed next to you.

“Yeah, she does.” You kiss his torso, nuzzling in close as he holds you close.

“I love you so much, Jake. I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I’m not likely to stop now. Having this,” you gesture to the hospital room at large, “is better than my best dreams. Though, I would prefer it if you could convince your mom and sister to let us have some time with East alone before they descend on us.”

“You got it, beautiful.” He runs his hands gently up and down your back. God, you're not sure you can give him up, not anymore. Right now, you're pretty sure that if Jake gets out of the hospital bed, you'll freeze solid.

“You were always my dream, Bitsie baby. Forever and always.” You barely hear the words, sleep pulling you under riptide-fast. But a part of you knows Jake doesn't mind. It's always been a not-so-secret fantasy of his, having his family at arm's reach. 

Honestly, you could get used to it too. Your Jake Seresin pillow is the best of the best, after all.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@greenbaby12 @eli2447 @the-romanian-is-bae @luckyladycreator2 @lunamoonbby @angeliccks @daisydaisygoose @inky-sun @fighterpilothoe @pulisvertz @wildxwidow @angelbabyange @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @dempy @shanimallina87 @abaker74 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

[thepringlesofblood]

Murderbot Citations

I'm writing a giant research paper on the murderbot diaries and how Wells contrasts utopia & dystopia in her worldbuilding to deepen both sets of lore. So, I have made a LOT of citations.

Like, a LOT of citations. I can't even begin to describe. and it has been a royal pain getting them all on the computer, formatted correctly, with page # and book attached.

So. I decided to publish my giant list of citations online in case anyone else wants to do posts/papers/projects on the murderbot diaries and needs formatted, direct quotes with page numbers attached. (Also to feel like all this work has been for more than just my own academic needs.)

TLDR: A compilation of quotes from The Murderbot Diaries with page numbers attached, ready to be adjusted to the citation style of your choice & used as in-text citations where you see fit to put them. Enjoy!

ASR = All Systems Red

AC = Artificial Condition

RP = Rogue Protocol

ES = Exit Strategy

NE = Network Effect

FT = Fugitive Telemetry

SC = System Collapse

I use 'mb' as shorthand for murderbot

It's mostly ASR, with some NE and FT thrown in, but I put all the abbreviations in case I wind up coming back and putting more citations here

My list is organized according to how I'm writing the paper (all ones about surveillance here, all the ones about contract slavery there, etc.), so the page numbers are not in order, and there might be a repeat or two, but they are in book order. some of them might be repeated bc I had them formatted in lists like "all quotes related to ___) and some quotes relate to multiple things.

if you're looking specifically for gender-related mb quotes, @worldsentwined made a wonderful post collecting them a while back. I also have a few other murderbot posts that have quotes in them that might not be here, including a reblog where a bunch of lovely people added extra citations onto my original post. I hope you find what you're looking for!

All Systems Red

“I had been on contracts where the clients would have told me to put the bleeding human down to go get the stuff.” (15) ASR

“There were groans and general complaining about having to pay high prices for shitty equipment. (I don’t take it personally.)” (31) ASR crossover w slavery

“My education modules were such cheap crap;” (34) ASR

“I’m not refundable.” (49) ASR

“(You had to check everything out and log any problems immediately when you took delivery or the company wasn’t liable.)” (52) ASR

“It was all company equipment though, per contract, and all subject to the same malfunctions as the crap they’d dumped on us.” (58) ASR

““The company could be bribed to conceal the existence of several hundred survey teams on this planet.” Survey teams, whole cities, lost colonies, traveling circuses, as long as they thought they could get away with it. I just didn’t see how they could get away with making a client survey team—two client survey teams—vanish. Or why they’d want to. There were too many bond companies out there, too many competitors. Dead clients were terrible for business. “I don’t think the company would collude with one set of clients to kill two other sets of clients. You purchased a bond agreement that the company would guarantee your safety or pay compensation in the event of your death or injury. Even if the company couldn’t be held liable or partially liable for your deaths, they would still have to make the payment to your heirs. DeltFall was a large operation. The death payout for them alone will be huge.” And the company hated to spend money.” (90) ASR

“The organic parts mostly sleep, but not always. You know something’s happening. They were trying to purge my memory. We’re too expensive to destroy.” (116) ASR

“The company required this as a security feature if you wanted your base to be anywhere without open terrain around it. It cost extra, and if you didn’t want it, it cost even more to guarantee your bond.” (124) ASR

“Okay, the problem is, I’ve mentioned this before, the company is cheap. When it comes to something like a beacon that just has to launch once if there’s an emergency, send a transmission through the wormhole, and then never gets retrieved, they’re very cheap.” (137) ASR

“I said, “This unit is at minimal functionality and it is recommended that you discard it.” It’s an automatic reaction triggered by catastrophic malfunction…. “Your contract allows—” “Shut up,” Mensah snapped.” (139) ASR

“…we’re cheaply produced and we suck. Nobody would hire one of us for non-murdering purposes unless they had to.” (34) ASR

“In a smart world, I should go alone, but with the governor module I had to be within a hundred meters of at least one of the clients at all times, or it would fry me.” (37) ASR

“I walked out a little way, past a couple of the lakes, almost expecting to see something under the surface. Dead bodies, maybe. I’d seen plenty of those (and caused plenty of those) on past contracts, but this one had been dead-body-lacking, so far. It made for a nice change.” (44) ASR

“This is how we fight: throw ourselves at each other and see whose parts give out first.” (69) ASR

““Dr. Mensah,” I said, “this is a violation of security priority and I am contractually obligated to record this for report to the company—” It was in the buffer and the rest of my brain was empty.” (73) ASR

“The DeltFall SecUnits hadn’t been rogues, they had been inserted with combat override modules. The modules allow personal control over a SecUnit, turn it from a mostly autonomous construct into a gun puppet. The feed would be cut off, control would be over the comm, but functionality would depend on how complex the orders were. “Kill the humans” isn’t a complex order.” (75) ASR

““Because if the company wanted to sabotage you, they would have poisoned your supplies using the recycling systems. The company is more likely to kill you by accident.”” (81) ASR

“I said, “I did not hack my governor module to kill my clients. My governor module malfunctioned because the stupid company only buys the cheapest possible components. It malfunctioned and I lost control of my systems and I killed them. The company retrieved me and installed a new governor module. I hacked it so it wouldn’t happen again.” (81) ASR

"“Do they really expect to get away with this?” Ratthi turned to me, like he was expecting an answer.” (105)

““They may believe the company and whoever your beneficiaries are won’t look any further than the rogue SecUnits. But they can’t make two whole survey teams disappear unless their corporate or political entity doesn’t care about them. Does DeltFall’s care? Does yours?” (105) ASR

“Freehold meant it had been terraformed and colonized but wasn’t affiliated with any corporate confederations. Basically freehold generally meant shitshow so I hadn’t been expecting much from them. But they were surprisingly easy to work for.” (26) ASR

“The other good thing about my hacked governor module is that I could ignore the governor’s instructions to defend the stupid company.” (48) ASR

“I had a moment to feel betrayed, which was stupid. Volescu was my client, and I’d saved his life because that was my job, not because I liked him.” (79-80) ASR

“One saw me and Ratthi and said, “Again, this is irregular. Purging the unit’s memory before it changes hands isn’t just a policy, it’s best for the—” (143) ASR

“Maybe it would work out. This was what I was supposed to want. This was what everything had always told me I was supposed to want. Supposed to want.” (147) ASR

“Murderbots aren’t allowed to ride with the humans and I had to have verbal permission to enter. With my cracked governor there was nothing to stop me, but not letting anybody, especially the people who held my contract, know that I was a free agent was kind of important. Like, not having my organic components destroyed and the rest of me cut up for parts important.” (14) ASR

“I’m always supposed to speak respectfully to the clients, even when they’re about to accidentally commit suicide. HubSystem could log it and it could trigger punishment through the governor module.” (15) ASR

“…if it monitored the governor module and my feed like it was supposed to, it could lead to a lot of awkward questions and me being stripped for parts.” (31) ASR

“I had worked for some contracts that would have kept me standing here the entire day and night cycle, just on the off chance they wanted me to do something and didn’t want to bother using the feed to call me.” (33) ASR

“I don’t know why I was dancing around the word. Maybe because I thought she didn’t want to hear it. She’d just shot a heavily armed SecUnit with a mining drill to get me back; presumably she wanted to keep me.” (76) ASR

“Then Mensah said quietly, “SecUnit, do you have a name?” I wasn’t sure what she wanted. “No.” “It calls itself ‘Murderbot,’” Gurathin said." (82) ASR

“To them, talking to me was like talking to a hopper or a piece of mining equipment.” (127) ASR

“I know I said SecUnits aren’t sentimental about each other, but I wished it wasn’t one of the DeltFall units. It was in there somewhere, trapped in its own head, maybe aware, maybe not. Not that it matters. None of us had a choice.” (132) ASR

“Guardian was a nicer word than owner.” (148) ASR

“I’ve purchased your contract.” (145) ASR

“He said, “Good news! Dr. Mensah has permanently bought your contract! You’re coming home with us!” (141) ASR

“I’m off inventory.” They had told me that and maybe it was true.” (145) ASR

“SecSystem records everything, even inside the sleeping cabins, and I see everything.” (30) ASR

“I was supposed to check their personal logs periodically in case they were plotting to defraud the company or murder each other or something…” (57) ASR

“One of the reasons the bond company requires it, besides slapping more expensive markups on their clients, is that I was recording all their conversations all the time, though I wasn’t monitoring anything I didn’t need to do a half-assed version of my job. But the company would access all those recordings and data mine them for anything they could sell. No, they don’t tell people that. Yes, everyone does know it. No, there’s nothing you can do about it.” (27-28) ASR

“Now they knew their murderbot didn’t want to be around them any more than they wanted to be around it. I’d given a tiny piece of myself away. That can’t happen. I have too much to hide, and letting one piece go means the rest isn’t as protected.” (33-34) ASR

“No one would be shooting at me because they didn’t shoot people there. Mensah didn’t need a bodyguard there; nobody did. It sounded like a great place to live, if you were a human or augmented human.” (146) ASR

“If there’s a chance we can save lives, we have to take it,” Pin-Lee agreed.” (57) ASR

“They were the first clients I’d had who hadn’t had any previous experience with SecUnits” (40) ASR

““You have to think of it as a person,” Pin-Lee said to Gurathin.” (95) ASR

“”It is a person,” Arada insisted.” “I do think of it as a person,” Gurathin said. “An angry, heavily armed person who has no reason to trust us.” “Then stop being mean to it,” Ratthi told him. “That might help.”” (96) ASR

“Overse added, “It doesn’t want to interact with humans. And why should it? You know how constructs are treated, especially in corporate-political environments.”” (107) ASR

“”You know, in Preservation-controlled territory, bots are considered full citizens. A construct would fall under the same category.” He said this in the tone of giving me a hint. Whatever. Bots who are “full citizens” still have to have a human or augmented human guardian appointed, usually their employer; I’d seen it on the news feeds.” (112) ASR

“Ratthi smiled at the console. “Because Dr. Mensah is our political entity.” He made a little gesture, turning his hand palm up. “We’re from Preservation Alliance, one of the non-corporate system entities. Dr. Mensah is the current admin director on the steering committee. It’s an elected position, with a limited term. But one of the principles of our home is that our admins must also continue their regular work, whatever it is. Her regular work required this survey, so here she is, and here we are.”” (111) ASR

“Ratthi came over to see if I was all right, and I asked him to tell me about Preservation and how Mensah lived there. He said when she wasn’t doing admin work, she lived on a farm outside the capital city, with two marital partners, plus her sister and brother and their three marital partners, and a bunch of relatives and kids who Ratthi had lost count of.” (147) ASR

“Ratthi sighed. “Oh, yes, they know. You would not believe what we had to pay to guarantee the bond on the survey. These corporate arseholes are robbers.”” (112) ASR

““Because the scanners suck corporation balls,” Pin-Lee muttered.” (42) ASR

“Of course I need you. I have no experience in anything like this. None of us do. Sometimes humans can’t help but let emotion bleed through into the feed. She was furious and frightened, not at me, at the people who would do this, kill like this,” (107-108) ASR

“I said, “This unit is at minimal functionality and it is recommended that you discard it.” It’s an automatic reaction triggered by catastrophic malfunction. Also, I really didn’t want them to try to move me because it hurt bad enough the way it was. “Your contract allows—” “Shut up,” Mensah snapped. “You shut the fuck up. We’re not leaving you.”” (139) ASR

"I had flashes off and on. The inside of the little hopper, my humans talking, Arada holding my hand." (140) ASR

“We had a problem at the hatch of the big hopper where Mensah wanted to get in last and I wanted to get in last. As a compromise, I grabbed her around the waist and swung us both up into the hatch as the ramp pulled in after us. I set her on her feet and she said, “Thank you, SecUnit,” while the others stared.” (99) ASR

““I know you’re more comfortable with keeping your helmet opaque, but the situation has changed. We need to see you.”” (103) ASR

““It’s usually better if humans think of me as a robot,” I said.” (103) ASR

““Maybe, under normal circumstances.” She was looking a little off to one side, not trying to make eye contact, which I appreciated. “But this situation is different. It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.” My insides melted. That’s the only way I could describe it. After a minute, when I had my expression under control, I cleared the face plate and had it and the helmet fold back into my armor. She said, “Thank you,” and I followed her up into the hopper.” (104) ASR

“They were saying things like I didn’t even know it had a face.” (21) ASR

“Arada and Pin-Lee didn’t try to talk to me, and Ratthi actually looked away when I eased past him to get to the cockpit. They were all so careful not to look at me or talk to me directly that as soon as we were in the air I did a quick spot check through HubSystem’s records of their conversations.” (39) ASR

“They had talked it over and all agreed not to “push me any further than I wanted to go” and they were all so nice and it was just excruciating.” (40) ASR

“That was when I realized they weren’t ignoring the possibility of sabotage.” (43) ASR

“This is why I didn’t want to come. I’ve got four perfectly good humans here and I didn’t want them to get killed by whatever took out DeltFall. It’s not like I cared about them personally, but it would look bad on my record, and my record was already pretty terrible.” (60) ASR

“It was nice having a human smart enough to work with like this.” (67) ASR

“I do a half-assed job sometimes, okay, most of the time, but Pin-Lee had checked, too, and she was thorough.” (71) ASR

“It was starting to occur to me that Dr. Mensah might actually be an intrepid galactic explorer, even if she didn’t look like the ones on the entertainment feed.” (73) ASR

“I hoped they hadn’t been stupid about it, too soft-hearted to kill me.” (77) ASR

“My clients are the best clients.” (78) ASR

“But I think the fact that the Unit has been acting to preserve our lives, to take care of us, while it was a free agent, gives us even more reason to trust it.”” (80) ASR

“Overse sounded mad. “It told us about the combat module, it told us to kill it. Why the hell would it do that if it wanted to hurt us?”” (81) ASR

“Before anyone else could move, Mensah said, calm and even, “SecUnit, I’d appreciate it if you put Gurathin down, please.” She’s a really good commander. I’m going to hack her file and put that in. If she’d gotten angry, shouted, let the others panic, I don’t know what would have happened.” (84-85) ASR

“She continued, “I would like you to remain part of our group, at least until we get off this planet and back to a place of safety. At that point, we can discuss what you’d like to do. But I swear to you, I won’t tell the company, or anyone outside this room, anything about you or the broken module.”” (86) ASR

“Of course she had to say that. What else could she do. I tried to decide whether to believe it or not, or whether it mattered, when I was hit by a wave of I don’t care. And I really didn’t. I said, “Okay.”” (86) ASR

““We have to shut it down, or it’s going to kill us.” Then he winced and looked at me. “Sorry, I meant HubSystem.”” (86-87) ASR

“Then Arada came up and patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry. This must be very upsetting. After what that other Unit did to you . . . Are you all right?” That was too much attention. I turned around and walked into the corner, facing away from them.” (87) ASR

“I should keep my mouth shut, keep them thinking of me as their normal obedient SecUnit, stop reminding them what I was. But I wanted them to be careful.” (92) ASR

““If a strange survey group landed here, all friendly, saying they had just arrived, and oh, we’ve had an equipment failure or our MedSystem’s down and we need help, you would let them in. Even if I told you not to, that it was against company safety protocol, you’d do it.” Not that I’m bitter, or anything. A lot of the company’s rules are stupid or just there to increase profit, but some of them are there for a good reason.” (92-93) ASR

[I cited this whole conversation bc I wasn't sure exactly what bits I wanted to use. apologies for the giant block text.]

“Ratthi’s expression was troubled. “But surely . . . It’s clear you have feelings—”” (54)

“She looked up, frowning. “Ratthi, what are you doing?” Ratthi shifted guiltily. “I know Mensah asked us not to, but—” He waved a hand. “You saw it.” Overse pulled her interface off. “You’re upsetting it,” she said, teeth gritted. “That’s my point!” He gestured in frustration. “The practice is disgusting, it’s horrible, it’s slavery. This is no more a machine than Gurathin is—” Exasperated, Overse said, “And you don’t think it knows that?” I’m supposed to let the clients do and say whatever they want to me and with an intact governor module I wouldn’t have a choice.” (54) ASR

“I’m also not supposed to snitch on clients to anybody except the company, but it was either that or jump out the hatch. I sent the conversation into the feed tagged for Mensah. From the cockpit, she shouted, “Ratthi! We talked about this!” I slid out of the seat and went to the back of the hopper, as far away as I could get, facing the supply lockers and the head. It was a mistake; it wasn’t a normal thing for a SecUnit with an intact governor module to do, but they didn’t notice. “I’ll apologize,” Ratthi was saying. “No, just leave it alone,” Mensah told him. “That would just make it worse,” Overse added.” (55) ASR

Network Effect

“Humans in the Preservation alliance didn't have to sign up for contract labor and get shipped off to mines or whatever for 80 to 90 percent of their lifespans. There was some strange system where they all got their food and shelter and education and medical for free, no matter what job they did.” (35-36) NE

“...it was a natural mistake on Arada’s part. In Preservation culture asking payment for anything considered necessary for living (food, power sources, education, the feed, etc.) was considered outrageous, but asking payment for life-saving help was right up there with cannibalism.” (201) NE

“There were "free" bots wandering around on Preservation, though they had guardians who were technically supposed to keep track of them.” (27) NE

“Plus, it was Preservation and there were no scanning drones, no armed human security, just some on-call human medics with bot assistants and “rangers” who mainly enforced environmental regulations and yelled at humans and augmented humans to get out of the way of the ground vehicles.” (24) NE

"Over the comm loudspeaker, Dr. Ratthi said, 'It is a person!'" (16) NE

“Even the individual humans’ feed signatures only contained info about sexual availability and gender presentation, which I didn’t give a damn about.” (13) NE

“If this went wrong I was going to feel really stupid. The Targets would finally show up and be all “What the hell was it trying to do to itself?”“ (305-306) NE

“That’s one of the reasons Me 1.0 misses its armor.” (293) NE

“You and Amena were right. 2.0 was a person. It wasn’t like a baby, but it was a person.” (340) NE

“The damage to its organic tissue and support structure is easily repaired.” (132) NE

“- because it thought you were dead. It was so upset I thought-Oh, hey, you’re here” (227) NE

“Amena’s voice said “No, it doesn’t like to be touched!”“ (335) NE

““No, it says it’s fine,” I heard her relaying to the others on our comm. “Well, yes, it’s furious,”” (12) NE

"It's not aliens, 2.0 said. We knew it wasn't aliens, I told it. It countered, We were seventy-two percent sure it wasn't aliens. That was an outdated assessment but I didn't need to argue with myself right now." (314) NE

Fugitive Telemetry

“Preservation had two economies, one a complicated barter system for planetary residents and one currency-based for visitors and for dealing with other polities. Most of the humans here didn’t really understand how important hard currency was in the Corporation Rim but the council did, and Mensah said the port took in enough in various fees to keep the station from being a drain on the planet’s resources.” (79) FT

“The Preservation Alliance has a weird thing about food and medical care and other thing humans need to survive being free and available anywhere.” (35) FT

“The employment contracts for Preservation citizens were pretty simple, because their planetary legal code had so many in-built protections already. (For example, humans and augmented humans can’t sign away their rights to their labor or bodily autonomy in perpetuity; that’s like, straight-up illegal.)” (12) FT

“Preservation has high safety standards so we passed through two air walls before we got to the cargo ship’s hatch.” (70) FT

“Right now Aylen and the other officers were explaining to their individual Targets what rights they had as detainees in Preservation Alliance territory. (It was a lot of rights. I was pretty sure it was more rights than a human who hadn’t been detained by Station Security had in the Corporation Rim.)” (85-86) FT

“As part of the rights thing, Aylen had told Target Five the scanner would be on, which I thought was playing way too fair,” (89-90) FT

“Station Security was only allowed to keep the Lalow for one Preservation day-cycle before they either had to charge the crew with something or let them go.” (106) FT

“You need a surveillance audit.” (145) “Some of those systems are under privacy lock, we’d need a judge-advocate to release their access records,” (146) FT [these are together bc its a line of dialogue from mb, a huge monologue about what a surveillance audit is, and then Indah's response, which is the thing I care about for my paper]

“Most of the station’s clothing supply came from the planet, where human hand-made clothing and textiles were so popular there was hardly any recycler-produced fabric. (I told you Preservation is weird.)” (22) FT

“The colony ship hadn’t just been left to rot; the humans liked it too much for that…Pieces of clear protective material had been placed over the occasional drawings on the bulkheads, and on the pieces of paper stuck to them and covered with scribbled handwriting and faded print. Feed markers had been installed by Station Historical/Environment Management with translations into Preservation Standard Nomenclature.” (123) FT

“…you’re on a giant spaceship that has been meticulously preserved as a historical artifact. If they still had intact lunch menus from however many years ago, the chances were good they still had the safety equipment.” (125) FT

“Station Security isn’t armed except with those extendable batons (they don’t even deliver shocks, they’re just for hitting/holding off aggressive intoxicated humans) and the officers are only issued energy weapons when there’s actually an energy-weapon-involved emergency.” (72) FT

“…they were here to assess the damage to the transport and try to repair it. (Apparently on Preservation this would be free? Gurathin said it fell under what they called a traveler’s aid rule. In the Corporation Rim, the transport would have had tp sit there damaged and racking up fines until its owner or an owner’s rep arrived.)” (55-56) FT

another "couldn't decide so the whole dang thing is here"

"For a name, I could use the local feed address that was hard coded into my neural interfaces. It wasn’t my real name, but it was what the systems I interfaced with called me. If I used it, the humans and augmented humans I encountered would think of me as a bot. Or I could use the name Rin. I liked it, and there were some humans outside the Corporation Rim who thought it was actually my name. I could use it, and the humans on the Station wouldn’t have to think about what I was, a construct made of cloned human tissue, augments, anxiety, depression, and unfocused rage, a killing machine for whichever humans rented me, until I made a mistake and got my brain destroyed by my governor module." (28) “I posted a feed ID with the name SecUnit, gender = not applicable, and no other information.” (29)

[nartothelar]

you should do a submas fic rec post o7

Ooo good idea! Here's a few fics I adore to pieces and have reread more than a few times:

we'll build a bridge (An incomplete collection of unconnected one shots)

Summary: The only constant is this: they find each other. The how might change, but the why doesn’t, and the why is what matters, here. (The why is this: one never stops searching, and one never stops hoping.)

(Made me cry multiple times. Happy endings and heartfelt reunions: it's got everything you need to feel good inside. My favorite chaoters are 3 and 8)

Ounce of Prevention (incomplete)

Summary: If one suspects strangers of causing the apocalypse, one generally should not allow them to continue to roam free. They should ideally be restrained until their innocence (or guilt) can be proven. Even if one of them is a child and openly sobbing at the thought of her only family hating her. Even if the other one's absence is probably going to be noticed by a very large, very dangerous Pokémon.

Elsewhere, the rift spits out a man in white. He's not her Warden, but Sneasler will take all the help she can get in finding him.

(ABSOLUTELY INSANELY GOOD like this is one of my favorite submas fics. Just thrilling and had be binge it in a frenzy. Awesome action scenes, cool plot, and badass Emmet, like seriously Emmet's characterization here is god tier and I think about it constantly. I actually drew a comic based on a scene from this fic here. )

In Tandem (Incomplete)

Summary: Or in which Arceus calls upon two pairs of twins to stop two doomsday plots simultaneously.

Ingo and Emmet are summoned to two different Jubilifes, to two different teenagers to aid them in their seemingly innocent journeys for reasons they do not fully understand. Dark machinations are at work though, and if everyone wants to get home safe at the end of the day it will take every ounce of strength, conviction and courage to brave the trials set before them.

(A verrrry good story: good plot (like you'll get invested), good action, good pacing, and good characterization! I haven't read many fics with Lucas and Dawn and this ones just amazing. I wait patiently for its updates)

The Hand (Complete)

Summary: It was something Ingo always wondered about.

(Unexpected premise but I really like it for some reason and have reread it multiple times)

Give Not Into Sorrow (Complete)

Summary: Something strange is going on in Hisui. There are reports of a man in white roaming the wildlands while leading a pack of Pokemon . Some say they're a mix of Pokemon, some claim they're a pack of zoroarks. Some swear that the man is none other than the amnesiac warden of the Pearl Clan. One thing is certain. Those who meet the man in white all report the same thing: He is looking for his brother. And he will not rest until he finds him.

(Absolutely beautiful and heart wrenching. Deal with grief, with anger and with holding on and letting go. Drew a comic for this just yesterday too)

Conductor of Stone (Completed)

Summary: Ingo was not alone when he woke up in the region of Hisui.

There was a man next to him who shared his face. With a body as cold as ice.

Who are you?

A Land of the Lustrous au! Cool concept and excellent writing that sucks you in. This is actually part of a series which is also very good. The author, PerpetuallySleepy, is a favorite of mine too and they have a bunch of other ones shot fics I recommend checking out!

Intermittent Retention (Complete)

Summary: In theory, the space-time distortions should not overly effect Ingo's daily routine. They certainly wouldn't, if he could remember what happens after he steps inside of them. Even that could be overlooked, reluctantly, if Ingo weren't overwhelmingly drawn to them despite their amnesia-inducing properties. Or if anyone else had this problem. Something happens to Ingo when time and space break down around him, something that leaves him with fierce joy and crippling grief he cannot find a source for, and he's going to figure out what in the world is going on.

(Sweet and sad and beautiful.)

Diamond Crossing (Complete)

Summary: So, here’s the thing. Elesa’s best friend is a little…weird.

She means it in the nicest way possible. But there’s no getting around the fact that Coop is weird.

Their mood swings are all over the place, very serious at one moment and unhinged child at the next. They sprouted train facts at the drop of the hat, insisted on not only being in charge of Gear Station but taking it a step further and turning Gear Station into the Battle Subway. They’re honestly crazy for that alone.

Elesa does her modeling career on top of being a Gym Leader and a lot of people think she’s crazy. She will argue that it’s nothing compared to Coop running the entire transportation system for Nimbasa City on top of being a Battle Facility.

She adores Coop though. She really means it when she says Coop is her best friend. And no matter how crazy Coop comes across as, she knows Coop won't hurt anyone.

("Well, there are exceptions, of course," Coop says, tone serious and expression set to a frown. "We don’t allow unruly passengers for starters." They then smiled, brightening. "And anyone who makes Elesa cry will be tied to the train track and run over." )

(A super interesting concept and I love fusion aus! It's actually part of a series that are loosely connected together. Fun times galore)

Emmet wasn't scared (Complete)

Summary:

Emmet knew his brother will be alright since they were fourteen.

Or: Emmet wasn't scared when his brother went missing. He already knew he would

(Short and haunting)

[hold-him-down]

🧽 Receiving a sponge bath - Derek

tw: post-prison whump, spongebath, light med whump

notes: read chapter one of derek's back first for context, if context is important to ya :)

from this ask game

✥ ✥ ✥

Derek Lewis, or what's left of him, anyway, sits on the center of the exam table. His legs dangle over the side, his hands limp in his lap. Looking at him, one might think he was completely absent of thought, absent of the ability to process any of the events of the last few hours. Something in the way he hunches his body, though, just a little bit, or in the way his black eyes, every so often, wander from the floor to the mahogany desk in the corner, to the large canvas paintings, to the American flag hung by the door, and then back to the floor, give Agent Brody Grant hope that, at least on some level, he’s aware that his circumstances have shifted.

He’s been stripped of his clothing, or, if not clothing, of the torn, ratted fabric that was constituting as clothing, which has been placed in a bin to be tested for parasites. So far, he hasn’t spoken.

When they arrived to the makeshift medical unit, pieced together on one hour’s notice in the middle of the night in the Consulate, he didn't speak. He also didn’t speak when he was led down the empty, dark hallway, or when his clothes were removed, or when every inch of his battered skin was photographed.

Now, with a nurse at his side, running a wet cloth over his body again and again, seven, eight, sometimes ten times before satisfied with each patch of skin, he still doesn’t speak.

“Mr. Lewis?” the physician asks, approaching Derek cautiously. Derek’s head lifts in acknowledgement, but his eyes do not.

“You need to drink,” she urges. She lifts his free hand and places a mug of water inside of it, then guides him to take a sip. He does not fight it, but immediately coughs the water back up. The doctor's lips are tight, but she sets the mug to the side.

The boy that Agent Grant collected from within the prison gates was unrecognizable from the pictures in his file. The ghost of the smiling, vibrant boy he had not expected, but hoped for, was deposited at his feet without a moment of hesitation. The guard inclined his head sharply toward the gate, handed the agent a well-loved backpack, and turned on his heels back toward the prison. They hightailed it down the gravel road and into the night, with a singular objective of getting Derek Lewis onto U.S. territory while they worked to understand the implications of everything that had gone down.

The nurse lifts his hand now, turning it over, and works to wipe away months of caked-on filth. 

“When did you last access a shower?” he asks, his thumb brushing over Derek’s wrist, presumably to get a handle on what is bruising and what isn’t. 

“I don’t know,” Derek whispers. Agent Grant writes it down. It’s not of particular interest, but he’s been tasked with writing down everything, and so far that has been nothing, so he takes what he can get.

“That’s okay,” the nurse tells him, dipping the washcloth in the clean water, wringing it out, and wiping away what can be wiped away. “What about food?” he asks next. No one is under any illusion that Derek wants to talk, but getting him comfortable answering questions may be in his best interest. “When was the last time you ate?” 

This time, Derek does not look up. “I don’t know,” he whispers again.

“Are you hungry?” the nurse asks, as the doctor tilts Derek’s head down. Gloved fingers press into dark, matted waves, and Derek’s body curls in on itself, just for a second, before he realizes what’s happened and forcibly adjusts his posture.

“It’s okay,” the nurse whispers, moving to his other hand.

Derek nods, and they finish cleaning him up in silence. His hair is shaved, because it’s the only reasonable way to deal with both the matting and the lice. He’s photographed again, now clean, which he flinches his way through but does not protest. This time, the focus is solely on the injuries. On the scars that run the length of his back, on his wrists and ankles, on his neck. There won't be an investigation, nor will there be restitution, but it may help someone in the future to have these, so they take them. Derek is silent through it, but his suffering, well hidden just an hour ago, is clearer now.

He’s given an IV, because every time he drinks, he vomits. He’s given pain medication, he’s given anxiety medication, and finally, to everyone’s relief, he is given clothing. 

He dresses quietly, but he trembles he does, and when he’s led to a cot in the adjacent room, he whispers a hoarse, “Thank you,” before collapsing into it. He’s asleep before he can be offered a blanket, so one is draped over him, and the doctor explains to Agent Grant that between the shock, the medication, and the clear sleep deprivation, it’s neither surprising nor alarming that he sleeps now.

By the time Derek Lewis’s family is called, it’s mid-morning. The Ambassador has arrived, and there’s an air of both celebration and frenzy within the Consulate. This has been something of a win for many of them, and a long-overdue one at that.

And, while it feels like a major piece of Agent Grant's time with the embassy is coming to a close, he can’t help but wonder what the next chapter looks like for Derek. There's no doubt in his mind that Jack will be on the first plane to Turkey, visa be damned, and the thought of their reunion, however tense, however painful it may be, gives him some hope that maybe, against all odds, Derek will find peace.

[themoonking]

breaking / preventing bad booktok habits

no one asked my opinion, but i've been thinking about this a lot so i'm going to give it anyway.

consumerism on booktube is a tale as old as time, and it's just as bad if not worse on booktok (due to the norm on tikok being to post something new at least once a day), and that leads a lot of book influencers (both on youtube and tiktok, and even instagram to an extent) into some really bad spending and consumption habits

this is my very long opinion piece on some tips and changes to make if you've already developed these bad habits or feel like you're about to.

tldr: stop buying in to hype and by more mindful about what you buy, and REMEMBER THAT LIBRARIES EXIST.

go to the library

quite simple. allows you to read as many books as you want without spending money or cluttering your home. and if you argue back that your local library is small / doesn't have a large selection, that's all the more reason to support it!! it won't grow or improve if it doesn't have people behind it.

getting rid of books

don't feel like you have to get rid of books even if you enjoyed them. i myself have larger book collection than most people i know. but you do have to make peace with the idea of getting rid of books from time to time. stop treating it like the worst thing that ever happened to you.

next time your bookshelf is full, don't immediately jump to buying a new shelf. instead, go through your entire collection and see what you really want to keep. do the marie kondo thing and take everything off the shelf so you can go through each book one by one. go over it multiple times over a couple of days, so you can come at it with fresh eyes.

when you look at each individual book, really think about it. ask yourself: did i even like this book? if i did, will i ever reread it? was it important to me or was it just a book i enjoyed and will never think about again? if i can't remember my feelings on a book, am i willing to reread it to find out?

if you have books that you were neutral on, that you liked but not in any notable way, or that you straight up didn't enjoy, it might be time to move on from them. donate to your local library: if you didn't enjoy them, there might be someone out there who might, and if you did enjoy them, they're right there if you ever have the urge to read them again.

don't think about book purges as tearing apart your perfect collection, but instead think about it as making room for something new that you enjoy and appreciate a lot more.

if you've gone over your collection multiple times and you still have no room, then feel free to buy a new shelf and expand your collection. obviously, as you read more books you'll find more that meant a lot to you that you want to keep. again, it's not about mimimalism, it's about mindfulness.

unread books

some book influencers (and their fans) have a MASSIVE problem with unread books. as in, they have 100+ on their shelves and they keep buying more to add to the pile. if you have books in your collection that have remained unread for years... it might be time to get rid of some of them. sorry.

do the same thing with the unread books as you did with the read books: go over them one by one and really think about why you're keeping them.

how long have you had it? if you've had a book for 5+ years, and you haven't felt the urge to read it yet, do you really think you're ever going to? read the description: does it seem like something that actually interests you, or did you buy it on a whim? perhaps it interested you when you bought it, but time has passed and tastes change; does it interest you now?

if you haven't touched or even thought about a book in multiple years but you can't bring yourself to get rid of it because "well maybe someday i'll need it!!" consider how dangerously close to hoarder mentality you're getting.

if you're really convinced that you'll enjoy a certain book, set it aside. make the books you set aside your priority for the next 6 months / the next year and don't buy anymore in that timeframe. if by the end of that time you haven't read the books you set aside, it's time to accept that you are simply never going to read them, and its better that they get some use rather than collect dust.

once again: donate any you get rid of to the library. if you're worried that you're going to suddenly want to read them (even though you haven't for years) and won't have them anymore, remember that if you give them to library they will be right there for you to borrow whenever you like. except that, in the time between you donating them and reading them, they won't have simply been sitting on your shelf gathering dust. instead, other people will have gotten the chance to read them and perhaps enjoyed them more than you ever would.

buying books

quite simply, just be more mindful about the books you buy.

when a new book becomes trendy on booktok or booktube, don't buy it right away. a lot of book influencers' unread books tend to be ones that they bought because they were really popular online, but that they lost interest in when the trend died out. if you're worried about missing out, remember that the book will still be available when the trend dies, and if you're only interested in something so you can partake in the trend... you're not really interesting in the book. you're interested in the clout.

when a book trend catches your eye, takes some time to think about it instead. first of all, does the book actually seem like something you're interested in? yes, everyone on booktok is talking about this new historical romance, but do you even like historical romance? this new epic fantasy is filling your youtube recommendations, but do you even like epic fantasy? look at reviews. look at reviews from people you know have similar tastes to you. did they like it? were the things they liked about it things that you enjoy?

if after thinking it through you're still engaged, go ahead and buy it! once again, its not about mimimalism. it's not about having less books. it's about mindfulness.

if you're subscribed to a book subscription box (or, god forbid, multiple book subscription boxes) maybe take stock and see if you actually want to remain subscribed. in the past 12 months, how many books from them have you read, and how many have you actually enjoyed? in my opinion, unless you've read an enjoyed the majority of books you've recieved in the past year, it might be time to unsubscribe. also always know that if a particular month's selection really interests you, you can simply buy the non-subscription version of the book without paying for all the ones that don't interest you.

like many book lovers, i enjoy wandering aimlessly around the bookstore even if i don't get anything, but if impulse buying books is an issue for you don't go to bookstores for fun. stay away from book-specific online stores. if you're spending issue is really bad, it might be time to block book-related social media tags (aka abandon booktok).

if you have an issue with your unread books getting out of control, set aside a physical space for your physical to-be-read and always ensure that your unread books can fit inside that space. if it starts to overflow, thats your sign that you need to ban yourself from buying books and focus on the books you already have (and then actually stick to that!!).

i personally have a three-tiered utility cart that i use (they're really common, you can find them a lot of places, but mine is specifically from ikea). it has a little wooden table lid that goes on the top tier that prevents me from storing anything in that layer. my unread books go in the bottom two tiers. if they get to the point that, to store them all, i have to remove the lid and start putting them on the top tier, i know that i need to slow down in my book buying and stay away from the book store. if, after that, it gets to the point where the entire top tier is full, then i know that it's time for a full book-buying ban until they're all read.

other methods i've seen people use: keep a separate, much smaller bookshelf in another part of the house. keep them in stacks but use a ruler to measure how tall the stacks get, and go on a ban if they get above a certain height. limit unread books to how many can comfortably fit on the bedside table. etc.

in general, it's best to NOT store unread books on the shelf with your other books. if they're on your shelf next to all your read books, you may not really be able to comprehend how many unread books you have, which can lead to the number getting out of hand.

and if you're buying books less for the pleasure of reading them and more for the pleasure of buying them (aka you genuinely not as a joke say "buying books and reading books are two different hobbies")... babygirl you have a shopping addiction </3

special editions

a lot of book influencers have a lot of special editions of books, but rarely have they read all of them. a lot of people really like collecting special editions, which is why my advice to unsubscribe from book boxes might, perhaps, be difficult.

however, many people who own a lot of these special editions don't really care about what's inside the book. rather, they care about the clout that comes with having a lot of special editions. even if they aren't an influencer, if you consume a lot of book content, you might get a feeling of superiority knowing that you have this type of collection that your favorite creators have.

essentially, when you go through your special editions, treat them the same as your other books from earlier but also ask yourself:

(1) is there anything actually special about this special edition? some special editions have exclusive bonus content such as cut chapters, interviews with the author, special art on the inside, et cetera; is this one of those or is it just the trade version with a recolored cover?

(2) if i have multiple different special editions of the same book, is there anything to actually distinguish them? do they have different exclusive bonus conent? different exclusive covers made by different talented artists? or are they essentially the same, except this cover is a slightly different shade of red, and this one has gold foiling in a slightly different spot?

(3) assuming i've read it, did this book actually mean something to me? do i care enough about this book to want a special copy of it? if i thought it was just okay, or even disliked it, wouldn't it be better off in the hands of someone who has it down as one of their favorite books of all time?

if you're going over your book box subscriptions and you say that you wouldn't be interesting in reading a certain book if you don't get your hands on the special edition, remeber that your experience of reading will be exactly the same if you have the exclusive special edition hardback or the standard trade paperback. it's like the tiktok trend; if you're only interested in this book if you have a special edition, you're not really interested in the book. you're interested in the clout.

essentially, the base thing you have to consider is: do you want this rare, expensive copy because the book actually means something to you, or because you want the online social status that comes from having a rare, expensive copy?

conclusion

once again, the main point is: be more mindful about the books you buy.

actually think about if you're interested in reading something instead of buying books you'll never read on a whim. think about whether your buying something for yourself or for clout.

and remember that libraries exist!! donate books to your library, donate funds to your library, borrow books from your library, etc. if you like audiobooks or ebooks, download whatever app your library uses. if your library doesn't have a book that you'd like to read, put in a request and they might purchase. participate in your library's events and activities. get involved in your library. show your local library the love it deserves!!!

bye. if you have another tip about breaking or preventing bad book habits, feel free to reblog w/ your tip.

[noitkot1]

Referring to my previous post on Emotional Echolocation Dream (this post), I wanted to share more thoughts on NM's side of his Empathic abiltiies! Just like his twin, Passive NM could feel feelings from an object with some time and focus. Before the gifts to NM trickled into the void, most gifts to NM were trembling with the echoes of a cornered dog, growling with its tail between its legs (most of the time he waited until Dream had wandered to take the gifts from their hiding place. NM refused to let Dream tap into these gifts full of what ifs and a looming bear. Then after collecting them using the gifts as much as possible while thinking of old memories of just Dream and himself atop their hill).

Passive NM could feel a lightness, a joy, in the gifts too, but he often paused with wider eyes. The villager must've been having happy memories of wrapping another childs present. Simple mistakes happen all the time, so Nightmare leaves out these little positive ones to let Dream feel them too. His twins smile mixed with a few claps and dancing toes makes NM grin through the trees of guilt.

After consuming the apples, feeling the emotions inside one specific object became... difficult to say the least. His abilties spanned over au's. Growing large and pulling itself to every corner. Focusing on something as little as a shirt was difficult and a waste of time.

Although, it wasn't something he particularly cared about. Feeling the Negativity directly from the source was much more filling. Nightmare doesn't need to feel the emotions inside an object. He can conclude those for himself afterall. He is quite the horrifying creature for someone to meet inside their safe space. After a century, that mindset changes purely out of bordem(and a little curiosity), he starts practicing on trying to feel specific objects.

Nightmare conculded that one, trying to sense the emotions of something smaller than a chair was simply fruitles. It is near impossible to focus all his powers all at once on such a miniscule and worthless object. Two, it is much simpler to take the average emotion of a building/larger area. For example, to feel everything inside a apartment complex, then put it all in a blender, mix it together, and take a drink that way. It becomes one big glorious rock, full of negativity thanks to the being itself sitting atop their roofs. If the Source of the initial negativity is a main meal, the rock of generalized feelings Nightmare absorbs are dessert(these taste different depending on the AU. Nightmare's favorite AU's at this point in the multiverse consist of Underfells and Horrortales. The length of their despair is so old its engraved into their very existence. The best places to recover after an battle).

Lastly, after another 45 years of experiments, Nightmare made a break through. If all the tentacles were holding different small objects, then his hands held holding another two, with immense focus and time, Nightmare could list the emotions from the individual objects. It would be ineffective in almost any future scenario due to the average length of the operations, he'd write down after, but it is good knowledge to know. He only does anything similar later on if an object holds critical information relating to an AU(emotions tell stories. A pathway full of stones could leave a touch of despair as their vicitm runs) or a member of his gang(Cross is one he used this abilty on once he was back at the castle. There wasn't much to feel in the empty AU, and that made focusing on feeling the papers and pens emotions even easier Nightmare later notes. X-Tale will continue to be useful).