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gmariam19 · 3 years

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Hello! I hit one of those follower milestones that we all like to grin about - thank you! I decided to share something to go with the last moodboard I posted, a story I started ages ago but that stalled out at chapter five. The opening is below, and I'm hoping I can get it going again and post it sometime this fall. I'm sure a few details will change, and I do hope to finish some shorter stories before then. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy it - thanks for reading! :)

One

Poe already misses the ranch.

It’s been months since he's been home, seen his dad, even had a day off. Spending five days on Yavin 4 is exactly what he needed. He feels relaxed and recharged, ready to resume the job of co-General. He's fairly sure he's gained weight from all the eating and drinking they did, but that was what home was for him: koyo fruit and dark caf, roasted runyip steaks with kibla greens and sweetsand cookies for dessert. He hasn't eaten so well for months, maybe years.

Finn looks fairly content as well. Poe had been nervous about the trip, but it was past time to introduce Finn to Kes Dameron. Poe couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home, and he'd been a wreck until the moment his father had stepped forward, raised an eyebrow at Finn's outstretched hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Kes's eyes had been bright, and Poe had almost choked up; Finn had been stunned at the warm welcome.

Everything had been perfect after that. In fact, maybe a little too good as Poe had been ganged up on more than once by Finn and his father. But to watch them together, talking, laughing, even cooking (though Finn was a disaster of a cook, so he usually ended up doing the washing) was a joy. It made Poe want a life like that more than anything—a quiet life with someone he loved, near friends and family. It was what peace looked like.

Of course, he would probably be bored after a month, but he could still think about it, couldn't he?

For now, there is still work to do, and part of Poe's plan in flying out to see his dad had been to make a few stops on the way back. The first is Torque, a quick jump from Yavin 4. It isn't the nicest spaceport in the sector, but it's the capital and it’s busy, which means they can blend in and listen, get a feel for what’s going on outside their immediate circle. Finn is meeting with one of Vi Moradi's people to exchange news, someone he'd met on Batuu who happened to be passing through the sector, while Poe is meeting with one of Grakkus the Hutt's pilots for a brief, off-the-record meeting on conditions in Hutt space.

Poe walks to a cantina not far from the landing pads on his own, his senses on high alert. He's in a dingy spaceport in the Outer Rim, a general of the Resistance who still has a large bounty on his head. Armed and aware, he notices immediately when he turns that the street he's on—more of an alley, really—is unusually quiet and empty. Perfect setup for an ambush.

He comms Finn. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he says as quietly as he can. "Good chance someone knows we’re here. Stay alert." Finn confirms the message. Poe unhooks his blaster, speeding up his pace. As he reaches the end of the alley, he senses a presence behind him, and feels a blaster in his back.

"Don't move," says a low voice, a familiar voice.

"Finn?" asks Poe. "What're you—"

The blaster pokes him hard in the ribs, so definitely not Finn (and they don't really play like that in public, anyway.) Poe glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man, a bounty hunter by the looks of him, though he is close in size to Finn and certainly sounds similar.

"Hands up, blaster to me, then turn around slowly."

Poe raises both hands, discreetly tapping his comm twice as he does, and the hunter takes his blaster. Poe turns and finds himself facing his captor. He's dressed in a black flight suit, with a leather vest and boots lined in red, and he’s armed to the teeth. He's only an inch or two taller than Poe but almost two decades older, short hair and beard shot with grey and a prominent scar running from his temple to his jaw on his right side. He seems familiar, though Poe is almost certain they’ve never met before. Strangely enough, what stands out most are the man’s eyes: tired brown eyes that do not look like the cold, hard eyes of most bounty hunters Poe has met.

The man looks at him with a frown.

"What, not what you expected?" Poe asks. "I get that a lot. It's the hair."

The bounty hunter shakes his head as he pats Poe down, taking his second blaster and a knife. "It's the hair that makes you so recognizable, General," the man says. His voice really does sound like Finn, and his eyes…Poe shakes off the idea. "Maybe if you cut it, half a dozen hunters would stop looking for you."

"Only half a dozen?" Poe asks. "How disappointing. I remember when I was on top of everyone's list."

"Sorry, General," the man says, and there is a wry smile with the strangely apologetic words. "Peace is not as good for business."

"Maybe you need a new business," Poe suggests. He has a funny feeling about this grizzled bounty hunter, as if the man before him is nothing like the image he projects. He doesn't want to hurt this man but talk him out of whatever he’s got planned. Or at least talk long enough for Finn to get there.

"You're actually my last job," the man says, almost conversationally. "There's still people willing to pay good money for your head." He takes out a pair of binders and motions at Poe to lower his wrists. Poe leaves his hands up.

"What if I paid you more?" he asks, lowering his voice and moving closer. "And then we forget this ever happened?" He smiles, turning on the charm, but the man snorts at him, so much like Finn that it’s eerie.

"Lower your arms, General. You can't afford me."

Poe shrugs. "It was worth a try." He slowly lowers his wrists, taking another step closer. Just as the hunter is about to clamp them, he headbutts the older man, sliding a pocket blaster into his palm as he steps back and hits the man with a glancing blow in the arm. The hunter recovers quickly, though, and blasts him in the chest, sending Poe flying backward and into the side of the nearest building. He rolls over and groans, thankful it wasn't set to full stun—or kill. This hunter is even more unusual than Poe thought. The man stands over him and is about to speak when Poe hears the click of a blaster behind them.

"Drop it," says Finn. The hunter turns and shoots so fast Poe barely has a chance to shout a warning. But Finn has good instincts too: he ducks and pulls the blaster from the hunter's hands with his newest Force skill. The hunter looks at his gloved hand in surprise before he tries again with a second weapon, and Finn again slams it aside with the Force.

"I could do this all day," Finn says.

The hunter raises an eyebrow. "Then let’s forget the weapons." He charges Finn with raises fists and they start fighting hand to hand.

Poe drags himself to his hands and knees and slowly stands against the wall, hugging his right side with one hand and wiping blood from a cut on his temple with the other. He hit the building hard and will probably have some colorful bruises soon. He watches the fight for a moment as he recovers from the stun bolt: two highly skilled men, one much older than the other, yet still strong. Poe has the odd thought that it's a bit like watching Finn fight himself in thirty years.

It does not take long, however, for Finn to gain the upper hand and pin the man down, call a blaster to his hand, and press it to the man's neck.

"Yield!" he demands. The hunter got in a good hit and Finn's lip is bleeding, and he's clearly pissed off about it.

"Get off me!" the hunter snarls. "I yield."

"Finn," Poe calls, and tosses him the fallen binders. Finn clamps them behind the man's back and hauls the hunter to his feet.

"Who are you?" Finn demands, but the man looks away. Poe finally figures it out—the clothing, the scar, the stories, and he walks over, moving slowly and still holding his side.

"You're Tenga Idoma, aren't you?" he asks. "I've heard of you, didn't think you worked this side of the galaxy."

"A hunter goes where the bounty goes." The bounty hunter is standing tall and proud, a bruise forming on his left jaw, the wound on his arm small but red and raw.

"I'm the bounty," Poe stage-whispers to Finn, who rolls his eyes.

"Oh, you are both wanted men," Idoma says, laughing bitterly. "I figured I couldn't take you together, so I flipped a chip on who to follow first. I didn't think I'd get my ass handed to me by a former trooper if I followed the pilot."

Poe takes a step forward—always his instinctive response when someone refers to Finn as a Stormtrooper—but Finn stops him with a hand on Poe's arm. He's looking at the man curiously.

"Are you a former trooper, too?" Finn asks.

"I neverserved the First Order." The man spits in the street, so vehemently angry it earns a look of surprise from Finn. "They took everything from me."

"Then why are you tracking us down?" Poe asks. "We're fighting to make sure they don't ever do it again, you know."

The man shakes his head. "I told you, this is my last job. Then I'm done."

Finn looks to Poe with a shrug. "What should we do with him?" he asks.

Poe looks at the man, then back at Finn. The resemblance is almost uncanny. Something—his own instincts, or maybe the Force—prompts him to say, "Bring him with us." He turns to the bounty hunter. "You're under arrest."

"You can't arrest me!" Idoma exclaims, and struggles in his binders, grimacing with pain, but Finn holds tight.

"I'm a general, sure I can," says Poe. Which is not strictly true, but he needs more time with this man.

"What are we going to do with him?" Finn asks. "Why don't we turn him in to the authorities here?"

Poe thinks about what to say, how to say it. "I have some more questions for him," he says. "Come on, let's head back to the Falcon."

Finn looks both skeptical and curious as he comms Vi Moradi's man and explains the situation. Poe calls the pilot he was supposed to meet. The hunter moves reluctantly but does not put up a fight. It feels strange to be taking him in so easily, and Poe can’t help but wonder why—or if something is about to go massively wrong. He tries not to think about who Tenga Idoma might really be, but he can’t help but wonder about that as well.

#Finnpoe #Stormpilot #Finn (Star Wars)#Poe Dameron #fanfiction #WIP #Tenga Idoma

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ciggylungz · 4 years

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Rivals. c2

Rivals: chapter 2

3.2k words

Summary: Y/n and Harry are both CEO’s of their parent’s companies since they inherited the businesses from them, they’ve been rivals since they were kids- now that they’re professional adults how will their rivalry affect them?

When Friday rolled around Y/n was excited, she’d had a grueling week and been working 18 hours a day for the past 6 days so she was more than thrilled to have a break. Friday’s were usually pretty tame in the office, but just her luck that day a new product design was dumped on her desk and she was tasked with going through the mountains of papers filled with advertisement ideas, promotion pictures and commercial ideas for the new line of clothes and perfumes coming out for the winter season since they were a few weeks away from December. Due to the time crunch she couldn’t really afford to push it off, so she sat at her desk and reviewed everything well past her normal hours.

It was around 7 in the evening when she pulled out the bottle of tequila she kept in her desk for late nights like this, grabbing some ice from the office kitchen and a tonic water from her own mini fridge stashed in the closet in her office. She kept the lighting low, her eyes already feeling the strain of the fluorescent bulbs and fine print papers after hours of reading and she’d like to save the headache for the next morning if possible.

She was a tad bit startled when a knock sounded at her office door, she glanced to the clock seeing it was nearing 10 at night and she knew her assistant left at 8 so she was a surprised by the interruption. Of course, he had to be the one knocking. Even through her mild intoxication she could tell that curly mop of hair as him, his face joining his locks a second later as he waltzes into her office. His lips were tugged in a small smile, hands holding a binder with a plastic bag cradled in his left one.

“Ah! Getting a bit wild in the office tonight? Tequila, you naughty girl!” he gave her a fake disapproving look companied with a stern finger pointing between her and the now half empty bottle. Y/n was always a bit looser after a drink, so she didn’t have her usual bitter comeback loaded she instead felt a strange shot of happiness? Relief? Fondness? She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was too foreign of a feeling to be associated with the man. The woman didn’t understand why she didn’t feel the sense of loathing tugging at her when he spoke, instead she let out a small laugh before flipping him off.

Harry was surprised yet pleased at her reaction. He always loved tipsy y/n, the booze seemed to soften her overly serious nature and make her a bit sweeter. They had some of their best moments together after they had a good buzz going, they’d even had a few instances of cuddling during their alcohol induced haze. He remembers those times fondly; he thinks back on them at times when they’re arguing or in the middle of a grudge holding session. Harry knew she’d never admit it, but deep down behind all her walls she really was a loving, sweet girl. She always had been yet her pride and fear of vulnerability would never let her admit it.

“Hello Harry, any reason you’ve broken into my place of work?” she tipped the glass back to her lips, taking another sip of her cocktail as she waited for his response. She watched him set his things down, shrugging his suit jacket off before rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “Saw you through the window, was workin’ late myself. Thought misery needed a bit of company, and knowing you I knew you’d probably need a designated driver for the night miss tequila.” He lifted his eyebrows in a slight teasing manner, a smile growing on her lips as she giggled quietly, raising her hands in surrender. “bad habits die hard, huh?” she retorted, the smile didn’t drop from her features and Harry loved it. She always had such a beautiful smile. Her plushy lips molded into the shape, her braces did their job giving her a perfect even smile. She had a genuine smile on, he could tell by the way it met her eyes that seemed to brighten when she was in a good mood. She was beautiful. He truly didn’t understand why she had always been so self-conscious. he hated when she’d talk negatively about her looks, weight, body etc. He’d always found her to be a very beautiful woman, and her strong personality amplified that even further.

“That they do miss Y/l/n, they do indeed.” He agreed with a nod, reaching his hand into the previously noted bag pulling out some bread, followed by small slices of cheese and finally a container of grapes. They both shared a love for the particular grouping of food, often having it for snack as kids or packing it when they went on little trips with their friends. It was their thing in a sense. He might amp it up a bit to feel a special bond with her in some way, even if it’s just over a love of the same foods.

“Brought some goodies, might share with you if you’re nice to m’.” Harry made himself comfortable on the couch, toeing off his shoes to leave him in his red dress socks. He liked to have accent colors when he dressed for work, often opting for pocket squares, socks or collar pins to tie together his outfits. He had decided early on just because he was in a work environment didn’t mean he had to dress boring, he worked in fashion for Christ sake so he enjoyed a bit of complimentary accessories. Tastefulness is key though, and he knew how to pick them right.

Y/n polished off her drink, reaching to pour herself another mixing it with a coffee straw she snagged from the kitchen during her original venture out. the woman shrugged slightly, taking a sip with a little smack of her lips at the strongness. She went a bit heavy on the tequila this time around.

“Eh, I’m on a diet anyway.” Her response amused Harry, chuckling lightly before popping a grape into his mouth. He always appreciated someone with a quick wit, and Y/n checked that box for him. He was starting to realize she checked most of his boxes regarding things he found attractive…and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It was nearing midnight when Y/n started to show signs she was fully drunk. Her head bobbed slightly, body lightly swaying and Harry saw her eyes flutter every so often. He could read her like a book, he knew she was stressed, tired and wasted just from a single glance. The man found it quite cute, she looked so soft and cute when she was in this state. She radiated that type of energy that made you want to hug her; she wasn’t as guarded and flighty. She looked utterly trashed but relaxed and he didn’t mind the drunkenness if it meant she wasn’t as worked up as usual. She worked hard; the woman deserved to let loose once in a while.

“Hey, think it’s time to head out hmm?” Harry slowly sat up as he spoke, stretching with a few quiet pops of his joints. Y/n lifted her head slightly, giving him doe eyes and a pouty lip. “but I have work to do…” a hiccup sounded after she spoke, making her body jolt slightly. “It’ll be there on Monday, it’s late and you’re wasted love. C’mon time to go, hey don’t get all misty eyed on me it’s okay. Swear it’s alright, everything will get done.”

Harry frowned mid-way through his sentence seeing her eyes gloss with tears. She could be quite an emotional drunk, she bottled up her feelings 24/7 so in any sort of weakened state she began to crack. Harry had seen it only twice in the thirteen years of knowing her. The first time they were 15, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend at the time who was a total douche and he’d spent the six months the pair were together practically bullying the girl and mainly spending the time they had together fucking her. she had gotten absurdly drunk and walked to Harry’s home, sobbing and shaking only to spend the rest of the night cuddled into his chest. it was a toxic relationship and Harry always hated that guy; he gave the boy a few swift kicks to the ribs a few days after the incident. The second was during spring break, the pair were freshly 20 and someone had groped her at the club. Y/n had a panic attack on the bathroom floor and Harry sat with her the whole time, even though the filthy floor was sticky with booze and god knows what else he didn’t even think of leaving her behind.

Y/n took in a deep breath nodding her head slightly, letting Harry put the bottle back in it’s hiding spot and organize her papers before getting himself situated and heading to the car. With some episodes of tripping over her own feet and dizziness he’d managed to get her into the passenger seat, buckling her and joining her in the vehicle.

“Y/n no, you can’t smash the window! Where are your house keys? Put the rock down”

Bargaining with someone who’s intoxicated was never easy, but he was worried about the woman chucking a random stone through her first-floor window instead of just unlocking the door. Drunk minds aren’t the soundest he supposed seeing as he was prying a rouge rock from y/ns hand.

Eventually the keys were located and used to forge entry into her modest town house. Unlike her parent’s y/n wasn’t into flashy mansions and cars. She didn’t see a purpose for such a large home when she was the only resident, plus it creeped her out knowing there would be more room for potential squatters if she had opted for an 8-bedroom 6-bath mansion like her parents had for the 3 of them. She was never someone who fancied showing off expensive thing, she found it tacky and risky because you’re flashing to people that you have expensive things to steal. So, when she purchased a home, she opted for a modest 2-bedroom town house and she really did love it.

Harry was greeted with a subtle scent of cedar and nutmeg, reminding him y/n always opted for fall themed candles and home fragrances. She felt it made places feel cozier and warmer. contrary to her guarded and sometimes cold personality, she always wanted her home to feel welcoming.

Her décor was nice, a large leather couch with some dark red throw pillows along with a fuzzy blanket folded and draped over the back of the furniture. Some arm chairs also filled the Livingroom, art hung evenly on the wall and a tv mounted right in the center of the adjacent wall. A nice area rug and coffee table really finished off the center room, it was an inviting set up and Harry had to resist the urge to sit on the large couch that seemed to be calling to him as he started walking her up the steps.

The bedframe groaned as she flopped herself down on her mattress, a content sigh leaving her lips as the woman kicked off her shoes. “mmmm love my bed, missed it.” The woman placed an affectionate pet to her pillow, Harry laughing slightly at her antics whilst searching her dresser for clothes to change her into. Pinching a pair of sleep shorts and a tshirt before tossing it on the bed making his way into her bathroom so she could change in private.

Once the girl was situated, he reappeared, picking up her dirty clothes and putting them in her hamper for her. everything was going well, they weren’t fighting and she seemed to really be enjoying his presence but because Harrys an idiot he had to ruin it.

“maybe if you weren’t such a raging bitch, I wouldn’t have to come take you home and you’d have a boyfriend who could huh?”

He intended it to be their playful teasing, how they usually pick on each other and make rude comments but it came across harsher than intended. He sounded utterly mean and spiteful, and after Y/n had spent the evening warming up to him and even enjoying his company that felt like a smack in the face. Just when she thought maybe he’d changed or wasn’t so bad he had to make a comment, picking a topic she was already very sensitive about because all her previous relationships were very abusive and put her in the position she was in now of being so guarded and cold she was left to a life of loneliness.

There was a beat of silence, Harry registering his tone and how he’d just switched the atmosphere entirely. There was no sense of playfulness anymore, just hurt and anger. He regretted ever opening his mouth, seeing the woman look away from him with veins visible on her neck from the restraint she was using to hold back her tears. She cursed herself for drinking, it always made her more sensitive and she felt like a fool for not seeing Harry was just waiting for her to become vulnerable so he could strike back even when truly it wasn’t his intention, his actions left her with only that theory to believe.

Y/n cleared her throat and shot him the best glare she could while her eyes burned with tears begging to escape. “You can see yourself out Harry.” The dismissal was curt and quiet, there was no option for bargaining or pleading because she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. Harry knew when to pick his battles with her so he knew it was best he left, sighing slightly before leaving the bedroom making sure he locks her front door for her on his way out. he’s never wanted to beat his own ass so bad in his life.

As much as Y/n tried to hide it under her cold, blunt exterior- she was extremely insecure and broken inside. She never learned how to express her emotions or hurt. Y/n never had parents there to guide her nor comfort her in her times of need. She’d never had anyone who cared about her to look out for her besides neglectful nannies who left her to her own devices most of her childhood. She was emotionally stunted, and it had made her vulnerable to shitty people her whole life. It led to her having a 17-year-old boyfriend when she was 13 that pressured her into losing her virginity and emotionally abused her the entirety of their year long illegal relationship. It put her in the position of having a revolving door of toxic abusive relationships with cruel boys who treated her poorly, her father was never around so she never had an example of a good man so she resorted to getting attention and validation in whatever form she could even when it was harmful and a façade to use her body and status. The woman was never taught how to handle her emotions and it led to her clawing for control in any way she could, any sort of distraction and turned her to dark, destructive behaviors in her teen years that still haunt her in the form of physical and mental scars now that she’s in her adult years. She’d practically had to raise herself, and now that she’s grown, she’s running the company that stole her parents from her. she can’t tell who she hates more, her parents or herself.

Harrys word seemed to pop the stitches on an internal wound she thought was close to healing. While he was joking, she couldn’t tell. It was said with such a bitter malice it made her skin crawl. Sure, they’ve been mean to each other for 13 years but in her vulnerable state and the knowledge he had of her past his words seemed deliberate and cruel for the sole purpose of hurting her. not a stupid joke like he’d intended.

She couldn’t get it out of her head, she spent the remainder of the weekend nursing her hangover and a wounded soul. Her mind was screaming self-hating words, cruel statements towards herself and pushing her to look for comfort in another person again even when she knew she was vulnerable to falling back into the arms of yet another man who wasn’t good for her but she couldn’t bring herself to care enough about herself to make the best choices for her. she felt like she had something to prove to Harry, herself and the universe that she wasn’t so horrible that no one could stand to be around her even if the person she chose only stuck around to leech off her. it was a stupid mindset, one that’s left her torn to shreds numerus times since her early teenage years but the spiral Harrys verbal bite sent her into had her internally turning back into 14-year-old y/n who just wanted to feel like she mattered. She was setting herself up for pain again, she knew it. But like she stated before, old habits die hard.

and y/n decided she must be a glutton for punishment when her fingers started typing in the familiar number of her ex.

#harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #rivals #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles au #CEO!harry #CEO!yn

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writeanapocalae · 4 years

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Nano Day 6 Writing

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

Anton woke up alone and cold and hurting in the darkness. His eyes were heavy, his head throbbing, and his ribs ached in a way they hadn’t in years, back when he would chase down suspects and things would get physical and the bruises on his ribs were expounded by the binder he had to wear for too long. He wanted to sleep. It was dark enough for it and, as he curled in on himself, he could imagine that he was warm enough.

He checked himself, hands roaming over his body. There were some wet spots, mostly on his hip and thigh but the pain there was more from pressure, from a blunt force, than any cuts. He must have landed on something wet. Checking the floor though, it was all dry beneath him. He had been brought somewhere else after he’d landed.

He still had his backpack on, but his flashlight was gone. His clothing was, mostly, in shape, and there was a large gash on his face but it had been wrapped and taken care of. That meant one of the others had been the one to bring him here, from how he’d been laid out, in the same position he often slept in, there was no doubt in his mind that it was R.

And then panic started to set in. They had been under attack from killer androids, something had gone wrong with their programming and they were acting with murderous intent regardless of the fact that their batteries should have all been drained by now. They had fallen, through the floor, for many floors, and now he was alone. He was alone. They had left him behind or they’d been killed. They didn’t have a plan, a way out, and there was no cellphone reception so he couldn’t even contact any of them.

He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging his chest tightly and pulled in a few heavy breaths, trying to subside the anxiety growing in his chest, making his heart pound and his terror start to flair. He couldn’t afford that, not right then. He had things he had to do, his coworkers – his friends – that he had to find.

He may not of had service but he pulled out his cellphone anyway. The battery had been full that morning, it wasn’t too drained yet. He turned on the flashlight function and took a look around himself. There were shelves, brooms and mops, cleaning supplies, and random parts in well labeled boxes. He had been brought to a storage unit, of all things. While there was a lot in there, he doubted there would be anything of use to him or to the investigation. The parts in the boxes, while he didn’t know what they were for, all seemed basic, like joints and connectors, wires and tubes, basic building blocks for pseudo human bodies.

There was a note on the door, stuck up with a piece of scotch tape. The roll was set down, perfectly, on one of the shelves, as if it had never been moved. The font face was arial, perfect and clean. R had been the one to bring him here, but it wasn’t there now.

Anton whimpered as he pulled himself to his feet. Dragging the light over himself he couldn’t see much in terms of damage, just a few tears in his slacks and sweater. He couldn’t see the color of the liquid in his slacks, the black of them obscuring it, but he could see the stains that had dried on the floor.

They were pepto bysmol colored. The same as the fluid that was coming out of the broken computer. The same color as the scar on R’s hip.

It was something that Anton had noticed immediately, even before he’d made the purchase. A small symbol, on R’s right side, just where hip became waist, on the back. It looked like the number seven, with a diagonal line making it an x, and a dot in the corner. It had been cut perfectly. R didn’t know what had caused it because of the memory wipe and neither did the shop keeper. Anton had researched it but there weren’t similar marks on any of the other Caecus androids. R was unique with this.

Now he wished he’d looked into it further, had allowed Sarah to search R’s brain and dig into the supposedly deleted files. She had said that they weren’t actually deleted, that they were just compressed down to such a small size that they had no real impact on the RAM. She could get them out. But R had seemed scared, at least to Anton, and he couldn’t get past it.

The symbol looked similar to the markings on the piece of paper, the sigil that the amateur occultist had been working on. [give her a name maybe?] He wished he’d paid more attention. Where had all of his attention gone?

Of course, it had gone into him having a crush. It was a stupid one, one that he felt guilty for having, but he was so absorbed in these emotions that it was hard sometimes, to focus on anything else. And R didn’t know, didn’t have to know, never would. It would never be able to feel anything that Anton felt.

None of that was important now though. It wasn’t what was needed of him. He had a task to do, people to find, and they had to get out of there. He was too frazzled, focusing on everything he didn’t have time for.

There was a piece of paper on the door. It was easy to read even from a distance, once he had the light on it.

“My apologies for your current situation, Anton, but I had to relocate you for your own safety. They are blind in some ways but not in others, they see you but not in the way you see yourself. Sound is your greatest foe. Stay where you are for the best chances of survival. I am currently locating the others and will return for you soon. - R”

Perfect. Everything in the note was perfect because it was an android and it was perfect. Anton had no interest in staying where he was, where it was safe. He’d been shot before, stabbed, had gone through a lot to be who he was now, some of it of his own accord. He wasn’t going to just sit idly by.

He was a detective, even after all this time. He would go out and investigate. There would be no stopping him.

He took a few steadying breaths. He went to the door. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

He opened the door.

He was in a short hallway with rooms to either side of him, bathrooms across the hall from him. One, if not both, of the other rooms would lead to more halls, where he was sure would be examination rooms or offices or something of that nature. He could find his way back here, if he needed to. R had thought it was safe for a reason, at least.

He lowered his phone so the light was focused on the floor. R didn’t really leave footprints, not unless the rest of it was completely covered in grime, but there were a few pink dots on the floor. It made concern grip Anton’s heart like a vice, slowly starting to squeeze. He had been hurt and R had taken care of him but R had fallen all that was too. It could have been injured as well and put Anton’s well being before its own. He wouldn’t have been surprised by that, R was loyal and obedient and programmed to always take perfect care of its owner. Anton didn’t want it to be hurting though, even if it couldn’t feel real pain.

He followed the trail of pink. It wasn’t real blood of course, didn’t even function as blood. He didn’t know what it functioned as. Until now he didn’t realize it was something inside of R. He’d have to ask Sarah about it later. Once he found her.

The door was unlocked and quiet, even when it clicked behind him. Everything was quiet. And dark. He shined the light from his flashlight over the next few steps, down the hall. As expected, there was a hall with doors on either side. There was an exit sign, way down the lane, pointing in the direction of some stairs or an elevator or something. Every door had a black box in front of it, where a key card was meant to swipe. He wouldn’t be able to open any of them, not unless they unlocked when the power went out.

He went to the first of them and, as quietly as he could, jiggled the handle. It was locked tight. He was certain that the elevator would also have a key-card lock and, even then there was no way he would take it. There was no electricity and, more than that, there was no way that the elevator would be safe. It had been four years.

There had to be a generator. There had to be something to get the power back on. His phones flashlight would be fine for now but it wouldn’t last too too long. He had a few hours, at most. Lights would help all of them, the problem being that it would help all of them, including the androids, but he knew that R could see in the dark just fine and it had said that these androids see things differently than they were supposed to, so he was sure that the lights wouldn’t affect them as much as it would the humans.

He’d have to find the generator though and looking for it meant not looking for his friends. It was a debilitating decision.

He looked at his phone. He had no way of contacting anyone. He had no way of knowing they were alive. He suddenly felt very very cold. He could have been the only one alive, the only one buried under so many stories of a dead building, empty aside from androids that had somehow gone all wrong. He could feel a tingling in his hands and feet, a sensation of fear that he’d never felt before. He had been afraid before, he had been afraid for multiple years in conjunction. It hadn’t been like this before. That had been a hot oppressive fear, the kind that made him want to be small and invisible. He still wanted to be small and invisible but now it was cold and outstretching and digging in. There wasn’t anything there. There was no sound.

He wanted to scream, just for the echo.

@detectivesebcas @inthemoonshadow @etjwrites @lordfenric

#nano 2019 #caecus #anton #my writing

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timelordthirteen · 5 years

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A Card for Mr. Gold - Part 3

Mr. Gold/Belle, G

Summary: Mr. Gold receives a card on Christmas Eve.

Chapter Summary: Prior to the events of chapters 1 and 2, Mr. Gold ruminates on the Christmas gifts he's sold at the pawn shop.

Notes: More angst. :( I'm sorry. Set two days before Christmas Eve and the first chapter of this story. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #9 - Shopping.

[AO3]

Two days until Christmas and Gold couldn’t wait for it all to be over.

The emerald ring sparkled in the bright light over his workbench, and he checked the sizing again to be sure before he put it away. He snapped the lid shut on the black velvet box before nestling it in a pile of green tissue paper inside a small, shiny red bag. The strings of the bag were tied with a white ribbon, the ends curled into corkscrews with a quick slide of his scissors. He found himself smiling as he stepped through the curtain into the front of the shop where David Nolan was waiting with a rather pensive look.

“That’s it?” David asked, his fingers tapping on the counter beside the cash register.

Gold inclined his head slightly as he set the bag down between them. “Yes, as promised.”

David blew out a breath and stared at the bag. “This is really happening.”

Gold wasn’t sure if he was being spoken to, and his lips twitched in amusement. “It is if you have the last payment.” Then he flipped open the small notebook he kept by the register and examined the page. “I believe there was two hundred left?”

David’s head shot up and he frowned. “Two? It was four.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, twenties and fifties held together with a large binder clip he’d probably borrowed from his soon to be fiance Mary Margaret.

Gold shrugged. “My notes say two.”

David leaned back a bit, eyeing Gold. “What are you up to, Gold?”

He huffed, ignoring the fact that he'd lowered the remaining price by two hundred dollars. “Mr. Nolan, it’s nearly Christmas, and I believe you wished to be engaged by then. I suggest you don’t argue with the man helping to make that happen.”

David undid the clip and peeled off two hundred dollars, laying each bill on the counter slowly so it could be counted. He glanced up when he was done, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Two hundred.”

Gold snatched up the cash, and popped open the register drawer. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said absently as he laid the money out in the appropriate slots.

David smile. “Thanks, Gold.” His voice was warm and Gold could tell there was a smile in it without looking. “Merry Christmas.”

Then he picked up the small bag, turned, and left the shop.

Gold sighed and leaned on the counter. It was just after four and he was strongly considering closing up early and going home to a glass of scotch and leftover tuna salad. Only the former seemed appealing at the moment.

Bloody Christmas.

He shook his head and retreated to the back room once more, having decided he’d at least finish up his ledger for the day before he left. Sitting at his work table he scanned the columns, which, lately, consisted of rent and holiday gifts. Despite his reputation and general misanthropic ways, he paid a lot of attention to other people. There were always ways to exploit others or bend them to his needs, and as a by product it made him quite good at steering customers towards the item their intended giftee would want.

There had been Leroy, who was seeking something for Astrid, the girl he was sweet on but hadn’t yet asked out on a date. She left the convent over a year ago, and had only recently found employment and a place to live after a short period of being ostracized by half the town. Gold had nudged him away from anything religious as a start, and towards something tasteful for her new apartment, an antique vase with delicate, hand painted cherry blossoms. She’d gazed at it more than once when she’d come to him during her apartment search, and his mouth curved as he imagined her rather ear piercing squeal of delight when she saw it.

Hopefully, it would survive her clumsiness.

Ruby Lucas had needed something for her grandmother and her girlfriend. Necklaces with little charms that had meaning for both her and them fit the bill and budget perfectly. Dr. Whale needed to keep his latest bed mate happy, and Gold was all too keen to encourage the idiot to buy the most ridiculous and expensive yellow diamond earrings. It was inevitable that Whale would philander his way into breaking her heart, and Gold hoped to see her come in his shop in the spring, selling the earrings back to the very shop in which they’d been purchased.

David Nolan wanted to propose to Mary Margaret Blanchard, and had decided that Christmas Eve was the right time. After all, their first kiss had been on Christmas Eve at Granny’s annual party, or so Gold had heard. At first David had been drawn to a princess cut diamond ring, bordered by smaller round diamonds, with tiny stones set all along the band. His intentions were noble, believing that she deserved the best, but not only was such an ostentatious ring more than he could afford, it wasn’t what Mary Margaret would have wanted. After several days of coming in and staring at rings and leaving empty handed, David finally decided he wanted something less traditional. Gold was able to direct him to an emerald solitaire set in a unique platinum band. Mary Margaret had looked at it several times over the years when she’d been in the shop, and once David saw it, he knew it was the one. He said It reminded him of a ring his mother had when he was little. Now it was in a little gift bag and on its way to Mary Margaret’s left hand.

Gold closed the ledger, and leaned back in his chair. He helped so many others find the perfect gift for their loved ones, and yet it had been ages since he’d been on the receiving end of a present. The last one had been -

He let out a short huff and tossed his pen down on the table. Mulling over the gifts others had bought for their loved ones made him wish he had gone home to his excellent scotch and mediocre sandwich. Sighing, he pushed back from the desk and lifted his coat from the rack by the back door. He switched off the lights as he made his way to the front of the shop, and then stepped out into the cold, dry December air.

Shivering, he turned his collar up and fluffed the knit scarf around his neck to block the chill from slipping in the gaps. Less than a block down the street, Belle French was exiting the Dark Star drug store, and he paused beside his black Cadillac, watching her. She waved to Mr. Clark on her way out, and smiled at Leroy as she held the door open for him. Over one arm was the handbag she’d been carrying the last few months, notable for its bold, cobalt colored leather, which matched the shoes she was wearing today.

She always had a kind word for him, and a smile, and for a brief instant he wanted to cross the street and say hello to her, though he’d never done it before. Sure they had talked from time to time, but only in passing. He’d never sought her out in any kind of friendly way, but then he noticed what else she was holding.

In her free hand were two bags, one of which looked like a bright green gift bag, and he felt a small pang in his chest. She had probably purchased a gifts for her friends and family, and Christmas cards to boot. She struck him as the type who would spend an inordinate amount of time wrapping them, making sure the corners were perfect, and decorating them with elaborate bows and ribbons that coordinated expertly with the pattern of the paper. He could see it all in his mind’s eye, and smiled in spite of the ache in his ribs.

Belle had been in his shop just twice since moving to town, but if anyone ever wanted to buy her a gift, he knew exactly what to pick. At that moment, she turned in his direction and raised her hand in a wave. Abruptly, he turned away at the same time, and yanked open the car door.

She had just stepped off the curb when the car’s engine rumbled to life, and he ignored her as he pulled out into the street. He drove passed the houses with their rows of lights, flashing and blinking in all manner of colors, and pulled into the driveway of his three story pink Victorian. It was absent of any decoration or indication that any sort of special day was approaching. It was a dark void in the riot of Christmas that lined Morning Glory Lane and every other street in Storybrooke.

He sneered as he got out of the car, glaring at the blinking rows of light up candy canes on the house across the road. The hell with the whole town, he thought. Maybe he wouldn’t open the shop at all tomorrow. It wasn’t as if anyone would care. Though there was always the chance of someone needing a last minute gift, and he did appreciate a desperate soul.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #31 days of fandomas #fandomas 2018 #a card for mr. gold #fic #my rumbelle fic

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emo-vampyre · 5 years

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10 Months on T

As of today, I’ve been on HRT for 10 months, and it’s been a while since my last update, so I thought I’d provide some observations of my experience so as to maybe help others see some of what could happen (but keeping in mind this process is different for everyone and results may vary).

I still haven’t had top surgery, because I can’t afford it. I’m trying desperately to get help covering the costs, but it most likely will be a long while off. I was also cursed with a rather large chest--the last time I needed to know the measurement, it was somewhere in the DD range. Why am I telling you this in an HRT post? because when I bind, just one, regular old binder that I’ve had long enough that it’s lost some of its compressing power, most people correctly gender me and assume I’m a cismale.

When I was researching HRT, I heard stories of guys being read as male while binding, but I always assumed those were small chested individuals as no details were ever given. I was under the impression that while T would help me, it wouldn’t do enough on its own to make people see me for who I am, without surgery. Don’t get me wrong, I still do need surgery, for my own peace of mind and for my aching back and to prevent myself sustaining any (more) rib damage.

But in these past 10 months, T has made me look and sound male enough that all of the new people at my job never misgender me. My male coworkers treat me like “one of the guys” and don’t even seem to notice that I’m trans. Strangers use “sir” to get my attention and so forth.

So, I just wanted to let any of y’all transguys out there who can’t get surgery now or perhaps ever to know that if you can get T, you still have some hope.

#transgender #transition #trans #transguy #transman #ftm #trans ftm #transgender ftm #ftm transgender #hrt #testosterone #ftm hrt #gender transition #10 months on t #hrt psa

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discyours · 6 years

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Depressed passing guide

I see a lot of passing guides around, and they’re great, but they usually assume you have 100% of your energy to put into passing. For those of us who have like 24 other mental illnesses that make gender dysphoria take the backseat, that’s not always realistic. So here’s some shit I’ve noticed can help you pass that doesn’t take much effort. I’m pre-t FTM so most of these tips will mainly be applicable if you are too. Ps, you’re not required to pass in order to be “”valid””. Most of us want to and it can be important to stay safe, but remember you’re doing this for you, not the rest of the world. General : Most pre-t guys will naturally look closest to 12-15 years old if they do pass. I know most of us hate not being treated our age but embracing this will make passing 100x easier. Match your mannerisms to those of teenage boys, and when looking for clothes/hairstyles try to match your perceived age rather than your actual age. Clothing: General rule for all clothes: don’t underestimate the kids’ section, and shop online if you can’t find your size. If both of those fail you, you can try to order internationally. Asian men have much smaller frames so clothes from China work great, just be careful not to order from dodgy sites. Tailors are also a good option if you can afford them. Never get your jeans in the women’s section. They’ll be cut to accentuate your hips 99% of the time. If you can find men’s or boys’ jeans that fit your hips, straight leg is best. If you can’t, don’t sweat it you have other options.

Sweatpants/joggers are great. They’ll go past your hips without issue because of the elastic, and if you don’t already pass nobody will look at you weird for going into the mens section to buy what’s widely recognised as very fucking comfortable clothing. Get a pair that’s looser on top and tighter on the bottom if you can, it keeps you from looking like a total slob. Stick to dark colours as they’ll slim down your hips. For t-shirts, get something slim fit/athletic fit, and get it as close to your size as possible. Aside from your chest, your arms are the most obvious sign you’re not cis on your upper half. Getting shirts with tighter arm holes will give the illusion that you’re muscly, or at least not a total string bean. Once again, stick to dark colours. Large colour differences between your top and bottom half will draw a line across your body, making you look shorter. Graphic tees are a hit or miss. They can help conceal your chest and they fit the teenage boy look, but since they’re unisex they could end up making you look like a tomboy. Avoid flannel, it’s associated with butch lesbians and could make people think you are one too.

Hoodies are a lifesaver. They’re easy to layer with (especially the zip-up kind) which will help conceal your chest. Rolling up the sleeves to your elbows makes them hug your arms tightly, making them look more muscular. Putting up the hood will make you look masculine, or at least hide feminine features somewhat. If you’re too small for men’s jackets, layering a zip-up hoodie with a (faux) leather jacket will look masculine and mimic the style a lot of men’s jackets have. Binding:

First of all, if you’re going to bind, be as safe as possible (there’s always risks, keep that in mind). 8 hours a day MAXIMUM (and maximum does not mean that that’s an allowance you need to use up every day), take it off as often as possible, and don’t ever sleep or exercise in your binder. Listen to your body, take a break when it hurts. Don’t bind with ace bandages or tape, just generally avoid homemade binders. And for the love of god, don’t get a cheap amazon/aliexpress/wish/ebay binder. If you bind unsafely, you can break your ribs, permanently deform your rib cage/collarbones, damage your soft tissues (which seriously reduces your chances of getting good top surgery results), permanently reduce your lung capacity, and just generally damage your body so much that you will never be able to bind again. Don’t be stupid. Gc2b and underworks are the most popular and safest binder brands. Generally speaking, gc2b is better for smaller chests and underworks is better for larger chests. There are two main styles of binders, tri-top and full tank. Tri-top does everything you need, full tank binders just add more (non-compressive) fabric to the bottom. Tri-top tends to be more comfortable as there’s no extra fabric to bunch up, but if you want your binder to be subtle if you have to change in front of people/are wearing a tight shirt, getting something that looks like a tank top is your best bet. Gc2b binders are available in a range of colours, while underworks offers black, white and beige binders. I decided to get a binder that matched my skin colour since I could only afford one and I didn’t want it to show through any clothing. I HIGHLY regret it. Cis men do not wear skin coloured garments under their shirts. If your collar slips up in the slightest, there’s an obvious sign that you’re trans. Cis men DO wear undershirts though, so get a binder that’s the same colour as an undershirt (usually white but black works too). Some trans men use kt tape to bind, and transtape is a product made specifically to improve upon kt tape binding. Mind you, putting tape on your skin is very fucking bad for it and you will likely get blisters, as well as risk losing skin elasticity (something that’s important to retain if you want top surgery). Only do this as a last resort if you’re in a situation where regular binders are even more unsafe or would out you, such as while traveling. Look up how to apply it properly first and remove it VERY carefully. Hair: If you want long hair that’s your choice, and some trans men do pass with long hair. But keep in mind even square-jawed cis men will get misgendered from the back if they have long hair. If you’re not okay with regularly getting she’d, keep it short until you’re on t for a while.

If you have yet to get your hair cut short, a barber may refuse to cut you. Some of them really do only work with men/boys and if you don’t pass, you’ll be turned away. Just go to a unisex salon, if you don’t want to out yourself then find a picture of a woman with a masculine haircut. Show them that, then get them to make it even more masculine (ask for your sideburns or “the bits on the side” squared, it makes a world of difference). You’ll be able to go to a barber for your next haircut after that. Resist the urge to get a buzzcut. It’s very low maintenance but it makes your face shape extremely apparent, you will look feminine. Get your hair as short as you can stand on the sides and leave some length on top. If you get the sides really short, you should only have to brave your social anxiety every two months orso to get a new cut. Style the top upwards with some product (wax, gel, whatever). Your face will look less round if you do this. To avoid talking to your barber and possibly outing yourself, just find a picture of the haircut you want and show it to them. I’ve found barbers are far less chatty than people at unisex salons so you’ll probably be okay just not speaking. Wash your hair as little as possible. Don’t let it get greasy, but allow it to build up some texture. Cis men’s hair is a lot rougher and less silky than cis women’s, so you want to mimic that. Throw your conditioner in the trash. For body hair, leave it alone as much as possible. Don’t touch your eyebrows, either. Let them get bushy, don’t pluck any stray hairs. You can fill in your eyebrows to make them look thicker but I’d recommend against using makeup in any form as a trans man, it’s hard to make it look subtle and people will instantly think you’re a woman if they notice you’re wearing it. You can shave your face if you want to, but it’s honestly a waste of time. Your skin will look softer without the peach fuzz, which is the opposite of what you want to achieve. Hair doesn’t grow back thicker after you shave it, so don’t bother doing it for that reason. Body composition: Dysphoria TW for mention of biological sex. A lot of guides make a major point of this. Work out 5 days a week, eat as little as possible, get your body fat percentage down. One of the most popular guides there is for FTMs even suggests you get down below 20% body fat, acknowledging that that’d be an unacceptable advice for cis women but going on to say it’s okay because we aren’t cis women. My advice on this is to do your best to shut THAT advice out. Our bodies are (unfortunately) female, they play by female rules. The notion that we can (and should!) starve and exercise our way into a male body is harmful and wrong. Having a female looking body isn’t a personal failure or a sign that you’re not working hard enough, it’s an unavoidable consequence of BEING physically female. Building muscle helps. Lower bodyfat helps. If you’re overweight and can manage to go on a diet, go for it. If you can start working out, go for it! Just don’t sweat it if you can’t for whatever reason. I promise it’s still possible to pass. Mannerisms

Sit with your legs open. Manspread a little. You want to be sitting in a way that would get old ladies tutting if a lady in a dress did it, but don’t go so far that you’re doing the splits. If you want to cross your legs, do it with your ankle on your leg. Crossing your legs too tightly will crush the dick you want people to think you have. Walk with your legs slightly apart, and try not to sway your hips. Visualise having something between your legs that you’re trying not to crush (because cis men do). Put your hands in your pockets as much as possible. Standing with your hands in your pockets basically draws a straight line down your body, minimising the appearance of your hips. It also makes you look like a bored teenager so it’s perfect. Don’t smile too much, especially not in pictures. If you do smile, smirk. Try to look cocky. Cis men have stronger brow bones and eyebrows closer to their eyes. You can mimic this by frowning mildly. There are tons of voice training techniques you can look up to get your voice to go deeper, but to be honest it’s a lot of effort. You need to actually put force behind your voice to get it to come from your chest, and god knows I’m too depressed to do that 90% of the time. I’m fond of the “never fucking speak to anyone” technique and it works out just fine. Confidence is absolutely the most important part. If you’re showing that you’re sure of yourself and act like you being a man is the most natural, obvious thing ever, people are unlikely to doubt you. If they do doubt you, just laugh it off. Act like the notion of you being anything but male is ridiculous. I don’t even do all the things in this guide. I’m very short with wide hips and a very high pitched voice, but confidence is what consistently gets me to pass. If you’re not confident, fake it till you make it. Feel free to add!

#FTM #passing #passing guide #transgender #trans guy #trans man #trans boy #ftm passing #transmaculine #pre-t #binding #gc2b #advice #OP

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