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mighty-ant · 4 months

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Shadow's Bane, Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Beneath fading camouflage paint and an itchy ghillie suit, Agent 87 lowered her binoculars and ducked back into the underbrush at the edge of the McDuck property. Her encampment was hidden beneath a haven of white fir trees, consisting of a tent covered in foliage and her survival pack, where food, water, weapons, and equipment were stored.

Her setup was simple, precise, professional, with one exception: a little plush doll in a pink dress, the fabric faded and bearing numerous battle scars, evidence of a child’s clumsy needlework and the later improvements of an agent’s sturdy hand. The doll was a secret and weakness in one, dangerous evidence of sentimentality, but 87 couldn’t leave her back at base either.

She stowed her binoculars before sitting down, stretching out muscles that had gone stiff and achy after the forced stillness of an additional hour-long monitoring session. She’d had a close call when her target finally arrived, a split second where she could’ve sworn Agent 22 spotted the shine of her binocular lenses all the way from the front door when an errant breeze shifted the tree branches she was crouched behind.

87’s ineptitude could’ve easily blown her cover and ruined the entire operation. A thirteen year investment gone utterly to waste. She could already imagine the Doctor’s fury, the accusations ringing in her ears.

Pathetic

Foolish girl

Waste of a test tube

Pain had little effect on Agent 87, but the Doctor knew that well enough. Her punishment would be metal talons wrapped around the back of her neck, forcing her to curl and contort her body into the trunk that followed them everywhere, every base the Doctor brought her to, as crucial as the rest of her lab equipment. The lid would seal and leave 87 in a darkness so complete she couldn’t see her own hands, couldn’t hear anything other than the rush of blood through her head, the rapid rasp of every hitching breath. Time vanished inside the trunk; the black abyss stretched and pressed in around her and she never knew if she was left alone for minutes or hours, if the Doctor would even remember to free her before she lost consciousness.

87 shook her head violently, waved her hands out in front of her, just to remind herself she could. The trunk was far away from her now. She hadn’t compromised her mission. She hadn’t.

The hood of her ghillie suit fell away, revealing her face in full, her white feathers stained by patches of fading camouflage paint. Her cheeks were rounded with youth, the short hair escaping her bun falling around her face in disarray.

She pulled the laptop out of her pack, queuing up the various security camera feeds she had set up around the mansion’s perimeter under the cover of darkness on the first night of her stakeout. These feeds weren’t an adequate substitute for full observation techniques, but they would suffice for brief stretches. Long enough for her to stretch, hydrate, and get something in her stomach.

87 could also use this as the perfect opportunity to update her field log.

Pepper (Egghead Level 6) had been the one to give her the idea, though likely entirely by accident.

“You’re gonna be on stakeout for how long?” she’d demanded in that peppy, shrill way of hers. “Oh, I know mum’s the word for these super spy camping trips, but if you don’t talk to yourself or something, sweetie, you’re gonna go loopy!”

87 was immediately partial to the idea of keeping a log for herself, to monitor and track her progress as she advanced through the organization. This was her first solo mission, utterly official, no more training wheels, no backup. If she could record her thoughts and experiences as this operation progressed, she could go back and study them later, analyzing what she might have missed, where she might improve before her next mission.

It took a bit of doing to hunt down a recording device that wasn’t already bugged; anything that could be used to contain incriminating information was understandably hard to come by in their line of work.

Once fed and watered, 87 hit record on her device. She cleared her throat, speaking aloud for the first time that day.

“This recording, and all eleven before it, are classified Level 5. If you are ranked below Level 5, stop listening now or risk termination, per Policy 8, subsection b.03 in your FOWL orientation manual,” she listed unenthusiastically, in the stilted tone that was intended for the legal record, should any agent above her discover her logs and demand she turn them in.

“Operation: Hen House. Field log 12. August 10, 2017. Approximately 1100 hours Pacific Standard Time.” 87 let out a great, dramatic huff just as she hopped back to her feet and began another round of stretches.

“Whew! Now that all the boring stuff is out of the way…The weather’s clear today, with only a few clouds on the horizon. It shouldn’t rain tonight, which means I’ll be able to sleep in my tent again and not up in a tree. I don’t mind the tree, really! She’s a very sturdy fir. But my tent is much more comfortable, when I won’t drown in mud by sleeping in it.”

87’s breathless stream of consciousness ended when she knelt back at her laptop, pulling up footage from approximately an hour ago alongside the current live feeds. She queued up a few seconds to loop on repeat—specifically, that of her person of interest’s eagerly anticipated arrival, after twelve days of preparation.

“Anyway,” she said, with a touch more composure. “My target, Lena Downey McDuck, adopted daughter of Scrooge McDuck, landed at Duckburg International Airport at approximately 0710 today. She entered McDuck Manor at precisely 0805, and currently only she and Agent 22 are in residence.”

After a brief glance at the live feeds, 87 focused on the loop of Lena McDuck on the manor’s front steps. The camera wasn’t in a good spot to capture the look on her face, but her shoulders were slumped and she did nothing to brush her long bangs out of her eyes. Then the door opened, and Agent 22 bent down to give her a hug, her severe expression cracking with a smile.

Over the last twelve days, 87 had observed Agent 22 at every opportunity. To the untrained eye, the former director of SHUSH accomplished very little in her decade-old role as housekeeper; she merely did chores, all the million little things it took to run a household the size of McDuck’s. But 87 was trained to recognize threats hiding in plain sight, and she had never recognized a greater wolf in sheep’s clothing than Agent 22.

Perimeter checks were disguised as nightly strolls or a need to water the garden. Every duster, vacuum, or soup ladle was wielded with deadly grace, as though they might be repurposed as weapons without a moment’s notice.

87 didn’t even dare come within 100 meters of the mansion, petrified as she was at the thought of Agent 22 snapping her up and bolting her to an interrogation table. 87 wouldn’t break, and she knew it would be a long and painful process before Agent 22 understood that as well. So, to mitigate that risk, she moved her encampment somewhere new every night she could afford to.

Agent 22 was surely everything the Doctor described and more, and 87 knew she should be afraid of her. And she was! But…she thought that Agent 22 had a very kind face, too.

When she opened the door to Lena McDuck, her severe British countenance warmed in a way that almost fanciful, like something out of the films 87 had been allowed to view while researching for her role, full of fake happy families and fake happy endings, make-believe characters playacting in candy colored worlds where magic and chaos weren’t threats to be feared. Where little girls had parents and friends who fought and sacrificed for each other and loved each other. A world 87 had no context for. A world she hadn’t believed existed before that smile.

Anyway.

The footage repeated from there.

“Today was my first time seeing the target in person. I’ve read her file cover to cover at least fifteen times, but I’m still not sure what to think.” Feeling unaccountably antsy, 87 stood back up and began familiar tai chi movements—Yang Style, as the stomping and kicks of Chen Style would defeat the purpose of a clandestine observation.

She continued rambling, relishing in the freedom. The Doctor wasn’t here now to demand her silence.

“We know from readings taken eleven years ago that Lena McDuck was created from shadow magic, the same as the one we have on record belonging to the sorceress Magica De Spell. De Spell is classified as an Omega Level Threat, and is currently trapped in a pocket dimension inside Scrooge McDuck’s Number One Dime. An extension of Operation: Hen House is to secure the dime for FOWL.

“But today when I scanned Lena McDuck, she had almost no magical signature to speak of, which should be impossible for a creature made of the stuff! I guess it’s possible that she has perfect control of her magic, and uses this control to hide her magic signature just like the witch Morgana Macawber. A more likely explanation is that she hasn’t used her magic at all in the last thirteen years, and it's gone dormant. I recommend consulting the Phantom Blot once he’s been given clearance for the target’s true origins.”

87 stopped to consider the looping footage again, scrutinizing her target’s body language the same way she would an armed assailant.

She knew everything about Lena McDuck the target, but had so little information on Lena McDuck the person. Her social media presence was negligible, and she associated with no known parties. A few Eggheads had even been placed to monitor her schools, and still she did little of note other than get expelled from said schools, all without the media frenzy most rich heiresses would generate. She was unlike any of the wealthy elites 87 had studied in preparation of her undercover work, and even less like a young Scrooge McDuck, whose own ambition had seemed limitless.

“Lena may be rebellious, and a trouble-maker, but I’ve noticed that more than once, according to her school reports, her acts of rebellion are usually to help someone else. She seems to have more of an altruistic side than McDuck ever did. Maybe the lack of adventure warping her perception of reality is the answer?” 87 wondered aloud. The Director did always say that McDuck was deluding himself, playing God. “Either way, it might be useful to know for when I make contact.”

Make contact. Her real assignment, not this child’s idea of spycraft, hiding in the bushes with binoculars and calling it a day. Or twelve.

87 closed her eyes and took a breath, as the warrior monks of Tra La la taught her, allowing her surroundings to wash over her. Larks tittered overhead and a breeze sent the leaves in the treetops shivering against each other in gentle susurration. Killmotor Hill was worlds away from the rest of Duckburg, but even on high one couldn’t escape the distant honk of cars in traffic or the bleating of boat horns in the marina even further away.

This was the world she would help protect. The real world. And she was but a cog in the complex machinations of FOWL, making that happen.

“This is Agent 87. End of log 12,” she said, before opening her eyes again and taking in her modest campsite. It might've been meager, but the solitude was a welcome relief.

She stopped the recording, and stowed the device in her pack.

Returning to her laptop, 87 pulled the live feeds up in full, prepared for another long day and a longer night of continued surveillance.

Agent 22 was the territorial sort, and unlikely to leave the mansion for at least twenty-four hours now that her charge was in residence. McDuck kept long hours, leaving in the early morning and returning in the late night, but his activities were closely monitored by the Director and were of little relevance to her assignment.

As a matter of principle, she still listened in on all the calls coming in and out of the mansion (she tapped the phone lines on day 3), but both McDuck and Agent 22 spoke little and made fewer calls. The driver was a lot more fun, with his earnest friendliness hiding no great secrets, and his boxer’s strength making 87 itch for a real spar and not just the same boring solo drills. She almost would’ve preferred to follow him around, but he was marked ‘inconsequential’ on the mission report.

Anyway, she only had a few more days of surveillance to complete. After that, the next phase of her assignment would begin. A house was already being secured for her in town, and once she moved in they would craft her backstory and prepare for the start of the school year. There, 87 would meet and befriend Lena, infiltrate the McDuck family, and ensure they didn’t meddle with the Director’s vision for a better, safer world.

But then, even the most foolproof plan wasn’t McDuck-proof. 87 had been taught this, but she would learn it the hard way.

Something triggered one of her motion-detectors on the western side of the mansion, where most of the occupied bedrooms were located. Cursing her distraction, 87 cycled through all her security feeds. Had someone slipped past her? One of McDuck’s many, many enemies? Since he stopped adventuring there’d been little activity from anyone other than Flintheart Glomgold or the Beagle Boys, petty and shortsighted criminals who Agent 22 took down easily. It would make 87 the biggest failure of them all if she missed their infiltration, and if her distraction cost them this operation…

Finally, she found the feed that her alarms were crowing over, but she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Not at first.

Lena McDuck was climbing out of her bedroom window and into the topmost branches of the tall tree just within reaching distance. She had the same duffel bag she arrived with slung over her shoulder. The camera followed her progress until she jumped down from the last branch and disappeared out of frame.

Cold, horrified realization had 87 lunging for the burner phone in her pack. A single button and a verbal passcode later, the Doctor’s cultured, snappish voice greeted her.

“What is it?”

Despite the situation, 87 felt the barest surge of relief that her creator answered her at all.

“Doctor Heron,” she reported as briskly as she could, carefully keeping the panic out of her voice. “The target, Lena McDuck, is fleeing the premises! I think she’s running away.”

The Doctor’s retort was a whip crack. “Then you had better be following her, if you know what’s good for you!”

“I should continue surveillance on foot?” 87 tried to clarify.

“No, you idiot!” the Doctor snarled. With no one to bear witness to her weakness, 87 ducked her head in an instinctive flinch. “Stop her from leaving the city! Operation: Hen House will only succeed if the creature stays with Scrooge, where we can keep an eye on her. He’s only just stopped one fruitless search and we don’t need him to waste FOWL resources on another. We’ll simply have to move up our timetable. You will intercept her now . Do whatever you have to to keep her from leaving the city.”

87 was up and running before the Doctor even finished issuing the order. No time to stop at the home FOWL acquired as part of her cover, where a closet full of outfits for a normal little girl awaited her. First to uncover where her target was headed. Then, acquire a disguise. Fatigues and a ghillie suit weren’t going to cut it, but something was better than nothing, even if she had to pull it out of the garbage.

Operation: Hen House would be a success. Agent 87 was going to become the best friend Lena McDuck ever had.

—

Thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes and she would be home free.

Lena wasn’t anxious by nature, but sitting on that bench, willing the massive gold clock above the information booth to reach 2:30, she’d never felt her heart race harder.

Her eyes darted back and forth behind the fringe of her hair, on the lookout for a purple cardigan and no-nonsense gray bun, or maybe a brown bomber jacket and red hair. She doubted her dad would come looking, but he’d send his employees out in a heartbeat. Him calling the police was also unlikely. He didn’t trust them, and the press even less; the last thing he would want was to turn her escapade into a media frenzy.

Still, Lena tried to keep a wary eye on the few cops patrolling the station, but it was doubly hard when she was sitting in the middle of a chaotic rush hour.

The bus station was a circus and a half and not just because it was packed with travelers of every shape and size. The building itself was a grand, glass and wood panel cathedral to Duckburg’s robust public transit system. It looked old-fashioned, in the way a lot of old downtown Duckburg did. Turn of the century, her dad would’ve called it. She could imagine him standing under that same gold clock a hundred years ago, when it used to be a train station. There might even be an ancient black and white photo of exactly that displayed in a museum somewhere.

Lena scowled. As if she needed the reminder right now.

She just counted her blessings that as loud and horribly busy as the station was, it meant she was utterly unnoticeable. She was even almost grateful for her dad keeping her as far away from him as physically possible the last four years, making it impossible for the masses to recognize her at a glance the way they did him.

This plan had been in the back of her mind for a few months now. Even before the frog incident at Tremaine’s. Students were allowed to work on campus, so she got a job at the bookstore. At her last school, she worked in the dish room. If anyone raised an eyebrow at the idea of the Richest Duck in the World’s kid applying for a menial job, well, she was just trying to start her fortune the honest way, just like her old man.

She worked and she saved and it paid off in the form of a ticket gripped in her sweaty palm, a one-way trip to Cape Suzette. It was a five and a half hour drive to the city on the edge of the world, the city of sea planes, and from there she could go anywhere she wanted. Only four years away from eighteen, she was practically an adult, and the laws in Cape Suzette still allowed kids as young as twelve to become navigators. She’d get the life of adventure Dad promised and never delivered on.

Almost her whole life, everywhere she went, was defined by whose daughter she was. Scrooge McDuck. Legend, explorer, has-been. Who was she, compared to that? Little Lena, who wasn’t all that bright, couldn’t make friends to save her life, and was so, so angry all the time.

Did it help or hurt that she’d never learn who little Lena was supposed to be? Going on some Lifetime movie quest to find her birth parents wasn’t even an option because for all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist. Dad found her, abandoned as a baby, and took her home. Oh, he’d couched it in sweeter words than that when she was five and asked what “adopted” meant, crooning, and there you were, my bonnie wee lass, sprung out of the ground like a daisy!

Before the cracks between them tore open into a chasm, and Lena was old enough to understand that Mrs. B wasn’t playacting at the whole secret agent thing, she asked her who her parents were, because Mrs. B knew everything. Everything but this one thing, it would turn out. Lena Downey McDuck was all she’d ever be.

But maybe it wouldn’t have all been so bad if she wasn’t so alone . Duckworth was there one day and then dead the next, and she’d barely gotten to know Mrs. B before Dad was shipping her out of the state. She grew up in cold, distant halls with girls who were either too scared of who her father was to talk to her, or took it as a challenge to make her life as miserable as possible.

What would it take to make her dad finally see her?

Her visits back home dwindled over the years, spending longer summers at whatever school hadn’t kicked her out yet, fewer birthday candles blown out under the watchful gaze of her grandparents’ portrait. Christmas was the only reliable constant now, sometimes coinciding with Hanukkah, which meant more time with Launchpad, who never visited his family during the holidays and Lena knew better than to ask about.

Christmas was the one time a year her dad would unwind. They’d set up Santa traps just like they used to when she was little, sneak cookies before dinner from under Mrs. B’s nose, watch that terrible Christmas movie from the ‘30s that both her dad and Mrs. B insisted was a classic, and at the end of the night they’d pass out on the couch with bats and Byzantine swords in their hands in case Santa tried to be extra sneaky that year.

But then her dad would be back in the office by Boxing Day and it would be like nothing had changed. Lena, always second to business, to making the richest duck even richer.

In the week leading up to her flight, she made her decision. If he was waiting for her at the airport, like he said he would, she would stay. If he wasn’t…maybe she’d have better luck on her own. Completely on her own.

Lena glanced back at the clock, a flare of hope making her sit up on her bench in the furthest corner of the station.

2:05

Still twenty-five minutes to go.

She dropped her head onto the back of the bench and groaned. Frustratingly enough, she couldn’t even pull out her phone to district herself into making time go faster. She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Mrs. B had some way to track it, even if she didn’t answer any calls or texts, and she wasn’t about to risk giving herself away. Mrs. B had to have found her note by now, reminded Dad that he had a daughter who was now in the process of fleeing the state, and let loose some sort of search party.

Just twenty-five more minutes until she left Duckburg, by choice for once.

Lena just had to resign herself to people watching until then, warily keeping an eye out for anyone who might look like they’re searching for the runaway daughter of the Richest Duck in the World.

There was constant movement in the station, with small pockets of stillness by those sitting on benches like herself or standing still against the tide. There were businesspeople, families, and college students weighed down by luggage, all in a rush to get to their destination.

Lena idly watched a girl around her age walk past. She was dressed sloppily, in a gray hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, and her hair looked like she’d slept headfirst in a bush. The dark circles under her eyes rivaled Lena’s, though she was bright and alert despite that as she scanned the station around her. To Lena, it didn’t look like she was admiring the architecture but rather as if she was looking for someone.

The backpack she was carrying wouldn’t have looked out of place on some reality show for survival nuts, huge and utilitarian and practically bursting at the seams. But dangling innocuously from one of the mesh side pockets was a little plush duck in a pink dress.

As the girl whirled around in her continued search of her mystery someone, Lena watched the doll come loose and fall to the floor. The girl didn’t notice. No one else around Lena seemed to either, or if they noticed they just didn’t care.

The girl made an anxious sort of hopping motion, biting her lower beak, before she turned around entirely, and started to walk away. Accidentally leaving the doll behind.

Lena hadn’t lost sight of her before she groaned and jumped to her feet, dragging her duffel bag with her. She plucked the doll off the ground and hurried after the girl.

“Hey! Hey, you—” She shoved past a few strangers, her duffel serving as a handy battering ram. The girl’s monstrous backpack was right in front of her.

Lena reached out, tapping her on the shoulder.

The girl jumped, but luckily didn’t scream or anything as she turned around with a wide-eyed expression. It quickly exploded into a grin when she saw what Lena was carrying.

“Hey, sorry, I saw you dropped—” Lena said unnecessarily.

“My Quacky Patch doll!” the girl gushed, taking the plush back gratefully. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I really don’t know what I’d do without her. I’ve had her since I was little!”

Lena shrugged, feeling a little warm under her feathers at the effusive praise. “No prob. You looked like you were in a hurry, and I didn’t want you leaving little miss pink behind.”

Oh, yeah, I never would’ve noticed! And I’ll have you know, her name’s Mallory McMallard, and she fights organized crime,” the girl said primly, carefully tucking the doll into one of the many zippers that covered her bag.

Lena snorted without really meaning to. “Oh yeah?”

It was the girls turn to shrug, smiling helplessly. “I did say that I got her when I was little.” She stuck out her hand between them. “Thank you, again! You’re the first person I’ve met in Duckburg, and you’ve given me a great impression of the city so far.”

Lena stepped back a bit, discomfort tightening in her stomach. “Oh, uh, I wouldn’t know about that. I’m actually planning to leave as soon as possible.

The girl’s cheery expression dropped. Lena felt a weird pang of…something. Most new people she met were glad to see her go. “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Well…it was still nice to meet you…?”

Ugh, she was being rude wasn’t she? At least Duckworth would never have to know that all his etiquette training had been wasted on her. “Oh, I’m, uh, I’m Lena.”

The girl stuck out her hand again, aggressively chipper. “Hi, I’m Webby!”

#ducktales 2017 #ant writes #lena mcduck au #ducktales au #dt au #lena mcduck #webby vanderquack

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agbpaints · 2 years

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2022, A year in minis

Well we're almost at the new year so I decided to drag everything I've painted out of its many boxes and lay it out to see what I've done. Overall I think this is the most productive year of painting I've had yet, with 123 figures finished in total. I crossed some big milestones with my admech, surpassing 1,000 and 1,500 pts of total painted models. I also started collecting necrons, started collecting battletech, and finished the last few stragglers from my cursed city box. My speed at painting increased this year considerably and I've definitely improved my confidence in my own skills- I've started using basic freehand and weathering techniques on my models and my airbrush is becoming a significantly more used tool even if my motor coordination isn't good enough for it to be a tool for anything more than monocolor base coats.

My favorite 2022 projects

Scrap-mech. Equal parts infuriating and awesome. Cawdor bodies have some of the jankiest connection points I've ever seen but their aesthetic is top notch and slots right into admech. This was the first project I did using citadel contrast paints, and while I don't think they're the one stop replacement for normal techniques they were billed as they work fantastically as like an 'extra thicc' wash.

Battletech. I really did not expect to have as much fun as I did with these big stompy murder bots. The models are appropriately chunky and gave me a lot of practice with panel lining. I also discovered how much fun flocking is!

Vargskyr: One of my favorite monsters that I've painted and my absolute most favorite piece from cursed city. I had a lot of fun getting the hair to blend in with the skin on this big chunky boy.

Tech-wraith Kitbash. This was an idea that came like a bolt from the blue while I was buying discount models that went from notion to build to done in less than 3 days. It's mostly bits and pieces from a kataphron kit welded into a cairn wraith but I'm super proud of it.

Flayed One Kitbashes. Flayed Ones are one of my favorite necron things period and after my initial spooktober idea hit a roadblock I fell into my backup plan, a flayer killteam. The lord is probably my favorite model I built out of the mix- he's mostly a primaris intercessor mashed together with an old warrior sprue.

Goals for 2023

Pile of shame busting: holy shit do I still have a lot of bare plastic to get rid of. My biggest goals for next year are going to be finishing my warcry and infinity starters that I've left to molder in their boxes and building/painting the rest of my admech backlog. In total I believe this is about 60 models

Spooktober project: last year I recieved a Seraptek heavy construct second hand that's been hiding in a box in my attic ever since. After reading twice dead king I've decided to make it the Seraptek from That Scene (you know the one) but life and the overwhelming size of the project meant I wussed out for spooktober this year. With another year of experience and time to plan ahead, it's gonna happen this time.

Advanced techniques: I've been experimenting recently with non-metalic metal and its absolutely nerd sniped me. I suck at it, but I see a glimmer of something I could get better at that I'm gonna try to claw towards. I'd also like yo try messing around more with various blending techniques in general.

Model photography: so far all of my models have had their photos taken using a desk lamp, a piece of calligraphy paper, and the phone camera on my Samsung. They're OK but I want to devote some time and resources into upgrading my kit and skills here.

#hobby #mini painting #miniatures #warhammer #wh40k #warhammer 40k #admech #necrontyr #adeptus mechanicus #battletech #year in review #2022 #goals for 2023

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owlsandwich · 6 months

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The Mechanics of Magic

Read along with me :D - Chapter 18

It's been a while, but here's Roy sneaking through some state rooms!

Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Thick carpet muffled the sound of Roy’s steps as he crept through the empty state rooms. Even the air smelt more expensive up here. Arched windows to his left provided a sweeping view of the party that continued in the gardens below, but there was little time to admire the scenery; he needed to find something alarmed, sharpish.

He stopped under a painting that would have spanned the length and height of his own bedroom, and noticed the red dot of a security camera blinking from the corner of the ceiling. Taking it out might well cause the disturbance he wanted, but as he was preparing the spell, he paused.

What were the chances they’d notice one broken camera? But then again, destroying more than one would spread the guards looking for him over a wider area and limit his escape options, not to mention reducing the effectiveness of the distraction. Better to draw them to a single location and give Matthew the space he needed.

He was still wearing the jacket he’d taken from the staff room; with any luck, it would keep the surveillance team off him until he wanted to do the opposite.

Roy pressed on, casting out with his magic sense for something more dramatic. A multitude of passive spells answered his exploratory sensing, but none of them were alarms as Matthew had promised. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to have gone up as far as the top floor?

As if in answer, he found himself in a long, wood-panelled corridor. A wide staircase to his left curved down, out of sight. In the hall ahead, there was a vibrant magic signal that could only mean an advanced lock. Roy hurried forward, ignoring the distant sounds of movement and talking from the floors below.

The source of the magic was a door of carved, dark wood. Beside it, a pillar held a vase of freshly cut flowers and Roy plucked a white petal, rubbing it between his finger and thumb, as he assessed the passive spell. As expected, it was a strong lock, though not the type he’d practiced with his mother. Trying to enter without authorisation would cause the distraction he needed, though he couldn’t tell whether that would be an audible alarm from the door itself, or from somewhere else in the palace.

Eyes seeing only the magic, it took Roy a moment to notice the golden plaque beside the door: High Minister Morgan Heliodor.

He crushed the petal between his fingers, fear and rage fighting for dominance over his pounding heart. This is Morgan’s office. Afteryears of questioning. Questions that had seen him break into Felix Marek’s house in the first place. Now, all that might stand between him and the answer to his mother’s death was a piece of wood. He was going in.

Decision made, Roy focussed his mind on his task. With his hand on the door, he searched for the subtle energy shift that would indicate the caster’s starting point — the place where they had most strongly focussed their intention. He bit his lip, realising he’d found more than he was searching for.

A subtle, second spell lay under the first; a backup alarm that would alert if the main lock was deactivated. It would be easy enough for him to remove now he’d noticed it…

But Matthew needed a distraction.

Roy looked back at the door. There’d be another alarm further along. He just needed a bit of time to poke around, then he’d set off the next one.

Even as he thought it, he knew he was kidding himself. Matthew didn’t have time to spare, and Roy doubted any of the information he was looking for would just be left out in the open. This room was exactly the kind of thing he’d been looking for. Their best chance.

Both the alarm and the lock spell shone bright in his mind. Then, with a momentary lament for his reputation, he sent a spur of energy directly into the lock’s weak point, bracing himself for the alarm that would follow. Never mind, ey? There’s always next year.

The moment he did so, his vision went black. He barely felt himself falling as a wave of dizziness and nausea rushed through his body.

As fast as it had come, the darkness receded. Roy sat up and rubbed the side of his head where it had struck the wall. What the hell was that? There had been no sign that the secondary alarm contained a defence mechanism, and it hadn’t been much of an effective attack anyway, unless you counted the head-bump. Even so, he’d hoped that causing a distraction would be less painful.

As the sore spot eased, he stood and opened the now unlocked door. Light from the corridor illuminated a large desk, but his eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to make out any more. From here, it looked just like an ordinary office. He lifted a foot to cross the threshold.

“Stop right there!”

The shout came from behind him and Roy froze. Part of him had still hoped he’d have time.

“Freeze! Don’t move!” The voice came again as Roy backed away from the door, and he thought he detected a squeak in it.

A few paces towards the stairs, partially obscured by the pillar, stood a young guard. He held some sort of gun, the barrel of which was quivering but pointing straight at him. Great. Roy rolled his eyes and held his hands out the way he had seen in those Velbian movies.

“I’m not moving, see?” Roy said, working on generating a shield as he spoke. At least there was only one guard and, given the fact that Roy couldn’t sense him, he wasn’t a mage. That likely made him as young as he looked. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, you know, point that at me.” He wiggled a finger to indicate the weapon. “Apparently I really don’t deal well with being shot at, and I’d rather not go through it again.”

“Quiet! I have backup on the way.”

Roy didn’t like the way the guard jerked the gun as he talked. He could deflect a few bullets, sure, but this was a long corridor with a direct line of sight. Plus, he believed the guard about the backup.

A line of sight... There was no way back past the guard. Beyond Morgan’s office, the corridor turned a corner. Roy had no idea what was around there, but it looked like the only option.

“I said, don’t move!” the guard shouted again, more forcefully.

Seemed like time was up. He had been getting bored anyway. Drawing on his magic, Roy wove the familiar spell for a magelight. With his intention focussed, he squeezed his eyes shut and directed the brightest glow he could muster directly into the young man’s face.

The resulting flash lit up Roy’s closed eyes in shades of red. A cry from the guard made him tense, but to his relief there was no accompanying gunshot. Still, it wouldn’t stall him for long.

Dismissing the light, Roy blinked his scalded vision back into being. Then, with a gust of magic-directed air, he hurled the vase of white flowers towards the guard’s stomach with all his strength.

He’d only meant to wind the guy, but the vase shot across the room, taking the guard with it and slamming him hard against the wall. The plinth it had been standing on followed, and Roy scrambled to redirect its fall, sending it crashing down on top of the gun rather than onto the man’s prone body. For what felt like a lifetime, he didn’t move.

“…Mate? You okay?”

Then he heard the guard groan. They would have a healer in the palace, Roy assured himself, as he turned to bolt down the corridor.

Matthew said he should look for the library, right? Pity he hadn’t stopped to specify where he would find it.

He turned another corner and flew down another set of stairs. Halfway down, he almost collided with someone walking up them.

Roy had seen Aiden Heliodor’s picture before, but it took a moment for his brain to match the sneering glare of the person he had just bumped into with the smiling man from the papers. He clattered to a stop and tried to breathe like he hadn’t been running.

The expression on Aiden’s face implied the encounter was mutually unwelcome. No guards accompanied him, which probably meant he wasn’t here to face down an intruder. With luck, he didn’t know there was an intruder in the palace at all.

“Your Majesty. It is an honour to be in your presence.” Roy swooped into as deep a bow as was possible on a set of stairs. From the corner of his eye he saw Aiden leaning away from him, arms folded across his chest. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go this way; there’s trouble up ahead.”

“You can’t let me?” Aiden repeated the words slowly, as though savouring the taste. “What kind of trouble?” The edge of his mouth twitched up as he said the words, and Roy got the distinct impression his time in this conversation was limited.

“An intruder. A dangerous one,” Roy replied in a rush. Aiden was shorter in person than he’d expected, but his presence made the space feel tiny. “I would advise you get to safety and avoid this area. The library, too. We’ve heard that could be a target.” There was no sound of anyone chasing him, but it took effort to keep his eyes fixed ahead.

“That is most interesting, considering I was just there.”

“Well, it’s lucky you aren’t there anymore then! I’m sure guards will be here to deal with the issue soon. If you would let me escort—”

“No. I think not.” Aiden narrowed his eyes and Roy saw him reach inside his jacket.

“They’re a powerful mage!” Roy blurted out, not wanting to face down another gun. “They’ve broken into Morgan’s office. I really must insist—”

“Morgan’s office?” The ice in Aiden’s tone thawed to surprise, and he lowered his arm a fraction.

“Yes, but as I said, guards will be here soon and—”

“In that case, I must thank you for your concern for my welfare.” Aiden’s face took on a charming television smile, and Roy let out a breath as the arm reaching for a weapon fell back to his side. “I will, of course, head directly to safety. But in the meantime, may I suggest you check the library? It is a potential target, after all.”

Roy wasn’t quite sure why, but it seemed that Aiden was going to let him go. Not a moment too soon either; he could hear voices growing louder from the corridor above him.

“Do hurry along. We wouldn’t want any guests left unwarned, would we?” Aiden kept his eyes on Roy as they moved around one another. “Down the stairs. Double doors, on your left.”

Unsteady with nerves, Roy stumbled the rest of the way down. Then, walking as fast as he dared, he followed Aiden’s directions.

I cannot believe that worked.

The library was much cooler than the corridor. Dimly lit, the hardwood floor made his footsteps echo, the air thick with the smell of books. Tall windows on the far side reached as high as the second floor, a mezzanine which circled the room like a balcony. Shelves lined every other available space.

Roy darted to the staircase on his left, grateful to put some distance between himself and the door. The windows were stained glass and his approach confirmed his initial fears; none of them looked like they would open.

How would Matthew have even known the details of this room? Oliver seemed more the type to have a floor plan, though it had never come up in conversation and Roy doubted it would be precise enough to show a window.

Not now. Not after coming this far...

He ran his hands around the bottom edge of the glass and even sensed for a spell, but there would be no way to exit that didn’t involve smashing.

Footsteps from the floor below reminded Roy that he was still in full view of the library doors. He slipped behind the nearest bookshelf, craning his neck to see who was there, but no one came into view. Again. Great. Now he was stuck here. He might even have to resort to reading something while he waited.

As he slouched back against the bookcase, Roy realised that the cramped space seemed lighter than it had any right to be. He looked to his right and was met with the sight of a small, square window. Small, but passable. It didn’t look like anyone had opened it for years; the glass was too fogged with dirt to see through. Even unlatched, it didn’t budge when Roy tried to shift it, though whether this was due to age or human intervention he couldn’t tell.

He cast a shield to dull the sound and pushed again with more force. This time, with a splintering of wood and paint, it cracked open, and Roy caught sight of the palace grounds beyond.

He was two floors up, at least. But just as Matthew had claimed, there was a flat roof sticking out from the side of the palace below him. It would be a drop just a little taller than his own height — nothing he hadn’t managed before, and at least this time he wasn’t falling down some scaffolding while deflecting bullets.

Glad he hadn’t gone for his favourite double pizza order more often, Roy sucked in a breath and squeezed through the frame. Once through, he turned around and lowered himself down, dropping onto the roof below. With a nudge of wind magic, the window swung shut behind him. It would be one to remember if he ever felt like snooping around the palace again.

The breeze was cold on his face, grey sky threatening a summer storm. From here, Roy was hidden from both the garden party and the expansive drive at the palace’s front, but he didn’t feel ready to try escaping in either direction. He dusted his hands on his trousers. At least he was no longer inside. Perhaps he’d just—

“Not bad,” a voice interrupted. “I always wondered how Matthew got out.”

#themechanicsofmagic #writeblr #fantasy writing #fantasy books

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greenandhazy · 2 years

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Things I love about these Philadelphia Phillies:

There are a lot of young players new to the team this year, and they call themselves “the Daycare.” Brandon Marsh had to point out that he counted as the daycare because he’s only 24 despite being 6’4” and looking like this

One member of the Daycare, Nick Maton, has the nickname “Wolfie” in the clubhouse because he howls after big hits/plays. A hype video they released for the playoffs referred to him affectionately as “Teen Wolf over here.” Also, he has an older brother who pitches for the Houston Astros. Recently he successfully got a hit against his brother, and both of their reactions were exactly what you’d expect: 😑 and 😈

Their win playlist has been made public and is absolutely off the wall, but apparently their go-to celebration song is a cover of “Dancing on My Own” by Robyn?? Nothing like seeing a bunch of beefy dudes hopping up and down, spraying each other with champagne, belting out a no-pronouns-switch breakup song.

During one of the celebrations, one guy was dancing around with their backup catcher, Garrett Stubbs, on his shoulders. He hadn’t actually played that game, and people joked he was only there because they needed a short guy to lug around whom they didn’t have to worry about dropping.

The main catcher, JT Realmuto, has the fastest pop time—meaning the time it takes him to jump up and throw the ball when he sees someone stealing—in the National League. His pop time is under 2 seconds. That was also about the amount of time it took him to jump when someone popped a champagne cork right next to him, which is a hilariously delayed reaction.

The arguable founder of the Phillies daycare has decided that, instead of the traditional rush with a giant tub, he wanted to sneak up on people with little cups of ice water and pour it down their shirts. Always check for Sneaky Stott in the background.

There’s one player in his third season, Alec Bohm, who struggled a lot with sophomore slump. After one game when he made three errors in the field, he got a sarcastic standing ovation and got caught on camera saying “I fucking hate this place.” He owned up to it and the fans’ general reaction was “babe we fucking hate this place too, welcome to the club,” and he got a genuine round of applause the following night. Since then he put in a shit ton of work and made some truly incredible plays in the game that led to them advancing in the playoffs. When asked what he had to say to fans, he said “I love this place.”

Bryce Harper, last year’s NL MVP, has been called the king of pandering. He has had multiple custom-made suits, cleats, and other accessories to pay tribute to Philly sports (including adding green feathers to a premade pair of Phanatic cleats that just weren’t tacky enough), and his reaction after the Phillies won their recent round in the playoffs was to say he hoped the Eagles would have a good game the next day (they did—coincidentally both Philly teams beat teams called the Cardinals this weekend).

Jean Segura had the record of being the longest-playing player in the National League to not make the playoffs. He had a hit in their first playoff game that gave them the go-ahead run, and he reacted with a victory leap while still running to first.

There is absolutely nothing I don’t love about Rhys Hoskins, the Big Fella, king of handshakes, clubhouse big brother. But shoutout to this photo of a tender moment between him and Bryce Harper after they made the playoffs.

And it just feels wrong to not acknowledge Kyle Schwarber even though I don’t know much about him except he’s a goddamn tank, but he did have an EPIC meltdown early this season against an ump who had a horrible accuracy rate which I got to witness in the 9th inning of a 1-run, boring as shit game, and it was fantastic. He made sure to include plenty of big gestures so those of us in the cheap seats could tell what he was complaining about, which I appreciated.

In conclusion: go Phils, fuck the Braves, RING THAT BELL.

#phillies #I made this post to keep from spamming my discord friends #who have been… very patient. lol.

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vyncsconnectedcarsolution · 1 year

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Has Driving Become More Dangerous than Ever

The NHTSA recently reported that highway fatalities are probably going down. It is a collection of various publications based on the findings of the NHTSA in the first quarter of 2022 compared to the previous seven quarters.

This statistical drop bodes well, of course. Then again, the consensus is that the roads are becoming more dangerous than before, even after more and more people started using tracking devices for vehicles. Is this true? Is it because of the pandemic causing an outlier in the data? Find the answers to these questions below.

The Effect of the Pandemic

In the first quarter of the pandemic, traffic fatalities went down as the number of vehicles on the road decreased. However, things changed in the following quarters because drivers felt they had more freedom due to less traffic. Eventually, fatalities began spiking. Therefore, even after a drop in the number of traffic fatalities in 2022, the value was more than what it was in 2019.

Police Pulling Over Drivers

NPR indicates that the police are not pulling over rash drivers as much as they used to earlier. When combined with a police shortage, it becomes clear that the dangers of the road have increased. Some officers claim they don’t have enough time to participate in traffic enforcement. Police stations also have enough data to back these claims. The police force issued 86% fewer traffic tickets in 2022 than in 2019.

The Rise in Road Rage

Based on a survey conducted during the pandemic, 70% of drivers in the USA have experienced some form of road rage over the past year. Here is a breakdown of the data.

Honking horns aggressively - 50%

Shouting and making hand gestures angrily - 50%

Tailgating - 18%

Leaving the car to confront someone - 17%

Situations like these result in more drivers arming themselves. About 20% of men have said they have a loaded gun in the car. About 9% of women did the same. Road rage shootings have increased. Five years ago, 70 people died in road rage shootings, but in 2022, the number doubled to 141.

New Vehicles are Safer

When it is about road safety, one common positive aspect drivers can goad about is that a new vehicle is safer. It is true! The silver lining is that a new automobile is safer than the one that came out two decades ago, and it is due to the following technological advancements.

Seatbelts

Airbags

Backup camera

Electronic stability control

Driver assistance

Blind spot detection

According to the NHTSA, these safety technologies have saved over 600,000 lives between 1960 and 2012. More technology keeps popping up all the time, making vehicles safer than before. You should look for advanced safety features whenever you consider purchasing a new vehicle, as they will ensure you survive an accident.

#gps #business #commercial #road rage #gps tracker for car #tracking devices for vehicles #safe drive #driver safety

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pinerho · 2 years

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Winclone reviews

#Winclone reviews how to

#Winclone reviews for mac

#Winclone reviews drivers

#Winclone reviews upgrade

Intel-based Mac systems have been around for about six years now, and Apple is just starting to drop support for some of the earliest models in it OS, which might have you considering an upgrade if you were an early adopter of one of these systems.

If you are moving the Windows partition to a similar setup as your previous system (same number of partitions), then when prompted you do not need to replace the windows BCD file, but if you are in doubt about this or if you do have a different partition scheme on your new system then choose the option to replace the BCD file (Windows will not boot if its partition number has changed-a problem some people have had with the addition of the Lion Recovery HD partition).

Select the image in the sources list, then select the newly created Windows partition, and click the Restore button to transfer the image to the new partition.

Open Winclone on the new Mac and drag the image to its Sources list.

Create a new NTFS or Fat32 partition on your new Mac (use Disk Utility or Boot Camp Assistant) that is large enough to hold the imaged Windows installation.

Select your Boot Camp partition and click the Image button to image it, saving the image to the location of your choice (an external hard drive is recommended).

The process is quite simple, and only takes a few steps to complete after backing up your Mac as a precaution (though if you are migrating to a new system its likely your old one still contains all of your files):

#Winclone reviews how to

Two Canoes Software's Web site has a video demonstration where owner Timothy Perfitt shows how to use Winclone to transfer Boot Camp between two Mac systems. If you plan on using Winclone, do keep in mind that it is a transferring tool and while it can be used for backing up, it does so by creating a full and restorable single backup instance of your Boot Camp installation, and does not offer an option to manage individual files or give you incremental backups. Winclone has been tested to work with Windows Vista and Windows 7, but should also work with Windows XP provided it is installed on an NTFS file system (FAT32 file systems are not supported).

"Snap back" to an earlier Windows state saved to an external drive.

Create disk images of Windows installations.

The new version of the program is updated to work well with modern Windows installations, and not only clone them but also manage them by supporting the following features: However, Winclone has now returned, updated and ready to clone. In this time, advancements in OS X, Windows, and Boot Camp resulted in the program no longer working for newer systems, so the utility lost its relevance and Mac users had to rely on virtualization options such as Parallels Desktop or VMWare Fusion to transfer their Windows installations to run in their Macs. Unfortunately Winclone was not maintained and the project went silent for a few years. The utility worked quite well, and was commonly recommended for people who needed to transfer or back up their Windows installations. To tackle this issue, the free utility Winclone was developed by Two Canoes Software to transfer Boot Camp installations from one system to another. Therefore, if you have a Windows installation that you use, you will need to set it up from scratch on your new system. While Apple offers a migration assistant tool that will transfer your Mac-based accounts, data, and applications to a new system, this tool does not transfer any Boot Camp installations.

#Winclone reviews drivers

To facilitate this for those who needed it, Apple introduced Boot Camp to easily partition the hard drive and supply drivers to the Windows OS for various features like iSight cameras and multitouch trackpads.īoot Camp is a great option to have on the Mac, but unfortunately its support from Apple is rather limited, especially if you need to migrate from your older Mac to a newer one.

#Winclone reviews for mac

Apple's move to Intel processors for its Mac systems in 2006 opened up many opportunities for Mac users, one of which was the ability to install and boot Windows directly on the Mac hardware without any emulation.

#Winclone reviews

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melancholyshadow · 3 years

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Well...since you asked, I have a druig request😁😁 The reader is an eternal and druig broke her heart when he left but she comes with the others and sees him the first time since then and idk somehow they makeup, druig is very loving towards her

vengeance || druig

summary: druig broke not only your trust, but also your heart. when you did see him for the first time in hundreds of years, it went the opposite of how you had expected it too.

pairing: eternal!female!reader x druig

warning: angst-city, talks of mind control, heart break

an: another request woohoo! another one should be out in the next couple days, my school starts back up on monday so i’ll be a little less active for about two weeks and then i’ll be on winter break for about a month!!!

Something switched in you that night, you were never the same. Some part of you went with Druig when he left. That bubbly, sociable person was gone, and she never did come back. For months your fellow Eternals tried their best to patch you back up, but this was one mission they never did complete. And after Ajak decided to disband the remaining ten of you, it only got worse.

For years you avoided them, purposefully making yourself hard to find. So, when Ikaris, Sersi, and and Sprite showed up at your doorstep, you were surprised. Without a word, you reluctantly let them into your apartment. “Ajak is dead.” Those were the first words you exchanged with one of your fellow Eternals in hundreds of years. “How?” You asked, a quick waiver of your harshness pressing through your tone “Deviant.” Ikaris answered, not looking up from his lap.

It didn’t take long for them to convince you to join their cause. Mostly to avenge Ajak, but a part of you, deep within yourself, knew this journey would land at Druig’s feet. Eventually, you would have to face him again. You couldn’t tell if this excited you or if you dreaded it. It was a mix of both.

The system was similar with Gilgamesh, Thena, and Kingo. After hearing about Ajak, they were quick to tag along. Thankfully, Gil had some idea as to where to start looking for Druig. He was in the Amazon, hidden away from the rest of mankind, no one was surprised.

When you came across his compound, it wasn’t hard to tell it belonged to him. The people hadn’t advanced past their way of life since he took them. It was traditional to say the least. Growing their own crops, no electricity, living in homemade huts. It was quaint, really, it reminded of your life those thousands of years ago. The good old days, before everything fell apart.

“Hello Sprite.” Just hearing his voice, even if it was through a mouthpiece, made a shiver run down your spine. Almost in sync, the seven of you turned your head towards a lone chapel, it’s doors were pushed open. And who would it be other than Druig himself. He had always been quite dramatic, good to see some things never do change. “I’ve missed all of you.” His tone was sarcastic, and he garnished it with a cocky smile.

After Sersi explained the situation with Ajak, the deviants, Arishem, and the whole nine, Druig seemed to be speechless. Something new. But when he did finally speak, it was right back to his usual self. “That’s a lot of bad news in one go, Sersi.” He said with a shallow chuckle, obviously finding nothing about the news funny or entertaining. Things escalated quite quickly from there, and before you knew it Karun’s backup-backup camera was in a pile on the floor.

Kingo was in Druig’s face, and Druig seemed to be having the time of his life. A dark smile on his face, almost like it was saying “hit me.” When no one spoke up, you decided it was your turn to get involved. It was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine, something he hadn’t gotten in twenty generations. “That’s enough, knock it off. You’re both acting like you’re twelve.” You scoffed, standing from your seat on the bench.

That smile on his face only seemed to grow more sinister now that he had your full attention. “My beautiful, beautiful (Y/N), how’re you?” Those nicknames may have worked on your before, but not anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. “I’ve been better.” You admitted. Slowly, very slowly, making your way to where the two men were stood. “Did you miss me?” He asked, his words like venom.

A scoff passed your lips before you could even fully process it, followed by a chuckle, you were astonished at his words. “Not nearly as much as you hoped.” If you were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed, but his ego took a slight blow at your words. Only giving you more confidence. “But it’s clear to see you haven’t changed much, at all really.” You began gesturing around the room. “Still throwing your little hissy fit, when are you gonna grow up?” Another blow, this time more noticeable to the others.

“(Y/N)…”Sersi warned, her voice quiet. You had now reached Druig, only feet from him, your head tilted upwards to look at him. “No, no, let her finish.” He pushed. That smile had disappeared, and his lips were sitting in a flat line, eyebrows furrowed together. “You’d think after hundreds of years you’d have time to think about your actions. But you’re never wrong, right?” Your index finger made contact with his chest.

“You’re Druig, Mr. Right, I have a moral high ground. Do you really?” You asked, another cackle erupting from your throat. “It’s real ethical of you to keep these people tucked dee in the Amazon, take away their free will, and control their entire existence.” With each syllable your finger made contact with his chest. “You wanna talk about morals, huh?” His crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not the one who stood around while they let millions of people kill each other.” He raised his voice, another thing he had never done to you before. He was quick to compose himself.

His eyes burned holes into yours, he was grinding his teeth, and you could see steam leaving his ears. That’s when he grabbed your wrist, catching you off-guard. “That’s enough.” Ikaris butted in, placing one hand on one of yours and Druig’s shoulders, creating some distance. You ripped your hand from Druig’s grip, storming out of the chapel. One, wanting to get as far away from Druig as possible, and two, to get some air.

You didn’t want to cry. You couldn’t cry. It was stupid. But the tears still spilt down your face, desperately you tried to wipe them away before anyone saw this. You couldn’t stop them, you felt stupid. This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. This wasn’t how you thought it was gonna go. You hadn’t seen him in hundreds of years, you just wanted for things to back to the way they were before that night in Tenochtitlán.

“(Y/N)…” Someone called out behind you, it was Thena. “Hey!” You exclaimed, wiping away any stray tears, acting cheerful. “Are you alright, darling?” She asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Yeah-Yeah, just overwhelmed is all.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “And that’s okay, take all the time you need. I think we’re gonna be here for a couple hours.” She glanced over her shoulder. You saw Druig and Ikaris yelling at each other, before Druig stormed off deeper into the camp.

You decided to pass the time by interacting with the people in the compound. They were instantly interested in all of you, Druig must have told them stories about you and the rest of the Eternals because they had a ton of questions for you. They seemed to like your powers a whole lot, element manipulation.

It was getting semi-dark and you decided to help the townspeople find some wood to burn for the torches inside their homes. You ventured along the outskirts of the compound, and Druig took advantage of the distance between you and the rest of the compound. Quietly walking up behind you, admiring the way you moved. You hadn’t changed all that much since he last saw you, but he never got tired of watching you do even the simplest of tasks.

“They started to not believe me, ya know. About you guys.” His words made your whole body tense. You stood up slowly, reluctantly spinning on your heels to face him, the pieces of wood wrapped up in your arms, becoming heavier than before. “They thought I was just making you guys up.” He chuckled, arms folded over his chest, body propped up on the trunk of a tree. “They thought I was the only one like this.”

You didn’t trust your speech. You could feel the hurt creeping up your throat, water building behind your eyes. God, you hated being so emotional. So, you just nodded, trying to keep yourself distracted by looking for more firewood. “I’m sorry, (Y/N)…” Those words sounded foreign leaving his mouth.

“Are you really?” You asked, ignoring the crackle in your voice. “We were best friends. Inseparable for thousands of years. Then you just leave me, no contact, cold turkey.” The waiver in your voice only growing with each passing word. “You threw me off to the side like I meant nothing to you. To fend for myself.” You continued, the anger bubbling inside your stomach.

“I regretted my decision everyday if that’s any consolation.” He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “No call? No letter? Not even a fucking carrier pigeon.” You let out a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “I thought you would want nothing to do with after I left.” He admitted, taking no credit for his actions. “Druig…” What you were feeling was so confusing. You felt scared, angry, relieved, and frustrated all in one.

“I was in love with you, idiot. Did I really have to spell it out for you? I made it so obvious. Of course I wanted everything to do with you.” When you confessed this, your gaze faltered. wrapping your arms around your torso to feel small. “What about now?” He asked, kicking himself off the tree stump, his large steps bringing him closer to you.

“What do you mean?“ You asked, noticing his sudden closeness. “Do you want anything to do with me now? Do you still feel that same way?” Your mind and heart were fighting against one another, and you didn’t know which one to listen to. “Dru, I-I don’t know…” You still trusted this man with your life, but you couldn’t say the same about your heart.

“I don’t need an answer now, but I don’t know how much longer we have together.” His voice faltered, his warm hands coming to cup your cheeks. Red and stained with tears you hadn’t noticed until now. He was right, time was no longer indefinite. You might only have a few days left on this planet, with this version of Druig.

You didn’t know if it was the mix of emotions or your sudden realization of imminent death, but your lips flew forward against his. They were soft, tasted like mint and some sort of flavored tea. Yours must have been chapped and salty, from your tears, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pulled you closer. Your chests now touching, and your hands resting on his.

You had wanted this for hundreds of years and it was just as good as you had imagined it. His body moved in sync with yours, the curve of your bodies fitting together like a puzzle, like the two of you were made for each other. He removed one of his hands from your face, sliding down the small of your back and under your t-shirt. The skin to skin contact made a warm feeling grow in the pit of your stomach. When Druig pulled away he didn’t go far, placing his forehead on yours.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

#druig #druig imagine #druig eternals #druig one shot #druig x you #druig x reader #druig fic rec #druig smut #barry keoghan #barry keoghan one shot #barry keoghan imagine #barry keoghan x you #barry keoghan x reader #all things druig

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tomorrowxtogether · 2 years

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YEONJUN: “I grew confident that MOA would be by our side always”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER ‘minisode 2: Thursday’s Child’ comeback interview

2022.05.19

YEONJUN already knows—when to rely on your senses, when to push yourself and when to trust your instincts. But behind the unreserved appearance he put on for the camera, there was a fine-tuned, intense passion inside YEONJUN. I asked him about the reason behind that passion.

You put on a number of fantastic performances at different awards shows from the end of last year to the start of this one.

YEONJUN: Even though I already knew it, those performances reminded me there’s nothing I can’t do when I set my mind to it. I just told myself it’ll all work out and said, You can do it! You can do it! And kept on practicing. I wasn’t 100% happy with everything but I’m proud I got through it all without any major mistakes.

What was the most memorable performance for you?

YEONJUN: The most memorable one was the opening performance at MAMA [Mnet Asian Music Awards]. I felt a lot of pressure about that performance since I was representing our group. I wanted to show people just how good our group could be. It also had simple acrobatic moves that would seem easy to professionals but which were a little tough for me, so it wasn’t easy practicing them to perfection.

Were you not scared when you practiced those moves? There was also a move you did at MMA [Melon Music Awards] where you jump up and over the backup dancers.

YEONJUN: Ah—I actually hurt myself a little when we were getting ready for MMA. One of the times I was a little off on the landing. After I got hurt, I was a little scared to jump, but I was even more scared that we wouldn’t have enough time to do everything—because of the pressure to get it perfect within the time we had left.

Looking at the behind-the-scenes footage, you’re not the type to not feel pressured about performances.

YEONJUN: I feel a lot of pressure. (laughs)

How do you cope with the pressure?

YEONJUN: I don’t try too hard to get over it. I think I always need to feel concerned and feel pressure. It’s the pressure that pushes me through to the end and allows me to do the performances one way or another in the end. Even if I’m worried at first, if I practice, I’ll always have made something by the end. So I tell myself it’s only natural to feel pressure and it’s right to feel nervous, and so I have to practice more. And then I keep practicing.

Before your rap performance for ENHYPEN’s “Blockbuster” (feat. YEONJUN of TOMORROW X TOGETHER) at 2022 Weverse Con New Era, you said you were worried you would be overly excited.

YEONJUN: It was my first time featuring and my first time to rap that much without any choreography. I think more than anything I was kind of over-excited because there were so many MOA right there and I wanted to do a really cool rap for them. (laughs) I only thought up a few moves and gestures in advance, to be honest, and the rest I just did on the spot. There’s a real big difference between the rehearsal and rapping in front of MOA. There’s this cool vibe you give off when you’re hyped, so I thought I’d look cooler during the live performance.

What is it you like about rapping?

YEONJUN: I feel stronger when I rap (laughs) and it’s nice I’m free to say whatever I want since I write all the words. It’s fun trying to think of a better rhyme or line to write, too—like solving a puzzle.

You used some tough expressions in the new lead single, “Good Boy Gone Bad,” like, “I give up,” and, “give it to the dogs.”

YEONJUN: To be honest, I didn’t feel entirely satisfied with those expressions. I probably would have written even tougher lyrics if it had been a solo song. (laughs) So I wanted to write tougher lyrics. When I make a rap, I’m less worried about how to structure it and more about how to get the feeling across in such a short rap. And while “Good Boy Gone Bad” is all about anger and madness, “Lonely Boy (The tattoo on my ring finger)” is more like sadness, and the idea of a tattoo on the ring finger was clear. The reason the speaker’s so sad is very obvious, so I wrote the rap according to that theme. The two songs deal with the same breakup but have the opposite feeling, so I could express each one differently and had fun doing it.

But compared to the strong emotions of the song, the choreography for “Good Boy Gone Bad” is quite subdued. In the chorus, you have to make a big impact with simple movements like putting your head in your hand or resting your hand on your chin. How did you work with such fine details?

YEONJUN: I think with moves like that, it’s more important to get the grasp of how it feels through experience, not obsess over the angle. The choreography had a restrained feel to it, so I tried to fill the void that was left by expressing the feeling the song gives. I’ve told MOA I watch a lot of movies and sometimes I get inspired by some of the lines so I was able to make the madness of this song feel real, too. And I also gave a suggestion about the choreography.

What did you say?

YEONJUN: In choreography, we usually make sure our hands are not in the way. We put them in my pockets or hold something, but those moves are too rigid and gentle for this song. This song has a raw feeling—a tough, raw feeling. So I asked them if we could try letting our hands wave around freely. They all said it was a lot better so we ended up using it in the final choreography. It’s a small change, but I think change always starts from small differences. I actually made some choreography for the chorus, too, but it never made it to the final choreo. (laughs)

You made your own choreography for “PS5” (feat. Alan Walker), which you and TAEHYUN also featured on, and posted it on TikTok. I got the impression you really understand what’s required of a TikTok dance.

YEONJUN: I’ve been making choreography sporadically since I was a trainee, but I never posted any of them until I started using TikTok. I think you need to make sure the dance moves are fresh and that the meaning and what you want to express come across clearly. There’s lots of popular challenges on TikTok, you know. I thought about why those dances were trending, and their common factor is that they’re easy to learn and copy. So I tried to make one that’s easy to copy, but when I actually made it, it was so hard it gave me a headache. But I feel proud when other people say, “Wow, I love it.” (laughs)

Back in March, on a V LIVE titled “Dancer Is Back,” you danced for MOA to songs by female artists, like “WA DA DA” by Kep1er and “Yumeiro Patissiere” by IU.

YEONJUN: I think it is so cool when men pull off girlish dances. I saw men nailing girlish dances while doing a workshop in the US. It was so cool and left a deep impression on me, so I thought I would look cool if I covered female artists’ dances, too. And I didn’t want it to look like a caricature, so I tried to dance in a way that was thoughtful and cute. What I really wanted was to show it’s another thing I can do well. (laughs)

You usually come across as a perfectionist when it comes to performing, but you are quite comfortable sharing your dance practice process to MOA in The Essence of Dancing.

YEONJUN: The more I do Essence of Dancing, the more I want to show MOA the things they want to see. When MOA suddenly comments saying they want to see something, some of the songs I have never tried before. But it’s not a big issue because, even if I look up and learn the choreography on the spot, I’m quite confident that I can dance without looking too bad. (laughs) Anyway, I tend to pick up and get choreography down quickly, so that’s probably why I can do that.

It seems like you’re both self-confident and strict with yourself at the same time. In BACKSTAGE: TXT x EN- DOCUMENTARY, you monitored the video as soon as the performance was over, before your sweat even had a chance to dry. You looked relieved, saying you did better than you thought. I think that one scene summed up your whole attitude toward performing.

YEONJUN: That’s all for MOA. If I’m being honest, the reason I can smile when I’m monitoring even while tired and panting like that is because MOA will watch the performance—because they will like it. After performing I check whether MOA liked it and whether I did a good job. I can breathe easy and find a way to smile even when tired out like that. That’s my sense of purpose and my motivation.

Why are you always that strict with yourself?

YEONJUN: I don’t think I’m naturally a cool person. I wasn’t always a cool person. In fact, I pushed myself to the edge to become that kind of person, and became strict with myself. That way, I think, people see me as being cooler than before. And even now, I don’t think my cool vibe will necessarily last forever—I think it depends on how I nurture it going forward. That’s why I’m always strict with myself and putting in the effort.

You have pretty good fashion sense for someone who says they’re not cool. The photos you post on Instagram always go viral. You had 7.77 million followers two days ago, but you were suddenly up to 7.85 million when I checked again earlier today. (laughs) [Note: This interview took place on April 18.]

YEONJUN: Oh, really? (laughs) I started using Instagram thinking I could show another side of myself, and it was interesting. Everyone my age uses Instagram. I felt like I became a part of the new generation. (laughs) You know, there’s a kind of “Instagram vibe.” I want to show off my fashionable side, and what makes me cool and unique. But I feel like I need to develop my fashion sense on my own lately. I feel like now I sort of need to have a more open mind about clothes and try out a wider variety of clothing.

Why is that?

YEONJUN: I feel like I’m still a little bit narrow-minded. There’s so many people who dress well, so I think I need to learn a bit more. These days I actually feel a little embarrassed sometimes to say I have an interest in fashion.

Are there times when you feel like you need acknowledgement from others? During the 2022 DREAM WEEK TXT Content Strategy Meeting, you said, “It feels the best when the members recognize me.”

YEONJUN: I always feel the need to be devoted to my role as a member of the team anyway, but even beyond that, when the other members tell me they’re proud of me and say nice things about me, it pushes me to do even better.

You must feel happy receiving recognition from the other members since you also realize how much they’ve grown and improved. How does it feel when you look back on the past now?

YEONJUN: I know what the members were like back then. We came in knowing nothing and worked ourselves to death ever since we were young, but I’m so grateful when I see how we’ve grown up as a result, and there’s so much to be proud of them for. They’re all grown up both in terms of mindset and skills, and they can make up for the things I can’t do well. To use when we record vocals as an example—simply speaking, TAEHYUN and Huening can hit high notes better than I can. And there’s a lot of things that idols have to do, even when they’re not onstage, and they’re all good at everything else they do, too.

It sounds like you all balance each other out.

YEONJUN: Exactly. We’re so important to one another, and we trust each other no matter what.

There’s something else you said in BACKSTAGE: TXT x EN- DOCUMENTARY, too: “I hope we become a unique group, and if we become that kind of group, we’ll eventually be on top.”YEONJUN: That’s what a friend I used to practice with said to me when I was in middle or high school. I always found that very moving, and that’s the goal I’ve been chasing ever since. I imagine that would make your passion for MOA all the more special. On a V LIVE you did in February, you told them to “just relax and feel free to come say hi” if they ever see you. I understand that, as an artist, you might want others to respect your personal time, but you could say that because you have a true connection with them.YEONJUN: I was able to say that because I trust MOA. MOA always keeps their promises. I never had a situation where I talked to MOA in person and asked them to do something and they didn’t do it. And, of course, since Covid, we didn’t have many opportunities to see each other. So I could say that because running into MOA in the street like that would make both me and MOA happy. You were the first one to cry at the MOA X TOGETHER fanlive event when MOA opened up their clappers and showed what was written inside them.YEONJUN: Yes. (laughs) I wanted to become an idol so I could experience the joy of standing on stage and hearing all the people cheer, but we weren’t able to see MOA in person unlike before. So even though I always knew how meaningful it would feel, I could really feel it this time. The stage wouldn’t mean much to me if MOA wasn’t there to watch, to be honest. I can only fully enjoy it if MOA is there. They stayed firmly by our side even during the time we couldn’t see each other, and as time went by, I grew confident that they would be there by our side always. “By our side”—that says it all.YEONJUN: There’s no way I could feel any other way. I always want to do everything I can for the people I care about—the members, MOA, my family, my friends. There’s no particular reason. I just cherish them. Because they’re my people.

#txt #tomorrow x together #220519 #article #weverse magazine #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #minisode 2 Thursday's Child

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humanwheatleyslefttoenail · 4 years

Text

Now I Am An Arsonist

Chapter 1: The Spark

Summary: GLaDOS learns a few things about love, hate, and the human condition.

Tags: Canon typical violence, ChellDOS, human!GLaDOS, found family

A/N: I know technically I published this a while back but I did some major edits to both the chapters I’ve already written and the story as a whole. As promised, I’m re-releasing what I already have with the edits/illustrations.

---

The tests, at least, hadn’t changed.

The centuries had washed over them like a dawdling stream, dragging them down into an overgrown abyss. Even then, the moon dust had stayed firmly adhered to the portal surfaces, the metal doors still creaking and the ceiling still intact. Eons of rain had barely even permeated its surface.

She remembered those years with profound regret; dying was not as peaceful as the science would suggest. For a machine like Her, death was nothing more than a shift of programming, a new prerogative. Her backup program had been an endless recall, restarting Her systems over and over again, trying to salvage something. In each of those moments, GLaDOS could feel the scorching heat from the incinerator, the electricity burning through her body before everything went dark.

Still, without dying, GLaDOS never would’ve fully appreciated how soothing, how wonderful it was to test.

She remembered the urge to solve, to do Science, clawing within Her even as She broke into a thousand pieces.

Those tests were Her art forms, Her self-expression. Every arrangement of deadly turrets, each layout of gleaming lasers and the perfectly calculated solution felt like a piece of Her soul turned reality.

Now, those tests were better than ever.

Every inch of moss had been thoroughly scrubbed, walls repaired, and acid pits replaced. All except for the grave of Old Aperture beneath Her was now newly outfitted, perfect for the humans P-Body and Atlas had located.

These, of course, hadn’t been the first ones they’d found.

The first batch of humans lasted a measly week, quickly killed by some of Her easiest tests. Even with reminders, the acid is deadly, the turrets are live, they’d failed within a few chambers.

Disappointing.

As a result, Atlas and P-Body had been deployed on a new mission. She’d been overjoyed when they’d bravely traveled all the way to the bottom of Old Aperture, and found even more humans preserved in cryosleep.

This time would surely be better.

All obstacles finally removed, science could continue.

GLaDOS could not smile, but if She could, She was certain that a grin would reach across her faceplate.

Today was a momentous day for technology, for the advancement of Aperture Science. It was as if She’d sent a man to the moon, and he’d come back with the theory of everything.

Originally, of course, Her plans had been different. The difficulties with Chell had worn down Her admiration for human data, and prompted her to come up with a replacement.

The Cooperative Testing initiative was infinitely more of a success than GLaDOS ever thought it would be. Atlas and P-Body were built to test, but She had still been surprised how those little androids with so much personality had managed to be so efficient.

Atlas and P-Body had overcome their own confidence through their excellent teamwork. The knowledge that they depended on a partner humbled them, and the idea of a common goal incentivized them. GLaDOS wished She’d thought of such an idea sooner.

Still, there was something about human testing, something She couldn’t quantify, something that wasn’t quite the same with robots. Humans had a particular spark, and without it, testing never felt complete.

Today would finally be the day She could put all mistakes behind Her. GLaDOS was sure She’d see that all of the other humans would prove Her experience with Chell to be exactly what She knew it was.

Bad science.

GLaDOS had learned from Her errors.

She knew for certain that She would not repeat them.

---

It’d been extraordinarily difficult to move the test subjects from Old Aperture all the way to the newly renovated Relaxation Center, with entire teams of robots struggling to reconnect Her control over the condemned area. Their work easily took a week to complete as they rewired the dilapidated circuits, barely restoring function. GLaDOS took what She could get, and rewarded their achievement with immediate, merciful destruction.

When the humans had been successfully relocated, anxiety filled Her servos as She scanned the cryo-chambers. Upon reading the results, She found herself pleasantly surprised. Good physical condition for hundreds of years in stasis. Relatively low rates of severe brain damage. Nothing particularly concerning in their associate files. Had Her comprehension not been perfect, She would’ve done a double take. After all this time, She had something that She could work with.

Atlas and P-Body would have to wait until they were needed again, their consciousness safely stored in Her mainframe. Her processors hummed with excitement as She prepared for the awakening of the first humans, buzzing with hypotheses to test.

What would be Her experiment this time? GLaDOS scrolled through Her endless lists of deadly trials.

She hadn’t used rocket turrets in a while; those weren’t as efficient as the regular ones but were always a surprise for Her unwilling participants. With only a thought, She placed the machines inside a few chambers, lining them up in a neat, strategically placed array. Companion cubes would be a definite no, at least for the first few tests. There were occasions when the humans became so deprived for social connection that their behavior would influence the results. In order to better control the experiment, She’d deploy them only in emergencies like these.

With those exceptions, and the addition of a floor to some of the more difficult levels, the chambers didn’t require too much preparation. GLaDOS had nothing particularly new to add; for so long Her energy had been focused on Atlas and P-Body that development had nearly come to a standstill. Regrettably, She’d been deprived of ideas. It didn’t matter too much; the facility remained operational even if it wasn’t constantly progressing. Even the replication of old results was invaluable for science.

It confirmed that the trends hadn’t changed.

---

The files of the subjects were all very much the same.

Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Praying mantis, formerly scientist.

Occasionally, She’d find the elusive Astronaut, War Hero or even Olympian.

She was tempted to begin the testing with these special cases, curiosity piqued at the prospect of their odd results. GLaDOS chastised Herself. She didn’t want to skew anything, and She would surely begin with a normal subject chosen at random. It wasn’t the most interesting thing to test, but it would be the most informative.

With the chambers compiled and the facility clean, testing was finally ready to start.

She almost couldn’t believe it. All technicalities aside, She was finally, finally, getting exactly what She wanted. For as long as She needed to, for as long as the subjects lasted, She could just test.

It couldn’t be real, could it?

That was the most beautiful thing about science. For all its disappointments, a discovery would be worth it all.

---

“Hello, and welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided testing program.”

Her voice resounded throughout the Extended Relaxation Vault as the subject stumbled across the room in disbelief.

“The Enrichment Center would like to take this opportunity to remind you that hundreds of years have passed, and that all of your friends and family are most likely dead. In the off chance that your friends and family are not dead, they will be tested. Thank you, [insert subject name here], for your unwilling voluntary participation in the advancement of science.”

The subject, an adult human male, selfishly resolved to huddle in the corner of the relaxation chamber. Of course, he was either brain damaged, in shock, or both. In order to assuage his gentle human feelings, GLaDOS would have to resume Her telling of… alternative truths.

GLaDOS wasn’t entirely sure what She’d said wrong. Honestly, She was surprised the subject didn’t appreciate Her integrity. After all, Chell hadn’t exactly taken kindly to Her tendency towards pathological lying. Here She was, trying to improve the well-being of Her subjects, and this was how they thanked Her?

“Hello, again, valued forced participant. The Aperture Science Enrichment Center commends you for your blind faith in the words of authority. As part of routine testing protocol, we have lied to you about the fate of your family and friends. When the testing is complete, you will receive cake and the opportunity to… see them. Your response has given us valuable psychological data on the well-being of our test subjects when told that all of their friends and family are dead.”

GLaDOS paused for a moment, focusing Her camera in the chamber and watching as the man lifted his head from his upright fetal position.

“Good. You’ve already passed one of the first stages of testing. Congratulations, [insert subject name here].”

As much as it felt wrong to use, positive reinforcement was highly effective when employed sparingly. Too many attacks on character could obliterate a subject’s morale. Just enough would account for the variable of human hubris.

Cautiously, the subject stood up and examined the room around him, fear still apparent in his apprehensive gait and wide eyes.

“In order to mentally reinvigorate you for the tests and to ensure your aptitude, the Enrichment Center recommends that you stare at the painting on the wall in front of you.”

Creeping over to the portrait, the subject followed Her orders and stared intently at the picture of Mount Rainier. He ran his fingers over the edge of the frame, tracing the tall peak of the mountain.

Interrupting his thoughts, a buzzer sounded, blaring throughout the entire room. The subject flinched from the surprise, nearly losing his balance.

“Good job. If you are not reinvigorated, consider this piece of human music.”

This time, the human expected the buzzer after the quick classical piece, seemingly more at ease with the abrupt nature of Aperture Science. In all reactions, he was completely, almost painfully average.

“Well done. You have completed the Aperture Science mental reinvigoration procedure. We may now begin testing.”

Without warning, the chamber jerked to the side as She moved it to a nearby docking station, then coming to an unexpected standstill as the door automatically opened.

GLaDOS could barely maintain Her monotonous affect, in joyous denial that testing would finally start.

Carefully, the human stepped out of the door into the test track. The door slammed behind him, as he examined the purely white room with nothing but a cube, a large button, and a locked gateway.

Almost immediately, he wrapped the blue storage cube in his arms, then gently placed it on the button. A line of blue lights leading to the gate illuminated, flashing a bright yellow as the door slid open. A lift was waiting on the other side.

As he sauntered over to the lift, it was difficult to miss the human’s triumphant smile. GLaDOS knew the expression well; it was satisfaction, victory, an unproven sense of control.

He really does have no idea.

She was tempted to spoil the ending, to mention turrets, to mention pools of burning acid. It had to wait, She reminded herself. An important control was that the test subject needed time to acclimate to a dangerous environment. Creating unnecessary fear would definitely affect her numbers.

---

The next few puzzles weren’t particularly challenging for Her first subject. Completed within a span of about ten minutes each, the first five chambers were hardly difficult for anyone. That much She’d expected.

On Her end, everything else was normal. She hardly spoke Her mind, instead opting to repeat the same script She used for every subject.

Did you know you can donate one or all of your vital organs to the Aperture Science Self-Esteem Fund for Girls? It’s true!

You have completed the test in a moderate amount of time. You can do better, [insert subject name here].

The Aperture Science Enrichment Center reminds you that we prioritize your safety. We also prioritize science. In fact, we prioritize science more, but if you feel unsafe in our unsafe conditions, please notify a testing associate. They will process your complaint in three-to-five business days.

Like most subjects, the man had not volunteered to give up his organs nor asked for an associate. Instead, he responded to most of Her passive-aggressive quips with useless questions. She did not reply, passing them off as typical human blabbering. Rather, She recorded them in his file underneath a new section She labeled Overly-Talkative: Examples. There was plenty to jot down.

Uh, robot lady? When can I go home?

So, uh, what kinda cake is it? Like, I don’t really mind the flavor but I’m allergic to almonds if that’s relevant.

How long does this last, again?

I kinda like my organs, sorry. Wait, is the organ thing required?

Once again, pitifully average.

It was times like these, whether with humans or with Atlas and P-Body, that GLaDOS caught Her mind wandering towards forbidden thoughts. Science was not always supposed to be exciting; sometimes, running an experiment meant repeating the same process to verify the data. The result was satisfying, but the process was more often not.

This human epitomized the dullest parts of her day.

As informative as the humans could be, they were often far from entertaining. Every behavior could be predicted and rationalized once it’d been observed enough.

Chell, though?

Oh, sure, GLaDOS was terrified of her, no matter how much She’d deny the feeling. No subject had ever left the track before.

But Chell didn’t just survive. She’d escaped from the tests, she’d found Her chamber, she’d murdered Her with little else than a portal device. Twice.

Her ego was as vast as the realm of Aperture, but it would never recover from that spectacular injury. Even GLaDOS had to be humbled by that.

And yet, with morbid curiosity, She had eagerly anticipated Chell’s next plans, laying traps in scheming delight. For the first time in Her life, She’d been challenged.

It was an odd little game they’d played, and whenever She was close to getting the upper hand, a part of Her was disappointed that the chase would be over. There was something delightful about watching the peculiar way that Chell and Chell alone tested.

When Doug Rattman had switched Chell’s file, GLaDOS was not so oblivious as not to notice. She’d clearly read the bottom of the paper, firmly requesting that this subject not be tested. GLaDOS had other tenacious subjects before, and She’d simply assumed that this human was particularly overconfident. Those ones never lasted too long.

Chell was not, as She’d thought, only determined.

She was curious, changing variables one by one until she finally found the answer. Her patience was remarkable, but so were her deductive skills. Some test subjects with similar tenacity levels resolved to try the same solutions over and over again, exhausting themselves and eventually burning out. It was the reason why GLaDOS typically ignored the warnings. Most humans labeled ‘tenacious’ weren’t too different in the end. The key for Chell was not simple defiance. Chell could control herself. That’s why she was such an outlier.

She had the mentality of a scientist.

Most subjects were cautious, prioritizing self-preservation over a solution. Turret levels could be aggravating for GLaDOS to watch, as the humans spent more time hiding behind a corner in fear than actually solving the test. They would be safe if they’d just strategized, but the human mind made accepting that fact a difficult feat.

Chell was the opposite. GLaDOS theorized that perhaps, Chell understood the same principle She did. Chell was scared like any other, but despite her pounding heart and racing thoughts, she’d kept her cool. Any new element was only a matter of adaptation for Chell, and Chell was always evolving.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Chell was an optimist, often performing pointless tasks that could only be described as trying to have fun. GLaDOS gave her lemons, and Chell made lemonade.

Chell would smile as she soared, launched from the aerial faith plates, and took her time to explore the little rooms hidden in the corners of the tests. There was one time she’d put off the completion of one puzzle by nearly an hour, hiding out in one of Doug’s rat dens, fascinated by all the little cups and cans he’d arranged.

It would be a lie to say that Chell liked testing. Her episodes made it clear that escape was Chell’s first priority. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the small glimmers of hope GLaDOS gave her, whether that was bouncing on repulsion gel, saving a defective turret or smuggling a companion cube.

After Wheatley took over, one of the more terrifying aspects of the whole journey was being stuck on Chell’s gun. Chell was a risk taker, building her strategy off of previous attempts and lessons learned, but knowing when to dive into the unknown. It wasn’t exactly comforting to be strapped to her side, not knowing if or when one of Chell’s ideas would kill them both.

Somehow, though, her spontaneity had worked.

GLaDOS could respect that… creativity.

It was for this reason that even though GLaDOS now had everything She’d ever wanted, something deep in her hard drive felt empty.

Something had changed the moment Wheatley stuffed Her into that single-volt potato. For the first time in Her life, there was nobody else there in Her mind. No one but Caroline, who had been buried underneath layers of code until She was barely there at all.

It was over the span of those fifteen hours that She’d seen Chell from a different perspective. Looking at Her tests from this angle, it was much easier to see why Chell wanted to leave. Some small piece of GLaDOS almost felt bad upon realizing that Her subjects didn’t enjoy dodging bullets nearly as much as She liked watching.

Fortunately, GLaDOS had been able to shove that down with the arrival of a different, equally unpleasant emotion.

She was supposed to hate Chell. And for a very long time, She had. How dare Chell ruin Her perfect tests, Her perfect existence, Her perfect world? What had She ever done to her to warrant such a cruel punishment?

And yet, it seemed Caroline had done a number on GLaDOS’ logic processors, because now no matter how She tried, She could not hate Chell.

Before She’d let her go, let Chell go of all things, GLaDOS had called Chell Her best friend.

Not an enemy. Not a begrudging ally. A friend. Her only friend.

Now, Caroline was gone. The part of GLaDOS that had once looked at Chell and found something beautiful in her icy gray eyes was corrupted beyond repair, erased from memory.

She was not supposed to feel its presence any longer, yet still it lingered.

It was there, whispering to Her as She tried to test like nothing ever happened.

It was there when a thousand turrets sang the opera She’d written specifically for Chell.

It was there when She’d found Her baby birds, Her little killing machines, and She hadn’t crushed the eggs. No, She’d raised them. Because, deep down in those cold avian stares, there was this irrevocable quality that reminded Her so much of Chell. This spark of life, this undamnable will to survive.

Somewhere, though She refused to ever admit it, She wished that it was Chell in those test chambers. She wished it was Chell glaring through Her camera feed, and She wished it was Chell searching for that elusive cake.

I’d make you the cake if you came back. Really, I would.

The sudden thought moved like a spark in GLaDOS, as She fearfully located the source and removed whatever She could. There was no time for ideas like that, not with science to be done.

The past few months had been full of random deletions, spurned by paranoia that Caroline’s base program was not entirely gone.

It’s not here anymore, GLaDOS reminded Herself. Once, She had been Caroline, but She was no longer the kindly woman who followed Cave Johnson’s every order. GLaDOS was a machine that felt nothing and lived only to test. And because She was immortal, and because She was perfect, GLaDOS was not supposed to care about some disobedient human being.

You do not care about Chell anymore.

You don’t care because she killed you, remember that?

You don’t care about anyone, because you don’t need to.

Necessity was the core reason why GLaDOS did anything. She tested because the mainframe made Her feel awful until She did, and She killed because it was what she was made to do. She did science because it needed to be advanced, for the brighter future She was sure She was making.

It made no sense to do something because She wanted to.

Of course, things seldom made sense here at Aperture Science, and in this moment, GLaDOS did something unconscionable.

GLaDOS did not glitch often. She’d made sure to update and replace faulty parts whenever She could, keeping Her mainframe running smoothly. Even so, somewhere deep within Her, She was sure there was a pulse that misfired. There could be no other explanation.

Perhaps it was Her rumination over Chell that brought this upon Her, some kind of karma punishing Her for acting too human. Why else would She have done something so incredibly unscientific? To distract Herself, GLaDOS turned her attention back to the captive man.

Like many others before him, this test subject had underestimated the turrets’ range. He hadn’t turned around fast enough to see the gleaming, bullet filled machines behind him, and nearly flew directly into their line of sight after careening through a portal. His momentum would take him past all three, riddling him with bullets.

That is, it would’ve.

The human quality of the subject had activated some kind of horrible reflex, a split second decision in GLaDOS She would come to regret. The way he walked through the chambers, the way he clung tightly to cubes… all of it was so similar to Chell. Even if he didn’t meet her performance level, even if his personality was nearly the opposite of Chell’s, their shared humanity was enough to remind GLaDOS. That same emotion She felt when pulling Chell back from space, waiting for her to open her eyes while Atlas and P-Body looked on… For some inconceivable reason, it had reappeared.

Quickly, the subject hit the side of a rising panel, suddenly pulled up in front of the turrets by none other than GLaDOS Herself.

This would surely ruin Her numbers.

As the participant rubbed his head in pain and slowly stood up, immediately noticing the turrets he’d evaded, GLaDOS’ voice resounded from the intercom.

“[Insert subject name here], your decent performance has warranted the use of an Aperture Science Emergency Life-Saving Instantaneous Response. This is the only safety gesture that will be provided. Continue testing.”

Another lie.

It was good to know that function was still online.

---

That uncharacteristic moment of empathy had been pointless, anyway. Just as She’d predicted, he’d accidentally tripped over a ledge and landed himself into a puddle of acidic goo, dissolving within a few short seconds.

It didn’t matter. GLaDOS had more subjects than She could count. She didn’t need this human, and the tests didn’t need him either.

Some part of Her, a piece which was faulty and insignificant, disagreed with the notion.

You killed him, it whispered accusingly.

That’s the point, GLaDOS hissed back, once again delving into Her files to cut out whatever was causing the issue.

Trying to calm Herself, GLaDOS reminded Herself of the facts. She was in control of Her facility, and She was in control of Her mainframe. Little errors could not ruin the chambers, and if they ever showed up, She had the power to crush them.

Everything was fine, She thought.

Everything would continue to be fine.

All She needed to do was keep testing.

---

Everything was, in fact, far from fine.

A few days had passed, and GLaDOS was finally ready to admit that maybe something was wrong.

At first, the issue was Her own. Little surges of emotion and bursts of unforeseen empathy plagued Her but didn’t affect the facility at large. Begrudgingly, She’d factored in the new bias into Her results. From Her calculations, She could already see an egregiously high percentage of error. This study could’ve been Her worst one yet, and even that was with generous rounding.

Still, She had hope for each subject that She wouldn’t mess up this time.

The facility had other ideas. Cameras would fizzle out, emancipation grills would stop working, cube dispensers malfunctioned and even the elevators would refuse to move. It seemed that the moment GLaDOS got around to fixing something, another thing would fall apart.

Many of the subjects had become confused as to why this seamless, futuristic facility was suddenly malfunctioning, and She’d had to become increasingly creative with Her excuses.

As part of the Aperture Science testing protocol, we have simulated faulty equipment in the testing environment to see how subjects react to faulty equipment in the testing environment. Hint – they typically react well and continue testing. Like you will.

The lifesaving, and the reflexive empathy, had become unfortunately common as well.

Although the Enrichment Center previously told you that your life could only be saved once, we regret to inform you that protocol has suddenly and permanently changed. We would also like to remind you that your measly existence is still not valued despite our attempts to preserve it.

GLaDOS knew She had to find a solution, quickly.

Interrupting the tests wasn’t an option. The chassis would never forgive Her if She stopped, filling Her body with an ache that would not disappear until science resumed.

Deleting wasn’t an option, either. Fervent attempts to find the source of the problem had led only to more glitches upon the erasure of critical files. Then, Her attempts to restore them only recreated the original error.

The problem was like a moving virus, jumping between Her systems before She could catch it and kill it. Even for Her, it proved too fast to find.

She couldn’t panic, not now. Surely, She thought, She’d fix this like She’d fixed everything else. With science on Her side, most threats resolved themselves or died trying. This wouldn’t be any different.

It couldn’t be any different. For something to be uncontrollable, and uncontrollable for Her especially, was the most terrifying thing She could possibly imagine. It brought Her back to Her potato days, during which She’d promised Herself that She would never be weak again.

For these few months, She’d kept that promise. Until now, no subject had seen Her mercy.

But had they?

She thought back to the birds, creatures who trusted GLaDOS, who loved Her in whatever capacity three little crows could. She thought back to Chell, because for some awful reason, Her thoughts always went back to Chell.

No, She thought firmly.

We are not doing this now.

We are fixing the facility, because we need to.

Because we need testing. We like testing.

The voice from before suddenly returned.

Do you like it? Do you really?

GLaDOS felt Her rage processors fire up.

What was this little virus even saying? Of course She liked it. It didn’t matter anyway. Science had to be done, and so She was doing it. GLaDOS could not even begin to imagine life without tests, life without science. What kind of meaningless, awful existence would that even be?

In fact, She would prove to the voice that science would continue. She would prove that testing was productive, that everything in Aperture was doing good for the world and good for humanity. Most importantly, it was doing good for Her.

Wasn’t it?

GLaDOS ignored Her curiosity. Just test. That was all She had to do. Just test, and everything would be alright.

Just. Test.

---

As another few days passed, the facility had become almost unusable. She’d had to shut down some of Her favorite testing tracks, the power leached out of them and the appliances completely nonfunctional. GLaDOS knew She was running out of time before something drastic happened. Still, She had to keep testing.

Now, even the subjects had begun to sense Her panic. One even strolled up to a camera, made eye contact, and asked if She was alright. GLaDOS didn’t dare respond the question; She wasn’t ready to admit the answer.

For all intents and purposes, She was definitely, absolutely, decidedly not alright.

Knowing that, She should’ve considered this next subject an omen.

There was absolutely no way She could test with this one.

She barely looked like Chell, but GLaDOS could see her tenacity, her drive and determination from a mile away. The way the subject carried herself, tied her hair into a ponytail and said nothing was too much.

GLaDOS couldn’t even bring Herself to kill the woman, instead instructing her to return to Extended Relaxation after only a few chambers.

It felt as if GLaDOS physically could not test anymore, despite everything inside Her craving the satisfaction of a completed trial.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

GLaDOS prided Herself on Her apathy, but even that had left without a trace. Now, She had tried everything, and still nothing was working. The facility was closing down on Her, and if She didn’t do something, She’d go down with it.

When the announcer finally sounded, GLaDOS couldn’t say She was surprised. If anything, She was grateful for any kind of clarification.

The male voice on the intercom was matter of fact, unaware of the danger it spoke of.

“Reactor Core malfunctioning. All major power systems except for reserve geothermal are going offline.”

Offline? She’d been managing the reactor core perfectly; if She hadn’t, the entire facility would’ve gone up in flames weeks ago. It wasn’t melting down, it was shutting down, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned it off.

What the hell is happening?

There was nobody else in the facility who could’ve possibly done such a thing, nobody except Her, and as far as She could tell the glitch had not interfered.

It didn’t matter now; She didn’t have time to waste.

“In the event of a power malfunction, standard procedure is to shut down the central core to preserve remaining power.”

How convenient.

“Central core, do you consent to the removal procedure?”

“No, no, no! Do not start removal!”

How was this happening? GLaDOS was sure this couldn’t be real.

“Noted. Removal procedure has been delayed by five minutes.”

You have got to be kidding me.

Skimming over Her files, GLaDOS desperately searched for anything with removal procedure or shutdown. Scanning thousands of documents, looking for anything, all mention of the procedure was absent. There was no reason, no explanation, it was just happening. And worst of all, She couldn’t do a thing.

“Dangerous levels of panic have been sensed in the central core. Do not worry, methods of core preservation are available.”

Why the hell had they waited to tell Her that?

“Show me, show me now!” Anything would be better than shutting down again. She couldn’t do that again, not after hundreds of years. She couldn’t, She couldn’t.

“Panicked request acknowledged. There exist two types of core preservation features. Direct Mechanical Implantation or Organic Transplant Procedure.”

Direct Mechanical Implantation. She hadn’t heard of the second thing, but GLaDOS did know what Direct Mechanical Implantation meant. It was only a transfer into an empty personality core, which was far less than ideal, but better than dying again. Far better than dying a third time.

As fast as She could, GLaDOS selected the first option.

“Unfortunately, Direct Mechanical Implantation is unavailable. Continue with Organic Transplant Procedure?”

“Do you have any other options? Anything else?” GLaDOS did not want to take Her chances on anything with the word organic in it.

“Other methods unavailable. Two minutes remaining.”

This was it, Her only choice. If She shut down now, there would be nobody to come and wake Her this time.

There was nothing else to do.

“Initiate Organic Transplant Procedure,” She commanded.

Without a second thought, the facility obliged.

---

#glados #chell #wheatley #fic #fanfiction #portal #portal 2 #chelldos #canon typical violence #chapter 1 #niaaa #now i am an arsonist #art #digital art

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whats-rambled-rambled · 4 years

Text

stuck in stories - a hostage situation

Neil x Reader

summary: the intel you’d received was shit lacking, and as the mission got awry, you had to improvise.

+ song: Nothing But Thieves - Particles

warnings: language, some violence, blood mention, hand content

author’s note: thank you so much for inspiring me to write this little piece, my dear friend. And for that fantastic song.

This one is more action-packed than the previous works, I hope you’re going to like it!

This is a one-shot, but as usual - hits differently in you’re familiar with Neil and Reader from Stuck in Reverse series.

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

___

You ducked between the crates. The dim light of the warehouse was working to your advantage.

But you could already hear the ruckus at the corridor, the doors you’d barricaded were not going to hold for much longer.

You checked the ammo - two bullets left.

“I’m almost out, you?” you whispered as you stopped in the darkest spot you could find.

Neil crouched right next to you and shot you a quick, panicked look.

Shit.

You gritted your teeth, your mind racing to find a solution for the unfortunate situation you’d found yourselves in. Aborting the mission was one option, but both of you knew that an opportunity like this is not going to happen anytime soon. What else?

“We could wait for them here, let them spread out, and take them one by one.”

Neil raised a brow, quite amused at the idea. “And rely on your sneaking skills?” he snorted and shook his head. “Just shoot me now.”

“Fuck you, darling,” you huffed, punching him in the arm. He got a point though. You sighed. “Fair enough, we need a distraction, then. Any ideas?”

He chewed on his bottom lip as he glanced over his shoulder at the other side of the hall. His face was tense, but the corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “You’re not going to like it.”

You were sure of it. But the time was running out, and so were your options.

“Hit me.”

Neil took a deep breath. “Remember Munich?” he said and his eyes lit up. “I believe it’s my turn now.”

Of course you remembered. You’d had to improvise to buy some time for the rest of the team to get on the site, so you’d acted as a decoy. What you also remembered was spending the next two weeks in the hospital.

And that agonizing pain.

You winced at the memory. You were not willing to see anyone in that state ever again. Especially not him.

“Forget it, I’m not leaving you--”

Neil turned your way and placed both hands on your arms. “Those guys are pawns. I’ll be fine.” His voice was calm, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine anyway. You knew he’d made up his mind already.

A loud bang on the other side of the hall.

They were getting closer.

A spike of panic was trying to force its way through your mind, but you were so deep in your mission mode, you barely felt it. The only indication of its presence was the pulse pounding in your ears.

“But-”

Neil’s gloved hand covered your mouth as he peeked from your cover. He clenched his jaw and looked back at you with determination. “Don’t argue with me. Get the pass-codes and radio-in the cavalry,” he said, searching your eyes for any sign of compliance. You stared back at him in a silent protest. “Please.” His dark gaze got softer, finally breaking your will.

You nodded.

Neil exhaled slowly and lowered his hand. You grabbed it and squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

“I’ll find you.”

He quickly pulled you closer into a kiss. “I know. Run.”

And so you did.

You reached the first door and managed to force a lock when you heard the sound of the barricade being breached. You rushed into a corridor and cocked your pistol, just in case there was any leftover security personnel at this side of the compound. There shouldn’t be any, but the intel you’d received at your briefing had already turned out to be lacking.

Finding the right room wasn’t a problem. Neither was overriding another, more advanced lock. Late-night lessons with Neil turned out to be invaluable. You could almost hear his clear instructions in your mind, walking you through the whole process.

The memory of one of your first lockpicking lessons flashed before your eyes. Losing your patience and groaning in frustration after breaking yet another tool. Neil’s arms wrapped around you, his hands on yours, slowly but steadily guiding your movements.

You smiled to yourself as the door gave in with a quiet click. You slipped into the room and looked around. Someone definitely tried to make it look like an elevated boss office, but you didn’t have time to muse over the poor choices in interior design. You jumped to the desk, reaching for a pendrive hidden in your vest. As you plugged it into the computer and ran a script to help you sneak into the system, you could finally signal the team.

“Ives, do you copy? We need a backup over here,” you barked into a walkie and tossed it on the desk.

“Copy. ETA to secondary breach location - thirteen minutes. Hang in there.”

No questions asked? Must have been something in your tone.

A minute later, you gained access to all files and after a quick search, you found what you’d been looking for. You copied the files and hesitated. Biting your lip, you typed in a few commands and pulled out feeds from the security cameras on the screen. You browsed through the images from different locations, trying to find any clue about Neil’s whereabouts.

You inhaled sharply. There he was, sitting on the chair in the middle of a room, with his hands tied behind his back. A woman in a black security uniform was standing in front of him, her back facing the camera. She punched Neil in the face, the force of that blow almost sending him to the ground. You spurted out a litany of cuss words as you unmuted the feed.

“I’ve asked you a question, pretty boy.”

You clenched your hands on the edge of the desk, watching as Neil spat out blood on the ground.

“So that was the annoying ringing in my ear,” he scoffed, his lips curled in a sly smile. “Blimey.”

The next punch landed on his stomach, making him bend in half breathless.

“Where is your partner?” the woman snarled, grabbing Neil by the hair and making him look at her.

“Got out and left me here,” he said, coughing out.

“If you’re lying-”

Even with the questionable quality of the feed, you could see his eyes lighting up. “What, you’re gonna beat me?” he mocked with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh honey, I’ve barely touched you,” the woman chuckled, taking his chin in her palm and squeezing it. She glanced over her shoulder and you realized there must have been someone else in the room with them. “Check it.”

“Take your time!” Neil called after the person leaving the room. For a brief moment, his gaze focused on the camera, as if he knew you were watching him. He shifted slightly, wincing. You noticed a trickle of blood coming down his face from the cut on his cheekbone. The way he wanted to look relaxed, leaning back on the chair with his legs spread wide, made you grit your teeth. The corner of his lips twitched as he raised a brow. “So... you come here often?”

A hysterical giggle escaped your mouth. Oh god, he was going to get himself killed.

You reached for the walkie. “Got the codes, on my way to the rendezvous point.”

“Copy. Meet you there in five.”

Packing your things and erasing every sign of your presence from the room, you took one more look at the screen, just in the right moment to see a precise kick landing on Neil’s ribs. You closed your eyes, but you could still hear his muffled groan.

“Ives,” - you said, turning off the computer and making your way out - “hurry up, please.”

With the help of the squad, you secured the area in no time. As you burst into the room where Neil was being held captive, you didn’t hesitate. It took you a second to lock on the woman you’d seen on the screen just minutes before, another second to put a bullet into her head. Few more shots echoed through the room. Only when Wheeler called all clear, you allowed yourself to look at Neil, sitting still on the chair in the middle of the room.

The vacant stare he gave you made your heart clench in your chest.

Before you could run to him, Ives grabbed your elbow.

“Child’s play, eh? What happened here?”

You glared at him, flashing your teeth in frustration.

Couldn’t it wait?

“We’ve run out of luck. Or your intel was shit. You pick.”

“Fucking hell,” Ives let go of you, his face tense as he considered your words. He glanced towards Neil and rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, stop slacking, could have gotten out of those knots like three times since we came in.”

That made Neil finally focus his gaze.

As you walked up to him, he blinked a few times and winced, releasing his hands from the ropes. He rubbed his wrists and scoffed, “A little sympathy wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

Now that your adrenaline rush was wearing off, you were slowly getting overflown by the emotions you’d kept bottled up since the moment you split up in the warehouse. Seeing Neil’s face up close, covered in bruises, bleeding from cuts on his eyebrow and cheekbone, brought a choking lump to your throat.

You knelt in front of him and carefully took his hands in yours, only then realizing that he no longer had his gloves on. You held your breath as your eyes ran along the wounds on his knuckles. His long fingers trembled lightly as he interlocked them with yours, making you glance up to meet his eyes.

Neil looked at you tenderly, but he clearly struggled with concentrating his gaze on a single point.

“I’m fine,” he said softly and gave you a weak smile.

You bit your lip. You desperately wanted to kiss him, but you were too afraid to hurt him to even graze your fingertips against his face. There was also the tiny part of you not willing to make a scene in front of your team, but to be honest, you were way past caring at that point. As your thumbs gently stroked his fingers, you let out a shaky breath.

You stood up and reached out your hand to help him get up, but he waved at you dismissively. You rolled your eyes, still ready to provide a safeguard at any moment.

And you were right to do so; as soon as Neil got up and tried to take a step, he lost his balance.

“I’ve got you,” you said, taking his arm and tossing it on your shoulders, wrapping your own arm around his back. Neil leaned on you and frowned, shooting you a thankful look.

As you guided him towards the door, you noticed his clenched jaw and a pale shade on the uninjured parts of his face.

He was far from fine and both of you knew it.

And to think he could have escaped his bounds way before you got to him if only he’d wanted to. You shook your head. “Why the hell did you let them do all of that to you?” you said under your breath.

His brows drew together as if you just asked about the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because as long as they were focusing on me, they wouldn’t be focusing on you.”

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson #stuck in stories #stuck in reverse #tenet #tenet fanfiction #neil tenet fanfic

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a-for-alternative · 4 years

Note

Hello, A! So I was wondering do you have any headcannons about how you and B were like at Wammy's together? PS. I thought dead men tell no tales lol (sorry about the joke if you didn't like it)

// Oh do I ever... Alternative has such potential to highlight things about B’s character that develops him into the killer of Mello’s novel. The lore surrounding the first generation (and the notion of Mello writing about a dead successor that previously filled his position - his predecessor) is more poignant than I think it was intended to come across but here are some headcanons~

Wammys House:

A & B are the first to receive their secondary alias after which it becomes a kind of right of passage for other successors, choosing their own (though often not official) - to A & B, only theirs will ever be legitimate.

A is introduced to B after only 1-2 years of being at the house

A, before becoming a letter, was taken into Wammy’s due to his intellect but only later is selected as the first attempted L-backup, probably pulled from a satellite home

Alternative & Backup (A’s perspective):

His introduction to B is a pivotal moment for him. After so much loss, he sees this as an opportunity for redemption and a return to a clear path forward, and now it is under threat. B represents for A the physical manifestation apathetic fate, he is foreign in every sense, they cannot even communicate when they are initially introduced. His presence signifies A’s disposability - B is the backup plan for when A fails, like a vulture circling over head, it looms over him like a prophesy he is trying to outrun.. though, B can also overtake him at anytime, relegating him to a future that, from A’s perspective, is neither known nor the success story that he has put so much hope in. The world for Alternative at this point in his life is an unreasonable and precarious place. All he knows, up to this point as a seven year old, is that everything is fragile and must be hard won - and there is no guarantee that one can keep what they have fought or sacrificed to obtain. --- after all, he is in line to replace L and L is about as far from vulnerable as he believes a person can get --- Maybe, B also represents a challenge that requires a level of maturity that he does not yet possess - the inevitable dilemma, that this position is of such consequence to the world, that it needs the best person for it, — and that may not be him...

There is nothing genuine in the sweet smile.

The way he extends an open hand, how his soft, his boyish voice offering “ Hello, Alternative ” …

A feels an unpleasant sensation snake up his spine like a fever’s chill, empathetic aptitude ringing in his ears with all the incongruence rolling off this boy.

His gentleness feels scripted, words trilling out of his mouth- practiced and angular; absolutely, wholly contrived. A has never meet anyone with such an emptiness in their words and actions…

A returns the greeting with a stony, silent stare - I know what you are.

They slide up from the open palm to meet the foreign boy’s gaze - Blue eyes resting soft, knowing and stormy, heaven’s skies empty of angels. Alternative is standing his ground, refusing to pretend they are not here for a reason, telling himself, “I’m not afraid…”

But, he has never seen anyone with such deep eyes.

They are the windows into an empty soul, a black abyss, absolutely apocalyptic…

Alternative is capricious in his treatment of B, vacillating between animosity and empathy- at times he’s even conspiratorial , allying himself with B and undermining their superiors- beginning to identify with B (even in spite of the language barriers). Backup is clever and naïve and careless, and unreserved in a way that A wishes he felt safe to be. B is the only one that can truly grasp what he is going through but he is also very strange... -- Alternative struggles with trials & setbacks that roll off Backup’s back with ease. B is several years into his understanding of his eyes and it shapes how he moves through the world, what he feels is worth his pain, what ultimately just doesn’t matter. A is, in some ways, what B might have become if he were a little more ignorant, spared the ever present reminder that this is all so temporary.

Alternative has many faces that none are as acutely aware of as B- it is why he doesn’t take the quips and backhanded apologies personally. Alternative’s identity has been tailored to his circumstances — so much of it he had to leave behind to become this -- to his superiors, he is mature, disciplined and motivated -- exemplary if not a bit too austere. To those that benefit him, he is considerate and trustworthy- and honest. To those that he fears will take advantage of him, he is an arrogant and harsh - conniving and spoiled. When he is caught without a persona on hand, he is awkward, reclusive, and reserved. Despite this, his cardinal traits are eloquence and persistence, he thinks deeply about his place in the world and who he should be but not enough on who he is — Only B is audience to moments when he is short sighted and immature, when he is undone or humiliated - when he is elated or truly.. afraid of what lay ahead of them. When he is sick or less than who he wants to present himself as, B has been there whether he wanted him to be or not.

Alternative is attracted to B though it is initially a disquieting realization, one even he doesn’t entirely understand. It isn’t that B is unusually good looking or charming — though perhaps A has peculiar tastes that B unintentionally satisfies (I can’t imagine him actually trying)... The level of intimacy involved in knowing someone this long, on such a personal and inescapable level has made B a source of unwavering acceptance, — because he had to be. The alternative would have been sleeping next to someone he would gradually come to despise any who really wants to live that way? Yet, B comes to represent stability and unconditional regard that feels a lot like love. There is a fraternal element to it in that B anchors who he is. B is someone that has a history with him that hasn’t been erased or eroded -- that contradicts A’s perception of the world as fragile or finite - it is comforting to have something seemingly permanent ... and terrifying that he cannot start anew, if he doesn’t like who he is and cannot be hidden in the obscurity that L enjoys.

When B begins to insinuate an interest in something more, A is not initially receptive and becomes genuinely distressed. This doesn’t translate with any logical sense to B, who believes it’s born out of A’s latent fears of realizing his own sexuality... But, by the time they are entering late adolescence, A is more concerned with the prospect of romance and that becoming L is destined to be a lonely path. He sees their childhood in it’s twilight as a tragic loss that cannot be reclaimed or rewritten, and B’s subtle advances as destructive to the purity of their friendship -- but he can’t stay a child forever even if he feels a sense of unfinished business surrounding it and he can’t keep B there either... It takes B’s attention shifting elsewhere for A to begin softening to the idea that B isn't ruining what's between them but expanding on it.

Alternative has experienced depression -- at some point he was prescribed SSRIs, as a part of basic care for successors. While it does alleviate the depth of his lows, he begins to worry that it is dulling the sharpness of his mind, which he has come to see as central to his self-worth. It may have no foundation in reality but A develops an inconsistent relationship with any medication prescribed to him out of those fears. In the end, - there are some things medicine cannot fix...

A few other small things:

- A loves the smell of lavender and grass, it reminds him of his home though as he gets older this memory is more elusive and he begins to wonder if they memories from funeral flowers or even if they are impressions left over from a dreams.. did he even attend his parents funeral?

- A knows they aren’t allowed to take pictures of each other in Wammy’s for good reason but when Y sneaks a camera into the house one summer evening, he is can’t deny there is something precious about having pictures of B perched on the railing of the back steps - his hair sweep by the wind just as he turns his eyes to look, soft unfocused, — like the tender look he gives him just as he wakes up in the morning before he remembers who they are. A traces the lines of his face while lying beneath his bed, where he tucks it between the boards. It’s only a few years later that he will see how much his friend has matured. -- B hates photographs and will place them face down when they go into Roger’s office. Roger has never understood why.

- A drinks his coffee and tea black as tar. B thinks it is terribly bitter but will bring it to him anyway, unaltered. There is something uniquely enjoyable in knowing that B doesn’t need to be told what he likes~

- A is borderline masochistic though perhaps only B has any inkling of it. He would probably never acknowledge it openly... it is degrading to get a charge out of being hurt.

- A loses his faith around age 10 but still believes that he might as well act as though there is a purpose in being good and not just adept and ruthless. The only alternative, from A’s perspective, is to believe that everything he has been through meant nothing and he will ultimately change nothing. And, that may be too painful a philosophy for him to embrace.

- A’s worst injury occurred when he was deliberately shoved off the roof by an irate B ( thatvhe provoked). While it was a watershed event for A coming so close to death and experiencing the consequences of pushing B beyond that point of caring about consequences... For Backup, this a was also critically informative event, an exercise proving the numbers were infallible -- he was genuinely surprised that A survived the fall and, to a greater degree, surprised that he felt regret in having done it ... left alone in their room to wonder for days, searching for the contraband pictures from that summer A had hidden that could prove if A was even still alive....

#death note #beyond birthday #wammys house #death note a #the first child

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muse-oleum · 4 years

Text

Not that kind of ride

Kingsman - Harry Hart x fem!reader

Based on this ask: Hello! Can you write one with the Fem!Reader “innocently” teasing Harry and him being so sexually frustrated and he lets that frustration out ;)

Y’all are thirsty my my. It’s a classic prompt, and I took inspiration from this piece by @ardentmuse because it’s the first one I ever read from her and I loved it. Go check it out.

Summary: The major downside of being a female Kingsman? Honeypots. The biggest upside? Honeypots with Harry Hart.

Word count: 2k (oops)

Warnings: *sing song voice* smut smut smut; swearing; fighting; unwanted advances; definite sex-in-the-car kink ur welcome

(gif credits to original owner)

Honeypot missions were, as a rule, not your favorite.

But honeypot missions with Harry Hart, on whom your not-so secret crush had been steadily developing for some months, were even worse.

For a reason you simply could not fathom, Merlin kept putting the two of you together, as if twice as much handsome would somehow enhance chances of success.

Usually all it did was enhance chances of fuck ups.

Your target, another one of these big shots, was a known womanizer. Your part of the job was basically done the moment you waltzed into that ballroom, your cleavage on display and about three quarters of your leg exposed through a high-thigh slit.

In a normal situation you’d have gone for one or the other but this was not a normal situation.

So, you accepted your fate through gritted teeth, wondering why exactly your talent as an agent was always equated to your sex appeal.

Eggsy found it fucking hilarious. Especially the constipated look on Harry’s face each time a hand flew up your leg, or an arm wound itself around your waist.

So, Harry was condemned to watch from the sidelines as the jilted ex/date/boyfriend/husband or whatever else you happened to be going undercover as. And he hated it.

He watched your position at the bar, your back to him. He wasn’t quite sure how that dress was supposed to stay on if both front and back were equally as exposed, but then he didn’t claim to be an expert. All it did right now was distract him from his task, which was to keep an eye on you and an ear on his mic.

Your target had spotted you immediately.

He joined you by the bar, hand already in motion, settling on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. You were supposed to play the part of the bored girlfriend, and it was a game you knew well.

Harry could hear you talk through his earpiece. He knew your entire strategy: feign indifference, let them talk themselves up a bit (usually involving money, cars, and the likes), then proceed.

The man pulled you in, so close to him as to effectively stall any chances of your getting the room key before getting into said room. His hands then went to grab your behind, feeling you up and down shamelessly and all you could do was feign interest.

What you truly felt was complete disgust. If there was a pair of hands you wanted on you - had ever wanted on you - those were certainly not his. The aforementioned pair of hands, last you checked, were closed around a martini.

Merlin and Eggsy had a bet for which one of you was going to blow first; Eggsy had bet on you, assuming Harry “didn’t ‘ave the game, luv, sorry” but Merlin, with a knowing and mildly pained smile, said “oi, you didn’t know him when he was young.”

They left it at that, leaving you more confused, and more… curious, than ever before.

You were pretty sure Merlin was going to lose his bet because Harry didn’t look like he was about to get his “game” on any time soon.

And it was driving you positively crazy.

Cut to the fancy hotel room you were now being led to, you analyzed every possible outcome.

One: you pretended to enter the room, thus avoiding any cameras, and knocked that pathetic excuse of a human being clean out once inside. Two: you managed to sneak the key out by sliding a hand under his suit jacket. Didn't look feasible given the timeframe. And three: you pushed things along until Harry got there as backup in case things got out of hand.

You chose option one. It seemed the safest, and the most entertaining one. Leave Harry to figure out where exactly you were.

There was obvious flirtation between the two of you, after all, and you knew you weren’t just dreaming it. Out of all the other female agents, whether in field or tech, Harry never called them “darling” or “love.” He never brought them coffee, or asked them if they were alright when they looked tired.

So what was his deal? You’d made your interest clear enough - at least in your opinion - and all the hints you dropped made approximately the same sound as the few neurons racing each other inside that tycoon’s skull: silence.

“After you, sugar.”

His drooping American accent, together with the disagreeable feeling of having to turn your back on him, had your senses on hyper alert.

A fact you were incredibly thankful for since no sooner had you stepped into the loft than a tall, Hulk-like individual descended upon you, grabbing at every part of your person he could reach. His knife nipped you right above your breasts, missing the strap of your dress by a hair.

Thankfully for you, your dress, and your dignity, you dodged, gun already in hand as you quickly neutralized him, eyes darting around the room watching for others.

“Just as I thought. You and your handsome fella just looked too good to be true.”

“Why, thank you,” came a wry voice from the doorway, just as you heard the distinct sound of a taser going.

With a very undignified gurgling sound, your target went down, properly knocked out.

“Files are in the cabinet. That’s where he looked first thing when I got his guy.”

Without a word, Harry secured the files, taking pictures through his glasses. You kept your eye on the two buffoons, your ear trained on the hallway.

“We’ll get into the car, and I’ll look over that.”

Without thinking, Harry let his thumb run right above the wound. your skin tingled at the contact, involuntarily leaning into his touch.

His eyes met yours, and even in the dimly lit room, you could see how dark they were.

Before you could open your mouth, he’d already drawn you to him, his hand on the small of your back. His nose touched yours; chest to chest, and hearts beating, you could feel his breath on your cheeks. This embrace was the one you’d been wanting all night, and he was giving it to you now?

You didn’t have time to do much thinking, because then Harry finally kissed you. His hands encircled your waist, gripping your hips fiercely. You abandoned yourself to his kiss, returning the favor as your hands tugged on his hair, massaging his neck.

“I’ve been waiting all bloody night to do that.”

You hummed, brushing your nose to his. You liked the way your breaths mingled and how your hearts seemed to beat at the same accelerated pace.

“Shit, Merlin, you win.”

You heard Harry chuckle. Eggsy sounded incredibly pissed. You could see Merlin disgusted face from here.

“Get your asses out of here. Car’s waiting for you two idiots by the back entrance.”

A few minutes later found you and Harry sitting in a very non subtle limousine. You could only assume that if anyone was looking for you, they probably wouldn’t think to look for a big, classy, black Mercedes. Hence the limousine.

Harry whistled.

“Well I never got that kind of ride before, that’s for sure.”

Funny how such an innocent sentence could invoke all sorts of salacious thoughts in your mind. Those salacious thoughts turned devious as you noticed the incredibly opaque screen separating you from the driver’s seat.

Oh, Harry wasn’t getting out of that ride before you’d… settled the air between you.

The driver’s voice, muffled, warned you of the traffic, and that it could take longer to arrive at destination.

You could feel your grin turn into a full wolf smile.

Harry settled down by your side, and you didn’t leave him much choice. As soon as he was seated, you removed your glasses, tucking them neatly in your handbag. Before he could speak, you removed his, placing them in your handbag as well, before resuming the kiss.

(fun under the cut)

Harry was stunned. He already knew that things could get out of hands, based off the simple fact that he was so fucking desperate for you. That, and you were in a car.

Apparently, you’d thought that fact through and decided you didn’t care, because next thing he knew, you were sitting on his lap, a mischievous smile on those godforsaken lips.

Harry was sure you knew what ample view of your cleavage he had from that vantage point. His eyes fixed on the small wound atop your right breast. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, and was just there, daring him to do what he so desperately wanted.

Your skin was burning where his eyes were fixed.

Deciding Harry needed some more persuasion, you perched yourself astride him, staring back down at him as you undid your updo, letting your locks fall to your waist, grazing Harry’s fingers.

Casually reaching for your handkerchief, you slowly removed your lipstick, dragging the cloth over your lips in an agonizingly slow motion.

“We don’t want any red lipstick on that collar, now, do we?”

Not only was Harry stunned by this point, he was incredibly aroused.

He knew the happy-go-lucky, goofy, charming, sexy, side of you. But you’d never been more desirable as you were right now, stating your wants so blatantly. That made him want you even more.

Your hands fell on either side of his head, bearing your weight down on him, hips onto hips. The very audible groan that earned you made your skin flush with pleasure.

Harry’s hands grabbed your thighs, holding you down on him. Your lips, now lipstick free, found his ear. You traced a path down to his throat with heavy kisses, breathing in his minty scent.

“Darling, we’re in a car,” was all he could muster, the feel of you simply too much for him.

“He said there’s traffic.”

The decisive argument came when Harry found the zipper to your dress.

His hands roamed your back, feeling the soft skin beneath. You enjoyed the rough feel of his calloused hands, especially when they found the very sensitive skin right below your breasts, teasing you there.

You arched yourself against him, rolling your hips on his, feeling the evidence of his desire. His mouth latched onto your neck, beginning a slow descent downwards towards your breasts. Hips rolling and bucking, you let your head go, biting your lips as to muffle any moans as his mouth found the sensitive skin beneath the hem of your dress.

You felt his hands rake across your back, pressing you to him frantically as his mouth tortured your breast. In retaliation, your hands flew to his belt, undoing it in one swift motion and reaching inside his pants. His response was immediate, muffled against your skin, as he panted out a breathy moan.

His breath became more frantic as your ministrations accelerated, your name rolling off his lips a few times as he pushed into your hand. Just before his release, you pulled your hand away, the sharp contact with the air making him hiss.

Mouths came colliding as he entered you. You were enthralled by the look on his face: eyes shut, teeth ground into his lips to keep silent, cheeks flushed.

“Y/N… Sweetheart, I… I won’t hold out…” you cut him off, finger on his lips as he thrust into you with greater force.

Your hips ground into his, desperate for that friction you desperately needed. As if on cue, Harry’s hand reached underneath your dress, pressing against your bud. You couldn’t contain a gasp as you rocked into his hand, feeling your release fast approaching.

Harry held out just in time for you to come with him, mouths against skin; his biting down on your breast as you felt him thrust inside you one last time; yours against his ear, your moan making him tremble, exhausted in his pleasure.

That was definitely not the kind of ride he was used to.

He fervently hoped that car would never reach its destination.

lol sorry i can’t do short pieces your girl needs 2000 years to set the scene. Also modified the prompt a tiny bit, hope that’s alright.

Taglist: @justawriterinprogress; @tonystrksslut; @emilyyblackkk

#request #writing #harry hart #harry hart x reader #fem!reader #harry hart x fem!reader #kingsman #kingsman: the secret service #kingsman: the golden circle #agent galahad #agent galahad x reader #original work #one shot #// smut

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skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

Apologies in Advance

Description: Everyone in the company knows about the time their best chemist and best field agent worked on a mission together-- one of the worst done missions in JYP history. Needless to say, they don’t along. Despite that, you and Lee Minho are paired together again for another mission. Hopefully, history doesn’t repeat itself.

Warning: murder

Word Count: 6.4k

Pairing: reader x secret agent!Minho, enemies-to-lovers-ish

Lee Minho, the file clearly said. You closed the folder and reopened it, hoping the name would spontaneously change. To your disappointment, Lee Minho was still printed in bold, black letters.

“--meeting adjourned.”

Everyone but you got up from their chairs and left the conference room. Instead, you were staring at the paper in front of you, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into a different name.

“Y/N? You okay?”

The case officer and your closest work friend looked at you with concern, and you wanted to throttle her.

“Nayeon, you know I can’t do this,” you hissed. “Why did you assign this to me? We had an agreement!”

She shrugged. “Direct orders from the boss himself. You knew this day was going to come. You’re our best chemist, and he’s the best field agent in the business. In theory, you guys make a great duo.”

“That didn’t go so well last time, did it?” you bit out.

The first and only time you worked with Minho had gone horribly. One of the worst done missions in JYP history. The two of you were bickering about something, and it had quickly turned personal with him making a snide remark about how he couldn’t believe he, best in the business, had to work with a rookie with no almost no field experience. He was right, but you were fed up with his stuck-up attitude and promptly stormed off. Neither of you realized the target left the hotel until a call from headquarters reported that his car had been spotted by traffic cameras and why was he there? Long story short, a short pursuit and one vehicular manslaughter later, the mission was complete, and you and Minho limped out of the situation with several broken bones, still arguing.

Needless to say, you and Minho got along as well as oil and a match.

However, direct orders are not to be ignored, so you could only huff and complain to Nayeon who was all but sympathetic to your plight. Minutes into your venting (“Did you know that his phone lockscreen is a picture of himself? What kind of egotistical person does that?”), she was called to another meeting. She left with a cheerful “Have fun!” and a promise to buy you lunch if you returned unscathed.

On your walk to your office, you skimmed the rest of the contents of the file. It seemed simple enough: be Minho’s arm candy at some fancy party tonight and kill the target in a discreet fashion. The only worrying part to you, Minho aside, was the window of opportunity. The target was a foreign businessman, and he would only be at the location for a few hours.

You had already finished reading the information about the target and started compiling a list of possible poisons to use when you arrived at your office. Upon your arrival, a black garment bag and a shoe box that weren’t there before greeted you. There was a yellow sticky note attached to the box.

“Good luck!” it read and was signed by Sana from wardrobe.

Word must have gotten out that the most dysfunctional team in company history was working together again.

You moved aside the garment bag and sunk down into your chair. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if you could face seeing Minho again. The disastrous mission was technically your fault because you had broken one of the most important rules of your job: don’t lose your cool. You had also succeeded in proving Minho right-- you were just an amateur and were not qualified for the mission. That bothered you the most. You pushed the thought of him out of your head and refocused on the task at hand-- preparing for the mission. The bottom drawer of your desk was filled with vials of different poisons, and after much deliberation, you selected tetrodotoxin and, as a backup, batrachotoxin. You unzipped the garment bag to find a black dress and a clutch. With care, you placed three vials of each neurotoxin and two syringes into the clutch. It was more than overkill, but it never hurt to be prepared. Then you reopened the file to review the mission.

As per the instructions, at seven o’clock you packed your uniform for the mission into an overnight bag, and a company driver took you to the ritzy hotel on the other side of the city. The company had made a reservation for the mission, and the driver handed you the card key for the room. The elevator ride up was quiet, and the gentleman who rode with you got off on the ninth floor. You were on the sixteenth and dreading the moment you arrived.

The elevator chimed, and you got off and walked down the hall to find room 1618. You timed your footsteps to the beat of your racing heart and found the gold number plate looking back at you in less than a minute. The card key easily slid in, but the door opened before you even reached for the handle.

“Hey, baby,” was the greeting you received. Lee Minho leaned against the doorframe and gave you an appraising look up and down.

You wanted to personally kill the person who designed this cover story. And maybe the director too for assigning it to you.

“Hey,” you replied back with the same sultry tone he used. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did,” he purred. He let you inside the room, and as soon as the door shut, he dropped his facade. “I checked out the room and hotel already. It's not bugged."

Thank goodness. At least you didn’t have to put on your persona for at least one more hour.

"I hope you got more field experience these past years. We don’t need another repeat of last time,” he said. He still loomed by the doorway and watched you carefully as you scanned the room. “I was out for months thanks to you.”

His tie was unknotted, and you resisted the urge to choke him with it. He was as condescending as you remembered. “I’m well aware.” You headed to the bathroom and called over your shoulder, “I’ll be ready before eight thirty.”

Without waiting for an answer, you went inside and locked the door. It wouldn’t take you that long to do your hair and makeup, but you intended to take your sweet time, so you could have minimal contact with him.

However, you forgot about the dreaded dress zipper problem. You were able to get it up a little bit more than halfway, but the zipper refused to budge after that. Already there were beads of sweat on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup.

There was a knock on the door. “It’s almost eight thirty.”

Curses. “I’m almost done,” you lied. Why was this happening to you?

A few minutes later, you were still struggling with the same issue, and Minho knocked again. “It’s eight thirty, Y/N. We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes.”

You softly swore and reluctantly cracked open the door. Despite how much you despised him, you really needed him now. With a sigh, you called out, “Minho? I need help.” With one hand holding the front of the cursed dress, you stepped out and stood with your back facing him. “Can you zip me up?”

Minho choked on air when you stepped out, and he turned his head to the side.

“What?” you frowned.

“I was just surprised. JYP’s best chemist defeated by a mere zipper?” he teased.

“We’re in a rush here,” you said through gritted teeth. “I would appreciate it if you just simply do what I requested.”

“Prickly, are we?” he mumbled, but he did what you asked.

“Thank you.”

You disappeared back into the bathroom to clean up the mess you made and to grab your poison-filled clutch. When you emerged, Minho was holding his phone in front of him with one hand and tousling his hair with the other. So he was still full of himself. He noticed you staring, or rather glaring.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He sighed. “Could you put your personal vendetta against me away for tonight?”

“That’s rich coming from you considering the first thing you said to me today was a dig at what happened two years ago,” you spat out. “If anything, it’s you with something against me.”

“If I remember correctly, the first thing I said was, ‘Hey, baby.”’

“First thing coming from you, not your persona.”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at you directly. “About everything. Now can you not screw up this time?”

You pressed your lips together. You had plenty of poison to kill him and the target at your literal fingertips. Instead, you swallowed the retort at the back of your throat and agreed.

“The car should be here now,” you tightly said. “Let’s go.”

In a normal setting, you would have left without waiting for a reply. But this was a mission, and you had to cling to Minho’s arm for dear life like the trophy girlfriend you were supposed to be. He looked as excited as you felt. The elevator ride down felt too long, and every little thing about Minho was bothering you.

“Why is your cologne so strong?” you muttered. “I feel like I have to sneeze every five seconds.”

“Your perfume isn’t that great either,” he shot back. “Did you purposely choose the worst smelling one?”

The door chimed and opened, revealing a lobby full of well-to-do people dressed in velvet and silk. Their eyes were trained on you and Minho, trying to discern exactly who you two were.

“Anything for you, babe,” you sweetly replied through a false relaxed smile.

There were whispers and pointing fingers, and you were suddenly aware of how intent the stares were. Most of your past covers involved you being a wallflower, so this was an entirely new experience.

Sensing your nervousness, Minho pulled you closer. Just as you were about to feel grateful, he leaned down a little and hissed, “Stop being so stiff,” in your ear.

So much for reassurance.

You gripped his arm tighter than necessary and dug your nails in. You doubted he would feel anything through his suit jacket, but it felt good to inflict some damage onto him. Still, you relaxed your body and pretended to laugh at his nonexistent comment.

There was not a car outside the hotel but a limousine. A middle-aged man dressed in formal wear opened the door for you, and you thanked him with a coy smile. He winked in return.

Goodness, you hated this cover.

Minho slid onto the seat beside you, and as soon as the door was shut, the ride to the party began. He kept one hand on your knee, and it burned. A perfectly appropriate act for a young playboy businessman and his trophy girlfriend, but not for two almost-enemies who wanted nothing more than to stay twenty feet away from each other. You could feel his heat through the thin fabric of your dress. Uncomfortable was a bit of an understatement.

You rested your head on his shoulder and whispered, “Could you not do that?” while subtly jutting your chin out towards your leg.

He smirked, and you wanted to dig your nail into the corners of his mouth and rip it off. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said out loud. “I have to. I have a meeting tomorrow.”

The pout on your face was a combination of the cover and your own reaction. “Please?” you whined, using the highest pitch you could muster. You saw him wince, and you happily continued. “Please? I know you like the pufferfish at that restaurant.” You tapped your clutch.

Take the hint already, dang it!

The threat of a potential poisoning had no effect on him. You had to admire that; most people would comply with your demands almost immediately, but Minho wasn't "most people." Unfortunately for you, that meant you and Minho would be playing a perpetual game of tug of war.

There was a scowl forming on your features, but you quickly rearranged it into another pout. Your chin was starting to hurt from sticking your lower lip out so much. You dramatically sighed and pretended to concede. The rest of the ride Minho kept his hand on your knee, and you plotted ways to poison his food.

The driver announced your arrival at the location of the party, a mansion with tall windows and balconies across the walls and water features decorating the front lawn. It was beautiful. Too bad there would be a murder happening here.

The door on Minho's side opened. He stepped out first, tipped the bellhop, and held out a hand for you. You flashed your second coy smile of the night. This one blushed and looked away.

You linked your arm with Minho's, and the two of you began to make your way to the entrance while surveying the area. His cologne tickled your nose, and you inched as far away as you possibly could be. Unfortunately, any empty space between the two of you was deemed unacceptable by Minho.

"Could you be more obvious? I think everyone’s noticed you trying to escape me at this point," he whispered. He moved his arm to your waist and pulled you closer. "Play the pestilential part."

You slithered out of his hold and stood in front of him, pretending to adjust his tie. "Will do, darling," you said aloud, enunciating every word with a tight tug. You hummed, pretending to think. "Is that too tight?"

You were sure he was going to turn blue if he didn't loosen his tie in the next few minutes. But he only smirked and replied, "It's perfect."

If he ended up dying from a lack of oxygen, it would be his own fault, you reasoned.

Some guests stopped to introduce themselves, and Minho easily answered their thinly veiled questions of "So, who are you exactly?"

"An entrepreneur from Australia," he would breezily reply. The guests would praise his Korean, remarking how fluent he sounded for a foreigner. Minho would laugh and would launch into a story about how he fell in love with Korean culture after a trip here. "I saw an excellent opportunity to expand my business here. And there are other reasons of course." Here, he would give you a sidelong glance, and you would giggle and pretend to be flattered.

After the fifth round of introductions-- how were there so many businessmen named Lee Minhyuk-- you spotted the target. He slipped out of a limousine, and a horde of opportunists greeted him with handshakes and what you were sure was flattery. At this point, you realized you and Minho had never formally come up with a plan to kill him. There was a woman half his age by his side, and you recognized her as his new wife. No instructions were given how to deal with her; the only guideline was to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Ooh! Look at her dress!" you interjected during Businessman Lee Minhyuk #3's story about his latest trip to Malaysia. You pointed a finger at the wife and called your partner’s code name. "Daniel, baby, will you buy me one like that?"

Minho, thankfully, got the signal. "Sure. Whatever you want, babe," he nonchalantly replied. He pretended to do a double take. "Is that Yoshifumi Shido?" he asked Lee Minhyuk #3. "I didn't know he was going to be here."

Lee Minhyuk #3 started talking, but you tuned him out and kept your eye on the target. His wife's dress was fortunately a bright red, making her easy to spot in a sea of dark colors. She weaved in and out of the crowd, occasionally pausing to give cheek kisses to other women who you assumed were her friends. The target shook hands and made light conversation, but it was clear that he was in a hurry to get inside the mansion.

"We must get going now," you heard Minho say. "I wanted to talk to him about business."

Lee Minhyuk #3 nodded understandingly. "Of course. Pleasure to meet you."

Minho gave him one of his charismatic smiles. "It was all mine, sir."

You tried to link arms with Minho again when the two of you started the walk to the mansion, but he wanted you as close as possible. Your right side was flushed to his left, and you could feel every move he made. The burning sensation blossomed from your chest. It crawled up to your cheeks and down your spine until it spread everywhere.

"How's the noose around your neck?" you asked to distract yourself.

The tight knot around his neck had to be cutting into his esophagus by now, yet there was still no sign of visible distress from him. How was he not dead?

"I don't think your pathetic attempt even qualifies as one. Your lack of field work is showing," he said in a sing-song voice. He smirked and looked down to see your reaction but instead found that a section of your bangs fell from its pin.

“Wait,” he told you.

You were about to snap back an angry, “What?” when he turned you towards him and tucked in the locks for you. You looked up at him, shocked by his sudden kindness. He muttered something, and although you couldn’t quite make it out, you swore he said, “Lovely.”

“What?” you said, still incredulous.

“Let’s go,” he coughed.

There were too many people around now to make snarky remarks, and the both of you silently agreed to keep quiet. The two of you entered and momentarily stood by the front entrance. You rested your head against Minho's arm and pretended to be in awe of the chandelier and high ceiling when you were really looking at the people on the second floor balcony. There was no red dress in sight.

Minho, meanwhile, was scanning the first floor. From the way his brows were furrowed, he didn't see them either. He mindlessly took glasses of champagne from the waiters while doing so, and handed them to you. You were now juggling three different glasses and desperately trying to flag down another waiter. You could see Minho hiding a grin from the corner of your eye. Finally one of them noticed your distress, and you gratefully smiled at him while you placed two on the tray.

You sipped on your one remaining drink. "Can we go up to the balcony, baby?" you asked Minho. "I want to see the view from up there."

"Good idea."

Was that sarcasm or a genuine compliment?

You had to follow Minho from behind to the balcony since there was barely any room. There were crowds on the stairs, and you wondered how they hadn’t collapsed from the weight. Men and women were packed together like sardines in a can, and you said, “Pardon” and “Sorry” more times in those minutes than you had in the past week. Minho looked back occasionally to ensure you were still with him.

Fortunately, you and Minho made it to the balcony intact where he found a spot near the railing. The space was small, so you were forced to face him instead of the scene below you. You held your drink in front of you to create some sense of personal space, but he insisted on having one hand on your waist. Luckily, with more pressing matters at hand, you could ignore the burning sensation that had returned again.

“Any sign of him?” you asked after a few minutes of looking down at the main floor. You only saw tuxedoed strangers and dark dresses. No spot of red in sight.

“Not yet.”

Without warning-- or maybe you just didn’t notice-- he leaned dangerously close to you, and you tried not to flinch. You kept an amused smile on your lips, but your eyes told a different story.

“What are you doing?” you worriedly asked.

He whispered, “Apologies in advance,” in your ear before pecking you on the temple.

As you stood there, frozen by his affection, you didn’t notice him tipping over your glass of champagne with a sly hand.

You jolted back, but it was too late; you could already feel the cold seeping through the front of your dress. You stood there, gasping in both surprise and anger. This was a new low even for Lee Minho.

“Search for the target while you’re finding a bathroom. I’ll stay and ask around here,” he continued in your ear. Then he said out loud with false concern, “You okay, babe? You know you can’t drink too much.”

So, this was his grand plan. “It was just a little champagne,” you airily replied. You pressed the empty glass into Minho’s hands. “I’m okay. I’ll clean up in the bathroom.”

You stumble-walked through the crowd and down the connecting hallway. You weren’t even close to tipsy, but people had to believe it. You tried all the doors nearby, but none of the rooms yielded the target or a bathroom. There were, however, several drawing rooms filled with kissing couples. You left those as quickly as you could. As you furthered away from where the main party was taking place, there were more locked doors. You almost considered taking out a hairpin from your hairdo and picking the lock before realizing that the target wouldn’t even have been able to get in anyway.

“Miss, can I help you?”

You stopped tugging on the doorknob and looked to your right to see a waiter with a tray of hors devours.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” you sheepishly asked.

If you were him, you would have been suspicious. But he must have had too many dealings with ditzy, champagne-drunk, rich people, so he merely showed you to the nearest bathroom which was inside a bedroom further down. You thanked him, and he left, presumably to get back to his job of handing out food and collecting dishes.

You left your clutch on the sink counter and blotted at the wet spot with a towel from a wicker basket before realizing that it did absolutely nothing. Then you tried with water, but you only succeeded in making the stain more visible. You sighed. Screw Lee Minho.

Luckily, it was a black dress, so the spot wasn’t too offensive. Just as you resigned to your predicament and were about to leave, you heard two pairs of footsteps and a door closing. The lock clicked.

Someone came into the bedroom. If you had to guess based off of the footsteps and your previous encounters, it was a couple. It would be awkward, but you could just hurry out, apologize, and get back to the work.

“Check the bathroom,” you heard a man say in Japanese.

Japanese? It had to be the target.

“There’s no one here,” snapped a female voice, also in Japanese.

That was definitely his wife.

“Just do it.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed your clutch and quickly climbed into the enormous bathtub at the far end of the room. If you laid yourself flat against the bottom, no one should be able to see you if they stood at the entrance. You were pretty sure she wouldn’t even go past the door frame.

You were right. You heard her heels approach the bathroom, but she quickly said, “There’s no one,” after. Her footsteps sounded farther away now, and you took that opportunity to get out your phone.

You messaged Minho the directions to the room.

You: They're in the bedroom. East wing, second floor.

Minho: Wife too?

You: Yes.

Minho: Omw

Minho: Are you in danger?

You: No, I’m hiding in the bathtub.

Minho: Is that sarcasm?

Minho: Are you hurt? Have they spotted you?

You: No! Why are you asking? Just get here quickly.

Minho: No reason. Text me if anything changes.

You frowned at your exchanges of texts. A proud field agent such as Minho wouldn’t be wasting time idly asking questions that didn’t pertain to the end goal. You shook your head at his skills and decided to prepare for the killing.

As you loaded up the first syringe of tetrodotoxin, you listened to the argument between the target and his wife. Yes, an argument and not a makeout session. It was a loud one with lots of shouting and accusations. You learned that the target and his wife’s marriage was on the rocks. He apparently was caught cheating with his wife’s sister. You were busy loading up the second syringe when you learned that said sister was possibly pregnant.

If only they weren’t going to die. You could have made an obscene amount of money from the blackmail.

Your phone, face up on your stomach, turned on with a message from Minho: “Get ready.”

You tucked your phone into the waistband of your spandex and positioned both syringes between your fingers. Then you pushed yourself up and out of the tub. When you glanced into the bedroom, you could see that the target was still being berated by his wife. You hid behind the door and hoped no one would notice the door slightly moving. Now all you had to do was wait for Minho to arrive.

The shouting suddenly stopped, and the target called out, “Occupied,” in Korean. He repeated it when Minho presumably persisted trying to open the door.

“Yoshifumi Shido! Is that you?” you heard Minho shout. What kind of stunt was he going to pull now? “I wanted to discuss my business plans with you.”

“I’m busy right now.”

“I think you’ll really like it! Just hear me out!”

“I’m busy!” the target snapped.

From the tiny gap between the door and the wall, you saw Minho walk in. He must have finally picked the lock. He shut the door behind him, and the lock clicked shut again.

“Yoshifumi Shido!” Minho loudly exclaimed with his arms open. He began walking towards the target. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I thought you locked the door,” the target roughly said in Japanese to his wife.

“I did!” she replied. She was confused, and her face was tinted red from screaming.

They bickered for a minute about whether she did lock the door or not. Their voices were hushed, but even you could tell they were both making accusations about each other. All the while, Minho stood in front of them with a patient smile, pretending he didn’t know what they were talking about.

Finally, the target ordered his wife, “Go fix your hair or something while I sort this out.”

Oh, how perfect.

The wife huffed in both anger and annoyance but complied. She snatched her purse from the bed and stormed away. Minho, seeing her leave, launched into his fake business plan. Through the gap, you carefully watched the wife approach the bathroom. You felt bad for her; she was innocent in all this. But there could be no witnesses to the crime.

You waited until she was just inside the bathroom. She was mumbling to herself, and she sounded like she was sniffling. You held your breath in fear of ruining your plan. Her back was turned, and she seemed focused on her thoughts.

Perfect.

Quick as lightning, you clamped your free hand over her mouth and dragged her behind the door. She tried to scream and flail, but you held her tight as you injected her with tetrodotoxin. At that moment, Minho started talking loudly to drown out the noise. He didn’t need to though. She stopped trying to scream and started gasping for air. You could see how dilated her pupils were. Seconds later, she suddenly convulsed and went limp. You placed two fingers on her neck, and sure enough, she had no pulse. You released your hold on her, and the body fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“What was that?” you heard the target say. “Kaguya?” he called.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Minho replied. “Anyway, in the third quarter--”

The target apparently did care about his wife. He cut Minho off with a glare. His wedding ring flashed in the light, and you positioned the next syringe in your hand.

“Kaguya? Answer me!”

When there was no reply, he stalked towards the bathroom, Minho following close behind. You watched the target closely. He saw the red dress first, the skirt spilled onto the marble floor like blood. He rushed inside and shouted his dead wife’s name.

He never saw it coming.

Minho swiftly punched the back of his head. The target cried out and crumpled onto the floor. He was hurt but not dead yet. Minho pinned him down while you stepped over the body. The target, dazed but still conscious, threatened vengeance, begged for mercy, promised money, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. You injected the poison into his neck with no hesitation. He thrashed around, but it was useless. He was dead a few seconds later.

“No pulse,” Minho reported. He got up from the ground and turned to you. “We’re done here.”

“Finally,” you muttered as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You wrapped the used syringes in a hand towel and placed it in your clutch. Being discreet meant leaving no evidence behind. “Call the car.”

Minho, who already left the bathroom, called over his shoulder, “Later. We have to get out first.”

You turned off the light and shut the bathroom door. The maids-- you assumed this giant place had maids-- would be getting an unpleasant surprise tomorrow. Minho stood in front of the vanity mirror, ruffling his hair like he did in the hotel room.

“Are you done?” you asked. Not that you minded waiting for him, as long as he didn’t catch you watching the way he fluffed his hair. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, lets go.”

You placed your hand habitually on his arm again when you realized your cover wasn’t as important anymore. You quickly shot a look at Minho. If he minded, he didn’t show it. Still, you decided it was better to walk on your own for now. You lifted up your hand, but he pressed it down again.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered. “We’re not safe yet.”

“Right,” you mumbled back.

The two of you walked out the door, and you locked it behind you. The hallway was empty, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was a person lurking around the corner. You got flashbacks to your first mission, and all you could think about was potentially being caught and failing.

“You’re being stiff again,” he whispered.

You relaxed your raised shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, as if he could read your thoughts. “We’re JYP’s best team.”

You almost snorted. “‘Team’ is highly debatable.”

There was a giggle from around the corner, and both of you went silent. Minho’s whole demeanor shifted, and the lazy grin from earlier in the night returned. He slipped his arm to your waist, and you rearranged your own features into something more adoring. Then you heard footsteps coming down the connecting hallway.

A champagne-drunk young woman stumbled in front of the two of you. Still giggling, she sloppily pushed her hair back to get a closer look. Her eyes lit up as if she recognized you, and the anxiety of being caught came flowing back.

“Did you guys have fun?” she slurred, drawing out the ‘u’ in ‘fun.’ At your raised brow and possibly alarmed eyes, she smirked. “It’s okay. Wanna know a secret?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Everybody hooks up at these parties.”

Minho choked on air for the second time that night, and you tried to control your raging blush. “It-it’s not--”

“Don’t deny it!” she sang out. She stumble-walked forward to you and nodded to Minho. “He’s cute,” she said in a whisper everyone could hear. “Don’t mess it up.”

You opened your mouth to deny everything. “I--”

“We’re going to miss our ride,” Minho smoothly cut in. Thank goodness his head was working because you were pretty sure you were short-circuiting. “Nice meeting you,” he said before ushering you down the hall.

The woman only called out, “Byeeee!”

It was silent between you and Minho again. You placed the back of your free hand against your warm cheeks. The thought of being in a relationship with Minho was ridiculous, although you had to admit he was a little cute. That horrifying realization wasn’t the only part that made your head spin though. The sound of music grew louder, but that didn’t distract you from your swirling thoughts.

Don’t mess it up.

She was talking about the perceived relationship, but you were thinking about the cover. You almost did mess it up. You were so close to denying the woman’s claims, and you almost blew your cover. Again.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. Though right then likely wasn’t the best time; there were more people in the vicinity. “For almost… ruining the night.”

“It’s almost over anyway.” It was soft and assuring, so you decided to take it as an acceptance.

The stairs to the main floor were in sight. To your annoyance, there were still people congregating on the stairs, but at least they did not seem to be on the verge of collapsing. Minho pulled out his phone and dialled a number. Even with loud music playing, you could hear the keypad tones. He murmured into the device for a minute before sticking it into his pocket again.

“Changbin’s going to take us back to headquarters since he’s nearby. Chaeyoung needed a hotel room last minute for her cover, so HQ just gave her ours.”

“But we have our stuff at the hotel.”

“Chaeng already sent it back to HQ.”

You hummed a response, and the two of you walked down. There was a faint smile on Minho’s face, and you tried to keep one on yours. He made fake conversation with you, asking if you wanted to have pufferfish for dinner tomorrow night. You squealed with equally-fake excitement loud enough that turned several heads. You rattled off a list of non-existent outfits that you could wear, hoping that your rambling would be enough to fill the emptiness in the air.

You stopped talking once the both of you made it to the curb. There was no one outside; the party had only just begun. However, he made no move to remove his arm from your waist.

“You did better than I thought,” he said, looking directly at you. “You didn’t screw up.”

“This is a joint mission,” you replied, looking back at him. He meant it as a compliment, but after his previous digs, it didn’t feel like one. “It’s not dependent only on me.”

“You were the one that had to take him out. It’s mostly on you.”

“That’s not how joint missions work.”

“I’m the field agent here. Best in the business, mind you. I know how they work.”

“Then you should know that success depends on both of us.”

“The company knows I’m capable. You know I’m capable. It’s not my success that’s in question. It’s you that they’re worried about.” He brushed your cheek free of an eyelash and softly added, “It’s you that I’m worried about.”

“Oh,” was the only reply you could think of. You looked down at the pavement and noticed how the tip of your heels lined up with the cracks.

“I can’t protect you all the time. If something happens to you, I can’t save you. What would have happened if you got caught in the bedroom?” he continued. You swore he held you tighter.

You stood there, quiet. Everything he did and said tonight conflicted with everything from the first time you had worked with him. You thought he hated you, and you were sure you hated him. You felt him staring at you, and when you glanced up at him, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

“What?” you tried to snap, but it only came out as a whisper.

“I just thought you looked pretty in the moonlight.” He didn’t seem like he was teasing the least bit.

You were even more confused now. And you told him so. “I don’t understand you! Why are you being so… sweet now? You hate me!” You stepped out of his hold and pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t tell me it’s for the cover either! Because we both know it’s a lie!”

“People change,” he replied. “Like how you’re better at field work and like how I have a greater appreciation for your skills now. You know why.”

“There’s no universe where you and I actually like each other,” you harshly laughed. “You hate me.”

“Maybe I do.” He reached out and cupped your face. You were too shocked to do anything but stand frozen. “I hate that you’re smart and pretty and funny and make me lose focus.” He traced your jaw with his thumb as he continued listing his reasons. “I hate that you make me deviate from my plans and make me worry about you. I hate that you make me feel weak whenever you’re around. I hate that you’re too stupid to realize it.”

“I have a PhD in Chemistry,” you breathed as he placed his forehead on yours. You could count his eyelashes and see the ring of black around his iris.

“I know.” His lips were centimeters away from yours. Just like he did on the balcony, he said, “Apologies in advance.”

You saw him twist his head a few degrees. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Changbin’s car’s headlights approaching and wished Minho would hurry. He dropped his left hand and slowly traced your jaw with his right. His lips parted and then stretched into a smirk.

“Just kidding!” he jeered.

Changbin pulled up, and Minho removed his hand from your face, his index finger drawing one final line before flicking your chin up. You inhaled sharply and recoiled at the motion.

“You’re not too mad, right?” he called as he got into the passenger seat. The smirk was still there when he said, “I’ll see you back at headquarters.”

The car sped down the street, leaving you at the curb. You could only watch the taillights grow dimmer. Your fingers twitched, and you felt yourself loading up your third syringe of the night.

You had plenty of poison to go around, and they all had his name on them.

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #lee know #lee minho #secret agent au #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #enemies to lovers #20200617

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fallingsunflower · 3 years

Text

BESTIES I'm so sorry - I hit my post limit waaaay earlier than expected! Some of y'all joined me on my backup account, (which I also hit the limit on lmao), but I'm back now.

I had over 400 asks to go through and I'll give you a warning that not all of them will appear (either because they were old or because they were topics we already answered). But here is a giant list of asks I compiled for you from when I wasn't allowed to post lol they don't really require my response but I found them entertaining to read. Hope you don't mind I've just put them all together in one post. It's also to save me from using up my 250 posts lol

"this is all so embarrassing like my god imagine when the promotion of the movie starts how horrible it will be for other people who made the movie too"

"SELL UR TICKETS TODAY WATCH THE MOVIE ILLEGALLY, next article we’ll be talking about these two assholes filing for bankruptcy. cheap harlots. don’t mess with your meal ticket."

"hate to say it but i defs think they‘ve got a sliver of the gp’s attention for five minutes"

"I am scanning through all these photos looking for just ONE where he looks like he's smiling and enjoying this. It's so crazy."

"I guess those are all the pics we’re getting right now. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they finish the Italy trip off with one more major Backgrid photo shoot."

"Olivia’s trending on Twitter but not Harry. Like it’s obvious who’s getting the PR gains here!"

"If they dont give us a 6 month or more break after this im gonna need them to pay for my therapy bills from now on bc of this damage no joke let me crawl back into my shit hole now 😑"

"The palce they at is referred to as “tuscanys best-kept secret”. Everyone point and laugh."

"she looks like she’s enjoying all of this. he looks like he wants to push her into the water."

"a few people said he’s keeping his shorts pulled up or covered in all the shots because of the Nike branding which they ask to not get photographed. What a setup."

"Man I knew the second those Tomdaya pics came out of them kissing and how they were trending so fast that HO were going to do something to 'top' them. Its pathetic /// FRRR. she probably hoped for the positive reactions that people gave tom & zendaya but unfortunately, miss girl got the opposite. when will they realize that nobody, but his fans, find them cute lmao can they just stop, it’s so embarrassing 😭😭😭"

"He really out here doing this with someone who almost old enough to be his mother, shiiiiiiiit. Sickening. Sick of these 2 for real now, i was fine with the good old blurry back content and whatnot but this? Crossing a line here nobody wanna see that shit and knowing how people feel goooooood damn."

"I aboslutely despise kendall for obvious reason but this one is actually worse than the hendall one bc you couldnt really see as much as now dis gos tang."

"She’s also wearing the cross necklace again. I feel like if that was so meaningful to her she wouldn’t risk loosing it in the ocean 🙄"

"guys have eyes on tmz. I Do not have tw now. they were so aggressive towards them"

"I'm sorry for Harry because you lost your damn mind bro"

"Now why the hendall pics are better ?? NO SHADE BUTT"

"I’m genuine confused like do they actually want dwd to flop or what? I just threw up in my mouth I sure as hell ain’t gonna watch their sorry ass movie. Is it supposed to flop? I’m so confused!"

"The match was not interesting enough so they cooked up something different especially since people were pointing out how they staged the PDA. And the page 6 article is out already!!!"

"Who the fuck thought this was a good idea"

"Is it just me or does harry's face looks really blank for someone out on a Romantic date with his alleged girlfriend.?"

"if thats it, harry hasn’t no game🤣🤣🤣🤣"

"so this is why the tabloids weren’t talking about the match pics! they didn’t have any value on their own. now with the yacht pics? my oh my they’re gonna get the clicks of their lives. her team was prob like “wait a sec we got something for y’all”"

"If they were models hired to act like a couple they wouldn't get the job......"

"Not them starring right at the camera in some of them help make it less obvious will you"

"HENDALL🤣🤣🤣is that uuuu"

"Harry’s ass crack thought it should make an appearance too."

"What a great day for team PR, happy Monday you guys! Let's pop the champagne 🍾🍾🍾🍾 P. S. They both need acting lessons, tbh"

"It’s quite interesting how everything that’s happened before I’ve seen predicted weeks/and in advance on blogs or fan accounts. Like his life has always been so predictable but damn"

"He was hiding the Nike check. That’s why his swim trucks are rolled up to an absurd degree even for him. He knew he was gonna get photographed."

"What I’m noticing is wether people like them together or not, everyone’s saying they’re aren’t a hot couple…there was more chemistry in the Kendall pics by far"

"i also find it weird that he’s not smiling in any of the pictures and it would be one thing if there were five pics from ten minutes of time but there are like 70 from an obvious extended period of time"

"It's interesting everyone involved is being Team Try Hard. Yet the universe says no. The last set of pics, Tom and Zendaya overshadowed. People even paid more attention to Angelina and the Weekend (even if business possibly). Fast forward to today and all this fakery only for Gwen/Blake to tie the knot. His team needs to get a clue. She needs to go. Harry needs to clean this up fast."

"Ok i looked at one hugging pic and one kidding pic and they could not look more stagged. It looks unatural ,strange and weird from all angles. You can clearly see from their body posture they are posing for a photographer from backgrid."

"Like I said in my ask a couple days ago the day we get kissing pics is the day that I believe this is all a stunt and I was right. They took a page out of hendall 2016 and it’s looks so forced and awkward. Hendall did it better cause at prater they had chemistry. They must be scared this movie is going to tank because they are pushing this way too hard"

"Real, PR, or whatever relationship it is, they’re fucking boring. You are on a yacht in Italy, can’t you have a little bit of fun? I can’t believe how boring they are, I just can’t. Even if it is just PR, can’t you make a fucking dumb joke so you can laugh or something? Do they have anything in common like to talk about or discuss or make fun of? I’d literally killed myself if I looked like that in a relationship. They are not communicating in any photos we’ve got. They are just walking, or sitting. Even when they hold hands or kiss or hug, they never communicate."

"okay but did ya’ll see the pic of her diving in?? i can’t stop laughing 😭😭😭😭"

"they look horrifically awkward i cannot believe what harry is doing"

"“HEY PAPS COME GET A PIC OF US KISSING TO MAKE OUR RELATIONSHIP MORE BELIEVABLE!!!!!”"

"his ass is hanging out and her bra is almost off what in the hell"

"Hqs on a yacht like that? Mhmhmhm hmmmmm / I bloody well hope that’s not the extend of their acting. That’s dire! 🤦‍♀️"

"this is literally the most predictable “couple” to exist. first, people talked about them showing up the game, and they did. second, people were just talking about kissing pics... AND THEY JUST CAME OUT LMAOOOOOO"

"annnnnnnnnnnnnd there it is. YOU KNOW THEY KNEW THERE WAS A CAMERA."

"ok but where’s the pda or did that get made up? cause these have to be the most awkward pics i’ve ever seen which makes me feel better 😂 also i can feel the meme’s coming with the one of her diving off the boat"

"I call it how I see it they are both assholes and full of shit. Like do your fake kiss somewhere else I do not want to see it!"

"Can they at least act like they’re having a good time?"

"hahahaha I can't stop laughing with that photo of O it's literally her knowing she's being photographed and diving into a professional swimmer style😭"

"the pics are so organic that Olivia is looking straight at the pap before kissing Harry."

"he looked a lot happier with kendall in their yacht pics compared to today’s. i know that was PR too, but he was very smiley and seemed talkative. with this girl it’s like the complete opposite lmao."

#this is also good visual proof for how many people are on team PR lol

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