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viennakarma · 10 months ago

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My dearest friend and enemy (2)

PART 2 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I was wondering doing a bonus part about Fernando POV throughout everything (to show he was ALSO miserable), but I don't know if i have the time and energy for it. Let me know if you guys would be interested in it and I'll do it in headcanons/topics.

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was taking way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

PART 1 | FERNANDO'S HEADCANONS

You were moping and crying in the living room when the phone started ringing. Looking at the little screen that showed the number that was calling, you knew it was Fernando. You had memorized his number at some point in your lifetime. Your parents weren’t home, so you hesitated. You took so long that his call went to voicemail.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice sounding tired, low and inpatient, “please pick up the-”

You pulled the phone cable, unplugging the call and silencing him. Wiping your tears, you stared at the unplugged phone on the little side table for what felt like hours, until your parents returned from work, when you got up to plug the phone back and pretend like you didn’t spend the whole day mourning a friendship you always thought would last forever.

After two days ignoring all calls, even Flavio’s, you decided that you’d shield yourself from now on, and you wouldn’t give Fernando any more ammo to hurt you. You met with Flavio at the next race, face heavy with makeup to cover up the sleepless nights you had gone through. You put your bag down and stared at Flavio across the table.

“Good morning. Let’s go back to work,” you said, gently pulling the stack of papers from his grasp. He called your name in that tone, of someone wanting a heart to heart.

“We should talk about the f-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to talk about that,” you said.

“I talked to Fernando and he-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s dead to me.” You repeated slowly, finally looking up at him. Flavio must’ve seen something in your eyes because he let the topic go.

You didn’t see Fernando for two more days, and when the weekend officially started, you avoided him like the plague. Even when you two were in the same place with other drivers, you’d ignore his existence for the most part. Whenever you were in a little circle chatting with other drivers and he arrived, you’d leave immediately. Press conference, you convinced Jenson to switch places with you so you could be as far from Fernando as possible. Even with team debriefs, with Flavio trying to make you talk to Fernando, you refused.

The rest of the season was insane, during team meetings and debriefs you were cold and barely talked to him. He didn’t try to talk to you either, and the silent distance only grew.

You were head to head in a race, you were P2 and Fernando P3 right behind you.

“Switch with Fernando,” your engineer said on the radio.

“He won’t fucking pass me,” you said into the radio, holding your position and pace. He was less than a second behind, and you refused to let him pass.

“I repeat, let him pass,” That was Flavio.

“If he manages to overtake me, he can go.”

He didn’t. You knew you had more pace, but still he insisted, and through the mirrors, you could see him closing in behind you. He tried to overtake but you pushed the car fast, and when he couldn’t anymore, he turned into you, touching his front right tyre to your rear left tyre. You were too fast. The mere touch of his tyre bursted yours. You couldn’t even get angry as you lost control of the car in a millisecond, the speed making your car fly into the air as it hit the gravel. With your car overturning a few times in the air, you watched your sight going ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.

Then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were on a stretcher being placed carefully inside the ambulance, you tried to get up, dizzy and someone handed you a bag where you threw up inside.

You had an insane headache as they took you to the medical center. Apparently, everything else was alright as you checked your own body for any injuries or problems. The doctor checked you but still made you through a round of tests and injected saline solution diluted with pain medicine in an IV drip. They also decided you’d stay overnight to make sure nothing was wrong.

Your dad, who was watching from the garage, was the first to find you in the medical center, visibly worried and crying. He hugged you for a whole minute, before taking a step back and touching your face to make sure you were really alright.

“I’m ok, Papá. Just passed out when the car was spinning in the air,” You smiled softly, wanting to dissipate his worry.

“When you didn’t answer the radio-” He choked back tears.

“It’s ok, I’m ok now.”

“What are you feeling, darling?” He pressed, holding your hands to look for injuries in your arms.

“I’m all in one piece, Papá. Just a little sore, but that’s normal whenever a racing driver crashes,” you let him know, and he nodded.

“Let me just call your mother. She was so worried she wanted to get into the first flight here,” He told you.

“Tell her I’m alright and I love her,” you whispered and he nodded, going outside.

You sighed as you were left alone, trying to find a comfortable position where you didn’t have to move too much, since your whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The door opened and you thought it was Flavio, but you were faced with Fernando, still sweaty and in his overalls. He looked disheveled, but he was full of worry, even his eyes looked a little misty as he stood there a few meters from you.

But you couldn’t look past the anger when the memory of him diving into your car came back. He had gambled with your life, out of pettiness, out of envy, he couldn’t pass you, so he decided the next best thing was to take you out, not even caring about the danger he was putting you through.

“Leave.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Please,” he begged with his voice softer than you had heard for almost a year, “let me just-”

“Leave! You could’ve gotten me killed, Fernando. Get out!” You said, louder. “Do you have any idea that you could have ruined my life in a moment of anger?! That you could have gotten me seriously injured or worse?! I would have never done that to you!” You pressed your index finger to the nurse button repeatedly, and a few seconds later, a nurse came in, “Ma’am can you escort him out please?”

You could see in his eyes that he was hurt by your words, but in that moment, all you felt was blind rage, for what he did the last time you spoke and because he crashed into you on purpose. You didn’t want to hear any excuses now that he realized he put your life in danger just because his ego couldn’t take a hit.

The next day, after you were discharged, you traveled for a meeting with Flavio at Renault’s headquarters. He met you alone in the meeting room, talking to you about the accident, and after making sure you were physically fine, he went off.

“What you did yesterday was reckless and you went against express orders from the team and from me. This is not happening again, or you will be risking your seat at Renault,” He said, his voice never leaving room for debate, you swallowed and nodded, “When the team orders you to do something, you do. No questioning, and no going against it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fernando was really worried about you yes-”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” You cut Flavio off.

“You two are best friends, it’s really sad to see you lose all that because of Formula 1” Flavio said, gently.

“He put my life at risk, Flavio. This is not something a friend would do,” you stood up, walking away but you stopped by the door, “Kinda curious how motorsports, the very thing that brought us together, is the same that tore us apart.”

Then you went to meet the engineers for the next race strategies.

That night as you laid down at home, you thought that you’d never compete with Fernando solely because he was Flavio’s favorite. If it ever came to Flavio to decide whether you would win or Fernando would win, he’d always pick Fernando. You could’ve been fighting for the championship this year, he had promised you, instead you were being used as a step in Fernando’s path of glory, when you could be fairly racing him for the championship. You’d always come second to him there. That was also the moment you stopped seeing Flavio as a friend, and confined him back to a position of Team Principal.

You reread the Sauber proposal that came to you that year to start racing for them the next season, tempted to just go and make your name somewhere else. Somewhere where you’d be put first.

But deep down, a sense of indebtedness had rooted into your heart ever since the day Fernando told you the truth. You had to pay Flavio back for his trust and for his money, and the only way you thought you could do it was by becoming world champion under his team.

There was still a little kid inside you, a little kid who aspired to prove Fernando wrong, to become a champion and prove to yourself you’re more than him. More than who he wanted you to be, more than a loser.

You turned down the offer from Sauber.

The rest of the season you went almost robotically. You still gave your all every race, but your mood would always damper when you had to follow team orders.

“Ask if me and Fernando can switch, I’m faster!” You said on the radio. You kept driving, Fernando a little less than two seconds in front of you, but you were getting closer and would catch up to him in two laps.

“Negative, protect his position.”

“There’s a McLaren right behind me! They’ll pass us both!”

“Negative, team orders.”

You swallowed and held your position, trying to maintain your P2 and Fernando P1. But when the McLaren got close to you, they managed to pass you after a brief battle, going for Fernando a couple of laps later.

Later, you stood on the podium, looking ahead knowing that P3 could’ve been a P1 if they had let you fight for it. You didn’t look at Fernando on the other side of the podium, you just stood there, eyes watery. You pretended to take part throwing champagne for a few seconds, forcing a smile knowing that it would look bad not to.

The post race interviews were torture, and you wanted to go home and vent to your parents.

“How has it been to manage your friendship with Fernando outside the track?” A reporter asked, and your smile disappeared from your face.

“We were never really friends,” you shrugged, annoyed, you added “Are there any questions about racing instead of my personal life?” The reporter was silent, visibly taken aback by your responses, you had rarely been hostile toward a journalist before, you knew he would have a field day with just those replies, especially when your PR manager gave you a hard stare, “No? Thank you, see you around.”

You finished P2 in the race Fernando became champion for the second time. When you got out of the car, you watched as Flavio and Fernando hugged, jumping from the ground and celebrating. The number one and your team principal. After the podium ceremony, you didn’t bother to stay to spray champagne, just leaving and going straight out.

You got a couple more proposals from other teams, and you were tempted, until Flavio told you Fernando was leaving for McLaren the next year and offered you an extension. You took it under the condition to become the number one driver now that Fernando was out of the picture.

A part of you mourned the death of the dream, the one you had at fourteen to become teammates with your best friend. So many things had happened in between everything, now you would miss it. Only the good, not the bad and ugly. You wish you could go back in time, redo everything, and never allow yourself to lose your best friend on the way.

The next year you ended up striking an unexpected friendship with Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg and eventually the two rookies Lewis and Sebastian, who had been very vocal about being fans of yours.

You didn’t go back to talking with Fernando. You didn’t try and he didn’t either. It felt like the bridges were too far burned to recover.

One day as you walked out of the garage, you saw Fernando with a girl on the opposite side. She was clinging to his side, whispering. You knew he had his fair share of fun with grid girls but he never invited them to watch the race from his garage. You wondered if he was dating again, after a couple of years being nothing more than a player. You also wonder why it made a pang of pain flare through your chest.

You don’t linger too much. He had no reason to tell you. You weren’t even friends anymore.

You moved on, as much as you could. And eventually, you met Kaka, or Ricardo, as you preferred calling him. He was a footballer, a big name in the sport, playing for a big team in Italy. You actually met him at a gala party, the both of you being silly introverts, bumping into each other when trying to find a way out. You two ended up talking for hours on the balcony, watching the city lights.

He reminded you of Nano before Formula 1.

And you actually wanted to smash your own head against the handrail as you thought that.

After exchanging numbers and calling a couple of times, you managed to convince Ricardo to come to a Grand Prix. His presence was calm, funny without being mean, and so gentle. It was actually the calm between the storm your life and job was.

You were pacing around outside the motorhomes to try and see if he had arrived yet, since the last you had talked to him was when he was on his way. While waiting, your eyes found Fernando’s on the opposite side in front of McLaren, he was sitting down with his girlfriend telling him something. You stared at him for a whole minute, and for a brief moment, the anger left his eyes for something softer, something like-

“Hi, minha linda!” Ricardo showed up out of nowhere, and he hugged you so tight he actually swiped you off your feet.

Once the surprise passed, you hugged him back, your fingers finding their way through his hair. And he laughed, spinning you before putting you down. You talked for a bit, your face lit up as he told you about his day.

Your eyes unconsciously turned to Fernando, because you could feel that he had been staring at you for as long as Ricardo was there. His face was back to anger.

“You want me to give you the grand tour?” You offered, just so you could escape the weight of Fernando’s glare.

You took Ricardo by the hand and showed him all around, even introducing him to part of your team. After that race when you placed third, Ricardo invited you to a date, the first official one. After a couple of months and a few kisses, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You only hesitated for a second before smiling and squealing a yes.

Being the main driver of your team allowed you to live an entirely different season as a racer. You didn’t want to be arrogant, but you had it in the bag. You had the best car, the best engines, and just the perfect amount of boldness. Add insane strategies, and you were unstoppable.

Despite Fernando being your close rival on track, he was way too busy beefing with Lewis, his surprisingly great rookie teammate.

During summer break that year, you were on a trip to Brazil with Ricardo, but still, the night of July 29th, you got up at two a.m., slowly went to the fridge, where you got an ice cream pint. With a spoon, you sat on the handrail in the balcony, and watched the waves breaking on the beach a few meters away.

It was weird keeping the ice cream tradition alone, but you supposed it was even weirder not keeping the tradition. Staring at the stars, you wondered if Fernando had any ice cream to celebrate his birthday that day.

“Hi,” you heard Ricardo behind you, his hands sneaking around your middle and he hugged you from behind, laying his head against your shoulder, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, just wanted a little treat,” you mumbled, closing the lid on the ice cream, because a selfish part of you didn’t want to share the tradition with anyone other than Fernando. It was silly and stupid, and still… you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the ice cream back in the freezer and smiled at Ricardo as he pulled you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

You came back from summer break with a renewed sense of focus. Deep down you knew that was your season. Your season to become world champion, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. As you won the first two races after summer, you became first in the standings, this sense of purpose being the one thing motivating you every weekend to give your best.

It was Interlagos that year when you needed only a podium to become World Champion, pretty much the same as Fernando two years before. The race was tough, and it felt like Fernando was out to get you, especially in a moment right in the middle of the race, when you were behind him in P3 and he tried to brake test you again, but this time you were quick to react, avoiding his rear and using his own dirty trick against him, turning sharply to overtake him from outer side, moving past him fast enough to gain some precious couple of seconds.

After that, you managed to smoothly overtake the P1 with a carefully planned pit stop that allowed you to come out first. Later on, you saw a crash, nothing too bad, but you found out it was Fernando and Webber.

“Are they ok?” You asked via radio to your engineer.

“Yes, they are already back on the pitlane.”

You sighed and focused back to your race, keeping your P1 safe, and going smoothly to take the checkered flag.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You’re a Formula One World Champion!”

You felt the tears coming down and dampening your balaclava, as you took one last lap to parc ferme, waving at the crowd that went insane.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from your chest. Because you were now world champion. You were there, and you deserved to be there, among the best. You didn’t need to prove yourself anymore, and you had finally paid Flavio back.

You jumped out of the car straight into your team, jumping with them, and Flavio ran up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Jenson also found you and hugged you firmly, patting your back and Nico also hugged you, both of them were on the podium with you.

As you looked down from the podium, with a watery, emotional smile, you saw your dad crying like a baby and clapping his hands. Unconsciously, your eyes looked for Fernando, silly hoping it mattered something to him, that at least in the name of your former friendship, he would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen, and you felt like that was another nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Deciding to forget it, you drank champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as both Nico and Jenson paired up to drown you in champagne, looking happy for you.

After talking to your mom on the phone, you stood up, taking your bag and going out to look for your dad. You didn’t make it very far, as you came out in the hallway, you found Fernando, leaning against the wall. You paused, looking up to him while your heartbeat went up.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered. And you wanted to believe it really badly, but thinking about him brake testing you during the race, trying to take you out, made you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, you are,” you said sarcastically. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed you didn’t believe him, “my debt is over now.”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“I just paid Flavio for his investment,” you explained, “I’m not just here because you asked him to support me, I’m a damn great driver. I’m here because I deserve it, not because you took me out of pity.”

Fernando stared at you completely shocked at your words, something painful stabbing at his chest. He never thought you’d think like that over disgusting words he said in a moment of anger. Words that never meant anything to him, that he didn’t even believe in himself. The hurt in your eyes was the same from the day he said the words, when you cried looking into his eyes and telling him he was dead to you.

You walked past him and away. He wanted to shout that he never meant those words, that you were so much more, so much better. But you just left. Fernando followed you outside, trying to catch you and explain himself, maybe fix things between you, making peace.

But as he got outside, he paused, seeing you jumping in your boyfriend’s arms, laughing at something he whispered to you. Fernando swallowed, closing his fist and jealousy burned through his limbs, with such force that it felt like a fever.

Right after the Brazilian Grand Prix, Ferrari got in touch with you, offering a two year contract to become teammates with Kimi Raikkonen and drive for what was one of, if not the most classic team in Formula 1. After negotiations, it was a no brainer. You didn’t owe Renault anything any more. And that’s what propelled you to meet with Flavio that winter break in a cafeteria in Monaco. When you had called, he said he wanted to talk to you about something, which was convenient.

After pleasantries and small talk, you were ready to start, but Flavio cut you off without noticing.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, carefully, “Fernando is coming back to Renault next year.”

You froze for a second, not wanting to think too much about the implications of that. The fact that Flavio was willing to force you and Fernando to be teammates again even after the catastrophic ending you had before. Sighing, you covered your face for a second.

“I know you have reservations, but I’ve talked with Fernando and he’s willing to-”

“I’m going to Ferrari.”

And Flavio understood, after talking for a while. He knew Ferrari was most drivers' ultimate dream, and you weren’t immune to that either. Unfortunately for you, Fernando released the news he was going back to Renault a week before Ferrari announced you, and the media had a field day with that, tabloids and media outlets doing numbers of articles about you avoiding being teammates with Fernando again, since he was coming back and you were conveniently leaving almost at the same time.

Your races with Fernando kept being dangerous, one always trying to one up the other, dangerous moves and overtakes, close calls of crashing into each other, and more and more jabs publicly. The attacks at each other never stopped, and the media seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it ever so often.

One occasion, you were going for a win, and the only thing between you and that damn P1 was Fernando Alonso. So you kept your P2, biding your time as you tried to close the gap, leaving your chance at overtaking for the last few laps. When a fast turn came, you advanced, overtaking him, Fernando tried to defend his position, but you were getting the lead, and both of you were in high speed. Someone had to back out, otherwise you two would crash. But you were feeding off of anger and hurt, and you didn’t back down well into the turn, but suddenly, Fernando slowed down, giving up defending. You took the P1 and after a few laps, the checkered flag. You knew on the podium that Fernando was seething, his face didn’t hide that. Later, at an interview, someone brought up the dirty move.

“So, a very dangerous move at turn 2 during lap 47, no?” The reporter asked, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I thought it was a pretty common battle, no?” You said, a condescending tone imitating him.

“Well, it could’ve caused you both to crash.”

“I took a risk, either I would pass and win, or we would both crash and DNF. Alonso was wise and went for the safest option.” I gave the reporter a fake smile.

You knew that answer would piss Fernando off, and a part of you knew he deserved it. Sometimes you acted on pure rage and pettiness, feral and way more aggressive against Fernando on track than you really needed to be. But he just pissed you off. Walking around with his model girlfriend, his attacks at your racing abilities, his pretty eyes that always seemed to find yours at the most inconvenient times.

Then, the race weekend would end, and everything that was left was shame. Your burning shame every time your mom’s eyes shone when she asked about Fernando, hoping you two would have made peace. You, looking away from her face every time you told her you knew nothing about Alonso because you didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Later that year, after your two year anniversary with Ricardo, you accidentally found a ring box in his suitcase. A proposal ring, a beautiful big diamond ring, probably worth a small fortune. And you tried to feel happy about it, but you could only find dread in your heart. Despite loving Ricardo, you knew you didn’t love him as much as you could. And certainly not as much as she loved you. You didn’t love him as much as you loved-

Closing your eyes, you also closed your heart, and after that just like the coward you were, you broke up with Ricardo the kindest way you could. He was confused, because your relationship was tranquil, without many problems. It broke your heart to break his heart, but you couldn’t lead him on, you knew Ricardo was husband material, and the earlier you let him go, the earlier he would find his true happiness.

Ultimately, you decided to only pursue love after your Formula One career. Having a bit of fun here and there, and a couple of casual relationships even with other drivers, but nothing serious or public. When you found out Fernando was single again, a flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but when you saw him go back to his playboy ways… It died down.

Sometimes you would dream of a different life, of one you never lost your best friend… or even better, one that you never had to suppress the love you felt for him. And sometimes it felt too much, like all this love was just filling up your hollow heart, filling up until it overflowed, until you felt like you were drowning in it, because there was nowhere for this love to go. And you wondered, what do I do with this love, there's no one to give it to, there's no recipient to put it. So you would just ground your teeth and bear it, holding onto anger because that much love, that much longing did nothing but cause you pain.

Every time someone mentioned him outside race weeks, you felt ashamed.

Despite being in a top team like Ferrari, you’d only get a few wins, and some podiums here and there, so it wasn’t like you didn’t achieve anything. But you were a woman so it was obviously not enough, and the media started questioning your career and your place in Formula One.

After two years of you driving for Ferrari, Domenicalli, your team principal, sat you down to let you know Fernando Alonso would be joining the team the next year, and you bit the inside of your cheek, considering just retiring. The criticism was getting to you, and the perspective of living hell with Fernando as your teammate was a broken heart all over again.

When an opportunity arose to drive for Red Bull Racing, with a two year contract, you didn’t think twice before accepting. It would be your chance to turn the tide in your career.

It sent the motorsport world into a frenzy when your new team announced you and a week later Ferrari announced Fernando as their future driver. The same narrative of you running away from him was passed ahead. And of course, it got to the paddock. Most drivers that were close to you actually congratulated you, but of course, nothing was ever good for Fernando. And despite not fully talking to him, he was always willing to throw a mean comment at you any given day.

“And people said you’re washed” Fernando said right after the news broke, the second to last race of that season, his voice dripping with venom. You knew it was a backhanded compliment, he always did that when he wanted to get a rise out of you. He smirked, waiting for your feral clapback, as you always had one on the tip of your tongue.

But when he looked back at you, your face was stony, and you were looking ahead with your chin raised. You didn’t even look at Fernando, nor answered his taunting. You pretended he wasn’t there but he noticed your eyes were misty.

That had been a low blow, even for him. He didn’t know shit about your feelings regarding your career, but he knew exactly how the world had been treating it, and it made you burn with shame that he could add insult to injury this easily. You wondered why he would say something like that if, just like you, it had been years since the last time he was champion of the world. Two years pushing yourself to the maximum so you could achieve your second championship.

Fernando had been your best friend for so long, he knew exactly what buttons to push when he wanted to hurt you.

When someone else arrived, greeting you, you cleared your throat briefly before answering and plastering a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Are you running away from me?” Fernando cornered you later that same day.

“What?” You paused.

“I went back to Renault and you left, now I’m going to Ferrari and you’re leaving,” he shrugged. You scoffed.

“I’m not sure if you know, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Fernando.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Fernando paused for a second, his eyes searching yours, he looked vulnerable, open like he hadn’t been in so long. He looked every bit your best friend from years before.

“I miss you, I-” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I miss the old you,” You swallowed a whole bunch of your pride just to be able to say those words.

“Things are different now…” Fernando started, his eyes full of hoping, of longing, “We could- maybe we could-”

“Fernando, we’re too far gone, what we said- what we did…” You muttered, feeling a lump in your throat, “how do one come back from that?”

“We could restart. Try again-”

“You lost me forever that day, Fernando.” You muttered, the tears holding on to your eyelashes. You didn’t need to specify the day, he knew, he had seen in your eyes the moment he lost you, “I spent so long hearing your voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I shouldn’t be here, and I- I hated you that day. And I had to hold onto this hate, because the alternative was overwhelming sadness.”

There was a numbing silence for a couple of minutes, as you stared down at your own feet, trying to stop all the feelings you spent years carefully locking away from breaking free. So much had happened, you believed you and Fernando were too far to recover now.

“I’m a woman here, the first and only woman in so long, and the whole world was against me. You have no idea how it felt that my best friend, the person I trusted the most, was also against me,” You shook your head, feeling the tears drop.

“I’m sorry, Nena… I’ve never- I’ve never meant any of that.” He muttered, and you didn’t look at him to see if he was being genuine. You had formed walls around your heart to protect yourself from heartbreak, and you now had a hard time believing him.

“There are some things… that are not meant to be.” You didn’t look back at Fernando after you said that, choosing to walk away with this broken heart feeling ever present.

It was hard to keep going everyday. You had always faced backlash for being a woman in Formula 1, and you were used to it. But the media took a turn over the next few years. When you didn’t win more championships, when years passed and you were still there, along with other champions and future champions. They started to call you old, washed, telling you to retire and placing bets on when you’d lose your seat. It was baffling because it had been six years since your championship, but it had been seven years since Fernando’s, but still, you were the only one whose spot was questioned all the time. It was unfair, and whenever they came up to you talking about it, you’d ask them if they’d ask the same to older drivers or other champions. They would leave you alone for a week and then come back stronger, ready to throw your whole career under the bus.

Finally, you got another chance at the championship in 2013, after an unbelievable start of the season with five consecutive wins. That had put you first in the standings for the championship, and from there on, your team molded the season around you. Smooth sailing through the season, you became world champion in Suzuka, way too far ahead in the championship to anyone be able to catch up to you.

When you stood on the podium that night, you cried happy tears. You had once again proved wrong years of demerit from the world. As you looked down to search for your family, your eyes found Fernando right beside them, a proud, emotional look on his face as he kept a hand over his heart, listening to your national anthem.

He nodded at you with a small smile, and a part of you healed a little bit.

You enjoyed a couple of days of pure bliss after becoming world champion. Parties, celebrations and trips, they were all you did for the next few weeks.

When the FIA Prize Giving ceremony came, you had another bombshell to drop at the world. You were the most stunning you ever felt that year when you arrived at the ceremony, in a beautiful dark blue dress with little crystals all over the bodice, a beautiful hairstyle and even more beautiful makeup. Never in your entire career in Formula 1, you had felt so fulfilled, so happy.

Hearing your name being called as the winner, the number one, was different this time, and had much more weight, and it made your heart burst with happiness. As you walked up the stairs to the stage, receiving your trophy, you stopped by the mic.

“Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my family for supporting me from the beginning, my team for making the perfect season, and the perfect car for me to be able to achieve this. I’d like to thank all my teammates that, in one way or another, taught me some valuable lessons as a racer. Thanks to Flavio for taking a chance on my career when probably no one else would.” You said, with a smile. You took a good look around, all the people in this sport who made Formula 1 the most important category of motorsport, all your peers, all the teams. “I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1, as of right now.”

There was a wave of shock and loud gasps in the whole room, flashes and flashes bulbing harder than before, journalists scrambling to take notes… But you kept smiling, hand firm around your trophy as you let the news settle down before speaking again.

“In 2007 I wanted to pay Flavio back for giving me the opportunity to be here today. That debt was paid that same year. After that year I wanted to win for myself, to write my name in the history books, and my dream is now realized. I feel like I should move on and make space for new upcoming talents.” Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, but you smiled, the first genuine smile in a few years.

Fernando felt his heart drop at your words. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, you two should be best friends, drive together, retire together. Go down in history together.

“I’m grateful for everything this sport provided me, the adventures, traveling around the world, the people I met and the people I lost,” there was a calm pause, and Fernando wondered if you were talking about him too, “Now it’s time to go and achieve new dreams. Thank you very much.”

You turned around and walked away under the applause.

Later, after the ceremony was done, you were getting ready to leave when Fernando came to find you. He was dressed in a beautiful suit, looking like a million dollar man.

“Nena…”

It made you pause. It had been a while since he called you like that with that specific tone.

“What? Came here to gloat?” You couldn’t help but be defensive, worried.

“What?”

“I knew you’d be one of the happiest when I retired.”

“No, I would not-”

“You would, Fernando. You did. Many times you said I was done, that my prime was over, that I should retire…”

“I never thought you’d easily give up!” He shouted at you, “Like you did in 2006, not competing against me.”

“That’s because they didn’t let me compete! Do you think I couldn’t have competed with you back in ‘06? I could, but every time, they would tell me to back off, to let you pass, to not fight you, to not overtake you-” You threw at his face, because you wouldn’t stand there and let him look down on you like that. You refused to back down now that you were finally free. “Pat threatened my seat if disobeyed team orders.”

“What?! Why did you never tell me that?” Fernando looked shocked. His fighting stance was completely gone now.

“You were going to be World Champion again. I would never take that from you,” You whispered, voice failing.

“Nena…” He said, like he wanted to drop everything. “Please, don’t leave. If Red Bull don’t want you, you can find another spot with another team, we can think of something.”

“Fernando, I’m not leaving because the team doesn't want me. In fact, they offered me a 3 year extension.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to go, remember? We planned that-” His voice was kinder than it had been to you in many years, “We would go down in history together. Win together, retire together.”

“When push comes to shove, only one wins… We learned that the hard way.” I say, with a sad smile, “Life doesn’t always go as planned. And I got everything I could ever want from Formula 1. Now it’s time for new stuff.”

“What new stuff?”

“I want to have a family, Fernando. People don’t stick around long for this lifestyle, you know that-” You shook your head.

With one last look at Fernando, your eyes watered, and you walked away.

Sitting on the porch, you looked up at the sky, thinking of what’s next for you. It had been months since you announced your retirement from Formula 1. The new season had already begun. It was your birthday, a refreshing new one.

You heard steps coming closer and your heartbeat sped up as you saw Fernando walking up to you. He sat down by your side, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He handed one to you and in silence, you started eating ice cream.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was it hard to find me?” You asked, with a tentative smile.

“It only took me my whole life to find you again…” He said, wistfully, his eyes shining under moonlight and you didn’t know if those were unshed tears or not, “my best friend, my nena, my girl…”

“I’ve always been here. Right here.” You said, eyes watering. You weren’t sure you could explain what that here meant, but somehow you knew he would understand.

Fernando took your hand, gently placing it on his chest, right above his heart.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing his hand above yours, over his beating heart, “you were always here.”

Then, he kissed you. For the first time in more than a decade, for what felt like the first time for both of you. As his other hand pulled you closer, the kiss deepened, like a prayer and a promise. Both of you knew there was a lot of resentment to navigate through, and a lot of feelings you’d both have to unravel and understand. But there was one thing that was always there, through hate, anger and hurt… And it was love, unshaken, steadfast love.

As you broke apart, Fernando pulled you into him, hugging you tight for a few minutes, before pulling away to hold your face with both hands, his eyes looking into yours with so much devotion it melted everything away.

“We will be alright.”

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#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 #fernando alonso #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #brocedes #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfiction

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maskedemerald · 5 months ago

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Weaving Webs CH1

It is time for @invisobang ! I wrote a fic and the wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the fic!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3!

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

[Next]

Chapter One - The Accident

The metal panel came free with a few plinks of screws onto the floor making Danny cringe. He knew he’d be the one scrounging around on the floor looking for them later. His Dad grinned not at all phased by the extra work he was creating. Danny leaned over to look and was fairly certain on catching sight of the tangled mess of cables that this was his Dad’s work.

“Alright Danno, I need you to get your small hands in there. Diagnostics say some of the wires didn’t get plugged in right,” he explained with a little chuckle at his own mistake, “I’d fix it but now the paneling’s on I don’t fit.”

“Got it, know which ones?” Danny asked, eyeing the mess.

“Nope, some of the red ones? Some of the greens too. Just give them all a little extra push!” His Dad said before bounding off out of the portal frame to work on some other part of it.

Danny sighed and rolled his eyes, typical Dad. He used a finger to pull aside a bunch of wires to see the circuit board behind but the wires pulled others and obscured it. He huffed a little, the visor of his white hazmat suit fogging up a little before it faded. He was going to have to fix the cable management if he was going to make any progress.

As Danny picked his way through the tangled chaos of unlabeled cables he couldn’t help but be reminded of a spider web. Every few moves of his hand he had to untangle himself Just to get another wire out of the tangle and neatly with the others of its colour. He had to hope that the colours had some kind of system. Even if they didn’t at least they’d be able to see the board.

“Jack? Did you change this setting?” he heard from out in the lab.

“Um nope, well maybe,” he could almost hear his Dad’s awkward shrug.

There was the clacking of keys, “that’s a bit odd.”

“Huummm, maybe if we change that bit. That should get it, right?”

A spark darted from the connected wire as he disconnected it from the board and he swiftly pulled back his hands. Even with the hazmat he wasn't going to risk it. It might not be the vibrant colours of his parents’ ones but that didn’t mean it was more professionally made. His Dad made each of them by hand. Said they needed a bit more oomph to deal with ectoplasm. He wasn’t sure how effective it would really be.

“Mom? The powers on!” He called out to them.

It wasn't meant to be. His dad had said it was off. Either he forgot, not impossible. Or something was wrong with the power system. If that was the case they'd have to shut it all down. It would be months more work before they'd be ready. Danny couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed at that thought. He didn’t believe it would really work but he wanted it to. Wanted it for his parents. Wanted it for the hours he'd poured in as a way to learn engineering.

“What? No it’s not,” his Mom replied confused, “none of the systems are reporting that.”

“I unplugged it, I definitely unplugged it. Where’s that cable?” His Dad insisted.

“What the… Danny! Move now!” His Mom yelled.

Danny startled and backed away from the panel. There was a high pitched whine building behind him. He scrambled forward, his heavy bulky hazmat boots catching on themselves and every cable. There was a loud hiss and the safety shield started to descend. The power wasn’t just on, the portal was activating.

“Shit, no, not yet,” his Mom cursed, her hands practically slamming across the keys, “Jack pull the emergency breaker!”

“On it!”

He stumbled trying to crouch enough to pass under the descending shield. His head bounced in the helmet as he hit the floor. He winced and his head spun. It took a moment too long for him to get his bearings and start moving. He crawled as fast as he could, racing against the descending shield. He pulled back his hand just as the shield descended, the tips of his glove caught between reinforced glass and the metal tiled floor. He pulled it free with some effort, the fingers tearing.

“Breaker’s not stopping it Mads!”

Danny pulled himself up leaning against the glass. He flinched back as his Dad slammed the Fenton Anti Creep Stick into the reinforced glass with an echoing bang. His Mom was at the console frantically trying to get control of the machine.

He could feel a tingle as the charge in the air increased, his hair standing on end. An ominous warning that the Hazmat was no longer sealed. Electric sparks darted from metal surface to metal surface. The growing green glow that was building behind him reflected in the safety glass that trapped him there. The air grew a strange hot cold. There was a crackle like lightning and then he was engulfed in burning cold green.

[Next]

#writing #fan fiction #danny phantom #invisobang 2024 #Full ghost Danny #eldritch danny #good parents fentons #hazmat au #invisobang #weaving webs fic #caught in the spiders web series

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extremelyblackandwhite · 2 years ago

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pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

masterlist

'cause when emma falls in love, she's in it for keeps she won't walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave

Y/N knew she shouldn’t care if Bucky wanted to introduce Sadie to her mother or not - after all, she had better and more important things to do such as trying to fix her apparently “unfixable” thesis. Nevertheless, she was worried. Sadie wasn’t her daughter but she cared for her and she couldn’t imagine how confusing things may be in her head, how she could cope with the question of why her mother was only appearing now. Yet again, as Bucky had made it abundantly clear, it wasn’t her place to give an opinion. So, she put it in the back of her head and focused on fixing the unfixable.

Maybe she hadn’t been clear enough. After all, she tended to go round and round to try to make a point and was know to get lost in narration. Or maybe she hadn’t used enough thousand dollar words, after all, she was at Columbia, a prestigious university, they required those thousand dollar words. Maybe she hadn’t put in the best references or ... or maybe her whole theory was just bullshit and she was about to become a street psychologist. So long dreams of being part of the academic board of a good university.

She sighed, burying her hands in her hair as she continued to re-read her thesis from the fake brightness of her laptop which was close to dying from the amount of times she had destroyed the battery with the continuous plugging and unplugging. Just as she was about to start crying due to pure desperation - not a first as a PhD student - her phone started buzzing against her pocket. Everyone in the library turned to stare at her, giving her gazes and side eyes which she couldn’t stand and followed by a string of mumbled apologies and hitting her hip against the table on the way out, she found herself a secluded place in the garden outside the library to pick up the phone.

- Stan? - she thought to herself as she answered the phone, holding her laptop and things on the other hand. - Hello?

- Miss? - his voice came from the other end of the call. - I am so sorry to be bothering you.

- That’s alright. Is everything ok? Is James okay?

- I think so, I’m not sure. Sadie is asking for you and I know it’s your day off but she’s insistent.

- Okay. - she sighed. There was no point putting another hour towards the 5 she’d already spent. Actually, if she spent another hour trying to decipher what was wrong with it, she may actually go insane. - Send me an address and I’ll be there.

Had Sadie gotten into trouble at school? Had Bucky gotten into trouble himself? She tended to lean towards the latter as Stan sent him an address to a law firm. Maybe they were meeting Anna there and Sadie was making a fit. She didn’t seem too keen on meeting her mother this morning and while Y/N believed she shouldn’t be forced to do so, if Sadie needed her then she was gonna be there. She got a taxi to the address, making a mental memo to charge Bucky for it as there was no way in hell she was going to pay for a taxi at midday in New York. She soon was dropped in front of a law firm, staring at the big glass doors for a while before Stan called for her attention from the car.

- What happened? - she asked as she got inside the car, Sadie immediately making a grabbing motion towards her.

- Daddy is sad. - she said as Y/N undid her seat belt to put her on her lap.

- She didn’t show. - Stan mumbled from the driver’s seat and Y/N didn’t know what to feel.

Part of her had to admit she thought it may happen, after all no one makes a complicated decision that fast and actually sticks with it. Not one as hard as meeting one’s estranged daughter at least. She had told Bucky just that and he chose not to listen and while her ego would like to say she’d told him so, truth was her heart was clenching at the mere idea of it. Sure she knew she was probably in the right but she wished she wasn’t. She wished Sadie’s mum had come despite Sadie’s objections. She couldn’t even fantom what Sadie was thinking or feeling at the moment. She didn’t think she would tell her either. She was too young to be able to articulate what it felt like and, maybe, too young the understand the situation in its entirety. She hoped the latter was true but she knew how observant children were.

- You’re okay, baby? - she caressed her face, moving her ginger hair away from her face. She didn’t looked to bothered, holding her Bingo toy against her chest. - Hm? Just squeeze my hand if you’re ok, yeah?

Sadie looked at her for a few seconds before squeezing her hand and leaning her head against her chest. She sighed, relief slightly taking over her worry which was quickly replaced by anger as she watched Bucky make his way to the door. She got out of the car angrily, holding Sadie against her chest like a wounded mother bear ready to claw anyone. How dare he? How dare he screw up like this and then just leave Sadie in the car with the driver? Was he insane?

Her blood boiled and she was ready to shout something that was sure to get her fired, but something stopped her. His eyes were rimmed red and he looked on the verge of crying, strongly holding it to continue showing his unbothered nature. The clothes which were always perfectly ironed and tucked were untucked and the tie which always sat well against his neck, tied to perfection, was loose and hanging from the side. For a split second, she wanted to comfort him, she wanted to cup his face, dry his tears and hold him as close as she was holding his daughter. For a split second, she wanted to tell him she understood where he was coming from, that the pain he was feeling wasn’t a punishment for his actions. But that was only a split second, he’d made it perfectly clear where they stood - she was his employee and he was the boss.

- You’re here.

- She needed me.

She needed her and Bucky needed her, he needed her badly. However, she merely got back into the car, buckling Sadie’s seat belt and turning her face away from his. Silence filled the car and Bucky swore that in all his years of running a company, of his years in the army, he’d never heard a silence quite this loud.

(...)

It was clear she wasn’t speaking to him. The drive back home was unbearable and even as they got back home, she continued as if he wasn’t there, instead devoting all her time to looking after Sadie from bathing her and feeding her. Bucky merely stood back, an observer in his own house. He wanted to be angry, he so much wanted to go and tell her he didn’t deserve this treatment, that she no place being angry. Except she did, and Bucky knew this. He knew she was perhaps waiting an apology but he’d been in his right as well. Sadie was his daughter, decisions regarding her first came to him. She didn’t make those for him. He made them and he didn’t care if she liked it or not.

At least he thought so. Truth was, he found himself outside his daughter’s bedroom, waiting for Y/N to be finished reading all her stories. She would have to eventually talk to him but if she wanted to be a brat, he could deal with it. At least he had ideas of how to deal with it, ideas which he probably couldn’t put to fruition - unprofessional ideas.

- Is she down yet? - he asked as she stepped out of the bedroom.

Y/N looked at him up and down as if he were nothing but a maggot, before shrugging and walking off to her bedroom. It made both his heart break and his blood boil. What did she even have to be mad about? She should be happy about being right. Yet, right now he had to look after Sadie. Opening her bedroom door, he found his two year old tucked into her sheets, Bluey playing lowly from the TV in her bedroom which was often turned off. He took a seat on the side of the mattress, leaning his arm over the bed rest.

- Are you okay, Sadie? - the two year old didn’t reply, too invested on the hijinks of Bluey. - I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, Sisi. I didn’t want it to go like that.

How does someone even explain to a two year old what had just happened? He could barely explain it to himself more less to Sadie who only saw things still in black and white. Y/N had said so herself, she understands who shows up and who doesn’t, not the nuances behind it. His lips pursed in a tense line as he moved a bit closer to his daughter.

- I love you, Sadie. - he kissed the top of her head. - So so much.

She cuddled next to her dad, her shining eyes which mirrored his, a permanent reminder she was part of him, looking at the low almost soothing sound coming from the TV. Bucky was sure he couldn’t do anything purer than her, anything better than her. She was his little miracle.

(...)

Y/N was still angry at him. She acted as if he didn’t exist, continuing on with her life as if he was merely a spectre she didn’t care much for. He had tried to make things better, sending her flowers and chocolates only to find them all delivered right back to him. She didn’t even complain when he purposely only sent her pay check a day late, instead finding an angry e-mail from her written in the most professional writing he’d ever witnessed. She wasn’t budging, stubborn as ever.

- Good evening, Y/N. - he said as he saw her the first time today, busy cleaning up the dishes from her and Sadie’s dinner. - Your hair looks different, you did something to it?

She rolled her eyes, turning the tap and putting on the bright pink gloves he always poked fun of. He had to give it to her, she would’ve been great in the army with that poker face.

- I have a charity dinner tomorrow and my mum’s watching over Sadie. I was thinking maybe you’d like to go as my plus one. A lot of Columbia alumni and staff tend to go, it’d be a great opportunity for you.

- No, thank you.

- You’d be doing me a favour if you went.

- Then definitely no. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.

- What if I pay you?

- I am your daughter’s au pair, not your escort neither do I wish to become one. So once again, no thank you.

- Just let me do this for you. - he sighed, going after her as she continued with her nightly tasks. - Please. You were really great with Sadie when Anna didn’t show up and those people at that charity dinner can get you a job or something published in a good journal. I’m trying to repay you.

- I don’t need charity to know my value, Sergeant Barnes, neither do I need you to pay me back for doing a good job with your daughter as that is part of my job description.

- Just how many jobs do you think are in academia? In New York or a good college that can actually pay you a liveable wage? Or enough of a wage to even rent here?

- I’ll figure out a way.

- I’m trying to offer you a way to prove your value to someone face to face and not by a CV which will lay dormant on someone’s desk. You don’t even have to speak to me the whole night.

- Yes because what picture perfect that would be. Your plus one not talking to you, then they’d definitely think you picked the lowest price escort.

- I don’t need escorts. I can ask anyone in my office and they’d say yes. Being in my favour pays off either you like it or not and I know people at Columbia, Harvard, Yale and all those Ivys because I donate there.

- So does every rich person to get their kid in there someday.

- Point is, everyone will listen to you, to your opinions, if you go. It’s not an even playing field and you, cynical as you are, should know.

- I am not cynical, I am a realist. I’m sorry if I don’t believe that great things happen to good people.

- And what are you gonna do tonight, then? You gonna re-read your thesis for the 500th time? You don’t particularly have an active social life.

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. She really didn’t want to be next to Bucky, neither did she want to forgive him. She needed time to work through her anger and come face to face with the fact that someone who she thought was her friend threatened her job so easily. She knew Bucky was a hard pill to swallow, but she’d never had it directly thrown at her. Yet again, he did present a good bargain and she needed to figure out something if she failed her viva.

- What time is it?

- Starts at 9 but we leave at 8.

- Dress code?

- Black tie.

- What colour bow tie are you wearing?

- Why does it matter?

- It’s customary for someone’s plus one outfit to match but you’d know that if you actually took someone to these things.

- It’s black. Do you need to buy a dress?

- I have a dress.

- It was great negotiating with you, Y/N. - he winked, leaving victorious.

- Fucker. - she mumbled to herself and returned to doing the dishes.

(...)

Y/N knew this wasn’t Bucky being charitable. Not that he wasn’t charitable, he was, but he was also a master manipulator and usually did things with a purpose. He’d been educated in that manner, he knew how to behave and how to get people to like him, even though he didn’t particularly care if they did or not. For Bucky, it was all about the ability to do so. She knew this whole dinner invite was a ploy to try and soften her up but if he thought he would slip by without even a sorry, he was dead wrong.

Yet again, Y/N knew when to grab an opportunity so she did was she did best, look her best with the little she had. She had a black dress she’d worn for her graduation and with a bit of help from youtube she’d managed to slick her hair back in a bun, gold hoop earrings being the only thing that adorned her jewellery wise and Bucky swore he’d never seen such display of elegance as he saw her for the first time. Her dress cut was low, displaying the top of her cleavage and her collarbones which were sure to have been dusted with some sort of illuminating powder. She looked exactly like the type of person who’d sit next to a powerful one, equally magnetic and miles away from the cardigans she usually wore, sometimes stained with pen and markers due to Sadie getting to them. He almost forgot she was mad at him, gawking at her like a teenage boy.

- It’s 8. - she reminded him, effectively bursting him out of his bubble. - Are we leaving or not?

- Don’t be icy. - he offered her his arm but she refused, instead holding onto her heart shaped white clutch. - Car’s downstairs, you sure you don’t need help wearing those heels?

- I can walk in heels perfectly fine, Sergeant Barnes. Do you need help?

- I feel there’s an old man joke in there somewhere. - he helped her put on her coat, a tiny white chiffon bolero. - Shall we?

He wasn’t getting any close to her being any less detached from him, but he couldn’t help but admire her. She was a beautiful woman, that he knew, and she was definitely magnetic although she’d prefer to hide it. Yet, there was something about the way she looked tonight, so confident.

- You do look beautiful, Y/N. - he broke the silence that had been filling the car for the past ten minutes and for the first time in weeks, she finally looked him in the eye, a light dusting of heat covering her cheeks. - You do.

- You don’t look bad yourself. Except for the crooked tie.

- My tie is not crooked. - he fought back.

- Yes it is. - she turned her body to face him, her hands moving to undo his tie before she started to re-do it again. It was such a small action, such a simple and almost worthless action yet it reminded Bucky of some hopeless romantic notions he used to have. It was so simple, such a soft touch. - You can’t tie a tie to save your life. You never did.

- You’d been letting me walk around with crooked ties and you didn’t say anything? That’s cold, Y/N.

- That’s why you can’t braid Sadie’s hair to save your life.

- What are you talking about? She loves it when I braid her hair.

- If that’s what helps you sleep at night. - she smirked. - Do they have good food?

- Pardon?

- Do they have good food at the charity ball or is this an entree and champagne sort of event?

- Why? Are you hungry? Want us to drive by Five Guys and get you a burger or something?

- I know you’re joking but I actually would like that very much.

- They will be serving dinner at the charity dinner, Y/N.

- Won’t be as good as a Five Guys burger.

- Wouldn’t know.

- What do you mean you wouldn’t know?

- I’ve never had one. Not a fast food kinda guy.

- Urgh, you’re such a man. - she rolled her eyes in a playful manner. - Tell you what, after this is done I’ll buy you a Five Guys burger.

Bucky left the conversation there, happy to have gotten some smiles and smirks from her. At least he knew there was a chance for reconciliation whenever the time came for him to massively screw up in a way which made her forget the events which had made her mad currently.

He liked her company, she was never trying to suck up to him or sweet talk him into bed. She just talked to him as if he were anybody else on the street, as if he were someone she’d known forever, not caring for formalities or conduct. However, she knew how to be the right one for this kind of event. Bucky found that immediately as they walked in and he introduced her. Everyone was enchanted by her, complimenting her and questioning more and more about what she did. She hid from most of it, replying politely yet refusing to share more than surface level information but even so, Bucky had to admit she even managed to steal the spotlight for a bit, while she had to admit she wasn’t hating this as much as she expected to hate it. At least as long as he stuck by her side. His touch on her naked shoulder as he helped her take off her jacket, his hand resting against her hip as he introduced her to CEOs and CFOs as if she were more than just the nanny. It lulled her almost in a fantasy like state.

- Y/N, this is Delia. She works at marketing down at Saks.

- You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date, Barnes. - she smiled. - I wouldn’t have bothered coming if you were bringing a date.

- Y/N’s my plus one. - Bucky said. He wasn’t wrong, she said she’d be his plus one, but did he have to say it so fast.

- You’re still trying to impress her then. - she playfully put her hand on his arm making Y/N uncomfortable. She clearly wasn’t meant to be in the middle of whatever this is. She didn’t want to be in the middle of whatever this is. - You know, he can be very ... persuasive.

- Will you excuse me?

She made her way away from the two who were more interested in each other, at least as she saw it. She knew Bucky was a bit of a ladies’ man but it didn’t mean she wanted to experience it, or see it for any matter. It always made her somewhat uncomfortable, like her heart stopped for a second. Instead she just leaned against a wall, watching as the people walked by and stopped to chat to each other. When she was little, this was exactly what she expected these sort of events to be like - beautiful women and handsome men just walking hand in hand in expensive clothing, talking of the world and its affairs. She just never expected to be looking at it, instead of being part of it. Not that she wanted it, at least that’s what she told herself as she nursed a glass of expensive champagne. It was as if a dark cloud descended upon her as she watched from the outside, doing the best of her ability not to look at Bucky still in high talks with Delia. Why he bothered with Anna when he could easily find anyone else was beyond her.

- I thought it was you, Miss Y/N.

- Professor Anderson. - she straightened her back as if her mother had scolded her. - How was your holiday?

- It was great yet here I am back to work with a load of work on my desk. Yours being one of them. I have to say, I am very excited to see what you came up with.

- I wouldn’t be too keen. My other supervisor doesn’t seem to have taken a big interest but I’m working on another version. Making it a bit more succinct, easier to digest.

- But that has never been your forte, has it Miss Y/N? - she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult, either way it was a correct observation, so she merely smiled nervously. Supervisors didn’t tend to disagree to a degree where she could just relax and not consider another year of expenses.

- Well, thank you for taking the time in advance.

- It’s what I work for. Bright people, new ideas. - she slightly raised her glass in a cheering manner. - Actually, I must introduce you to someone.

- It’s really not necessary. - last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself in front of someone important or see Bucky yet in another flirtatious conversation. His sex habits didn’t really interest her ... not right now, at least.

- Mr. Davis. - she approached a man who had equally found solace in the quietness of a corner. - May I introduce you to my PhD student, Miss Y/N?

- It’s nice to put a name to a face. - he extended his hand towards hers, smiling with an ease that made him look as if he had come straight of a fairytale book.

- Mr. Davis graduated top of his masters’ class in Psychology just a few years before you started at Columbia. It is a shame he didn’t stick with us for graduate school.

- Alas, I wanted to experience the real world.

- I should leave you two to discuss things. I’m sure you’ll find you have much in common.

She felt nervous around this man. He was attractive, attractive in a way which usually made her believe he’d want nothing with her. Attractive men usually didn’t yet he was eyeing her as if he’d never seen nothing like her. Perhaps he’d discovered that her dress was bought at a TJ Maxx for 70% the original asking price or maybe he’d noticed a scuff on her shoes.

- I saw you come in with Sergeant Barnes, I was hoping he’d introduce you.

- You know Sergeant Barnes?

- I work for him. - the poor thing. - Marketing division.

- What is a psychology graduate doing working in the marketing division?

- I believe you should understand your customer before you try to sell them anything.

- What? Like the colour pink makes people believe things are sweeter?

- You can’t sell someone something by portraying it as a fantasy. People turn against it eventually. - he quipped. - But you’d know that, considering you’re every males’ fantasy right now and every woman has made you the enemy.

- I hardly believe that’s true.

- You walked in by the side of New York’s most eligible bachelor, I’d say that’s true. Yet again, who can blame him? Smart and beautiful? I too would be parading you by my side.

- Would you?

- Actually, if you were my date I would’ve kept you home. God knows the things these men would actually do to get your attention.

- Like being a psychology graduate? - she smirked. - Sergeant Barnes is my boss. I look after his daughter Sadie. Helps pay for graduate school and it’s a rent free place to live. Besides, Sadie is just the most adorable girl I’ve ever seen.

- You mean to tell me I’m the first one to know that you are available?

- I wouldn’t say I’m available. Maybe just browsing.

- I do work in marketing, beautiful. I can sell myself pretty well, if you’d ask me.

- Huh, and how would you do that?

- You’re a Columbia student. I could maybe take you to the riverside park, we’d go on a walk, I’d woe you with my distaste of Freud’s theories and methods, and then we’d finish with a picnic.

- Maybe I like Freud’s theories, have you considered that?

- Nonsense, no smart woman would.

- I’m free Sunday night.

- So am I.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky imagine #aud pair

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thezombieprostitute · 6 months ago

Note

Hi Zombie! Do you take asks for Tech Tuesdays? If so, I’ve got one if you’re willing. Say you had an emergency, but Jake was out for the day!! Not only did your computer start to wig out, but it deleted the important presentation that has to be shown to some of your biggest clients this afternoon and there’s no backup file. Who would be sent to save the day? How would that go?

I'm so glad you sent this in because this is a great way to introduce Ransom to Tech Tuesdays!

Summary: Your laptop needs repair and you're at risk of embarrassing yourself and the company in front of some very big investors.

Warnings: None yet. Let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” Your laptop started stuttering until it completely froze and you only know to do the basics. Ctrl + Alt + Delete, nothing. Holding down the power button, nothing. You want to cry, smash the laptop to pieces but that won't help. You just pray that your presentation can be salvaged before the clients show up. Maybe there was a copy saved to the Network? Maybe?

You take a deep breath and squeeze one of your nearby stuffed animals to help you calm down. Sometimes you get looks for the cutesy stuff you keep in your cubicle but there's no denying your ability with numbers so no one says anything. Really, the only compromise you had to make when you got promoted was exchanging some of your cutesy clothes for more professional looking ones.

Once you're calm(ish), you unplug your laptop and walk to the IT Department. You hoped they liked the cookies you brought them after the last time they had to fix your laptop. Jake was such a patient sweetheart the entire time and Mr. Pine was quick to reassure you that it wasn't anything they hadn't seen before.

Walking into the department, it feels quieter than usual. You look around but don't see Jake or Mr. Pine. Thankfully Mr. Syverson spots you and politely asks you what's up.

“M-my, my laptop,” you stutter, trying not to cry. “It, I don't even know what it did but it's, it's not working and I've got a big presentation and I don't know if there's a copy or something and I really need to get--”

Mr. Syverson holds up his hand to stop you, “it's alright Miss. We'll take care of you.”

“Last time Jake helped me,” you tell him.

He winces, “well, unfortunately, Jake is on vacation right now. This is gonna require Ransom. Follow me, please.”

You don't hesitate to follow the large man further into the department. He knocks at one of the cubicles and gets a sharp “what?” for his efforts.

“Ransom, got someone here who needs your help with their laptop,” Mr. Syverson says, tone stern. You can hear the person inside audibly sigh and you imagine they're rolling their eyes. “Now don't be givin' me that,” Mr. Syverson continues. “It is part of your job requirements and you will be polite. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” is the sarcastic reply.

“If I hear one complaint from this lady about you bein' rude it will result in a discussion about your job status. Ya hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” the voice grumbles.

Mr. Syverson backs away and gestures you to approach Ransom. As you walked into his cubicle the first thing you notice are his sharp blue eyes. They're the same blue as his sweater.

“You're wearing a sweater!” You blurt.

“Yes,” he replies. “It gets cold this close to the server room.” He looks like he wants to say more but he's holding back. “What's wrong with your laptop?”

“It's not working.”

“Obviously,” he says through gritted teeth. “Can you get more specific than that?”

“Oh, oh, yes,” you exclaim. “I just plugged it into the network port and it started buffering. The I tried to do the control alt delete thing and it just froze up. I tried holding down the power button and nothing.”

“Let me take a look,” he holds out his hand. You give him the laptop.

There's no chair for you to sit in so you stand there, feeling awkward as he does a few things. He plugs in some kind of device and looks to be working on his own computer while he does it. Feeling nervous about the upcoming presentation that you may have just ruined, you find yourself shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“Must you do that?” Ransom turns to you, clearly frustrated. “I'm trying to focus and you're being distracting.”

“I'm sorry,” you're almost blubbering from the stress. “I just...I need to...there's a presentation...and I...”

He holds out his hands in a 'please stop' gesture and take a breath to try not to cry. “If I can get you that presentation, and get it on a different laptop, are you willing to go back to your desk until this one is fixed?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you bounce on your toes. You don't understand why he cringes and tightens his hands into fists.

“Great,” he says through gritted teeth. “Tell me the filename and go ask Walter for a temporary laptop.”

“Okay! Thank you!” You give him the filename and head out.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

#tech tuesday #tech tuesday: ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x female!reader #it!ransom drysdale x office worker!reader

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king-crawler · 9 months ago

Text

Haunted Dreams

AKA. a very short & spooky Wreck-It Ralph oneshot i wrote in 1 day 870 words -- [Ao3 Link]

Game Central Station isn’t a scary place during the day.

The hub is always bustling with characters, people from all sorts of games, all kinds of different eras. A place for everyone to congregate and travel. Pretty noisy too, always filled with 8-bit chatter. Can’t forget the Sonic PSA that’s on loop for hours and hours… That thing is practically ingrained into everyone’s heads by this point. But Game Central Station gets dark at night- dark… and unusually quiet. The power strip lays behind the shadows of cabinets after the sun goes down, casting it in darkness. By this time, everyone is usually settled back at their own games, at least those who decide to sleep. Not Clyde though, as ghosts don’t tend to sleep.

It was a late night at Tappers. He went less so for the drinks because of non-corporeality and such, more so for the company. He makes his way back to Pac-Man, floating past the empty outlet, which unfortunately always has to be passed by on the way back. Unlike the other terminals, this one lacks any of the usual scrolling LEDs overhead… no game. An abandoned venue… During quarter hours the empty socket is actually quite a beautiful sight, albeit bittersweet. Broad rays of sunlight would shine down through the slits- ‘God rays’ as some call them, something treated with reverence by everyone. But almost as if to balance it out, after sunset it becomes an abyss. No… It’s darker.

Not just in terms of absent lighting, but… it feels threatening somehow. Not even the ambient orange glow of Clyde’s spectral form could provide any comfort near that looming archway. Not after what had happened there… After all, it had only been a year since the incident.

Like echoes in his mind, he remembered the vases of flowers around the entryway in memoriam as people grieved. Many people actually had a chance to talk to the racers of RoadBlasters, congratulating them, welcoming them to the arcade. It was common courtesy to do so whenever somebody new got plugged in, but this instance was only for one night. The residents of Pac-Man were especially on edge after it happened. Their game was briefly unplugged and replugged the same day so it could be moved next to Fix-it Felix Jr; to fill that new empty space. It was an extra scare for sure, thankfully nobody was inside. But now, they live their day-to-day lives knowing they share a plug with what used to be…

Clyde regretfully glanced at the skidmarks on the tiled floor. The others made a solid effort to scrub it away, but you could still make them out if you knew where to look. He didn’t like thinking about it, he frequently hovered past and shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. But this time it felt… different. Like tonight the void was beckoning him. Suddenly, he heard… something. A sound that was strange and faint at first… the rhythm of rickety creaking and whining. Is it getting louder..?

…

In an instant, his semiphysical form was instilled with paralyzing dread. That’s impossible.

An unplugged outlet can’t have a train car. It’s by design, it’s supposed to travel through the cord. And yet… there it was, idly rattling down the track. Terribly rusted and scratched up, appearing to be mere moments from falling apart. And there, on the far end of the train car, was a pale figure enshrouded in darkness. It sat hunched over, its face turned away.

A chilling, staticy feeling filled the dead air between them, or maybe that was just Clyde getting lightheaded. Everything about this felt terribly wrong, like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Like if he someday remembered this, something bad would happen. As much as he wished he could, he simply couldn't pull himself to look away, or even blink- not on the offchance that whatever was inexplicably happening might cease to exist on second glance.

The train whined as it docked at the station. After a moment of silence that felt like hours, the figure’s head began to slowly turn, its face overshadowed in pitch darkness by the rim of its helmet. That damn helmet. Even if it was only his name being circulated, nobody could forget what he looked like, even if they wanted to, thanks to the recurring nightmares. The awful, unforgettable sound of his voice being butchered and bitcrushed, cars being torn apart into an unrecognizable jumble of code and colors… They could only watch.

It was only now that Clyde realized everyone deemed Turbo to be dead for their own sakes. They couldn't bring themselves to imagine what might have happened to him otherwise. It was too much. The thought he could’ve turned into something else.

In a daze, Clyde arrived back in the ghost pen, the other ghosts off somewhere else in the Pac-maze. Suited him- they always acted like he was the underling anyways. He took the isolation as an opportunity to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. Sleep. If he did, maybe he could convince himself that what he saw tonight was nothing but a bad dream.

Just as everyone else had.

#I'm not much of a writer (Hence The Length.) but i had this idea last night and exploded #fanfic #Wreck it ralph #🐛VIRUS OFFERINGS #turbo wreck it ralph #Turbo #pac man

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pollymorgan · 8 months ago

Text

Oh my God, how embarrassing... I did it and translated my German fanfiction into English... into bad English! Don't be too harsh on me, but rather make suggestions for improvement: So now a little phone sex with Coach Negan. 🙈😌

Warnings: arrogant Negan, frustrated woman, explicit phone sex

Today is one of those days again, where nothing seems to work as it should. Just like so often lately. Why couldn't I transfer those damn photos to the laptop? I've never been very tech-savvy, but the modern world practically forced me to. I'm actually a cookbook author and used to be quite successful with it. Some of my books were bestsellers and I even had my own cooking segment on a nationally broadcasted morning show. But then I was suddenly replaced by a younger, "cooler" colleague and ever since then, I've been struggling to keep afloat with social media, more or less. If only the technology would cooperate..

Even in my personal life, I have been replaced. Four months ago, my husband left us. By us, I mean my three children and me. After 19 years of marriage. But love goes where it goes, right? Nothing can be done against that. At least, those were his words when he got into his Porsche with a blonde woman who could be his daughter and disappeared.

Since then, he has managed to do something with his children exactly twice. But in exchange, he has already disappointed them seven times by canceling the meetings at short notice. Yes, I'm keeping count. At least for now.

My oldest daughter Penny is 15 years old and fully immersed in puberty, and it seems that this situation is hardest on her. She and her father were always a unit, his little princess. But there's no trace of that at the moment. Most of the time, he doesn't even bother to answer his damn phone when she tries to reach him.

I see her suffering. She's lost interest in school, and her circle of friends is dwindling visibly. I would love to help her, but how? At the moment, I just can't seem to reach her. Our communication mostly consists of doors slamming.

But back to my current problem. These damn pictures! The article is supposed to go online today. I cooked an Indian dish and had to drive halfway across town to get these damn spices. Thursdays always bring an international post, and now, of all times, nothing is working again. My laptop doesn't recognize the memory card, and the camera won't connect either. I keep plugging and unplugging the cable, hoping the error will magically resolve. Which of course it doesn't. Suddenly, I glance at the small display in the lower right-hand corner. Damn it! So late. I won't be picking up the kids on time again, the second time this cursed week. Annoyed, I close the screen. Grabbing my purse, I walk quickly to the garage. Where's the damn car key? Nervously, I rummage through my chaotic bag, spilling half of its contents on the floor. Finally finding it, I get into the car and speed out of the driveway.

The first stop is the kindergarten to pick up my youngest. She's a real bundle of nerves, but so sweet that you can forgive her anything. Of course, she throws a tantrum right at pickup. It's a real struggle to get her into the car. Like a madwoman, I drive on to the elementary school to pick up my 9-year-old son. He is the calm one in our family and thankfully waits with his best friend relaxed in front of the school. At least one who's not mad at me. Lucky me. And off we go, heading to my daughter's high school. From a distance, I can see her and immediately know that - once again - something is wrong. She stands all alone and pretty annoyed on the street, looking out for me. When I park the car right in front of her feet, she angrily drops onto the passenger seat.

"Penny, I can explain, you know what a loser I am when it comes to technology..." I try to justify myself.

My eldest rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Mum, this time, for once, it's not your fault..." I see tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and automatically, I feel a lump in my throat.

"Mister Smith... he..."

She doesn't need to continue speaking; just hearing that name fills me with such anger again. Right from the start, there have been issues with her physical education teacher, Negan Smith.

I've only seen him twice so far, at parent-teacher conferences, but Penny's stories are enough for me to know that he's an absolute failure as a teacher. He has his favorites whom he praises to the skies, while the less athletic students suffer under his authoritarian ways. My daughter already feels uncomfortable in her own skin, and that jerk doesn't even realize the impact his remarks have on the young girls.

A few years ago, his wife passed away from cancer. A terrible tragedy, but apparently that did not make him more empathetic; quite the opposite.

I'm currently looking in the rearview mirror to avoid hitting anyone in the chaos outside the school. That's all I need on this crappy day. Then I catch sight of none other than Penny's physical education teacher.

"Isn't that him?" I ask excitedly.

My daughter buries her face even further into the backpack in her lap. "Yes, Mom, it's okay, please just drive..."

The anger that had been building up recently had just found a good release.

With the words "Nothing is good...", I yank open my driver's door and head purposefully towards my daughter's physical education teacher, who is just stowing his bag in his car.

"Who do you think you are?" I stand behind him with arms crossed, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

Confused, he turns around to face me and suddenly a big grin spreads across his face. "Negan Smith, nice to meet you, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

What a cocky jerk!

"The mother of a rather offended young girl, because of you..."

Can't he just drop his arrogant smile for once? Quite unimpressed, he closes the door of his car.

"Penny has so much potential and she's wasting it on the damn bench..."

Such an idiot, he clearly knows who I am.

"Maybe you should listen to the young students as well, instead of just spouting off random remarks at them?"

Amused, he shakes his head. "I did... her excuse for skipping today's P.E. class was menstrual cramps..."

"And in your opinion that's not a valid reason or what? How dare you even pass judgment on that? Your students' bodies are going through changes and such discomforts should be taken seriously..." I respond a bit too loudly, causing some students to turn towards us.

Resigned, he raises his hands. "Of course, but not every damn other week. Maybe you should give your daughter some biology lessons again and explain to her that her P.E. teacher isn't completely from another planet."

Oh God, what does this man think he is..

"And you should work on your teaching skills... Otherwise, maybe I should consider contacting the school board!"

„Oh wow, you're actually a bigger drama queen than your dear daughter!".

Did he really just say that? Did he just seriously insult me? My daughter's teacher. I look at him in disbelief, but he just grins.

"And now she's quiet... I really have to go now, but I'm pretty sure we'll meet again soon." With these words, he jumps into his car and drives off.

Completely perplexed, I walk back to my car and am greeted by my daughter with the words "That was soooo embarrassing.."

7 hours later

Finally peace! Why does it always have to be such a struggle to get the kids to bed? Isn't it unfair that you are a thousand times more tired than the dear little ones? What a crappy day! I'm glad to be freshly showered in my bed and finally have some time off. Just me and my phone, no one else. No more whining, arguing, and crying. As much as I sometimes curse technology, I also love being able to connect with people over the internet. It's fun to respond to comments, the direct exchange with like-minded people is the only positive thing about social media. As I scroll through Instagram, I suddenly see comments coming in at a rapid pace. Confused, I open them. From "Do you always look so good when you cook?" to "Can you cook that for me sometime?" to heart emojis, and they all come from the same account. As I read the name, a shock runs through me. Can this be for real? "Coach Negan" is he not only a tactless asshole, but also a real psychopath? Excited, I click on his account, but apart from a profile picture where he is clearly recognizable, there is no further information.

I quickly open the messaging function and type "What is this???" into my phone. It only takes a few seconds and I receive a response.

"I am a fan 😉"

For a while, I stare at the screen, unable to believe what is happening here.

Suddenly, he sends me a picture. I open it and see a photo of me from my highlights, showing me from my post "Valentine's Day." I had cooked a three-course meal and written a pretty cheesy text back then. It's one of my most liked posts.

"Red lipstick suits you. Matches your fiery nature.." he writes.

What does he want to achieve? Did the confrontation before school hurt him so much that he is trying to provoke me? But to be honest, it seems like he's the one giving me a warning. Well, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the best defense is a good offense.

"Oh, do you think so? Most men say I look better without wearing anything...I mean, without lipstick, of course.. 😉".

"Are you already in bed?" he asks next. What a bizarre situation? Why does my daughter's teacher want to know where I am? The same teacher who called me a ‚drama queen‘ just a few hours ago.

I keep trying to type a suitable response on my phone and then delete it again. Finally, I write briefly, "Yes, and you?"

"Yes, and I'm studying your profile. Do you realize how crazy you can drive a man with these pictures? Why am I even asking, of course you do. 😉"

The feeling of small electric shocks runs through my body. The whole thing feels strangely forbidden. Maybe what I'm doing here is damn wrong, but right now, the consequences seem pretty irrelevant to me.

"How mean, you can look at my pictures, but you don't have any online yourself."

"That's true, but how about you hear my voice instead?" Attached to this message was his phone number. Okay, this is all moving pretty quickly, in a pretty strange direction. I'm so excited that I can feel my heart pounding wildly in my chest. But what do I have to lose? I haven't felt like this in the last 20 years. Okay, it's a damn bizarre situation, but I'm an adult and single. So I can finally talk to whoever I want. Even with the biggest jerk I've come across lately.

Feeling totally tense, I dial the number and as it rings, it gets even worse. I take a few deep breaths, and suddenly the deep voice on the other end answers with a "What took you so long to decide?" and I can practically feel his grin.

"Well, I had to think for a moment about what would be so sensible about calling my daughter's narcissistic gym teacher in the middle of the night," I say calmly.

"And what would be sensible about that?" he asks with interest.

"I haven't really found a solid reason yet, but maybe you can tell me?"

He thinks for a moment, and I imagine him lying in his bed. A slight tingling sensation spreads in my stomach, which is intensified by his response.

"Well, I can make sure you feel a little better... forget all the everyday crap that's weighing on your pretty shoulders right now."

I briefly close my eyes to focus more on his voice, which really manages to relax me a bit with just that simple sentence.

"And how do you plan to do that?" I ask softly.

"When was the last time you were really well fucked?" As soon as he says it, my lower abdomen tightens, and I automatically press my legs together.

After I take a moment to collect myself, I honestly respond, "That was much too long ago..."

"Oh, poor girl," Negan provocatively replies, but instead of getting upset about it, it triggers completely different feelings in me. "Tell me about what you imagine when you stroke your lonely pussy at night."

I have to swallow briefly to get rid of the extremely dry feeling in my throat.

"I can tell you what I think about when I do it in a moment..." I say softly but firmly.

And his tone changes too. His breathing becomes heavier. "Then tell me, come on," he commands.

"I imagine it's your fingers running over my body and finally sliding my panties to the side and penetrating deep into me..." My cheeks feel like they're glowing. I've never talked like this with anyone before, and now I just did it with a man who is actually a stranger to me.

"Come on, sweetheart... touch yourself for me and tell me if you're wet," he interrupts.

Without thinking, I click on the speaker icon on my display and place the phone next to me on the pillow, then I slide my right hand under my nightgown into my panties and I'm surprised at how aroused I already am, how swollen my clit is, and how sensitive my whole intimate area has become. I sigh softly.

"Fuck, the sweet little sounds you're making... they make my damn cock twitch in my hand with joy..."

Just the thought that he's so aroused by me on the other end sends waves of pleasure through my body.

"I'm already so wet because of you, Negan..." I admit breathlessly.

"You dirty, pretty lady, if I were with you right now, I would slowly penetrate deep into you... you need that now, don't you?"

"Yes!" I can only whisper.

"Okay, now do everything exactly as I tell you, understood?" he demands.

"Yes, please tell me what to do.." I focus solely on his voice, completely tuning out everything else.

"Take off your panties. Use your index and middle fingers to gently stroke over your mons pubis and then slowly over your outer labia, but not more, just right there.."

Immediately, I follow his instructions. The air feels cool on my bare lower abdomen. I feel strangely exposed, even though I am alone in my bedroom, but it's not uncomfortable, quite the opposite. I begin to caress myself gently.

"How does that feel?" his voice breaks the silence again.

"Good, but I want more.." I plead.

"I already knew that.. Bend your legs and spread them wide.. as far as you can.." He gives me a brief moment to comply with his instructions. "Now push your pelvis even further forward.. Imagine I'm between your legs and you want to present me with your beautiful pussy, you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes.." I say and nod vigorously, even though no one can see me.

"Such a good girl.. and now run your index finger through your slit, spread your juices.."

I can't and don't want to hold back my moans now. There is silence for a while at the other end, then I speak heavily.

"Are you also pleasuring your cock for me?" I ask as I continue to touch myself.

"Oh, sweetheart, so your thoughts are currently only about that.." he says snappily. "Yes, I am, and if you keep moaning so sweetly into the phone, it won't be long, so it's time for you to start massaging your clit, but don't be too timid, circle it with two fingers and use some pressure, even if you're very sensitive now, you can take it.."

Oh God, that was exactly what I needed right now. My body felt like in ecstasy and I could feel the orgasm slowly building up.

"Don't come yet," he commanded, and on cue, I immediately removed my fingers from my most sensitive spot.

"Now, bring your knees close to your body!“

"Yes," I replied, completely exhausted. "You're doing it perfectly, how much I would love to see you in this position right now, just the damn thought!" I could clearly hear him softly moaning. This sound made my body twitch with excitement.

"Penetrate yourself with two fingers... nice and slow. Focus entirely on the feeling of stretching your pussy wide... Tell me when you're all the way in!"

"Now," I whispered, already quite spent.

"Then add your ring finger, once you've done that, you can come intensely as a reward, I promise."

Slowly, I press the third finger into me, which initially causes a bittersweet pull, but I'm so wet that it's not a problem.

Without me telling him, Negan knows that I fulfilled his request.

"So perfect, sweetheart! And now, pleasure your clit! Bring yourself to climax and don't hold back any sound, I want to hear every sweet noise from you."

With the first gentle touch, my body twitches like crazy.

"Negan, please come with me," I stammer into the phone.

"Yes, I promise, beautiful," he replies breathlessly.

And these words are enough for me to come as intensely as I haven't in the past years. My thighs tremble uncontrollably and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. My lower abdomen contracts in waves and I can barely breathe. It feels like I am weightless for a few seconds.

"Do you feel good?" he asks after a short pause.

"Perfect.." I reply and can't gather my thoughts yet.

"Okay, then I expect you tomorrow at 3:30 p.m. for a parent-teacher meeting at the school, and, by the way, without panties.. Good night!" After these words, I only hear a beep on the line.

#jeffrey dean morgan #negan smut #jdm smut #twd smut #smut #bad english #jeffreydeanmorgan #first try #twd fanfiction #negan fanfic #negan fic #negan smith #negan #twd negan #fanfic #telephonesex

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mail-me-a-snail · 1 year ago

Note

i love seeing ur posts about your ocs it feels like seeing posts from a mutual about a different fandom. pls give us an Information about one of them, use this ask as an excuse to talk about something that has been rotating in your brain for a while, literally anything

(thank u for sending this in! autism blast.)

u all know i am so fuckign ill about the eroticism of the machine.

i think it's very important to me for y'all to know that vance's internal systems look like the inside of a server tower.

like he has these long, thick red cables that are braided together in a v clean and orderly fashion, which are held in place by black clamps; different sockets and plugs that line his steel spine and link up to the cyberdeck itself; little white lights blinking intermittently, almost sleepy in their rhythms; black wires running around his body and his pulmonary implants, connecting everything to everything else.

a majority of his wires are linked up to his cyberdeck + his cooling system (ie his pulmonary implants and his realskinn vents). once he starts to overclock his deck—something he only does out of desperation—his mechanical lungs kick in and force him to cool down. it'd be a very strange sensation, i think, having your natural breathing pattern forced into another, different march, simply because the machine part of you had it do so.

i say it often but he's full of genetically modified blood, or something blood adjacent.

(arasaka kept it as close as possible to the real thing so as not to trigger any cyberpsychotic self-dehumanization in vance—a line they were already a few moments away from crossing at any given time).

his implants are all encased in sac-like filaments. if you opened him up and got the blood out of the way, it'd look as though his "organs" are vacuum packed in this thin white sheet. it's not that the machine parts would get damaged if they were to be soaked in blood; in fact, the filaments are more like filters. they breathe when he breathes.

the blood is more than just for his mental health (and mine admittedly)! it keeps his organs at a certain temperature at all times, so he runs very warm on the daily.

to return to vances plugs for a second—vik is the only ripper he will ever trust with his organs. so vik has to be extremely careful not to unplug the wrong thing. it's trial and fucking error though when vance has unique implants that aren't on public record or EVEN ON THE BLACK MARKET.

vance is the only one besides 'saka who'd ever know what part is what. he's had to plug things back in and switch them around as needed himself during some of his field ops outside of nc/the nusa, away from his arasaka ripper.

he can feel every plug and unplug, too, by the way. just the same as someone were to touch his braided, red wires; run their fingers up and down the filaments encasing his mechanical organs; wiggle a plug back and forth trying to pry it out, or perhaps trying to put it back in its place.

i think you could do some real damage to vance if you got the surgical tools to crack him open. i think he'd feel every single bit of it. every wire cut and plug taken out and little by little, losing more and more of himself...

...but the machine's a little too beautiful for senseless torture.

#asks #vance #AUTISM BLAST 💥💥💥💥

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 1 year ago

Text

Whistle Down the Wind, Chapter Three

Word Count: 2454

TW: Pining, unrequited love, angst, mild violence (reader slaps Sonny); hooking up discussed obliquely but nothing explicit.

AN: Part of a series. The series masterlist here.

Sonny hadn’t meant to miss your performance. He had thought he could make it in time, but Nicole kept pulling him back into the bed every time he tried to get up. Before he knew it, he had missed it. He had a panicky back-and-forth texting exchange with his sister, promising to meet everyone for drinks. But she had eventually told him not to bother.

She’s pretty upset, Bella’s final text said.

He felt terrible. He had every intention of the evening ending with you and Nicole as friends, and instead he had only hurt you. Before he finally fell asleep, he promised himself that he’d think of some way to make it up to you. Maybe a movie marathon night. Maybe tickets to a show. You loved music – all music – so an evening together at a concert would be a safe bet. At least you were easy-going. You’d forgiven him for missing less.

He woke up at 4:30 in the morning to Nicole shaking him. “Your phone is blowing up,” she muttered, the irritation seeping through his sleepy fog. She unplugged it and handed it to him after glancing at the screen. “It’s your sister.”

“Bella?” he said, his voice thick with sleep as he answered the phone. “What’s wrong?”

Her shrill voice cut through his sleepiness, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear. It took a couple of tries before he got the whole story. Bella and Tommy had left you alone at a bar. You were supposed to text her when you got home. Bella had woken up half an hour earlier and hadn’t seen any messages from you. She had been trying your cell ever since, stopping only long enough to call Sonny.

“Okay, okay,” he finally replied. He slid out of bed and started pulling on clothes. “She only lives five blocks away. I’ll go check on her.” He hung up and sat on the edge of the bed, then put on his socks and shoes. Then he turned and faced Nicole.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, but his girlfriend only scoffed at him.

“Funny that you go running for someone who’s just a friend,” she said. Sonny peered at her closer in the dim room. She looked mad, and she was probably justified to feel that way.

“Bella’s upset,” he said, shifting the focus. He wasn’t checking up on you. He was giving his little sister peace of mind.

“I’m upset,” Nicole retorted. Sonny turned on the bed to face her, then leaned in to kiss her. She moved away from him though, and his lips only brushed her cheekbone as she stood up and stalked her way to the bathroom. He watched her naked form for a moment, then growled in frustration. He’d have to make it up to her now, too.

********

If you had to list out your regrets, it would start with all the drinks you had at the bar. Then it would continue to going home with a random guy. Then it would end with letting your phone’s battery die completely.

Or maybe your list of regrets should start with wasting so much time on pining over Sonny Carisi. Because going home with a random guy didn’t turn out terribly. Of the bits you could remember, it had been fun. Mutually consenting. You vaguely recalled straddling the guy until you got too wobbly from the alcohol. Then you remembered him helping to hold you up, drunkenly laughing underneath you until you both came.

The regret only came in the harsh light of the morning. The random guy’s bedroom was covered in posters of souped-up racecars, like a middle school boy’s. And then he had offered you a protein shake for breakfast, the gritty whey making your already queasy stomach worse. And then he sat in his living room, doing bicep curls in front of you until you did an awkward soft-shoe out the door.

You made your way home and plugged in your phone to charge. You showered, letting the hot water wash away the night before. When you climbed out and toweled off, you checked your phone. There were about a million messages, most from Bella.

They were increasingly panicked. Then there were message from Sonny – first, the ones just asking if you were okay. Then, the terse ones demanding that you call him immediately. Apparently he’d been by your place, camping out and waiting for you until he gave up and went home.

You rolled your eyes and deleted those. You called Bella instead.

You swore your best friend picked up before the first ring. “Hey,” you said, trying to sound apologetic. You winced and just listened to her berate you, nodding along even though she couldn’t see you. Yes, you should have texted her. Yes, it was incredibly stupid to go home with a stranger while drunk. You admitted as much when she let you get a word in edgewise.

“You need to let Sonny know,” Bella finally told you. “He’s about ready to dispatch all of NYPD to find you.”

You should feel happy that he cared, but instead you felt a swell of irrational anger at this. “I don’t need found now, Bella,” you replied through gritted teeth. “And you can call your brother yourself.”

********

Sonny sent a few texts to you over the next few weeks, and he saw that you read them, but you never responded. He would have gone and visited you, but he had to make amends with Nicole too for his sudden disappearance the night Bella had panicked and called him. He switched shifts with Fin and took a long weekend with her to a cabin in upstate New York. He had thought it would be a romantic, cozy getaway, but she had mostly complained about the lack of reliable cell service and the musty smell in the cabin.

When he got back to SVU that Monday, he already felt exhausted from the weekend. And there was a new case that hit closer to home than usual: a dentist was accused of sexually assaulting numerous patients – including his young niece. Sonny had nieces and the thought of ever hurting them made him feel sick to his core.

He needed someone to talk to the night after they arrested the dentist, but Nicole was out with friends, so he just went to his own apartment, alone. Any other day, he’d call you. Or go to your place for pizza and sympathy. Any other day, you’d listen to him rant and then offer either support or advice. Any other day, you’d send him a playlist, some perfect, alchemic blend of classic rock and instrumental and alternative and EDM and obscure horn pipe compositions that would bolster his mood perfectly.

Instead, you were freezing him out. He felt a wave of irritation at you. He’d missed plenty of your events – you had so many gigs, no one could keep up. And you knew better than anyone that his job was difficult. The least you could do was offer a little forgiveness. You were usually so easy-going, but suddenly now you weren’t. And according to Bella, you had been hooking up with random guys. The seed of irritation with you had taken root when Bella had informed him of that little fun fact.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but between work and Nicole, he didn’t have the energy to bother and figure it out. Either you’d come around or you wouldn’t.

********

You were busy. Your performance with the chamber orchestra had made you a wanted woman, and for the first time in your life, you had to turn down offers. The new exposure drove more traffic to your website, which drove more people to listen to your scoring work, which led to an offer to score a small, indie film that was set to start filming in a few months. You had a script that you were working through, coming up with musical themes and ideas to pitch to the director and producers.

You still had you regular shows with your cover band, and you still did freelance work as a producer for a handful of artists who liked to layer in samples of classical pieces.

And in the evenings – when you had a free one – you had your hunting.

You called it hunting because it made you feel like a vampire slayer, but mostly because you couldn’t call it “looking for hook-ups.” You’d gotten lucky the night of your big performance – you’d been incredibly reckless, but aside from a gross protein shake, you’d come away from it unscathed. So now you had rules.

One drink, maximum, and never one that was unattended or handed to you by a guy. You always insisted that the guy show you his driver’s license, which you took a picture of and texted to Bella or one of your other friends as evidence. Most of the guys were bemused by your measures, but a few got angry. You knew to stay away from those guys.

Other rules? Never give your last name or phone number, always use protection, and never stay the night. You got yours, then you got out.

One night, a few weeks after your cello performance, you had hooked up with a brutally hot bartender. You had gotten yours and gotten out, per your rules. You walked home, your coat wrapped around you. You could have called a cab but you wanted to walk. It wasn’t far, and the night air would clear your head.

You always enjoyed yourself on your nights out hunting, but there was always a pang of regret afterwards. Probably some remnant of patriarchal conditioning, you tried to reason, making you feel guilty for feeling pleasure. But more likely, you felt regret because the guys above you or underneath you or behind you weren’t the one you really wanted.

You shook your head and crossed the middle of the street, ignoring a whistle behind you. Guys in New York could be creeps.

The whistler whistled again, and then a third time – this time closer to you. You reached into your coat pocket for your bear spray as you turned around, ready to fight.

“Listen, creep,” you started, but you stopped when you saw who it was. Sonny. You mentally kicked yourself. You were only one street over from his. You’d have to make a new rule: avoid the dude you wanted to be with when you were out being with other dudes. Or some variation thereof.

“Hey,” he said. He was in his camel overcoat and a rumpled suit, obviously just getting off of work. It was late. He must have had a long day. In one hand, he held a bag from the local chicken joint around the corner.

“Hey,” you replied. “Late night?”

He nodded, then looked you over. “You too.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m headed home now,” you said. “I have an early start tomorrow.”

He nodded again. He peered at you with his eyes that looked tired but were no less blue than any other time. You felt the familiar flush of love that you always felt when you looked at him, but you tried to push it down.

“I’m sorry about missing your performance,” he finally said. His Staten Island accent got thicker when he was tired, and it was showing now. “Performance” came out “perfawmance.”

You shrugged. “No big deal. You were busy.”

“I tried to make it,” he continued. “Something came up.”

You gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I heard.” You turned to leave, but you felt him reach out and take a hold of your arm.

“Why are you so upset?” he said. You turned and looked at him, and he was scowling. Was he mad at you? You felt anger bubbling up in you.

“Maybe it gets old, always jumping when you need someone. A study buddy, or someone to cheer your up or tell you that you’re the best. And then that person never comes through for you. Or hasn’t for a long time.”

Sonny dropped his hand from your arm. “Nicole…”

You laughed again, a dry bark dripping with rancor but didn’t say anything.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he continued, spreading his arms out in a helpless gesture, the bag of greasy take-out rustling. “She wanted to stay in.”

There it was. There was the core of your anger, and it turned white-hot like a nuclear reactor. You’d drop everything for Sonny, but he’d drop everything for her. And then he’d have the audacity to look at you with that wounded look he was giving you now.

He sighed. “If you had someone…” he started, but didn’t finish. He looked you over again, from your feet to the top of your head.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Maybe I do have someone,” you said, your voice low. “Maybe I took your advice and decided to stop being so picky.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Someone? Or several someones?” he asked. “Are you going through some delayed slutty phase because you didn’t get a chance to in college?”

Before you could even stop yourself, your hand shot out, quick as a viper and slapped him across the face. A part of you, deep down, felt horrified at the look that crossed his face as his blue eyes widened. But that part of you was small and quiet, and the white-hot angry part of you was in charge.

“Fuck you, Sonny,” you said, your voice going up half an octave and doing that shaky thing that it did before you started to angry-cry. “I didn’t have any sort of phase in college because I was too busy mooning over you. And I spent the years after that doing the same fucking thing. Year after year, just waiting around for you to notice me.” You ignored the emotions that crossed his face because you couldn’t read them anyway. You used to think you knew him better than anyone but did you, really?

“I didn’t…” he started, but you shook your index finger at him and didn’t let him continue.

“I’m done waiting around for you,” you said, the tears forming and then spilling down your eyelashes. “You have a girlfriend? Great. Go to her when you need a fucking pep-talk. I’ll keep taking your advice, keep my standards nice and low.” You half-turned from him, then added, “and if I need someone to stand me up for my performances, I’ll just call my mom, okay?”

Then you turned away from him completely and left him standing on the sidewalk as you walked home in tears.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu #tropes and tales

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cursed-spectre · 3 months ago

Text

Content Warning! Self harm and suicide is mentioned (it's not me, don't worry) and will be colored red to hopefully make it easier to pass over.

Ugh, my day sucked. Spent all day cleaning off my desk and then going out to a doctor appointment, making sure to get the wrong bus twice before arriving, then go out to buy compressed air and isopropyl alcohol to clean my laptop since the fans have recently started sounding like fucking motorcycle engines.

I got home, and started to unscrew the bottom of my laptop to clean the fans, since I figured this was the cause. Unscrewing is HELL, especially for two that just wouldn't move and had me terrified of stripping them.

Midway through unscrewing and prying open the bottom, now very angered and frustrated, I get a random DM from somebody I had helped through some big issues back in a month or so and had stopped talking since. Anyway, the message in question was 2 photos of either arms or legs covered in fresh cuts, followed by them saying they were gonna unalive, saying they took a bunch of pills, and that they love me for some reason.

After blocking and deleting that DM, because I can't fucking deal with that. I'm sorry, and I wish I could, but I really fucking can't.

So yeah, after dealing with that, I manage to open my laptop, unplug the battery for safety reasons, and clean my fans, all well and good.

Then I have to go through the worst trial in hell that is putting back in 10 tiny fucking screws, with the last 4 being tinier and at angle. Holy shit. Semi long nails are like, my only form of gender affirmation at this point, but holy shit, they made it impossible to be the screws in place. But it's eventually done.

Then I go to see if I had fixed my problem with the fans. It doesn't turn on. I start freaking out, trying to think why it's not turning on. It turns on when plugged into the charger, and I see that it says "no battery detected" which means that I must've made an error when reconnecting the battery, and also THE FANS STILL SOUND LIKE FUCKING MOTORCYCLE ENGINES, but at this point I'm already breaking down mentally and at some furniture, so I say "fuck it" and decide that I'm just gonna get it opened and reconnected by the guys at Best Buy, because I am NEVER opening that laptop again until I get my new ssd, in which I might still see if I can just get it done at best buy.

So yeah, heading to bed soon, well actually already in bed physically, but you know what I mean. Gonna go to best buy tomorrow and just hope the fees aren't too bad. After that, I'm going back to Lenovo support about the fan noises. I've got their support number on my phone contacts for a reason.

I'm exhausted and my right arm hurts. Part of me wants to ask a person who's writing I like if they could just write something wholesome in like 10 minutes or something without worrying about shit, but I'd feel like an asshole doing that, so who knows what I'll do. Maybe I'll just sleep.

#cursed rants #rant post #cw blood #cw sui mention #cw sh

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ziracona · 1 year ago

Note

So with my second read-through of my favorite chapters I think I finally figured out that Julie was essentially just dissassociating the whole time, or did I read that wrong? Also for the legion im curious if things will go differently than ILM did, speaking of which- Would Julie and Frank have caved and joined the survivors eventually? What do you think really would have convinced them?

More or less, although not like in a way where she doesn’t know what is going on. I think she just lightly dissociates constantly. She’s got a personality disorder, but she lies if I try to figure out which one. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So. I know how she behaves but not why. She’s very aware, she just…’unplugs’ as it were, from feeling it, so it’s easier to do, and has for years. Even the fun parts. That’s why she harps so much on things Frank says being nice because he talks about her like she’s a ‘real person’ or a ‘whole person.’ She’s very self aware. She knows she is not normal. She just chooses mostly not to think about that. Girl represses everything, always. Her brain is plugged in, her feelings are off, and so is any reasoning she doesn’t want to do.

Yes. Every timeline ends differently, especially for the realm killers and the Entity. NDF, ILM, FtEoNR, and HL (even ODE) would have some very significant changes. Some things always stay, the strongest ties as it were, like Nea and Min finding each other, but the ones more up to chance remain…butterfly effected.

But on to the exciting answer! (For me). A chance to talk about the chapter that never was for ILM! The answer is yes, they would have joined not long after the events of Oak, if the Entity hadn’t pushed a confrontation with Philip. I considered letting the story run longer to include the newest two releases (Yui and ST, I believe?). If I had, there would have been a chapter called Pheidippides that I was deeply fond of, and don’t think I’ve ever gotten to talk about before. Essentially, the short summary was the Clown ended up in an area beside Legion, and lured one of them (Julie) in with audio recorded bait. She got caught and tortured, with Joey swapping with her to protect her. The Clown tried to force him to switch back, because he prefers doing what he does to girls, and Joey refused. Using drugs on them to try and force him fucked them up, and made them temporarily lose the ability to switch back and forth, trapping Joey in the body. Jeff heard things going on, and attempted to help, and ended up trapped too, then got severely injured trying to draw fire off Joey. Eventually, drugs wear off enough Frank and Susie are able to swap and she (thin wrists) tag teams to get an arm free, and he stabs the Clown through the ear with a scalpel and kills him (outside a trial).

Frank immediately flips out and calls the Entity to be like “control your fucking killers what the hell?!? Two of us are in critical condition, and this survivor is one missed ER from dead!” But the Entity’s concern is immediately recovering its favorite killer, Kenneth, who was not insured at the moment, so it ejects them from Kenneth’s realm and makes it closed off while it tries to fix it. Frank keeps shouting about it needing to fix them them, which he can’t do because they’re in one body and thus can’t treat each other, so it just rips them back into four and basically tells him to fix it himself, and vanishes to rescue the Clown.

Frank and Susie are left mostly unharmed, with a traumatized and injured Julie, and a more severely injured and traumatized Joey, and an almost dead Jeff who has been getting tortured for them for the last hour. They have no medical supplies or experience, the Entity won’t come, everyone is going completely breakdown. The survivors have meds and expertise, and since Jeff entered Kenneth’s realm, while that’s impassible, it means the survivors /must/ be one away from them, with the ST Lab and Demogorgons, in the way.

Frank realizes Jeff’s only hope of survival is getting through the lab, to the survivors, and bringing them back. It’s the only way to help Joey and Julie either, who while not actively dying, are sincerely fucked. But they despise and won’t listen to him, so he can’t be the one to do it. He might get killed on sight. They’ll think it’s a trap. They won’t beleive. Which means Susie /has/ to. She’s the only one they’ll not hurt, and might believe. She’s terrified to do it, but going to, alone, but he tells her he’s not going to make her do it alone. He’ll go to protect her, and they’ll do it together.

They leave Julie and Joey to recuperate and try to care for Jeff best and long as they can, and then, knowing death outside a game is death for them (and this is a hell of a risk—they’re tough, but in the end they’re young adults with small knives, vs well, the destructive power of a demogorgon, and ILM verse while there’s only one demogorgon per trial, there are many in the Lab, so the lab is a death zone), and their odds are bad but there is just no other way, they together make a mad dash through the lab to the other side to get help.

And yeah I loved that idea it didn’t end up working for the over-arching narrative flow but maybe someday I’ll find a way to reuse it.

They would have become solid and continuing allies after the event, given the length of the Entity fucking them over, and survivors risking themselves to help. They’re flawed people, but they love their own deeply and sincerely. (Which is the exact situation the Entity is working to avoid during the events of NDF)

#ask #in living memory (fic)#in living memory #dead by daylight #sleepy anon #thanks for giving me an excuse to talk about a special interest! truly loved Pheidippides ^u^

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silverwings22 · 10 months ago

Text

Song of the Sea: Chapter 36: A Hunt Interrupted

Chapter Warnings: political fanaticism, violence Series Warning: explicit smut, alien anatomy (it's a monsterfucker fic, guys), major character injury, grief, canon typical violence, autistic meltdowns, and my terrible attempts at Mando'a

Previous Chapter:

Next Chapter:

Eriadu was covered in a delicate mix of mist and cloud cover, settled over the top of thick trees and rocky mountain crags. It was imposing and severe, Tarkin’s compound separated from the main depot by a sky rail system. It was a creepy place, Shiani thought. It just felt like it wanted to hurt someone as much as the Empire it belonged to did.

That uncomfortable, eerie feeling that the Empire always gave her stuck sharply under her gills, and she looked over at Tech as he flew. He had that resolute, stern expression on his face that he got when he had made up his mind. "I have identified a safe landing zone outside of scanner range."

His determination was comforting, and Shiani pushed her stress down into her stomach and twined her tentacles around each other to ground herself.

"How will we get past the cruisers?" Hunter stepped up behind her as Echo approached the console.

"I've got a clearance code from our contact." Echo leaned against the back of Tech’s chair to be in position when the transmission was requested.

Hunter nodded. "Wrecker, get on the tailgun… just in case something goes wrong."

Wrecker headed to the back without anything more than a nod. He was primed for action; he’d missed Crosshair as much as Tech did. And was a lot more vocal about it.

When Echo transmitted the clearance codes, they were authorized to land. They veered off course once they were out of line of sight, and moved into the trees. The landing gear was barely on the ground when they were coming out of the hatch hurriedly. The Empire would notice the ship they’d cleared hadn’t landed, and the Batch needed to be far from Eriadu by then.

"What's our approach? A side-wind breach?" Omega piped up, expression hard now. She’d been quiet and thoughtful the whole trip there, instead of the sweet and bubbly kid Shiani was more familiar with. The siren could only think this was the reunion she’d been dreaming of since she was a toddler, when the Batch had been made and taken away from her as babies. This reunion had been a long time coming for her, longer than even the guys could imagine.

"It did work on Raxus." Tech looked at her, giving her a nod. He was proud of her tactical skills, which had also come along with his teaching.

"The Empire has changed its tactics since then. That won't work here." Echo shook his head.

"No explosives or tanks, Wrecker." Hunter sighed, and even with his helmet on they could all tell Wrecker was pouting a little.

When they got to a ridgeline, Shiani pulled out her binocs. “It’s too heavily fortified for the sidewind breach. But there’s a rail line.”

"Tech, can you disable the sensor?" Hunter cocked back on his hip to look at Tech, watching the gears turn in his head.

"That would trigger an alert. But I can temporarily recycle the feed. That will give us an approximately 30 second window. But we must be precise."

Everyone looked at Wrecker, who grumbled. "What? I can handle it."

"See that you do." Tech pulled out his grappling line and lifted his free arm for Shiani to attach herself to him. It was an unspoken development; where one went the other must follow. After the Zillo attack, Tech was taking no chances. They shot up to the maintenance hatch, and she covered him once he was in position and plugged in.

"Now." He said after a short moment of work, unplugging and shooting another dartline to the side of the actual rail car. Everyone else did as well, pulling themselves into a line along the side. They kept each other steady, and Shiani stretched tentacles along their backs to keep them secure.

They couldn’t really say much, doing their best to remain hidden, but Hunter looked back to check on Omega behind him. She nodded, smiling a little at him. Hunter loved her, she knew that without question, and she wanted to be as much like him as possible. She wanted to be capable and willing to risk anything to protect her family, the way he would risk it all for her.

If she’d asked any of the others, they would have told her she already was his spitting image.

When the rail car slowed, the squad dropped into the base in near perfect silence. There were a handful of guards watching the perimeter, and they were easily dispatched with the lethal precision of four soldiers and the hunting instincts of a siren. Once all the white-armored Imperials were down, Shiani shoved them off the side of the battlements.

Wrecker winced as they went over, turning his head. Shiani patted his arm gently and gave him an encouraging whisper, since it was too dangerous to sing. “Don’t look down.”

They slipped round into the hangar and Hunter bit back a groan at the rows of indistinguishable vessels. "Identical shuttles."

"Which ship is Hemlock's?" Omega looked around.

"We'll need to access the hangar manifest." Echo pointed upward. “It’ll be in the control room.

"Wrecker, Omega, stay here with the homing beacon. We’ll send you instructions. And stay low." Hunter murmured.

Shiani gave Omega a wink, cheering her up when she could tell the girl was worried about splitting the group. Omega relaxed, tucking herself back with Wrecker out of sight. Once the siren turned to follow the other three clones, however, her expression returned to tense and alert. This was a hunt, and a dangerous one at that. She had to keep an eye out for everyone’s safety.

There were only a few stormtroopers in the halls, and they took them out with efficient brutality. “No clones at all.” Shiani murmured to Tech softly.

“Tarkin has made it apparent he does not like us.” He replied.

“Ungrateful bastard.” Echo hissed in response. Shiani didn’t know what the animosity was, but she was confident Tarken deserved it. Echo was a badass ARC trooper, but he had a heart of gold. If he didn’t like you, that was your own fault.

Once they made it to the control room, Shiani helped Hunter drag the dead stormtroopers out of sight. Tech and Echo got to work on the console, dragging their way through the Imperial system for Hemlock’s shuttle.

“Multiple security systems are offline in various sectors." Tech frowned. “This is more than sloppy security. It seems deliberate.”

Shiani looked at Hunter nervously. “Empire wouldn’t disable their own security…”

“No, but they have plenty of enemies besides us.” Hunter growled.

“That means we’re not alone.” Shiani’s ears drooped.

Tech gritted his teeth. “Interference from another unit’s plans could cost us the element of surprise. We cannot afford to get caught.”

Echo nodded. “Go check it out, I’ve got Hemlock’s ship. I’ll keep an eye on Omega and Wrecker from here, and you guys let me know if anything’s worth reporting. Hemlock's ship is in docking bay 4."

Shiani looked at Tech and frowned. Who the hell was in here with them?!

"Another disabled camera." Tech had checked six on this hallway alone, and every one of them was disabled. "This is highly irregular."

"I don’t like it.” Hunter nodded.

Tech sighed. “We need to get out of here, and quickly.”

Shinai was on the ground, looking behind a terminal, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Tech…”

“Yes, cyar- shit.” Tech hissed as his eyes followed where she was pointing and spotted the pulsing glow of a familiar weapon. "A high-powered thermal detonator."

"We need to go.” She got up, eyes wide. “This is bad. This is a bold attack, and we’ll be caught in the crossfire.”

"One charge is not sufficient to destroy the facility." Tech gently put his hands on her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

"Good thing we've got more." All three of them whipped around at the voice, blasters up. Two stormtroopers were walking towards them, but something about the way they walked made Hunter pause. Shiani’s ears pinned back, eyes fixing on the one closest as her lips twitched. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hiss or back away slowly. Something about that figure was… not sane. Not correct.

“They’re not Imperials.” Hunter muttered.

“I know.” Shiani shook her head.

"You're quick." When the helmet came up, they faced dark skin and bright green eyes. Hunter had seen him before, though Shiani had no idea who she was looking at. She just wan’t enjoying looking.

"Saw Guerrera." Hunter breathed.

She knew the name at least, and paused. “Freedom fighter.”

“Surprised to see you clones again. And with.. Interesting company.” Guerrera eyed Shiani before his attention moved back to Hunter. "I told you on Onderon that you'd have to make a choice. Looks like you did. I'm destroying this base, and taking out a couple Imperial leaders."

"They will only fill their ranks again. We are after intelligence." Tech snorted.

"Hemlock is keeping clone prisoners, including one of our own." Hunter explained, hands up. He sensed somehow, like Shiani did, that the man in front of him was running on less than full cylinders. "Stand down this time. This information is vital."

"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good." Saw’s eyes narrowed.

Shiani put her hands together, pleading. “The information we need could give you a better target. Just please stand down for a little while. We can share the data and collaborate.”

The look he gave her was both unimpressed and unhinged. “I’m not standing down. This means too much.”

His companion pulled him a step back when the siren snarled. “We don’t have time for this. We need to move. A security alerts been triggered."

Saw pulled his helmet back on and waved Shiani off like she was a gnat. "Fine"

Tech pulled Shiani back as Hunter shot a trooper behind Guerrera and waved for them to run the opposite direction, back to towards the hanger. "We've been compromised. Head back to the rail line." He ordered, taking shots over his shoulder.

Shiani was right behind him and Tech, hearing the others copy over comm. Stormtroopers were coming around every corner she turned, and the feeling of a tentacle snapping a neck was a necessary and too-often experienced sensation that clawed its way up her spine. Shooting them wasn’t any better. The extinguishing of a life, even a life of an enemy, always hurt. It was suppose to be a burden you bore, when you hunted or killed you had to carry the weight of the lives you took.

Her father’s lessons stuck around, even if she was so far from home and so far from who she’d been when she learned them.

Hunter and Echo covered everyone on the platform as they loaded into a rail car, and she dragged them inside with her tentacles when they were still shooting as the car started moving. “Nobody left behind.” She panted, looking at them anxious and securing the door.

“This was unexpected.” Tech muttered, checking her over.

“He’s crazy.” She sighed into his hands. “I’m okay.”

Behind them, the base went up in flames as Guerrera’s thermals went off. Ships in the hangar fell over and were engulfed. “... there goes our intel.” Echo muttered savagely.

“Worse problem.” Shiani frowned. “These kind of rail lines are powered at the control terminals on either side. If that just blew, we’d have to reroute to the other end of the line or we’ll stop…”

As she spoke, they started to lose speed and a crackle of electricity fried the line above them. Echo groaned. “Dammit, the mechanic is right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Shiani frowned, looking at the ceiling. “It’s going to be difficult to reroute the power from here, too. Your scomp won’t work without power to the internal terminal…”

Tech looked out the window. There was another rail car coming from the other direction, also stopped and in range to fire on them. “Which means we must reboot the system from the terminal directly attached to the track.” A blaster shot whizzed past his face, striking the opposite wall where Omega had been a split second before Shiani pushed her into Hunter’s arms. “That is going to be a problem.”

#explict #original character #clone force 99 #the bad batch #star wars #fanfic #tbb tech #song of the sea #oc shiani illumai

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