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divinit3a · 2 months ago

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oneshot: out of character -> ao3 link reader x mer animatronic!moon 🌊 word count: 3,403

Working at a Fazbear animatronic theme park hadn't really been your dream, but it is your current reality.

At first, you were starry-eyed. Clocking in each day at a place that brings out the magic of imagination. Revamped from its first attempt that mysteriously burnt down after a rigorous police investigation, inexplicably refurbished into a half VR game center, half water-park. You’d bet the money that fuels such an over-the-top offshoot for the franchise pumps in from the Pizzaplex the next city over.

The ambition of the two owners who picked up the business manifested into a massive aquarium at the center, home to mechanized sea life. Animatronics of all shapes and sizes, perfect replicas of their real life counterparts. Plus or minus a more vivid, appealing, toy-selling color palette.

The multi-level aquarium showcases beautiful spectacles of engineering that allow all creatures of the deep to intermingle without the limitations of reality. You’ve stood in the tunnels that wind throughout the first floor on the slow moving tracks before, looking around with awe and wonder at the flittering sharks and jumping dolphins. A whale would float by now and then, casting a great shadow across the tunnels as everyone hurried to snap a photo.

Ferry rides are offered at an exuberant price to float atop the largest of the decorative tanks, where a stationary mermaid animatronic waves with a pleasant smile. You stopped going to the ferry rides after they replaced the human staff with the admittedly rather creepy, blank-staring bots and their pre-recorded voice lines.

Despite all the splendor surrounding you, the position of 'general maintenance' tends to become lackluster after cleaning up one too many barf piles near the food courts. Or being tasked with fishing cellphones out of the tops of tanks, enduring the hellish fury of whichever parent you had the misfortune of relaying the lost or damaged items policy to. Rattling off of a lengthy speech of ‘we wont pay for this,’ in corporate, smiley, customer-service-y terms.

You sigh, pushing a heavy mop forward as music thrums through your ear buds. You take a moment to rest your head against your curled up hands at the top of the handle, listening to the last few seconds of the track, before popping the ear buds out one by one and shoving them into your jacket pockets.

The slow drip of a faucet welcomes you back to cold, harsh reality. The last hour or more of your life was spent sopping up the ick that countless shoes tracked in and out the restroom facility throughout the day.

By now, the sun is setting over the horizon line. You always pick up the latest shifts in the day. The overnight security staff are your regular acquaintances. You’ve bribed the main desk guy into being your ride-or-die with sugary, outdated donuts.

There's a ding on your pager. You lean the broom handle on the brick wall, which is plastered with Chica and Roxanne themed posters that encourage handwashing. As you rest the mop, you falter to catch it from falling over, as the damn thing could never just stay put. Once you’ve prevented the disaster of the mop tipping over, you check the pager again, missing the glitching and rearranging of the letters on screen.

Honestly, the technology is considerably retro compared to what's out on the market; looking more like a terminal you’d see in a sci-fi movie, or perhaps a calculator that would be chucked at a classmate in second grade.

What greets you is an open-ended service ticket for the Haunted Shipwreck. You quirk an eyebrow. The exhibit was usually cleaned diligently by daytime staff in preparation for opening in the evening. Spruced up by the folks who worked at the bar, and the poor teenage saps who had to stand in the queue lines scanning tickets. The ‘ride’ was part of the finale of the virtual reality storyline that guests could pay a premium price to experience, connecting all the dots of the theme park’s attractions together.

Plus, it was the only place that served alcohol after five pm. The specialty drinks are so neon and vivid that the sugar content has to be astronomical.

Parents flock there like it is truly an oasis in a kiddy-park desert.

Scratching at your head, you walk in a circle as you read the details, or lack thereof. The ticket reads, 'Exhibition needs spot cleaning.' Spot cleaning? A whole exhibit? Your thumb hovers over the button to accept the task. It beats mopping bathroom tiles any day.

You wring out the mop into its bucket, and begin the tedious task of ferrying cleaning supplies from one area to the next. On your way out, you sling the heft of a tool bag over your shoulder.

_____________________________________

The scent of lemony freshness follows you in hot pursuit. You shove open the doors to the exhibit with a “Hello?”, expecting another person or two from the maintenance crew to have accepted the job. Cleaning a whole attraction on your lonesome did not bode well for the ‘no overtime’ policy.

The response you get is absolute silence.

You feel along the wall for a light switch, and then remember that this is an amusement park, not a hotel. The controls for the area’s lights are all in the breaker room out back. Locked away with a key that is not in your possession. With a sigh, you fish out a flashlight from your tool bag and continue to wheel your cart in.

Without music blaring through the hidden speakers, or patrons milling through the bar onto the dance floor, the main atrium of the ride feels as haunted as its namesake. Grumbling, you pull out your pager and look down. The screen is blank, as if the task had never existed at all.

Before you can question the disappearing act, spotlights turn on. A deafening click causes you to jolt and nearly drop the device.

You look up, and are face to face with the animatronic who prowls the exhibit. Your lungs temporary pause all function as your heart works in overdrive.

Above you is an elaborate trick of puppetry. A skeletal siren with a face as white as bone is frozen in place, with its arms outstretched as if it had been reaching towards you in the darkness to swipe you up. Thin, transparent plastic that shimmers like true fish scales acts as webbing between its sharp claws.

A billowing tail snakes like a serpent atop most of the area’s ceiling, weaving around the lighting system. The tip of its tailfin is curled around the rafters, as if supporting its weight. But that couldn’t be true; as a large cord connects into its back. Following the tubing leads to the pulley system which keeps it on predictable tracks.

One eye is cyan. The other eye is entirely a deep crimson, casting an eerie glow across your face. The eye with the cyan pupil trembles.

“Jeez, you scared me!” You say, too shocked to catch yourself before talking with an inanimate puppet.

The robotic siren, Moon, stares at you, not budging from its post. The lack of movement makes it feel more and more like a statue. You feel silly for speaking to it directly.

But you remember: there's a person whose entire job is to spend the day operating these guys. To keep them lifelike, same as the free-roam 'animatronics' that are actually just staff in sweaty old mascot suits. Learning the truth as an employee had dimmed the magic of the theme park, but you still admit that it is an impressive work of robotics, especially considering the aquarium.

“Are you still on for the night? Ride’s shut down,” You ask, pushing through the lingering fear you felt from the brief scare. During off-season the park closes earlier and is open about half the days, meaning that Haunted Shipwreck is mostly operational Friday and Saturday. Today is a Wednesday. You didn’t expect the elusive staff who controls the two mermaid animatronics to be on duty.

In response, the animatronic's massive tail slaps against the faux rocky terrain that decorates its elaborate enclosure. Moon lands back on the main stage it perches on during performances. Without the constant spray of dry ice to create the illusion of fog, and the bright red lighting, the siren lacks the intimidating flare you expect.

“Well, I'm here to clean. That's all.” You rest your hands at your sides, settling your thumbs into the belt loops.

Moon peers at you. Then it rolls over onto its back. The wires controlling its electronics flatten against the surface as it settles into place. You blink as you stare at a 'belly-up' fish. Its hands rest into a t-rex, claw-like position at its sides, as if it wasn’t used to laying down, either, and instantly felt awkward.

“Oh,” You exclaim, wrapping your head around the vague task you accepted. At last, you understand who – or what, needs cleaning: the animatronic itself. There’s gum stuck to its sculpted fins and a few pieces of paper wedged into the joints that segment its torso from its abdomen, limiting its range of motion.

A cruel prank, regardless of the recipient’s ability to feel discomfort.

You set your tool bag down on the floor and stumble up the plastic molded rocks, right past the ‘DO NOT CLIMB’ sign. All things considered, the ‘spot cleaning’ looks like an easy project to finish off your shift.

You sit on your knees next to the animatronic.

You start by pulling the paper jammed into its torso hinge out. You brace a palm against its side, and carefully tug. Hearing the papers tear makes you curse softly under your breath.

The animatronic watches, and then bends its torso hinge away, giving you easier access to pull the shredded bits out.

You begin to notice that all the papers jammed inside the robot are actually posters and pamphlets that you can pick up for free at the photo kiosk a room over. Strange.

Taking a second to indulge your curiosity, you inspect one of the postcards.

The front of the card is split into two; the daytime half, Sun, spritely and bright on the left. And his cursed form that haunts the seas at night, Moon, in an ominous dark silhouette on the right. A few of these are even lenticular prints that you can shift back and forth, but those have to be bought at the complimentary gift shop at the end of the ride.

The depicted dark, jagged silhouette of Moon is a sharp contrast to the docile animatronic beside you. Existing to be ‘vanquished’ time and time again, by brave patrons, in order to free Sun from the shackles of an evil witch’s hex.

The witch character is set to debut at long last in a few months.

You find yourself smiling at the memories of watching the performance for the first time; the smoke and mirrors of the robots being switched out on stage to masquerade as one feat of engineering. The silly story never fails to be engaging, with how much production was poured into making Sun’s character so lifelike and memorable.

Now that you think about it, you wonder why Moon never got the same treatment. You look up to see that the ‘cursed siren’ on your mind is staring right at you, almost expectantly. Beneath its chassis where your palms rest is a soft, insistent hum of machinery, fans set to medium gear. It points to a piece of paper you missed under its arm socket. You lean closer to dig in, their gaze burning into the back of your head.

The silence as you work on the clean-up becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Even more so when you consider that whoever is tasked with puppeting Moon is still up in the server room, no doubt working past their shift’s end to make your job easier by maneuvering the siren this way and that.

Though, you wonder why the puppeteer didn't just meet you at Haunted Shipwreck themself to talk it through. Must be some kind of NDA, or lack of a remote control.

By the time you are scraping gum off glittering scales, you decisively break the ice with, “Y'know, Im surprised. I thought you'd be home by now,” beginning the idle, one-sided chatter. Just because you are here on business, doesn’t mean the exchange had to be so clinical. Your quiet companion shows that its listening by flicking the long fin that adorns its head. Bright cyan tracks your every movement with what feels like intense curiosity.

While you work, you take out the pager to check on your tasks for the night. In an instant, Moon swipes it, moving faster than you can comprehend. They slither away from you with shocking speed, cable attached to its back whirring to keep up with the momentum.

“Hey! Give that back!” You reach up, fingertips brushing off the smooth scales upon its long, imposing tail. Up above, the animatronic fiddles with the pager. Frustration ripples off it as its hands clunkily tap away at the tiny, human-sized keyboard.

“Don't break it, c'mon, it'll come out of my paycheck!” You swat at the robot whose mid-air. You gasp at the audacity it has to curl its tail inward and away from you. An unfair game of keep-away.

Moon turns the screen of the pager back to you. 'Thank you,' is typed out in simplistic, boxy letters. You blink, staring at the screen as the pager is gingerly placed back in your hands, claws ghosting across your arms. The siren pulls back quickly. Moon fidgets with the hem of its costuming, a subtle act of nerves that trips you up even worse.

“You—you're welcome.” You stumble on your words, not quite sure why the sentiment is so shocking. But it feels like it came from the robot itself—whoever ran these guys was committed to staying in character. Even to other staff. You admire the dedication.

The robot leers down at you. Pupils burning, an unsettling lack of expression except for a wide-eyed stare that never relents the pressure it exerts. A hand extends out, and it takes a moment for you to realize that its asking for the pager back. Dumbstruck, you comply without a second thought. The robot taps away at the keyboard, dwarfed by its palms. You hear the click-click-click of the backspace button as it shakes its faceplate.

The pager returns to you. After all its effort, only one word is on the screen: 'Again.'

“Again?” You repeat aloud, looking up at Moon with confusion. The robot continues to fidget, before nodding so quickly in confirmation, that you are worried you'll need to send in a ticket to fix its neck hinge. That sort of job goes to the on-sight mechanics who the company contracts, not a regular maintenance guy like you. “You'd... like me to stop by, again?” You guess, and Moon's nerves boil over. The tracks in the ceiling creak as the creature 'swims' all around you, showcasing flashes of glittering fins and the faintest glint of sharp fangs beneath its flowing collar. With the blur of violet, magenta, and crimson swirling around you, its like being in the middle of a shark swarm— without any of the fear.

Because you take the boundless enthusiasm to mean, 'yes.'

”Okay, okay. I will,“ You laugh at the strange antics, charmed by how earnest the supposedly wicked siren can be. You don’t know much about Moon's character here at the park; he was intentionally left mysterious to add to the villainous flare. Or perhaps, to excuse the lack of forethought into an antagonist designed for a theme park. So, to see him instead doing several aerial laps around the perimeter of the shipwreck, you can't help but find them endearing.

Your pager dings, reminding you that there is twenty minutes before your shift ends, and one bathroom facility left half-mopped in your haste.

“It was nice meeting you,” You hesitate—you have no idea who this person is. You stare into the lens of the animatronic’s eyes, pondering who was watching you back on the camera feed.

Maybe the two of you could get lunch sometime off the clock, away from the prying of corporate eyes. Perhaps they are nervous to break character. You glance to the security camera in the corner, and back, ”...Moon,” you decide to call them by the character they play, for the time being.

The siren lurches toward you.

You reel back, almost slipping on the plastic rocks.

Spindly limbs wrap around you, catching you from your fall, and—Oh.

You blink, struggling to keep up. The wretched siren of the coast is giving you a hug. The fabric of its costume sleeves is silky and smooth, and almost bundles you up like a tarp.

”O-okay, then.” You pat at the back of the animatronic. Its staring at you so seriously with massive, leering eyes, that you are struggling not to buckle under the stress. The pressure Moon exerts is light, but spikes your heart rate regardless. Your feet are almost off the ground, balancing on the heels of your work boots as you tilt back. You aren’t looking to go for a swim, or to be put on medical leave from a concussion.

“That’s, um, very sweet, thank you, Moon.” You tap its arms next to indicate you’re ready to be let go of. You find your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, wondering if the animatronic’s puppeteer thinks its amusing to scare you with this level of whiplash. Maybe it is funny to them, to make the theme park's aloof villain act all cuddly for one-on-one exchanges.

“There we go—nice and easy,” you find yourself narrating, as the siren deliberately sets you back down on the floor. Not back onto the rocks; no, it cranes you over to main floor, where you run a much smaller risk of falling on uneven terrain.

Walking over to collect your belongings, you shrug your tool bag over your shoulder, and place a hand on the handle of your cleaning cart.

The animatronic waves you off, watching with interest as you shove your way out the door. A glimpse of the outside world, the low lights of the shut-down park and the infinite expanse of the night sky.

You stop in the doorway, prolonging the moment, “Have a good night, Moon.” The animatronic stays perfectly still, playing its role. Poised with elegance and a threatening aura. The sight leaves you with chills, although you hardly had reason to fear the animatronic, or its friendly puppeteer.

The door closes.

A pause.

Moon stays put until they can no longer hear the roll of your cart. Then it springs up. Pacing back and forth, tail moving as smoothly as kelp in the current, weaving through decorative pillars that sell the illusion of being underwater, trapped in a shipwreck. The sliding of the wire on its tracks plays a symphony as it maneuvers around. Feeling–feeling, like it did something right, by doing something terribly wrong. The sensation was so complex that it keeps cataloguing every second.

Moon couldn't believe that tampering with a maintenance ticket actually worked. A small, small chance that anyone would pick up the task he made up— jamming postcards into its segments in a fury to make the objective believable, once someone had actually said 'yes.'

The cord above squeals, and Moon realizes it needs to relax, less it break its ability to move within its small, small world.

Settling back down, the siren sits on its lonely perch with a glimmer of hope–that you'll be back again the next night, and the next, and the next. After all, you spoke to them with such ease. Most everyone pretends he’s nothing more than a glorified stage prop. Doomed with an underutilized, elaborate AI on the same caliber as all the others in the park, who roam freely. Who get to interact, learn, and grow daily; who get to make friends and play so many games.

Until next time, they'll work on their communication. Study the humans who walk through its exhibit closer and closer. Experiment with how to evoke emotions beyond fear.

Their tail thumps, eager to continue daydreaming throughout the rest of its cycle spent awake.

#fnaf #dca community #dca fandom #moon fnaf #ao3fic #ao3 link #dca x reader #dca x yn #dca fanfic #moon x yn #mer moon #catfishing au #mer animatronic moon #pom writes #:D weee

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hometoursandotherstuff · 6 months ago

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I cannot believe that no one bought this elegant little gem of an 1877 2nd Empire townhouse in Minneapolis, MN. It's decorated in grand Baroque style, has 1bd, 2ba, 1,799 sq ft, $989k + $1,029mo. HOA. Maybe it's priced too high? Zillow says it's worth about $935k. The high HOA fee could also be a factor.

Come on, now. NOBODY expects the Baroque Townhouse! Look at the entrance- got some gothic doors, architectural salvage light fixture from a church, and what could be better than a wine rack where you can grab a bottle as soon as you walk thru the door? It also looks like a mini bar. What a way to greet guests.

They really did a lot of work on this place. That's why I think it's priced at almost $1m. The woodwork, alone, is incredible. Look at the delightful dining room that looks like it's under an arbor.

Stone wall with niches. Antique chandelier.

This is a sitting room fit for a queen.

Different areas of the home are done in different styles. The ornate sitting room is Baroque with a massive fireplace and chandeliers.

The custom kitchen has a Frenchy flair and it also has an Aga stove (big bucks) with a mosaic backsplash. Look at the flowers painted on the counters.

You can see the pantry on the left, plus plenty storage in the cabinetry, and another mosaic backsplash behind the sink.

There's a copper ceiling over the dining area. This is an eat-kitchen so you can enjoy it every day. View from the windows looks out toward the city.

Beautiful, cozy den has a door to the garden. Gorgeous wainscoting, wood ceiling, brick wall w/shelves, and stained glass windows.

Your guests get to use this fabulous powder room with an intricately carved sink topped by a marble counter, gold swan faucet, and a cut crystal bowl for a sink.

Down the hall is an Asian-inspired full bath with a carved black marble tub and a huge dragon head faucet.

Look at that thing. Then, right across, behind folding doors, they've got a convenient laundry room.

Check out the pattern of the marble in the shower.

Large bath has a beautifully painted chest-turned-sink, and a private water closet.

The magnificent entrance to the bath is guarded by foo dogs.

The bedroom decor ties in with the theme of the bath.

The doorway to the bath is in the bedroom. The walls look like a teahouse.

The stairs have murals and carved doors. The home has 3 levels and I can't discern what floors the rooms are on, b/c as usual, the real estate photos are completely mixed up.

Impeccably maintained garages.

I wish they would've shown the sunrooms and rooftop terraces. Look at the glass structures on the roof.

That's the Mississippi River going by. The home is actually on a little island called Nicollet Island.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8-Grove-St-8B-Minneapolis-MN-55401/1913645_zpid/?

#townhomes #townhouses #unique homes #houses #house tours #home tour #old house dreams

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kikiiswashere · 6 months ago

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Children of Zaun Mini-Chapter

Chapter 29.5 - Where does Katya go after leaving Viktor Friday night? And an answer to who that lanky someone was that Viktor saw at the end of the chapter.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Silco x Katya, Sevika x Nasha, everyone x horniness

Chapter 29

After a beat, Katya wiped her hands on the rag hung over the kitchen faucet before stalking over to her coat, hung on the peg by the door. Surprised, Viktor looked up as she whipped the garment around herself.

“What are you – “

“I need to go take care of something,” she answered, shaking the collar out around her head. “If I am not back before nine, get ready for bed. Yes?” He nodded slowly. “Good. I love you. I’ll be back soon. Do not open the door for anyone.”

Viktor’s brow crumpled as she whisked out of their home.

Katya strode purposefully in the direction of The Last Drop, surprising annoyance simmering in her belly. She knew Viktor was terribly bored, but she wished he would just settle. She was worried about Enforcers. She was also worried about a well-meaning Brother or Sister outing her.

She had meant what she had told Silco the night prior: That she wanted to keep Viktor at arms-length from what was happening in the Undercity – in Zaun – until they were on the cusp of independence. When he would no longer be in danger because of her involvement.

But there was a darker something slithering just behind that altruistic motivation. Something Katya was afraid to fully look at.

She pulled her coat tighter around her waist and pressed on.

Trenchers defiantly stepped passed Enforcers, their shoulders pulled back, chests puffed up, unwilling to let Topside claim any more of their energy. If they wanted to go out on the town, they would. And performative threats were not going to stop them. Katya was grateful for the extra bodies. She was less likely to be singled out by an uppity Enforcer. Easier to melt back into the masses, and become one with her people.

Being Friday night, The Last Drop was busy. Patrons at every table, booth, and barstool. Some leaned against walls, drink in hand, waiting for someone to vacate their seat. A large group was huddled around the billards table, laughing and egging each other on. Tolder was stationed at his usual table, his cards spread between him and his victims for the evening. Sevika was nowhere to be found. Annie flitted effortlessly between the tables and customers, beaming bright.

Katya felt herself warm from the inside out at the sight. A few Children noticed her come in, and raised their glasses in greeting. The warmth bloomed bigger, a smile spreading across her face. She nodded back at them before making her way to the bar.

As usual, Vander was behind it; Silco and Benzo seated on stools in front of him, lit cigarettes dangling from their fingers. Silco and Vander were discussing something, their heads tipped toward the other. Benzo’s eyes lazily drifted around the bar before landing on Katya. She saw his lips move, a playful lilt forming on them. At once, Silco spun around. Vander stood up and his face dropped, his expression unreadable before morphing carefully into one of practiced politeness.

Silco looked at her, eyebrows curling up to his hairline; unsure if he should be worried or excited by her unexpected appearance. Relief swept through him when she smiled. He reached for her, and when she was close enough Katya took his hand. Like comet, she easily slid into the orbit of his body.

“Thought you couldn’ get away on Fridays,” Vander noted breezily. He began futzing with the taps. Ignoring how Silco’s hand wrapped around her waist, tugging her closer.

“Is everything alright?” Silco asked, his hand sweeping up and down her side.

“Yes, everything is fine. And I cannot stay long. I came to ask a favor.”

She looked at each of the men.

“What’d’ya need, Lass?” Benzo asked, taking a pull from his cigarette.

“Viktor wants to go to Augmentation Alley’s scrap yard tomorrow to look for materials for one of his classes. He’s been cooped up inside for the past few weekends, and I feel badly about it. I want to be able to take him, but I am concerned about Enforcers. Or getting him caught up in some kind of skirmish.” She sighed, “Would one of you be able and willing to tail us tomorrow? Keep a distance so he does not see you, but close enough to provide warning if someone is coming our way?”

“Yeah, I can do it,” Silco said. “I don’t have to be at the mines ‘til late. You and your brother would head home before supper, I take it.”

Kat nodded, tension in her shoulders melting down. She kissed his temple, and Silco hid his pleased expression behind a veil of cigarette smoke.

“Wish I could help,” Benzo replied, “but I gotta be at the shop tomorrow.”

“’N I’ll need to straighten and prep fer tomorrow night,” Vander mumbled, gathering Silco and Benzo’s empty glasses.

“That’s alright. One should be enough, I think. I hope.”

“It’ll be fine,” Silco assured.

Kat gave him a grateful smile, and told him what time she was planning on leaving for the scrap yard. Vander placed two full glasses in front of Benzo and Silco, and both nodded their thanks. Kat looked at the drinks wistfully.

Her voice was glum as she said: “I should head back. I told Viktor I would not be late.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Silco said automatically, making to stand.

“Sil,” Vander huffed, trying to sound amused, “I just poured you a drink.”

“It’s fine, Silco. I can manage,” Kat promised. She pressed a hand to his chest in encouragement to sit back down.

Silco looked from her, to the drink, to Vander, and back to Kat.

“Let me walk you to the door at least.”

Katya chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“Have a good night, Vander, Benzo,” she said and grabbed Silco’s hand, guiding him to the tavern’s door.

Benzo raised his glass to her. Vander nodded stiffly.

Once they stepped into the cool and neon-lit night, Silco’s hand clamped tightly around Kat’s, and pulled her toward the alley behind the Drop.

“Surely you didn’t think that you would appear on a night I normally don’t see you, and get away scot-free?” he purred, pressing her back against the stonewall. Crowding her with his body and shadows.

A knife of a grin sliced across Kat’s mouth, and she tugged on his shirt. His mouth readily crashed into her’s, lips prying, tongue searching. Her hands snaked around his back, and gripped his shirt in needy bunches. He grabbed at her with equal fervor, large hands squeezing her waist and hips.

Kat angled her head for deeper access, their tingling lips slotting together perfectly. Silco’s nose moved and brushed against her cheek. He pushed small, quiet groans from his mouth to hers. She trembled, arousal growing rapidly and sitting heavily between her thighs.

Scrabbling madly, her hand wove itself into Silco’s hair. She clutched it tightly, and his hips gave a small buck. A growl rumbled up from his chest, and he surged forward. His left hand slid up from her waist, and made to fondle her breast through the soft material of her blouse. Kat gasped. And with his lips free, Silco dove to suck and bite at her neck.

“Si – Sil – “ she panted. Of their own accord, her hips began undulating in small waves.

At the sound of her voice, the tether of Silco’s control snapped. He pulled his mouth off her with a harsh pop! and pulled her deeper into the alleyway.

They stumbled toward the Drop’s backdoor. The lust haze covering Kat’s judgement lifted enough to question the wiseness of fooling around in Vander’s apartment again. But before she could voice her concerns, Silco stopped in front of the small shed just a few feet away from the backdoor.

These structures were common in the Lanes’ business district – especially for taverns and restaurants (few that there were). They were meant to house the wood and coal used to heat stoves and ovens. However, due to Piltover’s chokehold on the import of products into the Undercity, most were woefully bare. Allowing space and privacy enough . . .

Kat’s heart leapt to her throat, and the ache between her legs gave an excited pulse. She squeezed Silco’s hand in understanding. In agreement. An excited, warbling breath left him as he reached forward, and ripped the shed door open.

“OH!” Kat exclaimed, lurching back and covering her mouth. Silco stared.

It seemed they had not been the only ones with this idea.

Tucked inside the shed, in varying states of undress, Sevika had Nasha pressed against the wall adjacent to the door. One of her hands held Nasha’s wrist above her head, the other was shoved down the front of her pants. Sevika’s cheek was resting on one of Nasha’s nearly exposed breasts, her silver eyes wide with horror at being caught-out.

Nasha, however, was more annoyed than anything. Her flushed face frowned at Silco and Katya.

“Occupied!” she snarled.

A long limb snaped out, and pulled the door out of Silco’s hand, slamming it shut.

Kat and Silco stood in the alley for a long moment, before she awkwardly giggled and gently tugged him back toward the alley’s mouth.

“It is probably for the best,” she sighed. “I do need to get back home.”

Silco hummed a disappointed, but amenable note, before ducking down and kissing her. More chaste this time. Sweet and simple.

Kat squeezed his hand, and reluctantly slid her fingers out of his.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

She grinned and shrugged. “In a way.”

The smile spun melancholy. Silco hated the sight of it, so he dipped down and kissed it away.

“Thank you again,” Kat murmured as he drew back.

“I got you.”

“You have me.”

Just a little something. Any excuse to smoosh Kat and Silco's faces together, really 😂

Comments, reblogs, and recommendations keep me and other author's motiviational fires burning! I'd love to hear what y'all are thinking.

If you are enjoying this story, and have the means to do so, please consider supporting me by visiting my ko-fi page!

#children of zaun #coz #mini chapter #arcane arcane fanfic #silco #silco x oc #sevika #sevika x oc #silco x katya #silkat #sevika x nasha #sevsha?#sure we'll go with sevsha #vander #benzo

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gripefroot · 1 year ago

Note

Jim Hopper romancing the waitress at his favourite diner; Jim Hopper and a cozy, romantic Christmas setting; Jim Hopper finally following his true dreams and opening a food truck; Jim Hopper doing anything. ANYTHING.

(Anything? Deeply considered an 1800s!Whaler AU, so thank you for that.)

It was difficult to pick out the worst part of her evening.

Her soaking-wet apron and skirt from a spilled milkshake; docked tips for a burned cheeseburger that she hadn’t even cooked; only delivered; or her ex-fiancé that had shown up at the back door of the diner. He’d hollered for her for hours, apparently, until a cook hollered at her to get rid of him or he’d call the police. After spending twenty minutes physically shoving that menace away from the door, the manager had chewed her out for taking too long of a break. An extra ten minutes to sob in the bathroom had been necessary after that, mopping her tears with her stained apron until her cheeks were sticky from sugar. Then she’d straightened her hair and the jaunty hat of the diner uniform and gone back to work.

Wear that cap like a crown, Grandpa had coached her long ago. He’d thought, as she had, that a year or two of working at the diner between beauty pageants would earn her enough to splurge on the prettiest gowns. And then he’d died and she’d stopped competing and it had been a good ten years since she walked through the diner door bright-eyed and full of dreams.

Only three hours until closing. She could do anything for three hours.

Why was it so packed? It was a Monday night, usually one of the slower shifts, but after seeing elbow-to-elbow customers at the bar and shrieks from families in the booths, she nearly started to cry again.

You’re a princess, don’t forget that, bunny. Whatever you wear, make it your gown and crown.

Gown and crown. A dirty uniform and an itchy hat.

A deep, trembling breath rattled her lungs. Pad and pencil in her pocket, and she marched to a table of new customers.

Two hours left.

Ninety minutes left.

One hour left.

Not that she had much to look forward to at home. Home had lost its hominess after Grandpa died. Now it was four walls and a roof, paid for and inherited, with blankets crocheted by a grandmother she hadn’t met and a photograph of her long-dead mother covering the only unfaded section of wallpaper in the kitchen. It was the ghosts she hadn’t known or hadn’t had the chance to love that haunted her the most.

Time slowed.

Fifty-five minutes left.

Fifty minutes.

Forty-five.

Nearing closing time didn’t slow down the work. There were still tables to be bussed; dirty dishes to be stacked and cups to be dumped and more spills and stains waiting to make her dress and apron more worthy of a rag pile. She straightened napkin holders and salt and pepper shakers and shook ketchup bottles.

With a heave, she got a towering stack of dishes to the sink behind the counter. All of her customers had left; the ones remaining were Janie’s. They’d argue, after everyone had gone, whose job was worse: convincing lingering customers to get, or accidentally plunging one’s hand into lukewarm steak sauce.

She yanked on the faucet for a stream of water, plunging her hand in to wash off said steak sauce bit by bit.

“Have a nice night!” Janie, at least, would get tips. Tips that rattled right into her apron pocket as she whisked away more dishes to add to the tower. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’ll split with you.”

She smiled, and said nothing.

“Speaking of,” Janie went on, emptying a few glasses of ice and watered-down Coke into the sink. “That fellow over there has been looking at you like you’re on the menu.”

“Yeah, right. I bet it’s my skirt that did him in.” Ruefully she showed Janie her stained apron. Janie’s eyes went wide.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I have an extra apron in the back…”

“It got my skirt, too.”

“A clean apron would have covered it!”

And then she would have had to wash and iron a second apron to return Janie’s to her. More work, more work, more work.

“Well,” Janie said. “At least tell him whether you’re on the menu or not, then he can leave.”

The he in question sat near the middle of the counter, a pie crust left on his plate. Her eyes went from his dishes to his elbows on the counter (rude) to massive paws of hands covering the lower half of his face. Up and up: he was watching her, just as Janie had warned. Good heavens.

She dried her hands on the damp towel hanging by the sink, put on her well-practiced false smile, and approached him. These things were best dealt with swiftly and confidently.

“I’ll take that for you,” she chirped, taking away his plate.

He lowered his hands, exposing the remainder of his face. He needed a shave and a trim, but not bad looking, overall. And he looked familiar. The glint of the suddenly-visible badge on his chest confirmed it—the police officer from a few towns over. Unusual for him to come this way, but not unheard of. “Thank you,” he said.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Uh…yeah.” The man smiled. Not, not a smile: a grin. There was a difference, when you’d worked in a diner this long. This was a bonafide, ear-to-ear grin like a teenage boy that had just successfully hotwired his first Mustang. “I was wondering…what’s a guy gotta do to get you to go on a date with him?”

Brazen, wasn’t he? Her smile was frozen in place. It was a thin line between chasing away customers and not opening oneself for business. She took a few steps back to the sink, running the plate beneath the faucet.

“Ask, probably.” Not a no, not a giggle and battered lashes. Thin line.

The man watched her a moment more. “You busy?”

Startled, she dropped the plate in the sink. And left it there. “Am I busy?” She took another plate from the stack, scraping soggy fries into the trash bin beneath the sink. He said nothing, and she didn’t, either. Anything bound to come out of her mouth at that point would be unkind. So she took another plate, and another, and another, casting him a pointed look that missed the mark completely.

“Yeah!” he said. “It’s a valid question!”

Speak for yourself, was her bitter, unspoken response. Rinsing off the dishes meant droplets sticking to her bare arms, usually tainted with sticky sauce that would have her running to the bath first thing when she got home. No matter how tired she was, she was never so tired that she would crawl into bed dirty.

“Yes,” she said at last, refreshing her smile to meet the man’s gaze square and sure. “I am busy.”

His lips stuck out, in a purse or in thought. She didn’t know, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. A glance at the clock: ten minutes until closing.

“I see,” the man said. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

That was new. She stopped, staring as he got out his wallet to tug out a few bills. He only looked at her once more, with an apologetic smile, before tossing money onto the counter and climbing off the stool.

“Have a good night,” he said.

Well! How about that!

Shaking her head, she went back to the dishes. The rinsed stack grew, the trash bin filled, and her arms got wetter and wetter. The bell above the door chimed for a final time, Janie locking the door and pulling down the blinds.

The tub was empty. With a sigh she turned off the faucet, fingers soft from the water, and started stacking the dishes back inside.

“I’ll be back for the rest,” she said to Janie, who was closing the blinds behind the booths. Hoisting the tub up, she went to the door to the kitchen and went through elbow-first, the stink of fry oil making her tongue feel gross.

“Sorry about that burger,” said the man at the griddle. Faithfully he dragged his spatula over the burned bits, scraping them into a trash can.

“It’s okay, Paul,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Paul got a full paycheck without tips. She didn’t. It wasn’t worth pointing that out.

Louis and Mike chatted by the refrigerator. Around the corner to where Mary would be washing the dishes, and—

She stopped in her tracks.

The police officer man was elbow-deep in suds, Marry sitting on an upturned bucket as she fanned herself with an outdated menu.

“Just put them in,” Mary said. “He won’t mind.”

The man turned. He smiled for a split second before turning back.

She stared at Mary. Maryjust shrugged. The dishes were getting heavy.

“Don’t ask me,” Mary said. “He volunteered.”

But why?

Feet still planted where she stood, she could do no more than gawk as the man turned on his heel and took the tub of dishes from her. “No need to make a ceremony of it,” he said. This time he didn’t grin, but he smiled. It was a much more comforting expression. She surrendered the dishes weakly, hands falling to her sides.

Well, it wasn’t any of her business, anyway. Customers sometimes stuck around to help with one chore or another, out of boredom or kindness or a million other things. This man’s angle—for he surely had one—could be any one of them. And it had nothing to do with her.

“I was just telling Jim here about that crazy fellow of yours making a racket earlier,” Mary said cheerily. A break made her chatty. “He said next time he’ll remove the fellow for you.”

“We get the deputy from Pint Nevre, when we need one,” she said.

“I’m out here regularly, anyway,” the man said over his shoulder. “No skin off my teeth.”

Unsure of why he was helping, or wanting to help again, or why he’d stayed or why she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his thick shoulders moving with his scrubbing each plate to put on the drying rack—she wrung her apron in her hands. Dry, but stiff, and it would make her hands smell like chocolate.

The man looked back again. He was smiling again. “Just ask for Jim,” he said. “Jim Hopper.”

#jim hopper x reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #hopper drabble #drabble requests

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onepiecereactions · 2 months ago

Text

Steal my husband, Chapter 3, Shanks X Reader

Note: Chapter 3. This chapter is SFW.

Steal my husband

Chapter 3

By daybreak, the island had returned to its calm. The main square where the party had taken place a few hours before was now empty, leftover food and empty bottles of alcohol scattered on the ground. The pirates, the orchestra and the citizens had all returned home to rest after this memorable but exhausting night.

Except for Isa. The young woman had woken up at dawn, had put on a comfortable outfit and was cleaning the hostel from the previous night's festivities.

The blonde was particularly tired but her boss had asked (ordered?) her to come the next day to clean everything up in order to welcome the next customers that evening. The hostel served as a bar, a small in-house restaurant and offered relatively comfortable rooms for the wealthiest customers of this small island. Isa had been hired as a waitress right out of school, but she did various tasks to keep the hostel running smoothly. Her employer was a stupid and relatively unbearable man, but on an island like this, job opportunities were rare, especially if you hadn’t studied much and didn’t want to join the Navy. She had never considered becoming a pirate either, having no remarkable physical abilities, even if the call of adventure was very present, as it was for all people her age stuck on a small island.

The front door of the hostel opened slowly, bringing the young waitress out of her reverie.

“We’re closed for now, we’ll open in two hours, when the hostel will be cleaned, thank you.” She said in a soft voice as she tried to put boxes away in the closet that was much bigger than her.

The person who had just entered didn’t stop and sat down at the counter, right behind the blonde.

“So you really spend your days serving drunks guys and cleaning rooms?”

Isa immediately recognized the voice behind her. She turned around abruptly, surprised to hear it, making the boxes shake and crash to the floor.

“You!”

The young woman looked at the pirate in front of her, sitting comfortably, wearing a beautiful pink suit.

“Probably a NEVADA suit,” the young woman grumbled as she washed her hands at the faucet.

Last night had been particularly weird. The combination of fatigue and the conversation she had with the emperor’s wife had particularly annoyed her, disturbing her sleep. She couldn’t figure out the pirate, not knowing if she was serious about her stories of stealing husbands or if she was trying to cause her problems. And, as kind as the new emperor seemed to be, the blonde hoped with all her heart to avoid problems and continue her quiet little life, as insipid as it was.

“You can call me Laty. It will be more polite… A cocktail please. Without alcohol, it’s barely nine o’clock.” Asked the pirate who was finishing the details of her makeup thakns to a magnificent pocket mirror. Her face was stunning, her hairstyle millimeter-perfect and her gaze devastating.

The young woman sighed discreetly, hoping from the bottom of her heart that the pirate would leave quickly. And by paying if possible… She served her the cocktail quickly and returned to the reserve to put away the boxes scattered on the floor. A silence invaded the hostel for a few minutes, before Laty spoke again.

“Well, can we start the first lesson now? Or would you rather stay in this stinky reserve watching your life pass before your eyes?”

Isa turned around abruptly.

“If you are here to insult me, you can leave, I am not holding you back.”

“I am not insulting you, I am telling the truth. This reserve is stinky, and your life could be much better if you had the courage to get off your ass. I got off my ass and look where I am now! An emperor husband, endless money…”

“And you’re still not happy.” The young woman cut in as she faced her, her hands on her hips.

The pirate recoiled and a thin, melancholic smile appeared on her lips.

“You’re right. I’m not happy anymore. That’s why I’m in front of you today.” Laty admitted as she finished her cocktail.

“Go find another woman to annoy, I don’t want to be involved in this in any way.”

“I don’t love my husband anymore, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to hurt him.” The brunette continued as she stood up, wiping her lips with a napkin. “I know the other women in the New World. The moment I sign the divorce papers, a hundred harpies will come and circle around him. And he’s a man who loves women. He’d be stupid enough not to realize that a witch is walking around him. I want to make sure that a woman worthy of the name and without bad intentions will stay by his side. I know that you won’t hurt him and that your intentions are not bad. You still have the innocence of a young teenager and the world hasn’t rotten you to the core yet.”

The pirate played with her hair as she stood up.

“At least have the courage to try. If it doesn’t work, you can go back to your little life as a waitress that you enjoy so much. If it works though…”

She turned her back on her, slowly walking back towards the front door of the hostel , leaving behind a scent of rose and lavender.

The young woman watched her leave, her mind torn.

Laty put her hand on the handle, gently opening the door. She searched in her haute couture handbag for her glasses case and put on her NEVADA sunglasses, her diamond bracelet sparkling on her wrist with each of her movements.

“One day. I accept for one day only. If tomorrow nothing changes, I don’t want to see you anymore.”

The pirate turned around in the doorway, a mischievous smile on her crimson red lips.

“Then follow me, we begin hostilities right away.”

#one piece

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