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officialcharactersimp · 3 months

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Playdate

(Graduation Gift Part 6)

Summary: (can be found on my masterlist under series) Natasha invites Wanda over to see you. When you’re left alone with Wanda, she makes good on a deal she made with Nat. >:)

A/N: So like. Listen. I know. I know. It’s been 2 years. I wrote this piece like a year ago. And this is NOT DONE. It’s NOT GREAT. Y’all voted for the rough edges version. Maybe I’ll edit or polish it later on. Also. I was getting a little gratuitous with Wanda using too many petnames and so I’ve used A SINGULAR PRONOUN for the first time in this series’ history. If I find a way to change it later to remove it I will. It’s they, by the way.

WC: 2.9k (wtf??)

CW: 18+ only, minors dni; series is dark but this is only mildly dark; reader is being kept in Nat's basement but they're like. fine with it??; smut; mommy milkers make mommy milk; cgl themes; sharing partners; dubcon; Wanda uses her powers to manipulate reader; mean Wanda (but only a little, as a treat); Wanda calls reader mutt, pup, etc; threesome; oral (R receiving); Wanda uses magic sexually on reader; no proper ending, sorry

“Baby, mommy needs to talk to you,” Natasha says, muting the TV. You turn to look at her expectantly, face as angelic as ever. She smiles. “Good baby. Now, mommy wants to have a friend of hers over,” she says.

“Upstairs?” you ask, confused. She’s had people over to the house for meetings before—why is she asking you?

“No baby, downstairs, in here,” she says, opening her arms for you to come sit on her lap. You do so, searching for comfort as the idea causes unease. “Oh, baby, it’s okay, don’t worry. She’s very nice.”

“But…” you fiddle with the hem of her shirt for a moment before bringing your thumb to your mouth and looking down.

“She already knows about you, baby,” she practically reads your mind. “She’s the one that helped mommy start making milk for you,” she hums.

“Someone knows?” you’re surprised and… something else you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Yes, baby. My best friend Wanda. We work together and she helps make it so I can stay home with you,” she taps the end of your nose, earning a small smile. “You know mommy doesn’t want to keep you down here all alone and locked up forever, don’t you?” she asks. It’s only half-true, but you nod anyways. “This is how we start, okay?” you nod again.

—

“Baby, I’m here with Wanda!” you hear Natasha’s voice as the lock clicks and the door opens. You get up on your knees at the end of the bed and wait for her with your arms up.

“Mommy!” you greet her with a happy exclamation. She chuckles and goes to help you out of the bed, but you cling to her instead, hiding your face from the brunette standing near.

“Aww, feeling a bit shy, are we?” Wanda’s voice is kind enough as she reaches out, patting your back gently. You flinch a little and Natasha instantly hushes you, rubbing your back where Wanda had touched you to soothe you.

“We’re just a little nervous,” Natasha says for you. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen anybody but mommy, huh?” she asks. You nod against her.

She carries you over to the couch and sits with you on her lap, Wanda sitting on the other end. Natasha turns your head to face her and you examine your guest with your eyes, deep in thought. You notice she’s holding a stuffed animal in your favorite color. She sees your eyes land on it and smiles warmly.

“Hi there,” she says. “Your mommy said this was your favorite color,” you nod to confirm. “I thought it might be nice for you to hold,” she holds it out to you and you look to Natasha, who nods, before taking it. You pull it close, finally unwrapping yourself a little from Natasha.

“That’s so precious!” Natasha says, looking at the toy in your hands. “What do we say, baby?”

“Thank you,” you say shyly, unable to meet her eye. She smiles anyways.

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “You gonna give it a name?”

“He’s gonna be called Dots,” you say, running your hand over the bumpy dotted texture of the toy’s fur.

“Dots. That’s a good name,” she says. You smile a little. “I know you’ve been down here for awhile with just you and mommy, right?” she asks. You nod. “What do you like to do together?”

“Um… I like it when we watch cartoons or play with my toys together,” you say slowly. “Mommy makes the best voices for my toys,” you smile. “And I like bath time, too, or when mommy lets me do her makeup. We do all sorts of stuff,” you tell her, smiling at Natasha, who brushes some hair out of your face.

“That sounds awesome, little one,” Wanda says. The petname sounds nice from her lips, making you smile bashfully.

The conversation drifts slowly to the two of them talking about work, occasionally making jokes to include you. You eventually grow comfortable enough to uncurl from your tiny ball on Natasha’s lap to sitting on her normally, playing with Dots and half-listening.

“You okay, Natty?” Wanda asks, and you look to your mommy to see her shifting a little.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Looks like we’re just a little late for milkies time,” she looks at you. “Feeling hungry, little baby?” she asks. You nod; you’ve been ignoring it in the hopes that Wanda would leave before it got unbearable. “Come on then,” she unbuttons her shirt some and unclips her bra on one side.

“But mommy—“ you glance at Wanda.

“It’s okay, baby. Don’t you trust mommy?” she asks. You nod slowly and let her guide you into position, your legs ending up on Wanda’s lap, who gently rubs her thumb on your shin. You squirm a little.

“Behave, baby. Don’t you want mommy’s milkies?” she asks. You nod, cheeks flushed. “Then be good,” she says firmly, guiding your head to her chest. You latch on a little less eagerly than usual, trying to ignore Wanda’s presence and touch. It’s easier with Natasha running her fingers through your hair, humming softly, but not so much as you feel Wanda’s eyes on the two of you like a hawk.

You’re inevitably slipping down into your uninhibited littlespace by the time you switch to her other side, grunting gently when the milk doesn’t flow at first and grabbing onto Natasha. She chuckles and hushes you, adjusting herself to help you in your efforts.

“Easy now,” she soothes.

“How precious,” Wanda coos gently, reaching over to brush your hair out of the way so she can see you better. You can’t flinch without letting go of Natasha’s chest, so you let it happen. She takes the liberty and strokes the back of her finger down your cheek softly.

“Isn’t my baby just the sweetest thing?” Natasha brags, “Come closer, Wans, it’s alright. A lot tamer with your mommy’s milk in you, hm?” Natasha speaks the last part to you as she pats the cushion next to her for Wanda to sit. They both move you as needed for her to get closer, your butt now in the virtual stranger’s lap and her arm resting on your stomach. You whine and look up at Natasha, about to pull away to protest.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re doing a good job,” Natasha holds you fast against her with a gentle hand and even gentler praises. “You trust me, and I trust Wanda. You’re okay. Just drink your milkies,” she placates you easily. You settle back into an edgy comfort and let yourself be held, trying to stay in your big headspace and failing miserably.

“That’s a good baby,” Natasha says as she both sees and feels the resistance leave you. When you finally pull off, she smiles at the little dribble on your chin and wipes it with her thumb before pressing it into your mouth. “Mommy’s got you,” she assures you as your eyes half-close, sucking on her thumb automatically. She coos softly at you.

“Such a good baby,” Wanda muses as she looks on.

“That’s right,” Natasha says proudly, making you blush a little. “See little one, Wanda’s not so scary, is she?” she asks you sweetly. You nod a little bit, earning a satisfied hum. “That’s my baby.”

“My mommy,” you say around her thumb, reaching up to touch her face. Her heart melts at the gesture and she leans down to kiss your forehead.

The tender moment is interrupted as Natasha’s phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket, looks at it a moment, and then sighs deeply.

“I have to take this,” she says with reluctance. “Go to Wanda, baby,” Natasha pushes you fully into her friend’s lap despite your whimpering protests. Wanda’s arms wrap around you easily and hold you to her as you wiggle, reaching for your mommy to no avail.

“I’ll be as quick as I can, baby,” Natasha assures you, tilting your chin up and kissing you before going upstairs. You look at Wanda with wide eyes in silence for a moment.

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” Wanda speaks first. “Your mommy will be back soon, and she’s only upstairs at any rate.”

You keep staring at her mutely.

“This must be pretty new and scary, huh? And I can tell you’re feeling pretty little, too. But don’t worry, I’ve got you,” she says, voice warm and soothing. “Do you want to watch some cartoons? I know you like that,” she suggests. You nod. “Okay, cartoons it is,” she reaches for the remote and turns on the TV.

You ease considerably with the cartoons on, sucking on your thumb and cuddling Dots close. Wanda holds you and watches passively, wondering what’s taken Nat away so suddenly. She’s so excited to finally be meeting you, too, but trying not to scare you off with her eagerness.

“Want mommy,” you mumble after awhile. It’s rare for Natasha to leave you when you’re in your littlespace, and you are very much disliking it.

“I know, little one. I’m sure she’ll be back just as quick as she can. It won’t be long now,” Wanda assures you once again. She pulls out her own phone to shoot Natasha a text. It has been awhile…

Only about a bit more now. How’s my little baby? she responds.

Missing you, but mostly okay. We’re watching cartoons. I don’t know how long it’ll last though… Wanda informs her

What we talked about before is still on the table. Wanda glances up at you, oblivious, then looks down again.

Are you sure it won’t mess everything up? I haven’t made much headway in the trust department…

It’ll be fine, Wans. My dumb little baby can’t resist feeling good. Natasha’s words make Wanda go red and she shoots another glance at you. Luckily, you’ve still yet to notice.

Alright then. See you soon.

Wanda puts her phone away and turns her attention back to you. You’re babbling to Dots and pointing to the TV, as if trying to explain it to him. It’s absolutely adorable. Wanda watches sneakily, not wanting to interrupt and ruin the moment of pure innocence and cuteness.

“Right mommy—“ when you turn and remember it’s Wanda, not your mommy, who’s holding you, your bottom lip begins to tremble.

“Oh, no no no, baby, it’s okay, don’t cry little one,” Wanda rushes to soothe you, holding you closer and rocking you a little bit. “It’s okay, she’ll be back in just a few minutes, she told me so,” she tells you. You calm a tiny bit at that. “She even told me what to do while we wait for her.”

“R-really?” you sniff.

“Mhm,” Wanda hums, one hand coming down to rest on your tummy.

“What’d she say?” you ask, squirming on her lap a little. You’re feeling tingly, like how Natasha often makes you feel.

“Well, she said she worried your pretty parts might need some attention, and she said I can help you, since you’re just a little baby who doesn’t know how,” Wanda tells you soothingly.

“M-mommy said that?” you ask, trying to ignore the growing sensations in your lower half.

“Yup. She cares about you being comfortable and happy so much that she said I can help you instead of her,” Wanda says with a smile. “Isn’t that nice of her? You’re lucky, little one.”

“Mhm, mommy’s nice,” you say, struggling to put together the logical thoughts in your head that would can tell you what’s going on here.

“Aw, don’t think too much, little one,” Wanda coos, her other hand coming o to the side of your head and stroking your temple. As she smooths the hair there, it feels like she’s smoothing your thoughts, too. Little do you know she really is, but she figures what you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

“When’s mommy coming back? I need her,” you say, a little dazed.

“Why’s that, precious?” she asks sweetly.

“I’m at all tingly. I don’t like it,” you squirm.

“I can help with that, little one,” her voice is like honey. “Just relax for me, okay? Wanda’s se gonna take care of you,” shepulls down your shorts and underwear, exposing your sensitive area to the air. You whine a little.like

“‘s cold,” you complain.

“I’ve got you,” soon Wanda’s warm hand has moved from your tummy down to cup your mound, quieting you. She reaches down further and starts slowly encircling your most sensitive bundle of nerves, making you sigh softly in relief. Something starts to poke at your entrance but you don’t know what.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking down. You see the hand between your legs encircled with glowing red tendrils.

“It’s alright, little one. It’s just magic, like I used on your mommy before. It’s perfectly safe. And it’ll feel really good,” she says, slowly filling your hole. You whimper softly at the stretch as her fingers continue to work your clit. “How’s that?”

“Good,” you breathe, opening your legs more. She smiles.

“That’s a good little baby, spread those legs nice and wide for me,” you heed her suggestion, letting them fall open to give her more access. “Perfect.”

She gracefully works up to a rhythm that has you whimpering softly with each thrust, clutching tightly to Dots. The hand at your temple moves down, allowing her thumb to play at your lower lip. You open your mouth eagerly, wanting to take it into your mouth, but she doesn’t let you. She simply teases your lip while your mouth hangs open, panting heavily.

“So damn precious,” she says, her voice husky. She leans over to see your hole clenching around red-tinted nothingness and bites her lip. “Feeling good, little one?”

“S-so good, Wanda,” you stutter, twisting and panting.

“Look at you, panting like a little doggie. Is that what you are? Are you a dumb little pup for me?”

“I-I-“ you don’t know how to react. Her words are nothing like Natasha’s, but they’re making your body feel the same way. You give a small whimper of confusion.

“Aw, too dumb to even know what you are,” she says with mock sympathy. “It’s okay, good puppies like you don’t need to think, just let me do it for you for now,” her voice is soft again.

“I-I can’t-“ you gasp, somehow feeling overstimulated before you’ve even had a single orgasm.

“You can. Be a good pup for me,” she encourages sweetly.

The door opens and you both look over to see Natasha at the door, who grins at the sight before her. She quickly comes to your side, smiling at Wanda and exchanging a few looks before looking down at you. She smooths some hair out of your face.

“Mommy!” you whine loudly, one hand leaving Dots to clutch at hers. You hold it to your sweaty face, her touch cooling, and whimper as you lean into it.

“Aww, looks like you and Wanda are getting along just fine,” she says. “You’re being such a good baby for Mommy’s friend. Do you feel good?”

“Yes mommy, feels so good, so good—can’t th-th-“ you whine desperately.

“Dumb little mutt can’t handle what I’ve got to give,” Wanda chides. “But they’re trying nonetheless,” she shifts you around on her lap so Natasha has an unobstructed view of your cunt as she uses her powers to press into your every crevice.

“Isn’t that a sight,” she breaths softly, getting her face in close. “Move your finger. I wanna taste my baby,” she instructs. Wanda obliges, focusing fully on her magic while Natasha begins licking and sucking at your clit harshly.

“Mommy!” you cry out. “Mommy, Wanda, I can’t, I can’t—“

“You’ll take what’s given to you like the good little slut you are,” Wanda cuts you off firmly, a particularly hard thrust punctuating it. “If you come nice and pretty for us, maybe we’ll be nice and give you a rest,” she says. You glance down to Natasha between your legs.

“Yes, baby, you can come. Come for us, all over me,” she pauses to say before diving back in.

It feels like her and Wanda have just increased their efforts by tenfold, making you cry out even louder than before, tongue hanging out as you pant heavily. It’s all too much—you can’t last much longer like this.

“Please!” you whine.

“Come on, you can do it baby,” Wanda says softly, encouraging you over the edge. “Be good and make a mess for us.”

The coil in your body snaps at that and your back arches as you scream, lifting your torso up off of Wanda’s lap as your hips buck.

“That’s it, that’s it baby, so good for us, for mommy and Wanda,” Natasha is your beside you in seconds, kissing your face and rubbing your tummy soothingly. You whimper softly at her kisses and your body calms down enough to return to Wanda’s lap. She too is praising you, petting your head in reassurance. Tears brim in your eyes and threaten to fall, but Natasha catches them.

“It’s okay baby, mommy’s got you now, we both do,” Natasha soothes. “You’re alright now, you did so good.”

“Did good?” you repeat hazily.

“So good,” Wanda confirms.

to be continued…

And that’s it, I’m sorry. If I don’t post it right now as it is I’m just not going to do it again.

read the rest of grad gift here

#natasha x reader #Natasha romanoff smut #mommy!natasha #soft!dark!natasha #Natasha romanoff #marvel #grad gift series #soft!dark!mommy!natasha x reader #smut #x reader #x gender neutral reader #x trans reader #if you want #kidnapping #writers on tumblr #fanfic #gg au #gg6 #noah writes sometimes

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tuliptyper · 2 years

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Unique Features; AOT Men

quick lil hcs for what unique (and attractive) features i think the aot men have while i avoid my family lmao

let me know if you guys want different characters (including any of the girls)! thnx for reading and please leave a comment/reblog!

implied modern au setting

includes; Connie, Eren, Jean, Armin, Marco + Reiner

✾ Connie:

- acne scars on mostly his cheeks leading down to his jaw line <3

- probably gap teeth! <3

- grey hair (canon), i like to think that its a genetic thing and almost everyone/every guy in his family greys super young

- related to the grey hair thing, light eyebrows!

✾ Eren:

- big ass forehead <33

- long lashes + big, upturned eyes; his lashes are less pronounced because of his lighter hair color

✾ Armin:

- natural pout/heart-shaped lips <33 hes super hydrated to so you know theyre not chapped!

- bushier brows; not as thick as Erwins but he does have to maintain them and its very cute to watch because he gets super in the zone hehe

- thin hair; ik people typically hate having thin hair because it tends to be fragile, i like petting/stroking thinner hair because its so soft and easy to tossle about lmaoo (i have really fucking thick hair, my scalp gets so hot, not to mention i need to get it THINNED like every 2-3 months bc it gets so heavy)

✾ Reiner:

- higher body fat% / tummy chub! while he is muscular, he has a lovely layer of fat that adds to his frame and its just *chefs kiss*. men ESP with a little tummy pudge are so FIINNEEE

- stretch marks; more concentrated at the back of his knees, hips, shoulders and lower back. they're lighter than his skin tone and look like lighting bolts fr, they are so cool and gorgeous too

- shnoz bump (canon); i loooveeee bumpy, big, hooked, droopy, pointed, generally shapely noses! they're not only a display of cool heritage but also hot as fuck. i said my piece. (also imagine him telling you his embarrassing stories of getting into fights/knocking into walls that caused the bump while he bashfully rubs it WAAAA)

- boney, thinner fingers; 100% projection because i have boney (not skinny) fingers and i dont like how weirdly masculine my hands are. he probably has to get all his rings extended and gets shy when you play with them absentmindedly

✾ Marco:

- beauty spots/marks/moles; hes a moley boyy! has 13 and counting, probably. definitely searched up the meaning of each placement and felt so enlightened LMAO

- dennie-morgan folds/eczema wrinkles; hes got cute little wrinkles on his eyes that basically destroyed his aegyo sal (idk what it would be called in english other than under eye bags? puffy under eyes??) and made his eyelids more wrinkly

- yellow tinted/unbuffed nails, since he wears nail polish without a base coat and they get stained. but also theyre very strong since they haven't been buffed/thinned out!

✾ Jean:

- wavy/type 2 hair that only ever showed when he started growing out his mullet. very french, very cute, 11/10

- amber eyes. his stare is intense but not intimidating <3 hes the only neurotypical man i would give eye contact to 💅

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linkemon · 8 months

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Sibling headcanons 1

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.

Naganohara Yoimiya

✧ Being Yoimiya's little sibling means being open to the world and people. Your older sister has always encouraged you to meet the kids in the neighbourhood. It is also related to the fact that she also divided her attention on them and not focused it only on you. You're jealous of it, and she can't always see it right away. But when she does find out, she always apologizes.

✧ You make fireworks together. You're pretty good at it now but when you were little she took you with her to the workshop and you almost set her hair on fire. She loves telling this story to others. You must have heard it dozens of times, and each time you kick her in the ankle so that she stops embarrassing you in front of new people you meet.

✧ Together you help each other with grandpa. You love him but it can be tiring. Especially since many things have to be explained to him slowly and very loudly.

✧ Neither of you can cook. You prefer to eat something quick in the city. You are always busy, everywhere and everyone knows you.

Xingqiu

✧ If there's one thing you can be sure of, it's that Xingqiu will get you into reading books. He'll push you on novels and either you become a reader or you die.

✧ As the third child in the family you lead a pretty comfortable life. One could even say worthy of a royalty. Especially since you're not much into your father's merchant guild business. Immersing yourself in the fantastic adventures of fictional characters, you feel that you are alive.

✧ In the past, your brother pretended to be adventurers and pirates. You used to play the princesses he had to save. Mostly because you agreed to play as long as you sat in one place and could read.

✧ You help him proofread "Legend of the Sword" for which he is extremely grateful. He promised to bring you an autograph from Inazuma, Calx, his illustrator, of whom you are a big fan.

Keqing

✧ As Keqing's older sibling, you don't have it easy. Actually, your relationship is a long, winding and bumpy road. And it doesn't look like it's going to fully recover.

✧ Your sister is always busy. And yet she is never satisfied with her achievements. Even though you tell her to rest, she doesn't change her mind. Therefore, it would be difficult for you to spend more time together.

✧ You mainly see each other at work, which is also a source of disagreement between you. You've always felt inferior. Keqing holds a high position and your family has always compared her to you. She tried to straighten it out a couple of times but it didn't work. You understand it's not her fault but it doesn't help to look at her any more favorably.

✧ The last time you saw each other was shopping during the Lantern Right festival. The fact that she found time for you then was strange to say the least. Apparently, a friend made her realize that she should take a break. You didn't comment that she listened to a stranger and she never listened to your advice. Together you chose a beautiful dress for her. You've been seeing each other a lot more since then but that doesn't mean the problems have gone away.

Sayu

✧ Technically, you're not Sayu's biological sibling. But that doesn't mean you don't act like you are. All members of the Shuumatsuban recognize this as true.

✧ You literally take some errands for her so she can get some sleep. She loves you for it. If she gets a pillow or a blanket as a gift, you can be sure that she will lazily hug you to thank you.

✧ You are one of the few people who are allowed to pat her on the head. Just not too often, after all, she wants to grow taller, and everyone knows that slows down growing up.

✧ You took her measure on a forest tree once. Every now and then she stands there and you mark her height again.

✧ Despite her laziness, you can be sure that in important situations she will not fail. Her master is gone but she still has you. She's not going to lose her older sibling. There's no way she's letting anything happen to you. The little ninja will immediately go to save you and always succeed.

#headcanons #yoimiya #sayu #keqing #xinqiu #x reader #over teyvat #genshin impact #siblings #genshin impact x reader

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in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather · 1 year

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[Starship Icarus] II

Part 1

Summary: Mills’s further misadventures, escape attempts, late night talks with a southern bartender, and vacillations in mood and mental state

CW: strong language, dark ruminations, space opera bleakness, my usual gallows humor

WC: ~4.5k

Mills strode purposefully down the corridors, working up a sweat and touching every panel along the way. Some of them lit up with mostly useless information, but often he received no response for his trouble.

At last, two sets of doors slid open, one vertically, the other horizontally, and he was given access to an elevator.

“Please, buckle up and secure any loose items. The elevator will experience a brief lapse in gravity.” Mills absorbed the information impassively, too preoccupied with other thoughts to act. It was only when his limbs started floating of their own accord that he looked up. By then his body slowly, but inexorably started peeling off the seat and ascending into the empty air. He twisted like a cat midair and grabbed for the two loose sides of the seatbelt, now also floating above the seat. They were already out of reach and he watched the map that showed his location as the elevator looped, hurtling towards its destination. He eventually bobbed up to the ceiling and pushed off it, aiming to get nearer to the ground. When he stopped, which would be any moment now, the landing would be less rough. Gravity seized his body and yanked harshly. The air was knocked out of him when he roughly landed ass first on the floor. He scrambled to his feet and dashed out as the holo informed him he was at the Grand Concourse.

It looked like an enormous mall. Or one of those tacky hotels rich people pay thousands of dollars per night to stay in. Floors stacked high with a cavernous hole in the middle, all polished chrome and sleek lines, as aggressively bright as anything he’d ever seen.

“Hello, welcome to the Grand Concourse aboard the Icarus,” a holo pad poured forth its light and took on the signature Homestead blue sphere shape. “Can I help you?”

Relief and worry clashed in him and reached a stalemate, so when he approached, Mills felt nothing at all. “I need to speak to a person. A real living homo sapiens human person,” he overqualified for the dense machine to understand.

“What kind of person? A personal trainer? A therapist?”

Mills allowed himself a short sigh and steeled his resolve once more. “Someone in charge. Part of the crew.”

“The ship’s steward handles passenger affairs.”

Yeah, yeah, and the Sun rises in the East. Very helpful indeed. Prick.

“It’s on level three of the Grand Concourse.” Oh, hey. Actually useful for once. Optimism sparked in him finally and he sped off with renewed vigor.

“Thank you!” he called out over his shoulder and heard a faint happy to help as he disappeared behind another sliding door.

The room marked as the steward’s office was dark as he approached it. Lights flickered to life as he entered, but nobody was inside. Mills stood and watched the empty chair at the empty desk and swallowed thickly. He pushed off his panicked disappointment as he doubled back and engaged the useless machine again.

He alternately growled questions and commands and tempered them with please’s squeezed through his teeth, until he was ultimately directed to find the captain on the bridge. A few bumpy zero gravity elevator rides later, and he was in a different sector, with more official looking cabins. He found the one that led onto the bridge and pressed his cuff to it.

“Bridge access requires special authorization.”

He tried two more times and got the same impassive response in return.

“Oh, gimme a fucking break,” he heard the oncoming hyperventilation as he huffed, peering into the window separating him from the life- and sanity-saving equipment just feet away. He kicked the metal door and pounded his fist on it for good measure. He was aware this would help him absolutely none, but he couldn’t stop himself.

With the leisurely amble of a man lost in every conceivable way, he wandered listlessly around this new sector. Eventually, he stumbled onto a narrow room which stretched far to the left and right of him.

“Welcome to the observatory,” a male voice, deeper and more commanding than the female voices doing the greeting and soothing, boomed and echoed in the vast chamber. “What can I show you?” it asked and projected a long, sprawling image. As more details coalesced, he recognized the route the Icarus was taking, mapping its voyage from Earth to Homestead II. A golden thread weaved through countless stars that hung in the air, stretching from where he couldn’t see far into the distance, to their destination.

“We’re making landfall soon,” he informed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I’m the only one awake as far as I can tell.”

If the holo was able to process this kind of information, it wasn’t doing a good job of showing it. “Is there something you would like me to show you?” it tried again, in its ineffectual bureaucratic way.

“Show me Homestead II,” Mills shrugged. That was a start.

“Homestead II is the fourth planet in the Bhakti system,” the holo rumbled as it showed a projection of the planet. Mills didn’t need to hear the fact rundown again and he stopped the info dump.

“And where are we? Where is Icarus?”

“The Icarus is in transit from Earth to Homestead II. We will arrive in approximately ninety years.”

The projection condensed the sprawling image of the route so that it fit in the several feet of space directly in front of Mills. The wispy golden thread connected Earth and their destination and a single point pulsed golden bursts of light about a quarter of the way between the two.

Cold sweat instantly enveloped Mills and he felt his knees cut off. “What?” he breathed and was surprised the holo picked up the sound.

“The Icarus arrives at Homestead II in ninety years, three weeks, and one day.”

He shook his head, and the shorter strands around his face tickled his high cheekbones. “No, that can’t be right. How long ago did we leave?”

“Approximately thirty years ago.”

“I woke up too soon,” he muttered and sank into a crouch. With his head in his hands, he locked his legs back up and stuffed his head between his knees, taking deep steadying breaths.

When he willed himself to believe this was just a minor hiccup and he would see it resolved soon, he turned back towards the Grand Concourse, finding his legs felt hollow and wobbly.

“I need to send a message to Earth,” he sternly told the spherical greeter holo.

“Messages to Earth are sent by laser array. This is a costly service.”

“Suck my dick,” he spat as he blew past the machine and took a seat at the desk.

“Happy to help!”

“Planet and connection?” the operator asked jauntily.

“Earth. I need to contact the Homestead company.”

“There are 30,826 contacts listed under ‘Homestead Company’,” the screen displayed a crawl of several rows milling in front of him, all working for this damn place.

“I am en route for the exploratory mission scheduled for ninety years from now. There’s a bit of an emergency,” he rubbed his eyes, the excessive amount of sarcasm really taking it out of him.

“I can put you through to the customer helpline.”

“Would you? You’re a peach.”

A red button flashed Recording and the holo told him to begin his message.

“I am a passenger on the Icarus. For some reason, I was awoken far ahead of schedule. Ninety years, to be more exact. Something must have gone wrong with my pod. Nobody else is currently awake, as far as I’ve been able to tell. I need to know my next steps.” Mills was satisfied with his steady tone and clear delivery. “Thank you,” he remembered to add as his thick finger hovered over the send button.

The pad chirped and the voice told him his message was sent. He nodded to himself, pulling his dark brows together and leaning back in the chair. It would be agony waiting for the few minutes it took for someone to respond. He hoped it wouldn’t take hours – he would drive himself mad. Leaning back into the chair, he threw one long leg over the other and took a deep breath.

“Message will arrive in nineteen years.”

“The fuck?” he lurched forward, nearly launching himself out of the wheely chair, gliding too smoothly under him.

“Earliest reply in fifty five years.”

“Fif—“ his fists balled up.

“We apologize for the delay.”

He was still processing the number. Fifty five years. By then, he could be…

“That will be $6,012.”

“You can go fuck yourself six thousand and twelve times, bitch,” he muttered.

“Happy to help!”

In fifty five years, he would be… ninety four, he balked at the outrageous number. With a grisly humor, he corrected himself inwardly. In fifty five years, he would be fucking dead, more than likely. Stress and space dementia were not conducive to longevity. Sure, his manifold instruction manuals and informative videos did not specify this was the case, but he was willing to stake his life on that he was right.

And then, in another thirty five years – oh, and three weeks and a day, excuse him very fucking much – when the Icarus does touch down on Homestead II, the mysterious pile of bones piled up in some corner, or scattered around the ship from being tossed around some space shithole… Well, that would be a problem for the folks a century from now. Mills would be dead long before anyone came asking any questions, or sending any helpful, concerned messages from the ironically named helpline.

He trudged along the gaudy mall-like environment of the Grand Concourse, still pinching himself and trying to suggest scenarios to himself – he was just dreaming, this was some post-hibernation delirium, someone was yanking his chain…

So absorbed in his wretchedness, he didn’t notice the tinkling music as it discreetly began to fill the air. He only reacted when some movement in his periphery caught his eye. He did a double take and ran inside the bar-like environment. The long bartop was a deep, polished wood and the whole place had a southern sort of charm. But he only had eyes for the bartender.

A man about his size, with one prosthetic hand and a gray shirt buttoned all the way up to his throat, stood behind the bar and polished a glass with a serene look on his face.

He looked up after Mills stood there panting for a few beats, eyes as wide as saucers. “Afternoon, sir,” he greeted in an accent Mills couldn’t place instantly, but there was an unmistakable drawl to it.

“I thought I was the only one awake,” Mills croaked. Didn’t you hear me hollering all day, he thought, but was pleased he didn’t start on such a combative note.

“Who’d wanna sleep on a nice day like this?” the bartender’s voice was quiet and soothing. “Clyde’s the name.”

“Julian Mills. But everyone calls me Mills.”

“Pleased t’make yer acquaintance, Mills. What can I getcha?”

“Huh?”

“T’drink? Ya look like a whisky man. Or bourbon?”

“Bourbon’s fine.”

A whirring sound revved up and Clyde slid smoothly towards the bourbon bottles and spun 180 degrees like he was on a turntable. Mills gripped the bartop and leaned over it to find that under his dark shirt, tentacle-like machine parts coiled under Clyde and propelled him mechanically.

“Ugh, you’re a robot,” Mills sank into his seat.

“An android, technically,” Clyde said, no hurt feelings in his tone. Of course. He wasn’t a fucking person, Mills reminded himself.

“Wait! How much do you know about this ship?”

“Oh, I dunno. I know some things. Why don’t ya lay a question on me?”

“What can I do if my hibernation pod malfunctions?”

“That doesn’t happen. Hibernation pods are failsafe. They never malfunction,” Clyde offered a reassuring smile.

“Well, mine did. I’m here.”

“Can’t happen,” Clyde was satisfied with his answer and went back to polishing a glass.

“When do we reach our destination?” Mills swirled the brown liquid in his glass.

“’Bout ninety years or so.”

“And when are passengers scheduled to wake up?” he took a drink and sucked his teeth, winding up his killer blow.

“Four months b’fore we touch ground.”

“So how am I sitting here with you – with ninety years to go?” Mills set his glass down just a little too forcefully. Clyde was frozen, staring back at him unresponsively and Mills wondered if these androids just shut down when confronted with something they consider a paradox.

Clyde’s amber eyes darted side to side nearly imperceptibly fast and he huffed, arriving at a satisfactory answer. “S’not possible fer you t’be here.” He offered a serene smile and went back to his work. It was so easy to be an android, unbothered by the tragedy and incongruity of life.

Mills downed the rest of his drink and gave Clyde a rictus smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Good morning, Julian! It’s a beautiful day here on Starship Icarus. So rise and shine – it’s time to enjoy your stay!” The voice that greeted him was overly chipper and Mills groaned, folding a pillow over his head to drown it out. He never enjoyed an attitude like that much and in his present state of mind, it was torturous. He would rather take the incessant high-pitched beeping of alarms back home or even those metal bastards that ring and clank so loud they pierce your ears. He sat up and retrieved a cigarette from the panel. Opting for a quick, soothing smoke before breakfast, he was shown out to a special designated chamber for smoking. It collected the soiled air and purified it, protecting the other passengers. It also had the added feature of issuing warnings about how bad it was for him to be smoking, displaying disgusting images of impacted gums, yellowed fingers and teeth, and black, tar-laden lungs.

“You know what else is bad?” he asked, sucking in a defiant lungful of smoke and tossing his head back sumptuously as he savored the rich notes of tobacco. “Waking me almost a century too early and dooming me to die alone,” the cigarette dangled and bobbed in his mouth as he spoke, leaning his long body against the wall. When he was done, a tray protruded from the wall, but he tossed the butt on the floor and watched with contempt as some fancier cousin of a roomba came scuttling in to clean up.

When he entered the mess hall to get some breakfast, he finally became conscious of the fact he hadn’t had any food in the whole time since he’d been up. His empty guts roared with a painful, nauseating growl, demanding sustenance. The enormous room was outfitted to seat five thousand people and it showed. Even more so when his soft solitary steps padded dully as he approached one of the large hive-like contraptions that doled out food.

“Please, make a selection,” it prompted after he activated it with his cuff.

“Sorry, the French roast is reserved for gold-class passengers.”

Fucker. They conveniently left that out from the myriad promotional materials. Who did he have to blow to get some decent coffee, then? He pressed it again, and a few more times after he received the same response, feeling unabashedly petulant.

“Sorry, the French roast is reserved for gold-class passengers.”

“Well, I want it,” he responded futilely, anger distilling into a hot ball in the center of his chest. It growled at him to punch the fucking thing, but he decided against it.

He went down the line, pressing every button on the panel, like when he was a child and pressed all the buttons on the building call box when he was let in, just to make the people have to come to the door and yell into the receiver when they realized no one was there.

”One black coffee,” the machine finally acquiesced.

He would have preferred it with creamer, but screw it.

Mills’ head was clearer after a night’s sleep, a few robust cups of coffee and whatever the hell soylent-green-only-beige concoction they served to passengers with his clearance for breakfast.

Consequently, he was able to think more productively. He scoured the areas he did have access to, and found things that would come in handy. For the next several days, he looked through assorted equipment he found in storage, and manuals - medical autodoc, the bar service model android guide, hibernation pod. Bingo, cocksucker. He took the last one with him and read it religiously cover to cover, and then flipped right back over to the beginning, until he could recite it backwards and forwards. He raided the storage some more, rummaging through every box that would open for him. For several weeks, according to Clyde’s sporadic updates, he worked on the pod, trying to fix it. When he was too tired, fingers too sore from work and eyes too tired from reading, he would go up to the bar on the Grand Concourse and hang out with his de facto friend.

The one armed – correction, one-handed - bartender Clyde came preloaded with his own story, if passengers wished to be regaled by listening to it. He was full of amusing superstitions, Tom Sawyer-esque stories about his childhood and family, delivered in a funny accent and loaded with folksy wisdom.

“Couldn’t they even spring for a whole hand for you?” Mills teased one night as he downed one in a string of bourbons.

“People prefer some imperfections. Slight irregularities in the face, a lack o’symmetry, some filler words as we speak… It sets ‘em at ease.”

“Well, that’s the least comforting way of putting that,” Mills’ face soured. Just as he had forgotten himself enough to be ribbing Clyde like a friend, he was rudely reminded of how pathetically alone he was. “Pour me another.”

“Comin’ right up.”

One such evening at the bar, a solar flare disrupted the ships electronics for a few unhappy seconds, just at the moment when Mills was, unfortunately, engaged in conversation with Clyde. The bartender glitched uncannily and his illusion, what part of it Mills could hold on to thus far, was shattered. He didn’t come to wet his whistle for a few days, didn’t even leave his cabin much, except to smoke and sulk. It was getting to be weeks before the utter despair of hopeless loneliness started to nag at him to pretend to talk to the android again.

Mills tried comforting himself that he was making progress on the pod. After weeks of tinkering with it, finally, it gave way. The oval contraption hissed as it filled with some foggy gas and opened in segments in front of him, like a mechanical flower blossoming. He stood in awe as his heart raced. He did it. As if someone spurred him on with a whip, he leapt inside triumphantly, and relief washed over him as the mechanical petals began to fold in around him, ensconcing him safely inside. He closed his eyes, chest shaking with laughter and unshed tears.

He lay as still as he could, wondering if the pod sensed his activity and was refusing to proceed with the next steps until he was calm. He waited for an indeterminate amount of time, realizing something was seriously amiss. The temperature inside was rising, from his body heat and breaths. His breathing accelerated as his body tried to extract enough oxygen out of the rapidly dwindling supply inside the pod. The damn thing was not working, no systems were engaged. Mills pressed his hand against the glass, prying it open, but it wouldn’t give. He tried pushing harder against it, but it stayed put. Fight mode engaged, he felt the icy pricks of panic stab along his vertebrae like pin pricks. He pushed off the ridges of his mattress, slamming bodily against the lid of the pod. He pushed to the limits of his strength, growing dizzier with every burst and finally pooled into an exhausted heap. His flailing body finally set off sensors inside and the pod automatically opened, programmed to do so if something apparently living stirred inside it. Mills shot out like Dracula bursting through his coffin and sucked in greedy lungfuls of air as the black dots cleared from his vision. He climbed out of the death trap and steered well clear of it.

In all that time, while he thought he was at least semi-successfully overriding the programming of the pod and making it functional again, all he really managed to achieve was to fix the opening and closing mechanism. And even that was debatable since he nearly suffocated in there. He would hardly call that fixed.

As he wallowed in his defeat, a thought came to him. Maybe he could finagle the opening and closing mechanism on some of the crew’s pods. It was a shit thing to do to someone, but crew had clearance he didn’t. Surely they had ways of communicating directly with the Homestead Company, or they knew better than he did what to do. At the very least, how to put him and themselves back under.

“Crew pod room access requires special authorization.”

It didn’t even come as a surprise to Mills anymore. His plan hadn’t even really included the door cooperating. It would have made for a nice shortcut and an overdue bit of good fortune, but he came to terms with this restriction easily.

He launched himself into the task of trying to bust into the crew pod room. If there was one thing he had done successfully in all his wretched time, it was picking open door mechanisms. He threw all he had into it – the tools he acquired over time, short circuiting the panel, busting it with a mallet, welding it open, spraying some of that pink liquid from his water dispenser at it.

After several more days of his siege, he finally took a break. It smacked of defeat again, but Mills told himself he’d keep trying.

He finally ventured back to the Grand Concourse, embarrassingly excited to have a chat with someone again, even if it was a stick figure on a wall or a volleyball with a bloody handprint on it.

Mills strode purposefully towards the bar, the hum and greetings of the machines around him having become white noise to him. Had he moved slower or grown less desensitized to it, he might have taken note of how, behind him, the door started to shut, but then went a little haywire. It sputtered its words.

“Grand Con—please—make—going dow—level—“ it kept yawning and chomping its double lipped mouth. Then it seemed to stabilize, shutting properly. “Grand Concourse,” it announced and guttered out.

“Missed me?” he called out to Clyde as he took a seat.

“S’good t’see ya, Mills,” Clyde smiled and appeared friendly, as always. It may have been just a shadow on the wall, but Mills took what comfort could be had. “The usual?” Clyde offered.

“Why not?”

Clyde poured him his drink and left room for Mills to talk, if he so wished. He made for a good replica of a bartender, not pushing for people’s confessions unless they were eager to unburden themselves. Mills let the drink burn its way into a puddle in his gut and stared into the prism-like bottom while Clyde polished his little glass, undisturbed by anything around him.

“I’m so fucked, Clyde,” Mills laughed joylessly.

The bartender stared blankly for a few moments as he searched his scripts, locating a response that seemed to fit. “C’mon now. Every could has a silver linin’.”

Mills kept chuckling dryly and all his elan seemed to evaporate. “I never thought about it that way,” he feigned being profoundly moved by Clyde’s words, taking cold comfort in the fact that even sarcasm as egregious as his went over the android’s head. “That’s so helpful.”

“M’glad t’hear that.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll lose my mind long before I ever fall deathly ill, so I won’t even be present mentally for my total physical and spiritual collapse,” Mills said cheerfully and toasted the air with an empty glass.

“That’s bad luck,” Clyde warned and Mills rolled his eyes. Oh, no – would something go wrong if he toasted with an empty glass? Whatever would he do?

After a pause, Clyde went philosophically on. “Well, we all die, don’t we?” The thought did not seem to disturb him in the least. “Even us androids end up on some scrap heap somewhere.”

“You don’t mind that at all, huh?”

“Well, the way I reckon, whether we tie ourselves in knots over our fate, or let it wash over us, we still end up in the same place we were headin’ anyway.”

“Do I sense you’re about to lay some of that famous bartender wisdom on me?”

“If ya’d like,” Clyde said in a remarkably convincing display of coyness, smirking and averting his eyes like some saucy hussy.

Mills nodded. Not like he had better prospects lined up.

“Yer not where ya want t’be. That’s fair enough,” Clyde tossed a rag over his shoulder and leaned on the bartop confidentially. “Ya feel like yer s’posed t’be somewhere else.”

Great summary of everything he’s been saying since day one. “Two for two, Clyde, old chap.”

“Say ya could snap yer fingers and be wherever ya think ya should be. Chances are ya’d still feel the same way. Not in the right place.” Mills wanted to disagree energetically, but Clyde went on with his ruminations. “Point bein’, ya shouldn’t get so hung up on where ya’d rather be and squander the chance t’enjoy where y’are,” Clyde said and gave Mills a penetrating stare.

Mills raised a brow. “You coming on to me, Clyde?”

“’Fraid not.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Take a break. Play a trick on yerself. Breakthroughs come when yer mind is relaxed. Often, when yer too focused on the problem, ya get tunnel vision. But when ya distract yerself, focus on other things, let yerself enjoy something…” he paused. “The answer jus’ comes.”

Mills’ silence confirmed Clyde was on the right track.

“Live a lil’,” the bartender gave him a friendly nudge.

“Live a little, ay?” Mills considered. “Alright then. But only a little,” he grinned, indicating with his thumb and index finger, like he was being offered some cake and he was trying to cut down.

Clyde mirrored the grin and the gesture. Mills slapped the polished wood of the bar and got to his feet with a renewed sense of purpose.

@queeniebee @vedavan @heartlight-starlight @house-of-cadwyn @lumberjack00fantasies @safarigirlsp

#commander mills x you #commander mills x reader #65 movie

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vgilantee · 2 years

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carmine red varnish {bradly "rooster" bradshaw}

rooster bradshaw x reader

requested: n/a

words: 795

a/n: carmine is a shade of red that is not exactly like rooster's helmet, but it's close enough and is more interesting than "dark red". also this is... so short for me lmao. i think i'm gonna write more of this reader and rooster relationship in a different fic because i have many ideas

warnings: n/a

pronouns: [none used]

You always cherished the days Rooster could spend with you. Sometimes you didn’t know how long you could have him, all to yourself. But you selfishly took that time, grasped in both hands. The pair of you weren’t together, not in an explicitly defined relationship. If someone asked, you would say you were friends, but there was an unspoken something more. So often, on his first day back from a mission or a job, he found his way to your place.

The jetlag was clear as Rooster sat on your sofa, half-turned with one knee resting on the cushion below him. You were sat cross-legged facing him, gently holding his left hand while his right rested on your knee.

Though the TV was on, neither of you paid much attention to what was playing. You were busy concentrating, tongue poking out ever so slightly as you carefully applied the red varnish (the colour chosen to match the same shade as his helmet). Rooster’s attention was entirely on you, watching with a tilted head as your eyebrows occasionally creased further or your tongue would disappear, only to make its appearance again moments later. He was also vaguely telling you about the deployment he had just returned home from.

There was obviously a lot of information he could not tell you, but the specifics of the orders never interested you anyway. You loved hearing about the people - his friends and coworkers - who helped both keep him alive and made his days on whatever base or ship he had lived on more bearable.

“There’s just something grounding about watching a sunset over an ocean and eating a very okay cake with your legs hanging off the side of a naval ship. It was a very fitting thing for Phoenix to want to do for her birthday.” Rooster spoke softly as if making sure not to disturb your concentration. Out the corner of your eye, you glanced up at him, a half-smile as you imagined him swinging his legs against the side of a boat and laughing with friends.

“It sounds very nice.” He nodded and his eyes - for just a moment - looked past you as he remembered the view.

Carefully, you placed his hand on your other knee before twisting the cap onto the bottle of nail polish. You gave the nails a silent once-over, making sure there was no red on his skin and that his nails were painted neatly. Once you were sure they were done, you gave a final, satisfied nod.

“Perfect.” At your assessment, Rooster raised his hands carefully - fingers stretched far apart to make sure he didn’t bump any colour - and looked at each nail in turn. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but still, once he had checked every nail, he mirrored your nod.

“So…” he lowered his hands back to your knees, “how long do I have to wait for this to dry?”

“‘Bout an hour.” You replied with a shrug. “Unless you want to risk smudging them or making them bumpy. Then it’s only half an hour.” You moved to turn off the sofa, to collect all of the bottles of nail polish that were scattered on your coffee table, but his fingers dug in slightly.

“If I’m stuck here for the next hour, then you’re not going anywhere either.” The corner of Rooster’s mouth twitched upward as you opened your mouth slightly to retort. As he tilted his head, your already weak resolve dropped completely and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine.” You dragged out the ‘i’ sound in faux defeat. Leaning over, you picked up the same bottle of red that you had just painted Rooster’s nails with and got to painting your own.

It was things like that, the complete lack of hesitation in choosing to match with him, that fit into the blur of the definition of your relationship. Although you knew that his helmet was red (the exact shade of the nail polish, though you’d never tell him that it was on purpose), it wasn’t a colour you used often. But at that moment, with his hands resting on your knees and nails painted with careful precision, there was no other colour that made sense.

Even after the hour was up, Rooster kept his hands on you, watching as you painted your own nails with the creased-brow concentration that you had when painting his until finally, your nails matched his; a glossy, strong red. Once again, the cap of the varnish was tightened with finality.

Carefully, as to not smudge the fresh paint, you placed your hands on your thighs, fingertips brushing Rooster’s ever-so-slightly.

“There. Now we match.” It just made sense, that you and Rooster would match. Two parts that naturally fit together.

reblogs and kind words are appreciated!

taglist:

@disgustingtoast

(i only tag mutuals who have asked to be tagged, everyone else should refer to the posting schedule!)

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miss-m-winks · 1 year

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apparently it is/was trans day of visibility, so here is a little rough draft excerpt from the story I'm writing!

Context: Evelyn is a major PoV character, she is married to my protagonist, Mori. She's also trans, and her relationships with her parents and other people around her are a huge part of her character arc. So I'm practicing some isolated scenes like this, just character interactions that show off the relationship dynamics and character histories and such.

This seems like a real good one for the trans day of visibility, since it's a trans woman and her dad having a little nostalgia moment talking about a few details of her childhood and transition. Hope you enjoy reading it!

Her father's workshop always smelled of wool and cedar. With every steady breath, Evelyn felt like she had been thrust back into her childhood, sitting in the corner with a ball of scrap yarn while her father wove beautiful patterns on his loom.

The yarn in Evelyn's hands now was a lovely soft grey, dyed with flecks of green and blue. She held it awkwardly, still trying to recall the hook-weaving techniques she had learned as a child. In and out, she stuck the polished wooden hook through her stitches, pulling the yarn through loop after loop, twisting up new stitches.

Her father sat beside her, watching her with a gentle smile on his face while he worked on his own small project. His hands were swift, weaving stitches so fluidly that the yarn looked like a living thing. He barely glanced down at what he was doing.

"Oh-" Evelyn frowned as the yarn slipped off her hook again. A few stitches worked themselves loose before she managed to get the hook back into a working loop. "I swear, I used to feel like I was good at this." She shook her head, and her father laughed.

"It has been a very long time, Evy. You'll get there."

"How do you get your edges so even?" Evelyn held her unfinished rectangle at arm's length, squinting at the bumpy edges. The whole thing curled on itself, entirely uneven. Izune leaned over and looked at his daughter's work.

"Your tension is inconsistent." He ran a finger over the stitches, drawing Evelyn's attention to the way some were loose and others were very tight. "That's why it's curling. As for your edges, well-" he brought his own work forward where she could see it better. "It's always going to be a little bumpy. That's why I always add a border around the edge."

"Yours still looks a lot straighter than mine," Evelyn mumbled, tracing her hands over the subtle bumps along the side of her father's work. It was the same color of yarn, the same simple pattern of basic stitches in a basic rectangle. Where her work was uneven and tense, his was smooth. "You make it look so easy."

"Years of practice," Izune chuckled, sitting back and picking up his stitches again. "You've had years of practice too, you just took a very long break from it. Be patient with yourself; you'll find your rhythm again." He settled into his work, making the yarn flow and twist into place. Evelyn sighed and pulled her row out, starting over with a fresh count.

Her goal was a baby blanket. Something simple, but pretty enough to be worth keeping. As she worked the yarn into place, she remembered her own favorite blanket from early childhood. Blue and white, handmade with an interlocking shell stitch that felt so soft and round in her little hands. It was in storage now, carefully folded up into a box alongside so many other memories. Memories she and her husband could pass along to their own child, someday soon.

"You are getting faster," Izune commented, "starting to look more like the work you did when you were seven."

"Oh, and what age did it remind you of before?" Evelyn shot him a mischievous look. He crinkled his snout with a lopsided grin.

"I know better than to answer that."

"Looks like what I did when I was three," Evelyn laughed. Izune snorted and shook his head.

"No, no, I remember what you did when you were three. Took me a week to untangle all that yarn."

"Bet you don't miss those days, huh?"

"I do miss them, actually." Izune paused and set his work down. Evelyn's cheeky smile softened and she scooted closer to him. He put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a sideways hug. "You made a real mess of my yarn, sometimes, but I do miss the days when you were there in the corner, trying to make a scarf or a shawl while I worked at the loom."

"I don't remember why I stopped," Evelyn murmured, "I loved to do this, when I was a little boy." She rubbed her thumbs over the uneven stitches. "Why did I let it go for so long?"

"Well, I figured you just had other priorities and interests," Izune said while combing his fingers through her long hair. "There were a lot of new things on your mind, once you started transitioning." Evelyn nodded and went silent for a while. She snuggled against her father, curling her legs up and making herself small.

"Do you ever wish I had stayed a boy?" she whispered. Izune held her tighter, kissing the top of her head.

"I used to, sometimes." He sighed and leaned back against the wall. "Felt like I was watching you grow up too fast, all those changes happening at once. But you were so happy, when you looked in the mirror and saw yourself as a girl for the first time."

"I remember." Evelyn smiled and wrapped her arms around her father. "You made the fabric for my first twirly skirt. I still have it, somewhere."

"You wore that skirt nearly every day," Izune laughed, "hardly let us wash it."

"Maybe my own kid will wear it next," Evelyn mused, "we have no idea what gender they'll be. Mori says his people don't really distinguish gender until puberty anyway."

"I'm still getting used to the idea that my first grandchild will be an egg," Izune teased. Evelyn giggled and sat up, taking the yarn in her hands again.

"They'll only be an egg for a few months." She started her stitches again, relaxing beside her father, feeling more confident in her hands now. Izune shrugged.

"Well, at least I'll have time to baby proof the yarn stash. Though it might not be enough, if they inherit your mischief." He poked Evelyn in the ribs before he picked up his work again, making her squeak in surprise. She bumped him with her elbow in return.

"I got it from you first."

#tdov 2023 #trans day of visibility #original writing #winks writing #winks ocs #they're doing crochet #i just can't call it that because i need a new fantasy word for it #might just call it hook weaving lol

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youllallriseintheink · 2 years

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In Her Code, chapter 1: A Protective Shell

This is a story about Elizabeth Afton/Circus Baby’s experience as an animatronic and what it means for her nature and her free will. It will go into why the animatronics are the way they are.

It will have one more chapter, a more action-oriented than this one, coming out within the next five days.

---

Time tended to lose meaning to Elizabeth Afton. The clock ticked. The computer buzzed. Those were essentially the only forms of simulation in this room she could not leave.

It had been a long time since William had come to visit her. Usually, he came in at least once a week to do maintenance on her, as well as the android meant to resemble her little brother. He promised that he would get them out of there one day. That she would have an android, too, and he would learn to put her soul in it, and her brother’s soul in his, and they’d go home and be a happy family again. But according to the digital calendar on the computer monitor, William hadn’t been here in weeks. He’d abandoned her.

The door opened, and William stepped in, carrying with him a variety of machine maintenance supplies. “Hey, Liz,” he said, an apologetic tone to his voice. “So sorry to leave you, honey. Michael… well, he dragged me into this two-month court case in another state, and I haven’t really had time to pop over here.” He put down the supplies and walked over to stroke her arm. “God, I never should have put him before you. If I’d just had my priorities straight, this wouldn’t have happened. Let me just clean Evan up here, and then I have something important to tell you.”

He turned to the Evan android and whistled as he went about its weekly maintenance ritual, wiping off the accumulated dust and debris, combing his hair, changing his clothes, and opening his chest cavity to check that all the mechanical bits were in place, all with a tenderness that William wouldn’t show to the average machine. Then, William turned his attention to Elizabeth.

Not bothering to rein in her impulse to slaughter him, Elizabeth strained against the metal restraints. The first few times she’d felt that impulse, she’d fought it, but now she knew that the restraints would do it for her, keeping her chained tight to her metal gurney. How convenient. How thoughtful of her father to do this so she could at least stay on free-roaming mode and thus move her eyes and hands instead of being entirely immobile.

“You’re not going to be here much longer,” William promised as he got her upright and started polishing.

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. Her voice was disabled at the moment, but she made sure to focus her eyes on him so that he’d know she understood.

“I completed the rest of the Funtime Animatronics. I’m going to start renting them out, which means you’re going with them to a new warehouse.”

Her heart sank again. It seemed she’d be in this robotic body a bit longer. Or a lot longer.

William took a break from polishing her to stroke her cheek and look her in the eyes. “I promise, I will get you out of there, sweetheart. It’s just a difficult process. And hey, at least this way you’ll have some friends. Alright?” he gave her what was probably supposed to be an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

After Elizabeth’s maintenance, William disabled her motor functions and put her on a gurney, with which she was taken to a crate and then taken on a short, bumpy ride by vehicle. When she was let out of her crate, she found herself in a dimly lit, almost empty warehouse with three beautiful stages in it. On one of them, there was a beautiful ballerina animatronic. On another was a pink and white Freddy animatronic with a little Bonnie hand puppet. The third had a pink and white fox animatronic on it. Before her transformation, Liz would have considered a place like this to be a dream come true. Even now, she thought it was very pretty indeed.

William stepped beside her. “Welcome home, Elizabeth. I’ll have the guys move Funtime Freddy so that you can have center stage. And here,” William opened up her face panel and pressed a button, finally allowing her to move and talk again.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said. She felt like she ought to have a million questions, but she couldn’t think of a single one. They’d spoken before, using a computer monitor on which her dad could read her code as well as the messages she sent him. From those talks, she knew that he didn’t know when he’d get her out of there, but he was working on it. He didn’t know why the robot had been able to kill her, or why being in the robot was giving her murderous thoughts. He was as in the dark as she was in a lot of ways.

“Of course. Glad to finally make you more comfortable. Now, just get onto your stage whenever you’re meant to be transported, and don’t talk about being Elizabeth Afton. The guys in transportation will put you in performance mode whenever you’re being rented out, so you don’t have to worry about working on your material or anything. Just sit back and enjoy. You’ll be getting some friends here, too, soon enough- more people I’ll save one day.”

Liz nodded. The two hugged, the claw in Liz’s stomach just itching to strike out and stuff him inside her. Then, William left.

It was a few nights later when Ballora began moving on its own. Liz had been practicing her singing when it happened- she’d never been much for music as a human, but for some reason, “practicing her material” had become a passion of hers. Her practice was cut short when she noticed Ballora’s eyes light up green. She rushed over as fast as her stiff, heavy legs could carry her. Was this a new person? Someone else who had died from the animatronics?

Ballora saw Baby and ran towards her, immediately grabbing her arm. It cocked its head, seemingly wanting to say something but incapable of it. Then, the eyes went dark. Liz watched as the eyes of Funtime Foxy lit up green and went out again, followed by Funtime Freddy’s.

“Finally, one that can talk!” Freddy exclaimed. He turned his attention to Liz. “You’re possessed. What is your name?”

“Liz,” Liz answered. That seemed to sadden Freddy quite a bit.

“Oh. I’m sorry… I should have been there.”

Confusing words aside, there was something childlike in the robot’s manner of speaking. Liz was thoroughly unsettled. “Why? How do you know me? How can you move from robot to robot like that?”

“Oh, that? It’s my ability. Every ghost has an ability. Mine is I can possess other things. I still have to go back to the Puppet eventually, though. And how I know you? We were friends when we were alive. I don’t remember my name. But we played dress-up together! You and your little brother and my dad.”

Liz was shocked. It couldn’t be. “Charlie…?”

“Yes! I think. Maybe.”

Liz supposed it made sense. Charlie had died close to one of her father’s restaurants, and it seemed that anyone who died by an animatronic came to possess one. It was still strange to hear her words in Funtime Freddy’s rough, male voice, though. “Does that mean that an animatronic killed you, too?”

The question seemed to alarm Charlie. “No. But I’ll get to that later. For now, I’d like to tell you about your brother... Oh, do you remember his name? Animatronic minds aren’t made for remembering. He doesn’t remember either, anymore.”

“Evan. His name was Evan. Dad said we have his soul in Golden Freddy.”

“Yep! You see, I spent a long time looking out for your brother where I could. I like using my power to look around and see where I can help, especially if it’s my friends. I would have helped you, too, but you weren’t carrying around a robot teddy bear that could talk. I was with him when he died, and so I guided his soul somewhere it would be safe. I put him in Golden Freddy. He gets put on free-roaming mode every night, and he has friends now! He even gets to share Golden Freddy with a girl named Cassidy.”

“Ha. Well, I guess that’s about as good as it gets for an animatronic.” Elizabeth paused. “Charlie… do you know why I’ve loved the thought of killing ever since I became an animatronic? It doesn’t feel like anger. It feels more like a part of my code. Something I’m meant to do. I don’t understand it at all.”

Funtime Freddy's ears drooped, and Liz got the sense that he was about tell her something very hard to admit. “It is a part of your code. Every animatronic can kill and hide bodies. It’s how they’re made. The same way we want to entertain, we want to kill. I do, too.”

“But why? Why would we be built for that?”

“Because your dad is a murderer. He killed me. Before I could even tie my own shoes.”

Liz was stunned. “No. No, no my dad would never do that. Especially not to you! Henry was his best friend. He talked all the time about how much Henry misses you. You said that animatronics don’t remember well. You must be misremembering.”

“I could be misremembering my own murder. But only a few months ago, I saw him kill five more children right before my eyes.”

“I see…” Elizabeth took a moment to process that. Could an animatronic forget in a few months? “Wait. You said that you have violent desires, too. But you’re in the Puppet. My dad didn’t make the Puppet, yours did. Maybe he’s the one-”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “No. The Puppet is not designed for anger. The Puppet is designed to protect. That’s why I put the others in bodies that would make them want to protect themselves. Big, strong bodies made to kill people with teeth and claws!” Charlie raised her arms and bared her claws, like a child pretending to be a bear. “Even Evan wants to kill now, ‘cause he’s been sharing a mind with a killing machine. I’m the only animatronic whose anger comes from me and only me.” Charlie’s gaze softened. “I have to go now. My old body is pulling me back. Hope you can accept all this. See you soon!” Charlie chirped.

With that, Funtime Freddy’s eyes lost their green glow.

---

One thing Liz didn’t lack for in her auditorium was time to think. And, unfortunately, a little thought was all it took to make Charlie’s claims seem reasonable. Liz remembered the night she’d been killed- she’d come to Circus Baby for comfort because her dad had gone missing. The night before that, she’d overheard her dad and her older brother talking about lying to the police.

Her dad was a murderer. Did that mean that she was destined to be a murderer, too? Days went by. She was rented out, and as her body went through the motions at kids’ parties, she felt her inner claw scratching for release like a cat pawing at the door. It made sense when it was her father- she’d been angry with him even before her death. But children? Maintenance workers? The random man who packed her up for each party, with his flannels and weird moustache and Utah Grizzlies baseball cap? She had no anger against them. And yet she liked the idea of seeing their blood. And if even sweet, lamb-to-slaughter Evan had gone violent, what chance did she have?

#five nights at freddy's #elizabeth afton #william afton #circus baby #charlie emily #my fanfiction

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dustedmagazine · 1 year

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Cash Kidd — BeBe Kidd 3 (5674 \ Empire)

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The third outing in the BeBe Kidd series is wholly in vein with the first two but has an unexpected twist.

The first BeBe Kidd tape was a bumpy ride: Cash Kidd had only started writing music and was doing things semi-professionally. BeBe Kidd 2, released in 2018, arguably the best in the series, was more polished, funny as hell and had a bitter ending, reminding us that the Detroit MC is not only a king of comedy rap but also a master of sardonic tales on loss and misery.

BeBe Kidd 3 is almost longer than the first two combined and with 26 tracks under the hood actually contains two very different tapes. The first one is a Cash Kidd’s stab at a major label-like album; he half-sings and tries to be too erious. Tracks like “Kleptomaniac,” “Hold On,” and “Missed Out” show the professional side of Cash Kidd. He can write for any audience and go a little softer and cleaner than he used to. These cuts are speckled with hilarious one-liners as well, yet they are nothing like his usual work. The same is also true for all songs with guest stars (except for BlueBucksClan). They might expand the audience for the Detroit MC but add little of value. “Way 2 Cool” with the late Drakeo the Ruler doesn’t even feel like a Cash Kidd song and is downright awful.

But on the other half of the tracks, the mischievous Cash Kidd is still with us: “I was that one BeBe kid, probably stole your bike \ The police said, "Freeze," my neck done been froze all night” (“Kidd Next Door”). It’s like we’re still in 2016 and Cash Kidd hasn’t released half a dozen of tapes, got rich and moved to Vegas. On “Out the Way” he reminds us that he’s come a long way from poverty but still can crack a joke: “Pockets look like they stuffed with encyclopedias \ He on Facebook hating on me, I'm not gonna see it” or “Rich as hell, tryna buy somebody food stamps \ Boy you broke as fuck, somewhere arguing with a hood rat.” He proves that he’s still the best in comedy rap (“He went to court, spilled more beans than a chili place”). What’s changed is that during his climb-up he got a lot of hate and he still holds grudges: “Heard yo' lil diss, they ain't gon play it \ Please stop rapping, you ain't gon make it” (“Please Stop Rapping”). Yet he never forgets to remind us that he’s made it: “Trust me, they gon' stay sleep on you, 'til you run up a check \ Sauce Gardner, I was on the corner, now we on them jets.”

If we still lived in the analogue era, this two-in-one tape problem would be solved pretty easily. On one side we’d have a Cash Kidd the major label artist, on the other a Cash Kidd the dirty comedian. Unfortunately, on BeBe Kidd 3 in its current version these two sides are intermixed. The mischievous talented jokester gets buried under a lot of filler with a ‘serious’ vibe. The listener has to skip many tracks to get to the good parts. Cash Kidd played a joke on us.

Ray Garraty

#cash kidd #bebe kidd 3 #5674 #empire #ray garraty #albumreview #hip hop #rap

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worksinprogress1 · 2 years