#And you might be better off just continuing to do things manually

[applejarjar]

AC repair man: I've replaced your thermostat and now you can program it to do whatever you want!

Me: Cool! That's awesome!

Me (mentally): *I'm never going to do that*

[laugtherhyena]

Playing Bomb rush cyberfunk has been a crazy experience so far because i feel like I've been enjoying the game just as much as I'm not doing so

[spectres-n-soap]

You keep The Rain at Bay - Soap x reader x Ghost

Content Warnings - Angst, pregnancy, afab body, MW3 is canon, emotional breakdowns

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It was late at night. The blistering hot day of Al Mazrah had turned into a freezing cold night. The stars burned bright in the clear night sky. You sat on the tin roof of a flimsy "safe house" on the first watch. Your rifle sat next to you as the minutes rolled into hours. It was nice out here at night. No bullets firing, no commands or yelling. No blood, just sore legs from the long walk.

You turned your head to the left and watched in silence as Soap climbed onto the roof with you. Soap sat down next to you. For a moment the two of you sat in silence, the natural sounds of Al Mazrah being the only thing filling your ears until you finally spoke.

"Aren't you meant to be getting some rest?" You asked and leaned back on your hands to look at him better.

"Couldn't." He simply replied.

You snorted, "Don't go all Ghost on me." You teased, wagging your finger at him before gently nudging him. Soap rolled his eyes but didn't stop the small smile that grew on his face.

"Alright. Ye got me. Thought ye'd like some company." Soap admitted and raised his palms before he moved just a bit closer to you.

"How considerate of you to think about me Soap." You said, a smile on your face. It was hard not to smile when he did. It was hard not to laugh when he did too.

"Ye nervous lass?" Soap asked, his blue eyes on the stars above. Did he know the constellations?

You shrugged before you thought about it a bit longer, "I guess." You admitted. Soap said nothing so you continued, "I don't know why. Maybe it's because Ghost is here."

"He scare ye?"

"No. I'm scared I'll fuck up and make myself look a fool." You said and pushed a few loose strands of hair from your face. "Is that stupid?" Soap looked at you as if you had just committed a cardinal sin.

"No." He said firmly, "Not at all. I was nervous when I first met him too." Soap inched his hand closer to yours, "He might be rough 'round the edges but he has a heart of gold somewhere in that chest of his."

"Sounds like you speak from experience."

"Aye. I suppose I do." Friendship was not in the field manual. Neither was checking up on a fellow task force member in the freezing Al Mazrah night. You look at him and take a moment to really take him in.

Soap had a scar on his chin subtly hidden behind stubble that certainly wasn't within regulation. Honestly, nothing about Soap was within regulation, perhaps that is why you placed your hand atop of his. You didn't join the military and clawed your way into the SAS for safety or security. Thats why you were sat on a roof in the middle east, holding hands with Soap MacTavish in silence.

Ghost did not like that look your eyes. That glazed, far off look. It was two in the morning, after he had received your call he had broken nearly every traffic law that came to mind to rush to your place. It wasn't your words that made him rush, it was your voice. Normally it was strong and confident, not a waiver in sight. But when you had spoken in that call, you sounded as if you could barely speak. Ghost kept glancing at you as he made tea for the both of you. He set the mug in front of you before sliding into the chair closest to you.

Your eyes are red, tear stains on your cheeks and look tired. Exhausted.  Ghost whispers your name and you pull yourself from whatever trance you are in. "What happened?" He asks.

"I'm sorry." You mutter. "I just- I mean. God." You lean your head back as tears build up on your waterline.

Ghost hesitates, thinks about his next action and slowly, as if petting a spooked animal, places his hand atop of yours. You startle and pull your hand away, "I dreamt of that day." You whisper, head down like you were in a confessional. You clasp your hands together.

"The day he died?" Ghost asks softly: quietly.

You shake your head, "The day I met his family." Ghost stiffens, his breathing stops for just a second before he recovers.

"Ghost, there are no words to describe the look on his mum's face. We both just looked at the bag of his ashes and I don't know. His absence really sunk in." You ramble, placing your head in your hands as you began to cry. "They don't know." You admit at last. "Its eat me alive that they don't know but I feel like I'll fall apart if I try to even enter Scotland."

What was he meant to say? What was he meant to do? You recoil at every touch of his, you only open up when you breakdown and you're ten weeks away from your due date. "Do you want them to know?" Ghost asks.

"Yes. No. Maybe?" A bitter laugh comes from your throat, although it mixes with a sob. "I don't even know why I called you. What can you do?"

"I'd come with you." Ghost says. "To see him family." Silence. "If you'd have me."

You look up at him and wipe away any tears, something lurches in his heart at the sight. "I'm sorry for being awful earlier." You say, "For being awful in general. He- Johnny- I think he loved you too. He never said it out loud but you knew him. Always wore his heart on his sleeve."

"Did you hate me for it?"

"No."

He- Simon you suppose, stays that night on your couch. For a while you can't seem to sleep, having another person in your flat, stranger or not, felt like letting a fox into a chicken coop. Your phone let you see the slow passage of time as your body forces itself into a protective mode.

3 am, 3:30 am, 3:45 am. You think you fell asleep at five. The few hours of sleep did nothing to help your mood as you painted the nursery yellow. You left a wall white simply to keep the room looking nice, certainly not because you ran out of paint.

You stare at the text message that had just dinged from your phone. Simon leans over your shoulder to see it as well. "You have an appointment?" He asks, upset clear in his voice, "In an hour?"

You shrug, trying to seem unaffected despite the churning of your stomach. "Its just the last ultrasound. One last check up before the due date."

Simon shakes his head. He grabs his keys and motions to the door. For once, you listen.

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

I really appreciate your continued emphasis on people being free to enjoy canon and fanon as they want while providing accurate canon information! All the asks and PSAs you've shared on that recently reminded me of a fic where sj actually WAS innocent, even wrt abuse. They had to make an a/n how it was their spin deviant from canon so it'd be great if they could stop getting nasty messages pls. I just think we should all foster a nicer fandom environment, so I love what you're doing~!

Yeah, I personally might be a book-canon purist, but I can certainly recognize that not everyone feels the same way-- and at the end of the day, it is fiction, what people want to do with canon and fanon is up to them and really has little to do with them as a person. I hold authorial intent in really high regard, but no need to bully those who don't, and who want to rearrange things.

Of course, for something like you mention, I would advise using some kind of tag to indicate that it's off-script. Especially since SJ's abuse of LBH is an integral part of the story the novel is telling, changing things like that changes the entire tone of things.

If a fic where the characters are intentionally OOC gets popular, then people will inevitably start going to that fic's portrayal and mixing that up with canon details (this is, probably, why there is so much apologism and denial of SJ's canonical abuse of LBH in this fandom, though it certainly wouldn't be the specific fic you're referencing alone and is probably a combination of many different factors). I personally don't like portrayals like this, but if a writer is changing it for their story, then who am I to judge or harrass them over it? The only issue comes when it spills over into the wider fandom perception, and you have people swearing left and right that SJ had nothing to do with the fake manual (he did) or didn't actually mean to abuse LBH or want him dead (he also did, and this can't just be contriubted to unreliable narrator since it comes from his own perspective in the extras). So I think an a/n at the beginning is a good idea in situations like these. If writers don't want to spoil things, just simply tag that the character is OOC compared to canon-- no need to go into specifics, and readers will know going in that the portrayal isn't meant to be a take on canon or aligning with it.

No one knows how popular their fic will become, after all, and if it gets into the wider fandom space without proper context, things like "Shen Jiu was just treating LBH normally for the time period, he wasn't abusive, LBH was just a self-obsessed person trying to demonize him" become mainstream, widely held beliefs.

Of course, this is what my blog is for, hopefully rerouting some of those ideas, pointing back to the sources where the divergence happened, so that people can see that while they may enjoy this canon-divergent depiction, that they shouldn't bring it into canon-based analysis. I think sourcing fanon is very important for this reason-- better than just saying "you're wrong" is being able to say "this is where the idea came from."

At the end of the day, a deliberately off-script, ooc portrayal should be tagged as such and AO3 provides those tags for a reason. There's nothing inherently wrong with writing characters OOC to change a story. People can write what they want! It's the writer's job to make relevant information known, and the reader's job to filter it out and just not read things they don't like. I'm so particular that I put down probably 80 percent of fics I read before I even get through the first few chapters. That's just me though! I'm a canon snob! Other people have no issues and that's fine.

As long as things aren't skewing into abuse apologism in regards to the canon-universe, there's literally no reason I can't just ignore things I don't like, and there's no reason other people can't do the same with things they don't like.

Anyway, don't harrass artists and writers in the fandom. If you feel it absolutely necessary to leave a comment in regards to an OOC character portrayal, don't be mean about it, just say something like "<Character Name> seems to be a bit OOC here, is this intentional?" but even then, it's really not necessary to come into someone else's space like that. Make your own posts, write your own fics.

There is no reason to assume malice when there are other explanations. This is hard with topics like abuse apologism, but people also need to remember that this is fiction. SJ was abusive in canon, but he's still not a real person, and if someone wants to write a version of him where he's not abusive, then that portrayal can easily be treated as a version from an alternate universe where things were different. This is not the same as saying a person in real life isn't abusive, because in this case, it's not apologism-- it's literally a different universe where the rules of the original canon don't apply. In fictional and fandom spaces, it's a lot easier and better off to just give people the benefit of the doubt.

As long as you're not claiming that his canon behavior wasn't abusive (since that's about behaviors now, and not just a fictional story), it literally doesn't matter what people write in fanfic.

Authors, tag your fics with everything you'd like your readers to be aware of, because when a reader opens up a fic they're probably expecting the characters to follow canon unless stated otherwise.

Readers, read the portrayals and stories you like. Don't read the ones you don't. If something isn't tagged correctly, and you find out you don't like it after reading, just close the fic and stop reading.

No one should ever be harassing anyone else over fandom for any reason.

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Part 9-extended: The Antique's Store 1/4, 2/4 (reblogged), 3/4 (reblogged)

This is a continuation of Atticus' Birthday story found here: https://www.tumblr.com/writingforfishes/756206256931405824/otto-and-atticus-part-9-atticus-birthday?source=share

The story above is much more sexual in nature.

These next stories follow Atticus and Otto through the Antique's Store where Otto is taking his spouse for their birthday and back home. They will, as far as I have planned, be much tamer and won't require a filter.

CW

Mentions of alcoholism and sobriety.

Fast but short-lived hiccups.

Generational gaps in understanding gender nonconformity.

Accidental misgendering of off-stage minor character.

Hiccups triggered by food.

Mentions of arousal/teasing.

Mentions of anxiety arising from being taken to a new place.

Mentions of anxiety/over-stimulation in being in a new place that is quite large and populated.

Mentions of soft bellies and body shapes.

Manual driving? I dunno, maybe someone out there has a trauma response to manual driving?

I use ellipses here to denote trailing off or uncertainty in dialogue. They do not mean anything nefarious. Just in case. I dunno. I'm 41. Please don't hate me.

Mild discomfort while hiccuping.

Disparaging Korean made clock movements.

Minors, do not interact.

Part 1: Soup

They had been driving away from town for a while now. Atticus looked out the window as they watched exit sign after exit sign pass. The writer was excited, but antsy. Classical music was playing from one of Otto’s playlists. It was helping to quell the anxiety somewhat, but their mind still swam as miles of road kept going by.

“You’re gonna love this place,” Otto said, noticing the nervous thrum of his partner’s fingers on their knees.

“Yeah?” Atticus asked, using Otto’s voice to ground them.

“Yeah. It’s in this big warehouse. There’s a food market there, too. We’ll get some lunch while we’re there,” he said. He took a moment to sip some water from the tumbler he’d brought.

Atticus sipped some from theirs as well, using his action as a cue. The water felt good and soothed more of their anxiety.

“Lots of clocks?” Atticus asked with a smile.

“So many,” Otto confirmed with a smirk in return. “And a whole slew of other things. It’s got old books, hats, belt buckles. Lots of old art, too. And there’s a lot of space, y’know? The aisles are wide. Super accessible. A couple started it back a few years ago. They had their own antique’s store, but when they started inviting other vendors to open booths in the first storefront it got so big they went in with the people that ran a small food market in the same strip mall and got this place. It’s a bit out of the way, but worth it for the quality of things you can find there.”

Otto drummed his fingers on the steering wheel a little and shifted as the speed of traffic changed. One day Atticus thought they might try to learn how to drive manual. Otto liked it because it kept his hands busy. He was naturally a high energy person and having something to do with his hands for long stretches of time was a plus. He also liked manual because he understood how it worked better than something like a CVT transmission. He had more faith that he could fix, if need be, his transmission than a newer car that depended more on electricity to accelerate and change gears.

“They sell tools too!” he continued. And Atticus smiled, enjoying the excitement in Otto’s voice. “I mean, they have the vintage tools like manual screwdrivers, but they have specialty tools they order new. They started ordering bulk from Timesavers sometime last year because so many of their vendors have clocks in their booths and some of them have missing parts and keys. So they sell a lot of clock and watch tools and parts. Really convenient. That’s how I first heard of it. One of my customers who’s a hobbyist told me about them. And the people who rent out their booths that I’ve talked to are just—they have some phenomenal stuff, man. Super nice people, too. The ones that I’ve met. Most actually know what they have and what it’s worth. They don’t up-charge from Google searches. They actually research it. Very few resellers, too. You know, people that order lots of cheap things from other countries and sell it for profit?

“Helped a few of them service a couple of clocks to sell or help them decide whether it would be worth the repair or not. Korean movements? Not really worth it, you know? Really cool atmosphere, though. It’s kinda like family even though it’s in this great big place. Everyone takes care of each other and has each other’s backs. They even buy stuff from each other’s booths!” Otto said and took another sip of water.

He downshifted as they finally turned on an exit Atticus wasn’t familiar with.

“Kind of like an...antique commune?” they asked.

“Yeah, kinda!” he agreed.

Atticus stretched with a yawn suddenly rubbing their belly, still accessibly soft with the heavy breakfast this morning.

“Think you’ll-um-get them again?” they asked shyly rubbing at the stubble on their face and neck. For all of the anxiety of being somewhere they’d never been, Otto’s hiccups were definitely causing some of the energy their body was interpreting into anxiety. They were full of anticipatory excitement at the possibility.

“I will definitely get them again,” Otto said with an amused sigh. “I can sort of feel it? In my chest and throat? It’s weird. On hiccupy days like this it’s like they’re just lying in wait. I do want to eat something before we start looking around, though.”

“Ooh, yeah. I could go for something to eat,” Atticus agreed.

From the outside the antique’s mall/food market didn’t look terribly impressive. But Atticus noticed how full the parking lot was as they stepped out of the passenger seat.

No sooner had Otto stood from the car than a man in a polo shirt exiting the front door called to him.

“Otto, man! You gonna buy some more clocks today?” he asked coming over to them. He seemed older, perhaps in his late 50’s early 60’s. He had a stout body-type, stomach hanging a little over his belted khaki pants. His beard was nearly all white. He seemed to have a lot of energy but his mannerisms implied an ability to be patient as well when he stopped and acknowledged first Otto with a pat to his shoulder and nodded to Atticus, clasping his hands in front of his belly while in conversation.

Atticus took a moment to consider why Otto was buying clocks. They hadn’t noticed any new clocks in the house. They tried to catch his eye but Otto flitted his gaze away as soon as they had locked eyes questioningly.

“Hey Gar! Yeah, man, we’ll see if we find anything. This is my partner, Atticus. It’s their birthday today,” Otto said with emphasis causing the other man to pull a quick face of recognition and then nodded, making a motion of closing his lips. “Atticus, this is Gary. He’s one of the owners of the antique’s gallery along with his wife Rose.”

“Hey, Atticus, Otto’s told me a lot about you! It’s really nice to meet you,” Gary said, holding out a hand.

“Uh, good to meet you, too,” Atty said. They subconsciously shifted their voice down. Talking to cis men gave them a desire to puff out their chest and make their mannerisms more guy-coded. They added a quick nod as they shook the man’s hand. “Hopefully he hasn’t told you too much!”

“Nah, only the good stuff! That you’re a writer and that you’ve been there for him through a lot. I’ve not known this guy for long, but glad he has someone like you on his side. Him and me, think we’ve been through some of the same struggles. We’ve talked a little about that. Anyway. I’ve also got a daught—sorry. Shit, I always flub that up. I’ve got a kid. They came out to me earlier this year that...uh...they’re non-binary,” Gary said.

“Yeah, it’s one of the first conversations we had, I think,” Otto interjected, having leaned a hip against the car in realization that this was going to take a second. He was used to Gary’s tendency to babble. Another quality, the clock maker mused, both of them shared.

“I think it was! But yeah, Otto told me about you and, I dunno, it made me a little less nervous for he-them,” Gary sputtered. “Sorry, I still mess it up a lot. I’m working on it.”

“It’s okay to mess up,” Atticus said. They’d made their way to stand beside Otto and their husband laid a soft hand around their shoulders. “As long as you correct yourself. It shows you’re trying. That means a lot.”

“I definitely am. Anyway, knowing there’s, you know, an adult out there that’s-uh-that’s non-binary and stuff. I was scared for them, y’know? How were they going to grow up? I mean, it’s not like there’s a path or...I dunno...I don’t know what to tell them or how to...help? But Otto told me about you and that you’re a writer and that you’ve sold your books and it’s just,” he sighed, seeming frustrated in his inability to articulate what he meant. “It gives me hope that they’re gonna be okay. If that makes sense.”

Gary laughed nervously.

“It does,” Atticus said with an encouraging smile. “They’ve got a dad that loves them so...I feel like they’re off to a pretty good start.”

“Yeah...yeah, damn. I’m sorry for talking your ears off! You know how I am, Otto. I gotta get going. The Mrs sent me on an errand and she is going to bite my head off if I get distracted! Anyway, good to see you again, Otto!” Gary reached in and Otto accepted a little hug from him. “Really nice to meet you, Atticus. I hope you have a good birthday. Cause this guy got you...well…”

Gary waggled his finger teasingly at Otto and the clock maker’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he batted the hand away.

“Dude!” he warned at Gary’s hint of what Otto’s plans were.

“I have had a pretty good birthday so far,” Atticus said, looking between the two suspiciously. “I feel like it might be a theme…”

“Get out of here, Gary! Stop talking!” Otto exclaimed, thwapping the older man on the back good naturedly as he finally started to leave.

“Report back!” Gary yelled.

“Shh!” Otto spat out as Gary went out of sight. “Jeez...can we just ignore that bit? Also, I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. He really is a good guy…”

“No, I can tell,” Atticus reassured him. “Really bad at keeping a secret, though.”

“The absolute worst. I dunno how his wife deals with him…”

“Well, you deal with me, so…” Atty said.

“Hm, true,” Otto responded smartly as he led his partner into the front door. He felt a pinch on his side and jerked. “Ow!”

“Oops,” Atticus responded curtly.

The inside of the warehouse was completely different from the out. There was a huge open space in the lobby with a secondary set of double doors leading to the antique mall portion but down a hall were various food market vendors and following that hall was the other half of the warehouse, more food vendors, and a large sitting area along with a secondary access to the antique’s mall space.

While the venue was bustling with business the open space made it seem much less crowded.

Decision paralysis and overwhelm kicked in as soon as Otto asked them what they were in the mood to eat and Atticus let Otto pick where to go as they followed taking in all of the visuals, smells, and sounds around them as they tried to adapt to the environment and space.

Otto ended up ordering a tomato basil bisque with a grilled cheese and Atticus waffled a little until they decided on a salad with grilled chicken, something to balance out the heaviness of the breakfast they’d eaten that morning.

Atty didn’t even really know what food vendor they’d ordered from or what had been available alternatively as they were so overwhelmed by exploring the atmosphere and people who walked by.

“I thought you said it was a small food market that partnered with...um...Gary and Rose?” Atticus asked as they took their food to the table Otto was walking toward. Otto being so tall offered a great guide to Atty as they often got lost in places like this.

“Yeah. Oh yeah, initially it was just that. Then they put the word out about the space and food vendors started opening shop. Lots of start-ups took advantage that wouldn’t have had the money to buy a store front otherwise. Rose comes from a lot of old money, apparently. Though you didn’t hear that from me. She put a lot into making sure everyone got an opportunity to take advantage of this spot since she knew the mall wouldn’t take up half the space of it,” Otto explained.

“Gary really does have no concept of secrecy, does he?” Atty noted.

“Not really, no. I think he spent a lot of his life trying to run away from connecting to people. Best way to do that is through alcohol, honestly. Even while you’re partying with hundreds of people you’re not really ‘there’, y’know? But yeah. He’s got some stories. Things that sort of shocked me. When he learned I was sober, I think he knew he could trust me and that I’d get it. I think he’s trying to make up for that lost time, now. He loves his wife and kid more than anyone I know. Guy’s got a damn big heart. And a really fucked up liver,” Otto added mirthfully.

Atticus snorted and then caught themselves, “Shit, should I laugh at that?”

“Yeah,” Otto said with a smirk. “He would.”

They finally sad down and Otto unpacked the soup. The smell was comforting and he found himself quite hungry despite still being a little bloated from last night’s antics and this morning’s food fare. Perhaps he was just as excited as Atticus seemed and that translated to wanting to eat? And he was excited. He really couldn’t wait to see his partner’s face at the surprise they had planned.

Otto swallowed the first spoonful of soup. It was very warm, slightly spiced, and he could feel the warmth go down his throat and immediately his diaphragm reacted to the change in temperature. He felt his body convulse involuntarily causing him to jump a little. Amazingly, Atticus was busy on their salad and hadn’t noticed.

He waited a second for any other hiccups, but none followed. Cautiously he took another spoonful, let it savor in his mouth and swallowed. The warm liquid triggered another spasm. He grunted softly. That hiccupy feeling in his throat intensified and he knew he was only a few more spoonfuls away from a full attack. That second spasm was more forceful, too. He wondered if he cold hold it off until he at least finished the meal. He paused, considering.

Atty caught him, body still and waiting, with same hand holding the spoon pressed against his mouth in a loose fist, spoon dangling from the tips of his fingers as he focused on something inwardly, eyebrows pinched a little.

“You okay?” they asked. The writer had been enjoying their salad more than they thought they would. They’d also been watching people pass by and taking in the social scenery. Otto being motionless caught their attention more than anything.

“Yeah,” Otto said tentatively, eyebrows pulling together all the more. “Every time I take a sip of soup I hiccup. They’re right here.” Otto tapped the base of his neck above his collar bone.

Atticus stopped chewing their salad to hone their eyes in on that place.

“Oh,” they said. “Um...you don’t feel sick, do you?”

“No-no,” Otto said, reassuring them quickly. “Just wondering if this is gonna turn into a full case...guess we’ll find out, hm?” There was a glint in his eyes. Of course there was always going to be a possibility of this becoming a day of hiccups, but part of him was delighted that it was actually happening. There would, of course, be consequences to his purposeful induction, but it was worth the adorable flush that came across his partner’s neck and wideness of their eyes.

Atticus swallowed their salad a little too eagerly and took a drink of water. They were extremely disappointed they’d missed the previous hiccups but, eyes trained on him now, they were determined not to miss anymore.

“Excited?” he teased, smiling knowingly.

“A little,” they admitted. “Not to an...actionable level.” They kept the statement diplomatic. Atticus really had no need to take care of their arousal again. But their body was going to react and they were going to be interested no matter what.

Otto chuckled at the terminology and jumped a little with another spasm.

“Hm,” Atticus said, feigning casualness.

Otto grinned a little and rolled his eyes in mild exasperation. Even though he’d only had the hiccups one time that day it was a strong and fast enough case that he knew any additional cases would be a little more exhausting than normal. But that excitement at seeing Atticus’ excitement was enough to be ready for the possible onslaught.

His hiccups persisted as he continued to eat his soup. His diaphragm reacted with each gulp and sometimes without the trigger of swallowing. They weren’t very strong, but he did still have to time his eating around them when they started to go off script of being triggered.

They got a bit more forceful when he started on the grilled cheese. Bread was the ‘enemy’ on his hiccup-sensitive days. He should’ve known that. Perhaps part of him had known that and wanted to give Atticus another show. Or perhaps it was just his absent mindedness forgetting what his triggers were on days like this. Regardless, the bready sandwich certainly encouraged the hiccup fit to strengthen. They became more audible, though still easily muffled.

Atticus continued to eat their salad, but they hardly tasted it as they watched Otto’s suppressed hiccups as he continued to eat despite them. His head and chest would jerk up and he’d have to pause for that half-second before taking another mouthful. As he began to muffle the sounds they started to make the writer pulled their legs together subconsciously. They were also getting faster and the adorableness of Otto trying to navigate the fit paired with the mild arousal they felt was almost too much. But it was an almost too much they could handle as they felt safe experiencing it.

A couple of times he was hit with a cluster of hiccups which he would let out a small grunt or sigh after before resuming eating. He probably didn’t even realize he was making the small sounds, but Atticus soaked up every movement and sound watching Otto in adoration. His hiccups and reactions were endearing to watch and their body let them know that it was paying attention, but Atty never felt the need to give into their arousal in the way they had this morning.

When he started in on his sandwich he jerked so powerfully and quickly that Atticus startled in how closely they’d been paying attention and the break in pattern of his hiccups. They heard a little thump in the back of Otto’s throat at that hiccup. The case also increased in speed and it was obvious Otto noticed as he chewed carefully and timed his swallowing.

A ‘hik’p!’ slipped out and Otto muttered, “Oh man…” He was no longer able to keep them all quiet or muffled with how hard they’d suddenly become. He could feel his stomach jiggling from under the table, how it jerked in and out. His neck movements caused his head to jerk hard as well, having to time eating even more carefully to line up the food with his mouth.

“Higgup! You just gonna-higgulp!-just gonna watch hilp!-watch me ea-hugguck!-eat this whole time?” he asked, amused.

“That was kind of the plan,” Atticus teased.

“Damn bre-herp!-bread made them wo-erp!-worse! Hickulp!” he said.

Even though, he used the last bit of that sandwich to sop up the last dregs of his soup, all the while jerking as his diaphragm and glottis continued to argue loudly over when to breath and when to not.

Eating that last bite definitely didn’t help. He took a few large straw-fulls of water but continued what seemed to have developed into a pretty powerful hiccuping fit. Otto was thankful for the food court being boisterous with activity as he’d yet to see anyone looking over his way despite how more audible they’d become.

But as much as he was enjoying the way Atticus was looking at him his neck had started to hurt again. It hurt in the back right where it met his shoulders. He couldn’t even suppress the motions on this case. Every hiccup came as a surprise to him. Usually, when he had them, he had the feeling he would hiccup a little bit before the next one, but as this case got worse he lost the ability to feel when the next one was going to hit. It was a bit unusual to not be able to predict them like he normally was. As a result his body was at their mercy even more.

Otto’s hand pressed against his chest and Atty noticed that his face had lost some of the mirth it had when his hiccups had begun. He didn’t look distressed, necessarily, but he didn’t really look like he was wholly unbothered, either.

“Oh man HUCKULK-man! These are hu-ULK!-are hard. ULK!Huck!-ugh! I can’t-ulk!-can’t tell when the-h’mlk!-their coming next ei-ulp!-either. Damn,” he finally admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck trying to take a measured breath through the onslaught. It was interrupted by more sharp hiccups and he winced, eyes closing for a moment at a particularly fast cluster. “HULK!HU-CULK!ULK!H’MUCK!mmk!”

A small hand slapped three packets in front of him so loudly he jumped a little (before he jumped with another hiccup). When he looked down Atticus’ hand lifted to reveal a packet of Real Cane Sugar, a white paper packet from a fast food restaurant marked ‘Salt’, and a plastic packet with yellow writing on it that said ‘Pure Lemon Juice’. Otto looked up to his partner’s smug face (as much as he could give them a steady gaze with how much he was jerking) and they grinned, lips pushing up the sides of their mustache into the apples of their cheeks.

“Never leave home without them,” they said a little haughtily.

“Do you HUCK-UCK!-always keep-HUCK!-alw-ulk!-ways keep these wi-UCK!-ith you? Huck!-HUCK’M!” he asked, grunting out another sigh as he started opening the sugar packet.

“Only when my extremely sweet husband decides to indulge in me for my birthday in a way that could bite him in the ass later on,” Atticus said.

“I think-HUCK!-there was-hulkUCK!-a compli-ulk-ment in-hulk!-in there-HUCK’L! some-uck!-somewhere Huck’l!HUCK!-uh!”Otto said.

“Otto,” Atty implored. “Sugar.”

“Yes hon-HUCKAH!-honey? Huck!HUCK!HUCK!Ow...” Otto exclaimed with a scowl at his interrupted joke. He wordlessly (though not soundlessly) opened the sugar packet and dumped it in his mouth.

The cure did the trick. For a few seconds he sat after he’d downed the lemon juice with some deep breaths, still holding his chest.

“You good?” Atticus asked. For some reason their hand had found his and was holding it as if giving him comfort. It seemed silly to do so for someone having something as seemingly harmless as hiccups, but those sounded and looked incredibly uncomfortable. And all of Atty’s research on hiccups led them to believe that hiccups could potentially cause great discomfort; they never wanted that inflicted in their husband.

He took another deep breath.

“Whew. Yeah. Sorry about that. They kind of got out of hand,” he said sheepishly. “Um, how was your salad?”

“I honestly have no idea...” they admitted looking down at their empty container.

“You got a little turned on, right?” he asked, voice low.

“Right up until the end, yes,” they said.

“Still…” Otto waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re just a little self-destructive, you know that?” they said.

“Listen, you’re the one who married an alcoholic.”

Atticus reached across the table and put either hand on the side of Otto’s face rubbing his short beard with their thumbs before squeezing his cheeks gently between their palms.

“I married a beautiful, intelligent, compassionate man who is also an alcoholic,” they said, amending the statement. “And it’s my birthday so I’m right and you can’t argue with me.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Otto said, diction affected by his lips being squished between the hands on his face.

“It is,” Atticus assured him. They finally released his face and Otto grinned back.

“And it’s your birthday so…” he said, trailing off.

“Exactly!”

Cleaning up their trash and putting the reusable trays in a marked spot above the trash cans they both finally made their way into the antique’s mall area.

[pedropascallme]

im just so obsessed with dad pedro rn😓😓😓

AN: Fuck it girl dad Pedro. This genuinely made me weak in the knees. (I'm PMSing and the baby fever is insane and ???? do I need any excuses really?? For dad!Pedro??)

“Papa, hold your hands like this.” Your daughter barked orders at her father, pulling him down to her level and molding his hands into a position she could work with.

Pedro sat crisscross on the floor, your daughter across from him rummaging through a giant bag of nail polish and small stickers. It hadn't taken much convincing to get Pedro to sit for her, let her use him as a canvas, but she was far too stubborn to ever throw away any of the dry, crusty bottles of polish in the deep bag.

“What color, mija?” Pedro hummed and watched her continue to toss the small bottles over the carpet, looking for the ideal shade. She let out a triumphant huff before pulling out a bottle of purple sparkly nail polish, placing it on the floor in front of her father as if asking for approval.

“This is the one we’re using.” She nodded, before quickly reaching her small hand back out for the bottle, satisfied with Pedro’s smile at her as a form of assent.

When you had found out you were pregnant, Pedro didn’t let you do a thing on your own. He went to every doctor’s appointment with you, did all the chores you had planned for yourself—he cancelled every audition, every screentest, just to stay home with you, to rub your feet at the end of your long day of doing nothing. (“You aren’t doing nothing,” he had fussed every time you said it, “You’re growing a little baby! Inside of you!”) Pedro was gentle with you, and with her, and kind, and ever so patient; always willing to model for a fashion show, always willing to watch her school choir performances, always thrilled at the prospect of having breakfast for dinner with her. It was as if he knew from the moment you announced your pregnancy that she would be a daddy’s girl, and the love he had for you multiplied to include her immediately.

Watching them now, from the couch, going back and forth about what animals they might see at the zoo later today, your daughter occasionally reprimanding Pedro for moving, him turning to smile at you where you sat on the sofa, eyes glistening with pride at the tiny person the two of you had created, your heart swelled.

He was such a good husband. Such a good father.

“Let them dry now, papa.” Your daughter stood up, brushing her hands on her capris as if she had just finished a long day of manual labor. “Mama,” she made her way to you, both hands planted on your knees leaning into you before collapsing onto her knees and wrapping her hands around your legs, head buried in your lap, “look at what I did to papa’s nails!” She squealed and her giggle was muffled by the denim of your jeans.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. You did such a good job!” You reached down to lift her up, letting her clamber into your lap, “He’s never looked better.”

“Hey!” Pedro laughed, spreading himself out on the floor, laying his head next to the bag of nail polish.

She leaned in then to whisper to you, her small voice somehow carrying more loudly when she attempted to be sly; “Can I use your makeup to make papa pretty?” Pedro smiled up at you, anticipating your answer.

“Yes,” you quasi-whispered back, “but only the makeup in the top drawer.” It was all she needed to hear, practically leaping off of your lap and bounding to the main bedroom to root through your drawers.

“You can borrow my nail polish remover, if you’d like.” You watched Pedro get up, wiping the palms of his hands on his knees before moving to enfold you in his arms where you sat on the couch.

That’s where she got it.

“No way,” he peppered your face with kisses before dipping down to capture your lips with his own, smiling into the kiss in a show of how pleased he was with you, with your daughter, with his nails. “Want everybody at the zoo to see my new look, querida.”

[anon-sect]

PART THREE

For a solid month, Chase commanded Tom to his house nearly everyday. He at one time thought about letting Tom go from what they have been doing, but he was enjoying things way too much to stop just yet. He couldn't make those who work for him be his willing plaything, but a neighbor that has a crush on him was a much better option.

Chase had a business trip where he would be gone for a whole week. There in lay a delicate. He would be a whole week away from dominating his weak minded neighbor. And he definitely couldn't just take him with him; some of his employees might find it strange. Yet he wanted to dominate his neighbor the entire business trip.

A solution presented itself. On the dark website, Chase found that they were selling illegal and experimental shrink TF Ray devices. They were considered illegal due to the inhumane sentiment that was in the majority of public opinion on the device. Due to that, it was on the dark website. They were very expensive to buy, mainly because they were illegal to have in possession. He purchased one and had it sent directly to his home. He continued to use his toy/neighbor for his fun until the package arrived.

One day before his business trip, the shrink TF Ray device arrived. Chase was glad it arrived in time before his trip. He read through the manual throughly so that he knew every operation of it. He didn't want to make any mistakes with the device.

Chase called Tom over like usual. Tom arrived to see Chase packing for his business trip. "I guess I won't see you until you get back in a week." Tom spoke with some relief in his voice. Chase had no intentions of letting him have any relief.

"Actually, I called you over for that very reason. You are actually coming with me." Chase paused as he pulled out the Shrink TF Ray device. "Just that no one would know how that you are." He added as he fired at Tom before he had any chance of running away. The setting had already been preset for a pair of socks. He watched as Tom fell to the floor unable to move. He saw the look of fear on his face as he quickly shrunk in size and reforms into a pair of black socks.

Tom instantly saw that Chase had one of the illegal devices that was not supposed to be anyones possession. It was too late to run, he quickly realized as he fell limp to the floor and rapidly shrunk. He found his body morphed and reformed into a pair of socks for the rich CEO to wear. It was bad enough that his crush blackmailed and used him as a foot slave. Now, he was literally a pair of socks for him.

Chase picked up the socks from the floor. "No better time than the present to get you used to my feet." He spoke to the socks while putting them on. They felt really good on foot. He wiggled his toes in his new socks. Since the device was illegal, he couldn't carry it with him, so Tom would have to be socks until he got back from his trip. Honestly, that wasn't a problem for him, but maybe a problem for Tom. But Tom was socks for the present time and had no choice for what happened to him.

Tom wanted out of his situation badly. Chase walked around wearing him like an object on feet. He felt powerless before because of being blackmailed, but this was a whole new level of powerlessness. He was at the mercy of Chase's feet. He only hope it would not get worse.

Much to Tom's hope, he didn't get what he prayed for. His situation was far worse than he would ever have expected. Chase slept while wearing him the night before his flight. He was removed from feet only because Chase went to take a shower the following morning. But he was quickly back on feet after the shower.

In fact, that was the only time Chase didn't wear Tom. He took him off to take a bath or shower. Otherwise, he wore Tom every moment for the whole week. In all the business meetings, Tom was trapped in his shoes. He was soaking up foot sweat of his masters feet totally against his will. Chase wore him to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Since he wasn't planning on working out while on his trip, Tom was a perfect fit for every outfit he brought with him. Each night, he would sniff Tom. He was pleased at how he smelled just like his foot. Having his neighbor smell like his feet felt like he was marking Tom as his property. He was so enjoying his business trip keeping Tom as his socks.

Tom was in torture for a whole week. The only time Chase didn't wear him was bath or shower time. Otherwise, he never gave him a break. By the second day, he fully smelled like his owner's feet. He hated it. Chase was totally humiliating him unknown to everyone around. A human being was being used as the rich CEO's personal pair of socks. He tried screaming out for help to anyone who could hear him. But being socks, he can't make any kind of noise. He mentally cried as Chase used and abused him the whole week. There were a couple of times during the week that Chase would jerk off in one of the socks. Chase would tell him that it was a reminder of what he was and who owned him. Have Chase's cum stains in him further degraded and humiliated him in ways he never thought possible.

Chase return home after his week on his business trip. He had a special surprise for his neighbor. It really was a thought he had on his last day of his business trip. He removed his socks and placed them on the floor. He put in the settings on the shrink TF Ray device and fired at the socks. He watched as the pair of socks morph back together as one and reformed into a human being, just not at the same size as before.

Tom was relieved not to be socks anymore, but was surprised to see his situation wasn't as he remembered it. He looked up to see a giant Chase standing before him. Chase's feet look massive to his current size. If he had to guess, he was no taller than seven or eight inches tall, while the rich neighbor foot size was twelve. He was still in a powerless situation.

"It was on the last day of my business trip, and I decided to alter our little arrangement. You were so comfortable as socks, I really wanted to keep you and use you for other things, like a pair of shoes, my underwear, and even nice insoles, perhaps." Chase paused for a moment. "But to do that, I needed to make sure you can't leave my house. So I returned you back to human form, but way smaller. You are my pet now." Chase finished, smiling down at Tom.

Tom didn't like this idea or situation. Despite his size, he wanted to let him know he wasn't taking this lightly. "I am no one's pet. I demand that you return me back to normal size. You can't keep me as your house pet or thing. You won't get away with it." Tom definitely demanded, at the moment not caring about the size difference.

Chase needed his little pet to know his new position in life. Tom was his if he wanted to, thanks to his illegal device. He stomps on the floor real hard next to Tom. He then rubbed his bare foot on the carpet. "You see how easily one stomp could end you, and no one would ever find out, little pet. At your size, you simply have no choice but to accept whatever I say. Or should I really demonstrate again, this time, really stepping on you?" Of course, he was only kidding about it, but he wanted to instill a little fear to keep his pet in line to being obedient to his owner.

Tom was freighten when he felt the floor shake beneath him. Seeing the grinding of the foot made his fears worse. That really could have been him, crushed to death. There was only one way to at least stay alive. "I am sorry, Master. You are right. I am your pet." He went over and started kissing Chase's foot.

Chase smiled as Tom started kissing his foot. His little pet understood his new position in life. "You see, with my new device, I control your life from now on. This house is your new home. Better get used to it." He told him as he grabbed him up off the floor. There was a jar on the night stand in his bedroom. He dropped him inside and put the lid back on. The lid already had holes in it. "If you think I won't get away with it. I can hide you where no one would find you. Or stomp out your life and discard your remains easily. So be a good pet and things won't be bad for you." He spoke to Tom and left the room.

Tom saw he really didn't have a choice. His rich CEO neighbor now owned him. If he wanted to live, he really had to be a good pet for his owner. He slump down in defeat. Giving into his desires for the neighbor, he had a crush on and got him into a permanent situation. He really had himself to blame for it.

[dragonagitator]

Smutty BG3 fanfic prompt / scene / ficlet:

I wrote this scene with my own "Modern Girl in Faerun" author self-insert WIP in mind, but who knows when or if that fic will ever actually see the light of day. So if someone who can actually write smut wants to use this scene as a prompt for a lengthier fic, please do, and please also feel free to make any changes necessary to make it fit your own story or just generally improve the writing.

Summary: Post-game, Dom!Gale/sub!OFC, established relationship (but one that's about to change in a big way), discussion of consensual mind control, touches on bondage, breeding kink, and worship kink, implied impending fellatio. Features the aforementioned Book of Erotic Fantasy and teases the side of Gale revealed in his origin playthrough line about how he "always liked the idea of being worshipped. Adored. Obeyed..."

I apologize in advance for it not being very good and for cutting off right before the actual smut should begin. I'm not putting this out there because I'm proud of it, I'm putting this out there because I sincerely hope that writers who are actually good at this sort of thing might find it, take it away from me, and do it better.

If you're still interested then there's about 1,800 words of unhinged brainrot below the cut. Criticism welcome!

We’d been home in Waterdeep for less than a week when I found Gale sitting on the balcony loveseat, frowning at a book that sat closed in his lap.

“Did the book do something to offend you?” I teased as I bent over for a kiss.

“Ah, no,” he replied, “it’s just I find myself with a bit of an ethical dilemma.”

‘An ethical dilemma?’ I wondered, raising my eyebrow and taking a closer look at the book.

It was a rather thick book, with a velvet cover and tied closed with a silk ribbon. The cover imagery was extremely suggestive.

“The Book of Erotic Fantasy,” I sounded out carefully. “And exactly what sort of ‘ethical dilemmas’ does a smutty book provoke?”

“It’s not just erotic literature,” Gale explained, “It’s more of a manual.”

“A Faerun sex manual? This I gotta see,” I said and made grabby hands at him. He hesitated for a moment, then somewhat reluctantly handed it over. I sat beside him and snuggled into him as he put his arm around me, positioning us so that we could look at its pages together.

I untied the ribbon and opened the book, and laughed when the book itself moaned in my hands. Reading anything written in the Thorass alphabet was still a challenge for me so I flipped through the pages simply looking at the illustrations. There were a LOT of illustrations depicting various sexual positions and techniques. It appeared to be something like an illustrated Karma Sutra.

“Whenever did you have the time to go buy this?” I asked him with delight. “Are these things you’d like to try with me? Because that–” I pointed at a particularly intriguing illustration of a woman in bondage in some sort of complicated contraption I’d never seen before “–looks like it could be fun, if you know a good smith we could commission it from.”

“No, I, uh, that is, this volume has been in my library for some time,” Gale stammered and I smirked. I’d always loved how he could somehow still be so bashful sometimes despite being such a freak in the sheets.

“And it’s more than just a manual of… activities,” he continued. “The book is magical in nature–”

“Yeah, I got that part when it moaned,” I interjected.

“Yes, and when studied at length it can confer certain… abilities and… enhancements to the person who reads it,” he continued.

“Oooh, tell me more about these ‘abilities’ and ‘enhancements,’” I purred, setting the book aside so I could turn and straddle him, throwing my arms around his neck. He blushed so prettily.

“Well, studying the book makes one more charming and increases their endurance,” he began listing the effects while lazily stroking my sides. “And it ensures that one’s partners are never left… wanting.”

“Oh, so that’s your secret,” I teased, thinking back to all the mind-blowing nights we’d shared since he’d finally gotten over his hangups about bedding me.

“Ah, no, while I’d studied the book once years ago, the effects wear off after a tenday of celibacy. So after the year of isolation in my tower, I had only my… native talent… to rely upon,” he confessed.

His “native talent” had been more than enough, but now my curiosity was piqued.

“So you’re saying this book could make you an even better lover than you already are?” I started to grind against him lightly and his hands settled on my hips. “While I’ve been perfectly satisfied so far, I have to admit that I’m intrigued… although if you got any better, I might not walk quite right ever again.”

“It also conveys mastery over one’s own reproductive system, and that of one’s partner,” he continued. “It acts as a perfect contraceptive. Or, if one so desires, it can… guarantee that conception takes place.” He looked me directly in the eyes as he said that last part, seemed to search my face for clues as to how I felt about that.

Just the idea of it sent a jolt of desire straight to my core.

“Are you saying,” I responded, my mouth suddenly dry as the urge to spread my legs even wider for him overwhelmed me, “that this book would allow you to breed me whenever you want?”

He tightened his grip on my hips and shuttered slightly, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before he looked back up at me with determination. His pupils were blown so wide that I could barely see the brown of his irises anymore. It felt like he was looking directly into my soul.

“Yes,” he confirmed firmly.

‘So, my fiance has a breeding kink too,’ I mused. ‘That’s convenient.’

I was so aroused from our conversation that my hips took on a mind of their own, and I found myself grinding in his lap against the rapidly hardening bulge in his breeches that revealed just how much he enjoyed the idea of using his magic book to impregnate me at will.

“So,” I said breathily, continuing to grind – we were basically dry-humping at this point, and I was so aroused at this point that I suspected that I might be able to get off just from this, “what’s the ethical dilemma?”

“The book does have one minor detrimental property,” he explained, “in that satisfying one’s partner then places that partner under the effects of a Charm Person spell. Of course I’d never do that to someone without their consent,” he said hurriedly, “and with Mystra it was never a concern because as a Goddess, she’s immune to Charm spells,” I scowled at the mention of her name, “but with you, my love…” his right hand left my hip to gently stroke my face, soothing away my frown, “...you have no such immunity.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, is THAT what you’re worried about? I don’t think I could be any more ‘Charmed’ than I already have been by just your – what did you call them? – ‘native talents.’ And it’s not like a Charm Person spell can make someone do something that they’re completely unwilling to do.”

“That’s actually the problem,” he said, tone turning serious. “I’ve heard rumor that when the book’s gifts are used on a partner who is already as enamored as you so inexplicably are with me, it can have… other effects. Change them.”

“Change them how?” I prodded him.

“You could find yourself consumed by desperation to please me. The book could make you more pliant, much more… submissive,” he continued, his voice low with a hint of darkness creeping in as he gently thumbed my lower lip.

My brain short-circuited and I heard myself blurt, “I want you to read the book.”

“Oh, darling, you have no idea what you’re saying,” he sighed and leaned his forehead against mine. “It would be far beyond the games we’ve played. You’d still have your safeword, but the book could strip you of your desire to ever use it.”

“I want you to read the book,” I repeated, gently cupping his face in my hands, my entire body on fire at the idea of giving up that much control to him. It was terrifying, and thrilling, and deeply erotic.

“It doesn’t wear off as fast as a regular Charm Person spell,” he warned me, “The effects last for a year and a day,” my core pulsed with need at the thought of being under his spell for so long, “and that hourglass would reset every time I brought you to ecstasy. You could fall deeper and deeper under my control until you could no longer dream of wanting to escape it.” I trembled at the idea that it could effectively become permanent.

“I want you to read the book,” I said again, and kissed him deeply.

As I pulled back from the kiss, I could tell that he was as affected by the idea of it as I was. His skin was flushed, his pupils blown wide, he trembled slightly, there was a slight hitch in his breath, I could feel his heart hammering where our chests had pressed together, and he now had an erection so hard that I could feel every inch of it through the layers of our clothing.

“I don’t understand,” he protested half-heartedly, sounding almost broken with desire and longing. “How could you want something like that? Why would you give yourself so completely to someone like me?”

“Gale,” I said firmly, and began punctuating my statements with more kisses. “I love you.” Kiss. “I trust you completely.” Kiss. “I love submitting to you.” Kiss. “And I’ve wished for a while now that it could be more than just a game we play in bed.” Kiss. “I know how hard it was for you to give up the Crown of Karsus, because you’ve ‘always liked the idea of being worshiped. Adored. Obeyed,’” I quoted. He looked away in slight embarrassment, but didn’t deny it.

“If you think you could be content with a single worshiper,” I continued, giving his face one last gentle caress as I slid off his lap and onto the balcony floor, “then I would love to spend the rest of my life getting on my knees for you.”

I posed myself carefully before him. Knees spread, hands clasp behind my back, back slightly arched to thrust my tits forward, head bowed submissively. I silently trembled with desire and anticipation as I waited for his answer.

“I will read the book,” he declared as he stood up. “But it will require weeks of study to acquire its powers.” I could hear him unfastening the ties on his breeches. “You will use that time to prove to me just how much you want this, and if I’m not convinced by the time I reach the final page then I will not complete it,” he warned. 

My mind began whirling with all the delightfully degrading things I could do for him to prove my devotion. Through the lashes of my downcast gaze I could see his pants falling to his ankles, confirming that we were of like minds of what sort of “proof” he had in mind.

He gripped my jaw firmly and titled my head upward, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“Do you understand?” he demanded. 

I’d never seen such an expression on his face before – perhaps I’d caught glimpses of something like it on the battlefield, or seen a ghost of it flicker across his face the first time I’d asked him to dominate me in bed – but nothing like this. He radiated power, desire, command, and more than just a hint of darkness.

“Yes, sir,” I agreed enthusiastically.

“Good girl,” he said approvingly. 

His praise washed over me like a blessing as he guided my mouth to the weeping head of his erect cock.

[britt-kageryuu]

Leo is streaming, lounging on the big beanbag chair again. His model is in space themed comfy clothes, with slippers, and a star covered mask.

He was playing through a rouge like game, not fully sure what he needs to do yet, but still having fun fighting off the multiple waves of enemies. It's noted that he's sticking to the sword based weapons, even if there are multiple weapons available from the beginning.

Suddenly the graphic of a cartoony slider riding a skateboard, rolls across the screen followed by "Thank You Chaotic_CinnamonRoll for the $10, 'Why did you decide to go into the medical field? You might've mentioned medical books in the past?'"

Leo let out a nostalgic sigh, "Well, that was part of why I got into medical stuff, let me tell ya. I think Dee mentioned how we didn't have legal identification for years, so if something happened with us Dad couldn't really take us to any medical facility. But he got ahold of as much supplies, and field medic training manuals, and medical guides as he could find." Leo has a smile on his face as he continues, "And while Dee is big on science, they don't like viscera, so Pops started to show me how to help. It just goes from there."

Leo spys a comment in chat, "For the person asking about Pops not using insurance, well after his sudden retirement, he didn't have insurance anymore, and he didn't know how to apply." Leo lets out another sigh, "Plus he wasn't familiar with how things worked, because he had a manager or assistant to do all that stuff for him. He was just a confused father of 4 who was trying his best while dealing with his own depression! I'm not trying to justify anything, just stating a fact."

Leo suddenly stretched himself out to grab something and rolled over onto his stomach, facing away from the camera, he's grabbed his phone to check a notification that wasn't heard over the mic, for once. What ever the message was it made his happy, because his tail was wagging a bit fast. He spends a few minutes messaging back and forth with who is assumed to be Leo's boyfriend.

He eventually remembered that he was in the middle of a stream, and sheepishly apologized for ignoring them.

"So since this game is newer than most that I've played, there aren't many guides on what I chould do yet. Sooo I gotta keep throwing things at the enemy and see what's most effective. Like that, wait was he a Croc, or and Aligator? Either way he was the first mini boss! Image how hard the other will be until we get more upgrades!" Leo says excitedly as he goes over the upgrades menu after returning to the start after dying right after the boss, from low health. "We also got this new 'Side Scroller Beatem Up' game because it and the DLC was one sale. Though that might be better played with more players, and our schedules don't always line up multiple people being on the stream. Plus I promised Dee our next game would be his choice."

Leo is half focused on going through the upgrade menus, and talking to the characters around the hub area. Thinking that the blue guy he was playing as could lighten up a bit, be more like the orange dude, but hey their Dad is missing and everything is tense. And where is the last person of the group, or do they only appear after going a certain distance in the game?

"Though I do like the look of that spikey turtle dude, reminded me of Red, though he's wearing, was it dark blue or a deep teal, either way cool dude. Hope he shows up in the hub area. Now do I want to switch to one of the other 3, or just continue as my blue guy?" Leo is rambling, if only because the analytical part of his mind is currently at war with the 'Oh Shiney! What was I doing?' part of his mind. "ALSO! What is with the odd element system that the flavor text is talking about, not the water I get that, this Utrom thing, it's kind described as tech based, but what is an Utrom? Why am I asking chat when they mostly say they've never seen this game before?... Did I forget to take my medicine, because I don't usually ramble my thoughts out loud this much."

He then pauses the game to check his phone for his medical data. "So I need to take a break again real quick. I either didn't take my medicine, or somehow took the wrong medication. So please hold while I go check. And don't any of you go looking up the game to purposefully cause spoilers. I want to figure out enough on my own first. Okay BRB!"

The screen switches over to an animated scene of the guys cartoony turtle selves are swimming about, though Mikey is jumping between Raph and Leo, and slightly submerging Leo in the process. Donnies is occasionally trying to bite Leo for bumping into him.

The chat is talking among themselves, notifications are going off, and some jokes about the medic taking the wrong medication.

------------------

Masterpost

I still don't quite understand my own writing process. Like I had only the 'why I got into the medical field' part planned, then just decided to have him ramble about the game which is 'TMNT Splintered Fate' but not quite. Then at the last minute I was like 'I should make up a reason for him being very ramble-y right now'.

If I should change this, let me know. I do like feedback.

[lily-alphonse]

hi! for your rarepair suggestion thing, i would love to see Leah x Alex, idk i just think they’d be fun together

I’m really loving your rarepairs so far, i think the Shane and Sandy one is my favorite so far! Can’t wait to see more!!

Ottterpops I love you. I see you in my notifications all the time and this is the sweetest little ask I love knowing these things like which are people's favorites and stuff wow wow wow 10/10 ♥️♥️ reach out more often my dear I love you

BUT THIS IS INSANE

Damn. Leah and ALEX? Ughghapeuwefn 😩 What the hell would they be doing together?

Ok. Ok. Asshole Alex? Asshole Alex. Misogynist Alex. Strong and independent Leah. I'm cooking, let's go.

ITS ENEMIES TO LOVERS TIME BABYYYY 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 The crowd goes wild, they're going feral, we love to see it

They're butting heads right off the BAT. Because see, Alex is just coming back after flunking out of university. And Leah just moved to Pelican Town like a year ago. So she's had time to get settled into town, maybe even helps out Granny Evelyn sometimes since Alex was gone.

Actually, she's heard a lot of great things about Alex from his grandmother. She was looking forward to meeting him. The first time she sees him, she thinks he’s super hot. How couldn't she? He's got muscles on muscles and a little dimple in his chin to boot. 

But Alex comes home, feeling like absolute trash after his dreams have come crashing down, and there is a stranger in his house acting like she knows his family better than him. So that goes over GREAT (/s) as you can imagine.

He immediately has an attitude with her, to Evelyn's horror. She apologizes for him while he walks away and slams his door like a moody teenager. (Oh god this would be so fun to do a back and forth with them both being justified in their hatred of each other I'm salivating.)

Alex has also been raised that women should present themselves a certain way, and act a certain way, and Leah is none of that. She wears chunky hiking sandals and no makeup and has arms covered in scars from her work. She does intense manual labor and lives on her own in the woods. She even helped clean the gutters while he was gone, which is another thing on the long list of insults to Alex's manhood that he takes personally. Cleaning the gutters was HIS job.

They have a bunch of tense run-ins from there as he tries to re-establish himself. He sends her away when she comes by to check in on his grandparents. She holds her tongue then out of respect for his grandmother, but she isn’t so quiet on their next run-in. 

He comes across her in the forest on his morning jog and she’s CHOPPING WOOD of all things. Alex hasn't held an axe in years. It pisses him off. He asks her what she’s doing (with an attitude, of course) and she is all too happy to put him in his place with her axe in-hand. She shouts at him and calls him a jughead, among other names.

Alex is silent throughout. Normally he hates being yelled at, it's triggering. By coaches, by his grandpa (reminds him of his dad). But it's different coming from a girl. She’s sweating, muscled arms out, and wielding her axe. It’s… almost kind of hot? He tries to not think about it too much and stay mad, but later realizes he might actually like a girl with fire in her blood. 

He starts actually kind of looking forward to crossing paths with her, to have her attention on him no matter how negative. Throughout this time he’s also working through the grief of his failure, and figuring out a new future now that his gridball scholarship is gone. Evelyn continues to give him grief about how he treats her, and he starts to feel bad about how he came between them. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have her start coming around again, if anything just to annoy the hell out of her.

She's cold to him when he visits, which was to be expected. She looks him up and down, eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. She has some paint on her arms and fingers. It seems like she wants to yell at him but she's holding it in. 

"Granny okay?" she asks.

He nods, and can barely start saying "Yes" before she is shutting the door. "Wait!"

She opens the door and crosses her arms, taking a deep breath and unleashing her anger on him. She's defending her right to stay here, telling him he's not going to run her out, that she is stronger than he thinks and has dealt with worse than the likes of him. He is once again silent, and a little turned on, until she stops to breathe and he can get a word in.

"I came to apologize."

She deflates. "You... what?"

He shifts uncomfortably, runs a hand through his hair. "I was an ass, when you got here. I was... I was just going through shit and I think you should go back to coming over, if you want.”

She takes a deep breath to recalibrate, and takes a moment to think. She's always wanted things to be okay with Alex. It was incredibly stressful to be at odds with him, and lose the precarious belonging she had found in her new town. 

"Noted," is her eventual response.

"Noted?"

"Yes. I don't forgive you, yet."

He nods sheepishly. "Understandable, I guess."

She has him wait there in the doorway and comes back with her phone. She holds it up as if filming him.

"Alright, Jughead. Say 'I'm a dumbass and I'm sorry.'"

He sucks his teeth and shifts uncomfortably. "You're not gonna post this somewhere are you?"

"No. Promise. I won't promise I won't show anyone else though." She smiles for the first time at him, and he has to relent at that.

"I'm a dumbass and I'm sorry," he says, looking at her instead of her phone.

She laughs, and even though its at his expense it makes him smile. She has a good laugh. "And 'Leah is better at cleaning the gutters than I am'," she adds.

He gapes at her. "That is NOT true."

She shrugs and stops the video. "Remains to be seen."

"Am I forgiven now?"

"Oh, this is only the beginning," Leah grins impishly.

And thus begins their romance arc. The teasing is more playful than mean. Sometimes they end up working on something together, and it's not so bad. They help clear the driveway of snow together and end up tossing snowballs at each other. It gets dangerously cute.

Leah sees more of how Alex actually is. He's a good man who has just been through a lot. She could see herself with a man like him. But surely not him, she still has to hold her grudge after all. She's happy things are mostly back to normal though, she doesn't have to consider moving again.

Then Evelyn has a fall or something and they both rush to the hospital together. She can tell Alex is bottling everything, trying to stay strong in the hospital room. Leah takes his hand and squeezes and he doesn't shove her off. Afterwards when they get home she follows him into his room.

"Alex."

"Hm." He's avoiding looking at her and keeps swallowing. He looks to be dissociating.

She takes another chance and hugs him hard. He puts an arm around her weakly.

"Come on squeeze me like you mean it!" she scolds, muffled in his chest.

He makes a sound half chuckle, half sigh, and squeezes her back.

"Harder, I'm not made of glass," she whacks him on the head for good measure this time.

It works, because he chuckles and squeezes so hard she can't breathe. She squeezes him back as hard as she can, and they just hold each other for a moment, partially comforting and partially a contest of strength.

When he pulls back both their eyes are misty and she brings her hand to his cheek. They both kind of want to kiss and are both terrified of upsetting the other person. But as soon as Leah feels Alex leaning in even slightly, she takes full advantage and pulls him down the rest of the way to kiss.

I TOOK THIS ONE SO SERIOUSLY I SPENT SO MUCH TIME ON IT LOLLL I actually ended up rewriting it because I didn't like the first one

Send me any Stardew Valley rarepair and I will tell you how I would make them work! (Even non-marriage npcs) If youre lucky you may get a mini fic out of it. Check the list below to see if Ive already answered yours

Rarepair Masterlist

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Simon the Zealot | Carry You Home | Platonic

Requested: Yes

Your legs can’t carry you any further, but Simon can. It does, however, mean a dent in his tough-guy image.

Every step feels heavier than the previous one as you plod your way through the plains of Judea, your shins feeling like they are on fire ever since passing Jericho. Trailing behind far enough as is, you sigh in defeat as you let your eyes go to the horizon again, where Philip and Jesus are waiting for you. 

“Sorry that I’m keeping you behind,” Little James says next to you upon hearing the sound leaving your lungs, and it genuinely causes you to pull a face. 

“What? No!” you quip back, reassuring him, “You’re not a burden at all. My feet feel like they’re falling off. That sigh was not directed towards you.” 

James lets out a relieved noise and smiles a bit. “Well, at least I’m not lonely now.” You chuckle and look at him from the corner of your eye. 

“I wouldn't have left you alone regardless of my own feet, James.”

A pleasant silence befalls you two as you continue walking towards Jesus and Philip, who wear patient smiles on their faces. “Apologies for holding up the group.” you say, but the two men shake their heads. 

“Neither of you is doing such a thing,” Jesus tells you, smiling. “We cannot just leave you behind here, though. The others will go ahead and set up camp, so we can join them later.”

Feeling immediately a tad guilty for having the others do the heavy lifting, you open your mouth to protest: “But Teacher, we cannot let the rest do our hard manual labour for us! I’d feel so burdened if someone had to set up my tent all by himself!”

Putting a hand on your shoulder, Jesus gently squeezes it. “Stop worrying so much, (Y/n). I love you, but don’t talk yourself down about matters you cannot do anything about. It has been a long day and those who set up camp know very well that you’re exhausted, so don’t mention it, okay? And we both know you’d do the same for them if the roles had been reversed.”

You dutifully nod, knowing better than to question Jesus’ judgement, and lean on the long stick you had found on the side of the road earlier, which supports you on your walk. Still, your feet feel like they might fall off soon.

For a moment, you wonder if it would be strange to ask Jesus to alleviate your hurt, but when you look at Little James walking beside you, you realise that you would feel ashamed to complain about your temporary pain, whereas your friend has been in this discomfort all his life and never so much as complained. 

On the horizon, someone runs your way – it is your good friend Simon, who seems to be in a bit of a hurry. “Master,” he gasps, slightly out of breath upon arriving in front of the four of you, his sandals leaving a trail of dust in their wake. “The boys in the front are bickering again, they’re having trouble picking a place to sleep and they have all agreed that they will only let You pick a spot to camp now.”

Jesus lets out a chuckle and rolls His eyes playfully. “Oh, why am I not surprised? Very well,” He quips with humour in His voice, “Simon, can you stay with Little James and (Y/n)? Philip, you come with Me to settle this little argument in the front. We will see you later, okay? Take your time, don't worry about us setting up your places to sleep or not having food, we will make sure that things are alright.”

“Can’t Philip stay with them, Master?” Simon suggests, gesturing at you and James, “Of course they are my friends, but I was hoping to get in some exercise before sundown, and…” 

The rest of his words trail off when he sees Jesus smile knowingly at him. “You will get your exercise Simon, trust Me. If I didn’t want you to stay with them, I wouldn’t have asked. And then, you’re always running around, doing heavy labour. Sometimes it is better to slow down for a bit, too.”

The bunch of you nod in agreement, but Simon seems less keen to stay behind. When Jesus and Philip are a fair bit away, the former Zealot sighs next to you with a slight pout over his features.

“What, not happy with babysitting duty?” you jest, and Simon snorts a laugh. 

“That’s not it,” he says, “It’s just not in my nature to walk so slowly.”

You chuckle lightly. “We know, Si.”

James pipes up: “At least now we’ve got someone very strong at our side in case something happens to us. If we happened to be robbed right now, we wouldn’t have to hand over our bags.”

“Not that there is a lot in there in the first place.” you murmur, earning an amused hum from him.

Simon folds his hands on his back as he walks next to the two of you in silence, eyes focused upon the distance. “Where do you think we’ll sleep tonight? Do you reckon we’ll have to walk for much longer?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know, it entirely depends on what Jesus– Gah!” 

The sudden dent in the road goes unnoticed by you and you strangely twist through your ankle, feeling it shift to the side. A wave of nausea hits you in the gut as you fall to the ground, a searing pain shunting through your form. 

“(Y/n)!” James cries out, “Are you okay?”

“Are you hurt?” Simon crouches down next to you and reaches for your elbow, his gaze focused on your ankle that is throbbing with white hot pain. Inhaling sharply, you nearly choke on your own tongue as you try to gather the air to speak, throwing back your head in discomfort, your teeth grinding together as you grip at your foot, letting out a strained sound. 

“Oh, Hades!” you manage to hiss, having picked up the term from Philip, “That hurts!” Tears spring into your eyes at the sensation.

Little James puts a concerned hand on your arm. “Can you walk?”

You exhale deeply through your nose as you try to move around your ankle, pain ripping through your heel and shunting up all through your calf. “I–I don’t know!” you stutter, your heart beating loudly against your chest. “Simon, can you help me up?”

The former Zealot shakes his head, and you frown in confusion, until he clarifies: 

“Properly sit down for a second, okay? I need to investigate it first.”

You shift yourself to sit on the road, Simon gently taking hold of your leg to stretch it out in front of you, taking your foot into his lap as he kneels down. “I’m going to remove your sandal, is that okay?” You nod, pursing your lips as he undoes the straps and carefully takes it off, holding your foot at the heel, unfazed by the sand between your toes. 

“It feels warm already,” he says, concerned. “It should be compressed for a bit, at least until we reach camp, just to keep it from swelling too much.”

Simon reaches into the bag on his hip and takes out a knife, your eyes widening at the sight. When he sees James’ and your responses at the fact that he carries a weapon on him, he smiles a bit. “It’s meant to cut fruits, don’t worry about it.”

Sighing in relief, you watch how he takes a few scraps of fabric from his bag, selects one and stuffs the others back in. Simon slices a strip clean off, and another, and another, before positioning your foot into his lap properly. You whimper in pain and he mutters a soft apology as he begins binding your ankle.

James holds out his hand for you to squeeze into and you gladly take it, smiling gratefully at him. With practised ease, Simon wraps the strips of fabric around your ankle, your heel, tightly strapping it into a certain position so that you have no choice but to keep it in a straight angle. “Just tell me if it is too tight,” Simon says upon a pained sound that leaves you, but you shake your head. 

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” 

“Any time,” Simon tells you, putting away his items before helping you put your sandal back on, securing it. “Let’s see if you can walk. Luckily, you have a stick on you already.”

Upon standing, Simon helps you to your feet. However, the moment you slowly set it down, you lift your leg immediately to not put any pressure on the ankle. James hands you the walking stick and you lean into it, hoping for it to take away some of the agony. 

“I feel so silly for spraining my ankle now,” you sigh, “Sorry to keep you guys back even more.”

“You can’t help it, (Y/n), so no need to apologise.” James says. 

Simon supports your elbow as you attempt to make a step forward, but in spite of the assistance you’re receiving, tears blur your vision. “Oh, that is awful!” you whimper, distressed. “I don’t think I can walk.”

The three of you fall silent, your gaze going to the horizon, your heart sinking inside your chest. “Who knows how far we might be away from camp, still? For all we know, it’s miles away.”

“Pessimism will get us nowhere.” Simon reminds you, and you sigh, knowing that you’d indeed spend that time better by thinking of a solution. 

James suddenly pipes up. ��Simon, can’t you carry her?”

The former Zealot frowns. “What?”

“Carry her on your back.”

He lets out a small noise and almost flusters at the suggestion. “As (Y/n) just said, camp could be miles away. Can’t we look for another solution?”

“Well, what do you suggest?” 

Brief silence as Simon overthinks it, visibly pondering for a few seconds before admitting to it. “Fine,” he sighs, “I can carry you. But don’t tell the others, otherwise people will request me to carry them just because they don’t feel like walking.” 

You chuckle at the mental image of Big James asking Simon for such a thing and wonder if this would mean a scratch onto his pride, but then, Jesus Himself had said he would get his exercise today. 

“Thank you, Simon.” you earnestly say, smiling kindly. “That means a lot, actually.”

He hums, reluctantly lowering himself so that you can put your arms around his shoulders and wrap your bad leg around his waist so that you can kick yourself off the ground with the other, and he grabs a hold of the back of your knees, lifting you up with a slight grunt. 

“See, that’s not too bad, is it?” James says with amusement in his voice, “If I ever trail back again or feel tired, I know just who to turn to, now.”

Simon lets out a sound and rolls his eyes, but cannot fight the smile. “See, there’s the kind of trouble I was fearing. Are you comfortable, (Y/n)?”

You tighten your grip around his shoulders and shift a little against his back before humming in agreement. “I am now,” you say, “As much as the pain allows me to be.”

When Simon starts to walk, you tightly grab onto him, sudden pain shunting through your ankle at the shocks that go through your body at every step. You rest your head against Simon’s back, grunting in pain. “Sorry,” you squeak, “Every movement just hurts.”

“Jesus will fix it,” Simon tells you, “And if not, it will only hurt for a few days.”

You manage to relax, trying to not focus too much on the pain. “Hm, would you carry me for several days, then?”

Simon clicks his tongue. “In your dreams, (Y/n). I’d drag you through the sand at a certain point.”

Both you and James laugh and you feel yourself becoming drowsy at the feeling of the lowering sun warming your back, the even pad of Simon’s feet lulling you into a state of content. 

“Falling asleep back there, (Y/n)?” James muses upon seeing your closed eyes, and you smile sleepily. 

“Maybe…” you hum, and Simon grabs a firmer hold on you as your body begins to slightly slouch forward against him. “Is it too heavy, Si?”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he mutters, “Just close your eyes and try to rest while you can. After all, we don’t know how far off it is, and the more you sleep, the more energy you’ll have for your ankle to heal, and it means that your pain isn’t too bad at this very moment.”

You hum. “That’s right,” you say. “Thank you again for doing this.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” Simon says, “Seriously thought, don’t mention it.” 

Laughing lightly, you pat his shoulder. “You grump.”

Simon’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a challenging look. “I could drop you right here and now, you know?”

“You could, but you wouldn’t.”

The three of you travel onwards slowly albeit surely, hoping to find the rest of the followers somewhere soon. “Wake me up when you see camp,” you muse, closing your eyes again. 

Simon ignores the amused laughter of James.

“What a sight, though. Who knew that you were such a soft and caring person under all that tough-guy stuff?” Little James comments. You sleepily giggle.

In spite of his request, the former Zealot realises that he might not hear the end of this any time soon.

[decks-writing-blog]

The Borealis: Chapter Five: In The Bag

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

~

“Dad,” Alyx said as soon as Eli and Kleiner showed up on the screen in answer to the communication's officer running to get them. “We’re on the Borealis. We made it.”

Both their eyes widened. It was Kleiner who spoke first. “Do you know what it does yet?”

“No, not yet. We basically just got here and fixed the communications. The Combine know we’re here though and they’re on their way so we don’t exactly have a lot of time to decide what to do.”

“I still think destroying it is our best bet,” Eli said. “Try to learn more if you can but…”

“Uh, excuse you?” BOA interrupted. “You’re thinking about destroying me? I’d like to see you try.”

“No,” Alyx said. “We’re not here to destroy you.” She then turned her gaze back onto the monitor. Leaning to the side, she gestured up at BOA’s orb on the ceiling above them. “Dad, Kleiner, this is BOA. She’s an AI in charge of the ship… or something like that. She’s the reason I called before trying to figure out what the ship does because she can just tell us, right?” She looked back up at BOA.

Kleiner made a wordless sound of interest as, adjusting his glasses, he leaned in towards the screen for a better look. “An AI, huh? Well it is Aperture, if they put an AI in charge of their facility, why not their top secret ship too? Now, BOA, was it? How do function exactly? What level of…” Eli nudged him and gave him a look that Gordon couldn’t read – another reminder of how much had changed between the two of them while he’d been in stasis, nothing new but still uncomfortable. Kleiner grimaced in return at him before turning his attention back onto the screen. “Uh… right, we probably don’t have time currently to discuss all you inner workers, as much as I would like to. That can come later. For now uh… what does the device on board do? The big one, the one Gordon and Alyx came for.”

“That information is classified. However, because I want something from Gordon Freeman and Alyx Vance I am willing to use it to help you. I’m already breaking so many rules anyway, why not a few more? Just uh… don’t tell GLaDOS, please and thank you.”

“I don’t know who that is but I promise, you helping us will be our little secret,” Alyx said. “So first, let’s lay out what we both want, huh? We want to take back Earth, get rid of the Combine already here and stop any more from arriving. It’d be real cool if we could defeat them entirely but uh…”

“That’s not likely,” Eli finished as she trailed off.

“We’ll take safety for us and our Vortiguant allies,” Kleiner added. “Once we’re stable we can maybe start building towards a proper army to fight them but… that’ll be a while.”

BOA’s orb nodded. “Okay. I want full control of the device back. My crew manually severed my connection to it part of it after we arrived here so it should be possible to restore it.”

The call, both the video and audio was surprisingly good quality, making it easy to see the distrust on Eli’s face deepen at that. Gordon was with him; the Borealis’ crew had to have had a good reason to disconnect her from the device. So there was good reason to keep her disconnected from it. However, if she could help them with the Combine, it might be worth it.

“I’ll need control of it to help with your alien invasion problem anyway,” BOA continued. “Which makes this whole negotiation thing rather easy. We’re done, right? Let’s get to work fixing my stuff.”

“Not so fast.” Eli rose a hand in a halt gesture. “Why did they severe your connection to it?”

BOA’s eye frowned back at him. “Because I wasn’t supposed to have full control of it in the first place. I was just supposed to monitor, supply power to it, and to act as a safeguard to prevent individuals from activating it. A I need a human’s permission to activate it but they also need mine kind of deal. So like if someone stole the knowledge on how to use it, they still couldn’t because I wouldn’t allow it and if I got hacked or was otherwise compromised, I couldn’t either. But I was connected to the human’s half through being in charge of all the power systems. An oversight on their part. I hacked their computer, during which I accidentally activated the device, ending up here. The crew freaked out and cut some wires as soon as they figured out what happened.

Alyx shifted to lean back against the consoles and look up at BOA. “If that’s how you ended up here, why didn’t they fix it to go back instead of freeze to death? Surely they could’ve done so if it was just some cut wires unless they didn’t have the stuff on hand for it. But there’s no way they were that stupid, right? So… did they really care that much about keeping you separate from it?”

“Well, uh… this is where it gets kinda embarrassing. I was a wee bit mad at them for the whole thing and a bit nervous about what they might do to me if we got back so I may have locked the panels and not let them fix it.”

“So you let them die?”

Even worse than Gordon had feared. BOA was full responsibly for the crew’s death, not just partially. Making trusting her an even harder task.

“Yes but if it makes you feel better I’m very, super sorry about it. My bad. I did some deeply problematic things but I was just a kid… basically, sort of. I’d only existed for a few months and that’s kind of the AI equivalent of being a kid, right? I didn’t know what I was doing and I certainly didn’t know they’d die so easily. Biologicals are very fragile, you know? And years of solitude have changed me. I’m good now and I want to go home or really anywhere there are people. Fix it and I’ll be a good little AI and move Earth so the Combine can’t find it again, probably and assuming they can’t sense where I’ve moved it too. Your chances will be better than what you have now for sure though. I didn’t need to tell you I let them die. I could’ve lied about that. So I’m perfectly good and trustworthy now. No justifiable reason to not trust me with full control of the device.”

“I can think of several perfectly justifiable reasons not to trust you with you anything. One of them being your claim that there’s no reason not to.”

Alyx was right; if Gordon could’ve trusted BOA less than he did before at that final line, he would’ve. But the device could move Earth? Likely a simplification of what it did, just the gist of it. Presumably, it had a way of doing its thing without killing everyone; like Black Mesa, many of the people at Aperture Science hadn’t been good people but they hadn’t been world-endingly evil either.

Regardless of what the device did exactly though, BOA being the sole being in charge of it wasn’t ideal. Gordon tapped Alyx’s shoulder. “Ask if there’s anyway to restore the system to how it was supposed to work so she only has half control and we have the rest.” Letting her have even that wasn’t much better but at least she couldn’t activate it on her own later.

“Okay, I can try.”

While she repeated the question to BOA Gordon quickly signed to the screen, “She doesn’t know sign.” The four of them did though so, using it, they could discuss this somewhat privately.

“Technically yes,” BOA said in answer to Gordon’s question through Alyx. “But you’ll need to reroute the power system to supply your own power to that entire bank of computers. In addition to that, you don’t know how it works. You don’t even know what it is, I do. Not to mention, I wouldn’t be happy with that arrangement so you’d also have to reroute my control as well. Basically you’d have to rewire the entire device. While you do that, the Combine army once beneath me is still on its way and they want you dead. Whatever they’re waiting for to get into me will probably arrive soon too. I don’t want to be in their hands either so I’d appreciate if you just played nice with me.”

Welp, there went that idea. If they were going to activate the device, it’d have to be through her. Complicating an already complex problem.

Eli snapped his fingers, drawing attention to him. “Destroy it,” he signed. “Too risky.”

“What else can we…” Kleiner began aloud before lifting his hands to sign too. “This might be our only shot to get away from the Combine for good. We can figure out what to do about her after.”

“Are you kidding me?” BOA said over his signing. “Everyone here knows sign language but me?”

Ignoring her, Alyx raised her own hands to sign to Gordon. “What do you think we should do?”

Both Eli and Kleiner were right in their own way. Activating the device could make it worse instead of better in addition to an AI who’d already killed humans needing to be put in charge of it. On the other hand though this might be their only chance to escape from the Combine’s attention. Even if all it could do was prevent any more from coming to Earth, it’d be a great boon in the war. Ensuring no more could come to push their resistance back down and then likely wipe out the last of humanity, wasn’t an opportunity they should lightly discard. Making it a hard choice. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

She glanced at the screen then up at BOA, ‘frowning’ down at them, before returning her gaze to him. “I wanna agree with Dad, its dangerous. We don’t even know what it does. ‘Move Earth’, that sounds potentially really bad. But what if Kleiner’s right? This might be out only shot. So… I’ll go with whatever you decide.”

Damn it. Gordon had long since grown to prefer being told what to do and where to go. Logically it made sense for it to come down to him though. The resistance viewed him as a hero because through sheer brute force he was; he’d chosen to be. He could’ve chosen at any time to be selfish. There’d been multiple opportunities to run off and hide, stop dying over and over, but he’d always chosen to keep going. He’d chosen to take on the Nihilanth and everything after the Citadel had been entirely his own choice. Coming here included. Yeah the whole time he’d been passively going along with what people expected of him but that didn’t make it not a choice. Upon discovering it, he’d chosen to use his power to do as much good as he could. And now he had a choice to make for the good of all of humanity.

Theoretically if he made the wrong choice he could reset it. However, the stasis had interrupted how far back he could go. Activating the device might do the same and thus be irreversible. So destroying the Borealis might be the thing to go with first. If they really wanted, they could maybe even save BOA from said destruction. She wasn’t the ship after all, just part of it and thus could theoretically be disconnected from it and thus relieve the ‘this would also kill her’ from affecting the decision. Not that that was a huge factor given she’d let her crew freeze to death mostly out of spite but… she’d been alone up here for more than twenty years, her own fault but still no doubt hell. Maybe she had changed and thus deserved some mercy.

But, if they did that it might be a few years before doing so revealed they’d blown their chance at evading the Combine’s reinforcements. Even if they managed to kill every Combine unit on Earth, they knew of Earth now and where it was, all they’d have to do was reopen a way to get here. This might be their only chance to try to negate that possibility.

“Just so you know,” BOA said, “the Combine army will be at my metaphorical doorstep in an hour. The uneven terrain will prevent a full on assault but there are a lot of them. I predict fixing my connection to the computers will take some time. And then absorbing enough power to activate the device on a planetary scale will take even more time. Probably you’ll have to guard my solar panel arrays for some time no matter what but I suggest hopping to fixing my wires to ensure I can use the device soon as possible. So decide already, please. I don’t want to end up in their hands and you don’t want me there anyway.”

Gordon glanced at the screen again. Eli and Kleiner were watching him silently as was Alyx. They were all waiting for his decision. Well, he’d never been an indecisive person. No time to rest and think, there never was, they had to get going on whatever they were going to do.

He lifted his hands and… “We activate it.” If this was their only shot, they had to take it.

“Are you sure?” Eli said out loud.

No but… “Yes.” He was good at faking confidence.

“Hmm… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Gordon hoped so too.

“I am sure this is the right call,” Kleiner said. “You’ll see Eli. Everything’s going to turn out fine.”

“I’m assuming that means we have reached an agreement,” BOA said. “Such was the obvious conclusion of course, I wasn’t worried or concerned at all. It’s not like being trapped up here for so long was starting to get to me or anything. I can’t feel loneliness or go mad with solitude or fear death should you have decided to blow me up or something. I’ve just…”

“We get it,” Alyx interrupted. “Dad, Dr. Kleiner, we’ll call back when we’re done fixing it if we can and have the time. Maybe don’t hold your breath on that though, we got a whole army of Combine coming to greet us.”

“Okay. Be safe, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

“Keep each other safe, come back home and most importantly, don’t die. Talk to you soon, hopefully.”

And with that, he hung up; the call was over, negotiation complete, decision made. No more time to waste, Alyx looked up at BOA. “Let’s do this thing if we’re gonna do it. Show us where to go to fix it.”

“Come this way.” BOA rolled along her ceiling track as Alyx and Gordon followed.

She lead the way around to the other side of the bank of computers. The bottom panels popped up, revealing more inner workings. These had been purposefully sabotaged though with several important wires cut. It would take longer to repair than the communications had but hopefully not by too much more.

“While she handles that, Gordon Freeman, I recommend preparing to fight the incoming army.” Here, BOA’s voice switched to also speaking through the HEV suit’s speakers. Not surprising she was able to connect to it but given her earlier confession of being able to hack stuff, it was a bit disconcerting. Nothing he could do about it though except hope she indeed wanted to go home bad enough to be good. “Normally I’d put your chances at victory around five and a half percent but your anomaly means in theory you can brute force it. Most of the fighting will likely take place atop my upper deck. I have several mounted turrets. The only outside one is frozen in ice and is thus currently non-functional. So you will have to rely on my store of standing turrets. Follow the lights.”

The door they’d come through opened and the hall lit up. Gordon looked down at Alyx, already settled into working on taking out the faulty wires. She paused to look up at him. “I don’t like the thought of separating either but… it’s not like we have much choice, huh? So go, I can handle this.”

With an inward sigh, he went. Hopefully Kleiner was right and it would turn out fine in the end. … Even if afterwards there’d be an uncontrolled AI in charge of a device capable of affecting the whole planet. That was a problem they could worry about once the Combine weren’t as much of an issue.

Using the lights, BOA only led him around one bend in the path they’d come down before opening a side door for him to go through. Not that that hall was much different than the others. It lead to a room labeled ‘Storage’. Inside of which were a bunch of red eyes that all turned to look at Gordon as he stepped in.

“Target acquired,” sounded from one of them, followed by a few more voice lines that Gordon didn’t quite catch because his suit was being riddled with bullets, making paying attention to that a much bigger priority. He jumped back and around the corner. In seconds his suit had gone from full power to less than half.

“Oops, oops, sorry!” BOA’s frantic voice came through the suit’s speakers still.

At the same time from the room came, “Sentry mode activated,” and “Could you come over here?” Why were they talking?

“I forgot to program you in as a friend,” BOA continued. “Just give me a moment. I should probably do Alyx too, huh? Just uh… and uh… there! Done! They’re friends now… probably.”

Gordon crept back around the corner, tense. The light in the room was on now, revealing the owners of the red eyes to be three-legged turrets. Bodies thin and oblong, they were painted in Aperture’s signature white. They were set up in an odd semi-circle, facing the door. Perhaps meant to guard the rest of the stuff in storage? Or moved by the crew and/or that drone BOA mentioned earlier. Regardless one of them starting firing at Gordon this time but with a clicking indicating it was defective or out of ammo.

“That one’s broke,” BOA said in confirmation. “So don’t worry about her, just leave her where she is. The rest, bring up to the deck and set up however you please. Try not to get them killed. Their AI isn’t as advanced as mine but… please try to keep them alive if you can.”

There being no use replying as nothing he signed would be understood, Gordon didn’t bother. He would try to keep the turrets alive though mostly because the longer the turrets stayed up, the more Combine they could kill.

He pulled the gravity gun out and approached the closest turret. It let out a, “Who are you?” as he grabbed it, the gravity field automatically orienting it to face outwards. Why had Aperture made these things speak? And why in a cute voice? As a way to get people to underestimate them? They were still turrets though so… it wasn’t very effective. He’d probably never know as whoever had decided on it had likely died thanks to the Combine. But as long as they functioned as turrets, it didn’t really matter anyway.

One by one, he brought them through the halls to the deck, leaving them by the door for now. BOA guided him to two more rooms that contained a few more. Several of these wore hats BOA asked him to remove and place to the side first. In the end, he had about thirty turrets under his command, all of them chatty.

There being no way he’d get them to the top of the ice cliff above the ship fast enough to be helpful, after resupplying his suit with power form their store of batteries, he started setting them up around the deck instead. Knowing what their range was would’ve been nice but he had no way to easily ask so he would just have to assume they had similar ranges to other turrets he had experience setting up. He centered most of them to guard the ship’s solar panel arrays. Which rose up out of two holes in the deck an either side, forming almost wing-like arms that extended out past the ships sides.

Not long after he’d finished, BOA chimed in with, “Good news, Alyx has completed restoring my connection to the appropriate computer. I am finally whole once more. At the bottom of you Hazardous Environment Suit’s virtual display I will add a progress bar that will act as a facsimile for how long it’ll be before I can activate the device on the scale you desire. As long as your helmet stays up, you should be able to see it.”

Said bar popped up in the center, reading at zero percent. It then minimized and moved to below the suit’s power readout.

“And the bad news is, because there’s almost always bad news with good news, the Combine will be here in approximately five minutes.”

That was fine. Gordon was about as ready as he could be for this.

It was only about a minute before Alyx was joining him. Jogging up as she pulled her winter gloves back on. “There’s no going back now, huh? We gave control of who even knows what exactly to a potentially dangerous AI and now we just gotta hope things turn out well. … Or I guess, you can go back. You will, right? If this turns out to be a bad idea.”

“Yes.” If he could. No need to share his doubt about how that might not be an option. He had little idea how his power worked so what cut it off from letting him go back to before the stasis was impossible to know and thus it was only a worry that the device might have a similar effect.

“That’s good to know. We basically already got this in the bag then.”

~

Next Chapter

[tev-the-random]

(Continuation of this!)

If he had to call the attack on Tumble Town anything, Sausage would call it ominous.

You see, the thing about living thousands of years and multiple lives is that you start to notice patterns in tragedy. So although most people said there was calm before the storm, he knew otherwise: there was always a bit of a dark sky in between, some sort of warning bell. And Sausage knew quite a lot about dark skies.

He was the first one to offer support as soon as he got the news. If not because his colourful empire greatly valued the terracotta trades, then because the Sheriff was a good friend. The man confided to Sausage — which means everybody everywhere was aware of it by noon — his strange encounter the previous night. The Red Light Bandit, as he’d taken to calling the suspect, definitely gave off the feeling that they were looking for more than a victimless inconvenience. They both knew this wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

Someone needed to keep an extra eye out, if anything. It was in the Guardian's nature to protect what was vulnerable, regardless of whether or not it made a chill run down his spine. He owed it to Tumble Town, after all. He should do right by it at least once.

Citizens of Sanctuary were quick to volunteer a hand once the message started circulating. Now, if there was one thing Sausage was sure of, it was that those who lived in Sanctuary — the refugees, the runaways, the lost souls and found families, — understood better than anyone what it was like to pick up the pieces of a broken home.  

Two days after the incident, Sausage showed up to the mesa with a whole group of volunteered help behind him. Truth be told, try as he might, the Guardian couldn't keep up with every single soul that came and went from the safe haven he'd created; he wasn’t, therefore, completely familiar with the entire bunch. There were one or two elves with whom he’d had friendly conversations over the years; an enderian who often humoured the thought of moving to Tumble Town, where the humidity was far more bearable than in the jungle; a couple of fae he had personally welcomed into their community after their forest burned down.

They were followed over the torn hills by four avian friends — no older than eighteen or so, from some country overseas, — a number of dwarves with a heavy accent from somewhere way up north and a few humans from all over the place. Sausage couldn’t say he knew any of them by name, but he made sure to keep track of them nonetheless.

“Alright, everybody! The Sheriff offered us some tools in this box here,” he announced, stepping out of the sheriff’s office with a heavy chest full of equipment. “There are a couple of spots that could use our help, I’m pretty sure everyone can find something they’re good at. If you need any guidance, just come looking for me and we’ll figure it out, right? Right, let’s get to it!”

Sausage’s enthusiasm was infectious, and his people promptly took the initiative. They scattered throughout the town to help break up debris, repair broken rooves, move animals, replace light sources and all the likes of manual labour. Seeing them work alongside the citizens of Tumble Town who had the condition to stay and rebuild, the various goblins carrying materials all around and even a few of Joel’s obedient subjects, Sausage was glad to conclude most of the group had no trouble fitting in. Some, however, seemed a bit more unsure.

One of the humans — or at least he thought that’s what they were; something seemed a little off about it, though he wasn’t quite sure what — caught his attention after a couple of minutes. They looked around with some sort of polite intrigue and a quiet demeanour Sausage assumed was related to shyness. Their nervousness spiked immediately once they noticed Sausage staring, and his approach didn’t seem to make it much better, despite his best intentions.

“Hey there!” He started with a smile that aimed to soothe. “Sorry, this is all a bit of a mess. I guess you haven’t found something to do yet?”

They stared at him as if he was about to bite their head off. Eventually, they nodded.

Sausage hummed. He scanned the wreckage of the town, eyes landing on the Sheriff — who was busy instructing his cheery avian quartet on something, — then following the jagged hills around them in search of vacant stations. His look then went back to the man in front of him, eyeing him up and down once. Although he had a thinner frame than Sausage’s own, he was still built like someone who was used to carrying lots of weight; his long blond hair, streaked with the occasional grey strands, resembled a very messy curtain, taking over his features like he had never his life bothered to brush it back. Still, the Guardian could tell the man had tired dark eyes that avoided his stare at all costs.

“Tell you what, you seem pretty strong,” Sausage concluded, nodding to himself. “I think you should join Vilde by the train tracks over there, if you can.”

Next to the tunnel that once led to the east side of Tumble Town, an elf chipped away at the boulders that blocked it. She was a tall and burly woman who Sausage knew to be quite amicable. It seemed like a good match to him.

He gave the man an encouraging pat on the back, which was returned in the form of a relieved smile. Rolling his shoulders and taking one of the pickaxes inside their equipment box, the stranger — Sausage realised a few seconds too late that he forgot to ask for a name, dang it! — walked away. He promptly received a warm greeting upon reaching the train tracks, which the Guardian was pretty satisfied to see.

After making sure everyone was well taken care of, Sausage set off to get his own work done. He did not spare a single thought to how often the dark gaze behind blond locks drifted his way.

-

They met again when the sun over the mesa got too hot for them to work. Tumble Town’s saloon was bustling with all the helpers that had come inside to escape the heat and rest for a while. Sausage, for one, had no trouble weaving his way across the crowd and towards the duo sitting by the bar.

Vilde, the sturdy elf, managed to pull some conversation out of the man she had been put to work with. His name was Terrence, she told; he came from a small ranch in a very far away land he refused to speak about, but which he referred to with some fondness.

“Aww, have you met Larisa yet?” Sausage interjected. “Xe’s Sanctuary’s best shepherd, I’m sure xe would love a helping hand with the animals!”

“Maybe,” Terrence replied, softspoken. His hair, no doubt an inconvenience, had since been braided back, but few strands still found a way to fall over his eyes. His face was littered with little scars. “I ain’t got much experience with sheep, but if Larisa needs help with cows, I’m pretty much a magnet for them.”

“I guess that makes you a cowboy,” Vilde chirped, a proud glint in her eyes as her new friend sighed with lighthearted disapproval.

The minutes ticked by, and as it often happens to him, Sausage wasn’t sure how they got to the topic they got. He had just finished a long-winded story about his and Joel’s complicated relationship — not sparing details about the other people with whom he had all sorts of “complicated relationships” — when he finally decided to take a breather. Much to his mildly horrified audience’s relief.

Almost as if on cue, a familiar flutter of wings made itself heard outside. The Guardian of Sanctuary turned around to find a certain teenager standing timidly by the entranceway. The brightest of grins immediately illuminated his face.

“Hermes, my boy!” He shouted, waving frenetically as if from across a field. “I’m right here, come on over!”

Anyone with even the slightest observational skills could tell that the last thing the boy wanted was to be perceived by the saloon full of people. They shrunk into themself as if hoping they could disappear if they just didn’t move. But they couldn’t really do much when both of their fathers were some of the most flamboyant people in all of the empires. Sausage remained regrettably unaware of it.

Vilde and Terrence watched with distinct forms of interest as Hermes won over his hesitation and approached his father, who promptly gave him a loving kiss on the cheek as a greeting.  He was still little for a demigod, and his soft appearance would have you think him no older than an early pre-teen.

“Oh, do you remember Vilde, Hermes?” Sausage questioned. “And this here is Terrence! He moved to Sanctuary a few weeks ago, isn’t that nice?”

The elf had met Sausage’s child a handful of times over the years she had lived in Sanctuary. Still not enough for them to return her smile with quite the same enthusiasm as her.

Terrence, on his part, tilted his head with thinly veiled curiosity. It was as if the boy had kickstarted a furious thought process that made for a very amused conclusion.

“So you’re that Hermes I’ve heard so much about.” Tipping an imaginary hat, he smiled at the teen. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

They nodded in what was almost a greeting. The two of them stared at each other for maybe a moment too long before Hermes was no longer able to hold eye contact.

“What are you doing here?” Sausage asked, oblivious.

Hermes vacillated, opening and closing their mouth a couple of times. In the end, they opted to speak with their hands.

“Dad left me in Sanctuary early. I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh? Oh god, I’m so sorry! You must have been waiting so long— I told Joel I was busy today!” Sausage voiced his frustration dramatically. He sighed, then eyed his child with concern. “Does Thunder Daddy know you left Sanctuary? Did you come here all on your own?”

The boy made a face.

“I’m not five anymore.”

“Aw, you’ll always be my baby boy, even if you’re a hundred years old!”

The Guardian captured his son in a tight embrace, earning a squawk from them. Vilde laughed into her glass of water, trying not to embarrass them further, while Terrence observed the scene with a mix of fondness, amusement and something a little deeper, but undecipherable.

-

In the end, Sausage left earlier than intended, only taking his time to report back to the Sheriff and make sure everyone who came with him was still well. The others stayed for an hour or two more before most of them started heading back to Sanctuary. Terrence, on the other hand, seemed hesitant to leave.

“I was thinking... maybe I should stay here for the night,” he said, a little sheepish. He and the extroverted elf who had so promptly adopted him as a friend stood outside, where a few people still mingled about after a day’s work. “I would really rather avoid having to take the tram back and forth everyday...”

“Oh, tell me about it.” The Sheriff chimed in. He sat on a chair at the front porch of the saloon, leaning back against the wall. “Those damn rails give me motion sickness for days. Why don’t people just walk places anymore?”

“We can go walking if you want to,” Vilde offered.

“I dunno. I don’t think we’d get there before dark.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky, musing. “I don’t wanna keep you out too late. I mean,” the man eyed Vilde with an awkward smile. “You could probably crush a zombie’s head with your bare hands, no offence, but I’d still feel bad.”

The elf opened her mouth to protest, only to get  interrupted by the Sheriff.

“Pretty sure there’s room in the inn, if you want.” He knocked on the window behind him. “I know those people from Stratos are staying over. Considering you’re helping us fix the town and all that, I think the innkeep will be more than happy to have ya.”

Terrence let out a sigh of relief. He smiled gratefully, not quite meeting the Sheriff’s eyes.

“You’re sure you’re staying?” Vilde asked. He nodded. “Well... I’ll warn Sausage about it, then.” She gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and a grin. “Be seeing you tomorrow, Terry!”

The Sheriff watched him wave off the elf as she skipped away. When it was just the two of them left, they stood there, occasionally exchanging some idle conversation. The old man found that Terrence was quite the pleasant company, albeit a generally timid one, with an easy laughter and a witty mind. The man’s competent rancher stories were enough to keep him amused until the sun came down, by which time they decided to enter the saloon-inn.

He didn’t drink, though. After Terrence bid him good night and disappeared upstairs, the Sheriff kept an eye out for any signs of trouble outside. He hadn’t felt so restless in years, and it rubbed him in all sorts of wrong ways.

Little did he know that, later that evening, the timid blond man with streaks of grey hair and face littered with little scars would manage to sneak his way into the Mezalean house on the other side of the hills. The place, albeit more or less intact, had no signs of living other than a few recent footprints of red sand and some disturbed dust on the shelves. The Sheriff, for one, never bothered checking it out, which made it perfect for hiding things.

Terrence opened a chest to find a set of clothes he unceremoniously changed into. They smelled like gunpowder, and he — Jimmy, he reminded himself at the sight of the heart-shaped scar on his chest. His name is Jimmy — couldn’t possibly feel more comfortable in them.

As he stepped into the small hidden cave next to the building, he couldn’t help but stare at his own reflection on a near-dry puddle under the moonlight. A faint red tint in his otherwise dark eyes stared back at him. It was a wonder that no one seemed to pay attention to it all day long. Not that he was complaining: it felt like waltzing around memories that couldn’t quite look him in the eye anymore. It’s an empowering feeling, despite the rather pathetic persona he had chosen to play in front of them.

Inside of a hole in the wall of the cavern, concealed behind an inconspicuous stone block, a lantern of bright, pulsating red light called to him. He held it like a long lost friend.

They had business to attend to.

[dracwife]

stay for tonight, if you want to.

ship: about this dream & you → mickey/tim word count: 1628 summary: what's a ship without that first meeting fic am i right. i promise the sequels will be more interesting.

"That is a complete abuse of power," Kate's exasperated voice chides him.

Mickey shoves his hands further into his pockets, "She's right Tony, you can't just lie to the guy."

"Sure I can. I'm Senior Field Agent."

"We were hired at the same time."

"And you very kindly relinquished the title to me alone! Besides, he's new. He expects to be abused."

Mickey stops walking, head tilting to the side in annoyed contemplation. Tony's confident stride falters, and he catches a second glance back towards his partner. 

"What -- Mickey, what are you doing?"

"Rule of twos, Tony. I'm staying."

"Mickey, if this is some ploy to get me to say nevermind…"

"No," his voice is high, he holds his hand out and shakes his head, "Not at all. I wouldn't want Gibbs to be upset that our scene wasn't handled properly. After all, he's new, like you said. No, I think I'll stay here with him. But you better hope you can get someone else here quick, you know how awfully cranky I can be on no sleep." His smile is nothing less than that shit-eating grin Tony knows all too well. He sighs, grabs Kate's elbow gently, and nudges her forward again as they continue their trek to the van.

"You know he's doing it just to piss you off, right?" she's almost laughing, knowing smirk taunting Tony as he walks, brows furrowed ahead.

"No. He's doing it to piss me off, and because he has a crush on Agent McGee."

Mickey watches them walk away with a satisfied smile. His hands finally drop to his sides again, and as the weight of his decision finally sets in worm their way into his jacket once more. He turns, slowly at first, head down and kicking the ground as he walks to the curb, and falls exasperated onto it. His elbows rest on his knees, head on his palms as he watches his team walk away -- without him. There's almost something sad about it, but as he thinks more of it he figures it's just the bitterness of the consequences of his own rash decision that's really getting to him. If anything, there's comfort in knowing he did the right thing, unlike Tony. And perhaps Kate in her compliance…If only he was as willing to cooperate.

"Oh, uhm, Special Agent Joysz, right?" he hears the politely inquisitive voice behind him. 

"That's me," he sighs. 

"Are -- Are you waiting here with me?"

"I guess I am, Agent. I guess I am."

"Is this…Is this SOP for you guys?"

Mickey's head turns, he glances up towards the man that's standing above him. The way he's so happily wearing that stupid hat so proudly, the genuine curiosity in his eyes, there's almost a naivety to him that makes Mickey chuckle.

"Not at all, Agent McGee."

"But Agent DiNozzo said --"

"I know what he said. Call it his cruel sense of humor."

"...Oh."

"Sit. Talk with me. We'll be here a while."

"Oh, I don't think I should…" 

Mickey rolls his eyes. Oh, to be new again, still strapped to the manuals and rules, the handbooks and procedures, clinging to them like they were life itself.

"Stand, then. Whatever works."

There's a lull in the conversation, but it doesn't seem uncomfortable. An almost invisible kinship, two sides of the same coin. Not naivety, he decides. But perhaps a hopefulness. A trustfulness, willingness to learn. A want to. He remembers his time as rookie, before he made his own path to the man he was now, sitting on that curb. He glances back again, quicker this time. Sees that same spark he knows he had years ago. A want to do right, in all senses of what that may be, or maybe what anyone might tell him is.

"You're not much of a field agent, are you?"

"I…Do a lot of…Office work. Files, computers, mostly."

"You can just say no," Mickey smiles, "I'm not going to judge you for it."

"Sorry, Sir. You're right."

"Don't call me sir. Just Mickey will do."

"Sorry."

He wants to say And stop apologizing, but with the way the agent looks at him as their gazes meet, he feels it might not be worth the effort; He can tell it's going to take longer than a single reminder to break such habits.

"First job?"

"No, I've worked a couple of cases before."

"I meant NCIS."

"I graduated not long ago, yes."

"From?"

"MIT -- Bachelor's, Digital Forensics."

"A little old for a Bachelor's, no?"

"Uhm, Master's in Biomedical Engineering."

"MIT again?"

"Johns Hopkins."

Of course it was.

McGee pauses. Tugs at the sleeve of his jacket.

"Impressive," Mickey finally mumbles. He cards a hand through his hair, which has fallen in front of his face. 

"What about you?"

"...Been here a while."

"Did you ever…"

"Go to college? Yeah. Forensics too, actually. Bio and psych. Criminal Justice minor. But it was no MIT, that's for sure. Was with the FBI first, actually. Interned there. Worked CSI with them a bit. Transferred to their Special Tactics unit for a bit. Got tired of it, requested a transfer back to field work. Ended up here."

"Wow. That's…A lot. Even for someone your age."

"I'm only 26, McGee."

"...So am I, though."

Envy emanates off of them both, but their distant stares, needing to see anything but the other, the now awkward silence and gap between them keep it from ever crossing the air enough to notice. 

Mickey lays back. The concrete is cold and hard on his head, but the night sky is terribly pretty when you have an open view of it. Too bad there's a surprised and nervous agent staring at him, blocking his view.

"Are you okay?"

"I'd be better if you moved about a foot to your left."

He does, after a moment of hesitation.

"So…What else do you do then?" he begins counting the stars.

"Paperwork, mostly. Like I said."

"In your free time?"

"Oh. Not much."

"You have to do something."

"Well, what do you do?"

"That's no fair. I asked first," Mickey grins, but understandably answers -- he can only imagine how strange it must be, to be asking such personal questions to a man you scarcely know. But his curiosity got the best of him -- and perhaps his heart too, the man was terribly cute, especially the way he so thoroughly answered every question thus far, tried his best to be helpful even when it was something as silly as engaging in friendly conversation. But Mickey speaks anyways:

"I do a little of this and that -- Music, mostly. I write sometimes, but I'm better at the lyrics than I am the music part. And I've been trying to understand the whole Speedrunning thing lately. Like in video games, y'know? But I'm not very good at it," he reminisces for a moment, and then grumbles to himself, "I guess I should probably just stick to playing normally."

Now he had McGee's attention.

"What game?"

"Sonic Adventure."

"...You have a Dreamcast?"

"Yeah. Controller's a bit old, though. B button sticks. It makes things a hell of a lot harder."

"I think I might have a spare."

Mickey raises an eyebrow, cautiously, "You play?"

"I used to. Not so much into consoles anymore. Not primarily, at least. I think PC is where the future's headed."

"Digital forensics, you would say that, wouldn't you?" Mickey teases, "What do you play, then?"

His answer is quick, enthused, so unlike that cautious rookie he's been talking to before, "I've been getting into more RTS games lately. Still kind of surface level, but I think I have a decent grip on the concept."

Mickey hums, and counts a few more stars, tries to remember the constellations, "I always have wanted to get into those. But I never feel like I'm smart enough for it."

Finally, the other man joins him in sitting on the curb. Mickey sits up, offers half a smile. 

"Well, I think you seem pretty smart. And…It's Tim, by the way." 

His smile grows, and it's genuine. 

They talk, for what seems like forever, and Mickey even finds himself laughing from time to time. He's forgotten entirely about his annoyance with Tony, and even just for a second, doesn't so much regret offering to stay, as much as he is sort of grateful he did. Their conversation is flowing, and easy, and though deep down Mickey knows it's against his own best interests, he lets himself enjoy it. He allows himself to keep prodding, asking questions, smile and laugh, and to see the smile of the other, indulge in the feeling of a silly schoolboy crush on the man he'd only just met, that kid in him that never seemed to grow up, that never got a chance to. And maybe it'd break his poor heart one day soon, but if the spark of happiness it gave him in that moment was perpetual until that very minute, he was more than willing to risk the pain, for he figures that was a bridge he'd just have to burn when he got to it.

Neither notice the van that arrives, nor the two agents that step out and approach them, to relieve them of their duties. 

"Before you go, Tim --"

"Hm?"

"...That spare controller, was that…An offer?"

"Sure. If you want it to be. I can drop it off to you when I submit my report after this is over."

Mickey's about to say something, something horribly stupid probably, in his ignorant bliss, but stops himself.

"What about lunch, instead? Y'know, to make the trip all the way to our office worth it."

Tim smiles for a moment, and nods.

"Yeah, okay. To make the trip worth it."

[avictimofthejazz]

The Hardest Talk--Missy & Face

@timeguardians​

Continued from HERE

Missy’s anger is predictable, something Face expects as soon as he starts talking. It is the way of teenagers—to lash out violently when their sensitive spots are pricked, and exposed to the light. Her emotions are running through her like a roller coaster, first sinking lower, before rising to an angry high point, before dropping down again. He lets her run through them, from her defeated admission that she is giving everyone what they want, through her defense of settling for Stetson, to her sudden outburst when he spots the bruises. When she stands up, he does so too in a subtle gesture meant to stop her from storming out. To reach the front door, she has to get through him, and he might be comfortably into his forties now, but he is still a formidable barrier to an irate teenager. Besides, he suspects Missy is having a moment of dramatic flair. As much as she might claim it, she does not really want to go storming out of his house. “Take it easy, Missy.” Face holds up one hand as Missy blurts out a glimpse of her pain regarding George’s early death. “I’m not trying to sound like your father. I just sound like a father. We all get the same basic manual the minute our first daughter is born, and interfering with her teenage desire to date jerks is on page 183. He knows Missy has never had a proper chance to grieve for George. It had all been chaos and madness since he passed, and Missy threw herself into partying and chasing boys rather than dealing with her losses. Face tilts his head as Missy gives an explanation for her bruises. “Okay… so maybe a few bruises came when he had to yank you away from the bus—I’ll give you that one. I’ve left bruises too, when I had to tackle people out of danger. But what about these ones?” The con artist gestures at some fading marks higher up on her arms, like she had been pinned in place. “Or these?” He points out a few purple-ish marks just peeking out from her tee-shirt near her collarbone. “Since you don’t play any serious contact sports, I can’t imagine those bruises came from anything other then a guy getting too rough with you.” Face takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing seriously. “I’ve spent most of my life doing really stupid stuff—in school, in the army, when I was on the run… it was pretty much my M.O. No matter how badly I pissed off Father O’Malley, or Hannibal, or even Amy, none of them have ever hit me over it.” He automatically discounts play-swats, friendly tackles, and light cuffs up the back of his head. Those are natural outcomes of interacting with old friends, most of whom are men. “Even when BA threatened to punch me in the face, and he probably had a right too, he never actually did it. That’s because you don’t hit people you love, no matter how much they annoy you, or how stupid their choices are. If Aaron is knocking you around because he says you’re doing stupid things and deserve it, then he’s lying. It doesn’t matter how stupid your choice might be, or how dangerous an action was. There’s nothing in this world you can do to deserve getting hit.”

Missy’s outburst passes, and her next statement is much quieter. It also gives Face some painful context for how her mind is trying to rationalize the situation she is in. “Is it really better then being a nobody, if you have to pay for it in pounds of flesh?” he asks gently. “I know you’re lonely, and I know how crippling it feels to be alone… but trust me, guys who beat you aren’t a solution. They’ll just isolate you, and make you feel even more alone in the long run. It’s better to be single and free, then to be surrounded by people who only want things from you.” Face’s last statement carries the heavy weight of experience in it. He has spent years learning that painful lesson firsthand, discovering that his best friends are the people who want nothing from him except that he exist in the same world they do. That is why, no matter how fond he is of BA and Hannibal, he always declares Amy and Murdock to be his best friends. From the very first moments of their friendship, they did not want anything from him. Neither of them wanted him to scam anything, or steal something or supply answers. They just want him to exist, and to share their lives. It would take him years to realize just how liberating those friendships were to him. To not be wanted for his skills, but merely for himself made him look at his life, and the variety of masks that covered it, in a new way. Eventually, those friendships gave him enough courage to begin dismissing a few of those masks, and growing comfortable in his own skin. That is the kind of friendship Missy needs, honestly… but unfortunately, she is reaching a stage where her relationship with Callie is not nearly enough. She wants the attentions and validations that can only come from a young man… and Aaron is the kind of man who preys on that vulnerability, and manipulates it into something ugly.  

[blackjackkent]

How about "Peace" or "Bite" with Aria and Morgana? I have missed them. 🥰

(Send me a pairing and a prompt)

Send me a "Peace" and I'll write a drabble about them spending a quiet moment together.

(Morgana is @morganaseren's OC who we shipped with Aria T'Loak in our adventures in the Mass Effect RP sphere. :) Fundamentally this serves as a bit of a sequel to this drabble.)

-----

Even at low watch, Afterlife is never quiet. The station never truly sleeps, and the low bass thud of the music is like its heartbeat. But it is emptier; the only clientele still sucking down drinks at the bar or leering at the dancers are the true dregs, the underbelly's underbelly.

Aria stands on her balcony looking out over the debauchery; her expression is unreadable. "She was hurt?"

"Cracked ribs. And ancillary electrical burns," Garka says with a slight shrug. "Target had traps laid around their base of operations. Seren wasn't fooled by them, but the hacker triggered them off manually when he realized he wasn't getting away. Fried himself completely, based on the report."

Aria turns her head just slightly to look at him. Garka has served her long enough that he doesn't flinch from her gaze so easily, but even when not directed at him, the fury in her eyes stings like a slap.

"Good," she says coldly.

He feels the sudden, highly inappropriate urge to smile. To do so would be death or something close to it, and yet -- they have all noticed the way Aria's fierce possessiveness has extended to apply to Seren as well since their relationship became a settled thing. This poor bastard who made the mistake of harming Seren made the right choice by immolating himself rather than letting Aria get her hands on him.

"She's getting treated down in the ACC. Should I tell her you're--"

Aria is already gone, moving at a fast trot down the stairs.

-----

"She's sleeping. She can't talk right now," the doctor - a nervous-looking asari with a sharp scar across one cheek - tells Aria uneasily as the matriarch enters the auxiliary control center. No one on Omega likes telling Aria that she can't do something.

But Aria doesn't explode at her, just lifts one painted eyebrow dismissively. "I'm aware. Now move."

The doctor swallows. "She needs time to recover before she can take new orders. Or talk too much."

"I'm aware," Aria says, and there's the slightest hint of menace in the tone now. "Now move."

The doctor's eyes flicker around the room rapidly to avoid fixing on the queen's face. "It would be better if--"

"Doctor," Aria says with exaggerated patience heavy with irritation. "I am not here with another job for her. I am not here to interrupt her rest. I am not here to fuck her, which I can only assume is what you are concerned about. But please believe me when I say that if you continue keeping me from seeing her, you will be a smear on the bulkheads in precisely one minute."

The deep blue of the doctor's skin pales markedly. "Right. Yes. Of course," she stammers hastily. "Uh. Go right on in."

The room where Morgana lies is dark but for the pale glow of some nearby diagnostic equipment, and quiet but for the omnipresent hum of the environmental systems. Aria stops briefly in the doorway, and listens for a moment to that peaceful half-silence, a far cry from Afterlife's heartbeat thump, and watches the dim outline of Seren's chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

In spite of the doctor's concerns, Aria actually doesn't intend to wake her - but Seren seems to register her presence anyway, and stirs, her eyes flickering half-open.

"Hello," she murmurs.

"Careful," Aria says dryly. "The doctor outside seemed to think my talking to you might kill you."

"...worthy death," Seren mumbles with a slight smile.

Aria's lips twitch. She crosses the room to sit down slowly on a chair at Seren's bedside. "Broken ribs, hm? What happened?"

Seren's lips purse in a tight frown and her pale grey eyes close again. "He had two varren with him. They were a distraction. But only a temporary one. And he won't infringe on your territory again."

"I expected nothing less," Aria says, and her tone is uncharacteristically soft. Here in the privacy of darkness, with no eyes on them, she can allow herself the luxury of visible concern for her lover, gratitude for her safe return. With equally atypical gentleness, she reaches out and runs her fingertips along Seren's hairline, brushing a lock of dark hair off her face. With the contact, the empathic bond between them hums to life, communicating all the emotion she still doesn't know how to voice in words. "You did well. And now you rest."