#getting so close to winning twice in a row feels like a gut punch but i know we can do it one day

[zephyrfuse]

well gamers. it's been a frustrating night for anyone who recognizes any truth about frye's loss streak esp in the west, but we get to see her smile in JP dialogue and see her fans rejoice in japan. There is love in this world for our wonderful girl and those all over fighting for her and more than we think all the time.

#getting so close to winning twice in a row feels like a gut punch but i know we can do it one day #one day #shosh #yea japan does got a problem with frye racism but she's more popular there than here

[mariamermaid]

Best Fake Smile

Neville Longbottom x fem!Slytherin Reader

Summary: After yet another set of detention, you come face to face with the shy Gryffindor student Neville Longbottom. But as you are doomed to clean the pots for the herb class, Neville catches you off guard…

Words: 2.2k

A/N: slightly inspired by the song “best fake smile” from James Bay

Warnings: mentions of alcohol

 Staring blankly at McGonagall’s long and stern face, you bit down on your lip. Maybe putting a hex on a student, a class above you wasn´t the smartest move.

The old witch shook her head, realizing you were barely listening anyway.

“Mrs. Y/L/N, you´re going to help Professor Sprout with cleaning up the pots for the coming classes, I don´t have time to bother giving attention to you yet again.”

Her harsh words drew you back into the present and slightly taken back, you nod without another word. There was no use in dispute.

Friday night, and you were spending it cleaning dirt off pots while your friends enjoyed their evening at Hogsmead. You huffed annoyed at yourself as you drifted to the greenhouses. At least you wouldn´t miss the Slytherin Quidditch game tomorrow and as a fellow Slytherin student, you hoped for a victory. Mostly because the parties afterwards were known to be legendary and drowning some of your thoughts in fire whiskey seemed all too welcoming right now.

To your surprise, the light in the greenhouse was still on and you caught a glance of a certain Gryffindor student.

“Longbottom”, your voice cut like glass through the air and Neville jerked, his head turning towards you.

“What did you do to end up here?” You asked further strolling through the rows of plants until reaching the pile of pots, where Neville already stood. The change in his appearance was hard to miss, even for you. Once crooked teeth and slacking posture had disappeared from the Gryffindor boy, he was also taller than you for the first time. Unlike other Slytherin students, Draco for example, you found no interest in the bickering with other students just for the sake of it. It was the reason why you had practically nothing to do with Neville, he was off your grid.

Even though his grown attractiveness was admiring, he seemed nervous around you.

Truth was, he didn´t do anything. Neville had chosen this task out of his love towards plants, not as a punishment. But he didn´t have the guts in telling you so. Instead, he shrugged, avoiding your glance again and continued cleaning.

“Missed curfew”, he lied. You nodded while raising your eyebrow.

You were known to get detention for causing much bigger troubles; hexing students classes above you, as well as relief teachers, missing curfews, sneaking out, spiking punch, prank wars with the Weasley twins and sometimes getting caught making out after Slytherin´s victory parties.

“Let´s get it over with, hm?” You sighed and grabbed something to help clean as well.

For several minutes you both stayed quiet, focusing on dividing the work.

Just as you were to grab another pot, Neville reached for it as well. His hand brushed against yours, warm and earthy, but quickly pulled back. The pot fell down to the floor and the crashing pieces made you wince.

“Sorry”, you both apologized at the same time, while leaning down to get the broken pieces.

“Don´t be sorry, it was my fault really”, Neville admitted hastily and you couldn´t help but stare at him.

“Such a gentlemen”, you muttered and Neville´s eyes lurked up to you. For once, he didn´t overthink and his tongue was quick to answer.

“Probably not used to it after Zabini.”

A huff escaped your lips. You hadn´t expected for him to drop a comment like this. But you found interest in Neville´s new, more daring side.

“Excuse you?”

Neville, instantly regretting his words, shrugged reluctant. “It´s just talk.”

“Talk? From who?” Your words were firm, Neville had taken a direction without being able to reverse.

“Just rumors going around, thought you and him are a thing.”

You growled, rolling your eyes and as much as Neville was scared, he was also curious in your answer.

“I don´t know what kind of dung brains tell you stories like that, but Blaise and I aren´t a thing! If you run across the person telling false rumors, you can tell me their names!”

You were clearly angry, but also a flustered. Neville watched your reaction closely, as he did so often in your shared classes. Truth was; he was head over heels in love with you. However, until this fateful evening, he never even thought in approaching you.  

“Just because we made out once or twice, by Merlin´s beard!”

His heart sunk from his head into his stomach and he felt his shoulders dropping. But he kept going in order to save himself from any embarrassments. “So, he´s not my boyfriend?”

You let out a laugh and Neville listened to the light sound of your voice. You didn´t laugh much, at least not in class. You grinned or snickered when you whispered with Pansy, but never an honest laugh. It made you seem way less intimidating, at least in Neville´s opinion.

“Blaise my boyfriend? Never. Just because they won at a Quidditch game and I had too much punch. He´s all bark no bite. What about you though?”

He was caught off guard by your question, which made you chuckle softly. “Me?”

“Yes, you Mister I had a glow-up over the summer holidays!”

He blushed, had you just complimented him? Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his neck, making you take notice of his strengthened arms and broader shoulders.

“Didn´t you dance with Ginny Weasley at the Yule ball?”

“The yule ball is long gone.” He explained and you nodded understanding.

“But as if your Gryffindor girls didn´t notice your change in appearance?” You asked lurking while leaning over the table. Neville shrugged. Yes, he had comments, but no girl had ever approached him. It was something he could only dream of. He might have changed on the outside, but on his inside, he still felt like the slender boy.

“Maybe you should ask someone out!” You exclaimed instead and his eyes traveled from the table filled with dirt and old roots, to your eyes. Your grin slightly dropped as he continued to stare at you directly and breathing calmly, until his gaze wandered to your lips.

Tilting your head ever so slightly to the side, your playful grin returned. What was happening?

“What makes you think I´d go out with you?”

It took all of his and Merlin´s bravery to answer as confidently as possible, while leaning forward as well.

“Maybe you´d enjoy not having to carry your act and not wearing that fake smile of yours.”

The corners of your mouth dropped immediately.

You liked to play, but there were these moments, standing still between time and reality, where you felt a hole in your heart.

Lonely, you felt lonely more often than anyone could´ve imagine, but no one ever seemed to care enough. Meaningless make out sessions only filled that void for short periods of time.

Your expression hardened and you pulled back, your hands hugging your side. The feeling of someone getting so close and personal felt new and you didn´t like vulnerability.

Slytherin, pure-blooded with a rich family; you were raised to act strong and independent, at the same time upstage. Your family was picture perfect in that very sense, but you craved the feeling of warmth and safety.

“What makes you think I´m faking?”

It was Neville´s time to chuckle, it was so absurdly easy to tell for him.

“Why should I tell you their names?” He asked instead, but your back was still facing his direction.

“Why does the cold-hearted Slytherin girl even care? No, you don't have to wear your best fake smile. Not with me. It´s just me after all.”

Silence settled, you felt your heavy breathing and the burning inside your stomach. The worst of all? Neville was right. And even though, he barely knew you, he could see behind the façade. Bitter taste spread in your mouth, slowly running down your throat into your stomach.

“I´m sorry, I had no right to say that.”

You spun around, facing the tall brown-haired boy again. He saw your teary eyes and your shivering body. He had struck a delicate chord, that he didn´t know the existence of.

Yet, you weren´t able to form any words. Neville cleared his throat, taking off the gloves and making his way towards the door.

“I think, you might need some time for yourself.”

You wanted to protest, stepping closer to him.

“You can´t leave me, what about our punishment?”

Neville let out another soft chuckle. “You´re here for punishment, I´m here because I wanted to help.”

Then he left you standing in the dim light of the green house, darkness surrounding the garden area for the herb class. You felt as the night crawled into the space and further in, right into your body.

You couldn´t sleep that night after finishing your chores. Your mind was running crazy; Neville Longbottom was right and you both knew it.

After endless turning in your bed, you got up with the first ray of sunshine on the next Saturday morning. As hard as the nightly events had been on your mind, you had come to terms with them.

You were so done; you didn´t and couldn´t care anymore.

There was only one thing left, that you hadn´t quiet figured out.

Why by Merlin’s beard, did a certain, shy Gryffindor boy not leave your mind. You remembered how Neville had left the greenhouse the night before; well, he did rather stroll.

The pure thought of it made heat rise to your cheeks and your stomach tumbling.

Was this boy, who had never stood out in a crowd due to his insecure posture and his crooked teeth, suddenly winning your cold, Slytherin heart?

 No you don't have to wear your best fake smile

Don't have to stand there and burn inside

 Your steps hurried through the great hall, but instead you found yourself at the Gryffindor table right in front of none other than Hermione Granger. Even at this early hour, she was leaning over a pile of papers and books. Surprised and confused, she looked up to you. Besides some minor contentions, which were mostly related to house pride, the two of you never much more to exchange views. Hermione had sorted you, just like most of the students, as an ambitious Slytherin girl with a reputation, to have a liking in playing with fire. But unlike other classmates in green uniforms, you never said a word about families with other bloodlines.

“Do you know where Neville is?”

Her mouth gaped a little open, completely confused by your statement.

“Neville? Neville Longbottom?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes.”

“Why do you want to know?”

Your jaw tightened, the talk and gossip was inevitable anyways and just like Neville had stated; Why does the cold-hearted Slytherin girl even care?

“I want to ask him out.”

If Hermione’s mouth was open before, her jaw basically dropped to the floor. She always knew the right, and considerable fitting words, but she was speechless now.

“He likes to take morning walks around the lake”, she mumbled.

“Thank you.” You nodded appreciating, before leaving her again.

The morning was cold and fresh wind hollered around the towers of the school. It was easy to find his tall figure, he was the only one walking at the lake. When he caught eye of your approaching, he couldn´t help but smile a little as his heartbeat quickened. Even with your messy hair and tired eyes, clearly your conversation yesterday had led to some sleep loss, you looked stunning to him.

A few feet in front of him, you stopped abruptly.

“Hi!”

Good job Y/n, very creative, you thought to yourself. Had he always been this tall? You wondered as you had to stare up a little. And his eyes, did you never notice his calm and kind eyes?!

“Hi?”

“I-“, you took a deep breath, then you continued. “I thought about what you said and you were right. I shouldn´t care, because it doesn´t make me happy.”

Neville nodded understanding, he appeared a little aloof. “I´m glad I could help.”

In the daylight, things were differently. His bravery to speak out his mind was gone, he had remembered who you are, and who he was. It all felt like a far dream to him. He wanted to keep walking, save himself the blushes and humiliation. But you were a true Slytherin, determined to keep going.

“Do you want to go out on a date with me?” You asked, practically yelling to stop him from leaving and Neville stopped in his tracks, slowly turning back to you. His face had softened, the same kind expression from the night before.

 She used to put it out and get it all back

But now she's slipping trying to carry the act

She's sweating under the lights, now she's beginning to crack

 “I don´t want to wear my fake smile and I think you´re cute and funny, maybe I can genuinely smile for once.”

Neville smiled from ear to ear, as he stepped closer to you, carefully taking your hands in his. There were warm and slightly rough from the garden work.

“It would be my pleasure to go out with you and maybe make you laugh a little.”

Now, finally, your lips grew into a smile as well and Neville´s hand placed a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“It truly suits you.”

#neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom fanfiction #neville longbottom #matthew lewis #harry potter imagine #mariamermaidimagine

[space-------kid]

can’t keep my hands (off you).

Anime/Manga: One Punch Man Pairing: Garou/fem!Reader Additional pairing/characters: platonic Metal Bat/fem!Reader, Zenko, mentions of other heroes such as Saitama, Watchdog Man, etc. Genre: Romance, comedy Warning: Absolute silliness. Language – Garou and reader both ate rainbows for breakfast. Dumbassery. Teeth-rotting fluff, maybe? Reader is hella strong like Saitama. Half-assed spice because you’re good at cockblocking Garou despite being low-key thirsty for him. And LOTS of dumbassery from the reader, most probably. Additional tag: Dream-based fic, canon-divergent, Garou is horny af A/N: This is supposed to be a lengthy one-shot, but I’m a dumbass who can’t keep my word so the supposedly one-shot isn’t a one shot anymore.  Now I have to worry how I should properly divide all those parts (I mean, they’re already divided, but–) 😅

Garou thinks your thighs are great.

Summary:

Your life had its general ups and downs, pros and cons, the good and the bad.

You were admittedly a coward and afraid of being targeted by people for it. Following the advice of your (best) friend you trained hard, like, FUCKING hard, and now you’re blessedly, utterly strong you can take down enemies with just one hit. A good thing, really. Can’t let any bad guy harass you or something.

But-

You were probably cursed with the biggest, baddest of luck. Not only were monsters chasing you, suddenly there was this fucking hot bastard weirdo who kept on calling himself the Hero Hunter. “I’m not a hero, goddamn it!”

i. and ii. | iii. and iv. | [more to be added]

“i can’t keep my

hands

off…!”

- can’t keep my hands off you/simple plan

v.

You spend the following days feeding a stray wolf in your modest home.

In all honesty, you had no idea when Garou began coming in and out of your home as if he shared ownership of the place with you. It’s not like you invited him or anything when you brought his unconscious ass home the first time. You were just scared of leaving a possibly dead body back in K-City Nature Park that fateful day. Lucky for you he survived getting hit by you in your fight instinct two times in a row, yeah?

Maybe that was how far your luck would push itself, however, because every time the (admittedly) hot yet weird bastard stepped inside your quiet abode, he never failed to turn it – as well as yourself – upside down.

You were currently eating cold soba in the living room when you heard the tell-tale sound of your backdoor creaking. The house you’re living in – given to you by your parents when you turned seventeen – was located on the border of K-City, the next house closest to yours was almost 700 meters away from yours. This should’ve been a problem for any average coward, but you were a weird, introverted one since neighbors and the idea of them coming by to visit creeped the hell out of you.

The only downside you could think of when you moved out of your childhood home when you turned seventeen was that you were now living away from your parents and your best friend Badd and his little sister Zenko. Good thing public transportations were awesome, huh? And Badd was a pro-hero, an S-Class to boot, and so he’s got some privileges here and there which he never refused to share with you and your parents alongside Zenko.

Your heart beat began to increase in tempo when you recognized Garou’s footsteps padding somewhere in your kitchen. Sure enough, you heard the fridge door opened and slammed shut. Seconds later, the guy himself slid down the couch next to you, nursing a cold bottle of Coke.

Please don’t make me hit this dumbass again, you prayed to whoever might be listening. Please.

“Yo.”

Eyes narrowed, you simply shrugged in reply to his greeting and continued to aggressively eat your snack.

You could feel Garou shift beside you, throwing an arm behind you on the couch. His fingers were grazing your shoulder, and you could practically feel his gaze on you.

“You’re always staying home, [Name],” he commented and pulled the bottle cap off with his teeth – the absolute mad lad! “Don’t you go to school or something?”

You tilted your head to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you seem to always be wandering about, so… pot,” you replied then nudged your elbow on his side, “kettle.”

“Fair point,” said Garou, shrugging. “But to answer the question: I don’t need school. I already know everything I have to. You?”

“I graduated already when I was fifteen,” was your nonchalant reply. Garou choked on his drink and looked at you with what seemed to be admiration.

“Really? You’re strong, and you’re a nerd on top of that?” he exclaimed, grinning.

You could tell that he didn’t mean to use the term as an insult, and you bashfully averted your gaze in embarrassment.

“Badd also calls me that,” you mumbled unconsciously.

Garou blinked and looked at you curiously. “Eh? Who’s that?”

Somehow, you got the feeling that you didn’t need to tell him that your best friend was a hero. Well, Garou tried to beat you up when he mistook you for one, hadn’t he? Maybe you should just trust your gut feeling and forgo mentioning Badd’s title.

“Ah, he’s my best friend.”

There. Short and simple.

Garou stared at you for a solid five seconds, as if judging you for keeping him in the dark about Badd’s identity. Then he grinned again.

Fuck you and your paranoid ass.

“I thought you were gonna say boyfriend for a second,” he commented, leaning down at you. “Glad there’s no one stopping me from having my way with ya.”

Oh, god. And so it begins.

Eyes narrowed at the other teen, you quickly got up and repositioned yourself on the armchair beside the couch. You clutched your bowl of soba, your knees on your chest.

“Don’t you start again, Garou, I’m warning you,” you scolded him, trying and failing to sound stern. How could you when your heart was practically in your throat at the moment?

He pulled himself off the couch to follow you, bracing himself on the armrests of your seat and effectively caging you. Garou leaned down, eyes sparkling with mischief when he looked at you with mock innocence.

“I ain’t startin’ nothing, little lady,” he purred, smiling devilishly down at you. “And why did you move here? It’s much cosier on the couch with me on it.”

You pressed yourself further against the back of your seat when Garou fully invaded your personal space by lowering his face to yours. You could only watch as he took the chopsticks from your stiff fingers and began eating your snack, all the while keeping eye contact with you. You watched, entranced, as the noodles slipped between his lips.

“This is good,” said Garou through a mouthful of noodles. He took some and offered it to you, gazing at you expectantly. “Say ‘ah’.”

You sat there, forcing yourself to tear your gaze off his mouth and looked up at him dumbfounded. You could practically feel your face heating up in nervousness, your heart beating triple time as Garou waited for you to respond.

Mind on the brink of blanking out, you timidly opened your mouth and let him feed you. Your heart pounded in your ears and you could only hope that Garou wouldn’t hear. You tried hard not to squirm under his intense gaze when he pressed the tips of your chopsticks on his bottom lip.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

From attacking you twice because he mistook you for a hero, you suddenly ended up with him raiding your house every now and again to grab some grub and some bandages to patch himself up from whatever the hell he was doing. And now he seemed to be hell-bent on teasing you and making you flustered.

Did he have nothing better to do than to mess with you like this?

“Say, [Name]…” he said, voice low and gaze smoldering.

“W-What?” you stammered, eyes hurting from how wide they were while you looked back up at him.

Garou dipped his head lower, nose touching yours. You couldn’t close your eyes, afraid that he would take advantage and do something weird.

Like what? Kiss you?

If he could read your thoughts, he would be cringing by now with your incoherent mental screaming.

“Do you mind if I…”

Golden eyes left yours as they turned downwards to gaze at your trembling lips. Garou moved-

You closed your eyes.

“Do you mind if I get some of this for myself? I’m starvin’.”

Wait. Why did his voice sound far away now-?

You opened your eyes to see Garou standing up straight before you, one hand resting on his hip. He was looking at you eagerly, head cocked to the side and a tell-tale grin on his lips.

Thoroughly mortified for falling for this jerk’s teasing, your leg shot up to kick him where the sun didn’t shine, annoyance rising in your chest as Garou cackled at you and easily moved out of your range.

“Hey now, what’s with that red face?” he laughed at you. “Where you hoping for something?”

Afraid that you might say something stupid if you thoughtlessly took the bait, you carefully and thoroughly thought of a reply as you rose to your feet and shoved your bowl at him.

“Yeah, I was!” you replied, sarcasm dripping in your voice. “I was waiting for a monster to crash on my doorstep and kick your stupid ass!”

Maaaybe you shouldn’t have kid about that last part because true to your word, your house was shaken by a loud explosion, followed by a booming roar. You – albeit apprehensively – and Garou rushed out to look where it came from, and the two of you saw a fifteen-foot tall frog-like monster with disgusting tentacles coming out of its mouth.

You and your dumb bad luck.

The frightening creature turned its gaze at you to your house, its tentacles wriggling lecherously.

The bowl you were holding fell on the wooden porch but you didn’t even notice.

Disgust and terror swamped your entire being and you had blacked out before you knew it, Garou letting out a surprised noise as he caught you before you hit the ground.

F̖̜̳̼̏͛͐̈̚͢Ḭ̵̛̦̣͓̣̾̎̎̑̋̊͊͘G̷̛̛͇̮͍̰̒͗̾̌̚͟Ḩ̷̢͚͇̅̇͊̅̆̓̉̎̋͘͟T̸̨̛̗̩͎̞̟̾̿̾̍̾̃̈̓͟

 .

.

.

To Garou, monsters and the thought of them winning were the only fascinating things worth spending his time on.

He aspired to be one, the kind that would plunge the world in utter terror. The absolute evil that would be the world’s greatest enemy. The world itself was unfair, so why not become the most unfair being there was if only it could mean that humanity would unite under a single flag and create the ultimate hero to beat the God-level calamity he aspired to be?

In order to achieve his dream, he had to establish a routine that he must follow single-mindedly: beat the admirable heroes and let each victory be his step into reaching his goal of becoming a true monster.

Fate must’ve been smiling at him lately, to Garou’s absolute glee. Not only had he single-handedly took down a room full of ruffians and three A-Class heroes back at the Hero Association HQ, he had also beaten some other heroes the following days with the addition of an S-Class to boot!

Yeah, Fate had been kind to him, but Lady Luck had thrown him a huge curveball in the form of dainty little you.

Garou was a prodigy, a martial arts genius that even the old geezer Bang praised back then (before he was expelled from the master and creator of the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist style’s dojo). He was a force to be reckoned with during a fight, his tremendous strength backed by his astounding reflexes and ingenuity.

They were nothing against your unpredictability and shockingly overwhelming strength, however.

“Oi, [Name], you scaredy cat,” Garou called you, shaking you awake ever so slightly as the monster’s rampage took it nearer to your house. “Is this really the time you should be fainting?”

Losing to you twice had been a huge bruise-inducing slap to his ego, something he would never admit. He even learned jack shit during those encounters other than the fact that he seemingly can’t find nor predict ways on how to counter your moves – I mean, how could you hypothesise an attack from someone who showed no interest in fighting, someone whose body language only seemed to scream “don’t fight me, please”? He ought to beat you to a pulp for all of that, but-

You opened your eyes to reveal the same dull look they had when you beat Garou, your face devoid of any emotion. The hairs on the back of Garou’s neck stood on end, a chill creeping down his spine when you idly removed yourself from his arms.

He watched as you took a step forward and leaped towards the monster in the blink of an eye. Garou’s golden gaze widened as you lifted one of your legs and brought it down on the monster’s head with unparalleled force, crushing its huge head and body on the process. You then somersaulted away as what recognizable remains of the beast crashed, the mysterious being dead before it could hit the ground.

Garou remained where he stood on your porch as you turned around and marched back to your house, still wearing that expressionless look. What surprised him the most when you reached him was the minute quirk that appeared on your lips when you turned your dull gaze on him.

The self-proclaimed Hero Hunter’s only reason for taking interest on the strong was because of their – well – strength and fighting capabilities. You have them, you definitely do when you were in this state where something (your fighting instincts, maybe?) seemed to take a hold of you to fight and defend yourself on the process. But there was something hot arousing appealing on seeing a small and delicate cowardly woman go “instant kill” mode and thrash monsters regardless of their size and strength with just one hit.

Now this was the reason why Garou kept on coming to your humble abode unannounced and incessantly teased the hell out of you. He wanted to see more of this side of yours, and maybe gear up a mock fight or two?

But, nah. There’s no appeal in losing to you a third time if that was possible.

His rational side agreed with that kind of reasoning.

Teenage hormones, the one he successfully kept locked for the whole duration of his puberty, thought otherwise.

Garou grinned widely at the warring sides of his brain as you snapped out of your trance and squealed pathetically at the green blood of the monster that had splattered on you.

Maybe losing to you again wouldn’t be so bad as long as he got his head crushed between those killer thighs of yours.

---

to be continued

#garou x reader #platonic metal bat x reader #garou #garou the hero hunter #garou the human monster #metal bat #badd #opm x reader #one punch man #one punch man season 2

[writeanapocalae]

Alii Inspiriti

Read on Ao3 | Inspired by Art

Getting a rise out of Nines was hard. It happened, but it was usually when he was on low battery, when he couldn’t waste processing power on preconstructing and scanning and being a smart ass. It happened when he was vulnerable and quiet, when he tried to stay in stasis but couldn’t.

Gavin had noticed it, the way that he was a bit more sluggish than he used to be, that there were days in which his LED fluctuated between red and nothing, battery saver in full effect. He didn’t know an android could get tired but the lower his battery went the less of his programs he ran.

It was cute, in a way that Gavin wasn’t interested in reflecting on. He was big and intimidating but when he was tired he got outright dopey, he would touch more, he would lean his head on Gavin’s shoulder, he would rest with his eyes closed and his chin in his hand.

He didn’t ask why Nines wasn’t getting all of his charge in. That felt too personal. Once he’d stayed in the bullpen overnight, working on some paperwork. He and the other few officers that worked the graveyard shift tried to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t understand it at first, but Nines and the three other androids that resided at the station were in their charging pods. While Kevin, Laney, and Bliss were all dead to the world when they charged, Nines woke up at the slightest sound. Gavin noticed it when he dropped a pen and the sound was enough to rouse his partner. When he picked his pen back up he saw Nines just standing there, in his pod, staring at him, LED pulsing.

They didn’t talk about it. Gavin tried not to talk about anything that was personal, unless it was something that he could make fun of. Like how Nines’ smile looked like :] instead of a real expression or how he ran like a horse that had a base understanding of what would happen if it got caught lame.

He should have talked to him about it though. He should have figured out why Nines didn’t stay in stasis like the other androids.

They’d gone on a case and Nines’ LED was doing that blinking thing, in and out of red. He was slow and quiet, sticking to himself. He looked at the crime scene with his eyes but he wasn’t investigating. Gavin made a joke about pouring a cup of coffee over Nines’ head to wake him up. It was simple really, it wasn’t like Gavin needed Nines for this one. The guy made investigations a lot easier and faster and enjoyable but Gavin could still do the basics on his own.

One shooter, small, two victims, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. There was a gun licensed in Mrs. Jones’ name that was now missing. There were scuff marks of luggage being dragged in by the front door and a neighbor said that their son, Michael, had just moved home after a fallout with his boyfriend. There had been a lot of arguing and, from the cross on the wall and the bible on the coffee table, Gavin could guess what they were about. Gavin’s gut and experience both said that Michael was the shooter.

They didn’t have to go far to find him though.

Michael had been hiding in the house when they arrived and, when they drew too close, Michael did what he could to protect himself. He shot Nines, twice, before the android even caught on that he was there. That wasn’t all though, he pounced on Gavin, whipped him against the forehead with the gun, punched with his right, whipped against his lip with the gun. Gavin brought up a hand, trying to fight back, trying to get Michael off of him, but then the kid bit him of all things. They’d fought for a while but, with so many blows to the head, there was no way Gavin was going to win it.

He woke up a few hours later in a hospital bed, stitched and drugged and bandaged up. Nines had apparently kicked into gear once Gavin was unconscious and apprehended Michael, read him his rights, before he also passed out. Passed out was the human word for it, for androids it was hibernation, which was only a step above powered down. He could stay in hibernation for a while but he would run out of battery even in that mode.

Gavin had the rest of the day off. He could go back to work the next day, as long as he took his medication as instructed. He would. He was good at taking his pills on time. People thought that he was looking for shortcuts, that he didn’t care about the rules, but that was just because he didn’t follow those pertaining to etiquette. If it was for the job, for his health, he’d do it without question.

He came in bright and early, an extra shot in his coffee because he deserved it, whole milk too, in hand. Everyone was working, everything was normal, even Nines was back at his desk with his perfect posture. Tina though, she came by and clasped Gavin on the shoulder, teasing him. Chris gave him a wave. Even Hank gave him a little nod though his attention was on Nines, even while talking to Connor his attention was on Nines.

When he got closer he could see why. While Nines’ LED wasn’t blank as often, it was still cycling from red to nothing, and he wasn’t interfacing with the screen. He was typing, the old fashioned way, and while he was typing far more words per minute than Gavin could try to count it was still strange because he had no need to type.

He glanced up at Gavin for only a second.

Then he looked up at Gavin again, eyes big, and he was getting out of his chair and over to Gavin, putting his hands in Gavin’s cheeks, looking him over. The blinking stopped as the red went solid for a moment and Gavin knew that he was being scanned. There was no emotion on Nines’ face, just those big blue eyes, and those hands mussing up Gavin’s hair.

Those hands that were shaking.

Gavin had seen Nines shake before. It always started at his hands. Gavin didn’t know what it meant, had never seen it go up past his arms before. Nines always left when it happened. Gavin just assumed it was some android thing.

“Hey relax, Tin can,” Gavin tried to smirk but his cheeks were in the way from the pressure of Nines’ shaky palms. He set his coffee down on his desk. “I’m okay, see?”

That broke Nines’ stupid plastic face, making it crack into that :] smile. His LED, for the first time in hat must have been a month, spun into blue. Gavin could only catch a glimpse of it though because Nines was wrapping his arms around Gavin’s shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his head, and he was being crushed against android chest. Right there, in the bullpen, in front of everyone, Nines had given Gavin a hug and it didn’t feel like he had any mind to let go of him.

His whole body was shaking.

“I’m okay,” Gavin repeated.

Nines just held him tighter.

It took a moment for sound to reach them, for the whooping and hollering to become apparent. Nines pulled away, LED back to red and nothing, his eyes down. He was still shaking.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice that crushed velvet of gravel that he kept hidden away most of the time. It was like that stupid smile of his, not quite right, not what he wanted people to know about him, but it was quiet enough that he could speak to Gavin and know that the others wouldn’t hear.

Gavin slapped him on the shoulder, “If you’re not careful there, Plastic, people are going to think you’ve got a heart in there or something.”

He started to go back to his own desk, but Nines gripped his arm, just for a moment. “After work?” he asked and Gavin had to strain to hear him. “I want to. talk to you.”

Gavin paused, just for a moment, before nodding his consent.

The rest of the workday went over alright, just paperwork for most of the cases and a bit of a migraine. Nines did have to leave though, twice, once for the shaking and another time for a quick attempt at charging that didn’t seem to go anywhere. With all these people around, it was hard for him to do so much as close his eyes. It was at this second moment when Connor came up to Gavin’s desk.

“I’m glad to see you alright, Detective,” he stated, “most wouldn’t be back to work after such head injuries.”

“And here comes the headache,” Gavin groaned, leaning back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head. “What do you want Plastic Prick?”

Connor tapped his fingers on Gavin’s desk, all in a row. “Nines does not want me to interfere with his affairs. I am, however, worried about him. While he may not want me to intrude, you may have an easier time of it.”

The time for petty jabs was over and Gavin leaned forward, lowering his volume. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

“He’s a highly advanced android, far more than I am. He’s also very sensitive. I fear that his inability to charge may stem from more than just hypersensitivity though. If he keeps going as he does, it won’t just be your face being rearranged and a short hibernation.”

Gavin gave him a nod, he hoped that was what this talk was meant to be about. Connor went back to his desk and, by the time Nines returned there was no sign that they’d even spoken. They went back to their uneventful workdays and Gavin took his pills on time. When it was time to leave they did so together, got to Gavin’s little beater of a car, and Nines didn’t try to advocate that Gavin should sit in the passenger seat and let him drive.

Nines was unfocused on the ride, staring straight ahead at nothing. He didn’t speak. He just sat there like a big human shaped doll, shaking every once in a while. Gavin didn’t ask him about it. They’d get home first, then the could talk as much as they needed, get all of this sorted out.

When they got to the apartment though, Nines didn’t move. He just sat there in the passenger. Gavin had to put a hand in front of his face, snap his fingers a few times, to get Nines’ attention. Only then did he get out of the car but, even then he had that glassy look to his eyes and leaned on the side of the car. Gavin took him by the elbow and lead him up the stairs, up to his apartment, and by then the shaking had settled all the way to Nines’ shoulders. Almost time for him to do his vanishing act.

Gavin let him into the apartment and lead him to the couch, where he sat heavy and tired, bone tired, more tired than Gavin had been since college probably. He reached up, brushed that one purposefully imperfect lock of hair away from his face, and asked him the question he should have asked weeks ago.

“Why the phck aren’t you charging?”

Nines leaned his face against Gavin’s hand and he spoke louder now that he knew no one but Gavin could hear him. “Can’t stay in stasis.”

“It’s the noise, right?” Gavin asked, actually letting Nines rest against him. It felt good in a way that Gavin didn’t want to think about. “You keep getting woken up? God, you’re dummy thicc in the head, there are noise canceling headphones out there, they’re not going to mess with your ‘do.”

Nines bit his lip then and that was something Gavin had never seen him do before. He’d never seen Nines wrap his arms around himself and start to rock, start to have what could only be a panic attack. Gavin put his other hand out, the bandage of it making it so he couldn’t feel how smooth Nines’ skin was on that hand.

“Don’t want. to talk. about it,” Nines admitted. “I want you to. know though. I wish I could just. touch you and. you’d know.”

“Yeah well I’m not a plastic boy like you, Pinocchio, you’re going to use your big words.”

Nines put a hand on Gavin’s thigh, his grip tight and vibrating. Gavin started to do his breathing exercises. He knew that Nines didn’t need to breathe, but he did the rhythm that he’d learned online in the middle of a week long panic attack back when he was new to the force. It helped, he was sure of it. The grip loosened at least.

“I dream. Whenever I’m in. stasis I dream the. worst things, I. I dream of you dying. of me. being the one to. kill you or you dying. from my negligence. and there’s. Nothing. I can do. Nothing. Any sound that wakes me. is a. blessing.”

Of course. Nines had deviated on his own, hadn’t let another deviant help him with this and he was working for the DPD, where all of their lives where in danger at all times. Gavin had gotten hurt so many times in their partnership, Nines always getting it far worse than he did, but with how Nines hadn’t been charging there was a now very obvious fear that he could get himself killed out there.

“That’s normal. We all have nightmares from work. Hell, some of us have nightmares from things worse than work. But you not resting is going to shut you down.”

Nines squeezed his eyes shut. “I know. I know.”

Gavin leaned forward more, resting his forehead against Nines’ own cold one. He could feel the way that Nines inhales unnecessary breaths, trying to mimic Gavin’s pattern, how much they shuddered.

“I know I’m an asshole and I know you’ve got no reason to think I wouldn’t judge you for this but just, know that I’m not, okay? I have nightmares too. But this is killing you. I need to know what I can do.”

Nines closed his eyes. Gavin noted that there was hardly any red in his LED. “Just be alive. Convince me. that you’ll stay alive.”

Gavin didn’t know how to do that. But he did. It was just a lot more intimate than what he’d ever thought he could do with someone, it was something he would do with a friend. Was Nines his friend? He didn’t know. But Nines was confiding in him and he wouldn’t even confide in Connor so that had to mean something.

“I’ve got an idea. A phone charger would work, right?”

Nines nodded, though it was slow. Gavin pulled his forehead away, looking him over. Nines looked like he was about to fall asleep or, more likely, into hibernation, at any moment.

“You trust me?”

Nines opened his eyes and he stared at Gavin and it was about the most cognitive that he’d seen him in ages.

“Of course.”

Gavin moved his hands down, took Nines’ elbows in his palms and stood up, pulling Nines up with him. He walked Nines to his bedroom, which was in a constant state of disarray, and sat him down on the bed. Carefully he unwound his phone cord and, upon showing it to Nines the android pulled off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and folded it over the elbow. Gavin did his best not to blush or, even look at it because there was no way he was going to get flustered over his android partner’s bicep. A panel slid open and out of the way though and he held it out, let Gavin insert the plug.

“Okay, you know what sleeping is, right?” Gavin teased, “Like, how humans sleep? Get on your side, you’re doing that tonight.”

Nines did as he was told but not without looking at him with confusion. “I don’t sleep.”

“You do too. I said so.”

Nines lay down on his side, eyes closing, eyelashes against his cheeks. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even move when Gavin climbed in beside him, pulling off his hoodie and undoing his pants for a bit more comfort as he tried to spoon the gigantic android before him. It was a bit early for him and he was going to wake up starving, but that was fine. This was more important. He needed more rest anyway.

“Can you feel me breathing?”

Nines nodded.

“Then you’ll know I’m hear and that I’m safe. You don’t have to worry about me.”

That stupid smile crossed Nines’ lips one more time before he did, finally, enter stasis.

#detroit become human #my writing #reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #fanfiction

[peter-parkers-passport]

Flower Child (Peter Parker x ofc)

Chapter 1: Favors and Phone Numbers

warnings: language (barely), mentions/depictions of anxiety

Two Months Later

Lila Landry sat in her literature class Monday morning staring at her fingers rather than paying attention to the course material. She frowned at the dirt underneath her fingernails, mentally making a note to buy a more aggressive hand soap before she got home that evening. Although, deep in her heart she knew that the dirt couldn’t leave her fingers, no matter how hard she tried. Not that she minded, Lila loved that while her hands were clean, there was always a piece of home tagging along for the ride.

She was so busy examining the dirt that she didn’t hear her teacher call her name. Three times. “Lila.” Fourth time’s the charm, for Lila stared up at her teacher, who had a flat look on his face. Good old Mr. Puth, always looking to pick on the students who didn’t know everything he taught or didn’t pay attention. Unfortunately, he decided he wanted to pick on Lila that class period. He raised an eyebrow, his expression seemingly triumphant. “Thank you for joining us as we discuss the tragedy that is Patroclus's death. Care to share your thoughts on how Homer intended it to be perceived?”

Lila’s cheeks flared, for she hated being the center of attention. She thought she made that rather obvious, as she strategically chose her seat in the middle of the classroom, away from the back, where prowling teachers might try and pick on a student, yet not in the front with all the teacher’s pets. Her seat was one row over from the row of desks next to the window, so she wouldn’t be accused of daydreaming should any wandering stares find their way to the great view of New York City. It was almost perfect, she went by mostly unnoticed.

Mostly. Mr. Puth was a different story: he was like the living embodiment of Professor Snape, so miserable with teaching that he decided to psychologically torture the people that were legally required to be there by the state of New York. Today just happened to be Lila’s turn for the needless picking. As if forgetting Lila’s straight A’s and high marks in his class, he still felt the need to prey on her, expose her shyness like chum for all the sharks in the water to see. 

Swallowing most of her stutter, Lila did her best to rise to the occasion. “W-well, seeing as h-how Homer wasn’t - wasn’t a single person, the death of Patroclus is actually interpreted different ways.” Sliding into the topic that she was familiar enough to be comfortable with, Lila found herself slowly relaxing, and forgetting about the eyes still glued to her.

Mr. Puth’s arched eyebrow rose fractionally. “Oh. And how do you figure?”

“I figure since this story is older than written history, it’s safe to assume that Homer might be a representation of multiple bards all over Ancient Greece. That the bards that perform this story orally recounted a similar series of events, one that has too many translations to count on two hands. Going off of this, I’d think that Patroclus’s death is interpreted in many different ways.”

Mr. Puth had no choice but to let the matter of Lila not paying attention slide. But that didn’t mean she was off the hook. He sat down on his desk and crossed his arms. “And how would you interpret the death of Patroclus, in the eyes of Achilles? I’m sure you could help explain it to the rest of the class.”

Not likely, Lila thought. The rest of the class had either already read The Iliad twice over, or just didn’t care. Blowing out a puff of air, Lila ran a hand through her messy, honey-colored waves. “Well, historically speaking, the death of Patroclus would be equated to that of Juliet losing Romeo since they were lovers.

“Sexuality didn’t exist in Ancient Greece,” Lila elaborated, eyeing her teacher’s expression change minutely. “People just loved, left and right. Achilles loved Patroclus, and to lose him, to have him ripped away from him, well, I personally think it’s one of literature’s greatest romantic tragedies.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, while Mr. Puth contemplated her answer. “Does anyone think that Lila’s perspective draws parallels to any other tragedies set within the poem? Or any tragedies it alludes to?” The teacher left his desk, grabbing his book and resuming his lecture, selecting his next victim.

Lila let out a breath she didn't know she’d collected while waiting for Mr. Puth’s response. Glancing down, she saw that the dirt that had collected underneath her fingernails had been picked out, and now sat on the desktop. Several spots under her nails were bleeding, and Lila clenched her shaking fists.

Stupid nerves.

                               *****

Midtown had colorful hallways, mostly because it let its students decorate them. A majority of the decorations were flimsy fall leaves dangling, reminding the students of the changing seasons. Others, like posters, reminded students of upcoming events. The tacky 80s decorations on the Homecoming poster assaulted Lila’s eyes every time she stared too closely at it. Yet another event she couldn’t attend. Although she wasn’t sure she really wanted to.

Another poster that was taped up was the Academic Decathlon poster, reminding Lila of her need to get her dad to fill out her permission slip, as well as write a check. Just last weekend, the decathlon team clinched a spot in the national competition, which just so happened to take place in Washington, D.C., a place Lila was dying to visit. Their team now spent their period together relentlessly practicing any and every topic under the sun. All thanks to Liz Allen, whose rigid leadership was starting to become a regime under the promise of winning a national competition. With Liz being a senior, Lila couldn’t really blame her for being so strict in their practice, seeing as how winning nationals would be great to add to a college application.

Lila grimaced, her mind moving from D.C. to her permission slip to her dad, and the thought had her gut rolling. Lila clutched her phone in her shaking hand, weaving in between students passing in the halls. She marched straight for her favorite decoration in the school: the mural.

The mural was two stories tall and was the wall next to one of the main staircases in the school. The pastel blue background gave way to all the greatest scientific discoveries, as well as several people who had made them: Doctor Bruce Banner, Sir Isaac Newton, Galileo Galilei, even Howard Stark. They’d commissioned several art students a few years ago to design the mural, and while most students could ignore it, Lila seemed to gravitate toward it.

Perhaps it was because Michelle Jones perched herself at the same corner facing the wall. And, being that Michelle was Lila’s only friend, the mural became a place of solace for Lila, too. To no one’s surprise, Michelle was nosing her way through her most recent book (book number thirty-five of the calendar year, if Lila could keep track), and hardly looked up when Lila stopped in front of her. “What do you want?”

Anybody else would’ve taken it as a dismissal. And to everyone else, it would’ve been. But Lila was quiet enough that she had a firm grasp on body language, and she knew that while it took some warming up, Michelle Jones had welcomed Lila to accompany her. She was ninety percent sure it was because the taller girl pitied her for having zero friends.

“I’m an idiot,” Lila huffed.

Michelle merely turned the page, not looking away from the words. “I’m sure you’re right, but why?” Lila held her phone, still trying her best not to throw up. Michelle glanced up from her book, squinting at the text on her phone. “Hey Tulip, please make sure to ask your friend about the computer today during decathlon. Xo.” Michelle’s eyes flickered from the message to Lila’s face, taking note of the sweat starting to line her forehead. “I’m confused.” Had she not said so, it would’ve been impossible to tell, for Michelle’s expression remained completely neutral.

Lila threw her head back before stepping closer. “It’s about Peter.”

“Ah,” Michelle said wryly, returning to her book.

“MJ,” Lila whined, gently taking the bookmark held in Michelle’s hands, and tucked it in her book, swiftly removing it and carrying it under her arm while walking down the hall to their shared trigonometry class. Any other person and MJ would’ve punched them in the throat for taking her book. Instead, she fell into an easy stride next to the panicking girl. “This - this is serious. Defcon One, National Emergency, um - uh - gah! I’m not able to think of witty remarks with so much at stake.”

“I question why you’re not in theater, sometimes.” Michelle watched as Lila paled at the thought, and even more anxiety seemed to sit on her shoulders. “Then I remember why.”

“Why did I ever mention that Peter built computers to my dad? Why did I ever mention Peter to my dad?”

“Because you’re hopelessly in love with the poor kid,” MJ answered, earning a sharp look from Lila. She then corrected herself, as Lila had a hundred times before, “Not in love, you just have a helpless high-school crush that will surely go away.”

“Your mocking does little to either make me feel better or even remotely help me.”

“Well,” Michelle started, taking her book gently out from under Lila’s arm and walking into the classroom door they’d stopped at. “You didn’t ask me to do either of those things. And you won’t get over said crush if you don’t actually talk to him.” She disappeared, leaving Lila to collect herself before the class started.

“Shit,” She whispered.

“Language,” A teacher spoke as she brushed by, and Lila blushed.

                           *****

As the day progressed and lunch passed, the hour for academic decathlon crept nearer and nearer, and Lila felt like she would rather walk straight into the New York traffic than have to talk to Peter Parker. Sure, what was the harm, Lila could get some decent practice at socializing, which was a crucial part of functioning in the world. But the nagging fear of Peter actually talking back to her brought a tidal wave a nausea, threatening to send her hurling. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten her peanut butter and jelly. Although, it was a damn good sandwich.

Seeing as time was a tricky bitch, it flew by for Lila, and she cursed herself for not having rehearsed what she was going to say to Peter in the bathroom mirror at least once. So when she dragged her feet into academic decathlon, she felt like she was walking to her death. About three-quarters of her being figured that she could just go pick out the damn computer herself, and put it all together. And Lila knew next to nothing about assembling any kind of technology, but she’d rather have a complete disaster of a computer than have Peter Parker think she was a disaster.

She also couldn’t have her dad thinking she was a disaster, and that thought ultimately made the decision for her. She had to talk to the boy. So she just placed her stuff down gently in the empty room and waited for Liz to get there to instruct them on what to do.

By all accounts, it didn’t make sense that Lila Landry was on the academic decathlon team. It was mostly a blur as to how she’d managed to sign up in the first place, but she did remember her dad encouraging her to join some kind of extracurricular to make friends, and Michelle was already on the team, so it seemed like the natural progression. Until she realized that it required public speaking; even worse, public speaking in front of her peers.

But it shocked no one more than herself that she actually excelled. Lila was strangely competitive and refused to be wrong or last in answering any of the questions. Maybe it was the fact that she was reigning champion of Trivial Pursuit in her household, or maybe she just liked talking about things she was passionate about. Still, her shyness dominated her brilliance, and she volunteered to be the first alternate, along with Flash Thompson, and Sally Watson. 

Besides, she just liked being with the group. Although her fear of making friends held her back from really getting to know anyone on the team besides MJ, she enjoyed their presence. They were all incredibly brilliant, and eager to show it. And sure, everyone had their differences, but the way they worked together was surprising, to say the least. Except maybe Flash, who was convinced that Peter Parker was set on ruining his life. 

Since she was merely an alternate, Lila didn’t have to work as hard as the other kids did in preparing for nationals, so she was free to work on homework. It was usually when she got all her homework done, as she worked all afternoon and into the evenings sometimes to help her dad. And while her chemistry notes that she’d neatly written down and her textbook were cracked open, Lila couldn’t help but occasionally sneak a peek at Peter, the boy with soft curls and an even softer smile.

So when Mr. Harrington was reading out the last announcements, and reminding everyone to hand in their permission slips by the end of the week, Lila’s hands grew clammy as she saw Peter head over to him, handing his permission slip over. She caught Michelle’s eye, and she while she looked rather impassive, she gave Lila a minute nod as encouragement. Lila took a deep breath, handed over her own permission slip, and followed out behind Peter.

He was jogging down the hall to get to his locker before the next period and stopped. Clutching her backpack straps tightly, she walked over to his locker before her mind could scream at her to run away. Before she even managed to stop all the way, Peter had looked up at her and smiled softly in recognition. “Hey, Lila.”

“H-hi, Peter.” This was it, the moment of truth. Just ask the question, the worst he could say was no. Or he could’ve laughed in her face. “I was w-wondering-”

“Lila!”

Lila turned around at the sound of her name, and her stomach dropped. Liz Allan was walking over to Peter’s locker, eyes set on her. She smiled softly when she stopped, saying, “Wow, you got out of there so fast I thought I’d miss you.” Lila offered a small smile in response. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t have you practice today. I promise, I’m gonna have all the alternates sit in and study tomorrow, is that okay?” A nod was followed, and Liz took that as a good thing. It was all the body language Lila had really been able to muster around the senior, so she supposed Liz had to take what she could get. The smile on Liz’s face grew bigger, and warmer as well. “Awesome! Oh, and my mom wanted to tell me she loved the fall wreath you made. It’s on our front door. Anyways, I’ll see you later,” She turned to Peter, who had a dumbstruck expression on his face. “Good job today, Peter.”

“Thanks,” He smiled, cheeks flushed with excitement that Liz spoke to him. Lila watched as he watched Liz walk away, and then turn back to his locker. “So, what were you wondering - Lila? You’re shaking.” Indeed she was, for the false courage she’d used had run out, and now Lila’s mind was on the fritz. Trying her best to ignore the pangs of jealousy and hurt she felt, she slowly counted to ten in her head while Peter looked on in concern. “Is it you practicing tomorrow?”

“No,” She said firmly, before wringing her trembling hands together. “W-well, yes, but n-no. I just don’t - don’t talk to people a lot, and-”

“Lila, it’s okay,” Peter comforted, his brown eyes staring into her green ones, and hands reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder. She flinched away, and Peter nodded in understanding. “Sorry, you’re not a touch person, my bad. Just - just take a deep breath, okay?”

She nodded quickly, taking several deep breaths. Reality seemed to slap her in the face as she realized she completely missed the opportunity for any kind of physical contact coming from Peter Parker. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lila sighed. “Sorry, sorry. I - um - I wanted to ask you a favor.”

Seemingly satisfied that the panic had subsided, Peter turned back to his locker to collect the remainder of the books he would need for the rest of the day. Lila took those brief seconds to take him in. A few scratches were on his fingers and a single, fading bruise on his temple that blended into his hairline. Not the first time she’d noticed any bruises from him, he’d occasionally come to school with bruises on his face, or he’d carry himself with a little more care, wincing from any hidden injuries. Lila was so distracted by looking at him that she almost missed him say, “Sure, what did you need?”

“Uh - I’ll understand if you’re busy, I know - I know you have the internship with Tony Stark, a-and if you can’t-”

“Well, you’ve gotta actually tell me the favor first before I can say no, Lila,” Peter smiled, a teasing glint in his eye. She felt like kicking something, for surely he knew what that did to her. And he was smiling at her, something that hadn’t really happened before. 

She breathily laughed, “Right. So - so my dad n-needs a complete overhaul of one of the computers in his shop. You know, the one by Delmar’s on 21st Street?” Peter paused and then nodded. “The - the computer is like, from the Dark Ages, and he - he finally agreed to get a new one. The problem is, he - he has no clue about anything technology-wise, and I’m - I’m okay at figuring it out, but I don’t want t-to invest in something I’ll need to replace a-a few years down the line. I was - I was wondering if maybe you could help me pick one out for him? I m-may have mentioned to him that you were super good with computers. If you can’t, I t-totally get it, you’re a - a busy guy, and-”

“Actually, I haven’t been that busy lately,” Peter almost seemed disappointed to say that. “Um - I can’t do it today, I’ve got the Stark internship right after school. But I can go with you tomorrow, was there a computer you thought about at all?”

Lila’s face lit up talking about her dad’s shop in Queens. “Yeah, actually. I was th-thinking maybe buying something clean looking that fits with the vibe of the whole store. I just - don’t really know what’s good for a business and what’s not.”

Peter nodded, “I get it. Would tomorrow work for you?”

“Tomorrow w-works great. I can - I can meet you after school if you like?” A smile made its way across Lila’s face, one Peter had never seen before. Lila didn’t know it, but it made her green eyes sparkle.

“After school works great, Lila, I’ll see you then.” She turned to walk away, still very aware of how her hands were still shaking when she heard Peter call out to her. She turned around, potentially giving herself whiplash, and saw Peter was right behind her. Startled, she hesitantly took a step back. “Actually - um - I might - I might need your phone number, in case I can’t find you.”

Her number. Peter Parker actually asked her for her phone number. Of all the directions she thought this conversation would take her, this was nowhere near any of the results. She thought she’d end up in some kind of vat of acid before she ended up with his phone number. And she also had to snap herself out of her daze, for Peter had his phone held out to her, and she stared at it a good five seconds too long. Gently taking the phone from his hands, she entered her contact information into the phone and added Lila Landry along with it. As an afterthought, she added an emoji, the tulip emoji, next to her name. 

Handing the phone back, Peter’s hand brushed hers. She swelled with pride for not flinching away and found herself relishing the feeling of his calloused hand on hers. He seemed to notice it too, for his expression changed fractionally, staring at their hands for an extra second before he withdrew, pocketing his phone. “I’ll see you later, Lila,” Peter waved, and walked off.

Lila’s bliss lasted the rest of the day.

                                            *****

Opening the door to her father’s shop, Lila was hit with the usual smell of fresh flowers, and her body relaxed at the simple scent of home. The sophomore looked around, kindly greeting the occasional customer that was perusing the store, smelling the occasional bloom or two. Soft music played in the background (no doubt Sophie’s choice) and mixed wonderfully with the sound of happy people buying bouquets. 

Lila’s father, Ted, owned and operated Landry’s Flowers, a successful small business that was supported across the entirety of New York City. What started as a small flower shop on 21st Street in Queens blossomed into a thriving local chain that provided anything from an individual bouquet to an entire arrangement for local hotels. Several locations had popped up over the last eight years, from Brooklyn all the way to Manhattan, Landry’s had something for everyone. 

It hadn’t started out as a business that planned to grow and thrive much like the flowers sold from it, but Landry’s was something special, and Lila always thought that was because both she and her dad built it from the ground up. After the Battle of New York, when the city was on the mend, Lila and her father both found therapy in rebuilding and expanding Landry’s Flowers into something that could spread joy and hope and love and everything in-between to the people of the city who needed it the most. So they broadened their horizons and contacted New York farms as well as city contractors to help them flourish. And Landry’s Flowers of today would never be the same.

While the other locations were wonderful and had a great staff of people running the show, the Landry’s Flowers in Queens was Lila’s personal favorite and became a safe haven from her insecurities. Perhaps it was because it was closest to home, and she could always find refuge in it after a brisk ten-minute walk. Lila lost count of how many times she’d spend her afternoons perched on one of the back countertops and either work on her homework or sit and people watch. She’d seen most of her community pass through those doors, and it always reminded her of how familiar the Queens shop was for her.

Or maybe she preferred that particular shop because of Sophie Nelson, who’d spent the last four years working there. The exact opposite of Lila, Sophie was loud and flamboyant, never afraid to talk to anyone, and most definitely not a quivering mess when it came to the people she liked. She was a role model for Lila: smart, funny, kind, and ever-present. Despite her affinity for chaotic fun, she always kept Lila’s feet on the ground, even though Lila never asked her to. It was what made Sophie so amazing, she always went along for the ride.

Deep down, Lila knew really why the shop on 21st Street was her favorite. And as she greeted Sophie with a quick hello, ran up the spiral staircase leading to the second floor, went into the backroom to drop her things off and headed up another set of stairs tucked into the back corner, Lila was met with her favorite place in all of New York: the rooftop. At the top of the stairs was a door, which led to the inside of the Landry family’s personal greenhouse. Covering the expanse of the rooftop, rows upon rows of herbs, flowers, and the occasional vegetable were neatly organized. Lila smiled softly as the sunshine enveloped her surroundings, and the warm air pressed on her skin to welcome her home. Her greenhouse was something she specifically asked to keep the exact same while her world changed around her, for the greenhouse had previously been maintained by her mother, and Lila worked hard to make sure it stayed the exact same. She breathed deeply, the potting soil invading her sense of smell, and Lila slowly walked around the room, picking up a spray bottle of water and occasionally watering a plant that looked particularly dehydrated.

She made sure everything looked alright before heading back downstairs and into the backroom to find an extra apron. Throwing it on, she adjusted her long hair before heading back onto the part of the second floor open to the public, walking over to the few customers that had bothered to venture upstairs and look over the cacti and succulents resting there. She made sure to say hello to every person she saw before heading back down the metal spiral staircase to do the same for everyone on the first floor. Once she’d made her rounds and made several recommendations to a few who were confused, Lila walked up to the counter to Sophie, who was saying goodbye to a customer carrying a large bouquet of sunflowers.

“Hey, Phish Food,” Sophie said, her voice happy as she saw Lila approach. One of the many things that Lila loved about Sophie was her voice, and how deep and raspy it was. It was almost believable that she was a seasoned smoker, but that was just the way she spoke. She always said it was like a secret weapon, because when people met her, they expected her to be this docile, quiet little Asian woman, and instead she was loud, rambunctious and “ready to shove docility up any privileged white man’s ass.” Her words, not Lila’s.

A journalism major, Sophie moved from Denver, Colorado to New York four years prior to study at Columbia. She was wicked smart, and sharp as a tack, and had a dream to take on the world through an investigative lens. She searched far and wide for jobs upon her arrival to the city and found an opening in Landry’s Manhattan location. It was fortunate enough that she was willing to do anything, for Lila’s dad was in desperate need of help running the Queens location due to the last person having to quit. She took her new responsibility on like a professional and bonded quickly with Lila, who was only eleven at the time. 

She told Lila that the reason she wanted to become a journalist was because of the emergence of Iron Man, and his constant battle to keep the world safe. After him came all the other Avengers that followed, and Sophie found herself tracking each and everyone with a great deal of scrutiny. In a way to keep up with everything going on, Sophie started her own podcast at the age of sixteen called Origin Story, discussing everything and anything superhero-related. It eased her into the world of journalism, and paid her relatively well, considering all the advertisers practically begging to be mentioned on her show. And when Lila got older, Sophie unofficially hired her to help her with merchandise, social media, and the occasional editing. It was Sophie’s goal to one day see to it that Lila would be a guest on her podcast, convinced that people would love to hear what she had to say.

“Hey, Half-Baked,” Lila greeted in kind, feeling Sophie bump her hip with her own. She smiled softly at the nicknames, remembering how two years ago, on an incredibly slow night, Sophie had Lila run out and grab some ice cream for the both of them. Either Soph knew or she didn’t, but Lila was feeling incredibly anxious that day after some random stranger scolded her for accidentally running into them, and was glad for the sugary reprieve. Together, with their pints of Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked and Phish Food, they sat and laughed about absolutely nothing for the rest of the evening. “How’s it going?”

“Could be better, I’ll be honest,” Sophie replied. “The computer finally died this morning, so I’ve been running everything manually for the last couple of hours. Do you know how many people tried to pay with a check? For like two or three individual flowers? It wasn’t even a bouquet or a pot, it was an individual flower and they tried to use a check like we live in the sixties-”

“I’ve got somebody on it, Soph,” Lila reassured her. “M-my friend from school’s coming tomorrow after we go out and buy a new computer. It’s gonna be fine.”

Sophie turned to look at Lila with a suspicious stare. “Oh? And who is this friend that’s got you all stuttery?”

“What? Sophie, it’s not - it’s not like that.” She might as well have told her the truth, for her cheeks were already flaring a pleasant shade of red. She sighed, knowing that her worst enemy was herself. “Fine. His name is Peter, Peter Parker.”

“Oh, I see,” Sophie’s tone wasn’t mocking, but it was definitely teasing Lila to stir more of a physical reaction to her success. Lila’s neck began to grow warm, as well as her ears. “And is Peter the boy you’re always daydreaming about?”

“I don’t daydream, Soph.”

A scoff came from Sophie’s lips, “Sure, and I’m Hawkeye. But anyways, Peter Parker.”

“Sophie-”

“What? He’s got a nice name!” Sophie defended after Lila’s voice grew weary. “It’s strong, like a superhero. You know, like Bruce Banner, or Sue Storm. Alliteration names are where it’s at. You would know, you have one.”

“Okay, I’m going back up to the greenhouse to curl up in a ball and die, thanks.”

“Love you, Phish Food. Don’t die without me!”

                           *****

“Tulip, are you home?”

“In the kitchen!” Lila answered, smiling at her other nickname, and her personal favorite. She was bent over the oven, spooning the sauce she’d made back over the cooking chicken. Pushing the rack back in and closing the oven, Lila straightened up to see her father walk in and place his things on the kitchen island next to his keys. Ted Landry sighed, smiling softly as he walked around and gave his daughter the usual kiss on her forehead in greeting. He then began to roll up his sleeves and went over to the sink to wash his hands, staring up at the racks of herbs that blocked most of the view that the window above the sink provided. 

As Lila turned to the cutting board that was perched on the opposite side of the island from where Ted placed his things, she snuck a glance at her father, always happy to see him home. His smile still sat on his lips, accentuating the few wrinkles he’d actually managed to accumulate in his early forties. It was amazing, Lila thought, how much he still smiled given their circumstances. Yes, he was successful, yes his daughter was brilliant and doing well in school, but still, after everything he’d lost…

“How was school, Tulip?” Tulip, her favorite flower since before she could name most flowers, seemed a natural nickname for Lila, according to her dad. Ted very much liked to call people by the name they preferred, and nicknames were few and far between. So Tulip was something of a rarity, much like his daughter was. “Pits and peaks, give ‘em to me.”

Lila was gently chopping up some walnuts for the salad she’d prepared along with the rest of dinner when she glanced up at her dad, who was observing the rosemary that sat on the second row of herbs. He plucked a few leaves and threw them into the oven to sit with the lemon chicken he could smell. Lila smiled, knowing she forgot to add the rosemary, and glad that her dad was there to keep up with her. “Well, a pit was Mr. Puth calling me out in front of the class to see me slip up.”

“Yeah, never liked that guy,” Ted agreed, picking up the already chopped walnuts and adding them to the bowl of spinach sitting on the far side of the counter. “Is this blueberry in here?”

“Blueberry goat cheese,” Lila answered, catching her dad’s doubtful stare. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I know, I know, I trust you. So, Mr. Puth called you out in front of the class, never fun. What was a good part of your day?”

“Um - well, I was completely on top of it in literature and launched an entire debate in the class over The Iliad. So Mr. Puth didn’t need to call on me again.” Lila took it as a personal victory, and was quite pleased with herself for not melting into a puddle in front of her classmates. She was sure it wasn’t physically possible to do so, but her anxiety always played out that delightful scenario in crystal clarity. Fortunately, that was something her dad knew.

So he let it slide. “Okay, any other peaks? There’s gotta be more to your day than just your first class is going well.” Reading her like a book, Ted watched her chop up the last of the walnuts before ushering her aside so he could take them over to the salad. She checked the kitchen timer and grabbed a tray of asparagus she’d prepared earlier and placed them below the chicken in the oven. She then helped her dad set the table for the two of them, grabbing the plates and napkins while he grabbed the cups and silverware. She headed back to her dad’s wine fridge and pulled out a white, pouring her dad a glass and retrieving a glass of water for herself. “Liz Allan told me how much her mom loves the fall wreath I made. It’s hanging on their front door.”

Ted smiled, squeezing her shoulder. “That’s fantastic, Tulip. It’s no shock, though. I mean, you always did have an eye for that sort of thing.” Lila was spared of having to grapple with the compliment by the timer going off for the oven. She waved her dad back to the table to sit down before taking the lemon chicken out of the oven as well as the asparagus. Bringing the food over, she set it down between the two plates and was about to sit down herself when her father spoke again. “It’s kind of quiet in here, Tulip. Whose week is it?”

“Uh - it’s mom’s week,” Lila said. The same touch of sadness that always hit Ted’s blue eyes appeared at the mention of Lila’s mother. Before the silence could grow heavy, she moved over to the living room where a large turntable was perched on top of a large shelf in the corner. Lila walked over, and pulled out the box that sat on the top shelf, labeled “Angelina”. Sifting through the various records that sat in the box, a smile fell on Lila’s face when she saw Billy Joel’s 52nd Street and immediately took it out of its sleeve. Only when the familiar guitar started playing did Lila return to the dinner table. Her father served her the chicken and vegetables she made and smiled at her. “Great choice, Tulip.”

And nothing else was spoken of it. For the rest of the evening, Lila and Ted Landry spoke of their days, how Ted was currently busy trying to book the Plaza Hotel for their holiday arrangements, and how Lila would need the company card to go out and purchase a new computer with Peter Parker the next night. Ted was delighted to hear how she’d gotten Peter to help, and didn’t miss the light blush that coated Lila’s cheeks when she spoke about him, nor the sparkle in her bright green eyes that accompanied it. 

                         *****

That night, after Lila finished washing her face and getting ready for bed, her phone, which rest on her nightstand, vibrated twice. Then twice more. As she picked it up to read what was on her screen, it vibrated twice again. Lila opened her messages to see several texts from an unknown number and more apparently coming.

Hi, Lila. I was just wondering if it would be okay to meet by the West doors at 2:45 tomorrow so we can go grab that computer?

It’s Peter, by the way.

Parker.

From academic decathlon.

Lila’s heart soared, and the smile that grew on her face was one that ached. Eagerly, she saved the phone number with his name and a little microscope emoji next to it. She went back to the conversation and left her own reply.

Hi, Peter. That should work just fine. See you tomorrow!

Two minutes. Then:

Great. See you then!

Lila Landry went to bed barely able to contain her excitement, and butterflies started swimming in her stomach for the afternoon she’d get to spend with Peter. 

#peter parker #peter parker x ofc #mcu #spider-man #spiderman #marvel #marvel x ofc #spider-man fic #peter parker fic #mcu x ofc #slow burn #mine

[sibillascribbles08]

⭐ for hmmm... Something involving Max?

Here’s let’s have one of my favorite bits, under the cut for length reasons

Cryptor got up, shaking the cup himself as he headed out of the room. Max wasn’t far behind him, and part of Cryptor cursed himself for going through the door first. (How can I build this tension up as much as I possibly can let’s find out.)

Relax. Calm down. He’s Toby’s friend. If nothing else he wouldn’t risk doing something that would upset Toby, right? (HAHA RIGHT?? Fun things about writing Cryptor is he’s obviously a huge logic person, but by this point in his life he has enough emotional experience that sometimes he just has that... gut instinct toward something, but he tries to reason it away.)

He tried to check for warning signs without being suspicious, listening for elevated heart rates or unsteady breathing.

He couldn’t hear either, at all. (I wasn’t sure if I should mention Max doesn’t have a heart beat but like? Doesn’t hurt, doesn’t spoil anything so you know.)

No, that wasn’t right was it? Cryptor wasn’t unaware of the dark matter on Max’s scars but did the material really extend that far? (Oh Cryptor if only you KNEW.)

How was he alive? (This is an ironic question because I do not actually have an answer haha!)

Well it certainly wasn’t something he could ask. (Yeah, you can’t just ASK people why they don’t have a heart beat wtf.) Cryptor stepped into the empty lobby and around the counter. He dumped out the leftover ice before refilling it, wondering if he should just go through with what he said and get water or allow Toby to have a little more sugar. (Cryptor, internally: Do I show him I love him by watching after his health or by spoiling him with more sugar?)

Something thumped against the counter. He looked back to see Max’s arms crossed, leaning on it. His eye was fixed on Cryptor.

“Seems he’s got you tamed pretty good, huh?”

The warnings in Cryptor’s head were screaming louder than ever, but he pushed past it. “I’m sorry?” (Cryptor is pretty sure Max is being rude but also the phrasing of that question has him a little confused.)

“Guess my question is, why bother keeping it up this long?” Max’s gaze didn’t move, didn’t flinch. “Toby said he knocked out the overlord when he was sixteen. You’ve had plenty of times and chances to finish his work.”

He tried not to be offended by the accusation. Max came from a very different place, likely one where the road to recovery wasn’t an option like it was here. All his impressions of nindroids had been nothing short of traumatic. (Honestly Cryptor’s patience is something he taught himself and he taught himself well because boy howdy.)

“I have no desire to do so.” Cryptor tried to turn his focus back to the row of sodas on the machine, but he was panicking far too much.

“And why the change of heart, or lack there of.” Max seemed to spit. “Because you wound up in a city that’s mostly made of robots? Or because you knew Toby could have crushed you under his thumb and you just go with whoever the winning team is?”

Cryptor’s fangs tried to emerge as he pressed his lips together. (He angry.) God, he’d love to argue about this but that was the worst thing he could do. He was trying to make an ally, not an enemy.

“I’m not stupid.” Max continued. “The Overlord being deleted doesn’t do a thing to your programming. You had the option the entire time to turn away from him and you didn’t. Not until he’s gone, huh? Because you’d rather just follow orders than be put down.”

Cryptor put the cup down and turned around slowly. “Just what are you trying to accomplish here? If it’s just to take your anger out on me, then so be it.” (I feel like this didn’t come across fully but what Cryptor means when he says that is he’s 100% okay with Max just blowing steam at him if that’s what it takes to make this better. Unfortunately...)

Max smirked and shook his head. “Tell me something else, do you remember everything? All the stuff that happened while working under that bastard?”

He did, though he sometimes tried not to. “Of course. It would be an insult to erase it.”

Max stepped through the counter, through it. The whole motion made Cryptor blink, trying to figure out how he even did that. Toby’s arm could phase through objects, sure, but not his entire body. Not like that. (Funfact, I had to write this paragraph twice because I tried to do it right in the middle of Max’s dialogue but it was FAR too long and it made it sound like Max paused mid sentence for like a solid 20 seconds)

“Well then,” Max kept walking until he was close enough that Cryptor realized he was taller. (Max is 6′4″ btw, at least in his normal looking disguise asldkfjslf) “In that case you should know damn well that you don’t even deserve to be in his line of sight, much less in his company.”

This was a threat. Cryptor wasn’t foolish enough to ignore it this time. Max was telling him something hypothetical, but his stance implied that he was giving an order.

But it was one Cryptor refused to follow. (Fuck you binch I didn’t spend almost ten years pining after this idiot so you could come tell me no.)

“You’re right.” He agreed at first. “It’s not something I deserve, but that’s hardly relevant.”

Max narrowed his eye. “What?”

“What I deserve is irrelevant. Toby wants me in his company. He wants to be friends. He made the decision to forgive me. I deserve none of it but he offered it all the same.”

Cryptor dared to take a step forward. (Cryptor is logic man who leans into his emotions too hard and sometimes makes dumb decisions.) “I knew I didn’t deserve it. I know all I deserved was to be shut down and scrapped. But no matter how much I insisted on that kind of fate, Toby refused. So, in the end it doesn’t matter what I deserve. That was Toby’s decision.” He crossed his arms. “And I’m certain as his friend you respect that decision.”

Max somehow seemed even less amused than before. Was his eye getting darker? “You know, I really don’t know what made him grow up so foolish.” (This is supposed to be the part where you realize Max is just straight up delusional.)

Cryptor blinked. “Excuse me?” (This is the part where even Cryptor realizes Max is delusional.)

“Does he really think he can trust you? The rest of these nindroids? As soon as something stronger comes along you’ll all turn heel.”

Cryptor let his fangs out this time. “I would never–” (Insulting Cryptor’s personality? That’s okay. Suggesting Cryptor would betray Toby? That’s too fucking far.)

He couldn’t finish the statement. Before his systems could even register what was happening he was spun around and slammed against the counter. He reached up, expecting to find Max’s wrist, but whatever he tried to grip was too hazy. His vision kicked back in, revealing dozens of tendrils of that purple haze, slivers of gold running through it. (How do you describe MaxI don’t know) Cryptor followed them over to Max, all of them stemming from his arm, distorting the skin. The dark matter slowly crawled over his face, gold slipping through his skin like oil on water. (This is an image I can never quite manage)

“Sorry, let me speak in a language robots like you understand.” (By this he means violence) Max grinned at him, all his teeth turning gold. “Keep away from Toby, or I’ll rip your empty heart out like I did last time.”

Right, that’s why that power core looked so familiar. “And what do you think Toby would say to that?”

“Oh, I’ll figure that out.” As Max moved closer more and more of his body was distorting. Extra eyes appeared on his face. The gold fangs in his mouth started to grow out from his jaw. “Maybe I’ll start by reminding him of all the shit you’ve done.”

“You think he doesn’t know?”

Max was glaring again, hair turning to smoke. His other arm snapped out, grabbing Cryptor’s chin tight enough he could feel the metal trying to give way.

“I think he must have forgotten, because if he remembered he wouldn’t let you anywhere near him.” (This was the part where I was like “Oh god no do I have to write this it’s going to hurt me”) Max clearly wanted to shout, but was keeping his voice low to make sure they weren’t heard. “But I remember. Want me to remind you as well?” (Please don’t)

Only now was Cryptor’s panic hitting levels he couldn’t manage. “Don’t–”

“How many orders did you give, General? How many kids did you drag screaming from their cells, sometimes boxes. You kept us in fucking boxes.” (Why did I make this AU thinking about this always makes me feel sad as shit)

Cryptor squeezed his eye shut.

“How many more did you toss in the basement? How many more to the furnace? How many kids did you drop a kill order on when all they were trying to do was break free from that hell pit?”

“Stop.” Cryptor felt his voice distort. (Yeah Cryptor remembers all of this oof sometimes it haunts him more than others)

“And you did it. You followed every order. No one was forcing you to do that and you did it anyway.”

What could he say to that? There wasn’t a damn thing. Max wasn’t wrong.

Cryptor did nothing. He just followed orders. He had the option to defect at any time and he never took it, because he was ignorant, because he never actually saw the options were there. Because he never considered anyone could stop the overlord. Because he never considered that a better world was in the realm of possibility. None of it crossed his mind until some kid came along and did the impossible. (Impossible is a simple way of saying “Punched god”)

And then extended a hand, simply asking Cryptor if he wanted to take the opportunity to do better.

He never thought he could, but he wanted to try, he owed Toby that much for sparing his life.

But despite all that it didn’t change what he did.

“You ever go in that memorial hall?” Max was whispering now. “You ever count how many of those names are there because of you?”

“You made your point.” Cryptor growled. (He just wants this to be over with ouch)

With that, Max let go of him. The tendrils snapped back into his arm. His face slowly returned to normal.

“Good.” Max smiled at him. “Glad we could have this chat. Now scram, before my good mood leaves. I’ll tell Toby something urgent came up. You run security or whatever, right?” (He does pay some attention)

Cryptor stood up straight, checking his chin for any damage.

“I wouldn’t bother telling him either.” Max shrugged as he turned to the soda machine. “Unless you really think he’d believe something like that about an old friend of his.” (Yeah about that lol)

Cryptor could argue, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t need Max thinking he might be wrong. The sooner he could warn Toby the better. He simply shot the man a glare before turning on his heel to head to the exit. He ignored the ache in his chest, the anxiety trying to claw it’s way up his throat.

Toby would come find him. Toby would trust him.

Right? (HE WOULD CRYPTOR HE LOVES YOU)

He glanced back once more, watching Max study the labels for a bit, his hand hovering over one.

“Oh, Max.” Cryptor spoke.

The man flinched, as if he hadn’t expected it. He spun his head to glare. “What?”

Cryptor tried not to smirk. “Toby doesn’t like lime soda.” (I didn’t elaborate on his thoughts during this but this is him being a smug little fuck because despite Max claiming Toby would believe him over Cryptor, Cryptor’s the one who knows Toby, because he’s been around him for all these years. He doesn’t like lime soda.)

His smile wound up on his face anyway as he flicked his cape when he turned and strode out the door. (Bye bitch.)

He’d retreat for now.

But this wasn’t over.

#scribs speaks #fanfic commentary #I got another one of these to do but it's gonna be tomorrow #cause it left it up to me to pick and I am tired #amuseoffirebane

[merinathropp]

Tanz der Vampire - Vienna 2018: Detailed Breakdown

Guys, this was such an amazing experience, I have a real mixed bag of opinions (both good and bad) and a lot of emotions. I feel so lucky to have seen this production. Now, to get all my thoughts down on paper! 

First night - from middle stalls front row Second night - from middle stalls seventh row

Graf von Krolock - Drew Sarich (second night) Graf von Krolock - Florian Fetterle (first night) Alfred - Raphael Gross Professor - Sebastian Brandmeir  Sarah - Diana Schnier Herbert - Charles Kreische Magda - Anja Backus 

.

THE GOOD STUFF

ALFRED - Hello yes first off I would like to marry thank Mr. Raphael Gross for his powerful, heartfelt portrayal of one of my all-time favourite characters. He was everything I could ever want in an Alfred: sweet and devoted, full of energy and expression, and completely freaking adorable. He scurried around the stage like a frightened hedgehog, but I mean that in the best way possible. He was a ray of (very anxious) sunshine, you couldn’t help but love him and want him to win against all the odds. 

- Für Sarah was An Experience, in the best way possible. Raphi’s Alfred started off very soft and uncertain, sort of pep-talking himself into summoning up the courage to keep going, but as the song went on, he seemed to sort of...grow and strengthen in front of your eyes? Like he was channelling all his love for Sarah into fighting against his fears, and by the end of the song, he had defeated them completely. He was practically punching the air and thrusting the bag all over the place with passion and determination. It was sweet and stunning and perfect, and the audience rightfully cheered at the end :’)

- Loved this detail: when the Professor was demonstrating to Rebecca how he was going to stage Chagal, Raphi turned his head away and cringed and closed his eyes for the actual moment of staking. Such good foreshadowing, setting up how frightened Alfred is by the whole staking process, so early on!

- When the Professor gestured in Ein Guter Tag for a bowl of gruel, he leapt up and charged around the bed at such a speed, he completely forgot where he was going :’) because he headed straight for the Professor’s clothes instead of the trolley! He had to skid on his heel and go charging back to fetch a bowl of gruel instead. It was the most Alfred-y thing to do (being in such a desperate hurry to please the Professor, he forgets what the Professor actually asked him to do) - I loved it.

- When the Professor is chiding him for stepping on the creaky floorboard at the end of Act 1 (even though it’s actually the Professor himself), Raphi’s Alfred stood there with this expression of half-bewilderment, half-hurt on his face, kind of like: “But Professor I’m not...doing anything...” and it was both hilarious and sad all at the same time. Then when Alfred himself passed the creaky floorboard, he walked very carefully to make sure it didn’t creak again, which is the most Alfred-y thing and I loved it. 

- Okay, this made me laugh so much at the time, even though I always feel so bad for Alfred: when the Professor does his “Hast du ihn provoziert oder was?!” line and tries to investigate his trousers, Raphi’s Alfred went into a complete panic and struck this ridiculous wobbly pose where he tried to turn his legs in and cross his knees, he looked completely silly and like he was about to fall over at any moment :) poor Alfred, it’s just the icing on the cake in that scene...

- The bite was 10x more traumatic than it needed to be, because inbetween the usual screams of pain, Raphi’s Alfred cried out Sarah’s name, and that pretty much broke me. I don’t know whether he was begging her to stop or just crying out in horror, but either way, it was gut-wrenching. 

- He undid four of his shirt buttons in the bathroom scene??? revealing a lot of bare chest to the audience??? I think this is the most scandalous thing I’ve ever seen an Alfred do??? (not exactly complaining, it was just...unexpected)

- Raphi lost his red coat somewhere over the course of his dance with Herbert and it was the greatest thing I have ever witnessed in a rendition of Wenn Liebe. Literally, it was hanging off his shoulder, and he couldn’t pull it back up because of the mirror-reflection. This + drenched in sweat + his hair looking like he’d come through a hedge backwards = I felt bad for laughing, but it was hilarious and adorable in equal amounts, just the icing on the cake in that scene.

KROLOCK (DREW SARICH) - I was not prepared.

- Seriously, nothing could have prepared me.

- Nothing, I tell you.

- Don’t get me wrong, I’d seen this guy on YouTube before and always thought he was a perfectly decent Krolock. But seeing him live...oh boy, seeing him live was an experience I will never forget. I finally understand all the hype for Drewlock and it is so. freaking. justified. I’m now going to fangirl for a couple of paragraphs and probably say 19023 things that all his fangirls have been analysing for decades, but what can I say? I’m a shiny new fan!

- I think the best way to describe Drew’s performance is hypnotic, charismatic and animalistic. There was something so intimate about his portrayal, you hung on every single word he spoke. Each line was given purpose and meaning, every gesture controlled and planned, every tiny inflection mattered. He was magnetic to watch, sending this incredible hush over the audience whenever he spoke or sang. When he was onstage, it was like the entire world and all the other characters revolved around him, and each time he left the stage, I found myself wishing (for the first time) that there was more Krolock in the show. 

- He glided around with this incredible predatory grace. His hands were constantly moving and arching and flexing, like a cat with its claws. He’d snarl, hiss, bare his teeth, twitch his lips, lick his fangs etc. in a way that somehow always came off incredibly chilling, never silly or pantomimic. During his numbers, I kept noticing my heart literally pounding in my chest, or having to to lean back in my seat and let out my breath in a gush because I’d been holding it...ridiculous, but true, and completely awesome.

- His personality for Krolock was full of charisma, pathos, wit, genuine menace, and humour. Proper humour, that was what surprised me the most, e.g. his sarcasm with the Professor and mocking reaction to Alfred’s candlestick charge both made me laugh out loud. 

- His dynamic with Alfred was...full-on seduction? Vor Dem Schloss was surprisingly intense! I’m not a Krolfred shipper, but I can see where the inspiration comes from now, and understand why this ship has climbed in popularity recently. Drew’s Krolock approached Alfred and moved his fingers in front of his face, like he was casting a spell, and Raphi went all dopey and wide-eyed, like he’d slipped into a trance (much more interesting than Alfred looking mildly scared and awkward through the whole scene). Then during the ‘Ich lehr dich, was es heißt zu lieben’ line, when Alfred was gazing sleepily out into the audience, he tucked a finger under Alfred’s chin, guided it around and upwards to look at him, then begin to draw them together (literally, I thought a kiss was coming and was ready to throw a riot) - before breaking off at the last second and sweeping away. I was like: “This. This right here, is when the ship was born. I’m holding you personally responsible, Mr. Sarich.” 

- In fairness though, I like that Drew’s Krolock kept his interest in Alfred consistent throughout the show and made a proper ‘arc’ of it: during the He Ho Reprise, when speaking directly to Alfred (who had hunched in on himself and turned away, like he was hiding), he reached out a hand over the battlements and beckoned with one finger, and Raphi’s Alfred slowly looked up to meet his gaze, and started to shuffle towards him across the stage, like he was falling back into a trance again. Tom’s Alfred did something similar when I saw him in Hamburg, but this was much more obvious and a nice throwback to Act 1. 

PROFESSOR - This guy was perfect. Hilarious, frustrating, easy to love, fond of Alfred. Ticked all the boxes and an amazing voice to boot. What a great performance. 

- Once Alfred had helped him undress in Eine Schoner Tochter, he reached out and held his hand to Alfred’s cheek and gave him this proud grandfather smile like “Thank you my boy, another good day’s work done :)))” and I cried a lot on the inside...these two will be the death of me I swear...

- During the He Ho Reprise, he brandished his umbrella threateningly at Krolock, and then when Krolock spoke directly to Alfred, he encouraged Alfred to take his umbrella instead, so he could brandish it at the Evil Vampire Overlord too and presumably protect himself more effectively :’) 

HERBERT - Why, oh why is no one talking about Charles?! This guy is sheer perfection as Herbert! Hands down one of my all-time favourites. He reminded me strongly of Kirill Gordeev from the Russian production, but with his own personal flair. Very much a graceful, charming, vain, ‘spoiled princeling’ Herbert with the perfect amount of underlying menace. He felt very fresh, and there were so many little details to his performance that stood out. Best of all, he never played for laughs or threw Alfred around like a sack of potatoes to get an audience reaction.

- On the line: “Was macht dich so blass? Bist du krank?” he said the last part as if it were a dry witty joke, and then giggled and swept his hand like “I’m so funny!” and it made Alfred’s nonplussed reaction twice as hilarious :)

- When the minuet began in Tanzaal, he swept off his cloak and tossed it over Koukol like he was a hatstand, it was priceless. And 110% Herbert. Somebody write that into the official blocking for this character, please. 

- Throughout Carpe Noctem, he was very much embodying the ‘MC’ role and pulling all the strings. Lots of elegant gestures to pull dancers on and offstage, that kind of thing. At the end of the song, he focussed his attention completely on Alfred, watching him sleep with this :) expression whilst all the other dancers exited the stage. Then he clambered off the bed, and started to exit the stage...before pausing, and turning back to look at Alfred again (kind of like a kid sneaking a last glance at something special, it was unexpectedly sweet?) with this little smile on his face like “Awww look at my human! :3” and finally slinking offstage after that. Definitely stealing that for a fanfic someday...

KENTAUR SETS & COSTUMES - Are stunning and beautiful. ‘Nuff said. The vampire outfits in particular are exquisitely detailed and lovely to watch, all that sweeping velvet and heavy embroidery. The rotating set in Act 2 is also super neat! I think the projections are best seen from middle of the stalls, rather than front row though.

ORCHESTRA - Sounds like a dream, y’all were right, it’s a thousand times better than the German touring version. Full and luscious and gorgeous. Loved it so much.

THE BAD STUFF

SARAH - Oh boy, time to brace myself for the hate mail. I really, really didn’t like Diana’s Sarah. I found her belt shouty and downright painful at times, and her acting choices very confusing and inconsistent. I don’t want to turn this into an unnecessarily negative post, so I will just say: she’s clearly a wonderful talented young person, I just personally didn’t like her performance for Sarah at all. 

KROLOCK (FLORIAN FETTERLE) - Again, didn’t care for this guy’s performance. Very sedate, bored-by-his-eternal-life Krolock that came off...downright dull, for me. I felt as though he had no stage presence. He didn’t seem to want to give Krolock any real menace or personality in general, though I understand that this might be part of his take on the character as a vampire with ‘deadened’ emotions. Full respect to the guy as a performer, I just personally really, really wasn’t a fan of his Krolock. 

DANCING - Went wrong in multiple places, both times I saw it, which absolutely broke my heart. The cast I saw in Hamburg were flawless, not a foot out of place, but this was a whole different story. During Red Boots Ballet, Sarah didn’t even hit her splits on both performances I saw, and Krolock’s dance-double let one of her legs drop on that amazing ‘spinning’ lift at the end, which must have thrown him off balance, he was staggering around all over the place. Carpe Noctem was equally messy, with some really nice moments and some really “huh?” moments as well. White Vampire/Sarah seemed to lose their marks halfway through and face the bed instead of the audience, several moves felt like they were being ‘marked’ rather than fully danced, or left unfinished in aid of keeping up with the music. I spoke to two other fans who warned me that the Vienna dancing could be sloppy sometimes, but I genuinely didn’t think it would be this noticeable. I know we’re spoiled with all the Moscow/St. Petersburg bootlegs of insanely polished Russian dancers, but still...

BLOCKING ETC. - During my first performance, it seemed as though bits of blocking were being lost or accidentally messed up, e.g. when the Professor pushes his bag off the table using Chagal’s body and Alfred has to catch it...well, the bag was positioned wrong, so Alfred just picked up the bag and the joke was lost. The ensemble also managed to get out of time with the orchestra during Vor Dem Schloss, which was funny at first and then just frustrating. I’m going to put this down to the heat of the day, because it was pretty stuffy in the theatre and maybe the cast were just finding it hard to concentrate...?

.

I’ve now seen Tanz four times in total, and continue to love this show more every day. Time to start saving for a trip to Russia, that’s the production next on my bucket list! Unless someone attempts a heavily, heavily revised Broadway revival before then...I mean, a girl can dream, right? :)

#tanz der vampire #dance of the vampires #tanzblr #bal vampirov #musicals #merina rambles #save

[rreader]

Hello lovely! Would you please write Merlin x Recruit!Reader where reader thinks he hates her guts because he's always so hard on her, but in truth he just want's her to be the best because the better she is, the safer she is on mission. One night though, after having had too much to drink Merlin blurts out that he's fallen for her and they end up sleeping together 😶 (I just really love Merlin and I want some steam 😂 ) Please and thank you love ❤️

Pairing: Merlin x ReaderFandom: KingsmanWarnings: smut 

A/N: well, I feel you, hun, Merlin is an absolute bae and he deserves the world and some smut so, there you go! I hope you enjoy this steamy piece!

                                                         *****

Youhid behind a barrel, your breathing uneven and your pulse racing fromthe adrenaline.

Youchecked the plastic airsoft pellets in your gun, your shoulderssinking when you realized you only had two left, but three enemies to kill.

‘GuessI have to make due with that,’ you thought and took a few more deepbreaths, before jumping out of your cover, shooting Roxy to your leftand Charlie to your right, before sprinting towards Eggsy, whoreadied his gun. But before he could shoot at you, you jumped againstthe wall next to him and from there on onto him, tackling him down,disarming him and grinning triumphantly while straddling him.

“Toolate, hun.”

“Oh,fuck off,” he pushed you off him, trying to be mad, but failingmiserably and laughing instead.

Asecond later, the door to the training hall got opened and Merlinentered with a file in one hand and a cup in the other.

“Charlie,Roxy, not bad,” Roxy smiled and Charlie showed you his smug grin,“But that doesn’t mean you were good, either. I want you both to domore target practice from now on,” now you were the one with thesmug grin.

Once Charlie and Roxy left, he approached Eggsy and you.

“Eggsy, you’re getting better. Good job.”

“Thanks,Merlin,” he winked at you, then left the training hall, leaving youalone with him.

Youwere expecting him to praise you for your speed of action, or perhapsfor your tactics, or your skill to ‘take out’ three people in under 7seconds.

Butthe smile he previously gave Eggsy, was gone, replaced by a seriousand grim face.

“You’vegotten slow. 6.48 seconds for three targets.”

“Youcall that slow?” you raised your brow and crossed your arms in front of yourchest. “If I remember correctly, I’ve already been the one whobroke the previous record in this simulation.”

“Correct.With 6.08 seconds. So you’ve gotten slow. And slow kills you.”

Yournails dug into the skin of your upper arms, trying to keep calm, buthe angered you immensely. How come the others were complimented andyou were the one who got criticized, despite you winning thissimulation for the fifth time in a row? You’ve always been thequickest, the smartest and the strongest. But never, not once, had hetook note of that. It was like he only saw your flaws..

“Andrunning towards Eggsy like that was a bold move. It was like youwanted him to shoot you.”

“Buthe didn’t, did he? Because I’m faster than Eggsy.”

“Thereal enemies out there won’t hesitate like he did. You’ll do twentyextra laps in the morning from now on,” and with that, he turnedaround and left you standing in the training hall, mouth agape.

Assoon as the doors were closed, your breathing hitched and you startedto punch the dummy next to you to get your frustration out.

Justonce, you’d like to hear him say: “Good job, (Y/N).”

                                                Laterthat night.

You’vebeen lying awake for hours, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling,one of your hands running through your dog’s fur, who, unlike you,had fallen asleep long ago.

Whathappened earlier just didn’t want to leave your thoughts. You tried to think ofa single reason why Merlin hated you so much.. what you could havedone to him, that you deserved to be treated this way..

Butno matter how hard you thought about a reason, nothing came to mind.

Sure,you weren’t the 'Yes, sir!’ kind of person, but could that be the reason? And if it was, why couldn’t he just tell you?

Yousighed, closing your eyes, your free hand massaging your temples.

Thiswouldn’t get you anywhere. You had to talk to him. Now.

Soyou slowly got up, put on a simple white top, a pair of blackleggings, sneakers and a long cardigan, then made your way overto his office, as quietly as possible, so you wouldn’t wake anyone up.

Itwas way past midnight, but the lights in his office were still on. Soyou knocked twice and entered when you heard him mumble something.

However, whatyou saw when you turned around surprised you.

Therehe was, sitting at his desk, a glass of, what looked like, whiskey inhis one hand, the other one holding his head so it wouldn’t drop.

Heseemed to be dead drunk. A state you had not yet seen him in and hadnever thought you would.

Whenyou didn’t say anything, he slowly raised his head and snorted,taking a long sip from his whiskey, before leaning back in his chairand giving you a fake smile.

“'Courseit’s you,” he mumbled.

“Whatthe hell is that supposed to mean?!” your brows drew together inconfusion, anger already bubbling up inside you again.

Fora long moment, he just stared at you and it looked like his eyes softened for a second, then he shook his head, grabbed the bottle andwas about to pour himself another glass, but you quickly interferedand snatched it away before he could.

“’Tooslow’. Yeah right,” you murmured and placed it back on his shelf,out of his reach.

“Why’reyou here?”

“Iwanted to talk to you, but I don’t think you’re in any state to dothat, so I’ll just leave you to drowning your sorrows or whatever itis that you’re doing,” you turned around, walked to the door, butjust when you wanted to open it, he started talking again.

“Ilied before.. it wasn’t 6.48 seconds.. it was exactly six seconds,”he sighed.

Youdidn’t turn around, only slightly turned your head, to signalize himthat you were listening.

Merlingot up and tried his best not to stumble and fall.

“You’rethe bes'since Galahad.. but.. but you NEED to be better.. you.. you need tobe save,” when you finally turned around, he was standing right infront of you. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, but couldn’treally focus on that. You couldn’t focus at all, to be fair. “I needyou.. to be safe.”

“I..appreciate the concern, but why would you..-” his lips hit yours,before you could finish the sentence.

Youlet out a surprised moan, immediately wanting to take a step back,but couldn’t, because of the door, so now your back was pressedagainst it and his body against your front. You could shove him awayeasily, in his state it would have been a piece of cake..

..butyou didn’t.

Youlet him kiss you like he had been wanting to do it for ages.

Thekiss was sloppy and wet and probably not what he had wanted it to be,but it was the best he could do right now.

Finally,when you needed to breathe again, you placed your hands on his chestand pushed a bit, so he’d give you a bit of space.

Neitherof you said anything. All that could be heard was both of you pantingand when you looked up from his chest and into his eyes, all thealcohol seemed to have disappeared from them and instead, had beenreplaced by lust.

Andyou didn’t know if it was the situation or something else, butwithout breaking the eye contact, you slowly put off your cardiganand let it fall to the floor.

Hisbreathing hitched when you continued undressing yourself, until youwere only in your underwear.

Youbit your lip and hooked your arms around him, your lips capturing hisa second later.

Merlinfirst placed his hands on your waist, before they wandered to yourbutt, his thumbs already going under the waistband of your panties.When his fingers dug in the flesh of your butt cheeks, you let out alow moan and smiled into the kiss. It seemed like he was slowlysobering up.

Buthe wasn’t sober enough to do this while standing, so you carefullystarted walking with him until his back hit his desk, not once endingthe kiss, then softly pushing him into his chair.

Youtook that opportunity to get rid of your bra and panties, and blusheda little when you saw Merlin gulp.

Howdid this even happen?

Bestnot to think about that right now, or it might ruin the mood.

Youplaced your right hand on the armrest of his chair and opened hisbelt with your left hand, while your lips were back on his. Slowlybut surely, you were getting impatient, so you decided to just shove hispants and underpants down and merely open up his shirt up, beforestraddling him, his hard dick resting against your belly.

Merlinkicked the pants away from his feet and spread his legs a littlewider, to make this a little more comfortable. His mouth left yourlips and traveled to your throat, leaving a trail of wet kissesbehind, before he started sucking on your neck, then your collarbones.

Inthe meantime, you had started rubbing yourself against his penis, oneof your hands supporting you on the armrest, the other against theback of his head.

Youlet him kiss you all over your body for a while, but when you just couldn’t takeit anymore and wanted to feel him inside you, you shoved him backinto the chair and pressed your toes against the floor to positionhim at your entrance.

Hishands were back at your waist and his eyes never left yours, not evenwhen he finally entered you, which only made the sensations you felt in that moment ten timesbetter.

Youwaited a couple of seconds before you started moving, yourhands grabbing the backrest and your fingernails digging into theleather. So hard, that you were sure it would leave marks.

Yourhead fell back when you could feel his mouth on your breasts and soon,your nipple between his teeth.

“Merlin..,”you moaned, rocking back and forth, trying to get as much friction aspossible. He stretched you quite a lot, but this fine line between ultimate pleasure and a tad of pain was exactly what made this so hot.

Helooked up again and you looked down, both of you staring into eachothers eyes for a moment. Only the sound of him entering you againand again could be heard and occasionally, a low moan.

Finally,you lowered your head so much, that you could kiss him again.

Onlya small and soft kiss, that left you leaning your forehead againsthis and both of you scrunching up your faces when you could feel yourorgasms approach. He buried his face in the crook of your neck whenhe came and your nails went from digging into the chair, to digginginto the back of his shirt, a long, but low moan escaping you.

Youcould feel him panting against your neck, his strong arms holding you tightagainst his body, like he didn’t want this to be over.. like hedidn’t want you to go.

Andfor a second you considered the possibility that you meant more tohim than you should. That the reason he treated you this way, was because he was scared to lose you and wanted you to be better than the rest so you’d return every time. That 'I need you to be safe’ wasn’t concern for one of hisrecruits, but concern for somebody that meant something to him. 

Whomeant a lot to him.

“Whatam I to you, Merlin?” you asked after a long time of him stillbreathing in the scent of your neck.

When he finally leaned back and looked into your eyes, he seemed to be completely sober again and with allseriousness, he said:

“Everything.”

#withlove-karen #merlin x reader #merlin imagine #kingsman imagine #kingsman #merlin #requests #reader

[dazzledbybooks]

I am so excited that IMANI UNRAVELED by Leigh Statham is available now and that I get to share the news! If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Leigh Statham, be sure to check out all the details below. This blitz also includes a giveaway for a 2 finished copies of IMANI UNRAVELED, courtesy of Owl Hollow Press and Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post. About the Book: Title: IMANI UNRAVELED (Daughter 4254, Book 2)  Author: Leigh Statham Pub. Date: February 5, 2019 Publisher: Owl Hollow Press Formats: Paperback, eBook Pages: 260 Find it: Goodreads,��Amazon, B&N, TBD When her head is artificially filled with more information than she knows what to do with, Daughter4254 finds she can’t trust her own thoughts, much less the words of anyone else. Rumors come creeping in the night, and she finds herself faced with a choice she thought she’d left far behind when she’d walked out the doors of the compound. About Book 1 Title: DAUGHTER 4254 (Daughter 4254, Book 1) Author: Leigh Statham Pub. Date: December 5, 2017 Publisher: Owl Hollow Press Pages: 286 Formats: Paperback, eBook Find it: Goodreads, Amazon,  B&N, iBooks, TBD Daughter4254 used to think life in a community where art, music and names are outlawed would suffocate her creative spirit. Now that she’s rotting in a prison cell, she’s not sure her dying mother made the right choice when she entrusted her with the secrets of rebellion. Prison has given her plenty of time to relive every mistake and lose all hope. Then she meets Thomas, a fellow inmate, who tells her stories of the mythical mountain colonies where people have names and the arts thrive. Together they plot an escape, knowing if they fail, they will die. Or worse, their consciousness will be taken by the MindWipe, leaving their bodies free for the government to use. When nothing goes as planned, Daughter4254 must choose between using her mother’s secret to better the world she hates, or following Thomas to the quiet life of freedom she has always craved. Excerpt: CHAPTER 1 The wind scratches my cheeks with icy fingers. I round the corner of the building and look up, checking the rooftop for an autoeye. It still feels strange to be in a place where I’m not watched every second of every day. I keep thinking there has to be a guard somewhere or that a random person passing a window might notice me wandering alone in the side yard and call for an investigation. I don’t think I’ll ever lose those habits of apprehension from my life before prison and Secondary School. I turn away from the quiet building and search the tree line ahead of me. Did I really see Thomas? I take a few more steps and stop at the dead, gray fruit tree outside my bedroom window. The glass is slightly mirrored, but not enough that I can’t see inside. If he was here, he saw me. I peer again across the clearing to the trees and rocks ahead. Where did he go? My first instinct is to run, hoping to be faster than anyone who might be watching, but my failed history of running away keeps my steps slow and regular. Besides, the blanket of snow on the ground, untouched by anything larger than a rodent or bird, makes my footprints stand out like a big red arrow. My head thumps with sudden pain as an image of a huge red arrow fills my vision, overtaking my tracks in the snow. Neon is the word my mind supplies. Before I can shake my head to clear it, the sign disappears and the pain eases off as well. I take a deep breath. Hamen, who still feels like Professor789 to me, did a great job messing with my head. This is the third time since awaking in the Institute that I’ve had a strange flash of a memory that isn’t mine. Each is accompanied by a word unfamiliar to me: arpeggio and sunflower and now neon. Snow shifts on a nearby tree branch and cascades with soft plops onto the ground below. I tell myself to keep up the lie I started with the main door attendant. I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk to clear my head. I felt certain they wouldn’t let me just walk out of the Institute, but they did. The woman had been friendly and all smiles—another thing I wasn’t used to. She gave me a thermal parka and some boots and warned me not to go too far from the Institute, that there were sometimes beasts lurking in the trees. A pang of guilt tugged at my gut as I thanked her. I was not simply going for a walk. I was running for my life, and possibly for Thomas’s life. For our life together. I wrap my arms around myself in the puffy coat and rub my shoulders while I walk slowly across the clearing. My bare hands soon grow too cold for that, and I stuff them deep in the parka’s pockets. The trees stand tall and brown against the white snow like an overgrown fence or a row of frozen soldiers. As I draw close to their rough brown bark and suck in the cold, clean air, I search for any sign of Thomas. Still nothing. I scan the ground at the edge of the trees where I thought I saw him from my room. Nothing, not even a footprint. My heart sinks. If Thomas is dead, do I have any reason not to take Hamen’s offer to stay and help him fight the Leaders subversively? At least I could help other people like me who are stuck in the system. But I still don’t trust Hamen. He slipped too easily between the Leaders and the resistance and has lied to me about almost everything. I take a few more steps into the dark shadows of the forest. The sunlight lingers behind me in the clearing. It is now or never. Walk forward or turn back. Run or stay. I shove my hands into my pockets and step deeper into the woods, my feet scarring the fresh snow. I need to keep looking for something better than what I am leaving behind. My first steps are slow. There is no sign that I’m being watched from the forest or the bright white building behind me. I make a silent promise to myself as my eyes well up with tears. I will not cry. I will not panic. I will walk away, go into the woods, disappear. There are people in the mountains, and I will find them. I will make a life for myself. I will do this, or I will die trying. I quicken my pace. My throat tightens further. Breathing through these thoughts and emotions is hard, and the crisp winter air makes it painful. My heart pounds twice as fast as my feet crunching through the snow. The trees fall in behind me, blocking the building from sight. Hope dangles on the edge of my thoughts, close to falling into a chasm of cynicism. There may not be any sign of Thomas, I may be lost to delusions, but I am walking. Choosing my own path and my own future, even for a moment. Then I see it. Next to a large rock in the center of a beam of light cutting through the shadows of the forest—a fresh footprint. I can’t help myself—I sprint forward. I don’t dare call out his name. It could be a trail from a guard or a Leader or forestry worker. Still, I look desperately from tree to tree and back to the trail of footsteps in front of me. The steps come from deep in the woods and double back on themselves. I push through naked bushes and crisp evergreens dusted white with snow. My thick coat catches on the branches, making synthetic scratching sounds that set my nerves even more on edge. I want to take it off but my freezing face tells me that wouldn’t be wise. The temperature is well below freezing. The tracks keep going and I keep following while unwanted thoughts dance through my mind. What if I saw someone but only thought it was Thomas? What if I didn’t see anything, and these footprints are an illusion and I’m going mad? After Hamen described the procedure I underwent to store centuries’ worth of data in my mind, I have no doubt that I could be delusional now, the part of brain that knows reality from daydreams permanently damaged. An index of mental illnesses flash before my eyes, like the pages of a text book flipping in front of me while I read at top speed. Bipolar II disorder Body dysmorphic disorder Borderline intellectual functioning Borderline personality disorder Brief psychotic disorder Bulimia nervosa I groan and shake my head, closing my eyes against a headache that pierces where the previous pain hit with the image of the red neon arrow. The pain dissipates again, as quickly as before, and I stand straight, not remembering hunching over. I must think about Thomas. Thomas. I take a step forward and a heavy weight hits my shoulders and back with such force I fall forward, hands only coming up in time to prevent my face from taking the brunt of the fall. I try to scream, but my face is shoved into the snow. The cold burns my cheeks as my nose is bent and scraped against a rock. Movement on my back precedes snarling hot breath in my ear. I’m crushed deeper into the snow by the weight of a clawing mass. A flash of gratitude for the thick parka fills me as I hear it rip in several places, synthetic skin saving my own. I flail and fight to get out from under whatever has me pinned, but it’s so heavy, I’m losing the battle. Finally, I swing back hard with an elbow and make my first solid contact. Whatever it is wobbles, off balance. I grab the chance to flip onto my back and start punching. What I thought was a forest creature is a person, a man. But something is wrong with his eyes. They’re too dark, too intense. Even in the dim forest light I can tell they are more animal than human. I shove and kick as hard as I can, trying to get him off of me. He slaps my cheek and pulls my hair. I punch and kick, screaming for help. The man grabs both of my arms, forcing them against the ground above my head, and shoves his face next to mine. I push my jaw against his, screaming in his ear, trying to keep his mouth away from my neck. He snarls and roots at my shoulder. His breath is foul, like rotten flesh and sour milk. My arms are wedged up against his shoulders leaving only my head to defend myself from his mouth. I shove the top of my head against his cheek, trying to force it away. It is no use. Disgusting grunts and pants leave moist vapor on my skin until he rears back and crashes his forehead into mine. The blow knocks me senseless but in that same moment his weight is knocked off me. When the stars and black dots leave my vision, I can see my attacker on the ground. Another man has him in a choke hold from behind, squeezing the air out of him until, all too quickly, he falls limp. I scoot backward until I bump against a large rock, then struggle to get to my feet so I can run, but I’m too slow. The second man drops the first man and is on top of me, his hand over my mouth. My eyes sting with tears and I can’t breathe from the shock. His face, covered in a mask like the one my father wore to work in the forest on the coldest winter days, hovers near mine as he secures me with strong arms, wedging me in a sitting position against the boulder and the snowy ground. Then one knee is on my legs while he straightens up to peer back down the trail over the rock that conceals us. His thick green coat is the confirmation I need to know he isn’t a guard from Hamen’s. They would be wearing a white coat like me. I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Adrenaline still pumping through me, I strain to free my arms. It isn’t too late to run. I can survive and find the mountain people. But instead of attacking, he bends down and looks into my eyes before letting his hand slip off my mouth and his grip on my shoulder loosens. Soft hazel eyes meet my panicked gaze, and I freeze. Even with the rest of his face covered, I know those eyes. “Thomas!” The name comes out in a burst of white fog from my mouth. He eases off of me and I pull up his mask to reveal his scruffy face, the same one I saw watching me through bars all those days and nights in prison. I want to hold him close like my mother used to hold me—he’s so close anyway. But I hesitate. Thomas isn’t like my mother. What would it feel like to hold him? It feels strange to consider it. “Hush, lassie,” he says. “They’re bound to be right behind us.” At the sound of his voice, I can’t hold back anymore. I throw my arms around him. All the moments of being without him and wishing I’d jumped with him melt between us as he returns my embrace and his breath warms my neck. “What are you doing here?” I check my voice and whisper, “How did you find me? How are you alive? I can’t…” I’m not sure what else to say, where to start. “I’m a tough nut, you know?” He smiles and rubs my raw cheek with his wool glove. Mixed with my tears, the sweet gesture stings my skin, but I don’t care. “I can’t believe you’re alive.” I pull him to me again and bury my face in his shoulder, my head pounding from the fight with the wild man. His strong arms wrap around me, and I hear his voice echo in his chest. “Honestly, sweets, I can’t believe you’re not a walking veggie head. I want to hear all about your adventures as soon as we’re out of these bloody woods. Come on.” Feeling his legs shift, I sit back and he helps me to my feet while scanning the trail behind us again. “We’re leaving a proper mess for them to follow so we’ve got to scurry.” He takes my hand and starts back over his footprints leading farther into the woods. “How did you get out here, anyway? I didn’t expect you to waltz into my arms like a cranking birthday gift.” “I told them I was going for a walk. I know the leader—he was trying to recruit me. He said I could do whatever I wanted, but I overheard him saying that if I didn’t comply they’d roast me. Complete Mind Wipe.” I am rambling now. Must focus. “How did you find me? And who was that man? What was wrong with him?” As if on cue, there’s motion behind us. Down the trail, the beast man moans and sits up. Thomas pushes me behind him, ready to knock the man out again if he approaches, but a twang cuts through the air, and the man falls back to the snow, convulsing. Shock rifle fire. “Come on, no time to chatter.” Thomas pulls my arm, and we run through the brush and trees, ignoring the footprints Thomas made on his way to get me. I can’t help looking back. One man in a white suit is kneeling to examine my attacker. Two others have spotted us and are charging forward, long black shock rifles wagging back and forth in front of their chests. I know what those guns feel like. I know what happens when they catch you. Shudders trip down my spine and I push myself to keep up with Thomas, determined not to lose him this time as we slalom tree trunks and trip through the snow. Another twang rings through the air, and a branch a few feet to my left shatters. “They are catching up,” I say between breaths, feeling fear rise in my throat. “No matter, we’re here.” He looks back at me and slows slightly. “You gonna trust me this time?” “What?”

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2019/02/imani-unraveled-release-day-blitz.html

#SEO #Local SEO training

[dabbledrabbleprose]

First Bite

Alright, I’m posting something that isn’t Overwatch again (twice in a row!) so my apologies. I promise I’m still working on the Whumptober prompts and “Of Freelancers and Outlaws,” it’s just been slow going between work and putting together my first tabletop campaign in years. I haven’t DMed in years, and I’m super nervous!

Naturally, when I finally got a day off to write, instead of working on anything I was supposed to work on, I became possessed by an idea for a new OC and cranked out 2700 words in one day. It felt like a shame not to share it, so I’m posting it here. Unbeta’d, obviously, it’s mostly word vomit about my new boy.

Meet Angelo Salvador, a college professor who teaches mostly calculus and physics. He’s of Brazilian descent, very logical, addicted to social media, and lives a very healthy lifestyle. He’s a mathematician at heart, and absolutely, positively does not believe in magic or the supernatural. He’s also definitely a werewolf. 

2700 word drabble under the cut! Warnings for violence, blood/gore, and...uh...eating people.

After two weeks of warfare, Angelo’s nemesis had finally gotten the better of him. His opponent was clever, wise enough to avoid the multiple traps Angelo laid for him, despite using the most recommended baits. Regardless of what the internet said, apparently his uninvited guest had no interest in peanut butter, cheese, or fruit. Hell, he’d even lined a trap with chocolate, but still he failed to catch the mouse that was terrorizing his pantry.

Instead, Angelo stood staring at the ruined cord of his phone charger, chewed cleanly in half. He took a picture with his dying phone, and used the last of his battery to upload it to at least three social media websites.

“Mouse is smarter than me, winning our war. Looking for live trap advice, peanut butter isn’t working! #FML #MouseHunt #CalcProf #SeattleWildlife  #LiveTraps #DeadPhone”

Angelo tossed his phone onto the bedside table and got dressed. Getting a new cord couldn’t wait until morning. He had classes to teach and needed his phone functional for the next day. Breaking his routine was unusual for him, but it was midterms and he’d been up late grading tests and answering emails from a long list of students pleading for extra credit or for him to “make an exception, just for me,” and he hadn’t noticed his broken phone charger until just before midnight. Anything on campus would be closed by now, but there was a 24 hour store within biking distance of his little house, so he threw on his reflective jacket, pulled his bike out of the garage, and took to the streets.

Angelo didn’t typically like to ride his bike at night; most car drivers didn’t pay attention enough to see him, even with his headlight and reflective gear. Even so, the trip to the store was unremarkable, new phone charger easily obtained, and Angelo was soon on his way back.

Flashing lights blocked his path ahead on the return trip, and an ambulance blew past him. Angelo slowed and pulled to a stop. There were at least three police cars, the ambulance, and a fire engine, from what he could tell in the dark. Maybe more. He would likely be fine to ride past them, but it would probably be easier to cut through the park and bypass the accident altogether. It would add a few more minutes to his travel time, but it was a nice night, the temperature comfortable, and the moon was bright enough to see by.

Angelo turned right and cut through the park. The park had a few wide fields, a playground, and some old paved jogging trails that wove through a patch of tall trees. He turned onto the paved path to follow the jogging trail to the other side of the park, where he could get back on a street and head home. He slowed down to pick his way through the worn path, the trees blotting out a good amount of the moonlight above.

A howl sliced through the night, cold and clear, and sharp enough that Angelo actually pulled to a stop and froze, listening. In the distance, he could still hear the sirens and the occasional drone of a passing car. The leaves rustled as a breeze passed overhead. His heart pounded in his ears and his fingers tightened on the rubber handle grips before logic caught up with him.

What was he doing? Freezing like a deer in the woods, trying to determine which direction a predator was coming from? He was in the middle of Seattle, for hell’s sake, surrounded by city, houses, and college campus close by. He relaxed and shook himself. Idiot. Getting worked up just because someone’s dog is–

Another howl split the night, closer, and logic went out the window as some instinct in Angelo’s hind-brain reared back and screamed run.

Angelo kicked his bike back into gear and went tearing down the path. Was that the sound of twigs breaking behind him? Were those leaves rustling from a breeze or crunching underfoot? What did–

His bike hit a pothole in the poorly maintained road and sent him flying over the handlebars. Angelo hit the pavement hard and rolled to a stop. Stars flashed before his eyes, brighter than either the moon or the ambulance lights, and his thoughts rotated sluggishly around in his head. He rolled onto his back, but couldn’t seem to accomplish more than that. He stared at the dark tree branches sprawled above him, blinking the stars from his eyes.

As soon as he felt he was able, he slowly sat up and groaned.

“Dammit…”

His head throbbed and he could feel his nose bleeding. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and grimaced at the gritty feeling of dirt and blood sliding across his skin. Disgusting. He got to his feet and inspected the bike. The pothole had completely bent the front rim out of shape and deflated the tire. Great. Looks like he was walking home, all because he’d let his imagination get the better of him.

Angelo sighed and righted the bicycle. He ran numbers through his head as he started the long walk home, trying to plan out how much a new wheel was going to cost him, assuming it was only the front wheel that was damaged, when he’d find the time to make repairs, when he needed to wake up to catch the bus tomorrow, how long it would take him to walk home…not to mention he still needed to trap this damn mouse.

A rustling in the undergrowth was his only warning before a massive black shape barreled toward him. It knocked him on his back and Angelo caught a flash of sharp, white teeth lunging for his throat. He threw an arm up to protect himself and huge jaws snapped closed around his arm. Angelo screamed.

Yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight over a canine snout, boring into him as deeply as the teeth in his arm, and Angelo froze, pinned by fear as much as by the beast. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and for a split second he wondered if even his heart had stopped. A growl rose in the beast’s throat, then it shook its head.

Pain washed over him as teeth tore through the flesh of his arm and his shoulder dislocated with a pop. Another scream ripped from his throat and panic overtook paralysis. He thrashed beneath the beast, kicking and punching wildly, though every jerk of his trapped arm brought another scream. A lucky kick managed to hit the beast right in the gut, but the jaws only closed tighter around him. Teeth ground against bone and agony coursed through him so hard that his vision went dark.

As abruptly as the attack started, it was over. The creature let him go and Angelo’s arm dropped onto his own face with a wet smack. The creature crashed through the undergrowth and vanished.

Angelo didn’t know how long he lay sprawled on the ground, staring at the moonlight flickering through the trees. He finally worked up the energy to roll to one side and let out a wail as agony rolled through him. He curled up with a whimper and entertained the temptation of lying there until someone found him. Dimly, he realized that might not be the best idea, and hoped he wasn’t bleeding out. With a monumental effort, Angelo rose to his feet, letting his arm hang limply beside him. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to move it if he tried, and it hurt too much for him to want to find out.

Okay. He was okay. He was alive, he could walk, and that…that dog or whatever that thing was, it was gone. He just need to call for help and–

His phone was dead on his bedside table. Angelo couldn’t help himself and broke into tears.

He didn’t linger long, however. His arm was in agony and he genuinely couldn’t tell how badly he was bleeding. He had the presence of mind to scoop up the goddamn phone cord from where it had fallen, but left his bike behind. Hopefully it would still be there when he got back from the E.R.

A howl carried over the wind.

Angelo shivered and turned back the way he came, heading for where the traffic accident had been, and hoped the police would still be there.

 ******

 The damage to Angelo’s arm had been extensive, a dislocated shoulder, severe lacerations, and significant muscle and bone damage. The doctor talked a lot about physical therapy, surgery, and warned about the possibility of permanent damage and loss of mobility. He’d gotten post-exposure rabies vaccinations, and animal control never found the dog that attacked him.

And yet…

Life had gone on. He needed to purchase a new bike in the end, as his damaged one was stolen overnight. His arm had completely healed within a month, to the astonishment of his doctors. With no other explanation, they chalked it up to his incredibly healthy lifestyle          .

He went back to his normal routine: go to the gym, teach class, office hours, his usual rotation of recreational activities, sleep. He gained some followers on social media due to his recounting of the dog attack and his recovery. Even the mouse that had been plaguing his home seemed to have up and left of its own accord.

A few things changed. He seemed to have an occasional excess of energy, and began putting in more time at the gym. Though he tended to eat meat sparingly, he began craving red meat more often. His nutritionist suggested his body may have been after the extra protein after his injury, so he started taking iron supplements and added protein shakes into his diet.

The craving for steak continued, but at least he felt better about it.

He began shaving more. His five o’clock shadow became persistent, and he seriously considered growing a beard just so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Nearly a month from the attack, he went to bed like usual. He awoke on the other side of his house, naked, with no memory of how he’d gotten there and feeling absolutely exhausted, as if he hadn’t gone to sleep at all. The clothes he’d gone to bed in were shredded, but nothing else appeared out of the ordinary. He made a doctor’s appointment to discuss sleepwalking, asked his social media followers about their experiences with sleepwalking, and thought nothing more of it. Exhausted all day, he fell asleep early that night.

He awoke outside. He was once again naked, and two blocks from his home. He hastily made his way back home without incident, and was grateful that there were so few people out and about at six in the morning.

Once in the safety of his home, he was alarmed to find that his front window had been completely shattered and the entirety of his house had been turned upside down, as if it had been ransacked, possibly by some lunatic with a knife, if the slashes in his furniture were anything to go by. He dressed after finding his previous night’s clothes shredded once again, and was grateful it was Saturday, so he didn’t need to call in sick to his own classes. Despite his persisting exhaustion, he set about calling the police to report a burglary, and called his doctor again to try and find an earlier appointment slot. The office was, of course, closed on weekends.

The police investigated his house and left with their report and Angelo spent the rest of the day cleaning house, though he wanted to do nothing more than take a nap. It was perhaps fortunate that he spent the rest of the day alone, as he was irritable and sour as he cleaned, and only grew angrier when he found that literally nothing was missing. Someone had ransacked his house and didn’t even have the decency to steal something.

Around eleven, he finally considered calling it a night and going to bed. He put out the bags of trash that used to be his possessions before they’d been shredded beyond repair and headed for bed. Halfway down the hall, his skin began to itch. He had to physically stop in the hall to scratch as the itching became unbearable. It was everywhere, down his arms, his back, his legs, his face. He tore his shirt off and scratched and scratched and scratched. He dropped to his knees.

What in the hell? Had the burglar left something behind? Some kind of irritant or chemical or something equally insane?

The maddening itching got worse, to the point where it began to burn. His fingernails dug at his skin, until it became apparent that he wasn’t scratching skin anymore, but hair. The hair on his arms and hair was becoming thick and coarse, literally growing right before his eyes. More hair sprouted from his skin, covering him like a layer of fur.

Angelo stared at his hands in disbelief, then let out a roar of pain and buckled over as something inside him stretched. It was like his bones were moving on their own, shifting and grinding inside him, and he could feel every inch. His breath came in short, harsh gasps and his teeth and jaw ached. His face twisted impossibly as the bones of his face realigned themselves, pushing forward until he could see his own mouth stretching in front of him. Another wave of fur rolled over him, covering his face. His tongue lolled forward, rolling and hanging out of his mouth as he panted.

The bones of his fingers adjusted with sharp, painful pops, growing shorter and thicker, and his nails turned black and grew into a set of sharp claws. A shiver ran down his spine and he let out an animalistic howl of pain as new vertebrae cracked into existence, sprouting a tail through his jogging pants. He felt himself growing heavier, thicker, his muscles enlarging around his rapidly growing and shifting skeleton.

Between one heaving breath and the next, something changed inside him. He could smell everything. The scents of the police officers, the cherry tree outside, the stray tomcat that had passed by the broken window last night. The scent of himself everywhere.

The noticeable lack of a burglar’s scent.

Oh god. It was all him. Angelo had done this himself.

His hearing sharpened. He could hear the couple across the street having an argument, bickering over whose fault it was that the car needed repairs.

Excellent. Distracted prey is easier to hunt.

The thought rose to his mind unbidden, followed by the mental image of stalking toward their home, breaking through their front door, tearing their throats out and gorging upon their meat.

Angelo let out a scream that sounded very much like a howl.

No! No, he didn’t want to hurt anyone! He hadn’t even wanted to kill a mouse! He didn’t want to…to…

Stalk. Hunt. Kill. Eat.

The desire was overwhelming, endorphins flooding his brain with even the promise of a good hunt. Angelo rose to all fours. He’d already broken the front window last night, he didn’t need to suffer through the confusion of finding his way out a second time. He kicked off the shredded remains of his pants and shook himself off. He had the scent. It was time to hunt.

Angelo threw his head back and howled.

 ******

 Angelo didn’t awaken until the sun was up, shining on his face and piercing his eyes. He ached all over and was still exhausted, but felt warm and pleasantly full. He was on something hard and smooth, tile or linoleum, though it was slick with sticky liquid. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to move, afraid of what he would find if he opened his eyes.

This time, he remembered.

The copper scent of blood was everywhere and he curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his head. His hands and arms were wet and sticky, and he could taste blood on his teeth.

He wept. He didn’t want to see the proof, didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to see what he’d done.

But he remembered.

#My Drabble #2700 Words #Angelo Salvador #Werewolf #OC #Violence #Blood #Werewolves hunt to eat? #I promise my next post will be Overwatch fanfic again!

[giantsfootball0]

Milwaukee Brewers fans will remember Thursday’s gut-punch loss to Cubs – SweetSpot

If the Milwaukee Brewers end up missing the playoffs by one game, their fans are going to spend all winter having nightmares about Thursday’s ninth inning.

It was a great game at Miller Park against the Chicago Cubs, a game that had that postseason feel, with tension and deeper breaths between pitches and players hanging over the dugout railing and Brewers fans cheering loudly — half enthusiastically, half nervous energy.

With a slim chance at chasing down the Cubs in the NL Central — a four-game series sweep would mean the Brewers move into first place — the series opener was essentially a must-win game for Milwaukee. Win and they would be 2.5 games back with nine left and have a puncher’s chance; lose and they’re 4.5 back.

With an overworked bullpen, the Brewers needed a strong effort from Zach Davies, and he delivered, departing after seven innings with a 2-2 tie. The Brewers scored the go-ahead run in the eighth as Domingo Santana doubled, swiped third against a sleepy Justin Wilson, and then scored as Eric Thames lined a single over the drawn-in second baseman.

Milwaukee Brewers reliever Jeremy Jeffress couldn’t bear to watch after giving up a game-tying single in the ninth inning. Morry Gash/AP Photo

Then came the ninth inning.

Corey Knebel and Anthony Swarzak were unavailable after pitching three days in a row. Josh Hader had pitched twice in three days and thrown 42 pitches. So Craig Counsell had to dig deep into his bullpen. He called on Jeremy Jeffress, the former Brewers closer reacquired at the trade deadline, who had thrown 30 pitches Wednesday.

The inning started with Ian Happ beating out an infield hit. Here’s the play. Note what went wrong:

1. Neil Walker — who had played 64 innings at first in his career — ranged well off first base to field the ball. But look at second baseman Eric Sogard. He was in position to make the play.

2. Jeffress hesitated just a bit coming off the mound. If he gets to first a blink quicker, Happ is out.

3. Happ chugged it down the line. This kid is a terrific athlete.

Still, you have to get the out there. Javier Baez would later tie the game with a two-out, two-strike little grounder up the middle. Just like Knebel’s errant toss to first hurt them in Wednesday’s loss to the Pirates, infield defense was once again painful.

In the bottom of the ninth, the Brewers loaded the bases with one out against Wade Davis. Joe Maddon went to five infielders. Santana struck out on a fastball up and out of the strike zone. Orlando Arcia worked the count to 3-1, took a cutter down the middle and then bounced back to the mound. The Brewers would strand 12 runners. They fanned 11 times (they have the second-most 10-strikeout games in the majors with 78).

You knew what was coming next. Hello, Kris Bryant:

A little kiss from the MVP. pic.twitter.com/UTJCwbr755

— Chicago Cubs (@Cubs) September 22, 2017

Bryant had actually been terrible in the big moments all season, hitting .162 in late & close situations before this game. I guess he was due. The Brewers fell to 4-10 in extra-inning games. How many similar moments were there in some of those losses? We don’t talk enough about the little things that can decide a baseball game. On this night, they did.

One final note. I’m not going to pound Counsell for not using his best relievers. Nobody pitches four days in a row anymore — it has happened only nine times all season (Edwin Diaz and Jerry Blevins did it twice, plus Jose Alvarez, Peter Moylan, Hansel Robles, Fernando Salas and Nick Vincent). Knebel had thrown 44 pitches over his three outings. Here’s how many those others had thrown in their first three outings:

Alvarez: 26 Blevins: 22 Blevins: 22 Diaz: 42 Diaz: 51 Moylan: 34 Robles: 36 Salas: 15 Vincent: 37

Mariners manager Scott Servais used Diaz twice for a fourth day despite similar pitch totals to Knebel. He’s also the most comparable pitcher to Knebel, a hard-throwing closer. If there was ever a game to use Knebel for a fourth straight game, this would have been it. (To be fair, Jeffress wasn’t hit.)

Anyway, the NL Central race is just about over, but the wild card is still in the play. The Brewers remain a game behind the Rockies. I predict Knebel, Swarzak and Hader will be available if needed Friday.

Wild-card winner of the night. You know how this is going to end, America. Baseball writers, you might as well reserve your World Series hotel rooms in St. Louis right now. The Rockies lost 3-0 to the Padres, the Brewers lost, and the Cardinals are now just 1.5 behind the Rockies for the second wild card.

Wild-card loser of the night. The Angels lost 4-1 to the Indians in an afternoon game, and then the Twins pounded the hapless Tigers 12-1. So the Angels dropped 2.5 behind the Twins and have actually been caught by the Rangers, who completed a three-game sweep of the Mariners. Hmm. Cardinals-Rangers World Series?

Indians win again. I just mentioned that. Francisco Lindor hit a three-run homer in the game, his 32nd, and they’ve won 27 of 28 games, which is an incredible thing to type. Here’s another to look at it:

Ballgame. Tribe 4, Halos 1.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLWWWWW

Decent.

— Jordan Bastian (@MLBastian) September 21, 2017

Lindor’s surge during this streak — he has hit .349 with 11 home runs and 27 RBIs — is earning him some MVP talk. I’m going to disagree. The entire season counts. Jose Ramirez has an OBP 30 points higher and slugging percentage 64 points higher with good defensive metrics while playing two positions. Ramirez is still the best MVP candidate on the Indians, although Lindor has maybe climbed into the top five or six overall.

Jose Bautista’s Blue Jays career might be winding down. The Royals beat the Jays 1-0 as Jason Vargas and four relievers combined on a two-hitter. Bautista hit cleanup, as he has been doing since late August but went 0-for-4.

At one point, the fans in right field starting chanting his name, as if their collective will alone could summon some greatness from Bautista. Back in spring training, the popular story was Bautista was poised for a big season, ready to prove everyone who ignored him in free agency had made a mistake. He was forced to take a one-year deal from Toronto.

Instead, he has had a miserable season, hitting .203/.309/.369. Injuries aren’t an excuse, as he has played 148 of the Jays’ 153 games. Manager John Gibbons moved him from second or third in the lineup to leadoff back in late June in an attempt to get going, and then to cleanup. Bautista never did get going. Of 148 qualified hitters, Bautista ranks 139th in wOBA. Once one of the most feared hitters in the game, he has been one of the worst in 2017.

As Dave Cameron wrote a couple days ago on FanGraphs, this could be it for Bautista. He turns 37 in October, will be coming off a bad season and has limited defensive value, and nobody wanted him last offseason. There’s certainly the sense that at the minimum his Blue Jays career is coming to an end:

Gibbons says #BlueJays dugout would love to see another memorable Jose Bautista moment this weekend. “I know everybody’s rooting for him”

— Ben Nicholson-Smith (@bnicholsonsmith) September 22, 2017

The Blue Jays wrap up their home schedule this weekend against the Yankees before finishing with a road trip to Boston and New York. Let’s hope he gives Blue Jays fans one final home run.

The post Milwaukee Brewers fans will remember Thursday’s gut-punch loss to Cubs – SweetSpot appeared first on Daily Star Sports.

from https://dailystarsports.com/2017/09/22/milwaukee-brewers-fans-will-remember-thursdays-gut-punch-loss-to-cubs-sweetspot/ from https://dailystarsports.tumblr.com/post/165611496171