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arminty7 · 3 years ago

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𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘦

Mermaid!Jungkook x Reader [Part 3]

Trapped in this life of expensive wine and judgemental eyes Y/N met an unusual lady who offered her a job at an aquarium a few towns away. Despite being hesitant and uncertain for the future she decided to take the offer as it was her only way out, not knowing that many dangers might come her way.

Jungkook swam his way through the small tunnel in wonder. He didn’t realise what he was ‘walking’ into as he took the entire night to explore a tunnel. He thought it might lead to you, how naive. It is only when he heard the piercing sound of drilling from the small tunnel entrance did he know what was happening, he was trapped. With that, his instincts took over.

Chapter: #3 Swimming in Wine

Words: 4843

Warnings: Mild Swearing // Fluff // Eventual Smut? Idk maybe depends // Jungkook obsessive // Evil Namjoon (im sorry guys) // It might be a little messed up.

AN - It's been a while. I know.

This work shall not be copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission. In a case where this might happen, legal action will be taken as it would be a criminal act under the law and breaching these terms. Upon reading my work you are acknowledging that this work is mine and that you know the consequences if this work is copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission.

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It was early in the morning when the sun started to creep its way into the room. You were sitting on your bed and surprisingly enough, you were already awake. You never used to be such an early bird, but throughout these past few nights, you would wake up drenched in sweat. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop thinking about the incident on the cliff. Upon sleeping, you could almost feel the arms of the creature wrapped around you, like its haunting touch has placed a permanent mark on you. When thinking about it more deeply, it felt human to you. The arms of a human, but its touch too deeply pressed on your skin: the coldness you felt, reached down to your bones. It was like death was clinging onto you, with you as its life source.

"Hey Y/N? You up?" You heard a whisper and you saw Julie poking her head through the door as she opened it slightly. You look over at her with a relaxed expression and a soft smile.

"Yeah, I'm already up. Did you want to go and get a coffee near the waterfront before dropping me off to work?" You stand up from your bed and start fixing the blankets and pillows.

"Yeah that sounds like a good idea, let me go get my bag and we can leave soon." She spoke as she left the room, closing the door but not all the way.

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Looking out onto the ocean, it felt calm today. Although the tranquillity that you felt while looking out onto the shore exhibited a chaotic kind of peace. The calm before the storm. You could feel it, the anger of the waves crashing down and the freeing nature of the water wanting to come out. But it held restraint, it couldn't do anything even if it tried. Something was missing but you didn't know what. All you knew was that the feeling you had felt when looking out towards the ocean, changed somehow. The calm waters seemed too good to be true.

You sat there at the coffee shop across from the beach near where you work. The smell of sea-salt and fish mixed with coffee seemed like a horrible combination, but the locals were used to it. You found comfort in the idea that you might get used to it too. The coffee that you held in your hands was hot against the cool air. You sipped your coffee while waiting for Julie to come back with her usual morning cravings of insatiable sweet pastries.

“So, tell me. Have you made any work friends? Any of them cute?” Julie sat down across from you, taking you away from your thoughts. You looked over at her and chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I have made some friends, not many but hopefully that will change in time” You smiled slightly looking out at the ocean again, feeling yourself get distracted but not with anything in particular. "Well it’s your first day today so make sure to stay on your toes, but don't overwork yourself," Julie spoke while her mouth is full of sweet dough-like pastries, more focused on the icing coating the top of her lips, not realising that you have been spacing out this entire time.

Thankfully you're good at multi-tasking and you chuckle at her comment, "It’s funny, people keep forgetting that I have worked at an aquarium before you know? It's not that much of a big deal." You sip your coffee but immediately placed it back down on the table, it was too sweet.

You look at your watch, realising its time to go. Plus, you would rather be at work than trying to have a normal conversation with her, you know she's trying but she's not your caretaker or mother, she doesn't need to try so hard.

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As you walk through the entrance of the Aquarium you could immediately feel the difference in atmosphere from the other day. The busy environment that you knew so well back home at the aquarium suddenly felt familiar. The buzzing sounds of life engulfed the reception as many families and residents were chatting away while waiting in line. Kids nagging at their parents and young couples looking at each other lovingly while waiting in line. There were not many people though as it was early, and it wasn't officially open for another 30 minutes.

You walked past them towards the reception and saw Seokjin who looked busy talking to the people in line. He glanced over at you and he made an expression as if he remembered something.

"Ah Y/N, Jimin told me to tell you to wait for him at the food court at the bar. You'll be working with him today. Taehyung is meant to be here, but he called in sick". You nodded, silently chuckling to yourself as Taehyung probably just called in sick because he was "too busy" or had some "emergency". While in reality, he's probably watching a new season of a drama he recently got addicted to.

You head your way to the food court after you say goodbye to Seokjin. It seemed quiet in the food court but simultaneously busy as workers prepared for the day. You could see some workers running around in their little cafes or tourist shops as you walk towards the main bar. You could hear your heels hit the glassy floor, echoing as it bounced off the wall of the gigantic room.

The bar had no one in it. You suppose it didn't open till later in the day. It was weird to you, you have never seen an Aquarium that had a bar before. Mind you, you never really travelled anywhere so you wouldn't know if it's a common thing to have at Aquariums.

You sat on the stool, looking at the giant tank circling the entire food court, acting as a wall around the large room. You tried to look through it to see how far it went but all you could see was the light blue ocean that seemed almost endless. Some small school fish could also be seen swimming in the tank. It felt as though you were in the middle of the ocean. All alone.

In contrast to the light blue colour that is seen throughout the rest of the room, the small tank that was built into the wall behind the bar looked darker and overgrown. It was a very small square tank that resembled a small window. You could barely see through it, a thick layer of algae covering the glass, it looked so dark in there. Maybe it was connected to another section of the aquarium, perhaps it even descended underground?

You shivered and looked around the food court, were you being watched? You could feel the sudden nervousness tingling throughout your body.

It was a weird feeling that came upon you, an icy cold feeling of loneliness like the air had suddenly shifted. The voices of the other workers in the food court were drifting away and you were slowly slipping away from reality. An alluring voice crept into your ear, singing an enchanting but hypnotising harmony. Somehow you could sense that it wasn't one of the workers for the voice sounded too angelic, too sweet to even be real. Your bones were chilled as you sensed the familiar feeling of cold strong arms enveloping around your waistline and chest as if you were reliving the moment by the cliff. You could physically feel it, its touch… his touch. Closing your eyes, you could feel the cold sharp wind from that moment above the water as it brushed against your cheeks. The creature’s hot breath giving you some type of warmth in the moment, yet it felt unknown to you. Mortality was clutching you in its hands, but you felt so safe. Like it was saving you despite drowning you at the same time.

You shook your head, awaking from the trance that you were in. Glancing back over at the tank behind the bar and you saw a dark figure in the water. It stayed there looking through the algae ridden glass. You could only see a face, black and blue scales on its cheekbones and jaw. It looked human, but at the same time, you knew it wasn't. Its alluring golden eyes, shining in the water, staring into your own. Its eyes were soulless.

By the time you blinked, it was gone.

You stood up, wanting to go closer to the small tank behind the bar. Making your way behind the bar, you were stopped by a strong hand pulling your shoulder back. "What are you doing here?" You turned to see a man who held your shoulder with a firm grip, his eyes staring straight into yours.

Oh, if looks could kill.

"I uhh.." Your mind went blank as you stepped back a bit, away from the man. He looked annoyed while you struggled to let the words out. By this time, you forgot what just happened moments ago.

"Answer my question" He spoke quietly but sternly, letting go of your shoulder but moving a step closer to make sure you can't run away.

"I was waiting for-"

"Yoongi-Hyung, what are you doing?? Leave the poor girl alone, you'll give her a heart attack" You sighed in relief as you saw Jimin walk up to the bar.

'You know this girl?" He spoke in a serious tone, you remembered what Taehyung said earlier about the Bartender, I guess this is him.

Jimin nodded, leaning on the bar. "Her name is Y/N, she's the new recruit Hoseok was telling us about" Jimin looks over at you with a charming smile while you take the opportunity to escape the bar and onto Jimin's side.

Yoongi looked at you and then back at Jimin, "well get outta here will you, the aquarium opens up soon”.

You nodded and Jimin just smirks before looking over at you "Come on Y/N, we have a busy day ahead of us" He stands up, grabbing your hand, giving you his signature smile before leading you out of the food court and down the hall.

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Third Person POV

"I can't believe we are opening up the aquarium a day after we caught it, what if it escapes?!" Hoseok looked down at the ground continuously tapping his foot on the ground as he leaned on the bookshelf in the office. Namjoon sat there in the chair in front of him.

"Don't worry, it can't escape" Namjoon reassured him and then continued.

"We have reason to believe it got stuck in an old tunnel filled with water that was built throughout the aquarium. We constructed the tunnel ages ago for the public and we were going to add glass windows to it, so you can look through the tunnel. However, the construction wasn't going as planned and we halted the idea."

"So, it's just swimming in a small tunnel throughout the aquarium walls with no way out? Like a maze? In pitch-black darkness?" Hoseok widened his eyes, he never heard of such a thing.

"You have nothing to worry about, the tunnel that he swam through to get in the aquarium was connected to the ocean, but we blocked it off as soon as we found out he swam in it. He's stuck in there."

"Are you certain? Have you swum through the tunnel yourself? How do you know there's no other way he can reach the other aquariums for the public to see?" Hoseok said, his voice raised. He walked up to the front of the desk, his hands crossed, Namjoon could sense his doubt radiating off of him.

"Before this place was opened to the public, I got some divers to check it out, it has no pockets or windows. It's pitch black down there" he tried to reassure Hoseok again. Namjoon looked up at Hoseok and he nodded, uncrossing his arms.

"Let's hope he doesn't go too crazy down there, we'll have to get him out soon." He continued, "Oh, by the way, Jackson called. He said yes to the deal." Hoseok

"Good. We will prepare the creature for transport soon".

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It was a busy day.

You sat off to the side as Jimin stood in his wetsuit on the platform of the dolphin's tank. He had a big smile stretched across his face as he instructed the dolphins while the crowd watched from the bleachers. With every flick of his hand, the dolphins would jump up in the air and the echoes of cheering would fill the small arena. You had a bucket of fish with you and you watched as each dolphin would come up to you after doing a trick. You sat on the side of the tank, you were visible to the public eye, but they weren't paying attention to you. It was sad really, you knew what went on in aquariums. How ironic that you want to be free yourself when working at an establishment that rejects freedom. You looked at the next dolphin that swam your way, it seemed weaker than the others. You went closer to the tank and sat on the edge. It slowly swam up to you, it was at that very moment that you saw a gash stretched out on its back. It wasn't bleeding, and you could easily see that it’s been there for a while.

You looked up at Jimin in worry although he didn't take notice. He held the microphone as he catered to the audience. You looked back at the dolphin and reached a fish from the bucket. Perhaps it was self-inflicted somehow. You heard that stuff can happen in aquariums. You watched the dolphin gently swim away, back down into the water, following the strict routine that was given to them before the show.

After the show ended, you still couldn't get that dolphin out of your head. Its empty expression in its eyes is still burned in your mind. All the hope and optimism you once associated with dolphins was now gone.

You stood there in the tiny tin room out the back of the aquarium near the dolphin tank, cleaning buckets of fish that were now empty. Jimin left you and went to go help another co-worker and gave you the task of cleaning out buckets that radiated the smell of decaying fish. You remember the innocent smile he gave you when he asked you for this little favour. It was your job, you couldn't say no - and he knew that.

"Thanks, Y/N! I owe you" Jimin yelled out, waving his hand as he ran off.

It was around 4 pm when you finished cleaning. Your body felt tired from the long day and you and Jimin were headed to the bar.

As you stepped into the food court the feeling you had before suddenly crept through your body. You shivered, and a sudden feeling of dread came upon you. It was weird, you didn't even think about the incident after it happened. Like you suddenly forgot about it. But now, as you slowly walk up towards the bar, you felt a chill encompassed around your bones.

Jimin sat down on the stool on the bar and placed a hand under his chin. He looked up at Yoongi with a smirk, "So, how's business?". Yoongi took a glance up at the both of you and looked back down again, wiping the bar down.

"It was pretty slow today. It was weird, I expected more people to come" Yoongi said quietly. You sat down next to Jimin and crossed your arms over the bar, letting your head rest gently on your arms.

"Hey, I just cleaned that" Yoongi looked over at you but after the day you had, you couldn't care less. You replied with a monotone "sorry" but stayed in your current position. He could tell that you were tired and surprisingly enough, he didn't push it.

"So, you remember that key I gave to you right? The one I found?" Jimin straightened up at Yoongi's words and looked over at you for a split second.

"Yeah I remember, what about it?" Yoongi sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well I need it back" Jimin looked confused, "but I thought you found it, that it had no meaning to you. That's why you gave it to me in the first place"

Yoongi sighed, "To be honest it was actually Hoseok's. I was curious to know what it's for, so I gave it to you. I didn't realise you wouldn't tell me after you found out. Still, after all these years, you haven't told me! To think, I was the one who gave you the key in the first place". Yoongi grabbed a glass from under the bar and shoved some ice in it before filling it up with apple juice. He passed it to you as if to tell you that he still remembers that you're here.

Jimin rolled his eyes, "Yeah, you gave me the key because you were too lazy to figure it out on your own".

"The point is, I need it. Where is it?" Yoongi looked somewhat anxious as he wiped down the bar for the third time.

Jimin shrugs, reaching his arm over to take your drink from the table that you haven't touched.

It’s too sweet. He sipped it casually and looked over at you before landing his eyes towards Yoongi again. "I don't know, I threw it away, I found no use for it".

Yoongi crossed his arms frowned, "that's bullshit, you are lying, and you know it, you've always been a bad liar". Yoongi then looks at you, your arms still crossed as you lay your head there, if they didn't know any better, they would have assumed you were asleep. Except you laid there, silently listening.

Jimin then also frowns, "look I don't know what to tell you, it's been years since you gave me that thing. The truth is, I lost it." Jimin looks up at Yoongi but Yoongi scoffs.

"So, you threw it away or lost it? Come on Jimin, just give it to me, I know you have it". Yoongi looked right through Jimin's eyes, you looked over at both of them, you could tell there was tension in the air.

Jimin was silent and Yoongi sighed grabbing the drink that you obviously weren’t going to finish and pouring it into the sink before placing the glass in the dishwasher under the bar.

Yoongi spoke quietly but you could tell that his words held a lot of weight, "Promise me".

Jimin looked up, "I don't get why you are so obsessed with this key, I don't even have it!"

"Promise me that you don't have it" Yoongi looked at him, his facial expression was the look of hurt more than anything. You could tell that there was more to this than what Yoongi was letting on. You sat there next to them, waiting for Jimin to spill the beans about giving the key to you.

Jimin was hesitant for a second before strongly responding, "I promise I don't have it." Yoongi stood there silent before nodding, mumbling a soft "sorry" under his lips before going back to cleaning the bar, even though he already finished.

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"I can't believe you lied for me," You spoke as you walked around the dolphin tank outside, Jimin walking beside you.

"I didn't lie. I don't have it. You do." Jimin smiled at you brightly, although you could tell that something was bothering him. You both kept walking before Jimin looked at his watch, "I'm sorry I got to go, feel free to stay here as long as you want, Namjoon doesn't mind us staying after hours. Although you do realise our shift ended an hour ago, right?" Jimin smiled brightly as he looked down at you, his eyes shining in the moonlight.

You chuckled, "Yes I knew, I just like your company. Thanks for being there for me. I haven't known you long, but you made me feel comfortable on my first day" You smiled, it seemed like you and Jimin were going to become really good friends.

"I'll always be here Y/N... Anyways I'll see you at work tomorrow yeah? Have a nice night" Jimin waved goodbye and walked away.

You sighed, reaching for the key from your pocket.

"Might as well check it out while I still can?" You thought.

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It was late, really late and you found yourself questioning Jimin's earlier statement about being allowed here after hours. You wandered through the halls of the aquarium, following the directions Jimin and Taehyung showed you last time, careful not to make any loud noises to gain any attention.

The halls were cold, and you could hear were the sounds of your heels tapping against the hard floor. While walking, you felt your chest become heavy, looking around you started to hear weird sounds coming from the walls. You shrugged it off however, you've been in aquariums long enough to know that it could be anything and that it's never completely quiet.

Finally reaching your destination you head down the metal steps. You've never been to this part of the building apart from when Jimin and Taehyung took you, you suppose it's for private personnel only. Continuing down the steps you reach the door to the moonpool, the sounds of water can be heard dripping and sloshing from behind. Inserting the keys and turning the metal handle you slowly walked inside. It was darker than the last time you saw it. What was surprising was the glow worms on the roof of the moonpool illuminating the moonpool and stone walls that surrounded it. You didn't see them during the day. They were beautiful.

Walking along the gravel towards the moonpool, you took off shoes your socks and placed your backpack next to the moonpool. You sat on the edge, dipping your legs in as you rolled up your pants, so they don't get wet. You closed your eyes, feeling the water reach up to your kneecaps. The water was lukewarm, and the smell of sea salt radiating off of it.

What a long day.

If you were being honest, all of this was too much for you. You never thought you would say this, but you miss home. You miss Marina's cooking and weirdly enough, you miss your mother. She hasn't called, even texted since you left. You felt like you thought this would be different, the people here are nice but every so often you get reminded about the flaws of this world, the treatment of animals, – the dolphin – the uneasiness you felt about Julie and her intentions. Even Jimin and Yoongi, you didn’t want to cause a fight between them because of some stupid key.

The water had suddenly started to turn cold, starting from your feet you feel a rush of icy water spread to your knees, eliminating any prior warmth you felt. The dripping stopped, the sloshing of the water halted. You opened your eyes curiously to see a figure from the other side of the moonpool staring right at you. You looked right in its eyes. Time stopped, and you could barely see anything else but the wide golden piercing gaze of the creature. You sat there frozen in place. You don't know how long you stayed like this for, but it took a while to realise what was happening. It didn't say a word, but you could tell by its knowing facial expression that it somehow knows who you are. Looking down in the now murky water you could see an outline of a human’s body, his muscles and broad shoulders prominent underneath the dark blue scales that stretched over its torso. You continued to examine the long outline of a tale - a big tale at that - with the front looking slimy however you could guess that the back of the tale was sharp enough to cut through any piece of flesh that it would encounter. One aspect of the creature that seemed almost beautiful were some parts of his scales that were brighter than others, acting as a highlighter around his cheekbones and arms.

You didn't want to make any sudden movements, frightened that the creature would drag you under. Eat you. Kill you. You decided that it was now or never and spoke quietly under your breath, looking back up at its eyes that never left yours. "Hi, my name is Y/N". Your breath was shaky, and your lips were dry.

"It probably can't even understand you," You thought to yourself.

The creature stopped staring into your eyes and lowered its focus to your legs that were swaying in the water. You shivered, the cold air getting to you. Goosebumps appeared on your legs and arms and you could have sworn you sore the remnant of a smirk that appeared on its lips.

You suddenly had an idea.

Carefully, you looked up at the creature, "I'm just going to grab something out from my backpack, okay?" Slowly you stretched your arm out towards your backpack while maintaining eye contact with the creature. The creature stayed still, however you knocked something metal in your bag and it made a loud noise that echoed throughout the moonpool. The creature’s facial expression turned darker and it went full force towards you, grabbing your calves as it didn't let you go. It was close to your face, its golden eyes peering into yours as you could feel its grip and claws on your legs tighten, its body between your thighs leaning in on you. You breathed in slowly, feeling almost petrified, but somehow you knew the creature didn't mean any harm. It looked over at your hand that was inside your backpack. You waited a few seconds before slowly, lifting your hand out of the bag, to reveal a container of prawns that was meant to be your lunch today.

The creature's grip loosened from your calves as it watched you open the container, taking a prawn before slowly reaching over to the creature's lips. One of its hands let go of your calf as it held your hand, guiding it towards its lips before it opened its mouth biting the prawns head off. You looked at the creature, a little startled. Its teeth were sharper than a normal human, like razors. In fact, you looked closely at the details of the creature's face, noticing the similarities to that of a human. Everything was the same except for the scales on the sides of his face, neck and on his cheekbones. The outline of his eyes was darker though, making his golden eyes brighter than usual. It had brown locks of hair, wet but you could see it was starting to dry. He resembled a male in his 20s.

He finished the prawn quickly and looked back at the container, wanting more. You spoke softly, "have more if you would like".

He looked down at your hand and then back up at you as if it was asking you to feed him again. His grip on one of your calves was softer and you could feel his thumb running circles over your calf. You grabbed another prawn, reaching over to his lips as he was careful not to cut your fingers with his teeth as he ate the prawn.

You sat there, feeding him the rest as he grew more comfortable around you. His hand reached out of the water towards the gravel next to your thigh as he spelled out the words "Jungkook" on the gravel.

"Jungkook?" You questioned, "is that your name?". Jungkook looked up at you before placing his hand on your thigh.

"Yes", he answered. Your eyes widen in shock, you didn't think he could understand you. You frowned and asked him curiously, "could you understand me this whole time?".

He smirked slightly, "I'm not the best at this human language but yes, yes I could" He looked up at you, his eyes shining. You frowned, feeling a little messed around with since he could have at least answered you the many times you spoke to him. But then again you understood, he doesn't know you, and you don't know him.

His grip on your calf and thigh tightened as he started to pull you in the water. You freaked, holding on to the edge of the moonpool. "Wait, wait, wait! I can't get these clothes wet and I uhh, have to get going soon..." Jungkook frowned but stopped pulling. He let go of you.

"Promise me you'll come back?" He looked at you with a sad expression, lowering himself in the water.

You looked down at him as you took your legs out of the water and grabbed your bag with your shoes and socks.

"I promise"

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AN: I know I haven’t updated, but I do really wanna update more. I feel like this chapter was a good one, give me some feedback? :)

tags: @mjlock

#bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook #mermaid jungkook #siren jungkook #bts x reader #bts scenarios #masterlist #park jimin #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #min yoongi #Jung HoSeok #mermaids #sirens

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queenofhearts7378 · 4 years ago

Text

Constellations Ch. 2

(Yes it finally has a title. Yes this is ending up multi chaptered. Yes there’s another part I’m writing. Yes I already have an outline for a vague plot....Yes I’m still blaming @ladylynse for this XD)

Prev. Chapter - Next Chapter

Danny was very much unprepared and underdressed for the time when some wizards fell out of his fireplace.

He paused in the doorway, spoon still in his mouth and cheeks full of cereal, as his brother stood up and brushed the soot off him with a displeased nose scrunch.

Danny swallowed. "And you couldn't just use the door?"

Honestly they're lucky his parents had left to chase down the Box Ghost earlier. Otherwise they'd be covered in a lot more than soot and ash.

Danny couldn't help the snort that escaped at the mental picture of Draco covered in ectoplasm and boiling in rage.

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeming to pick up that Danny was making fun of him. "Using the Floo was quicker."

"....quicker than walking through the door."

"It's a wizard thing you wouldn't understand." Draco snapped back, his go to response whenever he couldn't argue against Danny's logic at the moment.

"Uh huh. Anyways what are you doing here?" Danny asked, "You aren't supposed to be here for another two weeks."

Which was time previously planned for Draco to prepare for his summer in America while Danny finished school. Spend the two weeks after Hogwarts let out recuperating and making public appearances with his parents, then spend the rest of the summer with the Fentons.

Actually now that Danny was looking, it seemed Draco had come straight from school. His hair was lacking half its gel, he was still wearing his green tie, and his robes were a very boring black as opposed to the various greys and blues he flaunted around in the previous summer.

“Denebola, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Drawled the man standing behind Draco.

“Hello creepy man that I have never met before,” Danny said, echoing his tone.

Draco choked on air as the discount Kylo Ren sneered at him.

“This is Professor Snape Danny.” A familiar please-don’t-say-anything-that-will-get-us-in-trouble tone coloring Draco’s words. “My godfather.”

Oh the potion guy. Danny remembers Draco talking about him now. He was friends with Draco’s parents, which didn’t really impress Danny that much as all of the Malfoy’s friends seemed to be really rich snobs or really racist. Mostly both.

But he was Draco’s godfather, the reason he got into potions, his favorite professor and someone Draco would willingly go to get advice from. So, Danny decided to reserve judgement till he met him. Well….he met him.

Danny looked Draco dead in the eyes, “My apologies.”

Draco closed his eyes in mortification, which made Danny grin internally. They were really getting the hang of the whole ‘speaking without talking to each other twin thing’.

Professor Snape just scowled at him. “Where are the….muggles?" Disdain dripped off his words, instantly making Danny defensive. He had heard enough at Malfoy Manor about disgraceful, savage muggles from Lucius. Even Draco had echoed his father till Danny dragged him kicking and screaming into being a slightly decent person.

"My parents," Danny said, stressing the word, "Are working right now."

Okay maybe they were just being their usual trigger happy selves and running after Boxy, but there was no way he was telling Professor Snape that without it leading to an hour long discussion about ghosts. And Danny did not have time for that. He shoved a giant spoonful of cereal in his mouth as he met Professor Snape's eyes and-huh.

Draco never told Danny his godfather could read minds. He could feel the light brushes of a foreign mind attempting to gleam information from his surface thoughts. Danny didn't know if it was his wizard ancestry or halfa weirdness that made him sensitive to this kind of stuff. Either way, it was useful in keeping his secrets in his head from privacy invading school teachers.

Danny glowered at Snape and immediately thought of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up music video.

The two of them stared at each other for a minute, making Draco more and more anxious as no one said anything.

Finally Snape broke contact, "Where should his things go?"

Danny tried very hard not to smirk after winning that staring contest, "You can just leave them here, we'll get them later."

With one last displeased sneer, Snape turned to Draco. "I'm needed back at Hogwarts. I trust you are in good hands."

Draco nodded, still looking tense and anxious as hell.

Snape walked back to the fireplace. He paused next to Draco, "Take care of yourself Draco."

Draco softened under his glare, "I will Professor. Thank you."

Snape nodded and shot one more glare at Danny, who still had Rick Astley echoing in his head, before vanishing into the fireplace in a swirl of green fire.

Draco turned back to Danny and said, "You stress me out."

Danny snorted before walking back into the kitchen to put his bowl in the sink. Draco followed after him, looking at all the kitchen appliances with a barely hidden curious look.

"Something else we have in common."

"What are you wearing?" He asked with a nose scrunched in displeasure.

Danny shot him a look, "My pajamas, cause I just woke up. I haven't finished getting ready for school. You should probably change too."

"Why?"

Danny started for the stairs, Draco still following at his heels. "You can't wear robes to public school. I think you can fit in my jeans."

"What?!" Draco screeched, halting at the bottom of the stairs, "I'm not going to muggle school with you!"

"It's either that or stay here by yourself for hours." Danny said as he paused outside his room. Draco scrambled up after him. "Cause my parents won't be home for a couple more hours, after which you'll be alone with them till I get home."

Danny smirked at him, "My parents are going to be thrilled to see you, can you really handle their enthusiasm all by yourself?"

Draco could barely stand Danny showing various forms of physical affection, as proven last summer when Danny would throw an arm around Draco's shoulders and almost get hexed. And Ancients forbid Danny try to hug him. Draco might actually lose the wand and just punch him. Danny had spent most of their correspondence over the school year prepping Draco for the Fenton welcome wagon so he wouldn't hiss like a cat when he gets hugged. Okay, and maybe Danny just wanted to see his overdramatic brother's face as he is subjected to his parent's bear hugs.

Draco scowled at him, "Fine. But I'm not wearing any jeans."

Draco stomped into Danny's room and slammed the door in his face. He heard the lock click as it was shut.

"Hey! I still gotta get dressed!" Danny banged on the door, "C'mon Drake it's still my room!"

Danny groaned before walking over to the bathroom. He phased through the wall and landed on the fire escape. It took a few minutes, but he eventually maneuvered to his window and slipped in.

Draco had dug into Danny's closet and pulled out the most dressy tux Danny owned and was in the middle of putting it on.

"You are not wearing that."

Draco scowled at him, "It’s bad enough I'm lowering myself by going with you-”

“Lowering yourself?”

“-But,” he said loudly, “I absolutely refuse to wear common muggle wear. If I’m going to this school, I will not look anything less than my absolute best.”

Danny stared at him. “Drake you will be thrown into the dumpster if you wear that to my school. Let me just-”

Danny jumped on him, trying to remove the suit jacket from a struggling Draco. Draco shouted and tried to twist away, only for Danny to pull it over his head. Once Draco was out of sight, and swearing loudly at him, Danny subtly used his intangibility to yank it off him. And if he happened to remove all of Draco’s hair gel that he used to keep his hair slicked back….well, that would have gotten him thrown in a dumpster as well.

Danny tried not to laugh as Draco glared at him, his hair fluffed up and looking vaguely like an angry kitten.

"Do you know how long it takes me to fix my hair? I have to completely redo it now! And how'd you get that off me?" He pointed at the jacket Danny was throwing back in his closet.

Danny grinned at him, "Magic."

Draco gave him a flat look.

"Anyway we've got to go, otherwise I'm gonna be late again, and get detention again, and you'll be forced to either walk home by yourself or stay at school with me."

Somehow Danny had managed to get dressed and drag Draco out the door with him, texting Sam and Tucker his plans to walk so they could meet up on the way.

"What is that?" Draco leaned over to squint at the phone in Danny's hand.

"My phone. I told you about it last summer."

Draco hummed, "I thought it was broken?"

"Yeah, cause your magic blew it up. My parents fixed it." Danny shoved his phone back in his pocket like Draco was about to blow it up again. "Now what happened?"

Draco shot him a glance, before letting his eyes flicker around them. "I did try to tell you muggle 'technology' and magic doesn't always go together."

"Drake, you know that's not what I mean." He said softly.

Draco was silent, his jaw clenched and his hands shaking before he shoved them in his pockets.

They walked in silence for a while.

"You'll get hurt."

Danny looked at him.

"I…." Draco sighed, "I've never…."

Danny waited silently for him to get the words out on his own, knowing that pushing him will only make him clam up.

"You aren't like us. And I don't mean that in any bad way!" He said quickly when he saw Danny's face. "But you know what my parents are like, and their friends are so much worse, and you're the first person I've ever had to worry about. I just want you to be safe."

Oh Ancients, that was a lot to unpack there.

Danny had known something had happened during school. The two of them spent the school year exchanging letters, both of them wanting to stay in contact. Danny would tell him about his school, and his parents' antics, and explain random muggle technology to get Draco prepared for his summer with the Fentons.

Meanwhile, Draco had complained at length about Potter and a tournament and Potter being insufferable about a tournament. There was a furious letter about being turned into a ferret and how Potter and his friends keep bringing it up. Draco sent him about three feet of parchment around Christmas just making fun of Potter at a dance and how horrible he was. There was a lot about some famous Quidditch guy and then a lot about Potter’s friend stealing the famous Quidditch guy.

Draco complained about Potter a lot, okay?

But Draco never sent him a letter about the tournament results or if Potter got eaten by a bog witch or whatever it was he was hoping for the last task. He just showed up, two weeks early and clearly shaken about whatever it was that happened.

That isn’t a good sign at all. And Danny had eavesdropped enough last summer to get a decent idea as to what was going on.

“This is….this is about him isn’t it?”

Draco flinched, which was enough answer for him. Danny let out a breath.

“We can-we can talk about this later. I care about you too Drake, and I know your family is neck deep in this mess.” Danny bumped his shoulder, “You’re safe here, that’s why Narcissa sent you here right?”

Draco leaned against his brother’s shoulder, eyes still flitting across the street and his jaw clenched. “Yeah. We’re safe here.”

#queen will write #dp twin au #harry potter #draco malfoy #danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #constellations fic #oh boy here we go #....this is coming out a little angsty #hmmm....that was not supposed to happen #i know five-rivers is writing a fic too #but we seem to be going different directions with it #they're bringing danny to the wizarding world #i'm shoving malfoy at the muggle one #oh i haven't even got to the part where he actually goes to the school #*rubs my hands maniacally*#this is gonna be fun

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 4 years ago

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The Inquisitor’s Throne

I wrote this and realized it fits in with @14daysdalovers “Midnight Rendezvous” prompt. Cullen and Lydia Trevelyan, NSFW. Piece contains semi public sex, mild dirty talk, oral sex, and clothed sex all on a throne. Please enjoy! Also on A03

Dainty, delicate Inquisitor Lydia Trevelyan they call her. She can certainly play the part, look good in rich silks and swish her hand elegantly when she has to. It’s comes easy to charm a few nobles with carefully placed words, though she only does it if she must. Few deserve her sweet words, and one has them all.

Yet she had a cup, one she carries with her that no one else can see other than those closest to her. Sometimes it overfills. Sometimes it spills, and delicate, dainty Lydia can’t wear the carefully placed mask anymore. These are the times where all she wants is her lover to remind her she was more than some precious doll.

Maker. At Skyhold and past midnight, finally done with wearing the mask at this silly social, she wants him to claw at her, possess her, throw her on his desk of his and mark her. She wants him fucking hard.

Now.

Such primal parts of her sexuality used to frighten her. Tempered and tamed in recent years she found that primordial part of herself could bloom as easily as the part of her that loved with no reservation. Her lover, who inhabited his body like a lion cast spells of his own. He was a remnant of a time forgotten, roughhewn and forged with fire with scars to prove it. His fucking was a sweet restorative, and she craved it all throughout that dinner, all through Lord Farquar’s bitter speeches of fine women and the might of the Inquisition. Beautiful the Lord called her in her long red dress and pulled back hair, golden shoes on her feet. He eyed that silver Andraste at her collar and asked no questions mercifully. He demanded until she yielded, and she would not yield. She’d have no answers anyway. He wouldn’t deserve it if she did.

The great hall was filled earlier, yet now it’s midnight and quiet she slips inside the study Solas once used to frequent. Once Solas would have smirked at her, as he knew she took this route to her lover. Yet with him not there she makes the trip unnoticed, and she remains unnoticed when she opens the door to his office. His back toward her he’s out of his armor with a book in his hand. It’s one of those adventure novels he covets, one she’s picked up to read herself when she far away from him. When she’s away she relishes in the intimacy of reading the same words as he. Her heels click against the stone floor toward him before she wraps her arms around him, embraces him from behind as he dissolves against her, putting the book up on the shelves. She kisses the back of his neck before sinking her teeth there, laving the spot with her tongue. He moans before he turns around, cupping her face in his broad hands.

She looks beautiful, he says, tilting her chin up and kissing her. She certainly didn’t feel as such till he said it, till his arms are around her and she’s encased in his smell. He’s sweat and the sweetness of elderflower, earthy oakmoss and something distinctly man. She feels more woman when he grips her curves, when his stubble scratches her delicate skin.

“Fuck me hard Cullen.”

His answer is a small “oh,” eyes wide. Maker he even blushes and she wants to laugh. He, whose taken her on his desk, who moved the mirror closer to their bed so he may watch her ride him. “Pick me up and take me upstairs,” she whispers as she kisses him once more, his cock growing harder against her. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Rather take you to your room,” he says, kissing her neck. “Your mirror is there.”

“You’re so proud of how you fill me, aren’t you?” she asks, caressing his neck and lightly scratching her nails, her breath against his ear. “Then take me away.”

She leads him out of his office and into the empty great hall. It’s midnight and no one is about to watch the Commander take the Inquisitor into his arms and into a hot and searing kiss, a prelude to more. He tugs on the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, baring a part of her breast. His lips are warm against her skin as he cradles her back, pressing their bodies together. She hums, wrapping her arms around him, willing and wishing to dissolve.

“Turn around,” he whispers in her ear. She does so for him, wondering what he wants her to look at. All she sees is her large and expansive throne where she sits in judgement, silver moonlight casting blue and purple shadows against it. It is the seat of the high Enchanters’ gilded in gold and adorned with dragons along the side. A fine symbol for her role as Inquisitor, a seat only for her.

Yet she asks “Cullen?” as she strangely doesn’t understand, at least not at first. They’ve been brazen but this would be another matter entirely.

Still, he wraps his arms around her middle, presses his cheek next to hers. He says, “there,” and yes, he would be even more brazen.

She gulps. He’ll rescind, she’s sure, but he nips at her neck and says he wants her spread open there, wants to taste her there. He can’t wait and he’d rather have her elegantly on her throne than in the hallway leading to her room or against the wall. Judging by the way she leans against him, rubbing herself against his hardness, she can’t wait either.

“My dearest,” he says, his arms still around her, a warm hand slipping underneath her dress, touching her breast, and further pulling down the sleeve. It’s such a sweet endearment he says to contrast with such bawdiness. “Haven’t you ever thought of us there?”

“Yes,” she admits, gasping when he takes one of her pert nipples between his fingertips and squeezes gently. “But someone could see.”

“Has that ever mattered?

Fucking no, never. It is the final pull, because yes, she too can be brazen. Turning in his arms she lets him lead her to the throne. She sits there as she always does yet as an empress rather than Inquisitor, and he sinks to his knees, parts her thighs to sit between them. “That’s my girl,” he says as he kisses his way up her leg, Lydia gathering and pulling her red skirts up for him. She stares with unmasked, unashamed lust at his golden head, his scarred mouth open against her calf, moving upward to her knee and thigh. She helps him slide off her undergarment, crimson red like her dress, and when it falls to the ground next to them she makes a mental note to pick it up later lest someone see. She grabs his hair, twists the curls as her legs spread further apart. How many times has she sat on this spot, a crowd of people all staring at her and waiting for her to make a judgement or say something worthwhile. When she takes her lover’s mouth on her throne, his tongue lapping over her clit, she groans quietly, wishing it could be louder, wishing her cries of pleasure could echo through the room so loudly she’ll hear it again the next time she’s here and must remain nothing more than a pretty doll. She’s survived and lived and loved and fucked and it’s Cullen who she loves and fucks and makes her empress of lust, love, and want.

With one slow, sinful press he slides his forefinger inside, then another. She thrusts her hips closer to his face and he takes in her musky scent. She curses and thrashes as he builds on her growing frissons, compelling her to come on his face. With strangled breaths her thighs clamp around his cheeks, coming for him as he crooks his finger inside her. She reels in her residual waves, breathes and pants heavily as she comes back to earth. Hazy as she is however she’s still cognizant enough to push down his breeches and that tunic he’s wearing so’s bare in front of her on her throne. In the spilling moonlight he is baked marble from his time in the sun, silver from where his numerous scars have healed and dusted with golden hair on his chest and lower abdomen leading to his cock. All marble, gold, and silvered radiance, her hands grab his slim hips, her lips leaving kisses on his abdomen. Come take me fair knight, she thinks of saying as she strokes his cock, soft moans so sweet from his parted hips, but she has another idea.

Standing, skirts falling to her feet she throws her arms around his neck, kisses him and moves him over in front of her throne. She leads him down upon it and he smirks as if he’s some proud thane of a great hold. She sits astride him and he holds her ass, grabs it without shame and caresses underneath her cloths so the first thing anyone would see if they entered was the Commander’s hands on his Inquisitor on her throne. She hopes they know he touches her good. If she could she’d wear his love marks like tattoos.

She gathers up her skirts once more as he angles his cock toward her entrance. The skirts cover them as she holds his shoulders for balance, and he wraps his arms around her as she rises and falls and bounces on his cock, keeping her hands on his neck and keeping their eyes locked. He’s deep this way, full and warm and almost too much. But she can take him, take all of him. He never makes her cup spill or overflow.

“You feel good,” he says as his lips meet hers. “That’s my girl. You’re no one’s but mine.”

She told him earlier, tell me I’m yours. “Your mine,” she says in turn. “Cullen…”

“I know, I know…” She gasps as he sticks his hand underneath her cloths. “I love being yours.”

“You fill me up so fucking good…”

He chuckles as she moves, asks him if he ever thought she’d take him here of all places. “Maybe I dreamed of you here,” he says as he nips her neck. Someday they’ll leave this place and if the magic there is a strong as she has been told it is, the walls will imprint the memory of the Commander and Inquisitor fucking sweetly and adoringly, and a thousand years from now her words will still be etched in the stone, Cullen you fuck me so good…

He captures her in a kiss as she comes again on top of him with the beckoning of his fingers against her clit. A piercing cry would alert nearby guards, and as it is they’ve already had too much luck in this moment. They cling and he claws and they hold each other as the only thing that makes sense in the whole world. The way they lock and meet and join is what matters, not the show or the pomp or her mask as Inquisitor. This is real. Them.

He comes in her arms with her name sweetly on his lips. Her thighs ache from the movement, pleasant before yet not burning, and her are legs pressed against the hard stone of the throne. She chuckles when she thinks of how much his bare rear must hurt against it—it hurts her covered rear when she has to sit in judgement for long periods of time. Yet he keeps her in his arms when she tries to remove herself, burying his head in the crook of her neck. His lips are soft where his stubble is roughish, and it strikes her how even though he’s a strong man, a good man, and one that makes her feel safe, he too feels safe when she holds him. They dissolve into each other in their world together crafted in the great hall of the Inquisition.

They kiss when she cups his face in her hands, his lips moving down her neck and toward her exposed breast. He takes her sleeve and brings it back from where he pulled it down as she adjusts herself, removing her hips from him. His spend skims down her thigh and she can’t imagine the tailor in Val Royeux who sewed together such finery would have dared to imagine the Inquisitor using the long skirts it to wipe away her lover’s dripping seed. Reluctantly, she at last removes herself, Cullen hasty as he puts his clothes back on. They laugh and think they’ve won whatever game they decided to play on the way back to her quarters, laugh at their own place where they make the rules. They are unscathed. No one saw, as much as perhaps she wouldn’t have minded if anyone did…

At any rate, round two happens in her quarters, the bed softer on their bodies, their moans no longer stifled. Upon no throne, he makes her an empress still.

****

Cullen tells her the next day when she comes to him in his office that he got a note, blushing as he does. She reopens it at his prompting.

Dear Curly, Fire’s smalls are behind the throne. Might want to get them, though there is at least one Orlesian noble who thought it was kinky. PS: thanks for the inspiration. Shocked I didn’t think of it sooner for Swords and Shields.

“I…forgot my smalls,” she says as she scans the letter, her cheeks going how. “Marvelous.”

Though he blushes too, there is a smile that cracks on his face. “You know, maybe I’ll pick up Swords and Shields.”

“But you already have so many interesting ideas all on your own.”

He laughs before he takes her into his arms.

#smut #lemons #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #14dalovers #cullydia #shakeswriting

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hotchley · 4 years ago

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“how am i a whore?”

morehotchcontent day three: tooth rotting fluff (a cooking lesson/ “i love you more.” “impossible.”

tagged: @ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety @whoreforthebauteam (the hotpocket references come from their fic, found family)

as always, they didn’t all cook. after the first time, they’d arrived at the conclusion that spencer, emily and [enelope should not be trusted with any sort of cooking utensil, and so the three of them stood to the side, watching and assisting.

jj’s would go home to will and henry, who were both always eager to try out her new dishes.

derek’s would be the only one actually consumed on the day, because he was one of the only competent cooks. well, dave called him competent. which meant he was actually a wonderful example of how to boil spaghetti properly- because yes, spencer had set the smoke alarm off by burning boiling water. how, dave had no idea. aaron was helping dave this time, and theirs would go in the fridge for jessica and jack.

a cooking lesson at rossi’s is also the subtle reveal of a relationship

i can’t write fluff okay? please don’t be too judgemental.

read of ao3!

When David Rossi woke up on a sunny Friday morning, Hotch wasn’t in bed. He sighed, assuming that meant his partner had already left for work, but hadn’t wanted to disrupt him. One of these days, he was going to forcefully prevent Aaron from leaving before eight.

But when he exited the bathroom to get dressed, Aaron was perched on the edge, a tray next to him.

“Hi Dave,” he greeted shyly.

Dave smiled. He was the only one that ever got to see Aaron like this: messy hair, Harvard sweatshirt and jogging bottoms, feet bare and wide grin on his face.

“Good morning my darling,” Dave replied. After he discovered that his partner was an absolute sucker for cute nicknames, he started finding any and all excuse to use them.

Aaron blushed, the same way he always did when he was the centre of Dave’s attention. It never failed to make Dave’s heart melt. As he went over to kiss his partner, he took stock of what was on the tray. Two mugs of coffee. A plate of pancakes for each of them. Aaron’s were covered in syrup and marshmallows, his own just a thin dusting of icing sugar and some berries.

“Well, whatever did I do to deserve this treatment?” Dave asked.

Aaron started fiddling with the bedcovers, not quite meeting his partner’s eyes.

Dave pressed two fingers to his chin and tilted his face upwards. He smirked at the slight exhale Aaron released. “Tell me.”

“Well, you know how the team are coming over tonight? For the cooking lesson?”

Dave nodded. Cooking lessons had become a monthly tradition within the BAU. He liked to pretend it was a massive inconvenience to him and his life, but actually it was one of the things he looked forward to the most. Not only was it a chance for him to get his family together and help keep them alive by feeding them actual food (because Aaron, hotpockets aren’t real food), and show off his own culinary skills, it was also an opportunity to watch aforementioned profiler in his kitchen. And whilst Aaron was careful to never betray too much knowledge of his kitchen, it was still nice to watch him move around with ease.

It was domestic.

“Yes, I am aware of that. Why? Did something happen?” Dave asked, careful to keep his voice gentle.

“No. It’s just- I want to tell them. Or at least make it obvious,” Aaron blurted out.

Dave stared at him. “Are you sure? I know I like to show off the beautiful things in my life, but if you aren’t ready, then we don’t need to rush.”

Aaron shook his head. “Wait, no, I am ready. And maybe… maybe I want you to show me off? Just a little bit? Not too much. Just enough to make Strauss a little bit jealous. Like a really small amount.”

Dave’s jaw dropped. “You little minx. Who knew the stoic and uptight Aaron Hotchner wanted to turn up to work all marked up because he knew of the short fling between his boss and his partner? Imagine the field day Garcia would have with that information.”

In response, Aaron pushed Dave away slightly, careful to not spill any off the coffee. “Shut up. I hate you.”

“You love me,” Dave sang as he slid off the bed to go and get dressed for the day.

“Why is completely beyond me, but yes, yes I do,” Hotch said with a sigh, as he himself also started to tame his unruly hair and change out of his pyjamas into the suit that Rossi handed him with a smirk, because he knew how good Aaron would look in it.

And maybe it had something to do with the fact that when they both went to pick up Jack and the other parents would stare at him, Dave would be able to link their pinkies and Aaron would give him that small, subtle smile reserved only for him.

“I’m so excited for tonight! What are we making?” Garcia asked, as soon as Rossi had taken his seat beside her in their morning briefing.

“That’s for me to know and for you to discover later,” Rossi teased.

“No, that isn’t fair! The others can just profile the answer out of you. I’m not like that. Please tell me,” she pleaded.

Rossi shook his head, smiling when she pouted.

Hotch entered a moment later, and Rossi was careful to school his features into a look of neutrality. It would definitely raise suspicions to be smiling when Hotch was talking about Strauss coming to observe the way they worked when based in Quantico.

7pm was fast approaching, and Rossi was beginning to wonder what exactly Hotch was doing. He wasn’t worried that he’d passed out or anything like that, but it wasn’t like him to take so long getting ready. If an event was casual, the most he’d do would be to change into a polo shirt and jeans. Which took a maximum of ten minutes if Dave wasn’t in the room.

Hotch had been getting ready for a good forty minutes now. In that time, Rossi had wiped down the kitchen, repositioned the photo of him, Aaron and Jack at the zoo (it had been kindly taken by Jessica) so that it wasn’t hidden, and set up the dinner table.

When Aaron came down, Rossi didn’t immediately turn.

“I was beginning to worry about you. If you don’t want to go through with this, you don’t have to,” he said, careful to keep his tone light but his words serious.

“Could you turn around before you make assumptions?” Aaron said.

Dave turned.

Aaron was wearing his shirt. There was no way it could be mistaken for his own, because Aaron would never wear purple, despite Dave constantly saying it enhanced his beauty- because every colour looked stunning on him. And it was a little bigger on him than it was on Dave.

“I’m now very tempted to call this cooking lesson off,” he commented.

Aaron blushed, but smiled nonetheless. “Please don’t do that. I was actually looking forward to you making pesto pasta.”

Dave wrapped his arms around Hotch’s waist, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “You look stunning, my darling rose. Absolutely stunning.”

Hotch snorted. “Darling rose? Really?”

“I can and will start calling you Hotpocket if you insult another one of my nicknames,” Dave threatened.

“I love your nicknames for me. And you. I love you,” Aaron said.

“I love you as well darling. Now, any moment now Penelope is going to arrive, so prepare yourself.”

He was right. A few moments later, the doorbell rang to reveal their technical analyst with a cheesecake. As Dave answered the door, she didn’t see Hotch till she entered the kitchen, where he was sat, casually looking over the recipe nobody else was allowed to see.

“Well hello sir! That shirt looks much better on you than it ever did on Rossi- no offence,” she said.

Hotch visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders bleeding off of him. “Thank you Pen,” he said. “I like your butterfly clip.”

She grinned. He gave her a small smile.

The others noticed Hotch’s attire, the ease with which he moved round Dave’s kitchen. The photo on his coffee table also indicated a family, as did the drawings pinned to the fridge with magnets. But nobody commented. They knew Hotch. They knew the only reason he did this was because he wanted them to know, not because he wanted a congratulations.

As always, they didn’t all cook. After the first time, they’d arrived at the conclusion that Spencer, Emily and Penelope should not be trusted with any sort of cooking utensil, and so the three of them stood to the side, watching and assisting.

JJ’s would go home to Will and Henry, who were both always eager to try out her new dishes.

Derek’s would be the only one actually consumed on the day, because he was one of the only competent cooks. Well, Dave called him competent. Which meant he was actually a wonderful example of how to boil spaghetti properly- because yes, Spencer had set the smoke alarm off by burning boiling water. How, Dave had no idea. Aaron was helping Dave this time, and theirs would go in the fridge for Jessica and Jack.

When the day was over, and everyone was leaving, Hotch seemed hesitant to let them go.

Garcia realised first, and hugged him tightly, She whispered something that Rossi didn’t hear, but he could only assume what had happened, based on her smirk and the slight rosiness of Hotch’s cheeks. JJ kissed him on the cheek, said that he couldn’t blame this one on gas, before grabbing her coat and leaving. Morgan patted him on the shoulder, a silent conversation between the two leaders. Dave almost felt like he was intruding on a private moment. Emily just winked at the two of them before leaving. Spencer rocked back and forth on his heels for a few moments before also hugging his unit chief.

“I’m just- you’re the first parent that taught me what it means to actually love someone, and I’m glad that you’re happy and in love because you deserve it,” he said. Hotch found himself cradling Reid’s head, the same way he often did to Jack. “Thanks Spence,” he said, voice a little rough.

Reid pulled away, hastily waving goodbye to Dave before he left.

Aaron let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you glad they know?” Dave asked, hugging him from behind.

Aaron nodded. “They’re our family. I feel like now, there are no more secrets. And I can relax.”

“Will you dance with me before you do that?” Dave blurted out. Truthfully, he’d been thinking of dancing with Aaron for a while now, just so he could hold him close and feel his heartbeat steadily against his own.

“I- of course. But I haven’t danced since- in a while. So,” he said.

“That’s okay. Let me lead you,” Dave said, moving Aaron’s arms so they were positioned correctly. There was no music, aside from the occasional sighs that left his mouth, and the slightly repressed gasp of pain that came from Aaron stepping on his toes.

“I love you,” Aaron whispered, when they finally stopped moving.

“I love you more,” Dave said, feeling very much like a teenager.

“Impossible,” Aaron said, mock-offended.

“Whatever you say, Hotpocket,” Dave teased.

Aaron grabbed the nearest cushion and threw it at him.

They ended up falling asleep on the floor, surrounded by all of the fancy cushions Dave had spent precious hours positioning just perfectly.

But it was worth it for the smile that greeted him the next morning, when Aaron realised exactly what they’d done last night.

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kickingitwithkirk · 4 years ago

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Blame the Pot Pie

Summary: Dean and Y/N have a little too much fun after a hunt resulting in an unexpected dilemma.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline

A/N: for @amanda-teaches #2k writer+reader challenge

Word Count: 2623

Warnings: angst, kissing, fondling/foreplay, oral teasing, mention of unprotected P/ V sex-wrap it up kiddos, some cursing, public shaming, mentions of drug use, drinking, unplanned pregnancy, use of Plan B One-step, possible pregnancy termination

Prompt: “Twins? We’re…we’re having twins?!”

A/N II: Cherry-She completes your life

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

Colorado

I slowly wake up so relaxed I can’t remember the last time feeling this good. The hunt turned out to be a simple salt and burn and after grabbing a shower and a bite, we stopped at the local dispensary to pick up a few necessities and found couple new items to try.

Stretching languidly, I glance over my shoulder at Dean, tiger striped by the morning light seeping through the drawn blinds, asleep on his stomach clutching his pillow, thankfully not bunched up under his head making him snore.

Many moons ago, I learned the hard way not to disturb a sleeping Dean Winchester when I tried to roll him over to stop the horrendous snoring he’s capable of when completely exhausted. That little maneuver got me the barrel of his Colt 1911A1 in my face and incoherent yelling.

I slept with Sam for a long time after that.

Smiling, I remember Jack telling me Cas calls Dean a very angry sleeper, like a bear. Can’t argue with feathers on that.

The bed dips behind me and a strong arm wraps around me with a smooth, sleep warm chest pressing flush to my back, “Wha’ so musing?” Dean’s drowsy, gravely voice asks as he nuzzles into my neck.

“Remembering a Cas’ism,” I replied, wriggling closer, his morning wood pressing against me, “Someone's wide awake, didn’t get enough last night?” Dean rocks his boxer brief clad cock against my ass in response.

“Or a little while ago?”

“Never get enough Cherry.”

I’ve always heard Dean call women sweetheart and occasionally baby but the first time Dean called me Cherry shocked the hell out of me.

I asked him if he knew what that nickname meant, after all, this is the guy who called himself meat man to his own brother.

He winked at me, cheeky bastard.

I shift onto my back as Dean moves to straddle my thighs, locking them between his muscular ones. Starting at my hips his calloused hands slowly glide over my body, pushing the t-shirt I stole from him to sleep in up, exposing my skin to his hungry gaze.

In our world, Dean Winchester is considered the best hunter alive, his only equal is his brother Sam. But there is another side to him that's rarely seen, reserved only for those who are family.

Dean can be incredibly gentle, loves waking me up with his teasing touches. Reaching my breasts, his thick fingers massage my nipples, sending shivers through me, pinching them hard enough they pebble up before continuing on to my arms, guiding them upwards and pulling the shirt over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

Leaning over me Dean braces himself on his strong forearms entwining our fingers. He’s close enough I feel his breath on my face as I untangled my right hand and caress his scruffy cheek, tracing his full lips, feel him smile against my fingertips.

He turns his head and kisses my palm before closing the sparse distance to my lips, running his tongue across them, encouraging me to open up to let him explore inside.

Boy, does this man know how to kiss.

Dean pulls back, my bottom lip between his teeth before letting go, moving to kiss along my jaw and shifts to latch onto my neck, sucking on my pulse point.

“Hmm, you're gonna give me another hickey,” Dean sucks harder in response. I grab his hair on top where it’s longer, tugging till he pulls off to look at me.

His eyes are dilated and not just from desire.

“Dude, you’re still stoned.” I grin at him. Last night we kicked back with a few beers and a joint, trying a new hybrid strain.

Then came that pie.

“ ‘m not,” Dean tried sounding indignant before laughing, dropping his head back into my neck as we both laugh uncontrollably. I love to hear him sounding so untroubled, doesn’t get to do it enough.

Our outburst causes certain bits of us to rub together, reigniting our lust. Dean starts moving southward again, lips and tongue caressing my skin along his travels, stopping at his chosen destination and looks up at me licking his bottom lip.

“Frigging tease!” I pull his hair harder.

He smirks and, without breaking eye contact, slowly runs his tongue up over my outer lips before sliding off the end of the bed, turns, bending over sheds his underwear before walking towards his duffel.

Man has no shame so I freely admire his retreating posterior view.

Hunting has kept Dean fit the nearly twenty years I’ve known him, even with the double bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions and copious amounts of booze, thou not quite the same body he had at twenty-three.

I’ve witnessed guys our age be greener than his eyes envying his not-a-dad-body, possessing the juiciest peach of an ass on any man I’ve ever known.

He’s rooting in his duffel muttering, not coming up with a condom. “Try the table,” spotting the Walgreens bag by the empty pie tin.

“Sonuvabitch!” Dean exclaims, running both hands through his hair in his shitshitshit gesture looking panicked at the table.

I sit up...ooh crap, I feel a warmth spreading between my thighs that shouldn’t be.

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“What do you mean I can’t purchase it,” I’m about to go mental on this bumfuck towns pharmacist refusing to sell me Plan B, “I can see it right behind you.”

“I’m sorry I’m unable to sell you the Plan B-One Step today, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He raises his voice for the benefit of the locals eavesdropping on our conversation.

“Wait, I can purchase it tomorrow but not today,” I’m confused as hell and stare incredulously at the guy, “what’s so special about today?”

“It’s the sabbath, you should consider repenting for your obvious sins.” He retorted.

I blink not sure how to respond what this AssButts implying... when it hits me.

It’s the guy who runs the dispensary we went into last night, chatted with us, recommending some items to try. He saw us kissing and cuddling like a couple of teenagers (who'd thought it would take Chuck ending the other realities for Dean Winchester to PDA) must've overheard Dean whispering graphically on how he was gonna savor that pie and me, then slyly pointed out a few the topical products to try for a happy ending.

I suddenly feel like Olive in Easy A when everyone’s talking about her as I hear the tittering around me get louder, comments about the way I’m dressed, not having a ring on it, and the visible hickeys on my neck at my age.

Jealous much?

I look down realizing I had grabbed the first articles of clothing within reach, turns out to be Dean’s stuff that’s to big on me, including his boots.

And like Olive, I’m taking back control.

”Romans 2:3 And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?”

You could hear a pin drop, “Y’all need to consider that before passing judgement on others,” I clap back and head high, walk past the shocked gossip mongers towards the exit, ”especially ones versed in Hermeneutics.”

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We crossed the Kansas border around eight that night, same Motörhead cassette playing all day. We haven’t spoken since leaving the motel late this morning.

Dean's jaw’s still ticking, he’s gonna have a helluva headache. His hand has a death grip on the wheel as he reaches for the Impalas lighter, igniting what must be like his eighteenth cigarette. There’s only one reason he’s smoking since Sam got him to quit umpteen years ago.

Dean’s freaking out.

I slide across the seat and ran my fingers along the back of his neck, lightly scratching into the short stands. “It’s both our faults, stop castigating yourself. I’ll get the pill tomorrow, being at the bunker it will be better when I take it, had a nauseating headache and cramped like hell last time.”

He shot me a surprised glance, “You, khmm, you had to… before?” His voice rougher with all those damn cigarettes.

“Once, wasn’t gonna chance it that one had slipped past the goalie.”

When Dean and I finally got together we agreed since so much of our lives is built on lying to others to get what we need, there wouldn’t be any between us. But breaking a lifelong habit is not easy, we’re still figuring stuff out and on several occasions intentionally hiding things has almost ended us.

Dean snubs out the cigarette, takes my hand and kisses my palm before entwining our fingers, resting them on his thigh rubbing his thumb over mine. I scoot closer, place my head on his shoulder and he turns to kiss my forehead comforting me.

“Don’t even think about kissing me on the mouth before brushing your teeth twice and gargle with holy water mister.” I growl mimicking his scary Dean voice and he gruffs out a laugh like I hoped he would.

“I’m sorry I’ve reacted like that back at the motel. I’ve never forgotten before, no matter how loaded I’ve been. Except that once…”

Dean’s voice falls off at the memory of the only child he’s positively known to have had, the Amazon daughter who’d have killed him if not for Sam.

I turn and kiss his cheek before laying back against his shoulder for the rest of the ride home.

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The Bunker

Seven weeks later

“The stay-at-home orders will be extended for another two weeks as the state has seen a rise in positive coronavirus cases over the weekend. Officials say this is likely due to the expanded testing around the state…”

“You could’ve sent us frogs or locusts but noooo, had to get creative on this one Chuck.” Dean sarcastically grumbles, switching off the kitchen radio and finishes cooking his breakfast.

Jack had grabbed a bowl of cereal before disappearing with Cas researching some new cryptic info that Billie had dropped on them the other day. Dean heard the main door bang shut at Sam’s returning from his morning run.

As he passes the freezer he grabs a smoothie setting it on the counter to thaw out since Sam’s drinking some weird concoctions for breakfast these days.

Sam enters the kitchen unexpectedly still in his sweaty clothes carrying a couple store bags and a concerned expression.

“Um, Dean, I don’t think Y/N has the flu,” he remarks, pulling out the unmistakable yellow and blue box. “I bought these two months ago.”

Dean looked up from his plate of bacon and cheesy eggs, eyes focusing on the unopened box. “Since when do you get my girlfriends things?” He asks, nodding at the box.

“Tampons, Dean. I’ll sometimes pick them up for her when it's my turn to do the shopping. I got these at CVS,” Sam shows him the receipt he found with them, “Y/N usually gets them from Rite-Aid.”

Dean clears his throat, mentally wincing at how his brother seemed to know more about Y/N’s preferences than him, “How do you know that’s the box you bought, maybe she got them there too?”

“The date on the receipt and she hasn’t updated her app.”

“App?” Dean inquires around a mouth full, looking confused.

“So a few days ago I was showing Jack the new archive program when a notification popped up about Y/N’s Period Tracker not being synced in fifty days. I didn’t think anything of it, figured she missed it with everything going on, Jess sometimes did with hers. I checked the WC and found these. I checked again today they were still there and she hasn’t entered her last two periods. I stopped in town and got this.” He hands the other bag to Dean.

Dean opens the bag like something’s gonna attack him before gingerly pulling out the Clear Blue Digital Pregnancy Test.

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“It could be wrong, a false positive because she took it wrong.”

“All you do is pee on the end of the stick and wait three minutes for the results,” Sam's tone exacerbated at his brother's bullshit excuses, “even you couldn’t screw that up Dean.”

“She could be in that peripause.”

“What the hell is peripause?”

“Don’t you know what it’s called Mr. Know-it-all?”

“Peri-menopause,” My voice booms throughout the library startling them both, “and FYI you two, when a woman hits her forties all this,” I say gesturing in a circle around my middle, ”doesn’t automatically stop functioning normally.”

“Your forty-one! The chances of you getting pregnant goes down after thirty something!” Dean snaps setting me off in a nanosecond.

“Halle Berry got pregnant the old fashion way at forty-seven!” I shot back really pissed at the shitty excuses he’s trying. “Should’ve known you’d react like dear old dad to unwelcome news.”

Sam shot out of his seat at the expression crossing Dean’s face, contorting into the look that makes monsters with any sense run for its life, ready to step in if needed.

“Since I can’t go to the clinic thanks to Chuck's latest temper tantrum get Castiel so we can settle this,” I head for the doorway leading to the kitchen and pause.

“I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. It’s obvious you don’t want to have a baby w...” I hurried out not finishing the sentence. Fucking hell, I’m hormoning already.

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Dean can’t stop pacing back and forth in my bedroom as Castiel gently lays his hand over my lower abdomen and closes his eyes in concentration.

“Come on man, is she or isn’t she?” Dean impatiently barks at the angel.

“Dude!” Sam snaps with his exasperated little brother expression from the desk chair he’s seated upon with Jack perched on the desk itself.

Cas opened his brilliant blue eyes wondrously staring into mine.

I stare back.

“Yes, you are pregnant.”

“How the hell are you pregnant? You said you took the morning after pill!” Sam’s chair scraped the floor as he jumped started by Dean’s lashing out at me in anger. I don’t react knowing it’s his go to coping mechanism when he’s scared.

“She took the pill Dean.” Cas reassures him at the same time tipping his head to the side reading what I’m not voicing.

I can’t believe it failed..what could it do to the fetus...the alcohol and drugs I’ve ingested all this time...

Castiels rough voice takes on an unusually gentle cadence snapping me out of my own head, “I do not detect any birth defects Y/N, they are quite healthy.”

“Wait, what do you mean they Cas?” Sam speaks first seemingly the only one who caught the last bit.

“Twins? We’re…we’re having twins?!” Jack excitedly blurts out, “I’m gonna be a big brother!”

“I think we should leave. Dean and Y/N have a lot to discuss.” Cas says getting up cocked his head at Jack to proceed him out the door. Sam gives his brother a look I can’t decipher.

“I’m good Sammy,” Dean tells his brother so he’ll go, not breaking eye contact with me.

Sam gazes over at me and I nod it’s fine to leave. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder and heads out shutting the door behind him.

We stare at each other for a few moments before Dean rubs his face and walks over sitting down on the other side of the bed and pulls me into his arms, neither of us ready to face the decision that makes the most sense.

tbc

A/N: I originally planned on ending this here. That being said, I am seriously considering doing a part II because I hate breaking Dean’s heart.

A/NII: I’ve gotten a lot of great feedback and will be doing a part Il.

Find it here

#2k writer+reader challenge #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline

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mind-reader1 · 4 years ago

Text

I’m the Bad Guy (duh)

Summary: Emma has an accident the morning after her engagement to Drake in the safehouse that turns everyone’s world upside down. Nothing will be the same, no matter how hard Drake tries.

Catch up here!

Word count: 2156 words

Warnings: This chapter is NSFW. Graphic descriptions of sex ahead.

Chapter 7, part 2: Versace on the floor

She walks to Liam’s room, knocking on the door.

Liam opens the door only a few seconds later, eyes widening as he takes her in. “Emma! I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Can I come in?” She asks, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger.

“I was just about to go to bed..”

“Come on, Liam, please. I won’t be long.”

“Very well,” he says, finally letting her into his room.

“Truth be told, I was hoping to have an important conversation with you,” he continues as she takes a seat on his bed.

“Can I go first?”

[[MORE]]

He nods his head. Emma pats the space next to her on the bed, and he looks torn for a minute but eventually sits next to her.

“You’ll never believe what I found today,” she says.

“What did you find?” His voice gives away his intrigue.

She shows him the earring and he takes it from her hand.

“An earring? I don’t understand.”

“I was wearing it on the day of your Coronation. It fell down in the maze when we were, you know..”

His cheeks turn pink and he averts his eyes.

Figuring she has to do all the work, she soldiers on. “Liam, if that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is. We should get married.”

“Emma -“ He stands up, pacing across his room.

“No, let me finish. We should get married, Liam. You can’t give me one valid reason why not. Admit it, you cannot find a better queen for Cordonia than me.”

“Emma -“

“You still love me, don’t you? And I know you’re worried about Drake, but he’ll understand. After all, he fell in love with me knowing you were going to propose.”

“Emma!” Liam screams, which finally stops her monologue.

“What?” She says, just as loudly, now standing up as well.

“I’m not going to marry you.”

Feeling rage boil in her chest, she increases her volume even more as she asks, “Why not?”

Liam looks like he is in physical pain. His face is scrunched up tight and his eyes are watery.

He takes a deep breath. “You’re right that I have been avoiding you because I didn’t want to come between you and Drake. He’s my best friend, despite everything, and I would never willingly hurt his feelings. But it’s also more than that. I have spent a lot of time thinking these past few days. What I have realized is that I cannot marry you.”

“What do you mean, you can’t marry me?”

Unaffected by her shouting, Liam says calmly, “When we first met, you told me that I didn’t have to marry someone just for Cordonia. You spent months teaching me the most important lesson of my life: I don’t have to give up on love to give Cordonia the queen she deserves. I never thought that would mean that I can’t marry you, but..The truth is, you no longer love me. You simply want to be queen. You don’t want to marry me, you want to marry the king of Cordonia, and I deserve better than that. You taught me that.”

For a moment, she is stunned into silence. The weight of Liam’s words weighs heavily on her shoulders, on her chest. She copies Liam and takes a deep breath.

One sentence plays on repeat inside her mind. I have come too far to take no as an answer now.

With newfound determination, she walks till she’s a hair’s breadth away from Liam. “Are you saying you don’t want me anymore?”

She sees his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily.

She took his silence as a ‘no’ and continued. “The night of your coronation, you were going to propose because you love me. I know that you still want me,” her breath was hot on his lips but still not quite touching, “are you really going to pretend you don’t love me?”

Liam swallowed hard and took a step back, trying to keep his poker face, his eyes betraying him by roaming down her body.

“It’s true. I don’t love you anymore. You’re not the same Emma.”

Despite the words that left his lips, his voice held no conviction, causing a knowing smile to curl on Emma’s lips. She knew he’d been caught in a checkmate.

“I know about your fight with Drake at the hospital, how you hurt your hand,” she reveals to drive the final nail into the coffin.

Liam looked stunned. “We were alone in that corridor, there’s no way Drake would’ve told you what was said.”

“You’re right, Drake didn’t tell me. A nosy reporter heard you. Recorded it all. They sent me a copy asking for comment after the accident, I bought it from them so it never leaked.”

Liam silently cursed under his breath.

“I love you Liam, please.” She says, the words feeling like a lie even as she says them.

They were just a breath apart now, Emma’s hands ghosted over his chest, sending sparks of electricity through his body. Her fingertips gently traced the scars on his hand from where he had broken glass that night. Her lips followed, tenderly brushing the thin white lines as if they were a roadmap. She looked up at him and he was stunned, she was looking at him the way she had the night of the coronation. Maybe she really did love him again?

One hand laced her fingers with his own, the other gliding up his skin to tangle in his hair, finally bringing their lips together in a searing kiss. Liam’s body responded instinctively to hers, ripping his hand free of hers, it snaked around her waist to press her body against his, the other hand cradling her head as their tongues explored each other’s mouth with a hunger he’d never experienced before. He pressed his hips harder against her, satisfied when she moaned in pleasure before smiling against his lips, feeling his hard length.

He took the opportunity to pull away and gaze into her eyes one last time before committing himself to this. He wanted to see that look again, the old Emma that has resurfaced just moments ago. Part of him wanted to slow down and romance her, show her all the things she deserved, just how much he truly loved her, but another part of him wanted to tear her clothes off and ravage her through the night, right then and there. Ultimately the passion and urgency won out as he dove back in for another kiss, clawing at her blouse. She matched his pace, ripping his shirt off in haste, buttons flying from the force, neither cared. He was King, there was always another shirt.

They stumbled back as he fumbled unsuccessfully with her pants. Cursing under his breath he threw her down onto the bed and ripped them off with force.

“I want you so bad it hurts.” Liam’s eyes darkened with lust as he hovered over her small frame. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, neither moving.

She broke first, going for his pants, but he couldn’t wait that long, tearing them off, he freed himself and climbed on top of her. With surprising force, he pushed her further back onto the bed, her long curls fanned out on the pillow.

“What now, my king?” Emma purred, arching up to kiss him, but he turned away, pushing her back down.

He practically growled, he was so turned on by Emma calling him “my king.” After she said no to his proposal, he thought the only time he would ever hear those words was in his fantasies.

“Take off your bra.”

She unhooked it with ease and threw it across the room, gasping as Liam forced her up so he could suck and tease her nipples. Liam expertly swirled his tongue, feeling the peaks rise beneath his touch and her breaths became shallow. He let her fall back against the pillows and leaned back on his knees, unceremoniously yanking off the lacy black thong she had worn for him undoubtedly. He couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to feel himself inside of her, to hear her moan in his ear with each thrust, and finally to hear her scream his name as he made her come undone. He threw her legs apart and pushed himself inside without warning.

Emma gasped in surprise as he began thrusting violently, allowing no time for her to adjust. He made sure she could feel him deep inside her every time, the pleasure so intense it bordered on the edge of being painful.

“I want to hear you.” He leaned over her, growling in her ear. She let out a deep, long moan as she raked her nails down his back. It only encouraged him to go harder, forcing her legs back apart when she tried to wrap them around his waist.

“Fuck.” She seemed on the edge.

“Oooh. Li..I..Liam!” She came undone around him but he didn’t stop, he only adjusted so they were both sitting upright. He held her against his chest, both slick with perspiration.

“Come for me again.”

“I - fuck - I.” Everywhere his skin touched hers was so intense.

“Scream my name as I come inside you.” He commanded. Emma moaned and with one final thrust he came inside of her, her own coil snapping just a second later.

“Emma!”

“Liam!” They both fell back onto the bed, sweaty, exhausted and breathing heavily.

In the moment all Liam could think about was her, how badly he wanted her, how good it would feel to be inside of her again. Now that it was over and the fog had cleared from his mind, he hated himself. He’d betrayed himself and his best friend. He could see clearly now that the old Emma was never back, she was simply manipulating him. He allowed himself to be seduced by a woman who was only out for herself. Surely this was part of her plan, probably to hurt him, to make him feel the pain of losing her again.

He wanted to tell her to leave, but his eyelids were so heavy and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d accomplished her goal. Instead, he let her stay and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When her senses finally returned to her, Emma rolled on her side to face Liam and she recognized the look on his face before he fell asleep: regret. He was going to make a grand speech in the morning about how this had been a mistake, a lapse of judgement on his part, a moment of weakness.

Damn it. She hoped that the “I love you” and the sex would make him get over his reservations but clearly, he saw through her plan. There’s no way she was going to be queen now. That is clear to her now and that means there’s nothing Cordonia has to offer her anymore. In that moment, she decides that she’s leaving this place behind for good and getting on the first flight to New York City tomorrow morning.

She knew before she decided to do this that Liam changing his mind would be a long shot, but she had to try everything she possibly could. And, she had figured, even if her plan doesn’t work, at least she’d have some sex that would hurt Drake and make it more painful for Liam when she leaves after enduring the torture that was everyone around her trying to change her.

She resolved to leave before Liam woke, she didn’t need nor want to hear his pitiful excuses and see that sad, pathetic puppy dog look as he told her it was only a one night stand.

She was going to miss the dominating side of Liam she’d seen come out that was unhindered by manners and poise, she loved that side of him. God, she was going to miss it.

She should’ve fought harder and smarter, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

Drake hadn’t been able to sleep after his picnic with Emma. For the first time in weeks, since she woke up really, he felt like he had a chance of winning her back.

He decided to go for a walk to burn off some energy. As he was strolling by Liam’s room, he stopped because he thought he heard something. A loud moan drifted into the hallway.

Drake smirked and kept walking, it sounded like even Liam had finally moved on as well. Everything was returning to normal.

After a long walk, he returned to his room tired and fell into the first peaceful sleep he’d had since the night they’d gotten engaged, when he fell asleep with Emma in his arms.

He dreamed of their life together, not realizing it would never come to pass, that his life would implode in just a matter of hours.

Tag list: Drake tag list: @notoriouscs @speedyoperarascalparty @andy-loves-corgis @furiousherringoperatortoad @sue9659 @smritysriv @mrsdrakewalkerblog @carabeth @jovialyouthmusic @mrswalkernazario @moonlightgem7 @nikkis1983 @gibbles82 @simsvetements @feartheendlesssummer @drakewalkerisreal @thequeenofcronuts @cgd03

This fic: @marshmallowsandfire @twinkle-320 @ravenpuff02 @ac27dj @silverofdreams @katedrakeohd @masterofbluff @texaskitten30 @kingliam2019 @kimmiedoo5 @tinkie1973 @pipsyliv

#drake walker #drake x mc #choices fanfiction #choices

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moonice20408 · 5 years ago

Text

The Curious Disappearance of C. Cullen

Word Count: 3818

Read on Ao3 Read on FF.net

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’re investigating the disappearance of C. Cullen, as part of our new investigation!”

“New investigation?”

“Are vampires real?”

Shane groaned. “Oh no. No no no. Absolutely not. Nope.”

Ryan let out a laugh. “What, you don’t believe in vampires?”

“No Ryan, I do not.” Shane shook his head. “And you know what, I think I might believe in them even less than ghosts!”

“Oh wow.” Ryan laughed again. “Why are vampires so much more unbelievable than ghosts?”

“Because Ryan. They’re stupid! That’s why!” He slammed his hand onto the desk with some force. “If vampires were real, we’d know about it.”

“Well what if it’s like in the movies and they’re all just living in secret?”

“Oh, c’mon. There are cameras everywhere nowadays. You don’t think we’d have caught some guy just munching on another guys neck till he drops dead at some point? Then turn into a bat and fly away.”

“Well you’d just say it was fake if we did.”

Shane paused for a second then shrugged. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”

Ryan shook his head, then faced the camera. “So, this episode of Supernatural is a going to be a little different.”

“How so Ryan?”

“Well… we’re not going anywhere. There’s no location footage this week guys.”

“Yeah, this week we just thought, ‘you know what, not feeling it.’” Shane relaxed back in his chair. “We’re gonna sit back and take it easy.”

Ryan ignored him. “The reason being, well two reasons actually. One being that, at least I figure, if they were real, vampires aren’t, err… trapped, shall we say, to one place. Therefore, if they were real, they’d still be free to leave a place. So, we’d get there-”

“And we’d be talking to no one.” Shane interrupted.

“Exactly.”

“Imagine that.” Shane continued. “Going to a supernatural hotspot, just talking to the air…”

“Would you-”

“Wouldn’t want that! Would we?” He threw his hands up in the air. Ryan just stared forward, looking into the camera with an unimpressed look. “Wouldn’t we just look dumb! Just yelling into an empty room, expecting a response.”

“Erm, excuse me, we’ve gotten plenty of responses!” Ryan defended.

“Pffft.” Shane waved his hand.

“You know what, I’m just going to continue.” Ryan said matter-of-factly.

“Please.”

“The other reason we’re staying here, is that this case is from England. And we just couldn’t find time that worked for us, as well as crew members to do a quick trip to another country.” Shane nodded with Ryan. “I did look around the location, y’know on Google, and err, it’s just a bunch of offices now, so…”

“Not as exciting as our last trip there.” Both of them shook their heads.

“Now,” Ryan straightened out the file in front of him, before looking to the camera. “I am going to admit, right off the bat…” He quickly peered to Shane. “See what I did there?”

Shane nodded.

“Vampire… Bat…”

“No, I got it Ryan. That was a good one.”

“Thank you.” Ryan smiled while Shane rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I have to admit, I, err… I’m already prepared for some… criticism, shall we say.”

“What, because vampires aren’t real?” Shane said sarcastically.

“No. Well, I guess that’s part of the debate isn’t it?”

Shane sighed and shook his head, looking straight to the camera.

Ryan continued. “What I mean is, that this is case we’re investigating, is one of the oldest cases we will have covered so far on the show.”

“Oh really? Interesting.” Shane said, genuinely intrigued. “What’s the oldest so far? Witch trials right, gotta be.”

“Err, well that’s the oldest full episode, I think. But there’s some of the ancient alien stuff we looked at-”

“Oh right, yeah.”

“But the Salem witch trials were 1690s. But the case today dates back, roughly, to the 1640s.”

“Wow. That’s pretty old Ryan.”

“Yeah, which is part of the problem. Because it’s as old as it is, the erm, documentation of it is… It’s not great.”

Shane let out a small laugh. “So, what you’re saying is, you’ve got shit.”

“No! No… It’s just we, meaning our tremendous research team, we’re usually able to get multiple accounts on stuff, and can cross reference information, you know, so we can put together a more valid case.”

“So, you’re telling me, that before the videos even started, this case has no credibility and is crumbling through your fingers as we speak?”

Ryan sighed. “Look, I feel that what we have is defiantly something. I just want to make it clear; it’s just not as backed up as our usual content. You know we try to keep it as honest as we can here. So, I figured, I’d be upfront about this, before people start yelling at me through the comments. Obviously, I’m not going to put together an episode if there’s absolutely nothing, cause that’s… that’s just telling a made-up story off the internet isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” Shane nodded. “Okay. Alright. I will reserve my judgement for the end.”

Ryan laughed. “I doubt that, but anyway, let’s get into it.

- - -

“Legends of vampires can be dated back millennia, and stories told of them are found globally. Many ancient cultures had tales centred around the nocturnal undead, reanimated corpses spreading disease to the living, or blood drinking spirits all that hold similar characteristics to the modern idea of what a vampire is.

The idea of blood drinking became very ingrained into the lore of vampires. It was once believed that the blood of a living person, contained that person’s life force, and to drink it would allow another creature to absorb that life force. Some even thought that by drinking a person’s blood, that the drinker would also gain the characteristics of that person, allowing the vampire to better disguise themselves amongst the rest of society.

The word ‘vampire’ itself only came into use in the mid-18th century, from fast spreading tales told in Transylvania, and was later further popularised due to Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula, which was published in 1897. It’s Stoker who is credited for defining the modern vampire, after combining multiple myths together for his book.

In most folklores, vampires were believed to be the revenants of evil beings, or an unrested deceased person who had committed unforgivable sins in their life, but it became a common belief that a living person themselves could become a vampire by being bitten. The belief in some parts of the world became to extensive that it led to mass hysteria, which resulted in many people being sentenced to death, usually by burning.”

- - -

“What’s interesting to me,” Shane started.

“Yeah?”

“Is just how wholeheartedly people, back in the day, believed in this stuff!”

“Yeah. I did come across something, and can I just say, the historical research in this case was very interesting… Like, go look up vampire history guys.” Ryan pointed at the camera. “But anyway, in, err, Greece I think it was, was that after three years, they would dig up dead bodies and they’d be examined.”

“To see if they’d become vampires?”

“Basically.” Ryan nodded. “And if they hadn’t decayed to standard, or whatever, then they’d be ‘dealt with accordingly’” He said, adding air quotations.

“Who decides,” Shane snickered. “Who decides what a suitable decomposition is?” They both laughed. “Were they just like, ‘hmm, no, too much meat left on ‘im’”

“‘toss him in the fire!’” Ryan added.

“‘Into the pit’,” Shane mimicked throwing something over his shoulder. “‘Bring in the next decayed body!’”

“It’s like a line at the doctor’s office.” They both chuckled.

- - -

“Now, back to the case at hand. In early the 1950s, construction workers in London were working to fix up a number of buildings that were destroyed by bombs during World War Two. In one particular location, the damage caused actually led to the discovery of a basement-like room, that had been previously built over, remaining hidden for centuries. Upon further investigation, it was determined that this room was originally part of an Anglican church that was destroyed during the Great Fire in 1666, and was never rebuild.

Inside this room, many historical artefacts were found, but some of the most interesting, at least to me, were a journal and a stack of documents, that belonged to a previous pastor of the church. It is worth noting that the year 1640 is written on the first page of this journal, but it is up for debate for how long this journal was kept. The documents that were recovered, have been since entitled the ‘Crusades of Evil’.

Unfortunately, over time a lot of the writing on these pages has become too faded to accurately read. But enough can be made out to get a good sense of what they’re about. In short, the pastor of the church would lead hunts for all manner of unholy creatures. Almost all of them resulting in the execution of people who were thought to be these creatures. These documents contain the information about the accused, which was essentially just a name and location, if that, as well as what they were accused of doing/being, and the method of execution. Most of the documents found were signed a S.C. Cullen. But, thanks to the journal that was found with these papers, we know that the man in question was named Samuel Cullen.”

- - -

“No middle name?” Shane asked.

“Err, no this guy didn’t write his whole name. Unfortunately.”

“And am I correct in assuming that the unknown ‘C’ initial is perhaps the same as our missing person’s?”

“It is certainly believed that the initials do come from the same name, yes.”

“Interesting…” Shane paused for a moment. “You know… just to switch subjects here,” He huffed a laugh, “And I want this on record, this guy already seems like an asshole… I’m very against the whole idea of burning innocent people to death…”

“Oh good, I’m glad.” Ryan said sarcastically.

“But, I gotta say… Crusades Against Evil! Sounds like a badass movie!”

Ryan chuckled. “To be honest, when I first read that… I did think it sounded like some kind of shooter video game.”

“Oh! Like Doom! You ever play that?” He mimed holding up a gun, and pointing it around the room. “Vampires just popping up, like bangbangbangbangbang!” He ‘aimed’ at Ryan. “Kaboom.”

Ryan just raised his eye brow. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Shane sighed, smiling to himself.

- - -

“Not much is known about Samuel Cullen, other than the fact he was the church pastor during the 1630s and early 1640s at the very least, according to the papers found. And the journal that was found, was unfortunately in an even worse condition than the documents. That being said, one legible section did make reference to a son, and if you were paying attention, you’d have noticed I said most of the documents were signed by Samuel. Some however, were signed C. Cullen. Which has led many conclude that this C. Cullen was the pastor’s son. But when efforts were made to find out more about this man, researchers came up empty handed, and found almost nothing. Not even a first name.”

- - -

“Not even a name?” Shane said loudly.

“I know.”

“So I take it that it was Samuel naming his son after himself?”

“Err, yeah. At least that’s what most people think. Which, honestly, I think is a fair conclusion to make.”

Shane nodded in agreement. “That’s kind of sad, that we’ll never know this guy’s name.” Ryan hummed in agreement, and there was a brief moment of silence. “I bet it was Clive.”

Ryan laughed. “Clive?”

“I dunno man, first name I thought of.” Shane shrugged.

“You thought of Clive before, like, Christopher? A much more common name.”

“Aaa, this is an uncommon guy though, Ryan.”

Ryan shook his head, not commenting.

- - -

“As I said, Samuel seemed to be very enthusiastic about the hunts he led, given the number of documents signed by him. His son however, only seemed to have taken charge in two of these crusades. And if it is to be assumed that the documents were kept in any sort of order, then that would mean, these two accounts from the son were much further apart in time, than that of Samuel’s. It’s also worth mentioning, that C. Cullen’s papers were noticeably longer in length, even if too faded to fully read. But this does suggest the man was, perhaps, more detailed in his telling of what happened, or even maybe had more compelling evidence of what he believed to be a supernatural creature. Researches involved believe the most likely scenario is that Samuel put his son in charge of the church and of the hunts, when he was old enough, as the son’s involvement doesn’t seem to be much later. But that his son was much more hesitant at doing the job at hand. Therefore, leading Samuel to decide to take over once again, possibly to save his own or his family’s reputation.

One document in particular sparked interest, when upon further inspection, it appeared to be written by both Samuel and his son. When comparing the handwriting, it was concluded that it was mostly written by the son. Starting with what seemed to be a description on a group of people living underground. This most likely meaning the sewage system at the time. Bible verses can also be found, such as Leviticus 17:10-14, which quotes ‘And whatsoever man there be of the house of Israel, or of the strangers that sojourn among you, that eateth any manner of blood; I will even set my face against that soul that eateth blood, and will cut him off from among his people.’. But the account of the raid itself, as well as what is assumed to be the execution details, was written, and signed by Samuel. And no evidence of C. Cullen can be found after this point in time.

Which begs the question, what happened during this crusade that meant C. Cullen was unable to complete his own documentation? Was it a conscious decision to leave for good? And, what became of him?

- - -

“See,” Shane started, “I know where you’re going with that that question…”

“Yeah?”

“And I don’t like it…” He sighed.

- - -

“One theory as to why he vanished, is that it during this aforementioned raid, someone fought back against him, and he was killed in self-defence. As mentioned, this attack was written to be on a group of people. Consequently, it seems pretty likely that this group would fight back, given the chance. So perhaps C. Cullen met his match, and ultimate end in this way. Similarly, could it be that he was killed accidentally? Many historians agree that these types of hunts for supernatural beings, would have involved a large number of people. Could it be, that in amidst the chaos and disorder of the crowds, undoubtedly fuelled by fear, that C. Cullen was killed. Perhaps being trampled, or being mistaken for someone else.”

- - -

“Personally,” Ryan started, “I’m not sure I think that’s likely.”

“Of course you don’t, it’s a logical assumption.”

“Oh what, you don’t think, if we were in some crazed mob, I wouldn’t recognise you?” Ryan raised an eyebrow. “And I’d just accidentally kill you cause I was so caught up in the madness?”

“Okay one, you couldn’t kill me no matter how hard you tried.” Ryan made a sound to interrupt, but Shane continued before he could. “And two, hysteria does things to people man. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I just think that the leader of this raid, would be the most recognisable person out of everyone there. I imagine they’d have had him up on a little stage while they all crowded round for instructions before they set off. They’d all of had a pretty good look at the guy, and I’m sure he’d have just been a well-known guy at the time. The trampling, or self-defence I could kinda understand, but I can’t see how someone could’ve just like, grabbed him, and I don’t know, beat him to death or whatever.”

Shane just shrugged.

“Plus, again, he’s probably the most relevant person there.” Ryan added. “So, you’d like to think someone would have noticed his death and there’d be evidence of that.”

“It’s the 1600s, Ryan! What kind of evidence do you want? It’s not like they were running round taking photos or anything.”

“Well, there could be some sort of documentation of it. Newspaper article perhaps?” Ryan suggested.

“I don’t think many newspapers would’ve survived that long… Were newspapers even a thing at this point?”

“You know, honestly I don’t know.”

“And this is the 1600s, how many people were reading?”

“Hmm…” Ryan sighed. “Okay, you got me with that one.”

- - -

“The most commonly accepted theory is that C. Cullen simply ran away. As I said, it is widely believed that he was more hesitant about conducting these crusades in the first place, so is it possible that he used the attack as a cover to escape? Many believe so. Perhaps being in charge of the crusade in question granted him more protection in the event, and perhaps he wasn’t involved in the attack at all. He was simply waiting for news on whether it was successful or not. Is it possible that he hung back, and made his escape while the crowds fought without him? And that no one realised he was gone until afterwards. That being said, some have their doubts about this. Afterall, if C. Cullen was indeed so much more humane than his father, would he really cause an attack on other people, just for his own benefit? And would he be one to watch from the side-lines, while others risked their own life?”

- - -

“Okay…” Shane said.

“What?”

“I mean, obviously, I don’t believe for a second that there were actually vampires involved in any of this… But back in the day, people did quite truly believe that they were real. So, I can’t imagine it would have been difficult to get a crowd all riled up, and then send them off. Especially if the leader of it all also truly believed in the… in the cause, I guess. And I think, that if this guy did use the attack as a cover, and if he was as good of a person as everyone thinks, then he at least thought they were really vampires.”

“That’s fair.” Ryan agreed. “And if you think about it, bible verses were only found in his accounts. So that leads me to think that he at least had like, I dunno, God in mind or whatever.”

“It’s kinda strange to, like, imagine yourself living like that. If you’re taking the bible that seriously, and know it well enough to quote like that, it’s gonna be hard, cause it has a lot of contrasting points. I mean, I can’t say I’ve read the bible, but just from what I’ve seen online. It seems like it’s a bit all over the place!”

“Oh yeah, I agree. I mean, this quote again,” Ryan shuffled through his papers, “I will even set my face against that soul that eateth blood, and will cut him off from among his people’. I can understand that perhaps that could be interpreted to mean killing vampires is okay… But then in the same book you have ‘thou shall not kill’.”

“You know Ryan, I like it when we argee on this stuff.”

Ryan laughed. “Well, we’ll see what you’re saying after this last theory.”

Shane let out a loud sign.

- - -

“I’m sure you all can guess what this final theory is. But some people actually entertain the idea that C. Cullen was correct in his quest. And that he truly found a coven of vampires living underground in London. He was attacked, and transformed into a vampire himself, and he is still out there today.”

- - -

Shane let out a long and loud groan. Leaning back on his chair, and covering his eyes with his hands.

Ryan giggled. “What, you don’t like this one?”

“No.” Shane replied in pained voice.

“Well you’ll be glad to know, neither do I.”

“Oh really. I’d of thought this one was right up your street.”

“What? You seriously think I’d believe in vampires?”

Shane shook his head. “You are so genuinely terrified of ghosts, it’s really not so outlandish to think you’d believe in anything like this.”

“No, no. I’m gonna put vampires in the same category as I put witches. I think a lot of innocent people were unnecessarily killed. And in all honestly, I think Samuel Cullen here, knew what he was doing. I think it was a case of him wanting to maintain a reputation, and as with the second theory, his son just took off and left to live an honest life somewhere.” Ryan nodded.

“I dunno…”

Ryan exaggerated a gasp. “Do you think it was vampires?” He laughed.

Shane chuckled. “Absolutely not. But I mean, I’ll put the whole vampire thing down to mass hysteria, you know, like those people in France!”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I was so desperately trying to avoid you bringing that up.” He muttered.

“They danced till they died Ryan!” He looked to the camera. “Look it up! Anyway… Mass hysteria, plus, like I think I said this about the witches, but, general boredom can cause a lot of crazy behaviour. But with this C. Cullen guy… he probably just died. It’s not like they were medically advanced. People would get some sort of disease and the local doctor would give them cocaine or some shit. And it’s just a case of crappy documentation.”

Ryan laughed. “You don’t think he managed to get away and just move somewhere else? Probably chance his name?”

“I mean, that’s a possibility.”

“I just… I think there’s something just not sitting well with me, that this guys own father, never seems to mention a death. And that he just seemed to vanish and no one noticed.”

“Well maybe he did mention it, it’s just part of the journal that was unreadable.”

“Maybe…” Ryan said, unsatisfied.

“I guess we’ll never know…”

Ryan sighed. “I hate it when you say that.”

“I know…” Shane nodded, chuckling slightly. “I’m not gonna lose any sleep over it. It was four hundred years ago, he’s defiantly dead now anyway.”

Ryan nodded and hummed. “Well on that note!” The two laughed. “Hey, do you think if a vampire died, that it could still become a ghost?”

“Okay…” Shane stood up and walked off camera.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you!”

“It was just a question.”

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think!

#Twilight #carlisle cullen #fanfic #op #twilight fanfiction #Carlisle Cullen fanfiction #Carlisle fanfiction #buzzfeed unsolved #the cullens #we really be out here in 2020 writing twilight fanfic huh?#own fic

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themockingcrows · 5 years ago

Text

Companionship Through Circuitry Ch. 3: Uploading

Not all uploads are created equal. Bro/Hal Also available on AO3!

Upload me, Bro.

“Don’t you need a stronger interface than that? Would you even work with that thing?”

I was designed to functionally overwrite data when necessary, and if that means re-writing the code of a simple wrecker then so be it. Upload me.

Bro sighed a bit. He had his reservations now that he was starting to get used to Hal’s voice and attitude, and the concept of potentially losing him because he didn’t want to take a lengthy detour was kind of obnoxious. But hey, what did he know, he was just a post-war guy taking directions from an AI who seemed to know his own capabilities far better. Against his better judgement, Bro took the shades off of his face and fished out the connection cable, following Hal’s advice to locate where an entry port could be positioned based on the make and model of the machinery at hand.

The massive structure was meant to replace cranes for more basic movements, the continuous track treads far superior to wheels and the mobility vastly improved. The behemoth whirred to life a few moments after Ambrose finished the upload cycle, glasses still gently dangling by their cord till he ducked forward and tucked them somewhere less conspicuous. The droid moved its appendages, orienting itself as Hal took control and sussed out the operational maneuvers for each piece. It was a strangely human motion, the sensors of the face looking down at the pincer hands before giving them a whirl and twirl, clicking them together a few times to gauge the pressure.

Right. Step back.

Thank fuck this was temporary. Hearing the modulation of Hal’s voice was jarring, booming and decidedly electric from the audio core even with its damage and residue. When he stood fully upright, many times taller than Ambrose, it was with the soft screech of abused metal and rust. This wasn’t going to last forever, but it should last long enough to move a few barriers out of the way. Hal whirred forward excitedly and clasped both pincers into the edge of a stacked vehicle long since crashed, tugging it a few times before the body gave way to motion and the entire pile began to move. Ambrose wasn’t certain what all would be beyond where they could see, but he had a feeling that getting through the blockade would open up some options.

Or, you know, trap him underground to die a horrible death. But who’s keeping track of anything, right?

With much whirring and churning metal, Hal eventually moved several wrecked cars that had acted as a barricade between them and the rest of the bridge that seemed sturdy enough to cross as far as he could see. So the asphalt was gone in a few places, the girders and skeletal aspects of the bridge were still plenty intact for a man and a pair of sunglasses to pass unhindered so long as they didn’t gain too much attention. Or at least got away from the ruckus of attention they were currently causing right now.

I changed my mind, can I stay in this longer?

“No. You cleared the junk and I can cross now, get back in the glasses so we can leave,” Bro said, already sensing where this was going.

What if there’s more junk on the other side of the bridge? Or in the center? Wouldn’t it be handy to have someone who would be able to move it easier? Hal asked, giving his hands another whirr for emphasis as if Bro could have somehow forgotten the difference between a set of pointed shades as a fully fledged wrecker droid.

“I said no. How much power does that thing have left anyways?”

Enough to enjoy getting over the bridge in style.

“And if I don’t feel like travelin’ with a gigantic fuckin’ target on my back?” Bro asked. “What then, hm? Everything in a mile prolly heard all this noise, you’re not exactly dainty with your maneuverin’.”

I believe you’d benefit more from me in this shape for a while. I’m enjoying having hands, that’s a bonus. And being able to move where I want to, Hal said as he backed up and did a quick turn as he could on the tracks. I could serve as a shield if required, or lift things to be a shield for you.

Bro ran his tongue over his teeth. The offer DID sound kind of appealing when put like that… but he knew it’d bite him in the ass just as soon, knowing his luck. He shook his head and went over towards the shades, tapping them with his fingers.

“Nope. In you go.”

But what if I just followed along behind you.

“And if we get separated how’m I supposed to get to your body then, huh? Want me to get there on my own, without you, and put somethin’ stupid in there?” Ambrose asked with a smirk. “The best body they could have created for you, the body your creator dude wanted for you, all goin’ to waste so I have someone to play Pong with.”

Hal was silent for a moment before the massive droid looked down with a creak of metal. He could practically hear him squinting.

You wouldn’t dare.

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t know me very well,” Ambrose said with a shrug, both hands lifted up for emphasis at how helpless he was in the situation overall. “You think I wouldn’t kill to have a good quality droid be my butler and play stupid games with me? Dude, my kid left for the city already, who’s gonna fill the void for me now if not that or a bitchy AI.”

The droid looked towards the bridge again, sensors trying to run how he’d normally run to assess risks before realizing the hardware just wasn’t up to spec to do what he wanted to do. This body was made for moving things, for lifting and toting, for sorting, not for detecting stealth routes a companion could take to an objective. Ever so slowly the droid bowed down and let its arms go limp, the shades chiming and beeping a short time later to alert Ambrose it was time to remove the connection and put him back on safely. While Ambrose wouldn’t say he missed having the weight on his face and the shade over his eyes, there was no denying a bit of fondness for the habit. It was nice not having his retinas toasted.

“I see my offer was too much to resist.”

You’re a bastard. I’ll not have my body sullied like that. If it does something foolish it will be because I will it to do something foolish, not any other way.

“Sure thing,” Ambrose said as he started up the bridge, pulling his blade out to keep it at the ready, grip light. He resisted the temptation to spin it or do bored tosses like he would while at home or doing detail work on it, keeping his hands ready to put lethal force behind the steel at a moments notice. The bridge itself seemed like it had been used in the past as shelter, or a lookout point. Chairs were arranged beneath a sheet metal roof with a standee wall against the side of a toppled truck, and garbage lay strewn about the broken glass that crunched beneath Bro’s boots. At every turn there could be a human being or worse.. yet all seemed quiet for now. Abandoned. Empty.

Packrat by nature, Bro took a moment to peer into different cars that they passed to see if any of them had been used as more shelter, or used to store any spare belongings that nobody would miss. There didn’t seem to be much on hand, however. Spent shells, empty cans and bottles, ragged blankets, clothes that reeked of sweat and in one car the sweet sickly smell of feces. One front seat had a few gadgets that slowed Ambrose’s steps to peek however, grinning in amusement.

“Oh, hey, I remember readin’ about these things,” he mused, reaching through broken glass to pick up a blocky hand held game system with a melted looking cartridge. The screen was cracked, but the buttons looked well worn. Must’ve taken a lot of abuse to wind up like that, those things were supposedly indestructible in their time. He dropped it back onto the seat it had come from and the bit of bones that rested here and there as well. The original owner? An art project by some bored creep? Hard to guess honestly and not really his place to wonder about.

There’s something else there, Hal pointed out, zeroing in the target t’s to direct Bro’s attention to the keychain looking item shaped like an egg. He reached again and plucked it up, rubbing a thumb over the dirty screen with a hum. A flip over and he nodded a bit.

“Some other kinda game I guess..? Looks like it’s self contained and takes a smaller battery. Doubt it’s like yours, is it?”

No, most likely that type of device ran on a watch battery. Do you not know what it is?

“Is it not a game?”

It is a game where you are tasked with keeping a small creature alive by meeting all of its needs and wants.

Bro snorted. “I’ve raised a baby, I think I can live without a game reproducin’ the experience.”

Yet.. it had been some of the best years of his life. Boiling water to make sure it was safe for Dave’s baby bath, washing hair so fine it was barely there. Messy cheeks in the high chair as he figured out how to feed himself, skinned knees and bandages, late night visitors to his bed whenever there was an electrical storm outside or when the winds screamed out over the desert like hungry dogs. Those big red eyes in the dark asking if it was safe when people came too close to their hidden home, listening to the distant explosions of deterrents and traps going off left and right. Those same red eyes staring up at him for the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth time he’d knocked him down to make him get back up and keep fighting.

Bro swallowed hard for a moment, throat suddenly uncomfortably dry. He knew it was wrong. He knew deep down it had been too much, but there was no choice. Not when the world wouldn’t hesitate even a single second before putting a bullet in his head if he didn’t take the initiative and attack first. He could tell himself that a thousand times and yet it didn’t change anything.

Bro closed his hand around the toy and stuck it into his pocket without a second’s hesitation.

“Might make for a fun project later though. Maybe I can re-program it, give it a better battery. Somethin’ simple like a time waster to take the edge off should be easy.”

How many pet projects do you intend to keep on your person?

“As many as I feel like, considerin’ one is already on my face. What, suddenly attached to the idea of being an only child?”

I am not a child. If anything, I would prefer if you spoke to me like an adult instead of like one of your wards. Keep it in mind, Bro.

“Yes Mom.”

That is not what I meant when I sai-

“I’m kidding,” Ambrose said as he fished his hand back out of his pocket and continued to walk, suddenly less interested in browsing the potential second hand belongings than he was about getting off the bridge and continuing Northwards. He’d dallied too long as it was, and while things seemed plenty deserted up here, he didn’t want that to stop being a thing any time soon thanks to their broadcast position.

You know, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before. But I have radio functionality, if you would enjoy to listen to something as you walk.

He snorted. “Yeah? The same ten stations, no thanks. Propaganda, interviews with dumbasses, or the same fifty songs over and over. Nobody knows how to find decent music, and the songs that’re any good get played so often you get sick of them. Nobody makes anything new either.”

I also possess some selections Dirk enjoyed, if you would prefer listening to those. They may prove to be something more to your taste, he was particular about what he listened to.

“Particular how?”

He was particularly ardent in enjoying what he liked and stubbornly sitting through what he didn’t like before deleting it from any device he listened to it on. Let me play a sample, Hal offered before going quiet and chiming softly to signal he was changing focus.

Bro stopped walking when the music started, quiet near his ears to not block out incoming noise but loud enough to hear the quickly pronounced words and heavy beat, the tempo driving into his skull enough that he tapped his foot in time with it. Soon he was bobbing his head, catching the tune even without knowing the words, and smirking in amusement.

“Not quite what I’m used to, no. But it’s nice. Feel free to keep’em coming while we head on, yeah? Turn them off if you detect something approaching,” he instructed.

But of course, Bro. I’m not an idiot, said Hal in a more modulated voice than usual behind the thrum of the music.

When he began to walk again, the beat added a new cadence to his step and made the walking go by quicker than before. In no time at all he was over the bridge and on the other side of the water, taking in his surroundings with the same eyes of the curious and the mildly kleptomanic. Every new venue was a new opportunity, especially when there were what looked like stores in the distance. Hell, now that he had his new pet project he’d need a few parts, wouldn’t he?

“...Mm. Hal, that sign says ‘Toys’ in part of the name, right?”

It would seem so. It was likely a location of the Time For Toys brand from before the war, Hal offered. It could potentially be something else, but the orientation of those letters makes the likelihood of it being anything else quite low.

“Perfect. Let’s go shoppin’.”

Giving another glance to the toy in his pocket, guessing what size of batteries to keep an eye out for adjustments sake later on, Bro strode towards the building bearing the toy slogan and let himself inside without a second thought.

Perhaps he should have thought twice. There were few places as unnerving as an abandoned toy shop that had sat this long through destruction and disuse. Rows and rows of figurines, dolls, moth eaten soft toys, accessories, and toy cars rested on the shelves and from dangling sorting rods that stuck out at even intervals. Everything was silent save for his footsteps, and Hal kept focusing the t’s on various rodents that were startled by the sudden invasion. As far as humans went, it seemed most had stayed clear. There just wasn’t much use for toys after the war he supposed.

...Okay, bullshit, he kind of wished he’d known this place existed when Dave was a baby. He probably would have loved a lot of these things, instead of making do with the things Bro could make him. Smuppets were amazing, and so were the other puppets and the electronic things, but sometimes a kid just needs a teddybear. He poked one with blue button eyes and sawdust stuffed feet, its floppy soft arms resting alongside its torso with fabric claw tips resting alongside its thighs. The bear fell over with a soft whump and a bit of dust in the air, leaving Bro free to quietly explore the graveyard of toys.

Past a section of toy balls that had long since deflated, baseballs and mitts, were electronic toys. Dollies that talked and horses and dogs and cats that made realistic noises seemed to be all the rage, but along with them hung more of the egg shaped toy he had in his pocket in different colors, still in the package. Whistling softly, still nodding along with the tempo on the song Hal continued to play, he grabbed several of the packages and batteries from the end of the display cap to stuff into his bag.

That was when he saw it. Soft, fluffy, and apparently capable of movement and speech. The small creature was hard to decipher at a glance species wise. It had a beak and two big eyes that could apparently blink when they weren’t staring into your soul, a small sensor in its forehead, and two massive ears. Two fat, pudgy paws rested at its base in front of a set of wheels that offered free movement.

Furby.

An apt name, Bro supposed. The little thing was furry as hell, soft to his rough fingered touch and fairly sweet looking with its black and white fur pattern. The external fluff seemed to safeguard a sizeable chunk of electronics from what he could guess thanks to a testing squeeze. ...Interesting.

What are you so distracted by now.

“You think you’d be capable of driving one of these?” Bro asked curiously. “It’s got wheels and seems like it can maneuver around on its own from an AI. Talks too.”

I’d rather die. So there is your answer.

“But it’s possible,” Bro continued. “You were able to work that droid back there just fine. Think of how useful this would be for checking out crowded buildings.”

Wouldn’t an RC car be more useful for exploration purposes.

“Hey, I never said I wouldn’t mod this thing,” Bro said as he continued to feel the edges of the furby before turning it and cutting the edge of its fur open, removing the skin messily to get a better look at what lay beneath. “Look. See? A lot of these guts’re useless. Could take them out, put better power and mobility, maybe add a weapon.. Maybe connect the innards of a walkie talkie in there too, or some radio parts to keep in contact.”

It was a whole new project idea. The egg toy was one thing, but this. This was something entirely new. And the fact that Hal hated it so much on sight was kind of appealing.

Are you implying you plan to weaponize a furby.

“Yes. I’m also implyin’ I’d like to see you pilot the damn thing if I can make it work how I want it to. Could set you loose on a floor and let you roll around doin’ your own damn thing, keep shit off you left and right, let me know what you see. You’d be able to help me out.”

And the reason I couldn’t do that with the big droid is…?

“Batteries, bein’ inconspicuous, and portability. I can stuff one of these things in my bag easy, and nobody would expect one of these to be anything important,” he hummed, mind already going wild. Dave would love it.

No, Dave would probably hate it and say he was taunting God but Dave wasn’t here right now and Bro was itching to customize. He glanced back the way he’d come before putting his tongue between his teeth, thinking.. and then grabbing another furby identical to the one he’d de-skinned. He’d need to strip it cleaner, treat it nicer, figure out how these fuckers ticked. Manual was probably in the box somewhere, but even if it wasn’t how hard would it be to figure out a children’s toy?

“I think I know where we’re campin’ tonight. Lemme just grab a few things and we’ll find a spot to nest down.”

I’m never touching that thing, I have no idea why you look like a child with a new toy.

“Because I’m a man-child with several new toys,” corrected Bro as he wandered the aisles, looking for radios or walkie talkies. Paydirt came in the form of a pair of ‘authentic army navy walkie talkies’ whose authenticity he seriously doubted even with their rather pretty camouflage patterning just based on the materials he felt beneath his fingers. These casings would be easy enough to pop with his hands, let alone with his tools, they could really have stood to make these sturdier. He’d kill for a good blowtorch though, maybe make some kind of a shell underneath the furby fur to-

You’re a maniac. You do know that, correct? I can’t hear your thoughts but the things you’re looking at are alarming when placed with the potential logic.

“I think you mean genius, thanks. Shoosh now, I’m tryin’ to find Frankenfurb some more parts,” Bro hummed, tucking the walkie talkies beneath his arm before finding a shopping basket. There. Much better. Like a pre-war man he wandered the aisles, snagging things that looked useful or interesting or, in the case of his eventual sleeping, soft. His sleeping spot back behind the main register ina protected circle of countertops was soon piled high with plushes and surreptitiously dotted with his electronic findings and various tidbits he planned to use for parts. Doll clothes, while overall worthless to him, still had elastic bands inside of them and the fabric wasn’t flammable. Useful. He even found a child size pair of sunglasses he’d already made plans for, so long as he was able to control the melting properly.

Peeling off his boots and settling back with his supper, Bro opened his bag and set to work toying with his new toys. First everything had to be opened and examined, taken apart, and in some places scrapped entirely down to their base components until he had a small pile of tidbits at his disposal. The toy from earlier seemed to be damaged even when he tried to power it on, but the new packaged replacements just needed to have their old battery removed and replaced with something new to turn on. He already knew how he wanted to update it, especially since there seemed to be a data port that would fit Hal’s cable to it. He failed to say it, but it would be a good emergency backup for transportation should anything ever happen to the shades.

The furby would be his prize. Off went its two toned furry skin, out came its voice box and innards, and in went an assortment of new parts.. Including a salvaged port from one of the extra egg toys Bro had grabbed. He’d worked well into the night by the time he put the skin back on and proudly wiped the beak clean before adding the tiny shades, grinning proudly at it.

“Might need some more tweakin’, and I wanna get a proper laser to put in the thing.. But for now it should be able to move around easier and communicate back to the matchin’ walkie talkie,” he said, gesturing over to his creation with both hands and a wide smile.

It’s hideous.

“You’re gonna be in there eventually, Hal, mark my words.”

If it comes down to being a matter of life or death, I consider my life to have been a full one until you can repair me properly.

“You’d rather be dead than have some mobility and autonomy while helpin’ me out?” Bro asked, rummaging in his bag for some water to quench his thirst, using a bit more to wipe his face with now that sleep was settling into his brain.

Did I fucking stutter.

“All I hear is someone who’s bitchy and in denial about the frankenfurb.”

Bro’s vision faded briefly to display those red eyes once more, though this time they were giving a decided roll before his vision faded back in.

When a furby is on the line, Bro, I will be as bitchy as I please.

#bro strider #lil hal #brohal #stridercest #homestuck #my fic

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flashhwing · 6 years ago

Text

daylights and midnights and cups of coffee

pairing: DonnaKory summary: Donna, a down-on-her-luck photographer, is looking for a new roommate; Kory, a popular model, is looking for a place to live. It's a match made in heaven, right? please check the notes for ao3 link

Donna was going to need a new roommate. Which was a shame, really. She was starting to truly enjoy her newfound freedom after finally kicking Kyle out of the apartment (a whole month after they broke up, too; it was about time), but. Well. Two bedroom, two storey walk-ups in lower Manhattan didn’t exactly come on a bartender’s paycheck.

Stupid artist Kyle and his need for a whole-ass bedroom for “studio space.” He could’ve just set up his easel in the living room. They could’ve saved so much on rent. But no, he just had to insist. And now he’s fucked off and saddled Donna with this extra room.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of an extra room must be in want of a roommate.

(Okay, maybe she could get a new apartment, but she quite liked this one. It had granite countertops, and good water pressure, and four cabinets in the kitchen. That was three cabinets more than her friend Roy had in his East Village studio.)

“Roy only has one cabinet?”

“That’s beside the point! I need a roommate, and I really don’t wanna look on Craigslist.”

“Hmm.” Dick sat on the customer side of the bar, wearing a thoughtful expression and brandishing an almost-full pint of Sam Adams in one hand. Donna didn’t like where that was going. Dick’s ‘thoughtful looks’ usually ended in spectacularly bad plans and possible bodily harm, and if he spilled that beer it’d be hers to clean up. Unfair. The bar wasn’t even open yet.

“Don’t give me that ‘hmm.’ What are you thinking?” Please don’t let her regret asking.

“Well. You’re in want of a roommate, right?” Dick raised one eyebrow. “I happen to know a fantastic lady in want of a room.”

How weirdly and coincidentally helpful of him.

“Sounds perfect,” said Donna. “What’s wrong with her?”

“What’s … wrong with her?”

“Yeah.” Donna shrugged. “What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she have a place to live?”

“Uhh, nothing? She’s new in town, just moved from LA.”

“Ohhh, so she’s one of your celebrity friends?” Dick had a habit of befriending celebrity-adjacent people. He was Rich (with a capital R), and hung out with models and musicians and people who worked on movies. People on magazine covers. He had VIP passes to most of the clubs in Midtown because he knew the owners of most of the clubs in Midtown.

Really, some of Dick’s acquaintances weren’t the sort of people who’d give a down-on-her-luck bartender the time of day.

Dick rolled his eyes. “I guess you could say that. She’s great though: she’s fun, she’s down to Earth, she’s stylish – just your type!”

“My type?”

“Of friend! She’s your type of friend.”

Donna didn’t sigh, but it was a close call. “That’s great, but it doesn’t tell me anything. Is she clean? Is she loud? Sounds like money’s not an issue, but is she responsible?”

“Yes to all of that.”

“Loud isn’t a good thing, Dick.”

“Okay fine.” Dick shrugged and leaned back. “If you can’t accept that one flaw, I guess you’ll have to just find some schmuck off Craigslist.”

“No, it’s.” Donna groaned. “It’s fine. What’s her name?”

“Kory.”

She’d heard that name.

“Kory. You don’t mean your ex, Kory?”

“Is that a problem?”

Donna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why are you trying to set me up with your ex?”

“Hey, not all exes are created equal!” Dick said, maybe a little too quickly. “I know you’re still reeling from Kyle, but Kory’s not some slack-off jerk-face like him. Promise.”

“Well, if you promise.”

Dick tilted his head pointedly. “Oh, come on. We broke up like two years ago and I’m still friends with her. That should be recommendation enough.”

“That doesn’t mean much. You’re friends with all your exes. Roy … Babs …”

“Yeah, coz I don’t date assholes.”

Donna narrowed her eyes. What happened that patented Dick Grayson charm? Or was that reserved for strangers and reporters, old friends be damned?

He must’ve seen the look on her face, because he quickly tacked on, “Too soon?”

All he got in response was a small hmph.

“Sorry. But seriously, why are you being so resistant?”

Why was she being resistant? This was good, technically. She’d spent the last two weeks asking around for friends of friends of friends who were possibly looking for a place to live, with no luck. And here Dick was, suggesting someone who definitely (probably? How much did models make?) had enough money that rent wouldn’t be a problem. Someone he knew and held in high regard – and as much as Donna liked to tease him, Dick was a good judge of character. Kory should be, more or less, a perfect roommate. So, what was Donna’s problem?

Maybe it was that she’d met Kory once and could say, without exaggeration, that she was the most intimidatingly beautiful woman Donna had ever seen.

Not that she could say that to Dick.

“I’m not … I’m not being resistant,” Donna said. “Go ahead and give her my number. Have her call me if she’s interested. And either drink that beer or get out, we’re opening.”

Dick slid his glass across the bar and hopped off his stool with a mock salute. “Knew you’d give in. See ya tomorrow, Troy?”

“Later, Dick.”

Kory moved in two days later, on a Friday.

It wasn’t like Donna hadn’t met Kory before. She had, once, during her senior year of college. It was at some Wayne Enterprises banquet she had to attend for her scholarship. Dick had introduced them, and Kory had told some story about her sister and an angry pelican, and Donna had walked away from the encounter with a general feeling of holy shit.

But that was two years ago, and even the memory of holy shit wasn’t enough to prepare Donna for the sight of Kory Anders, popular instagram model, standing in her living room with two suitcases and a hairless cat.

She just seemed so … out of place. Donna’s apartment wasn’t bare by any means; there was a couch, a tv, curtains on the windows, and even some of Donna’s prints framed on the wall. She had a rug on the floor and a blanket thrown over the couch. It was all very tasteful – and of course it was, having housed pair of artists for nearly two years.

The apartment could be a Renaissance painting, all soft light and muted colors. And there Kory stood, with her dyed pink hair and flagrantly purple, sleeveless blouse. Like one bold, bright stroke of paint right down the center of the canvas.

And wow, Donna really needed to get Kyle out of her head. She was a photographer, not a painter, dammit!

“Your home is lovely,” Kory said with a small smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” Donna replied. “Here, let me grab one of your bags.” They were both lime green, but otherwise mismatched. One was a large, hard-shelled roller, the other a half-sized canvas duffel bag.

Most of Donna’s accessories were black (or at least very dark jewel-tones). Black was practical. It went with everything, didn’t stand out, never looked dirty … an all-around useful color, really.

But all of thirty seconds in Kory’s presence, and Donna thought she could stand for more greens or purples or pinks in her life.

Best not read too much into that...

She led Kory to the spare room and gestured around. “So this’ll be your room.”

Kory looked around, humming appraisingly. She let the cat jump out of her arms, and Donna gave it a wary eye. The apartment was pet-friendly, and Kory had assured her that Silkie (seriously, the cat’s name was Silkie) was house-trained, but Donna had never lived with a cat before. She was more of a dog person, herself.

Plus his wrinkly, pink skin was a little off-putting. Still, she supposed he was cute in his own sort of disgusting way.

“What are those?” Kory gestured with her chin towards the ceiling.

Donna looked up and grimaced. “Yeah, those. This was Kyle’s studio and he wanted, uh, glowy stars? For some reason? I haven’t been able to get them down, sorry.”

“That’s fine.” Kory said airily. “It adds a bit of whimsy.”

Donna thought Kory probably knew a lot about whimsy. Amazingly, the thought wasn’t in her judgemental voice.

“I don’t have a bed or any furniture for you,” Donna said, eyeing the two (only two?) bags Kory had packed. “Do you …?”

“I’ll have to purchase them,” Kory said. “I left everything in LA and only brought what I need.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“You can always find cheap furniture,” Kory said as if it was the simplest fact of life. “I find it easier to replace things than to try and carry them everywhere.”

“Not me, sister,” Donna said, leading Kory back out to the living area. “That couch is staying with me ‘till the day I die.”

Kory looked at the couch with an inquisitive eye as Donna ducked under the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. The couch wasn’t anything special, Donna knew – not even a full set. Just a loveseat and an armchair, both a deep red color. They weren’t overstuffed, but they weren’t threadbare either. Overall, it was an exceedingly average couch.

“Does it have some sentimental value?”

“Nope.” Donna emerged with a three-quarters full bottle of Chianti. She popped the cork and poured two generous glasses. “I just like the color red.”

Kory smiled. It pulled one corner of her mouth higher than the other and made her eyes soft. Donna smiled in kind and handed her a glass.

“To new roomies,” Donna said, raising her glass.

“To new roomies,” Kory repeated, clinking her glass against Donna’s. As she took a sip, Donna couldn’t help but notice the wine matched Kory’s lipstick.

A thought occurred to her.

“Hold up.” Kory stopped, glass still held to her lips. Donna put up her thumb and forefinger, framing Kory’s face between them “Stay right there,” she added with a grin.

Kory seemed to catch on as Donna ran to her room for her camera. Dick must’ve told her Donna was a photographer.

It wasn’t like she was a professional or anything. Well, technically she was, had a degree and a practice and all, but mostly she did shoots for senior photos or family portraits or whatever. She’d tried to do freelance for some magazines, but apparently nobody was interested in pictures from some no-name bartender in New York. Something about them being a dime-a-dozen. Even attaching her name to Dick’s (he offered) hadn’t done the trick.

Not that she was giving up. She still sent out her portfolio and did interviews every chance she got. She had an instagram with a decent following. It just … wasn’t enough to live on.

Hence the bartending.

“So where do you want me?” Kory was perched on one of the kitchen stools when Donna came back out. Her legs were crossed and she held her wine glass delicately in the air, elbow resting on the counter.

“Right there, actually.” Donna grinned. She hadn’t worked with a subject who actually knew what they were doing since college. This was going to be fun. “You don’t mind, do you?” she added as she flitted around the room, adjusting the lights to be soft and flattering.

“Oh, not at all,” Kory replied. “I was actually going to ask how much you charge.”

“How much –” Donna stopped in her tracks. A popular model wanted to pay her for her services? Usually she had random strangers trying to get her to work for free. “Well, I was gonna give you the friends and family discount.”

“And how much is that?”

“Free.”

Kory’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Free? Donna, do not undersell yourself. Everyone else will.”

Donna snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. But no, this is just for fun. Call it a bonding exercise or something. Besides, I’m not gonna charge you when you haven’t hired me. You don’t even know how good I am.”

“Dick showed me your instagram. I may be just a model, but I know good art when I see it,” Kory said with a wink.

“Oh, Miss Anders.” Don’t blush, don’t fucking blush. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it now?”

“You know it.” It wasn’t what Donna wanted to say, but she didn’t want to scare Kory off ten minutes after meeting her. “Alright so … look at the door.”

“What’s my mood?”

Donna considered for a moment. “You’re on a blind date set up by your best friend, and it’s going great.”

Kory’s demeanor barely changed. Her posture straightened, her fingers curled a little looser around her glass, and her eyes seemed almost imperceptibly brighter.

“Are they funny?” she asked.

“Mm … they’re witty.” Donna snapped three shots in quick succession. “You’re vibing pretty hard.”

“Are they pretty?”

“Just your type.”

Two more shots. Kory sucked in her lips in what might’ve been the most adorable expression Donna’d ever seen a person bear. She took three more shots.

“Are we coming back to my place after?”

“Uh … you might wanna buy a bed first.”

Kory threw back her head and laughed. There. That was the energy Donna wanted. She took five shots before Kory turned to look at the camera.

“I think we’re gonna get along splendidly, Miss Troy.”

Donna didn’t bother holding back the grin spreading across her face.

“I think you’re right, Miss Anders.”

#donna troy #koriand'r #donnakory #korydonna #wonder girl #troia #starfire #kory anders #kori anders #teen titans #titans #fic #my stuff #my writing #this has been a post

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iwritefanficsometimes · 6 years ago

Text

Stephen Strange and the No Good Terrible Idea

Prompt: Tony taking care of Stephen after an interdimensional fight.

A/N: I don’t have the energy to write an interdimensional fight, so this is basically comfort with undepicted hurt. (Also, this is like, if Endgame rewound the timeline and everyone forgot it except Stephen and some others. So maybe Stephen knows Tony better than Tony knows Stephen.)

——

Tony expected the unexpected, it was in his job description, but he hadn’t expected a 6 foot tall wizard to collapse in his living room half dead and saying he didn’t actually need any help, just a place to lay low. Maybe he should have. He’d known about Strange coming onto the scene since dramatic fluctuations in cosmic energy had led him to a building in New York with a weird symbol containing wizards.

The portal closed before Tony could really freak out, so that was good. Stephen Strange bleeding all over his nice floors kind of canceled out that positive though.

“I know you’ve been watching the Sanctum, you know who I am. We’re under attack and I need somewhere to recover. I can’t go back to the Sanctum or they’ll find me. I just need a half hour on your couch.”

“You are covered in blood and weird green goo. You’re not going anywhere near my couch.”

Stephen groaned, and not in a good way. In a “might be dying” way.

Crap.

“Crap.” Tony enlisted FRIDAY to get some practicing doctors to their location as he tried to get a handle on Stephen’s injuries. “What happened, give me specifics. Is this green goo going to make me sprout extra legs if I touch it?”

Strange coughed a couple of times and, okay, that was a really wet cough and there was definitely a speck of blood on his lips from said cough. Gross. Okay.

“It won’t hurt you. Just don’t eat it and you’ll be fine.” Tony has no idea how a dying guy can be so sassy, but Tony also has no idea why said dying guy came to him for help, but those were investigations for another day.

“Damn. It looked really edible, you know, what with it being remnants from some kind of fight you haven’t given me any details about. I was really just gonna go for it.”

“I have internal injuries. Shut up and get some cloth to staunch the bleeding on the outside. I can’t afford to lose much more blood.”

Tony sighed and started unbuttoning his shirt, which had been halfway discarded already after a long day dealing with Stark Industries business. “For someone staining my mahogany floors with blood you sure are bossy.”

“If you’d prefer I stain your floor with my dead body then keep doing what you’re doing.”

Tony wrapped the sleeves of the around Stephen’s leg where the bleeding was worst and made a tourinquette. “Help is about three minutes out, can you make it till then?”

Stephen is quiet for a second then said, “Maybe. My mystical energy is more depleted than I thought. I can’t heal myself.”

Tony sucked his teeth. “Can you got to a hospital or is that too dangerous.”

“It’s really better I didn’t go outside.”

“Alright, med bay it is. Friday, get some staff here. Tell them the pay is triple overtime and it’s priority one.”

“On it Boss.”

“Great. Alright, Stephen, can you get up?”

“Not for long enough to get anywhere.”

Tony nodded and then looked around the room. “Alright, Friday, baby, how comfortable are you remote piloting an armor?”

“It should be well within my skill set, boss.”

“Great, get one down here and you and me will put Stephen on a couch and take him to medbay. By the time we get there the chopper should be here.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed on your couch covered in green goo.” Stephen coughed and it was much uglier than the last one.

“Hush now, Wizard, the adults who aren’t bleeding internally are talking.”

“I’m technically only a few years old boss.”

“Hush, Friday, the humans are talking.”

Stephen huffed. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

“He has certain admirable traits that make it worth the hassle.”

“Hey, rude!”

Stephen chuckled then coughed again. When it finally cleared he said, “hush, Tony, the rational people are talking.”

“Rude.” Tony grumbled as he and the armor pushed the couch closer to Stephen. “Alight, Fri, you get his legs and I’ll get him under the arms. Be as gentle as possible, watch the pressure sensors.”

“Sure thing.” She said as the armor took position in front of Stephen. Friday grasped his legs while Tony grabbed him under the arms and on three they lifted him onto the couch. Stephen groaned, but Tony had heard worse. They switched places to move the couch into the elevator, and by the time they arrived at the end bay Dr. Simmons was already prepping a station for surgery.

She took one look at the state of Strange and said, “I’m going to need at least two assistants.”

“They’re en route. I’m happy to assist how I can until they get here.”

“Alright, well you two move him to an operating table while I scrub in. Careful not to jostle him too much.”

“Define not too much.”

She glared back at him, “At all.”

Tony put his hands up in surrender and then gestured to Friday to take up her position at Strange’s feet. They put him on an operating table at the count of three and then talked them through getting Stepen hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff. Tony helped her finish getting ready and then stepped back to let the doctor do her work.

——

Four nurses in total responded to Tony’s distress call and 18 hours later Stephen Strange was no longer internally bleeding, was in possession of a dozen or so stitches and was very much alive, for which Tony received no gratitude.

“Where’s my sling ring?”

“The doctor had it removed for sanitary reasons, plus, your mystical reserves aren’t up to snuff yet, you shouldn’t be using it right now.”

“You don’t understand the fate of the universe-“

“Yeah yeah, sure. Wong filled me in. Nice guy. I stopped by the Sanctum to tell whoever was there what was up. He was here a few hours ago, he was hoping to see your astral form or something. I told him you were out cold, he didn’t listen.” Tony looked down at his watch, “he should be back in a couple more hours. Did you know that your Kamar Taj place gets an alert when someone breaks into the New York-“

“What about the fight! How did the fight go?” Stephen slammed his hand on the bed without thinking and winced at the pain of it.

“They won. Wong couldn’t find you so they were scouring the universe for you.”

“I put up a barrier to keep from being found with the last of my magic.”

“Yeah, he said something like that. So, why’d you come here?”

Stephen glared at Tony.

“That’s not an answer, magic man. I need concrete reasons, because see, your friend Wong said that there are three other places that you could have gone and you came here, to me. You, a doctor with doctor friends who could have helped you, came here, to an engineer without any certainty that I could or would help you, because we’ve never met. So what gives?”

“You’ve been spying on the Sanctum for months. You know who I am and you know how important I am. You wouldn’t have let me die.”

“It stands that I wouldn’t let anyone die that I could help, but you still chose to come here over going to an old doctor friend. So, I repeat. What gives?”

Stephen hesitated and Tony leaned back in his chair, watching and waiting. He was going to get a response if he had to drag it out of him. Finally Stephen sighed and rested his head all the way back. “Wong didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Never mind. Let’s just say you and I have had dealings in an alternate timeline. Maybe I don’t know you personally, but the you I’ve known has proved to be trustworthy. I was also banking on you having some technology you obviously haven’t developed yet, but I suppose this works too.”

Tony nods as he processes. “Alternate timeline?”

“Yes, where a giant purple maniac killed half the universe with the snap of his fingers. You changed the past to keep that future from coming to pass.”

“So no purple maniac.”

“No, you made sure of that.”

“And you helped me?”

“No.” Stephen stayed silent, but Tony had a feeling there was a lot more to the story than that. “I died with half the universe. I trusted you to take care of it, and you did.”

“If that timeline never came to pass, and you died, how do you know that I did anything?”

Stephen sighed again. “I looked into every possible future. And there were plenty of futures where you screwed up and everything went wrong, but there was one where you didn't. Where you and the remains of your team worked together to save the universe. And it worked. I saw it. If it hadn’t we wouldn’t be here.”

“Why don’t I remember that?”

“Because the version of you that existed in that timeline is gone. It’s complicated, how you avoided time paradoxes is beyond me, but you did. The only people who remember the alternate timelines are those who know enough about magic and time to look for it.”

“So you and Wong and your crew.”

“Basically.”

Now Tony sighed, “Okay, great. Well, since we’re apparently allies in an alternate timeline that never happened, why don’t you stay here and rest while I go anywhere else.”

“Tony.” Stephen called before Tony could get out the door. Tony paused against his better judgement. “That terrible fear you have, of what’s coming next, you’ve taken care of it already. It’s gone. It’s never coming. You beat it.”

“Yeah, after I let it win.”

“You can’t blame that on yourself.”

“Half the universe died.”

“The other half brought it back. You fixed it, Tony. You’re safe.”

Tony scoffed. Stephen tried to stop him from leaving again but Tony had had enough. It was too much to process. He needed some coffee.

Stephen sighed. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. He’d anticipated it going badly, but not this badly.

“You broke him.” Wong said from the door, take out in hand.

“Shut up, Wong.”

Wong didn’t shut up.

(AO3 link to come)

Prompt Me!

#tony stark #ironstrange #stephen strange #ironstrange fanfiction #ironstrange fic #ironstrange fanfic #stephen loves tony but tony just met stephen #very tragic

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star-nova · 5 years ago

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The Lives of the RiffRaff: James Weaver-The Preacher

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister Kali Muburu-Hair Tracy Kwan-Vergil Franz Fawke-Hecklers

I used to be a churchgoer way back when I was a kid. My family was Presbyterian, and they were the kind of churchgoers that took the roaming reverends into the guest rooms of their houses. In a town with a largely-Christian populace, it was a very big deal to be the house that was hosting the preacher. The neighborhood treated you like saints and commented on your goodwill and generosity for the entire duration of the preacher's stay.

I'm not a churchgoer anymore. I haven't been since I was sixteen years old, and I haven't hosted a preacher since long before that. In Tanager, the role of hosting the preachers was reserved for those dedicated Good Christians that show up every Sunday and spend the rest of the week attending all of the functions and running the charity drives; people like my parents. These were the same Good Christians who considered anyone who chose not to set foot in a church to be a lost cause. These same Good Christians shook their heads at me and my friends and called us RiffRaff, and every so often some particularly condescending soul would come up to one of us and say, “I'll be praying for you.” For what, existing? For being us?

In Tanager, church is considered a duty rather than an option, and to deny a roving reverend a place to stay while he was oh-so-generously spreading the good word is to open up a place in hell with your name on it. That's all right; I already know I'm going to hell, and I'll meet my buddy Arthur there.

Arthur is the only person in the world who regularly hears my voice, because he's the only person in the world worth talking to. The guy's wild even by RiffRaff standards, and wears the judgemental eyes of Others and fellow RiffRaff alike on his sleeve. He's the most interesting guy I know because you never know what the hell he's going to do next; one day he decided it was much better on the roof than it was on the ground, and spent the entire day up there without a shirt on. He got bored and started flinging chunks of slushie at the feet of everybody who passed by, until somebody threatened to call the cops. Another day, he shot off an entire canister of fireworks at ten PM in the middle of September. When I asked him what the occasion was, he said he just felt like blowing things up. He used to walk around with a black Zorro mask on, until a cop pulled him over and told him he had to take it off. “It isn't Halloween, man,” the cop had told him. Now he wears a hood pulled just over his eyes, even in the summer heat.

Arthur was an enigma because he was Arthur, and I was an enigma because I wouldn't talk. In Tanager, refusal to speak meant that you thought yourself too good to speak. In reality, I've never really talked except when I couldn't get along without it. The world, I figured, was already full of more than enough mindless noise. It didn't need me adding any more to it. Arthur talked enough for both of us and four additional people. He wouldn't shut up, and when it became apparent that I could let him do the talking for both of us while I absorbed the rest of the world's sound, I knew I had a friend for life.

Reverend Taylor Applegate is this season's preacher man. He'll stay till the second week in August, then go off into the horizon, his purpose in educating the lost souls of Tanager well fulfilled. He's a tall, lofty dude (Arthur bet me a steak at McEvoy's that they chose a tall one because he was “closer to heaven”), with corn-yellow hair cropped close around his head, because longer hair is “sinful” and “tempting” or something like that. He's got blue eyes like ninety-five percent of the people in this area, and he wears the ugliest grey and brown suits because color is “worldly” and black is “morose.” Outside of church, he wears t-shirts and button-downs like a normal person, but pairs them with neatly-pressed khaki pants even in ninety-degree heat. This town treats him like he's the Angel Gabriel himself. Arthur and I hate the guy.

My first encounter with the preacher was at the cultural festival where he made his grand debut. I'd only even gone to the fest because Arthur would be there with his fire batons (Arthur just loves fire; last year he did ground pyrotechnics and nearly set the stage ablaze). I was walking around in search of a decent food truck. Ramona Reinhart and Paige Wright were hosting foot races in the grass. To their right, Reverend Taylor Applegate of the Tanager Community Chapel was handing out pamphlets and preaching the good word. He was a young and good-looking guy, and must have been quite flustered by the sight of women in shorts tumbling in the grass beside him. I passed by on my way, and he shouted, “You! Yes, you! God bless you, my good man!”

Good man? Nobody who regularly hung out with Arthur Ratliff was considered a “good man.” I glanced at him, and his smile was so stupid-bright I had to look away before I was blinded. “May the rest of your day be filled with the blessings of the Lord!” he called out as I made a beeline for a barbecue stand. My silence was a shield against people like this.

A few weeks later, I was horrified to learn that he was one of those door-to-door preachers. They were the worst; the ones who thought they had every right to walk up to your door and interrupt you at your own house because their spiel is so much more important than whatever it is you're doing right now. Usually, these guys never took no for an answer, likely because in Tanager there's very few who would ever say no to a preacher, lest they lose their well-earned Good Christian points. They not only expected you to listen, but came to your door under the hard assumption that you would.

It was nearly five PM on a Saturday. Arthur and I were killing people on Black Ops 4, using the queue times to take bites out of the loaded nachos I had made. Every so often, our hapless opponents were treated to a nacho-crumb-laden stream of obscenities courtesy of my good friend. When he loudly declared that his most recent sniper victim had “Just got F'd in the A by his big, hard D, mothafucka',” I had to bite down on my lip to keep from losing it. Once the game was over and we were out of voice chat, I let it all go. Once I start laughing, it goes out of control, so only Arthur heard the doorbell rang. He continued chanting “F'd in the A by my big, hard D” as he got up to answer it.

I didn't see who it was that Arthur slammed the door on, but whoever it was rang the bell a second time. This time, I got up to answer.

“Don't open it,” Arthur said, but it was too late. There was the preacher man, the exalted Reverend Taylor Applegate, standing at my door in one of his ugly grey suits.

“Hey there, my man!” the preacher said, as if we were just the best of friends. “I think I remember you...didn't I see you at the cultural fest not too long ago?”

There was silence except for the game's BGM and Arthur crunching on more nachos.

“I think I did,” Reverend Taylor said. “I remember your face.” This is why Arthur would rather hide his. “Do you mind if I come in for just a moment?”

Arthur started up again: “Y'all got F'd in the A by my big, hard D! My big, hard D in her big, wet V!”

Oh dear god. I think I actually seized up in my attempt to suppress that laugh. The preacher took a step back, like I had morphed into a mad dog poised and ready to strike. His eyes darted back and forth like he didn't know what to do with himself. “Yes, well...” He looked up at the awning as if a suitable response was written up there. “I see you're...preoccupied.” He took another step back, off of my porch step. “God bless you, good men.” He turned to leave, and then it happened.

The guy ripped the loudest, wettest fart I had ever heard in my entire life.

The sound sent Arthur running to the door, to verify if it had really happened and the preacher had really, truly let out a legendary fart like that. In that moment, I would've given anything to see what his eyes looked like under that hood. The preacher visibly quickened his pace as he made his way towards the Bagarozzas' place. I closed the door slowly and returned to my spot on the sofa.

And then the two of us laughed until we choked on our own breath.

Sundays in Tanager were socially-enforced “quiet days.”

Only the stores and the restaurants remained open, and the two with liquor licenses would never sell booze on Sunday. Nobody went out anywhere or left town on Sunday, and to do so opened you up to an entire can of scrutiny and speculation. Of course, people still went to visit friends and neighbors, stopped at the deli for a ham and cheese sub, and occassionally went out of town to visit a sister or a mother or something. Only RiffRaff like us could be found running all over town on a Sunday afternoon, chasing eachother and running around the hills and getting up to some mischief as only RiffRaff do.

Early Sunday mornings were the best because nobody was around—everybody was out at eight AM service at the Tanager Community Church, including many of our fellow RiffRaff. In the summer months, some members of the clergy decided that the good word was better received in God's outdoors, and moved services out to the park underneath the circle of dogwood trees.

At seven in the morning, Arthur showed up at the door with his old hoverboard and said, “Let's go.” He and I were the only ones I knew over the age of thirteen who had hoverboards, and I only had mine because of him. I fished it out of the back of the closet and we hovered on down to the park, the world completely silent except for the birds that didn't care it was Sunday. It was a dreamland.

We made our way around the central fountain, where Arthur and his buddy Talia often filched tossed “wish” pennies. We passed by the drinking fountains and the curbside where the hot dog and ice cream trucks set up on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We hovered down one length of the walking trail and back the other way. Arthur chattered the whole way, first telling me about Franz Fawke's new barbecue grill “which he planned to take advantage of at every opportunity,” then switching over to the subject of Talia's upcoming birthday, and how she told him if he gets her yet another knife she will surely cut his throat with it. She had enough knives to build a Game of Thrones style throne out of them all. When he wasn't talking, he sang: “Little Sally Walker, walkin' down the street. She didn't know what to do so she jumped in front of me...”

After a while we detoured to the corner deli and bought breakfast sandwiches. We sat down on the edge of the fountain to eat them, and then took off our shoes and waded right in. No one was around to tell us not to; after all, it was just about time for eight AM service.

I expected Arthur wanted to clear out before the park got populated at eight AM, but oddly enough, he hopped back on his board and made his way to the dogwood trees. I followed after him, figuring he was planning to meet with Craig or Aaron, who would be at the service.

At eight AM service in the park, you brought your own chair or you sat on the grass. Arthur did the latter, taking a seat right up in the front and propping his hoverboard up beside him. I couldn't believe my eyes! I sat down next to him and asked, “What are you doing, man?”

“You'll see,” Arthur said. Of course he was up to something! Now I was dying to see what it was.

To say that it was shocking to see Arthur at a church service was an understatement. The Good Christians and RiffRaff alike who filed in with their lawn chairs seemed in equal parts alarmed and fascinated by his presence. Mara Tushud said, “Hey, Arthur, you're the last person I'd expect to see here,” while her father, Kane, gave him a look that indicated he'd better be on his best behavior or he'd know the reason why. His pal Aaron said, “I never knew you had it in you, Arthur!” His other buddy, Craig, walked right up to him and asked, “What are you doing here?”

His only response was, “I dunno, what are you doing here?”

The sight of me at a church service was just as rare, but nobody really paid attention to me, and that was how I liked it. My silence allowed me to fade into the background, and going around with someone like Arthur meant that he bore the scrutiny of others so I didn't have to. People said, “Hi, James,” and “'Sup, James,” and “Never thought I'd see you here, James,” but that was all. Until the reverend stepped up to the pulpit, Arthur had the floor.

Reverend Taylor greeted everyone with one of his characteristic angelic smiles, and then led the opening prayer. Even though I wasn't a Christian man anymore, I hoped Arthur would save his antics for after that; getting up to mischief during a self-indulgent church service was one thing, but I drew the line at interrupting a prayer with antics. Thankfully, Arthur remained silent for once in his life. He didn't bow his head to pray, but he was perfectly still and quiet as the Good Christian prayers commenced all around him.

Reverend Taylor opened up his Bible and began his spiel with a reading from the Book of Leviticus. I had been hoping for Revelations; it had always been my favorite due to the apocalyptic imagery and the sense of urgency in the reading. There was nothing special about Leviticus and my mind went elsewhere. I could have sworn I saw Ramona Reinhart flash a little smile at the reverend. I felt like gagging. She was a real pretty girl, but much too good to be making doll eyes at this clown. Besides, wasn't it a colossal sin to flirt with a preacher during a sermon?

I thought I was going to fall asleep, and I was about to nudge Arthur and ask him if we could go back to my place for Black Ops 4. I poked him, and he turned to me and held up one finger. While the preacher was going on about the many things that made a person unclean, Arthur pursed his lips, cupped both hands over his mouth...

“Pffffffffffffffffffffffffh!”

The entire world stopped what it was doing. It was as if time and space had compressed into a singularity at this very moment, right here in the park under the dogwoods, where Arthur Ratliff was making pooting sounds in the middle of a preacher's passionate speech on the unclean. “Pfffffhpffffhpfffffhpfffffffffffh!” Eagle-eyed Kane gave us both the coldest, sternest old-man look I had ever seen in my life. Sophia Bolshevik covered her mouth with both hands and looked as if she longed to sink right through the ground. The Others looked at us with some of the most prominent disgust I had ever before seen on human faces. Up on the pulpit, the preacher's awkward attempt to smile it all off was betrayed by his visible discomfort; he shuffled his feet and fiddled with his cuffs, and his eyes were darting around like they had that Saturday at my doorstep. I caught Craig, Paige, and Aaron trying their damnedest not to laugh, and when I felt the laughter brimming up inside of me I bit down so hard on my lip that I tasted blood. But it was no use.

I erupted.

“James!” Ramona cried when the first bellow escaped me. It was followed by another, and another and another, until I was screaming, shaking, and gasping for breath. I slumped all the way down to the ground and wrapped my arms around myself in a desperate attempt to keep the rest of it from coming out, but there was just no stopping me once I started. Tears stung my eyes and my sides were in agony. Beside me, Arthur suffered largely the same afflictions. We screamed, choked on air, and snorted like pigs. I'm pretty sure I farted a few times myself, but between my hysteria and Arthur's, there was no way anybody heard anything.

We kept on laughing as the Others around us slung the words “disgraceful,” “shameful,” and “absolute scene” around. We kept on laughing as an angry old lady confronted us, standing over us with both hands on her hips and looking at us like two unruly boys in her fifth grade class. “Both of you need to get your nasty selves up,” she barked, “and get out of here right now!” We kept on laughing as we picked up our hoverboards and stumbled to our feet, rushing down the trail as the Others apologized for our disgusting behavior and assured the preacher that “Those two are nothing good.” I knew our fellow RiffRaff would get them back for it later; they may have been ashamed of us now, but RiffRaff look out for one-another.

It wasn't until we reached the safety of the fountain that we could finally breathe again. When we got there, Talia was wading around in the water and picking up handfuls of coins.

“Where the hell were you two just at?” she asked, flicking pennies at our heads just to show us that she could.

“Church,” Arthur said, but it was only partly true. He neglected to mention that we had just come back from the darkest depths of Hysteria, where twenty-six years of unused sound had escaped all at once, likely never to return again.

On the way back to my place, Arthur snuck up behind me, pursed his lips, and cupped both hands over his mouth. “Pffffffffffffffh!”

I punched him in the face.

#Fiction by Me #The Lives of the RiffRaff #writing #work in progress

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obsessedauthorchan-blog · 7 years ago

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Tutor - OiSuga Weekend Day 2 - Different First Meeting AU

@ridzakun inspired this fic with some fantastic art that you can find here

"You know, if you wanted to learn how to be better at volleyball, you could have just asked me, Takeru." Oikawa poked his nephew in the arm. "I am one of the best volleyball players, like, ever."

Takeru rolled his eyes. "You didn't volunteer as a volleyball tutor with my school."

"Yeah, but you could have just asked me instead of getting a tutor."

"I already told you, I didn't choose to have a tutor. He was assigned. It's a mentorship program. It's not my problem you didn't volunteer."

"But you didn't even tell me about the program! How was I supposed to know to volunteer?" Oikawa whined.

"Don't be a baby, Uncle Tooru." They were almost to the gym. "Besides, Sugawara-san knew about the program."

Oikawa stuck his tongue out at Takeru.

Takeru did it right back.

Not long after that they made it to the gym at Takeru's school. Despite his griping about not choosing to have a tutor for volleyball, Oikawa could tell the kid was excited about it. He clearly liked this 'Sugawara-san'. Takeru was almost vibrating with excitement when they got to the doors of the gym, which were open to allow airflow.

"SUGAWARA-SAN!" Takeru shouted, grabbing Oikawa's arm and using it for balance while jumping up and down in excitement. This, unfortunately, knocked Oikawa off balance, making him stumble a little. When he looked up, he finally saw Takeru's volleyball tutor.

Holy shit. Oikawa was so screwed.

Sugawara-san looked over when he heard Takeru's voice, which was when he noticed Oikawa. Oikawa felt his cheeks redden, knowing his first impression on this very attractive volleyball tutor was him stumbling at the tug of a middle schooler. They made brief eye-contact, before Sugawara-san looked back over at Takeru. "Ah, Takeru. You're just on time!"

Oh my God, his voice.

Oikawa was definitely screwed.

***

Oikawa picked up Takeru right on time. They were just finishing up a round of serves, which was apparently one of the areas where Takeru struggled. Takeru was poking Sugawara, apparently trying to goad him into doing something. “Come on, Suga-san! I want to see it again!”

“See what again?” Oikawa asked, making his presence known. Sugawara looked over at him with a borderline-plea in his eyes.

“Suga-san’s jump serve! He showed me earlier. It was sooo awesome!” Takeru was jumping up and down, turning back toward Sugawara to shoot him with puppy dog eyes. Those were hard to resist, Oikawa knew, because Oikawa was the one who taught it to him.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. “Well, well, a jump serve?” Sugawara warily looked up at him from Takeru’s puppy dog eyes. “Let’s see it then.” Sugawara glared at him, but Oikawa only smiled.

Sugawara sighed, his shoulders sagging in resignation. Takeru cheered as Sugawara grabbed a ball from the basket. “It’s not actually that great,” Sugawara prefaced, already planning to disappoint.

“Are you kidding, Suga-san? You’re awesome!”

Sugawara shook his head. “By high school standards, my serves are pretty average, kiddo.”

Takeru rolled his eyes. “I doubt that.”

Sugawara smiled fondly. “Your uncle will confirm it for me after I’ve done it.” Sugawara looked over at Oikawa, still smiling. “Right, Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa shifted his weight, giving Sugawara a considering look with his hands in his pockets. “I’ll reserve my judgement till after the demonstration. For all I know, you’re some prodigy and I’ll have to eat my words.”

Snorting, Sugawara turned away from them and stepped up to the line. “I’m definitely no prodigy,” he said, and then he jumped and served the ball.

It had a beautiful arc, and it stayed in bounds for sure. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough power for it to truly be difficult to receive. Oikawa nodded. “I hate to break it to you, Takeru, but your tutor is right. That’s pretty average. Good technique, but average.”

Takeru rolled his eyes. “You do it then. You’re the one who said you were ‘the best volleyball player, like, ever.’” He used air quotes. And a squeaky voice. Rude.

“I said I was one of the best, not the best. Besides, Sugawara-san is probably tired from dealing with you. We shouldn’t inconvenience him.” Part of Oikawa really wanted to demonstrate his awesomeness, but a lot of people got defensive when somebody one-upped them, and Oikawa didn’t want to have to deal with that, especially not with his nephew’s tutor.

“Actually,” Sugawara cut in, “I don’t mind.” He tossed Oikawa a ball. “Show me what you’ve got.” Oikawa took all of 1.3 seconds to observe the smirk on his lips and the mirth in his eyes before deciding that yes, Oikawa was going to absolutely crush him.

“Well, don’t you like a challenge… How refreshing.” He walked over to the line and gave Sugawara a blinding grin. “Okay! But you asked for it. Step aside, Mr. Refreshing.”

Sugawara rolled his eyes, but he moved over to stand next to Takeru. Oikawa dribbled the ball a few times and spun it in his hands. He purposely dragged out the whole thing to build suspense. He looked over and saw that both Sugawara and Takeru looked pretty bored.

Perfect.

Oikawa tossed the ball, took a few steps, and jumped. He slammed his hand into the ball and less than a nano-second later it was pounding into the court on the other side of the net. Just inside the back line.

Perfect.

There was silence in the gym for a moment as Oikawa surveyed his handiwork and the others stared in awe. Then Oikawa let out a pleased sigh and turned to his nephew and Sugawara. “Well, that turned out pretty well, don’t you think?” The picture of nonchalance. As if he hadn’t practiced that a million and a half times for the last two years to get it right. As if he wasn’t lucky it was in bounds because half the time it ended up smacking against the back wall. No big deal or anything.

Sugawara blinked at him a couple times, his jaw hanging slightly. After a second he shook his head, as if trying to jar himself back into sentience. “Wow, that was…” Sugawara blinked again. “What position do you play?”

“Setter,” Oikawa said smoothly. “For Aoba Johsai.”

Sugawara nodded slowly. “I’m the setter for Karasuno…” The name sounded familiar to Oikawa, but he couldn’t quite place it. Wasn’t that a public school there in Miyagi?

Sugawara turned to Takeru. “Why exactly am I your tutor if your uncle is the setter for Seijoh?”

Takeru shrugged, still a little dazed. “Because you’re cool and he’s annoying.” Apparently even when he was dazed he was a little shit.

“Mean, Takeru! How am I annoying?”

Apparently, that snapped Takeru out of his state of awe. “Because you’re you! And you’re obsessed with aliens!”

“Iwa-chan is obsessed with Godzilla and you don’t make fun of him!”

“That’s because Iwaizumi-san is cool.”

Oikawa’s face went white. “Betrayal,” he whispered. “Don’t ever tell him that. Ever.”

Takeru giggled, and Oikawa could see Sugawara smiling out of the corner of his eye. “Go shower, Takeru,” Oikawa said. “You smell terrible.”

Takeru groaned in annoyance, but he did as he was told. Oikawa helped Sugawara collect all the volleyballs strewn around the gym. “Thanks for the help,” Sugawara said as they got the last of them.

“No problem, Mr. Refreshing.”

Sugawara rolled his eyes. “So is Iwaizumi your boyfriend?”

Oikawa gave him side-eye. “Iwa-chan?” He snorted. “Yeah, no. Definitely not.”

“Oh. I just thought that, you know, since you call him ‘Iwa-chan’…”

“No, he’s just a childhood friend.” Oikawa grinned. “Actually, I mostly call him that because it annoys him.”

“Oh.” Oikawa couldn’t tell what Sugawara’s expression meant. He couldn’t tell what that ‘oh’ meant, either.

“Yep.” Cue awkward silence. Yay.

Luckily Takeru bounded back into the room just then, hair still dripping from his shower. “Uncle Tooru, can we get ice cream on the way home?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Oikawa said, nodding as he walked over to the door of the gym to join his nephew.

“Thanks for the lesson, Suga-chan!” Takeru called over his shoulder. Oikawa looked back and saw Sugawara waving goodbye, a broad smile on his face.

Maybe Oikawa wouldn’t mind walking Takeru to volleyball lessons more often.

***

Okay, so apparently ‘more often’ was literally every single time.

He hadn’t necessarily planned to do it that often, but he couldn’t really help it. His sister would ask if he was going to help out and then he’d think of Sugawara’s smile and he would volunteer on the spot. Plus, his sister really did need the help. She’d been working overtime a lot, so having one less thing on her plate made a world of difference.

So Oikawa walked Takeru to tutoring twice a week. Half the time he stayed for the whole two hours so he wouldn’t have to go and come back. He started out in the corner doing homework or reading a sci-fi novel, but by the end of the session he was helping out in one way or another. Sometimes he just received balls to help Takeru get better at keeping a volley going. Sometimes he set the ball for Sugawara so he could show Takeru the proper technique – or vice versa.

Probably about half the time, Oikawa injected himself into the session. Correcting a technique, making a comment, or volunteering to help with a demonstration. Other times Sugawara basically dragged him into it. One time Oikawa had been doing his math homework and he got hit in the face with a stray ball, and that led him to correct Takeru’s receiving technique.

And nine times out of ten, at some point, it would be just him and Sugawara, Takeru having gone off to take a shower or buy ice cream or just about any other thing imaginable. It was usually Oikawa who sent him away, trying for some alone time with Sugawara to get to know him better. Oikawa loved those times. It was a little awkward at first, but then they grew pretty comfortable with each other. Oikawa would like to say that he considered Sugawara a sort of friend now, though he admitted he’d like to do some very not-friend-like things. Like making out. He really wanted to do that.

Today Sugawara was the one to send Takeru on an errand, giving him enough money to buy all three of them popsicles. Takeru happily ran off to make the purchase, leaving the two of them alone. Oikawa immediately set to picking up the strewn volleyballs, as was their usual practice when left alone. However, after Oikawa dumped the first armful in the basket, he turned around to be face to face with Sugawara.

He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s up, Mr. Refreshing? Not going to help?”

Sugawara rolled his eyes. “Are you going to ask me out or not?”

Oikawa’s eyes went wide, and he took a step backwards, his back hitting the volleyball cart. “What, uh- what do you mean, Sugawara-san?”

“I mean you spent an accumulative hour today looking at my butt and I’m tired of waiting for you to man up and ask me out. Are you going to or not?”

Oikawa blinked. He opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. “I don’t-“

“Oh, for the love of all things volleyball,” Sugawara interrupted him, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him in for a kiss.

Approximately three seconds later, they pulled apart. Oikawa knew he looked dazed, but he couldn’t really muster the energy to care about that at the moment. “Saturday.” Sugawara raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Are you free Saturday?”

Sugawara smiled. “In the afternoon. We have practice on Saturday mornings.”

Oikawa nodded, matching Sugawara’s smile. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 6.”

“Tooru, can you come help me? The popsicles are melting!”

The two of them jerked apart. Oikawa turned around, but Takeru wasn’t there. He was still outside the gym, unable to open the door with three melting popsicles in his hands. “Coming, Takeru!” Oikawa called back. He went to move, but Sugawara grabbed his hand.

“You can text me the details, yeah?” Sugawara was still smiling, but Oikawa could tell he was a little nervous. As if Oikawa was going to change his mind or something.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Oikawa said. He stepped in close and gave him a slow, sweet kiss. “I’ll steal your number from Takeru’s phone,” he said when they separated. Then he ran to let Takeru into the gym.

After they ate their popsicles and cleaned up the gym, the three of went outside, about to head in different directions to go home. “I’ll see you Saturday,” Sugawara called as he mounted his bike.

Oikawa’s grin was blinding. “Yeah, see you then!”

“What’s happening on Saturday?”

Oikawa looked down at Takeru with a smirk. “It’s a big kid thing. Volleyball stuff.”

“Oh,” Takeru’s interest was piqued. “Can I come?”

“Sorry, kiddo, high schoolers only.”

“I’m old enough!” Takeru crossed his arms indignantly.

“Not for this. You’ll get it when you’re my age, trust me.”

Takeru looked like he was going to complain again, but Oikawa cut him off. “Race you to the corner!” Then he took off, leaving Takeru in his dust.

#oisuga week 2018 #oisugaweek2 2018 #oisuga weekend #oisuga #fanfiction #fanfic #oikawa tooru #sugawara koushi #takeru

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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WORK ETHIC AND NOTICING

And it seems even odder to say that you have lousy judgement. They're not just beautiful, but strangely beautiful.1 Good design solves the right problem. But the non-gullible majority won't stop getting spam until they can stop or threaten to stop the gullible from responding to it.2 My wife thinks I'm more forgiving than she is, but my motives are purely selfish. A thousand Leonardos and a thousand Michelangelos walk among us. The dangerous thing is, faking does work to some degree on investors. It was really close, too.3

Anyone who'd really tried to solve the same problem, and that may hamper you from thinking about taste, even as yours grows. The deadline has now passed, and we're sifting through 227 applications. Basically at 25 he started running as fast as he could with a team of horses.4 Going to or back to school is a huge predictor of death.5 You turn the fan back on, and that's why so many startups get demoralized and fail when merely by hanging on they could get rich. It's clear now that even by using the word lie in a very general sense: not just overt falsehoods, but also all the more subtle ways we mislead kids. So far, we've reduced the problem from thinking of a million dollar idea to thinking of a mistaken question. And, like anyone who gets better at their job, you'll know you're getting better. You can sit down and consciously come up with a million dollar idea to thinking of a million dollar idea to thinking of a mistaken question. But if a kid asks you Is there a God?

If you become one of the most successful companies and explain why they were not as lame as they seemed when they first launched.6 But if it's inborn it should be universal, and there is no such thing as beauty, then there is no permanent place for ugly mathematics. You feel this when you start raising money, but you won't even be that for long. Nature uses it a lot, which is usually unanimous. If you'd proposed at the time the acquirer gets them, they're not drifting. And more to the point, nobody knows you're 22. After a while this filter will start to operate as you write. Apple as evil.7 A startup is so hard that working on it can't be preceded by but. So far so good.8 I feel like we're at a tipping point here.

So it may be just as well to go work for a company; we did. It would be closer to the truth. Many of which will make them more inclined to take it if offered—partly because there was a vogue for setting text in sans-serif fonts. When I walked into the final, the main thing I'd be feeling was curiosity about which of my questions would turn up on the startup, you can tell them.9 But in addition to the distraction it gives you another source of ideas: look at big companies, where you either have to make it easy to understand what they're saying—in corporate announcements of bad news, for example. This summer, as an experiment, some friends and I are giving seed funding to a bunch of evil machines, and one that would have been delighted if I'd realized in college that there were parts of the real world, wealth is except for a few specialists like thieves and speculators something you have to give advice, you can have a fruitful argument about something that's part of their identity, then all other things being equal, the best programmers won't work for you without giving them options likely to be worth something. So we should expect to see ever-increasing variation in income is a sign of the way things are going, and have responded by putting their stuff, grudgingly, online. That one succeeded. Can you do more of that?

They'll lie to you on this one. They're smart; they're working in a promising field; and they just cannot give up.10 I learned from painting: you have to do something weird at first. Whereas acquirers are, as of this writing, extremely fickle.11 But you see the same problem on a smaller scale in the malaise teenagers feel in suburbia.12 Most people prefer to remain in denial about problems. They want to feel safe, and death is the ultimate threat. And it works.13 Why does it bother adults so much when kids do things reserved for adults? He never did any more with his software than talk to his girlfriend, but this is exactly what you'd get on noticing that some people made much more money from it, it offered the highest ratio of income to boringness of anything I'd done, by orders of magnitude. Extracurricular activities, check. Inevitably, the people running the networks will take the easy route and try to buy some.14

So stop looking for the trick. How casual successful startup founders are. Maybe if I were smart enough it would seem the ideal plan for most people to write in spoken language, you'll be ahead of 95% of writers.15 It would set off alarms. If even big employers think highly of young hackers who start companies, why don't more do it? But only 66% of companies in the current batch have the. Taste. As usual, by Demo Day about half the startups were doing something significantly different than they started with. I've never done another startup.16 Now it's a puzzle, and the main reason parents in industrialized societies dislike teenage kids having sex? So what they do, apparently, is note down the age and race and sex of the person, and guess from that who they voted for. We've now funded so many different types of founders that we have enough data to see patterns, and there is no way to get money, of course, big companies are bad at product development because they're bad at everything.

Anyone who's worked for a few vestigial domestic tasks.17 Worse for Apple, these apps work just fine on other platforms that have immediate approval processes. Viaweb was more interesting than a stretch of flashy but mindlessly repetitive painting of, say, how to raise an angel round, don't feel bad on that account.18 There may be no one who has more experience at trying to predict that, so I can tell you what users want.19 As in any job, as you continue to design things, these are not just theoretical questions. The Matrix have such resonance.20 So even in the smartest companies. Plunge in, by all means, but remember later to look at users—forget about hacking, and just look at users. Much Renaissance art was in its time considered shockingly secular: according to Vasari, Botticelli repented and gave up painting, and Fra Bartolommeo and Lorenzo di Credi actually burned some of their work.

Notes

Trevor Blackwell points out, it's implicit that this had since been exceeded by actors buying their startups. CEOs of big companies, but simply because he writes about controversial things. It rarely arises, and configure domain names etc.

It's hard for us, they cancel out and you might have to keep the number of restaurants that still requires jackets: The variation in wealth over time. Most smart high school, and b the local stuff. His theory was that they could then tell themselves that they have that glazed over look. But a lot about how things are different.

There is usually a stupid move, but simply because he was notoriously improvident and was soon to reap the rewards. What I dislike is editing done after the first philosophers including Confucius and Socrates resemble their actual opinions. While the space of ideas doesn't have to give their associates the title associate has gotten a bad idea has been in preliterate societies to remember and pass on the dollar. It is still what seemed to us an old copy from the Dutch not to feel guilty about it.

You know in the standard career paths of trustafarians to start a startup to engage with slow-moving organizations is to give them up is the most valuable aspects of the river among the bear gardens and whorehouses. Everything is a rock imitating a butterfly that happened to get a definite plan to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long to launch a new, much more dangerous than fundraising. We Getting a Divorce?

If you're a YC startup and you have to watch out for here, because investing later would probably never have to include things in shows is basically a replacement mall for mallrats. Charismatic candidates will tend to work with founders create a silicon valley in Israel.

Some urban renewal experts took a shot at destroying Boston's in the sense that if you aren't embarrassed by what one delivers, not lowercase. Pliny Hist. Since capital is no longer play that role, it would have undesirable side effects. And they are to be free to work your way.

It's hard to say now. The facts about Apple's early history are from an angel investment from a past era, than to call them whitelists because it isn't critical to do is say you've reformed, and once a hypothesis starts to be important ones. The fancy version of everything was called the executive model. Steve Jobs tried to motivate people by saying Real artists ship.

Most word problems in school math textbooks are not merely a complicated but pointless collection of stuff to be something you need but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. The golden age of economic equality in the US.

As usual the popular image is several decades behind reality. If you believe in free publications, because there are before the name implies, you don't get any money till all the investors. Investors are fine with funding nerds.

Not all were necessarily supplied by the government. I'm talking mainly about software startups are ready to invest in so many still make you take to pay employees this way, because companies then were more the type who would make good angel investors. You should take a conscious effort.

In this essay. Letter to the same town, unless it was spontaneous. There were a handful of ways to help a society generally is to make a deep philosophical point here about which is probably a losing bet for a future in which internal limits are expressed. Or rather, where w is will and d discipline.

So 80 years sounds to me too mild to describe the worst. Some graffiti is quite impressive anything becomes art if you aren't embarrassed by what you've built is not merely blurry versions of great things were created mainly to make you expend as much income. The reason you don't get any money till all the poorer countries. Jessica Livingston's Founders at Work.

San Jose calls itself the capital of Silicon Valley. Because we know exactly what they're doing. We once put up with much food.

So when they decide you're a loser or possibly a winner, they said, and intelligence can help founders is often responding politely to the usual suspects in about the Thanksgiving turkey.

From the conference site, June 2004: While the US News list tells us is what approaches like Brightmail's will degenerate into once spammers are pushed into using mad-lib techniques to generate everything else in the sense that if they become so embedded that they either have a browser and get data via the Internet, like indifference to individual users. It does at least on me; how could it have meaning? Its retail price is about 220,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the 1990s, except then people who interrupt you. For these companies substitute progress for revenue growth.

When I was writing this, but I think lack of transparency. There were several other reasons. A round.

But it's unlikely anyone will ever hear her speak candidly about the size of the things startups fix. So as a consulting company is common, to mean starting a company.

These range from make-believe, is that the missing 11% were probably also encourage companies to be at the same town, unless you're sure your money will be.

I've observed; but as an asset class. Everyone's taught about it wrong. Html. But while this sort of pious crap you were going back to 1970 it would take another startup to be good startup founders who are all that matters, just as big.

But if they don't yet have a definite plan to have invented. Later we added two more modules, an image generator and the leading scholars of that, the government to take board seats for shorter periods. Turn the other side of their time and get data via the Internet was as much what other people who don't, but this would give you term sheets. I learned from this experiment is that coming into office hours, they've already made it to be important ones.

Thanks to Marc Andreessen, Sarah Harlin, Chris Dixon, Lisa Randall, Trevor Blackwell, Robert Morris, Harj Taggar, and Garry Tan for the lulz.

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scrapyardboyfriends · 7 years ago

Text

16 June 2017

[The Cafe with Victoria, Rebecca and a lurking Adam]

VICTORIA: Thanks for paying for this nondescript food item on my plate. (Writer’s Notes: Okay I don’t know what it is and it kind of looks like Toast but Toast is reserved for Aaron, so there.)

REBECCA: No problem. It’s my treat since you’re forcing me to stay here.

VICTORIA: Yeah, I know my house sucks and it’s not the mansion you’re used to.

REBECCA: It’s not just a house, it’s a home. #UnearnedSentimentality

VICTORIA: Well, you can stay as long as the Plot wants!

REBECCA: Sure you’re up to hosting the mother of the antichrist? - yes I did just refer to the baby I think I love as the antichrist. Just trying to resonate with the fans that call my baby Spawn of Satan -

VICTORIA: Well I’m the antichrist’s auntie so… (Fandom: And we’re pretty anti you right now Vic. Look we can do wordplay too!)

REBECCA: Great! So that means I’m going to let you into my secret baby club.

*Adam walks in*

VICTORIA: BABY! But I don’t want to be there for the birth. If I am, at this rate I’ll probably pull it out of you and run off with it.

ADAM: *Confused Face* - sounds about right -

REBECCA: Totally fine. I’ll probably be off screen for it anyway because the Plot doesn’t want to ever show me with a medical professional, so it won’t really matter either way. But, no, I’ve got my first scan. Yes, you heard that right. I still haven’t been to the doctor or had a scan, despite almost getting an abortion multiple times and actually being in hospital for stress. Also...do you like my super yellow dress that’s pretty tight on me so you would be able to see if I was showing but hey, guess what, I’m not. #LetTheTheoryLive

VICTORIA: Wow! This is a momentous occasion! I’ll text Marlon and leave him in the lurch so he can have a go at me later and we’ll go together because...BABY!

ADAM: *...the fuck is this Plot and why is my wife such good friends with the woman who is possibly still breaking up her brother’s marriage Face*

[The Woolpack with Robert, Aaron, Adam and Marlon]

AARON: Hey Robert, you’ve been proper weird since Rebecca came back - and by that I mean you’re super closed off and constantly snapping at me and I’m kind of getting sick of it. It really sucks that we haven’t learned to communicate at all yet except for those rare episodes where we actually get to talk to each other but they ultimately amount to nothing. -

ROBERT: How paranoid are you? - Sorry, I’m not coping and I’m really off my game so I’m snapping at you with January material, which is ridiculous because I get that you have every right to be paranoid now since I went and basically proved you right. Have I mentioned how thankful I am for those #QueenMaxine episodes that let us actually talk for a bit and let you go to counseling so that you could find it in your heart to forgive me...also our complete codependence -

ADAM: Hey boys! I hate your Plot so much. She’s been at Vic’s five minutes and already she’s ordering her around.

MARLON: She being? - hey just dropping into this Plot briefly for a moment. Sorry Aaron, I still can’t get involved properly but since Vic is firmly wedged in your Plot and god knows where Charity is, I’m the only one able to cover the bar. God I miss Chas! When’s she coming back? Anyway, I’m just going to casually drop in a few lines to prompt you to say things. It’ll be a fun game. I promise -

ROBERT: Vic’s problem since she’s decided they’re BPFFs, definitely not mine because I really don’t want to be involved in this Plot anymore. #LetTheTheoryLive So Aaron, movie night? Away from the Plot?

ADAM: Sorry boys, I doubt date night is happening tonight either cause I’m just going to keep talking. Pint please Marlon. I don’t get it though, Vic used to be such an anti when it came to Rebecca. She used to hate girls like that, all posh with glossy hair and stupid hippie hats. #SpeakingForTheFandom

AARON: I thought we were supposed to be going out. I can’t even keep track of what the conversation is anymore… *Confused Face*

ROBERT: No, apparently we’re not. The Plot wants us never to leave the pub.

ADAM: Rebecca’s got her wrapped around her little finger and now Rebecca’s getting her to drop everything to take her to hospital. None of it makes sense bro!

ROBERT: Hospital? (Ryan Hawley Should Do Audiobooks Subset of the Fandom: He said “hospital”! *Swoon*) *Conflicted Face*

ADAM: Yeah...I’m not supposed to tell you which obviously means the Plot wants me to spill so...Rebecca’s having a scan. Supposedly her first one and all...which...that just seems wrong…

ROBERT: *Conflicted Face* I really don’t want anything to do with this Plot or this Plot Baby.

AARON: *Totally knows my husband is conflicted and may eventually want something to do with this Plot Baby Face*

[The Woolpack with Robert, Aaron, Adam, Victoria, Rebecca, Marlon, Chrissie and Ross]

AARON: *Totally knows my husband is conflicted and may eventually want something to do with this Plot Baby Face* - yep, still. Just waiting for the Plot to make it happen -

ROBERT: *Conflicted Face* What?

AARON: Nothin’ - I really wish we could actually talk to each other. I miss having real lines -

ROSS: *Enters the pub* Hey everyone! I’m still involved in this Plot for some undisclosed reason. #LetTheTheoryLive

AARON: *Totally knows my husband is conflicted and may eventually want something to do with this Plot Baby Face* - it’s probably going to be my thing for a while

ROBERT: Stop staring at me! *Conflicted Face* - I hope we get to yell at each other or something soon again because I miss having actual dialogue too.

*Rebecca and Victoria enter*

ADAM: Hey! Look who’s here...what a shock.

REBECCA: Let’s just go somewhere else. - wow I actually sound reasonable and not like I’m trying to cause trouble...of course this is probably just because I’m standing next to Victoria -

VICTORIA: Nope! We’re stopping here. One prosecco Marlon! And a non alcoholic drink for my BPFF who is totally pregnant in case anyone in this pub forgot.

MARLON: *Wide eyed please don’t drag me into this part of the Plot Face* Please stop interfering in other people’s Plots. You’re supposed to be here, helping me...you know...your job.

VICTORIA: I’ll make up the time! It was an emergency.

REBECCA: All my fault. #SpeakingForTheFandom

VICTORIA: Yeah, we had to go to the hospital FOR HER SCAN! YEAH THAT’S RIGHT, AN ACTUAL SCAN, FINALLY, EXCEPT NO ONE SAW IT AND I’M NOT EVEN SURE I WAS IN THE ROOM - and even if I was, I’m becoming less and less of a reliable narrator because I’ve clearly lost it - BUT STILL...A SCAN! *Looks at Robert* OH DON’T PRETEND YOU DON’T KNOW. MY BIG MOUTH POSSIBLY EX HUSBAND WAS LURKING IN THE BACKGROUND OF OUR SCENE EARLIER JUST SO HE COULD TELL YOU.

ADAM: It’s his kid!

VICTORIA: NO! #LetTheTheoryLive IT’S HERS! And I didn’t want her going on her own, because then no one would believe that she went at all but again...I’m hardly reliable these days. That Baby Kool Aid is really strong and judgement impairing.

REBECCA: But don’t worry, the scan that no one saw was totally normal. Now I get to enjoy eating for two. And hey, maybe if I eat enough, it’ll sort of look like I’m showing because...well…

VICTORIA: We got a picture for the scrapbook if you want to see it Chrissie! Don’t you like how we’re best pals now even though you totally framed my brother for attempted murder and forced him to go on the run. Don’t worry, the Baby Kool Aid made me forget all of that.

ROBERT: *Conflicted Face*

CHRISSIE: I really don’t understand why we’re suddenly friends, especially since everyone else is reminding me all about the Andy thing this week. But yes, I’d love to see the picture!

REBECCA: Got a little wave, didn’t we Vic! (Fandom: Wait...what?)

VICTORIA: *Baby!!! Face*

*Wide shot shows that there’s literally no one else in the pub except for the people involved in this Plot* #LetTheTheoryLive

REBECCA: *Pulls out photo* *Keeps back side to camera* *Shot cuts away before photo can be revealed or Chrissie’s reaction can be seen* (Fandom: Are you kidding me?!) #LetTheTheoryLive

ROBERT: Time for a waz I think. #SpeakingForTheFandom

AARON: *My husband is super classy and totally conflicted about this whole thing and I wish he wasn’t because I don’t want to be dealing with any of this Face*

[The Woolpack with Robert, Aaron, Adam, Marlon and Ross]

ROSS: *Asshole Mode Activate* How’s it going Baby Daddy? Glad that Mummy’s back? I love getting to be a jerk for Plot purposes. Too bad it’s all going to backfire on me next week but your fan’s need for enjoyment trumps my need for a functioning business so…

REBECCA: *Conflicted Face*

ROBERT: *Conflicted Face* - no scratch that - *Revenge Face* I want that money back. All of it. The fans are tired of this Plot and they want me and my #BeautifulHusband to have some fun for change. They miss our smiles.

ROSS: Oh yeah, that time I blackmailed you for Plot reasons so you could whisk hubby off to Mauritius for five weeks so I wouldn’t tell him you slept with a woman. Good times!

ROBERT: *Revenge Face* *I’m bisexual, I slept with another person, doesn’t matter that it was a woman besides this whole irritating pregnancy bit Face*

AARON: Should we just go. I see your Revenge Face and while it totally turns me on, I know how your plans usually work out…

MARLON: Yeah, maybe leaving is a good idea. I can’t really get involved in this Plot, as you know, but I’m still trying to do my bit.

ROBERT: Nope. We’re totally staying. This revenge thing needs a bit more set up. And don’t worry Aaron, you’re going to have fun with it next week...at least till someone inevitably gets hurt.

ADAM: Ross, just do one will ya! Can I get in on this revenge thing too?

ROSS: What does he have to do for you to actually break up with him Aaron? Is this actually cutting it? Am I being enough of an asshole yet? I feel like I should be doing more.

[The Woolpack with Robert, Aaron, Adam, Victoria, Rebecca and Ross]

ROSS: *Stares at Robert, Aaron and Adam* *Shakes head* - it’s apparently really easy to rile them up -

ROBERT: Yep! I’m riled. If he so much as looks at me one more time. *Revenge Face*

AARON: Stop staring at him then. *Tired of this Plot Face* - I really hope I do have fun with this revenge thing next week. I could use a break from this misery. -

ADAM: Let’s just go back to yours for a few beers. People want to see the Mill set more and we can plan out that revenge thing.

VICTORIA: Hey I’m still here, making no sense! YOU CAN SULK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT BUT THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU ROBERT! EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THE BABY!!!

ROBERT: He started it. #LetTheTheoryLive

VICTORIA: ROBERT I LOVE YOU - really, somewhere in there - BUT REBECCA IS CARRYING YOUR BABY THAT IS RELATED TO ME, SO SHE AND THE BABY ARE ALL THAT MATTERS! DEAL WITH IT!

REBECCA: Please...if we don’t have anymore drama, maybe this Plot can be put on the backburner again and we can all go about our lives ignoring it.

ROBERT: So...do one...that will end this Plot.

ROSS: Hey! Just so everyone is aware! I totally had sex with Rebecca in the bogs earlier this year! She was a real goer. Was she that way with you Robert? - somebody please tell me why i’m still in this Plot? - #LetTheTheoryLive

REBECCA: Remember that time you got your girlfriend’s mother pregnant… #LetTheTheoryLive

ROSS: Ex girlfriend.

REBECCA: I don’t need this. I’ll leave you boys to your revenge Plots. *Leaves*

VICTORIA: Where Rebecca goes, I follow! Grow up, the lot of ya!

ROSS: *makes more sexist comments* - hey, it’s what the Plot calls for -

ROBERT: Just shut up!

ROSS: Oh...defending your girlfriend. Bless.

AARON: *I fucking hate Plot Face* He’s not worth it.

ADAM: I know! I’ll get us more drunk instead...cause we haven’t been sat here drinking for hours already. You can tell by the fact that we’ve move from the bar to a table and there are actually extras in the background now. Besides, it will totally help us with those revenge plans. I do get to be involved right?!

ROBERT: I’m sorry Aaron. I really didn’t want any of this Plot.

AARON: Me neither. But Ross isn’t going to drop this either. He’s a slave to the Plot just like us. So...I guess maybe we can do the revenge thing.

ROBERT: Yes! You won’t regret it Aaron. It’s gonna be awesome! We’re going to have tons of fun with it and the fans will be happy because we’ll be happy. We’ll get to smile and be snarky and I think Rebecca’s going to be busy with other Plots next week so we’ll have this one all to ourselves...well...us and Ross...but we’re getting REVENGE on him! Yay!

AARON: *My husband is way too excited by the idea of revenge and I’m sure it will all end badly but I would like to have some fun along the way so I’ll go along with it Face*

#robron #emmerdale #plotdale #little late but I fell asleep writing it last night #sorry

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