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1kook · 4 years

Text

subdued

— good boy joon on his bday x fem reader

summary; He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way. tags; birthday boy joon, solo rapper joon, college student reader (unspecified year/age lol), this entire fic is based off THIS joon everyone look and never forget him warnings; kissing, blowjobs, grinding, unprotected, birthday sex, sub!joon word count; 5k

notes; hoooo boy, if you think my other fics were self-indulgent, this one is straight from my 3 am thoughts... anyway. i actually have the same birthday as joon so this fantasy plays off very different in daydream universe no. 794 lol but i understand not everyone is as lucky as us sept 12 babies so i adjusted it 😌

The stoplight down the street from his building takes the longest. He had warned you of its faulty mechanics the very first time you visited. It lingered on red a beat too long, wasted precious seconds you could be spending with him. It’s been the sole challenger to your patience this past year. Every time you wanted to visit him, it was this same stoplight that held you up— made the sugar in his coffee cup settle, the food in its container go cold. It absolutely dampened your mood.

Today, it’s from the back of an Uber that you watch the red glow of the light, gaze fading in and out of focus. It’s raining, the rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the wind shield hypnotizing you. There’s a styrofoam box of takeout beside you falling into the same fate as all its predecessors, tucked inside a plastic bag. It’s his favorite today, the black bean noodles down the street from your university paired with a sickeningly sweet fizzy drink. (There’s a cheap bottle of wine too, but he was never one for getting shitfaced so it had a slim chance of consumption.)

The longer the light stalls, the more nervous you become. One glance at your phone tells you it’s nearing eleven forty-nine, your last message to him just a few minutes before. It was a slew of sad faces as you apologized for the fifth time that night. Another minute ticks by and you’re suddenly hit with the overwhelming fear that you won’t make it on time.

It was Namjoon’s birthday.

At least it would be for the next ten minutes.

You hadn’t seen him all day, your usual Saturday morning brunch postponed by your conflicting schedules. You had a huge group project coming up, and the other students in your group all had lives of their own, jobs, sports, dates, that made their schedules hard to work around. Namjoon, too, was busy gearing up for the release of his mixtape, a collection of songs he had worked hard on for the better half of the year.

He had been planning for this since you first met, around this time the previous year. It was all he ever spoke about these days, which was both endearing and worrisome. Regardless of how you felt about his avid dedication towards his mixtape, you would continue to support him through it all.

You were supposed to drop by after your last class, but one thing led to another and suddenly you were babysitting your neighbor’s kids as she ran off to the hospital. You had felt bad for her, something about a relative in an accident, and had said yes without thinking through what exactly that meant. Two overexcited children and a kitchen lined in cake batter, is what it meant. Your neighbor had returned a little before eleven, and by then you were really cutting it close.

The order you placed had been ready when you got to the little restaurant, and, deciding to forgo bus stop waiting times, the Uber came quickly enough. Because things can never go your way, there was a small accident on one of the major streets that set you back, leading to your driver taking an abrupt detour that you doubt was helpful, and now you were here.

You bite down on your lower lip for probably the umpteenth time, flipping your phone around to check the time. 11:52.

The light changes a second later, your chauffeur for the evening slowly easing his foot off the break and sending the two of you one step closer to your boyfriend. The movement doesn’t ease your nerves in the slightest, foot tapping wildly against the carpeted flooring of the backseat as you think of that creaky elevator. Will it be on your side today? Or will it force you to run four flights of stairs up to his floor?

You won’t know until you get there, absentmindedly tipping the poor soul who bore witness to the rolling waves of tension that had swamped your body tonight. You can only hope it’s an appropriate bill, taking off toward the front doors of his building. The water on the sidewalk splashes beneath your frantic footsteps, tickling your bare ankles. The black boots you wore that day did nothing to save you, a small gust of cold air trying to sweep up beneath the thin material of your dress, luckily to no avail.

The front area is as empty as it usually is, though you doubt the late hour would change that. Knuckle jammed harshly against the flickering elevator button, you wait impatiently for it to descend. His small label takes up the entirety of the fourth floor, studios squeezed beside meeting rooms and offices. It was by no means a monster record label, but it had gained enough fame from the quality soloists it produced over the years; Namjoon was quickly becoming one of those. The carriage is on the fifth floor, right above his, the digital panel beside you says. It passes his floor, passes the fourth, and then… nothing.

You curse every deity in the universe as you watch it freeze on the second floor. You had been so close, you groan, kicking the tip of your shoe against the metal doors. It does nothing to fix the broken elevator, and with one heavy sigh, you turn to the flight of stairs. It was 11:54 now.

The stairway is silent, off-grey concrete walls mocking you as the time continues to tick down. Holding the plastic bag to your chest, you start up the stairs in a hurry. The rustling of the bag grows annoying quickly, your thighs aching half way up. The platforms between floors provide nearly no reprieve before you ascend the next level of stairs, heaving for air as you turn onto the final platform before his floor. Your hair sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You can’t fling the door open fast enough, heart hammering between your rib cage. The hallway is filled with blissful air conditioning, nothing like the stuffy air of the staircase. You relish in it for a second before taking down the winding halls, torpedoing straight into the room your boyfriend’s in.

“Happy birthday,” you gasp, only hoping you made it in on time. Your sudden appearance has him whirling around in surprise, dark eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at his surprise intruder. The digital clock above one of his speakers blinks back at you. 11:59.

The surprise wears off soon enough. Namjoon melts back into his puffy chair, easy going smile taking over his features as he regards your ruffled appearance. “Jesus, what’ve you been up to?” he teases playfully, standing up to relieve you of the bag in your hand, still warm against your chest.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead, placing the plastic bag somewhere off behind him before enveloping you in your arms. “Thank you, baby,” he hums, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Almost immediately the tension in your body melts away, oozes out of your skin as you bury yourself against his chest. It feels good to be there, the faint cologne from that morning clinging to his white zip-up.

“Sorry I’m so late,” you murmur. Feeling comforted enough, you pull away from your hiding spot against his chest. The arms hanging loosely around your waist don’t let you get too far, low-lidded eyes staring down at you over the straight angle of his nose. “So much happened today— I’m sorry.”

Namjoon waves your apologies off as he guides you towards his computer chair. He plops down first, pulling you over to sit on his thigh. The clock ticks by, and suddenly his birthday is over. The scent of the noodles fills his dark studio, and you become acutely aware of the soft melody drifting from his speakers. Nothing too developed yet, just a simple piano with a bass drum kicking in.

“Another year, another grey hair,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat. You laugh at his dramatics, running a finger through the head full of silver hairs he’s rocking this time around.

“I fail to see the issue,” you muse, shifting about until you can loop your arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough to yours to kiss. He lets you, opening his mouth when your tongue prods against his plush, doll lips. He tastes of that energy drink you know is bad for him, the one that keeps him up way past his nonexistent bedtime. You should scold him for it, but there’s something about the way he molds his mouth against yours that makes it difficult to pull away and do so. You kiss him for a few minutes, lips casually molding against each other.

The enticing scent of the food you brought over has you pulling away with a soft smack of your lips, lazily grinning down at him. “You should eat,” you encourage, attempting to move out of his grip. If anything, the hands on the small of your back stiffen, keeping you comfortably pressed against him.

“Don’t want to,” he whines, half-lidded eyes gazing at you with that tender look. He leans back in, nudges his nose against yours until you’re moving to accommodate him again. His lips catch yours a second time, a soft sigh released on his end. His body feels like a furnace, swaddled up in that nice white tracksuit, some fancy brand he’s an ambassador for. There’s something about him that’s different today, cherry lips catching you in a daze. He seems totally aware of the pull he has over you, moving his mouth against yours like he knows he’s won you over and was now ready to dedicate the rest of the night to you.

You weren’t having any of that, at least not tonight.

Knitting your hands in his hair, you tug. You tug and tug until he’s releasing you with a whine, swollen red lips shiny from your lip gloss. It’s certainly a look on him, and as he pants beneath you, you’re left wondering why he’s chosen to be an elusive rapper when his doll-like face could easily blend into the idol world.

Another mystery you’ll never solve.

“Missed you today,” he admits bashfully, lips pulling into a shy smile he tries to hide from you. You reward his confession with a soft peck against his cheek, hands cupping his soft cheeks between your palms. Despite how easily you’d been forgiven before, there’s a tinge of a whine curling around his next words. “Who blows someone off on their birthday?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckle, tracing your thumbs over his skin. They just barely brush against the corners of his mouth, the soft flesh begging to be touched. “Who spends their birthday cooped up in a tiny room?” you reply teasingly, leaning in to kiss the mole beneath his plump lips.

Namjoon inhales softly, head lolling backwards as you kiss down his chin, over his pulse point. “Was inspired,” he weakly defends, the grip around your waist growing tight. “There was a pretty girl in my dreams last night.”

“Oh?” You hum, slithering off his lap. The floor mat he has beneath his rolling chair to protect his hardwood floors is cold. There’s ridges on it that press uncomfortably into your knees. But all that is forgotten when you roll your hands over his shoulders, kiss his neck tenderly, and he groans. “How pretty?”

Your back is straining from being awkwardly stretched over him in a desperate attempt to kiss the entire column of his neck. He doesn’t make it easier, hips wiggling before you as you nip against the side of his neck. “Joon?” you coo, sliding your hands down his chest. The muscles jump beneath his zip-up, one shuddering exhale escaping him.

“R-Real fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, hands circling your shoulders. He wants to pull you close like he always does, but you can tell he’s equally as conflicted by the need to push you down onto his cock.

The front zip of his sweater gives with one tug, the clicks of the teeth coming apart following your hand down. He’s wearing a plain white shirt underneath, the beginnings of sweat clinging to the flimsy material. You place your hands around his waist, let the fabric catch over your knuckles as you glide them upwards. The sinewy muscle quivers under your touch, Namjoon’s breath catching in your throat.

When you reach his pecs, he barely contains the whimper in his throat, hands releasing you in favor of clutching at the armrest. “Please,” he huffs, the white zip-up halting you from pushing any further. “Off.”

“Of course,” you purr, pushing it over his deltoids. He doesn’t shake the sweater off completely, the sleeves catching over each other in his haste to feel you closer against his body. The t-shirt remains tugged up to his chest, held up by your wandering hands. “Relax for me, okay?” you croon, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. The plush skin bounces back, redder than ever. He nods shakily, chest rising and falling.

You place a kiss directly on his sternum, his heart fluttering wildly just a few inches away. You feel it beneath your palm, the way it beats wildly out of rhythm for you. The music loops back around, the same melodious tune mixing with his airy sounds. You trail your mouth lower, letting it mold against the faint ridges over his abdomen.

He’s been putting on muscle these last few months. It’s a sight you only get to appreciate in moments like these. Namjoon wasn’t a flashy performer; he was too shy to wear revealing outfits, not that they particularly fit his onstage aesthetic anyway. He liked it simple and dark, wanting his words to capture people more than his looks.

It was a humble approach, really, because you don’t doubt for a second someone with looks of his caliber couldn’t pull fans with that alone. But as you said before, Namjoon didn’t like that sort of thing, and you suppose that’s why he’s declined invitations to join rookie boy groups time and again. He had worked hard to make himself known on his own, frequenting various hip hop scenes until he picked up steam. By the time you’d met him, he had his own contract, with this same company you’re currently in.

Now he was freshly twenty-six, on the cusp of releasing his first full mixtape, completely of his own creativity. His first mini-album had done extraordinarily well, but there had been a lot of outside partners and producers that pushed it along. This mixtape was one hundred percent him, a fact you couldn’t be more proud of.

What better way to treat him than to shower him in attention like this?

You press a soft kiss to his belly button, glancing up just in time to see those plush lips pull into a smile, pearly white teeth appearing in between, eyes fluttered shut. The waistband of his matching bottoms stretches easily enough, giving you a brief view of the dark underwear he’s got underneath. You let it snap back into place, relishing in the tiny gasp he gives. “You’re acting extra sweet for me today, aren’t you?” you smirk, running a palm over the bulge beneath his pants. His knuckles tighten dangerously against his armrests.

“I’m the same,” he chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you give his outline a teasing squeeze. “Just… lower please.”

His statement is followed with one hand on the back of your head, tentatively urging you closer to his stiff member just an inch. He’s so polite and shy tonight, cheeks tinted a nice rosy color as he looks away from your lewd expression practically salivating over the prize hidden beneath his clothes. His bottoms come down around his thighs, throbbing cock bouncing up to tap his stomach.

“Oooh,” you say appreciatively, taking him in your hand. Namjoon flinches, a groan catching in his throat as you trail your fingers over his cock. They end at the tip, swollen and red; you can’t help yourself as you duck down, kissing the tip softly. Namjoon full on shivers, hips bucking against your touch.

“Please, just... touch,” he begs, wiggling around underneath you.

You nod, pulling away to plant your hands against his hips. “Have to sit still for me, big boy,” you remind him, pushing down until his bottom glues itself firmly to the leather padding of his chair again. He does so with a huff. Clouded eyes meet yours, so beautifully framed by the blood that rushes to his face.

Despite calming him just moments before, the first kiss against his tip makes him squirm and buck like a wild stallion, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Eventually he calms down, labored breath fanning across his chest as he watches you lower your mouth down around his cock. It twitches in your hand, one perfect pearl of cum oozing from the tip. It’s barely rolled down past his head when you strike, the tip of your tongue scooping it up quickly.

A little on the salty side, but it still makes you shudder. Above you, Namjoon isn't faring that well either. He groans, hands clenched over the armrest as he tries his best to be good for you. “More,” he says hoarsely, silver hair dangling over his eyes. It creates a curtain between you two, his beautiful expression hidden from your view.

You ease his cock down your mouth. It feels just as good as you remembered. Your knees ache from being on the ground, but you wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now. An inaudible moan resonates from above you, his back going stiff the further down you swallow him. You could practically feel yourself drooling, excess saliva making his entrance into your mouth so much easier. You get about two thirds down before it becomes difficult, lips pulled taut around his swollen member. The tip is reaching dangerous territory now, nudging against the soft spot in the back of your throat.

You could gag, but that would only startle him away, make him worry about you. You don’t want that, not when he’s melting into his seat with every inch you swallow. So you push the discomfort away, focus on feeling the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whines, shaking his silvery locks away from his eyes when he leans forward to look at you. You take extra care to bat your lashes up at him; he obviously likes the sight, his lower lip catching between his teeth for the umpteenth time that night.

When you finally surpass that initial discomfort, his cock wonderfully resting in your mouth and throat, everything becomes so much better. The drag against your lips feels almost heavenly, never mind the fact it would certainly leave the skin around there soft and tender tomorrow. It’s something you’re willing to overlook, running the flat length of your tongue against the underside of his cock to distract him.

You make one hand busy, reaching down to cup his balls. The skin is soft, but tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to bust right now. The other situates itself loosely against his hip, thumb drawing slow circles against the skin. He’s grown hotter since you’ve gotten here, like your own personal furnace.

He’s a good boy, through and through.

It had admittedly taken a while to tame his wildness; there had been a time where he would push your head down his cock the second your lips touched his mouth. Now, he fared pretty well against his own carnal instincts, blunt nails digging into the armrests in order to stop himself. Thanks to this, you’re able to pick up a comfortable pace against his cock, bobbing up and down between his thighs.

“M-More,” he pants, muscles trembling from the exertion it takes for him to hold himself back. “Please,” he throws in.

You appease him, letting go of his balls to grip the base of his cock. He hisses at the touch, hips unconsciously jumping. You hold him tight, squeezing his cock between your palm until his thighs are quivering too. The descent down his cock is easier too, no longer trying to swallow him up whole every time.

It only calms him for so long before that same plea is falling from his lips again. This time, you pull off completely, lazily jerking him off as you rest an elbow on his thigh, chin falling into your open palm as you analyze his figure. “Always need more,” you sigh, the slippery sound of your hand mingling with his little moans.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, head falling forward until his chin touches his chest. “Would like to fuck now,” he seethes, his t-shirt growing damp at the collar from all the sweating he’s been doing.

“Is that so?” You smile. As you say this, you loosen your grip, letting your hand fall away much to his dismay. “Your clothes, Joon,” you explain, using his thighs as leverage to push yourself to your feet again. There’s creases on the skin over your knees, skin and joints tender from the position. That gets pushed to the back burner as you watch Namjoon finally fight his way out of his clothing, hands stuck in the sleeves of his zip-up.

“Off, off,” he huffs, eventually tugging it off all inside out. The shirt is next, neck hole stretched huge as he peels it away from his body.

You muffle a giggle behind your palm, placing a hand on his bare shoulder when he’s done. He’s looking at you with those same, desperate eyes, stealing your heart without even realizing. “Adorable,” you tease only to watch the blood crawl over his ears and down his neck. You throw a leg over him, his thigh pressing against yours. Before you can mount him you’re tugging off the thin jacket you’d worn that day, pawing it off until only the thin barrier of your dress is between the two of you.

With both knees pressed to either side of him, you finally show him what he wants to see. The sundress you’d worn that day makes everything so accessible. The flimsy material stretches over your ass, sits pretty around your waist to reveal your sheer panties. The sight makes Namjoon groan, eyes downcast as he fights to see your pussy. You return his gaze with a hand against his jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” you murmur, looping your hands around his head, finding their place on the nape of his neck first. Your fingers instinctively run through his locks, drawing an airy gasp from him.

“Yes,” he breathes, lower lip brushing against yours from such close proximity. You smile down at him, easing your core down on him. His cock pressed against your clothed panties, leaving a wet trail against the exterior side of them.

He fits snugly between your folds, hesitant hands resting at your hips like he wants to grind you down but knows better than to attempt such a bold move. You reward his behavior with a faint kiss against his cheek. “Good boy, Joonie,” you praise, barely containing your own gasp as you wiggle over his cock. “Being so nice for me today,” you sigh, grinding down against him.

Namjoon shivers, cock throbbing against your soiled panties. “Always good for you,” he groans, a trail of sweat running down from his hairline.

Another kiss is pressed against his face, this time against his cheekbone as you begin grinding back and forth. “That’s right,” you confirm, hugging him tight to your chest, until his face is practically buried between your breasts. “Even on your birthday,” you sigh, stretching a hand behind you to tug your panties to the side. The first glide of his cock against your folds has him bucking against you, a choked gasp escaping both your lips.

“I-Yes,” he cries, hands wrapped tight around you.

You bite down a whimper, his length running over every inch of your folds. It makes your toes curl when he stimulates your clit. Your attention had been solely on making him feel good tonight, that the barest amounts of pleasure to your own body was enough to make you shake. “Tell me,” you pant, moving back to grab him by the shoulders as you run against his length. “What you would do if you weren’t my good boy.”

Namjoon cries at your sudden pace, head lolling back as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to just fuck right into your inviting heat. “Can’t,” he sobs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joon,” you growl, snapping your hips forward roughly. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head with another whimper, thigh muscles jolting beneath you. It makes you shift forward, clit running hard along his cock. “No, you’ll—“ he wheezes, fingers digging deep into your sides now. “You’ll… think I’m bad. Dirty.”

You lean forward, shove your tongue into his mouth with no warning. He moans, letting you push his tongue around until yours is halfway down his throat, licking and slurping every inch of him you can reach. You yank his head back by the hair, catching those watery eyes. “Tell me all your dirty thoughts,” you croon, lips trailing down his jaw. “Tell me them and maybe we’ll make them come true.”

Namjoon moans. “You,” he hesitates. While he does that, you reach down to align his cock with your hole, throbbing to be filled. His tip brushes along the tightened lips surrounding your entrance, reducing him to a stuttering mess. “You tell me I’m dirty,” he cries, “dirty and messy, and-and you make me beg for forgiveness just to cum, s-sometimes you don’t like it and make me d-do it again,” he babbles. “I-if you’re feeling mean y-you just edge me. Until I cry.”

You sink down on his cock, your shared arousal making the glide slippery and so wet. It’s almost too easy how he fits inside of you, your back arching as the head of his cock runs deliciously against your walls. The sensation of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock has him gasping for air.

“Until you cry?” You repeat through clenched teeth. “Like you are now?”

Namjoon trembles, hips and thighs twitching every few minutes. He nods his head, but he’s become overwhelmed by his thoughts and your touches, so the movement ends up looking more dazed. There’s a couple tears that escaped and painted pretty trails down his cheeks, one catching on the corner of that pout of his. The rest pool in the corner of his eyes, glassy just like his sweat-soaked skin.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble, brushing his hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead. Namjoon groans. “Fuck me, baby,” you purr, wrapping your hands around his neck again. “You deserve it.”

Namjoon lets out a loud cry at your permission, hands tightening around your hips. He wastes no time, bucking into you like a wild animal that’s desperate to cum. You don’t blame him; he’d been close to cumming down your throat, and recounting his demeaning fantasies while stuffed deep inside you certainly didn’t help.

You let him jostle you to and fro, dick slipping in and out of your pussy with an unreal amount of force. He was grunting all kinds of sounds against your shoulder, biting down on the skin like it would calm him. It doesn’t, and you already know there will be a big bruise to attend to tomorrow.

With every thrust, the head of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot in your pussy, back arching at the angle he pushes in at. It makes every hair on your body stand, the animalistic sounds he’s releasing reaching deep into your core.

It’s a brief reminder of what this man was truly capable of, buff arms and thick thighs lifting you around like you’re nothing. He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way.

Well, you liked it that way too, especially if it meant having this big strong man so pliant under your touch.

“Fuck,” you moan, holding the back of his head closer to where he’s seemingly set on bruising your entire shoulder. “Just like that.”

Your walls clench around his length, squeezing him so tight that it becomes difficult for him to move. A wail catches in his throat, his body beginning to burn out from the initial burst of energy he’d received when you gave him the go ahead. “I-I,” he pants, weakly and unevenly bucking into you. You know he’s close from the cute wavering of his speech, his usual eloquent speaking style reduced to a stuttering mess. You take pity on him, gearing your muscles up again to see him to completion.

It doesn’t take long. A few slow rolls of your hips later and he’s spasming beneath you, your name rolling off his tongue in a series of soft whimpers. He continues groaning even afterwards, hands falling limply to his sides as you finish yourself off.

The thing about this big strong body was that it burned out extremely fast, his head rolling back to give you a clear view of his fucked out features. He was tired, absolutely drained from your little moment, and such was exhibited on his lax frame. Your orgasm rolls around right after, stomach clenching. Despite the shock of pleasure that swallows you up, you can’t help the endeared smile that takes over your features at the sight beneath you as you cum.

“So proud of you,” you murmur afterwards, cupping his face in your hands to deliver a brigade of kisses against his skin. He groans in faux annoyance, letting you turn him this way and that as you shower him in affection. “My baby did so well today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, though the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What’s there to eat?”

You snort, pushing yourself off of him. You wiggle your panties and dress back into place, tossing him his discarded shirt as you make toward the noodles. They’ve probably gone cold by now, neglected in favor of fucking like two bunnies in heat. Still, you give them a poke. Just as you’d predicted, they’re way too cold to be edible, a fact which greatly saddens Namjoon.

You weren’t having any of that, especially not on his birthday (it was 12:49 now, but technically, it’s still his birthday until he goes to sleep), which is why you make him pack everything up right away. “I’ll heat them up at my place,” you assure him, patting his bum as he whines at the sudden relocation. He’s tugging his zip-up on, the collar tugged all the way up for him to hide the lower half of his face behind.

It doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss over where you know his mouth is.

“Come on,” you grin, waiting for him to lock up his studio. He falls into step beside you, grudgingly throwing a hand around your shoulders. You beam up at him, leaning onto your toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make you cry at my place,” you promise, relishing in the dark flush that floods the apples of his cheeks.

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #rm smut #bts smut #kim namjoon fic #mine

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Shotgun - m. tkachuk

And here is 8.7k of a road trip with Matthew Tkachuk, which honestly, is the real dream. Let me know what you think of it, reblog (I love looking at tags!!) and pop into my inbox if you’d like!

Wine pairing from someone with zero authority on the subject: a nice brut rosé - crisp, fruity, bubbly. Plus, I like the vibes.

It all started with a text. What are the chances you can get the week after next off? Matthew had sent. Madison’s brow furrowed. Doubtful, but I can try. Are you going to tell me what this is about? There was a week left in the season before playoffs started, and with the points spread in the Pacific being what it was, the matchups were all but locked in. It took less than a minute to get a response. No :) I’ll let you know once you get an answer. She got approved for the time off two days later. Her phone rang as soon as she texted him the news. “How do you feel about road trips?”

---

Maddy had met Matthew about a little over a year prior, soon after she moved to Calgary from her hometown of Toronto. Having finished her first week of work as a computer programmer, there was nothing Madison wanted more than to let loose and enjoy a few drinks with her friends. She was sharing a two-bedroom with her best friend Emily, who Maddy would swear up and down was the sunniest, warmest, most kind person she’d ever met. Not like Maddy wasn’t a nice person — she was — but where her idea of relaxing meant going out bouldering, or camping, or a last-minute road trip, Emily was more of a homebody.

But going out meant going out, and so Emily was happily dragged along to a bar downtown; which one, she couldn’t really say. Madison walked up to the bar as soon as they entered, catching the bartender’s eye and ordering a Tom Collins. She tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited, glancing around the room. It was ten o’clock on a Friday night, so it was plenty packed. “What are you getting?” Madison asked Emily curiously.

She held up her Molson. “I’m a woman of simple tastes. Plus, I didn’t feel like waiting around for the bartender to actually make me a drink,” Emily added dryly.

Maddy rolled her eyes. “What’s the point of going out to a bar when you’re just going to be drinking something you could get at the liquor store?” Emily stuck her tongue out. The bartender slid Maddy’s glass over, taking her card and swiping it through quickly. “Thank you!” she chirped, whipping around to head over and snag a free table she had seen a few minutes before.

She never ended up getting to the table. Instead, she ran straight into 6 feet, 2 inches of pure Midwestern beef. “Woah!” Matthew said, steadying her as she watched her glass fall to the floor, thankfully not breaking but absolutely spilling its entire contents over the wood. “You good?”

Madison nodded, grabbing a rag from the bartender. Matthew followed suit, joining her on the floor. “Got a little on my shoes, but it’ll be fine. They won’t stain.”

Matthew nodded, giving a final wipe before taking her rag and handing both back over the counter. “Did me spilling your drink all over you ruin my chances of getting your name?”

“Madison St. Pierre,” she said, laughing and sticking out a hand for him to shake.

“Matthew Tkachuk, but—”

Maddy cut him off. “I probably already know that?” Matthew ducked his head sheepishly. “I may be a long-suffering Leafs fan, but I don’t live under a rock.”

He took a sip of his beer, leaning up against the bar. “Not from around here, eh?”

Maddy shook her head. “Just moved a couple weeks ago. I’m from Toronto, moved here for a job. I do computer programming,” she said by way of explanation.

“A smart girl.”

She tilted her head. “You could say that.”

“Well,” he said, “I feel bad about spilling your drink on you, let me buy you another.”

Maddy laughed. “If you insist. It’s really the least you could do.”

Matthew nodded at the bartender, ordering her another Tom Collins and putting it on his tab. “You and your friend are more than welcome to join us,” he gestured behind him to where the rest of his group was sitting, “we were playing a drinking game and could use a few more players anyway.”

And that was how Matthew met Maddy.

---

Day 1

Ten days later, Madison was hefting her duffel bag into the trunk of her Nissan. It was 7:00 on a Tuesday. Normally on a day off she’d be taking advantage of every possible minute of sleep she could get, but lines to cross the border could be long and they wanted to get to Montana by lunch. She waved goodbye to Emily, hopping in the driver’s seat and starting the engine. Matthew had initially suggested they just get a rental car, since it would save Maddy the 20-hour drive back. But a quick Google search let them know that the chances of finding a company willing to let them drop off a Canadian car in Nevada were slim to none. Plus, Maddy had always liked driving, so it wasn’t really an issue for her. They weren’t going to be alone on the trip; Matthew had invited Elias and Rasmus along. She felt a little bit like a school bus driver, stopping at Elias’s complex to pick him up, then Rasmus’ condo, finally pulling into the underground lot of Matthew’s apartment building. Holding one hand up in greeting, he wheeled his suitcases over to her car.

Maddy unblocked her seatbelt, hopping out to help him. “Why on earth did you need so many bags?” she huffed, turning one on its side and wedging it in between hers and Elias’s.

He shrugged. “I’ve got a bag for the trip, a bag of actual clothes and workout stuff for the series, and the suit bag.” He hung the offending article on a hook. “Did you think I’d be able to set my vanity aside for a whole four days?”

“I should have known that would be too much to ask.”

Matty threw his head back, laughing. “Anyone ever told you how funny you are, Mads?”

“Once or twice, Ratthew,” she said, slamming the door shut.

Maddy hopped back in the driver’s seat, jamming the key in the ignition and turning the engine on. “Next stop, boys, is America.”

---

Well technically, the next stop was a gas station off of Highway 2, about twenty minutes from the border. “Wait, wait,” Matthew said, a conspiratorial grin on his face as Madison took the pump out of the gas tank.

She raised one eyebrow. “What?”

He made grabby hands at her keys. “Let me drive.”

“Why?” Madison asked. “I’ve been driving for like what, two hours? I’m not tired yet.”

“I’m the only American in the car.”

Maddy put the pump back. “And?”

Matthew looked sheepish. “Someone said that the border patrol officers will tell Americans ‘welcome home’ when they’re coming back. It’s never happened to me flying so I wanted to see if it would be different in a car.”

“If it means that much to you?” she said, tossing the keys over the hood of the car. Matthew caught them. Maddy rounded the back of the car before she could see him ducking his head, blushing.

They arrived at the Piegan/Carway crossing shortly after. With exactly zero cars in front of them, Matthew pulled straight up to the booth.

“Purpose of your visit?” the officer said, looking into the driver’s side.

“Three of us play hockey, we’re road tripping down to Las Vegas before our playoff series starts in a few days,” Matty answered easily.

He nodded. “And how long will you be in the States for?”

It was clear either this man had never watched a series of professional sports in his life, or he was just following a standard script. “Depends?” Matthew said, fully aware of how questionable that sounded.

Maddy piped up from the passenger seat. “I’m driving the car back, so I’ll be back in eight days.”

“Right,” Matthew nodded, “But this trip to the US, we’ll be back in seven days. We’re flying back on the team plane, so it’s not a land crossing.” He decided to forego mentioning that, barring a sweep, they’d be back again in two weeks.

The poor officer looked bewildered. “Team plane?”

Matty shrugged his shoulders. “We play for the Calgary Flames, the team charters a plane to fly us from Calgary to wherever we’re playing and back. We decided to take the scenic route this time.”

“Okay,” he said, but Madison still wasn’t convinced he actually understood what Matty was saying. If the border officer thought anything of the American, Canadian, and Swedish passports he was handed, he didn’t say anything. Giving a cursory glance, he handed them back. “Welcome back,” he nodded to Matthew, waving the car through the gate. Matthew pumped his fist.

---

An hour later, Matthew pulled into a dirt parking lot on the edge of Glacier National Park. “WE MADE IT!” he exclaimed, putting the car in park and throwing his hands up.

“We drove three hours,” Elias said from the back seat.

“And?” Matty challenged, opening the door.

Maddy grabbed her backpack, stuffed with sandwiches and snacks that they had gotten on their way in. “If you guys brought hiking boots or good tennis shoes, now’s the time,” she said, lacing up her own boots. “There’s a loop around here that’s a little under four miles long, doesn’t sound like it’s too difficult but there is some elevation climb, so better safe than sorry.” People typically didn’t peg her for it, but Maddy was a very outdoorsy person at heart. She had taken up rock climbing in high school, and was a regular at the bouldering gyms back in Toronto until she moved. She’d found a climbing gym she liked well enough in Calgary, but with Banff just over an hour away from the city, the park had become her go-to for climbing and hiking. Matty had come with her on more than one occasion, and had surprised her with a long weekend camping for her birthday in March. The snow hadn’t all melted yet, and waking up to the powder-dusted fir trees outside of their tent had been one of the most beautiful sights of her life.

“Everyone’s got a full water bottle?” she asked, tying up her hair. The last thing anyone wanted was to get heatstroke in one of the most remote parts of the park with only one phone that could even connect to an American cell tower.

The group started off at a leisurely pace, wandering off-trail to check out anything and everything that caught their interest. The edge of the St. Mary Valley served as the perfect backdrop for lunch, Maddy pulling the sandwiches out from her bag and doling them out. “Oh thank God, I’m starving,” Elias said, grabbing his food from Maddy practically before she even had it in her hand.

“Did you not have breakfast?” she asked incredulously.

He nodded. “I did, but I’m still hungry. Should have brought snacks.” Off to his side, Matty snickered.

Day 2

Elias had volunteered to take over from Matthew to drive through the night, switching off sometime around sunrise with Rasmus. “I 100% have a crick in my neck,” Maddy grimaced, blinking the sleep out of her eyes and checking her phone.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Matthew smiled. Maddy groaned, leaning into his side. Almost instinctively, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, taking a few gulps before setting it back down on the floor of the car, where it promptly rolled away.

“Who do I have to blow to get a decent cup of coffee around here?” Maddy groaned. Matthew almost choked on his water. He had to get his mind off of the idea of Maddy blowing anything or he was about to have an issue. He pulled out his phone, jumping on Google maps.

“There’s a little coffee shop a few miles ahead, off of the Spruce Drive exit?” he asked tentatively.

She yawned. “As long as they sell caffeine, I’m game.” They did indeed sell caffeine, and after inhaling two cappuchinos and a small mountain of pastries later, Maddy hopped back behind the wheel. “You sure bear claws and muffins are on the meal plan, boys?” she asked, a smile playing on the corner of her lips.

Rasmus waved her off. “It’s not like you’re going to rat us out, are you?”

She shrugged, wiggling her phone in her hand as she pulled up at a stoplight. “Bold of you to assume I don’t have Coach’s number in my phone.”

Matty plucked her phone from her hand, placing it back by the center console. “Be that as it may, sweet Madison, you neglect to remember that I’m the only one with coverage in the U.S.” He might not strike most people as a particularly sentimental person, but Matthew loved his family, and decided that the extra charge was well worth being able to call his parents and sister whenever he was missing them.

She stuck her tongue out at Matthew. “You ruin all of my fun, you know that?” All he did was grin. The drive to Mesa Falls wasn’t long at all, they had just finished their food — Matty popping bites of muffin into Madison’s mouth as she drove — when she pulled over to the curb by the sign. Maddy threw the boys’ backpacks to them, pointing to the single bathroom stall in the tiny rest area. “Go change, I’ll use the car.”

“Why can’t we have the car?” Matthew complained.

She looked at him. “Three full-grown men, all over six feet, in one car. I know you see each other’s dicks all day in the locker room, but I’d really rather not have that in my car. Think.”

Matty made an “o” with his mouth. “Gotcha.”

Swim trunks were much easier to get on than a wrap bikini, Madison was finding, and the boys were finished changing well before she was done figuring out her top. She bit her lip, poking her head out of the door. “Matty?”

He turned around, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

“Could you help me tie this?” she asked, gesturing to the halter top. “I think it’s stuck or something.”

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes widening as he tried to stutter through a sentence. “Uh, yeah. I can do that. For sure,” he said, shuffling over to the car. He gently untwisted the straps, gathering them into a bow at the base of her neck and trying very, very hard to not think about how soft her skin felt underneath his fingers. This was one of his best friends. And best friends weren’t supposed to think about that kind of stuff. Right?

Behind them, Elias and Rasmus shared a glance. They had expected something was going on between them, really ever since the party in November, but this was something new. They had never seen Matthew gone this far for a girl before. And they liked this side of him.

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing his shoulder before disappearing back into the car to throw on a coverup. “How long is the walk to the actual waterfalls?”

“Not long,” Elias responded. “Ten minutes or so?” It was an easy walk to the falls, which were mercifully empty when they got there. They kicked off their sandals, leaving the bags under a nearby bush. Matthew knew Madison was pretty. She wasn’t a nun and he wasn’t a saint; she had seen him shirtless more times than he could count and he had seen her come out of his guest room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt of his after she stayed the night. His thoughts hadn’t exactly been innocent. But as she pulled her t-shirt over her head, leaving her clad only in that damn red bikini, he was convinced he’d never seen a more gorgeous sight.

She turned around just as Matthew tore his eyes away, looking mischievously at him. “Last one in?” They sprinted to the water. Matty let her win.

---

About half of their stops had been planned in advance; the others were pulled from websites or Google suggestions or whatever their waitress’ recommendation was for a local must-see. The Idaho Potato Museum fell into the latter category. Rasmus had floated the idea shortly after they had left Mesa Falls, and seeing as how nobody had anything better to suggest, they ran with it.

“Free taters for out of staters,” Matthew said, reading off of the pamphlet they had been handed at the welcome desk.

“Will they give me extra since I’m Canadian?” Madison wondered aloud. “For all intents and purposes they think you live in Missouri, Matty.” The nickname rolled off her tongue so easily, she didn’t even think twice.

He passed the paper to her, the tips of their fingers barely brushing together, but Matthew could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t get greedy, Mads.” They walked down a dimly-lit hallway lined with black-and-white photos.

“Did you know that the first potatoes grown in the United States were planted in Londonderry, New Hampshire, by Scotch-Irish immigrants?” Elias read off of a placard, his voice sounding like a disinterested radio announcer.

Maddy shook her head. “I didn’t, thank you so much for imparting on me this most important knowledge, Elias.”

“My pleasure,” he replied.

“Did you know that you could survive off of a diet of only potatoes and butter?” Rasmus chimed in, reading another sign.

“Really?” Matthew asked, leaning in to read. He turned to Madison a moment later. “Really, apparently.”

Half an hour of wandering later, Matthew and Madison had stumbled into the “artifacts” portion of the museum. “What kind of artifacts does a potato museum have?” Maddy asked, looking supremely confused.

Matthew wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Why don’t we see?” For some reason, he decided it would be a good idea to hold his hand out for her. And for some reason, Maddy took it.

The “artifacts” turned out to consist of some old farm tools, dusty burlap sacks, and the world’s largest potato chip. Elias and Ramsus were on the other side of the museum, leaving Matthew and Madison to drift through alone. “Crisp, actually,” Matthew said, reading the card under the glass case. “Because I guess they’re worried about people stealing it?”

“There’s a difference?”

He shrugged. “Apparently it’s only a chip if it’s a slice of potato. This was made from dehydrated potato flakes, or something like that.” Maddy wasn’t sure if it was the sepia-tinted lighting, or the lingering memory of how Matty’s fingertips burned like fire against her back as he tied her bikini, or if there was something particularly romantic about dehydrated potato flakes, but they were alone in the room and suddenly she was looking at him a little bit differently. Matthew looked at her, gaze soft as his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly down towards her lips. Her lips. His body leaned in, and just as she closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to meet hers, wondering if they were really going to do this in the middle of the Idaho fucking Potato Museum—

“We were wondering where you guys had gone off to!” Elias’s Swedish accent cut through the silence. Matthew threw his head back, silently cursing his teammate’s timing. If Elias and Rasmus realized anything was off, they didn’t say. “The lady at the front said it’s closing in ten minutes, so we thought we should head out and get something to eat.”

Maddy nodded in agreement, her cheeks burning. “Sounds good. I could go for some food.” They made their way back outside, Matthew settling behind the wheel as he steered the car back onto the highway. He tried to shake the almost-kiss from his mind, but the more he tried to forget it, the more the memory stuck.

Elias looked down at his phone. “Yelp says there’s an Indian place coming up on the left if that sounds good to you guys,” he said, shaking Matthew from his thoughts.

Maddy scrunched her nose. “All due respect, I don’t trust this town to make good Indian food. Potatoes, burgers, meat, sure. I buy it. But I haven’t seen a single person of color since we left Glacier.”

“Fair.”

The burgers were good; nothing to write home about, but Maddy was honestly thrilled to eat something that didn’t come out of a bag. The plan had originally been to drive through the night again to reach Salt Lake City by the early morning, but Maddy made it clear her back didn’t take too well to sleeping in the car, and the others agreed. “Rasmus, mind finding a hotel nearby? Doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just somewhere not too far off of the freeway,” Madison asked. He nodded, pulling out his phone. They had gotten tired of passing around Matthew’s phone anytime they were out of Wifi range, so after a little complaining and one of Maddy’s puppy-dog eye looks, he finally relented and turned his hotspot on.

“There’s a Holiday Inn up off of the next exit if that sounds good to you guys,” Rasmus said. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the Post Malone song that Matty had plugged in. They switched the aux every few hours.

“Yeah, works for me.” Madison hummed her agreement; Matty nodded. Rasmus flicked on the blinkers, gently cruising down the offramp, pulling into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn about half a mile down the road.

Madison bit the inside of her cheek. “They’re going to have rooms available, yeah?”

“Mads, it’s May in the middle of nowhere, Idaho. I don’t exactly think they’ve got business lining up out the door.” Matty said, looking at her from the side as they walked into the hotel lobby.

The whole trip was Matthew’s idea, so he insisted on footing the bill, handing his credit card and license over to the receptionist. Maddy snickered behind her hand. Matthew turned back to look at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Something you’d like to share with the class, Madison?”

“Missouri licenses look weird,” she commented.

“And Alberta’s any better?”

She scrunched her nose. “We have a dinosaur on ours. Beat that.”

“I’ll let you have that one,” Matty said, the corner of his lip twitching as he thanked the receptionist, tucking the cards back into his wallet. She handed over the room keys, Matthew passing two to Rasmus and Elias and one to Maddy. “I had us together, if you don’t mind.”

Madison shook her head. “Fine with me.” It wasn’t unusual for her to stay over at Matthew’s apartment, either after going out or when their movie nights ran a little long and she woke up to Matty tucking her into the bed in his guest room. She had a toothbrush in his bathroom, a change of clothes in the dresser. She had offered to take her stuff back a few months ago, not wanting any girl he might bring over to get the wrong idea. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he had said when she asked, waving her off. Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t brought any girl home — that she knew about — since sometime around the beginning of the year.

They waved goodbye to Rasmus and Elias, promising to wake up bright and early to get the first crack at the breakfast buffet when it opened at 7. Matty swiped his card, holding the door open when the light turned green and the knob twisted. “After you, m’lady.”

“Why thank you, good sir,” Maddy giggled, ducking under his arm into the entryway. She stopped at the end of the hall, eyes flickering into the room.

Matthew stopped behind her. “What’s up?”

“There’s only one bed.”

His head jerked around the corner, not like he doubted her word or anything, but he needed to see it for himself. There was only one bed. One big bed, one very comfortable-looking bed, but one bed. Matty dropped his bag on the floor. “Uh...D’you want me to call down? I can see if they’ve got another room if that would make you more comfortable.”

Madison pursed her lips for a second before shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. We’re adults, we can share a bed without burning the house down.” It wasn’t like Maddy was lying for Matthew’s sake; she really was fine with it. Maybe a little too fine. But they had slept together — in the innocent sense of the word — before, and everything had turned out okay. His arm draped over her shoulder as she cuddled into his shoulder on a late night, her legs tangled in his when some of his friends from St. Louis were visiting for the weekend and took the guest room. He had offered to take the couch that night, but Maddy didn’t want to relegate him to a night of back cramps and drafty breezes, especially when he had an early practice the next day. Nobody ever made it weird, so it wasn’t weird.

She took her bundle of clothes into the shower, relishing in the feeling of hot water raining down on her aching muscles. Maddy was loving the trip, genuinely, but being in a car for twelve hours out of the day took something out of a person. Slipping into an old college t-shirt, Madison thought for a moment about putting on a pair of sweats. It wasn’t particularly cold — the opposite, in fact — but she didn’t know if it would make Matthew feel weird if she wasn’t wearing pants. Fuck it, she thought, pulling up her boyshorts. If he had an issue with it, it was his problem. Throwing her hair up in a towel to dry, she turned the doorknob, poking her head out the door. “Shower’s open if you wanted to hop in,” she said.

Matty nodded, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I shouldn’t be too long, why don’t you find something for us to watch?” he asked, tossing her the remote. It wasn’t quite nine o’clock, and while she was tired, Maddy knew if she tried to go to sleep she’d wake up well before dawn, and that wasn’t something anyone wanted. Madison climbed up onto the bed, tucking her feet underneath her and grabbed the channel guide. True to his word, Matthew was in and out in under ten minutes, rubbing his hair with a towel as he walked out. Athletic shorts. Shirtless. Maddy couldn’t help but give him the once-over, having to jerk her eyes back up to his face the moment she realized what she was doing. Matthew met her eyes, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “I can put a shirt on if you’d like…”

“No! You’re good,” Maddy replied, maybe a little too quickly to avoid suspicion.

He ducked back into the bathroom, throwing the towel over the shower curtain. “So, what did you settle on?”

She looked back at the TV. “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives?”

Matty jumped onto the bed. “Guy Fieri. What a legend. Awesome. Where’s he going?”

Three and a half episodes later, it was almost eleven, and Madison’s eyes were starting to droop. Sometime midway through the second episode, when Guy was visiting an Asian fusion restaurant in Colorado, her head had drifted onto Matthew’s shoulder, where it had stayed ever since. His arm wrapped loosely around her, Matty brought his hand up to brush away a stray piece of hair that had drifted into her face. “Getting sleepy, Mads?”

She yawned, nodding and trying to push herself up. “‘M looking forward to a good night’s sleep in an actual bed.”

Matthew laughed softly. “Let’s get you in bed, then.” He threw back the comforter, Madison crawling under, and reached over to the nightstand, turning off the lamps and TV. “Give me your phone,” he said.

“Why?” Maddy asked, her brow furrowing.

“You always forget to charge it overnight, and I don’t want you to be grumpy when it dies at 10 AM.” She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a concession, handing over her iPhone. Matty plugged it in, clambering beneath the sheets. “Sweet dreams, Mads. Good night.”

“Night, Matty.”

Day 3

The first thing Madison noticed when she woke up was the warm, unfamiliar weight slung around her waist. It took her a moment to realize that it was Matty’s arm, who hadn’t woken up yet. For some reason that she couldn’t quite identify, or maybe didn’t want to confront quite yet, it wasn’t unwelcome at all, and she savored the last few minutes of physical closeness before he woke up. And he did, wake up, that is. His cheeks reddened as he opened his eyes, pulling his arm away to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly.

Maddy ducked her head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t mind.”

Matthew yawned. “What time is it?”

“Uh, just before seven,” she said, rolling over to look at the alarm clock. “I’d love to stay in bed a little longer, but we did promise the boys we’d meet them down at breakfast soon.”

He nodded, making a very concerted effort to not read into her statements any more than he absolutely had to. “Yeah, good idea,” he said, tossing the covers off and walking into the bathroom. “I’ll sit on you if you’re not up by the time I get back out there.” Maddy took the opportunity to change, threading a belt through her jeans and half-tucking a t-shirt. “I like the look,” he said when he walked out, as Maddy was twisting her hair up into a bun. It wasn’t entirely unusual for Matthew to compliment her; she had accompanied him to more than one charity event for the Flames as his date, but she had always been dressed up. Dress, heels, makeup that she probably stressed way too much over. Dressed to the nines, never in jeans and a t-shirt before. But she didn’t really notice, the compliment meaning just as much to her as if she’d been in a floor-length gown.

“Thanks,” she said, stuffing her clothes from the night before back into her duffel. “I packed the rest of your bag while you were in there, figured I might as well.”

It was Matty’s turn to thank her, squeezing her hand appreciatively before giving the room a quick look. “We didn’t forget anything, then?”

Madison laughed. “We really didn’t stay long enough to unpack, but yeah, we’ve got everything, don’t worry.”

---

Elias had volunteered to do the drive down to Salt Lake City. Matthew’s inner six-year-old had returned, insisting that the group stop at a dinosaur park in a rural part of Utah. What “dinosaur park” meant, Madison wasn’t sure, but it made Matty happy, so she didn’t fight it.

The museum was mostly outdoors, with life-sized dinosaur models dotting the massive field. “Were you much into dinosaurs as a kid?” Matthew asked Madison.

“Kind of?” she replied noncommittally. “I always loved learning about them, but never had like a ‘dinosaur phase’ like David or Cody,” she said, referring to her older brothers. “My family used to go to the Canadian Museum of Nature a ton when I was a kid, since it was only a few hours away in Ottawa, and it has like a billion fossils in it.”

“Which was your favorite?”

“Pachycephalosaurus,” she said easily.

Matthew blinked. “Pachycephalo-what?” he asked in confusion. He thought he knew all of them?

Maddy laughed. “Pachycephalosaurus. They had these really spiny heads. But secretly, I think I was a little bit of a teacher’s pet who just liked saying the name. Pretty sure they were actually native to Alberta?” she added. “What about you?”

“Well, now I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Oh, come on,” Madison said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Promise I won’t make fun of you.”

“Fine, fine,” Matty gave in, “it was the brachiosaurus.”

“How come?” she asked curiously.

“I liked the long necks.”

They spent another hour or so at the park, Matty grabbing a keychain on the way out. “They didn’t have a brachiosaurus,” he muttered, half-angry, picking up a T-rex one instead. It wasn’t a long drive to the actual Great Salt Lake, and for some reason, they had trusted Elias with the aux. Much to Maddy’s chagrin, he didn’t end up playing ABBA, and they were instead led to cruise down I-15 to the dulcet tones of J.S. Bach.

Madison looked down at her phone. “Anyone want to go see the Joseph Smith sphinx?”

“Joseph Smith?” Rasmus questioned.

“Sphinx?” asked Elias.

Matthew laughed. “You know those Egyptian statues of like the cat ladies? Where they have cat bodies but the faces of people?”

“Joseph Smith was the founder of the Mormon church,” Madison explained. “Well, technically it’s called the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, but—”

“Know-it-all,” Matty said in a sing-song voice. Madison shot a glare at him from the back seat.

“But most people still call them Mormons. And apparently they made him into a sphinx.”

Elias looked at her, still dumbfounded. “But why?”

Maddy shrugged. “Honestly? Beats me.” The weather had dropped too much by the time they had reached the lake to make swimming very practical, so the four of them settled for taking off their shoes, rolling up pants, and wading into the shoreline.

Matthew bent down, picking up a chipped white rock from the ground, the water just lapping at his fingers. He handed it to Madison. “For you.”

She took it gently, running her hands over the jagged surface. “Aren’t you not allowed to take anything from a national park?”

He winked. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” They stopped at a Chipotle just as the sun was beginning to set, Matthew taking over driving duties from Rasmus. The plan was to drive for another two hours or so, stopping somewhere in southern Utah for the night to spare themselves from another night spent in her Nissan.

They drove in silence for a while, Elias and Rasmus drifting to sleep in the back row, before a road sign caught Matty’s eyes and he spoke. “I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon, you know,” he said as they continued down I-15.

Maddy looked over at him. “Do you want to go?” She didn’t know where the suggestion came from, but it was out of her mouth before she could take it back, and after a moment, she realized that she didn’t even want to.

His eyebrows raised as he glanced over at her before turning back to the road, the car’s headlights the only thing in sight. “You mean it?”

Madison shrugged. “Yeah, why not?” She quickly popped the directions into her phone. “It’s only a few hours out of the way, if we drive through the night instead of stopping somewhere we should have more than enough time.”

“But didn’t you say sleeping in the car made your back hurt?” Matty asked curiously.

She smiled softly. “I don’t mind, really. I’ll drive. You’re more important.” Honestly, Maddy surprised herself with her boldness. She wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, but it hadn’t escaped her that the dynamic between her and Matthew had changed in the past few weeks and was about to come to a boil. Matty wasn’t exactly the type of guy Madison expected to have a lot of friends who were girls. And a part of her hated that, hated that because of his reputation she automatically assumed when they became friends that all he wanted to do was get in her pants. There had only been one time in their entire year of friendship when they’d even done so much as kissed, and it wasn’t exactly what you’d consider normal circumstances.

---

It was November of the previous year, about six months after Matthew and Madison had met. Matthew had been even more in his head than normal; he hadn’t scored a single point since midway through their East Coast road trip over two weeks ago, and the disappointment was really starting to rag on him. It might not have been something he outwardly showed all that much, but those who knew him knew that Matthew was actually a deeply sensitive person, who took pride in his wins and carried losses with him well after they had faded from the minds of the rest of the hockey world.

When it had gotten to the point where his frustration was starting to affect his game, Maddy knew it was time to do something. “You’re so much more than your stats, Matty,” she had said, calling him right before she left for the Saddledome. “I know you take this personally, and you feel like you’re letting down the team, but that’s bullshit and somewhere deep down, I know you agree.” Matthew grumbled something that might have been an agreement. “Your team trusts you, they trust you with the puck and with the A, and you’re never going to disappoint them as long as you’re giving it your all. And if you’re the Matthew Tkachuk I know, there’s never a time when you don’t. And win or lose tonight, there’s nothing you could do to change the fact that your family loves you, and your friends love you, and I love you too. Okay?” Clearly, something in her little pep talk had flipped a switch in Matty, because he returned in spectacular form that night, scoring a hat trick in a roaring 5-1 win over the Coyotes. And he didn’t throw a single punch all game.

A good game without a travel day following usually calls for going out, and a great game with your best friend scoring a hat trick definitely calls for going out, so she dragged Emily along to the bar that Matthew had told her to meet the team at. Matthew had pulled her into a hug the moment she arrived, kissing her cheek and trying his damndest not to spill the beer in his hand on her shoes. An hour and a half into the night, Madison was four drinks in, well and truly drunk, and Emily had wandered off and appeared to be flirting with an extremely oblivious Noah Hanifin.

“How are you doing, Mads?” Matthew asked, coming up from behind her barstool and resting his hand gently on the small of her back.

She looked back at him, a goofy smile on her face, and took another sip of her drink. “I’m good, I’m realllly good,” she giggled. “Did I ever get a chance to tell you how good you were tonight?” Matthew shook his head, very poorly concealing a laugh. He had had more than one beer, sure, but he was nowhere near as gone as Madison. “Because you were really good. A-ma-zing,” she added, punctuating each syllable. Her eyes softened as she leaned in. “I know the points drought was starting to weigh on you, and I’m really glad you were able to do this for yourself. I’m always proud of you, Matty, but I was a little extra proud of you tonight. People sometimes write you off as just another good player without any real subsistence,” she paused, correcting herself, “substance, off the ice, but I know the real you, and the real you is even more incredible than the you that plays hockey. It’s my favorite thing to see.”

“It is?” Matthew asked softly, leaning into the hand that had begun to caress his cheek a little bit imprecisely, but that somehow communicated every kind of unsaid word between them.

Madison nodded, touching his forehead to hers, and then she tilted in. And then she kissed him. Her lips met his, and she tasted like lime and spearmint chewing gum and his favorite kind of tequila. Her lips met his, and it seemed like the room stood still; he barely heard his teammates’ wolf-whistles or Emily’s elated gasp in the background. Her lips met his, and he drank in every second of the kiss until she pulled away.

---

Maddy hadn’t been drunk enough to black out that night, and she came to the next morning with a roaring headache and the pang of regret in her heart. She thought it was shame at her behavior, embarrassment that she could act so impulsively, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized. The fact that she kissed Matthew wasn’t the issue, not to her, at least. It was the fact that she was drunk in a bar after a hockey game and that wasn’t how she wanted it to happen. She pushed her feelings to the side, trying desperately to focus on work and supporting Matty through the rest of the season, but they always tended to flare up when they were least welcome. Like at the Idaho Potato Museum.

Which of course meant that Matthew would choose this moment, driving down I-15 with two sleeping Swedish hockey players in the backseat, to bring it up. “I remember when you kissed me, you know,” Matty said softly, reaching up to brush his fingers over his lips, like if he tried hard enough he could remember what it felt like to have Maddy’s pressed against his.

Madison froze, which isn’t exactly what you’re supposed to do when you’re driving. She thought he had forgotten. He had never brought it up, so she really had no reason to believe he would have remembered. “You do?” she asked, swallowing.

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “Mhm. I hadn’t thought about it in a couple weeks, but back in Idaho, in front of the World’s Largest Potato Crisp…” He let out an airy chuckle.

Maddy breathed in sharply. So she hadn’t imagined that. Her fingers tapped nervously against the faux leather of the steering wheel. “Yeah…” She trailed off nervously. “I was drunk.”

“Oh, you were hammered,” Matthew agreed. “But do you regret it?”

There it was, the million-dollar question that she somehow actually had the answer to. A long moment passed before she answered, figuring it would be best to just rip the band-aid off. Worst case, Matty would hate her and she’d only be stuck in a car with him for ten-odd more hours. No big deal. “No,” she whispered, voice so small he almost didn’t hear it.

“I’m glad, because I don’t either,” Matty said. Madison hazarded a glance to her side; he looked almost nervous, and nervous wasn’t a look Matthew Tkachuk did all that often. “I had wanted to for a few months, but it always seemed like it was never the right time, or something interrupted us, or I didn’t know how you felt about me. But you made the first move, and I’m glad you did.”

“How come?”

He sighed. “I don’t know how long I would have waited to do something, or if I ever would have done anything. I feel like sometimes…,” he searched for the right words, “the confidence that I have on the ice can be misleading. Hockey is about reflexes and instincts and knowing the game, but it’s also thinking three steps ahead, anticipating every possible outcome and preparing for them. And that’s the part that I carry off the ice. I think I was worried if I ever brought it up with you, if I ever mentioned that I so much as remembered the kiss, you might clam up and tell me it was a stupid, drunken mistake, and I don’t know what I’d do if you said that. Because I don’t know how you feel about me, not like that”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to force the words out, as scared as she was about admitting them. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” Matthew had never seen Madison like this before, unsure and worried and downright vulnerable, and it meant so much to him that she was letting him see her like that.

Matthew let out a watery laugh. “Only pretty sure? Hurts my ego a little bit.” Maddy opened her mouth, but he waved her off. “Because I’m definitely sure I’m in love with you.” This wasn’t ever how she imagined telling him, and it wasn’t how Matty thought he’d tell her, on a freeway in Southern Utah on their way to the Grand Canyon, but sometimes life throws unexpected things at you and you have to roll with the punches.

“When did you know?” Madison asked curiously.

Matthew bit his lip. “Few months ago? I knew I liked you as more than a friend probably since you kissed me, but it was after that game against Vancouver that I really understood I had fallen in love with you.” Maddy remembered the game. It had gone terribly for the Flames, a 4-0 shutout with more than one fight and the bench racking up penalty minutes. What she didn’t know was what made that one special. Matthew looked over at her, answering her unspoken question. “Why that one?” She nodded. “I think it’s because it was such a shitty game. I wouldn’t have blamed you at all if you had just skipped out after the end of the third, I know I can be hard to deal with after a loss. But you didn’t leave, you stayed. I remember seeing you outside the tunnel, swallowed by my jersey because it’s three sizes too big for you and you refuse to let me buy you another—”

“I don’t want another because it’s yours, and I love it,” Maddy said quietly.

Matthew smiled. “Your call. But when I turned the corner and saw you, I realized three things at the exact same time. You were there for me when you didn’t have to be, and I wanted to be able to do the same thing for you. Second, you’re who I wanted to come home to. And last,” he gathered his thoughts, “I realized if I never saw another girl in my jersey for the rest of my life, that would be fine with me.”

“I think I knew when you introduced me to your family, when you flew me down for the All-Star break?” He nodded in recognition. “Just seeing you with them, how much you love your parents and adore Taryn. You even managed to not chirp Brady for a whole dinner.”

“My mom threatened me.”

Madison laughed. “Even so. It just gave me a whole new side to you. I had seen you with your friends, and with the boys, and with me, but it wasn’t the same. How deeply you cared about making sure I fit in with them, and had fun, and felt included. It was the last piece of the puzzle, really.” Her hand rested on the center console after she downshifted.

“So, are we going to do this? Do you want to do this, Mads?” Matty asked, wrapping his fingertips gently around her free hand.

Flipping her hand around, she interlaced her fingers with his. “I’m all in if you are.”

Matthew bent down, kissing their hands. “I’ve been all in since the moment I met you.” He glanced behind him to the backseat, where Elias and Rasmus were still fast asleep. “What do you think they’re going to say when they wake up?”

“I’m not sure,” Madison said, laughing. “Probably tell us it’s about time. Pass me my phone, will you?” Matthew pulled out her phone from where it was charging on the passenger side.

“What do you need to look up?” he asked curiously as she pulled off of the freeway and into a gas station; the directions were already programmed into the car’s navigation system.

Maddy gave a coy smile, gently putting the car into park. “I’ve got to text the girl’s chat, tell them they’ve got to make me a jacket. They’re going to go wild.”

Day 4

The chat did go wild, even more so after she sent a picture of her kissing Matty’s cheek. After about a half-dozen “we called its” and a promise for her jacket to be ready by the first home game of the series, she turned her phone off, leaning over to ruffle Matthew’s hair; he had taken over driving sometime around four o’clock. “I like that I can just do this now,” she mused, playing with his curls as they crossed the border into Arizona.

“Please, no PDA in front of the children,” he said playfully, gesturing to the backseat. Elias flipped him off.

The entrance to the Grand Canyon was only an hour past the state line, and there were more than a few cafés to grab a quick breakfast at. Most of the day was spent walking around the vast expanse of the park, marvelling at its natural grandeur, and taking more than a few incredibly aesthetically pleasing Instagram pictures. A few minutes before they had to pack up and leave for the last leg of the drive, they had hiked over to the South Rim.

Matty leaned on the barriers overlooking the canyon. “It’s so big.”

Rasmus snickered from behind them. “Duh, Tkachuk. That’s why they call it grand.”

He ducked his head, blushing. “Yeah, I mean, obviously. But it’s just kind of surreal, you know?” Madison nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and if either of them had turned around they would have seen Rasmus and Elias sharing a very “I-told-you-so” look. “Kind of reminds us how small we are in the grand scheme of things.”

It seemed like only a few minutes later that they were pulling into Las Vegas, Rasmus steering the car into the underground lot of the team hotel. None of the boys were expected at practice until the next morning, and they had decided before leaving that the easiest thing to do would just be to book the rooms for the one night.

“Anyone feeling up to going out?” Maddy asked as they walked down the hallway to their adjoining rooms. “I found a tiki bar a couple blocks away, great Yelp reviews.”

“Sounds good,” Rasmus said. Elias nodded.

“I’m in,” Matthew added, unlocking the door. “Meet out here in ten?”

The break allowed Madison to get a much-needed change of clothes while Matthew hopped in for a quick shower, emerging in a T-shirt and very, very nice-looking pair of black jeans. Maddy bit her lip, looking him up and down. “You like what you see?” Matthew asked, expression cocky.

She shrugged. “I don’t have to hide it now.” Madison slipped her phone into her back pocket, grabbing her jacket from where it was slung over the lounge chair. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, poking his head out the door. “Boys are already out.”

The walk to the bar couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it felt like twenty in the best way possible. She was holding hands with Matty, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the top of her hand, the twinkling lights of dozens of Vegas casinos in their view. Two and a half mai tais and an hour later, the group sat at a table in the corner as Maddy giggled, retelling a particularly embarrassing moment on her high school volleyball team when she tried to make a dive that instead ended up with a ten minute pause in gameplay and the worst nosebleed of her life. She finished the story to raucous laughter, leaning into Matthew’s side. He bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “What is it, Matty?” she asked, pulling away to look at him.

Eyes soft, he tucked a piece of her hair back behind her ear before speaking. “Just thanking God I invited you on the trip. And for the Idaho Potato Museum.”

Madison laughed, the sound like music as it reached his ears. “We should write them. Thank them for helping to get us together. Maybe they’d give us season tickets.”

“Who needs season tickets when I have you?” Matty chuckled, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. Sure, Madison was a few drinks in when she kissed him. And sure, it wasn’t like Matty was exactly sober either. But this kiss was different. This kiss was the start of everything.

#hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl imagine #nhl smut #matthew tkachuk #hockey #hockey imagines #hockey writing #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl writing #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk writing #rat king

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isis-astarte-diana · 3 years

Text

On Your Toes

Summary: “You told me you were bored, so I gave you something to do.” Missy can always find a way to keep her companion busy.

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Dark!Missy. Serious predicament bondage, featuring stress positions and the threat of bodily harm. (It’s foot trauma). Anal, but, like, not particularly explicit. Absolutely terrible BDSM etiquette - realistically, this is just straight-up torture. Missy is... really unpleasant. The way we love her best.

Word Count: 2067

NB: Sat down to write this thinking “aha, yes, the ornamental bondage concept. Nice, wholesome stuff. We all love that,” and then... well... this happened instead. I think it fits quite nicely into the New Toy universe.

It’s cold in this part of the TARDIS.

The engines are drowned out by the low hiss of an air conditioning system, and this, in turn, is swallowed in the whir of the servers that surround you. Row upon row of shelves stretch to the high ceiling, glowing with blue light, the impossible dimensions of the room containing only a fraction of a fraction of the ship’s central computing hardware. The vast monitor in front of you indicates that the temperature is in its ideal range; somewhere above refrigeration, but certainly lower than would ever be comfortable for a human in your state of undress.

Still, you’re sweating.

Your hair is plastered to your forehead with it, rapidly cooling trails of perspiration trickling down your neck, your sides, the backs of your trembling legs. Another full-body shiver makes your knees quake and you falter, losing your balance, dropping silently from your tiptoes to stand flat footed on the smooth tiles.

“Heels up.”

Missy doesn’t look up from her work at the control panel. She has her back to you, her dark head bowed, quick fingers flitting between a set of keys and dials and a touchscreen display. She had explained what she was doing, and you had made a valiant effort to listen, but that was hours ago, or so it seems. The technical jargon you’d tried so hard to keep track of has been pushed from your mind by far more urgent physical sensations.

The plug isn’t overly large - perhaps, at its broadest, just thicker than two of her slender fingers - but it’s certainly too much to ignore. Though inaudible over the other machinery of the server room its vibrations are powerful and, more than this, variable. If there is any pattern to the change in pitch, you have yet to determine it; and you have been thinking of little else for quite some time.

“Missy,” you attempt weakly, making no effort to conceal the chatter of your teeth. “Please, I-“ The words turn into an unsteady whine to match the abrupt increase in speed of the pulsing toy inside you. Your thighs try to press closer together, if not for stability then at least to soothe the impossible sensitivity of the slick flesh between them. The bar that keeps your ankles spread wide offers no such relief.

“Lift your heels,” she repeats, sharper this time. “And hush.”

Gritting your teeth against the cramping in your calves, you obey.

Behind your back, you hold tighter to yourself, each forearm clasped in the opposite hand and bound that way so that your shoulders are drawn backwards. Your chest is forced up and out by the position, leaving your naked breasts vulnerable in the cold air, nipples painfully stiff and throbbing from the chill. As the vibrations slow once more, your breaths come easier again.

The effect, unfortunately, is two-fold; with fewer distractions, your attention is once more concentrated on the strain of your position. Tension is beginning to set in at the base of your spine, the arches of your feet, even the core muscles in your abdomen, everything below the waist protesting at being made to hold you up like this. Tremors pluck once more at the tendons in your calves. You withstand them for as long as you can, teeth sinking sharply into your chapped bottom lip, until another wave of sensation from the plug as it kicks up to full speed for an instant has you landing hard on your heels, yelping so loudly that Missy actually startles at the noise.

The server room is not quiet, but it is very suddenly as still as a tomb.

You watch as she slowly lifts her head, rolling her neck, stretching languidly as if to emphasise your inability to do the same. When she rises to her feet you almost whimper. Being ignored is a torture in and of itself, but having captured her attention is no comfort. She does not face you, moving instead to one of the shelves nearest the control panel, one that houses gutted hardware and its components. Her fingers plunge into the innards of a half-disassembled server. Impossibly, the sight makes you shudder. From here she withdraws something in a closed fist.

“It’s a fairly simple instruction, isn’t it?”

Her voice is cooler than the spinning fans above you and hums with far more power.

“I mean - stand on your tiptoes. It’s four words. Not even particularly long words, either.” At this, she finally turns on her heels, her smile bright and broad and utterly mirthless. “You can manage to keep track of four words, can’t you?”

You nod emphatically, the movement made jerky by the shivering you cannot stop. She raises an expectant brow.

“And yet, there you are. Not standing on your tiptoes.”

The haste with which you rock up onto the balls of your feet when she begins to approach almost costs you your balance. You waver there for a moment, close to falling back on your heels again, even closer to sprawling face down on the hard ground. With your arms bound behind you, you would have no hope of shielding your face from the impact; your nose, already sore from the cold, throbs at the thought. A strangled whimper works its way through your trembling lips.

Missy narrows her eyes. In the low blue light her features are sharpened, shadows darkening under every curve and arch of bone with the angle at which she tilts her head. “You told me you were bored.”

You shrink, not only from her tone, but also from the memory of your own impertinence. At the time - curled up on the tiled floor at her feet, left with nothing to occupy your restless mind or hands and scolded every time you dared to fidget - you had hoped that she would let you assist her, even if only with a trivial task, or at least set you some busywork to spare you from having to sit still and silent in the cold.

“You told me you were bored, so I gave you something to do.” She takes hold of your jaw with icy fingers just as the thrumming of the toy kicks up a degree. Your hoarse gasp is due, in part, to both. “I went to all this trouble and you keep disobeying me.”

“Missy, I- I can’t...” Spasms shoot up the backs of your legs, settling in your abdomen, shortening your breaths as you speak through a grimace. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t-” It’s impossible to straighten out the words behind your quivering jaw. “I’m really trying.”

“You certainly are, dear.” Her thumb curls under your chin, her palm slowly moving to cup your cheek now. She bares her teeth. “Consider my patience tried.”

The slap catches you off guard. Its sting is only aggravated by the chill of her skin, and of yours, so that the pain is sharp as frostbite. Your heels meet the ground again as you struggle to steady yourself. The shifting of your weight brings relief, but this is smothered by the knowledge that you have, once more, failed to follow her instructions.

“I’m sorry!” With your face turned down towards your shoulder and your eyes clamped shut against the welling tears, you try fruitlessly to rise back onto your toes. Though the balls of your feet burn with the effort, your legs are too shaky, your knees too weak. You cannot seem to settle into a balanced position. All the while, the shifting of the plug inside of you is torturous, its constant vibrations irritating your nerves and flooding you with scalding arousal that cools on your parted thighs. “I’m sorry, Mistress, I- please-”

Her knuckles brush against the blazing skin of your cheek and you flinch from the touch. “Oh, it’s alright, poor love.” With a sympathetic click of her tongue, she coaxes your eyes back to hers and gives you a pitying look. “Now, I know how you humans can struggle with these things, so I don’t mind giving you some help, just this once.”

She shows you her other hand and finally loosens her fist to reveal the spoils of her earlier search. Your cry of alarm hones her lips into a knife-edged grin.

“I’ll do better!” The words are too loud in the close quarters, ragged with unsteady breaths as your wide eyes flit between her face and the pair of inch-long screws resting in her open palm. “I will, I promise, I-” Again, your voice is robbed by a sudden and brief change in the pitch of the maddening vibrations.

“Well, if you’re going to do better, then you won’t mind this at all, will you?” Missy presses the sole of her boot down lightly on the toes of your right foot, cool and smooth and with no weight behind it. “Stand on your tiptoes.”

You shake your head, teeth clenching to stop the chatter there, tears turning cold as they begin to escape at last. She pushes harder, the touch growing uncomfortable, still wavering just this side of pain.

“On your toes,” she repeats, her smile flickering with the threat of a snarl, “or I will break them for you.”

For the barest of moments you try to weigh up the impossible choice - obey, and feel the pointed tip of the screw beneath your raised heel; disobey, and test the sincerity of her words - until the bones of your toes grind painfully between boot and tile and the far more present peril wins out. With a choked gasp you lift yourself once more onto the balls of your feet.

Her voice lowers to a stage whisper and she gives you an exaggerated wink. “Good choice.”

You twist your head at an awkward angle to watch her moving behind you, but this threatens your balance and you quickly correct your posture again. As she sinks to the ground, her fingernails carve a stinging path down the back of your left calf, following the curve of cramping muscle from knee to elevated heel. You jerk under the touch, but cannot escape it without falling.

“If I were you,” she begins, with a faint stirring of amusement, “I would think very carefully about which foot I favoured.” To emphasise her meaning, she pricks the arch of your foot with the screw. You squeak pitifully.

“Please, Mistress.” You cast your blurry eyes to the ceiling, trying not to shift your weight when she repeats the motion on your other foot. Your thighs quake beneath you, cold and strain and horror all taking their toll. “I’m sorry, I- I was rude-”

“You were bored.” She drags her nails up your right leg when she straightens up and leans in to show you her indulgent smile. “And now you’re not. You’re welcome, dear.”

Missy returns to the control panel without a second glance. Your babbling protests fall on deaf ears as she sits back down, swirling her fingers across the touchscreen. It takes only moments for the futility of your efforts to sink in. Despite her earlier impatience with your complaints, she seems entirely impassive to them now.

Fighting every screaming nerve in your body, you bow your head and try to concentrate.

The most tentative of attempts at shuffling forwards is quickly thwarted; with your ankles bound this far apart and your arms restrained behind you, you have no hope of shifting away from the threat underfoot without your forehead meeting the tiles. Through harsh and wavering breaths you are forced to accept the dawning realisation that your balance is tentative, your muscles are fatigued, and it is only a matter of time until you fall one way or the other.

“Missy!” Her name is a panicked sob. Your feet are beginning to cramp and you shrink in on yourself, clawing at your forearms, seeking stability that you cannot find. In your anguish, your muscles draw tighter around the plug, drawing your attention once more to the unpredictable nature of its constant pulsing. “I can’t stay like this!”

She turns to look at you over her shoulder, her expression one of arch disinterest. “Well, you can put your heels down if you like, poppet.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners with her smile. “But you’ll only do it once.”

Unseen, she slips a hand into her pocket and deposits the two screws inside.

#mine #nsfwork #missy x reader #gomez!master x reader #the master x reader #hahahHAHAha I love this gif so much #Missy: [bares her teeth like a fckn feral cat]#me: 🥰😍💕#anyway she's terrible I love her #well she's Babey but in this fic..... she's Terrible

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fandom-sheep · 3 years

Text

Eret 11 MAY 21

Cat and DSMP Part 1/1

Cat! Goose!

Goose my beloved.

Eret’s streaming very late for me again. So I’m not staying the whole time.

Hello Elaina. Enjoy Goose.

Fundy! Kinda...

Fundy hearing the donations. LOL.

Fundy enters a stream and it starts to scuffed. Scuffed just follows Fundy wherever he goes.

A wild my beloved on the cube.

The Drista stairs.

Wait what. Why is the tower gone?

I have missed some lore.

Ah... it’s part of the nightmare thing.

Eret offering Fundy housing like a good almost adoptive parent.

Sneeze? OH WOW SNEEZE.

Sounds like Fundy about lost a lung. Good gracious.

The bargaining between these two.

Cat, Handsome, said cube was massive

You know what that works.

It’s hard to keep the audio right for Eret’s stream for my headphones. It’s either too quiet or the loudest my headphones can go and my family can hear it.

On stream explosions. Noice.

Wow youtooz. Not super cool. Permission is usually a good thing.

Eret keeps on sizzling.

Getting dirt for scaffolding. Going old fashioned Minecraft for this.

“Why is the Cube kinda hot” cue Eret losing faith in her chats sanity.

Cube go poof.

Oh. Red stone. That’s dangerous.

I like this song. Oh klahoma. Gorgeous song.

Love joy is such a fun band. I want to make a plushy of the cat.

It’s kinda sad that Eret can’t see themselves the way chat and their little fandom sees them. Most all of us think they look fabulous.

Not Arson. Just bombing. A bit of anarchy by the king.

Demolition. Now there’s the word.

Controlled ish demolition.

Ah I’ve almost saved enough channel points for water. Nice. I’m not going to redeem it I’m just going to keep hoarding the points.

Flame Arrow. Nice.

Eret cleaning up the SMP eye sours.

Watch me attempt to sleep to Eret here in an hour or so, but keep getting distracted.

Explosion time.

Someone get ready to clip it.

Bye Bye Cube. Let’s go.

Gotta get a song that fits the vibe.

Hayloft. Time to go poof.

Turning up my brightness just to watch this explosion in the best way possible.

Still wearing the red dress I see.

I hope the music isn’t too loud to get this part muted.

Drum roll...

Drum roll continues...

Drum roll still going...

THERE GOES THE CUBE!

That was so smooth and good looking!

Overall a very good explosion.

Just a little bit of a hole in the other building.

Twitch Pr-

Poor being’s so confused with his hair. Someone help them.

Twitch bleep.

Everyone attempting to give hair styling advice. Everyone’s trying to help the being.

That bird is majestic. I remember seeing that tiktok.

Animals just decided Eret was the animal whisperer.

Yes! Disney Princess Eret fanart! Someone make it, I shall reblog all of it.

Likes to hug cute animals and cute animals like being hugged by her. Nice.

It’s alright. Names are difficult. I have to like put name tags on people to learn who they are. That or name tags on their space (like on campers bunks and door decs on dorms)

It does feel very February. But I’m very ready for summer because that means I get to do my favorite job.

Hooray. I hit 15k points.

Eret trying to prove to us a ponytail won’t work. Like we aren’t going to hype them up no matter what.

Gotta heart in the chat. All Eret’s chat does is hearts and encourage. It’s a lovely place.

Oh Eret forgot his cat ear sub goal. It’s alright I know I forgot.

Pride is next month. Nice.

Oh. We’re almost halfway already. Why does the world spin so quickly?

We forgot a dirt tower. Whoops.

I would wear Eret merch. I like it when people release merch around Christmas. Then I can ask for it as a gift.

Oh it wasn’t a dirt tower.

Just looking at Elaina’s stream in the stream selection screen it like very cozy.

All the way up the Drista stairs.

Look it’s the museum!

Eret’s got most of the builds around there. The museum. The fortress. Nice.

Some things are too historical to remove. Somethings are historical because they are being removed.

Oh no. L’sandburg.

It’s taking over the summer home.

Ah the lore is coming. It just seemed to be too early.

Hello unofficial ranboo Raiders.

Foolish making the awesome tall thingy!

Foolish’s builds are so neat. I want to watch Foolish’s streams more. Maybe just in the background but I start wanting to delayed liveblog and that requires attention.

Oh the giant portal turned out well. Sorry that was the lady’s foolish stream I watched.

Shulkers. The forbidden mob.

Eret with just a pit in the desert filled with llamas. Bones. And discus.

The mansion has been finished?

Alright is better than bad. It’s alright to be alright.

Lucky being not getting tired. I got the Johnson and Johnson vaccine and I was so so tired. I also had just no appetite.

Eret doing an smp tour. And looking at foolish’s builds.

Flickering the switch on the rainbow beacons.

Eret just knowing where everything is.

Kinoko is super pretty. Just for the aesthetic value of the kingdom I appreciate it.

Yeet. Just defenestrated himself out the window.

Oh? Spectator fly over the smp?

That would be really neat to like. Watch in VR. I think I’ve only used VR maybe twice.

Pretty Rainbow beacons.

The nurse who gave me my vaccine hid the needle from me because I mentioned to her that I was afraid of needles. It wasn’t a big deal at all.

30 minutes till I attempt sleep. Woo.

Goose my beloved. Someone make the gif because I’m not quite sure how to make it.

Oh yeah. Goose in Marvel. I hear MCU and think Minecraft cinematic universe. Not marvel.

Ghibli is so nice. It really romanticize small moments of life.

Yeah the characters are all really supportive in Ghibli movies.

Someone subbed for nine months “that’s enough to make a child” -Eret

That mansion is like a maze. I’m so lost already.

Everyone encouraging Eret and telling her she looks pretty. Good.

Eret needs all the hype and encouragement.

Antarctic empties flag. Yeah it does have a similar color pallet.

Michelle! Hello!

Fortress work. Nice.

Do it. I’ll listen the Eret play other games.

I don’t usually watch game play for non Minecraft games. But I’ll listen to it all.

Hbomb and Eret living in the same city feels like two worlds that shouldn’t meet. But it’s awesome that they have.

TOS means against twitches terms of service. Nice. Glad to finally have an explanation of what that means.

Look at our handsome and pretty streamer. All the hype.

I keep turning down the stream to hear the show my mama has on because I’m curious about what happens.

Yeah. Backseat gaming can be annoying. That’s part of why I share my thoughts here just in case I do start backseat gaming.

Almost to the sub goal. Hooray!

Ooo food.

No no. I see where they are coming from. Eret does give a bit of cat bus vibes. I can’t explain it but the vibes are there.

Creeper causing issues at the fortress.

Ed Sheepran my beloved.

I should draw more ferrets. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I’ll draw us doing stuffs.

Actually I kinda want to make a little animatic of some heels walking across the screen followed by a hoard of ferrets. I think it’ll look cool. But I need the artistic ability and the ability to not scream making that.

Woop. Ad time. Off to the void of where ever the ads game me.

OH THE NEW VOID LOOKS COOL!

Bread. Flowers. Ted. Crown. And of course Eret.

We V O I D and get our streamer bits.

Hush the chat is V O I D and the occasional emoji or emote.

The void being centered looks good. Maybe that’s just the symmetry speaking but it’s good.

Oh. We hear the being. The being in void mode. And spooky mode.

Chat just starts yelling corpse.

Hydration. I try to stay hydrated. But I fail often if I’m not doing something active.

Tree!

Casually makes and snags tree.

Eret does read chat often. It’s strange. And it is weird how often it ends up being you.

You can tell I’m a tumblr peep. I may say stuff in chat but I’m fully not expecting or wanting to be noticed by the streamer.

Others hitting darkness o’clock and saying goodnight.

It’s sleep to the stream hours y’all. Whoop.

I need to visit the parks out west. I’ve only really seen the eastern US ones. But I have been to the Great Smokey Mountain park which is gorgeous.

Eret thinking of his friends triggers when naming his cat.

Eret’s builds are so casually pretty. Not like Foolish’s which are intricately pretty. Not like Phil’s or Sam’s which are complicated pretty. All pretty. Just different breeds of pretty.

Alrighty. It’s sleepy hours for me. As much as I love Eret I want to read some fanfiction and daydream a bit before I head to sleep.

Have a good rest everyone and may all your coming meals be delicious.

Wait no is it our turn with goose?

OUR TURN WITH GOOSE!

Eret honey that’s the ceiling.

Cat stream. Cat stream.

Sleepy kitty. A cat cam would be good.

Yeah. That happens with cats. Especially strays.

Goose captured the computer mouse.

Goose straight up chose Eret and Elaina.

Goose really just chose not to leave.

Oh my stream connection is acting sad. But I want Goose content.

I want to draw Goose now.

Maybe I’ll do water color for Goose. I know I tried to do that with Boots (Fundy’s cat)

Hopefully there will be some Goose face screenshots I can see. Maybe I can see him well in the Tiktok.

Artists just violently refusing payment. Sounds about right. The MCYT artists just kinda go “yeah give credit and we cool”

Cowboy cat. Nice.

I want to paint Goose in the cowboy hat.

Hype train! That we are zooming.

Bucket sponge?

WATER BUCKET FROM WET SPONGE! Tiktok people giving all the cool info.

Go Goose. Catch the computer mouse and the screen mouse.

Just sitting here at 11:30 at night getting screen shots of Goose for painting purposes.

Goose please. Look at the camera babe.

My phone is dying. And I can’t charge it and type.

Alright the camera is off the cat. The cat is also blocking the screen.

But no cat on camera means I’m getting some sleep. If I do any of the projects I’ve mentioned I’ll let y’all know.

Have a good rest everyone.

#eret #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp eret #why must this being stream so late #goose the cat #erets cat #delayed liveblogging

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dappercritter · 4 years

Text

Random She-Ra Season 5 Thoughts: THE FINAL RAMBLING

Yep. I finally got all my crazy absurd thoughts about this gay adventure-romance-drama cartoon summarized into one incoherent yet fun to read computer document/article! ...four months after the show itself ended. Oh well, no one’s perfect. Anyways, there are a whole lot more insane observations than ever before, so I had to put it below a link so this thing didn’t back up my blog or any of yours. Hope you enjoy reading through these as much I enjoyed spouting them for no discernible reason other than I felt like it!

-I feel that since is the last season, I ought to talk about an important part of the show that I’ve been putting off: the animation. It’s… okay. It’s definitely smoother than what the original 80’s show and it’s brother series (heheh) looked like, but at the same time it still seems to suffer from similar limitations which causes some distracting moments of stiffness. But other than that, it’s pretty good. It’s no Titmouse or Studio Mir but it looks good and it gets the job done.

-After all, let’s not forget: “Imperfection is beautiful!”

-Even when things are at their lowest, Adora is a jock with a heart of gold.

-Horde Prime and the Galactic Horde’s aesthetic feels like a mixture of Catholicism, Scientology, Heaven’s Gate, and modern Microsoft, and honestly, that just makes him creepier.

-Speaking of Horde Prime, he didn’t waste any time with destroying Bright Moon. …apparently.

-Furthermore, on the topic of his giant holographic messages, WAS THAT A FREAKING MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE MOVIE REFERENCE?!

-Boy, Glimmer and Catra sure got along quickly! It’s almost like they magically understand each other because they both assumed leadership roles and screwed up big time! …I guess.

-Either that or this season is going to be a speedrun.

-Wow, the Rebellion sure got used to having a once-thought-dead king as well as a known enemy general/abuser running around their camp awful fast, didn’t they?

-Mara’s got a spaceship, a cyber girlfriend, a magic grandma, a dragon, a tragic backstory, AND a force ghost?! Dang, even in death, the girl’s got it all. No wonder everyone likes her!

-(*me looking at the TV rating at the start of episode*) “Why is language in there? Is there surprise cuss words or something in this season?” (*sees Horde Prime seize control of a clone for the first time*) “HOLY FREAKING SH—oh that’s why.”

-Applause to the crew for making the “dinner with Prime” scene for making a meal between a sparkly princess, a catgirl, and alien cult leader feel even more uncomfortable than it had a right to.

-(*me throughout the season whenever a clone was onscreen*) Is that Hordak? Is that him? Is that him? Is that him right there? Oh it is—oh no wait. … Is that h—

-Extra applause for having Glimmer learn from her grey-area wetwipe phase and refusing to sell out her friends again whilst telling the imperialist cult leader where to stick it.

-I would pay a sizeable portion of my life savings to hear what a Scorpia and Swift Wind duet would sound like.

-In fact, I’d double it if it was just Scorpia singing.

-Ah what the heck. I would triple it for an entire She-Ra musical!

-As happy as I am to see to see Entrapta interacting with the other princesses again, I have to say that their big reunion left me with some mixed feelings. Here’s a quick rundown:

-Entrapta, a grown autistic woman, being led around on a leash by non-neurodivergent teenagers—again: that’s bad.

-The Princesses confronting Entrapta about joining the Horde: that’s good!

-The Princesses blaming all their problems with the Horde bots on Entrapta’s actions and her hyper fixations alone: that’s bad.

-Entrapta explaining herself, admitting that she regrets her mistakes, and getting the Princesses to understand that she thinks and communicates differently, but in spite of that, she really does want help find Glimmer: that’s good!

-Entrapta never gets to call out the Princesses for how poorly they treated her: that’s bad.

-Entrapta saves the day and goes to space: that’s good!

-Scorpia and Entrapta still haven’t interacted even though the former is with the Rebellion in the first place because she went to look for her because she is her best friend: …can I go home now?

-How nice! Michah finally got to shapeshift!

-And he’s rocking that She-Ra outfit to boot!

-So is Darla a back up of Light Hope or do they just run on the same operating system and have the same voice?

-I could watch an entire season of Adora, Bow, and Entrapta going on space adventure in a rundown ship with their custom-made spacesuits, tbh.

-Is anyone else weirded out that Catra’s younger self looked at her in her flashback(?).

-Actually what WAS happening there, anyhow?

-(*watching Bow’s spacewalk to save Glimmer*) “Is that a Gravity reference?” asked the man who never saw Gravity.

-Speaking of spacewalks, how did Glimmer survive those precious few seconds in space? Does the teleporter teleport a breathable atmosphere too?

-Also, Catra, WHY did you think it would be a good idea to teleport Glimmer into space? I know you had a plan and the ship was right there but… Ah, never mind.

-Not that I’m complaining but Glimmer’s apology to the rest of the friend squad for her HORRIBLE plan last season went… surprisingly quickly.

-You know as cool as The Star Siblings are, being a quirky band of space-travelling siblings with cool powers and some trans rep to boot, I only have one small problem with them: weren’t there already Star Sisters on Etheria back in season 1?

-That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about Masters of the Universe characters to dispute it.

-Entrapta confirmed pan, objectum, AND horny on main. Dang girl, you’re gonna have fun whether you got Hordak back or not…

-“The Velvet Glove” is both a menacing and stupid name for a decadent overlord’s mothership.

-Wait, it’s from the 80’s canon? Oh. That kind of explains it, actually.

-Goshdangit, I wanted Catra to face punishment for her crimes, but I didn’t think that would involve going to evil alien conversion therapy!

-Nor did I want her to die! For a second. Actually, since it obviously wasn’t going to last I was… weirdly okay with that part???

-Horde Prime seems awfully okay with Catradora. I mean he’s still super creepy and manipulative about it, but also oddly progressive for an evil brainwashing cult leader.

-(*Adora transforms into a She-Ra through seer will*) First of all, called it. Second of all, WOAH MAMA now that’s a glow up!

-Wrong Hordak did not have to be a thing, and yet, I’m glad that he is.

-Hordak remembers the LUVD crystal and Entrapta… Hordak remembers Entrap—! It’s happening! Oh my gosh, it’s happening! Everybody stay calm!

-Wow, Entrapta didn’t have to be so forgiving of Catra for everything she’s done to her but she did. Only I’m not sure if that was Entrapta taking the high road or the low road.

-Or which road the crew took for that matter.

-I remember when I thought those “Chipped AUs” floating around here on tumblr were just something the fans came up with and that chipping people was not an actual despicable thing Prime does in canon. I miss those days.

-I know it’s not the same as before or the original design, but True She-Ra’s designs and powers? I think they slappin’.

-Hooray, Adora and Catra are finally making up! And it only took four and half seasons worth of communication failures, toxic villainous behaviour, and physical violence for Catra to snap out of it!

-…We can go back to Entrapdak now, right?

-Poor Elberon. First they unknowingly adopt a double agent then get invaded by the Horde and now they’re getting brainwashed and chipped by the Galactic Horde. They might be a cute village, but they got some pretty lousy security.

-You know it’s cute that Micah is doing his best to be friends with Frosta and get back in touch with his dad-side, but look I can’t be the only one worried about how the local King is a less proactive leader than the princesses or the known war criminal/abuser, right?

-“The Perils of Peekablue” or as I like to call it, “You Thought ‘Boys Night Out’ Caught You Emotionally Off-guard? Hah! Watch This.”

-You know I didn’t think Scorpfuma would be a thing aside that one moment of flirting near the end of season 4, but they really pushed for it to be a thing! This is… actually pretty great! Perfuma’s not perfect, and I would have appreciated giving them a little more time to bond and form some real chemistry, but at least she reciprocates Scorpia’s sweetness instead of rebuffing it in increasingly aggressive fashion.

-I’m not sure what’s more concerning: that Mermista set a boat on fire, that it’s worded like she had a fling as part of some experimental phase, or that Sea Hawk is turned on by this.

-Peekablue might not be real, (I think?) but he is one dapper dude! Female-to-male redesigns could learn a thing or two from him.

-It involved them getting stung and seizuring, but that was a heck of a way to reintroduce Double Trouble! I swear I got watching them cycle through their transformations in some sort of physical reaction.

-Or maybe that was just me worrying about their wellbeing…

-Okay, I get the Chips are huge, and actually rather clever threat, but how do these characters get chipped in the first place? I get there are chipped people who spread the chips throught the population but where do they get those from???

-Do one of those Horde Prime drones just sneak behind someone, slap a chip on their nape then hand them a whole bagfull and say, “Beep boop beep, Horde Prime’s Light, blah blah blah. Alright have fun, kiddo”?

-Or is it some sort of Alien: Covenant deal where they’re just floating around and Lord help you if one sticks to you?

-HOLY CRAP THEY ACTUALLY GOT SCORPIA TO SING! AND SHE WAS GREAT!

-Oh shoot. Guess I owe the crew twice my life savings now…

-Entrapdak might be what got me into this show, but it’s Double Trouble that kept me around, so you can imagine how happy I was to see them make their grand reappearance!

-Conversly, you can imagine my disappointment when they just disappeared until the finale.

-And on that note: HOW DID YOU GUYS LOSE DOUBLE TROUBLE?!

-You forgot to cherish them, didn’t you?

-So, Scorpia sacrifices herself just after finding a new girlfriend and gaining some newfound confidence, Mermista and Sea Hawk are split up,and Double Trouble didn’t join the main cast. Why can’t you just have fun like a normal cartoon, show?

-Gosh, I love me some shifting title cards!

-Is it just me or did they sneak in some more Annihilation references on Krytis?

(-Said the guy who was too chicken to watch the movie and just read about it and watched a few clips online.)

-(*audibly sighs*) FINE. I guess I like Catradora now. Are you happy now, SPOP Crew? ARE YOU?!

-Hooray, Catra’s got a emotional support animal! And they’re a shapeshifting magic alien cat. Those are the best kind!

-Is it weird that I knew that weird glowing stuff on Krytis was just magic all along, or was it just not hidden very well. Anyways, I like Krytis. I like that we got to see a truly alien world with its own form of magic.

-Plus, we got a logical advancement of the magic versus science subtheme with magic being Horde Prime’s weakness! Neato!

-Getting back on the “which is worse?” wagon for a second, I don’t know what feels less right: that Wrong Hordak’s big revelation and his resolution to free himself and his brothers and friends from Horde Prime’s control is played humorously, or that Real Hordak should be the one having this moment.

-That bit with Castaspella and Shadow Weaver where she tells Casta about Etheria being a living thing with inherent magical property, or whatever, while we got a peaceful shot of some boar creatures sleeping was actually kind of nice. It would have been nicer though if it wasn’t part of a power hungry abuser’s obvious scheme. If only there was a kindly old witch lady character who was in touch with nature and knew just what to say when someone was feeling downOH WAIT.

-Furthermore… Why did Shadow Weaver and Castaspella need to have romantic tension?

-Seriously though, where’s our Madame Razz quota this season? Where’s my supportive magic grandma timelord at, yo?

-Yup, they speedran this season.

-I’m actually really disappointed we didn’t see more of an intergalactic new rebellion rising up to fight Horde Prime’s forces across the universe. Especially if it meant we got to see more Star Sibling action!

-Again, I adore Wrong Hordak but I keep wondering what was keeping the crew from just bringing in Original Flavour Hordak. (You know, aside from teasing us Entrapdak fans and trying to distract us with a loveable new character in the meantime.) I mean he could have done the whole infiltrating the clone squads and tricking them bit, too.

-Heck, he could have done the wink, too!

-I’d gleefully point out Loo-Kee’s cameo this season but apparently, they already made some several seasons ago. That’s what I get for not rewatching the 80’s show and training my eyes first.

-(*sees Erelandians*) Are those freaking Toads and Toadettes?

-So, what’s keeping them from just hitting Spinerella’s chip again? Besides emotional baggage and gale force winds, I mean.

-Perfuma coming out of a cave scared out of her wits, demanding to know who’s there, clinging to her friends as soon as they come back, and balling her eyes out is a big, BIG mood.

-Frosta absolutely decking Catra in the face was nestled somewhere between cathartic and excessive.

-Netossa spraying her with a bottle of water on the other hand…

-Oh, so Greyskull was the name of a Rebel Squad! I think. Meh, the important thing is we got an explanation and it still sounds cool.

-Leave it to a couple of dads to make a secret message out of a dad joke.

-You know I made fun of Light Hope for being creepy, but I swear that avatar from the Spire is even creepier. I don’t know if it’s her face—those dang blank eyes, man—or just that it she’s less animated than the real thing, but it just felt… off.

-Aww, Noelle made Netossa’s princess weakness illustrations! So cute!

-Forget episodes that deserves Emmys, Keston John deserves one for voicing Hordak, Horde Prime, all the clones, and several minor villains and giving each and every single one a distinct voice! Where my king’s respect, eh?

-Yes, Catra you had a small disagreement with Hordak. …Over sending his girlfriend and your “friend” to DIE IN A LITERAL LIVING HELL.

-Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system.

-Why does Perfuma get pressured to get angry and go wild when Entrapta’s the one who’s had it the worst out of all them? Why can’t my gamer girl go berserk, dammit!?

-Okay, but really, how do these fricking chips work??? Are they parasite devices who store Horde Prime’s Baptizing Dew then slowly pump it into their host’s bodies? Do they have their own nervous systems? Are they technorganic? Also, how and why do we need to make these chips are bigger threat then they need to be?

-Horde Prime showing up on Hordak’s throne in grand Killing Joke style and casually throwing shades at his brother’s overblown attempts to impress him is pretty awesome, but it feels strangely underdeveloped. Hordak’s not there to have his hard work insulted and we never got to see Adora have any similar encounter with Hordak here before, so unless you look at it from the perspective of someone who has been here before in the Horde story like Catra it lacks the dramatic weight it should have had.

-Scorpia resisting the chip to save her new friends was pretty great, though.

-I swear, when they got to the scene where Adora and the others figured out that Shadow Weaver was grooming her so she could use her to get to the Heart of Etheria, I was mouthing “You B***H” through the whole thing.

-They really brought back Etherian deep magic just so they had something to make Micah threatening. …okay.

-Okay, the rest of “Failsafe” messed me up, so here’s a rundown on all the other messy thoughts I had while the show ripped my heart and ground it to dog food:

-Entrapta and Hordak reuniting: Yay!

-Swift Wind yanking her away before she can get through to him: Boo.

-Catra encouraging Adora to try and take care of herself for a change: Yay!

-Adora hurts Catra and she runs away: Boo.

-Adora finally calling out Shadow Weaver on what an utterly horrible person she is: Yay!

-Adora resolves to risk sacrificing herself to save the world: Bo—okay, seriously, was all this suffering really necessary, show?

-I know I mentioned in my previous She-Ra random thoughts that I supported Glimmadora, but I am okay with Catradora and Glimbow ending up canon. The only problem I have is how rushed they feel—moreso with Glimbow. With Catradora, the crew had an entire season to make it work again and they took it. Glimbow it feels like they were down to the last few episodes and went, “Oh right, we were gonna do something with these two!” then did their darndest to fit in some chemistry in between all the other stuff going down.

-As ominous as it was, the music where Horde Prime starts hacking Etheria honestly SLAPS.

-Okay, I know everyone is magic or something, but I am legit surprised getting electrocuted in water didn’t kill the heroes right then and there.

-Sea Hawk tries to flirt with his girl even as she’s trying to kill him. Truly, he is a man of taste.

-What do you know, Shadow Weaver can only do good when she’s (canonically!) punch drunk.

-You know a whole lot of this could have been avoided if Holo-Mara was Adora’s mentor instead of Light Hope.

-When I think about it, it was actually really clever to make Horde Prime the final villain for Adora to face: a domineering decadent man who’s been in power forever against a humble emotionally vulnerable compassionate young woman.

-Not to mention the divide between cult-like oppression and progressive freedom. Or something.

-Holy crap, did the First Ones get a great freaking a Great Old One for a guard dog?!

-So, you guys seriously didn’t bring Angella back to reunite with her family OR mention her all season after the impact her death had on everyone all last season until Glimmer needs a power-up at the last possible minute and then you never bring her up again. That is absolutely a dick move in bird culture.

-Entrapta’s hacker sticker gives me life. Gamer girl gremlin princess forever!

-On the one hand, I’m disappointed that Adora and Catra don’t get to have an awesome couple battle against the security monster and win. On the other hand, Shadow Weaver is finally dead. YAY!

-With apologies to the writers and especially Lorraine Toussaint. She did splendidly bringing this character to life and even if I hated Shadow Weaver, I adored the effort she put into making her one of the most emotionally complex villains I’ve ever seen.

-Words cannot, will not, and will never describe the pure joy that I experienced when I first saw Hordak’s big scene: standing up to and disowning his tyrant brother, saving Entrapta, declaring his love to her (albeit in a nicely lowkey fashion), and then throwing Horde Prime to his apparent doom Disney style with Entrapta cheering him with sheer glee. GOSH, it was everything I could have hoped for from this season!

-Now if only they kept the deleted scene where they got a moment to themselves before Prime body-jacked him again like the creepy sonuvabich he is.

-Horde Prime just wouldn’t be a religious villain if he didn’t tell everyone to burn.

-Bonus points for actually trying to burn the frigging planet.

-Aside from the idea of Adora switching to wearing a She-Ra themed dress everywhere in the future, the future vision was really quite sweet, and seeing Prime step in to ruin it made it all the more impactful.

-Can I just say that it’s absolutely wonderful that the show, for all it’s flaws, said “**** senseless heroic sacrifices”?

-BREAKING: Lesbian cat finally makes up with her jock ex, has a canon kiss so pure it saves the world!

-In other news, Catradora fans are still spoiled rotten.

-Wow, look at all those character comebacks they skipped through! Look, there’s the chefs from Dryl, Double Trouble, Huntara, the Horde Trio, Imp, Madame Razz—are you kidding me?!

-Grumbling aside, I actually find the idea of the Horde Trio and Imp getting involved in a G-rated science-fantasy version of the first Hangover movie quite amusing.

-Oh dang, they pulled a Castle in the Sky with the Velvet Glove!

-As nice as it was to see Aodra save Hordak from Horde Prime and destroy the latter through exorcism via sheer compassion, I’m rather disappointed we never got to see She-Ra go full Metal Gear Solid Rising: Revengence on any creepy old cult leaders.

-Yeah, it would have gone against the “love conquers all” set up, but love takes on many forms, does it not? So, why can it not manifest as cleaving your mortal enemies with extreme prejudice to save your loved ones?

-Furthermore, in addition to Holo-Mara being a better mentor, Hordak raising Adora instead Shadow Weaver could have prevented a lot of similar problems. Maybe. Possibly.

-Eh whatever, he has a lifetime’s worth of fanfiction to make up for it.

-ENTRAPDAK IS CANON, ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD.

-And so is Catradora and Glimbow! That’s nice, too.

-Aww, how sweet of them to skip through Catra and Scorpia, and Glimmer and Micah’s big reunions! It’s not like we’ve been waiting forever for this stuff or anything. HahahahAHAHAHDHAHAHFHAFHKSADJHFKAJHDfine.

-And so it all ends with everyone either friends, in love, or both, as heroes decide to make up for it all with a grandiose sequel promising more exciting space adventures we probably won’t see! HOORAY!

-All snarky ranting aside, I actually really enjoyed the finale. It was exciting, heartwarming, and above all it ended on happy, hopeful note without leaving too many frustrating questions unanswered. (*glares with utmost contempt at Voltron and Star vs. The Forces of Evil*)

-You know, this wasn’t bad for a final season, but I think this might have worked better as two seasons. Not in Netflix’s cheap “split a regular 13-episode season in two 6-7 episode long seasons” strategy, but I mean two full seasons with their own storylines leading up to the grand finale:

-First, one that starts out with Horde Prime’s arrival the downfall of Etheria, focuses on the space adventures, ends with their return to Etheria and gives the characters time to recuperate from season 4.

-Then, we have one final season that focuses on the Best Friend Squad’s Return to Etheria, Horde Prime’s plan, gives everyone more time to properly reconcile before ¾ of the entire cast gets chipped, sets up a new Rebellion made up of Princess Alliance and former Etherian Horde members, maybe even set up a proper Hordak redemption arc or something, and then our big happy ending.

-On a mostly unrelated note, I also feel that the whole show could have turned out even better if it had been either a dedicated science-fantasy war drama with some levity (like the good Star Wars shows or Avatar: The Last Airbender) or a lighthearted yet empowering slice-of-life action-adventure romcom (i.e. basically a well-made remake of the original show in the style of Adventure Time and Parks and Rec or something).

-My final random thought for this whole thing: we really could have used a triumphant end credits song or something. Aside from obviously recommending Fabulous Secret Powers, I would have also recommended the original 4 Non Blondes “What’s Going On,” a reprise of “Warriors,” Gorillaz’s “We Got the Power,” or (my favourite) Talking Head’s “(Nothing But) Flowers” since the ending scenes remind me of it.

Thanks again to the crew for giving me something to live for and/or complain about!

Now, let’s hope the He-Man reboots do as well...

56 notes · View notes

wordstro · 4 years

Note

mingi + mafia au + you shouldn't have done that

mingi x gender neutral reader, 1.5k, thank you!!!!!!!!!!!

Part 2

you were meant to do great things. at least that’s what your parents, your teachers, even your best friend used to tell you over and over and over, beaming at you and whatever your newest accolade of the moment was. you had ranked number one in your class all throughout high school. you had your pick between the top three universities in the country. at graduation, you were on top of the world.

and then, things went downhill and never really stopped.

you’re still not quite sure when you’ll hit rock bottom, when you’ll finally get to turn your life around. or maybe, you missed that chance long ago. your father grew incredibly ill and your mother fell into debt. you worked too many part time jobs to help pay it off and your grades slipped. eventually, your father passed away and your mother was too busy dealing with grief and debt to really be a mother. you failed one too many classes and got kicked out of university. you still felt like you needed to help your mother pay off the crippling amount of debt and you indulged yourself in people you would have never given the light of day. and, to top it all off, your best friend slowly stopped answering your calls and your texts, drifting out of your life as if he hadn’t been there since you were both children, as if all those years and late nights and time spent together meant nothing.

it’s been years since then, but the mere thought of him still brings tears to your eyes, still makes your stomach curl with guilt, still makes you wonder what the hell you did wrong. during your brief phone calls with your mother, she would ask about him, and you never had the heart to just tell her. but, maybe she noticed your short answers because, nowadays, she’s stopped. nowadays, she’s even stopped asking for details about your job.

you’re grateful for that, really, because how the hell are you supposed to tell your sweet, tired mother that you work as a freelance hacker for an underground network of crime syndicates? it’s a bit of a mouthful, really, and you don’t think your poor mother’s heart can take such news.

sometimes, you wonder if this is your rock bottom. especially when you catch sight of yourself in the blackness of your screen before you boot up your laptop. the debt hasn’t stopped and you don’t think it ever really will because interest is a fucking bitch, but it’s become manageable. sometimes, you think about how you could go back to school. you could get decent work in an office somewhere.

but, you kind of like the thrill of this. you could go back, but you won’t. you know you won’t. you enjoy the rush of adrenaline when you receive a notification from one of your clients instructing you to extract information for them. you never ask too many questions about the whos. you only really care about the compensation. and this particular task has a price tag of several million won.

you raise your brow, stretching your fingers and cracking your back, already thinking about all the things you plan on buying with the extra money, grinning because the task in question is easy. almost too easy. you just need to root out a location from within a shit ton of security walls, as if whoever built it absolutely does not want anyone to find them. you grin and get to work.

~.~.~.~.~

you’ve seen your fair share of security systems over the course of your career and you’d rank this one as one of the tougher ones. still, you get in. you always get in.

and, for a moment, the IP address appears on your screen. the tension falls from your shoulders as you sit back admiring your work. for a moment, all is well.

until it isn’t.

your screen turns red, filling with white static, and it’s fucking terrifying. especially when it starts keening, high pitched, shrill, ringing in your ears, until it goes black.

you freeze, slowly peeking out from behind your chair, eyeing the computer in concern. you wonder if it’ll explode. white symbols fill the screen, cursor blinking. it takes a moment to register the message and when you do, your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. it’s your full name and your current location, written out in full, almost as if it’s mocking you. a chill runs straight down your spine and, for a moment, you’re frozen in your spot, crouched behind your computer chair. you were always cautious. you switched between VPNs constantly, you kept your work computer clear of anything and everything relating to your identity. this shouldn’t be happening. holy shit, you need to go. you shoot up, rummaging through your closet for the getaway bag you made long ago, just in case. you knew you needed a contingency plan when you started this. you just never expected to actually need it. but, now, you need to get out. you need a burner phone and cash and -

knock, knock.

the things in your hand slip, clattering all over the floor, and you flinch at the loud noise, glancing between the laptop and the door. you contemplate jumping out the window, but you’re on the third floor and you doubt that -

beep. beep. beep. click.

the front door sits ajar and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. for a beat, you are so terrified you aren’t sure if you can even move. then your brain jumps into overdrive. you need something to defend yourself with, though. you’re frantic when you yank the lamp off the table beside the couch, scurrying into the kitchen.

it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop and you hate it. you swear your own heartbeat can be heard in the quiet of your apartment. there is no force used, you notice, as if your brain is clinging to the tiniest details as a way to keep calm and collected. nothing about the knocking at your door nor the technical break-in is forceful or loud, and it’s somehow worse than if someone had just kicked your door down and stuck a gun in your face. you lift the lamp over your head, just as you hear the creak of the front door opening and the faintest of whispers. you hear footsteps, slow and measured, so fucking casual, echoing throughout your apartment and your grip on the lamp tightens. it doesn’t take long for the footsteps to approach the kitchen. you don’t even try to catch a glimpse of the intruder; the moment they step into reach, you bring the lamp down over their head with a loud thud.

a man cries out in pain - the loudest noise you’ve heard yet this evening, the sound making you flinch - and you back out of the kitchen, nearly tripping on your own feet, not even bothering to watch the man crumple to his knees. you just hope he stays down.

but, you didn’t account for the other voice, the other footsteps.

you yelp when you run face first into a sturdy wall of a person, thrashing as their fingers wrap around you, holding you steadfast with such ease. you think, holy shit, holy shit, I don’t want to die, while you’re being dragged and tossed onto the floor of your living room. you hit your head too hard, vision swimming, pain shooting through your skull, but you manage to put space between you and where you think the intruders are. you stare, wary, terrified, thinking, thinking, thinking. you open your mouth, ready to scream, but there’s a pretty boy with dark eyes and sharp features staring down at you, head tilted, a gun cocked in his hands.

he says, “scream and i’ll shoot.”

you didn’t account for three intruders, the man with the gun, the one you hit over the head with the lamp, and whoever is helping him up. your eyes flicker past the kitchen entrance, frantically searching over the man’s shoulder for an opening. you notice the lack of face coverings - from what you’ve picked up throughout your years of working in the underground, you know that is not a promising sign, it usually means they don’t plan on letting you live long enough to expose their identities - and you scoot further back until your back hits the wall. the man’s eyes and gun follows you, a kind smile playing on his lips, out of place in a situation like this. it’s just as unsettling as the lack of force behind their break in, the silence with which they work under.

two people emerge from your kitchen, the man you presumably hit over the head grumbling under his breath while the other one holds him up, towering over him. the man with the gun speaks up, pulling your attention back to him, “now, tell us.” he steps forward and you have nowhere to go. “why exactly were you trying to hack into our systems? who put you up to this?”

“I…I don’t know.” your voice comes out steadier than you expected and you’re grateful for that. the man with the gun sighs. you glare, you can’t help it. “I really don’t know. I make it a point not to know who my clients are.”

the man sighs, yet again, and somehow that angers you. you watch as he steps back from you, gun still directed at you, turning his torso to face his friends. your gaze flickers up to them and you -

“holy shit.” your fingers dig into your palms, your eyes locked on him.

because it’s song mingi.

memories that you have spent years trying to forget floods into the forefront of your mind. birthdays spent with him, his soft smile, the first memories you’ve had with him, playing tag in your parents’ house. the way he sometimes insisted you be the big spoon when the two of you cuddled, laughing at the way you could barely contain his long limbs in your arms. the way he cried into your shoulder when his family dog had to be put down. the promises of forever he made with you. his laugh, the way his eyes would scrunch up and his smile would get so big. memories and feelings and everything just floods through you and you can feel tears prickling at your eyes, your chest heavy, words stuck in your throat.

he has red hair now, his arm curled around the man you hit over the head. still, he hasn’t changed much. he’s taller, broader, older, but he is the same in so many ways. his eyes, though, are different. the light and love they always held has dimmed and there’s something dark about his gaze, something ancient and sad and irredeemable, something broken. your breath catches at the sight, at the way his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, before they narrow, at the way you can’t read his face easily like you used to be able to.

“mingi?” you speak, then, your voice less steady than before, barely audible really, if it wasn’t for how quiet the apartment had become. both his friends startle at that, but your eyes are on him. there is a mix of anger and relief and yearning that curls in your chest. you’ve missed him, you realize. you’re angry because he left you so long ago, that he is standing here now, on the side of the man with the gun pointed at you, and you should be mad, should be screaming, but you missed him. maybe this is your rock bottom.

for a moment, mingi softens, eyes returning to the way he used to look at you before. for a moment, you can pretend he still cares about you.

but, only for a moment.

his gaze steels, his lips pressing into a thin line. he slips his hands off his friend, stepping towards you and there is an aura surrounding him that is unfamiliar and, frankly, terrifying.

he crouches, until he is at eye level with you. you hold your breath. he says, “you’ve built a very notorious reputation for yourself you know. makes sense, though, you’ve always been the greatest at whatever you put your mind to.”

there’s something so very foreboding about the way he says that. you blink, manage to respond, “why are you…what do you want from me? what are you…what are you going to do to me?”

mingi looks at you like you are a stranger and you think, no, this is your rock bottom. he leans in close, red hair falling over his unreadable eyes, elbows resting on his knees. the world falls away and all that is left is you and mingi, mingi and you.

he breathes, “hacking into our systems? you really shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart.” then he tilts his head and stares you down. you cannot breathe as he tacks on, “now we have to make an example out of you.”

#song mingi #ateez #ateez angst #ateez scenarios #mingi angst #requests #i hope u like it!! maybe i want to make a part 2 but idk TT #Anonymous

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saltandburnsis · 4 years

Text

dead in the water, pt. 2

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam

Age: 20

Warnings: Drowning mention

Word Count: 2,993

Summary: The investigation brings on new connections, revelations and deaths around every corner as you and your brothers get closer to finding the real monster of Lake Manitoc.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who sent messages while I was away. I appreciate every one of you so, so much. Thankfully (and miraculously) both of my grandparents have made full recoveries. (Still positive for COVID but symptom-free.) As usual, all dialogue taken directly from the episode will be in italics.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So, there’s the three drowning victims from this year,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving the computer screen in front of him. You were going through the clothes with Dean, silently planning a trip to the local laundromat as the “too used to wear again” pile grew larger and larger by the second.

“And before that?” Dean asked, lifting a shirt to his nose before setting it down on the bed beside him—the first of few wearable clothes.

“Uh, yeah. Six more, spread out over the past 35 years. Those bodies were never recovered, either. If there is something out there, it’s picking up its pace,” Sam replied.

“So, what? We got a lake monster on a binge?” Dean threw a pair of jeans to the large pile behind you.

“This whole lake monster theory—it just bugs me,” you cut in, mimicking your eldest brother’s actions. At this rate, you’d spend more time at the laundromat than working on the case.

“Why?” Dean asked. Sam continued to click through the articles on his screen.

“Loch Ness, Lake Champlain—there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, there’s almost nothing. Whatever is out there, no one’s living to talk about it,” you explained. Dean walked over to Sam, standing behind him and reading over his shoulder. He pointed at one of the articles.

“Bar. Christopher Bar. Where have I heard that name before?” he asked.

“Christopher Bar, the victim in May,” Sam mused, clicking around a bit to find the article he was looking for.

“Isn’t that Andrea’s last name?” you asked as he searched, making your way over to the table and leaning over Sam’s right shoulder. He pulled up the article he was looking for, and the three of you were met with a picture of Lucas. He was wrapped in a towel, and you could only assume it was his grandfather standing beside him.

“Huh. Christopher Bar was Andrea’s husband. Lucas’s father. Apparently, he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. Two hours before the kid got rescued,” Sam summarized. He clicked on the picture so it filled the screen, Lucas’s terrified face staring back at you.

“Maybe we have an eyewitness after all,” you said, moving away from the table and looking anywhere but the picture. Dean did the same, though his eyes were locked on the computer screen.

“No wonder that kid was so freaked out. Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Dean pulled up to the playground, and parked. He didn’t shut the car off, however, until he’d surveyed the area and spotted Andrea.

“Let’s go” was all he said before getting out of the car. He waited for you and Sam to get out before starting the walk over to where Andrea sat.

“Can we join you?” Sam asked once the three of you were in close proximity to her. Andrea looked up at the three of you and smiled.

“I’m here with my son,” she replied, glancing over at Lucas before turning back to you.

“Oh. Mind if I say ‘hi’?” Dean asked. Without waiting for a response, he turned away and walked towards Lucas. Andrea scoffed, smiling, and looked back at you and Sam.

“Tell your friend this whole “Jerry McGuire” thing’s not going to work on me,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s what this is about,” you answered, giving her a small, reassuring smile before looking back at Dean. Andrea mimicked your smile before turning her attention to Dean and her son. She rose from her seat and stood beside you on your left, Sam to your right. The three of you watched in an awkward silence for a moment, like parents only congregated to ensure their children’s safety. You decided to break the tense stillness.

“So, has Lucas always been so…reserved?” You asked, watching as Lucas almost refused to acknowledge Dean’s presence. A humorless laugh escaped Andrea’s lips, and she turned to face you.

“No, no. He used to be so talkative when he was younger. He shut down when his dad passed.”

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Sam interjected when Andrea paused. She sighed, crossing her arms. “I’ve taken him to therapists…done everything under the sun that I could, but still, Lucas hasn’t said a word. Not even to me. Not since his dad’s accident.”

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” said Dean as he went to stand beside her.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked. Andrea sighed again, a sort of exasperated sigh that usually accompanied information relayed countless times.

“Oh, that it’s a kind of post-traumatic stress,” she replied. Something about her tone led you to believe she didn’t believe that herself.

“That can’t be easy for either of you,” you sympathized.

“We moved in with my dad. That helps a lot. It’s just…when I think about what Lucas went through—what he saw…” Andrea trailed off, focusing her gaze back on her son.

“Kids are strong. You’d be surprised what they can deal with,” Dean assured her.

“You know, he used to have such life. He was so hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth.” Her nostalgic smile was short-lived as her thoughts settled back in the present. “Now, he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—” She cut herself off when Lucas approached, bending slightly to greet the boy. “Hey, sweetie.” Lucas kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, but went to Dean’s side and held out a picture.

“Thanks.” Dean took the picture and looked down at it. “Thanks, Lucas.” He turned his head to look back at the younger boy, but he’d already set back toward the bench. Andrea watched him for a moment then looked back at Dean, mouth slightly agape.

~ ~ ~ ~

The door of your motel room swung open and Sam walked in, letting it shut itself.

“So, I think it’s safe to say we can rule out Nessie,” he announced. He looked to Dean, who sat at the end of the bed currently covered in clothes—clean clothes you’d just brought back from the laundromat.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as Sam sat at the edge of the second bed.

“I just drove by the Carlton’s house,” he explained. “There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead.”

“He drowned?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Yep, in the sink.”

“What the hell? So, Y/N is right; this isn’t a creature. We’re dealing with something else,” said Dean.

“Yeah, but what?” you asked, dropping the shirt in your hands. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know. A water wraith maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water…” Dean trailed off, and the three of you looked at each other, eyes widening with the revelation you seemed to come to simultaneously. “Water that comes from the same source.”

“The lake,” you continued your brother’s thoughts. “Which would explain why it’s upping the body count. The lake is draining. It’ll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it’s running out of time.”

“And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone almost anywhere,” Sam added.

“This is going to happen again soon.” Dean moved to sit at the table and began putting his shoes back on, ready to go after this thing. You grabbed your boots from their spot beside the bed.

“And we do know one other thing for sure,” Sam continued. “We know that this has got something to do with Bill Carlton.”

“Yeah. It took both his kids,” you said, pointing out the obvious in Sam’s statement as you tied your laces.

“And I’ve been asking around. Lucas’s dad, Chris—Bill Carlton’s godson,” Sam revealed.

“Let’s go pay Mr. Carlton a visit,” Dean decided, rising from his seat.

~ ~ ~ ~

As if he’d never moved from the last time the three of you visited his home, Bill Carlton sat on his dock, looking out at the water. His back was to the house, and he made no move to acknowledge your arrival at any point as the three of you walked over. His grief was obvious in his movements—or lack of, that is—but it was a whole other thing to see the despair on his face, the sorrow in his eyes when you approached the man.

“Mr. Carlton?” Sam asked. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re from the Department of-”

“I don’t care who you’re with,” Bill cut Dean off. “I’ve answered enough questions today.” His voice quivered as he spoke, always on the verge of tears. You stepped forward to speak with him.

“Your son said he saw something in that lake. What about you? You ever see anything out there?” Your voice was empathetic, but professional—you’d found it was enough to give you an air of authority, but comforting enough to allow you to gain the trust of your witness. Bill, however, remained silent, refusing to meet your gaze. “Mr. Carlton, Sophie’s drowning and Will’s death—we think there might be a connection. To you or your family.”

“My children are gone. It’s…it’s worse than dying.” Bill blinked away tears and finally turned to look up at you. The air fell still for a moment, punctuating his words. He turned away before he spoke again. “Go away…please.” Dean nudged you before nodding his head in the direction of the car. You wouldn’t get anywhere badgering him any further. Sam and Dean left the dock, but you stayed planted in your spot, pursing your lips.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Bill only looked down at the ground and shut his eyes. With that, you finally turned and followed your brothers back to the car.

“What do you think?” Sam asked once you were back at the car and out of Bill’s earshot.

“I think the poor guy’s been through hell. I also think he’s not telling us something.” Dean answered.

“So now what?” Sam asked, resting his arms on the hood of the car. You went to stand beside him, ready to get in, but Dean had stopped and was now looking up at the house.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Huh. Maybe Bill’s not the only one who knows something.” He pulled Lucas’s picture out of his jacket pocket and held it out in front of him. The drawing was identical to the house standing before you.

~ ~ ~ ~

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Andrea said, putting her hands on her hips.

“I just need to talk to him, just for a few minutes,” Dean pleaded.

“He won’t say anything. What good’s it gonna do?” Andrea asked him. Sam was the one to answer her.

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt. We think something’s happening out there.”

“My husband, the others—they just drowned. That’s all.” Andrea shook her head, adamant in her beliefs. You sighed.

“If that’s what you really believe, then we’ll go,” you said. “But if you think there’s even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let Dean talk to your son.” Andrea didn’t reply, and she cast her gaze downward. You could practically see the gears turning as she weighed the pros and cons of letting the three of you upstairs. Moments later, she looked back at the three of you and nodded.

“Alright.” She moved past you and walked up the stairs, motioning for the three of you to follow. You stood against the wall once you’d all reached Lucas’s room, standing close enough to see what was going on, but far enough back to give Dean space to do his thing without an audience. He stepped into the room and knelt down on the floor beside Lucas.

“Hey, Lucas. Remember me?” It was silent for a moment as he looked down at two of Lucas’s pictures. “You know, I, uh…I wanted to thank you for that last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again.” Dean pulled the picture of the Carlton house out of his pocket and set it down in front of Lucas. “How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen? Maybe you could nod yes or no for me. You’re scared.” Dean nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn’t feel like talking, just like you. But, see, my mom, I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that everyday. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe your dad wants you to be brave, too.” You quickly wiped a tear from your eye. The three of you had always had a bond, having lost your mothers to demons at such young ages, but Dean was the only one with real, concrete memories of Mary. Having been two when your own mother passed, you had a vague recollection of her, but nothing as real as what Dean had.

Suddenly, Angela’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open again. You looked back into the room to see what you had missed. Lucas was looking up at Dean, meeting his eyes. He grabbed another picture and held it out to your brother. Dean looked down at it then smiled at the boy. “Thanks, Lucas.”

~ ~ ~ ~

You sat in the back of the car, leaning forward and looking over Sam’s shoulder at the picture he held in his hands. Dean sped down the street, headed back towards the motel.

“Andrea said the kid never drew like that ’til his dad died,” Dean said.

“There are cases. Going through a traumatic experience could make certain people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies—” Sam relayed some Supernatural Psychology 101, but was cut off by Dean.

“Whatever’s out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?” He asked. Sam started to respond, but Dean continued his thought. “I mean, it’s only a matter of time before somebody else drowns. So if you got a better lead, please.”

“Alright,” Sam relented. “We got another house to find.”

“The only problem is, there’s about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean complained. You reached forward and took the picture from Sam, moving it so Dean could better see it.

“See this church?” You asked, pointing to the building in the foreground. “Bet there’s less than a thousand of those around here.”

“Oh, kid thinks she’s so smart,” Dean mocked. You smirked.

“Only ‘cause I am,” you responded triumphantly, sitting back in your seat and setting the picture down next to you. Sam chuckled at the two of you before looking at Dean, shifting the mood of the car when he began to speak.

“You know, uh, what you said about mom—you never told me that before.” Dean kept his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’s no big deal,” he replied, voice monotone. He looked over at Sam when the younger brother refused to look away and grimaced. “Oh, god, we’re not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?” Sam smiled but shook his head, finally turning away from Dean. The two of them remained silent, though, and you decided to break the tension.

“Aw, look at college boy, all in touch with his feelings,” you teased, reaching forward to push on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re turning it into a real chick-flick in here.” You sat back and smiled when your brothers started laughing; your job was done.

~ ~ ~ ~

It had taken a little over half an hour to find the location from Lucas’s drawing, but your assertion had been correct and the three of you had found the white church and, subsequently, the yellow house with relative ease. You had opted to stay in the car this time, letting Sam and Dean go investigate this part of the puzzle. You didn’t have a good feeling about what they were going to find, and after your encounter with Bill, you thought it best to stay back, lest you start getting emotional. Sam and Dean were back in the car within twenty minutes and as always, were quick to fill you in on their discoveries.

“Okay, this little boy, Peter Sweeney, vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow,” you summarized, looking between the two of them.

“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?” Dean nodded, eyes on the road in front of him as he drove down the street, on his way back to the Carlton house.

“And Bill—the people he loves—they’re all getting punished,” Sam continued.

“So what if Bill did something to Peter?” Dean asked, connecting the dots in front of you.

“What if Bill killed him?” Sam specified.

“Peter’s spirit would be furious,” you said. “It’d want revenge. I mean, it’s possible.”

You were back at Bill’s house minutes later. The three of you got out and looked to the dock, only to find it empty.

“Mr. Carlton!” Sam called, looking around. Dean looked back to the water and spotted Bill in the boat, going out into the water.

“Hey, check it out,” he said, getting you and Sam to follow his gaze. The three of you ran down the beach and onto the dock, calling after Bill.

“Turn the boat around! Come back here!” you yelled, your brothers calling out similarly. Bill only looked back at you before turning his head and speeding up. Seconds later the boat shot out of the water, flying back towards the dock. You jumped back at the sudden explosion of water. The boat landed upside down on top of Bill and, almost instantly, both disappeared under the water.

~ ~ ~ ~

SPN rewrite taglist: @mrsfortune1306 @marvelous-glims @headsup-i-am-very-bad-at-writing

forever taglist: @griff1ndor @gothsatanicrapunzel @choosemyname @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @not-astounding @vicmc624 @idksupernatural

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wearevillaneve · 4 years

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Killing Eve S3, E8: “Are You Leading or Am I?” Follow the Misleader.

To be a fan of Killing Eve, you don’t have to suspend disbelief entirely, but you must do so frequently. Otherwise, you’ll be constantly face-palming yourself over the some of the inane and banal bullshit the writers crap out.

All season long, the big mystery of Killing Eve’s third season was Who Killed Kenny? In the final episode the answer was revealed the by Konstantin that Kenny was responsibly for his own death..

For reasons apparently unexplored until the final episode, a spy-cam set up by Bear to catch a candy thief caught Kenny pilfering Bear’s candy of choice. but also walking out of the office with his possible papa, Konstantin. When Eve arrives at The Bitter Pill to meet up with her last living friend in the world, she barely misses the sight of Kenny falling silently from the roof to his death. Bullshit.

MI6 supposedly raided the offices of the Bitter Pill, but apparently are such fuck ups they didn't find the hidden camera. Meanwhile, Bear conveniently "forgot" it was there at all, but somehow grew a conscience to “out” The Twelve, MI6 and all the other intelligence agencies playing slap and tickle with the feds.T

here is no way of knowing how much time has passed since he bit it, but Kenny’s has to have been gone for at least a month? Nobody at The Bitter Pill even checked the spy-cam? MI6 didn't find it when they raided the office? Ugh. This was some half-assed, sloppy writing with no respect logic or the viewer’s intelligence. Double bullshit. Executive Producer Sally Woodward Gentle says Kenny didn’t commit suicide and Konstantin’s ass-covering excuse that he didn’t push him off the roof didn’t even sell Carolyn though she let him run off with his life. Which means this wearisome plot will drag on into Season 4. Not knowing when a story line is played out is a big weakness of the KE writer’s room.

Speaking of glaring weakness, enter Geraldine. Hands down, the most useless and tedious character in the history of Killing Eve. Even Frank “Dick swab” Haleton and poor, doomed Felix were less of an empty shell than the charmless Geraldine. Every time she showed up on screen with her sad eyes and sadder expressions, I yawned and found myself yearning for a nice five-minute bloc of commercials. Geraldine was that bad.

Hopefully, Gemma Whalen bought something nice for herself or paid off her credit card with the paycheck from playing a total blank like Carolyn’s desperate daughter. Carolyn finally dismissed Geraldine and told her to fuck off back home. If only it had come a few episodes earlier it would have spared us all Geraldine’s blind alley of a plot device.

Rhian had the double audacity to show up where she wasn’t wanted forcing Villanelle to send Eve away, then to add insult to injury, backed her against a subway wall and told Villanelle to mind her manners and do as instructed like the “sheep” she was. A regretful Villanelle whispered, “I’m sorry” before she beat the stupid out of Rhian and kicked her onto the rails where the tram ended her bangs and boots forever. The last thing to go through Rhian’s mind before the train did was, “Do not EVER interrupt Villanelle when she's slow dancing with her baby.”

Despite her reluctance to kill for The Twelve or MI6, Villanelle is more than capable of doing so when sufficiently motivated. But even Villanelle no longer finds purpose and pleasure out of murder, Eve is beginning to and that may loom large on their relationship going into next season. If Carolyn says forget about The Twelve, what’s Eve’s mission? Go rogue and try to take them down with a shook, semi-retired assassin to back her play ? Or settle down for a life of sapphic bliss waking up next to Villanelle every morning? Dasha is dead and Paul is dead and Mo is dead and Rhian is dead Geraldine and everybody at The Bitter Pill should be dead, but aren’t. Of all the survivors of S3, Geraldine seems most likely to return in 2021 with Helene. Maybe that’s when she flips on Carolyn and joins The Twelve to take her down. That, or she’s the one who killed Kenny while Konstantin watched.

Oh, fuck the plot. It’s not as though it matters. What matters is Eve and Villanelle’s shared time together in S3 was so limited the moments they actually interacted can be summed up as The Bus Kiss, the Wave, the Dance and The Bridge.

The Dance was sweet and tender, something that doesn’t happen often or last long on Killing Eve. Sure enough, the all-too brief scene moved Eve along to fulfill a plot point and give Villanelle an opportunity to prove when it comes to taking someone out like a bag of dirty diapers, she definitely has “still got it.” Who didn’t like it like when Eve and Villanelle actually talked about how they got to this point as they stood on a green-screen bridge. A confession of love or at least fond feelings would have been good and a long, lingering, eyes closed shut kiss would have made it perfect. After two consecutive season ending episodes where one woman had gravely injured the other, another violent conclusion would have been too much to take. Fortunately Suzanne Heathcote and her S4 successor, Laura Neal, wrote a final shot where Villanelle and Eve walk away and then turn to stare wistfully at each other.

It’s perfect. I’m mystified how we got to this point though. Eve’s turn from attempting to patch things up with Niko to falling back into obsession with Oksana is never explained. Nor is there an event or a line that clears up why she was willing to leave Eve behind as part of Konstantin’s Cuba escape plan.

We are left to make presumptions as to how Eve goes from "I'm totally done with her. done with that. end of story” to “when i try and think of my future, i just... see your face over and over again." Here is where Heathcote’s choice not to explore Eve’s evolution comes back to bite S4. Despite the way our heartstrings are tugged when the two women realize they can’t deny the magnetism that keeps drawing them together, the impact of the event is blunted by all the rabbit holes the viewer had to go down to get here, and then it doesn’t feel entirely earned.

The open-ended ambiguity of the finale will send fanfic writers scurrying to their computers to craft a more satisfactory alternative until Killing Eve returns in one or two years.

It’s going to be a long wait, but at least there’s some comfort to take from the fact instead of the dread of more pain and suffering that Villanelle and Eve have inflicted on each other, this time there’s real hope of a possible better days for them.

FINAL GRADE: A-

#Killing Eve #eve x villanelle #Villaneve #Sandra Oh #Jodie Comer #suzanne heathcote #laura neal #ke s3 #ke analysis

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

More Than Just a Line of Code Pt.1

Robot x Female Character. Tracey Romero recieves a bot from her Auntie Carol. Little does she know that he isnt just some everyday house bot.

Rating: Teen Relationship: Robot X Female!Human Warning: fluff, exposure of genitals, pg13 at most, robot and human relationships

Word Count: 3835

Part 2

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I walk up the steps to my two-story bungalow. Juggling the keys in one hand while adjusting the phone against my ear.

"Two weeks, tops! You can’t expect me to give you quality when you take away my clock," I chided. I unlock the door and head inside. The voice on the other end rants out some excuses and reprimands. It was idle threats, just some big dog talk. I throw the keys onto the side table, missing the bowl I bought for them.

I roll my eyes as I toe my shoes off," Let me explain how this will work if I do what you are asking. First, I will be rushed, I’ll work late with a fishbowl of coffee beside me at all times. Then after about three nights of this, I'm going to get sloppy. Which for me is still really good work but it’s not the best. I always promise my best but only if you work with me on this. So I ask you, do you want it done or do you want it done perfect?". I waited in the foyer for his answer. I already knew what he was going to say. No one wants subpar work, it’s understandable. He is paying big money for my expertise and it would be foolish of him to deny me now.

After a moment I heard the beautiful sound of his begrudging approval. I fist pump, "Two weeks and you will have the best software on this side of the Mississippi. The Tracey Romero guarantee.". With a few words, I hang up. I smirk down at my phone before shoving it into my pocket and walking to the kitchen.

I shimmy around the kitchen, dancing to my own music." I got the extend, I got the extend," I sing. I grab some bread and make myself a sandwich while still patting myself on the back.

I didn’t need the extend, his software was mostly done already. His team did a great job. It just needed some touching up then to be properly tested. Take about two afternoons at the most. I just wanted to go on break and get paid for it. Call me a con, it’s just a living.

As I sat at my computer, I heard the chimes of my security system. Then the quick thuds from the front door. I huffed as I pulled up my front door camera. I saw my front porch and a man walking away from the steps to a van.

"Someone has a package," I quirked to no one. I hopped off the chair and headed to the front door. Once I opened the door, I looked down at a huge box crate. It was as generic as they came, even had the large text of the word 'Fragile" on every side.

"Well, I have no idea how to move this," I mumbled as I tried to push it with my foot. It was heavy for sure. I bent over to try to pick it up, but it mostly just hurt my back. Rubbing my spine I pondered how to get this thing inside.

I would consider myself smart, maybe even a genius. I was a straight-A student, graduated top of my class at CMU in Pittsburgh. So using my beautiful mind I came up with a way to move the box. I pushed it inside.

Using a pry bar in my foyer to open the crate. The nails were removed smoothly, and the lid slid to the floor. Looking inside I first noticed a large black dome near my knees. Looking down from there I saw a large trapezoid shape then the rest was submerged in the shredded bits of cardboard. After a few moments of observing I figured out what it was.

"Of hell yea, it’s a robot," I shouted with giddy. I dropped to my knees and shoved my hands around the head. In most standard bipedal robots the on switch was near the neck. Right towards the faceplate. "Come on, momma wants to play with her new toy," I chuckle. With a flick, the faceplate turned on in a blinding light. It switched off quickly but still left me seeing stars. I jerk back when it jolted forward. It sat up straight then the soft sound of buzzing echoed in the room. I waited patiently for their system to boot up.

I got off my knees and walked around to watch it. Its face was blank, it just had the reflection of light. Showing off the dust and pieces of cardboard it laid in. getting bored I looked over at the lid to see who sent me a full robot. Even though robots are common it didn’t mean they were inexpensive. I make good money; I live very comfortably. Still buying a robot would set me back and make me eat nothing but microwave dinners for a month.

As I found that it is my aunt who sent it, I noticed the bot was staring at me. I turned at looked up at them and still, their faceplate showed nothing. I waved at them as I sat up. To my amusement, they waved back, but more jerky motions.

"Do you talk," I ask.

It dropped its hand, "Yes."

"Then mind introducing yourself," I smile. Its head tilted to the side for a second then back to normal. It faces plate lit up with a standard face. It was cartoony but it was most likely meant to be comforting. No one wants a robot with a mean-looking face. It smiled wide at me then dropped it to neutral. I quirked an eyebrow and they copied me. "You copying me," I chuckle.

"imitating, but yes," he answers. His voice isn't obstructed like in most bots. It sounds basically human, normal even.

"semantics, either way, I'm Tracey. Who might you be,” I greet. I try to coax them into introducing themselves.

"You are very appealing," they look me up and down.

I snap my fingers catching their attention," Getting off track, doll. Name please."

"Yes, I am D-4N1-3L," they finally introduce. I mumble out their text to myself.

"Daniel," I offer. They nod. "Alright, Daniel, do you mind if I call you a he?"

"He," he cocks his head.

"Give ya male pronouns. Or would you rather them/they," I clarify.

"He," they repeat, "I'm a man."

"Alright then Daniel, shall we get you out of that box," I stand and offer a hand. He looks at it before cautiously grabbing it. I don’t need to offer actual help because he stands on his own. He steps out of the crate and I get a good look at him. His build is standard if not a bit retro. Most robots I've seen are completely covered in their shielding plastic. Hiding all of their technical bits. Yet he has his joints exposed and everything else covered. His neck showed his wiring and the air cylinder that limits his neck movement. To anyone else, he would look like junk, some outdated pieces of hardware. But to me, oh to me he looks terrific.

I leaned against the island in the kitchen, watching as he wanders around. He snoops through my cabinets, investigating everything he finds. I look down at my phone that's ringing near my arm. I have set out to call my aunt about Daniel. I placed it on speakerphone so Daniel could listen if he felt inclined to.

After the fifth ring, she picks up. "Whose got three thumbs and is excited you called? This aunt," there was a confused pause," This would be funnier if you saw me, I'm holding a thumb right now. Either way what's up Chica?"

"If I didn’t know you were a mechanic id assume the worst about that severed thumb you are presumably holding," I eye Daniel as I answer. He was currently messing with the microwave. Pressing buttons and jumping when he turned it on.

"besides my possible dismemberment what do I owe this pleasure," She asks. In the background, I could hear some loud tinging noises. Probably in her workshop, or she does in fact have a human finger. Then probably a different workshop if that were the case.

"Well, I’ll give you a hint," I lean on my elbow.

"Oh goodie, I love games. Three hints," she chuckles.

I can’t help but chuckle as well, "alright three hints. Its long, hard, and came in a box."

"Tracey," She scolds, " I don’t believe you should talk about that kind of thing with your aunt. It seems more like a mother conversation."

"I don’t know, mom would be upset that I have him in the house," I answer vaguely.

"Oh, batteries not included? Who needed powered boyfriends when you can get the real thing," She jokes.

I shake my head," we both know battery-operated is better. Humans don’t tend to vibrate.". This caught Daniel's attention.

"I can vibrate," He informs pointing to his face.

"I'm sure you can, doll," I look up at him.

"And who is that," my aunt asks.

"My new boyfriend, best model out there. Even has same-day delivery," I joke. Daniel cocks his head and his electronic eyebrows furrow.

"A robot," she asks before it clicks," Right! The robot, god I'm a terrible creator. How could I forget my baby boy."

"Terrible mother indeed," I click my tongue," tsk, tsk. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.". I look up at Daniel again and give him a wink. He turns his head as a pink color shines from his screen. "Aw, he blushes," I coo.

"Of course he blushes, he has a full range of emotions. My best work if I do say so myself," she pats herself on the back," Practically human."

"So it’s an A.I.," I ask," here I thought I was getting a butler. But I shouldn’t be so disappointed, I got a new friend instead."

Daniel turns his head to look at me," friend? I thought I was your boyfriend."

"We can talk about that later, doll," I answer.

"Aw, breaking up already. Poor Daniel, only been alive for a year and now he has his first broken heart," My aunt coos.

"We are talking about its later Carol, I'm sure it will be fine," Daniel says to the phone.

"You have me on speaker," My aunt asks, "Hi Daniel darling, how do you like Tracey's place?"

"It is cozy, living here would be most joyous," He answers.

"that’s a great sweetie. be nice to Tracey, ok?"

Daniel cocks his head," Why wouldn’t I be anything but?"

"No reason, sorry I doubted you," She apologizes.

"Well, I'm going to get off. Just making sure that you did indeed send me a bot. you can never be too sure," I call out.

"Oh absolutely. Love you baby, take good care of him. He is a sensitive bot, you may forget that he is more than a robot sometimes," She warns.

"Goodbye Carol," Daniel calls out. With that I press end. I cross my arms and lean forward. We both look each other over, observing in the silence.

"Do we need to talk," He asks with an adorable head tilt.

"About what," I answer with a question.

"Us. Are you breaking up with me?" I can’t help but laugh. This only confused him more.

"We aren't together, Daniel. That was just a joke I made with aunt Carol," I answer. I step away from the table and walk around to the fridge.

Daniel stepped away from the table as well and laces his fingers together. It was interesting, robots generally don’t have nervous ticks or idiosyncrasies. Auntie did a good job with him.

"Well, that I won’t lie and say that I'm unfavorable to that," He dropped his head. I was a bit confused about his reaction. He is a strange robot.

"You want to date," I ask. What did she program into this guy? It got my brain moving, how could anyone get a robot to seem so human. Most had applications built in to pretend to empathize with someone, but this was too detailed.

He looked up with a wide expression," Yes."

"Why?"

Daniel looks me up and down before walking over. He takes a hold of my hands and intertwines them.

"You are very appealing," He mimics his earlier words. I pull my hands from his and stare up at him confused. A strange robot indeed.

I sit at my computer with my legs crossed. I hunch over my keyboard and stare with my mouth partially opened. I'm working on pulling up Daniel's code and programs. He is currently hooked up to my tower with a bunch of cables. He is sitting patiently, if not happily, against the wall. His 'eyes' were darting around the room, taking in all the area has to offer.

"What is a battery-operated boyfriend," He cuts the silence. I jerk away from the computer, not use to having someone around in my office.

"what? Why do you ask," I blush.

His eyes focus on me, "you said it earlier, I was curious. Technically I'm a battery-operated boyfriend but I'm assuming it isn't me you were referencing."

I can’t help but smile," I guess you are a battery-operated boyfriend. But you are correct, I wasn’t referring to you."

"Then what is it," he asks again.

I look back to my computer, "I'm not going to answer that." I glance over at him for a second and see him pouting. Another curious attribute.

I stare amazed at the lines and lines of text. His code was so long, even too long. There were programs for such minor things like when to twitch his finger or raise an eyebrow. Looking further I found a curious program label 'Surprise'. Of course, I clicked on it, I'm only human. Looking it over I was nosy to turn the function on.

"Oh, this is new," Daniel mumbles to himself. I look over as he raises his hands from his lap. Looking down I see a protrusion.

"Oh indeed," I say shocked. He was majority matte black with traces of blue deep in his wiring. The protrusion was more on the blue side and had the lining of matte black. It was definitely an eye-catcher.

"Why does he have a cock," I nearly shout into the phone.

"Cutting to the chase, I guess. No foreplay, but I'm going to guess there was some if you found this out," My aunt jokes.

"Not funny, I looked through his programs. Also seriously, you named it surprise," I sneer. This was extremely uncalled for. Auntie has always been a mischievous person. Last year she spiked the punch at the family reunion to 'spice up the party'. But this was too much. "Seriously, you sent me a sex robot? Not to steal your joke from earlier but I feel this would be a better present for mom," I scold. Mom divorced dad about five years ago, this seemed like a better gift to a lonely mother than a 25 y/o.

"First off, ew. I don’t want to think about my sister's sex life a-"

I interrupt her, "And you want to think about mine?"

"Do not use that tone with me. You haven't had a boyfriend since high school, you bury yourself in work. You convinced yourself that it’s enough, fulfilling even. Excuse me for thinking of you. Also, I will make this clear, I made his A.I. as a little side project. He was not for you till after he was made. His personality seemed perfect for you, so sue me for being kind," Carol snapped. I grabbed the bridge of my nose and sighed.

"Fine, I'm sorry. It was kind of you to think of me but It's a bit much that you added such a personal feature," I say calmer.

"I know you will find some use for it, till then please don’t treat him differently for it. I'm sure he doesn’t know what it’s even for," she pleads. I sigh again, this is just weird.

"Alright, I will still take good care of him," I relent. He is but a vessel for my aunt's ignorant kindness.

"I'm sure you will," she laughs.

"Goodbye carol," I hang up. I drop my phone onto the kitchen counter and exhale. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Daniel peaking his head out from my office.

"Are you angry with me," he asks. I look up at him and can’t help but smile.

"Of course not, just surprised," I answer. It was honest, I can’t be mad at him. I've known him for a few hours and I already adore him. He has such wonder for everything around him that makes my jaded self feel humble.

A few weeks with Daniel have been both tiring and rejuvenating. He asks so many questions that I gave up answering them and just introduced him to the internet. I got curious one day and checked his history, he goes on a lot of tangents. Now that he can answer his own questions online, he has moved on to asking about myself. He would ask about my interest or my job. Even comment on things he likes about me. For a robot, he was a bit of a flirt. His favorite thing about me was my hands. He said they were 'gentle and talented'.

We currently stood in the kitchen. He watched me as I cooked, he says he enjoys watching my human rituals. He can’t eat so he just likes watching me eat.

I stir the pot of food as I call out to my home bot," Home, play 90's hits." There was a chime then the music began to play softly from the speakers. Daniel looks around the room a bit confused.

"what was that," he asks her.

"My home bot, it controls some electronics around the house like lights or locks," I explain. He nods his head.

I get into the music and shimmy a bit as I finish off my meal. I slide towards my cabinet and pull out a bowl. With a twirl, I slide the bowl to the stove. Shaking my hips I pour a large helping of soup. Another twirl and I turn to Daniel. His face had its pink cheeks and wide-eyed expression. I set my food down and stare curiously. Why was he blushing?

Before I could ask, I caught sight of his blue swelling. I raised my eyebrows in shock and acknowledgment.

"I'm sorry," he stepped closer to the island to hide himself from view.

"N-No needs to be sorry," I stutter," I'm just curious why it decided to make itself known."

He turned his head as he continued blushing," Y-you."

I point to myself," Me?"

He nods, "You w-were dancing around. You have a firm r-rear."

"O-Oh, thank you," I blush. For the time he has been here I have never witnessed his, um, member. Since the first day it has never come up, pun intended, it’s never been noted again.

"Have you ever, um. Have you ever had this happen before," I ask a bit nervous. We have flirted a bit but I'm still off-put of using him. To have a boyfriend was simple, but to fuck him felt wrong. It was a bit taboo to keep a fully functioning robot around as a sex toy. Even if he seemed human, he wasn’t.

"Yes," He answered short.

"When," I look up at him.

"Depends. Sometimes when you bend over, other times when your shirt drops a bit too low. Most the time is when we sit together on the couch," He answers calmer than earlier.

"When we watch movies," I ask. We watch movies every weekend, I never noticed anything. Not that I would be looking at his crotch.

"Yes," He steps around the island and stops on the side. His crotch still blocked but he was in arms reach. "when u start to daze off and you rest your head on my shoulder. I feel the tingle and I want nothing more than to touch you," he smiles. He places his hands on the counter, not moving them but keeping them where they are. Daniel was leaving me to decide.

Daniel is very smart, never doubted it. Yet he still surprises me with his emotional intelligence. It’s easy to program a robot to see patterns or understand words on a paper. To explain an abstract concept like emotions was hard. You can fake it, but it always comes across as wrong, almost psychopathic. In Daniel, it came off as authentic. It felt real, like he honestly felt those things.

I bounce my finger on the counter as I stare at his hands. He still waited on me.

"You want to touch me," I ask softly. I look down at his fingers. One hand was stretched a bit farther than the other. His hand was sideways, his fingers were slightly splayed.

"more than anything," He murmured. His index twitched a bit.

I skidded my fingers across the table and let our fingers tap against each other. He didn’t move more than his fingers, leaving me with the choice still. Daniel was really smart indeed. I moved closer and grasped his hand, intertwining our fingers. I could hear his body make a low buzzing noise and his chest expand slightly.

My other hand grabs his free one. I pulled him around the table and towards me. Releasing my grip, and him reluctantly doing the same, I reach forward and hug him. I rest my hands on his lower back and my head on his chest. He does his form of a sigh again before wrapping his arms around me. He rests his head on mine and we just stand there.

This feels nice. I can’t remember the last I hugged someone. It had to be over seven years ago when I dated that saxophone player in high school. This felt better though, Daniel was warmer. I ran my hands up his back along the cylinders that controlled his back. I leaned back and looked up at him. I reached for his neck and pulled him down. I kiss him where his lips were on the screen. The whirling in his chest became a bit louder and his hold on my back gets a bit tighter.

I pull back with a shy smile. It felt silly to kiss a screen, but his reaction made it less so. He smiled at me too, even had his adorable blush on his screen.

Daniel led his head down and tapped his screen to my forehead. He pulled back after a moment and looked down at me.

"You look pretty when you blush," He mumbles.

"I could say the same thing about you," I smile.

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There is a part two. Also i did a lot of unnecessary research on this. even the name of the main character is shared with a famous programmer John Romero. He designed games like Doom or Wolfenstein. But check out my Archive page.

#robot x human #exophilia #fluff #programming #john romero #pt1 #pt 1 of 2 #D-4N1-3L #Tracey Romero #Enigma-IM #monster boyfriend

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ladybell9095 · 3 years

Text

My classes are finally over and finals are done with. My geebs haven’t posted in forever, SO here is a Christmas War/FemReader. It ain't the best. I honestly thought i could do better, but as soon as classes ended the holidays dominated my life and also car problems, but I digress. Please enjoy.

December 15th

While walking into the living room War hears you frustratingly sigh. “I thought your studies were over.” War looked over to you, annoyed that you were on your computer yet again.

Your eyes were glued to the screen as usually even though your classes were over. “You are correct.”

“Then why are you still on that square contraption?”

You finally took a break from the screen and rubbed your eyes. “Because I must find gifts for everyone.”

War looked down confused at your random spark of generosity. “Gifts?”

You looked to him with a gleam in your eye. “For Christmas. It’s just around the corner and I need to make sure I get gifts for everyone.”

Everything became clear once he heard the word Christmas. Truth be told War still wasn’t used to the concept of giving gifts to loved ones on “Christmas”. Your first Christmas together he didn’t care for the tradition and told you to focus on others. You listened at first, but you got him a present anyway. It has been well hidden, waiting to be accepted. This year though you would give him his gift and two more on top of that.

“Who are you giving gifts to?”, War asked knowing full well who was on your shopping list.

“Well there’s my family, your siblings, my friends, and there’s you.”

“You’re getting me a gift? What for?”

“Because it’s Christmas. Everyone deserves something on Christmas.”

War knew that this holiday meant much to you. He couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness towards him. “Can I ask what you plan to give me?”

“You can, but I’m not going to tell you. You’ll find out on Christmas.” You then return to your search for the ever-eluding perfect gifts. “Oh. I have a favor to ask. After I figure out what to get your brothers and sister can you deliver their presents for me just in case I don’t see them?”

“I will make sure that they are delivered.”

“Thank you. I hope they like what I get them.”

“It is not the gift that matters, but the thought.”

There was a slight smugness to your words. “I wonder who you learned that from?”

“I wonder indeed.” You feel some added weight on your head. “Will you be coming to bed?”

You looked to the time on your computer. “Yeah. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“If you’re not, I will come grab you myself.” And grabbed you he did after you went a minute over the given time.

December 22nd

You’ve just about gotten everyone’s gift. Everyone’s except Wars. About a week has been spent to prioritize the others and getting their gifts. Now it was time to find the perfect gift for War. This year he would get three. One being the gift you secretly got him even after he told you not to. The second you were currently searching for. The third one was something that you never saw yourself doing in a million years but decided to do it because War would absolutely love. At least you hope he does.

Since you were looking for Wars gift you made sure to keep your distance from the big guy. You didn’t want to, but at the same time you wanted the gift to be a surprise. Something had to give and only had to do so for a short while. When you brain went dead from all the possibilities of what to get you turned to his siblings for help.

Fury recommended something to help him in battle. War was a fighter, but what to get him where you didn’t have to travel to a different realm for. After the conversation deepened you found out that Fury was talking about gifts she would like to receive instead of thinking of her brother.

“I need some ideas on what to get for War as a gift and I thought you could help with that.”

“You underestimate how close all of us actually are.”

“So you can’t help?”

“I shall try my best, but I make no promises.” Fury began putting her mind to work. “Since War is the biggest out of all of us, he’ll need a bigger weapon.”

“Even bigger than the sword that he already has?” You honestly thought if it was even possible for War to wield anything bigger than that terrifying sword.

“Bigger. I know, get him a hammer. No. An axe.” A sinister laugh came from Fury. “Get both, so then I can do twice the killing.” You spent an hour with her listening to various methods to kill demons and with what weapon that would suit that method. Seeing how Fury was going to be no help you went on to the next sibling.

No matter how scary this man appeared you would talk to him by yourself for the sake of the perfect present for his little brother. Talking to Death wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. He gave some good ideas. Ideas that you could actually get your hands on.

“Your coming to me? To figure out a gift for War?”

“Yes.”, you answered quickly while at the same time rethinking your decision to seek advice from the Grim Reaper. “I tried Fury, but she gave me her Christmas list instead.”

“Fury was a poor choice. You should know that I’m not a great one either.”

“Oh…I see.” Your disappointment was clear as day. You knew it wasn’t the end of the world. You just thought that maybe it was possible that he would know something about War you didn’t.

Death sighed. “I am not a great choice…but I am better than Fury. You may want to write this down.” You made sure to write down everything he suggested and thanked him for it.

As an added measure you went to Strife. Out of all the siblings Strife knew War pretty well and Fury, but not Death. Those two are never on the best of terms. Anytime they occupied the same room there was always some sort of arguing amongst them. While explaining the gifts you already had gotten for War, Strife cut you off midway.

“Woah. Woah. Woah. Hold up. You’re actually going to—”

Now was your turn to cut him midway. “Don’t say it please. It’ll just sound weird leaving your mouth.”

“That hurts. It really does.” Strife lifted his hand in the air to your glare. “Alright I’ll stop talking about it. Anyways, so you went to Fury and she was no help at all.”

“Nope.”

“You went to Death and surprisingly he gave good advice.”

“He pointed me in the right direction.”

“Then why come to me? Sounds like everything is figured out.”

“You’d think so, but I’m at a complete loss.”

“You know all he needs is you right, but I guess you already have that planned out huh?”

Your face went flush. “I-I…I’m leaving.”

“Good luck. I’m sure War will love it!”, Strife shouted from behind.

December 23rd

Everything was finally finished. No more shopping. The Christmas party that War and his siblings decided to throw for you was planned out. There wasn’t much you could say about the party. All the horsemen told you that it was going to happen. It was such a relief to not have to worry about getting anymore gifts. It was also great that you and War could spend the holidays uninterrupted.

You plopped on the couch absolutely exhausted. “Damn the holidays. I love them, but my god are they exhausting.”

War took the seat next to you. “You’ve acquired everything you were looking for?”

“Yes. Its all over. Well almost. I still need to wrap them, but that can wait till tomorrow.” You rubbed at your temples to relieve the headache you felt coming on just by thinking about doing more work.

“Do you always expend this much energy for Christmas?”

“Of course I do. I have to even more so now that I have you.”

“If that is true your lacking in it right now.”

“You’ll see more of it on Christmas.” You drop a subtle hint which War immediately picked up on.

“What do you mean by that?”

Leaning into War, you hid your dead giveaway of a smile. “Oh nothing.” War wasn’t sure what you were up to, but those thoughts were abandoned once you were in his arms.

“Do you have any more plans for today?”

“No. Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

“It has been a while since we’ve gotten to spend time together.”

War had to say no more. He received a peck on the cheek. “I’m all yours from now on.”

December 25th

After getting the house ready for three more horsemen and taking out some games to play, the house was basically ready. The house looked like it had Christmas absolutely upchucked on it on the outside and the inside looked like it was hit by a holiday twister. Decorations covered almost ever inch of the house. There was the food for the party on the counter and gifts right under the tree.

What made everything worth the effort was the big tree that sat in the corner of the living room. It was the biggest tree you ever had. Thanks to having tall ceilings, renovated purposefully for War, it was possible to have such a lovely tree. What made it truly special is that it was something that both you and War picked out.

You went to go change into your planned festive attire and walked out to join the rest of the horsemen. Usually holidays were spent with the family, but you had a new family. At least you considered them your family. Whether they considered you family or not you have War and honestly, he’s all you needed. After joining the others, the party commenced.

“I didn’t think it was possible to for someone to wear as much red as War.”, Fury pointed out once you were in her sights.

You wore a Santa dress with red stockings, black boots, and a traditional Christmas hat. “It is Christmas. I got to look the part.”

“Looks like you’ve been in Santa’s wardrobe. Wonder what else you took from there?” Strife’s comment brought a new shade of red to your outfit.

“Whatever it was it has to be better than that revolting sweater you’re wearing brother.”, Fury commented to the strangely dressed gunslinger.

“Hey, it’s supposed to look bad. It is an ugly Christmas sweater.”

The sweater he wore was probably the most unique you ever had found. The base color was this bright green and had a big picture of Santa’s face on the front. Surrounding the jolly face was just about everything Christmas imaginable. There were reindeers, candy canes, snowmen and multiple colored Christmas lights that actually lit up. On the back of the sweater was the words merry Christmas in an unreadable font and on the sides of the text were two bells. Below that was a Christmas wreath with different oversized colored baubles with musical faces. It was an early gift to him from you and that was the thing he chose.

To your surprise Strife and Death weren’t fighting…as much. In secret Fury told you that she overheard Strife and Death making a temporary truce to not fight to much.

“They didn’t want to ruin the party for you, so they sucked it up and barely tolerate each other.”, Fury whispered as Strife picked out a game to play.

“Really? That’s sweet.” You peak towards Deaths direction, but quickly averted when he felt your stare. “I wonder if they’ll follow through?”

“Don’t worry if they act up, I’ll handle them.” Fury looked a bit too enthusiastic when she said that, but you were sure nothing over the top would happen. How wrong you were.

Strife came back with a game he was sure he would win, but after the game had ended it was Death who was the winner. The second Death was determined the winner Strife accused him of cheating. As soon as the insult was thrown the arguing commenced. Fury butted in as she said she would, but it just got worse. Who knew that three grown adults, Horsemen of the Apocalypse you may add, could act like such children?

You excused yourself and went to go get the food ready. Before you left you made sure to tell War that nothing got broken. Thankfully the food was all prepared. All you had to do was serve it. You brought out the designated holiday plates you received from your grandmother and started setting up the table. When you went back to the living room you saw the three horsemen sitting quietly with their angry warden looking down on them.

Dinner went more smoothly than the game did. Everyone ate so much that you had to make sure you got the food first before it was all gone. You were lucky to grab what you did because you were sure that there would be no seconds. After dinner you put on some Christmas movies and watched a couple of Christmas specials while opening presents.

You received a gift from each of the horsemen. Fury’s gift was a small blade. Specifically to be used only if you ever found yourself in the need of it. Strife returned the favor for buying him his sweater and got you one of your own. Its ugliness could almost rival his sweater. Death wasn’t sure what to get you, so he got you some different flavored hot chocolate and a new mug to go with it.

War didn’t give you your gift just yet. He wanted to wait to give it to you after everyone had left. It was clear in that moment that you weren’t the only one who wanted to know what this mysterious gift was. You decided to do the same.

It was getting late. The party came to an end and your guest had gone home. Now it was only you and War. You were about to tend to the mess in your house, but War had stopped you and asked that you sit on the couch.

“I’d like for you to receive your gift from me.” As War spoke, he pulled out a small black box with a silver bow. It was perfectly wrapped. It was so small in the palm of Wars hand. He could’ve easily crushed it, but he held it delicately.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“If anyone is deserving of a gift it is you.”

The box just about fit in the palm of your hand. It was light. Eager to know what it is you began opening once War nodded his head. The silver ribbon fell to your lap. The black box top was put aside. You saw a small silver chain and began taking it out. At the end of it was a white monogramed black marble stone. Before your hands could tremble anymore you safely placed the necklace back in its box. War kneeled in front of you at the first sob, thinking that you hated the gift.

He soon found your arms around his neck and your chest pressed to his. “Thank you.” Your sobs broke up your words. “I. Love it. Thank you. Thank you, War.”

War finally broke out of his statuesque state and put his arms around you. Another intake of air was taken when you felt his comfort and warmth. “Merry Christmas.”

You thought you’d feel nothing from the overly used jolly catchphrase, but somehow War brought the feeling and magic back into it. “Christmas isn’t over yet. You still need to open your presents.”

You went to go retrieve the presents under the tree. “Presents? As in more than one.”

“Yeah. Here’s the first one.” You placed a present with worn wrapping paper on his lap. “Remember our first Christmas? Well I got you a present. I’m sorry for not giving it to you sooner.”

War ripped open the wrapping paper and saw some earmuffs. He put them on. It seemed like a good fit from where you were standing, but you had to make sure. “How does it feel? Is it too tight or too loose?”

“It fits perfectly. Thank you.” You handed War the second gift. “A bag?”

“Yeah I thought you could put it on Ruins saddle, or you can use it.”

“I’ll make sure to use this.” His responses were so simple and yet it made you very happy with your choices.

“Alright for your last gift. I need you to sit here and close your eyes.” War did as you said and waited. He waited a long time and heard a lot of noise coming from the room. After a lot of struggling you peaked out the door. “Are your eyes still closed?”

“They are.”

It took a lot of confidence to walk out of the room. You walked very slowly so you wouldn’t give away the surprise. “Ok. You can open them now.”

His blue eyes were visible once more. His jaw immediately dropped once he saw your new attire. You stood there with your hands held close to your chest. War eyed you from top to bottom. First to be seen was the red ribbon that wrapped around your chest. At the end of the ribbon was red laced underwear with two bells on each side and covering your legs were black stockings.

War began staring holes into you. It was beginning to be too much. “Well what do you think?”

After slapping some sense into his mind, War looked you in the eye. “Is this my gift?”

“Yeah. I thought that maybe you would like this?” Your face went bright red once you heard the bells jingle from all the fidgeting.

War straightened himself to his full height when he stood in front of you. He firmly held the ribbons tail. “May I unwrap my gift now?”

It was even colder now that the ribbon was gone, but the heat that rose out of you fixed that. The bells jingled again as you were gently lifted. With your legs wrapped around him the two of you went to your room where the rest of your Christmas night would be spent.

#Christmas #War #War/Reader #Holidays #Fury #Strife #Death #Merry Christmas

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owlsoldwritingcorner · 4 years

Text

The Ghost (Part 2)

Pairing :Wrench x Reader

AO3 Link

Summary:

“So. You a big fan of hackers?”

“I guess you can say that. ” You may not be able to make a coherent string of codes but you know that vague code speak means: He’s in the group.

Note:

Here's the look reader has in this chapter!

(The helmet and biker suit is the main canonical look reader has cuz it's important to the fic, underneath you can insert your own look)

Chapter 2: Fresh Air and Graffiti

You woke up to the smell of your grandmother’s cooking, checking your phone revealed it was 8 in the damn morning. God you weren’t ready for the strong smells so early in the morning. Looks like Ripley wasn’t either considering she was already away and giving you her big ole puppy eyes that just scream “Walk time? Walk time!”.

Such a sweetie.

“Let’s get you some breakfast first before we can think of any w-a-l-k-i-e-s, alrighty?” Oh gosh, she gave you a little nod and a gentle ruff, you’re gonna get killed by the cuteness of a pup. Not by any of those burly men with guns that you’re so used to on the job, and obviously, you welcome this kind of death with open arms.

Getting up, you cleaned yourself up from the rest of your grogginess and went to the kitchen to fill up Ripley’s food bowl but not before taking a puff of your daily asthma medicine.

Gah… The smell of dried fish was getting more and more prominent now. The dried fish your grandma makes for the conge tastes so good but god it smells like the ocean flooded the house and dried up.

“Mom! Did you really have to make that fish so early in the morning?” Looks like your aunt was up and at ‘em too now. Strong smells always did make her grumpier.

“ It takes so long to fully seep and cook this fish so I should just cook it now! ” Your aunt looked as if she was going to pop a blood vessel already.

“Mom. Now the whole house smells like fish. You could have made it tomorrow or even later today!” You just sighed as your aunt and grandma argued, you really didn’t want a headache so early in the morning…

Ripley was done eating her breakfast so it was time to go for some walkies. Maybe Ripley will make some friends in this neighborhood? You brought out some body spray for yourself to put on once you’re out of the house, your emergency inhaler, then finally you put the pit-bull on her leash. Hopefully a walk around will ease your headache a bit.

So far so good.

It was sunny and surprisingly nice out, your little pup was letting out some energy and you got some fresh air. You finally arrived at a small dog park, certainly not the park Clara told you about. That hideout is about 20 more minutes away from where you’re currently at.

You sat at one of the benches to give your feet some rest, your little pit-bull laid down next to you on the bench, her head on your lap and wanting you to pet her as you two relaxed. You smiled before slowly starting to go into a daze, your eyelids drooped a bit from the nice temperature and your little friend snored away on your lap before your mind finally started to dream away as you stared into space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Run.

You needed to run.

You have to get out of here.

Opaque silhouettes slithered after you, their limbs contorting as they ran on all fours, letting out whaling cries as if trying to coax you into stopping. Its grotesque body leaving mucus in its wake.

But it didn’t work.

It only made you run faster.

Faster and faster until--

You choked.

The air was knocked out of you as one of the silhouette’s slimy, long arms grabbed one of your legs causing you to fall forward. You tried to crawl away, your nails scratching the concrete below to no avail. You looked behind you to see the mass of disgusting limbs catching up to you, still holding onto your captive leg.

As you continue to try to get away from the creature, you see another silhouette step in front of you and kneel down, and outstretched as if saying “Here. Let me help you up”. This one was different from the ones trying to chase you, they weren’t contorted or slimy nor did they have any extra limbs on their body.

You were so close to reaching for that gentle hand when--

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Excuse me?” You woke up from your daydream by that new voice trying to get your attention. Looking up, you see a man (probably just a couple years older than you) wearing dark lensed glasses and had a light moustache and a soul patch. You also noted the shirt he wore.

Dedsec.

You wanted to snort. The Chicago branch would instantly kick that person out for wearing something so blatant. They’d hate seeing their name with a face.

“Hey, uh, sorry for intruding, I just wanted to pet your dog. Don’t really see many Pitbulls in this neighborhood.” You raised an eyebrow, most people would be terrified of Ripley and cross the street from you two (Granted, she is a big dog with large scars and cropped ears, you can’t fully blame them for being intimidated.) But you gave the man a little nod, he seemed nice enough.

“Sure, she’d love the attention.” The man immediately went to work, giving Ripley little scratches behind her ears, cooing as she gave him some kisses.

“What’s her name?”

“Ripley.”

“As in Ellen Louise Ripley ?”

“Yep. They’re both super tough, so, I just named her accordingly.” You mumbled, god it’s been so long since you had social interaction with a new human. The man just chuckled.

“I can tell, she definitely looks like she been through some stuff.”

You let out a little hum, “She was rescued from one of those dog fighting rings.” He nodded.

“Poor girl. Looks like she’s in better hands now though.” You chuckled as you scratched behind Ripley’s cropped ears, your eyes wandered back to the man’s Dedsec shirt. Honestly you can’t tell if he’s just a big fan or actually part of the group.

“So. You a big fan of hackers?”

“I guess you can say that. You into what Dedsec has to say?” You may not be able to make a coherent string of codes but you know that vague code speak means: He’s in the group.

“They have some good points. Highlighting vulnerabilities and weaknesses in the CTOS systems, showcasing how Blume truly acts. It’s like embarrassing the prom king on stage, I’m all for that.” The man raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

“You seem to have your share of Dedsec knowledge.”

“I’m from Chicago, they’re a pretty big deal there too. Dunno about here.”

“That explains it. Heard they released some pretty big blackmail over there.” You gave the man a nonchalant hum. Dedsec’s blackmail, huh? Aiden did most of the work though…

“I heard that too.”

Checking the time it was already almost 12 pm, that fuckin online college got you on a damn leash. Plus, you were getting pretty hungry, you did skip out on breakfast in favor of feeding Ripley.

“Well, I need to be on my way now. Hope you have a nice day.”

“Oh, you too. I’m Marcus by the way. I have a feeling I might see you again.” Well that sounds only mildly ominous, but, certainly not the worst you’ve heard. The taller man reached out his hand for a handshake, to which you reluctantly shook and gave Marcus your name.

“It was nice meeting you, Marcus.”

You nudged Ripley a bit to let her know you two were heading home now only for her to whine a bit but obliging. Yeah, you don’t wanna smell like fish again but… You really needed to at least finish the week’s assignments. You gave Marcus a final goodbye wave as you walked home with your dog by your side.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You flopped onto your bed in defeat.

Why the fuck did this online school have to give you so much work every week? Well, you managed to do a few weeks worth of work and should be free earlier for Dedsec work.

Speaking of, it’s almost time to meet your new “coworkers”. It's time to suit up.

Donning your binder, biker’s helmet and suit, you made sure to test out the helmet’s voice modulator and check for any kinks. Afterwards, it was time for some real clothes! The skin tight biker suit feels pretty breezy despite you not being actually naked. At least the binder makes you look like a super buff guy, not to mention the boots give you some extra height. You really need those 3 extra inches…

Let’s see…

Pastel week? Or maybe something vintage? Or perhaps some fall colors would be nice! Sweaters always feel nice. But, it has been a while since you’ve done a punk week…

Well! It’s been decided!

Finally, you were ready for work. Giving Ripley a final forehead kiss and head pat, you headed for your destination.

Weird that a notorious hacker group put one of their hideouts in a nerdy tabletop shop. Then again, it doesn’t raise a lot of suspicion on the outside. Looking around, you see a bunch of people rolling their 20 sided dice on the tables. You always did want to play Dungeons and Dragons, never had the time to read up on it though. You walked towards the back, ignoring any wandering eyes. But no one really spoke up against you being there, they looked too scared to even try if they actually wanted to.

Aha. There was the entrance. You pushed in the pass-code Clara gave you and viola! You’re in. You took in the appearance of the entrance down the hackerspace. The graffiti is quite a look. Most of the Dedsec graffiti back home were mostly on CTOS ads or other signposts, this is a stark contrast from those dark hacker rooms in Chicago. But, you certainly didn’t mind it. Actually heading into the space itself revealed it looked more like a hacker’s man cave or hangout spot than a big name hacker group meet up room. Dedsec’s name was graffitied around every inch of the room, the table in the middle was filled with snacks, beers, and some computer equipment, and there were some really old rage comics memes near the 3d printer area.

Looks like you’re the first person here though. You sat at the sofa area, crossing your legs. God, the spaces back home needs a sofa like this instead of those rackety pull out chairs. Just as you were getting used to the appearance of… Everything. The sound of the sliding door and footsteps catches your ears. Guess it was introduction time.

Turning around and facing the first person you got to the space first, you were greeted with a familiar face.

“You guys should have seen Mr. Weak Chin’s face in perso--” The man locked eyes with you as you gave him a little wave.

Marcus. Your instincts had always been pretty on point.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” His hand was hidden behind him, probably reaching for a weapon to prepare himself from any surprise attacks. You only raise your hands to tell him you don’t mean any harm. Just as you were going to let him know why you’re here, the rest of the crew came down. Marcus wasn’t the only familiar face around here.

Your hidden eyes gazed into familiar digital Xs.

#wrench watch dogs #wrench #reader insert #Wrench x reader #marcus holloway #Watch Dogs #my art #My writing

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docfuture · 4 years

Text

Princess, part 11

[This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16. Links to some of my other work are here. Updates are theoretically biweekly. Next chapter is mostly done so I’m going to try to get it out later in August.]

Previous: Part 10

Five days after Speedtest. Three days after the isotope exchanger had worked enough for Flicker to restart her body chemistry. Then a scramble of pain, healing, and memory triage before, finally, sleep. She'd awakened, mentally fogged, to start a messy program of biological recovery and physical therapy, complicated by the need to spend more time in the isotope exchanger to reduce her not-immediately-lethal-but-still-a-problem radioactivity. For her minds, a fuzzy time of finding and patching connections, habits, and memories that were temporarily broken, misplaced, distorted, or newly intrusive. For respite, ghosting to Antarctica, gliding in the low sun over ice and cold air, never near anything living. Sleep remained fitful. Evening. The last really needed isotope exchanger session done. Body and mind were now holding together, even if neither were yet anywhere Flicker was particularly happy with. Talking to Doc in his lab. He frowned at a brain scan, some graphs, and a schematic of a cybernetic inductor. "I checked in on your medibots, because you mentioned your start routine this morning was still rough. Looks like your mind work was okay despite that, though?" "Caffeine helped," said Flicker. "And you can drink it again, and eat. Progress. I'm concerned at this scan though. It still shows signs of cybernetic interface withdrawal. I don't know how long that will last, given everything else. How bad is the ennui and poor appetite?" "Caffeine helped. A little." "Hm. Not much we can do other than wait. I had the Database forward the medibot scans and other information to Dr. Reinhart's partition." "Thanks. But I have a question." "Yes?" "You agreed to all of Dr. Reinhart's terms, including Database access, even though she's got a really questionable background, and doesn't want to meet or talk to you. Her last message mentioned it wasn't an encouraging sign, because it meant I needed help pretty bad." "Well, you do. Frankly, I'd be more worried if she was cheerily optimistic. And the Database picked her as the best choice. Fortunately Jumping Spider knew a bit about her, and was willing to do that interview. So I'm satisfied for now." "I guess I don't get how you're okay with the uncertainty about a mind control expert." "I did verify that she wasn't gaming the Database threat index. The correlations are suggestive of a mission-oriented vigilante targeting actively harmful individuals with power that have little or no likelihood of being stopped or removed by other means. Plus a few covert operations agents trying to kill her. The threat index understates her effect, because she operates in realms where data is sparse and of poor quality. As for the alleged mind control, it may just be a combination of psychological manipulation and some kind of hidden influence. But there is no question she uses her reputation as an effective tool." Doc waved a hand. "And I have a reputation for being paranoid about mind control, which isn't going to make her more eager to meet me, is it? Our security protocols may not be compatible, and I can think of several other potential good reasons for her to stay away. But ultimately it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to talk, so that's that. She owes me nothing. I wouldn't mind discussing mind control defense with her, and I don't like uncertainty any more than you do. But I've had a couple more decades to get used to it. I know I can't solve all the world's problems myself. Priorities." A crooked smile. "Now, none of this means that you should accept everything she says uncritically, or that you should strive to emulate her, morally or otherwise. And I'm sure she'll drop some unpleasant surprises on you. But she agreed to help, and she certainly understands the stakes. Are you having trouble with social boundaries again?" "When did this become about me?" Doc just looked at her. "Okay, yeah." "Boundaries are a difficult problem for you. So I hope your work with Dr. Reinhart is productive, and that you eventually have an opportunity to discuss them with her." ***** The next morning had certainly started off productive. And difficult. Flicker had been very much looking forward to finally recovering enough to talk--physically talk, with real air, vocal cords, sound, and hearing--to Dr. Stella Reinhart. Flicker faced Dr. Reinhart in her office. Stella. She said to call her Stella. She was in her late twenties, about 170 centimeters tall, with dark hair and green eyes, and wore jeans, boots, a leather jacket, and a work shirt. She looked dangerous because she was dangerous, and had the sort of intent, purposeful expression Flicker had learned to watch for when evaluating an emergency site at high speed--if someone like that was running, it was a very good idea to find out why. The office was bland, more often used by the assistant who handled paperwork for Stella's consulting business. But there were comfortable chairs. Stella sat in one, not behind the desk, after saying a few words about subconscious framing and symbolic barriers. A cable ran from her laptop to the now thoroughly guarded office net connection and from there to the Database. DASI was on duty, capital S for Security duty, with subtle and wide-ranging countermeasures. Excessive? DASI didn't think so, nor did Stella. One less thing for Flicker to worry about, which helped. The office was in a half empty building in a not particularly prosperous location, but it did have sliding doors opening onto a patio. Dr. Reinhart had left them open to accommodate Flicker's claustrophobia. Flicker had set up a portable force screen to keep out weather and complete the veil of security. Flicker's speed mind idled, handling just alerts and safety. She was talking with her physical body and brain only, entirely at human speed, about something stressful, with no help from speed mind. Holding back was hard. More so in the aftermath of Speedtest--her old problems with self-interrupting and awkward blurting had returned. She chased thoughts and sentences faster than her mouth could complete them, as clumsily as when she was thirteen. Embarrassment intruded as she veered and rambled, but Stella had suggested this starting test, after initial introductions. Every verbal issue, every bit of awkwardness that she normally compensated for, everything she smoothed over, eliminated, or hid with speed, visor and Database--all that was data, that told Stella how the human half of Flicker's mind worked. And Stella could use that as a baseline to probe how the high speed half of Flicker's mind worked, and how she coordinated. So she endured. Flicker stumbled to a stopping point. She'd managed a partial, excessively wordy, and not entirely coherent description of her problems and goals. She had digressed from and mangled her text summary, but talking out loud, in her own words, from her own mind, without notes, had been the point. She took a calming breath and tried to untense. This was the only part where talking was essential. I can switch to text now if I really have to. Stella smiled and thanked her, then turned to type at her computer. Her exact words escaped as Flicker's speed mind started a flurry of mental replays and second-guessing, but the Database flashed 'Break time' on her visor. Relief. Out through the doors, speeding past land and human complication to the Pacific. Slow coasting, well under 0.01c, while the two parts of her mind reintegrated. A wordless reckoning that normally went one way--slow mind to fast on waking up, and back before sleep. Tides flowing predictably over the sands of short term memory. Now the flow went both ways, boats loading and unloading as both minds took turns at 'Let me put that in a better place...' Still less stressful than the talking had been. Even deciding when to breathe had been awkward--speed mind had smoothed that for so long she'd almost forgotten. Fifteen minutes of waves and sunlight and motion. Coasting along crests and troughs. Manta rays breaching, sudden unexpected joy, a reminder that the world held marvels still happening. It helped. When she got the message to return, she was much calmer. Back at the office, a quick smile from Stella. "I have good data, and some preliminary assessments. I'm afraid we're unlikely to complete your priority list any time soon. One thing is clear; mind isolation during treatment is not a viable option. Your 'speed mind' is essential to your functioning and current identity, even at normal speed. So we'll work towards better coordination. But I have some serious concerns." A glance at her screen. "I should emphasize my disclaimer: This is a compassionate personal intervention in the absence of a qualified specialist. I am not a clinician, my research methods would give an IRB heart attacks, et cetera. And I have some reservations about the process by which I was selected. I sent the full text to your Database earlier. Did you read it?" "Yes," said Flicker. "I understand why you might need it for legal protection. Also if you're, like, a serial killer who eats souls, I have Officially Been Warned." "That works. I still go to conferences, and I create enough controversy on my own. It would be inconvenient to be widely banned from international travel. But I imagine you still have some questions." Flicker shrugged. "I'm curious about a few things. But if you weren't already doing weird superhero-adjacent and spyworld stuff, I don't think you'd have the experience to help without researching me for a year first. Anyway, go ahead." Speed mind shifted and reversed, back in her normal mental dance, speeding up and slowing down to aid stability and coherence. The desire to clarify and add to her awkward presentation to reduce social embarrassment was strong. But it was time to listen. "For your difficulty speaking," said Stella, "I agree with your Database AI that most of your returned problems should fade with social practice. You appear to have optimized your verbal coordination in order to present as a neurotypical human, so any change would cause temporary issues." "Because squishy brain is autistic. And yeah I did. It's a real pain to get strangers to listen if you don't talk 'normal human'." "Your distress is understandable. You do have traits in common with individuals with Asperger's and ADHD, but given your unique mind, it's probably best to view them as suggestive analogies--you have similar problems with similar coping mechanisms. 'Non-neurotypical' is as far as I'd go, and much of the cause may be consequences of the connection to your speed mind. Other issues are clearer." Stella leaned back in her chair. "Such as PTSD. You have layered coping mechanisms, but your Database stress history indicates that you tend to overwork or otherwise push yourself back to a ragged edge whenever you manage to achieve progress in reducing its effects." Stella clasped her hands in front of her face. "I doubt that dealing with the underlying issues will be an easy or quick task, but this is something you need to mitigate. I'll try to help you set realistic expectations when I understand more. One particular note. I can't speak to Doc's own mental health. But the elements of his work and life habits available for study indicate someone rather unhealthy for a PTSD sufferer to emulate. And whatever he might say, you took early cues from what he did." Stella frowned. "Your memory problems... I'm going to defer judgement on some of them until you've had more time to recover from your recent incident. And there are a number of other potentially serious long-term conditions that I now consider less likely, but can't yet rule out. But I am concerned that your Database AI already warned you about everything I've brought up so far, and some other issues that are more recent. I'd recommend revisiting your heuristics." Flicker spread her hands. "I didn't ignore the Database. I just couldn't do anything useful. I patched what I could and kept going." "That invites trouble when a new problem disturbs your patches." "Well, yeah. I get angry at things I can't fix. So I put them out of my mind to stay sane." Flicker looked away. "At least out of my conscious, human mind. Part of me remembers. And stays angry." She looked back and tried to smile. "I sometimes joke that I haven't lost my mind; I keep backups. Doc always retorted with how arduous it could be to try to restore from one. And that a mental backup doesn't bring things back the same, because the world has moved on. He was right. I had to try to restore a few things I misplaced during Speedtest and it was a pain. It stirs everything up, and I kept running across crap I'd stashed away because I couldn't deal, and I still couldn't deal because it was hitting all at once during a restore." The smile probably looked more like a fixed grimace. "So don't tell me about trouble and patches right now. I know." "Good," said Stella. "I will be going over things that seem obvious. People make tradeoffs, and mistakes, and I'd rather annoy you than miss any. But I also understand that this session has been stressful for you, and you aren't fully recovered. I can give you some initial recommendations and we can be done for the day, if you would like." Flicker took a deep breath, then let it out. "I'd like to keep going, now that I have my minds working together again. It's just... I should have reworked my priority list after you told me how you wanted to start, and put my anger issues higher on it. And there's this book I read, called Practical Power Dynamics..." An alert flashed on Flicker's visor and she sped up. The Database needed her override approval to resolve a convoluted permissions problem, which she granted. ��Stella's base permission level was only equivalent to a trusted outside academic researcher, so approval requests were going to be common for a while. Flicker slowed back down again to listen. "Where did you get the edition you read?" asked Stella. "It doesn't look like it was from the Database." "No. There was a version, but the Database didn't let me read that one. There were a bunch of hazards and warnings. The version I read is there now, I scanned it then locked it down. Doc doesn't know about it. I got it from Journeyman. He said he traded a bibliomancer to reconstruct an original text copy. Then let me read it, because he was worried and thought it might help me." Stella put a hand to her forehead and studied her computer display. "I see. What that alleged bibliomancer did should not be possible. But never mind that now. Was your visor recording when you discussed it, and if so, would you be willing to share a transcript?" "Sure." Another bit of access granted. Stella spoke slowly while scanning her screen. "I'd like to ask a favor of you. Please do not reread Practical Power Dynamics, or try to use any of the techniques, before I've had a chance to make some annotations for you. And assume it's more dangerous to you than the author intended. You read what appears to be an early draft that was never distributed." Flicker frowned. "How do you know that?" "I wrote it." "Oh, that's great! I had a lot of questions, but I couldn't--I mean it was still dangerous. But you can tell me what to watch out for. I loved the humor, the way you made pieces fit that everyone just seems to assume or ignore. And the parts about anger were..." Flicker trailed off. "You don't look happy. What's wrong?" "Well, at least you weren't completely blind to the danger," said Stella. "I started writing what became Practical Power Dynamics when I was about your age, at a time when I was not managing anger well. I would not write that way today. I need to see what I can do to defuse some hazards to you. I wrote it as a vector for social engineering, and I didn't devote enough attention to second-order side effects in atypical individuals. Even after I toned it down." Flicker thought about that at speed for a while. It made sense that Stella was worried. Doc spent a lot of time worrying about extending methods to new domains, and the false sense of security you could feel because you were doing familiar things you'd done many times before. The methods might only be safe because most of the unexpected failure modes had already been found--but a new domain could bring new ways to make horrible mistakes. You just couldn't be sure. That had been one of the main points of Speedtest. There were a lot of things going on in Practical Power Dynamics, and Flicker's mind was a new domain for many of them. "It didn't feel like it caused damage," she said. "I didn't try any of the active techniques because I was warned about traps, but the insights helped." "I can certainly understand why you liked it. I wrote it to resonate, but that doesn't mean it helped." Stella smiled wryly. "The text you read has the potential to magnify a number of problems. And even the distributed version was never intended for someone like you--I did not consider the psychological impact of absorbing the whole thing in under a minute. Not to pry into restricted details, but have you by any chance experienced an episode of unjustified arrogance or megalomania recently?" A sudden chill. "...I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero..." "...maybe." No, be clear. This is safety information. "Yes." "The book definitely didn't help with that." "My partner thought it would help with something. He wouldn't just..." Stella frowned. "It might have seemed appropriate as a form of disaster aversion. A 'break glass in case of emergency' psychological reset to forestall something worse. But not as a long term solution, and he'd know that." Flicker closed her eyes. "It wasn't and he did. He's gone. We aren't patrolling together anymore." Flicker had been managing to compartmentalize up to that point. Journeyman hadn't returned to Doc's HQ while she'd been recovering, or sent any message other than a brief note wishing her well. She'd set aside awareness of that, and their last conversation, pretending he was just temporarily away again. But their load-bearing social fiction had collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble. Speed up. Shift focus in speed mind. Ignore her human emulation, it was working all too well. Try a different perspective. Consider the positive. She'd learned too much during her time with him for reflexive avoidance of memory to be appropriate. She had her own strength, her own self, her own plans, where he was but memory and data. That could be a placeholder, a way to consider him as Flicker adjusted. It was definitely less disruptive than an emotional shutdown. Now slow down and return. Emotion and context flooded back, but she had a reference point. Her visor was beeping at her. She opened her eyes, and saw the alerts--the reason for the beeping. Warning: Situational awareness lost, Alert: Emotional crisis reaction signs, Alert: Potential dissociation trigger, Alert: Database permission upgrade request for Dr. Stella Reinhart--crisis context information. She virtual typed to grant the permission. Then straightened, her face under control. This was her problem, not his. The book dedication had been perfectly clear. For Doc Future. It's a trap. She'd read it anyway. So had Journeyman, but at least he hadn't ignored three blocks, eleven warnings, and 47 advisories, like she had. Tap. Tap. Tap. Stella was glaring intently at her laptop display and speedreading--a page for each tap. Flicker took the opportunity to do breathing exercises and calm herself. "What a mess," muttered Stella, as she continued to read. "Flicker?" "Yes?" Tap. Tap. "I'm sorry, clinical detachment and academic objectivity aren't going to be sufficient for everything. How do you feel about 'Angry woman on your side'?" "That sounds nice, actually." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Good to know. Also, do not ever underestimate your Database security AI. She was on the phone with me for all but five seconds of the time between when you started to read Practical Power Dynamics and when she interrupted your fight with Journeyman to announce my tentative willingness to help. And she called Jumping Spider to secure an emergency override in there, too. I have a theory about that, but it's probably not something she's allowed to admit. I'll see if I can sort through it. Along with everything else. This is going to take a while. But..." She paused in her paging. "I'm curious about the last few months before you became partners with Journeyman. The Database records are somewhat opaque. You were patrolling sporadically, and it's clear you weren't very happy, but I'm wondering to what extent that was due to PTSD." "I don't think about those months very much anymore," said Flicker. "Doc tried a couple of things to try to get me to cheer up, like asking if I wanted to partner with Jetgirl. I said no. I mean, she's a good friend, and we have an arrangement where she can call me for support when she needs it, but she usually doesn't, so it would have been more like being a sidekick. And I didn't want that. Journeyman actually needed my help, so I could accept his as an equal." She looked down. "I wasn't feeling very connected during that time--not continuously, anyway. I remember specific events, but I'd have to check the Database for a lot of the dates and chronology. Everything after the Japan quake. That was just before I turned fifteen, and... I didn't do too well." Stella raised an eyebrow. "The Database evaluates your actions as saving more lives than anyone else. And it's not close." "Well, but you should really account for speed. I mean, if you scored a flower-picking contest just by numbers, I could win with speed, but that doesn't mean I'm good at it. And... I don't like to talk about the quake. There were some media bits trying to turn me into a hero of the response and... No. Just no. Not respectful. They're still rebuilding and recovering and it's not my story to tell. I usually keep it compartmentalized. Mostly what I remember is to be wary of arrogance." "Mm. Would you be willing to tell me your viewpoint? Your personal experience is most definitely yours to share." "I suppose." Flicker took a deep breath and looked back up. "It wasn't bad for me personally. I didn't get hurt. It was just... There'd been some warnings, but it was confusing because of foreshocks, so no one could really tell how bad it was going to be. I got the alert from Breakpoint before the main quake hit--his Danger Sense went off and he wasn't even in Japan, so I knew it was going to be bad. I didn't know where the epicenter was going to be exactly, so I just went off the Database's best estimate, and went up and down the coast writing giant kanji for 'Earthquake' in the air so people would know. My plasma flash and shockwave boom actually helped there, because it got people to look out windows and see. "Then the quake hit, and went on and on, and the estimates kept going up: it's 8.4; no, it's 8.6; no, it's 8.7; no, it's 8.8; no, it's fucking 9; it eventually turned out to be 9.1. And then my Database com started dropping signal because my visor couldn't synchronize my position for tight beams any more. I was used to really accurate position data, and everything had moved. Everything was still moving. Ground level wasn't ground level, and everything had literally gone sideways. GPS was messed up, and the Database kept trying to correct for shit and it wasn't enough. There was one error that caused trouble for a while that was from the Earth not rotating on the same axis any more. "So, I'm running around with intermittent comms, stopping external debris and ripping the roofs off of buildings that were collapsing on people, then making the choices for intermediate floors for the big ones--do I rip it out? Will that hurt the people who might ride it down more than having it fall will hurt the people below? And can I get the debris out of the way fast enough without blinding and deafening everyone? What kind of building is it? I knew very little Japanese, and my visor translator was shit without Database support. The hospitals were solid enough that I let them take their chances, because there just wasn't much I could usefully do, but a few of the nursing homes and big apartments with lots of old people were pretty bad. I'd pulled collapsing buildings apart before, and it was like that, except... two thousand buildings at once. And seeing all those scared people. "And finally Doc got a message through, telling me I needed to punch a hole through to the ionosphere with rocks, because the Volunteer was on suborbital coming in as fast as he ever had and needed me to get the air out of way so he didn't kill anyone with his shockwave on arrival. So I went up to a place called Fukushima and made a pathway for him, so he could keep a bunch of nuclear reactors from melting down, then went back to ripping apart buildings. Until I got another message from Doc telling me I needed to let them go and start taking the edge off the tsunami." Flicker looked out the doors. "I thought, fuck that, I'll stop the tsunami. It's just a wave, right? Moving water, way offshore, no humans near, I could use all my speed and power. Energy and momentum. None greater than mine." She shook her head. "It wasn't just a wave. A whole huge section of seabed had been stuck bent over like a big flat sheet of wood, then released. One end went up like seven meters. All the water above it went up too, and the surface was now above sea level. And all that water had to go somewhere. "It wasn't just a wave. Water flows downhill. Doc knew. "I started with the lateral plasma sweeps and the shockwave hammer loops and the entrainment runs while I had the Database figure out just how much damage I'd do if I vaporized enough of the excess water to stop the tsunami. Database took a long time." She looked back at Stella. "I could vaporize enough to stop it. But--best case--it would kill five million people with a shockwave of plasma and superheated steam. More likely fifty. And fuck up the weather over the whole Northern hemisphere for months. The floods from the rain alone would... anyway. Stopping it was way worse. So I just had to take the edge off as best I could. "It was enough to let the Volunteer stabilize the reactors. And I thought it would be enough for almost all the people, I really did. And then the Database had enough data finally to tell me it wasn't." "Why not?" asked Stella. "The other end of the board. A big stretch of the coast of Honshu dropped when the seabed rose. What had been sea level--was now a meter below sea level. And the ground above it, and the people on that ground, were now a meter lower. So what looked safe--wasn't." "I went back one last time to write more Kanji. 'Run.' But not everyone could run. And not everybody who could would leave behind the ones who couldn't." "I did as much as I could," she said. "Maybe too much, some places--reflections and a change in the shape of the seabed meant I likely made things worse in one spot. But 'only' about two thousand people died in the tsunami. Plus maybe fifty or so I killed trying to stop it. Most of them in boats in really bad places, but they might have lived, except my shockwaves meant they didn't. I couldn't... it was just 'Sorry, it's not your day, ever again'. "Even after it started hitting I kept running around, clearing debris, trying to give people a little more time. And then, finally, it was over, ebbing back, and Hideki and the Japanese superheroes were arriving, and Golden Valkyrie's Choosers, and all the emergency responders. And all the ordinary people who helped. If anyone was heroes it was them. "I went on autopilot for a while, just followed Database instructions after my com was back, not trying to process, because I couldn't. There was a weird voice yelling on my com whenever I saw bodies for a bit until I figured out it was me and stopped. And... Well, I don't really remember much after that. You can read about it in the Database if you want." She waved a hand. "You know what? You want a hero? K'Krowl the Younger. Kaiju from the Deep Kingdoms. Big lizard. Lived up near the Aleutians. He was headed south along the coast, on his way to attack Tokyo, when the quake hit. He was underwater, I didn't know he was there. And there was this boat. Just... in the wrong place. K'Krowl felt the quake and knew what it meant. He headed inshore and surfaced, and just before the biggest wave hit he picked up the boat. And held it in his arms. Except I was coming down on a lateral plasma run, chopping away at the wave. I'd seen the boat, and they were just... I mean, they weren't gonna live. I had a massive entrained stream of plasma, steam, and seawater behind me. "K'Krowl crouched over, and tucked that boat under his chin, and took the wave on his chest and my plasma on his back--I burned him bad, his upper back was just cooked. But he kept his footing, and protected the people on the boat. From the tsunami, and from me. And when it was all over, he put the boat down at the shore, and waved to them, and went back into the water. He decided he didn't want to attack Tokyo that day after all, and went home to heal. Hardly anyone saw him except me and the people on the boat. And with everything going on, no one else knew until the people he saved contacted the Deep Kingdoms embassy, and they ended up with a ceremony, and gave him a medal, and if anyone ever finally resolves the Tokyo Compromise, and turns the attacks into, like, ceremonial visits or something, it'll probably be him." Flicker shook her head. "K'Krowl the Younger. That's a hero. Not me. I didn't get hurt, and mostly ran around a lot. Nothing bad happened to me. Not bad bad. Just memories." ***** Eventually, Flicker realized she'd been staring at the 'Low Situational Awareness' advisory on her visor for a long time, and came back to the present. There was a text from Stella: Let me know if and when you're ready to speak aloud. Flicker focused on the room again. Stella was frowning thoughtfully, tapping at her computer. "I'm ready," said Flicker. "Did you have questions?" Stella looked up. "I was a little curious where you got those death numbers. They don't match the Database, and that's very unusual for you. The death toll from the tsunami appears to be closer to 1,500, and you can only get close to 2,000 if you also include everyone in the area who was killed by the quake, went missing, or died for any other reason for the next week. Or use one early, inaccurate media estimate." She tapped her chin with a finger, still frowning. "And I don't see any clear evidence to indicate that you were responsible for any excess deaths while mitigating the tsunami. There were people you didn't save, but that's not remotely the same. The only way I can get to your estimate of 50 is to take everyone dead or missing who started on a boat in the tsunami region, and everyone missing in the region who started on shore, but who had a boat that also went missing, and assume they were all alive before your intervention, all dead afterwards, and all would have survived if you'd done nothing." She locked eyes with Flicker. "There was exactly one boat that definitely had live people on it, was in your path, and could have been destroyed by you while they still had a possibility of surviving. That was the boat K'Krowl picked up." "Does it really matter?" said Flicker. "Yes. You're guilt-maximizing, and you need to stop. It's not healthy. Don't want to be a hero for this? Fine. But you helped." Stella waved a hand. "I'm not a hero. I've done far worse things than you. But I still try to help. You really didn't want to talk about this and you want to stop, so we'll stop. Perhaps sometime we can come back and get you a little better perspective. But not now. You're in worse shape than I thought." "Well, I was technically dead for two days last week, so I suppose--" "Not short term. Long term. You're better at compartmentalization, coping, and masking than I expected. That means you've been better at hiding worse problems. But it just means more work, for a longer time. One thing I strongly recommend--no patrols for a while. No going 'on duty'. You can intervene in events classified by the Database as 'major disaster' or higher, or a serious threat to someone you know personally. Otherwise find something else to do. You need to recover, and not just from being dead." "But--" Softly: "No. Patrols." Stella sighed. "Are you familiar with boiling liquid expanding vapor explosions?" Flicker blinked at the change of subject, then got the analogy. "Yeah. Can't always stop them so sometimes I just rip the tank to control the direction and shape of the explosion. But I'm not close to blowing up. I know how to reduce the pressure." "I understand. But we need to do some work the slow way--reduce the temperature first. There are other things that might increase the pressure." "You want more of a safety margin?" "Yes. I am reasonably good at giving advice, but bad at providing comfort," said Stella dryly. "I'm not neurotypical either, and certain choices and events in my personal development shape my approach. I have no desire for it to increase your difficulties." "You seem pretty functional to me. And--" Stella shook her head. "If I weren't able to convincingly project normalcy, I'd already be dead. But I do have a talent for constructive distractions. So, why don't we leave off diagnostics and recommendations for a little while and have something to eat instead--I took the precaution of preordering takeout. Perhaps we can discuss a few things you might find interesting and less stressful." "I'm not..." Think, don't just react. "Okay, that does sound good." They ate, and talked, and it helped a little. It was a start.

Next: Part 12

#FallofDocFuture #FallMisc

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rsbry-beret · 4 years

Text

More Than Words

Insouciant

Tobin’s eyes hurt. He’d been staring at the code flying by on his screen for hours now, eyes flicking away to look at the clock every few minutes despite himself. He fiddled with the cuff of his jacket again, scratching at the hole hidden in the lining fabric, before reaching for his water bottle, bringing it to his mouth before remembering it had been empty for coming up two hours. He sighed, typed a line of code before deleting it again.

“Hey, man.” Leif leaned over Tobin’s shoulder, resting his elbows on his shoulders. “How you feeling?”

“Insouciant.” He glanced out at his coworkers, mostly busy with whatever they were working on, but Zoey glanced up at the sound. “I-N-S-O-U-C-I-A-N-T. That means indifferent, for all you boneheads.” He tilted his head back to grin at Leif, before realizing their faces were way too close together.

“Tobes, dude, have you eaten anything today?” Leifs eyebrows furrowed. Tobin was struck with the sudden desire to poke the lines that showed up in the corners of his eyes until he smiled again, which he promptly ignored. He was probably just dehydrated or something, which reminded him.

“I had breakfast. Passed on lunch though- had to catch this bug, you know. Then I guess I just forgot. It’s whatever.” He smiled, trying not to look as awkward as he suddenly felt. “Have to keep this hot bod looking tight anyway, am I right?”

Tobin kept frowning. “Dude, it’s 4:00. Have you at least had water?”

“I ran out.”

“Dude. Seriously, give me your water bottle, I’ll refill it.”

Tobin smiled at his monitor, happy knowing that Leif wouldn’t be able to see him do it. He grabbed his water bottle and passed it up, felt Leif pull away and ruffle Tobin’s hair as he went. “Thanks, bro,” he called out as he heard Leif’s footsteps walk away.

Soubrette

“Dude, it’s your birthday! We have to do something fun. Go to a strip club, meet some soubrettes, drink until we black out, whatever! We’re only young once, bro.”

Max glanced shrewdly at Tobin. “Okay, ignoring the fact that you just quoted Bunny Paul, what on earth is a soup bet?”

Tobin smirked. “A very flirtatious woman. But I guess you aren’t really familiar with that, are you, Max?”

Leif sighed once, then again, louder, as though he was worried he hadn’t gotten his point across. “A woman pretending to be flirtatious, actually. And we’re not going to a strip club for my birthday.”

“Dude. Literally why not?” Tobin stuck his bottom lip out, fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. Leif stared at his mouth for a long second before looking away suddenly.

“Because it’s my birthday, so I get to choose what we’re doing. And we’re having pizza at our place while we watch movies.”

Zoey laughed while Max glared at Leif. “By ‘movies’ you mean ‘pretentious French art house films that are in black and white even though they were filmed last year’, right?”

“Shut up, Max, Leif can do what he wants. It’s his birthday,” Tobin said.

Zoey squinted at him from across the room. “Okay, what?”

Syllepsis

“Man, my date last night was awesome.” Tobin grinned, smug and too big to fit on his face.

“Man, I didn't ask,” Max replies from his desk, not even bothering to look up. Max was a loser. Tobin ignored him.

“She blew my mind and then she blew something else, if you catch my drift.” He waggled his eyebrows, just in case he hadn’t.

Max pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds.

“Yeah?” Tobin kept grinning. “A little syllepsis there. That means a word that has two meanings in one sentence.” He sat heavily at his desk, booted up his computer. “Wow, it’s exhausting to have to dumb myself down for you guys.”

Max lay his head down on his desk.

“Not the only reason I’m exhausted, though.”

Tobin heard a tortured groan from

Max’s direction. He didn’t bother making the joke- might as well give the poor guy a break.

Man, he was such a good guy.

Deification

Tobin stirred his fruit loops around and around his bowl, watching the milk slowly turn blue-gray. He was hungry, and the cereal was definitly going to get soggy soon, but if he finished before Leif made his stupid avocado toast then he’d have no reason to eat breakfast with him.

“Okay, but real talk, Fusajiro Yamauchi is a God,” he finally said, breaking the peaceful silence.

Leif stared at Tobin for a few long seconds before nodding slowly. “You’re definitely not wrong, but why are we talking about this now?”

Tobin shrugged and tried not to stare at Leif’s shoulders. “I just thought it should be said. The man founded Nintendo. Everyone should be talking about him all the time.” God, Leif’s eyes were so blue. “And it’s not deification if the man is actually a God.”

“Deification,” Leif repeated, smiling in that half-smile sort of way he had.

“Treating someone like a God. You have really white teeth, bro.” Did he say that out loud? God, he said that out loud, didn’t he?

Leif quirked his head to the left, raising an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

Tobin quickly turned around before Leif could see his blush. “Yeah, bro. Man. Buddy.” Jesus Christ.

Pulchritudinous

It was raining on the way to work, and Tobin had never been happier about it. He always took the bus from his and Leif’s apartment, but Leif insisted on riding his bicycle, something about cardio-based workouts and don’t you want to have a long and healthy life, and honestly Tobin had stopped listening about six seconds in because the way Leif’s hair flopped over his eyes was unfairly distracting.

But it was raining this morning, and Leif had still rode his bike to work, so now he was soaking wet, standing at his desk in his probably ruined cardigan and looking for all the world like an angry chihuahua.

Tobin didn’t think he’d ever loved him more.

“Pulchritudinous,” he said, in what he thought was a whisper, but then Leif turned around, confused.

“Okay, man, you’ve got me stumped. What’s that one mean?”

Beautiful, Tobin thought, and then he panicked. “Messy.”

Leif looked at him for a moment longer, then smiled at him, awkward and sweet and just for Tobin, no one else. “Cool.”

Then he turned back to his desk, clacking away at his keyboard like he was trying to do something fast before he forgot, and Tobin turned back to his computer, trying to catch his breath.

(Eudaemonic)

It was after work, and the rain had just cleared up, leaving the sky full but bright and the wind sharp but refreshing after a long day of filtered air. Tobin took a deep breath in, and then another. He felt a hand fall on his shoulder and turned around.

“Hey,” Leif said, shuffling his feet a little, looking a little nervous. “Hey, can we talk before we head home?”

Tobin smiled and nodded, letting Leif guide him by his shoulder. Home. Before we go home. Suddenly Tobin felt very fragile, like if Leif clutched his hand a little tighter he might fall apart, starting at his shoulder and stretching all the way through to his heart, his wobbly knees, his toes. It wasn’t an awful feeling, actually.

“So…” Tobin finally started, after a long time of walking in silence, Leif’s hand still touching him, warm and present.

“So,” Leif started, then cleared his throat, stopping on the sidewalk in front of yet another random Starbucks. He pulled his hand away and Tobin wanted to grab it back immediately. He stuffed his fists in his jacket to stop himself.

“So,” Leif began again, turning to face Tobin, “I think you’re...eudaemonic.”

Tobin looked at Leif and Leif looked right back, like this was an important moment, like there was something invisible and heavy passing between them.

“I… don’t know what that means,” Tobin finally admitted, still not looking away. Honestly, he didn’t think he could if he wanted to. His eyes felt stuck. He didn’t want to anyway, though.

Leif didn’t blink, just lifted his hand back up again, slow and purposeful. He set it down on Tobin’s shoulder, then slid it back, touching his neck, then cupping his jaw. Tobin felt like he couldn’t breath. Tobin felt like he was breathing for the first time. Tobin didn’t know what he felt, just that it was good.

“It means that you make me happy,” Leif said carefully, quietly.

Tobin kissed him.

It was a very good kiss. So good that Tobin didn’t think he really wanted to do anything else, ever. Awkward in that way that all first kisses were, because first Leif was just touching him by his jaw, and Tobin’s hands were still in his pockets, but then something changed and they were clutching at each other. No, not clutching. They were holding each other.

Eventually Tobin pulled back for air.

“I googled your word,” Leif admitted immediately, before he could even say anything. Leif brushed Tobin’s hair from his eyes, and Tobin just laughed, quiet and happy.

“Then I guess you know I think you’re perfect?”

“I’m not,” Leif said, suddenly serious. He started to pull his hands back, and Tobin caught them, held them in his own. “I’m not perfect. I’m actually really messed up, man.”

Tobin just smiled, smiled. It felt like he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. “I love you.”

Leif froze. “Oh,” he breathed.

“Yeah.” Tobin kept smiling. “Oh.”

Leif smiled too, cartoonishly huge on his face, like he hadn’t ever smiled that big before and was still learning how. Then he let out a noise, almost like he was going to cry, and Tobin was scared for a second before he realized that Leif was giggling.

Tobin started giggling too. Sue him, it was infectious, and Leif was cute, and they had kissed, and he said he made him happy.

Leif rushed forward suddenly, yanking his hands from Tobin’s grip to wrap around his waist, pulling Tobin in for a hug.

And they stayed like that, intertwined on the sidewalk, giggling and smiling and happy, for a very long time.

And then they both went home.

Title is a song by The Extremes :) this is my first time writing for a fandom so go easy on me lol and thx to @opheli-bob ob for introducing me to ZEP

#zep #zoeys extraordinary playlist #coder boyfriends #tobin batra #leif donnelly #zep fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #zep fanfic #5+1 things #5+1 fic #5+1 #leif x tobin #my posts #my fanfic

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

Text

growing on me

From: @poindextears

To: @starryeyed-cat

Rating: T, for allusions to sex but nothing on-page

Hi lovely person! There's a part 2 to this fic, because apparently I'm out of control. When I see it go up on ao3 on the 14th, I will send you the link via tumblr. Until then, here's part 1! I hope you enjoy this fluff :)

May

The best thing about the new apartment is that there’s a garden behind the building.

It’s not the main reason Will chose to move here, exactly. But it did have some bearing on his decision. His old apartment was tiny, on the fourth floor of the complex, tucked into a dark corner with poor lighting and roaches and a leaky ceiling. He couldn’t so much as keep a houseplant alive in that place, much less any good spirits.

But for two years after college, it was all he could afford at his entry-level salary. His raise last fall put him in a better spot, and it led to this— renting out the bottom floor of a small house on the southwest side of Boston. The landlord says there’s another tenant moving in upstairs in about two weeks, but for now, Will enjoys the peace and quiet, the building all to himself. It has actual windows and floor space and sanitation that would pass inspection.

And… a garden out back.

It’s not the most lush thing in the world. If he could even call the area out back a backyard, it’s right in the center, amidst dingy grass full of brown patches that could use a proper irrigation system. The thing itself is a square patch of dirt, not the best soil but something he can definitely work with. It’s no more than ten feet across.

It’s not much. But if working in Boston means he can’t have the forest or the wide open sea or the yard his parents worked so hard to upkeep around the house he grew up in… then he can have a little garden.

So he resolves to bring the thing back to life.

It’ll be a vegetable garden, he decides, just like Ma always plants by the shed in the summer, because if there’s one thing that’s nice, it’s not having to buy your produce. He can envision it now— tomatoes on the left, cucumbers and summer squash under them, snap peas in the center, maybe autumn squash or pumpkins on the right side in a few weeks.

It’s the perfect summer project. When you spend all day working in front of a computer, a little dose of the outdoors in the afternoons is a nice balance.

He plants on a Saturday afternoon, donning his old work boots and a backwards snapback and stationing himself out back with Shep, who ambles around enjoying the mellow sun and napping on the patchy grass.

Shep is an Australian shepherd, or at least that’s what Will is pretty sure he is. Will adopted him by accident, after finding him on the street. His old apartment was no place for a dog, but he couldn’t stand to turn him into the shelter. It was another factor in his wanting to move out as soon as possible.

He’s shaking cucumber seeds into his dirt-stained hand when Shep lets out a little bark, not so much an alert noise but a happy one. Will grins as he hears him trot by, towards the house, and doesn’t look up from his seeds. “What’s up, Shep?”

But then, a voice. “‘Sup, doggy.”

Will whips his head over his shoulder, fearing for a moment that someone is trespassing on the property, but almost immediately he remembers the sounds of people going up and down the stairs this morning. The second tenant has moved in.

And here he is. After giving Shep a pat on the head, he makes his way across the yard and stops a few feet away.

“Oh, chill,” he says, laying eyes on Will for the first time. “Is this garden spoken for?”

Oh, no.

He’s beautiful.

He’s tall, probably about Will’s size, and looks his age, too. He has light-brown skin that makes his lavender t-shirt look bright, and he wears a floral snapback atop an undercut that ends in floppy, dark curls. He has a jawline that could cut glass, and both of his arms are covered in sleeves of tattoos, mostly of what look like flowers.

He’s… holy shit. Will is not mentally equipped to process this right now. He’s not sure he’s ever seen a prettier man in his life.

It only occurs to Will after what must be a slightly awkward few seconds that the guy has asked him a question, though. Is this garden spoken for? He tries to clear his throat, like he hasn’t just been staring blankly for the past several moments. “Some of it is.”

“Are you…” The guy pauses to scratch behind his neck, which is really not fucking fair, because it means he has to flex his tattooed arm. And he’s, um. He’s jacked. “... planning on using the some of it that isn’t?”

Will really hopes his face isn��t red. He weighs the implications of what the guy is asking, surveys the part of the garden he’s reserved for squash. If this guy wants to use the garden… so much for squash.

“I mean,” he says finally, “not if you want to use it.”

“Oh, chill,” says the guy, strolling the rest of the way up to him. He sweeps his eyes over Will’s patches of upturned soil and empty seed packets. “What are you planting?”

Will exhales. “Vegetables, mostly.”

The guy calculates for a second, then walks around the empty side of the plot. “Are you cool if I do flowers on the other side?” He spreads his hands out over the space like he can already imagine it. “Wildflowers, a trellis or two, maybe a rosebush.”

Truthfully, Will is not ‘cool’ with this. He doesn’t want to share the garden. He especially doesn’t want to share the garden with a beautiful hipster man who wears floral snapbacks and has sleeve tattoos. He wants to plant squash. He was not informed that his new neighbor was, apparently, also a gardening person, not to mention the most beautiful man in Boston.

As much as he wants to say no, he’s not cool with it, he also knows that there’s this thing called common human decency, and that they’re both tenants on the same house, and that, unfortunately, this garden technically belongs to both of them.

“That’s fine.”

The guy grins. His smile, infuriatingly, is just as gorgeous as the rest of him. His eyes are light— green or hazel, maybe. “Chill.”

Will is pretty sure he’s said chill three times in the past five minutes, which is way too many times.

The guy kneels at the edge of the dirt. Shep, meanwhile, lies down next to the spot he’s chosen, among Will’s empty seed packets. Will pauses for a second, and he wonders if the guy will leave without entertaining further conversation. When he’s still looking at the garden after a moment, Will’s curiosity (and gay frustration) gets the better of him. “Are you the other renter?”

“Oh— yeah, sorry; yeah, I am,” he says, then adds, “I’m Derek. I just got here this morning.”

“Yeah, I heard you moving your boxes,” Will replies. “I’m Will. I live downstairs.”

Derek reaches to pat Shep on the head. “Is this your dog?”

“Yeah, that’s Shep.” Will pauses. Shep closes his eyes as Derek scratches his ears, like it’s an incredibly zen experience. Will adds, as if it were not obvious, “He’s friendly.”

“Hey, Shep.” Derek smiles. He has nice hands. “You’re a fluffy guy.”

Quiet falls in the backyard for a moment. Will mourns the loss of his prospective future squash. Derek smiles vaguely at the stolen patch of dry dirt.

“Well,” he mumbles. “I should probably get unpacking, but hey, it was nice to meet you.” He stands up, and when he smiles at Will, Will feels his stomach do an entire acrobatic routine. Fuck, he’s beautiful. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, uh—” Will clears his throat again. He really really really hopes he’s not blushing. “You, too. Nice to meet you.”

Little does he know that this is only the start.

June

Derek plants in, like, four stages.

Will doesn’t understand his process, but he keeps seeing him outside, walking back and forth between the staircase that leads down from his apartment to the garden. He plants from seed, like Will does, except for this one time he carries a mini rosebush across the yard and puts it in the corner next to Will’s tomatoes. He puts a little wire trellis in the center, and his saplings start popping up about a week after Will’s do.

Will successfully avoids talking to him for a little while, aside from the occasional hello when leaving for work in the morning or when their watering times overlap. This is good, because avoiding talking to Derek means avoiding doing something stupid and embarrassing himself.

Then, one warm afternoon in early June, he lets Shep out and sees him go straight up to Derek, who’s watering his rosebush.

Will sighs from his open window. He could use to water anyways.

“Hey, Will.” Derek waves when he approaches, and Shep, thankfully, turns back from the enemy’s side to bound up to Will. “‘Sup?”

“Not much.” Derek is wearing a sun hat and Birkenstocks, and his curls blow in the gentle breeze. He’s ethereal, like a male Persephone. “Just came down to water.”

Will cringes at himself. Of course he’s here to water. He’s holding a watering can.

“Same.” Derek grins, ignoring Will’s stupidity. Will kind of wants to die, but he starts on his cucumber and tomato mounds anyway.

Just be calm. Be cool. He’s just a hot neighbor.

“So, new neighbor,” Derek says, all bravado. “I feel incomplete. I’ve shared a garden with you for two weeks and I don’t know anything about you.”

Will shrugs. “You know my name.”

Derek snorts. “Okay, Mr. Technical. Where are you from?”

“Maine.”

“Like, beach Maine or middle of nowhere Maine?”

“Northern coast Maine.” Will pauses, and almost feels a pang. He hasn’t been home since Christmas, and he misses it. “Near Bar Harbor.”

“Oh.” Derek pauses, then kind of snorts again. “It’s bold of you to assume I know where that is.”

“Well, where are you from?”

“New York,” Derek says, which, really, Will should have been able to guess. “City, not state. I just moved up here.”

“Why did you move to Boston?”

“Work.” Derek pauses, then smiles at his rosebush. “I’m a magazine editor, but I just got promoted, so I relocated to the main office up here.”

“What kind of magazine?” Will asks, for no other reason but curiosity.

“Northeast Lawn and Garden.”

Oh my God. Will might be actually blushing now. “Wait, seriously?”

Derek grins. The brim of his hat casts a shadow over his face. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it,” he replies. “My ma has been subscribed to that magazine since, like, 1995.” And so have I, since I moved out, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

Derek laughs into the blue sky, and it’s a sweet sound. “Hey, that’s chill. I’m glad she enjoys it.”

There’s a brief quiet between them, and Will could choose this moment to leave. His watering is technically done— the garden is so small that it’s low-maintenance— but there’s something about Derek that keeps him, something enticing that wills him not to go just yet.

Besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

So when Derek asks, “So what do you do?”, he keeps the conversation going.

July

The drive from home in Maine to Boston is long.

Four and a half hours, actually, and although he gets up bright and early at his parents’ house to come home this morning, it doesn’t go by any more quickly than it has in the past. He’s been visiting for the Fourth of July, and even though his brother and a few of his cousins can be prejudiced assholes, he loves his parents, and it feels nice to be home, to be someplace not quite so lonely.

When he and Shep get back to the apartment, it’s high noon, and Derek is outside in the garden.

Will discovers this because he goes to water his plants. They’re getting bigger every day, flourishing in the summer heat, but they’re also super thirsty all the time. Derek is in the same boat— he’s put in wildflowers and a hydrangea and his rosebush and his climbing things. The garden is a tangled mess, and it’s full of weeds.

Except the thing is… Derek is outside today, and… he has no business looking as good as he does.

His shirt, for starters, is a tank top, which leaves little to the imagination when it comes to his arms with all their muscle and ink. He’s also in running shorts, and his weird sun hat, and his skin shines in the sun, and he’s… he’s a lot.

Will has talked to his neighbor, has gotten to know him a little when they’re both out here gardening at the same time. He has managed not to let his annoyance about sharing the garden be his guiding principle with regard to their interpersonal relationship. But still… Jesus fucking Christ. Derek is too much for him to handle.

He pulls his window open, and Derek seems to hear the sound, because he looks up from his flowers and waves.

“Will!” He smiles. “Hey, welcome home, dude! How was Maine?”

“It was fine.” Will pauses, tries to steady himself and maybe not just gape at the fact that he looks so fucking hot oh my God stop being such a gay disaster please focus. “How was your week?”

“Super chill.” Derek stands and steps back from the garden. “Hey, you should come down here. You have a ton of flowers on your tomato plant.”

Shep paws at the door that leads to the backyard, as if to accentuate Derek’s invitation.

You know what? Fine. He needs to water anyway.

That’s it. Will is going to kill his neighbor.

Derek may be beautiful, but sharing this garden is not working out. Will’s beloved snap pea plants, having climbed the trellis, are starting to choke out before they bear actual snap peas. And the reason is that Derek’s sweet pea flowers are wrapping around them, turning them brown, tearing the life out of them.

“Derek!”

Derek pokes his curly head out the window of his apartment. “Are you seriously yelling at me from the backyard?”

Will whirls around on his heel. “Your sweet peas are choking out my snap peas!”

Derek snorts. “You’re the one whose plants hijacked my trellis, bro.”

“But they’re—” Will sifts through the plants gingerly, tries to distinguish between the flowered plant and the vegetable one. “They’re dying!”

“Uh, ch’yeah, because you’re encroaching on their territory.”

“The snap peas are dying, not the sweet peas.” Will lets out an anguished sigh. “And the plants were so big—”

Derek, in his window, leans his cheek into his hand. He looks like a noblewoman in a play, in her castle while her suitor confesses his love from the streets below. “Looks like this garden just ain’t big enough for the two of us, Poindexter.”

Will groans again. “You’re an asshole,” he says. While Derek laughs at him from above, he points at him menacingly. “And if my peas die, I’m blaming you for it.”

“I’ll happily take the blame,” Derek replies. “But they’re not gonna die.”

“Yeah.” Will bristles. “We’ll see.”

August

The peas don’t die.

Nothing does, actually. The flowers and the vegetables grow into each other, sure, but it’s more like reluctant cohabitation than beautiful cooperation. He and Derek work around each other well into the produce season, and Will vows never to agree to share the garden again. It’s a terrible idea. Derek’s flowers are everywhere, and there could’ve been so much more room for vegetables had he claimed the whole thing before he showed up.

The upside is getting to talk to him. He guesses.

Sunset is getting earlier, but tonight, Will heads out to gather tomatoes at golden hour. Derek is sitting in the grass next to his flowers, in his floral snapback, not really working in the garden but not leaving either. If anything, he’s soaking up the sun.

“Your tomatoes are huge,” Derek says, in lieu of a greeting. “They’re shading my rose.”

Will rolls his eyes and pulls a huge beefsteak off the vine. “The sun is on that side of the yard for half the day.”

“Oh, I’m impressed, not annoyed,” he replies. He looks down at something in his hands— he’s weaving a chain of his wildflowers together, by the stems.

He seems to notice Will studying what he’s doing, so he adds, “I’m making a flower crown.”

Will almost rolls his eyes again, but restrains himself. It’s exactly the kind of hippie shit he’d expect from Derek.

“Do you want one?” Derek continues. “You’d look cute.”

Will fully blushes. He yanks a tomato, hard, and nearly knocks over his entire plant and stake in the process. “No.”

“Okay.” Derek smiles, without a care in the world, and pulls his hat off to put the flower chain on his head. It looks, of course, perfect on him. “Then you can wear my hat.”

Will pauses with his hand in his cherry tomato stalk. “Beg your pardon?”

“Here.” Derek tosses him his snapback, and it lands in the grass by his feet. Then he adds, like it means nothing, “Bet it’d look good on you.”

Will has ascertained that Derek is bi— half because he has a shirt he said he got at NYC Pride that says pretty fly for a bi guy in purple, blue, and pink, and half because he flirts with Will and then pretends like he’s not flirting. Will hasn’t disclosed his sexuality yet, for this reason. For all he knows, Derek could be like this with everyone else in his life.

He’s not in the business of getting hurt by pretty boys, especially not when they share a garden and a building with him.

“C’mon,” Derek urges, still smiling. “Just try it.”

Will bends over and picks up the hat. It’s white, with florals in pink and yellow and green. When he puts it on backwards, Derek falls into the grass and whistles.

“Wow,” he sighs at the afternoon sky. “I was right.”

“I’m keeping this,” Will says, matter-of-factly.

Derek beams. His flower crown falls crooked, daisies and cosmos and nasturtium among his curls. Will wants to kiss him, but can’t and doesn’t. “Be my guest.”

September

It’s September, and the grass is green.

Will is picking the very last of the tomatoes off his vines. Some of them aren’t quite ripe yet, but rumor has it the season’s first frost could come tonight, and he doesn’t want to take any chances. While he’s piling them into a basket, he hears movement behind him, and he doesn’t even have to turn to know Derek is there.

“Hey, Will.”

“Hi.” Will pauses. The tomato he pulls next is completely green. “How’s it going?”

“It’s chill.” Derek sidles up next to him and investigates the tomatoes. Today, he’s in a cardigan, like he’s anticipating the cold. “Taking the last of the goods?”

“Yeah, I have to,” Will replies. “Or else the frost’ll get ‘em.”

“I know what you mean.” Derek gazes at his end of the plot. “I cut my last few bouquets earlier.”

Will glances at him sideways. “Do you, like, give them to people?”

He shakes his head. “No one to give ‘em to.” He pauses. “There’s one on my desk at work, then two in my apartment.” He folds his arms and looks at Will’s basket of green tomatoes, then meets his eyes and adds, “You could have one, though. If you wanted.”

Will chuckles. “I’m okay.”

“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

Derek stands with him while he finishes gathering the tomatoes. He picks them slowly, like dragging out this small task will maximize on the time Derek chooses to spend with him before they both retreat into their apartments again.

Like always.

“So your last harvest,” Derek says. “Are you sad?”

Will shrugs. “No. Seasons change every year.”

“Yeah, I like the fall,” he replies, then nudges his arm a little as they walk back toward the building. “But hey, this might mean we won’t see as much of each other.”

“We live a floor away from each other,” Will mumbles, which. Are they friends? He’s pretty sure they are. They’ve spent an entire summer bickering and chatting and bonding over this garden. Derek even flirts with him. But he’s pretty sure friends-slash-neighbors is all they’ll ever be.

“I guess.” Derek pauses. Will hoists his tomatoes under his arm, and they meet eyes, and for a moment, Derek is looking back at him and Will’s stomach is butterflies.

He opens his mouth to say goodnight. And at the same time, Derek says, “Do you… wanna come upstairs for dinner or something?”

Dear giftee, there is a part 2 to this! Stay tuned and I’ll make sure you get it.

#dexnursey #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

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