#and my mom said to me at ten pm. when it’s pitch black out. after i’d already showered. to go out and get it. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shuahoonie · 4 years

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you [tom holland] - eight.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! some fluff here, some angst there. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! also, their relationship is improving yall 🤧

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

SONG INSPO: mxmtoon - used to you

A/N: surprise! I actually updated after five/six months??? a lot of things have happened during the time that I was gone. most of it revolved around my mental health and uni. not a great time to have a career crisis whilst living in the middle of a pandemic lmao.

the last time i updated, i gave you guys the gift of fluff. maybe i should tone down a bit? or maybe not? i’m also sorry if this took ages. had an awful writer’s block. oooh, also i wrote an interview excerpt for this chapter. i added a link if you wanted to read it but no pressure! it’s just a lil’ sumn sumn :) anyway, enjoy reading!

hope you guys are safe & healthy! keep practicing social distancing and please wear your masks! sending all my love ♡

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST WHENEVER I CAN

gif credits: @tommybabyholland

Your friends have told you countless times to bite the bullet, however, you’ve seemed to swallow it instead. Here you were, lying in the same bed with Tom Holland, mere inches against each other.

If anyone told you that you would be lying on the same bed as the guy you swore you hated a few months ago, you’d probably laugh at their face.

You were definitely considering that maybe this whole fake dating thing wasn’t such a horrid idea after all.

The room was dimmed to almost pitch black now. You could see a small streak of light peering from the curtains, probably from all of the street lights outside, allowing you to at least see something. You were exhausted but somehow you couldn’t sleep at the same time.

The only reasonable thing that you could put your blame into was your heart, which was beating quite rapidly, by the way. You didn’t even know why you felt this nervous around him, it’s not like he’s a complete stranger.

You’ve known Tom for a good two months—two and a half if you want to be specific. You picked up on his little quirks: his eyes crinkle when he laughs genuinely, he doesn’t like that much sugar in his tea. He likes his dog, Tessa, very much which you were already a goner for. He also hums when he’s happy which surprised you one day, not knowing what to do with that information.

You also found out that his hands were always cold, which always startles you as your hands were extremely warm. Like right now, you could feel his fingertips grazing upon yours. As if your heart can handle even more of your emotions right now.

You were confused as to why you were extremely nervous around him all of a sudden. Is it because this is the first time your sharing a bed with your pretend boyfriend? Is it because the last time you shared a bed with someone who you had no relation to is with your ex-boyfriend?

It was driving you insane and you really had to get it together. You were both lying on your backs so all you could stare at was the empty ceiling. You took a quick look at Tom, who was already sleeping.

Ah, so he snores. You made a mental note to yourself, wondering how you can use that information and pester him with it. He didn’t have loud snores, just soft ones but still loud for you to hear.

You turned your body and lain on your side, choosing to face Tom. He really looked peaceful sleeping and the sight of him be at peace was enough to calm you down.

With that, you found your eyes slowly start to droop down. The image of Tom sleeping soundly was the last thing you saw before you drifted off to sleep.

You noticed three things as soon as you woke up. You still had your eyes shut, only because you refuse to accept that it was already a new day.

The first thing you noticed was the annoying alarm tone that kept ringing on the bedside table. One of these days, I’ll end up throwing and smashing my phone.

The second thing was how hot warm you felt. You felt the heat radiating beside you and you weren’t exactly used to it. You like the feeling of sleeping in a cold room while also burying yourself with blankets.

The third thing you noticed was the pair of arms wrapped around you. As you slowly opened your eyes, you were greeted by the extremely close proximity that you shared with Tom.

You found yourself cuddling Tom. Your head was resting in between his chest and his arm—the same arm that was wrapped around you. In the meanwhile, Tom’s other hand was resting on the side of your face, building the illusion that he may have caressed the side of your face.

You, on the other hand, had your left arm resting on top of his chest while the other was tucked underneath the pillow.

You wondered how the hell you ended up in this position, but knowing how you move a lot in your sleep, you probably initiated this in the first place. You also wondered how Tom can sleep through this annoying alarm, especially since it kept ringing every ten minutes.

Tilting your head up a bit, your eyes met the sight of his lips. However, from this angle, you could also clearly see the freckles speckled on his face. With the beaming sun and its fight to fill the room with light against the corners of the curtains, it only made things worse for you. Tom, with his body outlined by the light, absolutely looked angelic—as if the universe only favoured him and him alone.

You slowly reached for his hand and removed it from the corner of your neck, carefully resting it on top of his stomach. After successfully doing so, comes the real challenge. You slowly released yourself from the grip of his arm and tried your best to get out of the bed without waking Tom up.

Your logic? It would be rude to wake someone up from their sleep—especially when they can’t be bothered to be woken up by the alarm anyway. You also wanted this moment for yourself. You thought that it was best if Tom had no recollection of waking up to you two cuddling, acting as a true couple when there are no cameras around you.

You walked to the bathroom to get yourself ready. You had a whole day of photoshoots and you also had to squeeze in a couple of interviews after. You didn’t want to miss your best friend’s wedding so you had to do whatever you can in order to balance your social life and work.

You already knew that you were going to be exhausted for today and you love your job, you really do, but sometimes you wished that you could catch a break without losing sleep for the next couple of days.

After taking a long hot shower and doing your essential skin routine—knowing that this is the only form of relaxation you’re going to get for the next couple of days— you slipped into a pair of mom jeans and a loose shirt. You packed this much because you knew you wouldn’t get the chance to drive home anyway.

Just as you stepped out of the bathroom, your phone buzzed in your hand and saw a text from your manager.

Zoë: On my way to the hotel! I will be there in 20 mins or so. Be sure that you’re ready so we can get going.

“Oh, you’re already good to go?” You looked up from your phone and saw Tom yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was still wearing your sweatpants and he was still shirtless.

You nodded. “Zoë’s picking me up.” You replied as you tidied the bed. It took you a couple of minutes before the words you said just sunk in. “Oh god, Zoë’s picking me up.” You repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah?” Tom chuckled, seemingly lost as to what you were trying to point out.

“She doesn't really know that you slept with me.” You said but as soon as you realized what you just said, you knew you fucked up. You saw Tom smirking at you which only prompted you to hit him with the pillow. “I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo.”

“Oh, sure.” He teased as he put on his shirt. “I mean I’m pretty sure that I’m not the one who practically clung to a person while sleeping.”

“Shut up, Holland. You know I move a lot when I sleep.” You muttered as a pathetic excuse to hopefully shut him up.

“To be quite fair, I didn’t know that you do that whenever you sleep, but it’s nice to know that now.” He grinned.

“Oh god,” You groaned. “Let’s just go so I can check out now. Zoë’s going to be here soon and I want you gone asap.” You said as you glanced around the room just so you know you didn’t leave anything behind.

“Wait, what about your sweatpants?”

“Just give it to me the next time you see me.” You said as you pulled him out of the room and made your way to the front desk.

It turns out Zoë had no concept of time. As soon as you finished checking out, you saw your manager already waiting in the lobby. Oh, you recognized her big blonde hair from anywhere. She was sitting in one of the plush sofas, dressed in a white romper and even had her cat-eye sunglasses on. She looked like she’s about to catch her husband having an affair.

“Ah, Y/N,” She said with a huge smile. “Thanks but you should know if that ever were to happen, I would pick something more flashy.”

Oh, I said that out loud?! You practically yelled at yourself.

“We should get going, honey, we’ll grab you some breakfast on the way.” Zoë fixed the stray strands of your hair. You couldn’t be bothered to do your hair knowing that the stylists are going to give it hell anyway, so you just tied it in a low ponytail.

“Um,” You didn’t even know how to say it. Where you even going to bring Tom up? If so, what were you going to say anyway? That you spent a night with your pretend boyfriend? Which shouldn’t be a huge deal but you were sure that your stunt doesn’t involve actually falling for each other.

“Tom,” Zoë’s pitch went a bit higher, surprised to see Tom standing behind you. “What’re you doing here, hon?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, I-”

“He spent the night with me. Tom was exhausted and it wasn’t safe for him to drive last night, so I asked him to stay.” You explained, cutting Tom off. You just wanted to get it over with and you were bound to face the storm sooner or later anyway.

Zoë stared at the two of you for a moment, an undistinguishable look painted all over her face. You took a quick look at Tom who was also observing your manager’s reaction.

However, she chose to drop it. “Alright, c’mon, honey. You have a long day today.” Your manager said after she flashed Tom a smile and turned around, leaving you both relieved.

As you watched your manager leave and walk towards her vehicle, you turned to Tom and said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?”

Tom smiled and nodded, “I’ll see you soon, my darling.” He said softly.

You felt your cheeks start to burn again so you did what you always do whenever you don’t know how to respond or when you’re just plain embarrassed—walk away and practically scream inside your head.

You were walking—sprinting, more like— towards the vehicle and when you got in, you were greeted with a big smile by Zoë. It terrified you.

“Y/N, hon,” She initiated with a soft voice. “You know sooner or later this stunt will all come to an end right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You answered, slightly confused as to why this was brought up all of a sudden.

“Okay, good, good...” Zoë trailed off. “I just—I see how things may escalate and I don’t want to see you hurt, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know.” You acknowledged, though this time you said it in a whisper. It was day 78 that you came clean to yourself and realized maybe you were developing a tiny crush on Tom.

The people from the magazine were doing a feature story on you. Not only that you were going to be on the cover of the magazine, but you were also going to get a ten-page spread that included an interview. The whole theme of the issue was individuality so your spread had to be rooted from your style, so the outfits, the makeup, and hair had to base off of you as a concept while still adding an editorial element to it.

You were already wearing the third outfit, wearing a pink frilly floral dress and it had hand-stitched and delicately placed flowers for the details—in which the outfit was inspired by your character in your tv series.

You were waiting for your hair and makeup to be done at the same time. The set was going to be in a pool so you also had to have your manicure and pedicure done. Basically, you had no control over your body.

“How are you doing, hon?” Zoë asked as she passed by your chair.

“’m still okay,” You mumbled. “Can I take a sip from my coffee though?”

Maria’s, the nail tech for this shoot, eyes went wide. “Your nails aren’t dry yet,” She pointed out.

“Please, Maria?” You pouted. You were literally about to pass out from exhaustion and you still had a full day ahead.

Maria rolled her eyes and gave in. “Fine, I’ll hold the cup.” She said before she grabbed your coffee from your manager.

As you happily indulged the coffee, you heard Ruby, the makeup artist, let out a sigh behind you.“Y/N, I just did your makeup.”

“Nothing bad happened! I just need to reapply the lipstick, it’s okay.” You quickly defended.

“Child, you are going to be the death of me,” Ruby mumbled loud enough for the two of you. “You’re lucky I like you because if my other clients did this I would’ve grabbed their coffee and then they would’ve gone full diva on me.”

You just gave her a huge smile before she reapplied your lipstick. The hairstylist just finished doing your hair, pinning tiny flowers all over your hair and having them scattered all over. You couldn’t believe that you had flowers all over your hair again—which only reminded you of Tom and what happened last night.

Last night felt so surreal. It was the first time you two didn’t have knives on each other’s necks. It was the first time you felt comfortable around him and the experience was very intimate, it almost drove you mad.

However, your manager’s words echoed back at you. It’s all a stunt and it will come to an end.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” The photographer asked, breaking up your thoughts. Am I?

From pink frilly dresses to big tan sherpa coats, you were finally done with the photo shoot. The shoot went on for hours and all you wanted to do was to get rid of everything that your skin and hair had to endure. However, it doesn’t end there. You still had to do a short interview for the magazine.

You were still wearing one of the outfits you had for the shoot—a black tube-top jumpsuit that clung into your body like second skin, along with tall pencil-heeled black pumps. This was definitely far from comfortable nor is it something that you’d wear, but you did like how it looked on you. “I look like the cold-hearted editor-in-chief in a magazine from a Hallmark movie” was all you said when you looked in the mirror.

You had to excuse yourself from the young journalist who patiently waited for you as your photoshoot ran a bit late. She was drinking the coffee that you had given her—a small token of an apology for the time she probably wasted waiting.

She gladly understood and went on with the interview. You were glad to do so anyway since you’re embarrassed for making her wait. You were asked about Amelia, the character that you play in the show Alchemist.

As Y/N eased into the interview, still wearing one of her outfits from the photoshoot, she was asked about her resonation with her character. “I see only tiny bits of myself as her—that being hard-headed and using self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism,” she answered with a small laugh.

You were also asked about your personal struggle between dropping out of school—potentially ruining your future— and your unstable acting career.

She thought she possibly made a huge mistake of ruining her future. Luckily, Y/N received a casting call for the show Alchemist. “I still believe it’s pure luck. I’m lucky that I got the part and the show helped me shape my career, however, I can’t deny that I was really close to giving up.”

Of course, the current state of your love life had to be included.

“Yeah, I am seeing someone.” Y/N admits with a soft smile. “People know who he is and frankly, I don’t think I have to explicitly say his name as who I date shouldn’t be anyone’s business.” Her cheeks were flushed red as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Y/N was kind enough to explain that she didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but she still stands firm with her words.

You quickly and kindly expressed to the journalist that you mean well. You had no intention of being rude or for it to sound rude, but you still hold true to your words. The journalist was kind enough to understand your sentiments regarding this.

The interview ended in a breeze and you were absolutely longing for the time when you can take a nice long bath. You quickly thanked the journalist as she bid her way goodbye.

You can only hope that this cover issue finds you well.

Time went by slowly and yet very quickly at the same time. You haven’t seen any of your friends for a couple of weeks as you’ve been occupied by filming, doing interviews, and photoshoots.

You haven’t seen Tom in quite a while too—which you didn’t mind. You actually used this time to reevaluate your uncertain feelings for him. People at set didn’t seem to notice that he rarely showed up at your shoots—at least if they did, they would just assume that he’s busy since he did have an endless list of projects.

As you were still uncertain about where your feelings lie with Tom, you chose this time to at least try and forget about him. Admittedly, it was difficult since people would always bring him up at some point or he would just be everywhere on social media.

This time apart from Tom did give you a sense of peace. You weren’t in the constant state of practically having a heart attack around him, no matter how cliché it sounds. You hated that he had this effect on you but you had to act like everything’s fine—hoping that you’re doing a damn well job because acting is how you put food on the table.

However, just like the opening lyrics of One Direction’s most gut-wrenching song, Love You Goodbye, mentioned: “It’s inevitable, everything that’s good comes to an end.”

And boy, did it end alright.

Ronnie: pls tell me it’s actually ur day off bc I really plan on having dinner with u. 🥺

You were about to have a long, relaxing bath (infused with epsom salts of course) when you read the text from your best friend. You were longing for this heaven-like bath and there’s no way you’re going to pass it up.

You: technically yes. the shoot ran till morning but all i’ve done since then was sleep. I'm about to take a bath tho & not planning to get out until i turn into a human prune lmao

Ronnie: ok! I'll buy us dinner, any suggestions?

You: really craving for some hearty Korean food rn 🤧

Ronnie: gotcha! I'll get u ur usual, do u want me to buy drinks too?

You were still debating whether to go drinking tonight when your phone pinged, indicating a text.

Ronnie: babes you’re taking too long. I'm getting us drinks.

You: guess there’s no way out then lmao

Ronnie: oh u bet. I'll be there in an hour-ish, maybe earlier.

You: might still be in the bath when u arrive. 😬

Ronnie: nah you’re ok haha. I have keys anyway and I'll make myself at home but u already knew that. 😌

You rolled your eyes but still had a smile on your face. You eventually gave Veronica some duplicates as she was constantly popping by anyway. It didn’t make sense for both of you to keep Ronnie out, waiting for you to come home when you could easily just give her some keys. At some point, you even asked her to move in. She is dancing around the idea though.

Turning your phone off, you stepped into your epsom-salt-bubble bath—ready to shut off from the world and embrace the relaxation.

After strategically propping your laptop at the bathroom counter, you’ve managed to finish two episodes of New Girl whilst you were in the tub. You could’ve used the bathtub tray that Olivia got you for your birthday, but you couldn’t trust yourself with that type of risk—no matter how careful you were.

It wasn’t long when you heard a small commotion coming from the living room. You had your eyebrows furrowed, surely it was just Ronnie who’s dropping by today. Unless she invited Olivia too?

Stepping out of the tub, you wrapped a towel around your body. You shut off your laptop and grabbed your phone before you left the bathroom.

“Ronnie?” You called out above the chatter from the living room. “Ronnie, is that you?”

“Yeah, right here, babes!” You heard her yell back. Upon reaching the living room, you saw Ronnie setting the food down on the table with Harrison putting the drinks down. “Oh, hey! I got us bibimbap and tteokbokki from Kim’s Kitchen. I also asked for extra kimchi because that is to die for.” Veronica exclaimed with a huge smile. “Oh and Mrs. Kim says hi.”

You forced a huge smile in response, turning to your best friend and subtly motioning at Harrison who was standing beside her.

“Oh! oh! Y/N, I hope you don’t mind that I invited them. They called me the same time as I texted you and I figured you wouldn’t mind because we’re all friends here, right?” Veronica smiled nervously.

“A head’s up would’ve been nice, because...” You motioned to yourself, pointing out that you were still in your towel. “I mean it is my home and I should dress however I want but obviously you got your boyfriend here. The least I could do is look presentable.”

Harrison turned red and so did Veronica. “Y/N, Harrison is not my boy—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll go get changed.” You rolled your eyes and dismissed the entire thing. What can you do, kick them out? Wait—

“Wait, did you say “them” earlier? Is anyone else coming?” You asked.

“Uh...” Veronica was looking for the right words to say until her eyes met someone else’s and looked right past you.

You turned around and saw Tom standing in the middle of the room, holding plates and cutlery from your kitchen. Pinching the bridge of your nose to prevent the emerging migraine you’re about to endure and closed your eyes, you took a deep breath.

“Uh—Hi, Y/N” Tom waved shyly. That’s all it took. All of those repressed feelings that you were trying to fight off were coming back. With your heart beating furiously, you knew you were a goner and you hated that.

“Hi Tom,” you muttered. You two haven’t spoken to each other in a while since the morning after the wedding. God, this is awkward.

You caught his eyes flickered to your body and put his head down, walking towards Harrison and Veronica, avoiding eye contact. You realized you were still in your towel, turning red. “Uh, I’ll go get changed.” You muttered, practically running towards your room to change.

You were changing into an oversized shirt and into some leggings when you heard a knock from the door. “I’m decent!” You yelled.

The door slowly opened, Tom peering from the other side.

“Oh, hey.” You greeted him as he slowly went inside your room. He was looking around, observing your room. Your bedroom wasn’t special but it’s your favourite place. The walls were painted white—which is why when the sun beams through your windows, it bounces off through the walls and illuminates your entire room. Your room consisted of white furniture and bedding, but you made up for it by putting numerous plants all over your room and using earthy tones such as blankets and decorative pillows as accents.

“Hey,” Tom stepped a bit closer “Sorry about earlier. If I knew you’d feel uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have come.” He apologized.

“No, you’re good. I guess I was just caught by surprise.” You quickly dismissed.

There was an odd silence. Is this what happens when you don’t talk for quite a while?

“Oh, I also wanted to give you this,” Tom said, handing you the sweatpants that he borrowed a while ago. The cursed night that brought you closer to each other, literally. Grabbing the neatly folded pants, your fingers gently grazed upon his—the first time you had physical contact ever since that night. “Don’t worry, I washed it.” He added.

“Eh, I think I’ll wash it again just to make sure.” You joked, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

Tom let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” You heard him say as you put your hair into a loose ponytail.

“For what?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“I wasn’t exactly the finest “boyfriend” in the world.” He explained, putting air quotes on the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’d say I was busy but I should’ve made time.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, Tom.” You turned around to place the pants inside the drawer. “It’s not like you’re my actual boyfriend anyway.” You laughed awkwardly.

For some reason, that last sentence left an unpleasant feeling on you. Why are you longing for Tom anyway? Are you that deprived?

Tom let out an awkward chuckle and mumbled a quiet “yeah,”

There it is again. That awkward silence. Will this last for the entire night because this is going to be exhausting?

All of a sudden, Tom looked at you with a smile. “Why are we being weird?” Tom asked, laughing.

“Yeah, I don’t even know either,” You couldn't help but laugh as well. “I’m definitely not used to you being this quiet.”

“Are you saying that you missed it then?” He asked with a smirk. “Better yet are you saying that you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes. There’s the Tom that you knew. “I wouldn’t go that far, Tom.” You replied, fighting off a smile.

“’m just teasing, darling,” He laughed softly. “So, should we just forget everything and just be friends?” He asked, offering his hand.

You were about to reply when you heard a loud knock from the other side of the door. “Oi, are you two making out in there?” You heard Veronica yell obnoxiously from the other side.

“Veronica!” You shrieked out of pure embarrassment. You felt your face turning red, as if like you’re a preteen caught with her crush.

You pulled the door open and dragged Tom outside out of pure embarrassment, only to meet Veronica and Harrison who were leisurely sitting by the couch, trying to fight off their smirks.

“Food’s getting cold,” Harrison said innocently as you glared at the both of them.

“I see that you two are getting close,” Veronica commented eyeing both of your hands that were still clasped.

“I—uh,” You’re at a loss for words. You forgot the calm feeling of how Tom’s hands felt against yours.

You were about to let go when Tom raised both of your hands to show Haz and Ronnie. “I like holding her hand, it’s always so warm,” Tom commented with a soft smile. “One of the perks of fake dating, Y/N.”

Veronica took a good look at you while you were busy staring at Tom. Ronnie knows that stare of yours and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t know whether to feel happy or anxious for you.

“Yeah, that is until your hands get damp.” You teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s just eat.” You said as you grabbed a cushion and sat on the floor.

“Okay, so what are we having?” Tom asked as he stared at the table full of Korean dishes.

“Well, I ordered each of us a bowl of bibimbap because I have no clue what you two like to eat” Ronnie said, pertaining to Tom and Harrison. She handed them each a bowl. “They’re all beef, by the way—oh except for Y/N’s, she has chicken.”

“Have you had bibimbap before?” You asked Tom who was behind you, sitting on the couch.

He shook his head in response, grabbing a cushion and opted to sit on the floor, right next to you. “I’ve had Korean BBQ before, does that count?”

“Not quite,” You laughed. “Here, I’ll add some chilli paste.”

“Darling, don’t add too much—” Tom argued while trying to grab the chilli paste from your hands. He ended just holding onto your hand instead.

“C’mon, it’s better when it’s spicy!” You defended, trying to squeeze more into his bowl.

“Are you sure you’re not adding that much because you hate me?” You could feel the close proximity of his face against yours.

“Oh, please,” You turned to face him “I could never hate you, Tommy.” You blinking innocently, trying to hide the fact that he’s literally inches away from you.

While you and Tom are practically exploring this whole new territory of closeness, Veronica was quietly watching it unfold in front of her eyes.

“They seem to be getting along quite well,” Harrison commented before shoving a spoon into his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe too well.” Veronica murmured, still staring at the couple in front of her.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Haz asked with a raised eyebrow. Curious.

Veronica couldn’t answer. Is it really a bad thing or was she just being overprotective? She should be happy for her friend! Heck, she should be happy that you and Tom were finally getting along for once.

Veronica chose to just look past it and accept the situation for what it is for now: a miracle.

“I guess not,” Veronica answered, smiling softly at Harrison who gladly smiled in return.

“Dinner was spectacular,” Tom commented with a smile “Well done, Ronnie.”

“Oh—psh!” Ronnie waved her hand nonchalantly, “That was nothing.”

“Yeah, because Mrs. Kim prepared all of it” You argued jokingly. “Besides, I suggested that we should have Korean cuisine tonight.”

“Then I guess I should thank you, Y/N,” Tom grabbed the sides of your face and squished your cheeks. “Thanks, darling.” He grinned.

You scrunched your face and took his hand away. “You’re annoying,” You told Tom while gathering the plates, starting to clear the table.

“I’ll get that, Y/N,” Harrison said while grabbing the plates from you. “I’ll do the dishes, you lot just stay put here.”

“Ooh, I’ll help!” Veronica stood up to help Harrison.

“No, it’s fine. Just stay there, Ronnie. It’s okay.” Harrison replied, his tone of voice suddenly warm towards Veronica.

“You’re so sweet,” Veronica said in awe. “But that won’t work for me, babe. I’ll help you, it’s totally okay.” She insisted, clearing the rest of the table and following Harrison towards the kitchen.

You were about to head into the spare bedroom when you felt Tom wrap his hands around yours. “Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m just going to grab something,” You replied, “Even if I try to get away from you, I couldn’t. Trust me.” You teased.

Tom nodded understandably, letting go of your hand.

As you were on your way to the spare room, you couldn’t help but mumble “Why’s he being so clingy all of a sudden? Is this what he’s like to his friends?” You chose to shake off your thoughts against your better judgment.

“What’s that?” Tom asked as soon as you entered the living room.

“A bean bag chair,” You answered, dropping it in front of him. “So you can stop hogging my place on the sofa.”

“Aw, you got a bean bag chair just for me?” He asked with a huge grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t buy it just for you, dumb ass.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” He grinned. “Whatever you say.” Tom then sat on the bean bag chair, except he sat at the very upper part of it and tried to keep his balance whilst doing so.

This is the most boyish thing you’ve seen Tom do—no fancy clothing, no assistants around him, no cameras, none of it. He looked like an average guy, doing silly and harmless things, who’s just trying to have fun.

With that in mind, you couldn’t help but pull your phone out and film him doing so. Eventually, he caught on and saw that you had your phone out, giving a smile.

Laughing, you said, “That’s not how you sit on it!”

“I’ll sit on it however I want,” He teased. You quit filming and decided to upload the clip on your Instagram story. It was cute, pure, and authentic. Three words that you swore you wouldn’t use when pertaining to you and Tom.

This fake dating thing is getting harder and harder. Seeing that you and Tom finally decided to act friendly around each other, it’s definitely going to provoke the feelings you were trying to suppress from him.

“Okay, so I got bottles of soju.” Veronica announced while wiping her hands with the kitchen towel. “Anyone up for a Paranoia drinking game?” She asked with a smirk.

“Why must we play a game while drinking?” You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I think it’ll be fun, Y/N.” Tom commented. “This is the right moment to build a tight bond with each other.”

“Yeah, because nothing says bonding like alcohol and using repressed feelings.” You mumbled.

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me-and-your-husband · 4 years

Text

Honey, I’m Home (Part 2)

Summary: After Steve went on the run from the government after the events of civil war, you await the day you can see him and your daughter again. When that day comes, a new hope s found.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Dad!Steve Rogers, Mom!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, bearded steve

Word Count: 2.1k

Part 1

Sam opened the back door of the black Cadillac Escalade for me to take a seat inside. I did so as Bucky took his place in the passenger’s seat. When Sam got in, he started the car, put his seatbelt on, and put the car into drive. We sat in silence for a few moments, before I finally spoke up, the empty noise becoming too much to avoid.

“Where are we going?” I questioned as Sam’s eyes briefly met mine in the rearview mirror. Bucky drew a deep breath and huffed it out.

“After what happened at the airport, we brought Jane to a safehouse in Germany. After everything transpired and Steve broke the rest of the team out of custody, we all became fugitives. We’ve been on the run for the past year and a half,” Bucky clarified.

“Steve and Jane are in another safe house in the Canadian Rockies with the rest of the team that were on his side,” Sam added. I hummed in understanding and turned my face to look out the window.

Soon after, we were boarding a plane, using fake passports, of course. Once the plane successfully took off, Bucky put on a set of headphones and Sam nodded off. I noticed a small pad of paper and a pen in the seat pouch in front of me, and so I took it out and began sketching. My hand danced around the rough paper, crossing over lines and margins. I sketched from memory, and from what I remembered my daughter to look like.

I stared down at the completed sketch, coming out quite like the way I remembered three-year-old Jane. It was not as smooth and professional as Steve’s sketches, but you could still be impressed by it. My eyes started to fill with tears, the realization finally hitting me like a tsunami hits a small island.

I was finally going to see my family. After all this waiting, suffering, I was finally going to run my fingers through my daughter’s hair and tell her it was going to be alright. I was finally going to kiss my husband goodnight after a day of playing games at the beach and having a family picnic. I was finally going to have back the life that I missed so dearly.

I let a few tears make their way down my cheeks, before wiping them discreetly with the back of my hand. I looked to my right to see Bucky slipping his headphones off, a loft jazz tune revealing what he was listening to. Steve listened to the same type of music. It reminded him of a time when things were not so complicated.

“She looks almost identical to you, now,” Bucky said, staring down at the drawing on my lap. “She still has Steve’s blue eyes and blonde hair, but if not those then she would be your twin,” Bucky said as a smile crept onto my face, just imagining her. My five-year -old girl. My five-year-old girl. So much time has passed.

I sit in silence and can’t help but wonder to myself the worst. What if she doesn’t remember me? She will. She has to, right? I’m her mother, there’s some type of bond there where you just, know, right?

My overthinking is interrupted by the flight attendant letting us know we’re landing over the intercom.

When we land, I get out and am immediately glad I decided to wear a jacket. I never really believed people when they said that Canada was that cold, until now. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to create some friction induced heat, but that did little. Luckily, Sam packed accordingly.

“Here, put these on over your clothes,” he said as he handed me a fluffy parka, a pair of sweatpants, a weird beanie (which I would later find out they called “toques” in Canada), some mittens, and winter boots.

“People actually live in the cold like this?” I queried, to which both Sam and Bucky chortled.

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, we’ve been doing it for the past couple of months,” Sam stated.

“You think this is cold? Try spending a winter in Saskatchewan, Jesus, it’s got nothin’ on Alberta,” Bucky added.

“Is that where we are?” I questioned, and Bucky confirmed it with a hum.

Sam led us to another car, this time it was a black Dodge Ram. I guess if we were going to the mountains, we would need a heavy-duty vehicle, one meant to trek mountains.

I stepped up onto the foot rail, and hoisted myself in. We fastened our seatbelts, and I managed to read the time over Sam’s shoulder; 4:39 PM. It was already getting dark, a behavior I assume was regular during Canadian winters.

Sooner than later, my head fell against my chest as I slept a bittersweet sleep, thankful for the rest, as it would pass the time and bring me closer to seeing my family, but also not wanting to miss a single second of the journey to my imagination.

When I awoke, it was to Bucky shaking me lightly and whispering my name. I blinked back the sleep, and drowsily climbed out of the truck. I took in my surroundings. It was pitch black outside, but it only felt like nine or ten. I spun around, to see a huge, cozy looking hotel with trees and snow surrounding it. My mouth hung agape as Sam and Bucky ushered me into the hotel.

Sam checked us in for a one night’s stay, and as much as I wanted to see my family, the sooner the better, I knew that not Sam nor Bucky were accustomed to drive through the snow in the dark.

Bucky and Sam ended up sharing a bed, whilst they insisted upon me having the other one to myself. They made it out to be them just being courteous, but I really think they knew Steve would destroy them for sleeping in the same bed as his best girl.

The morning consisted of a quick pot of coffee to wake us up, and then we were right back on the road, Bucky driving this time. Casual conversations were made, just them asking me what I have been up to for the past while. Nothing much had happened, but I didn’t want to seem like a bore, so I only told them the interesting bits.

Soon, we were in the mountains, occasionally stopping for gas and snacks at random pitstops. I couldn’t help but feel like a little kid on a road trip, constantly wanting to ask, “are we there yet?” or “are we almost there? How much longer?”. Eventually, Sam announced that we would be there in about five minutes, which really grabbed my attention.

“By the way, he doesn’t know you’re coming,” Sam said, which barely fazed me, as I was too excited. My leg bounced up and down like a giddy teenager during an exam, and I could feel my heart beating in my throat.

In a short amount of time, we pulled onto a gravel road, which had recently been neatly shoveled. It weaved through a thick forest, sometimes catching deer in the headlights. The path was shadowy and was barely lit, considering the trees looming over us blocking the sun. The rocky sound of driving across gravel and freshly packed snow filled our ears as we made our way down the trail.

Soon enough, which felt too long even in itself, we came to a clearing. In the middle of that clearing, was a huge, three story log cabin, with multiple vehicles, varying size, type, model, year, color, and brand, scattered around the lot. Before my jaw could fall off its hinges, a familiar female giggle caught my attention. I turned my head to look through the window, to where I saw Wanda and Vision having a snowball fight. I guess Vision must have reconciled with Wanda, and realized that our side was the right to be on.

The truck pulled up to the front of the house, and I slowly, as if mesmerized, took of my seatbelt. Wanda and Vision greeted Bucky and Sam, and they froze when they seen me. I gave them both a small wave and a smile as my feet hit the soft snow, and I may have come across as rude for not greeting them properly, but that could be saved for later. I turned my head to Sam, who quickly understood what I was getting at.

“Inside,” He stated, gesturing towards the big double doors of the manor. My heart skipped a beat as I clambered up the few steps leading to the porch and grasped the wood door handles. I took a breath in and swung the doors open. My eyes wandered the wood interior, before getting caught in a movement at the other end of the hall. I sprinted to where I saw that movement, and looked to my left, where some type of bedroom was located.

Clint sat on the bed, holding a framed photo of his wife and kids. Before he could see me, I made my way back down the hall, and started frantically running around the maze of a place, trying to find my family. It was around noon, so it was very likely that they could be in the kitchen, eating.

When I finally reached the huge kitchen, nobody was to be found. I let out a small sigh, but before I turned to walk out, I heard a voice coming from the next room over.

“Okay, Janie! Ready or not, here I come!” said that voice I knew all too well. Butterflies erupted in my stomach as I took fast steps to the entrance of that room, the living room.

Standing beside the fireplace, was Steve Rogers, but he was different. His back faced me, but I could still see him in the mirror above the fireplace. He had a harder look to him, but those soft eyes I always adored were still there. He had grown out his hair, and now had a nicely trimmed beard. I took a sharp breath in, which must have alerted him that someone was there. He always joked about me being the only one who could sneak up on him.

His eyes met mine in the mirror, and his clenched jaw softened. He slowly lifted his head and spun around to face me. My breaths were shaky as he slowly took a step towards me.

“God, please tell me it’s you, Y/N, because I think if I have to convince myself that I’m seeing you one more time, I’ll go crazy,” He pleaded, his brows knit together.

“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking as my vision started to blur with tears. “It’s me, I promise you it’s me,” I said, as I ran towards him, immediately wrapping his arms around me and pressing his nose into the crook of my neck. I inhaled a long, sharp breath through my nose, missing the way he smelled, as well as the way he felt, the way his voice sounded in the morning, the way looked as his muscles flexed under his shirt when he was working out, and the way his lips tasted on mine. After I felt my tears had permanently stained his gray Henley, I pulled away. His blue eyes were so easy to get lost in, but the overwhelming need to kiss him, to feel him again, outweighed anything else in that moment. Our lips were together in an instant, in a passionate kiss. My hands rested at the back of his neck, and his on my cheeks, his body heat instantly warming me up from the chilly climate of Alberta. After we both pulled away for a breath, he rested his head against mine. I ran a hand down his beard clad cheek, and scratched it gently, to relay that I liked it, which elicited a smile from him.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I-“

“Daddy! What are you doing, are we still playing hide and seek?” said a little girl’s voice. My breath caught in my throat. Steve looked over my shoulder, and back to my eyes. He gave me a knowing look, and I slowly turned on my heels.

“Mommy?”

“Baby…”

“Mommy!” Jane screamed as she dropped her stuffed rabbit and sprinted towards me. I fell to my knees and held my arms open for her. I held her in my arms like that, like the day she was born, for what felt like forever. I don’t even remember exactly when Steve wrapped his arms around us. Silent cries and sniffles could be heard coming from either one of us.

Finally, I was where I should be, home.

Thank you guys so much for the support on the first part :)

Would you guys want an epilogue?

#steve rogers x reader #dad!steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america civil war #captain america #The Avengers #Avengers #marvel #marvel angst

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keichanz · 5 years

Text

Shadows

i stayed up past my bedtime to finish this lmao whoops ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

drama? in my inuyasha family au? it’s more likely than you think l;ajdfoiajdf

*maniacal cackling*

Spooktober Day 24: Shadows

so when are we gonna tell em?

Parked on the street in front of Izayoi’s school, Inuyasha whiled away the time on his phone while he waited for his daughter to emerge from the building. He’d gotten out of work early enough that he’d had time to go home and change before driving the short trip to pick her up from school. Usually Kagome drove both of them home since it made more sense; Tai would either walk to her classroom after his lessons or she’d go to him, and usually Izayoi waited outside for her mom to pick her up.

This time he figured he’d save her the trouble since he had the time anyway, and he always loved the look of pleased surprise on his babygirl’s face when she spotted his truck waiting outside for her. A daddy’s girl through and through, Inuyasha wasn’t ashamed to admit that part of the reason he’d wanted to pick her up himself was to selfishly spend time together, just the two of them, even if it was only ten minutes on the way home.

His phone chimed with a new text and Inuyasha tapped the notification to open it up.

Mmm I think it’s best to wait until after Iz’s birthday. Don’t wanna steal her thunder.

steal her thunder? she’d probs think it’s the best bday gift ever kagome

She’s turning 13 Inuyasha. That’s sort of a big deal and it wouldn’t be fair.

kagoooomeeeeeeeeeee

After her birthday, Inuyasha. You can wait a few more days can’t you? <3

Chuckling, Inuyasha sent a brief “love you wench” and put his phone away with a sigh before glancing out the window toward the school. It was just before 3 pm, so Iz should be coming out any time now—

Inuyasha froze, sat up straight in his seat, and then leaned forward amber eyes narrowed dangerously. His lip curled and a low growl rumbled in his throat as his hand clenched tightly on the steering wheel, claws digging into the black leather, but he didn’t notice.

Some punk was chatting up his babygirl and standing way too fucking close. Inuyasha was out of the truck and storming toward them before he even realized what he was doing, murder on his face and golden eyes boring a hole through the punk’s head that dared flirt with his daughter. She was too good, too pure for the likes of him, for anybody, and he’d be damn sure to let the little asswipe know that in no uncertain terms.

“...And the skirt is going to be layered brown lace with some white ruffles—ugh, I’m sorry, this would be a lot easier if I had a phone so I can just show you a picture. Sorry I don’t have one yet.”

Izayoi blushed and gave an awkward smile, embarrassed that she lacked something most kids her age already had. Heck, even Rin had a phone. Granted, she was a year older, but she’d gotten it months before she turned thirteen. If it weren’t for her overprotective father and worrywart of a mother, she’d probably have one by now. Or at least she liked to think so.

Ugh, her life sucked.

Raiden smiled. “Nah, it’s cool,” he assured with a one-shouldered shrug, blue-green eyes warm as gave a lazy grin. “Mine was a gift for my fifteenth birthday so I haven’t had it long. Couple months, tops.”

He shrugged and laughed and oh well would ya look at that, her life suddenly sucked a lot less. Who knew a one Raiden Mashimo was the solution to a sucky life?

“That’s awesome!” she gushed, perhaps a bit too excitedly, and Izayoi flushed again before clearing her throat and saying much more calmly, “I’m hoping I’ll get one for my birthday too in a few days. I feel so left out, you know?”

She shrugged helplessly and smiled and gosh darn it he was just so freakin’ good-looking.

Raiden visibly perked up, his head tilting a little to the side as he queried, “Your birthday’s soon?”

Dear god why was she blushing again? “Um, y-yeah. Next week, actually. Monday.”

The dark-haired teenager grinned. “Wicked. And I have an idea now: how about after school, we can go the Halloween store and you can help me pick out my costume to match yours? Then afterward, if-if you want to, that is, we can maybe...I dunno, go somewhere and get some celebratory hot chocolate, or somethin’.”

Raiden offered a shy smile and rubbed the back of his neck. Izayoi wanted to gape because it was the first time she’d ever seen him anything other than his usual confident, easy-going self and she found this shy, sweet side of him made her heart race in her chest as butterflies erupted in her belly.

“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes widening as she realized what that meant. A smile slowly bloomed across her face and she bit down on her lip, fighting against the urge to hop around in excitement like an idiot. A date! He’d asked her out on a date!

“I—I mean,” he continued, wincing a little as pink dusted the bridge of his nose and cheeks. “If you’re doing something with your family or whatever I completely understand, we can do it the next day or—”

“No!” Izayoi hurriedly interjected, waving her hands and shaking her head vigorously. At his startled look, she blushed and elaborated, “Er, I mean no, I don’t have anything planned, and yes I’d love to go with you.”

Visibly relieved, Raiden’s lazy grin reappeared and he nodded. “O-okay. Good. Cool. I mean—” He coughed and tried again. “Sounds like a plan. So should I wait for you or—uh...”

Raiden’s eyes suddenly went very wide as his gaze shifted behind her and Izayoi frowned.

“Raiden? Are you ok—”

The deep, dangerous growl that reverberated from behind her was very familiar and the sound, filled with lethal warning, had the bottom dropping out of her stomach and her heart jumping up into her throat. She stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath, ears pinning into her silver hair as horror seized her every thought.

No, she thought, even as she watched Raiden take a tentative step backward, noting how he kept shooting her nervous glances. Belatedly Izayoi noticed the shadow that had fallen over her and never before had she wanted so much to crawl under a rock and die. No, no, no, no nononononooooo...

Despite his obvious trepidation, however, Raiden – bless his heart – swallowed his nervousness and offered a wavering smile.

“A-ah, um, M-Mister Taisho,” the younger dog demon began, recovering from the initial shock of the imposing and slightly frightening figure the half-demon made. He cleared his throat and though still clearly nervous, he dipped into a shallow bow of respect.

Izayoi wanted to give him a big kiss for standing his ground and not running away. She knew from personal experience how intimidating her stupid dad could be sometimes and she knew he was purposely laying it on thick right now in an attempt to scare Raiden away. She knew she liked him for a reason and she may have just fallen a little harder for him right then.

“It’s…nice to meet you, sir,” Raiden said a little haltingly, however not once did he look away from the half-demon’s intimidating glare. “Uh, my name is Raiden Mashimo. I…go to school with Izayoi.”

When Inuyasha did nothing but continue to glower fiercely at him, arms crossed with a light scowl on his face, Raiden faltered slightly and glanced at Izayoi. She could do nothing but offer a trembling, apologetic smile, face burning in embarrassment while her eyes begged him to forgive her. If Raiden never talked to her again after this, she was never going to forgive her stupid overbearing father.

Raiden returned he smile, though it came across as more of a grimace, and swallowed thickly before focusing his attention back on her silent father. Inuyasha’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.

“We were just, uh, talking about our costumes. For the party. At…your house?”

Inwardly Raiden winced and wanted to kick himself. Oh yeah. Real smooth, idiot.

That finally received a response and the half-demon narrowed his eyes before growling, “Costumes?”

Encouraged, Raiden seemed to breathe a little easier as he nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I mean even though she lives there, we decided we’re gonna go together and, y’know, match up our cost—”

“I don’t think so,” Inuyasha cut him off, his tone cold and his stare hard.

Raiden balked and blinked in surprise. “What—”

“He means okay,” Izayoi hastily interjected in a voice unusually high pitched, her eyes wide and imploring as the stared at the boy in front of her. “Don’t worry, he’s just—”

“I mean,” Inuyasha snapped, shooting his daughter a sharp look to quell any further interruptions while simultaneously demanding her obedience, “that you’re not going anywhere with my daughter and you sure as hell ain’t gonna ‘match costumes.’ I can’t stop you from coming obviously, but I catch you anywhere near her and I will personally escort you off my property.”

Izayoi whimpered and smashed a hand over her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears.

Raiden gaped incredulously as the half-demon finished with, “We clear, whelp?”

Dropping his gaze to the girl before him, Raiden stared into amber eyes glistening with unshed tears and easily read the desperate plea for him to forgive her for her father’s unfair behavior. She removed her hand and mouthed “I’m so sorry” over and over, shaking her head, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nodding once to her, hoping that she understood that he did not blame her at all, Raiden steeled himself and focused his attention back on her father, carefully schooling his expression.

“Understood, sir,” he murmured, gave another short bow, then meeting Izayoi’s teary gaze with an apologetic wince, Raiden turned and walked away, hands in his pockets and posture stiff as a board.

Inuyasha snorted as he watched the kid go, more or less satisfied with how that exchanged had gone. Granted, he’d looked more confused than truly intimidated as that had been what he’d been aiming for, but whatever. Didn’t matter as long as he got the message that his precious babygirl was off limits.

“Least this one seems to have more brains than the wolf’s brat,” he commented before dismissing the boy and heading for the truck. “Let’s go, Iz, it’s cold out and you forgot your jacket again.”

When he didn’t hear light footfalls following after him, Inuyasha paused and looked over his shoulder with a frown. Izayoi hadn’t moved, still standing there staring in the direction that little punk had wandered off to. It appeared she hadn’t even heard him ears completely immobile and face blank.

His frown deepened. “Izayoi,” he called. “Let’s go. Your mom’s probably wondering where we are by now and I’ll have ten missed calls and thirty-seven texts on my phone.”

Once more he went ignored and Inuyasha sighed impatiently. She couldn’t be that hung up on some kid, could she? He opened his mouth to demand she get her butt in gear, unafraid to stalk over and carry her if he had to, but then the salty scent of tears drifted over to him on the breeze and Inuyasha faltered. What the—was she...was she crying? What the hell—

“Iz?” he asked, turning around and crossing the distance between them. “What’s wro—”

“How could you?” Izayoi suddenly hissed and the amount of venom in her voice had Inuyasha stopping in his tracks.

Inuyasha studied her silently for a moment, trying to figure out why she was so upset, but when nothing came to him he shook his head and asked carefully, “How could I wh—”

“How could you?!” his daughter shrieked this time, whirling around to pin him with a fierce, baleful glare it momentarily took Inuyasha aback. Tears were running unchecked down her face, her hands were clenched into tight fists, and her ears were flattened against her head.

Recovering quickly and unwilling to let his child get away with such a show of temper, especially to him, Inuyasha pinned her with a glare of his own and bared his fangs as a warning growl echoed in his throat.

“Watch your tone, pup—”

“No,” Izayoi snapped, glowering at him even more fiercely as the tears continued to spill down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you just—I can’t even—ugh!”

With a wordless cry of fury, the young hanyou growled her aggravation before abruptly spinning on her heel and storming away, back stiff with anger and teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. She tried to ignore the hallow ache in her chest, tried to swallow the sob of despair that welled up in her throat and fought to escape past her lips as her stomach clenched painfully. She felt cold all over and was vaguely aware that she was shaking, but none of that mattered.

Her mental anguish far outweighed anything that she might have been feeling on the physical plane because Izayoi was positive now that Raiden would never talk to her again and it was all her stupid dad’s fault.

“Hey!” Inuyasha called after her, but she ignored him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Get in the truck, Izayoi. I’m taking you home and we can discuss this—”

“I’m walking,” Izayoi spat back at him without stopping or even looking at him. Like hell she was going to voluntarily be in the same space as him right now. She was too angry, too hurt; she couldn’t even look at him without wanting to break down and weep. Just thinking about it had another sob catching in her throat but she bit it back, pressing her lips together as her eyes burned with more tears.

“The hell you are,” her father snapped and stomped after her. “Quit the attitude and get in the truck, Izayoi. Now.”

Izayoi ignored him and kept walking, a little faster this time.

Cursing a blue streak, Inuyasha stopped, crossed his arms, and barked, “Truck now or you’re grounded.”

His daughter stopped. Straightened her shoulders. Then whirled around to pin him with a withering glare so intense, if looks could kill he’d be six feet under by now.

Unmoved, Inuyasha stared back evenly, not giving an inch, however the slight narrowing of his eyes, a not so subtle warning, suggested she would do well to heed his demand and promptly.

Izayoi glared murderously at him for another minute, no doubt pissed off that he’d used such an unfair threat, then finally did ass he was told and stalked toward the vehicle still sitting on the street.

Inuyasha waited until she was inside with the door shut, not putting it passed her to bolt at the last second, before following suit, jogging the rest of the way just in case she decided to get smart and lock him out. Thankfully she did and when he slid behind the wheel she refused to look at him, arms folded tightly across her chests as she glowered out the window.

She was still shaking and Inuyasha turned up the heat before pulling away and making a U-turn to head home.

“You gonna tell me what the hell all that was or you gonna keep being pissy?” he asked her, flicking a glance at his silent daughter through the review before looking straight again.

Izayoi tightened her jaw but otherwise did not respond, remaining in stony silence.

Inuyasha sighed and hung a right. He hated fighting with her, but sometimes it was the only way to solve the problem at hand. How fortuitous to be blessed with a daughter with a temper that matched his own?

And by fortuitous be meant annoying as fuck.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re so mad about,” Inuyasha growled as he turned onto their street a few minutes later, “but this attitude needs to stop, right now, because if you think I’m gonna let you talk to your mother like you did with me, you got another think comin’, kiddo.”

Izayoi scoffed loudly and grabbed her backpack, getting ready to open the door and bolt the instant they pulled into the driveway. Another wave of tears pricked the back of her eyes and she bit down hard to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape. Her chest ached, her throat tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

Glancing at her in the review, Inuyasha frowned but didn’t say anything more since they were just about home anyway. Predictably Kagome’s SUV was already parked in front of the garage and he pulled in next to it, hoping that the brief car ride had cooled her temper somewhat like it had his.

He hadn’t even put the truck in park before Izayoi opened the door and darted out so fast she didn’t even bother to close the door behind her. Inuyasha cursed and hurriedly shifted into park before cutting the engine and hastily following after her, not wanting to spare the extra second to close her door but he did.

Kagome was in the kitchen fixing up an after school snack for her daughter while Tai watched cartoons in the other room when the side door suddenly slammed open and the hanyou in question came tearing through it.

“Iz—” she tried but her daughter didn’t even spare her a glance and Kagome heard what sounded like a muffled sob as Izayoi tore past her and ran toward the stairs, not even bothering to take them one at a time and instead using her hanyou strength to launch herself to the top in two leaps. Seconds later another slam reverberated throughput the house as she closed herself in her room.

“Izayoi!” her husband barked a second later right before he came crashing through the door and Kagome blinked.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered and putting down the peanut butter covered butter knife, Kagome hurriedly moved to intercept the obviously ticked off hanyou intent on following their daughter.

“Dammit—” Inuyasha hissed, scowling as he stormed after his rebellious offspring, but small hands were suddenly pressed against his chest, stopping his warpath, and he turned his glower on his wife.

“Outta the way, Kagome, I need to—”

“No,” Kagome said firmly, her tone brooking no room for argument. “Not like this, you aren’t. I have no idea what happened, but you need to sit down and cool your temper before you go talking to her because you’ll just end up making it worse.”

He snapped his jaw shut and glared at her, offended.

She shrugged because it was true; she knew first hand how her daughter and husband’s arguments could be like because she was often in the middle of them.

“Go sit, drink some cider,” Kagome told him, firmly but gently as she reached up to fondly tweak his ear. “Let me talk to her first, okay? Sometime tells me you’re the last person she wants to see right now, anyway.”

And it was if those words took the wind right out of his sails because Inuyasha deflated, ears lowering as he closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. Dammit, she was right, as usual; his daughter could be just as headstrong as him, and if he went to her now, they’d just end up in another shouting match, getting nowhere fast.

Kagome’s hand on his cheek prompted him to open his eyes to find her smiling gently at him, her caramel colored eyes warm with understanding and his throat tightened as a whine threatened to escape.

“Let me talk to her,” she repeated and leaned up to kiss his jaw. “It’ll be fine, love. Just give it some time. I’ll be back soon.”

With that she patted his cheek and headed for the stairs to get the story from their clearly distraught daughter.

Inuyasha took a steadying breath, pinched his nose, and wandered into the living room to see to their five-year-old. He could hear little sounds of distress coming from him, no doubt wondering what was just happened, and he couldn’t bear to have both of his children upset.

At least this one didn’t want to tear his face off, Inuyasha sourly mused as he hefted Tai into his arms where he immediately burrowed into him and then sank down onto the couch to wait.

He hated waiting.

Mercifully it wasn’t long at all before he heard the sound of a door being closed and light footsteps coming down the stairs a few seconds later. Reclined on the couch with Tai napping against him, Inuyasha’s ears perked up and he turned his head as Kagome entered the living room. Her small smile was encouraging, but he didn’t let his hopes get too high; it was entirely possible Izayoi still didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t know if it was because she was female, nearly a teenager, or just because she had his blood in her veins, but when his daughter held a grudge, she held a grudge.

Kagome settled beside him and smiled down at their napping son, smoothing back his hair. She was silent as she gathered her thoughts, trying to find a way to explain as best as she can without upsetting him again because she knew he wasn’t gong to like what she had to say.

“Well, she told me what happened,” she remarked with a sigh. “And I know you’re not going to like this, but you shouldn’t have done that.”

Her husband set his jaw and looked away, glaring at the TV that at the moment had brightly colored cartoon characters on it.

Kagome shook her head, unsurprised at his reaction. “She really likes this boy, Inuyasha. And you embarrassed her by putting on your ‘I’m-so-intimidating’ act and pretty much forbidding her from going near him and vice versa. And threatening to escort him off the property if he gest too close? Inuyasha...”

Said hanyou scowled and refused to comment.

Kagome dropped her gaze to Tai’s sleeping face and tenderly smoothed back his bangs, remembering when her little girl was this small and she was still able to pick her up. She couldn’t believe she was going to be a teenager in just a few short days. How time flies...

“She’s too good for him,” Inuyasha suddenly grumbled, a slight pout of his face. “She’s...she’s innocent, too young to be thinking about boys.”

Kagome smiled. Now she understood.

“Inuyasha,” she began softly, moving her hand to cradle her husband’s jaw and adding gentle pressure to get him to meet her eyes. “Whether you like it or not, she’s going to be thirteen in just a few short days. She’s going to start being more independent, more outspoken and rebellious, and yes, she’s going to start dating, too.”

Inuyasha flinched and looked about ready to argue, but Kagome spoke up before he could get a word in edgewise.

“I know it’s a little hard to accept, but she’s not going to be your little girl forever, Inuyasha.”

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes with a wince, the words painful to hear however true they were.

Kagome smiled sadly and continued, “You can’t be her constant shadow, protecting her from everything and essentially stunting her growth. She needs room to grow, to make a few mistakes and learn from them, to become a lovely young woman with a good head on her shoulders. She’s not stupid, Inuyasha, you and I both know that. She’s fully capable of taking care of herself, or do I need to remind you of Daisuke?”

Inuyasha blinked and then a slow grin curved his mouth upward, recalling how she’d broken the brat’s nose for being too forward. Heh. She could take care of herself, couldn’t she?

Kagome suddenly sighed and stood up, leaning down to take Tai from his arms and cradle him against her shoulder; he remained fast asleep.

“I don’t think she’s ready to talk yet,” she said, casting a glance at the ceiling. “Let her come to you, alright? I know you want to fix this, but you won’t get anywhere if only one of you are willing to mend the bridge.”

Sighing in defeat, Inuyasha nodded and thrust a hand through his hair. She was right. Again, goddammit.

Slim fingers caught his ear and rubbed the soft flesh soothingly. Inuyasha closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered before warm lips pressed against his cheek. “Just give it time.”

With one last warm smile, Kagome left, probably to take Tai up to his room to have the rest of his nap in peace.

Inuyasha watched her go and withheld a whine.

Fuck, he really hated waiting.

It was just after 9 pm when Inuyasha padded down the carpeted hallway to her room, steaming cup of hot cocoa in his hand and hopeful mindset. Izayoi had only come out of her room to eat dinner and shower before retreating from whence she came. Though she still wouldn’t look at him – or even acknowledge him, really – his daughter was no longing glaring death at him so he would call that an improvement.

Maybe it still wasn’t the right time, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He’d done nothing but think about what happened and now he wanted to reconcile with his little girl. He wanted to feel one of her hugs, wanted her to smile at him again, and he desperately wanted to hear her say “I love you, daddy.”

Even if his efforts were wasted, he at least wanted to try.

Stopping before her door, Inuyasha took a breath and knocked.

“Iz?” he called out softly, confident she could hear him through the heavy wood. “Can we, uh, talk?”

Nothing.

Ears lowering, he tried again. “I brought you some hot cocoa. The way you like it, with the marshmallows and whipped cream.”

More silence. Not even a rustle of clothing, though he did hear the gentle whistling of the wind outside.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door. “Please, babygirl. I just wanna talk. Can you let me in?”

Still nothing, and Inuyasha frowned. “Iz?”

Taking a chance, he turned the knob and cracked open the door enough to peer inside. He wasn’t expecting it to be dark inside his daughter’s room and instantly concerned, he opened the door the rest of the way. When he didn’t see her right away the beginnings of panic started to set in and he whipped his head around, amber eyes searching the shadows of the room for his daughter, and he was just about ready to bellow her name when a he felt crisp wind on his face and something fluttering in his peripheral.

Inuyasha snapped his head toward the window—and relaxed, the breath whooshing but of his lungs as realization dawned.

Heaving a sigh as his ears drooped low – it looked like he wouldn’t be getting that talk tonight – Inuyasha ambled over to the open window where the curtains were gently swaying in the breeze and set the mug of hot cocoa down on the nightstand beside the window.

Hidden within the shadows of the large oak tree in their backyard, Inuyasha caught a flash of silver and gold as Izayoi pretended she hadn’t noticed him at her window and the older half-demon tried very hard to ignore the ache in his chest as he left his daughter’s bedroom without a word.

#shadows #spooktober prompts #day 24 #oneshot #inuyasha #kagome #izayoi #raiden #keizfanfiction #fanfiction

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mgrgfan · 4 years

Text

Past of the future, future of the past...

Chapter 9. A strange beginning

25.06.2000, 20 years after the Shift Neighborly Town, Sinnoh

Gentle ringing sound filled the room. With a sigh, a boy with long blue hair has removed the blanket and got up, doing morning stretches. After he was done, he took a shower, changed from his favorite dark pajamas to something more suitable and left his room, going down to kitchen for breakfast.

As always, his mom Deborah has made something amazingly-smelling and his dad Yakob was trying to start himself up with a cup of some horrifying caffeine mix, as dark as…

"Oh, and there you are, just in time!" said Deborah, as a figure has arisen from the shadows in the far end of the room.

"Suppose so. Morning, everyone," replied the Pitch-Black Pokemon, crossing the room.

"Morning, Darkrai," sighed Tobias, taking a seat. Yakob mumbled something welcoming too, then returned to drinking his crime against coffee. Darkrai visibly shifted away from Yakob, still having highly unpleasant memories about that one time he tried whatever infernal substance Tobias' dad was brewing for himself. There was a good reason it was once nearly classified as a chemical weapon, as a wide-awake Komala in Yakob's lab, who also made a mistake of trying this liquid insanity, could attest to.

After a wonderful breakfast (with Latios joining them soon after the beginning), the entire group started to pack up for today's trip in Unova. Thankfully, whatever unholy mixture Yakob was taking was sufficient to finally wake him up, so, he took the wheel, leaving Deborah, Tobias and Darkrai free to take seats, while Latios has cloaked and clung to the car's roof, loving the thrill of "riding" like that.

With a silent hiss, hydrogen started flowing into the fuel cells. Seconds later, with a quiet whine, wheel hub motors kicked in, driving the car away from the home and towards the Sunyshore City - specifically, the Theta Spaceport.

----

The not-so-young-anymore dragon silently flew underneath the forest's canopy, using the flexibility of its serpentine body to maneuver between trees. Something in the back of its mind screamed, that it shouldn't be going like this, that it should be soaring free in the sky, but immediate concerns continued to override it for many years.

Jet-black Legendary knew, that here, it was in relative safety. Humans would have massive troubles searching for it there. They won't risk using their horrific weapons there… or, at least, so it hoped.

Right now, it was nearing the edge of the forest, near the road from place, known to humans as "Pallet Town". It has decided to stay here for a bit, until the night comes… which should happen relatively soon, in fact.

Rayquaza took a rest on a tree, monitoring the situation around. Thankfully, the road wasn't used this often and Rayquaza knew, how to hide, so, even with its jet-black scales, it didn't have much trouble hiding.

Some time later, it has noticed a single young human, who was traversing down the road with two Pokemon at his side - a Pikachu and a Solosis.

Sky High Pokemon knew this human - quite a few years ago, this young human got lost in the forest and ended up taking shelter from rain under the roots of a large tree, together with a lot of Pokemon. Rayquaza knew this moment very well, especially since it also took a shelter there, coiling around others… and, despite worries of the Legendary, it all went pretty nice.

Sensing no one else of note around, the not-so-young dragon decided to take a risk and lit up the bioluminescent stripes, then flew almost right in front of the young human, even showing off a bit. While human did end up taking some device and pointing it at Rayquaza, evidently, it has malfunctioned and produced no result of worth… although Sky High Pokemon decided to stop doing the risky things now, darkened the bioluminescent stripes again and disappeared under the canopy of the forest, barely noticing Ho-oh flying above it, to which none of the participants paid much attention.

----

"Good afternoon passengers," sounded from the speakers. "This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight P-52-4 to Nuvema, Unova. Please have your boarding pass, Pokeballs and identification ready. Boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time on Tower 12. Thank you."

Tobias, Deborah and Yakob nodded to each other and headed towards the appropriate access terminal. Two elevator and one travelator rides later, they were walking through the access arm to their vehicle, which was just finishing getting refueled with slush hydrogen and liquid oxygen. Seemingly short and stout (but only seemingly so), it, nonetheless, was capable of easily carrying up to 1000 people between any two points of Earth.

Family took their designated places, with Latios being confined to a Pokeball and Darkrai managing to secretly leave it and sneak into the shadow under Tobias' bunk.

"Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking. The vessel will take off in ten minutes. Walkway is now retracting," sounded from speakers, as the doors to the outside world got closed and walkway got retracted. Passengers were still chatting, as they were taking their places and preparing for takeoff, some of them checking safety cards and/or watching the safety videos, some sharing their experiences, some merely talking… all was as usual.

"Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking. The vessel will take off in five minutes. Make sure you're on your designated acceleration couch, safely strapped and with your Pokeballs put into the safe underneath it," sounded from the speakers again. Tobias, after a small check, found out Darkrai's small machination, but decided to stay quiet, knowing his oldest Pokemon partner all too well.

"Ten, nine, ignition sequence start, six, five, engine running fully... Liftoff! We have a liftoff on ballistic liner P-52-4! Tower cleared!"

As those words were being said, the plug-cluster aerospike engine has ignited and reached the nominal power. The launch clamps have opened too, letting the huge rocket soar into the sky and set the trajectory to suborbitals, while also making passengers experience moderate G-force. People, however, seem to take it just fine, some of them even joking about the flight being "Smooth, quiet and, in altogether, delightful experience".

Finally, all external fuel tanks ran dry and, with quiet dull clangs, separated from the rocket, starting their own flyback sequence to allow for easier recovery. In the meantime, ballistic liner finished the boost phase and entered the microgravity coast, with captain making another announcement:

"Good afternoon passengers. This is your captain speaking. First I'd like to welcome everyone on Talonflame Aerospace flight P-52-4. We are currently cruising at an altitude of 185 km at an speed of just under 7 km/s. The time is 1:25 pm. The weather under us looks good and with the lack of wind at the arrival point we are expecting to land in Nuvema with some fuel to spare. The weather in Nuvema is clear and sunny, with a high of 25 degrees for this afternoon. If the weather cooperates we should get a great view of the city as we descend. Right now, you will be able to unstrap yourself and to get some awesome views in the illuminators. I'll talk to you again before we reach our destination. Until then, relax and enjoy the rest of the flight."

Indeed, soon enough, people liberated themselves from the safety straps and started gathering around illuminators, with Darkrai managing to slip out of the shadows and get near Tobias too. While it did prompt some uneasiness, authority of Yakob and Deborah was sufficient to prevent it from escalating further, allowing a blue-haired boy and a white-haired Mythical to enjoy views of Earth from the space for a bit longer… until another announcement came through:

"Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking. In five minutes, we will begin the flip maneuver. Please, return to your couches and strap yourselves back."

Grumbling, people have complied, returning back to their acceleration couches and strapping themselves in order to prevent flying away, when rocket fires maneuvering thrusters. In exactly five minutes from announcement, RCS engines rumbled and the rocket flipped around, pointing the main plug-cluster aerospike engine in the direction of travel. Soon, the main engine woke up again, decelerating the rocket a bit and correcting its trajectory.

The rocket plunged through the atmosphere, decelerating even further as it goes, with liquid hydrogen circulating through the truncated spike of main engine and cooling it down, allowing it to work as a heat shield. Soon, it ended its flight by a gentle hover landing, with exactly right position and heading to allow one of the access arms on the service tower to reach it. After the connection of access arm and opening of doors, Tobias and his family packed up and left the rocket, reaching their rented car two elevator and two travelator rides later.

As usual, human part of the family took their places in the vehicle, Latios cloaked and clung to the outside, while Darkrai stayed in shadows near the backseat.

"So…" started Tobias. "What's this conference's going to be about?"

"As always, yearly conference between researchers of Legendary and Mythical Pokemon," replied Yakob, driving the car to the hotel. "Thanks to your help, we've got some nice results."

"Yakob, if they ever try this again…" said Darkrai from the shadows in a pretty grim voice.

"I know, crouch, get to the nearest cover and wait for the Dark Void attacks to stop flying, then use the replicas of Lunar Wing over the victims, once you've cleared the area."

"Exactly. The fact of me deciding to follow Tobias and you two on my own volition does not mean me welcoming invasive experimentation."

"I sure remember the last time…" muttered Deborah in a strange voice.

"I didn't kill anyone back then, though," quickly replied the Pitch-Black Pokemon, as if slightly afraid, prompting Tobias to enter the conversation again:

"Mostly because of Latios with his Heal Pulse being capable of stabilizing their condition, until I was there to break the Lunar Wing replicas from my personal stash out."

"Yep. Exactly what I've counted on," said Darkrai, even leaving the shadow a bit and nodding.

"Not the best strategy… but, I guess, we'll have to let it slip for now." mumbled Tobias' mother, then sighed. "I hate the rocket lag, to be honest."

"We all do!" agreed everyone inside the car with her.

----

"Now arriving to the Space Colony Core-Middleway," sounded in the cabin of "Drapion" Galarian deep space transporter, as it was slowing down and preparing to dock to the still-unfinished Bernal Sphere - a greatest testament to the insane race of the Space Fever, alongside with automated factories on the Moon, as well as mass driver, which was used to deliver parts of the colony into space, where they were assembled.

"Finally…" mumbled a remarkably unremarkable human, cradling some strange case in his hands. Soon, a quiet, dull "clang" announced, that the ship has docked to the gigantic space installation. Man, blending in with the rest of passengers of the Earth-L5 express, left it through the docking tube and went through a route few people knew, heading straight to the biolabs block on the equator of the sphere.

Inside the Lab 14, another man was already waiting for him.

"So?.."

"Recovered," said the newcomer, opening his case and extracting a strange, tubular device with a faint glow inside the transparent middle section. "You have no idea, how hard it was, though. But old Fuji built some stuff real sturdy."

"Heh… brother was sure like this… was."

The colonial sighed, knowing too well, what's happened back on the planet, then went for another question:

"What about the second specimen?"

"Was unable to recover."

"Well… I guess we'll have to do with only her for now."

"I guess."

The newcomer gave the device to the colonial scientist, who, gently cradling it, took it to the adjacent room and placed it on the table, starting to connect it to the equipment.

"Lessons were learned, mistakes will not be repeated," mumbled the scientist, working on the device and, from time to time, looking at a huge empty biogrowth tube behind him. "I just hope you'll understand me, when the time comes…"

----

"Your Majesty?" sounded a message from the comm app.

"Yes?" replied the Empress.

"Project SAS is going almost as planned. Phase 2 is at 70%, industrial automation is progressing surely, second level networks are almost established."

"ISFs 3, 5 and 9?"

"Gave us all-clear on the technical side."

"And… what about possibility of Scenario 5?"

"Non-zero, but not too great. Roughly 3.6% possible."

"3.6% - not great, not terrible," concluded the Empress, before the call has ended and she relaxed in the chair, remembering, how has it all started fifteen years ago...

----

The Empress was sitting in her chair, listening to the group of scientists, who were standing before her and telling about a plan - a very audacious one, but, given, what has happened a week ago, worthy of consideration. When they've finished giving the explanation, she stood up a bit, walked to the window and, looking at the city outside of the Palace, asked:

"Automation of the economy, huh?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And… what does it promise for the Empire?"

"Well… an economic solvency that will eclipse that of the rest of the world, no corruption, once it's fully implemented, highly-reactive planning, allowance…"

"Enough. Tell me one thing… Does it mean, that, should it be fully and completely implemented, I will lose my power and be, in fact, left without ability to rule the Empire, remaining merely a face of the new, automatic government system?"

"... Yes."

"And… will this system bring more prosperity to the Empire, than I and the rest of the current rulers can?"

"... Yes."

"... Then you have my full approval."

"... Huh?"

"You are to begin the implementation process as soon as you can. If sacrifice of my position and power will mean the best for the Empire - I am ready to do that."

"... As you wish."

The group of scientists left the room, leaving Empress looking in the window and thinking, whether this decision was right or not and should she cancel this project, while there's still some time left.

Author's notes: The ballistic liner Tobias and his family rides is based on ITHACUS global transportation rocket; The "Drapion" is based on a real project of a "Scorpion" general-purpose space transportation system; Space Fever will be explained more, as the time goes; Can you guess, what was the device the newcomer gave to the scientist on the space colony? The hint is in the only name mentioned in this section...

#Shift Universe #mgrgfan writes a new fic #Ancient Soris Empire #tobias #darkrai

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thejamaicanweeb · 4 years

Text

Mitosis - Soul Division Prologue: The Average Candidate

A/N: Hey there! This is just an OM fanfic I’m writing with two MCs based on my two best friends in the entire world. Based on the main stories, Devilgram stories, texts and events. I hope you enjoy it! -Jisa

EDIT!!!: I cannot believe I forgot this! TRIGGER WARNING FOR IMPLIED ABUSE! (Honestly, being beaten as discipline is such a common thing here; it never even occurred to me that what was every day and normal here could trigger someone else I am so so sorry Q_Q)

Name: Sinai

Age: 23

DOB: 08/09/1996, Sunday 11:58 pm

Highest Level of Education: Associates Degree BB Med Sci. Undertaking an MBBS degree.

Race: Human

Region: South America and the Caribbean

Shadows obscured the rest of the information. A black-gloved hand picked up the profile that had slipped from the short stack of papers on the desk. Intelligent scarlet eyes scanned the rest of the page quickly, then glanced at the small picture fastened to the upper right-hand corner.

The young woman in the picture beamed up at him. A wide smile crinkled her russet brown eyes shut. Large red glasses sat on top of a short nose. While her round face made her appear a few years younger at first glance, dark under-eye circles added the years back. The raven-haired demon placed the paper on the desk and ground the heels of his palms against his eyelids, trying in vain to rub the gritty feeling of fatigue away. He stifled a yawn as his DDD rang.

“Hm?”

“Lucifer?”

As always, Diavolo sounded animated, even in the early hours of the morning

“You’re still awake, I see. Decided yet?”

Lucifer sank back into his chair. The weight of his exhaustion sat on his chest, pushing the air out in a sigh.

“Not yet,” he responded, brushing his hand over his forehead.

“Hey, don’t agonize over this for too long, all right? You can just pick one at random, really. Besides, it’s pretty late and you’ve been running on fumes as is.”

“I’m fine.”

“You fell asleep mid-sentence at lunchtime.” Diavolo pointed out

Lucifer made a non-committal sound as he glanced down at the profile in front of him. The time on his wristwatch made him regret checking (as it usually did). He had long since stopped trying to keep track of the scores of profiles that had made the shortlist of humans. They blurred together after the first hundred or so. He glanced at the paper in front of him and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know what? Yes, I have decided. At least this one seems less... mischievous than Solomon.” he muttered as an afterthought

“Oh? Great! Send a picture?”

“Sure.”

Diavolo pulled the DDD away from his ear as the message came in. He switched the call to speakerphone.

“I see what you mean,” he commented with a laugh, “Well, she seems nice enough,”

“I suppose so. What should I do with the rest?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it now. Get to sleep! It’s not like they’ll run away,”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He could practically see Diavolo waving off his question. He glanced at his watch again and groaned internally.

“Fine,” he conceded, turning off the desk lamp and ending the call. As he stood and stretched, a draft entered, making the flames in the fireplace dance and disturbing the pile of papers.

“Oh, no you don’t!” he growled, slamming his DDD on top before striding across the room to latch the window shut.

Unbeknownst to him, a single candidate had escaped, whisked out into the chilly night air. It danced erratically across the starry sky, fluttered through the wrought iron bars of the gate before coming to rest on the sidewalk for a moment. The wind whisked it upwards and then:

Rip!

A small dark clawed hand snatched it out of midair, perforating the margins.

“Hey.” said the small horned creature, nudging its companion. Its voice lay somewhere in the territory between a hiss and a high-pitched rasp. It brought to mind the image of nails scraping a chalkboard; it made your hair stand on end. “Look at this.”

The small group glanced around before swiftly melting into the shadows, their dark essence silently oozing around the corner into a hidden alleyway. One by one they re-materialized, their razor-sharp teeth on full display as their ever-present malevolent grins further widened, distorting their faces.

“Interesting, very interesting” one finally broke the silence, squinting at the paper.

“If this is one candidate for the exchange programme…”

“...it would be a shame if a human was killed during such a delicate attempt at diplomacy,” another continued, its tongue flickering out briefly.

“If Diavolo finds out about this, he’ll have our tails for sure,” one of them quipped, its tail nervously twitching back and forth.

“Please, there are millions of us. There’s no way they’d be able to pin it on us,” scoffed the Little Devil holding the profile. “Besides, when has anyone really cared about us lesser demons?”

“Humans are the weakest creatures across the three realms and if this stupid programme works out who knows what will come next? What if they expect us to stop eating them? What if they expect us to start viewing them as… as equals?” it hissed, the distaste in its voice palpable. It looked up, its glowing eyes meeting those of each of its companions’.

“We’re already at the bottom of the food chain here. I’m not about to answer to humans. It’s- it’s just unnatural. Anyway, are you with me or not?”

“We’re with you,” someone piped up. The others nodded in agreement.

“Good.”

The dark talons scraped across the photograph of the human, leaving three parallel gouge marks. They all leaned in as their ringleader lowered its voice to a harsh whisper.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

(づ￣ 3￣)づSTAGE CHANGE(づ￣ 3￣)づ

The human’s picture and summary were pinned to the notice board hours before the occupants of the House of Lamentation stirred. At least those who had bothered to go to bed at all. Lucifer paused briefly on his way out the door. Nothing about the human felt familiar. Pride wasn’t a vice that she struggled with. Based on what he could discern, being self-effacing was second nature to her. A smirk with equal parts contempt and sadism came to his face as he left, as he contemplated how to break her in the face of his sin. I hope your resolve is firm, human. I could do with a challenge.

(⌐■_■)

“Has Lucifer lost it? She looks like a kid! Did the chihuahua need a playmate or something?”

“I know this might be hard, but don’t be stupid. Her cheeks are just a bit chubby. What kid has acne scars like that? Hasn’t she heard of retinols?”

The taller of the two snorted and snapped a picture of the notice board to send in the group. Intense ultramarine eyes flickered up to the picture for a split second before he walked off, his key-chain swaying with every step. In a fluid motion, he pushed his hair off of his forehead and affixed his trademark sunglasses to his face.

“Do you know her?” his brother called after Mammon’s retreating figure

“Ain’t seen her in my life.”

With that Mammon left, his mind already on the business opportunities he’d laid out for the day.

(✿◠‿◠)

Asmodeus continued to survey the young woman, absentmindedly tapping a manicured finger to the corner of his mouth. He had met her only for a moment. That was strange considering her age. After a few more seconds of scrutiny, he shrugged and went back to his room to continue his weekly detox. No doubt existed in his mind that she would fail any test he presented her with. Who wouldn’t, especially since it was so much fun? Who wouldn’t want to fall to the world’s most popular sin?

(ง •_•)ง

Towers and towers of books, all rather precariously stacked, surrounded the Avatar of Wrath as he worked. He tossed his DDD carelessly on his bed about two hours earlier, freeing himself from distractions while he finished his Latin assignment. In all fairness, he finished what the lecturer required him to do but the number of languages from the human realm that originated from the official language of the Devildom. Despite being engrossed in a particularly large tome, he navigated his way around shorter piles without losing his balance. He picked up his phone and checked the notifications.

“Sinai, huh? Interesting name.”

He shut his eyes, pensive. She was familiar, but he didn’t know her personally.

When he opened his eyes he was glaring down at the human, towering over her tiny three-year-old form. She was crying, her large russet eyes pleading along with her choked childish voice that she didn’t want to read. He raised his palm. The crying redoubled and the picture book fell to the floor.

She was older now, maybe about nine or ten, but she was still crying. Black and blue marks were just barely visible against her chestnut-brown skin. He was yelling at her for lying about wearing her retainer.

Satan was then watching a scene unfold before him. Two men were standing in a kitchen yelling at one another. A middle-aged woman was trying to deescalate the situation with little success.

“Hm, a father-son spat? What does that have to do with her?” Satan wondered aloud.

The older man whirled around with a knife in his hand. His wife ordered her son to run. He did. Hours later, at minutes to midnight, the human finally emerged, waking up after falling asleep on her textbooks. She blinked owlishly, disoriented. When the doorknob rattled and her mother walked in. In response to her confusion, her mother hugged her and explained what happened and reassured her that her brother was safe and sound at their grandma’s house. The young woman exhaled, smiled and held her mom and comforted her. For the first time, Satan could hear what she was saying.

“It’s ok Mummy. I’m ok, Mattie is safe. We will be ok,”

Her mother nodded, gave her a watery smile and turned off the kitchen lights. The human watched her mother walk upstairs before crouching down and finally letting her face crumple and hot tears race down her face, her mouth ajar in a silent scream.

Satan shook himself out of his reverie and pondered how he would go about tempting an individual to fall to a sin they feared.

( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

The sizable shadow stopped moving as he heard the notification chime from his pocket. The duffel bag dangled from his fingertips as he squinted at the screen. His eyes widened slightly as he laid his eyes on the picture.

“Huh”

He tapped the microphone icon and continued on his way as he recorded the voice note.

“I guess you could say I know her. We were closer, at least until the last year or two. But even with her appetite, she was always sharing. I guess you could say that she was half in, half out.”

That being said, it was all too easy to fall back into old habits. Compared to the rest of his brothers, his role in testing the exchange student’s soul could be easier. The crisp breeze tousled his hair as his thoughts turned to Belphegor, a now-familiar ache constricting his heart. He wondered if his twin knew the human. He missed him.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The purple-haired demon carefully placed his gaming headset on his desk before he pushed against the ground with the balls of his feet, sending his chair rolling backwards.

“Jeez, why do these guys always blow up the stupid group chat whenever I have a campaign?” he griped, his fingers scrolling rapidly; orange eyes darting back and forth

“Really? All this over a human?” He rolled his eyes and turned back to his setup, not bothering to read the profile under the picture. Odds were he knew the human. He knew nearly every human, even if it was just in passing. After all, which of them could say that envy hadn’t crept upon them? If they did, they were lying. Testing the human’s soul would just be another game, and Leviathan was pretty damn good at games.

(づ￣ 3￣)づSTAGE CHANGE(づ￣ 3￣)づ

“So the only two who recognized her really were Beelzebub and Leviathan?”

Lucifer nodded as he set his teacup back down. He offered his DDD to Diavolo before absentmindedly picking up a cookie. He looked around his study, somewhat aggravated about the state of his study. Every time he set time aside to get it back in order, something always seemed to come up. The height of the piles of reports and bills was alarming, and the bout of sneezing that resulted from searching the shelves was a glaring reminder that it had been a while since he had last dusted. Lucifer shut his eyes and let himself slump into the armchair. The glow of the fireplace made patterns that danced across his eyelids.

A loud guffaw from his companion caused him to open one eye.

Diavolo’s shoulders were still shaking as he showed Lucifer the screen. The Avatar of Pride stared for a few moments before sitting bolt upright and snatching the phone away, eyes wide and slack-jawed.

Two stickers were trending. One was of Diavolo in his true form, donning a beautiful -if - extravagant red ball gown. The other was of himself astride a pastel pink and purple unicorn with a rainbow horn.

His grip threatened to crack the screen as Diavolo managed to compose himself enough to speak

“That’s the best thing I’ve seen all day,” he gasped as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“Who is responsible for this?” The words barely made it through Lucifer’s clenched jaw.

“I’m not sure, I think it may have come from the student newspaper. Our students are very creative,”

The Prince was either oblivious or unphased by Lucifer’s displeasure.

“Is that so? Remind me to have a talk with Mephistopheles.”

Choosing to overlook this, Diavolo planted his feet on the ground and rested his elbows on his knees.

“She didn’t have any pacts with them either? Just her own sin?” he peered at Lucifer over his steepled fingers.

The dark-haired man nodded, business-like once more. Diavolo sat back, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Well then, Overall I’d certainly say she seems to be... hm,” He crossed his arms and gazed at the rafters before looking back at Lucifer “I don’t think ‘safe’ is the word I’m looking for, necessarily, but she seems like a great candidate and a counterbalance to Solomon.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “A Counterbalance?”

“I mean, Solomon isn’t exactly your typical human,”

“That’s an understatement,” Lucifer muttered. Diavolo snickered, shaking his head.

“You know what I mean! A monarch, a sorcerer, a scholar and dozens of pacts to boot. He isn’t exactly average, is he?”

Lucifer’s lip curled as he shook his head

“I still don’t see we kept him as a candidate,” he commented. He didn’t expect a meaningful response, especially considering Diavolo was perched at the edge of his seat; his eyes alight the way they always were whenever he latched onto a new brainwave.

“I guess you could consider it an experiment within an experiment; one human with exceptional abilities and one who’s… well, with no offence meant to her… is perfectly average.”

A thud and muffled yelling somewhere beyond the walls cut off the Devildom Prince. Lucifer groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What have they done now?” he exhaled, exasperated.

Diavolo patted his shoulder, trying his best not to laugh at his friend’s distress.

“It’s never a dull moment here, is there?”

“Don’t remind me. Go ahead, you were explaining…”

“Oh yes. I figured it would be an excellent case study. How would the average human when compared to an angel or a demon? What help would they need and how much? If change is to happen, then we need to be on an equal footing across the realms.”

A/N Thank you for reading all the way to the end of this! This is the first writing project I have taken on since like 2012, and I’m nervous as all hecc. I would really appreciate any feedback you have to give or any questions and stuff, I won’t bite, and I’m always eager to improve. I hope this was a good read for you and I will try me best to update on a regular basis! - Jisa

Here’s the next entry!

https://tinyurl.com/mitosis-fic1-1

And If you’d rather read it on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415919/chapters/64353631

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

Text

*now honeymoonjin

Chapter Two

genre: survival, angst, zombie outbreak!AU || word count: 1.7k || warnings: brief descriptions of explicit violence

prev || next || masterlist

Nine excruciating hours. The sun begins to slip low over the horizon, though it's barely six pm. Yoongi had managed to fall asleep after a while, his body and mind exhausted from the stress of the panic attack and everything that had followed. You listen to him, the familiarity of his deep breaths keeping you grounded as you stare outside the window.

Things aren't so peaceful out there.

The large window overlooked the carpark, and from above you had seen everyone quickly grab their cars when those sirens were gong off. After a bit of a chaotic bottle-necking at the entrance, they soon were all gone, bar a few. Including Yoongi's car, which was on the far row, closest to the exit.

Over time, it had started with a distant wisp of smoke here and a scuffle there, but you counted the minutes and watched as it become overrun with people, feral and thrashing.

You made sure Yoongi didn't come close to the windows while he was still awake; the last thing you needed was another panic attack. And now, as he slept, you held sentry over the chaos outside.

There was one word that came to mind as you watched these rabid people, but you didn't let yourself think it. It sat on the tip of your tongue, a sickening term that made you wonder if you'd ever get out of here.

Around four-thirty, an old lady had slipped out of a tearoom across the road, locking up behind her. The same way everyone knew everyone in this town, you recognized Mrs. Moon, the deaf owner of the store. She had let you and your friends bundle up in front of the fire every winter after school when you were younger, even after closing. With a building dread, you covered your mouth and watched in a stunned silence as she turned and hobbled down the street, eyes locked into the depths of her purse as she fished around for her car keys. Around her, people you technically recognized surrounded her on all sides. Their clothes were torn, and most of them had dark stains around their mouths. You felt bile rise in your throat as the group of about eight to ten individuals fell in and pushed her to the ground, writhing in unison like one hive minded parasite.

After a few excruciating moments, they parted around her and pushed themselves up again. Mrs. Moon stood up too, though her body had been mauled, and her mouth was foaming. Like clockwork, she fell into step with the others, head rolling limply on her neck, eyes unseeing as they made their way slowly through the otherwise-empty street.

That hadn't been the last time you had seen someone fall victim to those hordes of animalistic people. You didn't want to think about the others.

Now, though, you were forced to acknowledge the gravity of your situation. Violent, murderous, sick humans were roaming the streets, and you and your fiancé were stuck in a room that wasn't even heated. You couldn't get out, and at this point you didn't even really want to. You just wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Mm, honey?'

You tear your gaze from the evening gloom outside, from the smears of blood on the parking lot that looked blue-black under the glow of the moon. "You awake?"

Yoongi grimaces and holds a hand to his temple. "God, I feel like my head's been in a blender." He pushes himself up in the armchair with a groan, grabbing at your jacket, which you had earlier thrown over him as a blanket. "Is there… Has anyone else called in on the radio?"

You shake your head silently.

He groans again, then gets up to join you. Before he can make it closer to the window, you dart over to pull him back to the armchair. "That's fine," he muses reluctantly, "I'm sure the authorities are just busy sorting out the situation. We might just have to hole up in here for the night and then tomorrow morning when the manager comes back in, he can let us out and we can go back home. He better get here early; I'm pretty sure I left the oven on."

You laugh before you can help it, though the jerking of your shoulders quickly becomes frantic as you start to sob. In an instant, Yoongi's arms are around you, tightly holding you to his chest. "I don't think we're getting out of here, Yoonie," you hiccup, "it's bad out there."

"Sh, sh, it's alright, okay? Maybe it's not looking so good outside, but we're safe in here. And we're together. That's the important thi-"

You jump in Yoongi's grasp with a shriek as a loud bang gets your attention. Yoongi's grip on you falters, then comes back with a vengeance. You unwrap his arms from you so that you can push him gently down onto the armchair and stand protectively in front of him, watching dark shadows move behind the frosted glass of the office door. "Hey!" you yell out, seeing the humanoid shapes freeze. "Who are you? Are you coming to get us out of here?" Yoongi's fingers curl around your wrist. You can feel them trembling.

You hear muffled murmuring before one calls out, "yeah!"

You wait expectantly, but no further explanation comes. "Uh, okay, thank you? Can you open the door? We're locked in."

Yoongi's hand tightens and you feel the pressure of his head pressing into the small of your back. "Y/n," he mumbles shakily. "I don't like this."

You turn on your side so that his face can press into your stomach instead, and you hold him close. From outside the door, there's more conferring amongst the two shapes. "Okay!" one cheerily replies. "We have a swipey-swipey! You guys promise you're not zombies?"

Yoongi shudders, and you honestly can't blame him. That word. It makes it seem like you're in a horror movie, that this situation is far more dire that you would ever imagine it could be. "We aren't sick, I promise! We've been locked in here since before it even started."

"…okay," a different voice says, this one calmer and lower-pitched than the other. "We're going to open it for you, alright? We're not sick either."

Their words do a little to comfort you, but your heart is still thumping frantically in your chest as you hear a beep, and watch the handle of the door turn to reveal two tall men, both looking younger than you and Yoongi.

The first one to enter has golden brown hair and tanned skin. He calmly steps inside, hands in the air, checking behind him as the other follows. Although his companion is taller and seems more athletically-built, his long black locks cover a baby-ish face, alight with excitement.

Yoongi goes lax, head lifting up and arms slipping away from you. "You two?"

A cheer in unison. "Yoongi-hyung!"

"Man, what are the chances?" Jungkook asks rhetorically as he practically skips down the stairs. "Stuck in a mall during a zombie apocalypse with my best friend and our hot babysitter. All we need are some freeze-frames and an ending song and we could win best k-drama!"

Taehyung brings up the rear, and you get a strange feeling of authority from him although he's younger than both you and your fiancé. "Don't stress," he reassures Yoongi, who's been skittishly glancing around every corner and jumping at every noise, "we've cleared out the area. There aren't any of those infected people inside."

"Come on, hyungie," Jungkook begs, not even turning to face him as he leads the pack, "call them zombies! At this rate, if I went ahead and sucked your blood, you wouldn't even call me a vampire, you'd just call me 'thirsty and confused'."

You and Yoongi walk between the two friends hand-in-hand, the banter between the two easing some of the anxiety in your heart. At least the two of you weren't alone anymore.

"Vampires aren't real, Koo-koo, don't be silly."

"Who knows what other secrets the government are keeping from us? Until this morning, you thought zombies weren't real."

"Wait," Yoongi intervenes, voice still trembling though his face isn't as pale as it was before, "you said there aren't any sick people in here. Did you two manage to secure the entire mall yourselves? How can you be sure-"

"Chillax, Yoongi-hyung," Jungkook jokes, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder, "we never said we did it by ourselves. A bunch of us have set up camp upstairs in the food court. Hyungie and I were just finishing up scouting the perimeter like total action heroes."

A thought strikes you. "Hey, Yoonie, they mentioned 'babysitter'. Were these the Terrible Two you told me about ages ago?"

Yoongi laughs, and it gives you a spike of happiness to see a smile on his face again, albeit briefly. "Yeah, this is them. I'm surprised Jungkook's mom ever let me look after them again once they convinced me to take them to a nightclub that one time."

"My mom totally had the hots for you, that's why," Jungkook explains, turning onto a frozen escalator and walking up it. "I'm pretty sure almost everyone had a crush on you back then."

You turn to Yoongi and grin at him. "Hot babysitter, huh? But you did look pretty different when you were younger."

Taehyung's voice is soft as it comes from behind you. "You look good, hyung… Are you two together? Sorry, we haven't been properly introduced."

Yoongi doesn't catch the sullen flicker in Taehyung's eyes as he holds up your intertwined hands, showing off the engagement ring, but you do. "This is my beautiful fiancé, Y/n."

Jungkook laughs and wolf whistles, while Taehyung gives his congratulations. Once you make it to the top of the unmoving escalator, you see two men sitting silently at a large round table. Their body language is startlingly different. While one hunches over, jiggling his foot nervously and drumming his fingers on the table, the other sits perfectly still, leaned back in his chair with his legs spread wide in a casual stance.

They both glance up when you arrive. You recognize the face of one of them.

Jungkook's bouncy energy seems to dissipate as the four of you approach. "Guys, this is Yoongi and Y/n, Yoongi and Y/n, this is Namjoon from the record store and, uh, Jimin? Jimin."

---

TAGLIST

send me a message or an ask to me added to my taglist!

unable to tag a couple, please make sure you’re visible by search in your settings, I think it affects my ability to tag you.

@singulari-taes @futuremrsmin @imshielamultifandom @goldengguky @fit-likexaxdaydream

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #bts x reader au #yoongi x reader fanfic #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #namjoon #outbreak

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jewpacabruhs · 5 years

Note

also do the "wanna go out w me sometime" one for kyman thanks sis

nah thank you bb :-) ok im doin this one first to get the writin juices flowin heh

yay drag cartman…. lil bit inspired by lais fic ;)

When Kyle agreed to help Cartman break up Stan and Craig, South Park’s newest and strangest young couple, he hadn’t thought it would turn into a fiasco. Maybe he should’ve had the foresight to anticipate Cartman’s antics, but as it was, when Cartman had bitched about Craig and Tweek being soulmates and Craig being an entire idiot for dumping him, and Kyle had agreed that Stan deserved better than being a rebound for some aloof alternative space nerd like Craig, and Cartman had proposed they break them up, Kyle had immediately accepted without much thought. Cartman was good at schemes like that; surely he could find a way to split them easily enough.

Kyle was an idiot for that, because Cartman could never do things “easily enough” - he just had to turn a simple little mission into a completely over-the-top and often disastrous performance, with unnecessarily extravagant costumes and everything.

So that’s how he ended up in a booth in the nicest restaurant in town, wearing his finest suit, which he hasn’t touched since his cousin Eli’s bar mitzvah last May. Thankfully it still fits, though it’s a little restrictive. Across from him is one Eric Cartman who is, of course, inexplicably in drag; a floor length deep blue evening dress, sparkly silver makeup, and a sleek blonde wig. He looks amazing, and Kyle resents him for it.

“We’ll be noticed less if we look like your average straight couple,” Cartman had explained, when Kyle had picked him up from his house and given him a look of barely contained annoyance and contempt. Then he’d said, “Oh, this almost feels like prom!” and tried to get Kyle to escort him to the car, and eventually got his way by saying, “If this is how you treat women, I can see why none of them wanna date you.” Kyle had grudgingly linked arms with him after that, and walked him down to the car - even opened the door for him, though Cartman didn’t even really need help; he could walk perfectly fine in his heels, he just liked to be irritating.

So now they’re in the booth, and Kyle’s leg won’t stop bouncing. Craig and Stan are two tables away, both wearing suits and looking like they’re playing dress up. Stan’s blabbing enthusiastically about something, and Craig looks a little bored, but he’s nodding along, prodding at a salad. Cartman had anonymously left a free reservation - how he’d acquired it, Kyle was scared to ask - in Stan’s mail box: “Congratulations! This is a ticket to a free dinner for two on Saturday September 7th, at 8 PM at our fine eatery!” as well as some finer print details, including the lie that it’d been won from a randomized lottery. It’d been addressed to Stan himself, because Cartman figured Randy might try to steal it for him and Sharon. Stan had gushed about it at school, about how he wanted to treat his mom to dinner as a late birthday present, and while Kyle thought that was immensely sweet of him and felt pretty bad about it, he’d had to dissuade him from taking her. “It’s a romantic type of place,” he’d said, feeling like a real shitty friend. “People are gonna think-” and then Kenny had helpfully pitched in, “-that your mom’s a cougar, bro!” That was all it took for Stan to decide he’d take someone else, and from there, Kyle had gently planted the idea that Stan should take his new boyfriend.

So there they were, at a table for two.

“Dark and dark don’t go together,” Cartman’s saying, frowning disapprovingly. He keeps eyeing the bread sticks, but he hasn’t touched them, probably for fear of messing his lipstick up. “Craig needs Tweek, for, like, contrast, you know? Blonde and black. It works. You can’t have two yangs.”

“The yin is the black one,” Kyle says boredly, just to correct him, though he doesn’t know for sure. “What about Token and Nichole?”

“That’s different.” Cartman waves a hand. “Craig and Stan - have you heard that thing about white gays, uh, dating their own lookalikes? That’s - yeah, that’s Craig and Stan.”

“They don’t look alike,” Kyle frowns. “Craig’s all angular and, like, lithe, or whatever, and Stan’s kinda softer and - and wider, like. He’s sturdy. Different body types, dude. Their faces are super different, too.”

“You sound gay as fuck right now, and I’m the one in drag.”

“Shut the hell up, Cartman. You didn’t have to be in drag, that was all you.”

Cartman quirks an arched brow at Kyle - if the redhead knew anything about makeup, he’d know that Cartman had glued his own eyebrows down, put foundation over them, and redrawn higher arches to achieve the alluring look he wanted; he’d learned a lot from all his hours of watching Drag Race. Kyle, however, is ignorant as hell, so he’s dumbfounded as to how Cartman pulled the look off, but incredibly irritated by how it’s impressive and almost endearing to him, that Cartman’s so good at passing as a girl. He’s a pretty one, too, all soft angles and gentle curves, his naturally pouty lips even poutier with the help of overdrawn lip liner and the pale pink of the lipstick he’s got on.

“I like being pretty,” Cartman explains simply, and Kyle scowls at him because of course he knows how good he looks. Smug bastard.

Kyle’s facing away from Craig and Stan’s table, because Cartman doesn’t look anything like himself from far away, but Kyle’s not wearing anything to disguise himself, other than the uncharacteristic suit; he’d be instantly recognizable if they saw his face, so he can’t risk it. So though he occasionally risks glances back, he’s mostly watching Cartman watch them, as he pretends to look at his menu - and no, Kyle’s not grateful for the excuse to stare at Cartman. He’s getting more and more anxious the longer he looks at him, because he looks like a very pretty girl and it’s confusing Kyle indefinitely. It’s still Cartman, he tells himself firmly.

He’s so busy convincing himself that he absolutely can’t find Cartman attractive, that he almost misses the panic in his eyes.

“What?” Kyle asks, starting to turn, but Cartman reaches out and grabs him, press-on red nails digging into Kyle’s forearm.

“They’re walking over here!”

“Fuck!”

“Quick, kiss me!”

“What? No!”

“They’ll recognize us from this close, Kahl!”

Kyle wants to argue, wants to come up with an alternative, anything but pressing his lips to Cartman’s, but they’re getting closer and he doesn’t have time - he grabs Cartman’s wrist and pulls him closer, tilting his head to the side and kissing him as chastely as he can - he refuses to let this be remotely passionate. The softly curly bangs of Cartman’s wig fall over both their faces, which is good; it’ll hide them.

Kyle tries to count in his head - ten seconds, he thinks, that should be good, they’ll be gone by then and I can pull away - but he gets to three before he becomes hyper-aware of the way Cartman’s lips feel against his own. He doesn’t want to think too hard about it, he really doesn’t, but it’s hard to ignore the glossy feel, how he smells faintly of strawberries, how his lips are warm and plush, just like the few girls Kyle’s been lucky enough to kiss. But this isn’t a girl, this is Cartman - and yet, somehow, when it’s been far longer than ten seconds, Kyle can’t bring himself to pull away. Part of him, the pre-installed horny teen that sits in the back of his mind and yells at him constantly for being more focused on school than getting laid, wants to deepen the kiss, wants to move closer to Cartman, who’s overwhelmingly soft and warm and pretty - but then someone clears their throat and Kyle pulls away, wide-eyed and disoriented.

It’s Kenny, and he’s grinning like a mad man. “Oh man,” he says merrily. “Oh man! Fuckin’ incredible!”

Kyle wants to ask what the hell Kenny is doing at a fancy place like this, but the waiter outfit he’s wearing answers his unspoken question. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says instead, quietly, glaring hard so Kenny knows he means business.

Kenny grins at him cryptically, winks at Cartman, then walks away with a joyous spring in his step.

“You’re a bastard,” Kyle says to Cartman, who looks, for once in his life, genuinely at a loss for words. “Kenny’s gonna tell everybody, and every kid in school will know you and I kissed - hell, it won’t take long for our parents to find out! Everyone will think I’m gay, and they’re gonna think I’m gay with you of all fucking people - you know how pissed my mom is gonna be? Not ‘cause I’m gay, and I’m not! I - I don’t even know what I am, but now people are gonna assume I am, and I won’t even get to have that to myself - fuck, my mom’s gonna be pissed because it’s you. Of all the eligible bastards, she’ll think I wanted you.”

Cartman’s looking at him with a strange mix of confusion and something akin to desire, freaky as that is. “You, uh - okay, bad timing, but do you wanna go out sometime?”

Kyle raises his eyebrows at him. “Are you fucking insane?”

“For you, babe, probably,” Cartman says smoothly. He pushes a curl of hair out of his face and bites his lip, trying for seductive, and Kyle’s genuinely angry that he has some irritating horrible terrible absolutely and completely subconscious desire to kiss him again.

Kyle looks away before he can get more upset. “We didn’t split up Stan and Craig, and now Kenny thinks we’re dating. This night couldn’t have gone any worse, and it’s all your fault. Why do you have to do things so outlandishly? We could’ve done literally anything else to get them to break up. But no, you just had to trick me into going on a date with you-” Then it dawns on Kyle, that that’s what this was all about in the first place. Craig and Stan were an afterthought; Cartman wanted an excuse to be with Kyle.

Cartman seems to realize that Kyle’s figured this out, because he has the nerve to look embarrassed. “It was perfect, Kahl,” he says quietly. “How was I supposed to pass up an opportunity like this?”

Kyle feels a rush of different and harshly conflicting emotions - irritation, a flash of hatred, betrayal, irritation again, anger, then something like desire, and passion, and that damn urge to kiss him again.

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths. Then he stands up quickly and says, “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

“Wait, now that my lipstick’s already smudged, I want some bread sticks-”

“Let’s go,” Kyle repeats, tugging on Cartman’s arm.

Cartman lets Kyle pull him to his feet, briefly rocking back and forth in his off brand Louie V heels. Now devoid of a reason to hide his crush on Kyle, he smiles happily and says, “You’re lucky I like it rough. Any other girl might slap you for being so rude.”

“You’re not a girl.” Kyle throws a tip down on the table, despite not having ate, and starts pulling Cartman toward the exit. He doesn’t know where Stan and Craig went, or even why they left, but he’s not thinking about them right now.

“No, I’m not, and that scares you, doesn’t it? Poor widdle baby Kahl, having his first gay panic-”

Kyle turns on him and bares his teeth, ignoring the fact that they’re being stared at. “I would shut the fuck up if I were you,” he growls, without thinking about it, but immediately regrets it when Cartman’s eyes go half-lidded. He can handle homoerotic overtones with a rival - but not with someone who so clearly is into him and who, terrifyingly, Kyle’s admittedly hot for himself.

Cartman goes silent, though, blissfully, as Kyle leads them out of the restaurant.

Once they’re outside, where it’s fairly empty other than an extended family in the parking lot saying their goodbyes, Kyle turns on Cartman. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Cartman grins at him. He looks like the cat that got the cream - and he looks like that a lot, he’s a smug asshole who gets his way far more often than he deserves to, but this time, things are different, and worse yet, this time, Kyle wants to kiss that self-satisfied smile right off his stupid face.

But that’s what Cartman wants, and Kyle won’t let him have it.

So instead, he says, “Are you free this Friday?”

Cartman smiles.

#kyman #my writing #answered #steidiz #this... is inspired by a family guy scene #do i care? no. we're passed that #also yay me i wrote a kiss!!!#i missed writing kyman this was fun yayyy

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katsbooks · 5 years

Text

Schwarze Nacht - Chapter Five

Walter C. Dornez x Reader

‘All orders by Master Integra Hellsing will be followed to the letter. Any complaints will be given in written form to the Head Maid, who will in turn give them to Master Hellsing. You will have Sundays and Wednesdays off to do as you please, within reason and without violation of Organization policy. Otherwise, you will be in the uniform given to you at all times outside of your room. Your shift will begin at 5:30 am and will end only when the Head Maid, Butler (Sir Walter C. Dornez) or Master Hellsing deems it over.

If there are any questions or concerns that are not addressed in your pamphlet, please consult the Head Maid or Butler.’

(Y/n)’s eyes blinked opened.

The first thing she noticed was that she was lying in a bed. Her bed, to be exact, in her room. The second was that there was someone sitting beside her, watching her with intense red eyes.

“Evening, Sleeping Beauty,” Alucard rumbled. “Did we sleep well?”

(Y/n) sat up slowly, her body aching in protest.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Well, you passed out,” Alucard replied simply.

“Okay…why?”

“Why else? Your body was exhausted and stressed. It couldn’t take it anymore,” he stated. “I have to say, though, you gave Master Hellsing and Walter quite the start when you just pitched forward like that. You’re lucky I caught you before your face met the floor.”

“Oh…thank you,” (Y/n) said, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

“It is ten pm. You’ve been out for fourteen hours. Master Hellsing’s orders for you were to rest the next two days. So you’ve got the weekend off.”

“I can’t do that, what about my Saturday work?” (Y/n) asked, frowning.

“Walter will take care of it. He was doing it before you showed up anyway,” Alucard shrugged. “You need to let your body recover. So lay down and go back to sleep. And I made sure your alarm was off, so don’t get any ideas.”

“….thanks,” (Y/n) replied flatly and he gave her a cheeky smile.

“You’re most welcome. Now go back to sleep.”

“Yes, mom,” (Y/n) drawled, earning a chuckle from the dark man as she laid back down. “Are you going to sit and watch me sleep?”

“Only until I deem you well and good asleep. Then I’ll just watch from the doorway.”

“…that’s creepy.”

“That’s the point.”

(Y/n) chuckled and shook her head, but she rolled over and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep surprisingly easily.

She woke again early the next morning. A glance at her clock told her it was close to eight in the morning. She debated going back to sleep, but decided she had more than enough sleep and climbed out of bed to shower and get dressed in a pair of jeans and her usual t-shirt. After fighting with knots in her hair, she finally got it brushed out and braided out of the way, looking at herself in the mirror.

Well…she didn’t look like death warmed over anymore, so that was a good sign. The black rings under her eyes were still dark, but no longer a corpse did she feel. (Y/n) snorted a little and splashed cold water on her cheeks to bring color to her face, before she went to the galley to eat something, her stomach talking nasty things to her.

She caught Walter coming out, his usual mid-morning cup of tea in hand.

“Morning, Walter,” she greeted.

“Good morning yourself, Miss (Y/n). You look much better,” he said, looking her over carefully. “Still tired, but you have today and tomorrow off to rest.”

“Yes…it wasn’t necessary, but I suppose there’s no arguing with the boss,” (Y/n) smiled a little. Walter chuckled softly.

“I’m pleased to know that your sense of humor has remained untouched by all this,” he commented.

“If I lost my sense of humor just because of one shallow woman’s attempts to ruin my life, where would I be?” she replied.

“I suppose you have a point. How do your hands feel?” he asked, glancing at them. (Y/n) held them up.

“Showering had been uncomfortable, but at least they’ve stopped burning. They’ll be raw for a couple of days,” she shrugged. They were still a little red and shiny, but not nearly as bad as they had been the day before. Walter took one of her hands in his and looked at it closely, running a gloved thumb over the palm of her hand. She winced a little.

“My apologies. I don’t think you’ll be cleaning floors for a while, though,” he said, releasing her hand.

“That doesn’t hurt my feelings any,” (Y/n) said.

“I’m sure,” Walter hummed. “Were you about to get breakfast?”

“I was.”

“Very good. Once you’ve finished, come to Master Hellsing’s office,” he said.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, not at all. There’s a matter we would like to discuss with you about, though,” he said. (Y/n) nodded and he walked off, letting her go into the galley to eat her breakfast. She was undisturbed, allowing her to enjoy her coffee and bagels, before she walked towards Sir Integra’s office. She sighed a little as she automatically straightened her clothing and hair. This had to be a record for a new maid, to have been to the Master’s office so many times without being in trouble.

She knocked and entered when acknowledged, approaching the desk. Integra was smoking one of her expensive cigars as she flipped through what (Y/n) recognized as her application and work list.

“Miss (Y/n), do you know how long you’ve been working here?” Walter asked.

“…nearly three months. I believe I’m ten days shy of the end of my probation period, sir,” (Y/n) replied after doing a quick calculation in her head.

“Indeed, and you have shown much promise in that short time,” he stated. “As a result, Master Hellsing agrees that you should have a permanent place within the Organization.”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise.

“Permanent, sir?” (Y/n) inquired curiously. Walter gave a smile.

“Yes. You see, these three months were spent testing the applicants that are interested in working fully here. To see if they are capable and mentally able to handle what is required to work here. Out of the five that are still here, you’ve shown very little change in your psychological evaluations and the amount of effort you place in your work has not wavered in the least,” Walter explained. “In ten days, the remaining girls will be brought in here to either be hired to work in less invasive areas of the manor, or will be let go. You, however, will remain working as my attendant.”

(Y/n) was a little speechless, really, unsure how to feel about this surprising announcement.

“As such, you will have to be trained,” Walter continued.

“Er….trained, sir?”

“In handling a weapon. As an integrated member of the Hellsing Organization, you will have to put forth your life in protecting Sir Integra’s, just as I and Alucard have done,” he explained.

“I see…”

“Is this a bit much?”

“It’s a little overwhelming, yes,” (Y/n) admitted. “I…wasn’t really expecting something like this, really.”

“It can be a bit much at first, but you’ll come to just accept it all as it happens,” Walter smiled. “This will take time, after all. Now then, you will continue with your duties, as usual, and will be here on the morning the probation period is up with the other three. Please do not speak of this to the others.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now then, you are familiar with Alucard, yes?” he asked. Sir Dark and Creepy? Yeah, she was familiar with him. He watched her sleep last night, that’s about as familiar as one can get with a person.

“I am, sir.”

“You’ve noticed he’s not quite…normal?” Walter asked.

“I have. Humans don’t have red eyes, for one thing. Or fangs,” (Y/n) said.

“Indeed, they don’t,” Walter agreed with a smile. “You’ll be interacting with him more often as time goes on. Is there anything on your mind you’d like to ask about?”

(Y/n) thought for a moment, then shook her head. Right now her head was just too busy trying to process all of this to even bother thinking of a concern.

“Excellent. Then you are free to enjoy today and tomorrow at your leisure. You’ll begin work again on Monday,” Walter said.

“Yes, sir,” (Y/n) nodded.

“Dismissed.”

(Y/n) gave a short bow, before she left the room.

“….I think she took that all rather well, don’t you Master Hellsing?” Walter asked, glancing at the blonde-haired woman.

“Fairly well, considering most end up freaking out when told all of this,” Integra agreed, tossing aside the papers. “What about the other girl that works underneath you? Grace?”

“She’s a decent worker, good for doing normal maid duties, but not for the more invasive areas of Hellsing,” Walter stated. “She has a tendency to think of others as beneath her, though.”

“Indeed. I suppose one out of five isn’t awful, considering this is the fourth bunch Delores had hired,” Integra grunted, before she turned her attention to the papers sitting on the corner of her desk.

#hellsing #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing walter #walter c dornez #walterxreader #walter x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader

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awolfroams · 3 years

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2017 Summer in Asia, Part 7: Kyoto, Japan

July 9, 2017 5:30 pm Still on the bus from Nagoya to Fukui

I keep procrastinating writing about Kyoto because it was so much crammed into two days. And even after all I walked and saw and climbed and did, I still came nowhere close to seeing all of the temples and shrines. The night we arrived in Kyoto, after checking into Hotel Gimmond, we set out to try and find some dinner. After looking at a couple of places that didn’t grab our attention, we poked our heads into an elegant-looking but fairly-priced, mom-and-pop restaurant literally around the corner from our hotel. @taketheshield pretended not to speak Japanese, for reasons I still don’t understand, so the very nice woman gave us a cobbled-together English menu of some of their entrees. Kyoto is known for its fried tofu and fried tofu skin, so I ordered a fried tofu dish with lychee-flavored shōchū to drink. @taketheshield got an eggplant and fried tofu skin salad, and we each swapped a bite. The food was the first cooking we’d had that rivaled the monks’ back in Koyasan.

@taketheshield had already been to Kyoto several times and seen most of what was worth seeing, so the next morning, I set off on my own for Arashiyama Bamboo Forest. I wandered through the bamboo grove for about an hour, stopping to take photographs and buy a couple of postcard prints from a friendly local artist. I then made my way down to the river and across it to hike my way up my first mountain of the day, to Arashiyama Monkey Park. There, I snapped some photos of tourists feeding the monkeys, and a couple of the monkeys playing and cleaning each others’ fur. I then hiked back down the mountain (it was about twenty-five minutes to hike each way) and back across the bridge to catch the bus to Kinkakuji, the Golden Pavilion.

Kinkakuji is situated in a small pond surrounded by a Zen garden, and true to its word, the walls are clad in real gold. On the estate grounds is also a ceremonial tea house. After touring the grounds, I caught another bus to Ginkakuji, the Silver Pavilion, but the buses were running a different route behind schedule, so by the time I got there, between being behind schedule and feeling hot and tired, I decided instead to duck into a nearby café for some shaved matcha ice with red bean and rice balls, and to charge my phone for a bit.

After I’d cooled down a bit and prepared a fresh coat of bug spray, I set off along the Philosopher’s Path to Nanzenji. The path is supposed to be the prettiest in cherry blossom season or in autumn, but I still found it to be lovely, walking along the creek with tiny wooden bridges where people sat with their legs dangling over the edge, all framed by hydrangeas and tiny wildflowers.

By the time I got to Nanzenji, I temple itself was closed, but I was still able to pass through the formidable gate and wander the grounds until I found the aqueduct @taketheshield had told me about. It reminded me of the one in Segovia. Later, on the train to Fukui, @taketheshield would point out the lake far outside of Kyoto that the aqueduct had been built to reach as the primary water source for the city.

With the sun starting to set, I hurried to the metro to Fushimi Inari. Fushimi Inari is a Shinto fox shrine up a mountainside known for having a stretch of mountain climb called the “1,000 Torii” because it is framed by at least 1,000 Torii gates. And that’s just one stretch. That’s how long it is.

After photographing the main complex of temples, I looked at the map of the mountain for reference, and started to climb. Fun fact: maps of stairs and hiking trails in Japan are not to scale. I should have learned from the monkey mountain, which I’d thought was an exception. I was wrong.

Climbing and panting my way up the mountainside, the sun rapidly setting over the city below, I started to see signs in English and Japanese warning of wild boar. They stressed to be careful, “especially at night.” I ran into another lone traveler, from Ireland, and asked her how much further up to the top of the mountain. The said she wasn’t sure, but it seemed like quite a ways, and she was turning back because of the boar signs. I was tempted to do the same, but she said if I climbed a bit further there was a great view of the city, so i thanked her and continued on a bit longer. At the clearing she had described, I took more photographs and turned around to head back down, when I overheard a couple of Spaniards trying to gauge how much further to the top. I told them it was far, to which they replied, “Aun somos jovenes y fuertes.” I wished them luck, but they insisted I go along as well, because apparently I am also still young and strong. Three people were more likely to keep a boar at bay than one, so I decided to go along with them for a bit. They introduced themselves as Carlos and Pol from Barcelona. I told them how I’d lived in Madrid the year before. We chatted a bit as we heaved ourselves up and up, through countless Torii, until finally I reached my limit on a particularly steep pass, swarmed with mosquitoes. I explained to them that I have asthma and would be turning back. They offered to accompany me back if I waited for them, but it was pitch black and getting late, so I thanked them and declined.

Carlos was staying in Japan for a few more weeks, so he asked to stay in touch and we swapped contact info. I then sprinted back down the mountain, slightly panicking over being alone and unarmed in darkness with the idea of contending with a wild boar. After about thirty minutes straight of sprinting, the path became better lit, and I started to pass more people.

I overheard a family of Spaniards puzzling over the same very-not-to-scale map I had seen on my way up, trying to figure out how long to the top. I told them it was quite a hike, and when they found out I was there alone, they turned back with me to talk me to the metro station. I found out they were from Madrid, so I told them how I’d lived and taught there for a year. They’d also been to Bangkok, so I asked them for tips for when we went there later that summer. They told me to be prepared to haggle prices, and to watch the taxi meters to make sure I wasn’t overcharged.

We chatted right up to the metro platform, when suddenly a voice cried out, “Hey, @awolfroams!” from behind me. It was the Barcelona guys. Apparently we had only been about a ten minute-further hike from the summit, but when I asked what was at the top and they said just another shrine like the ones along the way, I internally called worth it for turning back. I wished everyone safe travels and headed back to meet @taketheshield for dinner, where I recounted my mountain escapades.

We decided to go back to the same restaurant. Kyoto is also known for its green tea, so I had a bowl of green tea broth with rice and seaweed, and a side of the house special - tuna and spinach salad, which was delicious. I washed it down with peach shōchū, and then we thanked the woman at the restaurant, took a goodbye picture, and went back to the hotel to pass out.

***

Tuesday, July 11, 2017 12:45 pm Fukui Prefecture Dinosaur Museum, Katsuyama

The buses in Katsuyama only run once about every four hours between the station and Heisenji Hakusan Shrine, so it looks like I won’t be going to the “moss palace” on this trip. :( I could take a taxi, but it’s 2,000 yen one way because it’s 7 km from the station, and I don’t want to spend ~$40 round-trip to go to a shrine, even if it’s 1,300 years old. Oh well. I am currently at the third-largest dinosaur museum in the world, so I am trying to console myself with that. My phone has been eating through battery on this trip, probably because of all of the texting, Snaps, and Google Maps use, so whenever I find an outlet, I try to take advantage and charge, especially since they are not too common in Fukui Prefecture. This one is around the corner from this bench in the Earth Sciences exhibit, tucked under a phone and behind an emergency call box. I’m hoping no one notices or minds that I’m using it. Since I now have about two extra hours to kill at the dinosaur museum, I figured I’d rest for a bit and finish my Kyoto log.

For our second and final day in Kyoto, @taketheshield made an itinerary of places he was willing to see again so that we could travel together. We started with Nishiki Market. The long stretch of covered shops and stalls sold food, clothing, and basic home items. I saw a pair of stocking-topped socks like my ones back home that I was tempted to buy, but my bag is already heavy enough, or so I told myself, and moved on. We hadn’t yet eaten, so I got a skewer of three pieces of smoked duck for 200 yen, and then we shared fried calamari for I think 300 yen. I tried a ginger-cabbage fish paste patty for 200 yen that was okay, but not my favorite, and washed it down with a mango passionfruit peach smoothie which was expensive at 600 yen, but worth the price in the humid heat.

From the market, we walked the 20 minutes to Chionin Temple, passing through Gion district, where we didn’t see any geisha, but I did find a porcelain calico cat sitting on its hind legs like my Misha for my mom. @taketheshield said the inscription was to bring luck with money, which lord knows we could use. I also bought a small geisha figuring designed to bobble and always land upright, and tucked it into the same gift box for my mom.

Chionin Temple, like so many other temples, was up an incline into a mountainside, and, of course, the map of steps was not to scale. Nevertheless, I made my way up to and through the gate, up the steep steps (Japan loves massive steps the height of my knees) to the temple complex. The main temple was under restoration, but I got some nice photographs of the smaller surrounding buildings, which included a pagoda similar to the one in Koyasan.

From Chionin, we trekked through the boiling heat, up another mountain path lined with tourist shops and ice cream parlors, to Kiyomizu-dera, a Buddhist temple situated on a hillside, as if jutting out from a cliff. This temple was also, sadly, under restoration, but we were able to pass through it and see the massive Buddhas inside before walking along the cliffside to a fountain where visitors could use UV-sterilized metal cups on long sticks to catch pure mountain water at a small shrine to drink from while making a wish. I wished for snow. @taketheshield must have wished for new sweat towels, because he lost both of his to the waterfall stream below while drinking.

I was exhausted from all of the mountain climbing in Kyoto, but @taketheshield insisted I’d appreciate our final stop, Nijō Castle. He was right. The castle had been designed as a residence, not a fort, so unlike the other steep castles we had visited and climbed in our travels, it was entirely flat, a sprawling maze of hallways nicknamed for the chirping bird-like squeaks the floorboards emitted beneath our bare feet as we passed chambers of beautifully-painted sliding doors with tigers, lakes, and pine trees, framed by ornamental woodwork carved into vines and flowers. The faded ceiling panels still held massive floral designs that must once have been a much brighter red, and the castle was surrounded by a pretty Zen garden with rock islands and tiny waterfalls where koi swam lazily in the summer heat.

It had started to rain, so we hurried back to the hotel to grab our things and catch our train to Fukui. I’m off to potentially see a dinosaur movie. More later.

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lins-fandom-hub · 5 years

Text

weird asks thing

from this post

okay here we go

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Tea cups and coffee mugs! Not that I’m a firm collector. I just happen to have them is all.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate bars.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Cotton Candy!!

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Hyper, not very cooperative, loud

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Soda bottles, though I wouldn’t mind glass cups.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Huh? I...tend to go casual, and the colour scheme doesn’t matter to me much. I’d say tomboy if I have to pick from this list though.

7. earbuds or headphones?

Headphones--if I could find a nice pair.

8. movies or tv shows?

Movies. I don’t know any TV shows.

9. favorite smell in the summer?

Freshly cut grass after mowing the lawn.

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Don’t even talk to me about P.E. The only thing I remember from it was the stress that dodgeball brought around.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Eggs, bread, oatmeal. Nothing too fancy. Sometimes I actually make a breakfast sandwich with avocados and cheese, but if said items weren’t in the fridge...

12. name of your favorite playlist?

Windows Down 2k18. Has tracks from many different artists and eras that I actually like to listen to. No classical though, that’s another playlist.

13. lanyard or key ring?

Lanyard. Can’t get enough of them back in university.

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Fuzzy Peaches.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

The Magician’s Nephew by C. S. Lewis.

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Mermaid pose? On the floor, at least.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

A pair of black Adidas shoes my mom recently bought this year for me and my sister. Turns out that my sister wears the white pair more while I wear the black. Not that I mind.

18. ideal weather?

Sunny with no chance of rain.

19. sleeping position?

Mostly on my right side all curled up.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Depends on my mood. Sometimes my computer for fanfic novels. Sometimes my notebook if I have secrets to spill.

21. obsession from childhood?

Does Disney count?

22. role model?

Idina Menzel.

23. strange habits?

Talking to myself (a lot), singing at my desk (or humming), twirling my pencil too much.

24. favorite crystal?

White Calcite.

25. first song you remember hearing?

Ummm...the wheels on the bus? I can’t remember.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Walk around the park and catch Pokemon (in Pokemon GO).

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Go ice skating!

28. five songs to describe you?

“Speechless” - Naomi Scott

“Blown Away” - Carrie Underwood

“I Dare You” - Bea Miller

“Bless Myself” - Lucy Hale

“Can’t Be Tamed” - Miley Cyrus

29. best way to bond with you?

Walk through the park with me. Or talk about stuff with me. Anything, really, so long as it doesn’t bore either of us.

30. places that you find sacred?

Any place that holds a tall temple.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

a pair of denim shorts and a black t-shirt. or if it’s in the winter, a pair of jeans and a comfy hoodie.

32. top five favorite vines?

I don’t watch vines. Welp.

33. most used phrase in your phone?

Welp.

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

For a while it was this Liberty ad I remember watching while I was in the States, but that’s pretty much it...

35. average time you fall asleep?

On school nights, 12 am or so, maybe 2 am at latest. Right now, about 10 pm or so.

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

anything involving grumpy cat.

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Suitcase! Makes things feel more official.

38. lemonade or tea?

Lemonade.

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon meringue pie!

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

At least once a term it’s turned into the biggest Humans vs Zombies war zone ever.

41. last person you texted?

my mom

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

jacket pockets!

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodies!

44. favorite scent for soap?

Anything floral works.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

my pyjamas!

47. favorite type of cheese?

Havarti. But that’s because I eat it so often.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Probably a grape. Or a bunch of grapes.

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

“When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.” ~Thomas Jefferson

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

Any GIF from Hamilton the Musical.

51. current stresses?

Job searching and updating stories on Wattpad.

52. favorite font?

Comic Sans--NOPE. Tahoma or Verdana, I guess.

53. what is the current state of your hands?

Fairy smooth, I guess? Though the nails are misshapen due to my horrendous attempts at cutting them, and my pinkies are curved due to genetics passed down from generations past. Whee.

54. what did you learn from your first job?

I learned that not everyone will treat you with the same respect, and that you have to look past that flaw to give them a chance.

55. favorite fairy tale?

The Goose Girl.

56. favorite tradition?

Anything Chinese New Year related.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Depression in the wake of my grandfather’s death; lack of confidence after my parents’ condemning; lack of concentration following a head injury

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Playing the piano, playing the violin, singing on pitch, and opening bottles with lids screwed on too tightly.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“Don’t even try to mess with me.”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

I don’t even know the first thing about Anime, so I don’t even know how to answer this.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

“That’s my girlfriend, you numpties!” ~Ron Weasley

62. seven characters you relate to?

Anna - Frozen

Rapunzel - Tangled

Katniss - The Hunger Games

Tris - Divergent

Rowan - HPHM

[insert 2 other characters here]

63. five songs that would play in your club?

“Turn Down for What” - DJ Snake ft Lil John

“High Hopes” - Panic! At the Disco

“Dance, Dance” - Fall Out Boy

“Victorious” - P!ATD

“Kill This Love” - BLACKPINK

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Webkinz.com or Poptropica.com

65. any permanent scars?

One on my right knee from an unfortunate slip on ice in the winter four years ago.

66. favorite flower(s)?

Daisies, lilies, or tulips.

67. good luck charms?

depends on whatever holds more sentimental value. For now, it’s a little Niffler that I crocheted off a YouTube tutorial (and its name is Nuggets.)

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

I typically don’t like anything too spicy, but I really hate the taste of mushrooms. Not the Asian ones--Baby Bellas, specifically. Just...no.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Currently not applicable.

70. left or right handed?

Right handed.

71. least favorite pattern?

Huh?

72. worst subject?

Gym.

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

I’ll get back to you on that.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

7 or 8.

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I was...five or six? Still fairly young.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Anything that’s a mix of fries or tater tots! Those are just--mm.

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

I’m not much of a plant-grower but any small plant works fine.

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Sushi from a grocery store, please.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

School ID photo.

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Jewel tones.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Fireflies. What are lightning bugs??

82. pc or console?

Console--and here I wish I still had one!

83. writing or drawing?

Writing.

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Talk radio.

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Barbie--mostly because I didn’t know Polly Pocket existed until I was like 10 or 11.

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Fairy tales.

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cupcakes! Cookies! Can I say both???

87. your greatest fear?

People stabbing me to death with nothing but words of betrayal on their lips.

88. your greatest wish?

Hey, if I told you that, it wouldn’t come true.

89. who would you put before everyone else?

My little sister.

90. luckiest mistake?

Haven’t had any recently.

91. boxes or bags?

Boxes.

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Sunlight!

93. nicknames?

Never had any, though someone in an old English class I used to teach thought it’d be funny to call me Crayola.

94. favorite season?

Spring!

95. favorite app on your phone?

Pokemon GO for now.

96. desktop background?

A picture I took last summer of a monarch butterfly landing on a pink flower.

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

None? Okay, like, 3, but mostly because they’re really important numbers.

98. favorite historical era?

Music speaking, the Classical era. Otherwise, I don’t know, I haven’t studied that extensively into history.

#this took me way too long #rip #about clara lin #about me #legit though

0 notes

shirlleycoyle · 5 years

Text

The Training Commission

After the end of a second ultraviolent American civil war, after we’ve placed the state under the guidance of automated systems—well, there’s inevitably going to be a Smithsonian exhibit. Ingrid Burrington and Brendan Byrne’s brilliant new speculative fiction newsletter—which received support from the Mozilla Foundation, and which we’re thrilled to share the first installment here today—collects the dispatches of an architecture critic with personal ties to the bloody conflict who is assigned to review the museum’s new Reconciliation Wing.

The authors explain: “The Training Commission is a speculative fiction newsletter about the compromises and consequences of applying technological solutionism to collective trauma. The USA, still reeling from a civil war colloquially referred to as the Shitstorm, has adopted an algorithmic society to free the nation from the pain of governing itself.” It’s also a hell of a story. There will be six installments in all, arriving weekly—subscribe here to receive the next five direct, as they say, to your inbox. Enjoy. -the ed

From: Aoife T <[email protected]> Subject: re: This is a bad idea Date: May 11, 2038 3:49 PM EDT To: Ellen Leavitt <[email protected]>

I understand why you think that would work, Ellen, but aside from generally having no interest in putting my personal life on display like that, I really don’t think me writing a tearjerker op-ed about a traumatizing exhibition display is going to get the Smithsonian to change their minds so much as convince them that the controversy will draw crowds. I’d rather deal with them through backchannels with my mom and sister on board, try to make this all go away quietly before the museum opens.

Thanks for the Kilfe token, I just saw it come through on the ledger. I’ll be running the runnable parts of the draft in my newsletter, I guess. Sorry again to let you down on this. I might have a beat on something interesting soon–too early to say but it means I think I’ll be down in DC for at least another week.

From: Aoife T <[email protected]> Subject: Some Things Don’t Belong In A Museum Date: May 12, 2038 4:30:58 PM EDT To: [email protected]

Apologies that it’s been a while since the last one of these. I’ve been busy, not successful busy, mostly pitching pieces in my new/old specialty. You’d think a contemporary moment so focused on rebuilding America would give some kind of shit about architecture, but uhm, nope.

What follows began as a review of the new Reconciliation Wing of the Smithsonian which a Very Kind Editor cherry-picked me for. It’s good to get paid to visit my hometown because, as my regular readers know, I will otherwise avoid the District like the sweaty American bog it is. I was apparently desperate enough for work to imagine the Reconciliation Wing might not feature an intersection with my own personal history, which, of course, was deeply delusional, and I took myself out of the game in a semi-dramatic fashion. Suffice to say, currently I’m fine but couldn’t really file something this incomplete so I’m sharing what parts of it could be salvaged here.

As seen from the National Mall ferry, the finally-completed Reconciliation Wing of the Smithsonian American History Museum is a major architectural interruption in the capitol’s low-lying landscape of retrofitted and elevated 20th-century buildings–which is ironic, considering how much attention went to making it seamlessly connect to the natural systems of the Anacostia canals. The first new construction project on the Mall since the creation of the DC canal system, the Reconciliation Wing has been subject of curiosity not only as an opening move in historicizing the National Shitstorm (ahem, The Interstate Conflict) but also as a formal progression in post-Capitol architecture. (Unless, of course, you believe that the bare-chested, perpetually shouting hologram of Alex Jones in the rear sculpture garden of the Newseum cannot be topped.)

The wing’s designer, Kay Mangakāhia, was a controversial selection from the Smithsonian and Ashburn Institute’s open call for submissions. An intern at Bjarke Ingels Group at the time, Mangakāhia was notable not only for her age (at twenty-two, she was barely ten at the time the Ashburn Accords were even signed) but her permaculture-infused proposal. The mycelium buttresses and living fungal structures of the Reconciliation Wing are now in high demand, but it took Mangakāhia’s persistence and the algorithm’s faith in her design to reach this plateau. The thriving structure’s delicate complexity and environmental pragmatism reflect the oft-quoted line from Mangakāhia’s original proposal: “survival without poetics is a carceral existence.”

One can’t say such an attitude pervades the exhibits in the Reconciliation Wing. Upon entry, a flickering series of Extremely Relatable Human Faces projected on black plinths greet visitors. The visages display a fairly narrow scale of emotions between Makes You Think and Slight but Telling Emotional Pain but somehow they manage to be all very specific. No context is provided. Given the purpose of the wing, one might suspect that these are some of the IRL victims of what the museum seems to have decided we’re calling “The First Algorithmic Society.”

Only upon arriving at a small, dim aperture is context provided: the portraits are all visuals generated by AIs developed pre-Shitstorm, let loose to slither upstream into visitors’ phones. They cull contact info, pictures, bank account etc. and put together a monstermash of the type of person you’re most likely to have an empathetic reaction to, then plugged said persona into the the loop, along with the last fifty or so visitors’.

This led to the other journalists in attendance performing variations on the exhausted sigh, since recent years have seen around half a dozen gallery shows in NYC using some version of this shock tactic (though, to be fair, rarely with the technical success of the Reconciliation Wing). While this installation is no doubt supposed to primarily remind visitors of the prevailing ease with which corporations accessed our pocket technological unconsciousnesses pre-Ashburn, it also serves the dual purpose of showing how vulnerable Palantir’s National Firewall is to even ridiculously outdated tech. Hence why the feds keeps running that Don’t Bring Your Phone to China/Don’t Actually Go to China Ever awareness campaign. (It shouldn’t surprise you that Vera’s written about this. Read her shit!)

Next is a long, narrow room skirted on the left by an unbroken screen which features a 1990s techno-thriller code waterfall with, again, no context. On the right runs a series of pictures, videos and artifacts designed to shock viewers into clubsterbomb memories–the remnants of a Google bus retrofitted and weaponized into a battering ram, that famous photo of the National Guard standing down at one of the many early BLM standoffs (everyone remembers the photo, never the standoff), a yellowing final print edition of the Washington Post.

To be fair, the Smithsonian’s only getting a fraction of the archival materials collected by the Ashburn Institute as part of the truth and reconciliation process. (This controversy–the splintering of the archive and intra-federal agency squabbles over it–does not get a mention in the exhibition.) Of course they went with the most bombastic acquisitions. But for all the attempted sensory overload, the wall text and captions are jarringly milquetoast, acquiescing to the kind of both-sides-ism that heavily aided the collapse of consensus truths in the first place. I wondered what kind of exhibit might have emerged had the Smithsonian received the full archives of the Training Commission–side note, has anyone ever actually referred to it as the Ashburn Truth and Reconciliation Council For A New American Consensus outside of official documents? Even Darcy Lawson called it the TC in her fucking victory lap TED Talk last year. When the director of the Ashburn Institute has embraced a term originally coined and deployed by critics of the project it seems like it might be time to drop the formalities.

Presumably, the TC is at least acknowledged in the exhibition. Considering that it enabled UBI, closed (almost) every prison in the country, and effectively automated the office of the Presidency out of existence, it would have to be. But I didn’t get that far.

(Here endeth the non-article.)

As longtime readers already know, I write about architecture and design here, not my brother. In fact, I don’t write about him at all. I have no interest in following in Ciarnán Whelan’s investigative reporter footsteps or reflecting on what happened to him in any public setting. I’m hoping that by the time the Reconciliation Wing opens to the public, a particularly distasteful section of the exhibition will be revised or altogether removed. But to include something so graphic with so little warning, with such a manipulative experience design, and with the gall to strategically place tissue boxes around the space as though that’s an act of mercy? It’s cheap and insulting. It doesn’t deserve to be written about. So I didn’t write about it.

Thanks for subscribing (and reading). Depending on whether a piece an editor’s been sitting on for months ever lands I might have something old-new for you next week.

From: Aoife T <[email protected]> Subject: Deadtech from a Dead Guy Date: May 13, 2038 2:31:58 AM EDT To: Avi Huerta <[email protected]>

Avi,

Did you read my last stringr newsletter? I mean, probably not by now since it just went out like under twelve hours ago and you have a small excellent child. But I can’t sleep, and you’re the kind of person who might be able to help but you also probably should read that first for context. (And, as context for the context, most of what’s below is what I wrote in a fugue state before realizing that I couldn’t send it to my editor.)

So I knew the real reason I got a press pass to the Reconciliation Wing preview wasn’t my bylines so much as my real last name. The press tour minders were practically levitating with morbid curiosity when I arrived. I managed to ditch them, lingering and checking photo credits (nerd) by about halfway through the exhibit. This meant, thankfully, that there was no one around when I turned the corner into the section I had secretly hoped wouldn’t be included: the tragic death of renowned journalist Ciarnán Whelan while embedded with the Last Luddite Revolutionary Guard, declared here by the museum to be a “turning point” in the Interstate Conflict.

I mean, I was expecting some triggering bullshit, but I wasn’t expecting the audacity of how it was delivered. Instead of taking the larger-than-life screen approach with that portrait everyone loves to use of him or a slo-mo attempt to make a snuff film elegiac, I got a fucking push notification on my phone from the museum AI.

“Please be advised that the following content may be disturbing to some,” it read. It turned out that wasn’t a notice to give you a fucking choice, just a preamble before the video started to play and I was fucking thirteen years old again, staring at my palm and a video of my big dumb reporter brother using his “serious correspondent voice” I always made fun of, just outside a New Mexico Facebook data center embedded with the Ludds. People forget how long the broadcast ran before the too-good-for-a-minor-militia “DIY” quadcopter IED actually hit. (This was, of course, the video that was broadcast on Facebook Live, the one that people said Facebook tweaked the algo to downrank when their role in the attack became clear. It didn’t work. As the wall text accurately notes, most people, like me, saw it live.)

The wall displays telegraphed the rest of it, though mostly I’m just guessing from what I vaguely remember seeing spinning on the walls in front of me right before I blacked out mid-panic attack. 90% sure they have a shot of Faraday Fields under construction, which should amuse you; also seemed like they get into the conspiracy theory/ies, which probably won’t.

I woke up in a basement office of the old Smithsonian, somewhere far below the canals. A slouchy middle-aged guy with no hair on his head and a throwback 2010s beard was sitting by the door, scrolling through his phone. “Welcome back,” he said, gesturing toward an ancient percolator with the elan of a long-suffering mid-level bureaucrat. The coffee smelled about as appealing as Anacostia scumwater, but I was too tired to turn it down.

I asked if I’d been out long, a little thrown that the Smithsonian’s idea of first aid was depositing me in an office with some rando who I definitely hadn’t seen on the press tour.

“A little more than an hour. The tour’s over. If you want to see the rest of it I can take you around in a bit.” Eyes a little too steady on me, he took the smallest sip of coffee from a mug which read No Taxation Without Input/Output. “You’re a good writer. I subscribe to your Stringr.”

“No shit, thanks man. What’s your name?”

“I was surprised to hear you took this gig,” he added, “Considering.” My face must have done something because he ducked his head slightly and said, “Sorry. Just came out.”

“Nothing new. Half my subscribers are legacy leftovers. Pity’s a driving force in my economic security, if you wanna call it that.”

His face compressed into a porpoise’s little O. “That can’t be true.”

(It’s true, shut up Avi, it’s true.)

I sipped some of the coffee, letting him know via performative sigh that it was shit. “So what’s your deal, guy? You volunteer to babysit me while I’m unconscious to fanboi out here or is this like your actual job?”

Said guy did some seriously inscrutable facial muscle constrictions, which I studied as an example of how not to behave towards formerly unconscious people. Then he smiled suddenly and said, “I have to get back to work.” He raised his eyebrows, actually raised his eyebrows, and gestured at the door.

“Well,” I said, standing a little unsteadily, blowing on and sipping the rough coffee one last time. “Thanks for the hospitality, I guess.” I watched him watch my right hand replace the coffee cup. I was pissed at myself that it couldn’t stop trembling, and I was pissed at him for noticing it. “You know whoever designed that section on my brother?”

“No.”

“You know who approved it?”

He thought about that a second. “Yes.”

“Do me a favor and tell them it’s manipulative and crass? That no one fucking needs to relive that?”

He nodded once, looking down at his coffee. I left before he could put his foot in his mouth again. Outside, in a arcing, narrow corridor I turned to see the name on the door: John Temblaine Paulson.

Shockingly, my phone had already synched up with the Smithsonian’s wayfinding platform, which guided me up two separate elevators then shunted me out a service exit onto Mangakāhia’s rhizomatic terrace. I took about three steps before palming my juul out of my bag and putting it to my lips, automatically clicking the button and drawing in hard before realizing that I had clicked no button and was drawing around an object which was definitely not providing me with a long-overdue nicotine hit.

It was a USB stick. The kind you might use in, like, 2008. Dead tech, and it looked it: scarred light purple shell and a connector skewed so hard I doubted its operability.

Avi, you are well aware that I have a fairly disordered work/home/personal life, but you’ve known me long enough to know my bag is always ordered. And never have I put a USB stick in my bag. Never have I, as an adult, even used a USB stick, much less carried one on my person. So John Temblaine Paulson had, quite obviously, stuck it in there.

Recalling his idle phone-scrolling when I came to and the inscrutable creepy expressions, I concluded the guy probably filmed me passed out in his office chair as some weird sex thing, then put that video on the USB somehow and left in my bag to taunt me.

Which, as I type this, sounds kind of insane but I was also coming off a blackout induced by re-watching my brother’s livestreamed murder, so logical conclusions weren’t exactly in reach. Plus the only thing in my stomach at that point was that shit museum coffee.

As I returned to the museum entrance the elderly docent who’d processed my credentials two hours ago welcomed me with a smile that demonstrated she’d completely forgotten who I was. “Lemme tell you about the kind of people you got working here,” I spat. “John Temblaine Paulson, that weird old pervert, how could you just let him–”

“John?” said the docent.

“–scoop me up like I was a puppy or something like small and stupid and throw me over his shoulder like a sack of onions or whatever he did, maybe he used a handtruck–”

“Paulson?”

“–and just spirit me down to his little serial killer sanctum and video me while I was passed out in his shitty little Federal-ass stiff-ass chair–”

“Temblaine?”

“Yeah, don’t even try to tell me you don’t know him.”

“Of course I know him, dear. He’s in Iceland for the month.”

That set me back, my jaw going while my brain stopped, and, luckily, nothing more coming out of my mouth. The docent smiled at me like she was worried I might be about to stroke out. “There’s no one in his office then?” I mumbled.

“Oh, that should be locked,” said the docent, but she was catching up and looking all concerned. “Were you there? In Mr. Tembaline Paulson’s office? Did someone take you there?”

And here, embarrassed and out of it yet suddenly aware of my own behavior, I was saying things like I’m confused, I think, apologies, you don’t remember who I am do you? and backing out of the lobby. With the docent oozing concerned utterances in my general direction, I fled through Mangakāhia’s rhizomes and caught a ferry back to the sliver of shipping container I’d reserved on the Marion Barry Inlet (of course I didn’t tell my mom I was in town, fuck’s sake). Wrote the article, cut off the part marked HAZARD PERSONAL SHIT, sent the other chunk to Ellen, fell asleep for three hours, woke up, wrote Ellen an email saying the article was shit, and then she said no it wasn’t but yeah she couldn’t run it, and then spent the rest of the night listening to the arrhythmic thud of water against the container hull and hating myself.

I tried to clear my head this morning by heading up to Air and Space. I know, I know you fucking hate that place, but my childhood nostalgia still beats out my discomfort at imperialist propaganda. It’s one of the last places in this city where I can actually space out.

You’ll be shocked to hear this is directly related to Ciarnán taking me there routinely as a key part of Big Brother Babysitting. Specifically, the museum’s second floor, where an exposed platform lets you look down on various high points of colonialist engineering. There’s a glass partition that I’d press against, as if there was nothing between me and the immense sun-drenched lacuna beneath us, Ciarnán at the ready just in case the glass shattered under the stress of my little form.

For just a minute, fingers dragging the smudging glass, now knee-height, looking down at the overlit off-season emptiness, I felt like I just might fall, like I just might be pulled back.

When I returned to the world somewhere around the Drone Wing, my phone buzzed insistently with one of FBUS’ all-hands alerts. Automatically I obeyed and was rewarded with not-John Temblain Paulson’s face enclosed in a little blue box. “Ashburn Institute staffer found dead in Potomac.” As my eyes blurred the images and my upper back instinctively scrunched into a defensive hunch, my hand curled around the USB stick still shoved in my pocket, fingernail scouring it again and again as if that might reveal whatever was stored inside.

So: can I come visit? Whatever this guy wanted me to see was apparently important enough to fake his way into the Smithsonian, and if I hand the USB to the case workers I’ll probably never find out what’s on it. You, on the other hand, have an oracular way with the dead tech, and who knows, maybe it’ll have some fun dirt on our New Algorithmic Society we can send to a real journalist or whatever. I mean, it’s probably not real spooky ops shit. But if it is, it’ll at least be interesting, right?

The Training Commission syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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