#part 4 after I've taken a break from this story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivid-ink · 7 months

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Kinktober #1 - Handjob "Mission Accomplished"

fem!HumanReader x Neteyam or Lo'ak (you pick! 😉)

Summary: You've been asked to fill in for Norm on one of his Na'vi patient observations, except this isn't any old observation appointment... You need to collect a semen sample and the appointment doesn't go at all to professional plan...

Warnings: 🔞 Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Happy Kinktober everyone! 😁 I'm late with this prompt as it was completely unplanned. I got inspired late last night after posting Part 4 of 'The Love Shack' and this is what my brain spat out! As usual, my inability to write short drabbles means that what was meant to be a short, sweet kink-scene turned out to be 4.6k. I've not used any names in this piece, so you're free to imagine either Neteyam or Lo'ak as the male lead in this. Enjoy the spice ya'll!

Tagging some mooties who may be interested (no pressure though): @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @adrianarose7 @vintaqestar @eyweveng @qcswrites @daeneeryss @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @teymars @neteluvr @sulieykte @teyamsatan

And OMG (I feel absolutely rotten for overlooking this until now) - Thank you to the incredible @cinetrix for her render of Neteyam which I've used in the story cover.

You swallowed tightly as Dr Blaise briefed you around the purpose of today’s observation and what was required of you. Your heart was galloping in your chest and you could feel yourself breaking out into a nervous sweat. It amazed you how unconcerned and unaffected she was about the whole thing.

“It’s a simple observation. We’re looking for any key physical differences in appearance, as well as any differences in physiological function.” Dr Blaise stated casually, “No swabs or bloods needed today. Just some notes, photos, and a semen sample. There are sample collection jars in the consultation bay already.”

A semen sample… Good Lord, she said that with all the nonchalance of someone asking for a saliva sample. Though you figured that’s what medical professionalism was all about, right? No awkwardness, no emotion, just plain science and fact.

When Dr Norm Spellman had said that he was writing a book about Pandoran Biology and Na’vi Physiology, you’d jumped at the opportunity to be involved. After all, Pandora was your home. It was the only home you’d ever known. As one of the only two human babies to be born on Pandora, you and Spider were the only generation of humans who’d never known the dying mother planet Earth.

Unlike Spider though who had taken to life on Pandora like a duckling to water, scaling trees, swinging from branches and pretty much adopting himself into the Omatikaya clan, you weren’t anywhere near as outgoing. You’d stuck to the medical labs and the avatar camp for majority of your life, rarely venturing out into the wilderness except to accompany the other scientists on their excursions. Perhaps the only similarity you shared with Spider was that you too were an orphan of war. Your parents had been on the frontlines of the battle between Toruk Makto and the RDA, and they’d met their maker on that fateful day.

You were just an intern currently, but the older staff and scientists were more than willing to teach you. Doing lab observations, drawing blood and other lab technician work was your job, so this morning’s appointment shouldn’t have been any different. And yet it was.

You’d never had to collect a semen sample before.

“Patient is a young unmated male, 23 years of age. Fit. Occupation is hunter-warrior. No pre-existing medical conditions and no recent injuries.” Dr Blaise rationally, handing you the clipboard and pen, “The patient has also been briefed about this appointment, so he knows what to expect and he’s aware he needs to produce a sample.”

“Right, understood.” You mumbled and the words were slightly hoarse. You cleared your throat, dislodging the sticky lump of uneasiness there.

Sensing your discomfort, Dr Blaise placed a heartening hand on your shoulder. Her eyes were kind and the crows’ feet at their corners crinkled as she smiled, “Look, the patient is friendly with the team, one of Jake Sully’s sons actually. So you needn’t worry about any hostility. You’ve done numerous observations and collected all sorts of samples. This is no different. It’s only awkward if you’re awkward. Besides, I’m sure you can understand why Dr Spellman didn’t want to conduct this particular observation himself, what with them being family friends and all.”

A giggle and snort left you at the humorous thought and you found you had to agree. Dr Blaise chuckled alongside you. It would definitely be ten times more awkward if the patient and medical professional were familiar with each other during this observation.

The fleeting moment of hilarity eased the nervous roil in your belly. Tucking your pen into the breast pocket of your lab coat, you took a deep breath and nodded, “Ok, I’ve got this. Thanks Dr Blaise.”

With two thumbs up and a wink, Dr Blaise turned and left you to depart down the corridor, her black pump heels clicking neatly across the hard floor.

Turning to the wall, you grabbed an exopack kit and hooked it to the leather belt around your hips. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you positioned the mask over your face and returned to the doorway that led into the consultation bay. The doorway was tall, much taller than you were used to. All the consultation bays were built big enough with high enough ceilings to accommodate the Na’vi and the avatars. While the main ventilation in the compound was suited to human lungs, the consultation bays were fitted with ventilation to suit their Pandoran patients. Scanning your ID card on the panel of blinking lights on your right, the door slid open with a hiss and you stepped into the bay.

The first thing that always hit you when you entered any of the consultation bays was the sterile scent of it. After a couple of years working here you’d think you’d have got used to it, but every single time the smell was like a synthetic slap to your senses. You wrinkled your nose in distaste. Everything smelled so chemical; too clean and too artificial. It was no wonder the Na’vi didn’t like being in here. If the smell was strong to your human nose, you could only imagine how much more potent it was to their heightened senses.

The second thing to hit you this morning was the sight of the magnificent creature that was standing in the corner of the bay, peering at the various medical models, instruments and books in the wall-mounted glass cabinet. He’d been facing away from you at first, but the sound of your footsteps had caught his attention and he turned to face you then.

A genial smile stretched across his face and he greeted you in a voice that was deep and warm, “Good morning, doctor.”

His use of English surprised you and while his words were accented, his pronunciation was clear. Go figure that Jake Sully would’ve taught his children to speak his mother tongue.

You gave a clumsy laugh and you were quick to correct your patient, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an intern. I’m just filling in for Dr Spellman for this observation.”

Your patient grinned toothily at you and gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, although his tone was teasing when he replied, “Alright Dr ‘Just-An-Intern’, where would you like me?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your throat at his playful demeanour. You smiled at him. He was charming this one, handsome too. Like all Na’vi, he towered well above you in height at approximately nine and a half feet. Though you noted that he was very well-built. Courtesy of being a warrior, you supposed. Yes, he was muscular in all the places you appreciated in a male… You silently reprimanded yourself for your unprofessional thoughts.

“Just take a seat on that gurney for me.” You replied, gesturing towards the make-shift bed against the wall. Retrieving your pen, you began to scan through the notes at the top of the form on the clipboard, double-checking the patient’s details and ensuring everything on it was as it should be.

“Ah, do you want me to take my tewng (loincloth) off?”

Suddenly remembering the aim of the observation again, you felt hot blood rush to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment, “Umm, yes please.” And in a bid to stop your embarrassment running away with your courage, you launched into a rambling outline of the appointment agenda, “Today’s appointment is an observation around Na’vi male genitalia and sexual function. I’m going to need to make some notes and take some photographs of you, both in a r-relaxed and a-aroused state, and I’m going to need to collect a s-semen sample. If you feel uncomfortable at any point…”

He watched you attentively as you babbled onward, the smooth skin of your face and neck taking on a ruddy and flushed hue. He smiled to himself. You were shy and today’s agenda clearly made you uneasy. He felt a twinge of empathy for you. His father had told him that humans were private about matters of the body, especially where it came to sex and pleasure. The Na’vi held no such restraints; sexual freedom was celebrated.

He’d already removed his tewng and had perched himself on the gurney as instructed, unbothered and uncaring of his own nakedness. He was quietly enjoying your discomfort, but not in a rude or condescending manner. He actually found your unease rather endearing.

“Any questions?” Your prattling came to a finish and you took a deep inhale as if you’d squeezed every last ounce of oxygen out of your lungs rushing to finish your speech without taking another breath.

He graced you with another charming smile, “No. You may proceed.”

Willing yourself to get a grip, you walked on slightly shaky legs to the desk in the corner and plucked the glass tablet from its stand and returned to place it on the end of the gurney. You kept your eyes lowered to your clipboard, filling in the date and the time. You could see the striped cobalt of his muscular legs in your peripheral vision where he sat with his shins dangling off the gurney. For the meantime, you dared not glance any higher than his thighs…

Your eyes moved to a set of highlighted bullet points in the middle of the page that indicated questions the patient had to be asked.

You read the first question aloud, its meaning registering simultaneously in your brain as the words left your lips, “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

You fought the mortification that threatened to consume you and your mind struck up a chant of ‘stay professional, stay professional’ in your head.

“Yesterday morning.” His answer was composed.

“And was that with a partner or was it self-stimulated?” Fuck, maybe you should’ve read the questions before coming in for the observation…

“It was self-stimulated.”

“And do you have a preference for male partners, female partners, or both?”

“Female. Definitely female.”

His voice was a smooth, velvety rumble. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in his tone stroked over you like an invisible caress that made something clench in your lower belly. You scribbled his answers on the page in a messy scrawl that had more to do with your nerves than your actual style of handwriting.

He continued to observe you as you worked. Your knuckles were pale where your left hand gripped hold of the clipboard and you were so focused, almost concentrating too hard on what you were writing. Nose twitching quietly, he parted his lips and scented the air around. The artificial smell of the bay was unpleasant, but a sweeter and much more appealing smell was filling the vicinity now. Your scent.

The blush on your skin remained and he was sure that if he reached out to touch you that your skin would be hot to the touch where your blood had rushed to the surface. He could smell hints of your perspiration and he could also detect a musky and moist feminine undertone. You were attracted to him… His masculine pride delighted in the realisation. Despite your human form, he found you attractive too.

Finishing up your notes, you settled the clipboard down on the gurney and mentally prepared yourself for the ‘looking’ part of the observation.

Eyes still glued to the brown leather of the gurney’s mattress, you declared your next action, “Alright, just stay relaxed for me with your thighs slightly parted. I’m going to begin the physical part of the observation now.”

“Sure.”

Your gaze travelled from the beautiful stripes on his outer thighs inward to the slightly paler blue of his inner thighs and finally, up to his groin. Suddenly, you didn’t understand why you were so nervous about this. He looked fairly… normal? Apart from the general larger size of everything and the blue hue of his skin, everything was as expected. Feeling a little braver now, you grabbed the glass tablet and took a couple of photos and then set it down to return to your clipboard.

“Is everything the same?” He asked out of the blue, “Same as with human males, I mean.”

You looked to his face instinctively and found his amber eyes trained on you, “Ah yes, more or less. Penis, foreskin, testes; everything expected is there and I haven’t noted any real differences in physiology apart from the lack of hair, but that’s consistent with the lack of body hair all Na’vi have apart from on your heads and tail tufts.”

Following the words down the clipboard sheet you came to a section that was titled ‘Texture and Sensitivity’. You paused. How the fuck were you supposed to assess those? The section didn’t have any required questions or sample questions to help you, and no suggestions either, just a space for you to jot down your notes. You looked from your patient’s body and then to his face, and when he gave you a small smile, your gaze shot back down to your clipboard sheet in embarrassment. Texture and sensitivity were tactile aspects. You didn’t really understand how you could assess them without touching the patient.

Evidently you were taking too long in your deliberation, because your patient’s voice sounded again with a gentle query, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to work out how to assess the next bit.” You apologised sheepishly. You weren’t doing a very good job of appearing collected, you realised.

“What’s the next part?”

“Texture and sensitivity. So, what it feels like and which parts respond the most to touch.” You stated in as even a voice as possible. You huffed out a laugh then and shrugged, “It’s a tricky one because they’re tactile observations and I don’t know how to assess them when you can’t touch the patient.”

“Why can’t you touch the patient?” His response was clearly a surprise to you and he couldn’t suppress his grin as you goggled at him in shock, “You can touch me if it will enable you to do your job.”

You were almost about to say that you couldn’t possibly do that, but you stopped yourself. You were a med-science professional. The patient was consenting and your research required you to perform a physical examination. In a professional capacity, there was no reason you couldn’t touch the patient to achieve the intended outcome of the examination.

You remembered Dr Blaise’s words: It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Fuck, you needed to swallow a bucket of concrete and toughen up. The sooner you completed this observation, the sooner you would be out of this uncomfortable situation.

Nodding resolutely, you agreed, “Alright, but you will guide me with your own hands. That way I can be assured that you’re only leading me where you’re comfortable to be examined.”

Your patient dipped his head in agreement, the tuft of his tail curling and uncurling charmingly on the gurney next to him. You set your clipboard down and moved to position yourself before him, standing between his knees. You lifted your eyes to his and they locked with his gentle gaze. Tentatively you offered him your hand and he took it, his large palm and long fingers engulfing it easily.

“So first up, texture?” He reminded, and you nodded.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his crotch and settled your hand over the shaft of his cock. It was very warm beneath your palm. Gently, your fingers tested the slightly springy flesh, noting how smooth and silken his skin was. At this closer proximity, you noticed that there was also spattering of bioluminescent freckles on the shaft. You made a mental note of that.

You touched the base of his cock, gingerly feeling around the length of it and you asked, “What’s the sensitivity like here?”

“I can feel it, but it’s not intense or anything. It’s more sensitive up here.” He guided your fingers nearer to the tip and you stifled a small gasp when he assisted you in pushing his foreskin back to reveal the smooth, dark purple head of his cock.

You’d never interacted with a naked man this close, human or Na’vi, and you certainly had never touched one in such an intimate place. Your body was starting to tingle in various places; in very unprofessional places. It was a surreal situation to be in and you found that you felt oddly calmer now than you were a few minutes ago.

Trailing the pads of your fingers over the smooth tip, you found it was moist and a little slippery. Your thumb tested the underside of it, “Sensation?”

A quiet hiss left him and you instinctively attempted to move your hand away, but his hold over your wrist kept it there, “That’s sensitive. That feels good.”

Your heart was still thumping and your cheeks were still warm, but it wasn’t nerves anymore that were causing your reaction. God, his skin was so soft and so warm… Your curiosity was growing now; your innate desire to explore taking hold of you.

You traced the raised rim of his cock head with your thumb and forefinger, watching as your patient emitted a rumbling groan. His hold on your wrist tightened and he began to move your hand over him. You intuitively wrapped your fingers around his cock. You felt entranced almost, caught up in the moment as you unwittingly began to enjoy the feel of him in your grasp.

The hot flesh in your hand was growing, elongating and engorging as the stimulation aroused him. You watched, amazed, as it swelled to its full capacity. The fingers and thumb of your hand could no longer meet each other. The girth of his cock was easily the same width as your forearm and by your approximations, it looked like it had also more than doubled in length from its relaxed state.

The erect shaft had lengthened out of his foreskin and it was a lovely shade of striated blue all over, except for a paler purple underside and head. In its aroused state, you discovered that while it shared structural similarities to a human male’s genitalia, it also possessed other aspects which were very different. The engorged shaft of his cock was ridged all along its length and as your hand smoothed up and down the column of it, you noted that the ridges were firm and palpable against your hand.

It was the most arousing thing you’d ever seen… Those ridges must feel so good inside for the woman…

You didn’t perceive his eyes on you, watching you as you explored his hard flesh. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even cotton on to the fact that he wasn’t even guiding your hand anymore. He could smell you, smell your arousal dampening between your thighs and the sight of your much smaller hand stroking and squeezing his cock was incredibly sexy.

You ran your enclosed hand in one full stroke from the base of cock and up to the head of it, fascinated by the ridged texture of it and the slippery, bulbous tip. However, your patient emitted a hissing intake of breath then and you jumped a little, snapping out of your thoughts.

“S-Sorry! Is that painful?” You stammered, shooting him a slightly apologetic frown.

He shook his head with a husky chuckle, “No, it’s just very sensitive. A lot more than earlier.”

“Where?” You asked, stroking him from tip to base and back up again.

“Everywhere. The ridges and the head especially.” His voice was notably breathier than before and his breaths were coming quicker, shallower and less even.

“That is fascinating.” You muttered, and your other hand joined in on your exploration. You fondled his balls lightly, observing the weightiness of them.

Your patient grunted and he parted his thighs a bit more. He leaned back to brace his weight on his palms behind him. He gave a small roll of his hips, which caused the top half of his cock to push and pull within your grasp. He moaned and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. When you didn’t object, he continued the motion, thrusting lightly into your hands, both of which were now grasping his length one on top of the other.

Clear and viscous pre-ejaculate began to ooze from his tip, increasing in quantity with each roll of his hips. It was so copious that it was beginning to pool on the backs of your palms and drip down towards your wrist. Lord help you… there was nothing professional anymore about what you were doing… Not that your patient appeared to have any objections…

Still completely spellbound by the situation, your curiosity pushed a murmured query past your lips, “Is there always so much pre-ejaculate?”

“Depends. Generally the more aroused a man is, the more he produces.” He replied and when your bashful gaze lifted to meet his, he smirked wickedly.

You were such a pretty little thing to him, your smaller hands trying their best to keep hold of his slick cock. He knew that this was beyond the normal boundaries of the appointment. He knew that while you would’ve been required to touch him to examine him, stroking him off was probably not anywhere on the agenda. He suspected he was supposed to produce the sample on his own, but looking at you now, so enraptured by his body… How could he have resisted? And besides, he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was, your scent told him so.

You tightened your hold on his cock experimentally, squeezing harder. Each time the swollen head of his cock pushed out of your hands to greet you, you swiped your thumb over the oozing slit on its tip. He was panting heavily now, his impressive abdominals bunching and flexing as he continued to thrust his thick cock through your hold. The bioluminescent freckles that dotted his shaft were glimmering brightly and you never thought you’d ever use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe genitalia, but his cock was gorgeous.

All of him was gorgeous, truth be told…

You were attracted to Na’vi men. Ever since you were old enough to notice the opposite sex, you’d been drawn to male Na’vi. After all, you’d grown up on this moon, inhabited by and surrounded by tall, beautiful Na’vi. The humans who surrounded you at the compound and the camp were your family, and they were all much older. There were no men of your own species to look at or be attracted to. Spider was the only one of your generation and he was like your annoying, gross brother. Your attraction to Na’vi men had been an inevitable result really.

So now as you stood in the consultation bay, between the knees of this striking and aroused Na’vi male while he pumped his cock in and out of your hands, you’d never felt more validated and aroused in your life.

Your patient’s fingers were digging into the squeaky brown leather of the gurney now, straining slightly as his hips continued their onslaught. Your hands and wrists were completely drenched, soaking in his thick pre-cum. The slippery mess caused his cock to squelch obscenely as it slipped through your hold. The whole situation was so sensually explicit and you were never more thankful in your life than you were now that there were no CCTV cameras installed in the consultation bays.

You’d be expelled from your chosen profession for patient abuse… Though by the half-lidded, slack-jawed expression of pleasure on his face, he didn’t look much like he was being unwillingly abused…

A string of Na’vi curses left him then, followed by several panted moans. He abruptly pushed off his palms to sit upright and he stuttered, “W-Where is the container?”

A little stunned by his sudden and urgent tone, you stumbled in your own response, “The w-what? Oh, the sample jar?”

Panting heavily through parted lips, he nodded at you and you pointed to the desk on his left. You saw his gaze follow your eyeline and when he caught sight of the plastic collection jars that sat patiently waiting, he let out a hearty guffaw.

He reached for one and deftly flicked the already loosened lid from its mouth, still chuckling away between his huffing breaths, “It’s so small. You ready, doc?”

“For what?” You asked, realising only as the words left you what a dumb response it was as he handed the sample jar to you.

Your patient smiled at you and it was a salacious leer, all narrowed eyes and pointed canines showing, “You’re about to get your sample.”

One of his hands returned to guide yours, wrapping around your one remaining hand where it encircled his stiff cock. The pace of this rocking thrusts increased and he began to exhale with throaty moans that you swore made your own feminine core throb with desire. Gingerly, you held the collection jar up to him, being extra careful not to drop it.

With two more lurching breaths, his abdominal muscles contracted and his back bowed inward, his entire torso going rigid. You felt his cock harden impossibly before it pulsed and the breath he was holding left him in a coarse growl while his face twisted into an almost pained expression. His cock pulsed again and the first spurt of ejaculate missed the sample jar entirely, landing with a warm splat in the middle of your chest where the frills of your blue blouse peeked out from behind your lab coat. Quickly, his free hand grabbed hold of yours to position the jar better, while his other hand attempted to position his cock so he could shoot straight into it.

He was absolutely breathtaking in the midst of his orgasm. The luminous freckles on his face were twinkling and the striped cobalt skin of his neck and chest was glossy with a sheen of sweat. His cock continued to throb and pulse, emitting rope after rope of thick cum that splattered untidily over the mouth and sides of the sample jar.

You could see why he’d laughed at the size of it. There was no way the small jar could have held the full volume of what he was producing.

Coming down now off the high of his climax, your patient slouched against the wall behind the gurney, breathing hard. He caught your eye and he grinned indolently at you.

The adrenalin and heightened arousal in the atmosphere was fading rapidly now, and cold, hard reality was slowly returning to you. You looked at the pearlescent contents of the sample jar, which was still decently full despite majority of the sample not making it in there. You smiled to yourself.

Mission accomplished and what an exciting mission it was…

Carefully setting the jar down on the flat worktop of the metal sink next to you, you replaced the lid on it with sticky fingers and made a note to thoroughly wipe the jar down later before handing it to the lab techs.

Returning your attention to your patient, you smiled at him, suddenly shy again, “Thank you for your co-operation today. I’ll leave you to clean and freshen up. You can see yourself out after.”

His answering laugh was husky and he dipped his head at you, “I should be thanking you for your co-operation I think, doc.”

“Not a doc, remember?” You grinned at him and you were about to turn on heel to depart into the adjacent washroom when you heard him call out to you again.

“Hey Not-A-Doc, if you ever need another sample, I’m happy to provide another one, whether for med-science research or your own personal research.”

A girlish giggle left you and you felt your face flame again. You shook your head, making your way into the washroom to clean yourself up. He was a naughty one that one…

2K notes · View notes

scoonsalicious · 2 months

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Unwanted: Chapter 1, Unarmed - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Mild language, Bucky and Reader being Tolkien nerds, light fluff, mention of rabies (it's a super scary disease and we should all be vigilant, okay?!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: You just had the pleasure of meeting the very handsome Bucky Barnes. Despite a little bit of awkwardness during your first encounter, you have a feeling your life is about to get a lot more interesting now that he's been introduced into it.

A/N: You know what? I said I wasn't going to do this, but I thought "fuck it!" and decided to post all of Chapter 1: Unarmed. My anxiety is too high to just sit on it. So, please enjoy Ch1. Pt2! Pts 3 & 4 to follow!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

The next evening, you were making your way back to your suite after a productive, albeit exhausting, day in your lab. You were working on a crisis prediction real-time monitoring system to anticipate global threats. You were convinced it would allow the Avengers to respond to trouble faster, but perfecting the privacy algorithm had been an absolute pain in the ass, and you still hadn't gotten it quite right. Technically, you could have farmed the project off to a subordinate; hell, even a team of subordinates of a subordinate, but this was one of your pet projects and you insisted on being hands-on in its development.

You had your tablet open as you walked, chewing on your thumb and reviewing the dataset from the run of your latest algorithm model one more time. Closer, but not good enough. If you were going to convince Tony that this was a program worth implementing, especially at its projected cost, everything had to be perfect. "Damn it," you muttered to yourself.

You rounded the corner and ran smack into Bucky's chest, dropping your tablet and causing him to drop the three books he'd been holding under his remaining arm. "Oh, shit-- I'm so sorry," you uttered as you bent down to retrieve the dropped items. Bucky leaned down to assist you, but you waved him off.

"’S my fault; I've got it," you told him, piling up his books for him. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Bucky leaned up against the wall and chuckled while you stood up and handed the books back to him. "I doubt you could hurt me," he said, smiling softly. "No offense."

You let out a small laugh. "None taken." He was a super soldier, after all. Stealing a glance at book spines, you couldn't suppress the smile that crossed your face. "Lord of the Rings," you nodded appreciatively. "Have you read them before?"

Bucky looked down at the books tucked under his arm. "No, first time. I read The Hobbit back when it was first published in '37, but these didn't come out until after..." he trailed off, but you knew what he meant. After he'd been abducted and brainwashed, turned into a murderer.

You nodded in understanding. "I'm actually really excited for you," you told him. "What I wouldn't give to be able to read them again for the first time."

"You a Tolkien fan, then?" he asked you. When you nodded, he continued: "When I finish them, maybe we can talk about them sometime? Steve's not really into fantasy."

"Yeah, I'd like that," you said. "If you're interested, we could watch the movies. I'll warn you though; they're long as hell, but their masterpieces. I mean, they didn't need to turn The Hobbit into three separate films, but still, they'll blow your fucking mind."

Bucky ran his tongue over his lower lip and you couldn't help but follow the motion with your eyes. "That sounds like fun," he said, his eyes twinkling with... something. "Your place or mine?" Was he… flirting with you?

"How 'bout you finish the books first, then we'll talk logistics," you teased. "Hey, speaking of, what floor did they end up putting you on?"

"Um, this one, actually," he said, tilting his head toward a nearby door.

"No shit," you remarked, laughingly. "You must have done something to piss Rogers off, because he put you right across the hall from me."

Bucky looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the carpeting. "He said it was the quietest floor, thought I'd prefer that."

You pursed your lips, considering. "Yeah, that makes sense; it's just been me on this level for ages. It'll be nice to have some company for a change."

Bucky looked surprised. "Stark's kept you down here all by your lonesome? That doesn't seem very nice."

You shook your head and dismissed his concern with a wave. "Oh, no-- Tony hates that I still live down here, actually. He put in all new living quarters a few years back. Everyone migrated upstairs, but I was the only one who didn't want to move."

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, appearing genuinely interested.

"I've lived here since I graduated college," you admitted, "back when it was still just Stark Tower. When Tony relocated here from Malibu to rebrand it for the Avengers, he wanted to redo everything, which meant fancy new suites for everybody. But I love my rooms, so I asked to stay put. They've been my home for so long now and I guess I just like the stability, you know?"

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "And Tony thinks highly enough of you that he let the blow to his ego slide?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I have enough dirt on him that he felt like he didn't have much of a choice." You snorted, not able to keep up the pretense. "No, but seriously, I know you and Tony have a complicated... history, but he's not a bad guy. Ego as tall as this Tower, yes, definitely, but he's also incredibly kind and generous. He paid for my entire college education-- undergrad, post-grad, doctorate. I owe everything I have to him."

Bucky shifted against the wall. "That is pretty generous. And he never expected anything from you in return?" He didn't say the words out loud, but the implication was there. Had you slept with Tony in exchange for your diplomas? The innuendo should have bothered you, but it had been posed to you so many times over the years, you'd stopped being offended by it. Before Pepper, Tony had had quite the reputation, after all, and an MIT education didn’t exactly come cheap. Most people couldn’t understand why he would offer a full ride to someone who, at the time, had been a complete stranger.

"Tony appreciates talent," you clarified. "When he finds it, he cultivates it, nourishes it, does everything he can to help it grow to its fullest potential. But he does like to get a return on his investments, and my skills have helped him make a lot of money." You shrugged your shoulders with a chuckle. "I love my job, I love the work we do, I love the stupid weirdo family we've built here, so I've always considered meeting Tony to be the best thing that ever happened to me. He's kind of like my own fairy godfather."

"So, what exactly does he have you do around here?" Bucky asked. "I know Steve said you did computer stuff, but you said it was an over-simplification."

You ran a hand up to rub the back of your neck while you considered your answer. How best to explain your position to someone who was born before the invention of the television? "Okay," you exhaled, "so, short answer is that I'm the CTO, the Chief Technology Officer, of Stark Industries and, under that, I run the Avenger’s Technology and Innovation Department. It's sort of our take on Research and Development. I've got a lab where I'm in charge of about 450 scientists, engineers, computer programmers, analysts, et. cetera. And our entire job is coming up with cool new ways of making things easier for the Avengers. Like, new features for suits, developing useful programs, coming up with new defenses and weapons, that kind of thing. And if we've got missions that require heavy computer- or tech-work, I come along for on-site support. I'm combat-trained and good with languages, so that comes in handy in the field. There’s probably a ton of field agents that could go in my place, but for Tony, it’s a matter of trust."

Bucky let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn. That's impressive. You're a little intimidating, you know that?"

Laughing, you tucked your tablet under your arm. "Please. I'm about as intimidating as a hamster." You paused to think. "Maybe a hamster with rabies, but still a hamster."

A series of beeps emanated from your tablet. As you pulled it out to check the alert, Bucky moved away from the wall. "I'm so sorry-- you were heading back to your room and I've basically been holding you hostage this entire time."

"Actually," you said, silencing the notification alarm that had distracted you, "That was just a reminder I set for myself to eat. Sometimes I lose track of time in the lab and completely forget to have dinner. Are you hungry? You could join me."

Bucky pulled his head back, regarding you as though he wasn't sure if you were serious.

"Or, if you don't want to, that's cool," you said quickly once you noticed his hesitation. "I mean, you wanted a quiet floor. Annoying neighbor is probably the last--"

"I'd love to," interrupted Bucky with a grin. "I'm just surprised someone like you would want to spend time with someone like me."

"Someone like me? Hey now, for all you know, I could be an absolute trash person," you teased, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a newfound warmth. "Well, I highly doubt that, but I guess I'll find out soon enough."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when you do." You cocked your head toward the door to your room. "I'm going to change out of my work clothes. While I do, how about you decide what you're in the mood for, and we'll go from there. That sound good?" Bucky nodded as you let yourself into your room. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, but you found you were looking forward to spending more time in the company of Bucky Barnes.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky x y/n

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emblazons · 1 year

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Still thinking about how understanding what happened in the S3-S4 relational narratives requires you suspend the belief that the last two (soon to be 3) seasons of Stranger Things are designed to stand alone.

With S1 and S2, the seasons existed as standalone entities—S2 was a sequel yes, but it wasn't a direct narrative extension of the action that occurred in the season before. You could watch Season 2 with only a bit of context from the first season (one boy got kidnapped and taken by the monster into another dimension, the girl from the lab with the superpowers showed up and they worked together to save said boy, but then she disappeared and was presumed dead) and watch the second season with little issue.

Its not the same with Seasons 3-5. If anything...it helps when analyzing to imagine Seasons 3-5 as one "season" in the same way S1 and S2 exist as single entities; the Duffers have already confirmed its true for Seasons 4-5, but it gets a lot easier to follow arcs and action, particularly for the youngest characters, if you stop trying to find coherence in single-season stories and look at each season as three parts of a whole.

This is true across the board, but it's particularly true in the case of understanding Byler, both as individuals and a pairing (though the full buildup of their romantic arc will take us across all 5 seasons). Understanding why S3 feels like you just got dropped into nonsense with them specifically (after two seasons of Michael "I'm the only one who cares about Will" Wheeler and Will "I am central to the story even when I'm off screen" Byers) is because The Duffers took the risk of introducing a brand new set of conflicts to the youngest characters: namely, ongoing romantic relationships, personal identity crises and sexuality...only without resolving the conflict and action in the 8-9 episodes they usually do, which is why you feel frustrated by it.

Basically: Season Three was the season where we set up the relational problems that need to be fixed—we just have three entire seasons to work through them, which means its gonna look bad at the start and good as we work through the problem (over the course of a few seasons) to get to the solution.

forewarning: ferociously long post ahead (with headers for clarity)

Will’s Arc: A (Queer) Coming of Age

With Will, the problem re-introduced in S3 is that he feels different from his peers, and not just because he's gay; its because 1) he is in love with Mike in a way that is more genuine than we are being presented in the third season (that "sandbox" "puppy love" "break up and makeup" summer fling energy that S3 has) and 2) he is unwilling to step into the lie of "maturity" as its being presented in the story, aka giving up things like hanging out with his friends over focusing on relationships or giving up games (DnD in particular).

(sidebar: I wrote another analysis touching on the above here).

A lot of people I've met who watch the show casually say things like "it just seems like he's not able to grow up like his friends" and even "he's falling behind," but I think that's on the right track while missing the point: the reason Will is written as "refusing to grow up" is because he is the character that represents the rebellion of The Duffer's heart and interests, and both of the things that seem like they would be a bad because they make his character different in the narrative are actually surprisingly positive for his "three season" arc...if you understand what the ongoing themes of Stranger Things are.

With Will, the “problem” in the story exists because he is the one who represents being weird/the outcast/queer and not giving into the social pressure to “let go” of that—he loves another boy, is more emotional than his peers and loves nerdy things like his tabletop board game and refuses to deny that to himself, no matter how brutalizing that is for him and his feelings. In that way, he is the character who “represents” the sentiment of The Duffers themselves—he is a nerd, a child at heart, and he has no problem taking DnD and anything else into “adulthood,” (looking at you “yeah, yeah I really did” during the rain fight) the same way The Duffers have.

That said: as we move into season 4, Will is presented with an evolution of this conflict—he wants to continue to be honest with and about himself, his feelings, and his interests…but it comes in direct conflict with his understanding of his peers & Mike, whom he loves.

We see this conflict show up repeatedly in Will’s actions in S4, especially in regards to the painting, which is the physical representation of both his love of Mike and his embracing of his nerdiness. Will shows up to the airport with his painting in spite of not speaking to Mike because his heart is to be honest and true-to-self regardless of anyone else—you even see this as he takes the painting on the road when they plan on going back to Hawkins, after he makes up with Mike. The problem is though (and this plays into the whole “we want you to feel like you lost” sentiment The Duffers spoke about, as S4 is the “down” before the “up”resolution of the whole narrative) that Will he realizes that his desire to be honest is getting in the way of (his perception of) the happiness of the people he loves, so he decides to betray his character and break the first cardinal rule of The Party…to tell his first lie.

There are plenty of phenomenal analyses on other aspects of Will’s connection to Vecna/the UD and the love triangle dynamic at play across this app so I’ll leave that alone here (I do have many thoughts on why the above makes Henry Creel the perfect villain foil to Will specifically), but: for the sake of understanding Will’s relational narrative arc, it’s critical to understand that our “low” for him is the betrayal of his ongoing S3 character—and that him undermining his self-honesty, nerdiness and love for Mike are the things that The Duffers have set themselves up to resolve in S5.

The resolution for Will is to re-embrace his differences —to realize that lying to yourself and other people about who you are and what you love (both in terms of “nerdy” interests and his queerness) is not who he wants to be, no matter how hard it is to stand up for in the wake of adversity—along with embracing the power of real love, which is also an ongoing theme the Duffers have set up in their relationships beginning in Season 3.

Now…on to Michael.

Mike’s Arc: Finding Yourself & Embracing What Makes You Different

—anyone with a single toe in this fandom knows that Mike Wheeler is one of the most divisive characters in this story when it comes to deciding 1) what his motivations are and 2) what his desires will be, but (and bare with me on this)…I think that’s kind of the point of his story. Mike’s “three season” arc is about him moving through a confusion of identity into someone who can embrace himself while addressing the things he is most insecure about—namely; being seen, being useful, and (very, very likely) the fact that the person who makes him feel most secure, seen, useful and loved is another boy.

There are several context clues that give credence to the fact that the reason Mike feels so wishy-washy / lacking in depth is because his struggle is not knowing how to find his place in the world, though you have to go further back than S3 to find them. Let me explain.

From the literal pitch of the show, there has always been an undercurrent of self-doubt and insecurity in Mike; his desire to escape the weight of feeling insecure has been a driving factor in his actions since before he was even on the screen, and it is impossible to understand what motivates him without first understanding that.

With Mike, his actions across all seasons have been weighed down by his desire to escape his insecurities through action—and as he’s gotten older, what he’s used to escape those insecurities (to be someone like the paladin he plays in DnD) has evolved and shifted, ranging through everything from turning the world (no pun intended) upside down to find Will; being willing to sacrifice his life to save Dustin from bullies; using any weapon he could find to fight a baby demogorgon; and wanting to be a heroic knight who protects the perceived vulnerable girl once he starts dating Eleven.

The point is: Mike’s deepest core need is to assuage his insecurities by doing whatever he can to be a good person—and when he feels like can’t do anything or protect the people he loves…he spirals. That’s been true since the start of his character…and everyone from The Duffers to Finn Wolfhard himself has mentioned it.

Now. With that baseline established, let’s talk Season 3.

Ironically enough, a lot of people feel like Mike’s character has “fallen off” because he, by the sake of all appearances, has achieved all the things he is supposed to want—namely a girlfriend, which (at least in his mind) is the physical embodiment of successfully “addressing” his core fears.

Because Mike has all the external markings of a well-adjusted kid—he comes from a wealthy family, has a solid group of friends (who are also mostly now striving for social normalcy) and even a girlfriend—he seems to have addressed what many people even in real life believe is the end of most arcs & the fulfillment of the fantasy. For Mike, the appearance of his S3 life seems to have assuaged the fears at the root of several of his insecurities, including the desire to be needed, the desire to protect, the desire to be useful, and the desire for acceptance…all because now he’s saved El and has her at his side, and having a girlfriend means he has everything a good, well-adjusted guy is supposed to want.

Or…does it?

With how The Duffers set up the story (with S3 as the introduction of a new conflict for every major character), the answer they’re giving you based on how Mike interacts with other characters is no—having a girlfriend and acting “mature” doesn’t solve anything, especially if the core problem of you having an insecure identity while being dishonest with yourself isn’t addressed…and it’s the arc of Mike learning that “lesson” that we find ourselves dropped into moving into Season 3.

Beginning in S3, the war on Mike’s insecure self-concept comes at him on two fronts: on the one side, El, who started her journey needing Mike because of her background but now has no real need for any of the things he so desperately wants to provide as a means to validate himself, and on the other Will, whose deep familiarity and history with Mike combined with his confidence in his own identity presents Mike with a challenge of self-reflection that he doesn’t exactly feel ready for yet.

(sidebar: my post on how Mike's arc is intrinsically tied to a subversion of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope is a helpful expansion on things I talk about here).

We see this in how Mike gets frustrated with Max for giving El the space and language to not need him (undermining his role in her life as someone who she needs to protect/guide her); we see it in how he says cruel things when Will behaves in a way that challenges the actions Mike has taken to be “mature” (how he insults Will for not also wanting a girlfriend / still wanting to play the games that set them apart as nerds/different); and we see it in how Mike still goes out of his way to fix those relationships in the best way he can—because he knows on some level that what he’s doing in several moments isn’t in alignment with who he wants to be, even though they are both presenting him with radical internal challenges.

Ironically enough, Dustin does a great job of summarizing the two sides of Mike's internal conundrum in what he says to Steve about Robin—Mike, somewhat like Steve, is struggling between what is socially acceptable in a partner (or "cool") and what he actually wants and enjoys in one—and as El and Will evolve, so does Mike's internal conflict about how he perceives their places in his world.

Between El’s supernatural abilities and rapidly growing autonomy making him obsolete to her in all the areas that matter to Mike (see: the ability to protect, be useful, and be seen) and Will’s reminding him that at his core he is just as much of a nerd as Will is, Mike finds himself feeling more confused and insecure than ever…and that is the internal conflict we see him end S3 battling.

The evolution of Mike’s narrative arc past the introduction of this internal conflict doesn’t happen until is the Byers/Hopper move to Lenora though…when he is literally left alone to process what that intense summer brought to light for him—which is the note we're left on as we move into the next phase of Mike's evolution in S4.

In S4, the development of Mike figuring out what he wants and needs from his relationships + the kind of person he wants to be becomes a lot more external—we see him going through a series of code switches as he tries to manage the ever changing landscape of his self-perception, where has started journey toward self-acceptance but is still insecure about following through with it.

We see this in the way he has now joined The Hellfire Club and shows sincere signs of accepting his interests and "outcast" status, but still looks forlorn when Lucas says “I’m tired of being bullied / I thought you wanted things to be different too” (Lucas’ struggles with some aspects of performing normalcy the way Mike does S4).

We see it in the way he shows up to Lenora dressed in what he thinks he’s should be wearing rather than as himself / the way he continues performing his relationship with El throughout that first day (and how he says it was Will who "sabotaged" things by being that same kind of radical honest about his feelings we talked about before)...only for the events of the day to spur him into meaningful honesty with both El and Will (to varying degrees of success) mere hours later.

We even see it in the way Mike seemed to have been “turning over a new leaf” once he and El fought, to the point he was okay with them ending the “normalcy” performance of their romance…right up until Argyle’s paranoia while burying Unknown Hero Agent Man struck the fear of god back into him (aka making him worry he was letting El down by not protecting her—aka tapping into one of his core fears).

Basically: Mike is leaning into accepting the things that make him different in little ways, but is still struggling to step into that identity fully—aka he is still using perceived social acceptability as a shield, even though he no longer holds as tightly to being perceived as normal. (Even Finn himself often jokes about Mike “just trying to be normal,” which I think is a good, simple explanation of what’s happening—that said, if we take that reading and combine it with those “narrative goals” I mentioned The Duffers have earlier…Mike trying to be normal is an issue to be resolved, not an identity to be embraced. But…let’s move on).

By the time we get to the infamous van scene, we’ve watched Mike struggle through the two sides of his inner conflict for the entire season now, and felt him very gently succeed at switching into a more honest version of himself (who doesn’t need a girlfriend as a shield / can embrace his “otherness” in the same way Will does) right up until his inherent desires to be needed and useful come rearing up the second El is in danger.

It’s why we see him look pleased (but also marred with conflict) when Will looks confident, happy and radiant talking about “playing dnd and Nintendo for the rest of their lives…” and why him being honest in that scene is actually a huge moment for him, because rather than being vague about what has been plaguing him for two seasons now (trying to be “normal” just because he feels insecure) Mike is finally verbalizing the internal conundrum of his now two seasons of looking critically at his insecurities.

Now—I could spend all day digging into just that bit of narrative alone—the way Mike finally externalizing his insecurities to be processed with Will rather than acting on them and hurting people unintentionally is a giant leap for him, and how when Will says “you’re sacred of losing her” Mike’s nod is an acknowledgement that Will is right…but his face is saying there’s more to that fear than he’s acknowledging—

—but for the sake of this analysis of the narrative arcs, the van scene is most important because it’s when the S4 “it feels like you lost” moment begins for Mike…and that’s because it matches up directly with the “you feel like you lost” moment for Will: him lying about the painting.

When Will lies about the painting—saying that his feelings and the art that (as I said before) represents 1) his love of Mike, 2) his embracing of his nerdiness and 3) that radial self-honestly Mike so admires Will for—it throws a wrench into Mike’s internal revelations because Will is essentially saying that the relationship that Mike was slowly realizing he used to assuage his insecurities (his relationship with Eleven) is actually what lines up best with "who he wants to be," which throws Mike’s slow growth toward Will + honesty about what (and who) he wants to be into a tail spin.

From Will’s lie onward, Mike is thrown into moment after moment of conflicting emotions and dire circumstances as well—and given that Mike's deep terror of losing people comes up strongest when the people he loves are in danger, it’s only downhill for Mike’s growth toward self actualization from here. In that sense, (much Jonathan's S4 omissions of his truths/fears to Nancy leading to Nancy's regression into complacency / social conformity with Steve), its Will's lie that leads us directly into the “you feel like you lost” moment for Mike: him moving back into "conforming" territory and confessing his love to El in the SBP.

The monologue (at least in terms of the narrative arc The Duffers are writing) is Mike’s “losing” moment because it’s when he has enough self-revelation to realize that being with a girl as a shield for his insecurities is no longer what he wants...but the drive he has to be useful, protect and love any way he can (on top of Will’s urging + lie) leave him feeling like his only option is stepping into the person he was at the start of S3.

In this moment, we see Mike say exactly what someone who is "acting normal” about loving his girlfriend and wanting to save her would….even though romantic love with El (and the socially-acceptable romantic relationship he has with her) are not what he really wants, and what we will watch crumble moving into S5.

Essentially: Mike having a moment of dissonance of that magnitude after an entire season of looking toward Will was what set us up to see all those "external markings of normalcy" Mike has held onto and had started grating against for two seasons now fall apart, given what we know about those core messages/themes/child-at-heart values the Duffers hold and keep at the heart of their show.

As of the end of S4, we can already see how this "regression" into his old self is not going to hold—the fact that everything Mike did to save El is rooted 1) in a lie and 2) not in alignment with Mike evolving understanding of his core desires makes sure of that.

We even see the beginnings of this "low" being resolved in Mike's arc in how Mike & El are not speaking (even with the 'resolution' of their surface-level S4 conflict with Mike's love confession) and how Mike is glued to Will's side even before Vecna is mentioned–which is how we've been set up to see the resolution of Mike's arc in S5.

With all this in mind, it becomes a bit clearer that the resolution of Mike's arc is him moving through the confusion of identity we've watched him go through from S3 forward and into someone who can embrace who he is what he truly loves without fear of going against what is expected—aka finding the courage not to conform.

Mike as a character is a lesson in how doing what you think you're supposed to (aka what is "normal") is often at odds with who you are and what makes you the happiest—and the only way to self-actualize is to move past your insecurities and into someone who can be confident embracing what (and who) they really want...even when it means stepping out of line from what you’ve grown up believing would do the self-actualizing for you.

Final Thoughts

Both Mike and Will's relational arcs revolve around an embracing of what makes them different—in terms of their (highly likely) mutual queerness, yes, but also in terms of them making self-actualized peace with being nerdy "children at heart" in much the same way The Duffer Brothers themselves are.

If Will represents a person who struggles because they refuse to deny themselves their identity, Mike represents a person who struggles because they don’t understand their identity, and are walking around just trying to do whatever they can to get along (because they haven’t been presented with the inciting conflict that will move them into self-revelation & growth).

Both of these internal conflicts are narrative arcs that have been built into the coming of age stories of both halves of Byler—and though we are currently sitting at the "low" of both of their arcs as of the end of Season 4, the setup and though-line for them finding themselves (and real, honest love with each other) has been clearly set up for exploration in Season 5.

—if you managed to get through all of this, I commend you. And yes, there are a million other things to be explored between these two, but...I enjoy sorting through the thematic / "moral of the story" through-lines in all my media, so of course I was gonna do it for for Byler!

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #THIS IS THE LONGEST THING EVER AND I'M STILL NOT 100% SURE ITS COHERENT BUT I'M TIRED OF SITTING ON IT LMAO #I will also probably be editing bits and pieces of it over the course of the next day for coherence so apologies if you find an error lol #but !!! this is the most cohesive way I could think to explain how their arcs work separately and individually #esp with the ' big messages' of the Duffers discussed /included #ANYWAY. HAPPY FRIDAY LOL #mike wheeler core #will byers core #my st commentary #stranger things #the me tag #the come back tag #duffer brothers

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fishwithtitz · 3 months

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The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 4

stunning artwork of a scene from chapter 1 by @dominaarts that I've been dying to share!

Summary: A miscommunication between Thomas and Des results in a night of Dahlia and Mary dog sitting together. When a record breaking storm rolls in, Dahlia's faced with the decision on exactly how much vulnerability she wants to reveal. Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Mary Goore x OFC / 15.4k words Warnings: language, thigh-riding, p in v sex, mentions of recreational drug use, alcohol, storms, thunder, slight angst

A/N: Thank you for your patience and support as I've taken the time to write this. This was a difficult chapter to write as it starts building the foundation for the turning point of the story and I wanted to get it just right. Leave a comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist 🥰 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

ao3 link

Hook-up #4: Thomas’ Room

Codependency was something I tried really, really hard to avoid. I’d long prided myself on my

feral independent streak and would be damned if anyone, man or woman, made me reliant.

But I had to admit, I really missed Des.

This was the shitty part of relationships. It seemed that when the people you love found someone that they wanted to devote themselves to, their time seemed to be sucked along with it. I understood where she was coming from. The novelty of a budding relationship is a unique and addictive feeling. I don’t blame her for chasing the high.

While she tended the fire that she and Thomas were building, she was opting for spurts of lighter fluid rather than bits of soul-sourced kindling. And now her fire was growing and spreading, sometimes out of control, and it seemed like all of her time and resources were devoted to managing it. Which meant that some of her other relationships had to be put on the backburner until the flames could be brought to a dull roar.

As if a sign from the universe, the stars finally aligned (or perhaps just our schedules), and Des and I were able to spend the afternoon together. It was exactly what I needed: some time with my best friend.

After grabbing a couple of iced coffees from the boutique coffee shop downtown (at her insistence, of course, because the higher price was reflected in the quality of the roast, or something like that), we walked to one of our favorite thrift stores to pillage through the inventory. I felt a certain warmth creep through my chest as we entered the store. The smell was a bit musty, perfume-like, a permeating oxymoron of both dirt and cleanliness. It reminded me of our friendship: unlikely, brutally opposite at times, but unique and complimentary.

The shop worker greeted us with a nod and a smile from the front counter and went back to browsing through her magazine as she sat on her high-rise stool, painted fingertips skimming over something about interior design. Des and I beelined to the back racks in the furthest room from the front of the shop. We knew that this was usually where they kept the good stuff.

Thrifting was an exercise of equal parts skill and patience. It was best to go in with zero expectations of both finding anything or looking for a specific piece. My most successful trips had been ones where I’d happened upon things I didn’t even know I’d wanted (or like, for that matter). In fact, I’d long ago learned not to become discouraged when a trip turned out to be a bust. Busts were to be expected. The goldmines, however, outweighed the insolvencies.

“It feels like forever since we’ve gotten to do this,” Des said as she stopped in front of a circular rack of short-sleeve knit shirts. She began sliding the hangers across the scraped metal, pausing to glance over each shirt as she did so.

“It has been,” I replied. It wasn’t said with malice; more so, my tone conveyed a neutral honesty that I knew we’d come to appreciate about each other. Despite this, I could tell I’d struck a cord at the slight fall of her facial features.

Des took a half-step back and turned to me with a sad smile. “I know I haven’t been around as much. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” And I did. She knew I did. But the morose feeling was still etched into her features in soft hatched lines and so I quickly added, “Not everyone can be a hot musician with Heraculan biceps. I’ll take my spot in line.” I gave her a wink, which seemed to soften her expression.

I turned back to the rack and started thumbing through the medium-sized graphic tees. Quite a few were worn crewnecks of casinos or bars from around the state, though a couple school spirit shirts were peppered in. I nearly shuddered at the smiling beaver mascot that reminded me of puberty.

Des broke my focus. “What about this one?” She held up a small white t-shirt with an image of Strawberry Shortcake on it. “Your muse!”

“One time I tell you about my obsession with Strawberry Shortcake and the Big Apple City as a child…” I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I continued culling through the rack. Des laughed and set the shirt back.

“I don’t think your tits would fit in a small, anyway. Plus, it had a stain.” She pushed a couple more shirts to the side before turning her torso to me. “Speaking of cake, I heard you and Mary had a get together last week.”

A week had passed since I’d last seen Mary. I’d received another text a few days after our night of baking telling me that the cake was killer and his mom was impressed, but it’d been radio silence since. In any other situation with any other person, I’d probably feel irritation or some sort of anger; an inward creeping as to why this guy wasn’t at all interested in seeing me after a weirdly uncharacteristic close-knit evening. But this was Mary. He wasn’t known for punctuality or routine. On the contrary, Mary was a bit of an enigma, coming and going as he pleased, with zero rhyme or reason to his decision making. He seemed to do what felt right to him in the moment — whatever that may be. Or at least that’s how things appeared.

The hanger I was sliding across the rack stilted, the fabric of the shirt still pinched between my fingers. My eyes widened slightly, and I failed to control the blush that crept into my cheeks. I refused to meet her stare, but knowing Des, she was giving me an all-knowing look.

“You know, when I suggested that you make a cake for his mom’s birthday, I didn’t think that meant that you’d be doing it together,” she teased.

“Neither did I!” I said. Although I’d meant for it to come out nonchalantly, I’d sounded more defensive than intended. I tried to brush it off by swirling the iced coffee in my hand, ice cubes clinking and clashing as I brought the straw to my lips to take a sip.

“I didn’t know you and Mary were that close,” she speculated.

I choked on the watery coffee that had been midway down my throat and brought a hand up to wipe at my mouth, coughing a little into my palm.

Before I had a chance to respond, she cut me off, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Wait, no. Doll, you didn’t!”

I looked over at her with a surprised defensiveness that completely gave away the truth. Shit. Time for damage control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Des’ smile only widened. “Dahlia, did you sleep with him?”

I didn’t know how to answer. It wasn’t as if I was ashamed to admit it. Mary was attractive. Sure, his reputation was a bit strange and extreme, but to those in the metal scene, it wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. But there was something that I liked about keeping Mary and I’s friendship hidden. Or were we friends with benefits? Was it even a friendship?

“You totally did!” Des said in response to my silent rabbit hole. I sighed and started to aimlessly shuffle through some sweaters on the next rack. Des began to laugh and looked at me coyly.

She walked over to the same rack that I was currently stationed at and rested her hand against the metal bar, leaning into it. “I swore I saw you two making out on the couch a while back at Thomas’, but he told me I was seeing shit,” she added, shaking her head in disbelief.

I hummed a noise in response, barely audible. My fingertips traced along a loose thread of a knit sweater and I rolled it between them, trying to focus on the scratchy acrylic yarn instead of the beet red burning in my face.

“That WAS you two! How long has this been going on?” I didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any bigger. They reminded me of saucers. Or satellite dishes. Maybe of the middle-aged woman at my work that thrived on office gossip and smelled like cat piss.

I rolled my eyes and pulled a sweater off the rack to pretend to check the tag. “Nothing is going on,” I said. 80% Polyester, 20% Cotton. “We’ve just hooked up a few times. That’s it.”

Des cocked a curious brow. “A few? Wow, add that to my list of shit I didn’t expect.” She brought her half-drank iced coffee to her pink lips and took a slurp of the drink. I couldn’t tell if I was more annoyed at the sound or at her.

“So, what’s he like?” She grabbed a cardigan from the small section and pulled it up to inspect it, holding it to her thin frame to gauge the fit. “I bet he’s into some spooky, dark shit, like bloodletting or autoerotic asphyxiation or something. Oh! Or a piss kink!”

The garment I was holding was slammed back into the rack with more force than I’d meant. “Des! What the fuck?” I whispered loudly, trying to make a point that this was not something I wanted to talk about in public. Sure, no one else was in the back of the store, but that was besides the point.

She held up a hand in defense. “Sorry! He looks like the kind of guy that’d be into that stuff.”

I brought the hand to my face that wasn’t holding the slippery, condensation-covered cup of coffee. With a sigh, I rubbed my left eye. “I am not having this conversation.”

Des brought her hands down and tilted her head with a look of disagreement. “Oh, come on! Why are you always so uptight about talking about this stuff?”

I took a step towards her and lowered my voice just slightly. “Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to advertise my sex life, thank you.”

“I don’t advertise it, I just…reflect on it. It’s what normal girlfriends do — talk about the guys they’re with.” She turned to the next rack that was uncomfortably close to the one we had been rifling through and pulled a pair of corduroys out to give them a look over. “Who else would I talk to about it?”

She had a point. I breathed out a sigh and set my cup on the display atop the circular rack. “I guess you’re right.”

I looked up at her to see her sporting her signature smirk. “I’m always right. Now tell me, what’s he got hiding in those tight jeans?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis and I let out a chuckle, shaking my head.

“You are the last person I need to explain the intricacies of the male anatomy to.”

“Come on, Doll. I need details!” She whined, tossing the corduroys back onto the rack.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing cats have nine lives.” She stuck out her tongue at me and I reached over to make a swipe at grabbing it, earning me a chuckle and a shove.

I laughed too, and if I was honest, I felt a semblance of relief that the weight of my secret had been lifted from my shoulders, even if just minutely.

She took another annoyingly loud slurp of her iced coffee, the drink now edging the bottom line of the cup. Peering at me from above the lid, she broke contact with the straw.

“Now, spill.”

🜏🜏🜏

It was early evening on a Friday. I’d managed to get off of work a little earlier than expected — a relief given that I’d worked overtime these past few weeks to try to save up enough money for an unexpected car repair. The extra time turned out to be just what I needed to pack some last minute items in my backpack for the weekend.

Des had asked — practically begged — for me to “do her a solid” and pet sit for her for a couple days over the weekend. My confusion rang heavy in the air when I realized that one, she didn’t have any pets, and two, neither did Thomas.

“It’s his parents’ dog. He’s supposed to watch it this weekend, but he was able to book a couple last minute shows out of town that would be really good for the band,” she’d explained. Then, in almost overly characteristic Des-fashion, she gave me the eyes. The fucking Puss in Boots look.

And those damn Dreamworks eyes had me hesitantly agreeing to watch the pawned pooch at Thomas’ place.

It didn’t sit well with me. He was supposed to be watching his parents’ dog. But instead, he was having a friend of his girlfriend stay at his place to watch a dog she’d never met. I’d just hoped the dog was nice.

After walking my bike to the back porch to lean it against the siding hidden from view from the street, I rounded back to the front door and gave it a few cursory knocks. As if on cue, loud barks began to sound — distant at first, but louder as the seconds went on — and I could just make out the scuffle of feet and claws against the hard floor.

The door swung open and Des was restraining a black blur of tail and tongue and teeth. He wasn’t overly big, per se, but from what I could tell from his overexcited movements, he had to be at least forty or fifty pounds.

“Hey! Come in—” she strained, holding the excited dog back as it wagged and wiggled in her arms.

I slipped past the dog and kicked off my shoes on the hinged side of the door as she slammed it shut. “Brutus!” Des grunted as she tried to crouch over him and use her body weight as leverage.

I straightened up and watched with choked giggles as she tried, and nearly failed, to keep him from charging me. “He’s — umph — he loves people —” said grumbled as the dog, presumably named Brutus, broke from her grasp and hounded over to me with a tail so violently wagging that I was afraid his hips would fly right off. He knocked into me with surprising force for his size and I toppled over to the ground. A slimy, velvety tongue began to attack my face and neck and I shrieked out in laughter as we rolled around on the floor.

“Brutie! Brutus, off!” Des yelled. I could barely hear her over my screeches and giggles.

A couple of moments passed and the dog calmed, crawling comically into my lap before curling up and looking at me with a panting smile. I ran my hand along the top of its head, scratching behind his pointed black ears.

“Sorry, he really, really likes people. Not much of a watchdog,” Des said.

“It’s fine. He’s cute,” I replied, moving to scratch under his chin. “What breed is he?”

Des snorted. “Fuck if I know. Thomas says he’s a mutt. I think he’s a rescue.”

“Those are always the best ones,” I countered, earning a nuzzle into my hand from the furry canine nearly falling out of my lap.

After a while of chit chat and petting the mammoth-sized wannabe cat splayed in my lap, I peeled my backpack off and set it against the wall and stood up to follow Des into the kitchen. She explained Brutus’ feeding schedule (“He will try to convince you that he’s starving to death. Do not fall for it.”) and his typical routine, then showed me where Thomas’ parents had left the vet info in case of emergencies. It seemed pretty straightforward (easier than I’d expected, honestly), and I felt grateful that Thomas’ backyard was fenced off. A lost dog was the last thing I needed in life right now.

Just as Des was setting the written feeding instructions back down on the counter, the door leading to the garage opened from down the hallway, and a pair of heavy footsteps came thunking toward us.

Thomas came into view. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the locks a little as he glanced around the kitchen and dining area, turning a bit in his spot as if running through an imaginary list in his brain. By now, I’d seen Thomas in a variety of moods: ecstatic, embarrassed, exhausted, angry, piss drunk, and of course, the moments where he was absolutely enamored with Des, but I’d never seen him look so stressed before. His eyes looked tired yet his pupils were wide, countering the lines that were settling in around the corners of his eyelids. I’m not sure that he even noticed his shirt was inside out.

“We found the pedalboard at the guys’ apartment. Some asshole put it on top of the fridge,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling as if he were trying to visualize what he needed to do next. After a beat, he looked back down and his eyes met Des’ quizzical look.

“Don’t ask. I don’t even fucking know.” He seemed to finally register that it wasn’t just his girlfriend in front of him and his demeanor changed a little. He straightened, almost toughened, and gave me a confused quirk of the eyebrows. “…Dahlia, what are you doing here?”

I mirrored his look. “Uh, Des said you needed me to house sit?”

Thomas looked between myself and Des, his face moving from a look of confusion to a look of what could be argued as annoyance. “Really?” he asked, taking another step closer to Des. “I thought I mentioned I’d figured all that out, babe.”

Desiree looked up at him with an innocent smile and rolled her lips between her teeth. “Whoops. Must have slipped my mind.”

He sized her reaction, clearly unconvinced. “Okay. Sure.” I was certain he was going to add something, but his potential dialogue with Des was cut off when the garage door opened again and the telltale sound of clunking boots against hard flooring cut through the air. I felt my heart simultaneously drop and expand in my chest. I had come to know that sound.

“Everything is tied and tarped. I feel like fucking Patrick Bateman sans nailgun and Huey Lewis and the News.”

I had really come to know that voice.

Mary rounded Thomas and Des and joined the impromptu party in the dining area. I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back and forth on my feet as I felt his stare bore into me from feet away. It was clear there had been a mix up, and although I couldn’t be certain that Des had something to do with it, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked as he looked around the uneven circle of his friends. Brutus trotted over and began to sniff at his pant legs and Mary reached down to scratch the hound’s forehead. Mary’s long hair hung around him in strands, the ends clumped together in damp sections as it fell from around his shoulders and back.

“Why is your hair wet?” Des asked him. I was sure it was her way of breaking the awkwardness.

Mary looked at her with an air of obviousness. “Shower,” he replied.

“Oh…weird,” she said, and I had to stifle a giggle by turning it into a cough.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He’s full of shit. It’s raining outside and he’s been helping me load and tarp equipment in the truck.” Thomas reached out and clasped a hand to Mary’s shoulder, which to be fair, was dotted with what appeared to be wet raindrop marks. “We all know you hate bathing,” he added.

Mary scoffed and shoved Thomas. “Fuck you guys.”

The air turned uncomfortable again, bordering sour, and it was Thomas who broke the silence.

“Well, it looks like there’s been a miscommunication on who’s looking after this asshole,” Thomas started, looking directly at Des as he spoke although it was clear he was referring to the dog. She continued flashing her innocent smile, eyes still large as if concurrently seeking forgiveness and feigning ignorance.

I felt compelled to speak up. I hated awkward silences, and I especially hated being the butt of one. “It’s not a big deal. I can head out if Mary’s got this,” I said with a shrug.

“—It’s pouring out there!” Des quickly countered, looking between Thomas and I.

Her defensive quip caused me to crinkle my eyebrows in response. “Bullshit, I was just outside and it was fine.”

I looked over at the sliding glass door to my left and sure as shit, the glass was coated in fine droplets sliding down to puddle at the deck below. The sky hadn’t been much more than overcast on my ride over, but it now swirled with tones of ash and charcoal. A storm was approaching.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Shit, well…I rode my bike over here.”

I could tell that the cogs were turning in Des’ mind as she tried to decide if she’d respond with comfort and support of her best friend or her boyfriend: the ever present dilemma. I felt a pang of guilt plague my stomach.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. You guys go,” I offered with a small smile. Forced, of course, because now I was stranded at someone else’s house with someone else’s dog and of course a particular…someone else.

“You sure?” she asked. I could see Thomas eyeing me from behind her, his own expression mirroring her words. It was clear this was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to Mary and I.

My gut told me to stay focused on the couple ahead of me, but my impulsiveness won over, and I glanced at Mary. He was watching with a look of amusement, arms crossed over his chest as his head batted to and fro between speakers. I swallowed lightly.

“Yeah, go. Go! It’s fine.” The voice was mine, but the words were clearly not my own.

A few uncomfortable and quick words were shared, and both Des and Thomas grabbed their overnight bags and popped them into the cab of the truck before driving off down the quiet residential street towards the gig a few towns over. And I was stuck in the ranch-style home with Mary Goore, an overexcited rescue dog, and an approaching storm.

🜏🜏🜏

After piling into the car and sloshing down the road en route to the gig a few cities over, Des and Thomas were mid conversation about the situation that had happened just moments before.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.” Thomas started, fingertips tapping against the wheel as they sped down the interstate.

Des rolled her eyes. “They’ve been fucking!” Her voice was defensive. She quickly added, “Did you know that?”

Thomas kept his eyes on the road and drummed his fingers along to the song playing in the background. “No, and I don’t—” he sighed, removing one hand from the wheel to grasp at the back of his neck, “Jesus Christ, Desiree, you can’t play matchmaker on this one.”

Des crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not? Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

Thomas briefly turned his head and gave her a serious look, sternness that nearly reminded her of her father. “Don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Des shot him a look that dripped in sass. Any other time it would have spurred a different set of emotions in him, but not this time. He held his ground.

“Just — fuck, baby, I’ve known Mary for a long time and he’s not really one to settle.”

Des scoffed. “You think getting with Dahlia would be settling?”

“No, not like that.” Thomas sighed again in frustration. “He’s not big into commitment. Doesn’t like to be tied down. Mary’s…not a relationship kind of guy.”

It was quiet for a few seconds as Des pondered his response. “Well, I’m not saying they need to get married or anything,” she reasoned, “I’m just giving them a little push, is all. A weekend together, alone, no one to barge in and no expectations. It’s the perfect recipe for them to realize what they have going on.”

Another silence filled the cab of the truck. The sound of steady rain pelted against the windshield, only for the squeaky wipers to flick it off rhythmically, creating its own song and dance that counteracted the punk tune on the stereo system.

After a moment, Thomas relented. “Don’t come crawling to me with those big, sad eyes when this ploy of yours blows up in your face.”

“What big eyes?!” Des craned her neck over and stared him down, though it was clear she couldn’t hide the smile bursting through her tough facade.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, babe.”

Des winked in his direction and the tension seemed to melt away. She reached over to grasp at his hand — the one that had fallen to his lap after drumming on the steering wheel — and laced their fingers together.

He let out a long breath and relaxed into the touch before grumbling, “They better not fuck on my bed.”

🜏🜏🜏

When Des and Thomas left, it was like they sucked what little comfort there had been straight out of the room. Sure, the house was occupied by two people and a dog (which some would even consider to be too crowded; three’s company and four’s a party and all that), but there was a timidness that I felt that seemed to have grown since my other outings with Mary. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all. Or perhaps it was my own lack of control in the situation. Regardless, I’d planned on staying a couple of days anyway — what was so bad about waiting out the storm to ride home?

I stood there, hands in my pockets as I continued to rock on my heels, before deciding to break the tension. “I should probably pick up my stuff,” I motioned to the general area my backpack was in and then quickly turned to retrieve my things.

Backpack in hand, I headed to the bathroom to unpack. I’d packed light (because in all honesty, who did I have to impress), but I was searching for any and all excuses to put some distance between myself and the awkward situation I’d been thrust into. I pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste out of a plastic bag I’d jammed into the front pocket of my rucksack, mirroring the action with my face wash, moisturizer, and small bag of makeup essentials. I futzed for too long with the placement of the items, moving them from sinkside to against the wall and back again, before I gave up and sat back against the wall opposite the vanity.

A few minutes went by and I felt a low growl erupt in my stomach. It was nearly six o’clock and I’d had yet to eat anything. I pulled out my phone, deciding to order takeout, and scrolled through the suggested nearby restaurants before settling on a well-rated Chinese place down the street.

I was ready to press send on my order, but I remembered the elephant in the room and groaned, heaving myself up and making my way out to the main area of the home. Mary was nowhere to be seen. I turned around and upon noticing the garage door was ajar, I walked the short distance down the hallway and slipped into the adjoining garage.

Mary was sitting in a camper chair in the empty space, lit cigarette between his fingers, with Brutus at his side. He was tossing a rope toy to the dog somewhat lazily, taking drags of the lit stick every so often. The garage was partially opened, just enough to let in the cool, damp air of the storm, and raindrops pittered in at the edge of the threshold.

As soon as I shut the door to the house, his eyes shot up to meet my own and he nodded in greeting before tossing the toy to the opposite end of the garage for Brutus.

“I’m ordering Chinese — you want anything?” I eventually spoke, body still against the steps connecting the sunken garage to the house.

Mary let out an exhale of smoke and tapped the cigarette into a coffee can on the ground. “Whatever’s fine. I’m easy to please.” His telltale smirk painted his lips and I could see the mischief swirling behind his eyes. “But you already know that,” he added.

I felt my eyes nearly roll out of my head and hopped down off the step, rounding him to sit in another nearby chair. As uncomfortable as his digs were supposed to be, they had the opposite effect. I didn’t do “awkward” with Mary that well. Sexual tension was another story.

I added a few more items to the order and typed in my card information from memory before submitting the order, quickly clicking my phone off and stashing it in my pocket. My focus was broken when Mary interrupted the silence.

“How’d you get roped into this?” he asked, head turning to glance at me.

I sighed and rubbed the side of my face, showing my slight annoyance. “Desiree.”

Mary laughed, a warm chuckle that I’d grown to appreciate, and he ashed the cigarette into the can below him. “You’d think they’d learn to communicate with how they fucking act around each other.”

I stretched out my legs, sinking back into the camper chair. “Oh, I’m sure it was communicated…” I remarked.

Mary looked at me quizzically, head turned towards me again to flash those phthalocyanine eyes that somehow looked brighter in the odd lighting of the garage. I brushed off his look, not wanting to get into the specifics of the conversation I had with Desiree or the fact that she knew about our history. “The dog seems to like you.”

“Brutus and I go way back,” he said.

“Really?” I said with raised brows.

Mary laughed out again in response, that ever-present balmy giggle that pulled at the corners of his lips sending a wave of warmth through my body. “No, I’m just fucking with you. I’m good with animals,” he paused and his lips curled into a grin, ”when I’m not microwaving them, of course.”

My mind raced back to our first encounter together. The streetlights on the walk towards the abandoned warehouse. Paper bags with shaved ice and forties. Shitty gas station snacks. And our conversation about reputation. Namely, his reputation. “Oh, of course.” My tone was one of mock seriousness, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the memory.

I watched as he took another drag from the dwindling cigarette and then turned to look out at the half-closed garage door. The raindrops pelting against the shingled roof and cracked concrete driveway were the only audio that suffused the space, with the occasional exhale of pillowy smoke from the musician next to me.

It was Mary that broke the silence again. He always seemed to be the one to do that. “Thanks again,” he started, hand waving around aimlessly as he spoke, “y’know, for the cake and shit.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m glad your mom liked it.” I spoke earnestly and my expression was one of sincerity. It felt foreign.

“She fucking loved it. She was surprised I had anything to do with making it,” he laughed and tapped his cigarette into the can.

“Oh come on, you can’t be that bad of a cook,” I replied.

He raised an eyebrow at me as he turned to face me. “I’ve burned water.”

My jaw dropped just enough that I was sure it looked like I’d catch flies. “I…didn’t think that was possible.”

He shrugged and turned back to face forward, the cigarette now a stubby, crinkled nub between his middle and pointer fingers. “You should know by now that I’m full of impossible surprises.”

I leaned forward, turning my torso to point towards him while I pulled my legs criss-cross into the camper chair. “How on earth do you woo a woman if you can’t even cook fucking Kraft Mac n’ Cheese?”

“Women aren’t typically after my cooking skills. Or lack thereof,” he flicked the remaining ash of the cigarette down and it missed the can. He didn’t notice. “I’ve got other talents,” he paused, “Wooing isn’t really my style.”

I let his admission ring in the dampened air. It wasn’t surprising. From what I’d heard, he’d never had trouble landing women — particularly after gigs. “The life of a musician…” I trailed off.

Another silence built as the rain colored the absence of our conversation. I could hear Brutus’ slight snores as he lay curled at Mary’s feet, seemingly tired from their earlier game of fetch. A breeze broke through the cracked garage door and swirled around us, bringing a chill into the otherwise comfortable space. I pulled my hoodie a little closer, feeling the cool air dance across my cheeks and the skin peeking through the jacket.

“I think I’m gonna head in. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”

Mary didn’t say anything in response — merely nodding and taking out another cigarette from the worn Marlboro carton — and I made my way back inside with a heavier mind than I’d come out with.

🜏🜏🜏

I’d puttered around the house for what had seemed like ages, but in reality was likely only a handful of minutes. As familiar as I was with some of the rooms at Thomas’, I had to admit that there were areas I’d never been to, namely his room or the basement. As rude as it might have been, I’d given myself a self-directed tour of the place, noting the half-completed projects he seemed to be working on to fix up the house. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of Des domesticating him or if the house really was a secret pride-and-joy.

Eventually, I found myself in the den, sinking into the worn plaid couch that already held too many memories. I pushed them down and reached for the remote to the TV, opting just to hold it as my thoughts zoomed. I could probably put on a movie to kill some time until dinner arrived. It wouldn’t be long and it would serve as a nice distraction.

I got up and thumbed through the impressive number of DVDs stacked next to the TV. Most of them were action or horror (no surprise there), and I settled on a film I’d never seen before: The Amityville Horror. I told myself that the fact that a young Ryan Reynolds was on the cover had absolutely nothing to do with the choice.

After some cajoling, I figured out how Thomas’ TV and DVD player were set up and popped in the disc, pressing play on the machine before sinking back into the couch. The blue screen transformed to darkness as the credits played and I waited to be taken to the home screen.

Mere seconds into the film, I heard a knock at the door and I paused the movie to jog up and out of the sunken den to the front door. I was met with an absolutely drenched delivery driver holding out a large brown bag in one hand and a soaked receipt and pen in the other. I shot him a look of apology and took the receipt, signing and adding on a much more generous tip than I’d originally intended, before trading him for the food. His eyes lit up when he saw the receipt and he dashed back to his clunker parked out front.

I ended up parking the heavy bag of Chinese on the kitchen table. My thoughts were broken when I heard Mary coming in from the garage, heavy footsteps once again thunking down the hallway. A pitter of claws trotted behind him.

“Food’s here,” I said, already opening the bag to take out the various containers.

We grabbed our respective containers and utensils and made our way to the den, me sitting on the couch while Mary sat on the floor, his back against the edge of the couch with his legs spread out wide. I opened up my container of sweet and sour pork and doused it in sweet and sour sauce, mixing it up with the cheap excuse for chopsticks that they provided before settling into the back corner of the couch and pressing play.

“You’re watching this trash?” Mary said, words muffled by a mouthful of Beijing beef.

I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it from his position on the floor. “I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s a shit remake.”

I grabbed a piece of pork between my chopsticks and lathered it in sauce before popping it into my mouth. “Well,” I said while chewing, “no one’s making you watch it.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said with a hint of facetiousness.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he all but grumbled, reaching in the container to grab a piece of beef with his fingers.“You knew what I meant.”

I shuddered as I watched him pop the piece of meat into his mouth with his fingers. “Are you…eating that with your bare hands?” I asked with a surprised chuckle.

He shrugged his shoulders again. “Chopsticks are frustrating. Why use those when I have built in chopsticks right here?” He pinched his fingers in the air, just high enough that I could see them from my spot on the sofa.

I paused, reaching into the takeout container to fish around for some sort of accompanying vegetable. “I…don’t know how I feel about that, to be honest.”

“You didn’t seem to mind my fingers the last time you were on that couch,” he retorted, tone dripping with cheekiness that I knew was accompanied by a smirk I couldn’t see from my vantage point.

I sighed, trying to pay no mind to his constant coquettishness. “Well, they weren’t covered in Chinese food when that happened.”

“They could have been.”

I reached over and grabbed one of Thomas’ throw pillows from across the sofa and tossed it down directly at his head. Mary yowled and grabbed at the back of his head.

“Hey, ow- fuck, you almost made me spill!”

I waved my chopstick dismissively. “Shh, I’m missing what’s happening.”

“Not missing much…” he grumbled, grabbing another piece of beef with his fingers. I looked down and dug into my food again, picking at some snow peas, and took a bite to keep me from my desire to respond with something sarcastic.

I watched the screen as the beginning of the movie continued to unfold with the dreary undertone of music and darkened filter plastered over shots of the house and rainfall outside.

I knew that in fiction, rain was often used to signal something darker, uncontrollable, and innately scary. While a gentle storm could symbolize rebirth or the washing away of something unclean to show a new beginning, a thunderstorm was different. Thunderstorms were brash, explosive, and undeniably cacophonous — a symbol of power, wrath, danger, and darkness. As the scene cut to a shot of the rainy setting, I couldn’t help but liken it to the rain pelting the windowpanes of the window behind the couch. They were both intense storms and I wondered what symbolism life could be trying to show me, if any at all.

We watched mostly in silence, with the occasional jolt from me during a poorly timed jumpscare or a shake of the head and grumble from Mary (which after the third shove of my foot into his shoulder, he got the message that he was being obnoxious).

Unbeknownst to me, the movie had a quick sex scene, which with anyone else would have been a non-issue watching. But with Mary, I felt oddly different. I found myself wondering what he was thinking as we watched the main characters move intimately against one another. Because, if my memory served me right, the last movie we watched together had something similar, and he had reacted in very specific—

My thoughts were interrupted by yet another jumpscare and I squeaked in surprise, nearly dropping my empty takeout container. Mary chuckled and turned around with a smug smile.

“Everything okay back there?” he asked.

“Just fine. ‘Surprised me…” I grumbled, pretending to dig around in the empty container for more food. I was sure he could see right through me. I was easy to spook.

Eventually, I set my empty container on the side table and reclined back into the couch again. It felt weirdly quiet, and I noticed that Mary had gotten up at some point and left.

“Seems he found something better to do with his time,” I thought. Not that it mattered, anyway. I hated the kind of people that talked constantly during movies, and I could tell Mary was doing his best not to criticize nearly every piece of dialogue and every scene.

“Here.” The voice snapped me from my thoughts and my eyes refocused to the space in front of me, noticing an uncapped beer just in my line of sight. I took it with a thank you, noticing Mary had one of his own as he decided to sit opposite to me on the edge of the couch instead of on the floor. I tried not to think anything of the change and cast my eyes towards the movie.

“Did….did she just put a whole ass bong into her purse?” I asked after watching the babysitter in the film try to hide her bong after smoking in the bathroom. I took a swig of the beer Mary gifted me and looked over at him.

He laughed. “I’m telling you — this movie is idiotic at best.”

“I hate that I’m invested enough that I want to see how it ends,” I replied after a minute, adjusting my position on the couch to spread out a leg, my foot barely missing the side of Mary’s thigh.

“I’m happy to tell you how it ends,” Mary countered, taking a pull from his own bottle.

I shook my head in reply. “Might as well finish it. In your words, we’ve ‘got nothing better to do,’” I grinned at him with a chuckle and set my eyes back on the screen.

After the movie finished, we both stretched out our limbs, and I stood to collect the empty containers.

“That’s 90 minutes of my life I’ll never get back,” Mary grunted with a sigh.

I rolled my eyes. With how things were going, I’d be surprised if they didn’t roll straight out of my head and onto the shitty shag carpet on the floor. “Oh come on,” I began, “It wasn’t THAT bad…”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t good,” he chuckled sarcastically.

I let out a defeated breath. “Okay, I’ll admit that it wasn’t the best movie I’ve seen.”

“Clear from it,” he postured, lounging back a little as he took a swig from his beer “The original does a much better job of staying true to the book and creating that building suspense th—”

His words were cut off by another loud crack of lightning. This one sounded close, and by the looks of the fulmination that painted the windows, it was.

I let out a shriek when the lightning and its ancillary crash cracked through the den and beyond. My hand flew to my mouth in surprise and I soon rubbed it over my eyes bashfully.

“Shit, I didn’t know you could make that noise,” Mary chuckled, eyebrows raised in an expression of slight surprise. I looked over and flashed him the middle finger, a scowl on my face, which only increased his laughter.

“How about we put on another movie,” he suggested, then added quickly “—but I pick.” I thought about it, pondering the many choices of movies that Mary could choose on a night like tonight, and shook my head.

“Maybe music is a better idea?” I replied. I walked to the edge of the den and started up the few stairs that connected it to the hallway. “I’ll toss these while you get it set up,” I called over my shoulder.

When I returned, Mary was finished messing with the stereo system and Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation was playing softly through the speakers. I took a seat on the floor, copying Mary’s earlier posture with my back against the front of the plush furniture, and spread my legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

“Didn’t take you as a Sonic Youth fan,” I said as I settled into the space.

Mary smiled and turned his head towards me. “I told you I’m full of interesting surprises.”

I suppressed a giggle. “I was thinking of other types of surprises when you said that.”

“What kinds of things were you thinking of?” he asked, brow quirked.

I felt my cheeks flush at the coy look on his face and looked away, trying to figure out a way to change the conversation. Mary just laughed.

“Wow, doll face, I didn’t expect to take up that much real estate in your mind. I’m flattered.” He put a hand to his chest and stared over me with a broad smile.

“Stop it.”

He cast me a look of confusion. “Stop what?”

“That thing you do!” I began. My voice raised a little in volume and pitch. “The thing where you act all smug and ooze sex appeal!”

This seemed to intrigue him and he turned to face me from his spot in front of the entertainment system. I knew that if his shirt was off, I’d be able to see the flexion of the muscles in his abdomen. I mentally kicked myself for even thinking that.

“Sex appeal? I didn’t know you were so pious.”

I felt myself bristle and sat up a little straighter. “What? No, it’s not about piety.” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “You just don’t have to make everything an innuendo!”

At this, the crusty metalhead in front of me had the audacity to laugh. “Wow,” he chuckled, “way to act like a total prude.”

“I am not!” My eyes shot daggers at him and I’d hope they’d materialize and hit him straight in his smirking face.

“I’m surprised you made it through that sex scene…” he looked up at me from under a raised brow.

I huffed. “You of all people should know that sex doesn’t bother m—” I cut myself off as I felt fire heat my cheeks.

“You were saying?” he snickered.

“Oh, fuck off Goore.”

“Sure thing. Wanna watch?”

“I’ll leave that to Brutus.”

As soon as his name was said, Brutus’ ears perked up and he let out a whine. I realized it had probably been hours since he’d been outside.

“We should probably let the dog out,” I said. As soon as he heard the word ‘out,’ Brutus sprung up and began trotting to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. I got up with a slight groan, muscles stiff from sitting on the floor, and Mary followed.

“I can take the dog out by myself, y’know,”

“Yeah, but the view is so much better if I come with.”

I felt frustration pool in my chest at this and he seemed to sense it as well, adding, “Chill out, I was just grabbing a couple more beers.”

After coaxing Brutus outside with some choice words said in the nicest voice I could muster (and maybe a push on the bum), I waited at the sliding glass door for him to return from doing his business. A towel was thrown by slider and I grabbed it to wipe down the dog on his re-entry.

I watched through the window as the storm really began to rage. Fat water droplets ricocheted off the glass pane like rubber bullets and thunder rumbled a low death rattle. Mary came up behind me and put the two bottles on the kitchen table. He fished around in his pockets for his bottle opener on his key chain.

A loud, booming sound followed by a high pitched crack and a monstrous thud rattled the foundation of the house. I let out an embarrassingly loud scream and jumped back from the sliding door. My body collided with Mary’s more solid one behind me, and immediately his hands found my upper arms to steady the both of us. I leaned back into him, not caring enough about self-restraint as my head tipped back against his shoulder.

My chest heaved as my adrenaline dissipated, and I could feel Mary’s hands rubbing up and down the lengths of my arms. I swallowed thickly, then clenched my eyes tight. I felt his breath arm against my ear as he leaned in.

“You good, Doll?”

His voice was smooth, oddly soothing, and the reverberations that pulsed through my ear and into my chest were much different than the shaking of the foundation from the subsonic boom moments prior.

I nodded and looked out the window. A mature tree limb, one measuring at least 15 feet long, had fallen to the ground in the backyard from the force of the thunderstorm. My immediate thought went to Brutus and I feared for the worst, but as if on cue, his body came running towards the door like a bullet. His little black body began pawing at the door and yet, I felt frozen in my spot to Mary. His body stayed pressed against the back of mine, hands still rubbing little circles against my triceps. Neither of us moved to open the door.

Brutus’ bark seemed to jolt us both from the haze. I slid the door open and immediately wrapped the medium-sized dog in the towel to dry him off. The little black mutt followed me as I walked back into the wood-paneled den and I sunk down on the couch next to Mary with a sigh.

Mary handed me another beer and I graciously accepted. “You know,” he started after taking a sip of his own, “I’m not used to women screaming around me unless my name is involved somehow.”

“Is it usually preceded by ‘fuck off’ or ‘get the fuck away from me’?”

“I was thinking it comes after ‘harder’ or ‘fuck me,’ actually,” he said, pausing a beat before casting a look of cautious puzzlement. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

I chewed on my cheek as I picked at the label of the beer bottle. “I hate storms,” I admitted with a sigh.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

The squall of the storm caused the windows behind the weathered old sofa to vellicate. Stills from the movie of torrential downpour around the boathouse flashed into thought. I recalled the swirling blackened sky from the sliding glass door from moments before and found myself comparing the dread from the film to my stomach sinking the moment the tree limb fell heavy against the hard ground. What if it had fallen on the house, or the dog? What if it had been a consequence of a lightning strike and started a fire?

I shook myself from spiraling. “I’m not afraid of a lot of things,” I pointed out, “but storms...they freak me out. They have ever since I was little. Loud noises and all.”

Mary chuckled at this. “You listen to thrash metal,” he countered.

“That’s different!” I ran my hand through my hair, gripping at the back of my scalp in frustration. “Storms are destructive. One minute it’s a normal day and the next - bam - people lose their homes, their jobs, their communities…decades and centuries of history even. It’s chaotic and terrible and…unpredictable. It’s fucking armageddon.”

Mary had turned to face me from his spot on the couch, one leg semi-crossed over the other. “Big bad metal chick like you afraid of some thunder and lightning? Color me surprised, dollface.”

The asshole had the audacity to smirk at me. So, I reached out and smacked him in the shoulder.

“Ow! I was being serious!” His tone was playful as rubbed at the spot on his shoulder. “You’re not the kind of person to let a lot of emotion show.”

I felt myself bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I dunno…you just don’t seem afraid of anything. Kinda just ‘go with the flow’. It’s weird to see ya all panicked and shit.”

I scoffed and clicked my tongue. “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

“Oh, I know you inside and out, dollface,” he grinned.

My cheeks blushed garnet. “Only some of me,” I grumbled.

“Really? What else you got hiding?” he chided, sitting up a little straighter, a little closer. “Got any secret pockets in those pants?”

Now, it felt like my whole face was on fire. I remembered the cargo pants he made fun of me for on our first excursion, and the tongue-in-cheek wording was absolutely purposeful. I rolled my eyes.

Any other time I would have had a quick quip or nonverbal response lined up to banter with him, but another crackle of thunder roared through the sky, and instead, my body physically flung itself up an inch off the cushions in a reactive jolt. My hands gripped onto whatever was near me — which in this case, was the right arm of the couch and coincidentally, the right arm of Mary.

The sound of the thunder was replaced with the onslaught of water against the windows behind the sofa and I let out a breath I didn’t remember inhaling. I looked down at my hand gripping onto Mary’s forearm, fingers digging into the demon ink staring up at me across otherwise pale flesh, and I quickly retreated.

I cleared my throat. “S-sorry,” I choked, “Reflex.”

Mary didn’t seem phased at all. He turned towards me, his upper torso craning to meet mine perpendicularly, and a hand came to my knee. “What helps?” he asked plainly.

“I…what?”

“What helps?” he repeated, his tone still matter-of-fact.

“Oh. Um…” I swallowed and looked down at his hand resting on my left knee, right over the fabric of my pants. I wracked my brain in a feeble attempt to think of something that had aided my fear in the past.

But I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe properly as the heat from his hand sunk through to my covered skin. I imagined that hand six inches higher, resting on my thigh as he spread them apart on the rooftop all those weeks ago—

“Distraction!” I blurted out. I hardly even recognize my voice as I did so. I finally looked over to meet the stare I’d felt carving into my irrationally fearful form and saw those fucking eyes, green and honey and framed with brows that were pursed in a way that conveyed allure. I finished letting out my caged breath. “Something to keep my mind off things and give me another sense to focus on. My parents used to, uh, read to me. Make up stories. When I was old enough, I’d hum songs or picture scenes from movies…”

Embarrassment flooded my bones. I felt childish, weakened, exposed like a raw nerve or a root scabbing from crisp air. We didn’t talk much about our pasts and he wasn’t somewhat I typically indulged with this kind of vulnerability. But as I searched his eyes for a crinkle of amusement or a flash of judgment, I found none. Instead, I found focused pupils and a heady stare.

He broke the pregnant pause. “Maybe I could distract you with something different.”

I rolled my lips in and stilted the air in my lungs. His hand weighed heavily on my leg.

“We’ve tried music. And movies,” he began, briefly casting his glance towards the middle of the living room where the TV sat against the wall and we’d sat and listened to Sonic Youth. “We drank shitty beer and ate shitty Chinese—”

“—I liked the Chinese—” I interrupted in a murmur, still watching as he soaked in the visual of my legs pressed together, his hand firm and steady.

“—so in my eyes, we’ve used sight, hearing, taste, and by association, scent. Which means, we’re missing one…”

Touch, I thought to myself. A shiver whispered down my spine. While his words trailed off, he mimicked the action with his hand. The firm hand that once sat solid on my knee began to travel up the expanse of my left leg. His fingertips ghosted my inner thigh with just enough pressure to make a point.

I gathered up the courage to look up at him again and this time, the verdant hue of his eyes was overtaken by wide pupils that bore into me like he was clawing his way to comfort.

I’m not exactly sure what happened next. The haze in my brain matched the low visibility from the storm outside. But before I knew it, I could feel the warmth of his proximity, the grip of his hand tightening on my leg as his other one gripped the nape of my neck, tugging and pulling me into him like a life preserver.

His kiss was exactly as I had remembered. Soft yet slightly chapped, starting as a fervent pressing of lips on lips that moved into tilted heads and the drag of a tongue against my own parted mouth. I reveled in the feeling and gripped onto his shirt with both hands, fisting it like he’d float away if I let go.

Had I been more cognizant, I’d have laughed at the fact that his action was much more than touch. It was scent (cheap cologne and leather and musk) and it was taste (cheap beer and filmy cigarette residue that I was surprised I could crave) and sight (technicolor behind my eyelids that erupted against dark) and it was sound (of the smacking of lips on lips and the occasional clang of teeth, the rustle of fabric and the springs of the couch as we shifted to accommodate one another).

And down we fell, my twisted torso mirroring his own as I lay plush against the flat seat of the couch. Mary moved to encapsulate my form with his own, knees brushing the worn plaid upholstery as I parted my legs to gift him space. My hands found the tops of his shoulders and as I gripped, his own hand moved from its entrapment on the nape of my neck to cup my jaw, thumb bruising against bone. I fought the urge to wrap my legs around his body and hold him in like he was to me. Touch. I didn’t care.

But before I could, he slotted one of his legs between my own, the other digging between my left thigh and the seam of the couch. I let out a groan as he pressed the meat of his thigh against my center and he smiled against my lips, nipping at the bottom one.

Touch. I craved that movement as heat built deep within my abdomen and pooled down past my navel. Shamelessly, I rocked my hips against his leg to chase the feeling of pressure, of grazed fabric on fabric. Testing the proverbial waters.

Again, a smirk against my lips. His free hand gripped squarely onto my hip. But instead of a teasing nip or squeeze, he pulled away just barely, breath ghosting against my face.

“That feel good, Doll?”

I couldn’t begin to think of how to respond. Instead, I canted my hips up again, slower this time, enjoying the friction of denim against my own clothed core. I suppose that was enough of an answer, because he held his leg firm and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

He hummed. “You gonna use me to get yourself off, dollface?” he breathed in question. His voice was lust-dipped and low, barely above a whisper yet it rang so heavy in my chest that I could swear it was deeper than the thunder.

I let out a noise in response (something like a mix between a whimper and a hum) and again rocked up into the muscle of his leg as I pressed my forehead to his, eyes squeezing shut to focus on the sensation blooming between my thighs.

“Use your words,” Mary all but tutted, voice still low in timbre.

“Yes,” I sputtered. Fuck dignity.

He hummed in response and captured my lips with his again, pressing hard as he kissed me with purpose. His hand on my jaw moved to grab my other hip and he let his body fall into mine as he pulled my body up into his leg in time with my own movements. “Keep going,” he murmured against my mouth. Touch. Sound.

Unabashedly, I moved my hips into his thigh with the help of his strong grasp. The friction changed as I felt my own arousal begin to dampen the fabric of my panties and I groaned into the kiss at the feel of the cotton gliding over my clit with each quickening movement.

Mary’s mouth moved across my jaw and down to the crook of my neck and shoulder, and he began to work at the skin there, biting and sucking along the sensitive areas he’d been cataloging since our last time on this couch. My eyes fluttered open half-lidded in the darkness and I raked my hand through his long hair, gripping it against the scalp as I moved senselessly against him, chasing a release I knew he could provide me.

“Fuck, you’re so eager,” he growled out against my skin. I swear I could feel the pounding of his pulse through our mashed chests and his words only increased a need that I’d been suppressing since he’d fucked me breathless against my kitchen countertop.

Mary’s distinct scent clouded me, wet-straw colored hair hung in my peripherals, cigarettes and cheap beer and the taste of his kiss covered my lips and tongue, fabric rubbed against fabric and wet mouths primed heated skin, and every explosion of his body rocked and pulled and ground against mine into a sensory explosion. Smell. Sight. Taste. Sound. Touch.

No more storm. No more thunder. No more rain. We made our own natural disaster.

And I was distracted. Fully distracted in that I didn’t recognize it was my voice that let out a breathy ‘so good’. So successfully distracted that the beeping of the notification on my phone was easily discounted. In fact, the subsequent beeping that followed seconds later was also minimized. And the one after that. I could feel the fuzzy feeling building deep below my navel and I chased it with every movement of my body against Mary’s, and the feeling of his own hardness growing against my thigh made me that much more desperate. He was clearly getting something out of this, too.

“Take what you need,” Mary’s muffled voice sounded against my clavicle. “Take whatever —fuck— take whatever you want, babydoll.”

So, I did. I ground furiously against him and reached for the peak of my climb, oblivious to the buzzing and chiming of my phone on the coffee table beside us. Except, we’d forgotten we weren’t alone, and not everyone was able to ignore the phone’s noises.

Brutus’ deep, loud barking rang through the sunken den unexpectedly, causing both Mary and I to jump in surprise, Mary’s head knocking against the side of my jaw. He rose up on his forearms instantaneously and gripped his forehead with a loud ‘fuck’ and I matched his reaction as I cupped my jaw and let out a slew of expletives.

The light from my screen illuminated the once sleeping dog’s face and I groaned out as I haphazardly reached an arm towards the table to feel for my phone. I unlocked the device and was met with a litany of notifications from Des. I groaned and slammed my head back against the couch cushion. For working so hard to get Mary and I alone together, Desiree sure knew how to cock block.

I brought the phone up and with squinted eyes, I read over the text messages that had gathered over the last hour.

Des: how’s it going over there?

Des: i heard the storm is supposed to get even worse

Des: is brutie doing okay? He gets whiny with loud noises sometimes

Des: shit someone on instagram posted that the power is out for like 5,000 people. you still okay?

Des: wow. okay. don’t answer me. you guys must be really busy 😏

Des: there are condoms in the bedside drawer 😘 cum stains wash out best with cold water ❤

Des: you still never told me about his dick btw

By now, Mary had sat back on his haunches and the pressure of his thigh was completely gone from where I most wanted it to be. “Who is it?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead.

“Desiree,” I replied in a neutral tone.

Mary let out a sarcastic laugh. “What does she want?” He leaned down to try to get a peek at the phone screen and I snapped it to my chest tightly.

“Just checking in to see how we’re faring the storm!” I said a little too quickly. I cleared my throat to try to force down the nervous lump that was forming. “And wanted to see how Brutus is doing with the thunder.”

I expected Mary to eye me suspiciously, but if he had caught on to anything, he surely didn’t show it. I typed out a quick response to Des, explaining that yes, we were okay, and no, Brutus wasn’t being a handful, before adding a quick ‘fuck you’ and an eyeroll emoji to her later comments.

I set the phone down on the table and looked up at the man currently straddling my body. My heart began to speed up again as I took in my surroundings. It was dark in the room, but the light from the storm outside and the glow of the kitchen nearby illuminated him with chiaroscuro that any Renaissance painter would envy. Judging by the bulge in his jeans, the interruption wasn’t enough to sully his erection, and he looked down at me as if he was waiting for me to say the words to continue.

I felt my chest tighten and another crackle of lightning peppered the room in flushed white. What was I doing? This was Mary: resident bad boy, metal enthusiast, best friend of my best friend’s boyfriend, and come to think of it, a guy who never seemed to show up with the same girl at his side. I didn’t sleep around purely from the fact that it was impossible for me to avoid catching feelings. Blame it on the oxytocin release.

But nothing we had done was wrong and nothing had been the result of deeper feelings, right? We were two consenting adults, two friends that enjoyed each other’s company. Couldn’t that be enough? Sex didn’t have to equal commitment or a deeper connection. It could be loose, free, fun. It was what Des always encouraged me to explore, anyway. Right?

Despite my reasoning, I felt a weight pressing on my sternum and threatening to rise up my throat. His stare was piercing, and all I could smell was leather and cologne and cigarettes, and the taste of him on my bottom lip, and his weight on my legs, and my breath felt like it was going to rip my lungs open and—

“We should turn in for the night,” I blurted out.

I searched his face for any sort of reaction and was met with a split second of confusion before his demeanor went calm.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Take what you want rang heavy in my ears from just moments before.

“Y-yeah, it’s getting late and I worked today, so…”

He stood up from his position over me and I sat up against the arm of the sofa. I chewed my lip, battling the decision I’d just made for the both of us.

“I’ll take the couch, you can have Tommy’s bed,” Mary said nonchalantly as he took a swig from the forgotten beer bottle on the coffee table. Oddly chivalrous.

I shook my head almost immediately. “No, I’ll take the couch.” Mary opened his mouth to protest, but I held firm. “I am not sleeping in Thomas’ bed. That sounds like the 7th circle of hell. My best friend is frequently naked in that bed and who knows when those sheets were last washed.”

Mary laughed at this. A deep chuckle and a shake of his head as he motioned towards me with the beer bottle between pointer finger and thumb.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never seen her naked.”

Embarrassed, flustered, and wholly unsatisfied from practically humping the metalhead in front of me, I scoffed. “Not like that and not by choice.”

Mary grinned in enjoyment of my response. “Stay up late and play with each others’ tits after a pillow fight?”

A frustrated groan breached my lips. “You’ve been watching way too much porn, Goore,” I said. I reached for one of the long discarded throw pillows and lobbed it at him, feeling a hint of disappointment when he dodged it easily.

He held up both hands, one still holding the bottle. “Suit yourself,” he began, backing up while still facing me, then adding with a smirk, “don’t get too scared with the storm.”

I watched as he turned and made his way down the hallway, beer in hand as he ventured to Thomas’ room. Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, I sighed.

🜏🜏🜏

My fingers curled around the stiff microfiber blanket that I’d lazily thrown over myself as I’d sunk into Thomas’ well-worn plaid couch.

I tried to coat myself in the scratchy throw to avoid the feeling of the couch cushions on the exposed skin of my legs and arms. It was a touch-memory that brought me back to flying high in the same den, legs straddling the man that now slept peacefully down the hallway in the master bedroom.

As much as I didn’t want to reconcile with the feelings of fear, I was on edge. The movie set my panic into motion, but the worsening storm was what lit the engine. It had progressed from the percussive pelting drops against the windows and siding to roars of wind and sprays of harsh rain that sounded like fire hoses. Thunder boomed every so often and I heard its fallout whip through the trees with horrid whistles — true cries of the damned.

I let out a shaky breath and reached my hand down to pet the dog curled on the bed on the floor. Focus on the fur. Soft. Spindle it between your fingertips. Smooth. Warm. My heartbeat started to calm and my lizard brain crept back into its recesses.

My eyes relaxed in their shut state and I nuzzled a bit harder into the pillow. I felt my exhaustion begin to take hold. And just as I began to float into the downward spiral of sleep, a boisterous crack sliced through the sky. It reminded me of the jet planes that flew at the air shows when I was little - the ones that broke the sound barrier - and my shriek that followed rivaled in volume.

Bright white lightning strobed through the windows of the house. A quick succession of flashes flickered like a searchlight on the fritz. The house went dark again.

The dog's ears perked as he sat up and I followed suit, blanket bunched around my knees and clutched with firm fists to my chest. Just like after a blinding camera flash, my eyes were shot. I could just barely make out the shapes of the furniture and walls.

“You okay?” a voice asked mere feet away from me.

Startled, I let out another quick scream before slamming my palm tight against my mouth. My eyes continued to adjust and I noticed the figure turned from swirling black mass to humanoid to Mary within a split second.

“I’m fine,” I breathed out. I brought my hands down to grip onto the couch cushions. Mary stood before me in his boxers. Messy hair tousled around his shoulders and chest in waves a la 1980s glam rock (though I was certain that bedhead was a more likely culprit) and willed myself not to search through the inky black of the den to determine if he was wearing a shirt or not.

“Do you usually scream like a banshee when you’re fine?” he quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest.

No shirt I noted.

I rubbed my hands against my face, pressing my fingertips into the sockets of my eyes. “Just not a fan of storms.”

“Yeah, so you said.” A moment passed. The only sound in the air was the howling wind from outside until he broke the quiet. “You sure you’re good out here?”

“I’ve got Brutie.”

“Alright,” he sighed. After a moment, I could feel he’d left again, and I willed myself back into the couch cocoon I’d built myself.

I must have fallen asleep. Be it the adrenaline crash or the exhaustion, I wasn’t sure how I’d finally managed. It was in vain, however, when another loud burst of lightning and thunder rumbled through the house. The same strobe of light pulsated briefly, and in the distance, a booming crash. Before I knew it, I was on my feet.

Fuck this fuck this fuck this I whispered to myself as I sped through the house. My hands reached out in front of me as bumpers to the still unfamiliar landscape, and after padding down the hallway in bare feet, I reached around for the doorknob to Thomas’ room.

His room was better lit than the living room. The orange-y glow of the one working street lamp in the distance painted the walls with a near apocalyptic hue and illuminated Mary’s sleeping form on the bed. He was facing away from me, but I could tell he was out (shocking considering the resonance of the lightning and thunder).

I bit my lip and crossed my arms over my shoulders as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I sure as hell didn’t want to sleep in Thomas’ bed, and the thought of sleeping next to Mary made me more anxious than anything. Well, except the storm. What was I thinking? I felt like a child standing at the foot of their parents’ bed after having a nightmare, waiting with fearful eyes and too-small pajamas for them to invite me in for the night.

Duller thunder hummed outside and I was reminded of the fear that had clenched my chest just minutes prior. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt having another person with me, could it? Clearly, the dog wasn’t enough.

I slowly sank onto the opposite edge of the bed, making myself featherlight, and lifted one leg up along the mattress as my other foot held firm against the floor. Mary didn’t move. I swung the other leg up onto the bed and pulled the covers down before sliding under, the shifting sheets whisper silent, and leaned back against the pillow.

I lay board stiff, hand on my chest, and watched as the tree branches dappled the streetlight in whooshing patterns across the ceiling. Like dark sparkles, it lulled me into a sense of calm, and I let my eyes fall shut again. The bed shifted and I felt Mary turn over, arm flopping out towards the middle of the bed to land hand first into my arm. His eyebrows crinkled in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered wearily at the feeling of his skin against my own.

“Doll?” he asked, eyes stained with sleep.

I turned my head to face him, hands still clasped against my chest. “Sorry, I—” I began, taking a moment to let out a shaky breath, “ — I freaked out.”

I braced for a chuckle, eyeroll, anything that was typical of Mary, but it never came. Instead, he lifted up the blankets as if to silently beckon me over. “C’mere,” he croaked, voice clearly still lethargic.

In any other situation, I’d take pause, but this wasn’t any situation. I scrambled over like a child. He tucked his arm around me and brought me to his bare chest. I could smell the fragrance

of the shampoo he used as I rested my head in the crook of his neck (I guess he’d been telling the truth about that shower), and my own arms came up to curl against his skin. An arm flopped around my middle, pulling me impossibly close, and our knees brushed under the blanket.

Surprisingly, I felt calmness wash over me. I likened it to the bear-like embrace, skin-on-skin, some sort of instinctual response to the comfort of another human. But his heartbeat pumped strongly beneath my fingertips and I could feel his steady breath floating across the top of my hair and down my neck, and in that moment, I wondered if it was a little more than just human instinct.

A beat percussed in time. I traced my fingertips along the skin of his arm, ghost-light, dipping down the valleys and peaks of muscle that I knew flexed taut when he strummed his Epiphone SG. Goosebumps appeared under my digits and he shifted under the sheet.

“Tickles,” he murmured atop my head.

“Sorry,” I whispered, bringing my hands back to rest against his torso. Sandwiching them between the cotton of my oversized tee and the smooth skin of his pecs would have to do.

It was quiet — so quiet that I assumed he had fallen asleep again. But his soft breaths were broken by his even softer voice. “You’re cute when you’re scared,” he said.

I let out a chuckle. “Gee, thanks.”

He hummed and although I couldn’t see it, I could hear his tongue wet his lips, jaw pressing against the top of my head from the movement. “It’s different from the typical Dahlia.”

My mind raced back to our earlier conversation, the one where he’d accused me of hiding my emotions. Is this what he meant? Was fear what he considered transparency? I looked up at him quizzically, breaking the connection of his chin using my crown as an actual headrest.

His eyes were open, and despite the foreglow of the streetlights and darkness, I could better feel his stare than see it. His hair was still a step down from a rat’s nest, tangled from sleep, and strands hung down around his angular face. His cheeks were beginning to stubble with five o’clock shadow. Breaths pushed past his lips steadily, even, but beneath the pads of my fingers, I could sense his heart pumping solidly in his chest. Only a hairline fracture separated our faces.

Outside, a whistle of strong wind thwipped against the siding of the house like a widow’s cry and my body instinctively tensed. His arm that had lethargically slung across my waist impulsively tightened and he pulled me even closer.

“Hey…” he soothed. His brows were drawn in concern, and his hand traveled from the c-bout of my waist and up, up, up my tricep. It was less of a greeting and more of a reminder to land back in the present, to focus on my senses (touch, taste, smell, sight, sound), to remember I was right here, right in this moment, and I wasn’t alone.

The mortar holding the bricks built around my heart began to disintegrate. Every block melded in a bond pattern to cage in my overcommitting self, to protect from obsession, from the inevitable swoon that I had felt with Brody and had ripped out from under me — they began to fall, piece by piece.

It was the both of us that drew our mouths to meet. The kiss was lazy, sleepy, languid at first, morphing into prolonged pecks that added a harmony to the pattering rain, gusts of wind, and bouts of thunder rumbling the outside earth. His hand continued to rub against my upper arm and beat by beat, the kiss heightened, and slowly, surely, lips met tongue, and then teeth, and I was angling my neck to the right to keep him from digging into the pillow.

Mary shifted. His fingers gripped my arm as he moved to lay halfway on top of me. Our legs tangled together, and as he slid his own against my calf, barely stilling, I was certain he’d just discovered that my nightwear consisted of only an oversized t-shirt and panties.

I could sense his erection pressing through the thin cotton of his boxers against my thigh. My brain zapped back to hours prior when he had boxed me in on the couch and let me take pleasure from his strong quads. A fire raged within me that rivaled my hair spilling across Thomas’ pillows like a red sea.

Mary’s hand moved to skim under the hem of my shirt, tracing against my hip bone before it, too, went up, up, up, hovering just over the curve of my breast before cupping it. His finger traced the outline of my nipple. Once again, surroundings faded. Nothing else existed at this moment, here, right now.

I exhaled shakily against him. Our lips were still passionately pendulating in a rhythm that the both of us had mastered by now. I took a leap of faith and pressed my thigh to his crotch, earning me a squeeze to my chest and his own shaky exhale.

Releasing my breast, Mary swept his hand to the waistband of my panties. His fingers, rough and calloused from frets and strings, dipped underneath. He sat up slightly and broke the kiss. The smooth cotton was seesawed down my legs in a series of yanks from the free hand, and he quickly repeated the action on his own boxers, tossing them aside before returning his hand back to my chest.

“Mary,” I breathed out.

“What?” he echoed. His eyes searched for something as he drank in my expression.

I swallowed lightly. “I-” I began, not knowing exactly what I was saying.

But he did. “I’ve got you,” he said. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my eyes.

He kissed me again and fully framed my body with his own. I relaxed back into the pillow and he sat back to dip his hands underneath my shirt, pushing it up and off with a temporary break in our lips’ union. As he slotted himself between my legs, I looked up at him, body completely bare. I felt the anxiety creep into my chest and I was certain I looked visibly unsure — not at the prospect of what was to happen, no, but what would follow. How this would, or could, change things.

“So goddamn pretty when you’re spread out like this,” he murmured as his hands roamed up and down my torso. I took the moment to soak up the image in front of me. His lean torso was flexed as he ran his hands along my breasts and stomach, and his cock stood heavy against his pelvis, bobbing with every movement of his touch.

He gripped himself with a soft moan, stroking slowly, methodically, and his eyes raked over my form. This wasn’t our first encounter, no, but I felt truly naked for the first time.

With oddly found confidence, I reached forward to grasp at the junction of his shoulder and neck. I pulled him towards me and his other hand shot out to brace himself against the squeaking mattress. His stroking continued and I jolted when his knuckles came in contact with the ache between my legs. Without any spoken words, he lined himself up and then embraced me, hand on my shoulder as we met chest to chest, covering me like a blanket.

His pause was obvious — an unspoken ask of consent to proceed which I answered with a soft kiss. I trusted him, and I assumed he trusted me. We both craved the connection, to complete the incomplete.

As Mary pushed in, I melted beneath him. His tip pushed past and he groaned and buried his face in the curve of my neck. My hands darted out to grip onto his back and pull him close. I wanted to feel him take up space in my ribs.

Inch by inch he sank before canting steadily. I could feel every bit of him as he rocked in and out, pulling and pushing as my heat gripped him, and for some reason it felt different. Not just raw, but whole. I took in every bit of him physically, but as we moved together in the nightglow, I also consumed the parts he’d been dressing up in leather and denim and metal and dissolved it into my flesh. I took him.

And through my euphoria of connection, I barely registered my small eruptions of noises that highlighted each stroke of his cock to my core. I focused on the sensation of sprinkled electricity spreading from my cunt outwards, and his hot breath on my neck that I drank in like I was oxygen-starved.

Mary’s hips began to stutter as he thrusted a little harder into my own and my legs moved to wrap instinctively around him. I keened out louder, and he lifted his head to look at me again.

The eye contact was searing. Hot. It charred my retinas, but this time, I didn’t care. He must have sensed the vulnerability because his hand cupped my jaw and he ran his thumb across my cheekbone before our foreheads met together.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, “Fuck, I’ve got you.”

Like his own hail Mary. I believed him. He had me now — I was in his clutches, both literally and figuratively.

His pace increased to match my ever-racing pulse. It was still steadied, sleepily focused, and I dug my fingers into the flesh of his back as I clenched down against the movement of his length, nearly trembling at the pull at my navel as each drag of him spurred fire. It was building, and I let it. My breath began to stutter and I felt tears at my waterline. The sensory overload was rhapsody and the simple, obvious connection was juxtaposed by the chaotic climax lapping at my center. I was so close it almost hurt.

I moaned his name in a half-whimper and he must have felt my urgency and desperation and the increased slick coating our joined union because he crushed his lips to mine. His thumb dug into the side of my chin as he drove firmly into my aching need. But the jerking of his hips was almost too much and I could tell he wasn’t far behind me.

As my thighs began to tremble at his sides, he broke the kiss. I looked at him with desperate longing.

“Let it go, Doll,” he murmured to me.

And unlike every other situation in life where I found myself stubbornly resisting direction, I obeyed. I followed his demand and allowed the fuzzy heat of my release to unfurl around him. I cried out in rapture and he swallowed the sound with an opened mouth kiss at the moment of impact. I tensed around him and my pussy spasmed with every lunge of his hard cock.

“Good girl,” Mary praised as gripped hard onto my shoulder and pressed his head to mine, lips separated, and I was enveloped in a curtain of golden-brown tangled strands. He began to move faster against me and I knew my orgasm had spurred something deep within him as he moaned out, “So good for me, taking me so damn well.”

His thumb brushed the breadth of my lip and dipped into my mouth, pulling down just barely against my tongue and teeth. I looked up at him with full eyes, grey hues drowned by pupils swimming from release, and I inwardly begged him to complete me as aftershocks of a violent orgasm short circuited.

“So tight,” he grunted in response. “Fuck— feel so good around me, babydoll.” His hands moved to grip my hips and with a few more jolts of his hips, his cock twitched and he groaned, features melting as he spilled inside of me. His body jerked with each spurt and his fingers dug into the flesh covering my pelvic bone as he rode out his high.

Mary collapsed into me and I allowed my eyes to close as we savored the aftermath. I’m not sure how long it was, minutes, maybe more, but eventually he pulled his softened dick from me and I let out a long breath of satisfaction. My hand moved to rest against my chest as I digested the gnawing deep within me that questioned what this was.

Mary fell to his side and pressed a quick peck to my lips before rolling onto his back and mimicking my sigh. A brief silence filled the sweat-scented air, and I moved my hand to grasp at his, squeezing it, only to receive a slight squeeze back.

Our ragged breaths eventually calmed and I opened my eyes to the textured plaster of the ceiling.

“You good?” Mary asked after a minute. I rolled my lips inward as I thought about the weight of those two words.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m good— I’m great,” I replied. It was the truth.

He hummed in response and pulled the flat sheet over himself.

“Glad I could distract you,” He said as he nestled into the right side of the bed. Before turning, he added, “get some sleep.”

My eyes searched for patterns in the swirls of the painted gypsum of the ceiling as stillness settled in. Mary’s quiet breathing turned to soft snores. Despite the calm, serene relief from a shared orgasm, my chest was tight from the inward battle of how unbelievably intimate that experience was and how deeply I was freefalling into a mess of adoration for the man next to me.

I wondered how he could so easily turn to the side and fall asleep.

🜏🜏🜏

Despite the after effects of the record-breaking storm, Des and Thomas were able to make it home a couple of days after they’d left, right on schedule.

They greeted Mary with their normal affections (a pat on the back from Thomas and a warm wave from Des), and the conversation immediately turned from a Brutus report to a play-by-play of Thomas’ shows out of town.

Des noted there was no sign of her best friend, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d received my text the day before that I was heading home and that Mary was fine staying the additional time. And despite her prodding, I’d remained tightlipped.

Both she and Thomas were unaware of the telltale morning after where I’d woken up to sunbeams instead of lightning, choosing to pack up my belongings and head out early to check on my own pet at home.

They were also unaware of the brief goodbye between Mary and I as I readied to leave — him, acting cool, aloof, and casual, as if nothing had changed, while I tried my best to mirror his demeanor with little success. Because as much as I tried to build the bricks back up, I’d let him in the night before, and he’d taken root inside the boundaries of my chest.

I suppose that just like a day spent thrifting, I’d gone into every interaction with Mary with no expectations, and each time I’d come out with something I didn’t anticipate. The goldmines outweighed the insolvencies. I didn’t know if I wanted him to be aware of this.

Above all, I was happy for my momentary blissful unawareness (at least until later during a phone call with Des) of Thomas’ outburst upon entering his bedroom after Mary had left. His exclamation of “god damn it!” rang as loud as the thunder two nights previous, causing Des to dart in with a “what?” on her lips and the expectation of disaster.

Thomas sighed, stained top sheet in hand. “They fucked on my bed.”

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consult-sherlockholmes · 3 months

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Hello, Mr. Holmes! How are you?

So, long story short, I ended up with an optical microscope in my room more or less 4 months ago, with 200 previously made slides (secured in a proper box), and lots of new ones too, for me to prepare myself. I love microbiology (it's one of my hyperfixations, curse my neurodivergency) and now I love it even more (my mother has had to drag me away from the microscope - I named it Wesley - in the middle of the night multiple times now).

After much conversation, I finally convinced my mom to buy me the proper equipment to prepare the slides!

So, I'm sending this ask to you, as I know you also have a microscope and that you use it a lot: what kind of equipment do you recommend me buying (gloves, scalpel blades, tints, etc), while still remembering that all of the stuff needs to stay in my room (properly taken cared of by me, of course)?

For example, I'm unsure if different dyes are used for different smears and specimens due to it's affinity (I've noticed that on 'organic matter' slides, images are usually tinted purple or pink, while on plant-based slides, images are usually tinted green and blue, with a few red structures.) Considering that I don't have access to a mortuary, I will mostly make plant slides. There must be a difference in the dyes then, right?

Sorry for the long text! Hope this isn't too much of a bother.

- a 17-year-old :)

Congratulations on your new light microscope. I do hope you get the best out of it. I am overjoyed that someone else appreciates the art of microscopy and microbiology.

However, you need to be careful to not strain your eyes. It is recommended to take breaks every 15 minutes to close your eyes or focus on something in the distance to reaccommodate your eyes. And get up every 40 minutes, stretch and correct your posture. And it is recommended to not use a microscope more than 5 hours per day. John has to chase me away from my microscope sometimes to take a break when I sit there for hours, my posture like a Caridea.

Concerning equipment, you will obviously need a scalpel or other sharp blade to make very thin slices of your specimen, as thin as possible. And forceps to move your samples (best just get a whole dissection kit it has everything). Obviously slides and coverslips, pipettes for the stains or water, maybe some tubes. A pen to label your slides. In many staining procedures ethanol or acetone is also used. A waste jar to safely dispose of any chemicals, but be careful what you mix. A rack for staining and containers. I would recommend nitrile gloves, some people are sensitive to latex.

The dyes you use depend on the specimen. For example in histological slides of tissues hematoxylin and eosin are most commonly used (short HE-stain). That's what you most likely saw on your slides, it's blue, purple and pink. Hematoxylin is a basic compound extracted and oxidised from the logwood tree (Haematoxylum campechianum), and it stains acidic compounds in the cells (or basophilic because they have an affinity for basic substances). For example nucleic acids like DNA or RNA get stained by hematoxylin because they are basophillic. And where are lots of nucleic acids? In the nucleus and ribosomes, that is why they appear blue to purple in the staining because they bind hematoxylin. Eosin is an acidic compound, and stains basic or acidophilic compounds red or pinkish, like proteins, collagen, cytoplasm, extracellular matrix.

(Ductus epididymidis with HE-stain)

(Tongue HE-stain, pointer marking a ganglion; that is my picture)

Of course there are more specific stains for specific tissues like Golgi's silver staining for neurons.

For plants toluidine blue is often used, high affinity for acidic tissues, and can stain blue to green to purple. It is often combined with safranin, a basic azine, which is probably the red stain you saw. It stains polysaccharides and lignin, woody parts of the plant. Safranin and astrablue is also often combined, astrablue stains non-lignified parts of the plant.

(Ulex europaeus stem; not my pictures I don't have any samples currently, source Atlas of plant and animal histology)

Safranin is also used in bacteriology, in the famous Gram staining. In Gram staining you use crystal violet (blue/purple), Lugol's iodine solution, then wash it with ethanol and add safranin (red) as a counter stain. Bacteria is gram-positive if the crystal violet stays in their thick murein cell wall, can't be washed out with the ethanol and the bacteria stays blue. Gram-negative appear red because of the counterstain.

(Staphyloccocus aureus (violet, gram positive) & Escherichia coli (red, gram negative); not my picture, source Wikipedia)

However, I am not sure whether you have access to any of those substances, if they are too expensive for you or if they are too hazardous if used in your own room for a prolongued time. Of course those substances need to be stored properly, and your own room is probably not a good place, especially for ethanol or acetone. The fumes. I would recommend to ask your biology or chemistry teacher whether they can recommend anything further and where to buy said solutions in your area, and if they can't they are idiots. There are also many useful resources and tutorials on Youtube.

Another fascinating experiment for your microscope, that you can perform without buying any chemicals, is a hay infusion. You put hay into a container filled with water, and let it sit undisturbed for a week in a sunny area but not in direct harsh sunlight. During that time the microorganisms in the hay are reproducing in the solution, feeding on the polysaccharides of the hay. Protozoans also flourish in the hay infusion and eat the bacteria. It might get cloudy and a bit foul smelling (best not do it in your own room if you don't want to sleep next to a rotting smell). When you put a drop of the solution onto a slide and look at it in the microscope, you should see a variety of microorganisms like bacteria (like Bacillus subtilis), amoeba, ciliates, heliozoa, algae et cetera. At different depths of the liquid you should find different kinds of organisms, because of differing oxygen content. However, pathogens can also occur in the hay infusion so handle it carefully and work sterile, wash your hands properly.

And even if you don't work at a morgue you can still get tissue samples to experiment on, after all meat is sold in supermarkets, basically the same as a human body. And at the butchers they even sell organs like chicken hearts, pig kidney, liver, blood et cetera. Or observe your own hair under the microscope.

Which kind of samples and slides were included in your starter kit? Be careful to not leave them lying around in the sunlight, or the stain might fade. Always store them in the proper box.

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devieuls · 11 months

Text

I've always been there for you. Part.III

𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆 (𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒂) 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ¡𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕!

Warning : Smut 18+ MDNI; Childe Dom! ; unprotected and rude sex; dirty talk; threats; slaps; spit; bites; hickeys; punishments; blood; voyeurism; power play; teasing; choking, jealousy and possessiveness; pseudo-toxic relationship; violent foreplay; BDSM.

Reader with Cryo vision.

Synopsis : You are the only daughter of the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya, heir to the throne and general of the nation. The diamond of that place characterized by the eternal winter, loved by the people and adored for the angelic but fierce facade that you show. The only person with whom this mask fell is your secret lover, the one who manages to make you forget your duties with a touch and takes you to heaven whenever you end up in bed together. Your relationship was reserved for the bedroom, although you liked to tease him in public, as the 11th Harbinger was also your personal guard.

Everything was great and perfect... until one day your game was pushed too far, breaking the thin thread that gave you so much stability. Appearances were deceiving, and everything you thought you had under control suddenly hit you, dropping that house of cards you built for fun.

Length : 4.3k

Notes: In the story there will be some slightly violent or excessively harsh parts from the reader or Childe himself, read the warnings to better, understand what it is. It’s a mini series, I hope you like it.

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 END

A few days passed from that night with Childe and the discussion with Regrator, you had almost completely taken over the reins of your public office, carefully keeping your distance from your bodyguard.

During the internal meetings, Fatui - General, Regrator couldn’t help but look at you with a mischievous smile, putting pressure on you and bothering you, as you fought with yourself so as not to collapse at the touch of red on your groin. The raven-haired man was pleased with your cold face, knowing there was a storm brewing inside you. In the field of manipulations there was no one better than him, so much so that he had come to advise the Tsaritsa to send a formal invitation to the Traveler, camouflaging that advice with the excuse of " having the heroine of Teyvat on good terms "Knowing perfectly well the petegotisms about Childe and the girl. The more time he spent, the dirtier he was, the price was going up, and it was getting weirdly steep in your life.

The coup de grâce came when your mother made official the invitation sent to the Traveler, with positive outcome. Therefore, this woman would come to Snezhnaya to meet the Archon and make connections with her, placing Childe as her guide, since she was the only one to have a friendship with her. Your annoyance was concealed by an icy smile and various positive words, you could not complain openly, because someone you did not know should dislike you? would have been strange... suspicious.

For the week of preparation for the arrival of this " Lumine ", you had to endure the excitement of the servants, the curiosity of the Harbingers and the Tsaritsa itself, the epic tales arrived from afar about her and other things, hating those days with all of yourself.

The only one who respected your silent dissent was your lover, not because you were pointing a dagger at his throat right after you finished having sex, but because for him there was no other woman besides you.

he said holding his head against your body, stuck by the blade on his neck.

< You dare only be a little more friendly than usual with that woman and I swear I will slit your throat and toast you with your warm blood before your eyes > your voice was cold and sharp like your blade, which brought the red to shudder and smile as he looked up at you.

< Blood and jealousy, two things that I love. I would not find anything better in Lumine > he replied with an adoring look at you.

< Lumine... what a horrible name if it comes out of your mouth > you said after a few seconds of silence.

Childe gently lowered the dagger and turned to you, sticking his face into your collarbones, kissing and biting them slightly. Your hand ended in her hair while you moaned, dropping the dagger between the sheets and smiling as you heard the boy climb up your neck with wet kisses.

< Mh, how bitter you are with a person you don’t even know, princess. > whispered against your skin grinning.

you snorted by taking the red off your neck, and then get up from her bed and retrieve the royal dress that had been thrown on the ground a few hours ago.

< What are you doing? Are you leaving? No more respect for a poor lover, first you make him cum, threaten him with a dagger, be jealous and then run away?> He said sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you get dressed.

< Oh, come on. Don’t play the victim, you know I can’t stay much longer in the afternoon, especially after being mysteriously missing.> You went over to the boy and fixed your hair, then gently caressed his face. < Anyway, we’ll see you soon because of the preparations for the arrival of your friend, arrives today. Tsk. > You said by rolling your eyes, then feeling the boy’s arms around your body, nailing it and pulling it towards him, making you bend slightly.

Childe put his lips on your neck, making you sit on his legs, carrying a hand between your hair to tighten them and make you bend your head to the side, to have more skin to kiss and smell.

< How can I let you go if you still smell of sex? i don't care about Lumine. > he growled softly as he enjoyed your perfume, gripping your hair, making you groan slightly.

Actually the room was full of sex in the air, you could still hear her panting and moaning mixed with yours and things done just before, creating in you a damn nostalgia for his touch and his skin against yours.

< But stop it. > You laughed slightly, then carried a hand through her red hair, playing with some locks. you murmured in a low voice, making the boy who left his grip and leaned on the bed with his hands, unbalancing himself back.

< Don’t make yourself too pretty, I might kill someone tonight. It’s frustrating not to be able to touch you in public and not be able to have you whenever I want > he said suddenly, and then stretch towards the nightstand and take a cigarette, bringing it to his lips.

You tore the object from his lips and approached them, blowing on it. You said before you left a gentle kiss and got up from him.

He snorted when he saw you take away his last cigarette.

Yes, but I’m also a relief for you. I’ll make myself beautiful tonight, so nobody can take their eyes off me, so you’ll be a little jealous > you said laughing and then bring the cigarette between your lips. < Who knows what you find beautiful in these > you continued to then shrug and put the object inside the sleeve of the dress.

You’re my damnation, you know that, right? The red man’s voice was a little heavy as he passed his hand over his face, not stopping to smile.

And you, mine. I can’t wait to see how you dress tonight to keep that woman company. > You concluded before leaving his room carefully and returning to your room.

Meanwhile, the red had dropped completely on the bed, snorting and thinking about how to control himself from actually killing the first man who even tried to get close to you. He felt like a total idiot to think he had even the slightest right to be jealous of someone who did not belong to him, after all he was just the outlet of the princess, a secret lover, a nobody publicly.

But deep down, he knew you weren’t just a hobby, a game to let off steam with, he fucking loved you. She thought of you at every moment of the day, you were her first thought as soon as she opened her eyes and the last once closed, you also became her thought of comfort when she was sick or in danger and needed something to fight for. Perhaps you didn’t notice his eyes in love, his concerns for you, how he protected you with his sword and the fact that he has been close to you since childhood. His devotion to the Tsaritsa was because of you, only to stay closer to you and create a brighter future for your future kingdom, he only wanted the best for you, even if the cost had to be destroying himself for work or risking his life in missions.

< what’s wrong with me? > he said quietly, clenching his fists, trying to drive every thought of you out of her mind, even if his heart wasn’t helping at all, let alone the room full of your perfume and linens.

The hours passed quickly and you had time to wash yourself and put on the new dress you had sent to be made by the royal seamstress for the event that was to take place that night, the servants fixed your hair and dress to make you perfect.

The dress was on the blue night, fading into lighter tones as you go down, with small golden details and a belt for the sword impeccably hidden, comfortable for inconvenient surprises, just like the dress itself, regal but exploitable.

Once you're ready, you headed to the main hall, where many people were already gathered, including the Tsaritsa and some politicians of different rgango, the only person you could say that annoyed you was Regrator. His evil look followed you like a predator follows his prey, not losing an eye even when he seems distracted or busy doing something else. You strained a smile at everyone, once seen bowing to you, skipping all the pleasantries and immediately looking for your lover or the so-called Traveler.

You linger for several minutes gossiping with different politicians and their wives with attached sons and daughters, people who were secretly trying to sell you marriage proposals or friendships, things that you had rejected categorically for years.

You sighed frustratingly once you reached a point in the room where you could rest without being searched by social climbers, giving yourself a drink, thinking when you would see Ajax and who knows where it had gone. It bothered you to think of him shopping for a heroine as famous as your guest of honor, which you tried to keep at bay with a fake smile and even more false words.

Your eye fell on a tall and red-haired figure, immediately recognizing your beloved even if he was unusually dressed in white and gold, colors that were divinely and that enhanced his complexion and red hair that emerged from under the hair he was wearing. He had a formal appearance and also his bearing and look of superiority that addressed the various politicians were; therefore it was difficult for you to hold back a small smile in seeing him so professional, knowing that that was the same guy that a few hours earlier would give everything to have you a little more in bed.

Your smile disappeared as you saw behind him was a girl dressed in white with a strange being floating beside her. This woman, she had short blond hair like wheat, a small physique and a careful look in her eyes, not lowering her guard, mumbling something to be flying and holding the hand of your man.

The blood seeped in your veins as you saw him holding hands with some random slut, you already hated that woman and thought of ways to torture and tragically kill her just for daring to be so close to your lover.

You put the chalice in your hand to go towards the couple, but a steady hand kept you from walking, making you back a few steps towards the person who was holding you, discovering he was Regrator.

< Princess, it is not good to show jealous in public towards your personal guard, especially if it is in the company of the main guest > the voice was sharp and mocking as usual, He knew you didn’t know the host, and he didn’t waste his time building up anger by revealing his identity.

< Not that holding a princess like this is the nicest thing to do. > you growled softly, looking at him with resentment, tugging your wrist to free you from his grip.

< You’re right, my fault. I humbly apologize, Princess. But it seemed to me the right choice not to allow you to go before them furiously, it is our task to protect and serve the royal family. > he replied, coming back composed, watching you from above while he fixed his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

< What a spirit of duty. As if you did not enjoy playing with me and others as if we were pawns of your game > your tone had become colder, but remaining composed on the surface.

< You know, I like power games, and if I can have such an important pawn in my hand, nothing will stop me. So, princess. It’s been many days since my proposal, have you thought about what to do? > The man took a glass of wine and started sipping it, looking at you carefully.

Your gaze inevitably fell behind him, exactly where you could still see the image of Childe in the distance while smiling at that blondie.

You take leave of him with speed.

You approached the two boys with a calmer look, clearing your voice to get the boy’s attention. Tartaglia gave you one of his most beautiful and sunny smiles, so much so that they managed to melt you internally, taking your hand and kissing your palm after making a bow.

< Lumine, allow me to introduce you to our princess and future queen, as well as state general, her royal highness y/n. Her Highness, she is Lumine, the renowned traveler and heroine of Teyvat, accompanied by her emergence food... friend Paimon > she said laughing slightly at Paimon’s expression, even making the blonde laugh, who was about to bow to you.

So you’re Lumine, I’ve heard a lot about you these past few days. I hope that the trip to come to Snezhnaya was the most pleasant, I know that it is not easy for foreigners to get here. > You said looking at the girl, who was wearing some clothes typical of the nation, certainly to keep away from the icy cold.

< It’s an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness. The journey has been tiring but I’m happy to finally be here. Childe welcomed me to his parents' house, they wanted to thank me for helping Teucer a long time ago, I am really grateful to be able to visit this nation. > The girl smiled back and looked at Childe with doe-o.

You clenched your jaw, looking at how she looked at your lover, exactly as you once did, before you had your hidden relationship. You strained a smile, irritated by how that girl was coming after him. You entertained them for a good half hour, listening to how the blonde’s tone changed towards the boy and how she tried in every way to look pretty and kind.

Lucky for you, other Harbingers also joined the conversation, who began to "befriend" the girl, allowing you to walk away from them unnerved, followed by the boy in white. You stopped on the terrace of the castle, away from the party hall, dismissed the guards who were patrolling there and crossed your arms watching the boy.

< Do you think I didn’t notice how irritated you were in his presence? What? > The boy’s voice was sweet but serious, watching you waiting for an answer.

Shit, Childe. That girl wants to jump on your dick so clearly. Do not pretend that it is not so, keep looking for physical contact with you, the tone of your voice, movements. These are all things I did to get your attention, and now she’s doing it. > you responded more irritated than before, keeping your distance from the boy. If I think about the fact that you’ve been away from me for months to be with that... I don’t even know if I believe that you never slept together > you were disgusted even at the thought.

We never slept together. His tone was slightly broken as he said it. Don’t be jealous of someone who will never be on your level. > he said, approaching you and drawing you from life, moving to the side to end up closer to the wall.

Know that I won’t have a problem killing her if this continues. You belong to me, remember. > Your hand ended up on his chest, stroking him slightly and then looking up and meeting his. Childe came over to steal a kiss from you, but you stopped him, pushed him back slightly. No kisses for you, I’m still mad at you for that blonde. > You said crossing your hands over your chest and turning your back, looking at the lights of the night city.

The boy approached and put his arms around your waist, resting his lips on your neck, biting it slightly sometimes.

< Mh... are you angry with me, princess? > he said raucously laughing. his hand went down to your thigh, and then up along the slit and put his hand under the dress, pinching with his fingertips the inner thigh, making you sigh heavily and mumble quietly.

They could see us... Ajax. The castle is full of people and my mother will make her entrance soon > you said with a heavy voice, while the boy’s gloved fingers kept touching your intimacy and your already sensitive skin.

Childe moved to the back of your neck, smelling the sweet smell of your hair, and then left a wet kiss right there.

Let them see us, on the other hand, all this belongs to you and you do not mind... You would not be so wet if it were not so. > his voice was always deeper and made you shudder more than the icy wind of the night.

< Know that I will not forgive you easily... even if- oh! > A little scream came out of your lips because of the boy’s hands, which you found bent against the railing with extreme speed. < Ajax... not now. > You sighed heavily, biting your lip feeling his hands raising your dress. Your hands now clasped to the railing, seeking support, as the boy’s proud smile bloomed.

??? < Who goes there? > an unknown voice made its way into the corridor, followed by heavy steps. Childe walked away from you, arranging your dress to the fullest and recomposing himself, keeping his distance from you. You recompose yourself, gently leaning your hands against the railing and looking at the city, knowing that your face was still red and compromising. A man revealed himself to Childe, looking at you suspiciously, not recognizing you because of the low light.

< You two! You can’t stay here. It’s a reserved area for the royal family > The man’s voice was hard and decisive.

< We know the princess needed some fresh air, and as her personal guard, I had to pull her in, I hope that’s okay. > Childe mockingly said, completely showing himself to the man, who immediately stood at attention and bowed asking for forgiveness, going back in his footsteps. After all, Childe was a recognized authority to all, so the subordinates trusted him on his word.

< If we keep this up, we’ll end up naked on this terrace > you said, laughing, and then getting your dress and hair better.

< You look so beautiful dressed like that, but you’d look even better without that dress, maybe on my bed while I- > You stopped him before he could finish what he meant, and then roll his eyes.

You returned to the main hall just in time for the arrival of the Tsaritsa and her thanks to the Traveler for her precious presence.

The evening took place quite peacefully, until you found yourself talking to Lumine alone, while her friend and your lover were serving drinks or damangiare, you took the moment to learn more about her relationship with Tartaglia.

< Oh, yes. He’s a wonderful man we spent many moments together, I can say to be intimate with him now. > she said smiling, while you were getting cold blood in your veins.

< Intimate? In what way " intimate " > you asked curiously, restraining yourself from pulling out the sword and slit it at that exact moment.

she continued timidly and embarrassed, lowering her eyes.

< Oh, don’t worry about me or my title. We’re friends now. > Fortunately, you had been manipulating her all night, winning her trust.

< I agree... well, we ended up in bed together sometimes... and since then I’ve liked it more and more, and we have become intimate in other ways, I mean friendship. That is why I hope that one day the two of us... > her voice became increasingly deaf to your ears, no longer following anything she was saying. Lumine wasn’t that foolish to open up to a stranger like that, she realized there was something going on between you and Childe, so she hit where she could hurt you to see if it was something covert or official.

Your mind had emptied out in seconds to make room for all the connections you made to Lumine and Childe’s account. He had lied to you, he had hidden from you what he had done with this slut without your knowledge; Regrator was right to tell you those things, he was not really faithful to you. I wonder how many times he fucked this little girl, who knows...

< I’d be his perfect woman, wouldn’t I? After all, he leaves so often to come to me, everyone now thinks that we are a couple > she said with a cheeky smile, obviously to provoke you. That girl was good at pretending to be a calm and kind person, but that mask fell in front of you and you knew she just wanted to take you to the limit, but her words were heartbreaking.

Besides, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Regrator, it’s a good thing we both have a common goal, me Childe and him you. Don’t misunderstand me, but I find your relationship ridiculous. A princess being threatened by her subordinate? other than power, fear... I see only a privileged little girl who enjoys fucking her guard without everyone knowing. Childe doesn’t know about Regrator’s proposal, does he? tsk. I’ll take it from you as easily as I took your mother’s favor... One like him is not fit to- > his voice broke in silence

A loud sound silenced the whole room, bringing the guests' gaze upon you. The reddened cheek of the blonde was hidden by her hand, later realizing the pain brought by the slap.

< Who do you think you are to turn to me in these tones? privileged child? I? cheeky brat, you don’t even know what it means to be me. You think you can take what’s mine? TSK > A sincere laugh came out of your mouth, while slowly the cryo power colored your veins blue until it reached your hand. < What a ridiculous thing. I knew you weren’t the saint you were showing, but I won’t let you offend me like this in my house. My mother may have invited you, the archon of Snezhnaya emblem of Cryo vision but I am not her, I will not turn the other cheek before bringing an offense. >

Childe rushed to you, followed by Paimon babbling gibberish. Lumine immediately acted like a poor abused victim, drawing all the attention of the man on himself, even managing to throw out some tear accompanied by hiccups.

< Lumine... all right? Are you hurt? > Ajax’s worried voice hurt you more than the girl’s words just before. Seeing him so worried about someone else, knowing he lay with her, stabbed you in silence.

< He’s fine. No need to worry so much, he defeated Dragons and Archons, it will not be a slap to kill her > Your smile died out, leaving room for a cold tone like your gaze, your royal posture and hands joined at the pelvis, observing the scene secretly disgusted.

The red-haired guy gave you a look you’d never seen in his eyes, not against you, disappointment, disgust (?), confusion, anger, maybe a mix of all that. Your face cold as the sun in the nation and hard as the rocks on which it was founded.

< Get away from her immediately, eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia. > You continued observing him, seeing him hesitate about the action to be taken.

Your Highness, our guest of honor was hurt, she was offended. As his- > You promptly stopped him, not allowing him to continue with the apology.

< As my subordinate, I order you to leave the guest of honor. She has offended your princess. > You did not hesitate to use your title, seeing more and more disappointment in his eyes. The man turned away from the girl and returned to his place.

From afar the Tsaritsa watched you, for the first time she saw you as a ruler, using your power to maintain order, and that made her proud within herself, even though you had used violence against a person you were to use.

You said and then smile at the guests. You were good at lying and pretending, so that smile had not aroused suspicion, even if it was pure facade to hide much more.

You walked away from the girl and went towards Pantalone, having finally made a decision, perhaps difficult but the most just.

#genshin childe lemon #childe x fem!reader #genshin childe smut #childe smut #childe x reader #childe x you #childe #genshin tartagalia #tartaglia smut #tartaglia genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x y/n #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x you

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vinxwatches · 3 days

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fallout (2024)

WARNING: i did not finish this. i didn't want to finish this. do not read or watch if you like happy stories. do not read or watch if you like the darkness in the fallout games. this show is dark in gruesome, permanently damaging ways. fuck this. the show may fucking nail the aesthetic of fallout, it doesn't get the vibe of fallout. fallout is set in a serious world where video game characters go through a video game plots in a world that's also often goofy. an equivalence would be if the mario movie had a serious burial of Luigi half way through and he just stayed dead. a clear sign that it doesn't get it.

trigger warning: gore, dismemberment of the living and dead. the dog dies.

as a big fan of fallout 4, even fallout 76, and a letsplay of Fnv this is very hype. and the references they are putting in straight is so cool to see. and damn, that's how you start a fallout. and now jus the references, seriously the vault hallways looks straight up lifted from fallout 4 (with high definition mods)

a vault having connections with a different vault? so that either is a process of kicking people the fuck out, or the evil experiment from vault tech... probably both. also love that they don't avoid the fucked up lore that really makes fallout fallout.

oh yea, this is how you start a fallout part 2, the personal angle. kind of bummed that she doesn't start with the classic bulky 10mm. and of course there's something about the protaganists family, because this is bethesda fallout (not derogatively, just perfect adaptation)

me, out loud: "ohhh, that's the pridwin, that's so cool" if you get me to talk out loud you did good. petty power politics? how very fallout of you. "i'm bringing him home". i'm very sorry but that's not how fallout works.

also loves that bethesda continues with inclusivity. Dane is nonbinary, played by a trans actor. it's so small, it plays no role (at least i find it HIGHLY unlikely that it will. nb people are just part of reality, and so they are now (finally) entering media.

the fucking junk jet made it in?

just "the ghoul". i wonder if we'll get more info on what ghouls are. i mean i know. i've probably heard more false things then there's true stuff about ghouls to know. but if you're new to fallout i think the vault is relatively obvious, and the brotherhood is pretty well explained. but the concept of a ghoul? practivally nothing outside of them being scary, can go "feral", and are weird. but it is only the first episode.

it wouldn't be fallout without skeletons in strange positions and/or environmental story telling. did they use fallout sound effects for the weird man drinking water? it may not be but that is diamond city. at least based of it. it looks so fallout that i can't even remember which of the places i've had a shootout in it reminds me of, it's too many.

not a fan of living gore. like fallout game gore is fine. shooting limbs of completely mindless things? fine. but not on a person, espcially not one that's then crudely taken care of. i'm way too terrified of something happening to me, it tends to roam in my mind anyways, even more so now that i've a reason to give a shit about my body, so the dismemberment of the living... ew, please, no more. at least it doesn't stick around too long (in which case why? just to be gross?)

"cyanide was the most humane product vault tech ever made"... accurate yet horrifying.

oh... so that's who the ghoul is. and that, well it'll create drama, and i'm curious how close it's to the story of nuka break. haven't seen that show in too long.

me, out loud, after wondering what that monster was "oh of course it was a gulper. wait, no, those are east coast, this was west coast." not really a plothole, monsters from one side often make their way to the other. harder for a water based creature. unless the same thing evolved twice.

oh, those eyes weren't just more human then expect. that thing was human... once.

the golden rule is severely lacking. don't do onto others as you'd have them to onto you. if i was into bondage and often horney how do you think it'd treat people if the golden rule was. a good rule is "treat others how they want to be treated" or "treat others how you can reasonably expect they want to be treated". the golden rule of the wasteland is pretty accurate though: "thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time". this rule is, in fact, recursive.

of course the waterchip is broken. this is fallout after all.

ok, no, i'm done. no dismemberment of main characters. fuck you. even if she does get it back. i'm done.

#fallout #fallout tv series #fallout show #fallout amazon

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manonamora-if · 1 year

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The Roads I Maybe Should Have Taken

The TRNT Post Mortem

Oye oye! As was promised, so it is! The Post Mortem for The Roads Not Taken (which hopefully won't be as long as the actual game...)

Follow me into my journey of once again speed-running my way through a competition, and coming out scratched and bruised and still not learning my lessons!

First, some links:

if you haven't played the game yet, I recommend you do before reading this!

you can find its IFDB page here (if you want to leave a review?)

and the STF version source code here for the code curious!

shortened version of the PostMortem on IntFic

Then, a little Table of Content:

The Idea

The Story

The Implementation

The Reception

The Do-Over?

And finally, we start! (under the break because it will be long - LoL at me writing 1/5th of TRNT as a Post Mortem)

I should preface this Post Mortem with I entered the SpringThing on a whim. I had just come out of a conga line of competitions and game jams since last Summer (log of release/update), and had plans on finishing working on other projects instead of this one (which I probably should have... sorry The Rye in the Dark City for abandoning you...). But I obviously didn't do that because here was another new fresh game! And then another two of those just after... whooops...

The idea for TRNT just popped into my brain one day and would not leave me until I implemented it, no matter what (yes, I am still weak willed, I have not learned my lesson from The Thick Table Tavern, the one about not rushing a project and publishing it at a later date when it is truly ready). I did have that thought in the back of my mind that if I do do this, it would be very likely I would end up with a repeat of TTTT, as in: half-full drink with too much ice, and expired garnish falling from the very pretty fancy glass.

Also I did not start working on the entry until the SeedComp was in its voting round (so around the 4-5th of March?). I really wasn't kidding about the speed-running thing....

Another thing: I had never created a parser game before this point AND suck real time at playing them! This was also indicated in my Author's comment.

Nothing obviously stopped me anyway, because here we are...

1- The Idea

A few weeks before the opening of the SpringThing intent, the French IF community was streaming some older parser entries, including Aisle* and Pick-Up the Phone Booth and Die, two games where the player can only do one action before the game ends. I'd never really experienced this kind of game before (the closest being having a sudden death/continue the story choice). It packed a punch, it was funny, and also so very weird. It left me dissatisfied and super intrigued. I wanted to try and do that too someday. *Funnily, someone on the French IF discord thought DOL-OS had been inspired by Sam Barlow's work (it wasn't, but TRNT def was).

Not, I am not going to be hella pretentious and full of myself by putting TRNT on the same level as those games (because I don't think I did a good enough job to merit a comparison), but the one-action-only gameplay and multiple endings drew me in (I love abrupt endings, cf P-Rix). I've mainly written longer form of IF rather than short bites, and I thought it would be fun to try to constrict myself as much as possible, by having just one thing, one action, one outcome.

And also: parsers. I had only dabbled with the Choice-Based/Hyperlink format, so I thought it was time to try the last unexplored part of my IF journey: parsers. Since the SpringThing Festival is a nice place to experiment, I thought why not try to make one then! I could not have survived the anxiety of the IFComp reviews for that one...

Still, it was not going to be without a challenge. I had very little experience with parsers, and I honestly didn't think I could learn how to use a parser program in such short amount of time*, when I had a lot of other stuff at the same time. So I thought, why not make it in Twine**, at least I know this program inside-and-out(almost). There would not be a steep learning curve there... What could go wrong? *lol at me, having made an Adventuron game in a non supported language in about 2 weeks after that, without ever having tried the program beforehand. I could totes have managed!! **Also, when I got set with Twine, I realised how fun it would be to maybe put people's expectations upside down by doing something you're not supposed to with Twine... or parsers!

Well, it was going right at first...

2- The Story

I really wanted to recreate the same gameplay of Aisle with its only-one-action-and-it's-over, so I started listing possible actions and put them into a context where this choice of action would mean everything for the PC - because it is the only action you have. Which might not have been a good take? Aisle works because the setting is incredible mundane, and there are no stakes.

The context pretty quickly drew itself as the player will chose a profession/career path, and if they do/choose something wrong, then...😬too bad for them, they made their choice, deal with the consequences. While, in reality, we are not stuck in a life because of one choice, but with a myriad of them (and still we can change this trajectory), it's still a big pressure you get as a youth, having to choose where to go and what to do when you are done with highschool, and what path to take. It's a lot of responsibility that sometimes feels like it will affect/haunt the rest of your life. Do I still have some of that school/parental pressure from when I had to make that choice ingrained somewhere inside? probably...

But the more foolish idea was to let my brain continue to think more about that context and create a world and story further than the choice. Instead of going forward with the consequences and the hints of what could have happened or just let the choice being the centre piece, the brain just went backwards and created a society (some sort of futuristic one) and vaguely described beings (that are not humans), and the ritualistic culture of this society, etc... While it was fun to think about all of those, and maybe provided a fun setting and enticing story for the player to go through the game, there might have been a bit too much of it. I think, in hindsight, this may have devalued the choice itself (which became even more watered down when I continued on writing the first screens).

And so, the job choice soon became the player is going through some sort of ritual (v trope-y) to determine their place in society. If it has a vibe of The Giver, it shouldn't be too surprising, the book is on my shelf.

So we still have the one-choice-to-rule-them-all, but now there is a also backstory and setting... and I have to include it somewhoeeven if it means cramming it somewhere, anywhere.

Oh wait, I thought, I'll just make it like a prologue to build anticipation for the choice!

And so the brain went on zooming again to create the waiting room, and the agonising walk in the corridor, and the finding your way to the altar, before you cant finally make your choice..... only to end up with two(-ish) paragraphs for each endings. wow - what a good balanced game this is becoming...

Speaking of endings, I had originally listed over 50 actions, each planned to have a different ending.... only to end up with about 11, 7 of those were actually related to the final countdown choice. It made me sadder than when I cut onions :(

It wasn't just the player that needed to make...

At this point, we were two weeks away from the deadline. I had the backbone of the code (-ish), a good third of the writing wasn't complete (and this was mainly those 11 endings), and no one had tested the game yet. There was no way I could have included all 50 original options if I wanted to make the deadline. might have been good in hindsight to remove those choices, especially with the current command system.

So choices had to be made and a buttload of planned things had to be cut. I narrowly managed to finish the needed endings in time (which required re-writing some of those into a fake choice), at least.

At the end, I strayed quite a bit from the Aisle concept of a mini intro - one action - an ending puzzle-y feel (and making the player piece the story together from the endings), to arrive at... well... this anxiously geolian walk to one's doom (or dream). Making the story quite... well... linear.

And from going somewhat wrong, it went a little wrong-er...

3- The Implementation

Wanting to avoid the headache of learning a new program, I had settled on Twine pretty much from the start (SugarCube, because that's how I've been rolling for the past almost 2 years!).

The big problématiques of this project were:

Twine is not a parser program (duh)

SugarCube has its limitations still (and macros that don't always work the way you want to)

I had never written a parser game before and suck at playing them (thank you, French IF streams that helps me enjoy them without experiencing the frustration of not finding the right combo!)

I still suck at JavaScript/jQuery to do weird things with the page (and probably fix all those issues)

and well did I already say Twine is not a parser program?

So I tried to get to the basic of parsers (an input box and text revealing itself onto the page when a command is entered) and prayed for the best. Easy, right?

WRONG!

SugarCube has an input box, but can only autofocus* inside one specific place (so you can't lock it somewhere else but the passage itself, which means you need to add it to every screen...) and when the passage is first loaded (doesn't work if the input box is added later on). *I have also hurt some kitten by overusing autofocus, which was only compensated by offering the the SugarCube God some bug reports about it so those issues could be fixed for the next update (TBA). But you really are not supposed to use autofocus as much as I did... 😬

SugarCube has an input box, but you can only move to another passage after you press Enter. So you can't have some fancy input checks, and you stay on the same page... without some custom listener macro* that is (Bless you Maliface and your Listen Macro) - or I guess some JavaScript code, but who has time for that... I had included a button as an alternative to confirm the commands (which was how I had coded it for DOL-OS), but it would have made the parser experience much worse if using Enter would not have loaded a response (this was a criticism from DOL-OS, which now that I know how to fix, I really should do so...). *at least until the next Sugarcube update which will include a listener.

SugarCube has an input box, but doesn't have a bank of commands, or set object indicator (like with the parsers). While you can technically separate the inputed words with some JavaScript**, whether you do so or not will end with the same amount of spaghetti code at the end, with the different conditional statements for each actions on each screen to show the correct text bits (mine amounted to almost 600 lines of code for 7 screens... without included the printed text! -> see the source code). Now that I've messed around with Adventuron, I can see how easy it is to make a parser game (set up commands and rooms and interactive object), when you have a bank of built-in commands and not have to worry about how to add the new text on the screen. Twine really added a new layer of complexity to this.... Was there a better way of doing this? probably, but don't look at me to find it. *this was how the name chosenname command came to be, and how it only printed the chosen name on the following screens. That and the autofocus being messy...

SugarCube can add text bits to a page, but unlike parser programs, it won't automatically scroll down to the bottom of the page, or at least to the added element. Adding a scroll down to the bottom or scroll up to the page was not too hard (I had some leftover js code), but it was not the solution: the UI is mobile/tablet accessible (smaller screens), which means scrolling to the bottom would make those players having to manually scroll back up (and I am usually quite verbose in my writing). So very much EH.... NOT GREAT! After quite a lot of testing, broken pieces of code, way too much swearing, and re-doing the base of the UI, I did manage to find a solution.... a month into the review/voting period.

But even with those limitations, I pushed through. I knew it was possible to make it work, so I either tried to find work arounds (and gave up the scrolling, at least until the deadline), and pushed through, banging my head against my desk because of what was achievable...

LIKE BUILDING A WHOLE COMMANDS SYSTEM...

Wanting to make things easy for myself (and the players), I thought maybe removing all verbs would make it easier to go through the game, even when having to interact with objects or people around. Enter the bolded word* from the text as the input, press enter, and read the new text! *It was important for me to have some sort of "easy" mode where the interactive things were obvious to the player, coming from a scene where parsers are not the norm/favoured.

Simple right?

This idea... stopped working as soon as I introduced physical actions (sit, stand, jump, etc...), directional actions (the story might be linear but it still has multiple rooms), but most importantly as soon as I wrote flavour texts for one same object. Even if I could get away with removing X/LOOK/EXAMINE*, adding verbs at the end was a necessity (I didn't want to see all the already written variation go to waste...). *I did include look in the code, but mistakenly didn't think about its synonym <- shows the no-knowledge of parser, and not having a bank of commands built-in.

So verbs were added, and then some of its synonyms (but evidently not the most important ones 😬), and then some prepositions just in case, and noun synonyms with adjectives because of how it is described in the text, and then.... so on and so forth. And because of how SugarCube is set, I ended up with lines like this at the end:

<<if ["initiate", "look initiate", "look at initiate", "remember initiate", "initiates", "look initiates", "look at initiates", "remember initiates", "recall initiate", "recall initiates"].contains(_cmd)>>

(and this is not even a correct or complete command list, since it is missing EXAMINE and X)

Et rebelotte for all the interactive words on the page, as well as the added variations requiring another set other verbs. There's not really a verb/noun aliases list to help...

BUT WAIT

Because I always like to make it difficult for myself and not think of the amount of work my ideas/plan will require, I had to make some bits of text appear only once (even if some commands could be used more than once on that page) OR removing the player's ability to make a different action when they do a specific one AND have some bits of text only appear after a command has been used on that page. Pushing the player through extra invisible gates on top of the different rooms. I could have made it easier on myself to break scenes further than I had already done, but nooooooo

And I did this not just once. BUT THREE TIME! When the player is called to get in line, in the corridor, and just before the big doors.

I could have fed myself for a whole week with the spaghetti that came out of my code.

But Manon, I can hear the little devil on my shoulder say, Why all the whining and excuses? You could have stopped if it turned out to be a bad idea, especially if you couldn't implement it properly. Why not have made the story in something else than a parser?

Well...

because Time (wa)s running out and I wasn't going to let all this hard work go to waste by changing everything up at the last minute (it could have worked/been easier, that's true)

because it was still a fun puzzle to solve, even if frustrating most of the time,

because you learn more when you fail than when you win

I'm not a quitter :P (hiding my too many WIPs waiting for me....)

Even if I doubted myself with finishing the game on time, I still pushed myself to cross the finish line, since I knew I would not have finished the project otherwise. Thought it could have been fun to get the 12 angry men passing judgement on my Twine monstrosity making a mockery of parsers had I submitted it to the very serious ParserComp instead. /jk lovingly

So after some "extensive" testing (rushed in the last week, because I am a nightmare to people, sorry @groggydog and @lapinlunairegames for making you go through this, but also thank you for your help!!), I made it to the end!

Well... barely. Ended up with a few bug fixes update along the way.

4- The Reception

(it was like that in my heart)

Like TTTT, this was not explosion of praise and accolades. And I fully expected it. You can't make experiments omelettes without cracking a few programs/rules eggs. At least my omelette didn't have too many eggshells :P

Looking at the numbers, at the time of writing this posts, TRNT is currently sitting at 5 stars (4 ratings) on itch, and 3-1/2 stars on IFDB (2 ratings)*, with 4 reviews on the Forum (bellow the median/average this festival). None of the ratings game with reviews/comments. *When some of the reviews will be moved to the IFDB, I do expect this average to get lower. The itch one is nice (really happy 4 peeps loved it!), but most people only rate when they didn't like it or when they loved it.

As for the feedbacks gotten, they came from a few sources: the people who playtested TRNT, dms on Tumblr and the Forum, the Twine server, and the awaited reviews on the Forum.

Overall, the people who liked the game really enjoyed themselves, from the writing and the worldbuilding being intriguing, or how pretty the UI was. Even with the issues raised during the festival, quite a lot of people (who sent me comments) thought the experiment was either a success, something really cool, or impressive considering the limitations (of the festival and/or of the program). Even in the more critical comments, this experiment was seen as an interesting one to be commended (with a bit of a why did you bother... sprinkled in there). Someone told me TRNT reminded them of the Divergent series (and fair comparison, considering the whole ritual to put you in one job for the rest of your life).

The most surprising thing was that people who never played parser before (or didn't really liked them) found the game entertaining and fun to go through, managing to get to the end without too many issues; while the reviewers with more experience in the genre had a bit more restraints due to the command system I put in place.

Whether my giddiness about verbose writing was to the liking of the player or not, I was honestly happy comments about my grammar didn't make much of an appearance this time around (yay, progress!), and that I would get kudos for the vague story behind the experiment itself, and the structure of the story itself.

But this doesn't mean that it was all sunshine and rainbow here. TRNT had some obvious issues, which should have been squashed during the testing phase had this one been longer (yet again, me speed-running through comps when I should take my time... when will I learn...). There were two main ones: the commands and the UI.

The biggest issue came from the commands, being either unclear or confusing, especially when it came to the cardinal direction, the choice of synonym for the actions, or special actions like the name input. Even if you could go along the story with just a noun or press C until you reached the end, missing important verb commands did not help the game feel complete (EXAMINE/GET/the shortcuts). This is where having some Parser knowledge/experience would have come handy, he.... As for the cardinal directions, it was probably most confusing because I used them as synonyms for forward/back/left/right instead of N/S/W/E (that and it wasn't clear where you were able to go in the text either). Quite a few players were also getting stuck in the corridor (after you come to a stop, you hear some thing up front and your choices are to move to the side/jump or stand still). Special actions like the name input or the final choice were felt a bit off/broke immersion. Party due to the way SugarCube is, partly due to how I organised the game. Having a simple input where the player is asked for their name before the game start and have a say name command, might have worked better there. That and a better hinting system. Fix for those TBD.

Closely followed was the UI being annoying (which ;-; bc I pride myself on creating good UI, but it was fair critique), from the scrolling being an absolute ass, to the confusing bolding of the start of passages being the same as the interactive words (if you didn't change the colour in the settings), to the back/replay last choice command on the END screen not going to the right spot, or the responses of computing an inputted command not appearing/being confusing (in relation to the scrolling), some quirks with the UI being wonky for some screen sizes, etc... Thankfully, all those have been fixed.... but too late for the reviews already published. A quick revamp of the UI base + solving the scrolling issue + slight reformatting of the printed new text bits solved if not all of those issues. Still... too little too late... That's what you get for making a UI in a large screen and only checking different width but not different heights....

A SIDENOTE ON WHY PARSER AND NOT HYPERTEXT

Or me going a bit on a rant. Scroll down to pt 5- The Do-Over to resume coherent levelled conversation.

Still, making a parser a Twine was a CHOICETM, which didn't work for everybody. I don't know if it was because the game was put forth as a Twine game before being a parser, or because the story was maybe a bit too linear/not very interactive compared to other parsers, or because I set out to make a parser before thinking of a story and it showed for some, (or probably because the parser system was not very well implemented) but I did have a few commenters wondering if my choice of making it a parser was the correct one, as in why would you use parser when hyperlinks would have probably worked better?

Maybe a cop-out answer would be Why not. Why not try to break the rules and the codes of what is a Twine game or what is a parser? Why not push Twine to where it is probably not supposed to go (sorry, TME)? Why not blur the lines of the divides between the subgenres of IF? I wrote some part while having a bit of a fever, and my notes had Why not make parsers less puzzle-y/more linear choice-based like? and oh boi is it good to re-read yourself... Cause yiekes what a load of BS.

The other part of the answer is Because experimenting and doing weird thing is fun! Doing weird thing, writing bad code that should probably not work but it does, putting the program on a lifeline, making up stories that are nonsensical, etc... and breaking people's mind in the process with what could be done. Also it was just fun to find out whether it was just possible to do it at all. The rush of happiness when you the puzzle is solved is so incredibly gratifying. It was really fun to try something different (for me but also for what Twine can generally do), to solve a puzzle of mashing two things that don't/shouldn't go together, to find what makes them tick and make it all work, and to challenge myself to do something new (did I mention before it was my fist time making a parser?). AND, having fun creating! And the SpringThing has always been a beacon to promote experimentation with the genre and more out there stuff. So it's was kind of like the stars aligned or something :P

Also Because it was possible!That one is pretty self-explanatory...

Maybe a bit more presumptuous of me: Because experimenting keeps Interactive Fiction fresh and exciting! I'm not trying to set a trend or anything here (honestly, it's not too strange, TRNT's weirdness kind of follows my previous work with TTTT and its mixology element, or DOL-OS with it computer interphase), but isn't fun to see what else can be done in IF, or what new area can be explored now that funky stuff has been tried, or what else should probably not be done (hopefully this doesn't apply to TRNT lol, I think it should be fun to have more parser in Twine). Even if my entry was not really a novel idea even in the gameplay (exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C), I still think there should be more weird stuff out there, so I contribute to that where/when I can! It'd be sad if IF became same-y and stale... It'd be fun if someone did something like this because they played TRNT and thought it was neat :P

And Because it didn't fit with my original vision of the game. Even if the game changed quite a lot along the way, the parser element was something I would not compromise with, no matter how good or bad the final product was. Sorry TME for the kittens lost in the autofocus of the textboxes...

I did wonder for a while how many people opened the settings at all 🤔

5- The Do-Over?

Ha.

Haha.

Hahaha.

No.

Honestly... If I was going back to the start, I don't think I would change anything. Even if the length of the testing was more than minimal (still haven't learned my lesson), even if I rushed into the competition (again, not learned my lesson), even if I made errors along the way (well, maybe fixing the UI earlier instead) or let the story stray that much away from the original idea (honestly it was probably for the best that it ended not being too close to Aisle at the end, I might have gotten eviscerated in the reviews). It did what it was supposed to do, and checked all the boxes from what I wanted to try. At the end, to me, it was a complete (and stressful success).

Will there be some changes in the future?

Just a bit, at some point, TBD and TBA. Just to fix the commands a bit, maybe rearrange some passages, add a bit more variation/hidden codex entries, maybe even a new ending or two! But it wouldn't go further than that. TRNT was an experiment through and throuh.

==================== THE END ====================

Anyway, my weird hybrid beast of a parser in Twine and I are done rambling about my awesome show of tricks that may or may not have landed badly and with a broken skateboard. We will go collect our ribbons, now!

Make IF weird, Do word crimes, Have fun

I do wonder if me submitting the game in the Main Garden rather than at the Back Garden played into the expectations of the reviewers, since the BG is meant for more experimental IF. But in the same vein, there was the Kuolema running on a Google Form and people flocked to it so 🤷 It's probably the quality that made things the way it is whooooops :P

#postmortem #trnt #the roads not taken #I have once written too much #and wrote a lot of this under the influence of insomnia #I did win a special accolade: McGruber Honorarium #interactive fiction

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theonethatyaks93 · 1 year

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Finally Talking About Dark Pinky (Day 7 of Pinky Week)

Guess who showed up finally!

Yep, you read that title correctly. No, this isn't some belated April Fool's Day prank. Happy Dark Pinky Thursday to all my fellow evil mice enjoyers and welcome to the final installment of Pinky Week!! This has completely gone off the rails and I apologize for the extensive delays and unkept promises; I was just so tired and I required a lot of breaks. So, to thank everyone who's been with me, I decided to make my last post for Pinky Week a tribute to the fans! Get ready, because things are going to get interesting.

4/6/23- Dark Pinky Discussion/Analysis: A popular fandom character, Dark Pinky is the character you go to if you're looking for the Animaniacs/Pinky and the Brain fandom's official Tumblr sexyman. Gaining popularity in 2020 due to Dark Pinky Thursdays popping up as a meme, the homicidal and delightfully malevolent mouse has made his presence very well known on a variety of sites. And yes, I definitely have fallen to all the art and fanfiction I've seen of him. He's a great character, has a lot of potential for fanfiction, and is delightfully evil with a dark, twisted sense of humor (at least that's what I've taken from him). He's a recent obsession of mine and I'm glad to finally admit that I really do like him. I'm also glad to be contributing to his every growing fanbase. This essay will trace Dark Pinky's history, how he became so popular, and what he brings to the overall Pinky and The Brain community. And yes, I'll be mentioning Future Brain a few times since that is part of the story.

Humble Origins (Pinky and The Brain Comic Issues #1 and #24):

You might be surprised to realize but originally, Dark Pinky was more of a comedic villain rather than an outright malicious one. In fact, his plans were often times very silly and his tendency to break into evil laughter was more funny than menacing. He'd make his grand debut in Issue #1 of the Pinky and The Brain comics, being the one who ruled the alternate superhero universe Pinky and Brain find themselves in. At first, he doesn't reveal himself, rather he uses Dark Brain as a cover-up. But from the moment he appears, we get a sense of how different he is when compared to the original Pinky. Dark Pinky wears purple armor with gloves and pretty awesome spikes on his shoulders; he also has a long purple cape. The tufts of fur on his head are more straight and less curled, he has fangs, and wears a metal headpiece that (I believe) allows him to read minds. He still retains the iconic verbal tics that Pinky has and he also does an evil laugh after nearly everything he says. His personality is similar to Pinky, but with a slightly more villainous side. He finds pleasure in creating dastardly plans, showing the power and control he has, and relinquishes in the suffering he brings to others. However, he remains excitable, gets distracted by inane things, and his plans are more comical when compared to how the fandom would shape him to be. Dark Pinky does plan on murdering both Pinky and Brain but is defeated after he reads Pinky's mind and finds "horrifying imagery." He eventually returns in Issue #24 where he ends up trying to take over via public broadcasting. He's now bent on revenge and has a group of minions (in hilarious purple costumes) at his behest. He even calls upon the help of Poison Billie (another semi-popular character from this universe), and the two look like they may succeed. Eventually, Brain and Pinky do manage to defeat Dark Pinky and Poison Billie once again, this time seemingly for good. Dark Pinky's plan in this issue is very ridiculous and isn't scary in the slightest. It's almost intriguing on how he started out as such a comical villain before a few people decided to make him a little more unique. Dark Pinky remains to this day a comic exclusive character, never appearing in any of the T.V shows or even getting a mention in the series. The comics have also been questioned for the canonicity due to a few factors. However, Dark Pinky wouldn't be forgotten for long. Things only get weirder from here.

Dark Pinky and the Tumblr Sexyman Trope:

Now we're getting to the point where we must discuss the fandom. But before we do that, let's talk about the thing that made him famous in the first place: the Tumblr Sexyman craze. In the early 2010's after the release of the film The Lorax, a group of adolescent girls became attached to the character of The Once-ler, but not for his personality, rather for his appearance. The trend started up on Tumblr and began to grow in popularity to massive degrees. And this fandom was weird to say the least. People shipped the Once-ler with himself or alternate versions of himself and he became known as the first official Tumblr sexyman. However, as the years passed, more and more characters were added to the collection of Tumblr sexymen. Most of them had a common theme: tall, white, baddie/emo, often seen in suits. Others such as Sans from Undertale were a little different but still contained a few typical tropes. To be considered a sexyman, a character needed to showcase at least one or two of these traits plus have a dedicated following with a lot of fanart and/or fanfiction. They also can be considered conventionally unattractive or non-human. After the introduction of the Tumblr sexyman, many fandoms tried their best to find a perfect match for the rising phenomenon. And luckily, the Animaniacs/PaTB fandom had their candidate. While Pinky Suavo also caught on very quickly and was more well-known for his episode, Dark Pinky seemed to be the most accurate to the previously established tropes, being tall, white, evil, wearing purple armor, having a mysterious past, and sporting a super cool design. The potential for him was rabid and he seemed to check off all the boxes perfectly. It did take a while for people to find him, considering the comics are so obscure, but eventually Dark Pinky would hit the fandom in a way previously not though of before. Nobody would realize the impact this character would have. Until it was too late.

Dark Pinky is a Sensation (And how the fandom changed him):

Art featured below is by the incredibly talented @wimsiecal And if you're perchance reading this, I just want to tell you that your art is amazing and you have made me obsessed with Dark Pinky to an unhealthy degree!!! :) Seriously please go follow them if you haven't already, I'm begging you!!

After the fandom discovered Dark Pinky from the depths of the comic book series, his popularity skyrocketed, especially after the 2020 fandom revival. He quickly became known as the Pinky and The Brain Tumblr sexyman and that hasn't changed since, though Pinky Suavo has joined him. Dark Pinky fanart, fanfiction, and various other forms of media became extremely sought after and many posts would get thousands upon thousands of views/likes. Despite never appearing in the series, fans of Dark Pinky's would often point out moments where Pinky acted like his evil counterpart, some even editing screenshots to have Pinky appear like him. However, since Dark Pinky only appeared in two comics, the fans naturally had to get creative with him. Many fans have completely changed his character, altering his appearance every so slightly, or expanding on his past and personality. Dark Pinky's fan design was only a tad bit different. He was given sharper edges, different outfits in various shades of purple and black, a more detailed helmet, and he even appeared without the whole getup. Dark Pinky's design without armor or the helmet was entirely made up by fans. Here, he has the same body as Pinky but with scars (including a super cool one over his eye), dark eye shadow, and black painted nails. Dark Pinky's personality was also altered, making him a legitimate threat and an actual evil villain. He kills, his grip on the world is ruthless, he treats his servants like crap, and he shows no mercy to anyone. His comical plots from the comics are no more as he's become kind of scary and menacing. You don't want to mess with him. Yes he does have a sense of humor, but it's often twisted or at the expense of others. Dark Pinky still on occasion does an evil laugh or has a verbal tic but it's usually when he's upset. Some fans have given him a soft side; some of which include his feminine urges remaining intact and that he has a fondness for cheese. But be careful. In a few variations from people in the community, Brain is mysteriously absent. Mentioning Brain to Dark Pinky in those universes will often cause him to go into an insane rage. These fun and interesting pieces that were added to Dark Pinky not only make him more interesting, but add to his status as a Tumblr sexyman. These changes aren't technically canon, but they're arguably better since they make Dark Pinky stand out. It is quite strange to see him change from a comical antagonist to a semi-serious villain worth being feared, but it was much appreciated.

Dark Pinky Gets a Love Interest and an AU (Dark Future Ship/Fan-made Universes):

For the longest time, Dark Pinky didn't have a love interest of any kind. Sure, if you wanted to be shunned you could ship him with Poison Billie (please don't), but Brinky was the name of the game. The ship between Pinky and Brain was, and still is, incredibly popular among fans, after it gained popularity in the late 2000's and early 2010's. And of course when Dark Pinky got popular, he needed someone to be paired with. For a while, he would be shipped with just regular Brain or a fan-made evil version of Brain if creativity was present. Luckily, the fans finally got their perfect match when the Animaniacs reboot came out. In episode 9, the character of Future Brain was created and fans immediately compared him to Dark Pinky. Their color schemes were similar with both mice being seen in purple. Future Brain had a scar, robotic hand, and half of his face was robotic, all of which fit into Dark Pinky's universe very well. The hints that Future Brain was betrayed by Pinky also had many theorizing that he came from a future ruled by Dark Pinky, connecting the two together even more. It wasn't long before Future Brain and Dark Pinky ship fanart and fanfiction began popping up everywhere. Since the duo had very similar esthetics, they could be drawn together easily. The story potential was also very high as well. Dark Pinky and Future Brain dominated (pun intended) the fanbase and soon became seen as an alternate ship to Brinky. But while Brinky was healthy and cute, Dark Future (Often called the official ship name) was toxic and awkward. Some people portrayed them as an evil couple ruling the world together, while others painted their relationship in a negative light, where Dark Pinky was abusive and manipulative. It depended solely on what person was developing the story. Future Brain was also added to the quickly developing Dark Pinky alternate universe which has been shown via the extremely popular ask blog askdarkpinky. Featuring beautiful fanart and a darkly humorous tone, this blog is a must-view for any Dark Pinky fan. It created an expansive universe with lore, locations, and alternate versions of popular characters. Snowball remains consistent in the flashback sequences, aligning with his canon character exactly. Billie retains a majority of elements from Poison Billie minus the orange hair, including the plant themed outfit. Julia has a new look with a lab coat and goggles. She's works for Dark Pinky, making all of his technology. Brain is noticeably absent from this universe, with only hints to his possible location. It's also implied that this is in fact Future Brain and that he might be doing something. Dark Pinky goes crazy when Brain is brought up and refuses to hear anything about him. This drama and conflict is so interesting. The creation of this ship and various alternate universes only increased Dark Pinky's popularity and now, he stands as a cornerstone of the Pinky and The Brain fanbase.

Conclusion: Though Pinky himself is a beloved character, Dark Pinky stands on his own as a fandom favorite. From his design to his personality and potential, he fits the Tumblr sexyman ideology to near perfection. The fans have shaped this character and have made him stand apart from the rest. Sure, he's evil and doesn't treat things with care, but he's a good character. It's really spectacular that people in the community were able to turn Dark Pinky from a villain that existed mainly for comedy to a threatening presence with an un-hinged mindset. The fans are truly to thank for bringing Dark Pinky into greatness and there's hope that he can remain relevant and continue to entertain people (and make people question their sanity/sexuality) for a few more years to come.

OMG!! Pinky Week is finally done!! Woo hoo!! I'd like to thank all of you for sticking with me for this long period of time. You have been the thing that's kept me making these. I'll be taking a small break for the next few days and then Brain Week will begin! I can assure you guys that Brain Week will not take as long and will be better planned out. I can't wait to begin! Anyways, that's it for Pinky Week! Thank you for reading and have a great day/night! Happy (possibly belated) Dark Pinky Thursday to everyone!! Narf!

#pinky and the brain #patb #brinky #dark pinky #pinky week!#dark pinky has taken over my life now #thanks for reading! Brain week is coming!!#essay/analysis #pretty long post if you wanted to know #dark pinky thursday

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jeanjauthor · 2 months

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Writing, OCD, and "What If?"

I have OCD. It went undiagnosed for most of my life, but then things like that were only spoken of in very hushed tones in the early decades of my life.

I thought things like "counting steps in fours!" was because I had been immersed in music all my life, so it was only natural that the most common time measure, 4/4, was a part of my life.

And I thought things like "developing a system to remind myself that something on the stove or oven is ON--the stove light--OR something in that area needs to be handled in a few hours when it's cooled off--covered dishes, jarred foods for fridge & freezer, etc--and it can ONLY be turned off when everything on or around the stove is off AND taken care of!" was just sensible. (It's also an ADHD management tool, because unless I remember to set a timer, I can forget...but I've trained my family to Look Around The Kitchen To See What Needs Doing If The Stove Light Is Still On, too...so it works!)

Anyway, I just saw a commercial--skipped over it after a few seconds--that talked about OCD thoughts also including "What If? scenarios.

My first reaction was a sort of mental snort-laugh, and I thought to myself, "I do that all the time as a writer! I use What If to create stories!"

They were talking about, "What if someone in my family gets hurt because I'm not happy all the time?" and other, far more intrusive thoughts which I won't get into here. And I realized...yes, I have those thoughts, too. Apparently OCD includes Intrusive Thoughts in its category umbrella. (I learned something today!)

But then I re-thought about it, and realized...I use What If like a UNO Reverse Card, and I also use my OCD like a UNO Reverse Card, by turning a potential negative into a positive. In the kitchen, I have set up a series of decade-long habits: Stove Light Is On, Check What's Going On. There's food in the slow cooker, there's foil over a cooling casserole, there's jarred meaty spaghetti sauce to be checked to see if it's finally cool enough to freeze, or even just stick in the fridge. (I always cover my food while it's still very hot to reduce chances for spoilage.) (Also the meat sauce we made just a couple days ago was soooo gooood, I kept wanting to snatch a bowlful and just eat it as-is, lol. Managed to put away 5 quart jars, so yay, that's five meals' worth of magnificence!)

In writing, that "What If?" has been turned away at least some of the time from bad or at least disruptive/disturbing intrusive thoughts...into a powerful tool for positive things.

I use What If all the time when thinking of story ideas, scene ideas, characterization ideas...and then--and here's the important part--I use that What If scenario (which sometimes can be A Bad Thing), and I figure out how to make it right again.

Here's a somewhat upsetting scenario of an intrusive thought, "What if I drove off this bridge?" WHOA, TOTALLY NOT WHAT I WANT TO THINK!! (which is why it's called an intrusive thought, it's an intruder that is unwanted...so I remind myself that this is not me, just my brain crossing wires and sparking utter BS.)

To grab control of my mental steering wheel, I FIRMLY think instead, "What if my character from (story) saw someone on the edge of a bridge? How would THEY handle that situation?"

There was a guy down in Australia (Donald Taylor Ritchie, may he rest in peace) who saved hundreds of would-be jumpers' lives over the decades by just talking with them, and inviting them to sit and have a cup of tea while he listened and commiserated, giving compassion & comfort & sympathy at his home near a certain bridge.

Or I might have a thought, "What if the building catches on fire???"

I think instead, "How would my hero save the day if a fire DID break out, either here or in their current location?"

I'm not trying to make me the hero...because that's hella exhausting some days and my brain fights me on that, those days. I'm trying to retrain my brain to use the Intrusive Thought in creative and constructive ways that don't force me to actually act. It's telling my OCD to Sit Down, You're Not On Stage Here, It's Another Character's Turn On Stage.

...This has had the subtle but powerful effect of training my mind to disengage my body, especially when it's one of those, "Dump in ALL the Turmeric!!" moments...which is an uncomfortable thought as it's a large jar and there's still a lot in there, and it's a natural dye that will stain EVERYTHING it touches. But I digress.

If you have OCD and Intrusive Thoughts...first, my deepest sympathies, I really do understand. Second, you can learn to Uno-Reverse the negative sides of such things. Good kitchen safety habits are one. What Would My Character Do is another.

Third, if you think of it as a training-for-an-emergency scenario, you're actually far more likely to be able to act in a genuine emergency...because this is OCD's secret super power.

But if you're afraid that thinking about it from your perspective will have you actually doing it (when it's not needed)...then think about your characters doing it.

And if you're not a writer? Think of it as a character in a roleplaying game, tabletop or video game. Heck, think of it as the characters from Stardew Valley, or Minecraft, or No Man's Sky! Remove it from you, personally, to Someone Else's Experience Entirely.

It takes practice, and it's a subtle effect...but it's a powerful tool in the end.

#writing #ocd #managing ocd maybe #things to think about #playing the UNO reverse card as much as possible #intrusive thoughts #tw

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wordsandrobots · 2 months

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4, 5, 6, 21, 24<-(insert WoSH in these), 23, 30, 37 & 41

For this ask game. WoSH as in Wishing on Space Hardware, my twenty-part Iron-Blooded Orphans sequel fic.

4. What detail in Wishing on Space Hardware are you really proud of?

Aaaah! There are so many I can't talk about because they're spoilers for the current story!

I've very much enjoyed fleshing Chryse out. You know, naming districts, putting in a public transport system, alluding to the criminal underworld, giving Yamagi a set of dodgy Russian lads and an Irish granny as neighbours . . . that kind of thing. The city is pretty nebulous in the show proper, so it was fun trying to give it some depth and join together the disparate backdrops we see.

(Arbrau encompasses what was once Russia so that's why there are people named Alexi living in one of their former colonies. Mrs Finucane did not deign to explain her presence, just sailed into the fic from stage left and installed herself upstairs.)

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about Wishing on Space Hardware? Answer it now!

I had been hoping someone would ask me about the title I gave the whole series. It is, as previously stated in the notes and more explicitly via the gimmick I added to Ragnarök in G Minor, taken from the song 'A New England', written by Billy Bragg and famously covered by Kirsty MacColl (a version I greatly prefer).

I saw two shooting stars last night I wished on them, but they were only satellites It's wrong to wish on space hardware I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care

There's a few of reasons this stuck out to me at the time I was putting together the plan for a longer series after finishing To Catch a Falling Star. First and most obvious, 'space hardware' is the Gundam franchise's bread and butter, and I'd argue the degree to which the mecha provide the solution to each series' problems is a key indicator of what that series is doing. In Iron-Blooded Orphans, the mecha are ultimately a millstone for our protagonists, trapping them in the meat-grinder of their life as soldiers. So the third line of this verse fits very well, especially since my fics explore issues around searching for answers in the wrong places and trying to break free of harmful modes of thought or action.

Then there's the 'two shooting stars'. In IBO, a shooting star is Shino's motif, with all that that implies about how he ultimately burns out. The recurring idea throughout writing the survivor version of him that he is 'just the pieces left over' ties back into this. However, in the wider context of writing an IBO sequel, the two shooting stars are Orga and McGillis, who both relied on 'space hardware' to carry the day, dazzling people into believing in them despite that being a mistake. I think I've mentioned before that I made a point of never writing anything from either of their points of view: they are the ghosts haunting the narrative, who have ceased to matter as actual people; all that remains is the impressions they left behind and what those drive others to do.

Finally and most importantly, there's the last line of the verse, where the singer does what they have just declared wrong: I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care. Because wishing, desiring, wanting is so very human. It's just what we do, regardless of whether it's a good idea or not. We can't help it. In the fic, Yamagi is perhaps the one who most visibly struggles with this in these particular terms, since it forms the crux of his romantic troubles, both with Shino and in his absence. But it's the issue underlying everyone's actions. Ride's 'I have to try' attitude to revolution. Kudelia's war of attrition against the pillars of an unjust world. Almiria's loneliness. Iverson's Gundam-stanning. Gaelio's fears over being betrayed again. All these people who've learnt the hard way that wishes can be invested in the wrong places, doing it over and over again because they can't help it. They're human. They want. That's our nature.

So yes, that's why my Gundam fanfic series is named for a 1985 song about being let down by some bloke who clearly wasn't worth it.

6. What’s one fact about the universe of Wishing on Space Hardware that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

Very few details have not made their way into the fic by this point! What have I got left . . . ?

Ah! Right, yeah, so, the way I think about the Martian Union's government -- and please bear in mind this is not a fully-formed idea, which is why it's only alluded to in-text -- is that it's not a party system. Representatives are selected and voted for on an individual basis and government ministers are drawn from the resulting Assembly as required. When Kudelia talks about consensus and deadlock, this is why. And the Chairperson is appointed by the Assembly rather than themselves being an elected representative. They're there to act as a trusted mediator and a mouthpiece for the body at a global level.

This structure might well change as time goes on. It emerged after the Earth blocs ceded control and it's both very new and relying on pre-existing bureaucracy to enact its legislation. In theory, it avoids some big issues with party politics and gives people more direct control over who represents them. But the extent to which that works in practise is variable. There are still powerful interests at play, tilting the scales one way or another. It's nonetheless an attempt to do better than the Earth, since the impression I formed from events in Arbrau is that political leadership is very much not in the hands of regular people there (the parliament appeared to be electing the Prime Minister on its own, without it even being a leadership contest within one party??).

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in Wishing on Space Hardware, what would it be?

Honestly, the way this series came together, I've already done tons! History of a Catastrophe is basically *all* missing scenes (a creative decision I'm still not 100% sure I pulled off; that fic is meant to feel like an inexorable piling-up of events but that's possibly not the best reader experience!).

I did toy with the idea of writing a bunch of smut based off all the times I faded to black over Shino and Yamagi getting it on. To the point of typing out the following, which picks up where the final chapter (pre-epilogues) of To Catch a Falling Star leaves off:

“Working up a sweat with you sounds great,” Shino says, rising to catch Yamagi's mouth. He manages to be less clumsy this time. Their tongues flick and slide over one another, Yamagi pressing down in return. In a second, the contact goes from careful to urgent. In another, Shino feels himself harden against the weight on top of him, a greedy need rushing through him. Yamagi lets him breathe, grinning. “So you can kiss properly.” “Yeah – 'course I can! You wanna maybe let me try for longer next time?” “I'll think about it.” A hand worms its way under his shirt. “Hmm.” “Hmm?” “The Union Military probably doesn't stock cabins with stuff to help its soldiers fuck, does it?” That . . . isn't something Shino had considered. “Nah, probably not.” If his experience with Gjallarhorn is anything to go by, big militaries are real stingy about that sort of thing. And Eugene certainly wouldn't have guessed he'd need to make up for their shortcomings. Yamagi's lips purse. Then he shrugs. “Oh well. Guess I'm finding out how you taste.” Shino's brain must still be frazzled from – everything – because it refuses to understand what that means until his trousers are most of the way off and Yamagi's mouth is moving over the front of his boxers, breathing hot air in places that were already getting nicely warmed up on their own. Duh. Obviously.

Which was fun but honestly, it felt like I would just be repeating the same joke about Yamagi being more experienced than Shino. While I'm not a proponent of smut needing plot justifications, I didn't think this would really add much to what's already there in terms of characterisation.

So a more serious answer is that I would have liked to dwell more on the period between the end of the anime and bringing Shino back. I think there'd be worth in looking at Eugene coming to terms with being left in charge and how that leads him to joining up with Kudelia, or in going deeper into one of Yamagi's relationships, to see him struggling with the things he can't properly let go of. Because I worry with those two in particular that effectively starting with 'fixing' their situation robs some of the impact of what they went through, and I think it'd be worth revisiting to underscore how much they gain from Shino's return.

24. Are there any easter eggs in Wishing on Space Hardware, and if so, what are they?

Oh, there are a bunch. I raided the Gundam back catalogue for incidental names, so there are call-outs to the other series all the way through. The SAU rep who has one line in The Ares Affair was originally explicitly named 'Winner' because I do not like Quatre from Gundam Wing very much, and the 'guy with the long braid' Shino is mentioned as having danced with in Revolution for Beginners... is obviously Duo, who I do like. There's a very explicit My Next Life as a Villainess reference in Love, Death and Cannoli, which doubles as a voice actor joke if you know the dub for that show. There was going to be a sneaky little OG Gundam reference in History of a Catastrophe, alluding to some ideas I have about the origin of the Calamity War, but I ended up cutting that entire section. Oh, and for the final fic and with reference to my previous post from this ask game, I decided that the 'small ocean' created by terraforming Mars is situated on the Utopia Planitia, which is not not a dig at Star Trek.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

I nearly wrote 'crossovers' before remembering @thedancingwalrus-blog and I are responsible for Geniuses and Madmen, a Batman/Iron Man mash-up from a few years ago. I do really admire people who can get crossovers to work on the regular though; it's a very hit-and-miss prospect for me.

But a concept I'd like to write and haven't . . . I can do you one I *started* writing only for my interest to fizzle. There's a 1985 Transformers comic, part of Marvel UK's attempts to pad a monthly comic for weekly publication, called Man of Iron. And it's weird, in context of the 80s cartoon bombast that characterises most Transformers fiction. It's almost a ghost story, featuring a spaceship buried under an English castle, the Transformers flitting around the edges and being more threateningly alien than they're usually presented. There's a greater emphasis on them being these weird things that are concealing themselves (imperfectly) as human vehicles, and the eventual open conflict is pretty apocalyptical in its depiction.

And I thought, what about following that approach in an ongoing sense? Treating Transformers as a horror story of these beings who'd snuck into our mechanised, industrialised world and were having a war over control of it? It could almost be like The Magnus Archives, with various 'encounters' slowly building into an interlinked narrative. Indeed, the framing device for the couple of chapters I wrote was the Intelligence and Information Institute, a secret US government department from the old Marvel comics that would have eventually turned out to be working with the Decepticons because of course.

I dunno. I enjoy the concept and I'd like to see where it goes, but I've mostly fallen out of the Transformers fandom on account of the franchise's complete refusal to innovate or reinvent itself any more.

I might end up posting what I wrote of it at some point though.

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

Honestly? Between Family. I'd written an explicit sex scene maybe once before this. Not out of any disdain for that kind of thing, it had simply never been something I felt inclined to do. I guess I just found Shino too sexy to resist, huh?

Actually that's not so far from the truth. You see, in writing him, I didn't want to lose sight of his being a canonically sexually-active character, with what seemed to me to be a fairly typical teenage attitude towards exercising his libido. Since I decided this wouldn't change much over the time period I was covering and saw no reason to assume Yamagi wouldn't grow up to be likewise active (plus a belligerent dislike of turning him into a blushing violet), sex between them was inevitable. Sure, I didn't have to be explicit to make the point that the sex precedes the romance/dependency and doesn't solve any of their issues. But I still had to think about it. And thinking about it was hot. As was the idea of chucking Eugene into the middle. Eventually, I just couldn't resist writing it out in full.

Which was fun. More importantly, it offered new vectors for exploring the characters I hadn't used before. That kind of unlocked whatever had been holding me back from writing sex scenes previously (probably just the idea that they are hard and would look silly), allowing me to add them to my toolkit.

I am unlikely to suddenly become a full-time smut writer. But it's nice to know that I can write it, when I want to.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

I am a little disappointed The Haunting of Takaki Uno hasn't seen more readers, as it's one of the parts of WoSH I'm most proud of on a technical level. I think I managed to pull off a very solid structural conceit, as well as exploring something quite thorny with regards to the classism of the setting.

I do kind of get why it didn't get much traction -- it's gen, it's about a character who even I struggle to have something to say about -- and I'm certainly not unhappy with the response it *has* gotten in comments and kudos. But still. It feels like it got skipped a lot and I'm a bit sad about that.

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

If I ever manage to write something as brutal as Order 3066 by Dailenna, I will be a happy bunny. It's a Fullmetal Alchemist (manga) fic that explores Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang's time in Ishval and is a brilliant example of how to comprehensively grind characters down, with an exquisite eye for the mundane details that surround atrocity. It is as much about boredom and numbness as it is the misery of serving in a pointless, genocidal war and the dawning realisation you're doing so on the side of the perpetrators.

One of my greatest ambitions is to be able to write proper horror and this is the kind of excoriating story I aspire to.

(On a more topical and light-hearted note, I aspire to the kind of comic timing LaoraRyn managed with The Scientific Method, a Gundam 00 fic that played a not-insignificant role in me deciding to make Haros more than a sight gag in an IBO setting.)

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Thank you so much for asking so many questions!

#words in answer #lilenui #gundam iron blooded orphans #tekketsu no orphans #writing #fanfic #my fic

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blazingstaro · 5 months

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FREEBIE QUESTION, BUT IT'S FOR ALL OF YOUR FANDOM CHARACTERS AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

SPILL THE TEA TO ME, SIS!!!

HFJSI GIRRRLLLL YOU'RE OPENING PANDORA'S BOX

In terms of main Kirby OCs (fandom/franchise characters):

Eave, Twyla, Fintan, Slinx, Squire, King Orpheus, Jesse, Ducky and the Dusters, Princess Alatariel, Nimue & Gilroy, and Malacai

I love all my goobers to pieces! And Orpheus, oh Orpheus has taken over my life. I no longer have control over my story because of him. It's his story now, and I'm the lowly servant who's constantly subjected to his demands for me to rewrite things 😭 I've rewritten his intro episode at least 5 times, and now he's injected himself into DotS:MMM. Orpheus PLEASE I NEED A BREAK— I WAS JUST FINISHING PART 6 IN SCRIPT FORMAT YOU JERK

Thia man's made me rewrite his ENTIRE BACKSTORY THREE TIMES! And now I have to rewrite his WHOLE NOVEL SERIES. YES THE WHOLE NOVEL DEDICATED TO JUST HIM. I have to rewrite it from THE GROUND UP. JUST AS I FINISHED CHAPTER 2.

CHAPTER 2 HAS BEEN COMPLETELY SLAMMED OUT OF CANON. I spent 4 months writing it and he just went "mmmm nah, not canon". 20+ pages. TWENTY. PLUS. PAGES. Right in the trash. Gone. Reduced to atoms. I love Orpheus. But he likes to make me work. I'm not allowed to relax 😭 and what's worse is that's also in character for him 😭😭😭😭 I can't control this man, he controls MEEEE *SOB*

Woes aside– Main official characters that I manage in DotS are the following:

Meta Knight, Galacta Knight, Sir/King Arthur, Magolor, Kirby (shared), and Bandana Waddle Dee (shared)

My sis and co-writer @starlightfyre handles other officials in our AU! She's got King Dedede, Taranza, all of Arthur's knights (Falspar, Dragato, etc.), and more!

They're all pretty neat! :D

Original character and original content rambling below the cut here, if anyone is interested in my OG projects:

In terms of active proper OCs, my main cast has been demoted to just being doodle buddies and officially retired from being a series. All my OCs are sorta on standby until I have some story ideas for them! My mains under World Jumpers are these goobers:

Oswald, Tempest, Blaize, Asoné, Raymond, and Xylea! Ozzy and Tempest are the protagonists with the rest being secondary!

I've wrestled with their story for so long that I decided to throw in the towel and admit defeat early this year. It's been 14 long years with these guys collectively, and no actual plot or meaning to their story? Yeah no time to shelve it for good. I have a very fleshed out world for them, but it's really detailed to the point where it's kinda convoluted, but it's been set in stone for so long that I can't undo it without shattering everything

So I figured it'd just be better to start fresh with something else later. I love WJ, but after the history I've had with WJ, it's better that I leave it to rest. The world and story was too big for just me, and I tried for years to find a partner as passionate about the world as I was, but none were. I lost my passion after getting burned out due to stress writing and drawing everything. I love WJ, love my characters and world, but it's a story that never wanted to be told

Since then I've sort of been at a loss on what to do next in terms of original projects. I've got loads of WIP ideas and concepts from over the years, but none have really jumped up at me like DotS has for years 😭

I have a lot of OCs, like A LOT. I had a list and there's like easily 100+ named characters in WJ's universe alone

The others are much smaller! These are all my WIP OG stories:

Project: "Listen" | Animated anthro film inspired by "Cats Don't Dance", focuses on Kaeden who is a mute genet whose dream is to be an actor, despite having a job as a director easily lined up for him. Faces a bit of adversity in a market that hankers for a voice; he becomes friends with a frustrated actress who's been locked into the same kind of roles for years, and wishes to do more, who becomes a voice for Kaeden when he needs it most (I aspire to have an actual deaf/mute person be Kaeden's voice through sign language, since animators will nees references for his dialogue; they'll be put in the credits as his voice because they are! LOVE!)

Project: "Dragon Rider" | Sort of a chosen-one story with a twist, focuses on the struggle between duty and desire. Female protagonist is the prophesized reincarnation of a figure that's meant to bring her tribe into a new golden age, but when she bonds with an unexpected and common kind of dragon (and not the big gaudy one they expected), she faces a dilemma: follow the wishes of her people or her own heart?

Project: "Willemina" | Sci-fi detective story that was originally a spinoff of WJ, so it's set in the same universe. Main protag is non-binary hoomin (human-like species of mine), Willemina, a former space ranger gone private detective investigating the mysterious murder of a local guardian. Will befriends the late guardian's companion, a sweet little Weapon Spirit, and sets out to solve the mystery together (and discovering said weapon spirit's very useful defensive abilities)

Most everyone from each respective story has concept art or complete designs!

#answered #oc asks #fc asks #character asks #fan character asks #asks open #blazin beeps #blazin answers #oc rambling #fc rambling #kirby #kirby series #magolor #dreams of the stars #hoshi no kirby #kirby oc #hoshi no kaabii

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whovianwatchingstartrek · 5 months

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A Whovian Watches Star Trek for the First Time: Part 083 - Vulcan Corruption Undone

Star Trek: Enterprise - Season 4 Episode 9 - Kir'Shara

We open with the Vulcan High Command preparing to Invade Andoria. Their leader is claiming that the Andorians have the Xindi prototype weapon, from Season 3. Of Course, we know that Archer destroyed that Prototype when the Andorians tried to take it, so these are just lies for the Vulcans to justify a war.

Meanwhile, Archer is on his way to the Vulcan Capital with the Kir'Shara, and Enterprise is heading to Andoria. Trip's plan is to meet Shran, because of course he's the only Andorian who would trust Enterprise without evidence. Apparently, if the Kir'Shara is revealed to the public, it will prove that the Syrranites are correct about Surak's teachings, and will remove most of the Vulcan High Command's support.

Apparently the Syrranites also know a cure for Panar Syndrome, from way back in the episode Stigma. This doesn't feel like as big a revelation as it should be though, because we haven't really seen how T'Pol's Panar Syndrome has effected her since that episode. If we had been shown its effects throughout, say switched out her Trellium Addiction for the effects of Panar Syndrome, I feel like the revelation would feel more important.

Enterprise arrives at Andoria and tell Shran about the invasion. His anger in this scene is really well performed. Instead of believing their plans however, they transport Savol onto their ship for a torture session. I love that their way of torturing Vulcans is to just forcibly lower their emotional inhibitions, I thought it was a little bit funny. Savol also got a few good lines while being tortured, specifically about his story about the Soldier who's name now means fool in the Vulcan Language. Eventually Shran and the Andorians do come around though, and even invite Enterprise to join them in the battle

A few Vulcans working for the High Command intercept Archer's group, and we get a pretty cool Melee fight scene. T'Pol also lying about where they're taking the Kir'Shara was also great. Archer and T'Pau's various guerrilla tactics in the desert make for some great action.

Meanwhile T'Pol is taken to Vulcan Command, and I just love how slimey V'las sounds when he talks about executing her, like he's just so delighted to have an excuse for an execution. Sent a shiver down my spine. However, his plans are interrupted by the Andorian fleet intercepting the Vulcan fleet. Plus, scans aren't showing the Xindi tech, because it doesn't exist. A Firefight breaks out between the fleets just as Archer arrives at High Command to present the Kir'Shara, and the fleet is called off.

Apparently, also T'Pol's husband has annulled the Marriage, which is a nice conclusion to that particular conflict, I just wish he was more directly involved in the arc for him to come to that conclusion. It looks like Vulcan is going to go through a huge reformation now.

The episode also ends off on a really weird note of revealing that V'Las was working for some other Vulcan dude, and the episode acts like it's a big reveal, but I've never seen this guy before.

This was definitely the political intrigue focus episode I've been looking for since the start of this arc. The Vulcan religion and Worldbuilding stuff is fun, but I'm glad we're really digging into the political corruption themes. I find it really interesting that the Religious sect of the Vulcans seem to become the dominant force on Vulcan after this arc. Is that what they're like going forward? I'm here for it, it's just weird that what I thought about the Vulcans before starting these posts was more akin to how they've been so far.

#whovian watching star trek #star trek #star trek enterprise #star trek ent #star trek: enterprise #enterprise #ent

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stardusthuntress · 9 months

Text

EnigmaTech - Ch. 3

My Tech Lives AU! (see prior chapters for summary)

Chapter 3 - Up and At 'Em!

Tech x female!reader (pronouns only! Though reader gets a callsign and a touch of background!) Does she catch his eye when they meet in this chapter? Is the inside of Tech's mind ever quiet enough for even him to figure it out? How does a nerd even catch another nerd's attention?

(Part 2) (Part 4)

Word count: ~5.3k

Chapter Summary: time to break the "lost 3" out! This is supposed to be Tech's story after all!

TW: Some details of Tech's injury (nothing gruesome! Just mentions of bandages, potential concussions, some mods like Echo's, and migraine-like symptoms). Tech does struggle to stay conscious and focused, but mostly the former. FYI, I don’t know much about medical procedures. Medical actions taken herein could be the opposite of what you’re supposed to do and I wouldn’t know!

A/N: Once again, just needed to get this part out there into the world. I've rewritten it so many times! Action sequences are really hard! But I found a way to describe enough of it to make sense, but not all of it so I don't have to come up with a full exfiltration plot worthy of our favorite nerd and his sadistic archnemesis. Someone commented that this seemed like a way to infodump my film theories, and you is 100% correct. They did Tech dirty, and I needed to fix it. Hehehe! So let's fix it! Time to free the inventive genius, the raincloud of angst, and the sunshine child!

Tech dividers: @/djarrex

Translations: Haran = hell (mando'a)

His world was dark. It was strange. He couldn’t see or feel anything. But he knew a lot. And he had his familiar routines. He liked routines. They made him feel useful and gave his life structure. Just like the algorithms he wrote all day long, long scripts of instructions for computers to process and provide him with all the data he needed!

But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Nevertheless, he must continue. That was his duty. That was what he was made to do. To keep going despite all odds, and to always find a way. That knowledge reassured him. As did his routines. His routines had become quite a lot like his favorite algorithms... Perhaps too much so... No, that couldn’t be. He was just paranoid because things were calm without the constant chaos of war. As long as his routines kept him and his brothers safe… brothers… his brothers! That was what was missing! No nagging reminders to “please stop fiddling and eat something and get some rest, you’ve backspaced frequently in the last half hour and it’s getting on Hunter’s nerves” from Echo. No roughhousing and horsing around from Wrecker. No dramatic sighs from Crosshair…

Wait, that wasn’t entirely true. Somewhere in the distance, he was aware of Crosshair. And there was someone with him. Someone familiar. Small… and blonde… and… Tech knew those tears! But he couldn't place the rest of it. Knowing about them felt like a distant memory, but he knew it wasn’t. Those tears, Crosshair’s seething, quiet anger, those were happening in the present, not the past… but where? Where are they? And where was he?

Somewhere amidst the confusion of his mind, he began to become aware of a warning klaxon alarm blaring far away. Something was happening. He could feel the adrenaline begin to surge. That meant something was coming and he had to get ready to protect those he cared about. Right now, that meant Crosshair and the little blonde one.

Tech paused to take stock. He knew 3 things for certain, other than his name:

1) Crosshair and a little blonde girl were nearby, and they were his family,

2) something was happening, good or bad he didn’t know, but he did know that either way that meant,

3) his family needed his protection, here and now… wherever here is…

Slowly, more of his world began to percolate into the recesses of his mind, emerging from the darkness and beginning to take form around him. Though, they did not take physical form, he still could only see darkness, but he was starting to be able to hear and to feel things again. And smell.

BO, this place smells like body odor. But somehow this smell of corn chippy socks and a desperate need to wash the carbon scoring and battle sweat off was very familiar to him. Like their barracks on Kamino…

Wrecker! Wrecker was here! Wrecker would help Tech find his way back to his surroundings. That was something else he just innately knew.

Tech added that to his list of certainties:

Crosshair, Wrecker, and his sister were here, and they were his family.

Something was happening, as evidenced by the alarm bells he was beginning to hear, which meant that,

His family needed his protection,

But first Tech needed Wrecker’s help to find his way back…

But… back to what? Something was still missing. A lot was missing actually, but that would get overwhelming, so he focused on the last item on the list, hoping the rest would fall into place after he figured out where he was and what was happening. Which he needed Wrecker’s help for. So he focused on Wrecker.

Sure enough, his brother’s booming voice reached Tech’s ears. Tech concentrated on it, trying to make out what Wrecker was saying. But things were happening too fast. And the voices blurred together. He was still certain Wrecker’s voice was among the noise, as was a building alarm going off, but there was something else too. Something in addition to Wrecker’s voice, and it had the patterns of language - a voice! He was pretty sure that’s what it was. They seemed to be helping Wrecker with something, giving instructions and Wrecker was following them. As they continued on, Tech could feel himself beginning to become conscious of his surroundings again, but he also felt his emotions spiking, and didn’t dare open his eyes yet. First he needed to use that same old trick he’d taught to Crosshair when he had a panic attack, to ground himself now and regain control of his emotions: the 5-4-3-2-1 method. Tech didn’t want to open his eyes yet. That had a tendency to trigger migraines. And there were so many things in his surroundings he couldn’t place yet. So instead he just focused on just putting names and senses to 5 things.

Wrecker was here - Tech could smell him and hear him.

An ally was here - Tech could hear their voice, and they were working with Wrecker, who clearly trusted them!

Hmm, what else…

The alarm had stopped! At least in this room it had been silenced. Must not have been long ago either, Wrecker was commenting on being able to hear his own thoughts again! Which meant that:

Tech’s senses were catching up with the world, he was beginning to be able to hear the things Wrecker was saying!

Tech sighed in relief, the world was coming back to him. In fact, the world seemed to be approaching rapidly. He could hear footsteps around him now. Heavy footfalls desperately trying to be careful as they treaded nervously across the room. Wrecker again!

Wrecker’s footsteps approached.

The voice that was not Wrecker’s spoke again. They seemed excited! Something about someone moving and reacting to his surroundings. Tech realized they must have been talking about himself!

Tech tried to focus on his surroundings, but it was harder than he expected.

The sound of finger’s snapping near the side of his face made him flinch. It was loud that close to his ears.

“Oh good! I thought he passed out again!” Wrecker boomed nervously.

“Give him time, Big Guy, he’s been through a lot,” answered the other voice. “He doesn’t seem to like loud right now.”

Wrecker tried to make himself smaller, “Sorry, Tech!” He half whispered and half shouted.

Tech still didn’t want to open his eyes. Between the loud noises - this must be what Hunter felt like when they were all being loud, he realized - and the fact that Wrecker was probably worried, he couldn’t face that just yet… Pun intended.

Oh good! So his own special form of humor was still intact! Tech took a deep breath and rolled his head to the side, towards the voices that were now whispering.

Ow. The movement made his head throb. Specifically the back of his head, which had been resting against what now felt like a very hard surface. Cool to the touch. Probably metal of some kind. Though there was a little fragment of cushioning, beyond that of just his own hair. Probably a makeshift medbay.

One more deep breath and Tech was ready to have a look around. He opened his eyes… hmm, strange, that didn’t seem to work. He tried again, hand automatically reaching for his face as he did so. But someone caught his hand.

“No, don’t touch the bandages,” Wrecker whispered.

“It’s okay Wreck. Tech, we don’t have your goggles,” the unfamiliar voice approached, “so you won’t be able to see your surroundings much. And… lemme have his hand Wrecker… you will only be able to see a little out of one eye. I’m going to put your hand on the edge that’s near your nose, okay?” Tech became aware of small, clammy fingers wrapping gently around his own, as the voice continued.“Be gentle and go slow. You’ve been out for at least a few days by the looks of things and you’ve got some pretty extensive mods now, though a new eye was apparently not among them. Just the necessities to keep you functioning as a computer for Hemlock. There’s a probably a lot to unpack in those details. Let’s get back to that in a minute. Just focus on feeling yourself and your surroundings right now.” And with that the voice placed Tech’s hand on the wrappings around his head.

He traced them over one eye, and around his head. Then he tried to turn his head again. Once again it sent his mind reeling. Tech swallowed hard, trying to keep his stomach from disobeying him.

“Wreck, put your hand under his head. The fact that they didn’t bother to give him a pillow doesn’t seem to be helping him much.”

So his discomfort must be visible. Tech wondered if he “looked green” as Crosshair had once described him when he had nearly lost his lunch after a particularly bad day of training.

Wrecker gently lifted Tech’s head a fraction and slipped his much softer hand beneath it. “Better?”

“Thank you,” Tech mumbled. His voice felt horse. It must have been a while since he’d used it. This seemed to agree with the stranger’s sentiment, indicating that he had indeed been unconscious for several days, minimum.

Slowly, the colors of the room slowed down and stopped swimming around his head. He recognized Wrecker’s large shapes of dark armor, and could see the unfamiliar shapes of the stranger’s armor next to him. Though all he could see was the person’s rough size, no details.

“Sit up… please,” it took less effort to talk this time around. Progress! Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

“You got it!” Wrecker whisper-shouted, helping Tech prop himself up. “Is he okay? Why is it taking so long to get him up?” Wrecker had never been good at being discreet and quiet when it came to worrying over his brothers.

By the looks of things, the dark blobs that he knew to be Wrecker and co. shifted to exchange glances, but said nothing.

“I’m going to touch your face a little, Tech. You’re a little pink and I need to make sure you’re stable. Okay?”

“Wait,” Tech needed more information first, this person was still a stranger. Tech knew he needed to trust his medic, but without the ability to see what his medic was doing that was a lot harder to do, “Who are you?”

“My apologies! Call me Spitfire! Pilot and strategist.” The voice answered.

“She’s Mandalorian!” Wrecker added. Tech zeroed in on the use of identifying pronouns.

She laughed. “Yes, and I’ll gladly tell you more after we get you out of here—” Tech’s grip on the world around him began to slip again as his head throbbed.

Spitfire’s voice close to his ear, but gentle and quiet, dragged him back to the real world again. “I need to make sure you’re stable, I’m going to touch you okay?”

“Kay,” Tech spoke through gritted teeth. He inhaled quickly as her fingers found his temple. Cold. Her fingers were still cold. Then he found himself automatically relaxing into her gentle touch. The cold felt good, and made the pain of the headache a little more bearable. She chuckled, likely reacting to the way he leaned into her cold fingers. And he felt her fingers run through a semi-familiar check up checklist as they danced across his skin: forehead for a fever test, side of his neck to check for an irregular pulse, tilting his chin up and bringing out a flashlight. She moved quickly but thoroughly, though her checklist was slightly different than the algorithm he’d developed.

He could feel Wrecker tensing next to him. Wrecker never did like medical exams, though he also had a tendency to use himself as a sentient shield. Apparently Spitfire had noticed Wrecker’s disposition too.

“He’s okay, Big Guy. Seems like it’s mostly just a nasty headache,” she began addressing Tech more directly, explaining the results of her medical checks. “Your eyes react like normal, and your words aren’t slurred, so no lasting effects of a concussion. Though without your glasses and with the wraps partially over one ear, things might be a little disorienting, and you may still have had a concussion, though you’re okay for now. You’re a little warm, but not warm enough to indicate a fever, so it will likely go away quickly and is probably the result of finally being upright and conscious with adrenaline pumping for the first time in a while. You should also know they seem to have embedded some circuitry in you. You were wired into the central computer. Though Hemlock seems to have learned more than I’d like from Echo’s breakout. Looked like you could only access limited information but no building codes nor structural plans or anything like that?”

“Affirmative. Perhaps even more restricted than that. I was only vaguely aware of Crosshair and Omega’s existence, but could barely access any of my own memories, beyond the things I instinctively knew. I’d surmise… mmmm… mmmmaybe not… headache…” Tech gingerly massaged the pressure points along his temples, careful around the bandages.

“Without knowing more about what specifically was altered, and what they used to keep you unconscious, I am hesitant to give you any medication. We don’t know what effect it will have when it mixes with whatever else is in your system right now. You also need time for your vitals to exist at this new stable conscious state for a little while before we introduce anything new. I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep your brothers safe. Okay?”

Tech nodded a tiny bit. “The others? Where?”

Wrecker gave her a look. Clearly, speaking in partial phrases was not normal for Tech. The pain must have been getting to him.

“I think you know the answer to that,” her voice was quiet and quizzical. This was clearly another test - a concussion test to see what he remembered. Tech tried to look up at the dark shape he knew was this Spitfire person.

“Crosshair, Omega?” He tries.

“That’s right,” she reassures. “We’ll meet up with them on the way out.”

Tech’s world starts to swim.

“It’s okay Genius, Wrecker’s got you. Take it easy.I’ll keep you and your family safe.”

Tech could feel Wrecker’s arm slip around his shoulders, and lift him off the cold table and onto his own two feet. He managed to stay on his feet, though without Wrecker’s support that would have been a lot more difficult.

Once again, Tech’s world shrank to the size of his own mind as he tried to find ways to combat the pain and stay conscious. There were moments when he was aware of his surroundings, and moments where he was only subconsciously aware, but through it all he managed to make his feet automatically shuffle forward with Wrecker.

Here and there, scenes formed themselves around the brothers.

Ping! Mandalorian was right! Tech would know the sound of blaster bolts bouncing off beskar anywhere. Based on the proximity of the sound, she was using her own beskar-clad body to shield both Tech and Wrecker. Tech could see flashes and fresh smudges of carbon scoring on the walls they passed and wondered how many of them had bounced off of her beskar first.

Wrecker made a comment about wanting beskar of his own. Something about his shoulder aching just watching the blast bounce off of her. Tech silently agreed with him. That sounded like a smart idea. If only it was easier to come by. He’d have insisted his brothers all acquire it ages ago. Especially since even when working for the Republic, they seemed to be the ones to get all the reckless jobs.

Then Spitfire is in front of them, popping open a panel in the extensive, white wall beside them. Sparks fly and wires now dangle from the opening in the wall. A door Tech had not been aware of before, slid open. On the other side were familiar voices and shapes. The rest of his brothers, and a small blonde blur that darted for his waist. Omega.

He could feel her shaking, and was vaguely aware that his hip was being used as a tissue for those all too familiar tears. He reached down with his free hand and patted the blonde locks. Her arms relaxed a little, but remained wrapped tightly around his waist.

Crosshair approached, and knelt by Omega, calming her further. Tech didn’t need to be able to see much to know Hunter was puffing out his chest with pride for their brother. Speaking of, Hunter was in front of Tech now. He seemed to be fussing over something, probably the way Tech seemed only partially conscious. Tech tried to pull himself together to answer, but was vaguely aware of only being able to groan and mumble a little. Spitfire gave what was apparently enough of an answer that Hunter backed off a bit, though by the way he continued to hover nearby, Tech could tell he was still worried. Tech did his best to focus on his surroundings and bring himself back to the present moment, for the sake of Hunter’s nerves.

The slightly smaller armoured shape that he knew to be Spitfire was back in Tech’s line of sight. She seemed to be fiddling with a long, thin item in her hands, which she then held out towards Crosshair. Tech concluded she must have been modifying one of her own blasters into sniper configuration for his brother.

Crosshair seemed to finally acknowledge the woman.

“Who are you?” He snarls at her, but accepts the proffered weapon.

Echo appears at Tech’s side, “She’s basically just like him,” Echo pats Tech's shoulder, careful to be gentle, “except female… and cute.” The Domino Twin in Echo breaking the tension in the room before he continues on, “you sure you’re okay, Crosshair?”

Crosshair grumbles and glares, but says no audible words.

“He’s grumpy. He’s fine.” Hunter’s voice! His vocal patterns indicated he was somewhere between annoyed and bemused. “You okay, Tech?” Clearly he was aware that Tech was once again in tune with his surroundings.

“I have had a constant headache since regaining consciousness, but I am otherwise in a suitable state to continue, so long as I retain vertical support during our exfiltration.”

“What do ya know, long-winded, highly-detailed, but complete sentences. He’ll be okay too,” Echo muses.

Someone pats Tech’s shoulder rather roughly this time, and his head pulses again. Tech closes his eyes, he wants to hold his breath at the sudden pain, but knows that won’t help, so instead he focuses on square breathing. To be honest, it is mostly just an attempt to distract himself from the pain and the chaos with a familiar pattern than anything else. While letting Wrecker guide his feet.

Breathe in to the slow count of 4…

hold to the same slow count of 4…

whole breath out in the count of 4…

hold to the count of 4, repeat…

After a few iterations, Tech switches back to normal breathing patterns, and then gets jarred back to reality when it suddenly gets loud and he can feel them getting bumped around. Tech opens his eyes again and is struck by the amount of clone voices and the fact that these clones are not fighting against Clone Force 99. Tech looks to Wrecker, confused.

“We let ‘em all out!” Wrecker booms. “Good ‘ol Cap said he couldn’t leave a job like this half done! They are brothers too, after all.”

Tech nods, and returns to trying to fend off the headache that is threatening to become a migraine if he’s not careful. Especially with all this new chaos alongside them.

As they press on, Tech becomes aware of a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. In an attempt to distract himself from the pain in his head, he tries his best to untangle it via the limited data available to him right now. If only he could see! There were always so many clues in places like this, if only he could observe them!

Suddenly, the start of an answer begins to emerge, and he surfaces from the recesses of his own mind. They’ve been standing still for too long, likely at a control console. Tech has a strange feeling of deja vu, though he’s not entirely sure why, but it definitely has something to do with Crosshair. Without warning the answer dawns on him, as images of Crosshair, alone, collapsing near a control console very much like this one makes it way to the forefront of his mind: they are walking into a trap!

“This is undoubtedly a trap!” Tech exclaims, finger raised to emphasize his point.

“We know,” Hunter speaks loud enough the group can hear him, but soft enough any surveillance equipment would struggle. “We sprung it intentionally, it was the only way to get you 3 out.”

“Yes!” Spitfire seems happy about that, and Tech is grateful when she launches into an explanation of why. “Hemlock made sure that springing it was inevitable. Which meant the part of the plan that really mattered was the part that came after. However, there is no way he could have predicted a Mandalorian on the extraction team, nor my specific skillset, even if he did entertain the idea of you lot teaming up with a Mandalorian. Therefore, my skills represented a wildcard that we could not reveal to him until after we had sprung the trap!” She takes a breath, ready to continue on, but Crosshair gets there first.

Acknowledging Echo’s earlier comment by looking directly at him, Crosshair addresses the group. “This is getting out of hand, now there are two of them!”

“You got that right!” Wrecker laughs.

Crosshair sighs. “So how do you usually get out of the big messes you make now?” exasperation and a longing to have been with them dripping from every word.

“We don’t,” to everyone’s surprise, it’s Omega’s voice that answers, “we make a bigger mess that cancels out the first one!”

Tech can tell Hunter’s helmet is turning slowly towards Omega, Hunter’s hands making a ‘hey!’ gesture. This must be the expression Omega had once described to Tech as a “sarcastically offended Dad face”, based on her laughter. It was good to hear such a happy sound again.

Tech wonders how long it has been since she had laughed like that. Which, in turn, prompts another question: just how long the 3 of them have been stuck here? Tech turns his mind inwards for a moment. He knows Omega arrived not long after he did. He saw her arrive at Crosshair’s cell via security camera feed. He remembered Hemlock’s voice telling him his effort to protect his family was in vain, that she was all that was left, but he was glad he had not believed Hemlock. His family was clearly alive now. But no matter how hard he tries, there’s no sense of time attached to all the memories after the fall… Spitfire was right. Hemlock had learned a lot from Echo’s escape, and had made sure to keep Tech disconnected and in the dark. It felt like everything the sadistic ‘doctor’ had done was as poisonous as his name implied. Tech wondered if the name ‘Hemlock’ was even the man’s given name. It fit him far too well to be a coincidence.

Once again loud noises draw Tech from his revelations.

“Oh look!” Echo’s voice is the first thing Tech hear’s clearly. Echo is clearly amused, “they’re lining up for us!”

“They’re excited,” Wrecker returns the jest.

“On my belt.” Hunter’s hip shifts towards Crosshair as they stand in front of Wreck and Tech. Crosshair pulls something from Hunter’s utility belt, and Tech notices it glints in the light. Crosshair’s reflector pucks! Crosshair holds the puck in front of Tech’s nose, but does not address him.

“Throw it to the end of the corridor,” he instructs, never taking his eyes off the targets. Something about the way he’d deliberately brandished it in front of Tech’s face indicated that this was Crosshair's attempt to keep Tech in the loop despite his lack of certain faculties at the moment.

“You got it!” Wrecker reaches for the puck.

Tech feels Echo’s arm shifting Tech’s weight off of Wrecker. He complies with the shift, wishing he could do more than just follow lamely like a lost massiff puppy. Though it was comforting to hear his brother’s banter pick up like nothing had changed, and he was grateful for Crosshair’s silent efforts to keep him in the loop.

With a single shot from Crosshair, the corridor falls eerily quiet. Crosshair turns to Hunter, Tech can only guess that he’s likely raising his eyebrows to ask when that “bigger mess” is coming into play.

There’s a hissing sound, and the hallway begins to fill with something foggy from the grates in the ceiling.

Crosshair points up. “That’s a trap. Hemlock is immune.”

Hunter tosses something to Crosshair and Spitfire from his pack, and then extracts 1 more, turning to Omega.

Spitfire approaches Tech with the item, “respiratory mask!” She explains, placing it over his nose and mouth. “They took your helmet, but we’ll build you a new one,” these words are only loud enough that Tech can hear them. And they make a small smile cross his lips for a moment, between the surges of pain in his head.

Tech zones out again, mind jumping between thoughts with little to no consistency. It seems likely that he is also still a little loopy from whatever they used to keep him unconscious and compliant, but his brothers and Spitfire have everything covered for the time being. He can let his mind explore the various scenarios as long as he stays conscious during the exfiltration.

It’s likely that the resurgence of the headaches is related to the toxin pouring from the ceiling.

Hmm, more evidence that Hemlock is a chosen name and not a given one. Next time he won’t take such a clearly carefully selected name for granted. It’s almost like Hemlock wanted people to know what he was good at.

If Tech had his gear he’d take notes. His gear. Tech wondered what Hemlock had done with his helmet… and his datapad… and his helmet… how much had the people here learned about him and his brothers, or had Tech’s own safety measures prevented them from learning anything?

Had any of the data the Empire had retrieved from Tech’s own work gotten back to his brothers? Is that how they were able to find them? Endless questions… always endless questions… Tech made a mental note to ask Echo about it all later. Hunter too, but Echo was better at included the details Tech wanted in the first go around.

A raucous but familiar giggle over the intercom breaks through the haze of the hallway that mirrored the haze in Tech’s mind.

“Your turn 99’s! Ready or not, here I come!”

Normally, a sentiment like that would have put Tech on high alert, but the voice that said it was one Tech knew he could trust with the lives of his brothers. Captain Gregor! Which meant that Captain Rex was also likely nearby, probably orchestrating the brothers that once clamored through the hallways with them. It was instances like this that showed how much Rex cared, determined to protect all their brothers. That was what assured Tech that Rex was a leader worthy of his title.

Tech isn’t sure how much time passes, just that he is vaguely proud of Omega for something that seems to help neutralize the toxin descending from the ceiling and accumulating as a foggy drift at their feet. Tech watches it swirl as they start to move again.

After a few moments as foggy as the clouds drifting around their ankles, Tech is aware that he was witnessed an explosion and is not standing anymore. That jolts him back to his senses. But what he finds is not what he expects to find.

Echo and Wrecker seem to be sitting Tech on a soft bench. The calming of the chaos around them would suggest they are now safely out of Hemlock’s facility and onboard a ship of some kind. Tech puts a hand on the bench he sits on and feels around. A medbay bench. Probably a smart idea. Tech doubted he was “ship-shaped” anymore as Hunter had once described it.

That new voice is again near Tech, but he knows his brothers are still nearby too. The voice says something about “might sting” and “hang in there”, and Tech feels a sharp pain in his neck. Tech flinches, sitting up straighter, and feels his senses once again tune into the world around him. This time with less effort on his part.

“All aboard?” Gregor's voice rings out from the cockpit. Hunter’s still-blurry shape disappears in the direction of Gregor's voice.

Tech even notices when the ship jumps to hyperspace!

“Is that better?” Spitfire asks, turning back to him, one hand still on his cheek, but not so cold this time around.

“Significantly,” Tech answers, the pain subsiding rapidly, “I take it you were able to successfully determine whether my modifications could handle standard migraine medication and administer it?”

She laughs, “Yes, and it seems to have worked wonders. We were all worried about you there. You started to fade again after that last booby trap. How are you feeling now?”

“I believe we made the jump to hyperspace a moment ago?” He asks.

“Yes we did!” Spitfire answers.

Wrecker cheers behind her.

“Is there any chance you have been able to fabricate another pair of my goggles? I would like to see my environment.”

“I’m afraid not. I’m glad you seem to remember you had your spare pair on you, though. But we’ve been a little more focused on finding you than making new lenses. Though, we have the frames, and I was able to locate your notes on your prescription on your datapad, so I’m sure we will be able to pull something together. For now, let’s get everyone patched up. We’re on our way to a secret medical facility, courtesy of the Alderaanean senators, but if we can give everyone a once over before we get there it will save time in the long run, and we will know for certain who needs first priority.”

Behind her, raised voices begin to echo in the small cabin, naturally summoning Echo to calm them.

“Crosshair! Hunter! Enough! Yes, we sold the 733. Yes, we are sorry. No, we didn’t have a choice. You know damn well Hunter wouldn’t have sold it without good reason, none of us would have. Haran [hell], he even sold me as a droid. Calm down. We’re all here. That’s what matters.”

“Good to know being brothers matters so much to you,” Crosshair spits out, reluctant to give up his grudge.

“I wasn’t gonna–” Hunger starts, continuing the argument in true brotherly fashion.

“ENOUGH!” Echo interrupts, “Again, we have the whole squad back now. Can we just focus on that? I’m getting a headache just listening to you two.”

“Family,” Omega’s voice is smaller than usual, but she still pipes up.

“What?” Hunter asks.

“Family. Echo said squad,” she turns to him, “but you meant family.”

Echo smiles and kneels in front of her, “You’re right kid. I did mean family.” And he scoops her into a big hug.

Tech releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His family is safe now. At least that checklist that had started amidst the darkness was now complete. He had found his way out of the darkness. He had his family back. And he and his family were all safe. He could relax and focus on other things now.

(Part 4)

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