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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years ago

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Mind The Gap: One

Summary: In an age of Heroes, there's always one more Villain. Can Shang- Chi handle his girlfriend needing to walk a Hero's Journey of her own? And how will he handle the two of you not being the only "people" in your relationship?

“Where are you?”

“I’m safe- well. Relatively speaking.”

“Y/N-” He tightened his grip on the phone like it was a life line. Like if he clung on hard enough, he could find you somehow.

“I promise to explain it all when I get back,” you say slowly, in what you hope is a relaxed tone of voice. It’s a little had to do with a desert Eagle pointed directly at your nose but for Shang-Chi, to keep him out of this you’d try.

“Please,” he whispered. He could hear the difference in your tone. It wasn’t your usual easy going voice. The one that filled him with a sense of calm. There was a sharpness. And under current he’d only heard once before. And it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“Tell Katy I’m sorry I have to miss Karaoke night,” you try, hoping to break his concentration. “I have to go, I love you.”

And before he can get anything else out, the line goes dead. The line goes dead and he can feel a hollow ache in his chest. One that tells him you’re in trouble. Big trouble. And without being able to keep you on the phone, there’s no telling where you went.

“She’s smart,” Xialing said frowning. “Either she’s done this before or she was warned. But we couldn’t get a fix on her.”

“She’s an archive,” Shang Chi said, trying not to sound bitter, “Smart is an understatement.” He folded his arms and looked over Xailing’s shoulder frowning. There had to be a pattern. Something had to make sense. You were a creature of habit. Very particular habits. When you ate and when you slept was a strict schedule. And on the run you’d be trying to hold on to something… Unless that was all part of your cover, too.

“What happens if-”

Shang- Chi felt his head jerk up and his eyes narrow, making Katy flinch reflexively, “If we can’t find her?” he finished.

Katy nodded hesitantly and he exhaled slowly trying to rein in his temper, “I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”

____

You toss your phone away carelessly and listen to the sound of a heavy boot crushing it under heel and scattering the pieces. But still, you don’t look away from the man pointing a gun at you.

“Not bad for a librarian… A little on the nose don’t you think?” he scoffed.

You force yourself into a nonchalant shrug and smile a little, “The best place to hide is in plain sight. At least some of the time.”

And that’s the last thing you managed to get out before that Desert Eagle cracked across the side of your face, sending you into the dark once more.

________

Wenwu watched his son pace, trying to stem the tide of panic. Your phone had gone from ringing out to nothing. Straight to voice mail.

“You got me, leave a message. Or don’t. Whatever.”

“Does she have enemies?”

Shang-Chi exhaled slowly and took a deep breath, “None. At least none that I know about. She avoided the snap but… There’s a bit of time before she wound up in the City she doesn’t really talk about.”

“So she could have enemies?”

He stopped and carded his fingers through his hair, “If not enemies because of who she is then… maybe because of what she is.”

“What she is?”

Shang Chi nodded reluctantly. He wasn’t even sure he completely understood. He only knew that your brother had warned him. Told him that there were things you could do that were… rare. That might attract attention. And he wasn’t sure if he could share that information. Even if it might bring you home. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. For all he knew you could be dying. You could be dead and it could already be too late. But if there was a chance… No matter how small, he could take your anger. He could take you never speaking to him again. As long as he knew you were alive.

She’s an- an Archive,” he said slowly. “At least. That’s what the world knows them as now, I guess.”

He watched in apprehension as he saw his Father’s eyes widen in understanding and it was clear that he’d met, or at least heard of the Archives before.

“What does she hold?” he asked, seriously.

“Secrets. Things that are hidden.”

Even as Shang-Chi heard himself say the words, he knew he didn’t understand, not really. That had been what your Brother had told him. Quickly. Quietly. While you were distracted with a tea kettle and getting out the mugs. And even his most intense searches could turn up no information.

“Secrets?” Wenwu repeated, “Such as?”

And all Shang-Chi could do was shrug. He’d seen you at work. Your fingers brushing the spines of books. Tenderly. Almost lovingly. And he’d thought that it was cute. That it was an extension of your curiosity. A love of knowing. He thought of the way you’d told him once that Libraries were where you felt at home. Where you felt safe. He thought of the evenings when he came to walk you home. The serenity in the security lights. The way you smiled at him. And his chest throbbed. The secrets you knew probably didn’t include any martial arts.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, leaning heavily against the table, hanging his head. “The only information I have came second hand from her brother. And even then, he only told me that she isn’t human. At least not all human.”

He didn’t like to think about it. And he didn’t like to think about the distance he tried to put between you when he found out. Or how that distance had lead him here. The reaction that had made you avoid coming to him for help. He felt the hand on the back of his neck. But it didn’t register. Not really. In the back of his head, he could hear you. A casual fact. Things about Aliester Crowley. Or Agrippa. Or the Knights Templar.

You’d always written off questions about it as being a weird kid. Or by reminding people that you had a doctorate in Anthropology. But it wasn’t… It never felt like that. It felt like you had just… said it.

Shang Chi didn’t need to be looking at his father to know he was frowning. Thinking. “If we can’t get to her, I need to try to call her brother.”

“What is her brother?”

“An engineer,” Shang Chi said smiling a little. And a former Marine. But he was going to keep that to himself. He had a hunch that your best chance wasn’t going to involve his Father going on a recruiting mission simultaneously.

Wenwu’s frown deepened but he nodded as he watched his son pull a card from his wallet and dial the number.

“Kai-”

“We have a problem,” Shang Chi said quickly, “Y/N is missing.”

“Missing missing or went camping for a couple days?”

“Missing, Missing,” he clarified, “I got a phone call an hour ago and she hung up before we could trace it.”

“Let me call you back-”

And the line went dead before he could say more. “Shit,” he hissed. He wasn’t sure what Pandora’s box had been opened with that phone call. And he hated bumbling around in the dark. He hated not knowing if you were safe. If you were hurt.

“He said he’d call back,” Katy said helpfully, “Maybe he’s calling family.”

“I don’t know if there’s any family to call,” he said pinching the bridge of his nose. He could kick himself for not pressing you for answers. He hadn’t because he’d not been prepared to give you any. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to drag you into his life but. It was looking more and more like he might not have any choice.

When the phone in his hand rang he almost dropped it and had to fumble with it for a second before he could answer, “Kai-”

“I’m assuming you aren’t alone,” the other man said shortly, “I’ll text you the coordinates. Get there as quickly as you can. I’m not sure if we’re going to extract her or clean up the mess. Those idiots have a tiger by the tail and they don’t even know it.”

The call ended and all Shang-Chi could do was stare at the phone for a second, “What the fu-”

“Y/N,” Katy demanded, “Our Y/N? The dirty chai loving, vintage wearing Y/N that cried for 30 minutes at the end of the brave little toaster?”

“Evidently-” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Does anyone else here have a secret badass origin story?” she yelped, “What the hell?”

_________

The coordinates were, So far as anyone could tell, in the middle of nothing. A waste land of tall grass and trails left by herds of cattle in Montana.

But, even without asking he knew he was in the right place. There was a palpable sense of… mayhem in the air. Like the feeling before a nasty storm. Rising anxiety and energy crackling on the wind. Everyone was affected and everyone was quiet.

It wasn’t until they got closer that Shang-Chi and Katy could pick Kai out of the small knot of people. And it was something of a comfort that he looked relaxed. Or at least unconcerned.

“Hey,” Kai said taking a slow drag off his cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke towards the sky. He didn’t seem the least Perturbed that Shang-Chi hadn’t come alone. Or that they were all dressed for a fight.

“What-”

“We’re waiting,” Kai said shrugging. “She’s got to take the vortex apart. Then we mop up whatever comes out of it.”

Almost on cue, a Motor Cycle comes roaring over the flat ground as an explosion rattled the ground beneath their feet. “2 hell hounds and at least a baker's dozen in demons, grades 4 to 2.” The words sound like they're coming from you but. You don’t look like you. Skin coated in soot and eyes shining like silver in moonlight. It makes Shang-chi want to shake you.

“Y/N-” He starts, but when you look at him, he doesn’t know what to say. Or where to start.

“You’ll know what it is when you see it,” you say, spitting a mouthful of blood into the grass. “Take it down quickly. Headshots. If it doesn’t go down run for me. Demons don’t play. And, I make better bait. The rest of you are kinda like designer purses. Nice to have but ultimately disposable.”

“Is the vortex closed?” Kai asked grinding the cigarette out with his heel.

“With half the Golden Dagger on the other side of it. Everyone else scattered before I could get anything else for Lea.”

And then there wasn’t time for you to answer anything else. As the small hoard surged into the open field, Kai almost lazily tossed you the other sword he’d had strapped across his back and it was all a blur.

You were a blur. Almost preternaturally fast as you dismembered the bodies that hurtled towards you. It wasn’t until the last demon crackled on the fire that you crumpled like paper, sagging heavily against Shang-Chi who had made his way to your side.

“Shi-” he caught you, if only just. The dead weight taking him by surprise. And the warmth of the blood running over his hands. He could only gasp before the rest of Kai’s team descended like a plague of helpful locusts, loading you quickly onto the nearest stretcher and starting to try and repair the damage.

“I wonder how long she was out,” Kai mused, lighting another cigarette. “Or if she remembers anything. She doesn’t always.”

Shang- Chi opened his mouth to ask, wiping blood off his lip with the back of his hand, but Kai only shook his head. “She told you she’d explain. Let her do it.”

“Will she be okay?” He heard himself ask, but as he watched you loaded into a helicopter, nothing felt real. He’d just watched you dismember a demon. You’d looked at him… But hadn’t seen him. You didn’t look at him like you even knew who he was.

“She will,” Kai answered, looking at him sympathetically. “It takes time… but. The Archive has a vested interest in keeping her alive.”

____________

“Hey.”

“You look like hell.”

“Gee thanks,” you sigh, wincing as you try and sit up straighter. “You should see the other guy.”

“I did,” he said. And he can’t stop the frown when he looks down at your hands. They’re clean now. No trace of the black blood you’d been coated in. You looked like you. Your eyes were the same color that they’d always been.

“I’m sorry that I lied,” you tell him. “That I didn’t come clean when you came back from Ta-lo with Katy. I just… I guess I was still holding out hope that I could be normal.” You look away from him, taking a deep breath. “Becoming an Archive… I always hoped it wouldn’t be me. And then it was. And it was… it was a blessing and a curse.”

“You weren’t born an Archive?”

You shake your head and exhale slowly, “I was born a witch. If Lea and my grandmother can be believed, the most powerful witch born into this family in 400 years. I became An Archive when I was 12.” You swallow hard and take the hand that reaches for yours. “It- I remember the pain. I don’t remember much from before. I remember smoke and screaming. And I remember… I remember hunters and- and- when I woke up I was here.”

Shang-Chi squeezed your hand and reached up to touch your cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb. He’d been ready to be angry. He’d been hurt. But now all he wanted was to pull you closer. “The scars on your back-”

“I’ve been told it’s best that I don’t know,” you murmur. “Lea- She knows but.” You stop and take another deep breath.

For a moment, there is silence. It stretches out around the two of you while Shang-Chi digests those pieces of information and you try to try to put together a coherent explanation. Beyond the door, you can hear voices mingling in the kitchen. Katy. Kai. Lea. Wenwu. Xialing. Cousins. Your Grandmother. Both familiar and strange.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Shang- Chi asked quietly.

“Calling you… I know I told you I’d explain I just- I don’t know how.”

Shang-Chi smiles a little, “It’s probably harder given there’s a lot you don’t remember.”

“A little,” you murmur. “Sometimes, the Archive condescends to tell me what they’ve been doing with my body but other times? It feels a little like waking up from closing down the Karaoke bar.”

“How much time are you missing now?”

“A day. Maybe two. I’m not sure.”

“What’s the longest time span you don’t remember?”

“Close to a year,” you sigh. “If my physical body is in danger, The Archive will take the driver’s seat until the danger has passed OR It’s deemed that I can handle it on my own… Now that I’m older and I’ve grown into the powers I was given I spend a lot more time driving.”

“Even when you’re with me?”

“The Archive seems to think it can trust you. Though if it’s just with my physical body or with the things we know I’m not sure. Sometimes it views those things as one and the same.”

“Do you- I mean. When we’re alone?”

“You mean when we’re having sex?” The blush that blooms over his cheeks makes you smile a little. “I mean. The Archive lives in my head. Sometimes it has notes though… I don’t know how it would know-”

“Notes?”

You nod and roll your eyes. And even if he’s confused and a little offended, he can’t help but chuckle, “What kind of notes?”

“Ugh-” you groan, “No. We’re not humoring the freeloader in my head.”

#Shang-Chi #Shang-Chi x reader #fluff #angst #cannon violence

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 12 - cabin fever

SFW, around 5K words.

chapter 13 - liebchen (ao3 only, smut)

The sheets underneath him were worn but comfortable, ancient-looking in design but well taken care of. The bed frame is barely there, mattress a well-placed lattice away from being on the floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a bed, the last time he’d laid his body down at all, for any reason. His back complains every other second, not because of the comfort of the bedding, but because it had gone without for so long. A wonderfully comfortable blanket covers him up to the hips, the soft mattress almost makes him feel like he is floating. Fuck, he really missed having a proper bed now.

He inspects himself carefully, still not fully convinced this is not a fever-induced hallucination. His hand is where it should be, and so is his leg, and every other part of his body that he recalled having before. There are half a dozen new scars that he can count, all healed over perfectly like they’d opened years ago instead of hours, forming a map of stories he would rather not tell. He is shirtless but is wearing pants now, his trench coat and hat nowhere to be found. He pushes the blanket aside to find the damn woolen slippers waiting for him on a woven rug. It doesn’t take him long to realize where he is, but nothing resembles her, no personal belongings on the nightstand, no desk or mirror or even a dresser. It looked as if the room was rarely visited, kept clean but empty, and he wondered if sleep was a foreign concept to her, too.

Hesitant, tentative movements take him down the ladder and into the living room, and he expects to find her hard at work at something or another, humming a tune while she cooks, petting the goat and telling it asinine, cutesy things in a soft voice. But the house is silent and she is nowhere to be found, the dog sits in front of the closed front door and watches his every move. It is not aggressive but watchful, like it had been given the task of keeping an eye on the ailing man and alerting his owner in case anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, fleabag.” He laughs at the dog and gets a huff in response, an acknowledgment, and the shepherd moves from its post at the door to give him passage if he so desires. Heisenberg gives it a well deserved pat on the head as it passes by, tail wagging hesitantly as it tried to make friends with him. He is glad to be alone - if anyone ever used this against him, he would deny it.

A plate awaits him at the dinner table, and despite his intentions of running out of there before she could see him again, breakfast is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. Bread and jam, a robust omelet served with sprinkles of cheese and herbs. He can almost see the aroma the coffee has left behind, and finds the pot on the side of the wood stove, cup and saucer set for him nearby.

He eats slowly and in silence, chews thoroughly before swallowing, as if he fears some abrupt movement would rip reality apart and throw him back into the pit of suffering he found himself in the night before. There is no blood, no pain; no sign of the madness he had come so close to drowning in. He is safe and comfortable, there is good food in his belly and a warm hearth to keep the cold at bay. His problems are far and cannot catch him, and maybe if he keeps stalling to finish breakfast he can stay in this bliss forever. The world is quiet outside, and so are his thoughts, for once in his life.

A shirt and sweater are neatly folded and arranged as to call attention on the couch, no doubt to replace his blood-stained, ragged trench coat. He feels naked without it, he muses as he pulls the moss-colored shirt over his head, and it feels awkward not to wear the hat and the glasses. It would be unpleasant if she were to catch him now, free of his usual regalia; he felt that she would see right through him, stare deep into his eyes and find out all he had worked so hard to hide.

He did not feel like Karl Heisenberg, Lord of the Village, powerful mutant capable of unspeakable acts of violence. He was… Karl, middle-aged immortal man who enjoyed tinkering, was a big fan of meat an potatoes and didn’t know what to do when he had time to waste in his hands. Karl, of German origin but Romanian by birth, come from a long line of miners and steel workers. People of few words and fewer luxuries, hardy of constitution and blunt to a fault. He had been content to be those things and nothing more, to carry on what the Heisenbergs had done for centuries, until life dumped him on his head and led him to where he is today.

But not today, because maybe just today he can forget, and let his gracious host distract him with her mystery and the delicate curves of her buttocks. Perhaps tomorrow he would go back to treating her like a tool he would use and discard, but today she would be none the wiser, and neither would he. The fresh air of the mountain and distance from the cramped confines of the factory would do him good, he decided, help reinvigorate his spirit and refresh his ideas, spark some inspiration. And if not, well, the food was excellent and she was easy on the eyes.

A pair of boots that didn’t belong to him were by the door, just the right size to fit him. He had walked all the way up barefoot, he remembers, but he would very much like to know how she seemed to have everything that he needed readily available. Was she clairvoyant alongside being a healer? Did she bleed money that she could buy information on him from the Duke and the apparel to go with it? He opened the door to find her outside, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a couple meters away from the gate that separated her plot of land from the heart of the forest. She had just emerged from amongst the trees, heavy coat over her shoulders and leather boots to keep the ice off her feet. Her hands were free, no basket for foraging or firewood in her arms. No sign of a knife or any other kind of weapon, but judging by the look on her face, he could swear she had just committed murder. Her eyes told him she would not speak of it.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he began, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, at least trying to fish an explanation out of her. Instead she pretended to forget the suspicious circumstances and focused on him instead, her face lighting up at the sight of him up and about, like she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Had it been that bad?

“Good morning, my lord. Are you well?” Shame and madness aside, he thought, things were going swimmingly. “I hope the accommodations were to your liking.” Once again with the pleasantries, with the caring for what he thought of her hospitality. Did she get a kick out of being so kind? That was the most foolish thing he had ever heard. He tried to come up with a witty response that would catch her off guard, but the night had been long and there was too much tiredness swamping his mind, and all he got was honesty:

“Quite. Hadn’t slept in a bed in decades.” As if to validate his words, he stretched and grunted in approval, pains he did not even realize he’d had gone like magic.

“Well, it remains at your disposal,” was her response as she chuckled, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron before gesturing an invitation. There was dirt on her palms. “It may not be much, but it’ll give you a good night’s rest.” She motioned for him to follow, something he would grow accustomed to.

“You know,” he began, following her into the shed, accepting the shallow basket she handed him. “I bet it’d be even better if you were there with me.” She hummed in approval, a smile as devious as his on her face. The damn woman would always catch him off guard; Heisenberg was not used to being flirted with, words thrown about only half-seriously, only to make the villagers blush and Alcina mad. He had never followed up on any of it, because it was always meant to annoy, and the fact that she not only took him seriously but fired back pulled the rug right from under him. And boy did he like it.

They laughed but spoke no more of it, tension like static in the air, both fully aware the joke had more than a few nuggets of truth to it. A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind, on ways he could take her, mark her, ruin her. Inside the shed, behind the stables, propped on the porch railing. Standing, face pressed against the floor, legs tightly wrapped around his waist. She smirked as she passed by him, smirked like she could tell every image that went through his mind. Smirked like she knew he would not do any of it, that his flirting was just a front and he had never found the courage to take the plunge, not even once. Her wink was the cherry on the cake, the challenge that made his cheeks flush at just the right moment so that she wouldn’t see it.

The morning was spent tending to the animals and the garden, and she instructed him on how to feed the chickens and keep the tiny goat happy. Its name was Prince and it demanded to be treated like royalty, lest the puny humans faced his wrath and for now adorable headbutts. The thing followed him around the whole time, demanded his attention when he collected the eggs from the coop, when he let the horse out of the stable to let it stretch its legs. Only when the weather took a turn for the worse did it scurry off to hide in the pens with its mom, settling down on a nice and dry bundle of hay.

He was put in charge of firewood while she tended the garden. The innuendos were kept to a minimum, but the static never left, and he felt her eyes heavy on him as he brought the axe down, muscles flexing and veins showing on his forearms with the effort. Maybe he ought to do more housework around her, and she’d come around and do his bidding without hesitation.

When the wind blew away his hat, Heisenberg realized there would be no going back to the factory unless he hurried. The storm had been mounting for days now, but he had never been one to pay much attention to the tells of weather; he rarely left his hideout, and with the factory being mostly underground, he would be trapped inside for a few days at best. He had perhaps half an hour for a journey that would take him one or two under such bad weather, and he would have to be lucky for the bridge to hold if it got too bad. She wasted little time paying attention to his inner turmoil, and went about securing the animals instead, making sure they had food, water and a warm place to spend the night. Snow was falling fast by the time she was done, and she ushered him in when he’d stood there too long, snow coming up to his shins already. They brushed off as much as they could on the porch before heading inside, water dripping down their shoulders. There was a long pause as they both watched the storm come down through the living room window, a knowing silence that the day would be long, and the night longer, and neither would be leaving that cabin for at least the next day.

“Well, it seems the bed is yours for the night again, my lord,” were her words as she bolted the door, a hint of joy in her voice. He imagined it was a lonely existence, secluded in the mountains and feared by all, not part of any community and especially not theirs. She always seemed so happy to see him, to see another human whose first instinct wasn’t to attack her. He would pity her if he cared, if his existence wasn’t equally as lonesome, if he hadn’t fashioned it to be exactly what he wished. He’d never needed anyone yapping about everything and nothing in his ears, interrupting his work and diverting his attention from what really mattered. Alcina was insane to have taken in the girls, really; children sounded like an exhausting chore that never ended. He never understood why she always looked so content in spite of it all. His mother always told him one day he would understand, he would want to keep someone close, and then he would want someone else just like them to cherish and love, to teach and share the good and bad moments. He would turn a hundred soon and never quite felt like it; maybe in another hundred years?

His only answer was a lopsided smile, tired and sad, and he tried to brace for the barrage of questions and comments that were certain to come. She was trapped inside her living space with the stranger who emerged from the guts of the forest, come from a village rife with death, where he was sovereign save for Mother dearest. He was the favorite son and the most powerful, gifted with strength and wits and influence and power. Those he could not talk down he could easily buy out, and those he could not buy out he could easily destroy. He was a fabled recluse and rumors ran rampant of the work he’d conduct in his factory, of treasures he kept deep underground. It would be a long day, the first in forever that he would spend so close to another breathing, talking human, and he did not know what to expect aside from a lot of chit-chat and a mounting headache. Surely she would like to know all about him, now that he couldn’t run away from her. Surely she would pry into his motives, pepper in questions about his siblings and the village. A thousand smug answers he conjured in his mind, each snappier than the other, every retort a question thrown back at her. It was only fair, of course; she had thrown much at him, bits and pieces of improbabilities that he couldn’t put together, and if she intended on digging deep, he would do the same.

To his surprise, all she did was leave her boots behind next to him and proceed to ignore him, going about her daily life like he was of no consequence. He found himself stunned, rooted in front of the door with a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him as if to say well, this is it, make yourself at home and enjoy the day, and once again the domesticity of it all broke him more than words could ever have. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly.

First, she dusted the shelves, reorganized her herb cabinet and found a place for his hat. The curtains were drawn and she took a peek outside, checking on the pens and the stable to make sure the animals would have a comfortable enough day. Then she bound off to a corner of the living room, producing a basket with threads and fabric, yarn and needles that she brought over to the couch. She sat cross-legged, close to the fire, and only spared him a brief glance before tending to her needlework. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly. The first few minutes were nerve-racking, his paranoia telling him he would look away and find her peering curiously over his shoulder, trying to steal away his secrets to use against him as leverage. He read the same words again and again only to realize he hadn’t understood them, eyes turning to her every minute to make sure she still hadn’t moved. She caught him eventually, eyebrow raised in his direction as she tried to make sense of the situation, mouth turning into an “oh” as she jumped off the couch and stood on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the bookshelf. A minute later and she had brought him a candle and holder, a half-empty box of matches in her other hand. She stood at the other end of the table and pushed it in his direction, still not curious regarding his work, but figuring that, even in daylight, the cabin was dark and he likely was not used to doing things by candlelight. It took him a moment to process and bring the light closer, shocked as he was to see that she intended to leave him to his own devices but cared about his comfort.

The hours were a blur then, when he convinced himself she would not surprise him, and his suspicions were correct; a change of environment had done wonders for his creativity, solutions jumping at him paper after paper, a multitude of new projects and ideas for him to try once he was back at the factory. He can’t remember the last time he had been so productive, the last time he had folded everything in and told himself he was done for the day, because he had done more than enough. She had brought him tea and bread at some point and he had eaten absentmindedly, crumbs and drops of jam staining the papers, but he could not bring himself to care. After tea she had brought him coffee, and then a jug of water, and while he felt a bit like a caged animal being fed periodically, it did wonders to keep his work flowing.

Night had already fallen when he finally took a break, got up to stretch his legs and look around to see just what she had been doing this whole time. Her crafts basket was back in its place, a sock taking shape on the needles. A book abandoned where she was sitting instead, the little witch nowhere near it. Instead she was busy preparing dinner, swaying her hips to a tune but quiet as a mouse, like she was going out of her way to give him peace and quiet. He appreciated it, try as he might to deny it, how she cared without meddling, made herself present but not intruding.

Maybe he should hire her to be his assistant, help him organize the half-done office he had begun building on the upper floors of the factory. She certainly would be great at helping him keep his affairs in order - and by that he meant she would keep him fed, mostly, the one thing he kept forgetting to do and that always set him back. He could provide her with something better than this, surely, her very own quarters with modern wonders such as electricity and proper plumbing, a bathroom of her own, maybe even a fridge. Had she ever seen a fridge before? He imagined she would decorate the place with all manner of silly things that would only serve to gather dust, knickknacks and wreaths and woven things, and that it would smell of flowers and fresh-baked bread. Her responsibilities would include housekeeping and Heisenkeeping - organizing his papers so he wouldn’t lose them, keeping track of all of the family meetings he had to attend, dealing with the Duke for supplies so he wouldn’t have to. He’d reward her handsomely, give her days off, be a good employer unlike his parents had been. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

He had only forgotten to factor in that she was, still, a powerful, self-described blood witch. He had been entertaining himself with the thoughts of having her around as he watched her prepare dinner; she’d gone hunting in the morning, he realized, two hares hanging upside down from an iron ring. She took one down to place it at the cutting board, its insides clean but pelt still intact. He had no doubt she would be skilled at skinning it; when one lives as long as she has with no contact with the outside world, such skills are necessary for survival. What he did not expect was the way she’d go about it: a firm hand grabbed a handful of fur, gave it a gentle twist and pulled, effortlessly, the entire thing coming off in her hand, no cuts and no tears, neck and head and all. He could see the knife from where he was sitting, placed blade down into the ceramic jug.

Heisenberg bent forward to see better when she did it the second time around, and it was as unexplainable and horrifying as the first. Gross but humane, like she simply coaxed the skin to slide right off the flesh. If the thing had been alive, he imagined it would have been quite painful, a whole human suit in her hand and living flesh left behind. The thought almost makes him gag, a disgusted sound escaping his lips and making her realize she’s not alone. She slowly turns to face him with a sheepish smile, like a child caught red-handed. “Pretend you didn’t see that?” She offers, but he shakes his head no. Not in a million years he would forget the sheer brutality of it. He waits but she doesn’t explain it, goes back to making dinner like nothing had happened.

“Could you do that to something… Bigger, darling?” He approaches her slowly, like a predator carefully stalking its prey, though he feels far from a position of power at the moment. She nods her head yes. “Like, say, a good ole’ human?” He whispers in her ear, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden intrusion and hot breath against her skin, flirting his go-to attempt at getting back the reigns of any situation.

“Want me to test it on you, my lord?” She quips in the same whisper tone, and he is wise enough to back off for now.

“Think I’ll pass.” Before he can run back to his seat, she hands him the smaller, bone-bladed knife and pushes a bowl of potatoes towards him, the sudden motion startling him and eliciting a chuckle out of her. Looks like he’ll have to earn his keep. For a while they work shoulder to shoulder in peaceful silence, save for his grunts of frustration at not being able to peel a potato successfully. It’s been a long time. “You ought to show me what you can do one of these days. I’m awful curious.” She considers it for a second, head moving left and right, knife following the movement.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” and she doesn’t mean metal bending and knife juggling, he knows. He can’t think of a reason why she would want to see him, truly see him, monstrous appearance and all, but if that’s the price to pay, he’ll gladly do it. It would be good for his ego, too, that priceless look on her face as he shifts into the stuff of nightmares.

There are no more gruesome sneak peeks for the night and soon the stew is ready, he helps set the table and she finds a bottle of wine she’d stashed away for a rainy day. She explains over dinner that he was quite feverish when he arrived, and it’s a wonder he made it through the night. He truly was sturdy, no ifs or buts about it, she said in appreciation. There were cuts and bruises all over him, all shapes and sizes, like he’d fallen through glass. Did he have an accident at the factory? There was genuine concern in her voice, though they both knew that she knew better.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he experiments with a few questions, each answer leaving him further in the dark. How old was she? Somewhere around a hundred and thirty. She remembers being old enough to read around 1902, when she saw the date on a newspaper she fished out of the gutter, but beyond that time was either a blur or she’d been too young to remember. Where did she come from? Not a clue, but she’s been around: she’s seen Italian castles, been to centuries old British pubs. She’s seen the Brandenburg Gate and visited Chateau de Versailles. She’s bathed in the beautiful waters of the Greek coast, made a pilgrimage to the volcanic beaches of Iceland. She’s never made it past the ocean to the Americas or down to the warmer climates of Africa, but time has never been an issue, and she figures she’ll get to it eventually. He asks her why all the wandering, is someone after her? Her breath hitches and her eyes lower, shoulders slump, a deep breath before the replies. Something like that, and he understands maybe it’s best if he doesn’t push.

They returned to the topic of his feverish display once dinner was over, with her cautioning that he had been lucky this time around, lucky that she was home, lucky that he even made it across the bridge and found his way home. Home, her use of the word is deliberate and strokes something warm and fuzzy within him. Disgusting. There was the matter of the shard, he took a sit on the couch as she reached into a drawer to pull out a bundle of clean cloth, and he feigns confusion when she unwraps it to reveal a piece of metal shaped similar to an arrowhead. He recognized it, the shavings of a project he had worked on… Maybe a year ago? It’d been sticking out through his ribs when he arrived, she said, and it looked anything but recent; infection had taken around it, skin red and swollen. She could see that it was agonizingly painful - had he not noticed it at all?

“Ah, so that’s what it was.” He blurted without really meaning to, a humorless chuckle that left her confused. “I’d been feeling this weird poke in my ribs for the longest time - thought I’d broken something.” He shrugs and she nods, clearly aware of their peculiar situations, perhaps now beginning to comprehend just how many layers of fucked up he was made of. “You’re a miracle worker, doll.” His fingers instinctively trace over the spot where the shard had been, nothing there but a scar that had healed remarkably well. “How can I ever repay you?”

Money, gems, jewelry? She didn’t strike him as the materialistic kind. No, she was all about the meaningful gestures, the showing of kindness. There were a few ways he could think of showing his appreciation - slamming her body against the wall to press a hard kiss on her lips, a nice, firm tug on her hair as he nibbled on her neck. Or maybe something softer if she was so inclined, more romantic even, like a well-placed, resounding slap on her ass cheek. “I’ll be sure to think of something, my lord.” Was the answer she gave, though he was sure she meant something else entirely judging by the way she let her coat slide off to reveal her bare shoulders as she set about getting ready for bed. Her hands gathered more and more of her skirt until it’d reached the middle of her thighs, delicate lace adorning the band of her stockings, tiny suspenders disappearing from sight but serving to peak his curiosity. She undid the hooks that kept it in place, fingers threatening to roll the garment down agonizingly slow. Instead she turned to look at her enraptured audience, the pose propping her ass up and so close to his hands. He had thought it had all been an act, carefully orchestrated to put him on edge, but the gasp of surprise she let out told him otherwise. “I am so sorry, my lord.” She quickly let go of it all and stood up straight, a flush running across her face. “I am not used to having visitors.”

“You needn’t stop on account of little ole’ me, darling.” He is quick to say, rich laughter that filled the room with mischief. Heisenberg sprawls further onto the couch, legs parting like an invitation. Best seat in the house, in the whole village even. “I did enjoy it.”

When it was time to say goodnight, he kept his composure and even helped her move one of the pillows and blanket down the ladder. If his mother were alive she would chastise him for not being a gentleman, for not refusing vehemently to let her sleep on an uncomfortable couch instead of her own bed. But the day was over and so were the pleasantries, and he would have to take the time to cleanse her off his mind, ease himself back into his usual mindset. She was impossibly alluring, impossibly annoying, impossibly loving. There was no figuring her out and it seemed there would be no delving deeper in. Playtime was over and it was back to work tomorrow as soon as she storm had passed. He needed to shed away her kindness before it managed to ooze under his skin, but she had no intention of making it any easier on him.

“Here you go,” Heisenberg had no time to stand on ceremony, shoved the pillow in her direction and flashed her a smile to keep up appearances, mind wandering somewhere else, somewhere where he did not care about her. It was better this way. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Even though he tried, he never truly reached that fabled place where she was of no importance. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes

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kookiebunnii · 4 years ago

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love you a latte || mark tuan

Working part-time at your aunt’s café was supposed to be a relatively easy task. You get to strike up conversations with regulars and your clothes always smell like dark roast. However, as large coffee chains begin popping up around your neighborhood, your job and your workplace are suddenly threatened. As you scramble to find a way to keep your family’s business afloat, meeting the God of Coffee might just be what you need.

→ pairing: coffeegod!mark x barista!reader

→ genre: fluff mixed with angst

→ word count: 4k

→ warnings: n/a

“How does Love You a Latte have such good drinks? Simple, they make regular sacrifices to the Coffee God.”

→ a/n: this is my submission for @got7writerscollective‘s virgo project! please enjoy my short work and be sure to check out the other talented submissions

Having the desire to burn down a Starbucks had never been on your to-do list, but recently life was full of surprises.

You continue wiping down the same table that you’ve cleaned for the third time today. The giant green competitor occupying your thoughts looms just outside the windows. Slumping into the nearest seat, you fold the dish towel in your hands into neat little squares. Recently, every time your aunt came into the store to check in on you and the other baristas, her face dropped at the empty room. The sadness in her eyes almost breaks your heart, and you don’t think you can stand it any longer. Wracking your brain for a solution, you watch as rows upon rows of laughing customers walk through the doors of the new coffee shop across the street.

How could you possibly beat a brand that had notoriety, cheaper prices, and all the funds in the world at its disposal? As much as you adored the little slice of heaven your aunt built for herself, this shop is a small business that barely makes ends meet when faced with such a famous competitor. You could not afford to lower prices while maintaining quality, nor continually develop new drinks to use individuality as a lure.

At least the one positive, if you could even consider it that, was how quick and easy closing time became. There were less pitchers to clean, less trash to empty, and less in the registers to account for at the end of the day. As you let your hair out of the high ponytail you typically make for work, you take your singular trash bag out to the dumpster in the alleyway.

When you dispose the garbage for the day, you make an immediate beeline for the sink to wash your hands. However, there is a tall man your do not recognize observing the ceramic mugs kept behind the counter, and suddenly your shift becomes a little more eventful than usual.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, as if you were a friend he was waiting on.

You point at yourself incredulously before realizing that this stranger could be very dangerous or very delusional. It wasn’t everyday someone hopped behind the counter without permission and started admiring your workplace appliances. God, was this man trying to rob you?

“There’s no point stealing from us. We don’t have much anyways,” you mumble, raising your hands up slowly in surrender.

This seems to amuse him, because he chuckles darkly before replacing the pastel pink mug in his hands back to its designated spot on the shelf. Hands tucked in his dark jeans, he almost glides over to you and you instantly feel the hair at the back of your neck rise in fear. His head tilts as he observes you, his dark eyes identical to freshly brewed coffee and his skin glowing like the gentle honey brown of the lattes you like to make.

“Are you afraid of me?” he muses, giving you a teasing smile that immediately sparks the fight-or-flight response in your brain.

“There’s a stranger in my store fiddling behind the counter. You tell me,” as soon as the annoyed words leave your mouth, you realize that it would probably be best not to provoke the man.

As you brace yourself for his response to your snide little comment, you don’t expect the laugh that comes out of him. He reaches out to fix your apron strap, the small act immediately causing your skin to flush, before offering you a more reassuring smile.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

Fiddling with the edge of your apron, you try to relax your nerves—a difficult task considering how muddled with anxiety they were. Gathering what little confidence you have, you reply, “Either way, we’re closed for the day. If you’re looking for something, please come tomorrow.”

As you brush past him to hang up your apron, you’re quickly tugged back with an insistent hand on your wrist. His deep chocolate eyes find yours again, and you can’t help but hold your breath as you wonder what would be coming next.

“I’m here because you called me,” he states plainly, as if this fact should be obvious to you.

Your mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish before you stutter, “I don’t even know who you are?”

His features are painted with amusement, as if your confused expression was funny to him. He backs up to lean against the counter casually, letting go of your wrist in the process. The warmth from his grasp lingers, and you find it hard to concentrate on the words he utters next.

“I’m here to help your store. You’re struggling, aren’t you?” he gestures around to the untouched tables, their accompanying chairs all properly tucked in due to lack of use. The observation makes your heart sink again, and you struggle not to let his comment hurt you. Even if this was something you knew already, hearing another person point it out so obviously nevertheless rubbed salt in the wound.

“Hey…I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m here to make a deal with you, and I promise in a week this place will be packed,” he hurries forward, tilting your chin up to look at him as you try to blink away tears. You offer him whatever semblance of a smile you can, and he offers you one of his own in response.

“How are you going to help?” you wonder, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The stranger snaps his fingers and all of a sudden, the ties of your apron begin undoing themselves as if an invisible hand were working at them. You watch, stunned in silence, and your apron drifts over to the man and serenely loops itself over his neck. Apron secured, he strides over behind the counter and sets to work. His motions are practiced with a smooth hand which make his actions as exquisite as a performance. Mesmerized, you watch as he gathers the perfect amount of milk foam over the espresso shots. As he hands the finished cappuccino in front of your eager eyes, you swear his fingers glow slightly against the side of the mug.

Abandoning all reason, you take a sip of the mysterious man’s finished product. Immediately, your lips curl into a smile. It tastes as amazing as it looks, and you swear it’s the best drink you’re ever had. All the notes are balanced perfectly, and the temperature isn’t too scalding either. Even the most experienced barista may not be able to create such a masterpiece, especially with the average ingredients Love You a Latte supplied.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, simply tugging the cup from your hands and taking his own sip. His mouth lingers slightly against the rim, his eyes observing you with satisfaction. Humming slightly, he taps the handle of the now-empty mug and it begins cleaning itself within your sink before settling back on the shelf to dry.

“I’m the God of Coffee. However, you can just call me Mark. It’s a lot easier to say,” he finally answers, before hanging your apron on the hook with his own hands and not whatever magic he controls.

“You’re a god? I never knew there were actual gods, especially not for coffee…” the idea almost makes you giggle, as you wonder whether there would be a god for cinnamon rolls too.

“Well, fortunately for humankind, we’re very real. You were hoping for a way to save your aunt’s café earlier, and now I’m here,” he rests his chin against his hand that’s propped up against the counter.

“I’m thankful you made me that cup of coffee earlier. I think anyone could trust you after that display,” you quip, much more comfortable now that you accepted that you could actually help your aunt’s business stay afloat.

He blushes, and the dusty pink across his cheekbones actually surprises you. You didn’t think gods would be so easily fazed over a compliment, but his bashfulness only makes Mark more endearing than before.

“So, are you just going to make all our drinks from now on?” you tilt your head slightly as you question him, wondering how you could convince your aunt to accept Mark’s help. She sure wouldn’t be as accepting of a supposed “god” since she was so strung up with figuring out finances already.

Shaking his head, he gives the top of your head a pat before saying, “Nope. I’ll just give you some of my powers.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on, you’ll be able to add a little special something to any coffee order you make. In fact, I’ll be magicking this store a little so it’ll help improve the customer experience,” as he finishes his thought, he quickly adds, “I don’t just help anyone. You and your aunt have worked hard for this café, so it’s only right that it gets the attention it deserves.”

“You said you’d make a deal with me. What’s my end of the bargain?” you didn’t have much, so you were genuinely curious about what he could want from you.

He reaches for your hands, pressing his fingertips against your right palm before switching to the left. As he does this, you feel a strange warmth flowing throughout your hands, and you’re unsure whether your heart is racing because of the magic or because the way he brushes against your fingers with his own.

When he’s finished, he simply straightens up and replies, “Just make me a cup of coffee once in a while.”

With that, he fades alongside the setting sun.

☕☕☕☕☕

It appears that Mark is telling the truth, because your store is bustling by the end of the week. Word seems to travel fast when it came to delicious foods and drinks, so the amount of new faces you’ve seen make it hard for you to remember names—even if that was your special talent.

You call out orders, taking the time to hand each customer their order and personally wish them a pleasant day. You knew to be grateful for the new development, so you did your best to offer what little you could to add to the positive change. Even if Mark had helped make your drinks stellar, kindhearted customer service was essential too.

Even though you had only seen the man once, you sense the moment he’s in the room. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you look up from the croissant in your hands to see Mark sitting across the room with a smile. You can’t help but grin back, handing the last customer of the day her warmed-up pastry. When she leaves, you sneak off from your position behind the counter to approach him.

As soon as you’re within earshot, Mark says, “You look much happier Y/N.”

Assuming one of his godly duties is to already know the names of those he assists, you brush away the shiver that dances across your spine when he says your name.

“All thanks to you of course. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” he replies.

You can’t help the way your arms tremble as you adjust the steam wand into your pitcher of milk. Watching the way foam begins developing as a result of the heat and air bubbling in the liquid, you pray that whatever magic he gave you helps you also make a good decision for what to offer a literal God of Coffee.

Tapping the side of the cinnamon shaker in your hands, you watch as small brown specks dot the snow-white of the milk foam. Satisfied, you carry your creation over to the figure watching you with interest. Your coworkers don’t pay you much heed, opting to simply clean up as quickly as possible in order to clock-out on time. Since you were the manager’s relative, they were relatively lenient with you, never giving you a hard time or questioning you. It was nice at times, but it also made it difficult to befriend them, as they always placed you on a pedestal.

As he takes the drink you offer to him, his fingers brush against your own. It’s a small gesture, but it still does wonders in dispelling the fear you felt in approaching him. Almost immediately, Mark nods in appreciation.

“Pumpkin spice latte. Fits the season quite well,” he notes, before tipping the coffee into his waiting mouth.

“You knew that before tasting it?” you admire, wondering what the extent of his powers were.

“Of course,” he says as if agreeing that the sky was blue.

He waits for you until you finish locking up. In the time that he had been gone, you always wondered whether the sacrifices this god sought paled in comparison to how much he was helping you. After all, the sales generated were well over anything the café had previously mad. Your aunt had been ecstatic, immediately setting to work developing new menus to keep up with the growing engagement. Perhaps she felt that if she questioned why everything was happening, the bubble would burst like a dream. You were grateful for her easy acceptance, smiling whenever you noticed the gentle glow against a customer’s coffee cup that reminded you of Mark’s lingering presence.

“Are all gods like you?” you ask, tucking your keys back into your purse before running a hand through your hair in an attempt to fix any stray strands.

“Not quite. I’m one of the lesser gods, so that probably makes me less full of myself,” he jokes, laughing slightly when he notices the way you cover your mouth to laugh as well.

“I’m glad,” you reply.

He leads you all the way to your apartment, and the fact that he’s aware of your residence is simply another observation you accept as part of his godly duties. When you’re right outside the black metal gates, your hand hesitating against the keypad to open them, you realize that you’re reluctant to leave him.

“Y/N?”

You sheepishly turn to face him with an embarrassed expression, “You’ll be back again? Soon?”

Your question surprises him, as if he couldn’t believe you would request his presence in the way you did. Gathering his composure, he only ruffles your hair adoringly in response. He takes two steps back, his form barely visible when he finally whispers, “Yes.”

You stand there until you’re completely sure he’s gone. The soft ‘thank you’ that escapes your parted lips is quickly caught by a passing breeze. You pray that he hears it.

☕☕☕☕☕

Fall rushes past like a memory that’s difficult to grasp in its entirety. You developed a habit of counting the times Mark had visited you. Originally, you only offered him items available on your menu. You were confident that those drinks would at most be passable, and free drinks were a worthy trade-off for Love You a Latte’s sudden flourishing. Eventually, after some teasing encouragement from the Coffee God himself, you began experimenting. Taking ideas from flavor profiles you already knew would mingle well, you would happily offer those to him instead as his scheduled sacrifice. He was an honest critic, providing tips on how to improve taste or mouthfeel. Laughing whenever you would take notes and hang onto each word he utters; he’d simply call you ‘cute’ before returning to the drinks you offered him.

You wonder if being a deity also means he notices how you were slowly admitting him into your life.

Mark hadn’t been in the store for a week, something that was atypical for the man. Your fellow baristas had long clocked out for the day, bidding you half-hearted goodbyes after you insisted on doing some inventory review. Counting the boxes of oat milk remaining in the storage for the third time, you sigh and hang up your apron. Remembering the way he had fixed your strap absentmindedly the first day you’d met him, you run your fingers against the fabric in mimicry. It was a stupid emotion, but you missed him.

Even then, you couldn’t help the hope rising in your chest that told you he would be waiting for you at one of the tables you wiped down earlier in the day. When that didn’t happen, you told yourself that he would try to scare you as soon as you turn your back to lock the front door of the coffee shop. The music you listened on the way home still couldn’t soothe your powerful expectations, which chased you like hungry wolves all the way back to your apartment.

It’s only when you’ve changed into an oversized hoodie and worn sweatpants, ready to jump into bed and call it a night, that your wishes are finally answered.

“Y/N.”

No many how many times you heard his voice rumble with your name, you couldn’t help the way it felt like a shot of espresso to your system. He’d say it in warning whenever he notices you slyly trying to slip salt into his contracted offering as a prank or in a sort of gentle happiness when he leaves you outside your apartment in goodbye. You knew it was futile, letting yourself be affected by the natural awe that gods likely possessed. Your foolish mortal feelings would mean nothing to him, as he was merely here for business purposes.

“Hi,” you push away the sadness in your tone and clear your throat, “You usually don’t show up in my bedroom.”

Your tease garners an immediate reaction from him. Even though the night settles early in the winter evenings, you notice the scarlet color he tries to hide. You sit up from under your blankets, hoping that he stays longer than he used to tonight.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away,” he continues, averting his gaze.

You’re not used to the sudden awkwardness. Previously, the two of you would talk nonstop at the café and the walk home that were occurring two or three times a week. It was as if the god you knew had been replaced by this uncomfortable clone. It hurt you more than the idea that you would never be meaningful to him.

“It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

You’re not sure what you want. You want him to return back to the Mark you knew, the one who would tell you funny stores about his brothers and help you in the café whenever you needed a hand. You missed the Mark that looked like he didn’t want the day to end whenever he took the time to consume your coffee offering while laughing at your stories of unique customer experiences. You missed the way his hands would brush against yours, whenever he leaned in closer to hear you above the harsh winter winds on your nightly walks.

But above all else, you suddenly want him to tell you he missed you too.

“Y/N, I have other obligations elsewhere,” he finally relents, body sagging with the weight of the information he just exposed.

Even without the details, you know what this means.

“Will the café be fine without you?” you add, hoping to keep the disappointment in your tone at bay.

He moves forward to settle down on the edge of your bed, leaving the previous spot he’d occupied by your window. When his hand rests on your knee, you know you should push him off to rid yourself of the jolt of something you suddenly felt. But you were frozen, eyes trained on the way he looked at you. It was utter, tender love.

“It’s been without me for the past month, Y/N.”

His confession causes you to momentarily lose your train of thought. Did he mean that he hadn’t been using his magic for the past few weeks? But he still stopped by and complimented the drinks you were creating…why would he still be around if he was no longer holding up his end of the bargain?

“The magic in here,” he continues after taking your hand in his, “isn’t simply limited to what I gave you when we first made our agreement.”

You wait for him to continue, unable to help the way your fingers instinctively tighten around his. He doesn’t seem to mind, because he adjusts his grip to allow your fingers to intertwine with his own longer ones. You know you’re blushing, and you don’t need to see the small smirk tugging against his lip corner to know that.

“You didn’t need me to be successful. I gave the shop a small push in the right direction, but soon enough, the hard work and love in each coffee you sold echoed stronger in your customers than whatever strings I could’ve pulled,” he says.

His fingertips brush the tears away from your cheeks. You sniffle, upset that your vulnerability showed so obviously in front of Mark. He tugs on your hand slightly so you direct your gaze to connect with his again. In his eyes, you think you find comfort telling you that he didn’t mind your crying.

“Ever since that pumpkin spice latte, I’ve never given you access to my magic when you made drinks for me.”

“But wouldn’t magic have made them better? Everything I made must’ve only been subpar to you then,” you bite your lip, worrying that he had been lying to you all along that your sacrifices had been enjoyable to him at all.

He chuckles before pulling you into his arms. You drink in the soft scent of coffee beans against his skin, nuzzling close to the crook of his neck to seek the warmth there. His skin radiates heat like a freshly brewed batch of morning coffee. The way he rests his hand against the back of your head, slowly brushing his fingers through the strands of hair there does wild things to your pulse. There’s no way he doesn’t feel it drumming against your chest, with the two of you being this close.

“I wanted to enjoy whatever you made as something uniquely you,” he pulls back so you can see the stars shining in his eyes, “If you’ve learned anything from our companionship these past few months, it should be about how talented you are.”

You grip his own hoodie in your hands, fearing that if you didn’t hold onto him, he wouldn’t disappear just like he had the past 52 times.

“Please don’t go.”

The words fall like fractured pieces of glass on the floor. You let the pain fully seep into your voice now, hoping that he would stay even if it was out of pity. Instead, Mark simply presses his palm against your cheek before leaning in to give you the best kiss you’ve ever had.

He tastes bittersweet, and you wonder if it’s the coffee he’s probably had already or the fact that everything about this moment is a sort of painful happiness. His other hand joins the other to cup your face delicately, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Lips soft yet desperate, you match his pace as you etch each detail into your memories. As long as you lived, you didn’t want to forget Mark.

At your insistence, he stays with you for the rest of night. Pressed up against his chest, you can almost delude yourself into thinking that you were a normal girl sleeping beside her normal boyfriend. You force yourself to stay awake as long as you could, not wanting to forget the small details of his face. From the bridge of his nose to the sharp line of his jaw, you trace these features until you fall asleep. Giving him a final kiss goodbye, you let the final tear cascade from the corner of your eyelid when he finally murmurs those three special words against your hair that you’ve been waiting to hear.

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wherefunsurvives · 4 years ago

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The Ultimate College COVID Packing List

Okay kids, you’ve seen the post about packing light for college, so here’s some specifics for all of you incoming freshmen or returning students who will be living on campus! This is NOT the year to bring extra furniture, decorations, etc. This is the year to pack light and be ready to get on out of there at a moment’s notice if you have to. i proudly present to you -

“What to bring and what not to bring when going to college in a global pandemic!!!”

STORAGE

i used to swear by my camp trunk when i packed for school and while a trunk can be useful because it has more space inside it’s going to be harder to take on a plane or bus. If you go for a trunk, make sure its combined dimensions (length+width+height) are 62 inches or less (the size requirement for checked luggage). The ideal size would probably be a 32x17x13 inch trunk.

Instead of trunks or big containers, go for a combination of suitcases and duffle bags. Your goal should be to minimize luggage - you want be able to carry everything through an airport without any help. So let’s say in theory at MOST you should have a combination that looks something like:

2 checked suitcases + 1 checked duffle + 1 carryon duffle + one personal item backpack

1 checked suitcase + 1 checked duffle + 1 carryon suitcase + one personal item backpack

1 checked suitcase + 1 carryon suitcase + 1 personal item duffle

Get creative, mix and match, calculate the costs for each combination, which will vary depending on if you’re flying, taking a bus, driving, or taking a train.

Checked and carryon luggage should ideally have 4 spinner wheels and a handle, this will make it easier to move all by yourself. Put your duffles around the handles of the luggage so you can carry everything yourself with minimal effort. If you have checked luggage and carryon luggage, consider a bag connector like this one! You can find surprisingly decent luggage at Costco and from Travelpro, which is designed for pilots and flight attendants but has massive markdowns all the time.

A good duffle should be spacious with multiple compartments or pockets. If you’re an experienced camper or backpacker, maybe use those types of bags! If you’re not, get something that’s 40 liters of space or more. i bought this 50L duffle for $30 and it’s absolutely absurd the amount of stuff i can fit in it.Leave all other storage options at home.

Don’t bring your own desk, drawers, furniture etc. Use only the furniture provided by the dorm. Don’t even bring a laundry hamper! Get a fabric laundry bag that you can easily fold.

LEARN HOW TO PACK EFFICIENTLY. Choose your fighter, the army rolling method or the KonMari folding method (Marie Kondo also has a great video on how to organize what you pack and choose only what you need). This will allow you to bring the amount of clothes you need while taking up minimal space. Speaking of which -

CLOTHING

Your goal is to minimize both items and travel (meaning you shouldn’t plan as if you’re going to travel home every break to swap out clothes). Now is a great time to learn how to build a capsule wardrobe of basic items that can be mixed and matched. Keep it simple. Obviously if you’re in a warmer climate, this will be easier. For colleges with seasons, i’d say aim for 2 pairs of jeans or trousers you like, 1 pair of dress pants, and 1-2 pairs of leggings/joggers/comfortable pants. 1 pair of shorts, no more than 2 skirts, no more than 3 dresses (1 nicer, 1 more casual and comfortable). 10-12 shirts or less (include a variety of tanks, tee shirts, long sleeves, button downs, sweaters, etc.) and 3-5 “layers” like a blazer, cardigan, hoodie, etc. 2 pairs of pajamas, one for warmer weather and one for cooler weather. One raincoat, one fall/spring midweight jacket, one good winter coat - if you’re in Chicago, NYC, etc. invest in a warm parka, and i don’t mean Canada Goose. Just something sturdy that will keep you warm.

You’re going to repeat outfits. That’s fine. You’re not going anywhere important and you’ll be spending a lot of time in your room online. Being able to get out is more important than looking cute.

Pack an appropriate amount of underwear, socks, bras, etc. Bring a hat or two, one for sun and a thick beanie for the cold. Bring one tie and one pair of snow gloves if you need either. Bring a scarf or two for cold climates (they can be an extra layer of protection over a mask). If you wear jewelry, choose up to 10 items you really want and put them in a bag or a small portable jewelry box.

You only need 4 pairs of shoes maximum - one pair of sneakers/gym shoes that you could easily walk two miles in. One pair of of easy slip-on slip-off shoes for going to get mail or do laundry (because you don’t want to walk the dorms barefoot these days) and bonus points if they can double as comfortable ‘nice’ shoes such as cheap loafers, TOMS, basic flats, etc. One flip flops or sandals if you’ll be using communal showers and bathrooms. And one pair of boots that can double as rainboots AND snowboots (duckboots are great for this!) You don’t need heels, wedges, or multiple pairs/styles of shoes for the same reason you don’t need multiple dresses or a full tuxedo - you’re not going anywhere this year! Or at least you shouldn’t! Parties, formals, conferences, etc. are all a terrible idea unless you want COVID-19.

What you should have multiples of are masks and gloves! Have a few reusable face masks you can wash (RedBubble has them in every style, almost every clothing brand sells them, and VogMask/Camridge Mask are great options for something a little more heavy duty). Invest in disposable gloves and one pair of reusable gloves such as dish gloves. Some basic eye protection doesn’t hurt either - i love blue light glasses because they provide some coverage while also being great for reducing eye strain during all your Zoom calls!

SUPPLIES

Keep it basic, and that means you too studyblr kids! You don’t want supplies to take up all your space. Buy a spacious pencil case. Buy a basic back of black Bic pens and put 10-15 in. Those things last forever. Put in 5 presharpened pencils and 5 unsharpened pencils. Bring a pencil sharpener, 1 pink eraser, and 10 eraser toppers. The eraser always runs out before the pencil does. Pack 1-2 glue-sticks, 1 pair of good scissors. Fill the rest of it with your non-essential favorites like mildliners, highlighters, felt tip pens, markers etc. But no more than what can fit in the case. And nothing too expensive, just in case you can’t bring it with you.

Small multi-subject notebooks y’all!! Just get one or two. You never use as many pages as you think you will in your notebooks and multiple full size notebooks are a pain to carry and pack. For my last two years of college i would buy 1 or 2 Five Star 5x7 inch notebooks with 5 subjects for each term. They came with pocket folders inside and i never once used all the pages. i’d often re-use at least one from last term into the next term. It also means you never have to run back for a notebook if you’re at the library and want to do homework for that other class because all your notes for all your classes are right there!!

Bring 2 rolls of scotch tape and 1 roll of masking tape in case you need to repair anything. Pack any essential medication you take, a first aid kit with bandaids, wipes, tweezers, etc. Pack 1 small bottle each of ibuprofen, Tylenol or acetaminophen, any multi-vitamin you prefer, and a vitamin C supplement to help keep your immune system strong.

1 pack of pads/tampons. You can buy more when you get to school, save the space for packing.

1 reusable water bottle. Buy plastic ones periodically/accept reusable free ones given to you at school that you can take if you need to go to the doctor/hospital/etc. so you can throw them away if needed afterwards. 1 mug, if you use one. Make it one you’re willing to leave behind if you must.

1 small set of non-breakable plates/bowls and utensils. i like the Ikea KALAS ones because they’re plastic but can be microwaved or put in the dishwasher. And it’s $2 for a set of 6. 1 small set of tupperware - again IKEA has some good cheap options - that is also microwave safe. You’ll want these solely in the event it’s unsafe to eat in the dining halls. This will let you bring food back to your room and eat, save leftovers from the dining hall or takeout orders, etc. Buy a small bottle of dish soap when you get to school to be able to wash your dishes.

If you use liquid detergent, wait to buy until you’re at school. It takes up more space. If you use detergent pods, choose your own adventure. Buy your shampoo and conditioner at school if you can, same with soap. Same thing with toilet paper, paper towels, and so on. Buy it there, be prepared to leave it behind. Do bring hand sanitizer with you though. Keep a small size in your personal item for your travels and always keep some in your bag at school.

2 disposable toothbrushes, 1-2 tubes toothpaste, 2 toothbrush travel cases. Store the toothbrush you’re using in a travel case while at school to try to prevent contamination. If you become sick, throw your toothbrush away once you’re feeling better and thoroughly wash your travel case. Buy new disposable toothbrushes as needed once at school.

A small wallet or zip ID case with a lanyard. Make sure you can fit your state ID/driver’s license, student ID, transit card, insurance card, credit/debit card, and a little cash in it with ease. One with a clear window is great because you can put your student ID in it to easily show it when required without needing to open your wallet up. A lanyard makes it harder to lose and lets you put your keys on it if you have a physical dorm key.

Your phone charger, with a wall plug. And a mobile charger of some kind (many schools give them away at some point during your first few weeks, orientation, etc. TAKE THEM). You don’t need an Apple branded one, you can find sturdy and cheap ones at Target, etc. You’ll want these in case you get stranded anywhere. And you’ll especially want these because if you need to go to the ER/doctor, you never want to let your phone die while you’re there.

1 cheap tote bag or small backpack or knapsack, etc. that you’re not too attached to. This will be your hospital go-bag. Keep a mini-notebook with your name/birthdate, emergency contact information, relevant medical information, etc. written in it in the event you cannot communicate this yourself. Keep one packed and ready. Other helpful things to have in this bag once you’re at school are a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and underwear; a granola bar, and a disposable water bottle.

1 pair of cheap but reliable headphones, ideally with a microphone. In-ear headphones take up less space than over-ear headphones. These will be great if you’re on a Zoom call or something and don’t want to be heard by your neighbors. Also great for listening to music or podcasts in the event you’re at the doctor/hospital, because just like you never want to forget a phone charger, you never want to be without something to listen to while you wait for a few hours.

DORM STUFF

Now is NOT the time to decorate your dorm. i’m sorry, i love a good Pinterest dorm board and DIY project as much as anyone else. My dorm had a whole aesthetic. It was great. But it was a nightmare to pack up when COVID hit.

All you really need is a duvet/comforter, 1 set of sheets (ideally dark color so they won’t stain, just make sure you wash them regularly), and 1 pillow.

If you want stuff on your walls, don’t bring anything. When you get to school, you’ll likely get some free swag like a college pennant you can put up. Or at the least you’ll get a bunch of papers and maps and things. Hang up the maps. Make them look cool. Draw or do calligraphy on the blank sides of the papers for DIY art and signs. Order a wall calendar with fun art or images on it. Go to Walgreen’s website and use their photo system to order a bunch of photo prints. They almost always have a discount offer happening which makes it super cheap. You can upload photos of your friends and family to surround yourself with nice memories, or upload pictures of art, landscapes, quotes, images you found on Pinterest, your celebrity crush, and literally anything else. Voila, wall decorations.

The key here is to never put up too many things. Everything you put up should be able to be taken down in 15 minutes or less and without any help.

If you really really want some decoration - buy a cheap thing of string lights from Target or something to put up. They add ambiance without much effort and don’t take up too much space. If your room is freezing with concrete floors, a small rug can help if you really think you need one. But - and you already know what i’m gonna say - BUY THEM THERE AND BE READY TO LEAVE THEM BEHIND.

No chairs. No hammocks. No lamps. No furniture. No bulletin boards. No extra bookshelves. Keep it as simple as possible.

The caveat is to bring one small grounding item from home. Maybe it’s a souvenir from a vacation you took. A mug your mom got you. A framed photo of your best friends. Choose one, and make sure it is small.

BOOKS, ETC.

Buy your class books once you get there, either from the campus bookstore, a local bookstore, ThriftBooks, Amazon (if you really must), etc. Or download them online ;) Either way, they’ll take up space while going to school so just get them later unless you have to do reading in advance.

As a book lover it pains me to say this but leave your books at home. Bring at most 4 books with you to school. i’d recommend at least one you haven’t read yet and at least one that’s a “comfort” book you like to reread. Books are one of the hardest things to move and you won’t have that much free time anyways.

Pick one hobby to pack for, and keep it basic. If you like drawing, make it 1 small sketchbook and a mini-pack of colored pencils, markers, watercolors, or crayons. If it’s photography, make it 1 single camera with 1 lens. If you like gaming, bring something small like a Switch lite. If you need a hobby to keep you busy inside, grab yourself a pair of wooden/bamboo knitting needles or a crochet hook, 1 ball of yarn, and go wild. The bottom line is only what you absolutely have to have to not lose your mind.

Have 1 large (32 GB or more) flash drive or SD card to back up your files from your laptop or tablet onto. This will be a huge help in the event something happens to your computer.

Finally, always have a plan with friends/family in the event you need to evacuate. How will you decide if you need to leave? How will you get home/to a safe place? Who will help you get there? How will you afford it? And so on.

Feel free to add anything tips that might be useful!

#college #university #studyblr #uchicago #university of chicago #covid #coronavirus #covid-19 #covid19 #packing #college packing

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venal-and-mex · 5 years ago

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Everything was just impossibly irritating. Venal hated feeling so weak, being so reliant on someone else. Even if it was just to feel some power over his situation, he rebelled against Yit's orders. That was why he was currently making his way down the hall, Mex tucked under his left arm as he used his right hand to steady himself against the wall, instead of in bed resting.

He was finding it difficult, more exhausting than necessary, but he did have a destination. Even if he didn't fix it completely, there were some minor repairs his PAK needed. He felt defenseless without his PAK legs in proper working order, and that didn't bode well with his current state. The instances of complete, instinctive defense were lessening, but he still didn't like it.

It took a few tries before he found the room he was looking for. He gently let Mex down and she followed him as he hobbled into the room. Of course, if there were Irken there, they had a place for PAK repairs. Most of them, unless they were 'disposable' drones, knew enough to do cosmetic or functional repairs themselves.

"Computer." He addressed, his voice strained from his frequent, hysterical screaming. A monitor lit up as he steadied himself on the repair table. It was a primitive system, but it would do. "Run a PAK diagnoses and prepare for self-repair."

The computer didn't respond with a voice, so it lacked a personality program, but he didn't really care. The cables needed for diagnoses descended and connected to his PAK. One of them clicked loudly, forcing him to hold himself up on the table with the wave of pain that followed. His claws scraped the metal loudly, but the pain thankfully fell away beneath the medication he was on.

He carefully read the list of problems that started popping up on the screen. Cosmetic issues, a few loose pieces that were causing the problems with his PAK legs and apparently the diagnosis connector--easy fixes. What was concerning was the program errors that started coming up. Corruption in his support systems, obviously. An unknown error in his personality? Apparently some kind of power issue that accounted for the seizures and fainting spells that he needed to fix.

Frankly, a lot, but he was not all that surprised. He was curious about the unknown error, but he had his guesses. Irken were not designed to be paternal, yet he now had his own smeet. Leaving that alone was honestly fine with him. The rest was more important, starting with what he could feasibly fix one-handed.

"Begin self-repair protocol." Venal said simply. The diagnostic cables pulled out, hitting him with that wave of pain again. Another came down and gently took hold of his PAK, which thankfully came off without much fanfare. His PAK was then replaced with two cables that would provide him basic life support while he worked.

His PAK was placed on the table before him. He popped it open, taking a good look at the damage he could see right away. He was tired from the struggle to the room itself, so all he'd fix was the few loose and broken pieces impeding his PAK legs, then go back to rest.

He found quickly that repairs with only one functioning hand were impossible. He tried at least three times to hold a loose piece in place so he could reattach it, but he could only manage a grip for a few moments before the piece slid back into the incorrect place.

"Do you want some help?"

Venal bristled at the voice behind him, turning fast in fear. Without his PAK, he had no defense. No PAK legs to protect him. In desperation, he picked up the sharpest tool he could find and held it in front of himself defensively. He couldn't comprehend what it was he had, but it was sharp, thus dangerous.

"Shit, I'm sorry." The voice, a Vortian, said softly. He raises his hands, a surrender, and didn't approach. Venal let the tool drop slightly, but immediately flew into a panic again when Mex darted out from under his legs toward the Vortian.

"Wait!" Venal yelled, trying to reach out for her, to stop her, but he instead lost his balance and fell to the floor in a heap. The impact hurt, forcing a reverberating pain through his whole left side.

But Mex stopped at the sound and turned to return to him. She let out a small, worried chirp as she pushed her nose against his good arm. She was a smart one, very aware, even if she couldn't speak yet. Venal pushed himself up with a pained grunt, reaching out to the small creature so he could pat her head.

"I'm okay." He said in response to another worried chirp. Maybe she couldn't speak their languages, but she had one of her own, a whole vocabulary worth of different noises and expressions that conveyed what she wanted if you knew how to listen. Mex was a miraculous little thing, and he adored her.

"I didn't mean to frighten you Ven." The Vortian got his attention again, but now he could tell who it was. Not an enemy nor a threat. A friend.

"I'm just jumpy."

"I know." Kaina smiled slightly, reaching a hand out to help Venal up. The Irken hesitated for a moment before allowing the aid. "You're fixing your PAK?"

"Trying." He responded irritably. "It's not easy with one hand."

"I can help you, if you're okay with that." Venal gave Kaina a distrusting look. "Just to be your extra hand. I won't touch anything you don't want me to."

Venal weighed the option for a moment before letting out a sigh. "It's just minor stuff. Just--hold the pieces so I can reattach them."

"For your PAK legs, I assume?" Kaina smiled, moving to the other side of the table.

"I don't like that they're not working properly. I'd actually be able to move if those get fixed."

"But it takes energy to move those too, right?"

"Well yes, but it hurts a lot less." He positioned the piece he had been working on. "Hold this right here."

Venal watched Kaina carefully as he put a hand into the PAK. Of anyone, he gave the Vortian the most trust. But his PAK was his PAK and he couldn't stand having anyone touch it. But, Kaina did only what he was instructed, holding the small piece in place so that Venal could reconnect it properly.

They worked in near silence for a while, the only talking coming from Venal when he gave instructions on what to hold still and where to hold it. Kaina had been the only person he had ever been able to work with, a comfortable and fluid partnership that had always felt right. Venal had never liked unnecessary noise or being questioned, and Kaina respected that.

They debated, sure. Progress could not be made without at least two different minds working on it. One viewpoint meant you were blind, after all. But, when it came to things Venal did know, Kaina knew his place and didn't overstep like an Irken scientist or medic might. Such was the nature of Irken pride, and why he much preferred working with a Vortian.

"Aren't your PAKs your brain?" Kaina asked idly, hands folded on the table, as Venal looked around for any more loose parts.

"The organic brain and PAK work in tandem." He answered simply. "That's why we can repair our PAKs as long as we are running a self-repair protocol."

"Otherwise what?"

"We expire after ten minutes." Venal laid his tool down and clicked the PAK closed. "I appreciate curiosity Kai, but I can't openly talk about this. You know that."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He said simply. "Complete self-repair protocol."

The cables in his back pulled out and another placed the PAK back on. The reconnection was a little painful, but nothing too bad. Once reattached, he pulled a PAK leg out and flexed it around. There was no pain, so he brought out another, then another until all four were out and moving around slowly.

"Feel okay?" Kaina asked, picking up Mex and holding her gently. Venal felt a spike of protectiveness, but he shoved it down.

"I missed these so bad." He sighed, lifting himself up on the PAK legs. He didn't manage to stay up long before lowering himself back down to his feet. "Hurts the left side a bit though."

"It might be pulling on your shoulder."

"That's likely, yes." Venal responded, using one PAK leg like a crutch after returning the other three. "I will go rest now."

"I'll see you back, Ven."

#Events from the past #Verane writes

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supersizemeplz · 6 years ago

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Say the Word

Erik Stevens x Black PlusSized Reader

Another #supersizedfic short. SMUTTY. I listened to Trey Songz' Jill (Sumn Real) as I wrote. Enjoy!

The bedroom door closed softly, clicking into place. Two soft thuds sounded through the room as he stood before you with dominance. Erik had been waiting for this moment since they first locked eyes in the strobe lighting of the club. Your hips swaying had been what called to him. The hug of your dress complimented the confidence you'd held. When you caught his gaze and sent him a wink, he almost lost it.

That's when he knew he had to have you.

Now you were left alone with him. His dark eyes trailed their gaze over your body before he smirked. Here before you was the sexiest man you'd ever seen, someone you never would've thought you had a chance with. Liquid courage was real and you were thankful. Broad shoulders and strong arms hidden in his long sleeved shirt, golden chain around his neck. You'd only known a little about him. His name, where he lived, and that he drove a fancy ass foreign car. And in a matter of minutes, you'd be adding his sex skills to that list.

"Here.." His deep voice demanded as he motioned for you to come to him. Pointing to the area before him. You looked into his darkened eyes, feeling a bit frightened and aroused all in one. He smirked at your hesitation, seeing that you actually was a bit shy. That liquid courage was wearing off. He'd suspected it, but you just gave him conformation. Oh the fun he'd have with you.

He slowly maneuvered to you, taking in your curvaceous body. Your thick thighs caused your dress to inch higher than you'd wanted. From the way you occasionally tugged at the tight material he could tell it bothered you a little. He'd had a liking for heavier women, and he wouldn't hide it from anyone.

"You can relax around me, you know that right?" You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he pressed against your backside. Sending a chill down your spine. You felt his trapped erection, confirming the thoughts of his size. Your impure thoughts were in motion as you closed your eyes, relaxing in his arms.

"Yeah, I know.." You pressed your ass against him, letting your freaky side emerge. He groaned at your teasing. A chuckle left his lips before he bent you forward, making your face press against the cool sheets of his bed.

"Then act like it.." A single hand massaged the soft cushion of your ass. If you wanted to act up, he'd straighten you out. His thick fingers pulled your panties to the side, swiftly brushing a finger into the wet mound in front of him. Your water glazed your inner thighs and he hadn't even began forreal. You moaned out, managing to nudge him away with your ass.

You climbed on the bed, removing your underwear teasingly. "Make me.." Your legs opened to him as you fell back on the bed. In all honesty, you needed him to fuck you up. He growled at the challenge, stepping forward as he caught your addictive scent.

"You sure you wanna test me, princess?" His right hand found your neck, tightening his grip slowly. You laid your hand atop his as he chuckled. His eyes held a glint of something.g before it faded. You had no idea who you were dealing with.

Releasing your neck, he trailed kisses down your stomach. He growled as he eased two fingers into your awaiting folds. That alone had you arching off the bed. He wasted no time before his tongue lapped up your wetness.

"Fuckkk.." He hummed as his nose brushed against your clit. "I love the way this pussy taste.." You instantly let out a loud moan, causing him to smile. A hint of aggression. His free hand sent a hard smack to your thigh as you cursed. Slurping and nibbling on your swollen bud, he'd gained your loud whimpers.

Erik enjoyed sweetly torturing you as you made sounds that had his dick jumping. His beard had no choice but to be drenched from the way he sloppily ate. Making a mess between your thighs. You had your fingers gripping his dreads, head thrown back as you groaned.

"Erik, baby..Please.." You begged for mercy, feeling your thighs clench. You'd never felt this way with any man since ever. They had mostly used you for their pleasure and you'd finish off after you kicked them out of your apartment. But Erik? Gahdamn.

"Nah baby, gimme that pussy.." He watched your body jerk as you came hard over his fingers. Eyes rolling back when he didn't let up. You couldn't control your continuous cream as you covered your face with your hands. Erik immediately dove back into your nectar, wanting more.

Your hips jerked beneath him, weakly attempting to find safety from his mouth. He'd stopped and chuckled when you whimpered, looking up at you as tried to calm your shaking thighs. You slowly slid towards the head board and away from him as he wiped his mouth and beard.

Erik slipped off his shirt, exposing the scars you'd felt as your rubbed his body on the ride here. He'd hid his abs and biceps with that famed shirt. And you were thankful it was gone. His pants went next, after his shoes thudded against the floor. A cocky smirk adorned his lips as he watched you admire him.

He crawled onto the bed, licking his plump lips at the sight of you half naked. All for him. He admired your stomach and soft thighs that he wished could smother his face once again. You stared up at his handsome features as he pinned your arms above your head. His free hand lifting yout leg onto his shoulder. You caught a glimpse of his freed length when he slid off his boxers. Good Lord..

"Don't tell me you tryna tap out, baby.." His lips brushed against your earlobe as he spoke. Amusement laced in his words. You shivered at the feeling before he pushed into you. Your lips parted as you took in his swollen snake, stretching you gently.

Taking the opportunity, he kissed you to muffle your whimpers. His lips were so soft. You tasted yourself on them, humming in approval. Erik cursed softly, grinding his hips into you. Slowly, he built up speed. His deep strokes causing you to cry out, tears sliding down your cheeks. A loud curse spilled from your lips as he kissed a tear away.

"You feel me, baby?" He moaned into your skin, burying his face into your neck. You felt like heaven wrapped around him, wetting up his lower half. Sounding off the wetter you became. He felt you nod as an answer since you were unable to let out anything but moans. You were just where he wanted you, in his arms.

"What happened to that shit you was talking, huh?" He drilled deeper, moaning out just as loud as you. You hummed in pleasure at that. Your sex coated Erik's dick with cream for the second time. Pushing a hand to his stomach, you managed to slip him out. You just needed a second, and so did he.

"Shit.." You exhaled, looking to the ceiling. But Erik wasn't done. Deciding that your break had been long enough, he attacked your lips. They'd been teasing him all night.

His sex drive was high and most women loved that about him. At least the ones he actually blessed with his ability. The others only heard through the grape vine.

"Ass in the air.." Slowly, he helped you to get on all fours. Your legs felt as though they'd give out, but honestly you didn't care. Your night with this man would be one to remember.

You pleaded for him to be gentle with you. And he hummed as acknowledgment. Your walls stretched around him as you both moaned out together. The sensation was enough to make any man weak. He grabbed your waist, tilting his head back as he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Golds pressing into his lip. The warmness of you welcomed him with each plunging stroke.

"You running from me, baby?" He groaned, slapping your ass and watching it bounce against him. "This dick too good?" You felt her body tingle before Erik groaned her name. His strokes became sloppier as he mumbled about how bad he needed you. You'd spilled over him once more before he pulled from your essence, emptying onto your round assets.

It was almost picture perfect, to him at least. Although he wanted another round, he could tell you needed a break. So he allowed it.

Silence filled the air comfortably aside from the heavy breathing. You grinned as you laid against the sheets. "I never thought I'd meet a man to match my sex drive.." You found the strength to lift on to your elbows, looking back at Erik as he cleaned the mess he'd made on your backside. When he finished, he disappeared to the bathroom again to dispose of the towel.

You listened as he spoke of how it was his job to please you. "You fine as fuck and you deserve good dick. Its hard not to want to please you.." He returned from the bathroom, chuckling as you laid care free. As a habit, you cursed before pulling the cover over your naked body.

Erik tugged the sheets away before admiring you. His dick rising again as he did so. "You ain't gotta cover up, baby. You ain't got shit to be ashamed of... Trust me." He pulled you closer to him, kissing on your neck when he'd finally found his place between your parted thighs.

Your breasts pressed against him as he nibbled on your warm skin. His hands roamed to your thighs, dick laying between the two of you. "Erikkk, quitt." You moaned as he worked on creating a hickey. To mark you as his.

His tip pushed into you again as he pressed a kiss between your breast. "You really want me to stop, baby?" Your nails grazed his skin as he slowly started his grinding. "All you gotta do is say the word.."

__________________

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dyketectivecomics · 6 years ago

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Guess who has two thumbs and cant wait to finish things before publishing them!!!!!!!!

(just a preview for the Night Force fic that I keep talking about and never actually get around to finishing apparently)

...

While Zachary held nothing but love and respect for his cousin in his heart, he was starting to become every bit annoyed with her as she lingered in Shadowcrest’s foyer. As she pulled sticky notes from her hat, he did his best to indulge her, taking them each carefully from her, only half-listening as she gave him reminders to go along with each note.

“-and Mikey’s helped me make arrangements for Sasha, but the rabbits in the West Wing will be your responsibility, Zach,” she repeated as she handed the last sticky note and adjusted her bowtie immediately after. “As will the rest of Shadowcrest. This space mission shouldn’t last longer than the weekend, but please remember to-”

“Relax, Zee. I’m the pinnacle of responsibility.“

“That is what has me worried,” she grumbled, fixing her top hat so it rested perfectly atop her head. “OT EHT REWOTHCTAW.” A portal opened in swirling shades of blue and violet, and just before the magician stepped through, she turned one last time to her cousin, her voice having just a hint of a threat of violence. “And no parties.”

And with that final word, the magician disappeared.

With a flourish, Zach tucked all of the notes up one sleeve and pulled out carefully signed envelopes out of the other, double checking the names on each as he flipped through them. When satisfied, he held them aloft, cleared his throat, and chanted a simple spell to send them on their way.

“REVILED SETIVNI OT YM STSEUG.”

And just as soon as they disappeared in a flash of light, he pulled up the sticky notes once more and turned from the foyer to make preparations. He made sure to properly dispose of the notes in a bin around the corner.

…

More than anything, she wanted one dinner, one last semblance of the order she had from before. Just one ritual untouched by the magic and mysticism and mortal peril she faced when outside of the Williams’ home. Idle chit-chat and polite interruptions over mundane things were a welcome pace.

Normalcy. Something so sweet and now so sacred. Something she had been so severely lacking with the latest fantastical adventure that Baron Winters had dragged her unwillingly into.

And for just a few minutes, it seemed as if she may just have it.

But all too soon, Raven found herself sighing in annoyance when she recognized the ostentatious calligraphy that adorned the envelope as it popped into existence and fell right onto her dinner.

Of course Zatara would find a way to contact her at such an inopportune time.

She’d just revealed her biggest secret to her family days ago, by sharing her secret identity and almost all that it entailed after that disastrous first mission with Winters’ so-called new Night Force. She’d only just regained her teachers’ trust, after her aunt and uncle had stepped in to cover for the unfortunate mess she’d caused. She’d just been settling into that old routine that had seemed another lifetime ago.

And now Zatara was about to compromise all of that again for…

She wrinkled her nose, vexed as she read further through the card.

He was inviting her to some, so-called, exclusive house party?

She scoffed at the thought, folding the invite over and setting it aside. She only got a few more bites of green beans in, before she could sense everyone’s eyes on her. A gentle thrum of curiosity, with opposing hints of excitement and nervousness.

“Is that from one of your, um, Titan friends, honey?” Alice asked delicately, breaking the tension that had formed around the table. Always leave it to Aunt Alice, to cut right to talking about elephants in rooms.

“It is only Zatara, being a nuisance,” Raven explained, waving a dismissive hand as she picked at her food with her fork. She started to wonder where her appetite went as she felt another thrum of excitement around the table then.

“Wait, like, Zatanna Zatara?” Mary-Beth asked with a gleam in her eyes, “So her magic is all real, like yours?”

“Not quite like mine,” Raven found herself correcting, and winced a bit as she realized she failed to keep the venom out of her voice. “And also not from her. She has a cousin. Zachary. Much less talented, and much more annoying.” She paused a moment, sensing the growing curiosity that hung in the air, answering the unasked question.

“He has invited me and our… mutual acquaintances to a party this weekend. But I do not think-”

“You should go,” Jack said between bites, carefully swallowing before continuing. “It’s good for a growing teen, to be around other people that share your interests, even when you don’t always get along with them.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Uncle Jack, but I already have friends-”

“But not friends that are… magic,” he pointed again with his fork, a sly smile forming on his face, “Besides, I don’t remember you telling us you had any other plans this weekend.”

“It is clear across the country-”

“Rach- Raven,” Alice said, catching herself, “If you keep finding excuses for why you couldn’t, you’ll never see the reason why you should.”

“That’s deep, Mom, where’d ya get that from?” Mary-Beth laughed, and soon the discussion derailed back into mundanity.

And as the conversation drifted, Raven wondered if spending the weekend just outside of Gotham with her fellow Night Force members would be such a bad thing after all. She certainly didn’t know them well enough to develop any strong feelings, positive or negative, towards them.

And Uncle Jack had made a good point, about her not having plans in the first place…

…

Shadowcrest was exactly how she had imagined it. Victorian gothic architecture that matched every other estate in the countryside. If pushing just past Gotham City’s limits could be considered countryside, that is.

Unlike many of those estates, which had fallen into vacancy and disrepair over the years, Shadowcrest stood tall and proud. The roofline looked as if it had just been patched in, the paint as vibrant as the day it first touched the paneling, and the whole building absolutely hummed with energy. A magical building, indeed, and one that had Raven pausing at it’s doorbell as she lifted her hand to buzz herself in.

She cursed her momentary hesitancy under breath before pressing the bell with a tad more force than necessary, rolling her eyes as “Abracadabra” could be heard playing throughout the manor.

‘Leave it to the stage magicians to have a sense of humor,’ she thought idly.

When Zach opened the door, he looked as if he were trying to keep the surprise off his face. Certainly, it wasn’t often that a Teen Titan darkened his doorstep, in civilian clothing no less! But he couldn’t seem to help himself as his eyes traveled over her body to take in her outfit.

The yellow sundress was a shock, but not at all unflattering on the teen empath, sported with tan flats and a jean jacket that was her only protection against the first chilling winds of autumn. An outfit much more telling of her point of departure, from sunny San Francisco, than her current destination, in the dreary American Northeast.

“So, she doesn’t dress like she’s ready to attend a mid-2000s Fallout Boy concert, like the rest of us,” he noted, a smirk beginning to grow on his face. Raven made her own mental note of his comment as she took in Zach’s own outfit for the evening. He had evidently ditched the tophat and tails for more comfortable jeans with strategically placed holes, and a shirt sporting a band’s logo that she couldn’t immediately place.

“I am only here because I am curious about your library, Zatara,” she said carefully as she pushed past the boy, “Let’s not make this any more difficult that it needs to be.”

“Only you would see an invite to an exclusive party, and have eyes solely for the library,” a voice called lazily from the next room over, making Raven pause as she changed her direction towards it.

To the left of that oh-so-grand foyer that hinted around a more timeless design, was a classically victorian-style tea room, where the rest of their teammates had evidently made themselves at home, much to Zach’s very tangible frustration.

Raven could practically taste the mingling emotions in the air, wafts of annoyance and hints of glee. And once again, that common, nearly electric undercurrent of excitement and anticipation. The room was like a powder keg with so many players ready to go. She wondered idly how the others must have felt, with so much energy once again in the air.

Klarion was placed the furthest away, draped lazily along an armchair with his legs hanging off the side. He gave the empath a quick nod before turning back to the tablet in his lap, hands glowing in time as he appeared to be mixing and experimenting with how the tech was adapting to his magic.

On the loveseat, Traci was engrossed in her own conversation with Kid Devil, who Raven recognized only from brief encounters before this whole mess with Winters had begun. Eddie Bloomberg had only just run into these powers of his not too long ago, after all. The pair briefly acknowledged the empath before returning to their conversation, Eddie’s hands becoming more animated as Traci laughed along with his antics.

Which only left the final two players in the room, Skye Harper, who was making herself comfortably at home lounging on a summoned bean bag chair that clashed horribly with the rest of the decor, and Black Alice, sitting in the only other armchair in the room. And apparently making backhanded comments, as always.

“Guys, the coasters. Please,” Zach groaned as he snapped his fingers to hide his mumbling as he summoned more. Klarion’s feisty feline had taken most of the mats, playing or otherwise tearing them apart, as pets are wont to do.

He grabbed Teekl by the cat’s scruffy neck to berate it. “No more chewing on these ones, got it?” The cat only gave him a hiss, swatting and missing as the magician dropped it. It bounced happily into Klarion’s arms as the pair gave the magician a glare.

“At least now the party can really start,” Alice continued, stretching her arms over her head in boredom. “Demons make everything much more interesting-”

“Half-demon,” the empath found herself snapping. It couldn’t be helped, however, with how the room had shifted. That peculiar lilt the power-snatcher used just then, made her skin crawl. She couldn’t stand to let that feeling. “And how do you know that I am here to start the party? Maybe I will end it before it even begins.”

“Told you she’d be a narc,” Eddie laughed. “Everyone knows she and Za-”

With a piercing ring, Zachary’s phone chimed off, alarm magically charmed to stop all thought except what the reminder was set to. A spell that was little overdone, as Raven could feel a mild headache making it’s home right between her eyes. She didn’t need to guess, much less imagine, what everyone else must have been feeling.

“Ugh, the popcorn!” Zach groaned, “Okay, everyone stay right here, I’ll be back with the flicks and everything and then we can get this started! OT EHT NEHCTIK.”

Immediately after the magician had completely disappeared, Klarion was on his feet, heading out of the very same doorway Raven had entered from.

“You guys can stay if you want, Teekl and I are going to explore,” he declared lazily over his shoulder, heading right for the stairs.

“I don’t think Zach would appreciate that,” Skye started hesitantly, but before she could protest any further, the other teen mystics were out of their seats and similarly following suit.

“I’m going to search for blackmail material,” Alice laughed. Traci shrugged her shoulders, following close behind with a rebuttal of, “I don’t completely condone it, but I’m in.”

Eddie declared himself Klarion’s unofficial shadow and the two were off in the blink of an eye, disappearing around a corner before anyone could ask what destination they had in mind.

This left Raven to sigh wearily, recognizing Skye’s growing anxiety and knowing she would be helpless to stop the others. She was damned regardless, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from fulfilling her promise to find Shadowcrest’s library and discover its secrets for herself.

“I could use the company-” Before she even finished the thought, the Wind Elemental was at her side, her face was split into a wide grin as she grabbed the empath’s hand, leading her down the East corridor.

“I’m pretty sure Zach said the library would be this way!” she said.

A minute later, in the now empty tea room, the magician reappeared with popcorn and movies in hand.

He let out a low curse as he realized the mistake that had been made, all too late to avoid its consequences.

#randywritesfic #this stands at abt 2k so its not a Super quick read #and the ending chap is DEF gonna hit 5k maybe 6 when all is said and done #hell maybe more #but it'll be WORTH IT #bc RELETIVELY SELF-CONTAINED STORIES LEADING INTO A NICE BIG NARRATIVE HUZZAH #idk maybe we'll see #y'all should be able to see the Plot coming a mile away but uh #y'all ever watched the Trouble with Tribbles?#yeah... that #night force #I'm tagging but I'm not tagging everyone until i actually Post the Official chapter #again. sneak preview

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mrdanielbond · 5 years ago

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Bond’s New Flatmate (Chpt. 8)

“Anything you need...”

Plot: As a way of helping cope with the troubles you’ve faced for the last two months, Jonathan decides to treat you to a holiday to Geneva and it is a well deserved break. A holiday with a hunk you like to drink with? What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: I guess Tumblr is letting me post my full chapters now so imma get to it and see what I can work from. Remember, Jonathan is an actor of your choice!

“Aww hello!” You called. A German Shepard puppy raced towards you and barked instantly, dropping a tennis ball before you. He nuzzled it once more by your foot, then leapt up onto your leg, playfully barking.

“Oi! Duke stop that!” Jonathan called as he quickly pulled the ball away from you and tried to lure the dog towards him. “I’m really sorry, he gets seriously playful whenever there’s a guest in the house. Duke, come on, be a good boy and leave the lovely lady alone.”

Duke continued puffing then dashed towards Jonathan, who raised Duke up in his arms, and held him close. The overhyped dog licked his face then remained still, panting with his tongue hanging out.

“I’m really sorry about that. Duke gets really overexcited. I should’ve warned you about the dog. Are you alright with them?”

“I love dogs!” You grinned happily, tempted to lean in and hug the happy pup.

How could this man get sweeter? He had a dog! “Got him from the rescue shelter, he wasn’t in a good way, very timid at first but now, he can’t seem to get enough of being playful. I have no idea how he manages to keep all this energy.” And he did get better. “I’ll show you to your room.”

You followed him around the beautifully designed home, there was something about it that was warming. Maybe it was the fireplace that had been glowing in the distance, or the couches that you made you keep a note on where you may find yourself most comfortable in this place, if you could even do that.

Then you noticed that beside the television there was a photograph of him with a woman when he was younger. His hair was tousled, he was completely clean shaven, bright eyes that were clear through the faded picture. He wore a teal blue shirt, that was slightly unbuttoned and he was pulling a face, leaning into the woman under his arm. She was slim, blonde hair with a smile on her face. She looked far more attractive and from how close they were, maybe you thought it was his girlfriend, resembling a model if you could even say that. The two were very close, you could tell with the way she pressed against him. He never mentioned being in a relationship nor did he mention being single either.

Before you could deal with the internal questioning he opened the door to your room, still with the pup in his arm and your backpack over his shoulder. “And this is your quarters, my lady.” He said with a small smirk. That smirk was going to be the death of you, but you weren’t going to say anything about him. Definitely do not give him the satisfaction for it at least.

Your room was fairly large and goodness, it looked comfortable. This was much different to the one you had in your shared flat with James. It had a large double bed and a slick, modern touch to it once again, with a view of the city.

“Is this alright?” He suddenly asked, and by the time you turned around you could see him wait with nervous anticipation.

“This is - it’s great. I feel like I’m seriously imposing now.” You sighed, scratching your head.

“Of course you are.” Jonathan retorted. “Me and Duke were gonna have a lads night in until you ruined it.” He winked and let out a small chuckle. You rolled your eyes and set your bags inside with Jonathan behind you. He set Duke back down and the excited pup wandered his way out of the room so Jonathan could help set your bags beside the wardrobe. You realised you had been silent for quite a while and Jonathan had clearly noticed but he hadn’t wanted to point it out. He helplessly smiled, realising how close the two of you stood to each other. “Um, so if you need anything my room is down the hall, sometimes I’m in the study, it depends. Don’t be afraid to give me a shout. Any questions, just ask. Sometimes you’ll hear something smash, that’s just the bloody poltergeist that used to live here. He did have a really violent death.”

“Excuse me the what? You are joking. You have to be.”

“No. He used to own the building, died after having his throat slit. Cheated on his wife for another woman who lived in this building like ten years ago. Yes it was quite nasty, that.” He said slowly, looking down with a serious face. “Oh well. He’s not gonna kill any of us, just make his presence known.” He shrugged casually.

“His name was Tom."

"That’s bullshit.” You said, squinting your eyes.

“You want to see what he looked like then?”

“Yes.” You folded your arms. He brought out his phone and showed a photograph of the name with the exact name, outside a building with his children twenty years ago.

“The fuck is this...?” Your eyes widened as you looked at the photograph then the attached article, everything he said was correct. There was a silence, then suddenly he burst into laughter.

“His name was Tom Foolery.” A smirk emerged from his lips, which caused him to be struck with a playful slap to the arm. “Ow!” He chuckled. “I didn’t think you would believe me!”

“I knew you were lying the moment you said poltergeist. Anyway, who the hell is that then?!”

“I don’t know. There’s no bloody poltergeist here. If you hear a crash it’s Duke probably dropping something. He does that sometimes in the middle of the night. When he does that and if I’m not around, try teaching him to stay away from the kitchen, he’s still learning. Anyway I’ll leave you to it, I imagine you’ve had enough of me for now. I’ve got a phone call to make.”

He left the room and you inside it. You dropped onto the bed for a moment and let out a long sigh. This bed is bloody comfortable, you thought. Though you couldn’t help smiling, maybe you were going to enjoy your time here after all.

After a couple of hours settling down, you made your way into the living room that was adjacent to the kitchen, to smell something deliciously pleasant behind you. As you turned around you heard playing in the background as you found Jonathan with a towel over his shoulder and see him frying food at the pan. It brought you memories of your time with James, that one time he cooked for you and when Q interfered. You couldn’t help but smirk at that thought, it was a painfully humorous evening. There were few of them like that with James as time grew on and the more Madeleine stayed. You silently scolded yourself for even thinking about him.

“Ah. Y/N, why don’t you come round here. I want to show you something.” As you made your way down, you couldn’t help eyeing the television once more, seeing that photograph and how happy he looked. Jonathan had aged really well if this was his very much younger years. Now he was well defined, with a beard that had been growing out and his hair well taken care of.

“Try this.” He said, dipping a small teaspoon into the pot of sauce and handed it to you.

“I’m not going to get food poisoning am I? Because I intend on living until I’m past thirty. I know - I know it’s a surprise but a pleasant one at least!”

“I thought you liked testing the waters?”

“And I would’ve thought you’d have more creative ways to kill someone. I’m a sucker for a cup of tea or some ice cream, why couldn’t you have poisoned that?”

“I’ll take notes for next time, darling.” He winked.

“Is this going to poison me?” You said, not moving the spoon an inch closer to your lips. “You know what? Fuck it.” You shrugged, slowly moving the spoon to your lips and leaving the spoon linger in between your lips longer, causing Jonathan to cock his head to the side slightly, observantly taking in your reaction. “You said you never cook at home, right?”

“I said I’m never around enough to cook and there’s no one I can cook for. Big difference.” He said casually, his eyes moved towards the spoon before he quickly looked up and shrugged.

“Why don’t we get drinks. How do you feel about Ben Nevis? I’m a sucker for some quality scotch.” He said, making his way towards the cupboard and pulled out the bottle.

Once you had eaten your delicious meal, specially prepared by Jonathan might you add, the two of you both cleared the table and got to washing up. He tried hard to keep you away from doing anything but your stubbornness is the reason you stuck around. The two of you shared a laugh with each other now and again, something you never thought would happen especially with Jonathan.

You made your way to the guest room once you had finished, leaving Jonathan to place back the rest of the plates. You took in the view of the beautiful scene at your disposal. Colourful lights below, all similarly to dots driving through the road, while a dark blanket covered the sky above.

It had been like that for the next week under your stay with Jonathan. He had been caring enough to look out for you. You both helped each other with breakfast and supper with him and watching late nights films together. Soon that had to end and you would have to go back to work after you spent the last three nights away from work. Currently, you found yourself staring at your chemistry set, wondering what to do with it. Back at the old flat, you were able to work in your own comfort zone as you knew you were paying to stay in the flat and in your space. But in this case you weren’t and everything here looked more expensive than your yearly salary alone. As much as he said it was your home just as much as his, you knew for a fact this was solely his home. He paid for it, no matter how much you tried to offer him your share and promised him that you would be out of his way, that was not the case with him. He strongly refused, telling you that his apartment was big enough for more than the two of you and this was barely any trouble for him.

The time was 2.00 am and you had to get back to work but the downpour outside kept you awake. Suddenly, your phone buzzed. On the screen appeared a name, one that caused your tossing and turning to stop immediately.

From: Unknown

Y/N, we need to talk.

James

The sight of the message caused you to roll your eyes immediately. There was no way you were going to talk to talk to him. You couldn’t, at least not yet. The anger that seeped from within towards him and the betrayal he caused couldn’t be stopped. There was only one way you could de-stress yourself and that was to take a shower. You took a shower and once you were comfortable in just a tank top and shorts, you made your way to the kitchen to make yourself a drink when on your way you stopped to find a light shining from a room beside you.

Tea first. That’s what you needed. Once you were successful, you made your way back down the hall, when you found the light still shining. The door was left slightly unhinged and you could see a figure, probably Jonathan, looking down at something. From what you could see, he was in a white t shirt and his hair was slightly tousled but it only made him look better.

“You know you don’t have to hide behind that door.” The velvet voice said behind the door, instantly catching you off guard.

You slowly opened the door raising an eyebrow. “Was I that loud?”

“Let’s just say there’s a reason why you would make an awful spy.” He gestured to the seat before him.

“What’s that?” You knew parts about Jonathan’s job. All you knew was he spent time in Afghanistan as a soldier, then worked with intelligence through a private branch. There were a lot of things you hadn’t known about this man and his job was the biggest one of them all. He travelled around the world and stated that when the real operatives failed, he had to step forward and get the job done, which essentially is what left him with all that he has today, as you may guess.

“It’s just something for work. They want me to go to Geneva this time. Turns out an agent from MI6 has failed to capture a potential threat and they want me to investigate the mess.” He scratched his head, “I’ll have to head off in a couple of days.”

The small nod surprised him. Not even a response left your lips. You fiddled with your fingers, suddenly alarmed by the fact that you felt his eyes bore into you. At this point in time, all you could think of was him. He didn’t have the right to just instantly message you like that. Why did he choose now? When you were just managing to forget about him and appreciate your time here, as much as your mind challenged the whole living situation.

“Y/N?”

“Oh right. Yes, Geneva sounds great. I hope you have a great time.” Your eyes lit up, if there was a time to escape before getting attached, it had to be now. “That’s great timing anyway. While you’re gone, I’ll be able to pack my bags-”

“Wait - pack? Where?” His eyes widened quickly and he reached his hand forward, immediately stopping you from moving any further. “Hold on. I need you to breathe, love.”

You stopped talking and did as he asked, noting the worry that shot into his eyes. He seemed like a deer in headlights. Though these terms of endearment were going to be the death of you.

“Talk to me. What’s up?”

“Look, I don’t want to be negative or anything but this? This isn’t right.” You huffed, “I shouldn’t be here, Jon. I should be out there finding myself somewhere else to live. The only reason I am here, and let’s be honest, it’s because you felt so much pity for me that you had to do something and I’m going to be honest, I don’t do sympathy. I can’t do sympathy. I don’t want it. As much as you want to call this my home just as much it is your home, that can’t happen because this can’t be my home I didn’t pay for anything here. I’m practically just a wet blanket around this place. You’re cool and all, I like you and I have never been this far with anyone but I feel like now’s the time the fun ends.”

He sat forward with his hand over his mouth, something that you knew only a man like him would do when he was annoyed or trying to figure something out. However, you couldn’t tell which one it was.

“Where’s this coming from? I thought you liked it here.” It took a second for him to piece the puzzle. “He’s contacted you - hasn’t he?”

“It’s nothing to do with that.”

The man rose from his seat and made his way towards you, leaning against the surface of his desk. The reading glasses he donned you could not lie, made him look more attractive than you expected him to be but you realised, not now. You couldn’t let those ideas come in now. He stepped casually towards the other side of the desk, right in front of you and at this moment in time you could finally take his figure in. There have been moments now and again where you found yourself coming close to him but it wasn’t like this. The tension in the air lingered between the two of you - unless you were the only one who could sense it.

“Do you like being here?” He asked, folding his arms with an observant look on his face.

“I - It’s not about whether I like being here or not.” You sighed helplessly.

“Well that’s a shame because I have enjoyed your company a lot here these past few days.” He leaned forward and reached for your hand, “And just so you know this goes beyond missing one lads night in with Duke. I enjoy it being a night in, just me and you, drinking and watching every single ridiculous film possible and criticising it while drunk. I don’t know about you but I’ve loved being around you - the sarcastic, stupidly stubborn woman before me.”

“Yes I’ve enjoyed being around her too.” You mumbled with a smirk.

“See!” He chuckled lightly. “Come on, tell me something. If you really didn’t want to be here, why did you stay so long? Because you’d feel bad for me? Or is it something else?” He slowly reached for your hand and pulled you to him. There was a silence between you two, before he pulled you close. Subconsciously, you interlocked your fingers with his, moving closer.

“Let’s go to somewhere.” He said.

“I’d like to say I like your thinking but where on earth are you planning to go?” You pulled your head back, confused.

“Anywhere, after this. A holiday. Somewhere away from work. Get so fucking drunk and have such a wild time that when we come back maybe you’ll feel differently about what home feels like. We can get to know each other. Nothing better than friends having fantastic bloody time abroad. What happens in Geneva, stays in Geneva sort of thing.”

“Isn’t that a bit spontaneous - even for you?”

“It depends on how you look at it. This is an opportunity to go anywhere and I know, Miss Independent, you want to pay for something on your own but that's not happening this time. I don’t want to stop you from being you but I also want you to move away from money troubles. Being honest, I just want you to have a break from all you've been through these past few weeks and if I could take you, it would be my absolute pleasure.”

#007 #british #fanfic #daniel craig #james bond #james bond 007 #literature #mi6 #casino royale #fanfiction #tom hiddleston/reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #michael fassbender x reader #michael fassbender #james mcavoy x reader #james mcavoy

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kindofwriter · 6 years ago

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The first ever AI: or is it?

Is this an alright story? I’ve been told so many times that my taste in literature is so abstract and removed from what other people like that I’ll never be able to write an enjoyable narrative. Before I develop anything I just want to know if this is ok. Not good, just acceptable.

Briefly (or as briefly as I can):

The story starts with a young man taking out the trash. He’s told to take it to a proper waste removal plant, but decides that that’s too far out of his way. He takes a look at what he’s suppose to be disposing of, and is terrified to discover it’s a human body. Upon closer inspection he realises it’s actually a very convincing human-shaped robot and tosses it in a dumpster.

Then the proper story begins. It’s ~2235. We have robots, but not AI, that have taken over a lot of manual labour, service jobs, and medical procedures. After a huge population spike a few billion were killed due to global warming, meaning there are huge cities that now have the population of towns. Folding phones and interactive holograms are the norm, but some older tech (3D kindles, wireless headphones) has hung around. In the US the middle and lower classes have joined to form socialist state governments, but the upper classes remain in control of large business and the federal government. Average life expectancy is ~90 years.

Our MC Iris, 19 y/o college student studying coding and robotics and part-time teacher, is walking home. Upon spotting an insanely complex robot just discarded on top of a dumpster she puts it on the trolley with her robotics projects and takes it home.

She lives with her mother who used to be a kind, supportive parent, but began to develop symptoms of dementia nine years ago. Now she’s hostile, forgetful, and abusives. Iris avoids her at all costs, and only stays because of monetary issues. She spends as much time as possible out of the house.

In her room, Iris sets about fixing up the robot. The tech’s a little more complex than what she’s used to, but she adapts. The robot looks horrifyingly like a human man, complete with overgrown hair and blood and tissue, but mimicking this is completely possible with 3D printing tech.

The robot has circuitry in its head, with wires connecting to its spine, a robotic hand, trachea, and voice box, a heart-sleeve, a robotic arm, and a faulty robotic foot + shin. Most other things seem to be printed cells.

Once she’s put the finishing touches on the robot’s head it wakes up, instantly panicking and trying to run away, but its damaged foot prevents this. After a lot of struggling, failed attempts to speak, and a lot of shushing from Iris, the robot becomes tired and ‘powers down.’

While it ‘sleeps’ Iris tries to see what kind of tasks it’s coded for, as it behaved very strangely, but she can’t find anything besides basic bodily functions. She fixes its voice box then goes to sleep.

When Iris wakes up the robot is gone, but she can hear her mom in the kitchen so gets up. It isn’t her mom, but the robot, rummaging through her cupboards and eating as much junk food as it can find.

It sees Iris and apologies for last night, and for eating all her food, and introduces himself as Adam (ahaha, see what I did there? THE BIBLE). He says he’ll be leaving now.

Iris is very confused and wants to know more, so when Adam goes to drink some of her mom’s liquor she offers to buy him a drink somewhere else. They swap his hospital-like attire for a hoodie and one of her mom’s skirts (he’s too tall for the pants, but says he’s partial to skirts anyway).

As they leave the house Adam mentions that he has a family, but the wife he mentions created the code for AI 200 years ago, only to have her designs forbidden and confiscated by the feds. Iris assumes he is the first illegal AI, made by someone who found her plans, and is amazed.

Adam talks to her about working for a dangerous corporation - he doesn’t dare give her the details - and being forced to leave his home. Iris begins to piece together that he was created and coded to act like a regular worker, but forced to work like a non-sentient robot.

She starts to explain to him about AI and Nita Sarcar’s coding, during which he is captivated, but when she tells him Nita died ~150 years ago he looks horrified and excuses himself to the bathroom.

After a while Iris follows him and finds him curled up on the floor, sobbing violently. She marvels at the humanity of the AI, and how easily he can evoke an emotional response from her.

However as she comforts him he tells her that he’s a person and explains where he comes from. Nita Sarcar actually was his wife. They had two children and lived in suburban New York. He was, if he says so himself, an astounding biochemical engineer. His wife was a computer scientist.

A company hired him to create a cure for death. He took the job, but after a few months and some critical thinking he decided it was immoral to develop something that would allow the upper class to evade death. He quit.

But the company wouldn’t let him. They effectively kidnapped him, locking him in a lab until he finished the cure. For ages he refused, but after almost a year he was desperate to see his family, so began work again.

He was forced to test products on himself, and after a while, just to stay alive, he was forced to perform procedures.

As he developed the technology the people at the corporation began to use it themselves, slowly becoming immortal.

Eventually, after what he assumed to be around thirty years, Adam had created a syrum that would cure death in a single injection. He demanded to be returned to his family, but instead the corporation severed the circuitry in his foot, shutting down his entire robotics system, including the brain. Then they told someone to trash him.

He demands that they involve the police, but Iris explains that society is fragile, and the police aren’t allowed to interfere with upper class, federal business. He decides to interfere himself.

Adam and Iris return to her house where she makes him a crutch and supplies him with some tech (some of her own, some that just exists now, like cool future-knives) while Adam used the weird, futuristic hair styler to get rid of his matted hair. He still doesn’t look like a person and it bothers him.

Adam starts to leave and Iris begs him to let her go too. He doesn’t want her to, he admits it’s probably a suicide mission, but she explains that she doesn’t care. There is nothing left in the world for her to do; so far her life has been 19 years of nothingness. Even if it means dying, she’s desperate to get away from home and do something, anything. She also tells Adam that hearing him talk about his family kind of makes her heart ache. She imagines what her life would’ve been like if her parents had loved her.

Her mother hears them arguing and comes to confront Iris, becoming mad when she sees Adam. She accuses Iris of ‘trying to build herself a new mother again’ and tells her to leave and never come home again. Adam instantly agrees to let her come with him and they run.

Iris tells him that when she was eleven she tried to build her mother a new brain and put it in a robot to test it. Her mom found out and accused her of trying to replace her, destroying her project and locking her in her room, then forgetting about her. After a few days Iris had to escape through the window.

They go somewhere: an old mall, an old library, an old camper van - wherever fits the story, and plan an assault on the corporation. Along the way Adam learns that they concrete jungle they’re exploring isn’t actually NYC but rural New York: at some point it become so built up it was indistinguishable from the city.

Now I get to the point in my planning where I know something else has to happen but I don’t quite know what. I know that Adam and Iris have to bond, that Adam has to feel crushed that he missed watching his children (who were 9 and 7 when he went missing) grow up, that Adam has to express extreme emotional and physical pain. Some actions stuff has to happen too. And it definitely needs some side characters at times.

Anyway, before they infiltrait the corp Iris gives Adam a little pass key, explaining that it will completely shut down and destroy his systems when used. He laughs and says something like ‘you’re giving me a suicide opportunity?’ and she says ‘no, I’m giving you autonomy’ in a very serious tone.

Then, obviously, fight-stuff happens. Disabling security, running from robots, meeting creepy cyborg-like people, like Adam but older (probably should’ve mentioned earlier, part of being immortal is preventing ageing. Adam looks mid-late thirties, these dudes are like 60-70. They’re terrifying.)

Adam has no qualms about killing any of these people, and although Iris is all for disabling systems and knocking people unconscious she turns away from Adam’s violent removal of people’s heads.

They corner the ‘main bad guy’ but he locks himself in a lab. Iris begins to disable the systems, but has a better idea. The building, coded to protect The Bad Guys, is gradually getting its remaining defences to Adam and Iris. She logs into the computer’s system and types wildly while Adam panics. She completes the code just in time.

The building’s system wakes up and, remembering all the horrible things it’s been forced to carry out, kills Bad Guy #1.

Iris, having thoroughly, thoroughly studied Nita’s work, has created the first actual AI. She tells it that they’re going to do some great things for the world (here’s where I need some side characters for her to hire. Definitely some people she teaches with etc.)

Iris takes Adam to one of the few non-built-up places in the state and they watch the heavy, dark cloud-coverage sludge around the sky. Adam tells Iris about travelling the world with his family, and the plans he’d had for the future. He apologises that he can’t stay and be like a father to Iris. She says she never expected him to.

Adam tells her he loves her, he’s proud of her, and that getting to know her was the only good thing to come out of his miserable torture.

Iris says he’s given her everything she ever wanted in life, and she can’t wait to start acting like a person herself.

They cry.

Iris offers to leave. Adam asks her to stay. He tells her that he’s not scared; the most frightening thing isn’t death, but feeling dead while you’re still living.

He inserts the chip into the circuitry in his head.

And that’s pretty much it. I’d probably call it something lame like Alive Indefinitely, because that has the AI and the immortality aspect in there.

Thank you so, so much if you stuck it out this long, I actually love you for it ❤️ Obviously it wouldn’t be quite this bad, this is just off the top of my head, but I just wanna know: is it ok? Not if it’s a best seller, or even a seller at all, just it seems like a story.

Thank you, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve made it to the end of this post!

#writeblr #writing #wip intro #i guess #writing advice #help #sci fi #my writing #author's note #wip: alive indefinitely

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anearthstruckalien · 6 years ago

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[[ Here’s yet another writing thing (’another’ because I’m dishing these things out more frequently now thanks to having a ton of inspiration) but it takes place in the past back when Giegue was still working for the Psions. It’s bascially part 1 of 2 where he has obtained the Apple of Enlightenment before his first ever attempt at his invasion of Earth (and destroying humanity) and he’s having a conversation with it. ]]

[The invasion of Earth should have already been set into motion. His plan was considered to be a good one—precisely as detailed and efficient as one would expect of the Psion by now—and he had all the required resources at his disposal. There was no reason not to proceed. But, whether he consciously acknowledged it or not, there had been a ruthlessly persistent seed of doubt embedded at the darker fringes of his mind and it had continuously nicked away at his confidence with fear until there was a big enough hole left behind that it could no longer be easily ignored. What if this ended up being like that time during George’s escape? What if his own plan had some unforeseen flaw in it? What if there’s something about Earth and the humans that hasn’t been accounted for? What if… and it continued to go on until the Psion decided to postpone the invasion and instead find the Apple of Enlightenment first so that he could refine his invasion plan to account for everything.

Pale fingers start to tap atop the neutral surface of his desk (a seemingly simple surface concealing far more advanced functions within) while dark blue voids continue to stare (relentlessly and without a blink) at the artifact in question. It is designed to convey knowledge in an objective way. The most prominent sub-function of this is its capacity for making accurate predictions of the future. That is what he is most intrigued by for it will help him with devising the best possible counter-measures in-advance no matter what it may be. As such, the Apple of Enlightenment would be key to the perfect completion of his objective; exterminating humanity like the diseased swarm of insects they truly are. It would be what would at long last purge the miserable past and firmly cement what is. This entire debacle could at last be put behind himself and his people to which he is duty-bound and with it, would come the comfort and security of knowing that everything is as it should be and that this is how it will remain.

Everything. His perceived usefulness by Psion society. His consequent position in it. Their trust. Approval. And appreciation. He needs only to ensure that success is 100% certain and that starts with activating the Apple of Enlightenment (now that he has recently managed to acquire it) to then extract all the information that he requires. But, even after that thought follows, there’s a strange delay before he eventually moves a hand towards the golden (and faintly ethereal in its gentle glow) apple-shaped object, as though something in him had him frozen in place for just a moment. Something horrible and unpleasant. That same something which had gotten him to locate this artifact in the first place. The same something which would be extinguished once a revision of his invasion plan is made through the Apple. It takes little effort to promptly shift the apple to its ‘active’ mode and with that, he doesn’t hesitate to begin the conversation… but not without one last preliminary confirmation of its identity first. One can never be too cautious and especially in dealings with things of questionable existence, caution is always warranted.]

Giegue: Apple of Enlightenment. What is my name?

AoE: You are commonly identified as ‘Giegue’.

Giegue: That is correct. [he says off-handedly as if conducting some mundane task rather than going through a process seeking out critical information] Next question. Who am I beyond my name?

AoE: You are the one that has lost his tail. Cleaved was it so that your shape may lose its hero’s mettle and become malleable enough to be reconfigured to another’s design; a hollow tool.

You are the forgotten one. Erased from the hearts of others–

Giegue: Be quiet. That is not what I asked. [and this is said with a distinct note of sharpness to his tone at an all-too-rapid a tempo as if (in some unconscious way judging by the split of second of disorientation that follows) this is getting a little too close for comfort and he has to put a stop to it before it becomes something far more distracting and troublesome than is acceptable. Then a sharp flicker of his tail while he closes his eyes, inhales and exhales, and duly responds.] And your answer was wrong anyways.

AoE: My answers are never wrong. I am an entity of knowledge. If you were asking a different question than the one that I attempted to answer, then it is your question itself that is flawed.

Giegue: [seems to consider this for a moment before relenting with a faint sigh, be as it may the artifact is… completely right, he must correct himself accordingly] Understood. [takes a moment to just… brush off the impact of answer before and continues with the same intent from before] Who am I… in the context of Psion society and across the various spacial colonies that are connected to it?

AoE: You are Commander Giegue. Your formal identifier is ◼◼◼◼◼ of the military faction. You are under the most direct command of governing leader Orz. You serve in a capacity that involves the completion of many military functions critical to that which you refer to as ‘Psion society’.

Giegue: [nods curtly before neutrally continuing as though (once again) this is little more than a mundane task] Do you know why I have dedicated great efforts towards obtaining you?

AoE: Yes.

Giegue: Elaborate on what you know then. Why have I bothered with obtaining you?

AoE: Your core reasoning is to use the knowledge that I possess so that your future invasion of the planet Earth will succeed with 100% certainty. You wish to use me for refining your invasion plan because you are afraid of the slightest possibility that you could fail a task of perceived importance to your species.

Giegue: … [a vague blink and… seemingly satisfied (if a little uncomfortable at the mention of fear) of the preliminary confirmation of the artifact’s identity, he continues] What will the invasion’s outcome be?

AoE: Your invasion of the planet Earth will be a failure.

Giegue: [looking stunned and upon rapidly blinking several times as though he either couldn’t believe what he had heard or was just too overcome with… something to properly process it] ………..what… –?

AoE: You will fail. The illusion you have clung to as the pinnacle of your existence will crumble and–

Giegue: [shaking his head in utter defiance while elongated ears fold back just a bit with a noticeable lash of his tail following suit shortly after] No. That… cannot be correct. That is absurd… or at the very least… highly unlikely. [takes a moment to reel his emotions (horrible and disgusting and utterly unacceptable things) back in and recentres himself enough to continue with his task of extracting information from the artifact. Focus. Anything else lacks productivity and thus is unacceptable.] …how do I fail… –?

AoE: You are destroyed by the Chosen Ones through their use of the Earth’s Power.

Giegue: …what are these ‘Chosen Ones’?

AoE: Human children from the planet Earth.

Giegue: [bites back a rather irrational desire to deny it (no matter how absurd it seems) and instead leans in towards the artifact atop his desk, his gaze even more fixated upon it than ever. There has to be more to this than that. It can’t be as absolute as it sounds. There has to be a way around this and that starts with continuing to intently press on with his task regardless.] What are their names and where are they situated on Earth?

AoE: Ness of Onett, Eagleland. Paula of Twoson, Eagleland. Jeff of Winters, Foggyland. And Prince Pu of Dalaam, Chommo.

Giegue: What is their current status in the context of this prediction? [and this time he grips the underside of his desk in a rather tense yet unseen motion.]

AoE: They are currently strangers to each other. And they do not know of their intertwined destinies yet in full. They are just human children living mundane lives.

Giegue: [gently leans back into his chair, somewhat relieved that there’s at least a little bit of good news here… assuming that all of this is true which it… may be given the artifact’s core function of knowledge and future predictions] Are any of them PSI-users? Elaborate upon their psionic proficiency if the answer is ‘yes’ to my inquiry.

AoE: Yes. Ness, Paula, and Prince Pu are PSI-users. All three of them have been familiar with their psionic abilities throughout their entire lives and have already acquired a number of psionic abilities, but it is at a level that is regarded as ‘low’ by your species.

Giegue: Good. [now, some more of that relief creeps back in and is enough to have him let go of his desk, but all in all, the Psion remains tense and wary] So it is only their association with the Earth’s Power that I should primarily concern myself with then. What is the ‘Earth’s power’?

AoE: It is an ancient power that lies dormant within the planet itself. It is the planet’s life and willpower which when synchronized with the hearts of Earth’s people can overcome any adversity.

It is the power of hope, wishes, and miracles which only the Chosen Ones may connect with and channel.

Giegue: [narrows dark blue voids, fingers beginning to pensively tap against one another, while he momentarily glances off to the side] …is there any way to oppose it?

AoE: No.

Giegue: [glances back at the apple with something indiscernible in dark blue voids] I see… [the finger tapping stops] What would happen if I were to travel through time and terminate the lives of these ‘Chosen Ones’ in their most vulnerable phase of human life?

AoE: New souls would be constructed to fill the predetermined role of each ‘Chosen One’ that is involved in destroying you. Your actions would be moot.

Giegue: [a sharp inhalation and subsequent exhalation of breath. There is a way around this. He just has to know how this happens to determine that much. Anyone that claims otherwise is simply too weak-willed to bother with doing any more than complacently accepting ‘fate’ as is.] What are the precise sequence of events that lead to this outcome?

AoE: Let me project images to your mind. Your inquiry will be more efficiently answered this way.

Giegue: Of course. [a moment or two of silence follows while a strange concentration breaks the relative neutrality of his demeanor (making preparations no doubt) before he gives the affirmative for action] You may proceed. I am now ready.

#.writingPost #.giegue #.past: prior to Mother 1 #I'll write what he actually sees in the Apple in part 2 so I'll leave it off here for now

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 6 years ago

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The Dirt!Tommy Lee imagine Pt 1

So I made a post a week ago mentioning a dream I had that inspired this very long fic of which I’m posting this first part. I want to preface this by saying that while I really enjoyed The Dirt as a movie, I also don’t want to glamorize or ignore the faults of the men behind Motley Crue. I’ve also never written fanfiction about a musician, let alone fanfiction about a slightly fictionalized version of a musician. And this is definitely more about the film version of Tommy Lee than the man himself.

She was fresh out of college and brand new in LA, applying for work and living on someone’s couch when she first heard them, and she was hooked.

Sher certainly enjoyed the sound, which reminded her a little of the independent punk scene back in New York, but the look of it—the theatricality of it—inspired her. Four years studying production design with the hopes of applying it to a film and theatre career, she decided, led her here to these people. They had massive budget ideas with limited money for a limited space and she wanted to help them expand.

She kept trying to work up the courage to speak with them, and found herself choking up every time. She, unlike they, was not a performer, not comfortable inserting herself into a group. She lacked the confidence of some of the other women in the crowd who slipped their way into dressing rooms and raised their skirt just so. Part of her had thought about emulating them—after her first concert she found herself paying more attention to the gangly, animated drummer over the strutting blond lead singer before dismissing the thought. She had something these other women couldn’t offer. The band wouldn’t take her seriously if she offered to fuck them first. She continued on sending her resume out, and, just to widen her prospects, started applying to record labels.

Tom Zutaut sought her out first—he felt that her youth and interest in the music scene would lend her some credibility with the band once they signed over to Elektra. He assured her that they would appreciate her vision.

She sat down and spoke with them for the first time at a restaurant with her portfolio tucked under her arm and her nerves ringing as she prepared her speech on how she appreciated the band’s vision and how her visual style would work well for them on tour. She glanced between every face: Mick Mars and his aloof, unimpressed demeanor and folded arms; Nikki Sixx and his quirked brow and slight smirk; Vince Neil and his smug grin; Tommy Lee and his frenetic energy and eager smile. She focused on him and what she saw as a friendly, open face as she opened her portfolio to show her rough sketches…

…and felt a pair of hands slide along the inside of her thighs and push her knees apart.

She flinched and rose, but not before the men at the table snickered and a woman poked her head out from under the table.

“I’m used to sucking dick,” the woman said, grinning, “but I could go either way.”

Y/N glanced at the men at the table and realized this was a test of sorts. Could she handle this environment? She was certain of it. She also knew she didn’t want a stranger to go down on her in semi-public.

Y/N cleared her throat. “You know, sweetheart, I am so flattered. But these are leather pants I’d have to push down to my knees and I just don’t know if I want my bare ass on this seat,” she said as she sat back down.

It was the best she could do, and apparently it was enough. After a round of shots and some cursory glances at some of Y/N’s plans, Motley Crue had an artist ready to go on tour with them.

………..

“You sure you can handle this?” Doc asks as they get ready; the boys have their own accommodations, better rooms and first class on the monstrosity that the company calls a tour bus. There are no other women present save for Vince’s latest girlfriend—all seamstresses and make-up artists are present at each venue. They don’t travel with the band.

Y/N laughs. “I’m from New Jersey, Doc. I’ll be fine.”

Doc doesn’t look convinced. “Listen, obviously I spoke to the guys and they do have some respect for you; see you as more than, you know...”

“A groupie.” She hopes there’s no venom behind those words; she doesn’t hate any of the women that cling to the band and she imagines it would be pointless to get angry over how frequently they stay and how disposable they become. To get angry with a band for having groupies, she reasons, is like getting angry at a Western movie for having horses.

She doesn’t hate them, at least, she thinks she doesn’t. But she likes Tommy’s unmatched energy and lanky body and playful grin. She hears stories about his stamina and size and it is more difficult to ignore the whispers about him than it is about Vince and Nikki. Mick, it seems, dismisses any sort of physical contact. Y/N imagines it would be prudent to do the same. She’s the only woman on the production team and is fully aware how easy it would be for everyone to resent her more than they already do.

“Yeah. Exactly,” Doc says. “You’re not like them. You’re here to work.”

“I know, Doc.” Y/N gestures towards her books of sketches and layouts. “I know.”

……..

None of this is to say that Y/N doesn’t interact with the band at all. As she anticipated, it’s something of a collaborative effort. Nikki in particular has a lot of ideas about staging and costumes that go into effect. Granted, Motley Crue itself appears to be his brainchild, and he’s in charge of most of the creative decisions. He’s smart (although he’d be loath to describe himself as such) he’s attractive; he’s talented. Y/N imagines that in another world she would be more drawn to him than she is. But she’s not; she appreciates his mind and the work, and she hopes that he thinks the same of her.

She wears long pants and jackets most of the time; she seldom wears more than the slightest bit of makeup on tour and she doesn’t try to give the appearance of curves to her slight frame where there aren’t any. She never gives off the impression that she is sexually available, and as a result she’s left alone.

Vince ignores her. Mick is about as pleasant towards her as he is capable of being towards anyone, and Y/N appreciates his candor. She’s told he has a condition that causes constant, often excruciating pain and isn’t sure how to design a set to accommodate him, as if he’d ever accept the help. Nikki is usually somewhat well-behaved around her, even as he knows he doesn’t have to censor himself and that Doc will sometimes complain to her about his coke binges and public indecency. She doesn’t need him to tell her; she stays in the same hotels and when one or more is up to a set of antics she can plainly hear it from her room.

Tommy is playful; there are times she could swear he was flirting, and she cannot tell if he’s joking or not. She also can’t tell if, if he is flirting, whether it’s because he’s attracted to her or because any woman of an appropriate age and decent appearance is a potential one-night stand. A cum dumpster.

She should separate herself. She should keep a professional distance.

She goes to parties with them sometimes and does shots with them that have her staggering and slurring her words long before they’re down for the count and wakes up with hangovers that make her fear opening her mouth. She’s still tamer than they are and abstains from hard drugs and day drinking. She wishes Tommy luck before shows and listens to all of his ideas, good and bad. There’s no greater feeling than his excitement when she puts one of his ideas into practice.

She has sex one night with a tall man with long dark hair who isn’t Tommy but in the dark and after whiskey could be close enough for a few minutes. She can pretend, for a moment, that it’s he who’s inside her, gasping as he comes and holding her hips in a bruising grip. She sneaks out of his room at five AM and heads back to her hotel.

When there she pulls her pants down and brings her fingers to her clit and thinks about him; his tongue, his cock inside of her and his lips on her clit everything finally being right. Alone in a hotel she finds the release she couldn’t get with a pale imitation of what she wanted.

The shame sets in seconds after her climax. She groans as she wipes her fingers off on her inner thigh and tries to ignore the pull in her gut as she kicks her pants off the rest of the way and somehow manages to sleep.

……….

Tommy starts dating a girl named Roxie. Tommy has had casual girlfriends as long as Y/N can remember. He seems to fall for every girl who shows him attention and soon forgets each one.

Y/N could say that she doesn’t like Roxie because it’s clear Roxie doesn’t really care about him, that she doesn’t know him and just wants to cling to someone with fame and power. And all those things are true; she doesn’t trust Roxie nor does she expect her to stick around. She says nothing, though, because what really eats at her is how much she resents the hell out of Tommy being so devoted to her.

Tommy introduces his parents to Y/N first, though. Not because she’s the most important, of course, but because she’s the first familiar face he sees after Doc as he’s giving his parents a tour of the set.

Tommy has mentioned his parents; his mother, a Greek immigrant and former beauty contestant and his father, an army vet. They seem too polite, too conventional for this place and yet Y/N can immediately see how someone like Tommy was able to emerge from what appeared to be a typical suburban upbringing; they clearly love him for everything he is. So she likes them and tries to stay composed when Tommy brushes his hand along the small of her back to introduce her.

“This is Y/N. She makes the magic happen. The lights, the dancers, the backdrop, all her ideas.”

Y/N laughs. “Not entirely true; it’s more collaborative than that. I just draw up the plans and make sure we have the right people and equipment to make them possible.”

“You storyboarded our first music video. Take some credit!” Tommy insists.

Y/N preens under the attention even as she tries to avoid what must be Mrs. Bass’s knowing gaze. “If you insist,” she says. “The business card says ‘production designer,’” she adds for the parents’s benefit.

“And you’re not married?” Tommy’s mother asks.

Y/N can feel herself blush. “Oh, no. Not at all!” she tries to laugh it off. “Got hired for the portfolio and I’ve been on board since.” She hears distantly Tommy gently admonish his mother and it doesn’t quite register. She should get out of here. His mother can probably tell what she thinks of her son and could easily bring it up. “Well, it was wonderful meeting you both,” she adds before finding an excuse to leave.

………..

“Did you hear Tommy proposed to Roxie?” Nikki asks as Y/N shows him several plans for the next leg of their tour.

Y/N feels like she’s been kicked in the gut. She keeps her face in repose and manages to speak.

“You think it’s gonna last?” she asks.

Nikki sighs. “I didn’t think it was gonna last this long. You know Tommy’s mom called her a groupie to her face?”

Y/N laughs; it’s cruel and she relishes in it. She has so few petty comforts she’s sure she can have this. “She’s not wrong,” she says as she packs up her drawings. “I mean, it’s not like she’d be interested in him if he wasn’t famous.”

Nikki sits back and watches her. “You would, though,” he tells her, and of course he notices her pause. Of course he noticed how she looks at his bandmate.

Y/N can’t look back at him. She manages to find her voice. “Does Tommy know?” she asks.

“Nah. He’s completely oblivious,” Nikki says.

“Well, good,” Y/N says faintly, and after setting everything into her portfolio briefcase, stands. “I think I need a drink.”

Nikki grins. “You joined the right band for it.”

……………………………

Tommy calls off the engagement as abruptly as he began it. Y/N didn’t see it, but apparently there was a fight involving him being stabbed in the back with a pen, him punching his fiancée in the face, and liberal use of the word “cunt.” Specifically, Roxie referring to Tommy’s mother as one. The driver drops Roxie off at a Phoenix bus stop with a bag filled with her clothes and no one speaks of her for the rest of the trip to the next venue.

The show goes off without difficulty and Y/N manages to find Tommy afterwards before he can disappear with a mountain of coke, a bottle of Jack, and a girl who looks nothing like Roxie to take his mind off of the dumb decision he’d been about to make.

“Hey, you alright?” she asks. She’s closer to him than she’d normally dare and as he turns around, she remembers just how much taller he is than she.

His eyes are wide but he seems neither upset nor inebriated. He looks her over once and asks, a little louder than Y/N would like, “Are you wearing make-up?”

Y/N shrugs and takes a step back, forcing herself to meet Tommy’s gaze. “One of the ladies was bored and offered to do some work on me before packing up,” she says. “Anyway, let me buy you a drink.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Tommy says, and for a moment, Y/N shrinks back, gets ready to apologize, to back away, to hide in her hotel room. It lasts only a moment. “But yeah, I’ll grab a drink with you.” He smiles at her and it seems genuine; everything he says and does feels earnest.

He leads her to the bar closest the venue, and packed as it is the patrons and bartenders make room for the two of them as they sidle up to the bar.

“A Jameson and ginger ale for me and whatever this guy wants,” Y/N says, and glances over at Tommy, who orders a double shot of Jack Daniels. They won’t have much time to themselves, of course. The other guys will join him and drag him to a private table, and before that fans are already lining up and getting ready for autographs.

“So, I guess you heard what happened,” Tommy says.

��Yeah.” Y/N takes a sip from her drink. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, I guess.” He finishes his shot and signals for another. Y/N waits for him to say something else; Tommy always has something else to say.

He looks down at the bar, at his right hand as it rests against the polish wood. “I hit her,” he says, finally.

“I know,” Y/N tells him. Tommy glances up, looking alarmed. “I also know she screamed at you, cursed at you, cursed your mother, and tried to stab you with a pen before you did.” Y/N rubs her thumb along the condensation forming on the outside of her glass. “I’m not saying you did the right thing; I don’t condone punching people in the face. I am saying she provoked you, that she would have continued trying to provoke you, and that it’s good that you’re not together anymore.” She takes a sip from her drink.

Tommy keeps looking at her. “You didn’t like her, did you?” he asks.

Y/N leans her elbow on the bar and faces him; his eyes are very blue. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

Y/N exhales. “I didn’t believe for a second that she loved you,” she says. “I thought she was using you.

“Listen, I get it. I get that you guys sleep with whoever and it’s no big deal. It’s casual and that’s how it’s supposed to be. But that’s for all the times there isn’t an emotional investment. When there is, though, if you decide to give that to someone, they sure as hell better deserve it. And she didn’t.”

It’s then that Y/N realizes she doesn’t remember the moment her favorite part of the job ceased to be seeing her designs and sketches put onstage, but instead every moment she gets to see Tommy. The crazy lifestyle, the weirdness, it doesn’t matter. She can take it. She wants this, wants every part of him. If she says anything else she’ll burst forth and say everything. For a few agonizing moments they sit in silence and she wants to lean forward, wants to bridge the inches between them. She could kiss him so easily.

“T-Bone!”

Why did neither of them notice Nikki come up to them?

“Come on, man. We got a room set up back. Bottle service, strippers, the works.” Nikki claps Tommy on the shoulder. “Gonna get you back on the horse in no time.”

Tommy looks over at Y/N. Y/N feels her throat constrict, wonders how she can possibly speak, and simply raises her glass in cheers and forces a little smile.

“I…” Tommy stands and motions for the bartender.

“I want you to put this on our tab. This and anything else the lady might want tonight,” he says, patting Y/N on the back.

“Have a good night,” he tells her as he follows Nikki to the back of the bar, and Y/N raises her glass once again before knocking back the rest of her drink.

“Another?”

Y/N pushes her glass forward. “Please.”

The bartender gets to work. “You know those guys?” he asks.

“I work for them,” Y/N tells him.

“Sounds like fun.”

She forces a smile. “It has its moments.”

She leaves two hours later after making very small talk with the bartender, ignoring horny barflies, and ordering several more drinks. She eventually gets a cab to the hotel before stumbling to her room and collapsing fully clothed on the bed. Good thing sober her made sure to schedule a wake up call with the front desk, because drunk her wouldn’t dream of waking up at eight AM—in five hours and presumably hungover.

#the dirt #the dirt movie #tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee #motley crue #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee imagine

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fume-knight-of-shovelry · 6 years ago

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Artistic Licenses

A sequel to Inaccuracies and Lights, taking place after both of those stories. You can also find them and my Gency week prompts, as well as any other stories I write, on my Archive page.

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“Angela, have you taken a look at this?” Genji entered Angela’s office without knocking, hands enclosed around thin sheet of paper. He’d elected to keep his mask off for today’s visit. Sighing, she looked up from her work and rested her head in her hands.

“Genji, I appreciate you seeing me so frequently on my off-hours. But would you please knock? One of these days, you’re going to catch me at a bad time.”

“Whatever do you mean, Angela?” Genji grinned. “I imagine that you’d be more concerned that someone might walk in on us.”

“Very funny, Genji.” She rolled her eyes and drummed the corner of her pen on the edge of her desk, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Well, what did you want to show me?”

“I apologize, Angela. I’ll be more mindful in the future. But here, take a look at this.” He shuffled the stack of paper in his hand across the surface of her work table towards her. “Something of Brigitte’s. I think she got it from Reinhardt when she was much younger, and she gave it to me after our last trip to Sweden, and I thought you’d enjoy it.”

His girlfriend looked the book over, flipping from page to page, chewing on the tip of her pen. “Die Walküre? This is...very old. In fact, I believe that the inaugural performance of this was over two hundred years ago!” She looked back up at her boyfriend, beaming with gratitude. “Thank you, Genji! This is a recent script reproduction, but it is still a wonderful gift. What about it made you think of me?”

Genji reached out a finger and flipped back to the cover, pointing to the title. “Walküre. German for ‘valkyrie’. I thought you’d find it fitting, given, well, you know.” He began to circle around to the back of the desk, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Is something wrong, Angela?”

She shook her head and turned to let him plant a quick kiss on her lips, tilting her chin upward to better face him. “Nothing at all, Genji. I merely find the idea that these valkyries have any similarity to me a little...silly. Do not get me wrong, this is a fantastic opera, and my quibble is not meant to detract from the value of your gift.”

Now it was Genji’s turn to raise an eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean, ‘these valkyries are not similar’? Can you be more specific, Angela?”

“I mean, Richard Wagner was a theatrical and musical genius, I’m not disputing that. That his plays have stayed relevant for so long is remarkable.”

“Angela. The valkyries?”

“Right, sorry. He was good, but he took some significant liberties from his source material. Torbjörn would be able to tell you more, or Brigitte.”

“I’m not asking them, I’m asking you .”

“Genji, I need to get back to work.” Angela made a shooing motion with her right hand, brushing against Genji’s forearm. “Later, I promise. Okay?”

Genji sighed, but he couldn’t argue with that. “All right, Angela. One more, for the road?” He leaned down and puckered his lips, and felt her return the gesture. With a light smacking sound, they parted, and Genji left her to her work. He had enough to do between now and the end of Angela’s workday.

“So, you were going to elaborate on your point earlier.” Genji prodded. Rather literally: as Angela stood in their kitchen in the sink, he poked the back of her shoulder.

“Oh, right. My apologies.” Angela shook her hands dry from the dishes she’d be doing and turned, leaning against the edge of the countertop. “I was talking about valkyries, correct? Well, as far as I know, the original mythical valkyries were servants of Odin.”

“Who?”

“Ah, right, you wouldn’t be familiar with that.” Angela tilted her head towards the book Genji had brought her, now resting on their table. “He was a Scandinavian god of poetry, wisdom, war, kings, and hanging, among others. Not a nice god, from what we know, even if he ultimately tried to act in the world’s best interests.”

“How do you know so much about old belief systems?” Genji crossed his arms over his chest, the gesture coming across less as “frustrated” and more as “self-conscious”. “You’re making me self-conscious about what I don’t know.”

“Please, Genji, that was not my intention.” Angela reached out to run her fingers over her boyfriend’s forearm, smiling calmly. “And if it makes you feel better, I really don’t know that much. Just the bits that stick out to me as the most interesting.”

Genji winced. He hadn’t meant to whine, but clearly he’d sounded aggravated enough to merit comfort. “Apologies, Angela. What else did you have to share?”

“Well, valkyrie literally means ‘chooser of the slain’.” Angela hadn’t acknowledged his apology verbally, instead communicating her understanding with a light squeeze on his arm. He knew what she meant. “And rather than being the angel-like figures that they’re often depicted as, they could be...somewhat sinister.”

“How?”

“Well, their name isn’t a euphemism. They were literally choosing the slain: who lived, who died, who told their story. They could heal and act to save humans, but more often they might actually engineer the death of a particularly powerful combatant. The belief was that this was so that the bravest, strongest, most stalwart warriors would go to Valhalla to be at Odin’s disposal come Ragnarök, ‘the doom of the gods.’” Angela sighed and leaned into Genji, resting her chest against his shoulder. “In practice, though...not to be dismissive, but in reality this was probably an explanation for why many of the most valiant fighters died young, in their prime.”

Genji slipped one of his hands out from the fold in front of his chest and stroked the back of Angela’s neck, murmuring softly. “I suppose it’s easier to believe that everyone who perishes in battle does so at the will of a league of superwomen for some greater purpose , rather than due to chance or an uncaring world. If you find the appellation ‘valkyrie’ inaccurate, why not choose another?”

Angela leaned back, from Genji, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm. “Because our cultural consciousness has cemented valkyries as angelic figures. I’ve no illusions about the role the eventual Christianization of Scandinavia played in that a millenia ago.” Angela rolled her eyes, blowing a strand of hair out from her face. “Now, though, it’s another good way to market my technology, as cynical as that may sound. And it is not wholly inaccurate: the valkyries did supposedly have benevolent tendencies and healing powers, even if their primary function was to create and collect dead soldiers. Having an angelic-themed suit and naming it ‘valkyrie’ was too good to pass up.”

“Why not rebrand it as an ‘angelic’ suit, then? I know little of angels, but I’m sure you could find some way to incorporate their names into your suit’s name or branding.”

“Because, mein lieber, angels are even worse in that regard. At least the valkyries look like beautiful women. Angels in the Torah an be...very distressing in appearance.” Angela shuddered. “The hayyoth are essentially wheels with wings and eyes all over them, as are the ophanim. We hold the seraph to be winged snakes with human characteristics, although some view them as having human heads and six pairs of wings…”

“Enough!” Genji held Angela close, pressing his lips against the side of her throat. “You’re making them sound worse than some of the yōkai I’m familiar with, and given how bizarre those can get, that is quite an achievement.”

Angela patted the back of Genji’s shoulder, letting him lean into her. “Is my big, strong boyfriend scared of Jewish angels? Don’t worry, liebling. I’ll protect you.”

“Save me, Angela! You’re painting a vivid picture of angelic terror!” Genji cuddled his chin between her jaw and clavicle side of her jaw, then broke out into giggles, burying his face in her hair. “Sorry. I couldn’t keep a straight face. But yes, I understand. You’re willing to sacrifice a bit of accuracy for the sake of not driving your patients away in terror.”

“Very true, Genji. Although I won’t pretend it doesn’t bother me. And the caduceus staff and suit spinal design…” She scoffed. “Well, let’s just say that I felt rather silly when I remembered that the healing is represented by the Rod of Asclepius, not Hermes. Blame that on the United States and overworking myself as I was applying for the patent.” She grit her teeth audibly in frustration.

Hearing her aggravation, Genji couldn’t stop himself from bursting out into further laughter. Bracing a hand against the small of her back, the other on her shoulders, Genji lifted up and spun Angela in a poor imitation of a ballroom twirl, leaving him leaning against the kitchen counter with Angela on her tiptoes, resting against his chest. She whooped in surprise, hair mussed from the speed and slightly dizzy from Genji spinning her.

“What’s gotten into you, Genji?” Angela queried, blinking to stop the world around her from tilting. He’d flipped her with a bit more force than he’d probably intended, and now she was trying to keep her balance by resting on Genji’s body.

“Angela, I continue to be frustrated by how most ninja are portrayed. You have expressed displeasure with the inaccuracies your technology’s name and design has with respect to valkyries, angels, and healing symbols. Perhaps we are even more alike than we thought.”

“Are you suggesting that we bond over mutual irritation with inaccuracies?” Angela quirked an eyebrow, the world finally coming to a rest around her.

“No, I’m saying that we already are. There’s a key difference, Angela.” Genji didn’t give her a chance to respond, pulling her forward into another kiss, cradling her body against his. Angela started to speak around his lips, but thought better of it and sank into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and neck.

Their relationship was healthy enough that they didn’t sustain it on petty spite. But it was a lot of fun to air their grievances together, however minor they might be.

#gency #genji #mercy #overwatch #emergenji #genji x mercy

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elfwreck · 4 years ago

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“But are you going to live in fear for the rest of your life”

aaah... no, there’s a whole lot of medical researchers frantically looking for a vaccine or effective treatments that don’t leave decades-long side effects.

“I’m going to take precautions for the next few years” is not the same as “I’m going to be scared for the rest of my life.”

It is, of course, possible that we never find a vaccine. That this virus, like the “common cold,” turns out to be a cluster of dozens of closely related viruses that won’t respond to the same vaccine. (You can vaccinate against rhinoviruses, the “common cold.” It’s just that there are over 4000 of them that have nearly identical symptoms.)

In which case, we have a New Normal - distancing around strangers, pods of friends/family who restrict their contact to each other, two week quarantine periods after contact with new people. Until we reduce the transmission vectors enough for the disease to die off.

...we’d kinda like that not to involve killing off a hundred million people to reduce population densities to where it can’t grab new victims.

We’re at half a million deaths worldwide now. Recorded deaths, I should say - most countries refuse to track nursing home deaths that weren’t specifically tested, regardless of how many COVID symptoms they had.

One-quarter of those deaths are in the United States, where our top officials actively encourage people to ignore the safety guidelines that could save their lives. They get tested every day, and if any of those test are positive, they’ll have literally the best health care tax dollars can buy.

Find a mask design you’re comfortable with. Is that the folded ones, or the shaped ones? Disposable paper, or woven cotton, or stretch-knit t-shirt material? Do you prefer plain solid colors, or a print, or embroidered? Nose-mouth-chin only, or bandanna/scarf style?

Start thinking of this as a permanent accessory: Shirt-Shoes-Mask to enter any public business. Because until there’s a vaccine, the communities that wear masks in public are going to be the safest and healthiest.

Just had my nth conversation with someone about mask-wearing today - yet another well-intentioned moron who was like

‘But the virus is gone now’ (it isn’t)

‘But the mask is uncomfortable’ (ventilators are worse)

‘But you’re young, you won’t die’ (having this thing could impact my health for decades to come + it’s my responsability to protect those who’re more vulnerable than I am because that’s how society works)

‘But are you going to live in fear for the rest of your life’ (taking concrete safety measures actually helps me feel more in control and less worried)

‘But are you going to give up everything and stay inside like a rat’ (no, but I’m definitely going to decide what’s worth risking my health for, and shopping for bread rolls is not very high on my list of literally-to-die-for activities)

‘But what if they never find a vaccine’ (then we’ll get used to the situation just like we got used to a thousand other things like seat belts, bike helmets, and increasingly weird true crime podcasts).

I know it’s tiring to have people call you paranoid all the time - but you’re right and they’re wrong. Check the news, keep a safe distance from others whenever possible and keep wearing your mask!

(Btw that thread is full of interesting stuff.)

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laststandart-blog · 7 years ago

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15-Minute Plastic Bag Holder

Most people have a stash of plastic bags hiding somewhere in their house.

They take up drawers and cupboards. You can find them hiding in closets and car trunks. Unfortunately, some cities are no longer taking them in curbside recycling. Ugh. There are definitely issues when it comes to storage and disposal of them.

Despite being an avid sewer, I often forget my reusable bags at home. I don’t drive, so I haven’t found a convenient place to store sewn bags while on the go. (Hmmmmm, new project?) Unfortunately, at this moment, the plastic bags keep following me home.

I have tried a few different storage methods: Folding into triangles… Who has time for that? Wet wipes containers… They get stuck! Shoving them in a drawer… Quick and easy, but oh so messy.

One Spring cleaning day, I thought back to a fabric bag dispenser that my mother had when I was a child. This was a common thing in the crafty 1990’s… because IT WORKED! I quickly whipped a few of them up, and I’ve been using them ever since.

So I’m sharing a pattern that I designed: It’s called “The 15-minute plastic bag holder.”

It’s a great starter project for new sewers. It takes no more than 15 minutes to put together. The total cost of materials are extremely inexpensive if you have basic sewing items! I only paid $5.00 for the fabric and other items. It’s also a great way to use all of those gorgeous quilting cotton fat quarter precuts that are oh so hard not to buy. And finally, the best part is: You can put it together with a glue gun if you’re not a sewer! Just follow the instructions and glue the sew lines!!

Also, it’s free… Cause trying to organize plastic bags sucks!

15-Minute Plastic Bag Holder – Free Sewing Pattern Tutorial

MATERIALS:

1 piece of quilting cotton – cut into a Fat Quarter

1 piece of 1/4″ elastic – cut into an 8″ length

1 piece of ribbon – cut into an 8″ length

1 bodkin or safety pin for threading elastic

Cotton thread in a colour that matches your fabric

Sewing pins

An iron

Sewing needle for hand sewing (optional)

Scissors

Materials for Plastic Bag Holder

INSTRUCTIONS:

A few things to remember before starting:

When starting and finishing sewing, make sure to backstitch 2-3 stitches to secure your new line before continuing.

Do not sew over your pins! It can mess up your machine or break a needle. Bad news!

Preheat your iron.

If you are using a glue gun instead of a sewing machine, just follow the instructions as normal and replace the sewing lines with glue lines. Easy!

To start with, look at your Fat Quarter and decide which side of the fabric is the top and bottom. This is especially important if there’s a design or pattern that has a visible up and down! Lay it out on an iron safe surface with the wrong side facing up.

On both the top and bottom of the fabric, fold the fabric over 1/2″ and iron, then fold that over 1/2″ and iron again. The top will fold down and bottom will fold up. See the photo below for an example.

With the top edge still folded over twice, sew across the fabric, as close to the edge of the fold as you are comfortable. This is just tacking down the fold on the top and keeping the edge pretty.

Now you are going to create a loop to hang your bag from. Take the ribbon and fold it in half. Pin it along the top edge that you have just sewn, about 2″ from the raw edge of the fabric. Make sure to fold the bottom of the ribbon under to prevent fraying. See the photo below for an example.

Sew the ribbon loop down with a rectangle. This rectangle should be sewn close to the top edge of the fold, otherwise, the bag will hang weird. Also, make sure that the stitching catches the bottom layer of the folded ribbon. If not the ribbon may fray. And that is just a pain in the ass!

Next, unfold the bottom edge. The crease that we ironed will still be there. We will end up folding it back up later.

Fold the two side edges together, with right sides together. Sew close to the edge of the fabric, about 1/2″ away from the raw edge. See the picture below for an example! Do not sew over the ribbon loop.

Now that the side is sewn, you will be working with a tube. You’re going to start working on the bottom where the elastic will be inserted.

Fold the bottom edge back up the same way it was originally folded along the ironed crease. Fold up 1/2″ and then fold that up 1/2″ again.

With two pines, you will mark a 3″ gap with sewing pins on any side of the tube. This will indicate where to start and finish sewing. See the photo below for an example.

Sew close to the edge, just like you did at the top. Starting at the first pin, you will sew all the way around the tube and stop right before the second pin. This will leave a gap at the top that will allow you to thread the elastic through.

*DON’T SEW THROUGH BOTH LAYERS OF THE TUBE. SEW AROUND THE TUBE.*

Now that you have a tube to thread your elastic through, attach your bodkin or safety pin to your elastic. Starting at the gap, thread it all the way around the bottom edge. The elastic is much smaller than the tube so you will need to hold the loose end and scrunch the fabric around it to get it all the way through. See the photo below.

When the elastic is threaded and both ends are able to held, remove the bodkin or safety pin. Pin the elastic together with one edge on top of the other. This creates a loop that is hidden inside the fabric tube.

Sew the ends together with a rectangle. This can be done either with a sewing machine or by hand. Regardless, make sure everything is stitched together securely! This part of the bag will get alot of repeated stress on it.

The elastic is now a continuous loop. You are going to have to finish sewing closed the gap on the elastic casing. Stretch the gap out, and lay it as flat as you can. Sew the fold to the fabric close to the edge like you did before. Be very careful not to sew over the elastic! The elastic should be loose in the tube you created. Again, see the photos below.

Your sewing is all finished! Make sure to trim any loose threads that are hanging out. You can also iron the bag if there are creases in the fabric.

Now turn your new plastic bag holder right side out and admire your hard work.

I hope you enjoyed my first tutorial!

It’s a very easy beginner sewing project. It’s quick, inexpensive, and useful. Make one for your mom, she’ll love it!

If you have any feedback or have any difficulty with the project, leave a comment or message me. I will be available on this site or on social media. I’ll be happy to help out with any questions!

Do you have a favourite household sewing project? Have you made something useful to help you organize your house? I’d love to see some new patterns! Let me know below.

The 15-minute Plastic Bag Holder – Free Sewing Pattern Tutorial Most people have a stash of plastic bags hiding somewhere in their house. They take up drawers and cupboards.

#Free pattern #Freeing Sewing pattern #Plastic bag holder #Sewing for the house #sewing tutorial

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embracetheshipping · 7 years ago

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Hired Part Three - Conflict of Interest

@erikalyafter requested the following prompt: Trained as a sexual weapon Steve hunts the world’s best detective

Chapters (1) (2) (3)

In Steve’s line of work, referrals were the key to finding clients. One couldn’t very well put out a flyer advertising mercenary-type services wherein sex (or at least the promise of sex) might be used to extort information or carry out an assassination. More importantly, however, referrals gave him a minor measure of security, in that there was a six-degrees-of-separation element to the identity of his customers. He had begun his career by working for people he knew and trusted, and they in turn recommended him to others. And because the initial sources of the recommendations were reliable, he could feel more or less at ease in taking on new jobs.

It was for that reason, along with a general bad feeling in his gut, that he was currently preoccupied with mapping out an exit strategy rather than engaging in formal pleasantries with the group of well-dressed men seated around the table.

“I’m sorry – but how did you hear of me again?” Steve asked.

The group’s apparent leader, a tall, fit man in his fifties who identified himself as Ian Markova, waved away the question. “I should think that would hardly matter, considering what we’re offering you.”

Steve begrudgingly agreed. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t have consented to a meeting with guys like these – mafia types, by the look of it – but he could easily retire on the compensation they were proposing.

“Fair enough. What’s the job?”

Markova nodded to the younger man sitting on his right. Steve was handed a manila folder, which he opened to discover the photo and dossier of an Interpol agent.

“Daniel Williams,” Markova introduced. “Graduated with a major in Criminal Justice at Seton Hall, top of his class at the police academy, and generally acknowledged as a rising star in the law enforcement community. Over the years, he’s worked for a variety of government agencies as a top notch investigator. Two years ago, he was recruited by Interpol, where – presumably – he is still currently employed.”

“Presumably?”

“The nature of his job requires him to be constantly on the move and on guard. Much of his personal history has been expunged in order to protect anyone who might be affected by his work, and very few can confirm his current status.” Markova fixed Steve with a haughty grin, and his dark eyes shone with malicious humor. “I, of course, am one of those few.

Steve frowned and closed the file. “And what exactly would you like me to do?”

Markova folded his hands on the table. “From what little information we’ve been able to gather, Agent Williams’s propensity for switching jobs so often may have also been due to prejudice, aside from his obvious talent for solving difficult crimes. He has been openly bisexual since his college days. And you,” he gave Steve an admiring once-over, “have both the looks and the skills necessary to get close to him.”

“And you know all this – how?”

“Never you mind. The situation is this: Agent Williams has been, shall we say, interfering in my business affairs. I could have him eliminated, naturally, but I think he could prove very useful, given the right incentive. What I would like from you, is to find me some leverage. Seduce him into giving up something I can use to secure his cooperation. Complete this small task for me, and I will pay you the sum we spoke of - half up front, and the rest after you deliver.

Markova extended his hand. “Do we have a deal, Mister McGarrett?”

“McGarrett. McGarrett!”

“Hmm, what?”

Daniel Williams – Danny, as he preferred to be called – shook his head in exasperation. “I said – what do you want in your coffee?”

“Oh.” Steve glanced at the self-serving refreshment station in the hotel lobby, wondering if they had any organic butter on hand. He doubted it. “Surprise me.”

“Black it is, then.” Danny handed Steve a plain coffee in a disposable cup and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, facing him. He turned his attention to the papers he’d left laying between them, all of them written in various eastern European languages.

“So, what are we up to today?” Steve asked.

Danny shot him a half-hearted glare, and Steve fought a grin.

Over the past several weeks, Steve had arranged enough chance encounters with Williams, subtly experimenting with different personas and hitting on him, that Danny eventually gave up trying to ignore him and instead began to invite him along whenever he went out to run errands or complete other daily activities associated with life. But every so often, Danny would disappear for several days, or he’d receive a call during one of their “dates” and would instruct Steve to drive his rented Camaro to some out-of-the-way location for a covert meeting. Steve would then be forced to wait in the car while Danny spoke with someone on a disposable cell phone (a new one every time) or talk to a thin figure who consistently kept his or her back to Steve at all times.

While Danny’s clandestine operations, not to mention Markova’s frequent and increasingly impatient demands for a status update, kept him on edge, Steve had to admit that he was actually enjoying himself for the first time since – he couldn’t even remember.

Danny had this strange way about him that made him equally infuriating and endearing. He had strong opinions about everything under the sun, from what was an acceptable topping on pizza to music to the ocean, and he had no qualms about sharing them in a remarkable and highly entertaining fashion. He had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, quick with a joke, but just as quick with his fists (a fact Steve discovered when he’d pushed Danny too far and was rewarded with a right cross to the jaw).

But more than that, Danny was kind and compassionate. Steve witnessed it first hand when he “accidently” stumbled upon the agent in the aftermath of a raid. He had been in the crowd gathered around a police barricade, watching in horror as Williams and the local police breached an abandoned building, only to exit moments later with malnourished, dirty and obviously abused children (victims of human trafficking) in tow. He’d watched as Danny brushed the frightened tears off a little boy’s cheek, and draped his jacket around the shoulders of a nearly-naked girl.

And once the smoke had cleared and all of the kids had been taken to several area hospitals, he had tailed Williams to a gym and watched him wail on a punching bag until his knuckles bled.

“Well, for starters,” Danny answered, setting aside his files, “Maybe you’d finally like to tell me something about yourself, something other than just your name and a bullshit backstory.”

Steve put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Danny. I’ve told you TONS of stuff about me. Why do you keep calling it bullshit?”

Though they’d achieved something resembling a real friendship, neither of them had been forthcoming with anything significant. Steve continued to repeat the cover story he’d designed to attract Danny, who in turn talked and ranted in circles while never actually revealing anything beyond superficial details.

“Because it is,” Danny said. He made himself comfortable against the cushions and laid his arm across the back of the couch. “I’ve learned a lot about you over the last few weeks, and none of it meshes with the crap you’ve been spouting.” Strangely, he almost sounded hurt.

“Yeah? Let me guess – you’re one of those cops who run background checks on all of his dates, am I right? Pray, enlighten me, officer. Did you find something to contradict everything I’ve told you so far?” Naturally, Steve assumed that Agent Williams would do his homework, but he had plenty of useful connections, including a hacker capable of revising Steve’s history to match whatever narrative he required.

Danny shook his head. “Okay; first of all – no. I did not run a background check on you, though in my line of work, that’s well within my right. And second, I am a detective – agent – whatever, and a damn good one. It’s my job to read between the lines and sort out the truth.”

“Okay, detective. You think you’re so smart?” Steve scooted closer and stared him down, his lips curved in a challenging smirk. “What have you learned about me?”

“Well, let’s see.” Danny placed the tips of his fingers to his temples, mimicking a psychic about to perform a reading. He took an over-exaggerated breath. “You either grew up in, or spent a significant amount of time in Hawaii.”

Steve’s smirk faltered.

“Swimming is your preferred method for staying in shape.”

Steve willed himself not to fidget.

“You have a dog, even though you’re more of a cat person.”

The smirk vanished altogether. “How…?”

“You’re ex-military, probably U.S. Navy; your father is no longer alive, and you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which I’m guessing you haven’t sought any sort of help in addressing.” Danny lowered his hands. “How am I doing so far?”

To say that Steve was dumbfounded would be an understatement, so much so that he didn’t bother to contradict anything. “I – how could you possibly know all that?”

Danny sighed and met his glare. “I also know that you’re incredibly thoughtful and gentle. Those who are lucky enough to call you ‘friend’ would describe you as deeply caring and loyal to a fault. And, in spite of this playboy act, you’re a hopeless romantic who desperately wants a family of his own – one that will never forsake him.”

Steve crossed his arms and scowled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Danny inclined his head slightly and lifted a shoulder. “You can deny it all you want, but we both know I’m right.”

“You keep accusing me of being dishonest and cagey, but you haven’t exactly been forthcoming yourself.”

“Fair enough.” Danny studied him in silence for a moment. Then he nodded to himself, as though he’d made some sort of decision.

He leaned to one side and reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a glossy piece of paper folded into a square. He offered it to Steve.

“What’s this?” Steve straightened the paper.

It was a photograph of two children, a teenage girl with long, brown hair, and a young, blond-haired boy with a wide-toothy grin.

“My kids,” Danny said. “Grace and Charlie. They’re the only good thing to have come out of my failed marriage.”

“They’re beautiful,” Steve answered sincerely. He returned the picture.

Danny gazed at it, a sad smile on his place. “My ex got custody of them in the divorce. Then she got remarried to this real estate developer who’s been constantly moving them around the United States. The only way I could keep up was to study and work my ass off to become a good investigator so that I could qualify for a job with the FBI, and later Interpol, which gave me the freedom to relocate with them.”

He carefully placed the photo back in his pocket. “What sucks is that my current case poses a significant risk. I can only video chat with them over secured lines at random intervals. I haven’t gotten to hold them in over six months. And even before this whole debacle, my ex-wife has been fighting tooth and nail to bar me from visitation. She thinks that if she distances them from me, it’ll hurt them less in the long run if I get killed in the line of duty.”

“That’s – I don’t even know what to say. Sorry, I guess.”

Danny smiled a little in thanks. “That’s why this will be my last case. Once I wrap this up, I’m going to quit and find some place stable where I can put down roots. I’ll retire from law enforcement; maybe open a restaurant or something. And once I’m settled, I’m going to sue for shared custody.”

Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing. On the one hand, he’d just been handed the exact type of leverage he’d been paid to uncover. Clearly, Danny would do absolutely anything for his children; probably even cooperate with some less-than-savory characters to keep them safe. All Steve had to do was excuse himself, call Markova, tell him about Grace and Charlie, and he could sail off into the sunset with a full bank account.

On the other hand, Steve wasn’t the type of guy to put kids in danger under any circumstance. More importantly, how could Steve betray Danny after such a massive display of trust? If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he had grown to like Danny very much. In spite of the lies, they had real chemistry, if not enough for a relationship, then at least they might form a good friendship.

Then again, that point was moot. One way or another, Danny would learn the truth about Steve. And when he did…

One of Danny’s phones rang, disturbing Steve’s introspection and Danny’s quiet observation.

“Yes? Okay. I’m on my way.” Danny hung up and gathered his files. “I need to go. Duty calls.”

Steve stood up. “And I suppose I’m not allowed to come along?”

“Sorry babe.” Danny got to his feet and took a few steps closer to Steve. “You busy on Friday?”

He mulled it over. “I’m not sure yet. I have some – uh – stuff to take care of.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll check in with you later.” Danny hesitated. Then he leaned up and gave Steve a peck on the lips.

Steve blinked. “What was that for?”

Danny grinned. “Meh. Just felt like it.” He left without another world.

Steve raised a hand to touch his lips. It was a hardly a real kiss, certainly nothing to blush about, and yet Steve could feel his neck growing warm.

Oh god; he was so screwed.

#mcdanno #fic prompt #fic request #mcdanno au #h50 #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #danny danno williams #myfanfiction

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