#a vaulted ceiling?? nope. nope nope nope I need my flat one

[insistonyourcupofstars]

this is not how i am supposed to start my year.

#so years ago my parents bought our current house #but there were some sligh foundational issues - nothing too big at the time #since then our house has been taken over by cracks in our walls and doors and windows #and I had to MOVE out of my room (my SANCTUARY) into the spare bedroom #and now I cannot sleep #the carpet is too fluffy (I paced and danced in my old [OLD] room so the carpet is rough now) #the room it Too Clean (I had to discard my jeans on the floor just to give it a little messiness) #it's much warmer in here #the window is different #this room has so much space - TOO MUCH SPACE for just little old me #a vaulted ceiling?? nope. nope nope nope I need my flat one #I need my room smaller it is meant for one person only -> moi #even sherlock is freaking the fuck out because he cannot go into the old room #SPEAKING OF WHICH #my beautiful precious room now looks like a tornado hit it!!! #cardboard boxes trash and clothes are all across my floor and I now have two different mattresses just hanging out #in my poor old room #and I HAVE. NO. BOOKSHELF. #all my life I've always had a bookshelf for my books and knick knacks and cute little succulents #all my life. bookshelf. #no bookshelf here #only vaulted ceiling #and the closet is too big for me!!! #I don't need all of this space and I don't need all of this change #some of this furniture I'm using isn't even mine! #my mother (an actual godsend) helped me bring in as much of my furniture as we could #but my bedframe is gone - the one I'm using is too big and hits the wall to easy! #I know okay I KNOW that I need to be an adult about this but I am freaking the fuck out #in six to eight months I'm not going to be living here anyways I'm going to be living in college #so all of this had to happen sooner or later right??

[automaticneon]

Hunting Season

Helmut Zemo X Fem!Reader

Summary: Going into hiding isn’t easy, and you and Zemo have to find new ways to entertain yourselves. Your Baron wants to introduce you to something a little different today.

Warnings: Very not safe for tumblr lmao. BratTamer!Zemo comes out in full force, inappropriate use of a riding crop, impact play, Zemo in leather gloves (that deserves its own warning in my opinion), oral (fem receiving) but with ✨added spice✨

When your new partner Zemo had said that you were going to have to lay low for a while, there was evidently an error in communication.

You see in your world flying under the radar meant months travelling between safehouses and run-down apartments, living out of your rucksack and calculating how long you could make your rations last before you had to emerge to restock. 

In Zemo’s world that meant something entirely different.

After his escape in Riga the two of you had rendezvoused and begun the long drive to Austria, hesitant to take the jet out of fear the Dora Milaje would be keeping tabs on it. After two days of driving and an overnight stop in Poland the two of you had finally arrived at the location Helmut had deemed sensible for your hiding place. 

A sprawling country manor somewhere between Vienna and Graz. 

“I inherited it from my mothers side,” he told you when you first entered the light airy entry hallway, as if it was a common occurrence that someone would inherit such a place.

It was times like these that you were reminded that you and Helmut were not cut from the same cloth, he was a literal Baron and you were only an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. 

Had been. You had been an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. You were now technically a fugitive of the law, wanted for aiding and abetting the escape of your criminal boyfriend.

It took a lot of time to adjust to your new life in the manor, but Zemo was ever so patient with you. He never berated you for getting lost in the long hallways, was always patient when you asked about the difference between a Baron and an Earl, and humoured you when you quizzed him about the events frequented by aristocracy. 

Eventually you began to feel at home. You and Helmut fell into a happy routine of exploring the house and grounds and enjoying each others company. 

Of course these activities were all interspersed with a healthy dose of fucking. Frantic, groping sex hiding behind marble statues in the sculpture gallery, giving fashion shows to Zemo in all the new clothes he bought you just so he could tear them off you again, kneeling between his thighs in the parlour whilst he enjoyed his evening whisky. 

The two of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“I should take you to see the stables tomorrow” he muses one night, trailing the tips of his fingers over your exposed back  “I want you to meet the horses before I take you out one”

“You should know then that I can’t ride to save my life” you warn.

An amused smile spreads across Zemo’s tired face.

“I beg to differ” he quips roguishly, breaking out into a smug laugh when you slap his chest in admonishment, 

“Don’t be crude, I’m being serious!”

“And so am I, you broke me tonight my love. You can be a cruel mistress when you want to be” he says, pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“I learnt from the best” you say, and return the kiss with a brief peck against his chest.

“And I’m sure you’ll learn a lot more”

-

The sun over the grounds the next morning was bright and crisp, dispelling the mist from the lake and leaving behind a pleasant climate for your walk.

“You look lovely,” Zemo says as you meet him in the entry hall. He’s fixing the lapels of his long brown overcoat in one of the ornate mirrors and his warm eyes find the reflection of yours as you approach from behind. He picks up his trusty pair of worn leather gloves and slides them on, flexing his fingers to soften the material.

Ever the gentleman he offers you the crook of his arm.

“Shall we?”

-

The two of you make pleasant conversation as Zemo leads you through the grounds of the estate. Today he’s full of promises about the future, it warms you to know he intends to make this last.

“I should take you into Vienna soon, I know a place where they perform Mozart by candlelight”

“Have you been to any races before? We could visit Monaco, or perhaps somewhere in Spain would be less conspicuous”

“I promise we won’t always have to hide like this”

The stable was an old building, as old as the house, but impeccably well maintained. The stalls, of which many were empty, were arranged around a courtyard and as you wondered around the perimeter Zemo pointed to the various amenities.

“Back when we still hosted the hunting season this place would have been filled with horses. My mothers side of the family took great pride in their collection” he said as you stopped to pet the nose of a great black horse.

“You hunt?” 

“Not personally, my parents were fans of the tradition of it all”  he says, his gloves creaking as he flexes his fingers “I joined the army very young. I suppose when you start killing out of necessity, killing for sport becomes somewhat repugnant.” 

You knew very little about Zemo’s time in the army. From what you could gather it had been a particulalry unpleasant time in his life, one born from a sense of duty to his country and a need to establish his place in the world before he took up the mantle of Baron. 

Helmut’s aversion to hunting didn’t seem to impact his care towards the horses, he told you each of their names and ages and you admired how healthy and shiny their coats looked. 

As you walked he kept a hand on the back of your neck, a possessive little gesture that he had taken to recently. The warm leather of his gloves a relaxing presence as he lead you through the tack room, a clean and chalky white room with a high vaulted ceiling. Your footsteps echoed on the stone floors as you admired the expensive riding gear mounted on the wall, stopping at a collection of leather riding crops.

“Oh Baron,” you teased, plucking one from the wall “very kinky” 

Helmut gave you a lazy smile as you reached out and tapped the flat end of the crop against his cheek, huffing out a little laugh before taking it from you. 

“Careful there my love, you could do real damage with that.”

You laugh and move to perch on the sturdy wooden worktable in the centre of the room.

“As if I’d ever want to hurt your pretty face, Helmut” 

“I’m flattered, but it’s hardly a matter of if you’d want to,” he says, fixated on tapping the crop in his open palm “you need good training to use these properly.”

You narrow your eyes. You’re fairly sure that he’s sizing you up right now, trying to figure out if you’re down for whatever it is he has planned. 

You decide to bite the bait.

“Do you think you’re well trained, Baron?” 

For a fraction of a second he doesn’t respond, keeping you trapped in his levelled gaze instead. His nostrils flare and he puffs his chest ever so slightly.

“Get up,” he says in a tone that verges on cold. 

You obey, but the sparkle of a challenge still glints in the deep of your eyes. If Zemo notices he doesn’t make it known, simply clenching his jaw as you come to stand before him.

“Turn around and put your hands on the table,” he instructs, and you can feel his gaze on you as you comply. 

“We’re going to try something new today. You can always say no if you want to,” he says, placing his hand between your shoulder blades and pushing, bending you slightly over the table.

Experimenting wasn’t anything new with you and Zemo, over the last few months the two of you had tried just about everything that took your fancy in the bedroom. You were fairly sure you knew what he had planned, particularly from the way he was using the riding crop to tease the inside of your leg, but you still wanted him to say it out loud.

“What do you have planned?” you ask, and your voice gives out just a little when Helmut uses the crop to make the tiniest slap against your leg.

“Five hits. If you can take five hits I’ll give you something special in return” he says, lifting the hem of your floaty skirt with the crop until it rests on the small of your back and leaves you exposed to him.

You know he’d give you something in return no matter what happened. If you noped-out after one swat? No problem. You had complete faith in this man to make sure you stayed happy and satisfied and so you arch your back a little in anticipation. 

Helmut smooths his gloved hand over the globe of your ass, lulling you into a soothed state before stepping back. You don’t look back at him; the silence and the tantalizing suspense only adding to the excitement growing between your legs.

You register the sound of the hit before you register the pain.

The soft whoosh and harsh crack echoes around the high ceilings and bounces off the white-washed walls. It’s not a strong hit, barely even a swat. Zemo had used more force with regular spanks before yet the harsh bite of the leather crop still startles you.

“Alright?” He asks, and finally you turn your head to face him.

A rogue strand of hair dangles over his forehead and his pupils have blown to swallow up his hazel eyes. Helmut looked as though he was holding onto his sanity by a thread, and that was a thread you wanted to break. 

You nod, not trusting your voice to remain levelled and instead turn to face forward again to await the second hit. 

The next swat was just the same as the first, but with the now tender condition of your skin it hurt slightly more. The third was ever so slightly harder, forcing a yelp out of you and making your nails dig into the wooden table. 

Zemo puts down the crop for a moment, coming to stand behind you and hovering his hand over the welts you’re sure are forming on your ass. You peer over your shoulder at him, watching the way his breath comes in quick pants as he examines his handiwork.

His eyes flit up to briefly meet yours before using his teeth to pull off one of his leather gloves and he tentatively brings his fingers between your legs, careful not to touch the tender flesh of your rear. His fingertips gently run along the clothed seam of your pussy, feeling the way your arousal is soaking your underwear.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he quizzes as you tremble under his touch. His fingers find your clit through the fabric and begin to circle it, letting out a low chuckle the way you moan and slouch at the contact. 

“God your wet,” he berates, and that momentarily sated spark reignites at his tone. 

“I’d be a lot wetter if you actually put your back into it” you quip, and Helmut’s fingers still. You keep pushing.

 “I assumed you were trained well with these. I guess I was wrong” 

Your Baron doesn’t respond, and you can practically hear the last strands of his self restraint snapping. 

Grabbing his discarded glove, Zemo presses himself against you fully, using his weight to pin you down against the table. The expensive material of his trousers rub against the sore skin of your ass, and you can feel his arousal pressed into you as he uses one hand to grasp your jaw.

“You’re going to regret that, мали зека” he warns against your ear, tightening his grip to force your mouth open and stuff it with his leather glove. 

Zemo steps back, pulling his other glove off and pressing it into your palm.

“You drop that glove and this all stops. If you don’t, then I don’t want to hear anything else from that smart mouth” he says, picking up the crop and taking his place again. 

You love it when he gets like this. When you’ve broken down that cool and collected exterior you know that both you and your pussy will be paying for it for days to come. Not that you have a single complaint about that, though.

The next hit catches you entirely off guard. It’s much harder, causing your skin to warm instantly and your body to jolt against the table. Helmut waits, probably to see if you drop the glove.

When you don’t he delivers the final hit, so harsh that the tears pooling in your eyes spill over, trailing down your cheeks and mixing with the drool that has begun to dribble from the corner of your gagged mouth. 

You don’t realise that your face had pressed itself against the table-top until Helmut is pulling you back up. He pulls the glove from your mouth, using one had to smooth your hair away from your face in a soothing gesture. 

“It’s over,” He says, pressing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss “you did so well.”

He shrugs off his coat, placing the material on the table and guiding your head back down, giving you a soft place to rest your head.

“Do you want your reward?” he asks, stepping back behind you again.

“Uh-huh” you nod against the soft coat, all of the fight had been drained from your body, evidently the ability to speak had gone with it too.

You feel as Helmut slowly pulls your underwear over the curve of your ass and down your legs, shushing you softly when you whine over the soreness of your skin. He nudges your feet apart, and you feel him kneeling down behind you. 

His hands find purchase around your waist, and he presses a kiss to the skin of your ass, being careful to find a place that doesn’t have any welts. His breath fans across your skin as he moves to press a kiss directly on your pussy, pulling away to listen to your breathy sigh. After the pain, soft and pure pleasure felt so good. 

Helmut buries himself into the warm wetness, feasting on your pussy whilst you moan into his coat. His signature smell clings to the fabric and fills your nose, fisting your hands into the silky lining you pull the coat closer to you.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he manages to make you cum like this. All he has to do is bring one of his fingers to circle your fluttering, soaked hole and he has you falling apart on his tongue. 

He holds you up as you practically sob into his coat, pressing fleeting kisses against your swollen pussy until your aftershocks stop. Helmut raises to his feet, gently pulling up your underwear and fixing your skirt, trailing kisses up your back until he reaches your head.

“How was that?” he asks, his voice quiet and tender.

“Good,” you push yourself up from the table shakily, letting Helmut keep his hands on your arms to keep you upright “you’re waiting on me hand and foot for the rest of the week though” 

Helmut laughs, picking up his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says, pulling you in for a tender kiss “your wish is my command”

You kiss him back, smiling into the embrace as a few ideas for revenge spring to mind.

#zemo marry me challenge #my writing #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x y/n #zemo x reader #tfatws #marvel #nsft

[jovialjuggernaut-draws]

Yo, anon from before. How about instead of the two fics, then maybe a short oneshot where Sokka and Zuko take a night walk and confess their feelings. If you don't want to do that then that's okay. Also, the art is really cool!

Hey so I took this and ran with it and ended up with over 2k words so! Enjoy your oneshot!

Zuko rubbed the sleep out of his eye, refocusing on the rolled parchment before him. He still couldn't tell if the character he was looking at had a stroke missing, or if it was simply a word he actually didn't know.

"Or," Sokka's voice drifted over his shoulder, startling him into dropping the scroll, "You're too tired to read. Come on, let's do something fun." 

Zuko yawned, retrieving the scroll and rolling it up properly. "You're not going to try to make me go to bed?" 

"Nope. Never works, anyway, you just end up staring at the ceiling and thinking about how much work you could be getting done, which kind of defeats the purpose."

Zuko couldn't help but huff out a short laugh. Sokka cracked that crooked grin he always got. "You know me so well. Well, what are we doing, then?"

Sokka presented him with a papier-mâché mask, pulling his own down over his face. The mask he wore was red and twisted, the mask of an evil spirit. He'd handed Zuko a blue one, reminiscent of his old Blue Spirit mask, but slightly different in its design. He imagined it was modeled for the same character. 

"There's a festival going on in town. It's winding down by now, but we should still make it in time for the fireworks." 

Zuko smiled, slipping the mask on and pulling a relatively casual robe from his armoire to pull on. 

"Ooh, fancy. Getting dressed up for me?" Sokka teased. He was dressed down in Water Tribe blues, the soft cotton out of place compared with Zuko's silks. 

"It's all I have." Zuko admitted, embarrassed. 

Sokka shrugged. "It'll do. Just try not to get mugged." 

"I'm more worried about getting caught by the guards. We're going to look like suspicious characters, sneaking out of the palace at night in masks." 

"Then we have to be extra careful not to get caught, don't we?" 

Zuko couldn't see his face, but he was perfectly familiar with the mischievous grin Sokka was undoubtedly wearing beneath the grimacing mask. Zuko's lips tugged into an answering conspiratorial smile. 

"Lead the way."

Sokka obeyed, tugging the Fire Lord through the servant's corridors and to a suspiciously uneven spot in the wall. He slid a brick out of place, revealing a mechanism beneath, and directed Zuko to send a pulse of fire into it, revealing one of the palace's many secret passageways. 

"How did you know this was here?" Zuko probed, padding quickly behind his guide. 

"Oh, Ty Lee showed Suki, and Suki showed me. Pretty nifty, right?" 

Of course, Ty Lee was perfectly familiar with the ins and outs of the palace. Azula never could sit still for long, not when there was trouble to get into, and never did so without someone to take the potential fall for her. 

"Useful, yeah." Zuko agreed. 

The air before them became suddenly cool, a breeze flowing in from the loose-fitting bricks in the flat wall. Sokka bent down, sliding his fingers between two of the bricks, and tugged on a hidden mechanism, sliding the other end of the passage open. 

The wall opened up onto a rooftop in the upper part of the city, affording them a view of the streets below. Citizens in their finest clothes, donning masks of all colors and designs, bustled about the busy paths. Booths lined both sides of the main thoroughfare, merchants hawking their wares, gamesmasters recruiting players, the scent of foods wafting out from here and there. 

Zuko had never attended a festival like this, personally. It would seem too common, and awfully unrefined, for a prince to be prancing about. They watched on from afar, once or twice, putting in official appearances, but even then… 

Zuko couldn't remember festivals in the capital city having ever been so exuberant.  People seemed joyous, unburdened, laughing openly and easily with one another, bumping into strangers without sparing a thought. 

It was odd, yes, but also comforting, in a way the Fire Lord couldn't quite articulate. 

"Come on! They're doing the fireworks by the harbor, we want to get a good view!" Sokka cut through his thoughts, as he was so talented at doing, and tugged him forward. 

They hopped between rooftops for a bit, avoiding the bustling crowds, until they came to an alleyway with boxes stacked high, an easy way to descend. Zuko hopped down in two long jumps, easily reaching the street level before his companion, who was delicately sliding down each box. 

"No fair! I have to be nice to my leg still!" Sokka whined. Zuko smirked back at him, hidden behind the blue mask. 

"I'll keep that in mind. I forget how delicate you are, Princess." 

"Hey!" Sokka punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You can't make that joke! You're an actual Prince!"

"I don't know if you've heard, but I've been promoted. I have a new title now." 

"Yeah, yeah, get a big head about it." Sokka grumbled in mock aggravation.

"Don't worry, I could never get a bigger head than yours." Zuko held a hand to his face to cover his smile at Sokka's dramatically offended reaction, forgetting it was already hidden by the mask. 

"Fine! I won't let you share my fire flakes, then!" Sokka stomped off, huffing. 

"Oh, don't worry. I can afford my own." Zuko responded loftily. 

"I changed my mind, actually! You're buying the snacks!" 

Zuko stifled his laughter, following Sokka's lead as the other boy led the way between stalls, picking up various spicy snacks and a couple of drinks Zuko wasn't sure he trusted him with. 

"Do you know how strong those are?" He interrogated. Sokka shrugged. 

"We'll find out, won't we? Come on, let's go get a good seat. They're starting soon." 

Sokka led the way through several alleys, away from the busy main street, until the crowd thinned. 

The building he climbed up was in minor need of repair, and the windows were darkened, leaving them reasonably certain it was empty. Zuko gave him a leg up, minding the mostly-healed injury, and passed the snacks up after. He ignored the hand Sokka dangled down to assist him, smoothly vaulting up the wall onto the roof next to him. 

"Show off." Sokka lifted his mask to rest on top of his head, revealing the dramatic roll of his eyes. Zuko followed suit, sliding his mask to the side, letting Sokka see his smirk. "Ugh, sit down already. And pass me the fire flakes." 

Zuko complied, resting next to the other close enough for their knees to brush as they dangled their legs over the side of the roof. Sokka munched the spicy snack, using his drink to cool his mouth down. Again, Zuko worried about its strength, sipping at his own. It didn't taste very alcoholic, but it was also deliciously tangy, which could be pretty deceptive. 

The whistle of the first firework pulled him from his musing.

The blast shot high in the sky, a sparkling array of colors scattering and shimmering against the dark sky beyond. The next blasts came in clusters, the explosions lighting up the sky in carefully coordinated patterns. Below, several master firebenders synchronised a dance with the fireworks, bending dragons of flame to follow the blasts. 

"Wow…" Sokka breathed next to him. 

Zuko understood the wonder. He'd seen fireworks before, sure, but they were never focussed near the palace. The noise alone was reason enough, and the soot left behind to clean up after solidified their location as far away from the nobility as possible. 

"You know…" Sokka murmured, leaning into Zuko, their shoulders bumping together. "I always thought of firebending as a scary thing."

Zuko hummed. "It can be. You had good reason."

"Yeah, but…" Sokka huffed, choosing his words. "When we first went to a festival like this, we saw the fire dancers performing just like that, fire dragon and all. I'd never even considered that bending could be used for something like that. Something beautiful." 

Sokka's eyes were trained on the display in front of them. Zuko searched them, looking for the further meaning in his words. 

"All bending is like that, I think." Zuko finally said. Sokka tore his eyes away from the fireworks to catch his gaze. The colors reflected so clearly in his icy blue eyes. "Both beauty and danger. I mean, just look at what your sister can do with hers."

Sokka winced for a moment, leaning away. He forced a laugh. "Yeah, she's pretty scary. Everyone thinks of waterbending as soft and healing but, hoo boy, can she do some damage."

Zuko felt like he'd missed something, ruined a moment he hadn't even known was happening. He simply nodded. "Exactly." 

They went back to sharing their snacks and watching the performance, a strange silence settling between them. 

Zuko cleared his throat, desperate to destroy the awkwardness he'd unwittingly dropped on them. "So… what's the festival for? Do you know?"

Sokka laughed, genuinely this time. "Shouldn't you know? You're the Fire Lord, right?" 

Zuko shrugged. Sokka smiled, looking out over the crowd a few streets away. "They're celebrating just to celebrate. Because they can."

"Oh."

Sokka nudged him, bumping their shoulders again. "We did this, you know. Even here, the people were scared. The war wasn't good for anyone. We made this possible."

Zuko shrunk into himself, familiar guilt settling into his stomach. Sokka set down the cup, nearly empty, and turned to face him fully, folding his legs under him. 

"You made this possible." He emphasized. "This is why you've been working so hard. Your people can celebrate like this, have fun openly in the streets, watch some fireworks! Did you see how many people from other nations were there, too?" Sokka reached out, tilting Zuko's chin to force him to look back at him. Zuko swallowed, overwhelmed by the emotion in Sokka's crystal blue eyes. "We fought so hard for this, and it's finally possible. This is… well, this is what I wanted to show you." He dropped his hand, looking away, embarrassed. Zuko felt his lips part in surprise, eyes wide. He looked out over the crowd, that strangely comforting feeling from before returning, and then looked back at Sokka. 

Compelled by an urge he'd felt many times before but never acted on, he leaned forward, reaching for Sokka's face. Cradling his cheeks in both hands, he drew him in, their lips finally meeting. Sokka's lips twitched into a smile against his, tilting his head properly and meeting the kiss firmly. Zuko felt like his brain had melted, unable to process the thought that Sokka was kissing him back, had so long ago convinced himself it was hopeless. Tentatively, he darted his tongue out, licking at Sokka's lower lip in a question. Again, Sokka responded positively, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

Zuko leaned forward further, bending Sokka back towards the tiles of the roof, crowding over him possessively. Sokka laughed against him, winding his arms around Zuko's neck. 

"A little pushy, are we?" He smirked. 

Zuko swallowed, pulling back as far as Sokka's arms would allow. "I, uh… I think, maybe, those drinks were, um, stronger than we thought?" He rambled defensively. 

"Oh, no. You don't get to blame this on the alcohol." Sokka tugged him down, drawing him into another kiss. "Besides, I got virgin drinks anyway. Completely alcohol-free. Like a good boy."

Zuko stared in shock, agape. "You didn't!" 

"I did!"

"You let me believe they were alcoholic!" 

Sokka shrugged. "You decided that, yourself. I just didn't contradict you." 

Zuko groaned, burying his face in Sokka's collarbone. "Ugh, it's the same thing!" He felt Sokka's laugh, shoulders moving against him. "I hate you."

"Well, I love you." Sokka grinned, nudging Zuko's temple with his nose, urging the other to meet his gaze again. "Hey. I mean it. I really do." 

Zuko swore his heart stopped. The air disappeared from his lungs. The churning of the chi in his gut stilled. He stared.

"I love you." Sokka repeated. 

Zuko swallowed. He buried his face in Sokka's shoulder again, rubbing his forehead against his collarbone. He couldn't meet his eyes when he said it. "I love you. Also." 

A hearty laugh bumped him off of Sokka's shoulder, and the tribesman held his face in both hands. "Get back to kissing me, you big dork." He ordered. 

Zuko had never been so glad to follow an order in his life.

#zukka #fics #atla #avatar: the last airbender #crossposted to ao3

[vorefluff]

Making a new organ is hard

“John? Will you help me with something?” Raknu asks, straightening his shirt cuffs.  

“Sure. Whatcha need?”

Raknu hesitates. “It can be dangerous for shapeshifters to mess around with internal organs, especially vital organs like the lungs. There are a few things I wanted to try that I’m not comfortable with trying on my own. I would also need help testing out the functionality of it. May I ask you to keep an eye on things from the inside?”

“Lungs? Why would you be messing with your lungs?”

“Just minorly. Nothing too risky.”

“As long as you’re being safe I guess.”

“Yes or no?”

John sighs. “What do I need?”

“Thank you. Please grab everything you’d bring with you to Blaze’s stomach.”

“Will do. When do you wanna do this?”

“In about an hour, ideally. Is that okay?”

“Yup.”

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

John sat on the side of Raknu’s middle finger, his back supported by the shapeshifter’s index finger.

“Are you ready?” Raknu asks.

“Yup. I’m good to go,” John says, putting his oxygen mask on

Raknu lifts the small form to his mouth, and John scoots in, grabbing Raknu’s teeth to help.

John’s mind immediately goes into comparison mode. Raknu seems more comfortable and not all that awkward about this, while being just as careful. And it’s wetter than Blaze’s mouth. And Raknu takes a touch longer than Blaze does in slicking him down.

Raknu pushes him back and swallows. The muscles pulling him down feel a lot stronger than Blaze's. There’s also a heartbeat here. It’s weird being able to hear a heartbeat. To feel a heartbeat. John places his hand on the surface as he gets pushed along.

“....This doesn’t look like a stomach,” John comments once he reaches his destination. It's a smooth rounded area with the look and feel of the esophagus.

“You are correct. It’s a seperate pocket I made and the main focus of my experimentation. Like a little internal storage container. Ideally, I want to do a number of things. Figure out where to put this new pocket so it doesn't impede other functions. Mess with the connection of that area to my esophagus and make an easy way to control whether things go to the pocket or the stomach. And the most risky part - seeing if I can connect my lungs to it, or figure out some other way to get airflow. Your task is to help me test things out and make sure it works properly. As well as making sure I don't mess up and start bleeding without realizing it, since I have to turn off pain receptors to change things."

"Got it. Just be careful, alright?"

"That is the plan, yes. I'll start off by figuring out where and how to place it. I'll periodically ask you to stretch and push at the walls to see if the movement will affect any other organs that are too close."

"Sir yes sir."

The entire chamber around John ripples and moves. He watches, fascinated with seeing something like this from this perspective. It pauses, moves a bit, stops again, moves back a little, fine tuning.

“Push at the sides and top now,” Raknu says.

John gets up and takes a couple unsteady steps to the wall. He hesitates, then leans against the wall elbow-first. Nothing? John takes a step back and looks up. Elbows won’t work here. He sighs and reaches upwards, stretching and pushing against the ceiling with his hands as much as he can.

There’s a noise from Raknu at that. “Hang on a sec,” he says, and the little room of flesh starts moving again.

John loses his balance and falls over.

“Alright, try that again.”

John unsteadily gets up to his feet again and pushes at the top again.

There’s a minor adjustment again. “Alright, I think that’s good. Move on to the next spot please.”

John takes a step towards the next wall and leans into it with his foot up about belly-button height. Nothing? Nope. Next spot, same thing. Last spot. He’s surprised to feel something hard a little way behind the wall, and Raknu jerks.

“Was that your spine?”

“Yes it was. Let me fix that.”

John sits down of his own free will this time. The wall he had just pushed at moves towards him.

"Push at that spot again?"

John leans into it with his elbow. Nothing.

"Alright. Moving onto the next step. I have a few ideas on what to do for how it's attached. I'll be testing whether or not it's properly functional with sips of water, if you don't mind."

"Yup, that's fine."

John sits down cross legged and leans against a wall, keeping an eye on the subtly moving flesh by the spot he came in on. He makes another comparison, that Raknu's general systems are a lot louder and more active than Blaze's.

"Am I on top of your stomach? That's what it sounds like, and the floor keeps moving in little small waves."

"Yes. Technically only partially above. You're a little back as well."

"Hey! I guessed it right!" John says, shifting from a sitting position to laying down. The ceiling also moves a little, in time with Raknu's breathing.

"Alright, testing now. There shouldn't be any water joining you."

John sits up and watches. He hears Raknu swallow, and a moment later there's a little trickle of water that comes in.

"Didn't work. Only a small amount came in though."

"Alright," Raknu says and gets to work again.

John reaches a foot forward and splashes his toes in it.

“What about a way to drain water and stuff out of here?”

“Didn’t think about that. I’ll figure that out after - Oh, hello Blaze. How are you?” Raknu says, his internal work continuing without missing a beat.

“Who were you talking to?” Blaze says. It’s quite muffled and hard to hear from John’s position, but possible with focus.

“John.”

“Oh I was looking for him. Is he in your pocket or something?”

“Or something,” Raknu says, and John hears him take another sip of water. More water than last time comes in.

John elbows the wall twice.

“I don’t know what that means John,” Raknu says.

“That worked worse. A lot of water came in this time,”

“Did you eat John,” Blaze asks flatly.

“Yes.”

John hears Blaze grumble in frustration and then the door closing loudly as he leaves the room.

“Let me know if the water level gets uncomfortable, John, and I’ll switch focus to taking care of that.”

“Will do. What do you think Blaze wanted me for?”

“If I were to make a guess, I’d say it’s likely he wanted to ask if you wanted to go on a night walk with him. He’s been getting antsy lately, and of course he’s not allowed to leave the house alone.”

“Oh yeah. That sounds like a good idea. I forget that the outside exists. It’s good to go out and get some fresh air sometimes.”

Raknu sips a bit more water.

“Hey it worked this time! Nothing came in, I don’t’ think.”

“That’s good. One more just to double check it,” Raknu says and takes one last sip.

“Nope! Nothin this time either.”

“Can you get up and make sure you’re not standing in any of the water?”

“Alright,” John says, and moves over and leans into a wall. “I’m out of the water now.”

The floor by his feet moves, and a little divider appears about knee-high, keeping John from the rest of the little area. A hole opens in the floor on the other side of the divider, and all the water leaves. When it closes back up again, the divider lowers.

“I need to stop for a food break. This takes a lot of energy. You’re free to stay or leave, John, whichever you’d prefer. I would like to resume as soon as I’m done eating, if that’s alright.”  

“I’ll just stay here. It’s cold outside.”

“Alright,” Raknu says, a hint of amusement to his voice. The area tilts and sways as Raknu gets to his feet and walks to the kitchen.

John stretches and lays back against a wall, fiddling with his pockets to pull out one of his waterproofed language learning books. He hears the fridge opening and metal clattering.

“Whatcha making?”

“An omelette.”

"Omelettes are good."

"Do you want one as well?"

"No thank you."

John tries to focus on reading again, but all the little sounds and movements distract him. There's a lot of growling sounds from underneath him. John gives up on reading and pockets the book. Instead of reading, he pokes at the floor.

“Apologies. I can’t do anything about the noise.”

“Nah it’s chill. I don’t mind that much. … Hmm. Do you actually like feeling… this?” John says, unsure of how to say it. He gets up and walks around a little bit instead.

“Yes, I do find that pleasant.”

“Moving around freaks Blaze out. Or well it used to, now he’s just slightly weirded out and mildly uncomfortable.”

“To each their own.”

“Are you ticklish?”

“No.”

“Boring.”

John takes a few more wobbly steps and falls back.

Raknu starts humming a Lindsey stirling song. After a little while of listening, John gets an idea. Rocking back slightly, he tries to vault himself up to his feet. He promptly slips and falls flat on his back. It has the desired effect though. Raknu’s tone wavers slightly.

John tries to make a game out of it - seeing how much he has to move and do to mess Raknu up. The first time took the shapeshifter by surprise, but now he’s expecting it. Which means having to up his antics.

This includes jumping, bouncing at the walls, falling over a lot, and timing things well.

After a while of this, Raknu chuckles and gives up on trying to hum a song.

“Are you sure you want to stay? My omelette is done.”

“Yup I’m good. Plus if I left, then you’d have to swallow me again with gross egg breath.”

“Fair enough.”

John focuses and hears a drawer open and close, footsteps, and the chair scooting across the floor. Just barely caught the sound of the plate being set on the table.

John situates himself so he’s facing Raknu’s throat and watches curiously as the muscles contract to push food along. The sounds from the stomach region also seem to start changing a bit, but it’s hard to tell. He can feel it moving a little bit more actively underneath him, but it seems like the sounds are a bit more muffled. Wup. Sounds like quite a bit of water was added to the mix, and it adds a some sloshing sounds occasionally. It’s distracting and gross, but fascinating too. Like a cursed image that you can’t look away from.

“You look confused, Blaze. John is still unavailable. Apologies,” Raknu says. The sudden talking startles John. He must’ve missed the sound of Blaze coming back.

“Where is he this time? I heard you cooking stuff in the kitchen and I thought that meant you were done with him,” Blaze asks.

“He’s a little above my stomach and back towards my spine in a new organ I’ve been working on.”

“What?”

“I’ll send John your way when we’re finished.”

There’s a bit of hesitation and then some grumbling from Blaze that John can’t make out. The door closes loudly again.

A particularly loud growl sounds from under John, and he prods at the floor. Raknu finishes up his meal. John can feel movement as Raknu gets to his feet and starts walking. A moment later the kitchen faucet is turned on and dishes clink.

“I’m bored. There’s too much going on for me to focus on reading, but not enough to keep me entertained.”

“Oh, another name change? Hello bored, I’m - oof,” Raknu says, interrupted by a kick from John.

“Well hello to you too, oof.”

Raknu snickers.

“Hey! You’re shaking the place like there’s an earthquake.”

“Am I not allowed to laugh then?”

“No. No laughing allowed.”

“I cannot make guarantees that I will abide by that rule.”

“Mmmmmhmmmm.”

“I just need to dry my hands and sit down again. Then we can resume.”

#Raknu #John #Blaze #safevore #safe vore #giant/tiny #gtvore #my writing #The new organ will have some problems later #nothing major though #but you gotta admit #inventing and making a new organ yourself is impressive #even if it is simple #Raknu won't end up being able to connect his lungs to the pocket #there's a little bit of problems with that #World of Heros

[virmillion]

I’ll Bring You the Moon - T minus 60 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter [this is the first chapter] - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 3,492

“Yikes, already dipping out for the day?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, hey, at least you finished all the major work for the week, right? Now you just get to relax on breaks.”

“That’s what you think.” Logan grins as he squeezes into the stairwell, nodding his thanks as one of the other interns holds the door open for him. She hefts her messenger bag higher on her shoulders before stooping to grab something off the floor and hand it to Logan.

“Butterfingers.”

“Thanks, Almond Joy.” Logan tilts his head as she slides the pen behind his ear, where it’s rarely obedient enough to stay. “It was Joy, right?”

“Right.” Joy lets the door slip shut as Logan begins his descent, still cocking his head to the side in hopes that the pen won’t fall again.

Five flights of stairs and two near-fumbles with the stack of papers in his arms later, Logan averts his gaze as he strolls through the front door. Lingering just outside the entrance is one of his bosses, holding a cup of coffee and a travel thermos of oatmeal. Logan stares at his shoes as the warm spring air smacks him in the face like a soggy paper towel, hoping against hope that his boss won’t—

Nope. “Hey, Lucas, can you hang back a sec?” To be fair, it wasn’t Mx. Oatmeal calling him, but Logan holds in a groan anyway. He begrudgingly turns to see another of the fifth floor interns—Cassidy, if memory serves him correctly—rushing for the exit and clutching a mess of folders to her chest. The blue and red symbols decorating the logo on her cap look frayed enough to fall right off. “Oh, I’m so glad I caught you! Here, they wanted us to do these reports, too,” Cassidy says, fanning out her burden flat until her eyes come to rest on a thick manila folder. She holds it out to Logan, continuing, “I heard you were set to be done early today, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t walking in to a master disaster of aluminum and plaster tomorrow because they decided to wait until the last minute.”

As a floormate of hers, Logan has long since grown used to the haphazard, uh, cadence with which Cassidy talks. He barely lifts an eyebrow, merely thumbing through some of his new papers and scrunching his nose to adjust his glasses. His heart comes incredibly close to tottering right off the cliff it calls home when he sees the bright red seal obscuring the last few pages. Classified information enclosed—NASA clearance level eight.

“Ah, Cassidy?” Logan says, squinting at the bold words and praying she hasn’t left yet. “Which ‘they’ are we talking about when we say we’re waiting until the last minute?” When she hesitates to answer, Logan glances up. Saying the gleam in her eye is disorienting would be an understatement.

“Oh, you know, only the tippity toppitiest, higher uppitiest ‘they’ we have. Higher than Mx. Oatmeal, actually. Higher than Katie-Lee, too, I think. We’re not even supposed to discuss the contents of our own folders with each other, that’s how secret it is. Why, what’s in yours?”

“I feel like you kind of missed the whole thing you just said about these folders being secret,” Logan says, snapping his folder shut and placing it in the middle of his already oversized stack. “Was that it?”

“Yup!” Cassidy spins on her heel and walks back in through the out door, shuffling her feet so she doesn’t cross paths with Mx. Oatmeal. Logan waits until she disappears into the elevator and the lobby appears silent before turning to leave again.

“Well, I can’t exactly take this straight home,” Logan mumbles to himself. Work life separate from home life, and all that fun stuff. “Maybe to a cafe? No, too loud, too public. A bookstore’s probably too shady to walk into, dressed for work like this.” Realizing he’s blocking both the exit and the ramp from the sidewalk to the street as he currently stands, Logan’s feet carry him to the right, pacing alongside the bike lane as he continues muttering and arguing with himself.

Before he can win and lose at his own squabble that everyone occupying the world around him is politely pretending not to notice, Logan’s feet deposit him in front of a long, wide, concrete staircase. Crowning the top is a set of sleek marble pillars, which frame a pair of gleaming gold and umber doors. Logan shrugs and starts climbing.

Just inside the doors—cool to the touch and smooth along the center from how many people handle them, if anyone’s keeping track—are a few white foldout tables, with a set of downdressed security guards to match. While the other three cast disinterested looks at Logan before focusing back on their pebbly table, one leaps to his feet and bounds over to Logan—that is, if a five foot man with wrists thick enough to wear headbands as bracelets can bound. The smile on his face is a stunning contrast to the bulky biceps rippling beneath the strict set of a pressed blue button-up and khakis.

“Visitor, student, or lost?” he asks. His voice sounds like someone tried to cut construction paper with safety scissors drenched in glue and glitter. But, like, in a good way. A youthful glow sort of voice, if that makes sense. Logan doesn’t get paid enough to be this observant at his internship, but at least it’s a decent form of entertainment.

“Sorry, I don’t—” Logan begins, but he can barely get the words out before the guard’s eyes drop to his stack of papers.

“Oh, ten dollars says you’re from Otalini High. Uniforms and a heavy workload, am I right?” The guard bends down to brace his hands on his knees, looking up and down at Logan’s pile. “Or maybe Allognathini, I hear there’s a major crackdown on physical evidence this year. Finals, am I right?”

Logan blinks.

“Nah, go with your gut,” the guard continues. His companions looks incredibly bored, but when Logan glances at them for a daring rescue, they make themselves look incredibly busy counting the tiles along the vaulted ceiling. “Anyhoodle, you got your student ID so I can sign you in?”

“I, um.” Logan hesitates, not sure how to dash this guard’s dreams of correctly guessing his high school. Especially when Logan graduated years ago.

“Gotcha, gotcha. Hands too full, am I right?” The guard scrabbles for a pen and paper from one of the tables. “How about I just write your ID number, and you can get back to me when you sign out?”

Logan decides bluntness is best. “I’m not a student.”

The guard freezes. “Are you sure you aren’t a student?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Really? Wow. Really?”

Logan does not particularly appreciate this guy’s incredulous tone. “Really. I’m just an intern at an office nearby, and I didn’t want to take my work home.”

“Got any ID to prove that?”

“No, but I’ve got this badge with my name and building clearance, and twenty dollars for a day pass to come in here.” Logan tilts his left shoulder forward, displaying the name badge.

“Oh, that’s not necessary—it’s free admission on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Logan is doing his best not to be exasperated at the apparently unnecessary delay. He does not succeed. The guard claps Logan on the back with a laugh, watching him struggle to keep his papers in order. “If y’ever need anything, just holler. Name’s Patton, but I bet you knew that.” Logan bites his tongue to keep from asking how he could have possibly known that.

As his mind traces back over the stern red warning packed in his stack of papers and folders and, apparently, top secret developments, Logan absently hugs his arms closer to his chest. He veers left for what looks to be an abstract art exhibit, mercifully lacking in attendees. The expansive tiled room is dotted every few yards with an oversized (probably fake) palm tree, around which are plush red benches. Logan sits on the bench smack in the center of the room, hoping most people’s instincts to hug the walls will benefit him here. He sets the stack at his side and slips out a few pages, hiding the manila folder between plain, unassuming blue ones. Maintaining a cool nonchalance, he casts his eyes at a new painting every so often, pretending to take notes on them in the manila folder. He wonders whether he looks like a fool to be doing this, but ultimately decides he doesn’t care. At least, not until a gaggle of kids—clearly high school students—sweeps in.

Logan lowers the folder to his lap, pretending to deeply consider the mess of squares (with one disobedient circle, of course) on a canvas a few feet away from the storm of newcomers. A swarm of teens in deep maroon and navy blue, with the occasional plaid skirt or preppy blazer tossed in for flavor, stands in an obstructive huddle blocking the entrance. Some of the kids have their phones out and are typing furiously, others scribble on clipboards with pens and highlighters, and still more have their sleeves pushed past their elbows to scrawl along their forearms in sharpie.

At the head of it all is a single person in a dark green cardigan and tattered skinny jeans, waving his arms like a skydiving penguin and somehow commanding the undivided attention of a solid fifteen teenagers. One of the kids raises a pencil in the air—one of those overly expensive, engraved family heirlooms, to be sure—and points the eraser at the painting the guy in the cardigan is blocking. Cardigan Man wags a pair of finger guns at the kid before smacking a hand on the wall beside the painting. He opens his mouth as if to yell something, but only a whisper comes out, whatever it is sending the whole pack of students into a giggling fit. Logan scrunches his nose to adjust his glasses and pointedly stares at a corner of the painting, peeking out just past Cardigan Man’s right shoulder. It looks like a paintbrush sneezed on it. On—on the painting, not on Cardigan Man’s shoulder.

Logan shifts his focus to a different painting, panning his movement ahead a moment before the tour group continues to catch up to him. He finds his eyes drawn to the way the cardigan swishes, bouncing to the rhythm of the guy’s stride. Almost a glide, really, with how smoothly he moves. His head hardly bounces between his steps. Logan wonders whether he doesn’t have some dance experience under those heels that barely touch the ground.

“Group Theta of Otalini Prep, you are late for your report time to the lobby,” a cold voice announces from an outdated set of speakers mounted along the walls. “Proceed to the entrance doors immediately. Any delay in arrival will result in a ten percent dock to your final grade.” A panic flies through the group as they pocket their phones, clip their pens to their clipboards, and roll down their sleeves to hide the notes inked on their skin. They scramble for the exit, tossing out farewells and thank you’s to Cardigan Man as they barrel for the unsuspecting security guards. At least Patton will have people whose energies match his own for a while.

Cardigan Man—or Cadmium, as Logan decides he’s going to call him, because that makes so much more sense—rolls his shoulders forward and cracks the kinks in his neck, watching the last of the students race for the lobby. When no more teens appear to be forthcoming, he moves for Logan’s bench, sitting on the opposite side of it from him. Logan slips the manila folder back into his pile of papers, praying it hadn’t been sitting open on his lap that entire time as he feels for the pen Joy slipped behind his ear. Gone, of course, but that’s hardly surprising.

Logan slips a spare pen out of his pocket and tries to inconspicuously toss it across the floor, probably looking incredibly conspicuous as he does so. He scoops his papers under an arm and stands, bending down as he does so to pretend to search for his ‘lost’ pen. Every time he reaches it, he kicks it a few steps further, feigning lighthearted frustration at himself. It rapidly turns to genuine surprise when he walks straight into Cadmium—or, rather, into his legs, which are sprawled out and away from the bench. Logan snatches his pen and drops onto the bench a couple cushions away, staring at the ground and willing his face to stop burning. Oddly enough, Cadmium didn’t seem to notice. Logan pulls out his phone and fumbles around with the chess app, looking at absolutely anything besides Cadmium, who mercifully hasn’t questioned Logan’s blunder.

After what seems like hours, Logan dares a glance to his left and sees Cadmium’s head lolling back on the top of the bench. A peek at his phone reveals that only eleven minutes have passed. Logan decides his phone must be lying, but he looks closer at Cadmium anyway.

His lips are slightly parted, and if it weren’t for his closed eyes and the way his soft breaths are gently buffeting his purple bangs, Cadmium would look for all the world like he was simply admiring the underside of the fake leaves overhead. Logan cranes his own neck, wondering how that could possibly be a comfortable position for sleeping, but his curiosity subsides when he notices the design on Cadmium’s shirt. In a bright tennis ball green—or yellow, if you’re the kind of monster who thinks tennis balls are yellow—and a font that looks like comic sans got itself a two year degree in baking with a concentration in chocolate croissants, it reads ‘tour guide?’ Logan can’t decide whether it’s supposed to mean people are supposed to guide him on tours, ask him for tours, or question the validity of the tours he’s about to guide them on.

Near the entryway where Cadmium had first swept in, dripping in all his green cardigan-clad glory, a huddle of kids in shirts with ‘Allognathini’ scrawled across the front peers around the corner. They survey the room and murmur amongst themselves, several of them pausing to give Logan a once-over. His work clothes probably aren’t helping his whole ‘not a tour guide’ image. He elbows Cadmium on a hunch, looking anywhere but at him when he wakes.

Cadmium jerks up, recoiling from Logan’s touch and sweeping his fading purple bangs out of his face. His eyes lock on Logan’s obvious attempt at excessive nonchalance, then shift to the group of students. As Cadmium stands and rubs the sleep from his eyes, Logan dares another glance at him. Cadmium, of course, chooses that exact moment to turn back, his gaze locking with Logan’s.

Just to be clear, it isn’t love at first sight, so put that out of your mind before anything else. It’s hardly acquaintances at first sight. Cadmium shoots Logan a quick nod of thanks—barely a smile, let alone verbal acknowledgement of the favor—before setting off for the group. He properly musses up his hair as he goes, and Logan finds himself lingering on the army of bracelets and rings peeking out from under the cardigan sleeve. With every step he takes, Cadmium melts deeper into the swagger he had with the earlier tour group—a complete and near-unrecognizable one-eighty from the exhausted (albeit peaceful) face passed out on the bench mere minutes ago.

If you asked Logan why he kept coming back to the art museum after that unplanned first visit, he’d tell you it was because of the calm atmosphere and visually interesting environment. This would be a lie, but it’s still what he would tell you. What he probably would not tell you (the truth, to be clear) is that he’s incredibly interested in seeing the other hundred and seventy nine degrees woven into Cadmium’s cardigan.

But yes, all of this to say that Logan returns to the museum several times, long after completing the workload in his top secret packet, and he almost never says a word to Cadmium. He simply arrives, deals with Patton, and observes the rest. A few failed attempts to cross paths with the tour guide make it increasingly obvious that Cadmium only ever makes an appearance on Tuesdays and Thursdays—free admission days, though Logan is still waiting for the jury to come back on whether that’s a coincidence or not.

More often than not, Logan will actively try to avoid Cadmium (once he’s verified the tour guide is, you know, there ), but apparently his tours span the entire museum, so there’s no escaping the guy. He eventually sheds his pride over the whole thing about eight visits later and tags along on a tour populated by small children with bookish helicopter parents. He makes a point not to join any of the high school tours, though, as that would look more than a little odd, but he admires how differently Cadmium presents information between students getting a grade and people just enjoying a day at a museum. Where students hear all about the artist’s lives and how their upbringing could provide a unique perspective on possible interpretations of the underlying meanings in their work, children tend to get illuminati-style rabbit holes. One of Logan’s favorite pastimes—after finishing any leftover work he didn’t leave at the office, of course—is tracking how many layers Cadmium can go into about each painting. While eight tours isn’t a very big sample to pull from, Cadmium has managed to not repeat any of his conspiracy theories, not even when discussing completely disparate works.

The best rabbit hole Logan has heard so far is as follows: “The tree is green, which is the color of money, the printing of which is directly correlated to inflation, which is also a noun used to discuss blowing up balloons. Bombs also blow up, and bombs are the bob-ombs in super mario bros. I used to play the demos of those games on the display consoles at Target. A target is used in archery, which is a sport. Soccer is also a sport. Soccer is called football in Germany. Germany participated in a war. So did the United States of America, also known by the acronym ‘USA.’ JPEG is also an acronym, which is a manner of lossy compression for digital images, circa wikipedia’s contribution from Richard F. Haines’ 1992 technical report. Therefore, this painting is loss dot jpg.”

Logan still hasn’t worked out whether Cadmium rehearsed all that or just made it up on the spot.

The first time he finally spoke to the guy—this being right after Cadmium had made a stunning connection between petticoats and ukuleles, mind you—he was wrapping up a tour and making a beeline for the door. Even as Logan held back, content to watch him push up the sleeves of his cardigan to check his watch, Cadmium seemed a little hesitant to go. He turned back and spoke in a much less cheery tone than Logan had come to expect from the tours. “What’s your deal?”

This gives Logan a moment’s pause, to put it gently. To put it bluntly, it feels like a flying bowling ball buried itself in his abdomen. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re always hanging around my tours, so what’s your deal? Do you want, like, a private tour or something? Are you an overachieving Otalinite? Because I don’t really do personal tours, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Oh, no, I, um,” Logan stutters, his fluttery hands finding a panicked home near his collarbone. “I’m, ah, I’m not a student.”

“Good for you, fight the system. I still don’t do private tours.”

Logan bites at his lower lip, uncertain how to respond. “Got it. Sorry, did you want me to stop tagging along on your tours, or…?”

Cadmium crosses his arms and looks Logan up and down. Logan wonders whether he’s secretly unimpressed with what he sees. “Nah, you look smart enough to draw in parents that want to breed genius children. Just stop pretending not to notice when I pass you with a group of students in tow, yeah? It’s weird, and you’re not fooling anyone.” He sticks his hand out. Logan stares at it, baffled. “This is the part where you shake it,” he says in a stage whisper. “Stop peddling your D level act of passivity and you can keep tagging along, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan finally says, shaking the hand. It’s colder than he’d expected—somewhere around freezing, actually.

“Cool. See you Tuesday, then.” Cadmium breaks off the handshake first. Logan watches him go, warming up his chilled fingers with his other hand.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm #im gonna put all the ships and triggers and everything in the masterpost but not the individual chapters because they dont really apply #and this chapter will be the only one with the characters #being tagged i mean

[thetravelerwrites]

Blue: The Dry Run

Rating: General Audiences Additional Tags: Monster Lover, Gender Neutral Reader, Asexual, Agender Demon, Demon Friend, Reader-Insert, SFW Words: 2135

Blue is anxious about going out among people openly for the first time, so their partner suggests a trial to help them feel less nervous: a petting zoo.

The Traveler's Masterlist

“But what if they don’t like me?”

You sighed at Blue in exasperation. You were trying to convince them to come with you to one of your classes. Your young students often dealt with feelings of being different in a world that didn’t understand them, and you knew Blue understood that feeling very well.

“You’re blue and fuzzy, hon, they’ll love you. You’re like a giant teddy bear.”

“What if they’re frightened? I’m a demon, a creature, a… a thing. Won’t they be scared of me?”

“Of course not. You haven’t been out in hundreds of years, Blue. The world is a different place now. All kinds of creatures walk among humans these days. You’re not the only non-human out there. A handful of my kids are half-human. Orcs, werewolves, dragons, nagas, even other demons. Hell, my boss’s assistant is an incubus, for fuck’s sake. Openly! Like everyone knows he’s an incubus; he doesn’t even try to hide it. Everyone has to have a job these days, you know. And I think the kids would really like you.”

They were sitting scrunched up on the bed, twisting their tail in their lower pair of hands and looked down at themselves. “But… I’m naked.”

You folded your arms and smirked at them. “Now your grasping at straws, Blue,” You said. You turned and looked into your closet. “But if it’ll make you feel better…” You riffled through the rack with your lips pursed. “Hmm…you’re too tall for most of my clothes…” You said. “Oh, here we go.” You pulled out a long, pale pink sundress with yellow flowers. “My sister left this last time she stayed over. I’ve been meaning to send it back to her, but…”

You bid Blue to stand, and they stood up straight. You’re glad you made the decision to move to an apartment with vaulted ceilings so that they could stand at their full height. Their constant crouching was painful, even for you.

You put the dress up to their long, spindly body and considered it. “I think this would look good with your coloring,” You said. “It’s supposed to be ankle length, but I think it’ll be just over your knee. Would this make you feel better?”

They shrugged noncommittally.

You sighed. “Look, why don’t we try a dry run?”

“Dry run?”

“Yeah. Just go out. Nothing big. Maybe the petting zoo.”

“Petting zoo?”

“Yeah, it’s full of cuddly animals you get to play with.”

They gave you a flat expression. “I know what a petting zoo is, my love.”

You laughed. “I take my class there all the time. It’s great for trauma relief. The proprietor is a friend of mine, I can get her to let us in on the weekend.”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“You can play with the animals. Animals are a great judge of character. If they’re not scared of you, then the kids, who are old enough to be reasoned with, won’t be either. Come on, please? It’ll be like our first real date. We’ve never actually had one, for all the time we’ve been together. Please?”

You pressed your hands together as if praying and pouted a little. Blue squatted and sighed, taking the dress and pulling it over their head. Luckily, both sets of arms fit through the armholes. They looked silly and adorable in it.

“If it’s for you…” They signed reluctantly. “But I can’t promise I’ll enjoy it.”

“If you don’t, we’ll come home and I’ll never bring it up again. I want you to be comfortable, but I also think you’d really enjoy yourself.” You took their face in your hands and gently kissed where their nose would have been, if they had one. “There’s no reason to hide, Blue. This world is as much yours as it is mine and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have everything you want from it.”

“I have you. What else could I want?”

You smiled and hugged them. “I love you too. But…” You sighed. “You’re immortal. Or, at least, you’ll live much longer than me. I want you to have something after… after I’m gone. I don’t want you to disappear again.”

They couldn’t argue with that, as much as they disliked the thought. They had been summoned to protect others before you, and had lost them all long ago. Despite never having revealed themselves to any of their prior charges, Blue always felt the losses deeply and had receded to the void after their deaths, waiting to be summoned again. Blue believed their only purpose for existing was to protect, but you were hoping to give them more than that this go round. They were more to you than a bodyguard or a guardian, they were part of your soul now. You loved them.

Blue couldn’t kiss you, as they had no mouth, but they nuzzled their face to your neck before pulling back and signing, “Okay. I’ll go.”

“You’ll love it. I promise.” You said, running a finger down the middle of their face. They did that strange smile that only involved their eyes.

That Saturday, late in the evening, you had made arrangements with your friend Lizzie for her to open the petting zoo for you simply so she could meet the elusive Blue you were always going on about. She admitted to you that she kind of thought you had made them up.

It was nearly midnight when you managed to get Blue, wearing the sundress, out of the front door. You promised to take all the back ways, so that they would be seen by as few people as possible. You assured them that it wasn’t necessary, that no one would scream or run from them, but they were still wary.

“Don’t look so worried, honey,” You told them, taking them by the hand and pulling them down the sidewalk in the dark just outside of the light of the streetlamps. “It’ll be fine.”

Blue allowed themselves to be lead by their hand, skulking behind you with their eyes darting to and fro.

“Lizzie is very nice, I promise. I’ve already told her all about you, so she knows what to expect,” You said.

“I doubt that,” Blue said.

“Blue, her husband is an onikuma and her best friend since childhood is a horned forest guardian. She’s really not going to be all that surprised by you.”

Blue shrugged and continued to follow you.

You walked up the steps of the community center and ignored the front door. All the lights were off except for the annex building where the petting zoo was kept in back. You skipped a little and pulled Blue forward, as they had stopped when they saw the light ahead.

“Come on!” You said excitedly. If they could have groaned, they would have.

Silhouetted against the open door was your friend, Lizzie, waving an arm over her head in enthusiasm.

Blue faltered in their steps, but you used your momentum to carry them forward. Blue was very strong despite the preternatural thinness of their body and extremities; if they really wanted to wrench themselves from your grasp, they absolutely could have. The fact that while reluctant, they were still complying, spoke to the level of trust they had placed in you. You hoped you weren’t betraying that trust.

“Hey, guys!” Lizzie called. Blue tensed but didn’t retreat.

“Hey, Lizzie!” You said in return, rushing up the stairs to give her a hug. You looked back and saw Blue lingering just outside of the light. “Blue, come on, she’s not going to bite you.”

“Unless you ask nicely,” Lizzie said with a grin.

Blue came forward slowly, fidgeting with their tail nervously.

“Wow, so this is Blue, huh?” Lizzie said, taking a few steps forward and putting out a hand. Blue eyed her warily, but took her hand in one of theirs and shook delicately. “I really did think you made them up, you know,” Lizzie added to me.

“Told you so,” I said.

“Yeah, you did,” Lizzie said, smiling brightly at Blue.

“Nice to meet you,” Blue signed after you nudged them.

“You, too,” Lizzie replied. “Well, ready to pet some animals?”

Blue nodded, the cascade of their hair shivering as they did so, and They followed you and Lizzie into the building.

Inside there was a miniature pony, a few pigs, a llama, some lambs, a goat, and a pen full of little rabbits.

“Ooh! Look, Blue! Bunnies!” You said, pulling them toward the pen. Picking one up, you set it in Blue’s upper pair of hands. Blue cradled it carefully, waiting for it to fight them or freak out, but it didn’t. It simply sat placidly in Blue’s grasp, nose twitching.

You took one of Blue’s lower hands and pulled it up, showing them how to stroke the bunny. When you let go, Blue continued on their own.

“See? Not so bad, right?”

Blue didn’t answer, just scratched the bunny behind its ear. They then knelt down and put their hand out, and the other bunnies came over and sniffed it curiously.

“Here,” Lizzie said, holding a cabbage in her hands and breaking off some of the leaves for Blue to feed to the rabbits. Blue took the leaves and held them out, and the bunnies flocked to them, much to their delight. Blue then sat cross-legged in the pen, surrounded by rabbits as if they were the bunny messiah.

“Cute dress Blue’s wearing,” Lizzie said in an undertone after you had retreated to give Blue some space.

“Yeah, it was my sister’s. I just forgot to give it back.”

“So, Blue’s a girl?”

“Nope.”

“A boy?”

“Neither,” You replied.

Lizzie scrunched up her face in confusion. “Well, I know you call them ‘they’ and all,” She said. “But… what have they got going on… you know… downstairs?”

“They’re an eldritch horror borne of the void, Lizzie, they don’t need to have anything ‘going on downstairs,’” You told her in a sniffy tone. “Besides, the only person who needs to be concerned about that is them.”

“Well, you’re together, aren’t you? Wouldn’t it concern you, too?”

“I’m a sex-repulsed asexual, Lizzie; it doesn’t make a difference to me what they may or may not have… physically. Blue is what they are and they don’t need to be anything else. It’s not complicated; they’re happy, I’m happy, and that’s what matters.”

Lizzie shrugged. “If you say so.”

Blue sprung up to their feet and trotted over to you, a small procession of bunnies following in their wake, and they smiled their eye-smile. They still had a rabbit on their shoulder.

“I want to pet the horse now,” they said.

It took another three trips to the petting zoo before Blue decided they felt confident enough to greet your class. You had also experimented with different articles of clothing, but Blue decided they liked the sundresses best. It allowed for freer movement, and they liked the way the fabric fell around their body. Halter top dresses worked best with their four arms.

While going to put away Blue’s new clothes, you hand touched a bag that you had stowed away in the closest nearly a year ago, the one with the bits of the bunny, Blue’s vessel.

“Whoa,” You said, holding it if for them to see. “I’d forgotten about this. Why did you rip this to pieces?”

“To get out,” They said. “Demons are physically trapped within the confines of their vessels. We literally have to ‘break’ free of them. I had no reason to do so before that night, but when I couldn’t discern why you were so distressed, I freed myself to try and comfort you better, though I seemed to have had the opposite effect.”

“Aw,” You said, hugging them around the middle. They’re lower set of arms wrapped around your waist while the upper pair settled on your shoulders. “It’s all good now. You’re a huge comfort to me, Blue.” You pulled up and looked at their face, frowning slightly. “I do wonder what you get out of staying with me, though.”

“I get love,” they said with their eye-smile. “That’s all I need.” They’d brushed their forehead against yours affectionately and you kissed their face.

The next day, Blue picked out the white sundress with the roses on it, their favorite, and shyly accompanied you to the school. They walked scrunched up at first, but when they saw other creatures, like demons, orcs, and beast-people, walking among humans, they straightened out a little and seemed a bit more eager.

When you got to the school, you introduced Blue to your colleagues, who greeted them warmly, which was surprising to Blue.

Outside your first class, you turned to Blue.

“Ready?”

They smiled and nodded.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Demon #Asexual #Gender Neutral Reader #Reader Insert #Petting Zoo #SFW #My Writing #Blue #Interspecies Romance #Asexual Romance #Agender

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Wrestling with the Washing Machine

Summary: Mr Gold is rather flustered by the lovely young woman who has come to fix his washing machine.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “I’m fixing *insert appliance/furniture/house thing* and now I’m all sweaty”

Rated: T

=====

Wrestling with the Washing Machine

When Mr Gold answered the doorbell of his salmon pink Victorian home at half-past three on a Sunday afternoon, he had been expecting pretty much anything except the sight that met him.

A full marching band with banners proclaiming their support for a halibut for the next president would have surprised him just a little less than a young woman wearing jeans and a utility belt, her dark hair in a bouncy ponytail and a sunny, eager smile on her face.

“Hi, Mr Gold. I understand you have a problem with your washing machine?”

Against what was possibly his better judgement, Gold closed the door without speaking, and he stood staring at the wood for a few moments. His reputation around the town was bad enough already; adding ‘slamming doors in nice young ladies’ faces’ to the list of his sins was hardly going to make a difference.

Gold did indeed have a problem with his washing machine, namely that it would get halfway through a cycle and then randomly switch itself off, leaving him with a washing machine full of water and sudsy clothes. What perturbed him was that the only person who knew about his washing machine predicament was Dove, whom he had called in his capacity as a general handyman and jack of all trades.

Had Dove sent him some kind of stripper-gram as a joke? No, Dove wasn’t that kind. His sense of humour was sharp and dry, which was one of the reasons why Gold got on with him so well, and he valued his position enough to know not to do anything like that to his employer. Besides, the lady’s attire had been practical rather than provocative.

He opened the door again. She was still standing there, looking rather amused by his reaction to her presence.

“Who are you?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was suspicious of her.

“My name’s Belle. I’m Mr Dove’s niece. He sent me to fix the washing machine. He would have come himself, but he’s done his back in, so he’s staring at the ceiling in the living room to rest it. I assure you that I’m very competent; I do all the fixing at home.”

Satisfied by her credentials, Gold stood back and let her in, leading her through to the kitchen and reflecting that he hadn’t known Dove had any relatives at all, let alone a disarmingly pretty niece.

He’d managed to get the laundry out of the washing machine - it was now sitting in a pile in the conservatory - and he had drained out the water as best he could.

Belle took one look at the appliance and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve seen this kind of thing before, I know what the problem is. It’s not the machine, it’s the wiring. There’s something wrong with the electricity supply, so it’ll just cut out in the middle of the cycle as the machine dies. It should be a simple enough fix if I can get to the plug socket behind it.”

She was standing with her hands on her hips, looking brisk and business-like and far cuter than she had any right to be. Tapping one finger against her lips as she thought hard, a little furrow coming between her brows, she suddenly whirled round on her heel to face Gold.

“Have you got some old towels we can put down to soak up any spills? There’s still water in the drum and I don’t want it to slop when I move it.”

Gold looked at the machine, and then at Belle, and he wondered how on earth she was going to move the thing. She was tiny, looking like she might blow away in a sharp gust of wind.

“Mr Gold?”

He realised that he hadn’t answered her, and he gave an awkward cough. “Yes. Towels. Right.”

He left the room to go and retrieve the stack of towels he kept in the hall closet for household purposes, and when he returned, he found Belle on her hands and knees in front of the machine, looking in through the door and glaring at its innards.

“I wonder when was the last time you were serviced,” she was muttering to it. “I reckon you could do with a nice deep-clean and de-scale. That’ll make you feel better, even if your power supply is causing your current woes. You’ve had all that stale water sitting in the bottom there for a couple of days now, and that can’t be very pleasant for you.”

“Are you talking to the washing machine?”

Belle jumped up on hearing his voice, looking like she’d been stung, and her face was beet red as she turned to him.

“Nope?” she said brightly, then her shoulders sagged. “Yes, I was. I find that appliances always tend to work better when you’re nice to them. If you’re constantly kicking them and telling them that they’re stupid pieces of junk, then they’re never going to work properly for you. You wouldn’t work properly for someone if they told you that you were a piece of junk.”

There was a vehemence in her tone, and Gold wondered if she had first-hand experience of such a thing. He decided that it would be better not to ask, and just to let Belle get on with the process of fixing his washing machine. If that involved sweet-talking it, then so be it.

Together they spread the towels down on the kitchen floor, and Belle set her weight, ready to move the machine.

“Do you need a hand there?” Not that Gold thought he was going to be any better placed to move the thing, but perhaps they could manage it between them.

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t need to move it much, just enough for me to shimmy down behind it so that I can get at the plug. Besides, I don’t want to put any strain on your ankle, and I really don’t want to have to deal with two men putting their backs out thanks to moving heavy machinery.”

Gold was about to point  out the likelihood of Belle herself ending up flat on her back next to her uncle, but before he could do so, there was a shriek as the machine jolted forwards, and Belle stood up, admiring her handiwork.

“Perfect.”

Gold just stared at her in gobsmacked wonder. She must have arms of steel. He was still picking his jaw up off the floor when she vaulted herself up onto the machine and slithered down into the gap behind it, vanishing from view completely.

For the next few minutes, the only indication Gold had that Belle was even there were the occasional grunts of exertion as she fiddled about in the tight space behind the machine. Presently a slim arm appeared, putting a screwdriver on top of the machine and then disappearing again.

There was a loud bang and some muttered profanity, and Gold chanced to take a step closer to the washing machine.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, the stupid thing just won’t go in far enough and there’s not enough leverage to wiggle it about.”

Gold really didn’t know what to say to that, because combined with all her grunting, his mind was going to some places that were fast becoming rather inappropriate.

Her hand appeared over the top of the machine again, groping for the screwdriver. Gold hastened to hand it to her.

“Thank you!”

There was another sound that bordered closely on the obscene end of the scale, and Gold decided that it would be a good idea to sit down before his knees gave out completely. Good grief, he’d only known the woman five minutes and he employed her uncle, he really shouldn’t be having those kind of thoughts about her. She was performing manual labour, there shouldn’t be anything remotely sexual about it.

There was an exclamation of triumph from behind the machine, and Belle popped up again, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. Her face was flushed a very pretty pink colour from the exertion, and there was sweat dripping along her hairline, but Gold was still of the impression that she was possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Belle pulled herself up from behind the washing machine and vaulted over it again, before giving a huge heave and wrestling it back into position.

“It should work fine now, Mr Gold,” she said brightly. “The wiring in the plug socket had gone, but I’ve fixed it now. No more trouble.”

She gathered up the damp towels and folded them neatly onto the side, and then gave him a brilliant smile. “I’ll be off now, then.”

“Wait.” Gold raced after her as she made her way towards the front door again. “I really should compensate you for your time.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I was just doing a favour for Uncle Derek.”

“I understand, but I do pay your Uncle Derek.”

Belle looked ponderous for a moment. “It was an easy job, really. Not worth much. Maybe you could buy me a drink instead?”

“A pardon?”

“A drink.” Belle grinned. “Would you like to buy me a drink as payment for me fixing your washing machine?”

“I… Yes.” He nodded enthusiastically lest his intentions be misinterpreted. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Is tonight good for you? I go back to Boston tomorrow. Aesop’s Tables?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I’ll see you there, then. Eight o’clock?”

Gold nodded as he opened the front door and Belle trotted down the path towards the Mini parked up behind his Cadillac in the driveway. For several minutes after she had driven away, he could only stand in the doorway staring at where she had been.

Well, that was certainly a new experience for him. He had started the day with a broken washing machine, and he had ended it with a date.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #A Monthly Rumbelling #Belle French #Mr Gold #fluff #Fic: Washing Machine

[grvalis]

So i managed to break my writers slump over the weekend. Not on anything I was supposed to be working on, naturally. But I got an idea just as I was about to go to bed and decided fuck it and stayed up another three hours doing this. Not sure what I’ll do with it, and if I do it’ll probably involve rewriting most of it, but I kinda like it. Plus I got to taunt @sybilreisz, @stumblingcamelid and @technoskittles as I was writing it and that’s always fun.

- Untitled (Valis Does a Bad)

“Oww...” Kat groaned, staggering to her feet and rubbing her head. That had not been her best landing. But then she hadn’t expected the ground to cave in like that. Thankfully it didn’t feel like she’d fallen too far, the last thing she needed was another concussion.

First thing’s first, where was she? An empty chamber, much like the other subterranean ones she and Raven had already explored. Speaking of the other gravity shifter, didn’t seem like she had suffered Kat’s fate. “Some people get all the luck.” Kat grumbled to herself, glancing up from where she’d came through the ceiling.

The hole had been filled with rubble and broken steel. She wasn’t going back that way. She didn’t need to check to know her powers were gone, she could feel it. Dusty had evidently not managed to follow her down. And with no guardian, no gravity shifting.

So even if she wanted to Surge Kick her way back up, she couldn’t. Although… “Jupiter!” There was a burst of light and Kat had to drop into a half-crouch as the yellow bands that suddenly materialised on her arms and legs weighed her down. She let them fizzle back into nothingness. “Okay, good. Still got that and Lunar if I need it.”

Kat clambered over the rubble, navigating towards the wall of the chamber by the strange pulsating lights that ran through the ceiling and floors like veins. After the hours she and Raven had spent exploring this place, it was still disturbing. Especially combined with the eerie silence now that she’d lost someone to talk to. “...We really need to get radios so this stops happening,” she mused.

She followed the wall until she found her way to a door. Much like all the others they had found in this structure, it was a metal blast door that refused to budge. Jupiter fixed that, the sound of the steel slab hitting the floor ringing through the silence. “...I hope Raven heard that.”

It’s all fine, Kat assured herself. She knew Raven. The other gravity shifter would be tearing the place apart to find her, and Dusty would be helping her too. They’d find each other before they knew it. So all she had to do was keep moving forward.

Another empty, soulless corridor, identical to all the others she had passed through above. Kat couldn’t help but wonder if it would have killed whoever built this place to put up a few decorations. Or at least something to make finding her way around easier.

She got her wish. The next room was a wide circular chamber. The light veins ran up the walls now, and the massive steel column in the center of the chamber. Kat traced the column up, she couldn’t make out where the chamber ended. But what she could make out were catwalks.

She had a way back up. Towards Raven and Dusty. Thanking her lucky stars that Lunar Style still worked, she launched into the air, kicking off of the wall when her jump started running out of momentum, until she was able to grab the railing of the catwalk. She’d nearly overshot it but was able to grab on and flip herself onto the metal walkway.

It was narrow and, if it wasn’t for Lunar making her as light as a feather, probably not that stable. But for now it was fine. She could see a doorway on this level but ignored it, she was certain she’d fallen further than this and she could just make out another catwalk even higher.

Kat had just been about to launch off, when she heard the blast door hiss as it slid open. She spun at the noise, instinctively dropping into a fighting stance as a strange figure glided onto the walkway and into the dim light.

Kat stared. Straight into the single red light in the center of the machine’s ‘face’. It looked almost like a Grigo. Only clunkier, less refined. Its eye stuck out, like her camera’s lens. The jet keeping it afloat seemed to pulse irregularly much like a misfiring airboat’s engine, causing it to almost bounce on the walkway. And instead of the silver metal of the Grigos back home, the chassis was brown with rust.

“Hello?”

No response. The strange Proto-Grigo definitely knew she was there by the fact it had stopped moving. She could hear the lenses in its eye shift as it looked at her. She kept her fighting stance, something about this situation still felt so wrong that she daren’t lower her guard.

The machine started gliding towards her again, the glowing light in its eye flashing blue as it got closer. “Back off!” Kat warned, taking a step backwards to keep some distance. Distance that the Proto-Grigo immediately closed again as it didn’t heed her words.

Whatever its motivation was, it wasn’t good. Kat considered fighting it for a moment before ruling it out. The walkway was too narrow to move properly and without her gravity powers, she couldn’t risk getting hurt. So instead she launched straight at it, vaulting over the top of it.

The blast door behind it was wide open, and the ground there was solid, so she zipped on through, shifted back to Jupiter, and slammed both her fists down on the metal catwalk. The entire thing crumpled and fell, the Proto-Grigo’s unstable engine unable to keep it in the open sky and sending it crashing into the abyss too.

Kat peered down at the mess she’d caused, it seemed the weird Grigo had shattered on impact with the ground. “Well that was easy-” She heard the hiss of the door behind sliding open. “...crap.”

Kat slowly turned, arms dropping to her side at the sight of more of the strange machines. A lot more. It seemed like twenty were slowly filling the corridor and still more were pouring in from the darkened chambers beyond.

“Nope.”

Switching back to Lunar Style, Kat flung herself out of that room and towards the central column. With the walkway gone, they couldn’t follow. She managed to find a ridge on the column to cling onto for purchase, looking back at the dozens of red glowing eyes watching her every movement.

Getting more and more creeped out by the moment, Kat decided she really, really needed to find Raven and Dusty. This was clearly not somewhere she wanted to explore by herself, not anymore. Creepy and abandoned was one thing, creepy and filled with freaky machines was another.

So back to launching herself upwards, further and further away from whatever those things were. She made the second walkway, this one clearly built for more foot-traffic as it was much wider and more solid-looking than the first. It didn’t shake under her weight, even as she let Lunar Style fade away.

More importantly, it was the end of the column, and the chamber itself. The wide steel pillar evened out into a circular platform that Kat stepped onto. She wasn’t willing to trust the walkway anymore than she had to, more stable or otherwise.

But the moment she stepped onto the platform, the blue lights that ran up the walls suddenly brightened in intensity and turned to a bright white. It almost burned her eyes, forcing her to shield them with her arm.

“What now?!” She called, hearing a whirring sound coming from somewhere. But she couldn’t place from where. Until she realised it was coming from everywhere. The entire chamber starting to rumble and come to life.

A small iris in the center of her platform opened, another steel column rising up. Only this one had a console of some kind attached to it, and very visible seams where it clearly was supposed to slide open to reveal something inside.

Kat wasn’t stupid, whatever this thing was was going to be bad news. She needed to leave, find Raven, get her powers back and then they would be ready for this. But she couldn’t stop her feet from moving towards the strange metal tube. It was like it was calling to her.

Almost in a trance she reached towards the console jutting out of the tube. Next to a screen and all the buttons was a flat surface with the outline of a hand on. Reassuring herself that this was no different than her trying the keypads on the blast doors and that nothing was going to happen, Kat placed her hand inside the outline.

One second. Two seconds. Three. Nothing happened. Kat let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. And then she heard the hiss as the blast door behind her opened. The noise startled her out of her trance as she spun around, another of the strange Grigo-like machines approaching.

She’d reached the top, retreating up was no longer an option. And down was an even worse idea, so her only option was to stand her ground. And now she had a solid platform to work with. The yellow plates of Jupiter Style burst into existence as she waited for the Grigo to get closer.

Part of the Grigo’s chassis under its eye slid open and a small device slid out. It had three prongs that looked almost like fingers, making the entire thing seem uncomfortably close to a limb. As it got closer Kat could see sparks of electricity starting to jump between the prongs.

Now she knew for certain this was hostile, she didn’t hesitate. She darted around the shock stick, the Proto-Grigo too slow to turn as she got around behind it. And, with all the force Jupiter Style could muster, she rammed into its back and crashed it into the pillar.

It smashed straight through the console, the shock stick meeting the wiring inside even as the Grigo itself buckled and warped from the impact. Kat stepped backwards as the sparks and whirring machinery grew louder and more erratic. She threw up her arms to protect herself just in time as, much like the Grigos she was familiar with, the strange machine detonated.

If it hadn’t been for Jupiter, the force from the explosion would probably have knocked her off the platform. But thankfully she was able to weather the storm. When she looked up, there wasn’t much left of the Proto-Grigo, just a burned out shell.

And the steel tube was just as damaged. A large hole had been smashed into it by the explosion, revealing the contents inside. Whatever Kat had been expecting in there, it was not a pink crystal ball.

“What is that?” Kat couldn’t help but say aloud as she approached.

It was about the size of a tennis ball and seemed more egg-shaped than a perfect sphere. A soft glow was coming from it and, rather than be unsettling like that of the vein-like wall lights, it felt warmer. Something about it reminded Kat of the pipe-house, of Dusty’s purr, of the comfort from a music box a lifetime ago. It felt like home.

Before she even realised it, she had reached through the hole and taken hold of the crystal. Several wires and tubes tried to keep it in place but they could not stand up to Jupiter as Kat wrenched it free and held it up to get a better look.

It seemed to give off an almost soothing warmth as it sat in her hand and the light it was giving off seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. It was definitely strange, there was no denying that. But Kat had it now, so there was no point in not taking it with her.

She still had to find her way out of this place. And maybe Raven would be able to figure something out about the crystal- “No. Cecie. She knows rocks.” Between running Banga Settlement and its mining crew and her angel powers, there probably wasn’t anyone who would be better than Cecie at figuring out this thing’s mysteries.

She stepped across the walkway, already trying to figure out what she’d say to Cecie when she found her. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the white crystals slowly starting to form and engulf the Jupiter plates.

A full volley of Blue Jay energy spheres ripped through another of the strange Grigo-like machines as Raven kicked through the eye lens of a second. A stasis throw picked it up and smashed it into the last of them, the machines falling silent and still.

Raven didn’t relax, keeping her ears peeled for any sign of more. Or that of Kat. If Raven had started running into these things as she made her way deeper into the structure, it was a safe bet that Kat had too.

But for the moment, no sign of anything. She let her powers fade as Xii settled on her shoulder. Despite starting to feel tired after the hours of exploring and now having to fight too, she didn’t dare stop to take a breather while Kat was missing, so she pressed on through the blast doors.

It didn’t take long to catch up with Dusty, Kat’s guardian having been leading her through the maze of corridors. Only this time it wasn’t because he’d stopped to wait for her. Instead of sitting, watching out for her with those sparkling eyes of his; she found the starry feline curled up in a ball, panting and shaking.

“Dusty!” She scooped him up. She’d never seen either Dusty or Xii like this, so she couldn’t help but feel panic. Panic that turned to horror as she immediately saw what the problem was. One of his paws, instead of black fur that was filled with stars, was being engulfed in crystal.

Raven glanced at Xii. They’d seen this before. They knew it well. It looked almost identical to the crystals that had been coating Cecie when she and Kat saved her in Neu Hiraleon. And if it was happening to Dusty, that meant- oh no. “Kat!”

#writing again was fun #even if it was at a beyond stupid time of the morning #when people are getting up to go work #you have been awake too long #Valis' WIPs