#unrelated to this all my dog walked in while writing this and she looks like a small child waiting for me to get off the phone or smth

[s0lar-ch3ri]

i do love this idea in its entirety, but i do have my own to throw in:

his power comes from who he is and what hes done. and i believe it started by being roped into a deal not of his own accord!

yep, im saying gills power of self is related to his deal with niklaus. a deal where his end was shorter termed and nks deal more long term. try to help now, worry more later. maybe thats what he was taught. hell, hes even told by chip im pretty sure that he cant save everyone! he, from what hes learnt, is nothing more then a hero, in the worst way possible almost. hes almost not more then just a hero.

so with him being such a shell, why would not having a choice make him feel empowered? because this is like, the start of it all. and gillion knows he has to get stronger, he doesnt know what that favor is, and he hopes to be strong enough to take it when needed. gillions strong from the get-go, dont get me wrong, but to him hes not strong enough to keep being a hero. so he keeps trekking down this path.

im about to say something insane but then again ive always liked making the insane connections so its not too much a stretch: probably one of gills first big choices, one where he got some control atleast, was the famous kiss. yes, the natural 20 for genuinity kiss! gillion chose to kiss chip on the mouth, and whether you see it romantic or not IT WAS GILLIONS CHOICE TO KISS CHIP. NO ORDERS, NO WORDS FROM CHIP ON IT, ALL HIS! HE COULD HAVE WENT IN FOR JAY, TRIED SOME OTHER ACT, BUT HE CHOSE THE KISS!

throughout the series gillion learns how he is more then a shield or tank, more then a champion, more then a hero, and more then a friend. hes gill. under all the armor and spells and titles, hes gillion. and he fucking learns it so well.

the duel was his own choice, but it was indeed fueled by what the elders taught him. the second duel? that was his own.

the first time he married people, it had been while he was basically blacked out drunk who probably couldnt even tell what the others face looked like. in the black sea, he marries two people who chose to be together.

when gillion is a hero in the beginning, he does it because its all he knows. now he saves people because he is still a hero, but this time its not how he was taught morals.

in the beginning gillion shouts out positions and helps his enemies because having the unfair advantage is bad. this time, he chose to help an enemy because he felt it right.

and when he stood up to those elders (which btw i fully believe were real and not like shadow images or whatever term there is), hes speaking the truth NOT BECAUSE HE WAS TAUGHT TO NEVER LIE, BUT BECAUSE HE FINDS THEIR TRUTHS TO BE BULLSHIT!

and yet it doesnt seem like hes changed. because he still talks about it being his destiny. because he still makes the same jokes. because hes still a hero.

and he is. and maybe its denial that the machine didnt really do shit, but i like to think he talks about destiny not because he knows its basically real and his is pre-written, but because he believes theres some mystery for him. he makes the same jokes because he adds something more to it. that hes a hero because how a blade is used depends moreso on the wielder then the maker, and hes been given all he needs to know how to hold a sword.

the big thing gillion really needs to accept to himself is that there is more of an answer then nobody to the question "who are you without your titles?"

that answer?

"gill."

Playing with the idea that Gillions oath to the undersea ended a long time ago. Like maybe that isnt where his power has been coming from for a long time.

But then you may be wondering how he still has spells and whatnot if that was the case and I’m here to offer

The riptide pirate oath

Bros got the literal power of friendship

[n7punk]

“Rain or Shine (Going Postal)” Fic Notes

Rain or Shine finished yesterday so have some short fic notes on it! I'll make a share post tonight, I kinda forgot lol

Playlist:

The playlist for this AU was only 4 songs since it was so short, but here they are:

So What Now — Renee Rapp

Love Me Not — Emei

Flicker — Rina Sawayama

allofthat — ELIO

Epilogue Life:

These girls have had a very weird path but no longer working together is really the best thing that can happen to divorced work wives when they get back together. It’s a little touch and go and Catra is cautious, but her dumbass cat is in love with her new girlfriend so she kind of needs to see her a minimum number times per week or Melog won’t stop hitting the Adora button until he pisses her off.

Catra knows they’ve reached the serious stage when Melog starts letting Adora walk him by herself and that’s when she starts letting go of her fears (as best she can, anyway).

Chapter 1:

⦁ Catra was annoyed whenever Adora acknowledged their past because it felt like Adora wasn’t taking her seriously and she wanted to show off her negotiating prowess.

Chapter 2:

⦁ My dog didn’t handle car rides well as a puppy so I always held her for them and now if she’s in a car she wants to be in a lap. She is not lap size. Melog similarly only handles cars well if he’s being held.

⦁ Catra does not move for a change of pace, she can’t find a place she likes but can’t articulate why because they’re all perfectly fine places considering their expense (none of them feel like home).

Chapter 3:

⦁ .eth is short for “etheria” and is their version of .gov

⦁ I used to hate emails and I still lowkey do but it’s like a third of my job at this point so I’ve kind of gotten over it but this was me dressing them up like paper dolls and it was really fun honestly.

⦁ Formatting here was kind of a challenge? But I think I found something that looks correct/realistic while still being readable. Hopefully.

Chapter 4:

⦁ Catra’s number says GAY-FAGS. Sorry. I think Adora’s is KIS-DYKE

⦁ Chapter title is a reference to that one fic I did in a day lol.

⦁ The space after Hello Adora , in the invitation is a MailMerge error. IYKYK (my pain).

Chapter 5:

⦁ Catra frowns when Adora implies she has been lying to her this whole time because, while she messes around and likes to make Adora play the guessing game, she isn’t trying to actually deceive her or seem scheming, at least not in the way Weaver she is. She wants to be cool and confident and one step head. Cognitive dissonance and Catra go hand-in-hand and she didn’t realize how toying it came across.

⦁ This has become a running theme at this point but it always results in something fun, so once again Metalesbos made a joke about something that became a plot point, in this case “Bunny the dog Melog AU where he’s learned to use those word buttons” which I somehow spun into Melog accidentally wingmanning them via soundboard.

⦁ Actual conversation that happened as some point: Entrapta: and what would the purpose of giving your cat a ‘slur’ button be? Catra: it would be funny (She then had to remove the fag button because Melog started pressing it whenever he really wanted attention while she was working because it would get her attention Real Quick in case someone overheard it during a call)

⦁ Oh yeah, after writing this entire thing I went into my "abandoned" folder for something unrelated and found I already had a fic called Rain or Shine, which upon checking was like 600 words of a postwoman Catra AU I abandoned back in like 2021 because I wasn't feeling it and I thought it was creepy for Adora to be bugging Catra post-fallout via her mailbox since her job meant Catra had literally no choice but to keep dealing with it. This was a much funner use of the post office lol.

Sheratober prompts:

Ch1: Day 4, purring

Ch2: Day 9, workout

Ch3: Day 11, drunk

Ch4: None, just needed to get to the next one, though I was going to use embarrassing for Adora making a fool of herself over email because I realized that came before "drunk" and scrapped that idea.

Ch5: Day 16, kiss

Original Outline:

Kinda unusual scenario where I have the entire original outline still on hand from when I wrote it a full year ago (21/09/23). It would be like half of these fic notes to include, but… I think it would be an interesting peak into the writing process? So I’m just going to include it. The big shift in Catra’s job actually came because I hadn’t read the outline in a while and the new stamp collection thing came to me, which I just liked better even though it changed the context of their negotiation.

Post office adora / sourcing supplier catra who took a job at a Weaver’s company and eventually bounced while Adora went to humble (shitty) office jobs due to a mix of guilt, fear, and impostor syndrome. Weaver was trying to make a golden parachute for herself in the form of two children who would support her in her older years, but she wanted to incur as few costs in the process (children are expensive — she was trying to have them specifically to make money) and they basically lived like orphans in her large house. Weaver supplied for them through college, expecting a “return on investment”, but senior year Adora had a breakdown, she and Catra broke apart, and Catra went on to work for weaver while Adora faded into obscurity. Catra made her way to a minor executive position before leaving to work contract negotiation for a smaller but nicer company. Reconnect when they have to work together, Catra taking over the contract Adora already had with them. It’s a cautious relationship and Catra scares Adora when she starts to negotiate a far worse rate for them, but it turns out to be a scare tactic and even as Adora is stammering they can’t do that Catra cuts her off “we’ll renew at the current rate” Adora gapes. Catra looks up, flashing her a threatening smile. “Just remember what I’m capable of, princess.” They enter a cautious business relationship, interacting on a regular basis and gradually getting more friendly as they do. After a bit Catra starts signaling they might not be able to continue the contract as it was, and it makes Adora nervous, but it’s nothing like she did the first day where she was legitimately negotiating them into a corner. Eventually she comes back to Adora and tells her they’re not renewing the contract, but she doesn’t try to negotiate anything, just gives a new minimum to continue the contract Adora can’t agree too. So Catra suggests a competitor she can go to and rights out the terms of their current contract for adora to show. Adora goes there and gets a worse deal, but better than what Catra was going to offer her. It’s all weird and Adora can tell something is going on, but Catra refuses to answer her questions. Part of her wonders if catra is just trying to get rid of her and this — objectively less favorable — contract in one go.

The rest of the outline was either rough outlines of scenes I ended up writing and thus deleted from the draft document, or in my head. Other aspects of the fic I had stored in my brain:

Adora running into Catra when she’s walking her cat or perhaps them going on a maybe-date at the park and Catra walking her cat as part of that after reconnecting post-contract

The whole LinkedIn interaction — at the time Adora didn’t have Catra’s LinkedIn initially and I later changed that

A “business dinner” Adora can’t tell if it’s a date or not

The rest all came up as I was writing it.

Upcoming:

So I’ve got two more one shots for Sheratober, and there’s going to be an update to Unhinged Instagram Lives Era for the Music day, but the last week of AU-ctober is the canon divergent week, so it’s finally fucking time. The end of October is going to be all ten chapters in secession.

Somewhere Beautiful, We Can Finally Meet

[thatonecrimsonecho]

Marnie’s Marine Eatery - The Newbie

This is my first time doing a writing project like this, so I hope it’s good enough to gain some traction! All the big text is below the break.

(Pixel Puppy belongs to @purplebehittindifferent)

Gill was honestly bewildered at what had happened during the day.

The entire time while he was performing his work as a waiter, he noticed workers he had never seen before, adorned in official Freddy Fazbear’s outfits, wheeling in arcade cabinet after arcade cabinet. At least one kid at every table he served brought it up to either their guardians or to him.

“What’re they doing that for?” “What kinds of games are those?” “When are they gonna let me play one of those?”

All Gill answered with was a simple “you’ll see”. He had no idea what was happening or why these cabinets were being moved in.

After the restaurant closed at 10 PM, he approached the stage on which the main animatronics sat- Lead singer Marnie the Mermaid, drummer Manny manta ray, and whale shark Billy Blubber (who was within his hole hiding away). Immediately Marnie waved.

“Good evening,” She greeted. “What’s up?”

“Do you know why they put in all… those?” He gestured off to the left wall, where all the arcade cabinets had been lined up.

“Good…” Marnie looked off to the cabinets. “Good question. I don’t actually know.”

“I was way too into today to notice anything was happening.” Manny admitted, holding his guitar in both hands.

“Well, uh-”

A knock came to the front entrance, startling all three animatronics. Gill walked his way to the door, where Georgie the manatee was behind the reception desk, tapping his hands together and looking at the door.

“Why would anybody knock?” Was all he said, waiting for Gill to move and open the door. Which Gill did.

The person at the front was much like the unknown Fazbear workers he saw throughout the day- Unrecognized faces wearing official brand outfits. This one in particular had on glasses and was holding a clipboard. Behind her was a very large wooden box with a brand stamp on it. From her surprised expression, she definitely expected a human to answer.

“Hello, uh… Sir?” She said. “Usually robots aren’t the ones signing these things-”

“I can forge the signature of the owner if need be.” Gill replied.

“I- Sure- Yeah, that works.” She held up the clipboard and a pen, to which Gill took and neatly signed in the name of the owner of the restaurant.

“What is this for?” Gill asked while he handed back the clipboard.

“A new animatronic, I think.” Was what the woman replied with.

A new animatronic? Why? Gill firmly believed that himself and the 5 others would be the only animatronics to ever be at this location. Regardless, the woman moved to behind the box, wheeling it in using the hand truck it sat upon. Gill moved out of the way, hearing his own servos click and whir as he followed the worker’s every move.

“Uhm… Yeah. En-enjoy.”

And the woman left back through the front door, leaving the box in the middle of the main dining area.

“It’s a new character?” Marnie was the first to ask as Gill walked around to the front of the shipment.

“Apparently so.” Gill responded, truly baffled.

“Open it!” Manny urged, clearly impatient.

Unsure how else to approach it, Gill carefully placed his fingers on the sides of the crate, gripping into it as much as he could without outright splintering the wood. He pulled back slightly, hearing the crack of the cover detach from the rest of the box, letting it drop to the ground.

He looked at the animatronic inside.

It was completely unlike anybody at the Eatery. This animatronic was, firstly, a dog, completely unrelated to the theme of the restaurant. And secondly, they were very bright and contrasting colors- the bulk of their body was white, simulating fur, although they had splotches of purple around their snout, eyes, and ears, and their casing resembling clothes were all sorts of bright greens and more purples. And their model seemed so much more shiny and clean and advanced than anybody else at the restaurant.

Gill looked them up and down, gauging all of these details. It really put him off. Against his better judgement, however, he poked the dog in the arm to see how they would react.

At first, Gill only heard the sounds of cooling fans and servos beginning to whir and click into motion, and then he saw as the animatronic’s head moved slowly up, reaching eye level with Gill. The dead and black color of the eyes were overtaken by a purple glow, showing two different symbols- on the left, a swirling shape, and on the right, a cross. The eyes searched Gill’s face, and the animatronic turned its head to the side in curiosity. Even the symbols of their eyes both changed to question marks.

Gill extended a hand.

“I’m Gill.”

The newbie shook his hand.

“I’m… Pixel.”

[bellysoupset]

oh dude i just realised there’s not many fics with sick vince and caretaker lucas. could you write something fluffy like that? maybe vince is a little emotional in this one and luke has to be the calm one. no scat please :)

Your wish is my command anon. Loads of cuddly emotional guys, fluff, emeto and no scat, the chef's favourite.

-------

"You look like death," Leo told Lucas as he entered the bus, passing the blonde by as he kissed Jonah goodbye.

"I'm fine," Luke lied through his teeth. In truth he hadn't been sleeping much and he felt absolutely wretched, not physically, but emotionally. No excuse to miss the game next state. He entered the bus and immediately found Vince in the further back, promptly walking to him and sitting down.

"Uhm, Mikey-" Vince tried to say, trailing off.

Lucas frowned, Michael could find another seat, not his. Vince rolled his eyes and leaned against the window, headphones on.

"What's wrong?" Luke asked, poking his arm. He knew why he was feeling like death, but had no idea why Vince was looking like that too.

The bus started and Vince groaned, pressing his forehead to the glass, "nothing."

"Uhm, Luke- That's my... My place..." Mikey pouted as he walked to the back, holding on the seats to keep himself steady. Lucas looked to the side, grabbing Mikey's backpack and handing it to him.

"Not anymore," then completely ignoring the guy he poked Vince again, "are you pissed? What's going on?"

"I'm not pissed," Vince scoffed, although his tone betrayed him. He sighed, moving uncomfortably, "I just wanna be left alone."

It was very uncanny for Vin to act like this, but Lucas decided to shut up. They still had three hours ahead and the whole night at the motel to talk over whatever was bothering his friend.

He leaned back, turning his cap forward and sliding down the seat, scrolling through instagram. It was his newest obsession, most people thought Bella didn't have social media because of how withdrawn she was, but Lucas knew she actually had an account pretty much dedicated to her favorite band.

"What are you doing?" Vince asked roughly forty minutes later, while Lucas read the caption of post completely unrelated to Bell.

"Uhm, stalking."

"How?" Vince leaned closer and then all but planted his head on Lucas' shoulder. Luke bit down a smile, this tactile overgrown dog behavior was much more like the Vince he knew.

"So Bella posted this, three days ago," he clicked back quickly, showing Vince a black vinyl with a red skull on the front, three naked pinup girls sitting under it, all holding devil tridents.

"Spooky."

"Eh, that's the music she likes," Lucas shrugged, "so I clicked on it and turns out its their newest album. Bella commented on their picture-" he flicked through the screens, opening the account of the band, "here. She says can't wait."

"Okay?" Vince frowned, "for the album, yeah? When it's coming out?"

"It came out yesterday," Lucas shook his head, "they're playing in the next town to ours. Friday night."

"Oh- So you think Bella's going...?"

"I do-" Lucas frowned as his cheek met Vince's forehead, "dude, you're burning up."

"Am I?" Vince pouted, "that explains the headache."

"You have a headache?" Luke turned to get a good look at him, "what else?"

"Nothing else mother hen, it's just an annoying headache. Get back here, you're comfy."

Lucas scoffed, settling back down so Vince could use his shoulder as a pillow, "how's your stomach?" he asked, digging through his own backpack and fishing out a water bottle. Vince grunted, raising his own.

"It's fine, a little bleh, but not like I'm gonna be sick," he sighed, "so you're planning on stalking Bella?"

"No," Lucas glared at the top of his head, "I'm planning on giving her the tickets, I know she loves music concerts... Were you feeling bad this morning already? You could've skipped it, it's not that important."

"Since when a game isn't important to you?" Vince huffed, "I don't think that's a smart idea, Bell is going to send the tickets back to you, probably with a bomb."

"At least then she'd know I haven't given up," Lucas rolled his eyes, "a game isn't as important as you are, Vin... Really, is it just the headache? Did you take anything?"

Vince's cheeks turned bright red, but he only nodded, "I took some tylenol before getting in the bus, kinda starting to regret it though."

"Stomach?"

"Just aching," he shrugged, burying his nose further in Lucas' jacket, "Imma try to nap."

"Okay..." Lucas settled back down, "do you want something to eat? Could help with the stomachache..."

"Luke," Vince sighed heavily, "shut up."

"Okay," he bit down on his tongue, pulling his phone back up and returning to the previous endeavor, even if only half hearted now that he was aware Vince wasn't feeling his best.

Twenty minutes later he felt Vince fully slump against him, followed by his breathing turning deep, little snores mixed in. Lucas rolled his eyes, checking his forehead again. It didn't seem any warmer, at least.

They made pretty much the rest of the drive without any accidents, Vince was out until the next ten minutes and Lucas ended up catching a short nap, seeing it was impossible not to feel sleepy when he had a space heater slumped over him.

"We're stopping?" Vince groaned, rubbing his neck as the bus started to slow down, the change of terrain clear by the jumping around.

"Yeah, think we're here-" Lucas yawned in his hand, then frowned as he got a clear look of Vince's face. The sun had already set when they left, but it had been clear out still. Now it was pitch dark and the only lights were from overhead, dim and yellow... "dude, you're green."

"Uhm," Vince grunted, sitting up straight, "how much more?"

"I'm going to check," Lucas got up, grabbing on the seats to walk to the front. Leo, sitting right on the front seat, was completely passed out, headphones on, face glued to the window. Luke snorted, he knew this was a side effect of the heavy motion sickness meds, but it was still amusing to see the blonde who was normally so put together practically drooling. He snapped a picture, then poked the coach.

"Hey coach."

"No," coach Eric shook his head, "get back to your seat, don't come tell me anyone is carsick."

Lucas snorted, "sorry."

The man groaned, clearly already tired of this, "who is it this time? Is it you-"

"Vince."

"Vince doesn't get carsick," coach rolled his eyes, now opening a relieved smile.

"Yeah, no, I think he's actually sick. We're gonna have to put Ryan in his position- How much longer until we stop?"

"Fifteen minutes," Coach Eric frowned, "are you being serious? Vincenzo never gets sick, are you pranking me?"

"Nope, he's got a fever," Lucas shrugged, "okay, gonna get back to my seat-"

"You're switching with me. I'll sleep with Vince, you get the other-"

"No way," Luke scoffed, "I always share with Vince!"

"And he's sick, you're not, we have a game tomorrow."

"I'm not switching rooms," Lucas glared at him, "even if he infects me, I'm not gonna be sick by tomorrow afternoon, it's fine."

"Atwood-"

"I'm not switching rooms," Lucas repeated, "I have to go back to my seat."

"goddammit Lucas!" Coach Eric exclaimed behind him, but Lucas ignored him, once more moving to the back. Vince's eyes were closed and he was leaning back, breathing deeply through his nose.

"Fifteen minutes," Lucas sat down next to him, already grabbing his and Vince's backpack, "can you hold?"

"I'm fine," Vince groaned, although his voice had that horrible thickness of queasiness.

"Yeah, you're fine," Lucas agreed without paying attention, digging through his backpack to find a bag. The guys often made fun of him, for bringing first aid, bags, extra water... But he didn't care. He liked making sure his team was looked after and without fail at least one of the guys got carsick when they went in long trips. More often than not Leo.

"Where did you get it anyway?" Vince asked, probably trying to get his mind off of the way his stomach was sloshing around. Lucas frowned, successfully retrieving a thick plastic bag from under his uniform and holding it out in case it was needed.

"The bag? My backpack-"

"The ring," Vince corrected, "like the rest of the story I get. The restaurant, the fight-"

"I was there, I remember," Lucas said sourly, but he couldn't be too aggressive when he could clearly tell his friend was feeling shitty.

"and I even understand you not telling me about the breakup or the proposal after it happened, because she said no-"

"Vince," Lucas winced, heart aching, "I really don't wanna-"

"But a ring you can't get last minute," Vince frowned, opened his eyes only to immediately close them again as nausea washed over him, "so?"

Lucas knew exactly what his friend was implying: that he had thought of the proposal with enough forethought to order a ring. That was probably the part that stung the most.

"When my mom died I got all of her inheritance," Lucas explained, pushing the words, his lips felt numb. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken about his mother, "before she got sick... She was really into jewelry, she liked fine arts, operas, you know... Culture and arts, it was a big part of her campaign."

Vince nodded, breathing shallowly through his mouth, "so it was her wedding ring?"

"No," Lucas shook his head, "couldn't bring myself to use the actual wedding ring, it's just- Too many memories. It was just one of the rings. I keep all the pieces in my room's safe, so I actually just compared all the rings until I found one that matched Bella's ring size."

"You're stupid," Vince groaned, then wiped the cold sweat that had collected over his brow, pushing the hair back, "has it been fifteen minutes?"

"Nope, try drinking some water-"

"You got a bag?"

"Yeah, I got one. You're good," he squeezed his friend's arm, "deep breath."

"I'm not in labor," Vince groaned, then reached out blindly, taking the bag. He didn't open it, only kept it tightly between his fingers, "I can taste my lunch."

"Ew," Lucas winced, "try the wat-"

Vince ignored him, opening the bag and holding it close to his mouth, hunched over it with shallow breath. Lucas held his shoulder tightly, just in case he had to leap for the bag.

He heard a small, breathy burp and could hear perfectly as Vince's stomach complained, growling, "that sounds nasty."

"Feels nasty," Vin agreed, spitting inside the bag, "please tell me we're almost stopping."

"We're almost stopping," Luke lied, "really, just hang in there for a second."

Another wet belch answered him and Vince panted, bringing up even more spit, "I'm never eating duck again."

"It's not the poor duck's fault," Lucas teased, glancing nervously out of the window, "you're probably just carsick on top of the fever."

"Or the flu."

"You had the flu last month," Luke frowned, "seems bizarre you'd get it again."

"You tell me," Vince gagged suddenly and then his back arched with a loud heave, loud enough some of the guys turned on their seats to look at him. Lucas cringed in sympathy, but again nothing came up.

"God," Vin groaned, letting go of the bag and squeezing an arm around his belly. He burped once more, then again, then again and Lucas leaped for the bag, holding it open just in time to catch a very thin stream of vomit.

"Breathe, dude, you're okay..." Lucas said helplessly, holding the bag with one hand, the other in Vince's shoulder. Much to his relief, the bus came to a stop moments after.

They got rid of the bag in the parking lot, Vince taking deep measured breaths, but seeming to be feeling at least a little bit better now that they were no longer in a stuffy moving bus.

"I think you need meds again," Luke declared as they finally got the keys to their room. It wasn't an expensive hotel, far from it, but it had two queen beds and its own bathroom, which was all they needed.

"Not gonna stay down," Vince shook his head, falling on the bed face first and kicking off his shoes. He rolled to his side when lying on his stomach proved to be a bad idea, pushing up another sick burp, "my head is throbbing."

"Fever," Luke sighed, grabbing a water bottle in the mini bar and cracking it open, "bottoms up."

"Gonna come back up," Vince glared at it, but Lucas was unrelenting.

"Yeah and your head will hurt a lot more when you're dehydrated. Take small sips."

"Is there a bin?" Vince undid his pants, kicking them down and crawling back up in the bed, managing to sit against the headboard.

"Put these on," Lucas rummaged through Vince's bag, grabbing a pair of sweatpants, "you're gonna freeze your balls."

"Lovely vision, Luke," Vince rolled his eyes, planting a hand under his hoodie, "seriously, get me a bin, the water's not settling."

"Already?" Lucas pouted with concern, grabbing the waste basket and handing it to him. He sat on the edge of the bed too and took the water bottle that Vince passed him back.

"Uhm..." Vince leaned over the basket, gagging softly, nothing like his normal violent retches, and then all the water made it back up, practically untouched. He coughed, squeezing the basket to his chest, "kill me now."

"Can't kill my best friend, ask someone else," Lucas rolled his eyes, "okay bud, plan of attack. Symptoms?"

"Really Luke, kill me," Vince ignored him, resting his forehead on the edge of the bin.

"Nausea, clearly," Lucas ignored him right back, "headache, fever."

"Stomachache," Vince added, "sore throat."

"So not the stomach flu," Luke said brightly, "see, that's a win."

"Doesn't fucking feel like a win," Vince grimaced and gagged again, but brought up nothing, "I'm tired."

"Normal tired or gonna-pass-out tired?"

"Luke," Vince squeezed the basket, "shut up, please."

"Okay..." he chewed on his bottom lip, "I'm gonna find you some medicine. Put on the sweats, seriously, it's like thirty degrees here."

Leo, thankfully, had medicine. His was just for motion sickness, but Lucas grabbed a handful of pills, then got fever medication next door with Spencer, even if the guy refused to look him in the eye ever since Lucas' had nearly broken his nose by accident.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought of how glad he was that college was ending. He'd miss all of this, but clearly, things were running their course.

He opened the door to find all the lights out, Vince curled up on his side. Now with the sweats on.

"Got the meds, how are you feeling?"

"I don't think..." Vince bent over the side of the bed, spitting up another weak stream of vomit, "I can play tomorrow."

The admission was more scary than anything. Lucas nodded worriedly, "yeah, I don't think so either... " he sat on the edge of the bed, planting a hand on Vince's forehead, "I think your fever's settled down, though. For now."

"Thanks, doc" Vince grumbled sarcastically, then let out a small whimper, "can you... Can you get in here?"

"Where?" Lucas frowned, planting the medicine on the bedside table, "Vin?"

"I just don't wanna be alone right now, I feel fucking awful."

"Oh..." Lucas' cheeks burned. It wasn't the first time they had shared a bed, but rarely did Vince ever actively invite him into cuddles, "sure. Let me just clean this bin out. Please try the water again?"

"Water's not magic, you know?" Vince scoffed, but did take a small sip. Lucas stripped down his own shoes and clothes, changing into the old hoodie and turning up the heat just a little bit, though he was pretty sure he wouldn't need it since Vince was a furnace.

"So how do you-" he didn't get to ask how Vince wanted to cuddle, the big guy rolled over and then mushed his face on Luke's chest, letting out a painful groan.

Against his hip, Luke could feel Vince's stomach gurgle sickeningly, "that cannot be comfortable."

"It is," Vince moved slightly, breathing out, "you're actually really comfy."

Luke's heart ached a little more and he lowered his arm, resting it around Vince's back, "yeah?"

"Stop sounding smug, I will throw up on you."

"I think you're gonna do that regardless, dude," Luke chuckled, closing his eyes, "you're overheating me."

"Deal with it," Vince sighed, yawning, "thanks, Luke."

"Uhm, anytime," Lucas shrugged, yawning himself.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch. 

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.” 

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was. 

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them. 

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest. 

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods. 

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist. 

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free. 

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing. 

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack. 

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel. 

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously. 

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.” 

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky. 

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it. 

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again. 

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper. 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back. 

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house. 

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?” 

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t. 

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats. 

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it. 

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects. 

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over. 

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part 

[mrslilyrogers]

All I Have To Do Is Dream

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all. 

Author’s note: I know I’ve been gone for so long, I’m sorry!! I loved these requests and decided to merge them together. Took a while to write, I haven’t had much inspiration. I’ll keep this short and hope you enjoy this!! Let me know what you think!  

Requests: hi!! first of all i adore your writing (esp. betrayal)!! id willingly chop two of my limbs in exchange of ur writing skills hahah!! can you maybe write a oneshot similar to take my breath away, and the reader and steve are dating, but they’re actually in steve’s dream(like in age of ultron) and she is sad that steve’s still hasn’t moved on from peggy?? and can you make it extra angsty?? sorry if this is too much hehe!! thanks btw :))

Hmmm maybe angst w/ Steve or Bucky where a misunderstanding/bad fight leads to the reader leaving the team?

“Damn it, Steve! Would you just listen? Where the hell are you even going?” your voice boomed around your small apartment as you breathed harshly, trying your best not to pull your hair out of frustration. 

At first, it had all been just petty disagreements, you and Steve letting off some steam after the snap happened. You had thought it was normal at the time, a coping mechanism that needed to be flushed out of your systems never expecting that it would last for as long as it has. Five freakin’ years. By now, you would’ve thought you’d realize how lucky you were to still be alive, to still be together while others couldn’t say the same. And yet...

“Geez, Y/N. I am! For the past 30 minutes! And I’m telling you now what I’ve told you from the start,  I am not ready! You gotta give me more time, doll.” He replied, his voice just a tad calmer than yours but you didn’t miss the tick in his jaw as he walked out of your shared room, shrugging into his jacket. You knew his anger was just brewing inside, ready to attack if you pushed just a little bit harder. After countless back-and-forths, this had become a routine between the two of you with Steve always taking the role of the aggrieved party, ending arguments with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes before he walked away, deciding he had something better to do with his precious time than fight with you. While you, on the other hand, always found that more infuriating, making you impatient and mean, baiting and nagging him until you wouldn’t even recognize the shrill and whine to your own voice.

“And when would that even be? It’s been five years since the snap. When will—”

“Don’t you dare bring that up!” his voice rose, eyes glaring at you as he whirled around, his jaw clenched. “Don’t use that excuse on me, you know damned well I know it. Why do you think I chose to move on and be with you instead of helping Nat bring them all back, hmm?” He continued mockingly as if you were stupid enough not to understand. 

This was it, what all your petty arguments had narrowed down into;

Despite what he said, he still wasn’t ready to settle down. 

“But what the hell are we doing now, Steve? We’re not getting any younger! I want to have kids, a family, with you!” You knew you sounded pathetic, and desperate all at the same time but you couldn’t help but continue, the pretty picture already clouding your brain, 

“Can’t you see it? Having children of our own, their drawings hung up on the walls, the dog you’ve been wanting to have since forever running around the house, family barbecues...” your voice trailed off, a lump forming in your throat, your eyes glazing over with unshed tears. It was all within your grasp, so easily reachable if only Steve agreed with you. If only he wanted it too. Anger bubbled up to the surface while he bristled, looking annoyed. 

 “We can have all of that, you know. What are you even waiting for? Will you ever be ready? Because it really feels like you won’t and I’m the only one who actually wants this,” You were unrelenting, thinking of Tony Stark’s family, how they had gone off the grid and had their own little piece of heaven. Crossing your arms, you knew you wouldn’t achieve anything by becoming a nag but your patience was already wearing thin. 

“Jesus, Y/N! Why would you even say that? Of course I want a family with you! I’m just not ready for that yet! Just give me more time,”

Shaking your head, you let out a defeated sigh and looked away from him. You could hear him grabbing the keys from the counter, exhaling loudly before he went up to you and ran his hands down your arms soothingly, willing you to understand. When you didn’t budge, he just pleaded as he always had, 

“I love you, you know I love you. But I need to get to this meeting, those people need me, Y/N. Could we please just talk about this later?” He moved his head lower to meet your eyes and even in your state of anger, you knew you couldn’t say no to that. He took your begrudged nod as an assent, kissing your forehead before he turned to leave. What else were you going to say anyway? He was going to lead a therapy session for people who had lost their loved ones. Guilt ate at you for keeping him here when he so desperately wanted to save the world. People needed him too, not just you. They hung on his every word. They needed their Captain America, their symbol of hope. While, here you were, acting like a child because he wouldn’t let you have your way. 

Letting out another sigh, your gaze stuck to the floor, berating yourself at how selfish you’d become. You knew what you were getting into when you dated him. You had no illusions of being the center of his universe, it was always going to be the people. But still, it would’ve been nice to be put first for once. You hated the tandem feelings of jealousy and guilt that always crept up on you after your fights. You just wished he understood that while those people needed their hero, you needed your Steve too. But as time passed, it seemed like the man and the hero were indistinguishable and you’d been deluding yourself into thinking it could be different. You’d just have to accept that too because living without him wouldn’t even be an option. 

He paused by the door, catching sight of your slumped shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly, striding back to you. 

“You know I love you, right?” he stroked your cheeks and you couldn’t help the turn of your lips. Nodding slowly, you rolled your eyes at how easy you were for him. 

 “I know. I’m sorry,” 

Ducking down to give you a quick peck on the lips, he reassured you again, “We’ll talk about this later, I promise,” then he gave you one last kiss to your forehead before he disappeared. But what once would’ve eased your worries did nothing to quell your nerves now. Your heart believed everything was alright but your gut said otherwise. 

_______________

He looked down at the worn, brassy compass in his palm, his mind years away from where he was, unaware that you were standing by the door. You watched his shoulders relax into a defeated sigh, his eyes never leaving her picture. You couldn’t remember when he ever looked at you like that, all the love and longing etched on his face. He brought his other hand up to caress the picture gently, as if he actually imagined she was with him, a small, sad smile forming on his lips. You felt the air knock right out of you while you scrambled out of there feeling as if you’ve intruded on an intimate moment. You couldn’t help the tears falling from your eyes while you convinced yourself it was nothing. He had just lost his best friends, she was a symbol of his past. He just missed that right? 

You paced around the kitchen, your mind running back to the times you’ve caught him staring at Peggy’s picture. All those times you pretended you didn’t notice how frequently he had been doing it these past few years. His voice, an echo in your head, 

“I’m not ready, just give me more time doll, please,” 

Closing your eyes, you buried your face in your hands. Oh, it would be so easy, you thought. All you had to do was get into his mind and see for yourself. One little, fast trip into his thoughts and you’d get your answers. He’d be none the wiser, no one need ever know except you. And your dignity, and your pride and your principles. Ugh.

He trusted you, you promised never to use your powers on him and yet, that was all you could ever think about now. Did he think of her when he thought of the family he wanted? Was it her face he saw, walking down the aisle to him? 

For the first time in your life, you hated your upbringing at the Xavier Institute. You hated the values and principles they instilled in you, the very reason you were adamant not to use your powers on the unwilling and unsuspecting for your own personal gain even though you were going crazy, craving for your own peace of mind. Deep down you knew, promise to Steve or no, you couldn’t go through with it. 

You looked at the clock, thirty minutes to go before his meeting ended. Grabbing your coat from the rack, you impulsively decided to go to him, promising yourself you weren’t going to nag and argue with him but have a normal conversation like you used to. You haven’t had a date in a long while anyway. Maybe a little spark of romance was all you really needed. 

_____________

Your steps echoed on the linoleum floor, walking past the empty hall to follow the directions to the room where the meeting took place. Rubbing your palms together, you spotted the room. The fluorescent lights hanging above casting a lonely pallor to the already gray walls while the rain poured heavily outside. The gloom, an inevitable reminder of what the world has become. It seemed everywhere people went, there was always a reminder of what they’ve lost. Even on an otherwise unblemished sunny day, the vibrancy was not the same, people were scarce and it was quiet. Too quiet. Which was why you were so adamant to continue on living, in order to honor the lives of the people you’ve lost. 

You could hear their faint voices outside the room. Your heart going out to those poor people who still held onto the past while you thanked your lucky stars you still had Steve.You fished for your earphones in your purse trying not to eavesdrop but his clear and deep voice interrupted you. Leaning against the wall opposite the door, you listened, a smile tugging on your lips while he commended the other person. He was always so good with words, always knew the right things to say and that never failed to make you proud. His words of encouragement lifted your spirits, making you stand a little taller, hope blossoming in the pit of your stomach. He talked about moving on, about finding purpose again. 

“I went in the ice in ‘45 right after I met the love of my life,” 

Your whole body went cold, the smile on your lips faltering, your hands suddenly gripping the edge of your blouse while his disheartened voice continued to try to reassure everyone including himself,

“I woke up 70 years later, you gotta move on. You gotta move on,”  

With a hand to your lips, you ran, your rapid, staccato steps filling the hall barely even muffling the sobs you desperately tried to hide. 

___________

Steve didn’t bother coming home straightaway after the meeting.  He told himself it was because he needed to check up on Nat despite the fact that he could’ve easily just called, despite knowing you were all supposed to meet for dinner in a few days anyway. He took his time getting to the Avengers Compound, embracing the uncharacteristic quietness of the city, giving him the chance to be alone with his thoughts. If he were being honest with himself, he couldn’t shake off the guilt that settled at the pit of his stomach at the thought of Peggy. The love of his life. Apparently, anyway. He had no idea where that came from, never really thought of it until it slipped from his mouth. And did he really feel that way? Was she really the love of his life? 

The thought of you came unbidden from his mind, your warm smile waking him up in the morning, your laughter setting the world to rights whenever he was feeling especially out of place. You’ve been through so much together, what you both had was real and it was beyond anything he could’ve imagined when he woke up from the ice and he knew he should take it a step further. He loves you, he is fully committed to you. There was nothing holding him back and yet… and yet, he still thought of her. He couldn’t help but think that if he had only stayed where he really was supposed to be, Peggy would’ve been the mother to his children, she would’ve been his wife. She would’ve been his life’s true love. But the very thought of that put a sour taste to his mouth, the truth was he could never picture his life without you. As much as he still dreamt of the past, how could it be the same if you weren’t there?

At first he thought falling in love with you was a balm to soothe his lost soul until he eventually realized you had crept up on him slowly but in a span of a heartbeat, wormed your way into his heart so suddenly he couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment he knew he loved you. It was plain and simple, he knew it as he knew the sun rose in the east, he loved you. It was so unlike the way he fell for Peggy where all it took was one look and he was already drunk in love. 

Was it possible then, to be in love with two women? 

________________________________________

You were already in bed when Steve got home, feigning tiredness from the day when your heart was really beating rapidly in your chest. How could you face him now knowing you were second best? You could hear him in the bathroom, oblivious to your inner turmoil. When he was done, he gave you a quick kiss goodnight and went to his side of the bed, his back to you. You turned to face the wide expanse of his shoulders and wondered where the hell do you go from here. Would you really be alright living in the shadow of his ex, one of the world’s most accomplished women, so extraordinary that Captain America couldn’t even move on from her? Could you really leave him if it came down to it? 

A tear escaped the corner of your eye and you laid on your back, the darkness of the ceiling reflecting the heaviness in your heart. You must’ve stared at it for hours, wondering just how far away you were from the man right at your side. He was with you physically but his heart? You always knew deep down, it belonged to someone else. If he had a choice to go back, would he leave you? With the way things were going, you knew he would. In an instant. There was always a part of him that he closed off from you and ever since the snap, it only worsened. The fights, the distance, it all made sense now. Heck, even tonight, he didn’t even bother to ask how you were doing and accepted your lame excuse to get to bed early. It was the weekend, you literally had nothing to do the whole day and yet, it never even occurred to him that something could be wrong. For once, you were sorely tempted to use your powers on him. Hearing his even breathing as he slept didn’t make it any easier. It would be over before he knew it, what would be the harm in that? 

As if on cue, he turned and faced you. His long lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, he looked like a man who didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked younger, more like your Steve. The Steve you wished would let you in and give you the family you’ve always wanted. 

“Just a quick little trip, no one would ever know. What would be the harm in that?” the little voice in the back of your head taunted.

What would be the harm in that? 

With your resolve weakening, you jumped right into the abyss, entering the mind of the man of your dreams, hoping you were his too. 

______

The sun shone brightly through the open window, letting in the warm summer breeze while his favorite vinyl record played in the background. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It’s been a long long time 

The air was crisp and the smell of pancakes and cinnamon wafted from the doorway of the kitchen into the living room of the small, suburban house. The yellow walls were adorned with children’s drawings with a few marker drawings on the wallpaper here and there. The faint sound of giggling could just be heard from where you stood by the stairs. Your children, you thought to yourself, a smile creeping up your lips. This was it. This was what you’ve been picturing too, what you’ve told him countless times over and over again. He dreamed of it too. You turned your attention to the living room, your heart giving a little leap at the mess. It looked like someone had tried to tidy up but gave up on the last minute, some toys still scattered about. You noticed the pet bed by the couch, and you couldn’t help but be excited and hopeful, it was everything you thought of down to a T. You went towards the paper and crayons on the low table between the couch and the fireplace, inspecting one of the children’s current drawings there. It was of a family, their hands holding each other while they smiled in front of the house, a little dog at their father’s side. At the bottom, a scribbly handwriting of a preschooler wrote; Mom, Sarah, James, Dad and directly below the dog, Sam. You laughed aloud at that, clutching the drawing, hoping you could keep it for yourself and willing it into existence. 

“Come on, dance with me,” 

You heard Steve’s playful voice coming from the kitchen. A woman’s laughter rang out, you could just imagine yourself shaking your head at him in response, but something about the woman’s laugh caught you in your tracks. A little too shrill, a little too melodic. You inched closer to the open door, your heart dropping to your stomach. There they were, the picture perfect couple.  He twirled her around, her red dress hugging her curves so effortlessly, while she drew her head back and laughed. The dimples on her cheeks deepening, her curls staying in place even when Steve maneuvered her around. They looked so beautiful together, his golden locks and smitten smile never once leaving her face, he never looked so happy. 

Not even when he was with you.

That realization hit you like a train. You couldn’t even remember the last time he looked at you the way he looked at Peggy now.  When was the last time you danced? When was the last time you acted silly together? When was the last time you were both happy? That was what hurt the most. You couldn’t even remember. It felt like a weird sort of deja vu except now, it was an actual woman instead of a picture on a compass. You tried to gather your pride and step away but you couldn’t, you were rooted into place, a sadistic part of you welcomed the pain because you should’ve known. 

“I went in the ice in ‘45 right after I met the love of my life,” 

You should’ve known.

 But instead, you choose to play the fool.

There must’ve been a shift in the air that only they understood because Steve gathered her in his arms now, their eyes locking into each other, gentle and longing. 

You'll never know how many dreams

I dreamed about you

Or just how empty they all seemed without you

So kiss me once then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

He rocked her back and forth, bringing her hand up to his chest, turning into action what words fail to describe. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his heart, savoring their moment. He leaned his head on hers too, a satisfied smile on both their faces as they continued to sway to the music. You had never felt as small as you did now. You felt like a thief, intruding on their moment, stealing his dream away. And that’s exactly what you were doing. That’s exactly what you are. You felt so dirty, a desperate, pathetic fly on the wall he couldn’t get rid of. And worst of all, you destroyed his trust too.

As if on cue, the colors started to change, the song distorting and shifting and in this moment you knew, you had to leave. 

You have to leave. 

Part Two

[emerald-chaos]

Coney Island

Hi friends! I appreciate all the love and response I’ve gotten for my writing over the past week or so. You guys sure know how to make a gal feel loved! This is another little idea that came one night when I was screaming to a good friend of mine (which is how a lot of my ideas come to me lmao) about how pre-serum 1940s Steve deserves the best. It’s not necessarily my best work, but Steve Rogers deserves some love too. I hope you guys enjoy! Also please feel free to let me know what you guys would like to see me write next :) Enjoy! xo

Pairing: Pre-Serum!Steve x Reader

Word count: 1895

Warnings: swearing and bad attempts at being funny lol

a/n: this was uploaded on mobile because I’m at work tonight so if it looks funky I apologize! I’ll try to fix it after I finish my 3 night stint lol.

As the sun began to set and the hot July air began to cool, Steve couldn’t believe the situation he’d found himself in yet again.

“Come on, pal,” Bucky chuckled as he pat his friend roughly on the shoulder, “I’ve never met someone who was this upset to meet up with a couple of beautiful ladies.”

“What? And somehow be the third wheel on a double date again?” Steve quipped back at his long time friend.

Bucky replied with a roll of his eyes and waved off his friend, turning his body toward the Coney Island parking lot to see if he could find the girls they were supposed to be meeting.

Steve regretted that he sounded so bitter, but these “double dates” that Bucky dragged him on were somewhat of a joke. It was always the same song and dance. The girl who Bucky was attempting to court would bring a friend, either for moral support or to try and set her up, and that friend would always be wholly disappointed when she saw that Steve was who she was stuck with. Steve knew that not every girl had to like him, of course, but occasionally it would be nice to be as sought after or wanted as Bucky was - or at least to not be looked through by every girl he met.

“There they are,” Bucky grinned, raising his arms above his head to signal the two, “over here!”

Steve took a deep breath and prepared himself for the inevitable look of disappointment that he had become so accustomed to. Instead, as he turned he was met with a stunning pair of eyes and a soft smile splayed across the most incredible pair of lips he’d ever laid his eyes on. Seeing you made him feel like all the air had been forced out of his lungs and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t catch his breath. The only other time he remembered experiencing the sensation was after a particularly bad time that he had gotten the living hell beat out of him in the alleyway - except this time, it was a good feeling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve.” You said, your voice soft and warm - like honey.

There’s no way that could be a blush on your cheeks, right?

“Well, we already got our tickets,” Bucky’s voice brought Steve back to the present, “so what do you say we head in?”

---------

For the first time in, well, forever, Steve actually found himself enjoying the evening. The small talk didn’t feel stiff or forced, you never recoiled at any of the accidental touches throughout the night, and you actually looked him in the eyes when you were having a conversation. If you were disappointed in being stuck with Steve, you hid it pretty well.

The unrelenting sun had finally set and the colorful lights of various rides and booths reflected off of the water. You had been on a couple rides, enjoyed some hot dogs and funnel cakes, and now the group of you had been sucked into one of those carnival game booths. Bucky was attempting, as usual, to show off for your friend by trying to win her a stuffed animal.

“Would you like to take a walk or something?” Your voice captured Steve’s attention as he turned to look at you. You grinned a little before adding, “It’s kind of sickening to stand here and watch them act like this.”

Steve was caught off guard, both at the jab directed to your friends and the fact that you would even consider being alone with him.

“I, uh, yeah, sure, we could do that,” he nodded quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You smiled and started down the boardwalk.

This is too good to be true, right? He thought to himself. She’s obviously just trying to be nice.

“Steve?” your voice cut through his doubts. He hadn’t even realized that you made it several feet away from him and he was still planted in the same spot.

“Oh! Yeah, coming! Sorry!” Steve blushed as he hurried to catch up with you.

The two of you walked side by side for a few minutes, an oddly comfortable silence lingering between you.

“How are-”

“Have you-”

Steve’s eyes met yours as you both began to speak simultaneously and you shared a laugh together. Steve could feel the warmth rising in his face and he hoped to God that he wasn’t blushing like an idiot.

“You first,” he smiled softly.

“I was just going to ask how long you and James have known each other?” you asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

And there it was.

To anyone else the question would seem innocent, but Steve knew better. You had only drawn Steve away so you could question him about his friend - the same way every other person before you had done. There was a heat building inside Steve’s stomach. How could he be so stupid? How could he actually believe that someone like you could be interested in someone like him?

“T-the only reason I ask is,” you blurted, sounding...nervous? “well, because the two of you are so different. I mean, not in a bad way! Just like, James is so...cocky and loud and you’re...well you’re not.”

Steve stopped walking and looked at you. His thoughts were racing through his brain like a freight train. What exactly were you trying to say?

“God I'm so bad with words,” you laughed, shaking your head, “just forget I said anything at all.”

“You don’t have to feel bad for me, you know. If that’s what this is.” Steve couldn’t hold back the words, and they sounded much colder than he meant them to. He was just so tired of living in his friend’s shadow. The only time girls were ever nice to him was because they wanted to impress Bucky. He was sure that’s what you were doing too.

Once he noticed your brows furrow and a look of sadness overcome your face, he wanted nothing more than to rewind time and take his words back.

“Is that the type of person you think I am, Steve?” Your voice came out a little shaky, but Steve could still hear the hurt he had caused.

Steve sighed and rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he started as his hands fell from his face and he met your gaze again, “I’m just...I’m not used to this.”

“And what exactly is this?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Someone on these double dats being interested in me.”

He could tell that his words caught you off guard. You were quiet and your arms slowly fell to your side. Steve was having trouble reading your expression, but it looked somewhere between someone who saw a puppy left on the side of the road and someone who was trying to understand a foreign language.

“Just...Just forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” Steve waved his hand, as if he was trying to dismiss the conversation.

What he didn’t expect was for your hand to intertwine with his.

Steve’s gaze lingered on your connected hands for a minute before traveling to meet your eyes.

“You’re not very good at this, Rogers.” You said with a small laugh, “Here I was, thinking I was being too obvious.”

“I-I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Steve slowly responded.

You laughed again, the sound slowly becoming one of his favorites. Before he knew what was going on, you were pressed flush against him and capturing his lips with yours.

This would make the third time Steve had felt the wind be knocked from his lungs.

The kiss was slow, soft, and unlike any other he had ever experienced. It reminded him of the time his dad told him how he knew his mom was the one.

Well, when we kissed it felt like the rest of the world melted away. At that moment in time, it was just her and I.

A shiver ran down his spine as the warmth of your lips left his. As though he was drunk or coming out of a haze, it took him a moment to open his eyes and focus his vision back on you. There was a cute pinkness to your cheeks and you had a doe-eyed expression. It took a moment for the heartbeat in his ears to fade away - the joyful screams of park patrons and whirring of machinery returning.

“I like you, Steve,” You told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “In fact, I've liked you for a while.”

You watched as Steve’s adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped.

“You,” Steve cleared his throat as the word came out as a squeak, “you do?”

That smile he adored returned to your lips as you nodded, “I do.”

Before he had an opportunity to respond, you were speaking again.

“I see you at school, you know, around town too. I’ve always noticed how kind you are to everyone. The way you hold the door open for the old ladies at Church. That one time you gave Johnny your lunch because his parents forgot to pack him one?” the smile on your face growing bigger as you recounted the times in which you fell for Steve Rogers, “I mean, what’s not to like.”

Steve felt an asthma attack coming on.

“James is nice and all,” you leaned in then, as if you were telling a secret, “but he’s also kind of a bastard.”

Steve couldn’t hold back the laugh that tumbled from his lips and you quickly joined him. This felt like some sort of twisted dream to him - you standing here, confessing your feelings to him. Never in a million years did he think someone as beautiful as you would even talk to him, let alone have feelings for him.

“Obviously I’m kidding, but in all honesty... you are one of the best men I’ve ever met, Steve. I’m sorry that any one has ever made you feel less than.” You squeezed his hand again.

This time it was Steve who initiated the kiss, holding your face between his hands as he moved his lips against yours. Your hands found a place on his waist and your bodies slotted against one another - like they were two puzzle pieces made to fit into one another. You tasted sweet, like funnel cake, and your lips were soft against his slightly chapped ones. Steve hadn’t kissed very many people in his lifetime, but if this were the last kiss he got to have - he could die a happy man.

“Ahem,”

The two of you separated to see your friend, holding a huge stuffed bear, and Bucky standing before you, grinning like fools.

“Are we interrupting something?” Bucky mocked the two of you, sending a wink to Steve.

“Shut it, Buck.” Steve warned, although he couldn’t help but grin back at his friend.

“Come on, lovebirds” Bucky teased, “my girl here wants to ride the ferris wheel again.”

You smoothed out your dress and smiled at Steve, lacing your fingers once again with his as the two of you followed your friends toward the ferris wheel.

For once, Steve was going to have to thank Bucky tomorrow.

[bitchesgetriches]

Hey there! So my work place has quickly become TOXIC and I need to get out now while I can and I’m worried about job stability or another job paying me what this one does. I also don’t think I can work in the same job field due to how competitive it is and it can seriously rock the boat at the job I’m at. Or destroy my chances at another firm.

I make $20 Hr doing HVAC Estimating but I’m looking to make more because it’s not enough and I have two jobs (I was looking for a 3rd) . My old supervisor was fired and I took her position but apparently a year after being fired she filed for wrongful termination, (which I don’t know if I believe) and now they’re implementing some insane rules that feel specifically aimed at me (no one else knew about the rules when I mentioned it to other coworkers to cross reference my information) and when I asked if there’s something I’m doing wrong and could be doing better they said I’m doing just fine and not to worry. Well this morning I got a write up for something that’s been allowed all three years I’ve been here but now they changed the rules without telling anyone so almost everyone is being written up.

I’ve been begging for help for a year and a half and they’ve gotten me none, they joke about termination like it isn’t my livelihood on the line, and when I’ve offered up potential employees to help they didn’t want them in that position because they were a young unmarried woman (his words, and very illegal I know. As well as I fit all of these descriptors) they JUST now offered me help from a male friend of his and I worry it’s my replacement because he doesn’t want a young unmarried woman in this position due to our previous conversation on getting me help (maybe I’m paranoid) . I mentioned I want to go back to school this fall and had been promised when I was hired to have all the time I need to do so but since firing my supervisor and getting me zero help I had to quit school for a year, waiting for help so I can have time to go back. Also kinda unrelated, but when I mentioned how much a month I pay for my young allergy prone dog, he suggested I put her down, and that if I’m smart I’ll do it, and I don’t wanna work for someone who hates dogs like that(weird indicator I know but I feel like it tells me a lot about a person). I’m very worried I won’t be able to find a job that pays this much and I don’t know what to do but every instinct tells me I need to get my ducks in a row and jump ship soon.

All of this was bad, but when I got to the part about him telling you to put your dog down... HELL NO. We do not hold with people who treat beloved pets like part of the fucking furniture. Personally, I don't blame you for viewing this as a sign of shitty character.

Fortunately, we've been talking a lot about toxic jobs and bosses lately. So we have a lot of homework for you to go through. I hope these help:

Bonus Episode: “I Can’t Stand Another Day at My Toxic Workplace! Can I Walk Away Without a New Job Lined Up?”

Are You Working on the Next Fyre Festival?: Identifying a Toxic Workplace

Should You Trust Your Human Resources Department?

How to Quit a Job: Giving Notice with Dignity, Poise, and Tastefully Subtle Shade

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace

[wild-west-wind]

What are coywolves and are they really taking over?

Coywolves, or Eastern Coyotes (or more amusingly Woyotes) are wolf/coyote hybrids, and not really, but kinda.

So, before I dive in, note that I’m not a biologist, and I’m not from a place these hybrids exist, so if someone with real background in these animals wants to pop in I’d love to hear your input.

Image: A male coyote wanders in a meadow on the lookout for prey. Moments later he succeeded in catching a small rodent.

So, let’s start big picture: Coyotes and wolves use similar landscape, and have for millennia. Where coyotes and wolves share range, coyotes tend to act as scavengers, and predators of small prey, while wolves are taking down large prey, ratting only when young, or in the spring when easy prey is scarce.

In areas where there is a fairly natural balance between coyotes and wolves, they do not get along. Wolves eat the vast majority of their prey, but are known to kill coyotes and leave them to rot over territorial concerns. Coyotes meanwhile tend to avoid wolves. In some areas they live in different locales, with coyotes preferring more open space than wolves, who are comfortable hunting in forest.

In areas where wolves have been extirpated, Coyotes, being fairly clever animals, begin to exploit larger prey, deer especially. Now generally Coyotes ‘packs’ tend to consist of monogamous pairs, with pups, but in such situations where large prey is available, coyotes have been known to form large, temporary packs to hunt it down.

Image: A lone female black wolf stands in a green meadow in spring. She watches as bison (out of shot) snort at her, as she comes to understand she will not eat bison for dinner that night.

Now another step back: All canids are pretty closely related and many are capable of interbreeding and producing fertile offspring. In fact the last common ancestor between wolves and coyotes probably either came about due to, or just generally had, genetic exchange with Dholes!

So, where is this going?

So all through US history, and really up until very recently, it has been the goal of this nation to kill every wolf in its borders, and it was largely successful in doing so. Wolves are removed, and coyotes move in to try and exploit their niche. They do okay with smaller ungulates. Surprise! There are still some wolves around, and as they disperse they end up in coyote-rich habitat. Not having options, lone wolves and plentiful coyotes occasionally breed. You’ve now got a 50/50 coywolf.

The coywolves you hear about in the news are not 50/50 splits. Remember, Coyotes and Wolves don’t generally get along. Coyotes are more receptive of strange new canids than wolves, they’re less territorial (except while denning), more likely to join up with unrelated coyotes. As a result the coywolves you hear so much about are more like 65% coyote mixes (the rest being Eastern and Western Wolf, and Dog) hence the shift toward using “Eastern Coyote.”

Image: An Eastern Coyote walks through the snow, shoulders low, looking over its shoulder toward the camera. (www.ForestWander.com via Wikimedia Commons (CC-BY-3.0))

The Eastern Coyote is only 10-20 lbs heavier than a Western Coyote on average, it’s not any more likely to cause folks harm (at least that I can find). What’s special about them is that they are well adapted to moving and hunting in forested areas, and they are less frightened of human noise, meaning that they are more comfortable than extremely skittish wolves living at the edges of towns.

The Eastern Coyote further shows little sign of recent hybridization. The initial cross probably occurred in the north east US or southeast Canada in the nineteen teens or twenties.

What’s even more interesting is that this is definitely not the first time such an event is happened! While there is argument about the exact genetic history of the Western Wolf, Eastern Wolf, southeastern Red Wolf, Mexican Wolf, and Coyote, there are signs of mixing all over their genetics. There are black coyotes carrying a gene they must have gotten from either domestic dogs or indirectly from wolves. Red Wolves show many coyote markers from ancient admixture, despite many (if not most) researchers considering them a separate species from other wolves and coyotes!

Ultimately the Coywolf/Woyote/Eastern Coyote is a byproduct of humans upsetting the natural world, and the amazing ability of our world to say “Yeah, no.” When disturbed, nature starts to course correct, and an animal that can fill a niche will rise to fill it.These animals exist because we created an opportune environment for them, they now number in the millions, and will probably continue to exist, diverging from all their ancestral species into something fascinatingly new!

Living with predators can be complicated, but it’s a step we all need to take. Overpopulation of herbivores, a direct result of centuries of bad wildlife policy eliminating wild predator populations, causes billions of dollars worth of damage every year, and has resulted in new, and worsening, diseases in those herbivores. Predators are a critical part of our ecosystems, and it’s time we make peace with that. If Eastern Coyotes can survive alongside us, I say let them “take over.” Keep your pets in at night, don’t leave food out accessible to them, and make peace with the fact that nature might not be healing, but it’s figuring out a way to work despite us, despite destruction, just as it always has.

Again I hope someone with a stronger biology background can step in to weigh in on this. I’m a Park Ranger, I live around Western Wolves and Coyotes, I’m familiar with them, but I’m not super clued in to the current work being done on them. I am not in my lane writing this up, and while I hope I did the issue justice I’m sure there are things I don’t fully understand, and subjects I have not done justice to.

[otterskin]

I didn't like the LOKI show, no matter how hard I try, and it's messing with me.

My mother died at the end of December. A lot of other bad things happened as well, like the severe brain injury of my father.

I didn't cry. There was so much to do. I did it. And even then, when there was nothing left to do, I didn't cry.

I found distractions.

Today I went to see the Green Knight after a tough week at a new job that had me leave my father in another province even though he still needs help. I was trying to get back to the life I'd dropped.

I loved the Green Knight. The Arthurian Legends are as dear to me as Norse Mythology, and my copy of them had the Green Knight on the cover. The film was truly excellent, evoking the feel of the story whole still doing something unique and very A24. I cried at one point, like I did when watching the first THOR, because of how much it meant to see something I'd loved since the very first years of my existence finally make it to the big screen and be...right. It's own thing, it's own artistic product, but right.

Then I opened a tab in a browser and saw I had some messages on a website I comment on. It was just some minor criticism of the LOKI show I'd posted beneath an article and how it handled certain things.

I was downvoted. Berated. Hated. Lumped in the ad hominem twitter users who attacked the director and writer (I'd never, ever!) Told I was biphobic because I wanted to see more of a queer lens (I even addressed how difficult it is for bi people in queer cinema and society in general in my criticisms of the romance, but even that wasn't good enough - just disliking it was 'bad'.) I was told I just wanted my 'fanfic' made (I never made any laundrylist of plot points I demanded). I was accused of being a begrudged shipper (ha! If anything I'm an anti-shipper). I was told that I should love the show, it was awesome, and I was bad for not thinking so.

And I started to cry.

I don't cry. Only at movies. Not at real life. I didn't cry at my grandparents's funerals, I didn't cry when I was left with the body of my mother in the hospital room and my brother cried on my shoulder. I didn't cry when working through my dad's severe new disabilities as I realized how much he had lost. I didn't cry while realizing how messy my parents' finances were. I didn't cry when my mother's friends called me in the middle of the night and cried into the phone. I didn't cry when saying goodbye to my dog and going back to a rundown apartment with a terrible smell so I could go to work in a dark room for hours at a time.

But now I'm crying and writing this.

I've realized why. During everything, I looked forward to the LOKI show. The first THOR is deeply nostalgic to me and I watched it often in my first year of Uni when I was away from home. It tied in thematically to what I was going for. Thor 2 came out before I went on exchange, and while I disliked it overall, talking about it was a welcome distraction from my anxieties. Thor 3 was nerve-wracking, but it also came out during my first major job which I was struggling with, and I saw it so many times in theatres...it was such a huge comfort.

Looking forward to LOKI wasn't just a distraction. It was like a promise. A promise that I'd make it till then and see it and maybe it'd give me some comfort.

That's on me. That's a personal thing. It's an unreasonable expectation.

But I needed it, all the same.

Then it came out.

I tried. I really tried to like it, to forgive it, but the problems are things I've criticized for too long in so many other things. I always try to be respectful about, I never go ad hominem and attack the creators, only critique their work and I always mentioned what I liked but...

I didn't like it.

I have no urge to rewatch it.

And the Green Knight...the Green Knight was everything I wanted and needed it to be. It didn't let me down, though I've been anticipating it about as long as the LOKI show. They're very different, obviously, but in my heart they share the same compartment.

And after a very trying day...I realized how badly I needed to rewatch a Loki show I liked. But I can't even enjoy THOR or Thor:Ragnarok anymore. It's like everything I did like has been poisoned.

This thing that got me through immense pain is causing me pain. I don't want to be toxic. I'm sure it's in me. I try so hard not to wallow in disappointment, but to not even be allowed to talk about my problems without being lumped in with abusive online monsters...

I can't do it. I just can't.

This is supposed to be an escape, not another trial.

I needed the LOKI show to be good, so I could come out of the dark into the light, or at least walk through the night with a lantern ahead of me. And instead it was just more darkness, and it's not even entirely its own fault. It's the online discourse. It's the uncalled for harassment of Herron and Waldron. It's the taunting jabs at people who didn't have a good time as if we're all jerks. It's having people roll their eyes when you point out things that made you uncomfortable in the story, it's feeling slightly gaslit when you find something gross that the story intended to be gross and then being told it's not gross, actually.

I'm sorry. I don't want to cause pain. I just...

I needed it to be good. And unlike Thor 3, which delivered me respite in a dark time...it let me down. Worse, it's hurt me.

I said I don't cry, only at the movies. Something about them lets me cry in a way nothing else does. I can't cry at a funeral, but I can cry in a movie theatre at the drop of a hat. It's a release valve, a way for me to process things.

I think I was waiting for LOKI to give me permission to cry. To give me something that could release this pain in me. And instead, it just gave me more.

I never should have given it that power. I didn't want to. But I had to, to get through this.

I'm putting away the few THOR pieces of tat I have. I feel foolish. I always knew it was a capitalist piece of art, chucked from creator to creator with no creative shepherd, which in itself was stressful.

The fandom is no sanctuary for me either, since I'm primarily interested in the family dynamics and I'm sick of 'Odin is an ABUSIVE MONSTER' stories or even unrelated fics and posts just dropping in hate for him that's not at all canon but seems to be very popular to the point where people think it is. Especially since I often read these stories when I need to think of home and my father. Or, most pleasantly of all, when I get called an abuser or abuser-enabler because I say I like Odin as a character. I also can't really bear to deal with anything to do with Sylvie, whom I had high hopes for as someone who wants more female tricksters, but instead I got this...this Mary Sue that's very hard to criticize without being yelled at. I swear I'm coming at her writing as a feminist and I don't hate anyone, I don't, I just...sigh. She's just personally frustrating to me and not being able to discuss it without being called names sucks.

Not to mention I'm asexual, and I always struggle with romance in media being pushed as the 'ultimate relationship more important than any other'. Part of the reason I liked THOR so much was that romance was not the main feature of THOR and definitely not THOR 3 (while my disliked Dark World was all about it, and so is LOKI). And when I criticize the romance, I get called a prude (guilty, I guess), a troll, or, my favourite, just 'a hater'.

I don't want to hate. Who wants that poison in their veins? I'm here because the Thor series HELPED me because I LOVED it. And now I look at the things I used to love and I...don't, anymore.

So much is asked of me right now. I can't willingly invite this painful thing to sit on my chest as well, especially since the world is already shoving it into my face without my doing anything, in ads, in news, in everything.

I suppose that's why I've leaned even more into Odin lately. He was untouched by the LOKI series (though not the Simpson special, which worries me). He's a trickster, he's queer, he's nuanced, he's 'misunderstood' (that old cliche, but he's misunderstood and misrepresented by the people always yelling about how this or that character is misunderstood, which amuses me, except when it gets to me), and he's in many ways free to make my own.

I still have some stuff I'm going to publish that's practically finished. Finnesang has a lot more written for it but needs some major sit-down time for re-writes and edits. Lokabrenna is practically done, just needs tweaks and Beta. I'll be here a little longer.

But I think I'm going to have to step back for now and put my passions into other things.

I will be back. After all, after Thor 2 came Thor 3. Maybe Love and Thunder will right the ship and Thor can still be awesome, and maybe eventually a creative I love will come to work on the franchise. Really, that's the key for me - I loved Branagh before THOR, and loved Waititi before Thor, and disliked Waldron's work (though I gave him every benefit of the doubt and hoped and prayed to be wrong - sadly, it was what I expected.)

But...if LOKI season 2 is more of this, more romantic tropes I hate and Loki being an afterthought in his own show and his family being devalued for new characters...I can't do it. I can't watch something I used to love just throw that all away for something I dislike.

My tears are finally drying. I wrote a lot of this while the screen was blurry, so I hope there's no grammar or typo too embarrasing. I'm not sure I have the strength to re-read it. Sorry for the rant. It helped me feel better.

Thank you all. I hope I feel differently someday.

[melancholyandfrogs]

List of My Wattpad Books and Why I’m Proud of Them

(God the trash I wrote at 13 will forever haunt me)

Let’s start with the finished books! But before that, a forewarning/tw—if you have any conflict with depression based conflicts, sa, s-h, or illness, please skip over this.

1. Addict in Black

teen/young adult fiction

self-healing

romance

It’s a change from the dominating alpha male that you normally see on Wattpad and while the main love interest (Micah Rex) is still quite a large, rough-edged guy with a dominating personality, he’s paired with chronic depression, anxiety, self-harm and self-image problem, family problems, abuse, a trigger-hair tear reflex and a need for validation.

It starts inside of a mental hospital and progresses 30+ chapters before anything ‘serious’ happens between the two main characters as he tries to heal and move on, and she attempts to get over her trauma.

This is the description:

Micah Rex: He's handsome, dangerous, reckless. An addict. When he walks into a room, people notice. People are scared of him, people don't look him in the eye.

AJ Ferro: She's cute, nice respectful. A helper. When she walks in a room, people usually get flowers. People love her, people want to be her friend.

Despite her cheery nature and soft words AJ has never had it easy when it came to addiction -or depression. Without his addiction,  sadness and anger Micah doesn't know who he is -and he hates not knowing things.

And, of all places, they meet at a rehab center.

He looked at her and saw a peppy girl with no future.  She looked at him and saw a troubled boy with a bad past.

Micah wants to die, AJ wants him to live.

It's only a matter of time before one of them breaks through or breaks the other.

(surprise, surprise, it’s Micah who cracks first)

I was 12 the first time I took a hit off a joint at a party, smoked a blunt by myself and bought a bong. I was 13 when I started drinking alcohol for fun.  14 the first time I took ecstasy at a college party I snuck into, the same age I lost my virginity. This was the first time I went to a mental institution because it's also the year I first tried to kill myself. 15  the first time I smoked meth, took a bump of cocaine, shot myself up with heroine. This was the first time I got sent to rehab, it didn't work and I came out worse.

I was 16 when I tried to commit three times in the same year, the last time I got my heart to stop for 30 seconds. That year was also the first time I snorted Hydrocodone, getting me started in opiates, I experimented with Xanax and liked it.

And I was a month from 17 when I got sober.

This description is actually about the female lead, AJ, instead of Micah and that’s surprised a lot of people.

"I want-" Micah stopped, running his fingers through his hair. "Never mind what I want. What do you want?" His voice is quieter now, more gentle.

"You."

And now for the slightly spicier side of their relationship,

"Fuck you." I snap.

"You already have." Micah bites out. "And I'm pretty fucking sure you liked it too, if your orgasms were anything to go by."

This book took me two years of research—I started writing it a month before I turned 16 and finished it six months after I turned 17—and a very strong work ethic where I was unrelenting in wanting to make sure it was good.

When I wasn’t writing, I was re-reading and editing to try and make sure that I stayed true to my characters all while making sure I was giving them the right character development.

That’s why it’s at the top of the list.

2. Anomalies 

young adult fiction

bxb romance

chronic illness

To me this is a change in the typical bxb romance because while they’re both typical hot stereotypes, Jasper, the love interest is a 6′5″ puppy dog with chronic anxiety and synesthesia (which means he can see sound) and Castor, the mc, is a 5′10″ sarcastic asshole with Tourette’s and a minor god-complex.

They meet because they share a college dorm room, and the book slowly progresses alongside their relationship as they learn how not only to function with the one, but love one another despite their flaws—and trust me, Cas has many.

They have to get over things like ptsd, a history of s-a, s-h tendencies, depression, anxiety all the way to shitty family members, sensory issues and daily life.

This is the description:

"I am the textbook definition of in love with you."

cute, I know, but Cas is far from it despite what his words would suggest

Castor Rex: He's snarky, quiet and mysterious. A secret keeper. He doesn't like his life to be on display. People avoid him, even if they respect him.

Jasper Red: He's polite, nice and helpful. A open book. He likes filling his life with other people and their love. People love him, they can't help it.

Because of his quiet nature, snarky smirks and sarcastic words Castor has always had a hard time when it came to making friends -and keeping them. Something Jazz doesn't struggle with.

With Jazz's protective nature, shyness and many friends he doesn't need someone else to fill a spot in his life -at least, that's what he thought.

Then they met.

And that empty part in Jazz's heart felt a little bit bigger because he started to realize Cas could fill it.

Cas sees him as a grinning, happy dork he has no chance with.

Jazz sees him as a adorable, grumpy jock that now, is his.

Castor wants to get through the school year as quietly as possible but with how loud Jazz loves, neither of them know if it's possible, and to make matters worse they're roommates for the rest of the year.

It's only a matter of time before they come together or fall apart.

(hint, hint, they get together)

As a private person, someone who doesn't share myself with others, I can say that learning how to interact with others is difficult. It's like baking, almost, you have to mix the right ingredients together, and if you add the wrong ones things can taste hideous even if they look good.

It's a lot like our words.

But I've mastered how to tell someone just a little about myself but doing it in a way that makes the person in front of me think they know a lot.

Jasper, somehow, sees through this every fucking time and it's absolutely infuriating.

He's never satisfied with just a little of me, with my hidden truth, and it's the most annoying thing I've ever experienced.

This book was written alongside another author @enternalempires (who’s STESLARA on Wattpad) who at the same time I wrote this book from Castor’s POV, wrote another book in Jasper’s POV.

While Cas is AJ/Micah’s son, and from the same ‘universe’ as them, Jasper is her characters son from one of her first books too. 

It was thrilling to write like this, and it really pushed me and showed me what I was capable of when it came to my creativity—though I did learn I have a more mature writing style on my own, compared to Stes.

This book wasn’t what I’m most proud of, but the characters in it are my comfort characters and I love them.

3. Little Red

fantasy/action

romance

fairytale characters

I wrote this book with the idea of putting all my childhood fairy tales into a d&d setting/rules—I even rolled for some of the plot devices, and then mushing them together. I wasn’t high when doing this, just chronically sleep deprived. 

It’s an epic tale of taking back a kingdom from an evil queen, the main characters are a twisted, badass version of Little Red Riding Hood and a sexier, more teasing version of the Big Bad Wolf. My favorite character, however, is the bard, an adorable—annoying—version of Tinkerbell that I called Charm.

This is the description:

This book is what happens when you merge dark humor, the greater good, sin and fairy tale characters into one hell of a story.

Everything you know about fairytales is a lie. The stories aren't true.

Little Red Riding-Hood didn't get devoured, the wolf didn't eat the old lady or trick them.

They forgot to mention during bedtime tales that Little Red is a beast. That her cloak is a death omen or protection and you don't get to choose which one falls on you.

Oh but the wolf?

He would love to ravage her skin, his desire not suitable for your childhood fairytale.

Little Red is about to go on a mission along with the big bad wolf and their elect team of killer magical dumbasses to kill the Wicked Queen.

There's no silver lining in this fairy tale.

Because things are about to get bloody.

I won’t lie, some of these characters will die, but there’s more teasing, spicy scenes than death scenes

such as,

"Do they actually call you Little Red," Hand around her throat, the wolf sneers at her so close that she can feel warm breath on her neck.

"Do they actually call you a Big Bad Wolf?" Came Little Red's reply. "Medium and Cocky Wolf is more realistic."

A growl sounds out, "Watch your mouth."

A twisted smile plays on her lips, "Whatever for Wolf?"

"Well Red," Leaning down over her indeed little frame the wolf speaks against her skin. "If you keep antagonizing me I may have to take a bite."

Now, here is a list of the characters and who they’re really supposed to be + their d&d class:

“Little Red” aka Blythe, mercenary by trade, sorcerer via d&d class—half elf, half tiefling Little Red Riding Hood

“Wolf” aka Dimitri, warrior by trade, barbarian via d&d class—werewolf the Big Bad Wolf from the Little Red Riding Hood

“Locks” aka Demelza, the leader by trade, ranger via d&d class—half raven animal nymph, half fairy Rapunzel and Maleficent’s daughter

“Archer” aka Octavian, robber by trade, rogue via d&d class—elf Robin Hood

“Huntsman” aka Jaekobe, hunter by trade, fighter via d&d class—vampire the huntsman from the Little Red Riding Hood

“Charm” aka Luceiana, asshole by trade, bard via d&d class—fairy Tinkerbell, and the fae Seelie Queen’s daughter

“Magician” aka Ezra, nonbinary chaos by trade, warlock via d&d class—tiefling the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland

“Snow” aka Theophania, healer by trade, druid via d&d class—tree nymph Snow White

“Doc” aka Tom, medic by trade, cleric via d&d class—dwarf Doc from Snow White and the 7 Dwarves

This book was so much fun to write, I honestly haven’t written anything that made me giggle (and simultaneously dread) so much. This book was just weird scene after weird scene and making it all connect, even writing about them getting ready for bed in one chapter was funny.

If you want a serious piece of media that doesn’t take itself seriously, I recommend this very book.

For my finished books (I’m not talking fanfics, I’ll do a different one for that) these three are all I got (that I’m proud of).

G’bye!

[psalloacappella]

Red (oneshot)

Title: Red  Pairing: SasuSaku legit i don’t write anything else  Word Count: 3400~ Rating: E, for like explicit, not for everyone. NSFW. Ya get it. Tags/What you’ll see: Sakura getting the office and oral she deserves 

Summary: An old dress, a new office — Uchiha Sasuke offers regards to both.

Ao3 | FFN |  ↓

(I have to preface when I post this that my top-tier amazing friend convinced me to do so and reminded me not to delete it this morning in the cold sober dawn lol. I consider this absolutely self-indulgent)

.

.

.

“Ah, Sakura?”

Jade eyes alight and ringed with red, her subordinate regrets interrupting what seems to be a bout of sickness or sadness; she’s been busy lately. They all are.

Spine bent in bass clef camber, in exhaustion, she straightens at his words into a ramrod illustration of diligence. Over scrolls and haphazard paperwork, empty mugs sitting in their own fossilized dregs, she snatches up a fountain pen to preserve her dignity and reputation. At her age she’s been handed enormous tasks that she only imagined in her wildest dreams, and most of those, in the past, were of love and marriage and not the nightmares and duties which replaced them.

Extreme stress manifests in mysterious and chaotic ways; she intuitively knows this, especially today, as she basks in the quiet glances, the way their eyes follow her long, long legs leading into ankles in heels that feel like cages. Her choice of a dress underneath her white coat today feels like a wanton beacon, but her battle reputation precedes her, legendary and terrifying; no one will dare blithely approach legs like those or earn the ire of her dangerous hands, so delicate until they’re crushing mountains and throats.

Electricity, a buzzing in the marrow of her bones; she taps the pen on the desk in a stilted rhythm.

She regards the young medic with a hazy gaze for a moment, then waves a hand. “Sorry, I’m just—”

He steps over the threshold; Sakura raises her chin, lips taut.

“No no, I’m sorry,” he insists. Under her bright eyes he feels the beginnings of idiocy and bumbling; his boss makes him tongue-tied, stupid. Younger than him, in a league of her own as she stands at shoulders with new legends; lethal, inured to all the stories about herself.  

He notices the ochre on her lips like an invitation.

“I wouldn’t come too close today,” she says. Grants him a demure smile, the type that doesn’t quite fool her friends but still works with fools like him. “I’m not feeling the best. It could be contagious, and that wouldn’t be helpful to our operations right now.”

“Yes, of course.” Agreeing, nodding fervently with the obedience of a particularly compliant breed of dog. “If I may — you work so much. Too young to be feeling so tired.”

A laugh, it bubbles — starts from her chest as a giggle and drips from her lips as honey. Makes her quake, mottled red seeping through the skin of her chest as a sieve, collarbones sharp.

She looks feverish; she looks like a dream.

In turn she struggles to keep the waver out of her voice, knowing she’s lit up as fulgent as rouge festival lanterns and there's no way to kill the current.

I’ll never live this down — have to get him out of here

The cough she musters up is weak and if this was Ino, or gods forbid, her teacher, they’d call it pathetic. For a young man trapped in her sphere of admiring attraction, it does nothing but induce sympathy. But her legs are shaking, the situation is dire, and she’s loath to have another round of torrid rumor on the flapping lips of civilians and staff.

“Ah!”

At her cry, she lets her temple fall into her hand and her subordinate rushes forward. Gasping, she raises her other one, trembling.

“No, please. That sounded worse than it was. Just a headache coming on. In fact,” she rasps, “if you can let Shizune know I’ll be taking the next hour to recoup? A nap, maybe that’ll help.”

“I don’t know if I can leave you like this.” His tentative step earns her sharp gaze again, pursed lips that start his mind wandering in a way that makes him blush. Physically shaking his head to clear it, he nods slowly, finally, backing out of the doorway.

The hollow sound of Sakura’s kneecap hitting the underside of the desk rings in the space. Her gullible underling starts forward again, but the foreboding slap of her hand on the desk stops him cold. Acute, like it’s one to the face.

Sakura brings her knees together, swift, crushing his damn near regal bone structure and the handsome high bridge of his nose between the muscle of her thighs. A warning.

She glances down at him, he’s slicked with sweat — the glimpse of his glittering black eye and swirling purple one bring her too close to a wave she can’t indulge; she’s still this unwanted visitor’s boss until he closes the fucking door.

“Just me being clumsy! Do as I’ve asked and let her know, and,” here her breath hitches, hand leaving the desk, fingers burying themselves in dark messy hair, “th-thank you for worrying. I appreciate it.”

She’ll pay for the smile she gives this man, a sparkle of hope, like he’ll ever earn his boss’s favor in that way, as if he’ll measure up in any lifetime to the man that has her heart, the man on his knees under her desk.

“Sure. I mean,” horrified at his own too-familiar tone, “of course, right away, ma’am. Miss. I—”

“Oh go now. ” It stutters out in jete musical meter, resembling pain — or other things. “Please.”

She doesn’t have to tell him to close the door, though she’s surprised he didn’t find another excuse to stay with her. Oh, he has it bad. But there’s no time to think —

Sinking into her chair, her hands grip the armrests with an intensity that forces music from them, cracking underneath her fingers. And now all the words of the last few minutes tumble from her lips, an unintelligible medley of curses and pleas cradling the half-formed shell of his name.

Without warning, she yanks him back by the hair and almost comes right there:  His eyes scalding her, the mess on his stupid and incredibly fuckable face, a talented and dangerous mouth settling into a smirk as he thumbs an errant bit of her off his lip.

“That was close. Ah, so are you.”

He says it with such smugness and vanity. Quivering in her office chair under nothing but his stare, still in the grips of the unrelenting buzz and hum he’s enticed, and he absolutely notices.

“One of these days, we’ll be caught!” Tries to sound stern even as he rolls his neck and shoulders with a pithy nonchalance. “Stop that. So arrogant, preening like that—”

“Me? That’s rich.” He lazily trails a finger from her swollen, hot clit to her opening, lingering and lush to force all the heat and sounds he’s craving — her fingernails dig into her thigh while the pallor of her skin and dress seep and marry, reflections of one another. “Why did you wear this, Sakura?” Nudges the fabric with his nose, and she mumbles something hazy under his resumed touch; lost in orbit, in a void, in a place unearthly.

He starts the routine again, pressing his mouth to the inside of her thigh. Frowns at the irritating strip of fabric that constitutes clothing; it’s been twisted and pushed aside anyway. Her skin burning against his face, a lean cord of muscle taut underneath her pale skin. Vaguely threatening, but she’s yet to crush him to death and he’s on the second round of bringing her there and back again, and close calls such as those seem to stoke something smoldering. Some days, it feels like the only thing worth pulling himself out of bed for.

He fucks like he fights:  Relentless, consuming. But that essential difference for the former is he never gives an inch; here, he pours it all in, something like an endless apology. Maybe she knows and that’s why she wears the red dress he won’t admit he prefers and paints her lips and runs the entirety of this village hospital system with grace and her own brand of gentle ascendancy — why he’s desperate for just the ragged edge of danger.

One of her legs shudders, the frenzied tap-tap-tap of her heel stammering against the floor in a cadence fit for instruments. “Sasuke-kun.”

Between the presses of his lips leading a hot, agonizing march back to her core, an arrogant noise in his throat escapes, rich and amused. “So this — is your new office?”

“Mmm,” she confirms, still clinging to the chair. The only support she has; the room’s spinning and every cell is vibrating, pink eyebrows knitted as she fights to remain upright and solid and somewhat human because the door’s not locked and she knows he knows, knows he doesn’t care and frankly neither, really, does she. Melting like basalt in unending, stifling heat.

Calloused fingers walk up the soft skin of her calf, catching and searing, sundering the delicate layer where they brush to release the pent-up steam underneath.

He’s fire; she is earth.

Always, all of him ablaze —  possessive in its own discipline but a thing begging for taming. He builds the pyre here, as he has been for the last hour or so, to focus himself, patiently coaxing it into something chaotic but fruitful. Lately all he’s felt is the joyless, sober embodiment of a tool to be used though perhaps this is the same, a compulsion by any other name.

But it can’t be, not with her looking like this. Striding down her hallways with purpose while bending the horrors and ills of the world to her indomitable will. Certainly this dress is no accident, as it never is, not with him coming off a mission full of blood and necessary evil.

Dragging the thin, sorry excuse for fabric down the burning skin of her leg, Sasuke’s tongue finds her clit with terrifying precision and rips a moan from her throat, pulling a jerk of her hips against his mouth. The shockwave shared, vibrating as wires intertwined, a forcible current.

Leans back, takes her in:  Her trembling, knuckles white from the fatal grip on the arms of the chair, knees sinking inward toward one another. The sight of this rich red dress against the stark, starched white of her coat blending with the mottled pinks and crimsons painting her cheeks and chest. Unraveling before him, extraordinary, even while this space belongs to her.

This, sometimes, feels like undeserved forgiveness.

Because she is always, always in living color.

Adjusts his own knees, shifts, a catch of air in his throat as he accommodates the hard length of his own caged cock. They’re no stranger to claiming desks and other surfaces as their own, but she has strings on him and there's authority in here now, where she holds men at the door with a flicker of her gentle jade eyes borne of the grueling process which created her.

Sliding the useless fabric into his pocket, raises his chin to her. Stares as she bites her lip and struggles for composure, though it’s difficult under the gaze of a man like this.

He waits, and the only sounds are ragged breathing from both.

“Please,” she whispers. Quivering, even at the ask. “Before someone comes back.”

“You worry so much,” he says. “Relax.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“What did I tell you,” he hisses, “about apologies?”

She blinks, startled, and her lips part. A sparkle, a brilliance emerging in her eyes as she clenches and unclenches her fingers. Still, they shake a bit, the anticipation and remnants of the rise and current before still lingering, lying in wait. Predatory. A wetness floods to her lips and she swallows it down, leveling her eyes to his glittering, savage gaze.

With a deep inhale, she spreads herself before him, knees apart. Blushing invisible, lost in the red that’s already dappled every inch of her, she exhales the rest of her timidity with an edged, sharp expression and hopes she’s being clear—

Sakura just barely glimpses the fierce red in his gaze before he answers with his tongue, deft, ardent, and divine.

Breaking the chair arms beneath her delicate hands again, scrabbling to stay on the beautiful planet before it turns her loose. Sinking, again, the boundaries of atoms dissolving — they are nowhere but bliss.

Like before, the careful building of a fire, the agonizing escalation:  He drops a kiss here, employs a firm tongue there, skirting the easy option in favor of the tease as he peels her back, layer by layer. Running it the length of her slit, heart skipping a bit at the dangerous quake of her thigh muscle; how long it's taken to differentiate between pleasure and impending crush. Again, the sensation of crawling into the den of something prized and feral. He feels it, her writhing and the pace and canter of her breathing and she’s liquid gold, fucking melting —

Her hips jerk, hard, when his tongue swirls around her clit, the cry coming from her jagged as broken glass and trembling like music, all things that make his own situation difficult to manage but he will, because these sounds entrench him firmly in reality. Alive. Knees screaming on the hardwood floor, unyielding as his cock cradled only by fabric and not as he wishes, by her hands or her red, red lips like the kind she’s wearing now.

Instead he slows her down again, pendulum swings between teasing and a furious rhythm that coaxes the full spectrum of human sounds from her beautiful throat. Rewarded for it with a whiny gasp as if breaking the surface of water, mingling with his own as he catches his breath. The end of it careens into words, something rough, he’s not even quite sure what he’s saying but he imagines, neither does she.

This—fucking dress—!

Nice, isn’t it?

Gets you attention

But only from you, S-Sasuke-kun

And her hand lands on his head again, thin fingers yanking his hair and guiding him as he splays her open, lays her bare. His name never quite fully leaves her lips, dancing with fragments of alternating pleas and curses. Just for that, for something he’d never thought he’d ever hear in his life, he grimly knows he’d write a fucking sonnet just to hear her like this — and with his tongue, he does, or at least approximates. The tremors of her shift deeper now, approaching release; she’s so slick it feels vile, indulgence in sin. All of which is smeared on his lips, his face, tasting of tang and salt; how many times has he been told he’s selfish? Guilty. Greedy, too, as he pauses to breathe—

looking up at her, he has an idea but can’t possibly know the extent of this, how she’s absolutely wrung out and beyond this dimension, hell, this galaxy, every inch of her humming in tune with the universe and brimming with absolute, inescapable heat, muscles taut and and begging for climax. Though the soft edges of her green eyes that see through him and everything else, rolling back, mouth open and lips parted in mimeo of an oracle, sunken in the weight of divinity, might give him some clue.

Don’t stop, please—!

— he’s there, with his fingers buried and soaked and deep, playing that just-right rhythm with a thumb on her clit that’s been worked to the edge and back again over the span of her busy afternoon. Hairs part from his scalp without remorse; her nails scrabbling and fingers clinging as she prays and sighs and curses occasionally, quietly, into the limp back of her hand. As if she’s really still trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism in the throes of being launched into orbit.

So very close. He knows by the slightly erratic rhythm, the pulsating of muscles inside and out and around him, tight and he steals a quick breath to endure and ease his fingers out to redouble effort with his mouth because the way she’s sounding, that sharp icy note on the ragged edge of pleasure and pain, tends to be the signal, the tipping point. The tremor her free hand sends through the bones of the chair. Knees apart as far as she can manage and desperately meeting him at the hilt —

Steady through until the end.

Release comes as glass shattering, atoms splitting. Unintelligible words trapped in amber, in a moment, in desire. With a mouth full of fire, he rides it with her through every wave, persisting through her slow and ebbing tumble back down to earth. To him.

He leans back at last, groaning at the pain in his knees. Watches her tremble and twitch, wringing out the very last dregs of her orgasm, displacing everything coherent left in her head.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and he gets to his feet as she languishes in a pool of pleasure, steeping as scalding tea.

At some point her hand rises to her own lips, limp and wavering, to clean her own unabashed drippings with an expression of dizzy surprise. The white dissipates from her vision and she finds his eyes on her again, one still richly red in its sole mission of memorizing the glowing after.

“Oh.” That’s all she says, breathless.

Sasuke brings fingers across his own mouth, rolls his jaw side to side, and something about his expression of smug satisfaction resonates, strings of a plucked instrument, a pull again of desire that threatens to ruin the sanctity of this brand new office and the role that comes with it.

For a moment she leverages the chair to rise, then loses strength — she lowers herself back in it, arms still quaking.

She reaches for him, plucking at his shirt. Hair flyaway, askew from her frenzied fingers, still in his mission gear.

Yanking him down by the collar, she crashes her mouth against his, red and hot, the tang and taste of herself immiscible with his own. Whatever sound he makes, this growl or rumble or ache, splits them open.

What pulls them apart is the grating sound of their former sensei’s voice:  “I heard from a bird that someone in here was sick?”

Sasuke feels them in the room now and pulls away. Half-turns, finds himself leaning on her desk in a way that’s almost too casual, but necessary — his knees are shot through. Sakura smiles too widely, masking a secret; after all, both still feel the pinpricks of liquids drying in the new air.

“From your darling subordinate,” Kakashi twinkles, grinning underneath his mask.

“That one who follows you around like a puppy,” Naruto supplies, pouting.

Kakashi tilts his head toward him, both still lingering over the threshold. “Terrible, hm?”

Naruto misses the jibe and instead turns his wide ocean eyes on her new space. Whistles. “Man, Sakura-chan, this office is niiice. I’m jealous.”

“You’ll be in your new one soon enough,” she says, and there she is, her usual self. “I have faith. Anyway, this office comes with responsibility.”

“Well if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“He was under the impression you were sick. Looking at you now, though,” and here Kakashi pauses in a manner all too deliberate, eyes sweeping over Sasuke’s cloak and belongings in a chair, and ends it with looking right at him, “you seem all right. Exhausted, I imagine.”

Her flush threatens to undo them both.

“He’s . . . sweet. To care.”

“He’s a fool,” Sasuke mutters.

“Perfect, you’re dressed nice,” Naruto crows. “How did you know we’d come make you celebrate? You didn’t eat, I bet you didn’t!” He eyes Sasuke up and down, at his unusually ruffled appearance, and clicks his tongue. “You didn’t even go home first, did you? Shitty boyfriend.”

The damage he committed on his recent mission pales in comparison to the crimes Sasuke wants to indulge now.

“Anyway, we’ll wait out here. After all,” Kakashi says, inclining his head, “this is your space now.”

Sakura exhales long and slow as they step out into the hallway. Covering her face with her hands, she groans. “No matter my job, I’ll never escape embarrassment, huh?”

Standing at last, she readjusts her clothes and kisses the underside of Sasuke’s chin. She reaches for his pocket and he moves easily out of her grasp.

“Sasuke-kun!”

“Pointless now. I’ll keep it.”

No matter what time, season, dimension, he regards all of her — the dress, the lips that held their color, the new flush simmering on her neck and chest — and craves, endeavors, to always love her red.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

the last great american dynasty?

Ok...... So this is a little bit different from what I usually write but this is because it’s only the very beginning. This particular Rowan and Aelin’s story fits a bunch of TS songs, so I’ll have another part explaining their relationship since the beginning!! Enjoy this little thing tho

The Last Great American Dynasty

--

“Holiday house? This place looks like a tomb.”

“It has been closed for twenty years, that’s why.”

Kiara eyed her best friend, rolling her eyes at him. She knew that the mansion had been closed since her great grandma and great grandpa had died, and that no one from her family really bothered going there. Her grandma, Aurora, had spent her whole childhood in that house and when her parents passed away, it was too hard for her to move in once she inherit half of the house.

“No one from your family wanted it?”

“Not really.” Kiara replied distractedly, looking over the old furniture and paintings. “My parents passed away when I was young, and so I was raised by my grandma, but you already know all of that. When my great grandparents passed away, she was too hurt to even come back here. Granduncle Nino usually took care of everything, but I don’t think he ever stepped inside again. He died about five years ago.”

“And last year when your grandma died…”

“The house went for the last Whitethorn-Galathynius.” Kiara smiled at Gareth. “Me.”

He snorted, taking the sheets out of some tables and chairs in the house’s library. “Sometimes I forget your family is rich rich.”

“For generations. The wealth grew significantly when my great grandpa opened the GW industries and my great grandma became a famous artist.”

“Aelin Galathynius…” Gareth whistled, looking at one of the paintings. “Aelin Galathynius was your great grandmother.”

“The talent for painting certainly didn’t come from my father’s side of the family.”

“Aelin must be turning in her grave because of you comparing your shitty drawings with her beautiful sculptures and complex paintings.” Gareth joked, a saccharine smile on his face.

Kiara laughed, knowing that he wasn’t serious. Gareth had been her best friend since the first day of her freshman year in college. Now she was a junior and he was a senior, meaning that most of his time went to studying for the LSAT. Nonetheless, when Kia was notified about inheriting the Rhode Island mansion, Gareth didn’t hesitate in saying yes when she asked him to go with her.

She walked around, sweeping her fingers over the leather-bound notebooks on the bookshelf. They looked like journals of sort, and if Kiara decided to keep the house, maybe she would skim through some of them. She didn’t really knew if she would accept it, though. Yes, the house had been in the family for generations, but she also didn’t know if she wanted to come to Rhode Island and leave Pennsylvania.

Also, the house would need a lot of attention.

“She moved here at nineteen. She and my great grandpa, Rowan, eloped at eighteen and got married in Ireland. They moved here to avoid his family who was absolutely against their son marrying a snobby, rich wannabe artist.” Kiara grinned over her shoulder at Gareth. “Very scandalous, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, it explains so much about you.” He matched her grin. “Maybe being mad is in the genes of the women in your family.”

Kiara snorted, grabbing one of the small journals while Gareth took a bigger one. It looked like a sketchpad, and his eyebrows raised as he looked through it.

“I didn’t know she also drew. I knew about the painting and sculpting, but these drawings…” He murmured, looking through them with awe. Kia only half payed attention, focused on her own journal. She skimmed through it, stopping only when a photograph fell from it.

She grabbed it from the floor, eyebrows raising as she looked at it. It was black and white, even though it looked more brown because of the time. It was a woman, a small skirt and top hugging her lithe body as she rested against an old car. Her arms were spread wide, legs crossed. Kiara was almost sure that was Aelin, but she couldn’t be sure since her face had been cut. A heart shaped cut took her face and neck out of the picture, and Kiara swept her fingers along the edges of the heart.

“Where is her face?” Gareth asked, his attention leaving the skecthbook.

“In Rowan’s grave.” A female voice came from the door, and both Kiara and Gareth yelped. A red headed old woman was sitting at a wheelchair, her smile soft but not at them. At the journal and sketchbook. “He had a locket he always wore, her face was inside it. He wore since he was twenty-one when they met, and was buried with it. And you didn’t know that Aelin could draw because she didn’t do it for the public. Whatever drawing from her you find here, will be private and portray her husband.”

Kiara stared at the woman, her face familiar. However, Kia had never met her, so it was hard to remember from where she knew this woman. “You’re Evangeline. My grandma’s best friend.”

Evangeline nodded, gray strands catching the light. “Nino asked me to take care of the house after Aelin and Rowan died. Your grandma Aurora and Nino were my best friends since we were young, and the Whitethorn-Galathynius were my godparents.”

Kiara nodded silently, not really knowing what to say. Like her great grandparents, Evangeline had been someone she had never met, only heard stories.

Gareth, however, didn’t seem to have lost his words.

“How were they? I mean, everyone knows Aelin’s shameless and mad woman reputation, and Rowan’s serious businessman demeanor. Everyone knows about their tasteful and yet loud parties, about the time Aelin stole the neighbor’s dog and dyed it key lime green.” Kiara stared wide eyed at Gareth. She didn’t know he knew so much about her family’s story. Noticing her stare, he simply shrugged, turning back to Evangeline. “But how were they in private? Aelin was from St. Louis and Rowan was Scottish, weren’t they? How did the difference between cultures affect them? Were they actually in love?”

Kiara was about to tell him to shut the fuck up and stop bothering the old lady, but when she heard the last question, Evangeline smiled sentimentally. “I don’t think I have ever seen someone love another person as much as Aelin loved Rowan. Or as much as Rowan loved and worshipped her back. They both started a beautiful dynasty, and it doesn’t matter what others say about them, they adored each other unconditionally until their deaths.”

Kiara smiled a little at that. Her grandma had always told her stories about how her parents had loved each other. Since her childhood, Kiara had been looking for a love like Aelin and Rowan’s. They had eloped together in their early twenties and lived together in this house until he was a hundred and one and she was ninety eight. Aelin had died five days after Rowan passed, and although the doctors had said it was unrelated, both Aurora and Nino swore that she had died because her heart actually broke.

Swore that she had wanted it.

Had wanted to go spend the rest of eternity with him somewhere else.

Their love was too big for this life, her grandma used to say. There was no Aelin without Rowan, and no Rowan without Aelin.

“Would you like for me to tell you the whole story?” Evangeline said, approaching them.

Kiara was quiet, wondering if she wanted. Her grandma had always told her everything, but some part had been so vague…

“Our train is five hours away.” She said, taking a seat. “Why not?”

“Where shall I begin?” The old woman mused.

Gareth sat down too, crossing his arms and smiling. “From the beginning, please.”

Evangeline’s smile grew, excitement radiating off of her.

“Then from the beginning I’ll begin.”

To be continued with another TS prompt

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt @maastrash

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 3 - Alternate Universe

(I am unfortunately not clever or creative enough to come up with an AU of my own, so I used this opportunity to make a gift writing. It certainly won’t be the only time I do this. This one is a gift for @answrs and their Selkie AU. I’ve always wanted to write something for it ever since I saw the little doodles for it. Plus all the headcanons were humorous for me. Bit on the shorter side this time around. I hope you like it <3.)

The coined term ‘urban legend’ has been around since the 1970’s, a way to describe the unusual, based on ‘true’ stories that related to whatever the legend regarded. This generally didn’t spread past one certain location, making it a special part of that specific place. Most tend to be about strange creatures, or something with a horror twist to strike up drama.

For one little, seafaring town, that legend revolves around a magical seal that appears and disappears without rhyme or reason. Most of the time it doesn’t seem to do anything other than sit around, watching whomever it comes across. Other times, it can be a devious little thing. The most telling thing about the seal was that no matter how many times anyone tried to capture it, or even tag it, it has managed to slip away from them. Something that should be impossible for an animal with only flippers.

Vivi stood in the living room of her home, staring down at the seal pup stretched out across her couch. This was far from the first time she had seen the animal, curious how it keeps sneaking in under her nose. Maybe it didn’t at all. Did it have the ability to teleport? What made this one seal so special? She was determined to find that answer.

She’d deemed it her goal since the first time it appeared, being in the middle of the night huddled close to her dog.

She crossed her arms, playfully narrowing her eyes at the nearly black ones looking back at her, “Hello again Loki. Has this become your favorite place to hang out?”

Loki.

The seal laughed internally.

Arthur, the bastard seal, found his antics far too amusing. How could he not keep it up after seeing an initial reaction for his sudden appearance? No one had connected the strange kid with sharp teeth, pointed ears, and an uncanny resemblance to Lance to be connected to the spotted devil. Why would they? To everyone here, he was just the man’s nephew who turned up out of nowhere, and was into some ‘weird stuff.’

But funnier than the way people reacted to him, was one particular news article.

He remembered racing into the home Lance offered to him, slamming the page down in front of the older man before losing it. Apparently the town had taken so much of a ‘liking’ to him, that there was now a contest going on to name the town’s ‘mascot.’ He could hardly believe it when he had seen it.

Some of the names made sense, but others were just so absurd.

‘Asshole.’

Oh he knew exactly who came up with that one. He should find that guy and mess with him again.

‘Prince. Garbage bag. Prince garbage bag.’

How was it that two people came up with two names completely unrelated to one another and a third person was like, “Yes, these two combined would make a much better name.”?

‘Seal.’

The suggestion was boring, but it was the period that made him laugh. Who was so petty to make sure that one punctuation mark had to be there?

‘Soap.’

Oh yeah, that one definitely made sense.

It didn’t take long for the older man to join in on the fit of laughter. How had it all come to this? Who would have thought the seal pup he just so happened to come across would turn out to be some magical creature straight out of folklore? Who would have thought the kid would want to stick around with him after all that? Well, Lance was certainly glad he had. There was no way he was ever going to let Arthur live this down.

Returning back to the present, Loki barked at the bluenette. Guess that was his way of confirming her statement. Ok, so he liked coming over to her house then. Her dog sat off to the side, watching the two of them. He probably found the whole interaction as humorous as Arthur did. No reason to interfere.

The seal pushed himself up a bit, settling himself on his flippers as Vivi looked over him again. She just couldn’t figure it out. Nothing about this seal looked different from the other ones she’d see along the shore. None of them were even so bold as to come near the humans like this, so why was this one? He allowed her to move her fingers over his sleek pelt. Even out of the water, it seemed to always shine in the light. She even began to lift up his fins, but even there nothing seemed out of place.

The seal rolled onto his side slightly, just enough to bring her face back into view before blowing a playful snort in her face.

Vivi huffed, waving her arms in front of her, “I just don’t get it! How do you do it?”

“Mmnghphp.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“L’egg.”

She found her hands moving to the sides of his face, holding him gently, “why couldn’t you be magical enough to talk?”

“Murph!”

“Tell me!”

“AAAAAAAAAAA!”

The bluenette was stunned into silence, not expecting the seal to just about yell back at her. If she didn’t know any better, she would say it almost looked like the animal was smiling at her. She sighed, dropping her hands from his face. Instead, one moved to his head, giving him a pat, “you’re one weird seal.”

“Brgehhhh.”

The two of them sat on the couch, Vivi writing something down in a book while the seal was watching her. She found it a little strange that he hadn’t disappeared on her yet. Was she someone of interest to him? Was there some other reason he hadn’t left? Well, whatever. It didn’t really matter so long as she got to watch him. Maybe if she was patient enough, she would catch his act.

At one point, Mystery had come to join them, settling up next to the seal. Good lord, it was like she had two dogs now, just that one of them was an aquatic animal while the other was not. Her head eventually moved up to the sound of something coming from her room. In all her excitement, she must have forgotten her phone. Oh! Now there was an idea. She should get a picture of him. She pushed herself up from the couch, disappearing deeper into her home.

She wasn’t gone for very long, but when she came back, her seal buddy was gone.

“Oh come on!”

Outside the house, a blond wearing a gray, spotted coat held his hands over his mouth to hold in his snickering. She was so much fun to mess with, especially since she was none the wiser as to who he actually was. He could still hear her voice coming from inside, “Mystery, you had to have seen where he went!”

He could imagine the dog giving what equated to a shrug of the shoulders.

Arthur stood up, walking away from her home, a huge grin crossing his face. Well, that was a good way to pass the time. Now… time to go mess around with Lewis.

[serifsans]

Vladimir’s bulk is warm and comfortable in a way nothing else is. It’d probably be downright luxurious to curl up on his lap in his true form but if there’s anything Jean-Paul hates, it’s letting their boyfriend (boyfriend, he calls him, as if either of them aren’t anything but too damn old, as if they don’t think of him as their husband, even if they dare not say it lest that change something and ruin everything.) see them when they aren’t wearing human form. It’s embarrassing, like being caught wearing bell-bottoms before they cycle back into fashion. They’ll let Vladimir see them now when they’re skulking around wearing ratty bathrobes so old they’re now antiques but JP draws the line as letting him see that silly pink dog.

(Also, they figure that if the regulators ever decide to mind-wipe him, it’s probably better if he has less memories of an obviously alien form. Maybe it won’t completely fry his brain then. JP’s terrified of that. Of course, JP also knows that if they ever came for him, Vladimir’s taking as many regulators as possible with him before they could even get to his head. They’re terrified of that just as much.)

They see each other so infrequently anyway that there’s no point wasting it looking like anything but a dream: that is, if your idea of a dream is undersized, middle-aged, and dressed entirely in designer brands. Vladimir’s is, which is part of the reason they like him so much. Their volph form is not a dream. It’s silly and little and adorable when it’s not glitching and lagging. JP will take adorable but the silly part, no.

Jean-Paul has his shop and his commissions and a whole part of his life he doesn’t want to drag Vladimir into any more than he already has. Vladimir’s got his work and his family and a whole part of his life he doesn’t want to drag Jean-Paul (or Polly Jean or whatever other name they cycle though) into any more than he already has. They both have businesses that keep them very busy and also side-pieces that also keep them very busy, mostly because neither of them really like to address their emotions and mostly deal with them by throwing themselves at whatever distraction they can find. Always, always, there’s the looming threat that this cannot last, that it’ll end poorly, that they should just end this, but whenever they break up, they can’t stay apart too long until the fear comes for one of them again.

Anyway, the point? Jean-Paul’s living like a fucking king over there because he gets to wallow all over this man. Anyone who doesn’t get to cuddle him is missing out on one of the finer joys of life.

“Paulie, my sweet one, maybe you would like it more if you moved a little, yeah? Just a little. I love you as I love no other, you are my starshine, my heart, but your ass, it’s bony. My legs can only take so much. I am sorry, my love.”

Oh, okay, the man he loves is just cruelly abandoning him like a complete and utter monster. That’s how it is. Being JP is so hard. They make a big show of looking extremely sad as they scoot off his lap and curl up against his side instead, sighing extremely, extremely over-dramatically. Vladimir pets his hair and gives him a little kiss to make up for kicking him off of his lap. JP sighs even more sadly and when that doesn’t elicit the desired response, sighs even louder so Vladimir kisses him again.

Their ass isn’t that bony.

“I guess I might find it within my heart to forgive you for this cruel and utterly cutting insult,” they say. “But only because I am an extremely kind person. The best. I’m completely saintly, darling. That’s the truth of it.”

Vladimir chuckles, a low rumble.

“They will write poems to your kindness and generosity. They will not say that you called what’s-her-name horrible things for hours only because she did not say hello to you while walking down the street. I still think she did not see you. If she knew what you said, she would never talk to you agains even if she did see you.”

JP huffs.

“First of all, it was not for hours. Second of all, I was only being truthful. Third of all, she did it on purpose; don’t argue otherwise. Fourthly, she can snub me all she wants, I really do not give a fuck, the joke’s on her, I made out with her dear old dad in the 70s and he liked it, so hah. I hope no one shows up at her fucking garden party. I hope she gets kicked out of the country club. I hope she buys a pony and it doesn’t love her.”

“Okay, Paulie, you tart,” says Vladimir, laughter still in his voice. “You were very busy in the 70s. You must have never rested.”

“You know it.”

Maybe being kicked off Vladimir’s lap isn’t so bad. It means they can nestle up against him and rest their head on his stomach. He likes to run his fingers through their hair, especially since they decided to start wearing it long in this body. Anyone else doing it makes him feel like anxious lapdog with no control over who does and doesn’t pet him (or pull his tail or mess with his ears or poke him) but Vladimir does it and he feels like a person instead. He closes his eyes and though he never naps, JP really feels so comfortable right now he could doze off. Bears are fantastic. The world needs more of them. Actually, it needs more of them and it needs this one to last forever.

“Mm, completely unrelated to exploits of the past, but I made an account on a website. Thought you should know. Transparency. Communication. That sort of thing. It’s fun.”

God, they’re comfy. This is amazing. Their life really is so blessed. Thank you, universe.

“Paulie,” his boyfriend says with gentle exasperation in his voice. “You join these websites, you find someone that maybe you do not like, you say things that you know to be hurtful, the websites say that you cannot go to them anymore. You can’t keep doing this. There is a reason that I run the boutique’s social media and you, you, my heart, are allowed nowhere near. You are very spiteful and very rude. I know this and I love you.”

JP really can’t argue against this one because they’re running out of websites to be banned from. Even still, they roll their eyes and huff because how dare Vladimir call them out like this.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll behave. I’m really trying to be nicer, you know. It’s all so goddamn weird that I wouldn’t even understand how to insult these people if I tried, anyway. I don’t fucking get memes, darling. It’s all a bunch of bullshit people pretend is funny. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I am sorry you do not understand the Internet. It is a strange place. I will send you Russian memes instead and then maybe you will understand,” Vladimir says. “If you do not like the site, then maybe consider not being on it.”

“I didn’t say that. I just said that it doesn’t make sense. Darling, you know I really do think people should cater to my exact sense of taste at all times but even though they don’t, I still very graciously put up with it,” JP says. “It’s a website for fellow space fans. They’re all bound to be weird."

Vladimir’s hand in his hair stills.

“I do not need to know the details of what you say on your websites, I think maybe I do not even need to know what they are called, but be mindful of what you post. You do not know who could be reading. Do not mention me on it ever, please.  Be careful.”

The ever-present anxiety starts making itself known. It’s not that Vladimir himself makes them anxious because he’s a giant softie underneath the leather and gruff exterior and the fact that he will commit murder in an instant if it means protecting his loved ones. It’s just that sometimes JP very suddenly remembers how much they absolutely have to protect him at all costs and what it will be like to lose him if they can’t devise a way to keep him around forever.

“I’m sorry, Vladimir. I should’ve said something before I made an account. I’ll delete it. I just...you told me I can’t keep running away from others like me. Well, I can’t deal with them in real life. I just can’t. It’s just a website, I didn’t think things through, I don’t want to compromise your safety, I can-”

“Ah, ah, no, I am sorry, I think maybe I said things too harshly, do not worry, my darling. I trust you. Please, maybe it will be a good thing for you and then you will understand their memes. I only want you to be happy and safe. Just be careful, okay? And do not start fights with people.”

JP whines and buries their face against him.

“I really can delete it. I, I don’t always think things through. I wasn’t made for thinking.”

Vladimir decides the best course of action is to pull them back into his lap in hopes it’ll calm the anxious volph, except JP can’t even properly enjoy it because their brain (if they even have a brain because they honestly do not know.) goes from zero to one hundred in half a second and now they’re thinking about everything bad that could possibly happen because they joined a website for aliens.

“Hey, it’s okay, okay? Have fun on your alien dating site. Maybe you will sleep with a Nessie and it will change your life. Do not worry about me. Just be careful with yourself, okay? You do not protect that person enough.”

That’s enough for JP to momentarily break through the anxiety.

“It’s a blogging website, not a hookup website."

“Okay.”

...

“Paulie? Is the Loch Ness Monster real? Do you know her?”

“Darling, you know I never kiss and tell.”

“Is she real?”

“Fuck if I know but I’m certainly not swimming all the way over there to find out.”

[bltzgore]

So I said I do some lab whump based on the prompt and it wound up being longer than I expected, but it was also actually less whump centered. So Imma give you guys the highlights!

Tw: lab whump, female whumpee (and a male whumpee), no comfort, death, gore, pain desc, mentions of euthanasia, needles  

Intro:

82 breathes in and she breathes out, she is ready for this test. She's been working and fighting harder than anyone else. They're all weak compared to her, she made herself into what they want. A weapon. 82 breathes in and she breathes out. They'll trigger the start of it soon, any second. Her heart is trying to crack her rib cage, it's beating so hard. Is she afraid? No. Of course not. Fear has been trained out of her. She can not feel it anymore. No, what she feels now is exertion, what they have trained into her to replace the fear.

The door clicks then hisses open. Her mind sharpens. It's time to show them. Show them what she can do. Show them that she is worthy to be their next chosen. Because 82 wants it more than anyone. She is going to be the next subject chosen for the serum. She will be their next weapon!

82 breathes in and she breathes out, she runs into the room. There is another in there with her, she knows what they want her to do. She's done it before, many times in one way or another. She has to kill them.

82 doesn't recognize the other in the room with her. She wouldn't care if she did. It always ends like this, she used to it, she has to be. She looks towards her opponent, he's scared. She's amazed he's lived this long if he shows this much of it.

It doesn't take much, 82 is strong, she was bred for this. Born to fight and win. She lays him out in minutes.

He's on the ground in front of her. She broke his right leg, really high up, all he can do it try to drag himself away. But she can tell even the pain of doing that is too much for him. He stops and looks up at her, "Please! Please don't do this!" he begs. They always beg, it makes her sick. Take your death with strength, unless you want to be remembered as a sniveling coward. 82 just shakes her head and steps closer, "You tool! You're not even a person are you!?" he yells, his voice breaking with terror. "You're just their dog! You know that! Right? You'll just kill for them without asking why?" he sobs.

That's rude. She leans down, her eyes fixed on his. "Exactly." and then she lashes out. Her fists come crashing down over and over again, until his head has been reduced to a mess of gore scattered across the ground. 82 stands and looks down to where his eyes used to be, "I know why I'm killing." she sneers, before turning away.

A few minutes later a voice comes over the intercom, "Subject XPM84 - 82, your trial is complete. You have been selected by the committee for one of the five available stops in project hunter. Report to room 34 of wing D tomorrow to receive your first dose."

She did it! 82 calmly nods, before heading to the door that opened shortly after the scientist on the other side of the intercom stopped talking. She steps out into the hall, and she smiles. Yes! Yes yes yes yes! Finally!

________________________________________________________________

A discussion between 82 and her friend 63: "So you actually managed it?"

82 looked up at 63, he had the top bunk that night, "Yeah."

"Impressive." he muttered.

"You sound so happy for me." she snarked.

"I am." he insisted. "Just... you know with the trial runs and stuff, something always goes wrong." he answered

"Yeah, you're worried about me. Not jealous that I got picked first and you didn't get picked at all?" she asked, bluntly.

"No! I mean- ok, yes I wanted to be part of Hunter but this isn't about me! I didn't make the cut, you did. Project Hunter is a risk. What if something goes wrong and it kills you?"

She almost thought he was sincere, "Then I guess that's a spot opened right back up for you." she growled, turning over and away from him.

"82... I'm sorry. I'm happy you got it, you've wanted it so bad your whole life. You deserve it."

She didn't answer.

He sighed, "Goodnight 82."

________________________________________________________________

The first injection:

"Alright XPM84 - 82, please sit down here." the scientist gestured to the table. 82 swallowed and nodded, before doing as she was asked. The scientist turned and headed to the back of the room. She went to a very particular cabinet, scanned her hand on the access panel and retrieved a small vial of purple liquid. 82 could feel her heart speeding up, hear it beating heavy in her ears. She was... no! She wouldn't admit that. She was not scared of this, this was what she wanted ever since she knew it could be hers. A person could endure anything if they wanted it bad enough! 

She tightened her hand into a fist, focusing on the muscle tensing then releasing. In her peripheral vision she watched the scientist filled a syringe from the vial a cleaned a spot on her arm. She felt the sharp bite as it pressed through her skin and stayed there. It was unpleasant, but nothing new. The scientist pulled the needle from her arm and held a cotton ball over it to stop the bleeding.

Once she was content with that she headed over to one of the numerous table cluttered with various advanced looking tech. She selected something in specific, and offered it to 82. "Put this on your right wrist and keep it on until you are told to do otherwise." she instructed.

82 nodded, clamping the metal cuff around her wrist. It was tight, she could feel prongs on the inside of it pressing almost into her skin. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable. She was about to stand and head for the door when she noticed something off, the veins in her wrist were turning purple.

"Is this... normal?" she asked looking from her wrist to the scientist. She walked over and took 82's wrist to get a closer look, she didn't answer and instead called one of her colleagues over. 82's skin suddenly felt like it was burning! It was as if she was standing on a bonfire! 82 fell, grabbing hard on her wrist, trying to find something to do with the agony. She began shaking, and blood started to run from her mouth pooling on the floor. She arched her back as sharp shooting scraps of agony bit at her forearms and spine.

She was screaming, trying not to, but it felt like her body was trying to kill her. Something was wrong with her arm, it didn't feel like her arm! It felt like.... it felt like- she couldn't focus! The burning felt like it was turning into ripping, something was trying to tear her skin off from the inside! The room was whirling and swimming as she lost her grip on the messy water color of reality. It all blacked out, no fade to gray or gentle fall into unconsciousness, it was all snatched away, like someone had snapped their fingers by her ear and it was gone.    

________________________________________________________________

82 tries to get answers and 12 warns her about her harsh reality:

A doctor made the rounds an hour later. When he discovered 82 was awake he asked her a few questions about how she was feeling, if she thought she could handle some food and water. 82 answered all the questions earnestly, then tried to ask a few, "Why am I in a cell? Did I try to hurt someone? Did the serum work wrong? It's just an adverse effect of the first dose right?" The doctor answered none of her questions and walked off, writing a few things down on his data tab. "82, right?"

She looked up towards the voice.

"They took 03 cause she was responding to the serum the right way, doesn't that make you wonder why they left us?"

She shook her head, "No. I'm fine, I'm ready for my next dose."

"They don't let you decide that now do they? What if you're not? You and I both know what they do to subject that don't adapt to their assigned project."

"I said I'm FINE!" She roared, slamming her fist and forearm into the bars that separated them. The bars shook! She had never been able to rattle steel before! She was getting stronger! She was still staring at her arm in amazement when all at once a dozen nails drove themselves into her skull. 82 fell to her knees, pressing her hands hard on the sides of her head. The nails took turns stabbing the inside of her brain to mush as she strained and preyed for it to stop. It felt like hours but the incident lasted almost a minute. When it all stopped she fell back, her head buzzing.

"Still sure you're fine?" 12 asked.

_______________________________________________________________

The second injection:

82 did not tell the scientists about this incident, as far as she was concerned it was unrelated. She was ready for the second dose, it would fix everything! It had to.

She stayed in the cell for this injection, it was administered through the bars. 82 waited for something to happen, as did the observing doctors. It was almost ten minutes later when her heart started to speed up, breathing got harder, then the familiar burning of her skin kicked back in. This time she did not pass out. It went for three long hours of hell, until the chemicals seemed to have passed through her system.

This incident left 82 on the floor, weakly trying to move. She needed to show them she was fine, she could handle the last dose, easy.

"It's a shame, XPM84 - 82 was our most promising candidate. But her symptoms are just like ZZ13 - 03's, meaning she's likely to follow the same course."

The other nodded, "We should get her in the que for euthanasia with the other two." 

________________________________________________________________     

82 and 12 run into 63 while attempting escape: 

  "63! Come on! We're breaking out, come with us." 82 ushered.

"You're breaking out?” he seemed struck dumb, "I-I thought you were in the que, why are you running away?" he asked, blocking her path.

"I'm not going to take my death laying down. I gave them all that I had and they're just going to get rid me of like I'm a broken pen!" she snapped, "We're all disposable to them, but I guess I didn't care about that when I thought I could be different." she hated herself for how easy that was to admit, how true she knew it was.

"No, 82 wait." he drew closer to her. 12 watched with an anxious expression.

"They weren't going to just get rid of you because the serum didn't work. It's because the serum is flawed."

She shifted her gaze, "What do you mean?"

"They're scrubbing the hunter project because of what happens after. There's a steady decline in quality of life..."

It felt like three bars of led had just been placed in her stomach.

"82, don't run. It's not going to end well. You should just-... just let them put you to sleep. It'll be painless." he had his hands on her shoulders now. He sounded so sincere, it made her sick.

82 tore away from his grip, the fury returning to her eyes, "The hell I will! I'll decide when my life is low enough quality to end it! I'm leaving! Stay out of our way and don't tell a soul about any of this, or I will find you, and I'll kill you." she snarled.

________________________________________________________________

The side effects:

"82, did you know that all the people out here have actual names? Ya know, like the scientists do, not numbers." 12 explained.

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Really! We need names." he decided. "I'll be... Sky." his gaze wistfully made its way up to his namesake. "I never want to be away from it again."

82 smiled, it was genuine and for once she didn't feel like a moron for making such a goofy expression. They were out. Screw what 63 said, any pain was worth it if it meant she got to live out here. Free.

Sky went to continue talking when he started coughing.

"You alright?" she asked, casually glancing over. Sky was doubled over with his hands on his stomach! "SKY!" she rushed to his side, trying to figure out what to do. Was he choking? Poisoned? He began to start spitting up blood, turning the dust below to mud. She watched in horror because it was all she could do. She had no medical training, and there was no where to find medicine for miles around. What was she supposed to do!

Sky started convulsing, falling onto his side and grabbing at the sand. He couldn't speak and blood was still pouring from his mouth. 82 tried to stop his thrashing, maybe comfort him, but when he stopped it was over. There was no pulse, and no breath.  

82 couldn't speak, she was shaking. This was her future. She was going to cough up blood and die screaming and thrashing in pain! She looked down and shut her eyes, how could she have been so stupid!? Why hadn't she just stayed and let them end it gently!?

She stayed curled in on herself until the sun began to dip. She had been going over and over in her head about what to do. She could sit here and wait, she could go back.... no. She had fought to be out here, to see this world! And she was gonna do it! She was going to fight for every day she had, and if she died in agony so be it!

She stood up, not shaky, not hesitantly, but with strength and purpose. She turned her head towards the sky and yelled, "I DIE ON MY OWN DAMN TERMS, DO YOU HEAR ME!!!???" but even as she yelled her rebellion in the darkening sky, she felt anxiety tugging at the bottom of her stomach. It would become her companion for many years to come. Always there quietly nagging her about how things would end. Writhing and screaming.