#should have never responded to that art theft ask

[iviarellereads]

Exit Strategy, Chapter 1

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one!)

In which we find a true scandal of entertainment serial proportions.

When I got back to HaveRatton Station, a bunch of humans tried to kill me. Considering how much I’d been thinking about killing a bunch of humans, it was only fair.

Ship is on approach to HaveRatton, Murderbot waiting impatiently to access the station's feed, when a navigation alert comes in. Ship is ordered to take a different slot than its usual. The new one is right next to the Port Authority docks, and the station's security response team. If anyone is waiting for Ship, MB can't be aboard when it docks. It can't redirect Ship to a different dock without looking suspicious and raider-like. So, it'll have to be the evac suit that thankfully MB didn't ditch after boarding.

An aside, to think about escaping Abene's shuttle, and the memories MB wishes it could delete. Unfortunately, they'd still be stuck in its organic parts, like the ghosts of its mass murder incident are.(1)

Murderbot hustles into the evac suit with its bag, and out the airlock opposite the docking hatch. As it leaves, it deletes the last traces of itself from Ship's memory. It just hopes that forensic sweeps don't work like they do in the entertainment feeds.(2)

It finds a cargo bot working on a passenger transport with a bot pilot, replacing a module of the ship. MB asks the cargo bot if it can go inside before it installs the new module, and it agrees.

(Humans never think to tell their bots things like, say, don’t respond to random individuals wandering the outside of the station. Bots are instructed to report and repel theft attempts, but no one ever tells them not to answer polite requests from other bots.)(3)

MB then trades with the passenger transport's bot pilot, for "passage" out to the dock, which it agrees to. On the way, MB stows the illicit evac suit, and borrows a security camera to look at itself. It's clean, but it had no way to repair the bullet holes in its jacket, which only just covers the data port on its neck. It overthinks whether it could be caught as a SecUnit, just a little, because both the upside and the downside of being a murderbot is paranoid attention to detail.

Deleting itself from the transport's log as well, MB hacks its way through station security as it disembarks inside, particularly since it still has one of Wilken's weapons on it, rebuilt to fit in its bag.

So now I was not only a rogue unit, I was a rogue unit carrying a weapon designed to shoot armored security. Which is just playing to the humans’ expectations, I guess.

Fooling weapon scanners is getting easier, as it gets more practice. It's not just learning how different security systems can be, but doing it more often has retrained its organic bits to handle more. It noticed it on Milu, when it was handling everything without a Hub or SecSystem to shunt the big processing work to.

Unfortunately, blending into crowds is not getting any easier for our pal, no matter how much it thinks it should be "over this by now".(4) It makes its way through the station toward where Ship had docked, and finds twenty three heavily armed humans in power suits, with forty seven security drones buzzing around them. It borrows a drone to zoom in on the logo of one of the suits. It doesn't recognize it, but files it away for future reference. For now, it's more worried that someone contracted with HaveRatton to bring such a heavily armed team in.

MB checks the drone it borrowed, and finds an hour of comm traffic in the recording buffer. After listening to some of it, the fuss is definitely about trying to find it.

It was useful to be recognized as a SecUnit on Milu, but it doesn't want that to happen again. That's the whole reason it allowed Art to modify it. Fortunately, on Ship it was able to use Art's template to let its hair grow even longer, as an added buffer of human camouflage. It hates the effect, it doesn't feel like itself, but it can't deny the utility of the change now.

MB slips into a shop at the edge of the station mall. Its lack of knowledge in how to use such a facility is no barrier, as the feed includes instructions on even the most basic of features. It gets a booth, and chooses some clothes that it thinks will be less expected of a SecUnit, but still practical for its purposes. In the end, it kind of likes the choices it made, if only because it made the choices for itself.

Back outside, it downloads fresh entertainment and transport schedules and starts searching the news feeds, as well as information on the logo from the security company, Palisade. All this, while it tries to figure out how best to get all the memory clips back to Mensah, both the ones with the digger dump feeds, and the one from Wilken and Gerth, with their records of working for GrayCris, laid out as if they might submit it to journalists or corporate rivals.

At any rate, it would be more secure to deliver the clips in person, but it's not sure it wants to encounter Mensah again, though it won't elaborate on the specifics of why.(5) It's thinking about how to find out if she's still on Port FreeCommerce or has returned to Preservation Alliance when it gets a news feed result.

The headline indicates GrayCris has accused Mensah of corporate espionage.

MB's gast is flabbered, and it struggles to read past the headline. When it does, it becomes no clearer. GrayCris has apparently made the charge, though it's unclear whether actual legal filings have been made, and everything is speculation because Mensah's gone missing.

MB wants to punch the nearest corporate logo,(6) but when it calms down for a moment, it scans back through the news feeds for anything more enlightening. It finds that most of the Preservation team had left Port FreeCommerce about thirty cycles before, and Mensah was supposed to follow with the rest, but didn't. The next thing it finds is buried in an article about something else, but GrayCris made a news release that Mensah went to TranRollinHyfa to deal with their litigation, but Port FreeCommerce couldn't confirm.

Where the fuck was TranRollinHyfa?

Another search says that TranRollinHyfa is a station where a lot of companies have their corporate headquarters. More news results just confirm that she's there. MB knows Mensah wouldn't go into hostile territory without protection voluntarily, and the company's involvement means it would insist on proceedings taking place entirely on Port FreeCommerce, its home turf. Which means, she must be there involuntarily.

Somebody had tricked, trapped, or forced her to go. But why? If GrayCris was going to do that, why wait so long, why give all the witnesses involved time to bring their suits and testify and give their evidence to journalists? What had happened that had panicked GrayCris so much that … Oh. Oh, shit.(7)

=====

(1) I wonder if the ghost-memory effect will ever come back to significance in the plot again, or if this is just the "last time, on the Murderbot Diaries" recap in play. (2) A joke on how people expect crime and investigations to have the same level of detail as shows like CSI demonstrate, when the reality is much less impressive. (3) Which is a fun contrast from how humans treat their children in exactly the opposite way. All don't talk to strangers for the other humans, very little in the way of protecting the replaceables. (4) Sorry, Murderbot, but anxiety doesn't generally improve unless the root causes are addressed, and "being afraid of being caught out as a rogue SecUnit" is a legitimate thing to fear when you are, in fact, a rogue SecUnit. (5) Embarrassment for its actions and its inability to contemplate fitting into Preservation's culture, is my guess, with a side of fear of reprisal, since Mensah is its legal guardian. (6) Mood. (7) Yeah, uh, sorry to inform you, but you happened, Murderbot.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot diaries #exit strategy #murderbot #secunit

[autismvampyre]

https://www.tumblr.com/autismvampyre/741462958593441792/hate-how-its-practically-impossible-to-find-anti?source=share

I saw this post and I couldn't agree more and Im asking anonymously cause I don't want to get judgement and stuff and I know this is going to sound a little dumb but I'm having a crisis about like. Whether or not I should support Taylor anymore like. Im going for the eras tour soon and I'm obviously really really excited but I've been seeing more and more anti swiftie media and it all really makes sense. Your blog was like the only anti swiftie one that didn't say all swifties deserve to die lol (at least from what I could find) but I just wanted to know if you have any advice on like letting go of the music in a way. I love her music, and one of the reasons I'm really scared to let go is that my childhood best friend and I share so many precious memories over her music and I don't want to disappoint her in a way by not listening anymore and her music helped me through really really hard times, which feels kind of dumb to say cause I'm 15, but like it's always really helped me and I don't know if I can or if I want to let go but at the same time I'm huge on ethics and a big part of my life has always been helping people and empathizing, and I just don't know if I want to support an artist who can't seem to publicly do that. Idk I was just wondering if you had advice? Thank you so much :)

P.s. feel free to ignore this ik it's loaded and not related to your blog entirely

hey! thanks for the ask. i wanted to respond to this before i forgot so this might be rushed but i hope i can still help.

i get your dilemma, i really do. i like her music a lot and one of the worst things about the anti swiftie community is how much it relies on the "her music sucks" card. its lazy and just personal taste, and i absolutely hate the puritanical idea that if you enjoy a single taylor song you are in some way morally lesser. people like what they like, and i think it's completely fine to enjoy her music because that isn't really an ethical concern

you can separate the art from the artist. its fine to do so. you shouldn't force yourself to stop listening to music you like unless you feel thats right for you. im very critical of taylor but i still occasionally listen to her music because there are a lot of memories attached to it and those memories are precious to me. art can make you feel so much, and you're not dumb for feeling comforted by it.

i dont think you have to let go of her music unless you want to. i believe the most important thing is to let go of the idea of taylor as a brand. people tend to get attached to her due to clever marketing; to a lot of people she's their friend and they feel very protective over her for that. taylor thrives off the parasocial relationship of her fandom which is financially beneficial to her. the most important thing to remember is that she is a billionaire with more money than you could ever imagine and it is impossible to get that rich without fucking over the poor. the image of taylor in the media is not real, she isn't the girl next door, she isn't your friend, she's an ultra rich celebrity who gets richer by pretending to be your buddy. once you've realized that, you're pretty much done

now, i definitely wouldn't recommend financially supporting her. if you're going to the eras tour don't go alone, be safe, wear earplugs(seriously this one is so important you dont want tinnitus believe me). i know there are a lot of different factors and ethics about the shows but as someone who a) hates live music cause im autistic and just end up overstimulated and b) was never in a financial situation where i could or even would buy eras tickets i feel very under qualified to tackle any of that so i'd recommend talking to someone else who knows about that.

to end, i'll just say piracy isn't theft if buying isn't owning snd there are guides out there so you can listen without paying her dime. sorry if this was incoherent, i am tired. have a good rest of your day/night/whatever time it is and please take care

#asks #nydias post #anti taylor swift #anti swifties #you can always send me another ask of message if you have more questions

[roxannarambles]

Hello, saw this floating around and decided to fill it out, since I'm just chilling right now.

I don't really like tagging people, don't want them to feel on the spot, so if you see this, consider yourself tagged if you so desire. ^_^

20 Questions for Fic Writers

1. How many works do you have on A03?

At the moment, 24, but I have more posted to my Tumblr than I do a03. I prefer it here (although the audience is smaller)

2. What's your total A03 word count?

Kind of an odd question. 479,942. I guess this is supposed to be flexing? But I really do feel like it's not the quantity that matters, it's the quality.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

In the past, many. (I didn't write for all of em but here's some of my previous fandoms) Currently I write for Pokemon.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

For complete fics, the top spots belong to some Owl House fics, the next is a short Breath of the Wild Sidlink fic, the next is my Legault/Heath Fire Emblem story, and then a compilation of Moomin stories for a Snufmin Week.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. In my FF.net days, the norm seemed to be not to respond to comments. But these days, responding to comments seems to be the new norm. Besides, it's nice to thank people for taking the time out of their day to comment and for being such lovely human beings. Even if it IS really hard for me to think of how to thank them without sounding like a buffoooooon (I take a while to get around to it sometimes argh)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have never done that. I want hopeful stories because they give me hope. I think the world needs more of that right now.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

How do you even judge that? Sorry I gotta skip this one, I have no clue

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Very rarely. In Owl House fandom, there are two characters who are not biologically related, did not grow up together, do not share a parental figure, and are not familial in any capacity. However, because a large number of fans have decided they have a "sibling vibe," they've concluded that shipping them together is vile and anyone who does so should be witch-hunted, harassed, slandered, doxxed, and worse. So, I got hate for that occasionally! That's about it, though.

9. Do you write smut?

I did once. Never again, lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

I wrote a Moomin/Deltarune crossover for a while. Nobody read it, though. A shame, it was fun.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Why would you steal a fic? Well, it's the internet, I guess you see just about everything online eventually, but I've never even heard of that. Art theft? Sure. Usually so the person can scam folks into commissioning them. Fic theft though? Nope. That's a new one for me. This is not an invitation for folks to try it out, lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Somebody asked me permission once to do that! I told them yes. I never heard back from them though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A lifetime ago I did a round-robin fic with my friends. I don't think I could co-write a fic now though, honestly. I'm so very picky about my headcanons. I would be horrible to work with.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Man, that's tough. I guess probably Mulder/Scully (see question 19) just because it was my first ship and left such an impression on me.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

'Second Chances.' It was such a cute story and so FUN. People loved it too. And I had it all planned out. But I left Owl House fandom before completing it. I never will return to it, I am too bitter with the final season of the show and the mainstream fans are also very tiresome to deal with.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm. I'm getting to be pretty good at outlining things and figuring out the story's structure. tbh ~90% of my story is often done before I even start my first draft, either due to the vivid daydreams I have, trying stuff out and then trying different things out in my head (& the notes I take on said daydreams) or the progressively more specific outlines as I work things out. That said, there's definitely still stuff that simply does not work on paper that seemed so good in your head. And there's a lot of magic that just seems to spontaneously happen while writing the actual draft out, and it's so important to stay open to that. Whoops I am rambling. I guess in summary my strength is finding a satisfying ratio of outlining stuff vs. staying open to ideas and letting the story lead me in the direction it wants to go.

Also I think I'm pretty good at dialogue. Action/scene description is harder for me, but dialogue feels easy.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My ideas tend to be very Big. I have great difficulty writing shorter stories. This sucks because I do not have limitless time and energy and I can sometimes bite off more than I can chew. I would love to write shorter stories so I can try out a larger number of ideas. I also want to improve my prose, I need some more variety in there, imo.

My primary weakness, though, is I only write as a form of escapism when I feel depressed. I want a healthier relationship with my writing and with fandom. Basically, I need to learn how to do things casually, to not let an interest consume me completely. I'll let you know if I figure out how to do that, no luck so far.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm a boring monolingual. I'm not going to write in another language unless I know at least a little about it. Toss in a few phrases or sentences, sure, but nothing more than that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files. I was a Mulder/Scully shipper. We called it MSR back then, MulderScullyRomance. I was a young lass back then, and it was my induction to shipping and romance. I loved them because they had fantastic chemistry and a strong partnership built on trust and mutual respect, despite their differing worldviews and interests. Also because I really really liked Scully.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Hmmmmm. Tough to choose. I really like "Acquired Taste" because it was the first really long fan fiction I wrote and finished. (At least, I think? I had a long Stargate fic back in the day but we don't speak of that) And I wrote it after a really long break from writing fic (years and years). It has a very special place in my heart.

Is it my best work, though? Mmm. Not sure. I'm also pretty fond of "Ships That Pass in the Night," my longest work. I put my heart and soul into it and got so many comments/interactions, and it has a lot of happy memories.

I also really like some super short stories of mine, though. This one is 613 words long but I feel like it says everything my longer stories on Julinemo do. I also loved writing Support Conversations for Fire Emblem which force you to tell as much as you can in such an incredibly short format. (GBA-era Fire Emblem) I am so proud of those, they pushed me a lot as a writer.

I also like the fics I've done that are mostly genfic, because again, they involved trying something new. They tend to be my least popular 'cause ships reign supreme I guess. That's fine though, that's just the way fic writing goes.

#tag games #fanfic #just fanfic things #guys I did so good I could have went on and on about my weaknesses but I didn't #trying to have a healthier outlook yo

[artsyalice137]

On AI Art: a perspective from computer engineer/artist

With all the discourse about AI art going on right now, I thought I’d add my perspective to the mix. But the TL:DR is that some AI art hurts artists who provided - albeit unknowingly and/or unwillingly - the datasets that allow the AI to generate “art”.

I’ll try to keep this untechnical so that I get the point across well enough.

In my senior year of college, I took a class called Sensor Processing for Autonomous Vehicles in which we discussed some of the AI learning that allows autonomous vehicles (also called self-driving cars) to identify and respond to what they “see” via a number of sensors - including radar, video cameras, and infrared. They could be seeing the lines in the road, road signs, people, or any number of things. AI or machine learning allows the brains behind the car to determine what the object is and respond accordingly. The brains being a computer hosted either in the car or remotely on a super computer.

Now you might be wondering, “How does the car know what a person looks like?” The answer is that some of these AI learn the same way that babies do. When you’re a baby, someone points to a cat and says “This is a cat. This is what a cat looks like.” Then they point to other slightly different looking cats and repeat, “Those are also cats.” Certain machine learning algorithms learn similarly using what is called a dataset. This dataset can consist of millions of images that are then initially labeled by humans. This allows the machine to start off with the correct data to then learn from these images what a cat or human or stop sign looks like. After this initial processing of the dataset, the AI can recognize, with some level of accuracy, a cat.

Without this dataset, the algorithm is basically useless because a computer is not going to inherently know what a cat looks like. Similarly, how can an AI art program know what its art should look like without taking “inspiration” from artists on the internet?

In relation to AI art, this dataset is any artist’s Instagram or Tumblr or TikTok or whatever is readily available online. And here is where the first ethical dilemma arises. Typically, using an artist’s work without permission is something that can get you banned from social media. In this way, unless the programmers behind the AI art applications have asked for permission to use artists’ art as their dataset, this can be viewed as art theft. Based on the discourse online, permission was neither requested nor given.

To be cynical for a moment, putting any art on the internet opens the possibility for that art to be stolen. The void claims as it sees fit. Big corporations like Disney can monitor and rectify such thefts since they have the time, money, and manpower. Most, if not all, artists online do not. Putting anything out there without a watermark absolutely marring the piece is some acceptance of risk. For the artists who depend on likes, views, commissions, and the ilk for their income, that’s not an option. They spend hours upon hours creating art to post so they can generate income. (Or if you’re small time like me, you just generate some likes but that’s still quite nice too.)

As an artist (or at least someone who likes and does art), I never want to see someone claiming my work as their own. It’s a terrible feeling. In relation to one’s pride as an artist, it is also infuriating to see AI “artists” not saying that their art is computer generated. Here I’m talking about the people who use apps made by programmers to generate their images. I think the person who coded and trained an AI to generate images should be credited. That’s no small feat. However, I’m entirely unimpressed by the people who added an image to an app or website and clicked a generate button. Anyone can do that. In my personal opinion, art is made, not generated. And that is the second ethnical issue - misrepresentation on the internet. *sarcasm* How shocking. How unprecedented. *sarcasm* Same story, different narrator.

Even with all this said, I don’t consider AI art inherently evil. In some ways its intriguing from a technical and artistic perspective. However, its the ethics around how these programs acquired their datasets and how people are using it that causes it to be controversial. Surprise, surprise. People are the problem more so than the machines. Machines don’t know right or wrong. They know only what we tell them. And what have we learned here?

For some more info on AI:

https://www.ted.com/talks/yann_lecun_deep_learning_neural_networks_and_the_future_of_ai

https://www.ted.com/talks/briana_brownell_how_does_artificial_intelligence_learn?language=en

AI Art specific video:

https://www.ted.com/talks/blaise_aguera_y_arcas_how_computers_are_learning_to_be_creative?language=en

#ai art discourse #ted talks #opinion #just my 2 cents #ai art is not art #say no to ai art #neural networks #machine learning #ai art #ai art generation #computer engineering #artists on tumblr #artist struggles

[arkyn-iceborn-vindication]

RULES

I am a multiship, multiverse blog. Every roleplay occurs in a separate AU. None of Arkyn’s relationships with other muses affect his relationship with yours. That is, unless you specifically want to share a verse with someone else. Related to this, if you want to roleplay in any AU aside from Arkyn’s ‘canon’ LoL verse, just hmu and we can plot something!

I am a semi-sfw blog, but the semi is only there for angst, violence, etc. While mun is in his mid-20s, I will not rp smut. Romance is fine (welcome, even). If our muses were to reach a point in roleplay where it would become intimate, the scene will fade to black.

Minors: Minors may send asks and interact with my posts, but I will not roleplay with any. The extent of interaction will be limited to answering questions regarding my muse with headcanons, etc.

I do not necessarily believe in reblog karma. While I would certainly love you to send in stuff if you reblog, do not feel obligated to do so. I won’t guilt trip you.

Feel free to remind me if I take a long time in responding. I try to save everything to drafts, but if I drop a thread, hold me accountable. I can be rather busy at times so response time varies. If you’d like to continue a thread and you haven’t heard from me in a bit, just send me a PM.

I am semi-selective. There’s certain types of characters that I dislike writing with. Characters need flaws to be interesting, and not every orphaned assassin needs to be unstoppable. The more depth your character has, the more likely I am to engage with you.

Related to this - If you don’t credit the art that you use, or if you use AI generated images, I will not interact with you. AI “art” is made off of mass art theft. I refuse to engage with people who use it. If you use a large amount of icons, please have somewhere on your blog I can view the source of such icons.

I do not tolerate hate. Simple as. Bigots get blocked.

I am OC friendly. Should be a given, this is an OC blog after all.

Potential triggers: Please never initiate a scene where someone is about to commit suicide and/or has to be talked out of it. I’m fine with discussing suicide as a topic, be it something that happened in a character’s past, etc., just not that specific scenario a “talking someone off the ledge.” Related to this, I try to tag any obvious triggers that may come up, but if there is something specific you’d like me to tag which isn’t mentioned in your rules page, please let me know. My usual tagging system is TW / Trigger.

While it’s not a trigger, I’d prefer if you didn’t make jokes about brain aneurysms (such as “This video gave me an aneurysm.”)

Do not control Arkyn’s actions, etc. in your written responses unless we’ve discussed it prior. This is a back-and-forth, please don’t assume to control my character for me.

Do not godmod

Feel free to ship with me! If you’d like to explore a romance between Arkyn and your muse, send me a PM and we can discuss the ship and maybe plot and see how to advance it. That, or just give me a heads up in the tags of a reply.

You may ask for a roleplay any time you want. Just go into my ask box and throw stuff at me, I promise I don’t bite. You don’t need a prompt or an invitation. Most of the time I’m pretty open and happy to write with anyone, so don’t worry if we aren’t mutuals, just reach out if you’re interested in writing.

Have fun! Roleplaying is a hobby, let’s all enjoy it.

#posting for mobile users #out of ice ice baby #tw / suicide

[tehohaews]

Happy birthday Khellis 🥳🥳 @jenniepanhan

#ellis 🌨️ #gifs #MY FAVORITE HOMOPHOBES FOR MY FAVORITE PERSON #( i didnt just say that ewww ) #cant believe i had to gif sohee #ewwww #aNYWAY i dont even know why im celebrating you being a whole year older than me 🤮🤮🤮 i dont like this #but you are nice (read insufferable) and you deserve all the nice things in the world ig #🙄🙄🙄 and i totally dont love you or anything #WHO DO YOU THINK I AM #and you are definitely not the funniest person in this website and im definitely NOT grateful to have met you #should have never responded to that art theft ask #regrets regrets #but anyway #my dear insignificant other #thank you for existing and making the world a brighter place #i enjoy your presence soo much and talking to you instantly brightens up my day #and im glad that you committed accidental art theft so that i got to meet you #KEEP BEING YOUR WONDERFUL CHAOTIC AND UNHINGED SELF #I LOVE YOU SOSOSOOSOSOSOOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOOSOSOOSOSOOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOOSOSOSOOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSOSOOOOO #MUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #go live your cave dreams to the fullest with sohee 💗💗💗 #-your khorthy

[writingwife-83]

About Me 🙋‍♀️

I figured I should make one of these and pin it to the top of my blog. I’ll edit/add things on this post if ever needed.

My Tumblr-

I do not routinely follow back. I just like to keep my dash pretty minimal and curated.

I mostly post and reblog content related to BBC Sherlock, Star Wars, writing, and fandom. My ship and fandom preferences are my business. Don’t like, don’t follow.

I always read the tags on reblogs.

I do not post or reblog content that’s explicit, so this blog is safe for under 18.

I view reposts as theft, and I don’t want that on my blog. I try to be careful, but if you see that I’ve reblogged something that is a repost, please let me know so I can delete it.

I disagree with the use of A.I. art, so if I see you routinely creating or reblogging it, you’ll be blocked. If you see me accidentally reblog A.I. art, please let me know so I can delete it.

I am careful about tagging ships and possible triggers if it’s something I’m aware of, in case anyone has filters. If I forget to tag something or make an error, don’t hesitate to politely let me know!

I love receiving asks, but anon is currently turned off due to a number of rude ones I’ve gotten.

I care deeply about the serious issues going on in the world, but tumblr is not where I express that. This blog is primarily for my writing hobby, so it’s just for fun and entertainment.

This is my main blog, but I am also a mod on the blog sherlolly-ily-fest.

I’m never going to be willing to spread a stranger’s request for money on this site, so please don’t ask me to.

My Writing-

I still have a handful of fics from early years on FanFiction dot net, but I have all my fics on Archive of Our Own. I do see and respond to comments/reviews on both sites.

I mostly write for sherlolly from BBC Sherlock and reylo from Star Wars, but I do occasionally write for some other ships.

I do not write mature or explicit content, so if you prefer that in fics, I’m not for you.

I have never abandoned a multi chapter in all the years I’ve been writing fanfics. If I’m gradually posting a WIP, you can feel confident that I won’t permanently drop it.

I value feedback and polite suggestions, but please understand that fanfic is free and therefore it’s my call as the writer to decide how I want things done. Don’t like, don’t read!

I only allow works of mine to be translated with my permission, and I do not ever give permission for my works to be copied and reposted. If you wish to share a fic of mine, you may only do so by sharing a direct link to where I have posted that fic.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading and here’s some virtual cookies! 😄🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

#about me #blog intro #thanks for reading

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: The First Drawing You See From Your Soulmate is Tattooed on Your Skin

A detective having a tell would probably be considered inappropriate to most people. Detectives were supposed to read tells, not have them. But then again, Benoit had never been much for keeping up appearances. Besides, what was the harm in rubbing his thumb along his right wrist? It helped him focus; it helped him think.

Or at least, that was what he’d told himself. He wasn’t entirely lying, either, rather the larger whole of it all was more so that when he rubbed that spot on his skin, he felt calm. Composed. He liked to think that that was the feeling his soulmate had intended when they painted that image, whenever they made or would make it. Whatever it was. After all, it had plenty of blue in it.

He was pretty sure it was meant to be a pond or some kind of body of water; that might explain the blues and greens and maybe the bits of white that he could make out. And if he squinted his eyes a little, he could swear there were little flecks of gold. Goldfish, maybe? Honestly, he had no clue. Benoit wasn’t much for complaining or expressing a lack of gratefulness, but he couldn’t help but sometimes feel envious of those whose tattoos covered a larger part of their body. Not a massive amount, but at least just enough to be able to tell precisely what the heck their soulmate’s image was trying to portray. Clearly, the image was larger than what that patch of his skin could afford, and honest to God, he’d spent a good part of his life trying to make out what it was!

(The embarrassment of it all, he would sometimes muse deprecatingly: That the acclaimed “Last of the Gentlemen Sleuths” could solve the most absurd cases in the country, yet had spent most of his natural-born life completely stumped by what might as well have counted as a body part!)

And yet, Benoit could never stay frustrated about it; not when his thumb gently grazed against the image, imagining the smoothness of his skin ebbing into the aquatic swirls of the proposed water. But just for extra precaution, he saw no harm in distracting himself.

That afternoon’s distraction? A quick skim of the local paper, accompanied by a mug of hot tea. He tried not to think of how such a method revealed his age, instead snapping the paper open to a page discussing the local goings-on. It was the usual sort of content: The community theater’s spring production was seeking house crew members, a mom and pop-style restaurant was having an anniversary special . . . It was the same sort of thing Benoit had grown used to expecting.

But what his pale blue eyes landed on next didn’t make the rest pale by comparison -- it downright washed all else from existence: An art show.

Benoit considered himself a well-rounded person, but it was more so in an almost tongue in cheek sort of manner: As a detective, it was his job to be appropriately versed in an assortment of fields. However, a jack of all trades was never truly a master of none. Benoit’s experiences with art theft and forgeries had lent him a hand in only about as much observation as was necessary for the respective occurrences.

But . . . he knew those swirls. He knew that blue, those greens, that white -- he recognized how the gold was patterned! Sure, the cheap ink job of a colored newspaper picture might have dulled the quality ever so slightly but there was no mistake to be made: That painting was his. No . . . It was theirs!

You tried to make calming breaths without making your anxiety obvious. A nervous but otherwise acceptable smile twitched into place, fooling the guests as they wandered about the gallery. Or, at least, you certainly hoped it was fooling them; but it was probably all to be outdone by the fact that you’d been nursing the same champagne flute for the last half-hour.

Is this what “making it” feels like? you wondered. Because if it was . . . you weren’t too fond of it. You felt bad for not relishing this opportunity; the art world was highly competitive, and you were more than blessed to have had the chance to not only display your work in a showroom, but to have said room be dedicated entirely to your pieces. But in that blessing was also a curse: The curse of criticism, of weary eyes, of people both waiting to pounce on you with ribbings of how you lack the magnanimity of the classics or the free thinking of the contemporaries --

Shitshitshitsmile! You did as you were told -- both by your brain, and by your manager earlier when they walked you through how you were to compose yourself through this entire ordeal. Just smile, enunciate when spoken to, and let the potential schmoozing flow and oh god, that Karen-looking lady who definitely owns a house in Martha’s Vineyard for when she wants to get away from her husband for a day totally hated that piece you’d spent months working on, didn’t she?!

The thought made your stomach twist, your already awkward smile along with it. You inhaled sharply. You had to find something to distract yourself with. 

You turned and faced the painting nearest to you. Some might call it vanity, but you were actually quite pleased with this particular piece. That, and its blueness gave you a sense of . . . serenity. You imagined the ripples washing over you and into you, the scent and sound of the painted environment gently caressing your nose and drowning out both the stench of perfume and pretentious chattering . . . And also, apparently, the sound of approaching footsteps.

You hadn’t realized anyone had joined your side until the rumble of a southern baritone carded through the water.

“It’s gorgeous. Isn’t it?”

You hadn’t meant to jump and appear so clumsy.

“Oh, sh -- ” You cut yourself short as you eyed the droplets of spilled, room temperature champagne. If your manager found out that you had cussed around a potential buyer, they would’ve mounted your head on the wall. Thankfully, however, the stranger didn’t appear at all fazed. If anything, the chuckle he responded with sounded genuinely amused.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m terribly sorry!” he insisted, holding up his left hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you; I can imagine most anyone would be mighty transfixed over a piece like this.”

You gulped as you looked up at your unintentional scarer. His eyes were the same blue as the one that brought you calm just moments earlier, yet they had the almost opposite effect to you now. As you looked into them, you didn’t feel calm; not necessarily: Instead, you felt your heart beginning to ripple the pattern of the painting, your cheeks burning as bright as the gold swirling amongst the little waves. And yet you found yourself transfixed by them, only offered freedom when the older gentleman offered you a hint of a smile. A warm one.

Crap! Uh -- Answer his question! Think of something to say! your mind scrambled.

“Uh . . .” you stammered. The only way to save what atoms of confidence you still had left was to turn your eyes back to the painting. “I -- I should hope so.” Smooth. You tried to remember your calming breaths. You heard the man hum, shifting his position ever so slightly in your peripheral.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked, revealing just how close to you he truly was. You could feel the warmth of his person and the richness of his voice vibrating into you. Or perhaps it was butterflies? Maybe both? Well, whatever it was, it almost made you stumble over your words. You’d spent the entire evening up to that point rehearsing stories of your inspirations, recounting whatever education you had to people who probably didn’t give a crap.

But this instance was different: Maybe it was foolishness sourced from a sudden and sophomoric attraction, but you almost wanted to believe that perhaps this man genuinely cared. That he was genuinely interested in what you as the actual artist had to say and not you as some painting mannequin made to recite lines over and over.

The excitement of such a possibility broke through your nerves . . . and, unfortunately, right out of your mouth.

“I just really wanted to paint a mermaid in a mall coin fountain,” you admitted. You wanted to kick yourself. Up until that point, you’d been rather proud of your nifty little idea. But when you said it out loud, you sounded ridiculous! You could barely hide the reactionary wince, much less how your breathing hitched and hiccuped with nervousness. Just as soon as it had come, the hope that perhaps this man was different disappeared, leaving you awaiting his ridicule.

A ridicule that never came. Instead, there was quiet between the both of you. Perhaps he was at a loss for words?

“Mm,” he hummed, making you tense with expectation. You glanced at him just enough to see him nod, his blue eyes still focused on the canvas before him. “Go on . . .”

You blinked. Was he . . . for real?

“I . . . What more is there to say?” you wondered. The entire night, nobody had really asked for more on your part. They usually just took whatever purple prose you gave them and left it at that. Your initial assumption was right after all: This gentleman was cut from a different cloth from the lot.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “What inspired this?”

“Oh, uh . . . Well . . .” Was it worth telling him? Aw, hell: you’d already made a bit of a fool of yourself being honest, so what harm was there in doing it some more? “I did it because I never saw anything about a mermaid that lived in a mall fountain, collecting the coins people toss in there.”

You didn’t even have a chance to worry about his criticism before the man’s features broke into a smile. It wasn’t like the others’ more courteous grins; this one reached his eyes, making their icy coolness warm and welcoming. You hated the cheesiness of it all, but for a very split second you wished that you could be a mermaid in them.

He chuckled once again. “Can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything concerning a coin-hoarding mermaid myself, let alone a professional art piece.” It was small, but the assurance made you offer your own smile.

“Well . . . But then maybe I have . . .” At that, your heart dropped. There it was: The anticipated criticism. He thought you were a hack after all: Uninspired, boorish, unskilled, whatever word there was to describe a person who didn’t know how to use a fan brush properly if any.

The wound stung as one so sudden should: Heavily and down to your core. You wanted the floor to open up and eat you whole. Or better yet: You wanted to climb into your apparently uninspired painting and drown in the mall fountain. But none of those could be an option, and neither was the possibility of hiding in the bathroom or an empty corridor. Instead, you had to put on a brave face and do your best to get through the moment.

“Oh?” you uttered. Your throat pained from the threat of anxiety. “Where do you suppose? I’ll admit, I’m not much into contemporary art so I don’t know the what’s what of what if you catch my drift.” You tried to weakly smile at your sad attempt for a joke. God, this so wasn’t what “making it” felt like.

But the man didn’t offer a courteous hint of laughter. Nor did he offer you a verbal response. Instead, he turned to face you. You did the same, even though you really didn’t want to. But it was the polite and expected thing to do when being confronted. Damn politeness and courteousness.

You weren’t sure how to respond when the man began to make work of his right sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff and beginning to roll the rest of it up. Your paranoia was unfortunately the first to respond due to your preexisting discomfort of the entire ordeal of an evening. You were just about prepared to scream, yelp, make any kind of distressed call -- only for it to trickle out into a gasp. An amazed exhale. The image the man presented to you on his wrist was small. Clearly, for it to be recognized for what it was, it needed a larger stretch of skin to belong to. But you knew what it was: You knew those swirls, the placements of those flecks of gold, those blues and greens surrounded by white.

For the umpteenth time that evening, your breathing changed. Only, you were pretty positive that none of your deep breathing would be necessary this time around; you would be more than happy to look at your painting on your soulmate’s skin for the rest of the night.

Epilogue:

“Mr. Blanc, please,” you insisted. “You’ve grown up with that thing on your arm, surely you’re bored with it by now. You can have your pick of the gallery. Hell, I’ll even make you something on request!”

Pickings hadn’t become slim, but the night had ended surprisingly successful. Well, surprising to you: You hadn’t expected anyone to buy anything of yours that evening, let alone six. You supposed that perhaps they just wanted to participate in the elitism brought on by owning newcomer art. Benoit, however, insisted that the buyers simply had functioning eyes. What a sweet-talker your soulmate was.

You watched as he shook his head stubbornly, eyes still fixated on the painting that adorned his wrist. He’d seen all the other remaining paintings, and even the ones that wound up selling by evening’s end. They were all gorgeous, he insisted, but . . .

“Benoit, if you will, Ms. (Y/N),” he corrected, apparently missing the irony. He gestured insistently at the composition. “And no. I . . . I truly would be quite satisfied with this one.” He heard you raspberry in defeat as you made your way back to his side, folding your arms in exasperation. 

“Seriously, though,” you sighed. “Is a painting of a mermaid dwelling in, like, a fountain you can find nearby an Auntie Anne’s really . . .” You waved a hand as if searching for the right word. “. . . Befitting? Of a detective’s abode? I was thinking more of a bucolic piece or like a portrait of some kind or . . .” You trailed off, only to be met with an amused huff.

“Some detective I am,” Benoit muttered. He broke his gaze back to you and placed his hands on his hips. “Took me well over a damn decade or two to learn what it even was. And only because you told me!”

#benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #knives out x reader #regrettablewritings #for anyone wondering: I think Reader's tattoo would be of a flower. Or a random doodle. #something Benoit made while not thinking and they just so happened to glance at it

[therenlover]

The Doctor Is In (Part Two of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Attempted Theft, Secrets, Suspicions, 

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, Slight Sexual Innuendo

Word Count: 2800~

This work, as well as the other completed parts of this series, have been crossposted to my AO3! 

-----

To Peter’s credit, it had all started with good intentions… okay, semi-good intentions, but that was the best defense he had to offer.

One moment he’s speeding into a funky building with a cool glass window looking for a knick-knack to take home to Y/N and the next he’s falling through endless darkness, searching for anything he could possibly grab onto. It was hell. Worst of all, though, he couldn’t use his speed. The world was only emptiness and darkness for as far as he could reach. Well, it was until he hit the ground.

It was a sudden jolt after what felt like hours of captivity when Peter hit the cool tiles of the flooring below him. The bright light after total darkness burned his eyes. He winced against it, lifting his arms to shield his face. There was no time to acclimate to his new surroundings, though, which were definitely not part of the building he had been inside before he might add, because the second his vision came back into focus a booming voice rang out from behind him.

“Peter Maximoff, what purpose did you have for breaking into the Sanctum Sanctorum?”

Peter spun around quickly on the ground to find a man floating behind him. Wait, floating? He didn’t even have time to question how the stranger knew his name while he was questioning what the hell he was. Was he a mutant? The man looked furious, his red cape billowing out behind him in an almost menacing manner while he stroked his goatee, eyebrows pinched together with rage. Peter had no clue what his deal was or who the hell he was looking at but he did know he had to calm him down fast if he wanted to avert disaster.

Apparently, he was thinking too long though because he wasn’t fast enough.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” the man’s hands came down to chest level, whirring with some sort of orange power, “why did you break into the Sanctum Sanctorum? This is your last chance,”

Somewhere in the distance, a dull thud sounded against the tile, like someone dropping a purse or bag. Peter didn’t have time to think about that, though. He was too busy saving his own life. All he had to do was get to his feet so he could run off! Unfortunately, that was better said than done.

“Woah, Woah, Woah!” he scrambled backward trying to stand but found his feet bound with the same orange sparks that were growing by the second in his attacker’s hands, “I have no clue what the hell a Sanctum Sanctorum is! I think you’ve got the wrong guy, man,”

His assailant cocked his head to the side. “So you’re telling me some other inhumanly fast kleptomaniac mutant from another dimension broke through all of my wards and tried to steal priceless magical artifacts from the Sanctum?”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. “Magical artifacts? Dude, magic isn’t real. You’ve got the wrong guy,”

Thankfully, the man sighed in exhaustion, letting the orange sparks in his palms disappear as he pinched the bridge of his nose leaving only the ones around Peter’s ankles remaining. For the first time in his life, Peter was glad to be annoying.

“Jesus, I should have had my coffee before dealing with you…”

“I know right?” Peter propped himself up on his hands, “it’s always tragic when you catch the wrong guy, but I’m sure you’ll find your thief eventually. In fact, I think I saw some super speedy dude running towards Central Park when I was walking past that fancy building with the big circle window. That’s so weird! Maybe you should let me go so you can go find your guy,”

The man only seemed to get more pissed off the further Peter dug himself into his own grave. “Oh, I’m not planning on letting you go any time soon. I’m just avoiding a reckoning by letting your keeper know I’m taking you into the Avenger’s custody before we go,”

He was so screwed. “That’s not a-”

Before Peter could even finish his sentence, a crash echoed from across the room.

“STEPHEN STRANGE,”

Now, Peter couldn’t decide if he was saved or even more screwed than before.

There, across the room of what he had now gathered to be a large exhibit at some sort of museum, was Y/N. To say she looked furious would be an understatement.

The art on the walls seemed to shake in her wake as she stormed into the open center of the room, eyes boring holes into Peter’s assailant as she rolled up the sleeves of her paint-stained denim button-up. He could only imagine that this was the reckoning the magic dude was trying to avoid.

The man, Stephen, didn’t waver despite Y/N’s entrance. “Would it kill you to just use my title? I got my doctorate for a reason, you know,” His tone was flat and almost bored as Y/N seethed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, “what the hell are you doing with Peter? And bringing him here of all places? I thought you were supposed to be the responsible Avenger,”

“And I thought you were supposed to keep this menace under control. It looks like we both have a few responsibilities we aren’t keeping up with, huh?”

Across the floor, Peter winced. He hadn’t intended on getting anyone in trouble, he was just looking for a little fun to pass the time and maybe a housewarming gift that would fit in with the rest of Y/N’s antique decor. How was he supposed to know that a crazy, magic, floating guy would take him to what he could only assume was magic prison for breaking into his wizard’s lair? Surprisingly, Y/N picked up his movement.

“Peter, are you okay?” Her eyes never left Strange, flaming with a ferocity that bordered on homicidal, but her voice softened considerably as she spoke to him. He was quick to respond.

“I’m all good! A little tied up at the moment, but it’s nothing I can’t handle!” He shouted back.

Y/N nodded. “Good, just stick tight while I deal with this asshole,”

As the last words left her lips all the softness she had mustered for Peter’s sake dissolved, leaving behind pure, unbridled anger once more.

“You had no right to take him, Strange. We made a deal,”

“You’re right, we did make a deal,” Stephen responded, floating to the ground and taking a step closer to Y/N, “but my duties as Sorcerer Supreme will always come first,”

“That has nothing to do with him! He poses no threat to this universe!”

“He was attempting to steal extremely powerful magical artifacts, Y/N! If a mutant from another dimension had gotten their hands on the Book of Vishanti or the Clock of the Ages who knows what might have happened?”

Y/N stilled. “Peter,” her voice wasn’t the same as it had been when she was shouting at Strange, but it also wasn’t half as gentle as it has been before, “did you steal anything from Stephen?”

Peter, still dazed from the entirety of the experience, was quick to defend himself.

“No! No, I didn’t steal anything!”

One sharp look from Stephen and Y/N sent him spiraling for an excuse.

“Okay, I went in with the intention of stealing, but I had no idea that stuff was magical! I didn’t even know wizards existed! Witches I understood but wizards too? In the middle of New York? Besides, all of this is a moot point! I didn’t actually take anything,”

Surprisingly, Y/N’s expression seemed to soften once again. “See, Stephen? Peter didn’t mean any harm. Now let him go, and this can all be a thing of the past,” As she spoke, he could have sworn that her eyes began to faintly glow.

“I still don’t think it’s a great idea to let him roam free,” Stephen ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and the restraints around Peter’s ankles tightened slightly.

“Then you’ll have to take him from me,” Y/N brought her hands up, small rippling balls of light beginning to grow in her palms. Peter had never been so scared and aroused in his life. Was this the ‘small power’ she had mentioned to him when he moved in?

“I have remained civil with you and the mages of your order, Strange, but you have no power over me, especially on my own home turf. You lack the time stone now, so you know what will happen if you and I go toe to toe again. Besides, none of that matters. Peter is mine. Mine to protect and defend until he returns to his rightful place in his universe. So, will you let him go, or will we have to settle this the old-fashioned way?”

Y/N’s eyes were definitely glowing now, a brilliant green gleaming from within her as a rough breeze began flowing in from the door across the room. Stephen made no move to attack though. Instead, he heaved a sigh. “You can have your man child back Y/N, calm down,”

Slowly, the glow dissipated, the orbs of light shrinking into nothingness as she lowered her hands. “Thank you, Stephen,”

In an instant, it was as if the pair had gotten along the whole time.

He nodded. “Don’t thank me, just keep him away from ancient magical secrets next time,” Strange paused as if he was finished speaking, but then chuckled softly. It was the most human Peter had ever seen him. “You know how this ends, Y/N. We both do. Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

It was Y/N’s turn to nod. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, but I made my choice a long time ago. There has never been another path for me. Please respect that,”

Peter was clueless as to what any of their exchange meant, too busy rubbing the ache out of his newly freed ankles to think too deeply about whatever deep exchange was happening in front of him, but a nagging feeling in his chest made him think that it must have something to do with him.

Then, in a burst of golden light, Stephen Strange was gone, leaving Y/N and Peter alone as they took in everything that had just happened. It was silent for a moment, the two of them caught between being stunned and glad to see each other, before Y/N’s angry facade melted away.

“What a fucking asshole,” she snickered, making her way over to Peter and offering him a hand, “I hate that guy,”

Peter took her hand and, with a soft pull, was finally upright again. “I know, right? He seems like a total douchebag,”

“Right? Like, yeah it’s terrible enough to kidnap you and try to take you into Avengers custody, but trying to get me to hand you over at my job? That’s just rude on a whole new level,”

“You work here?” Peter gestured at the art on the walls, making Y/N smile.

“Yeah, this is where I go every day. Welcome to the Brooklyn Museum!” She began to lead him out towards the door, linking her arm around his in a strangely intimate act. Peter was sure that she didn’t mean it like that but something about her closeness made his heart flutter.

He guffawed as they walked, passing happy couples and exhibits packed full. “It’s cool here, but I just assumed you worked somewhere… I dunno, more hero-y?”

Y/N laughed. “Everyone always does, but I’ve been attached to restoring paintings since before I ever took up the whole hero gig. I guess it’s the one stable thing I’ve had for my whole life.”

Watching Y/N’s face light up almost made Peter forget that less than an hour earlier he’d been shoved in an infinite dark dimension and threatened with imprisonment by a wizard. It was like she was the only thing worth seeing in a building full of priceless art.

“I’ve always felt strangely comfortable in museums,” she continued, hand brushing against Peter’s bicep in what he could only assume was an accident, “being surrounded by history just feels right to me. It’s like coming home,” Peter couldn’t help but grin, holding back a snicker.

“I’m guessing that’s the real reason you offered to take me in,” he teased, gently ribbing Y/N and making her giggle, “just couldn’t help but bring home a blast from the past who still has their youthful good looks,”

“You caught me! I just couldn’t resist your elderly charms,”

In a moment of poor judgment, Peter found himself leaning into her touch but was surprised to find her leaning right back into him. His heart began to pound faster. He could only hope she couldn’t tell. The feeling of being close to Y/N, listening to her laugh, being the shoulder she leaned on… it was like nothing Peter had ever felt before.

The short remainder of their walk to Y/N’s destination was mostly quiet, but neither of them tried to pull away from the other. Their moment only ended when they reached a large door labeled ‘Staff Only’. Y/N finally unlinked her arm from Peter’s before turning to face him. He was proud to note the flush on her face.

“I’m gonna go grab my bag,” she muttered, worrying the edge of her lip with her teeth, “do you mind taking me home? Traveling with you would probably be faster than hailing a taxi, and way less expensive,”

Between the thought of getting to be close to Y/N again and the excitement of getting to show off his powers, Peter was eager to please. “Sure thing! Do you want me to grab your bag for you? I’m sure I’d be quicker?” He emphasized his statement with a wink. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect.

Instead, Y/N looked almost nervous as she shook her head no. “I’ve got it, Peter,” she insisted.

He quirked up an eyebrow in surprise. “You sure? We could be home in a minute tops, just say the word,”

“There’s just a lot of important museum stuff back there! I trust you Peter, but this is priceless art we’re talking about, so I’d rather not take any chances. I’ll be back in a second!”

She slowly backed towards the door, offering him one last smile before disappearing into the darkness beyond. Something about her expression turned Peter’s stomach. It wasn’t unfamiliar, she had acted similarly in a few days Peter had known her at seemingly random times, but it just seemed… suspicious, like there was something he should definitely know that he was being kept in the dark about. Despite everything, he shook off the feeling, chalking it up to him not understanding all the intricacies of this new universe. If love made him blind, he was willing to take that chance.

It only took a few minutes for Y/N to emerge, a small messenger bag in hand, but when she did she was joyful once again, offering Peter an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

He shook his head, pulling down his goggles and offering her his hand. “Not much, just the end of the world,”

She giggled. “So do I just hop on your back or what?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. In a second he was down on his knee. “All aboard,” He did his best to keep still as Y/N settled herself on his back, then he was lifting her easily, arms hooked under her knees as she giggled into his hair. “What’s so funny?”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders securely as he stood. “I just expected you to call yourself the Bohner express,”

It took all of Peter’s strength to keep his laughter under control. “You tell me that now? After the opportunity to use it has passed?”

Y/N squeezed him a little tighter. “I’m sure you’ll get to use it next time,”

The thought of a next time sent Peter’s heart rate through the roof. Oh, it was on.

“I’d hold on if I were you,” he said, smirking, “the Bohner express is leaving the station,”

Y/N was quick to snap back. “Let’s hope it doesn’t disappoint,”

“Oh Y/N, the Bohner express never disappoints,”

“Prove it,”

Peter had them back to the brownstone in record time.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #marvel #doctor strange #quicksilver #fanfic #wandavision

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 1

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink mention

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: I’m so excited for you all to read this story! Special thanks go to Lynn (@mindless--ramblings​​) for always being so supportive and helping me stay inspired! Ever since I found out Pedro now has two characters named Marcus, I’ve wondered about ways I could connect them in one piece of writing. And this? This is that piece of writing. Moreno won’t be making an appearance in this one, but I hope Pike will make up for that 😉 Enjoy!

Ground floor.

First floor.

Second.

Erin He took a deep breath, thankful that the elevator was empty. She straightened the collar of her shirt as the fourth floor approached. At her side was her government-issued laptop, which she’d picked up from the front desk. Her fingers gripped its edges tightly. This was it. She made it.

The elevator let out a soft ding and opened its doors, revealing a floor of cubicles and conference rooms. Austin sunlight filtered through large windows, illuminating the space alongside the bright fluorescent lights.

She stepped out, searching for the art theft department’s main office. As much as she understood the need for technology specialists across all the FBI’s branches, she never quite grasped why she was placed in the art theft department, of all places. She always thought she’d be in the operational technologies department, developing and maintaining tools for others to use. Though she couldn’t blame them; intellectual property was highly valued and often stolen.

The email said to report to the department supervisor’s office for a quick onboarding, but they didn’t exactly mention what it would be. It could’ve been anything from a quick handshake to being told to shadow a coworker. Hopefully the former.

Part of her begged to the gods of computer science that she wouldn’t be assigned to yet another condescending old white man. Her last welcome at a company had been less than mediocre, and lukewarm at best.

The other part of her nagged that she’d signed up for exactly that.

“Ah, there you are. Welcome to your first day, Special Agent He,” the department supervisor–Harold Strauss–greeted as she entered his office. He gestured to the man standing in front of his desk. “This is Agent Marcus Pike. He will be showing you the ropes today.”

Agent Pike looked at her over his shoulder, the corners of his lips curling in a friendly smile. He couldn’t have been much older than her, with his faint smile lines and soft brown hair. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned around to face her.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. She shook his hand and then extended her hand to Pike. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking time out of your day to show me around.”

“Likewise,” he replied, shaking her hand. His brown eyes sparkled as he proposed, “Should we start? I have a meeting in about half an hour, and I’m sure you’ll want to meet some of our operational techs and digital forensics team. They’re the backbone of everything we do here.”

They acknowledged their supervisor once more and then left to begin the tour.

As her personal guide gave her the rundown of the floor’s organization and workflow, Erin couldn’t help but sneak a couple more glances at him.

He was taller than her by a few inches, but not in such a way that she felt like shrinking into herself. And he always stayed at her side, never walking ahead or lagging behind. His strong jaw led her gaze to a pair of soft lips, which seemed to be in a perpetual smile as he talked about the breakthroughs the department had in the past days.

“Do you know where your desk is?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, they told me the other day,” she answered, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ears. They walked over to her assigned desk, which was barren save for a standard computer, box of pens, and notepad. “If you’re going to ask if I need help with setup, I think I should be alright for now. Nothing a few installations and linux commands can’t fix.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “You’re living up to your title, Agent He. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I could’ve been much help even if I offered. Have you done work similar to this before?”

She shrugged. “I worked in cybersecurity and software development,” Erin replied, setting down her bag and laptop on her desk. Slipping off her black blazer, she continued, “But I figured I should do something more than just build products for tech companies. Use my skills to aid in investigations.”

He nodded in understanding. “I see what you mean. Actually, I was originally studying to be an art history professor. But then I found this job and figured I could use my knowledge to help find and preserve artworks.”

Hm, noble.

“Sounds like we aren’t so different,” she observed, following him across the officespace. “Let’s hope that I can be of help around here.”

He chuckled softly, the dimple in his cheek showing as he smiled. “I think you’ll fit right in.”

---

The words on the screen blurred into the white background of the screen, as if they were mocking her. Each line of test slowly lost its meaning, turning into mind-numbing strings.

Erin pushed her computer away and rubbed her eyes defeatedly, sighing. The department was launching an investigation regarding a museum that was broken into and wiped clean. What little data was left on the computers, from what she gathered after hours of poring over them, was largely useless. Hopefully, one of the other agents would find something helpful in the other remnants. Perhaps an address, or some sort of signature that could be traced to a group. Her, on the other hand? She just wasted hours of work.

A steaming cup of coffee was set down onto her desk, along with some sugar and tiny cups of cream.

She looked up to find Marcus–Pike, she reminded herself–standing at her side, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Find anything?”

“Nope,” she sighed. It turned out that Pike was one of the best agents in the department, and that meant he spent most of his time leading and organizing investigations. What that meant for Erin, then, was that she had to answer to him. Thankfully, he was never weird about it. Quite the opposite, actually. Tapping the side of the cup, she asked, “Is this for me?”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah! Sorry; I would’ve fixed it, but I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee.”

“Well it’s nothing complex, if that’s what you’re nervous about,” she teased. Two sugars and a drizzle of cream turned the pitch black liquid into a deep brown. She took a sip, the placebo of caffeine already kicking in. “When you’re in STEM, you learn to appreciate caffeine in any form. But I like it like this.”

“Noted,” he said, his voice a soft timbre amongst the flutter of papers and clacking of keys. Hands resting on his hips he asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before you find anything?”

“Anywhere from an hour to another three...or five,” she sighed, lazily scrolling down the file. Basking in the steam from her cup, she continued, “I’m gonna need a lot more of this coffee. There has to be something useful in this file, I just need to find it. I might need to cross-reference with some of the other evidence to notice anything.”

A headache was already descending upon her, and she was only six hours in. Weak–she’d stared at a computer much longer without any problem many times before. Why, of all times, did it have to happen when she was talking to her coworker?

“Well, I’ll be here pretty late tonight, so if you need anything, just let me know,” he replied, patting her shoulder. The crease between his brows deepened as he squinted down at the screen. “Maybe you need a fresh set of eyes on it. Take a break, Erin.” At her responding pout, he reasoned, “It’s been almost a month and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you rest.”

Of course he noticed her breaks, or lack thereof. She rolled her eyes, hiding a bashful smile in her cup. “I work best in sprints.”

He hummed amusedly. “But even sprinters need breaks, don’t they?” Then, his eyes lit up. “Actually, why don’t you take a break now?”

Erin raised a brow. “Am I not taking a break right now?”

His laugh was warm. “I mean a real break. Let’s get lunch; my treat.”

“Are you really going to make me choose between food and digital forensics, Agent Pike?”

Nodding definitively, he replied, “Yes, Agent He.”

Unable to resist the prospect of free lunch, she gave in and followed him out to his car. The work would still be there when she returned. For the moment, she could just enjoy Marcus’s companionship.

He drove out to a local diner about ten minutes away, his turns confident as if he’d gone there hundreds of times before. Judging by the way his eyes had sparked with joy at her agreement, he probably had.

They let their shoulders relax in the serenity of the car, shedding the formalities and passing time as if they were close friends.

The diner was small and cozy, booths worn with age and serving breakfast all day. Erin’s lips curled up in a little smile as the hostess recognized Marcus. So he was a regular, after all.

They sat down across from each other in a booth. Erin shrugged off her navy blue blazer and smoothed her dark hair back into a thick ponytail.

As she fixed her hair, Marcus gave her his recommendations, leaning in with the menu so she could follow along with her eyes. He seemed particularly fond of the pancakes, so she decided on those. Surely he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And with the way his voice rasped just slightly, she could listen to him speak for a whole day.

“Honey? Did you hear anything I said?” he asked, tilting his head slightly with a little smirk.

Erin snapped out of her reverie, cheeks burning. “Oh, um. Yeah. Sorry, I spaced out for a bit.”

“No worries, it happens to all of us,” he reassured, laying the menu flat on the table. “What were you thinking about?”

Less than an hour had passed before they were back in the office, stepping out of the elevator with full bellies. The familiar clicking from computers and buzz of conversations filled the air, and they were officially agents again.

Erin turned to him and nudged his arm. “Hey, thanks for the break.”

“Anytime,” he replied, walking with her along the perimeter of the room. They stopped at the hallway leading to the conference rooms and offices. His large hand moved to rest on her arm, his thumb rubbing gently. “I guess this is my stop. You know where to find me.”

“And you know where I’ll be.”

The next day, Marcus was greeted in his office by tupperwares containing homemade fried rice, some cut up fruit, and a sticky note.

Thanks for sticking with me yesterday. -E

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he tried to refrain from grinning like a maniac, though he was sure anyone who happened to pass by would’ve thought he looked like a schoolgirl with a crush. Erin’s handwriting was soft and curved, so similar to calligraphy but simple in a way that made the note feel that much more intimate.

She had an interesting way of showing her care for others, he found. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the work she dedicated her life to; she seemed to always be one step ahead, ready to pull out small details that others would dismiss. He wondered what she might know of him.

There were a few things she clearly knew; things that surprised him every day. Just as he’d learned her usual coffee order, she’d learned his. When he’d walk in every morning, her head of dark hair would tilt to peek over her cubicle, as if she could sense his presence. And when their eyes would meet, her smile was better than the best espresso in the world.

Marcus shook his head to himself as his heart fluttered. Years of failed relationships and a divorce later, he still couldn’t keep his feelings in check. His mother always said he had a soft heart, one that would be his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. But Erin was anything but a weakness.

She wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. A constant in his life, making each day feel just a little more special. He didn’t need a relationship to be happy, but….he wouldn’t be opposed to one either.

Yet, as he spotted Ian Malarkey standing a bit too close to her, he forced himself to backtrack. What if she didn’t want him? What if they were meant to be just as they were: just friends?

Maybe it was time for him to move on.

After a few months, their friendship had grown well past a workplace acquaintance. It wasn’t as if she was trying to get attached to him; it just...happened. And it was only a little surprising to her; she tried to stay as professional as she could in the office, but outside? Outside, she could just be Erin, not FBI Special Agent He. Outside, she could shed her jacket and swap the button-down shirt for a ribbed sweater and some jeans. Outside, she and Marcus could sit as close together as they wanted without drawing unwanted attention.

She knew it was silly to fantasize. After all, Marcus was a coworker, if not a superior. And with the way he fussed over her water intake and made sure that she wore her glasses at the right times, he could easily see her as a little sister. As nothing more than a new agent who happened to be friendly.

But if that were true, why would he go through the effort of bringing her lunch on Thursdays? Why did he call her little names like “honeydew” and “sweetheart,” and why did it feel so natural coming from his mouth?

The commotion coming from the direction of the conference rooms told her that the team was back from the investigation. Maybe Marcus was there; she knew he’d gone, but he hadn’t texted since morning. It wouldn’t hurt to pop in to check on him; he did that often enough with her.

When she entered the break room, her heart sank. Sitting off to the side, by the wall, was Marcus asking Teresa Lisbon out on a date. She wasn’t sure why she felt defeated;  it wasn’t like she had any plans on asking him out.

But then why did it hurt her to the core to see him giving those puppy eyes and little smiles to Lisbon? The woman didn’t even look interested in him; if anything, she looked confused and hesitant.

Ian caught her eye as she surveyed the room once more, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped smile. He knew about her feelings for Marcus, having spent hours going over evidence and making small talk. In fact, he’d even encouraged her to tell Marcus her feelings, out of fear that she might never get the chance.

Perhaps her chance had passed after all. Turning on her heel, Erin decided that, for once, it was time to go home. Marcus would come to her when he was less busy.

The thing was, though, she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to go over and say hello, and check to make sure he wasn’t injured in the scuffle. Moreover, she didn’t want to be a fill-in for Lisbon’s absence. She didn’t want to be his second choice. And she knew it wasn’t her fault, nor Lisbon’s, that Marcus didn’t choose her. But it still stung.

She watched as their shared lunches became less frequent, the senior agent replacing her space by Marcus’s side. When the elevator would ding at 7AM and she’d glance up to see if it was him, she found him searching the room for Lisbon. They never drifted over to her desk. That fact always made her grip her pen just a little tighter.

On the days when he did grace her with his presence, she felt like a tornado of emotions.

Happy, because she had missed her best friend.

Sad, because she knew the next time she’d spend time with him was in a few weeks rather than a few days.

Grateful, because she knew how hard it was to socialize after a work week of at least 50 hours.

Envious, because of the stories he told.

Relieved, because he still cared.

Plastering a halfhearted smile on her face, Erin listened to Marcus practically worship his girlfriend. His summer breeze of a smile and sparkling eyes made the pain that came with listening worth it. The only other time she’d heard him talk that passionately was when they’d visited an art museum.

At least one of them was happy.

She thought of trying to date again; it had been over a year since she’d been in a relationship. But she couldn’t do it. More than once, she’d put on some simple makeup and casual clothes, ready to head out to the bar, but no. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the apartment. The apartment was where she and Marcus watched movies, where she would cut up fruit and bring them to him on a plate while he pored over reports in the warm lights of the kitchen. It was where he’d navigate her cupboards and fridge to make her a mug of his special hot chocolate. It was her safe space, the one place in her life where she could just be Erin, and he could just be Marcus.

The knife cleaved the melon in half with ease, revealing its pale green interior.

Marcus leaned up against the counter next to her, hair tousled and necktie loosened against his chest. He absentmindedly started rolling up his sleeves, undoing the cuffs of his shirt and folding them up.

She tried not to stare too long at the way his forearms tensed with the movement.

He broke the silence first. “I got the job in DC,” he said, voice soft like velvet.

“That’s great.” A simple response, though Erin cringed internally. Was that any way to react to her best friend’s job promotion? Surely not, but a part of her–a selfish part of her–knew that it meant he was leaving. Leaving not just his position, but her. Texas. The apartment.

It would’ve been disingenuous for her to say anything more.

Then, he added, almost sheepishly, “I also asked Teresa to marry me. And move to DC so we can be together.”

The blade of her knife hit the cutting board a little harder than normal. “Oh. That’s nice.” Cutting away the tough outer skin, she forced herself to ask, “What did she say?”

He sighed and crossed his arms, biting his lip as if to contain a smile. “She said she’d think about it. But I think she’ll come around. I kind of, uh, sprung it onto her the other night.”

And yet there he was, standing next to a woman who would’ve been ready to say yes. But even so, she said, “I’m sure things will work out between you two. You’ve already given so much to your relationship; it would be a shame for her to not see how great you are.”

She slid him a bowl of perfectly cubed melon.

Smiling softly, he took the bowl into his hands. “You’re the best, honeydew.”

The best, but not the one.

“You’re just trying to get on my good side before you leave for DC, brown eyes,” she jested, nudging him with her elbow. Her chest filled with warmth at his laugh. She tried her best to hang onto that feeling, to that sound. “When are you two leaving?”

“I’m already about halfway packed,” he mused, chewing on a cube of honeydew thoughtfully. “So maybe within the week? I hope that’s enough time for Teresa to make a decision.”

There was less time than she thought. She hummed softly. “Are you sure that’s what she wants? That it’s what you want?”

He nodded confidently. “Yes, I...I know that I don’t have the best track record with relationships, but something about her feels right.” The bowl was set into the sink and filled with water. “I’m happy, honey. You don’t have to worry.”

Erin’s eyes burned as she quietly replied, “Okay.”

< previous chapter | next chapter >

TAGLISTS: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

PERMANENT: @cinewhore​ @randomness501​ @theghostwiththemost-babe​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @catfishingmorales​ @halfwaythereroyal​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @talesfromtheguild​ @tortles​ @ladamari68​ @theokatcov @snivellusim​ @starryluce​ @inked-poet​ @browneyes-djarin​ @shedobewritingalittle​ @chews-erotically​ @thefandomimagines​ @emesispo​ @mindless--ramblings​ @phoenixhalliwell​

HONEYDEW: @leemorrigan @houseofthirst​ @littlevodika​ @engineeredfiction​ @inkyzinky​

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #Agent Pike x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #we can be herores #the mentalist #the mentalist x we can be heroes #my writing #honeydew

[secretpajamas]

Undercover– a Marcus Pike fic

pairing: Agent Marcus Pike x female reader

genre: smut/humor/coworkers-to-lovers

rating: explicit

words: 3.7k

a/n: you don’t need to have seen The Mentalist to read this fic (but I do recommend watching Pedro’s episodes, he’s SO perfect in this role)! All you need to know is that Marcus Pike is an FBI agent working for the Art Theft department. Scroll down to the end to “content” if you want to know specific smut content before reading :)

–

So far, the operation had been a bust; you had hoped to catch the reclusive money-laundering gallery owner at the fundraiser event tonight, but he hadn’t shown. After conceding defeat, you and Agent Pike slipped into one of the roped-off side rooms in the museum to discuss a way forward.

You felt incredibly uncomfortable in your attire for the night: a silky slip of a dress that showed far more skin than you were accustomed to showing. But this was a “trendy” look, supposedly, and you were masquerading as art critics at this stupid event. Your FBI-issued handgun was concealed in a hidden panel in your purse and you hated not having it on your hip in your trusty uniform holster. You hated everything about this outfit. The fact that you had to youtube “how to apply an adhesive bra” just to wear this godforsaken dress tonight—

“You alright?” Pike asked, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You realized your face was scrunched up in a scowl, thinking about your goddamned flimsy bra, which had thankfully stayed on the whole night so far.

“Yeah,” you said, “just yearning for my uniform right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Pike said, gesturing to his outfit. “I’m wearing skinny jeans.”

It was decidedly not his style. You usually saw him in business casual or his FBI uniform. When you met on the weekends for coffee, he’d wear a leather jacket—and as far as you could tell, that was as adventurous as he got when it came to fashion. Skinny jeans? Not Marcus Pike, not in a million years. (But he did have nice legs, you had to admit.)

“So, our friend hasn’t shown,” you said, changing the subject to more pressing matters.

“I had a feeling,” Pike muttered. “Back to the drawing board, I guess.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” you said with a sigh. “Let’s call it a night.”

Suddenly, Pike tensed, his face paling. You took a breath, about to ask him what was wrong, when he whispered harshly:

“Someone’s coming.”

You jumped when you heard it: footsteps sounding from the hallway where you came in. You whipped your head around, looking for another way out, but the only other exit was a door that read ‘EMERGENCY EXIT – ALARM WILL SOUND’.

Shit.

“I’m sorry about this,” Pike said in a rush, bracketing himself around you, effectively pinning you to the nearby wall, in between two paintings. “Just play along.”

“Sorry for wha—”

Then he kissed you.

Marcus Pike kissed you.

You froze. What the fuck was he doing? How was this supposed to help? What was this—

Your train of thought was interrupted by his thigh wedging its way between your legs, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine and making a filthy noise tumble from your throat, unbidden.

“Good,” he whispered, mouthing kisses along your neck. “Louder.”

You moaned again at his words, not really understanding why. Just play along, he had said. Whatever the hell that meant.

Suddenly, a booming voice rang out. “This section is CLOSED!”

Pike jumped away from you. You snapped to attention, head whipping around to see a familiar face: one of the lackeys of the corrupt museum owner stood some distance away, a blinding flashlight trained on you. You’d seen this man on surveillance footage in your briefing this week. He was the muscle. Usually the very armed muscle. Shit.

“S-sorry,” Pike said, his voice suddenly meek, that of a geeky art critic and not a federal agent. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, making a big fuss of the movement, while the other hand subtly reached behind him, hovering near where his gun was covertly tucked in the back of his belt. “My girlfriend and I—”

“Section’s closed!” He barked, gesturing with his flashlight. “Get a room.”

You felt your stomach drop back into place. He just thinks we’re horny artists. Thank god.

“Sorry, sir,” Pike said, taking you by the hand and making a swift exit.

–

You didn’t speak a word to each other as you scurried out of the gallery and into the side street where Pike had parked. He rummaged in his jacket pocket for his keyfob and frantically pressed at it until his car’s headlights flashed up ahead. Once you were inside, you put your head in your hands and let out a huge breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Holy shit,” you rasped.

Pike didn’t respond, just methodically put on his seatbelt, started the car, and drove away. At the next red light, Pike reached over and buckled you in. You were so out of it that you had forgot.

“Thanks,” you said, voice a little more steady than it was previously.

“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” he said, eyes on the road.

“Uh, me too? I thought we were done for,” you said. You thought you were going to get shot, but you didn’t dare say it.

Pike shook his head. “I mean, I’m sorry I kissed you. It wasn’t right.”

“What are you apologizing for? You saved our asses.”

“By assaulting you? Yeah, great job I did,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you didn’t assault me, Pike. It was... surprising, but I wasn’t upset.” Quite the opposite, actually.

Pike gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly—you could hear the fake leather squeak against his hands. “Nevertheless, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You sighed. “Seriously, I’m okay. Stop getting in your head.”

He didn’t seem totally convinced, but he didn’t protest any further. You sat in silence for the rest of the car ride.

–

“This is you,” Pike said when he turned onto your street, gesturing with his head towards your apartment building. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was in a considerably nicer neighborhood than your first DC apartment, that’s for sure.

“Indeed it is,” you confirmed.

Pike parked his car and turned off the ignition. He still looked like a kicked puppy—god, he wasn’t still worried about the kiss, was he?

Fuck it. You’d been working with the man for nearly two years now, and at this point, you considered him a good friend. You never felt judged when you confided in him.  Why not just be honest?

“I liked it,” you said, oddly calm.

Pike’s face scrunched up. “Huh?”

“The kiss,” you said, and now your heartbeat was starting to ratchet up. “I liked it.”

His eyes widened. “Oh,” he said, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you replied. “You can... do it for real, if you want.”

Pike looked at you silently, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your mouth.

The adrenaline from earlier in the night must have been fueling your courage, because you soldiered on. “Do you want to come in?”

–

Pike followed you wordlessly to your apartment, the tension so heavy in the air you thought you might suffocate. With shaking fingers, you managed to unlock the door and flick on the lights.

As soon as the door closed behind Pike, he held you by the waist and kissed you soundly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said when he pulled away.

“We kissed like, an hour ago—”

“A real kiss,” he specified, bringing one hand to cup your cheek. He brushed his thumb along your lower lip like it was something precious. He kissed you again, just a soft press of lips, ever the gentleman. You thought about his thigh between your legs earlier that night and god, you wanted that again. You kissed him back, firm and insistent, curling your fingers in his hair.

When you gave his hair a gentle tug, his whole body seemed to shiver, and his kiss became more daring—his tongue in your mouth, his hands inching down, down, stopping just shy of your ass.

Suddenly, he pulled away from the kiss. “I should go,” he said—but the tone of his voice made you doubt that he wanted to leave.

“What’s the matter?” You asked.

“I’m moving too fast,” he said with a wistful smile.

“I’m the one who invited you in, Pike,” you said.

“Fair point,” he said. He let his hand rest on your waist again, his fingers stroking the silky material of your dress. “It’s just—I haven’t done this in a while. Not with someone I... care about.”

Oh. You knew what this was about. Teresa, the woman he was with just before he moved to DC. They were supposed to get married, but she left him for another man. You didn’t know much beyond that, but he had told you enough—that he felt he moved too fast and scared her away.

“If you want to stop now, I get it,” you said. “But I’m here to tell you I’m not going anywhere. I’ve waited two years, I can wait some more.”

You didn’t realize the weight of your words until after they left your mouth. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to know you’d had doe-eyes for him since the day you joined the Art Theft squad. You looked down at the floor, anywhere but his face right now.

“Two years?” He asked softly.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“But—what about that guy you dated from Quantico?”

“He was a nice distraction,” you said.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked.

You didn’t respond for a moment. Slowly, you looked back up from the floor to his face. His features were kind and reassuring. You took a deep breath. “Well, I’m saying it now,” you said.

He smiled. “Let’s make up for lost time, then,” he said, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you in for another kiss.

–

After kissing you breathless, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom. He went with you eagerly, and when you sat on the edge of your bed, he followed suit.

You pushed at the lapels of his tweed jacket, getting it off his arms and onto the floor. He reached behind you, searching for your dress zipper. He found it, grinning triumphantly for a moment before pulling the zipper down. The dress fell off your shoulders, revealing—

Oh god, that fucking adhesive bra.

“I’m sorry,” Pike said, sounding utterly baffled, “What is this thing?”

You laughed. “You’re asking me? I had to consult the internet just to put the damn thing on.”

“How is it on?”

“Adhesive,” you said.

“Do you just... rip it off? Like a bandaid?” Pike said.

“I guess?” You replied, picking at it with your fingernail. A corner of it peeled off without much force. Damn, it was flimsy.

You peeled it off the rest of the way and chucked it across the room. “Good riddance.”

Pike laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Here I was thinking skinny jeans were a pain,” he said.

“To be fair, those do look a little tight,” you said.

“They are. My dick hurts.” He winced, reaching down to adjust himself. “Too much information?”

You rolled your eyes. “My tits are out, Marcus, I think you’re good.”

At the mention of them, Pike was suddenly gazing at your breasts—as if he hadn’t realized he was allowed to look. He tentatively reached out and cupped one, stroking at it gently with his thumb. You sighed, arching your back. He ran his hand from your breast to your arm, where the strap of your dress had fallen. He dragged the strap down, and with a little wiggling from you, managed to get your dress on the floor, leaving you only in your underwear.

“You have way too many clothes on,” you said, working at the buttons of his shirt. He nodded, helping you get it unbuttoned the rest of the way before shrugging it off. Pike then reached for his jeans, sighing in relief as he popped the button of his fly and dragged the zipper down.

“These fucking jeans,” he grumbled, wriggling his hips back and forth as he peeled the denim off his legs. When he finally got them off, they took his socks with them. He kicked the heap of clothing into the corner, landing somewhere near your dress and that flimsy piece of foam masquerading as a woman’s foundational garment.

Now it was your turn to stare. From the plane of his chest, to his soft belly, to his straining hard-on in his gray boxer-briefs—he was beautiful, and you didn’t know what you wanted to touch first. The outline of his cock was the most tempting, though, and you slowly ran a hand up his thigh, stopping just short of where he was hard and aching.

“Please,” he said in a hushed tone, hitching his hips up just a little. You brushed your hand over his bulge, feather-light at first. Then you pressed a little more firmly, slowly dragging your palm against him. He groaned, hands gripping the bedcovers tightly.

Feeling bold, you got off the bed, kneeling in front of him. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers and he lifted his hips, letting you pull them down and off.

You delighted in the sight of his thick cock jutting up against his belly, the tip pink and glistening. God, you wanted him. You leaned forward and licked a hot stripe from root to tip, and the noise he made was so exquisite you could cry. Taking a light hold with your hand, you guided him into your mouth.

“Ah, fuck!” His hips jerked up off the bed, but you quickly held them down. You took him in as far as you could, and he moaned again—louder, more desperate. You found a rhythm, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks, your hand wrapped around what your mouth couldn’t reach. Pike offered a tentative hand to stroke your hair with reverence, his hips trembling with the effort not to move too roughly.

After a particularly sly maneuver with your tongue, Pike tensed and stilled your head with a gentle touch.

“If you don’t stop now,” he said between ragged breaths of air, “this’ll be over before it even starts.”

You pulled off of him slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Sorry,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

“Don’t be,” he replied. “Fuck, that was good.”

You couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride at the praise from him.

Pike patted the bed next to him. “Get up here so I can return the favor.”

You crawled up the bed, heart hammering and head dizzy with excitement. He motioned for you to lie back and you did so, taking a deep breath to try and still your racing pulse.

Pike propped himself up on his elbows and slowly kissed a path down your thigh. Your cunt throbbed in anticipation and you bucked your hips up, desperately seeking sensation. He smiled at your eagerness and held your hip down with one hand. With the other, he pushed the sodden gusset of your panties to the side and slowly slid a thick finger inside of you.

You let out a needy sound, clenching around him as he added a second finger. You were so wet that the movement of his fingers made loud, slick noises that were absolutely obscene.

Pike kissed your thigh again. “Gorgeous,” he murmured against your skin. He then pulled his fingers out of you and you whined at the loss.

“Need to get these off,” Pike explained, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your underwear and pulling them down and off.

Pike’s face was between your thighs, now, and you sobbed at the first touch of his tongue to your clit. He slid his fingers back inside your cunt and the jolt of pleasure was like a lightning strike.

“Please,” you begged, not sure what you were asking, but needing it all the same, “please.”

You moaned loudly as he lapped at you ever-so-slowly with the flat of his tongue in time to the rhythm of his fingers. His unoccupied hand moved from your hip to your hand, lacing your fingers together. You squeezed his hand tightly as you found yourself already dancing dangerously close to the edge.

You started to grind your cunt against his tongue, needing the pressure just so, and he eagerly let you use his mouth for your pleasure. He alternated between licking and sucking on your clit, and you were so fucking close that you could hardly stand it.

Pike pulled his mouth off you for a moment. You whined and tilted your hips up, trying to chase his tongue.

“Close?” He asked, keeping the rhythm of his fingers firm and steady inside of you.

You didn’t trust your mouth to form words, so you nodded vigorously. He got back to work, faster this time, relentless, and the heat in your belly coiled tighter and tighter until you were coming so hard you saw stars. Your thighs clamped like a vise around his head but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest, working you through your orgasm with his tongue and fingers.

You clenched around him through every aftershock. He pressed a final little kiss on your thigh before pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets.

Gazing into his warm brown eyes, breathing with him in tandem, it took you a minute to realize something.

“Oh, fuck,” you said. “Condom.”

You wondered if you still had any in your bathroom cabinet from when you were still with your ex, but it had been a long time since you’d broken up. Shit.

Pike snapped to attention. “Yeah, um,” he started, hopping off the bed to retrieve his jacket, “think I have one in my wallet.”

He rummaged around in his jacket pocket, retrieving his wallet and rifling through it.

“Gotcha,” he proclaimed. He turned the foil packet around in his hands, looking for the expiration date. “And it’s still good.”

“Hallelujah,” you remarked, throwing your head back in relief. “Get over here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pike said, making his way back to you. He knelt on the bed as he ripped open the wrapper and rolled on the condom.

Settling between your legs, he took himself in hand and rubbed at your swollen cunt before easing himself inside. You gasped at the feeling of him fully seated inside you, the delicious stretch of it achingly perfect. After a moment, he ground his hips into yours, moving out barely an inch before rocking back in. You scratched at the expanse of his back and shoulders, hitching up your hips, urging him to move.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, fucking you slow and deep. You made keening little noises with every thrust, unable to help it. You felt so full.

Pike began to move faster, now, his kisses swallowing up your sobbing cries. The sweet ache in your belly was building up again, and the moment you thought you would tumble over the edge, he slowed his pace. You groaned in frustration, gyrating your hips, needing him to fuck you, damnit, but it felt too fucking good to complain.

When Pike slipped out of you, though, you definitely wanted to complain. However, all that came out was a petulant huff. He just chuckled and urged you to lie on your side. Slotting behind you, he guided himself back inside of you before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest. The new angle was heaven and you writhed in his arms, feeling him absolutely everywhere.

He snaked a hand down to rub your clit while he fucked you, faster now. You cried out and grasped at his arms for something to ground you, something to keep you connected to reality, because this felt so fucking good it very well could have been a dream.

“I’m—P-Pike—Marcus, I’m gonna—” You found yourself babbling, barely coherent.

“I’ve got you,” he said, the low rumble of his voice warm in your ear as he worked at your swollen little clit. That was it; you were shaking apart, trembling as he fucked you through your orgasm. The muscles of your cunt fluttered around him, every nerve in your body on fire.

Pike’s movements were becoming more erratic. Every thrust was harder than the last, and he moved his hand to grasp at your hip as he rutted into you frantically. You squeezed down on his cock, wanting to push him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck!” He lasted a few more desperate thrusts before he was coming, too, biting into the skin of your shoulder and holding you tightly to him.

You both stayed there for a while, breathing heavily, all fucked-out and blissful. You nestled closer into him and he hummed into your shoulder.

“Be right back,” Pike mumbled, holding himself at the base and easing his cock out of you. You sighed at the feeling of emptiness—part of you wished he could just stay there all night.

As you stretched out on your bed, he shuffled off into your bathroom. You heard the tap run for a moment before he returned, condom off—presumably in the trash—and a damp washcloth in hand.

The press of the cool washcloth felt good on your hot and throbbing cunt; he then wiped down your thighs, where an embarrassing amount of your slick had dribbled down.

“Thank you,” you murmured as you looked up at him. He kissed your cheek.

It was bugging you, and you couldn’t help but ask. “You tied the condom off and threw it out, right?”

Pike raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” He said. “What, did Quantico not tie them off first?”

“Worse,” you grumbled, “he flushed them.”

Pike snorted. “That’s a new one on me.”

“Had to call a goddamn plumber,” you continued.

“Please tell me at least the sex was good.”

“It was awful,” you groaned. “You should have kissed me sooner.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll make up for it.”

“You better, Agent Pike,” you teased before giving him a peck on the lips.

He was having none of that; he pulled you in for a proper kiss. “I will,” he said, “I promise.”

–

a/n: well, it turns out I’m eternally a sucker for the undercover-as-a-couple trope.

original prompt from @lannister-slings-and-arrows​! Thank you my dear :)

And in case you’re curious: Marcus Pike gets called Agent Pike way more often than he gets called Marcus in the show, so that’s what I went with here. And FYI, Quantico is the county in Virginia where the FBI training academy is. Just a fun little detail.

content: surprise kiss (“fakeout makeout”), oral sex (m and f), missionary, cuddle-fucking (spoon-fucking? side-fucking? whatever you’d like to call it lol)

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #agent marcus pike

[jenniferisacommonname]

Bonus Level Unlocked

This week marks the release of Jason Schreier’s Press Reset, an incredibly well-researched book on catastrophic business failure in the gaming industry. Jason’s a good dude, and there’s an excerpt here if you want to check it out. Sadly, game companies going belly-up is such a common occurrence that he couldn’t possibly include them all, and one of the stories left out due to space constraints is one that I happen to be personally familiar with. So, I figured I’d tell it here.

I began working at Acclaim Studios Austin as a sound designer in January of 2000. It was a tumultuous period for the company, including a recent rebranding from their former studio name, “Iguana Entertainment,” and a related, ongoing lawsuit from the ex-founder of Iguana. There were a fair number of ghosts hanging around—the creative director’s license plate read IGUANA, which he never changed, and one of the meeting rooms held a large, empty terrarium—but the studio had actually been owned on paper by Acclaim since 1995, and I didn’t notice any conflicting loyalties. Everyone acted as if we always had been, and always would be, Acclaim employees.

Over the next few years I worked on a respectable array of triple-A titles, including Quarterback Club 2002, Turok: Evolution, and All-Star Baseball 2002 through 2005. (Should it be “All-Stars Baseball,” like attorneys general? Or perhaps a term of venery, like “a zodiac of All-Star Baseball.”) At any rate, it was a fun place to work, and a platformer of hijinks ensued.

But let’s skip to the cutscene. The truth is that none of us in the trenches suspected the end was near until it was absolutely imminent. Yes, Turok: Evolution and Vexx had underperformed, especially when stacked against the cost of development, but games flop in the retail market all the time. And, yes, Showdown: Legends of Wrestling had been hustled out the door before it was ready for reasons no one would explain, and the New York studio’s release of a BMX game featuring unlockable live-action stripper footage had been an incredibly weird marketing ploy for what should have been a straightforward racing title. (Other desperate gimmicks around this time included a £6,000 prize for UK parents who would name their baby “Turok,” an offer to pay off speeding tickets to promote Burnout 2 that quickly proved illegal, and an attempt to buy advertising space on actual tombstones for a Shadow Man sequel.)

But the baseball franchise was an annual moneymaker, and our studio had teams well into development on two major new licenses, 100 Bullets and The Red Star. Enthusiasm was on the upswing. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention when voice actors started calling me to complain that they hadn’t been paid, but at the time it seemed more like a bureaucratic failure than an actual money shortage—and frankly, it was a little naïve of them to expect net-30 in the first place. Industry standard was, like, net-90 at best. So I was told.

Then one Friday afternoon, a few department managers got word that we’d kind of maybe been skipping out on the building lease for let’s-not-admit-how-many months. By Monday morning, everyone’s key cards had been deactivated.

It's a little odd to arrive at work and find a hundred-plus people milling around outside—even odder, I suppose, if your company is not the one being evicted. Acclaim folks mostly just rolled their eyes and debated whether to cut our losses and head to lunch now, while employees of other companies would look dumbfounded and fearful before being encouraged to push their way through the crowd and demonstrate their still-valid key card to the security guard. Finally, the General Manager (hired only a few months earlier, and with a hefty relocation bonus to accommodate his houseboat) announced that we should go home for the day and await news. Several of our coworkers were veterans of the layoff process—like I said, game companies go under a lot—and one of them had already created a Yahoo group to communicate with each other on the assumption that we’d lose access to our work email. A whisper of “get on the VPN and download while you can” rippled through the crowd.

But the real shift in tone came after someone asked about a quick trip inside for personal items, and the answer was a hard, universal “no.” We may have been too busy or ignorant to glance up at any wall-writing, but the building management had not been: they were anticipating a full bankruptcy of the entire company. In that situation, all creditors have equal standing to divide up a company's assets in lengthy court battles, and most get a fraction of what they’re owed. But if the landlords had seized our office contents in lieu of rent before the bankruptcy was declared, they reasoned, then a judge might rule that they had gotten to the treasure chest first, and could lay claim to everything inside as separate from the upcoming asset liquidation.

Ultimately, their gambit failed, but the ruling took a month to settle. In the meantime, knick knacks gathered dust, delivered packages piled up, food rotted on desks, and fish tanks became graveyards. Despite raucous protest from every angle—the office pets alone generated numerous threats of animal cruelty charges—only one employee managed to get in during this time, and only under police escort. He was a British citizen on a work visa, and his paperwork happened to be sitting on his desk, due to expire. Without it, he was facing literal deportation. Fortunately, a uniformed officer took his side (or perhaps just pre-responded to what was clearly a misdemeanor assault in ovo,) and after some tense discussion, the building manager relented, on the condition that the employee touch absolutely nothing beyond the paperwork in question. The forms could go, but the photos of his children would remain.

It’s also a little odd, by the way, to arrive at the unemployment office and find every plastic chair occupied by someone you know. Even odder, I suppose, if you’re actually a former employee of Acclaim Studios Salt Lake, which had shut down only a month or two earlier, and you just uprooted your wife and kids to a whole new city on the assurance that you were one of the lucky ones who got to stay employed. Some of them hadn’t even finished unpacking.

Eventually, we were allowed to enter the old office building one at a time and box up our things under the watchful eye of a court appointee, but by then our list of grievances made the landlords’ ploy seem almost quaint by comparison (except for the animals, which remains un-fucking-forgivable.) We had learned, for example, that in the weeks prior to the bankruptcy, our primary lender had made an offer of $15 million—enough to keep us solvent through our next batch of releases, two of which had already exited playtesting and were ready to be burned and shipped. The only catch was that the head of the board, company founder Greg Fischbach, would have to step down. This was apparently too much of an insult for him to stomach, and he decided that he'd rather see everything burn to the ground. The loan was refused.

Other “way worse than we thought” details included gratuitous self-dealing to vendors owned by board members, the disappearance of expensive art from the New York offices just before closure, and the theft of our last two paychecks. For UK employees, it was even more appalling: Acclaim had, for who knows how long, been withdrawing money from UK paychecks for their government-required pension funds, but never actually putting the money into the retirement accounts. They had stolen tens of thousands of dollars directly from each worker.

Though I generally reside somewhere between mellow and complete doormat on the emotional spectrum, I did get riled enough to send out one bitter email—not to anyone in corporate, but to the creators of a popular webcomic called Penny Arcade, who, in the wake of Acclaim’s bankruptcy announcement, published a milquetoast jibe about Midway’s upcoming Area 51. I told Jerry (a.k.a. “Tycho”) that I was frankly disappointed in their lack of cruelty, and aired as much dirty laundry as I was privy to at the time.

“Surely you can find a comedic gem hidden somewhere in all of this!” I wrote. “Our inevitable mocking on PA has been a small light at the end of a very dark, very long tunnel. Please at least allow us the dignity of having a smile on our faces while we wait in line for food stamps.”

Two days later, a suitably grim comic did appear, implying the existence of a new release from Acclaim whose objective was to run your game company into the ground. In the accompanying news post, Tycho wrote:

“We couldn’t let the Acclaim bankruptcy go without comment, though we initially let it slide thinking about the ordinary gamers who lost their jobs there. They don’t have anything to do with Acclaim’s malevolent Public Relations mongrels, and it wasn’t they who hatched the Titty Bike genre either. Then, we remembered that we have absolutely zero social conscience and love to say mean things.”

Another odd experience, by the way, is digging up a 16-year-old complaint to a webcomic creator for nostalgic reference when you offer that same creator a promotional copy of the gaming memoir you just co-wrote with Sid Meier. Even odder, I suppose, to realize that the original non-Acclaim comic had been about Area 51, which you actually were hired to work on yourself soon after the Acclaim debacle.*

As is often the case in complex bankruptcies, the asset liquidation took another six years to fully stagger its way through court—but in 2010, we did, surprisingly, get the ancient paychecks we were owed, plus an extra $1,700-ish for the company’s apparent violation of the WARN Act. By then, I had two kids and a very different life, for which the money was admittedly helpful. Sadly, Acclaim’s implosion probably isn’t even the most egregious one on record. Our sins were, to my knowledge, all money-related, and at least no one was ever sexually assaulted in our office building. Again, to my knowledge. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure we remain the only historical incident of corporate pet murder. The iguana got out just in time.

*Area 51’s main character was voiced by David Duchovny, and he actually got paid—which was lucky for him, because three years later, Midway also declared bankruptcy.

#gamedev #gaming #pressreset #acclaim #acclaim studios #bankruptcy #midway #midway games #layoff #layoffs #turok #vexx #bmx xxx #game company #corporate shenanigans #all star baseball #quarterback club #penny arcade #sid meier #sid meier's memoir #memoir #area 51 #david duchovny #iguana #jason schreier

[sentient-stove]

DiGiornos, Delivery and Desperate Measures:(SnowDice’s Cuffed Universe.)

So @snowdice has a comfort series of mine and so I wrote fanfic for it.  Here’s an AO3 link to the original series. (x)

Anyway, there’s a running gag that Logan and Remus are the reason why Virgil keeps getting fired from deadend jobs.  So I wrote a bit with it.  Enjoy! 

Fandom: Sanders Sides, SnowDice’s Cuffed Universe.

Characters: Virgil, Logan, Remus

Relationships: Platonic(?) Virgil/Logan/Remus

Additional Tags: Food mentions, locking someone in a closet, Sexual jokes

Word Count: 1421

Summary: Virgil delivers pizza to the wrong house.  Everything from there goes downhill from there.

AO3

Virgil honestly had lost count at this point at how many jobs Logan and Remus had indirectly made him lose.  Or directly in the case of the art shop and Target.

But nothing could go wrong with delivering pizzas for Dominos.  Nothing.  He’d been doing this for two weeks now and nothing had gone wrong, which was a bit of a record at this point and so when Virgil got a delivery slip for some place on the other side of the city, he thought it was weird, why order from this location when there was another Domino’s closer, but whatever.

Yeah, he was really wrong on that part.

…

Virgil rang the doorbell, as per the instructions on the receipt and when the door opened, he was greeted by a confused man.

“Dominos for Hatcher?”

The man blinked and Virgil sighed.  “There was a pizza asked to be delivered here, can you just take them and sign the paper?  They’ve already been paid for.”

“I think you have the wrong address.”

“Fuck.” Virgil turned away and the man’s hand clamped down on his shoulder before he could move away.

“Maybe you should come inside.”

“I’d rather fucking not.”  Virgil responded as the man tugged him back.

He probably would have gotten away if he hadn’t been holding three pizzas.  Unfortunately for Virgil, he was dragged inside and the door was slammed shut.

…

From the car that he had been in for the past day, Remus cursed.  Virgil really had the worst case of luck.  He’d been watching this house to hopefully see a deal go down, after all, he’d been following this trail for a few weeks now, but now he had to add abducted pizza deliverer to the list.

…

 Logan was pulling DiGiorno's out of his hideout’s oven after the first pizza that he ordered hadn’t shown up, which was aggravating, but he shouldn’t have trusted Dominos.  Either way it didn’t matter, because he was heading out tomorrow morning to the next job he had.   He didn’t have any plates here, so he opted to fold some paper towels and use that.

He was on his second slice when the doorbell rang.  Logan got up with his pizza slice and meandered to the door, idly wondering if it was the Dominos order.

He opened the door.

“Remus.  You said a forty two hour truce.  I still have fourteen hours.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not here to arrest you, scoot.” Remus pushed past him and entered the bare house, Logan closing the door as the officer made his way to the kitchen and stole a slice of pizza.

“Why are you here?”

“I was on a stakeout, mostly waiting out the truce time and I saw your dumbass of a ex boyfriend get pegged.”

Logan blinked.  “I’ve never had an ex.  Why are you watching porn at work?”

Remus sighed.  “Oh my god, how are you somehow the smartest and the dumbest person I know?  I was doing a stakeout, and I saw Virgil trying to do his job- he delivers pizzas now- and the person who ordered it dragged him inside and he’s probably still in there.”

Logan’s eye twitched.  “Okay.”

“Wanna help me get him back?”  Remus took a bite of Logan’s pizza and nodded.  “This is good.”

“Why don’t you just arrest them?” “They technically haven’t done anything illegal yet, that’s why I was watching the place.”

“I can’t even come up with the words to describe what I want to do with you.”

“Kinky.”

“Nevermind, I want to acquaint your face with a chair.  Repeatedly.”  Logan muttered.

“Still kinky.”

…

“If I had a nickel for everytime I got tied up and locked in a closet, I’d have two nickels.”  Virgil said cheekily as the nameless dude handcuffed him to a shelving unit.

“Shut up.”

“I mean like, you really didn’t have to drag me in here.  I’m really tired of people getting me fired for doing my job.”

“I will not hesitate to gag you.”

Virgil shrugged.  “You would not be the first.”

“Looks like I’ll be the first to make sure you don’t get out.”

Virgil froze.  “Woah, hold up.  I’ve been through some shit, please just let me go at the end.  I’d really rather not die in a dusty closet. I won’t snitch.”

The man said nothing, but he shoved a handkerchief in Virgil’s mouth and then tied a rope around his head, effectively making it so he couldn’t work out the gag.

Remus would probably find this hot.   Virgil thought miserably as the guy left, shutting the door and throwing him into darkness.

…

When Remus and Logan pulled up a few houses away from the one that Virgil was apparently in, Logan sighed.

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I had a job over here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Remus thunked his head against the steering wheel.  “I swear if we get Virgil fired again…”

“Our current problem is that we need to make sure that he’s fine.  Minimum wage jobs aside, I move that we wait for them to leave, see if they take him with them and if not, we go in and search to see if he’s still there.  If they take him, you can charge them with abduction and my job will be done.”  Logan pulled out his most recent laptop as Remus looked at him incredulously.

“Aren’t you worried they’ll kill him, they’re drug dealers.”

Logan didn’t bother to look up.  “No.  I’ve been tapping money from these guys for a while, they usually just leave people behind to die of natural causes.”

“What.”

“I make sure they’re found before they die.  I’m a criminal, not a monster Remus.”  Logan snapped.

…

Virgil lost track of time, but he was dead exhausted by the time the closet door opened and he looked up to see Logan.

“Remus, found him!”  Logan called out the door before turning and crouching in front of him.  “Are you okay?”

Virgil glared and Logan blinked a few times before realizing why he couldn’t speak.

“Sorry.  One moment.”  he untied the rope and Virgil spat out the handkerchief.

“Why is it always you two?”  He hissed out and Logan sighed.

“I am sorry that you keep getting caught up in our escapades.”

“I’m tired Logan.  Really, really tired.  Can you guys just unlock me and leave so I can go get fired again and also sleep.  I don’t know how long I’ve been stuck here.”

“About a day.”  Remus’ voice interrupted before Logan could answer as he crammed himself into the closet to crouch next to Logan.  “Nice place you got here.”

“Remus.”

“What Lo?  It’s better than some of the other places we’ve left and found Pizza Man.”

All three of them shuddered.

Remus reached forward with some sort of key, unlocking Virgil’s handcuffs and freeing him from the shelving.   Virgil rubbed at his wrists and shook his arms to get some of the feeling back.   

“I didn’t even see either of you this time, how the fuck did this happen?” “Logan was stalking them.”

“Remus, you were here first.  And to be honest, neither of us directly had a part in this.  You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Virgil sighed and rested the back of his head against the shelf that he had been handcuffed to.  “God, kill me.”

“I’d rather not.  Do you need to be carried out?”  Logan gently asked as he brushed a bit of Virgil’s hair from his face.

“Nah, I may be exhausted, but I should probably drive the Dominos car back to the place before I get charged with theft.”  Virgil waved his hand, prompting Logan and Remus to stand and take a few steps back so he could get off the ground.

“I didn’t really like the blue anyway, but I’m not really ecstatic to have to go job searching again.  I’m starting to run out of places that’ll hire me.”

And with that, he pushed past Logan and Remus, exiting the house and leaving the pair to stare at each other.

Remus scuffed at the floor with a toe.  “So, uh… I’ll give you fourteen hours?”

Logan shrugged.  “Sure.  I’m going to make sure that Virgil gets home without falling asleep.”

“Okay.  See you next time we inevitably cross paths and get Virgil fired again.”

Logan nodded, took a half step towards Remus, decided against whatever he was going to do and turned, leaving the officer to close the closet door.

#Cuffed Universe #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #snowdice gift #virgil sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders

[lady-of-disdain]

If you're so bothered by a cartoon ship (which... no words) still don't understand why you take it out on shippers, not like you could do much about the studio anyway, they don't care, as they should, but then being on our ass is entirely pointless... maybe that's the problem at the same time, maybe to some extent you do realise no one cares so you've decided persecuting a bunch of fan creators and consumers would be the next best thing. That said I feel it's imperative to point out, we're not Sunrise, we're not the ones with the power to shape this story, so you bullying us is frankly just devoid of any meaning other than raw intent for violence. At the very least admit that and drop the pretences, it's the only thing you've done after all, one would have to be blind not to see it.

If you're afraid a puny ship might be canon, and whatever you've twisted it to mean for you, take it up with the studio, alternatively with god since you're so into fictive characters over real life. Come to think of it didn't you guys have a friend that has a friend working at the studio? How come you're still so insecure? Why don't you tell the friend of the friend to influence the plot? Why hasn't this friend of a friend provided any other inside scoops to make themselves credible? Questions, questions.

Either way, hurting shippers will achieve nothing, we were gonna ship no matter the canon status of the ship, and I pity you people who think that shipping something has to be done because you want something canon, as opposed to just... for fun... but maybe that comes naturally with being pathetic, anyway, the possibility of it becoming canon now has nothing to do with us. Even less so as Westerners, if audience even has any sort of influence in all this, it would be the Japanese one way before it would be any Western one. Appreciate you giving us so much importance, but we don't need it, and we're just not really as important as you attribute, we'd just love it if you stopped hurting people over cartoons. You made something gruesome out of a fairy tale, that's on you, that's your problem, and we'd all be better off if you found a way to deal with that didn't rely on abusing others.

Honey, are you lost? I think there was maybe a different blog this rant was supposed to be sent to but I got it by mistake. Because I have no worldly idea what you are talking about in about half of this ask.

The first thing that confuses me: that I’m apparently “taking it out on shippers”, “ persecuting”, and “bullying” them? Please show me your receipts. I’ve literally never directly initiated contact with a sessrin blog. Hell, the one time I considered answering a post made by a pro blog, it was going to be in direct response to a question they posed in the anti tag, directed towards antis, and it turns out I couldn’t even answer the post because the user had most of the anti community blocked. (Silly, I know, but this is what we’ve been dealing with so what can I say.) Any time I want to respond to a sessrin argument that wasn’t directed to me anyways, I would usually screenshot it and blackout the names.

I can count on one hand the times I’ve even posted in the same thread as pro sessrin blogs, and in those cases, I either A) didn’t directly call out the other blog/blogs that were posting in the same thread as me, or @ them, or B) was only even interacting in said post because pro shippers were piling on and harassing people in the thread, and I was simply pointing out that there were shippers in said thread acting fools. The only time I ever even pointed out a particular blog I did it via screenshot and did it to keep a record of a blog that was admitting to flagging our posts as spam. 

If you would like to see proof of my interactions, all you have to do is check the #receipts tags on my blog, you’ll find all of my interactions conveniently tagged. (Oh and don’t worry, I’ll get back to that receipts tag shorty.)

The second thing you said that confuses me, that I have a “friend that has a friend working at the studio”? What (and I can’t stress this enough) the FUCK, are you talking about? 

I.....have never made this claim? Where have I ever said this, where have I ever reblogged this? I’ve never even read this? I need some clarification here, because either you are from an alternate timeline where I’m living a much cooler life, or like I said, you have the wrong blog.

~

Anyways, regardless of the fact that I’m pretty sure you sent this to the wrong person, I guess I can render a response to the base question you seem to be asking here: Why argue with shippers?

Really, at the end of the day, I’m not arguing with your average shipper. Hell, there are a few blogs I even follow and interact with that have said they like sessrin content, but they understand this is not an appropriate thing for a kid's show. And I can respect that because I’ve been in the problematic ship boat in other fandoms. (Here’s a hint, in one of the fandoms that I followed content for a problematic ship in, a content creator was given cookies with sewing needles baked into them, yikes right?!)

The main message of mine and many other blogs I follow is that this ship isn’t appropriate for children’s media, and what happens is a lot of salty people come out of the woodwork who feel the need to argue and say there is nothing wrong with it, which causes us to have to list the reasons why there is indeed something wrong with it (thus why it shouldn't be in said children’s media), then what happens is people like you come at us and act like all we’ve been doing is bullying shippers, and “why don’t you just let us ship in peace!?!?!?!!!??”

In fact, I shouldn’t even be surprised that I got this ask eventually, because as I’ve pointed out in the past, the shipper argument seems to be a cyclical one.

A blogger will make a statement something along the lines that they really don’t care if people ship sessrin, but the shippers really shouldn’t be making a lot of noise to the studio that they want to see this ship in the show because kids watch it, and it’s not a great message to send to kids.

A shipper will then message the blog (usually anonymously if possible) something along the lines of you’re wrong about the ship sending a bad message to kids because of xyz, or it’s a totally normal and healthy relationship, and you’re wrong, or Yashahime isn’t for kids, etc.

The Blogger will then respond with actual evidence, a well-worded response, or even just fucking common sense (like come on, some of the mental gymnastics I’ve seen people employ to try to validate this fucking ship to us is hilarious).

The blogger will then get another message something along the lines of  “why don’t you just let us ship in peace!?!?!?!!!??”

The blogger responds with JESUS CHRIST I SAID FROM THE VERY START THAT I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SHIP I JUST DON’T WANT TO SEE IT IN A GODDAMN KIDS CARTOON”

At which point the whole process is rinsed and repeated. Congratulations you’ve just witnessed a new grey hair grow out of my fucking scalp.

However, there is a new facet to this shit gem that I’ve noticed during this whole annoying cycle, and that is the fact that a lot of pro shippers are making claims that they are being harassed by anti blogs, but I’m not seeing a lot of proof of this. And make no mistake, if I see an established anti blog being terrible, or making a false claim, I have no problem calling them out, or correcting false information. Please, feel free to screenshot proof and post it in the anti tag, and see how many other blogs won't put up with this either.

And to be clear, I don’t really count anonymous asks as harassment, because people can be sending that shit to themselves. Just like I don’t mind asks I get like this one because I naively respond to them in the hopes that maybe someone will actually understand what the argument has been about this whole time. And if I didn’t like it, turning off anon magically gets rid of it, so *shrug*.

No, I’m talking about actual, out in the open harassment, or shitty behavior. 

Like oh say, Patreon art being reposted in a discord server, then when a good samaritan reports the art theft they are harassed by their fellow discord members. 

Or maybe the ongoing flagging and harassment campaigns that are going on over almost all online social media platforms. 

Or how about the time some people tried to start a Twitter smear campaign against a voice actor who has some opinions about their ship they don’t like.

Yeah, remember how I said I’ve got a receipts tag. I see ya’ll.

#anti sessrin #anti rinsess #antisessrin #anon #yay I've finally reached the rinse and repeat stage of my blog #next ask from a shipper will be an excuse or validation of sessrin guaranteed

[tog-resources-archive]

Hello fellow fan who has been here since the beginning! I come from the “other side” I suppose, in that I do think the top/bottom discourse is worth talking about. It has to do with the elephant in the room which I haven’t seen anyone touch on – self-identified top!joe fans (in contrast to simply fans who enjoy or prefer content where joe tops). I remember the original top/bottom discourse coming out of a more general conversation about trends in fic (1)

Thank you fan!anon for sending me such a long, detailed message! Never apologize for writing me an essay since I always seem to be writing essays for other people in return lol. Also sorry it took a while to get to! This required a bit of preparation. You’ve given me a lot to respond to. I’m going to be putting the entirety of the ask under the cut and the tl;dr because this one is very, verrrryyyy long. 

Tl;dr- fan!anon talks about the history of top/bottom discourse in TOG and the issues of racism in our fandom. My response: my own feelings on the history of the top/bottom discourse in TOG and the current state of it. General issues I’ve observed in this fandom and the current discourse. Also, we shouldn’t ignore fandom racism, but I don’t think we should be looking at it through the lens of top/bottom, AND I think we should be focusing on misogyny, homophobia, etc. in addition to racism. Not ignore one for the other. 

Bottom line though, don’t harrass people, block people if you need to, focus on what you love, support fan creation and let’s try to be a better fandom. 

Okay, time to dig in!

Hello fellow fan who has been here since the beginning! I come from the “other side” I suppose, in that I do think the top/bottom discourse is worth talking about. It has to do with the elephant in the room which I haven’t seen anyone touch on – self-identified top!joe fans (in contrast to simply fans who enjoy or prefer content where joe tops). I remember the original top/bottom discourse coming out of a more general conversation about trends in fic (1) wherein Joe was more violent, less empathetic, often not religious, more aggressive in sexual scenarios, and also most often topping. People asked the fandom in general to simply consider, if that is how they perceive Joe, to reflect for themselves about implicit biases that could be colouring that interpretation. The self-identified top!joes used that conversation as a starting point to argue that the above interpretation of Joe, (2) and writing/drawing Nicky as smaller, almost twink-like, demure, more feminine (or writing fic where he was de-aged) was justified by canon (if you recall the multi-day argument about the approximately 1 inch height difference between Marwan and Luca) and connecting those ideas to top!joe just “making more sense” to them. In the hands of a good writer (of which we are blessed to have many in this fandom!), which character tops in an explicit fic is of no consequence to me. (3) But the concept of top!joe has, in my mind, become so closely tied with those fans who, a) interpret these characters and actions in a way that seems influenced by racial stereotypes and tropes and b) use that characterization as “justification” for top!joe. All this when I thought we all agreed that position preference has nothing to do with personality? (4) If someone sees Joe as a very masculine, aggressive, dom-type character (which is a bit of a one-note characterization to start, but I digress), that shouldn’t be related to him being a “top”, correct? Yet that is the interpretation and connection that the top!joes themselves make. So that’s why to me, the top/bottom framework continues to have some value, eve though in an ideal world it wouldn’t: (5) because some fans connect what should be a neutral sexual position preference to an interpretation of Joe’s character, an interpretation which I think doesn’t do him justice. I understand if you don’t want to publish this but I’m hesitant to talk off anon due to how heated this whole conversation is. I also don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or make them feel bad about how they are participating in the fandom, but I do think self-reflection in terms of how we engage is valuable. (6) And just to fully reiterate in case it wasn’t clear, my above points are specifically referring to who I think of as “top!joe only” fans as opposed to fans who enjoy or prefer content in which joe tops – only the former of which I am wary of. Anyways, sorry for this long message, and I hope I've been able to explain my reasoning. If we continue to disagree, thanks for reading this anyways and continuing the dialogue. Thank you also for promoting femslash events and content! (7)

So....I did say in a previous post that I’m not a big fan of hearsay, and I’m sorry but… that’s kind of what you’ve given me. A lot of “this is what Top!Joe Only people have said” and “this is what the rest of the fandom has said back.” I have to ask, who are these “Top!Joe Only” people that are on the other side of this fandom war? Who are the people representing the “rest of the fandom”?  The only names I could really come up with myself are the Top!Joe Server mods as top!Joe only fans, and they haven’t exactly been active recently. Not to mention the Top!Joe server mod @karanoidandroid was the focus of the Art Theft and Bullying debacle a while back (here) which even if you disagree with her… that’s not the way you treat people. Full stop. 

But anyway, to break this down, you’ve said that top!joe only fans wanted to interpret Joe in a way that was “more violent, less empathetic, less religious, more sexually aggressive, and topping (most of the time)” and that Nicky is “smaller, more twink-like, more demure and feminine” and that the hardcore top!joe stans are using this interpretation as a reasoning for liking top!joe explicit fics (and for underage fic?)

Er, honestly, I’ll have to disregard the “less religious” comment in this one. Lucyclairedelune has talked about it very eloquently here. As for the rest, let’s say these opinions were expressed on tumblr in July, just when the fandom was getting started. However, after personally going through all the Explicit July fics, I gotta say, the overwhelming majority of writers are focused on romantic Malta sex vacations lol. 

From my personal observations (I started reading fic on ao3 in August), I’ve seen some stories that cater to very… specific tastes (mostly kinkmeme fics so I’m not going to touch that) and some that have…. been written in poor taste perhaps. But, honestly, the majority of fics (aka G, T, M rated) that I’ve seen? I would say that they were written with care and concern for the character’s portrayal. 

Now, some fans (usually older fans) are very focused on “your kink is not my kink” and other fans feel this is an inappropriate way to view “racist, homophobic, islamophobic, etc” fics. And I agree with that. If people are using kink to excuse racism, homophobia, islamophobia, transphobia, antisemitism, misogyny, etc, in fics: Fuck that. But I think there’s a lot of misunderstanding flying around when people react to ‘ykinmk”. This fandom likes to assume the worst of their fellow fans imo, and I honestly don’t think that when a person defends kink that they’re trying to defend racism. They’re trying to defend their kink community which, historically, has been attacked and misunderstood by the purity police. Look into the Livejournal, ffnet, and even the Tumblr purges if you don’t believe me. 

For the record, I don’t know anyone on tumblr personally. We’re all effectively strangers talking to each other on the internet, so I’m not going to make assumptions about people from stories they’ve posted on AO3 or the kinkmeme. If you want to talk about the issues those fics represent, that’s cool, but don’t harass people whose life stories you don’t know (and don’t vagueblog about them). (This is just a general statement, not saying this about you anon! I feel really strongly about this.)

Now you say, “some fans connect what should be a neutral sexual position preference to an interpretation of Joe’s character” and I hate to say it, but there are ALWAYS going to be some people who have awful opinions. Ones that are either truly terrible, or kind of in poor taste, or maybe you just don’t vibe with them. Personally, I don’t have enough time in the day to address every weird thing that a person spews on the internet. I won’t judge if you want to take them on, but, personally, I haven’t seen any recent militant top!joe only posts that are calling for racist portrayals. I see people referring to past conversations, for sure, but again, I can’t do anything with hearsay. 

And honestly, we keep bringing up the top/bottom discourse of early TOG fandom, and we’re just not the same fandom we were then. SO MANY people have left the fandom in that time-- a lot of big name (or simply well known) fans and a lot of MENA fans. Regardless of what “side” you’re on in this, we all lose by focusing on the positions, by dividing everyone by “top” or “bottom” or “switch” fans, and by bringing up what people said in July, or August, or September.  It’s exhausting, especially because I think a lot of people have done exactly what you said. Many authors HAVE self-reflected, they’ve thought about trends, the implications, and are contributing/interacting with the fandom as best as they can. Do I think we should stop focusing on self-reflection? That we should stop being careful about writing potentially damaging portrayals of our favorite characters? NO. Let’s keep at it! Let’s encourage others to do the same… but not with top/bottom discourse.

Let it be known that I don’t think racism is a topic we should disregard to focus on other things. Honestly, I would be happy if people gave some of the energy they have for “top/bottom” discourse to talk about the portrayal of Nile Freeman or Lykon or Copley or Quynh… the other POC representation in TOG that usually gets ignored. You may interpret this as me going “but what about??” and that’s fair. I just think that we talk about Joe ALL THE TIME in this fandom. There is an avalanche of conversation and content for this man (who I love, don’t get me wrong) and it just feels really disingenuous (to me) to talk ad nauseum about racist portrayals of Joe, but then to ignore Nile Freeman and wlw fics when Nile is the rare Black Female Action Protagonist and Andy/Quynh is an extremely rare interracial canon lesbian couple. And I’ve been trying to use my blog here to bring attention to this, think of me what you will because of that. (Again just a general statement anon! Not directed to you XD)

And from what I’ve seen in this fandom (and many others to be fair) is that we care about racism SO MUCH…but only when talking about how a man has sex.  It speaks of a lack of intersectional understanding of these topics, disregarding the misogyny that IS ALSO inherent in fandom, and disregarding the homophobia of overfocusing on the top/bottom dynamics. BUT I’m not asking you to ignore racism; all I’m asking is for you to focus on the other issues too. 

Bottom line though… the discourse is not what it once was.  A lot of people, on whatever side, have left the fandom, or have taken a break, or are vocally tired of “top/bottom” discourse. Personally, I think we should talk about racism… but not through the lens of explicit mlm fic sex positions. Let’s talk more about race, gender, sex and sexual orientation, but not in a way that divides the fandom, in a way that makes people sick of being here, in a way that kills our content creator’s passion. Honestly, I think it can be done! But only if we work toward that goal together. 

I would like to focus on encouraging events in our community, such as the ongoing Old Guard Big Bang 2021 event and the upcoming Femslash Fortnight Spring Solstice Edition event. If anyone is organizing other events, let me know and I’ll hype you up! But as for the rest, I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all tired. Let’s try and work harder to be a kinder, more inclusive fandom in the future, for everyone’s sake. 

#tumblr is a nightmare #the formatting issues i had with this one... #the old guard #my post #my ask #reply #loooooonnnnng ask and loooooong reply #sorry guys #this will be the last one for a while i think #the old guard discourse #old guard discourse #tog discourse

[myonechicagoworld]

CHICAGO FIRE – MERRY CHRISTMAS, ETC (S01E10)

                                                 [door slams]

Joe Cruz: [breathing heavily]

                  Where is he? 

                  Where’s Leon?

Flaco: Where’s my money?

Joe Cruz: Okay, look… I have a grand, but…

                                                 [door opens]

Joe Cruz: Leon. 

                  Flaco…

                                                 [door shuts]

Joe Cruz: Listen, man… I

Flaco: The deal was for ten grand, Joe.

Joe Cruz: I… I can make payments

Flaco: You know how this works. I give you a break, word gets out, 

            and everybody else wants a break. And I spend half my day

            explaining to people why they ain’t gonna get one. 

            So no breaks.

            Do you have the money or not?

Joe Cruz: No, I don’t.

                                                 [gun clocking]

Joe Cruz: No!

                                                  [door slams]

Joe Cruz: [panting]

Kelly Severide: Hey, yeah… is, uh, Renee Royce there? 

                           [chuckling] Leave…uh, leave what?

                           Word? Uh, yeah, sure.

                            Yeah, go for it. Leave word. Thanks.

                                                   cutscene

Peter Mills: Good morning, ladies.

Leslie Shay: Peter Mills, it’s the saddest thing. Christmas lights at

                      the north gate got blown down.

Peter Mills: What? We are gonna have to do something about that.

Leslie Shay: The fireman that saved Christmas.

Peter Mills: Mm.

Gabby Dawson: [laughs]

                            You think if I asked him to my cousin’s Christmas

                             party, he might take it the wrong way? 

Leslie Shay: Family functions are usually reserved for serious

                      suitors, so shouldn’t you be asking Casey?

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat] I just need a date so that my cousin

                            doesn’t make any more comments about how I’m 

                            gonna die alone.

Leslie Shay: So you afraid Casey will say no?

Gabby Dawson: Bitch, please.

Peter Mills: Hey, hey, Cruz, you give me a hand here?

Joe Cruz: In a minute.

Peter Mills: Okay.

Joe Cruz: You said ten minutes.

Leon Cruz: Yo, I don’t even want to be here. Why you calling me?

Joe Cruz: Come on inside.

Leon Cruz: What? So a bunch of fat firemen can make jokes about 

                    my face?

Joe Cruz: Look, this is a daily police bulletin. We get one of these 

                  every day.

Leon Cruz: That’s what ‘daily’ usually means.

Joe Cruz: “Expect increased violence in neighbourhood of

                   Humboldt Park due to an escalating gang conflict.” 

                   Leon, this is some serious business you’re getting

                   wrapped up in. I don’t know how else to say it, man, 

                   I’m worried about you.

Leon Cruz: Then pay Flaco his buyout and be done with it. Oh, but

                    you don’t got ten grand, right? So why are we still 

                    talking?

                    Look, just keep your nose out of my business before

                    you get my ass kicked again.

Joe Cruz: Leon, man. 

                 Leon! 

                 [grunts]

                                  [station alarm buzzes and blares]

(Over PA): Shift 51, Truck 81, Ambulance 61.

                                       [indistinct radio chatter]

Lady 1: I was deep-frying eggplant. I turned my back for a minute

              and there were flames everywhere. I… I tried to beat it out

               with a towel, I just…[continues indistinctly]

Matt Casey: Let these two take care of that hand.

Chief Boden: (into radio) Truck 81 is on the scene.

                                       [smoke alarm beeping]

Christopher Herrmann: Aah… turn off that smoke detector.

                                     [fire extinguisher spraying]

Matt Casey: All right, let’s do a quick walk-through, open some

                     windows, get this place vented.

                                             [beeping stops]

Mouch: Holy moly. These folks must be the 1% I keep hearing 

               about.

Otis Zvonecek: Oh, you guys! This priceless piece of artwork has

                           been destroyed. 

                           Oh, wait. Nevermind. It’s supposed to look like that.

Mouch: [chuckles]

Gabby Dawson: All right?

Lady 1: Thank you.

Matt Casey: Probably need a new countertop, but everything else is

                      okay.

Lady 1: Oh my God, thank you. 

                                                [kissing sound]

Lady 1: Thank you so much.

(Over radio): Truck 81, are you available to assist at a pin-in 

                       accident?

Matt Casey: (into radio) Truck 81 responding.

                      Pack her up. We got another call.

                                                [siren blares]

                                                [horn honks]

Lady 1: Come back! Somebody stop them!

Chief Boden: Ma’am, what’s the problem?

Lady 1: My diamond necklace was sitting right there on my dresser, 

              and now it’s gone. And one of those firemen took it.

                                              [siren fading]

                                                  - Title -

Christopher Herrmann: [groans]

Matt Casey: What’s the matter, Herrmann?

                                           [truck door shuts]

Man 1: Matthew Casey. How about that?

Matt Casey: What are you doing here, Griffin?

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): I’m with Internal Affairs Division now.

Christopher Herrmann: What’s the IAD doing here? 

Otis Zvonecek: CPD too. 

Matt Casey: What the hell’s going on?

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): A woman on Green Street said somebody

                                 walked off with her diamond necklace.

Mouch: What? 

Otis Zvonecek: [grunts]

Matt Casey: This is a joke, right?

Man 2 (Detective): No joke, Lieutenant.

Matt Casey: My men aren’t thieves.

Man 2 (Detective): All the same. We’re talking about a 50,000 dollar

                                piece of jewellery. 

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): That’s a class 2 felony.

Chief Boden: Casey, the police need to take statements from you

                        and the men. 

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): And I’m gonna need you to fill out a form too. 

                                 Basic stuff… where you worked in the fire,

                                 who you worked with, if you saw the missing 

                                 item or anything else at all suspicious.

Matt Casey: Can I have a minute?

Truck Firefighter: Man…

Chief Boden: I know what you’re gonna say.

Matt Casey: On my best day, I’d have to fight the urge to choke that

                      guy out. Today’s not my best day.

Chief Boden: The possible theft of a 50,000 dollar necklace

                        supersedes any concerns about your personal 

                        feelings toward Ted Griffin.

Matt Casey: Chief, you know as well as I do, none of my men took

                      that necklace.

Chief Boden: I hope not, ‘cause I don’t want to see any of them

                       lose their job and face criminal charges. And I don’t

                       want to see their Lieutenant get a black mark on his

                       record, so let’s just play this one by the book.

Matt Casey: [exhales]

Chief Boden: Good.

                                                   cutscene

Kelly Severide: Yeah, stop right here.

Squad Firefighters: Go ahead, lover boy.

                                  Yeah, go break her heart, huh?

                                            [squad door shuts]

Squad Firefighter: Never thought I’d see the day.

                                                 [chuckling]

                                            [knocks on door]

Kelly Severide: Uh, hey. Um, does Renee Royce live here?

Man 3 (Renee’s Assistant): [scoffs] Renee, there’s a fireman here 

                                               for you.

Renee Royce: Excuse me, gentlemen.

                         Thanks, Ray. 

                          Hi.

Kelly Severide: Uh, don’t mean to interrupt. Um, I know you said

                           you worked from home on Fridays, and uh…

Renee Royce: And you just pictured me all alone answering emails

                         in my underwear?

Kelly Severide: Well, I am now.

Renee Royce: Mmhmm.

                         Wow, these are, um, gorgeous. Thank you.

Kelly Severide: How about dinner tomorrow night? No interruptions

                          this time, I promise.

Renee Royce: Okay. All right.

Kelly Severide: Okay.

Renee Royce: Okay. 

Kelly Severide: I’ll see you then, Royce.

Renee Royce: Okay, Severide.

                                                     cutscene

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] Wait, so what exactly do you have 

                            against Mills?

Leslie Shay: Not a thing. He’s adorable. He’s like a harmless little 

                      puppy dog.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah, a puppy dog with a little wolf blood in him.

                                                    [chuckling]

Gabby Dawson: Hey, what’s up, Chief?

Leslie Shay: Hey, Chief [clears throat]

Chief Boden: Sit.

Leslie Shay: Uh, Chief, is this about the diamond necklace Dawson

                      stole at the residence…

Gabby Dawson: Hey.

Chief Boden: Someone from another shift apparently just told your

                        field chief that sometime in November, four units of

                        Toradol went missing from your rig during your shift.

Gabby Dawson: What? 

Leslie Shay: Hm?

Gabby Dawson: Who’s saying this? I bet you it was Lowell.

Chief Boden: Don’t you worry about who said it.

Gabby Dawson: And why are they waiting till now to say anything?

Chief Boden: That’s probably because they heard IAD is sniffing

                        around our house. They want to cast the blame if

                        any more narcotics turned up missing.

Gabby Dawson: You know some junkie probably stole it off the rig

                             when we were busy saving his friend.

Chief Boden: That may be so. But it’s on you, Dawson.

                       So the two of you knock your heads together,

                       get back to me with your official version about what

                        happened by the end of the shift.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah, we’ll figure it out, Chief.

Chief Boden: You better. 

Leslie Shay: [exhales] Thanks.

Chief Boden: You’re welcome. 

                                                      cutscene

Peter Mills: We saved this lady’s house. Where does she come off

                     accusing us of stealing…

Mouch: It’s not like it’s without precedent. Back in the day, I worked

              with Pat “The Pinch” Osbourne. Had fingers like flypaper.

              The roof could be caving in on us, and Pat would take a 

               moment to rescue the silverware.

Peter Mills: So… what’s the deal with the Lieutenant and the guy 

                     from IAD?

Christopher Herrmann: Uh, eh, bad history. They went through the

                                         academy together. 

                                         And… there was an incident.

Peter Mills: What kind of incident? 

Mouch: The kind that ends with Griffin getting his face punched in.

Peter Mills: Wait, why… why did the Lieutenant hit him?

Mouch: He was talking trash about Casey’s family.

              Um, but, see… we don’t talk about that.

Otis Zvonecek: Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys, here we go. Here we go.

                           Hey, Lieutenant. Lieutenant, check this out.

                           The people with all the artwork… Sandra and uh,

                            Richard Vaughn… they’re selling their entire art 

                            collection at auction.

Matt Casey: I already finished my Christmas shopping.

Otis Zvonecek: No, no, no, no. Think about it. You don’t sell your

                           art collection. Your children sell your art collection

                           after you die, or… you sell it if you need the 

                            money.

Matt Casey: Otis, I have things to do.

Otis Zvonecek: The… the diamond necklace, it’s an insurance 

                           scam.

Matt Casey: So this woman nearly burned down her home in some

                      elaborate scheme to get firefighters in there so she 

                      could accuse…

Otis Zvonecek: No. 

Matt Casey: ‘em of stealing a necklace?

Otis Zvonecek: She didn’t set the fire. But when it happened,

                           she saw an opportunity to cash in.

Matt Casey: Yeah. You should write that down.

Otis Zvonecek: [sighs] Okay, I will.

                                                   cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: All right.

Gabby Dawson: Shay, your ride’s here.

Christopher Herrmann: There you go. Thanks.

Otis Zvonecek: Great.

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] You going to the prom, Herrmann?

Christopher Herrmann: Hey, this is the flagship for Caesar 

                                        limousine. 

                                        Your chariot awaits, ma’am.

Gabby Dawson: Ooh.

Christopher Herrmann: This guy, he’s liquidating his company.

                                         I can only afford one vehicle to start,

                                         but I figure I roll the profits of this one

                                         into the next, and then the next, 

                                         and before you know it, I have a 

                                         whole fleet.

                                         Airport runs, weddings, prom season.

Otis Zvonecek: Really, Herrmann?

Christopher Herrmann: Hey… I was smart enough to bring my own

                                         mechanic to the negotiations. Severide got

                                         the guy to knock 1,500 dollars off

                                         the price.

Kelly Severide: You’re gonna have to spend some of that money to

                           fix this charging issue. And you definitely need to

                           replace the timing belt.

                                                      cutscene

Leslie Shay: And I thought I replaced every vial I gave you, but I

                      must have lost count.

Kelly Severide: Hey. How can they bust you for something that

                           somebody said happened a month ago? 

                           It’s their word against yours.

Leslie Shay: If it were my ass on the line, I’d put up a fight.

                      But Dawson’s the PIC. It’s her ass on the line.

Kelly Severide: Well, I don’t know what to tell you.

Leslie Shay: No, you’re right. 

                      It’s not your problem. You got what you needed.

Kelly Severide: That… Shay. 

                                            [station alarm buzzes]

Kelly Severide: Shay.

                                             [station alarm blares]

(Over PA): Ambulance 61, Truck 81. Gunshot victim, 

                  67 North Avenue.

Matt Casey: Capp, move this thing, will you?

Capp: You got it.

                                              [engine sputtering]

Christopher Herrmann: Oh, please, please start.

                                                 [engine starts]

Christopher Herrmann: Yes!

(Over PA): Be advised. Reports of multiple gunshot victims, 

                  Humboldt Park. 

Matt Casey: Humboldt Park. As predicted.

                                              [truck engine starts]

                                                   [door shuts]

                                                   [siren wails]

                                             [truck door shuts]

Matt Casey: Everybody back up. Give ‘em some room.

Gabby Dawson: Hey, Shay, let’s get a “C” collar on her. Get her in

                            the back of the ambo and start an IV.

Matt Casey: Is this the one?

Police Officer: The other two are DOA. It was a drive-by vehicle to

                          vehicle. Girl was hit by a stray. Shooters are long 

                           gone.

Matt Casey: Check these two, just in case.

Joe Cruz: I’m on it, Lieutenant.

Gang Unit Detective: What colour was it? The car, what colour?

                                     Was it an  SUV, a Sedan… what? Hey,

                                     come on, man, my partner heard you say 

                                     you saw the other car.

Man 4 (Eyewitness): Not really. I mean, it all happened so fast, man.

                                        [music playing from car]

                                                  cutscene

Leon Cruz: Yo.

Joe Cruz: Yo? Leon, I left you like four messages.

Leon Cruz: Busy day.

Joe Cruz: Yeah, no kidding. We just got a call on a drive by on

                  Augusta and Pulaski, and your boy Flaco was 

                  behind it.

Leon Cruz: Yo, can I call you later?

Joe Cruz: Are you with him right now?

Leon Cruz: Mmhmm. 

Joe Cruz: It don’t matter. I’m gonna do the talking.

                  There’s gonna be retaliation, Leon, and I know you know

                  that. You gotta put some daylight between you and 

                  Flaco.

                                                [locker door shuts]

Joe Cruz: Listen, Leon… I know you think you don’t got a way out

                  of this life, but you do. I can help you. Not… not right

                   this minute, but I can help you get out. Just say the 

                   word. You want my help, just say so.

Leon Cruz: So.

                                                   cutscene

Leslie Shay: There you go, sweetie. Get in there. Have a seat. 

                      You’re gonna catch a cold out here.

Gabby Dawson: [sighs] Okay, James, I’m gonna take your blood

                            pressure. Is that okay?

Man 5 (James): Will it hurt?

Gabby Dawson: I do it every time, and you always ask me if it’s 

                            gonna hurt.

Man 5 (James): You never know.

Gabby Dawson: I don’t know, it’s just too soon to ask Casey.

                            This isn’t the first time his relationship with

                            Hallie flatlined. And if it somehow gets revived

                            again, and she finds out that I asked him on a 

                            date…

Leslie Shay: Won’t you regret it if you don’t ask him, though?

Gabby Dawson: [sighs] It’s gotta be Mills. He’s just the more

                            appropriate choice.

Leslie Shay: I guess you’re right.

                     Oh, for your dress, there’s this new shop on Damen.

Gabby Dawson: No way. I sprained my credit card Christmas

                            shopping. I’ll just recycle something.

                            Oh, 110 over 60! James… you’re like a triathlete.

Leslie Shay: You’re good to go, sweetie. We’ll take you in and get

                      you your meds, okay?

Gabby Dawson: Oh, James, that reminds me. Did you steal any

                            Toradol from us last month?

                             I’m totally kidding [laughs]

                                                      cutscene

Gabby Dawson: Hey, give me a minute.

                            Quick question [clears throat]

                            Saturday… what are you doing?

Matt Casey: Depends. What do you got?

Gabby Dawson: Um, my cousin, the poster child for better homes &

                            gardens, throws this really super fancy Christmas

                            party every year. There’s a string quartet, plum

                            pudding, nutmeg sprinkled on the eggnog. It’s so 

                            perfect you want to vomit.

Matt Casey: Sounds awesome. And you need a date?

Gabby Dawson: Yeah. I mean, I just need a friend to bring along, 

                             really.

Matt Casey: Oh. Then maybe you should ask Mouch.

                      If you’re up for a date, tell me what time to pick you 

                      up.

Gabby Dawson: 7 o’clock?

Matt Casey: Great.

Gabby Dawson: [whispers] Yeah, I need a new dress.

                                                    cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: Chief, are you just gonna let these pretend

                                         cops violate our civil rights?

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah, don’t they need to show us a warrant or 

                           something?

Chief Boden: They are well within their authority to search firehouse

                        property. 

Peter Mills: Even our personal lockers?

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): You mean the department’s lockers?  

                                  Besides, it shouldn’t bother you if you’re not 

                                   hiding something.

Matt Casey: Griffin, can I have a moment with you?

Chief Boden: Locker room, guys. Come on.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): What? You want to punch me again?

Matt Casey: When’s the last time IAD searched an entire house?

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): A firefighter stole a 50,000 dollar necklace,

                                 and it’s my job to find out who. But don’t

                                 blame me if you suddenly regret assaulting 

                                  a fellow classmate.

Matt Casey: Regret it? I’m glad I did it. You weren’t the first idiot to

                      make a crack about my family. You’re the last. 

                       No one’s brought it up again since I laid your ass out.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Sucker punched.

Matt Casey: You saw it coming.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): The only ones who saw it were your buddies. 

                                  None of whom had the integrity to say what

                                  really happened.

                                  By the way… how is your mom?

Chief Boden: Hey! Hey!

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Whoa, whoa, whoa. Casey blood sure runs hot,

                                  don’t it?

Chief Boden: Do your job.

                                                     cutscene

Leslie Shay: Remember that one call we went on at D and 

                      University?

Gabby Dawson: Which one?

Leslie Shay: We got a block away, and we realised the jump bag

                      was sitting on the curb. I think that’s when the vials 

                      went missing.

                      Damn girl, you wear that dress, I’ll be your date.

Gabby Dawson: I don’t know. I feel kind of naked.

Leslie Shay: It’s perfect.

                     Excuse me. Ring this up. 

Gabby Dawson: Oh, no, um, I need to think about this one for a

                             minute. Thank you.

                              Is everything okay?

Leslie Shay: Yeah. Why?

Gabby Dawson: You seem more worked up over this Toradol thing 

                             than I am.

Leslie Shay: No, I’m not worried.

(Over radio): Ambo 61, what is your location?

Leslie Shay: (into radio) Ambulance 61. We’re at Armitage and 

                      Damen.

(Over radio): Take in a working fire. 1100 block North Hamlin.

Gabby Dawson: Okay, I’ll take the other one.

                                    [station alarm buzzes & blares]

(Over PA): Engine 51, Truck 81…

                                                    [cheering]

Matt Casey: Let’s go.

(Over PA): Squad 3, Battalion 25, Ambulance 61. House fire, 

                  1100 block…

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): This house was supposed to be taken out of 

                                  service.

Chief Boden: You never made that request. So now you guys are

                        gonna have to sit tight… 

                                            [locker door shuts]

Chief Boden: Until these men get back.

                                                [engine starts]

Otis Zvonecek: That address is Humboldt Park again, isn’t it?

                                                [sirens blaring]

Chief Boden: This is Battalion Chief Boden at 1140 of North Hamlin.

Police Officer: We responded to a call of a gang shooting into the

                          building. They torched it and fled before we got 

                          here.

Chief Boden: Who’s inside? Another gang? Any civilians? 

Police Officer: You know as much as I do. 

Chief Boden: Could be gang members inside. I count six

                        mailboxes. That fire has reached the structure.

Victim 1: Help me!

Matt Casey: Mouch, Otis, on the aerial. Get ready to vent the roof. 

                      Herrmann, Mills, Cruz, with me.

Chief Boden: Be careful.

                                [siren wailing and comes to a stop]

                                                   [gunshots]

Firefighter: Get clear! Get clear!

Matt Casey: I got you, Herrmann.

Christopher Herrmann: [grunts] 

Chief Boden: (into radio) This is the Chicago Fire Department.

                        Lay down your weapons. We are trying to help you!

                                                   [gunshots]

Chief Boden: Cruz!

Joe Cruz: [speaking Spanish]

                  We’re not police. You’re gonna die if you stay in there. 

                  Let us help you!

                  I’m coming in.

Matt Casey: Cruz!

Joe Cruz: Don’t shoot!

                                               [door breaking]

Joe Cruz: [speaking Spanish]

Chief Boden: Cruz! 

Joe Cruz: [speaking Spanish] Don’t shoot!

                  You the Kings?

                   Insane Kings. I’m Leon’s brother. Where is he?

                   Where is he? Where is he?

Christopher Herrmann: That’s the shooter. Get over here,

                                         you punk. Take a look at him.

Joe Cruz: Hey, we’re in! Let’s go!

Matt Casey: Take the infrared. Mills, catch up with Cruz.

                      Herrmann… you okay?

Christopher Herrmann: I’m gonna crack one of those punks upside

                                        their head.

Matt Casey: No. You’re gonna sit this one out.

                      Severide. 

Kelly Severide: Let’s go. 

                                         [ladder raising]

Joe Cruz: Here you go. Put your arm around me.

                  You’re doing fine. Keep going.

                  Come on, just take it easy. You’re almost there.

                   All right, here we go.

                   Hey, somebody take this guy.

Christopher Herrmann: We got him.

                                         We got you.

                                          Shay!

Gabby Dawson: We got you, sir. Here you go.

                                  [chatter on police radio]

Victim 3: [coughing] Help us! [coughing] Help up!

Chief Boden: (into radio) We got a woman and a kid on the second

                        floor. Front, center.

Matt Casey: (into radio) We’ll get ‘em.

Victim 3: Help us. 

Kelly Severide: Fire department! Call out!

Victim 3: Help!

                [coughing] Help us!

                [coughing]

Matt Casey: Let’s go.

Victim 3: [coughs] My little one. I don’t know where he is.

Matt Casey: Severide’ll find him, but we need to go.

Victim 3: You don’t understand, I need to find him.

Matt Casey: Ma’am, we need to go right now.

Victim 3: Marco!

                                       [doors breaking]

Peter Mills: Hello! Anybody in here?

Joe Cruz: Anybody in here?

                 All clear.

Peter Mills: Clear! 

Matt Casey: Come on. Come on, buddy.

Victim 3: Please.

Matt Casey: We’re gonna find him.

Victim 3: [coughing] Marco! Marco!

Matt Casey: Ma’am!

Kelly Severide: I got him!

Joe Cruz: Get this guy out of here!

Peter Mills: Cruz, hold up. I’ll be back!

                    Come on, buddy. Up. I got you.

                                         [knocks on door]

Joe Cruz: Fire department! Clear the door!

                  Anybody in here? Call out!

Victim 4: [coughing]

Peter Mills: Come on.

Victim 3: [coughing]

Chief Boden: Got two minors, smoke inhalation. Get ‘em to the 

                        ambos. 

Christopher Herrmann: Let’s go.

Chief Boden: What do we got?

Kelly Severide: First and second floor are clear.

Victim 5: My leg!

Peter Mills: Watch your step here.

Victim 5: [groaning and grunting]

Matt Casey: Mills.

Peter Mills: Yeah?

Matt Casey: Where’s Cruz? 

Peter Mills: He’s still up there.

Joe Cruz: (over radio) This is Cruz on (into radio) three. All clear. 

                  Headed up to four now.

Matt Casey: (into radio) Cruz, wait for me. I’m coming up.

                                     [infrared beeping]

                                      [bangs on door]

Joe Cruz: Move away from the door.

                  [grunts]

                  Fire department! Call out! 

Victim 6: [coughing]

Joe Cruz: Leon!

Victim 6: [coughing]

Joe Cruz: Leon!

Victim 6 (Flaco): [coughing]

                            Thank God. Joe… help me…

                             [coughing & wheezing] Help me!

                             [coughing] Please!

                             [coughing] Please! Help… 

                             [wheezing] Joe!

                                                [door shuts]

Joe Cruz: (into radio) This is Cruz up top. All clear.

                                                 cutscene

Chief Boden: [exhales] Hell of a job you did out there, Joe.

                       Hey… we missed one.

                       Don’t beat yourself up about it. If you hadn’t gotten us

                        through that gauntlet, we might have missed them all.

Otis Zvonecek: Casey. Hey, you’re not gonna believe this.

                           So I ordered a background check on Sandra and 

                           Richard Vaughn…

Matt Casey: Otis I don’t…

Otis Zvonecek: And they are leveraged up to their eyeballs. It’s one

                           judgement after the next. They… They’re staving

                           off bankruptcy. They’re in financial ruin. And

                            Mr. Vaughn… investigated twice for wire fraud.

                             236 subscribers are gonna hear about this on my

                             next podcast.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Well, Lieutenant Casey. Four hour call, huh?

                                 That was… pretty convenient.

Matt Casey: It’s insurance fraud. The woman with the diamonds? 

                     They’re broke.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): What do you do off-shift, drive around in a van

                                  solving mysteries?

                                                [door shuts]

Matt Casey: Ugh.

                                            [knocks on door]

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Lieutenant Casey. You’re up.

Matt Casey: What is it you’re hoping for, Griffin?

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Toss the room. Search him.

Matt Casey: Seriously? Come on.

                      It’s all yours.

                                                  cutscene

Leslie Shay: It was extremely careless on our part. You leave a bag

                      of full medication on a curb at a college campus,

                      you’re asking for trouble.

Chief Boden: And you are gonna be so much more careful in the 

                       future, right?

Leslie Shay: Yes, sir.

Gabby Dawson: Absolutely, Chief.

Chief Boden: Hmm. Okay. 

                        Just write down what you told me. Don’t sign

                        anywhere until you bring these back, because I

                        have to witness your signatures. If you would

                        like Mouch to go over it with you as your union 

                         representative, you do have that right.

Gabby Dawson: You want us to sign it in blood, or will blue ink 

                             suffice?

Chief Boden: Don’t you drag your heels now.

Gabby Dawson: No, we’ll get it right back to you, Chief.

Chief Boden: Shay… one moment.

Leslie Shay: What is it, Chief?

Chief Boden: Nothing. Go on.

                                                   cutscene

                                          [R&B music playing]

                               [panting, kissing sounds & moaning]

Renee Royce: Skinny margaritas.

Kelly Severide: What?

Renee Royce: Skinny on the calories, not the alcohol. 

Kelly Severide: Ah! Ahh.

                          You have a really nice place.

Renee Royce: Mmm, thank you.

Kelly Severide: Guess it pays to work in… foreign financial…

Renee Royce: International finance law. Yes, it does. But I want to

                         hear about you and how you fight fires every day.

Kelly Severide: It’s not every day. On 24, off 48.

Renee Royce: Oh yeah?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

Renee Royce: I didn’t know that.

Kelly Severide: Uh, huh.

Renee Royce: And then what do you like to do on your off days?

Kelly Severide: I repair boats up near Monroe Harbour. 

Renee Royce: Um, do you go out to the lake much?

Kelly Severide: Yeah, more in the summers, but…

Renee Royce: Mmm. I haven’t been out in a while

Kelly Severide: I’ll take you some time.

Renee Royce: Oh, will you now?

Kelly Severide: Any time you want, Royce. Just say the word.

Renee Royce: Hmm.

Kelly Severide: What?

Renee Royce: Who was she?

Kelly Severide: What do you mean?

Renee Royce: The Renee that ruined my name.

Kelly Severide: She was my fiancée.

                                                  cutscene

                                             [car door shuts]

                                            [knocks on door]

Matt Casey: Evening, ma’am.

Lady 1 (Sandra Vaughn): Can I help you?

Matt Casey: I just wanted to apologise on behalf of Truck 81 for

                      your missing item, and to let you know we’re going 

                      to get to the bottom of it.

Lady 1 (Sandra Vaughn): Well, I should hope so. 

Matt Casey: This is a thermal imaging camera. It’s a really great

                      piece of technology. It helps us see through the 

                      thickest smoke. 

Lady 1 (Sandra Vaughn): Okay.

Matt Casey: We all carry them, and we leave them recording the

                      whole time we’re on a call. And actually I’m on my

                      way to drop all our cameras off with the police so

                      they can review the footage, and see exactly what

                      happened the entire time my men and I were inside

                      your home. 

                      So don’t worry.

Lady 1 (Sandra Vaughn): Okay. Is that it?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Lady 1 (Sandra Vaughn): Great. So maybe you should leave now.

                                               [door shuts]

                                                cutscene

                         [locker opening and things falling out]

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Son, you’re a slob.

Man 6 (Man in uniform): Got something.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Oh yeah. Oh boy. Gimme that. Gimme that.

                                 Oh, false alarm. Just an adorable pair of kitty 

                                  cat cufflinks.

Mouch: It’s the maneki-neko, a Japanese good luck charm.

              And those were a Christmas gift if you don’t mind.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Hey, domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.

Mouch: That doesn’t even make sense.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Chief Boden, have you been able to locate

                                 Lieutenant Casey?

Matt Casey: I’m right here.

                                             [cell phone rings]

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Griffin.

                                  Is that a fact?

                                  That’s very interesting.

                                   No, thank you.

                                   The diamonds slipped down into a heat

                                    register, apparently. Mrs. Vaughn just 

                                    found ‘em.

Mouch: You gotta be kidding me. 

Christopher Herrmann: What a surprise.

Man 1 (Ted Griffin): Less paperwork for me. Hallelujah. Let’s go.

                                 Do say hi to your mom for me.

Matt Casey: Door’s that way.

                                              [door shuts]

Christopher Herrmann: All right… so what’d you do?

Matt Casey: Nothing. I just told her we recorded the whole thing on

                      our thermal cameras, you know. 

Christopher Herrmann: Yeaahhh…

Peter Mills: Wait, thermal cameras don’t record. 

Christopher Herrmann: [gasps]

Peter Mills: Oh. That’s good.

Christopher Herrmann: Ooh.

Capp: Casey, you have a visitor in the briefing room.

Matt Casey: Chris. This is a nice surprise. Merry Christmas.

                                             [kissing sound]

Christie: Yeah, Matt. Merry Christmas.

                Almost done shopping [chuckles]

                I couldn’t remember if you’re a large or extra large,

                but there’s a gift receipt in there.

Matt Casey: Oh. That’s really sweet. Thank you.

Christie: Since we saw you at the cemetery… Violet’s been pretty

                flipped out. “Why doesn’t Uncle Matt ever come to see

                 us? And does he not like us? Do you not like him?”

                  And she shouldn’t have to be asking those questions. 

                  And… that’s on you and me. 

Matt Casey: Absolutely it is, yeah. 

Christie: I feel like she’s been without her uncle, and… I’ve been

               without my brother for too long.

Matt Casey: Yeah, I want nothing more than for us to be in each

                      other’s lives. The last time we talked about it…

Christie: I know. I remember the conversation.

Matt Casey: [sighs] 

Christie: [exhales] So you’re still defending her?

Matt Casey: I’m not gonna turn my back on her.

Christie: Don’t you miss dad?

                                               cutscene

Matt Casey: Yeah, but there’s something.

Gabby Dawson: Excuse me one second. I need to steal him.

Matt Casey: Um, uh, bye.

                      Drink? 

Gabby Dawson: Oh, thank you.

                            Oh, I can’t wait to show you this room.

Matt Casey: Okay.

                      Ooh. 

                       Wow.

Gabby Dawson: It’s nice, right?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat] Oh, and hey, I promise I won’t let my

                            aunt corner you again [chuckles] like that. 

                            I’m sorry.

Matt Casey: [chuckles] It’s okay. She’s… she’s fun.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah, she’s better when you’re drunk.

                             Oh, better learn how to keep up, buddy boy.

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Both: [chuckles]

Gabby Dawson: I mean… are we just here as friends, or… is this a 

                            date?

Matt Casey: I can’t. I mean…

Gabby Dawson: No, yeah. I get it.

Matt Casey: It’s not a good time. 

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat]

Matt Casey: Because it’s worth doing right. 

                      Right?

Lady 2: Oops sorry. Don’t mind us.

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat] Uh, you ready for dessert?  

                            I’m ready… for dessert?

                                                   cutscene

Leon Cruz: This is crazy, bro. I was just up there, like, ten minutes

                    before it all went down. Flaco sent me to get Shorty.

                     Otherwise… I don’t know…[sighs] Somebody’s gotta

                     be up there looking out for me.

                     Joe, you okay?

Joe Cruz: I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I… 

                  [breathing unsteadily]

                                                     cutscene

Kelly Severide: You’re up early.

Leslie Shay: You know I love you, right?

Kelly Severide: Okay, what’s going on?

Leslie Shay: I love you because I know you’d stick your neck out for

                      me the way I have for you.

Kelly Severide: Of course I would.

Leslie Shay: And I did that to get you over the hump.

Kelly Severide: Which you totally did.

Leslie Shay: And then I found these in the trash.

Kelly Severide: Those are ol… they’re old.

Leslie Shay: I perjured myself for you, Kelly.

Kelly Severide: Shay…

Leslie Shay: I’m out.

Kelly Severide: Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you mean?

Leslie Shay: I mean I’m out. We had a deal… we wouldn’t get in

                     each other’s business, but I can’t hold up my end. 

                      So I’m out.

Kelly Severide: Shay, it’s okay. I got it.

                          I got it. I got it.

Leslie Shay: No, you don’t got it!

                      I’m not gonna sit here and watch you… just fool 

                      yourself.

                      I’ll get the rest of my stuff later.

Kelly Severide: Shay, hey, please don’t go.

                           Please don’t…please don’t do this.

                                        [door opens and shuts]

Kelly Severide: [sighs]

                                                 cutscene

Joe Cruz: [breathing unsteadily]

                                        [cell phone vibrates]

Voicemail (Matt Casey): This is Matt Casey. Leave it here and I’ll 

                                          call you back.

Joe Cruz: Lieutenant, it’s Joe Cruz. Um… Casey, man, I need to talk

                  to you. Uh… It’s really important. I, uh… [sighs] I, um…

                                               cutscene

                                         [whistle blowing]

Gabby Dawson: Here we go. I’ll make my brother get the rest of

                            your stuff tomorrow. And you are totally welcome

                            to stay with me as long as you want.

Leslie Shay: Thanks.

Gabby Dawson: You gonna tell me what he did?

Leslie Shay: No. You gonna tell me how your date went?

Gabby Dawson: Nope. 

                            He’s good. 

Police Officer: Thank you.

                                    [dispatcher chatter over radio]

Leslie Shay: Come on, give me something.

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] Well, I was right about Casey. He’s still

                            into Hallie. And I’m an idiot.

                                                    cutscene

                                                [whistle blows]

                                                 [door buzzes]

Matt Casey: Hi, mom.

                                                    cutscene

                                                      [traffic]

Leslie Shay: Tomorrow night, you and me are gonna have a few 

                      margaritas.

Gabby Dawson: Heh! A few pitchers, you mean.

Leslie Shay: Yeah, that was implied.

                                                 [horn blaring]

                                          [cars & truck skidding]

Shay & Dawson: [gasps]

                                          [truck and ambo crash]

                                                      - end -

Definitions:

Buyout = Purchase of the target’s outstanding debt.

Internal Affairs Division = A division of a law enforcement agency which investigates cases of allegations of misconduct and complaints against any member of the fire department, and the necessary actions taken.

Toradol = Nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug. It works by reducing hormones that cause inflammation and pain in the body. Toradol is used short-term (5 days or less) to treat moderate to severe pain.

PIC = Paramedic in charge

C-collar = Cervical collars (C collars) are used to support your spinal cord and head, and to limit the movement of your neck and head. They’re typically meant for short-term use while you recover from an injury, surgery, or pain.

DOA = Dead on arrival

Drive-by vehicle to vehicle = Shooting someone in a moving car from a moving car

Thermal imaging camera = Type of thermographic camera used in fire fighting. By rendering infrared radiation as visible light, such cameras allow firefighters to see areas of heat through smoke, darkness, or heat-permeable barriers.

Maneki-neko = Common Japanese figurine, which is often believed to bring good luck to the owner. The figurine depicts a cat, traditionally a calico Japanese Bobtail, with a paw raised in a Japanese beckoning gesture.

Domo arigato = Japanese phrase meaning “Thanks a lot”. The Japanese phrase said in this episode is part of a Japanese song.

#Chicago fire department #Chicago Fire #One Chicago #chihard #chihards #chicago fire imagine #joe cruz #joe minoso #Kelly Severide #taylor kinney #peter mills #Charlie Barnett #Leslie Shay #Lauren German #Gabriela Dawson #gabby dawson #Monica Raymund #matt casey #jesse spencer #chief boden #wallace boden #eamonn walker #Christopher Herrmann #david eigenberg #mouch #christian stolte #otis zvonecek #brian zvonecek #Yuri Sardarov #truck