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mel-the-fangirl · 4 years ago

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The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

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You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you, let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little.

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough.

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock.

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year.

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour?

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

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The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times.

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking.

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #nomis #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fic #Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the man from uncle #napoleon solo #cavillry #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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Heat Seekers II Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 8k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: panic, anxiety & triggers. Mentions of sex trafficking. Political injustice.

You push your way through the heavy doors into Blue House, ticking your chin forward in greeting to the entertainers standing in the comforts of the lobby, familiar faces you once considered colleagues. The one you’re looking for is at the bar along the back wall, sleek black beneath your fingers, unable to help the way they fan and smooth across its surface as you address him. “Thanks for the tip,” you grin, pausing momentarily to chastise the man before you, “Can I have the info now? I know you were looking out for me by taking it to save, but don’t you think you should have a little more faith in me?” Chan, who is your sole confidant- grins right back. “We don’t believe in faith, remember?” he retorts, flourishing two fingers in front of him to awaken his Atlas, fuzzing to synthetic life between you. You laugh mirthlessly at his reminder because he is right. He flicks his fingers and turns his wrist in a smooth motion, then waits while you blink your own to life and accept the request for sync that takes up the main holo in front of you. He waits for you to collect the job from his inbox and read the description; watching you with a blank expression you don’t see. “In search of a female escort, early to mid-twenties for one night job. The escort must possess advanced skills with Atlas Tech, and hacking. Body measurements are required prior to the job. Deliver in-person to coordinates 94.0114” N 94.0412” E. Details to follow. Payment is dependent on job success. 1200c.” Admittedly, the job description is short but to the point. If anyone were desperate enough, which everyone is, anyone could have collected this job. Now you see why Chan called you for this. Even without the price tag, the requirements complement your skillset spot on. You notice the job expires in two days. Good thing you didn’t have any other plans tonight, you muse to yourself. “Thanks, Chan,” you say with a smile, disconnecting the sync between your Atlas drives. He gives you a warm, dimpled smile in return, “Don’t mention it, babygirl. Just don’t be a stranger, yeah? You know Blue House will always be here for you.” His affectionate pet name for you makes your stomach flutter, just the same as it always did, but you sigh and turn away with a nod, plugging coordinates into your H.I. Pulling up your GPS menu, your smart tech automatically asks you if you want to register the coordinates it recognizes from any recent files you opened. You tap the green ‘register’ button on your interface the moment you slide onto the smooth leather seat of your hyperbike. You pull the visor of your helmet down, giving your H.I a moment to complete the reaction and pop up in your helmet visor. When it does, you scan the map, telling your Atlas you wish to start your bike. The artificial chime of understanding is a comforting sound, as is the low humming purr of the engine starting within the metal between your knees. Intimate, like a heartbeat between a ribcage. The route isn’t terribly long, about thirty-six minutes through the city… if you go the speed limit. A ridiculous notion to still follow, if only out of principle for the older generations. Nobody uses the rule of it anymore, and most people who use the road these days consider it an insult to the growth of safe traveling anymore to have ‘limits’ on speed, and by extension, how well a vehicle moves. Why make such advancements if the restrictions placed on them refuse to evolve? You tick your head to the side with a slight scowl. The trip takes you two-tenths of a second longer than you initially gauged. To a tech hacker such as yourself, inaccuracy is a flaw you’re desperate to rid yourself of. It makes you green with envy of Artificial Intelligence. The coordinates take you to a jewelry store on the north side of the city, closer to the outskirts and the wilderness of the Old City beyond it. Despite the location, the street is lined with tons of high-end shops that glow in the night, open for business. Odd, considering the best shopping districts in the city are further toward the center, and none of them look as classy as this street. You enter the store, raising a brow at the large panel that reads ‘Cloak & Dagger’ in clean, bold lines in the window. A strange name for a jewelry boutique. It feels out of place for you to be here, but you march forward carefully regardless of the uncomfortable way the white polished floor shines back up into your eyes. “Hello?” you call, approaching the largest glass case- it appears to be the counter, with a small tablet resting on a stand in the center. A woman stands up from behind another case to your left, sliding the glass panel closed with her hand before she approaches you. “How can I help you?” Her accent is older, perhaps European, and she looks as if she could be in her sixties. Even at her apparent age, she is exemplary. Your eyes drift down to the items in the case, drawing out a hum because the contents of the case are not what you expected. Now the name makes perfect sense. The jewelry doesn’t just mean your typical rings and pendants. The case is full of self-defense jewelry. Defender rings, ring knives, and other small weapons that are worn. Without answering her, you round the case to the one she stood from, and notice an assortment of larger wearable weapons. From strings of magnetic senbon to actual daggers and piercing finger cuffs. “Find something you like?” she asks, trying to prompt you again. Part of you immediately dislikes the way she’s standing. She seems too proud of your reaction, and with her back straight and hands folded perfectly on top of the counter, she has an air of superiority. With narrowed eyes, you stand back to your full height, “I’m here about a job that’s due in two days.” Her face is unreadable, and she nods minutely, “Can you show me what you’re referring to, dear?” She makes a finger gun and points it directly toward you, tilting her fingers up with the motion of it going off. It sets your adrenaline running with panic until she smiles and her Atlas opens between you. Her motion for opening it is horrifying, and you’re bewildered as to how she came about making that her initiation sequence. You don’t want to close your eyes tightly for the full second it takes to open your own, but you hold you breath and do it anyway. She hums in approval and understanding when you twist your H.I toward her and show her the job posting on your personal assignment bulletin. “I see,” she says, letting her eyes rove you up and down. Nothing you’re not used to, having worked in a brothel for years. “Very well then.” She types something into her own H.I and motions for you to come back to the center of the shop floor. When you do, she presses a button on her interface that expands it around the room. Suddenly, you’re standing in the center of some program she’s running, and the security cameras in the shop come to life. A bright blue light beams from each, pointing at your feet as they scan up your form. Momentarily, you’re impressed with the way she’s made her tech work. Multiple programs running from the same cameras, she’s clever, and you like her a little more for it. Perhaps a bit unorthodox and fitting to her shop’s name, cloaked in mystery, but you’re interested in how she came to be in this moment. She stands in front of you, one hand on her hip while the other goes between touching her lips to touching her main holographic interface, or H.I for short. She’s mumbling to herself as she works, letting your now holographic form float into the space above you. Reaching out, she pulls you out of the center and away from your holoclone. “Fry, darling, give me measurements without her clothes, will you?” “Yes of course, dear,” a disembodied voice echos back. Albeit quite synthesized, it is distinctly male, with an American accent. “Pardon me for the intrusion, miss. Varian Fry, at your service.” the voice says to your holoclone. No clothing is actually removed from either you or your clone, but the AI brings up a separate holo screen for each piece of your clothing. It’s fascinating, to see how quickly he can tell everything about the items, from their thickness and fibers to how many millimeters they equate for in your initial measurements. “At your request, dear,” he says, and an upbeat chime rings on her main interface with your naked measurements. The woman looks at you over her reading glasses, smiling, “He’s impressive, isn’t he?” You realize she asked because you’re smiling at his handiwork. Simply, you nod at her. “Fry, take these into manufacturing. Rush order, number…” she trails off, pausing as she tilts her head at you, “seventy-two, please. In black and violet.” You have no idea what she means and part of you feels like this is some strange super-suit she’s making for you. “Right away, dear.” Fry says, and her H.I blinks into nonexistence. She sighs, glancing at you wistfully, “I think he’ll be most pleased.” You know you shouldn’t because it’s cliche and quite honestly, she shouldn’t tell you, but you ask anyway, “Who?” She laughs, “Your partner for the evening, of course. Don’t worry too much, he’s one of the good guys.” That’s all she tells you before she’s ushering you back toward the door. “Come by again tomorrow midday, it’ll be ready,” she assures you just as she lets the door shut between you. The encounter leaves you feeling a myriad of emotions, though most prominently was the anxiousness of such a mysterious job. You’ve only had a small share of jobs from outside sources, and none that appeared to have so much riding on them. Without anything else to do, you ride back toward Blue House, craving pizza. Smiling, you decide to stop for a quick payday and a free dinner at The Cave. It takes less time than usual to make your rounds of the arcade cabinets, easily earning enough credits to pay for a large pie to take back with you. Plain cheese, well done. Same as always. When you walk through the doors of the brothel with a smile and a pizza box, Chan knows, “Oh no, how many people’s day did you ruin?” “Just a few, I promise. I really just wanted the pizza.” you comment, admitting that a few extra coins in your pocket from beating out cheating gamers never hurt anyone. His eyes zero in on the box settled on your palm with a swallow, “Did you just bring that here to make my mouth water?” There’s a hopeful spark in his eyes, but you decide to enjoy the chance to tease anyway, “We both know this isn’t the kind of thing that makes your mouth water.” Your eyes float around the lobby with a grin. His smile slides off his face briefly, until you shake your head, “Come on. Got some time to spare?” Immediately, the guardian of Blue House morphs his stance- away from the imposing spread of his arms across the sleek counter to the boyish delight of the one person you’ve grown to trust in this world like a starry-eyed puppy. His childlike wonder brings a smile to your lips at the stark contrast of his nickname in the business, as the Wolf of Blue House. He doesn’t mind it, and most of his clientele pay top dollar to have the attention and affection of that persona. You know the way, and Chan follows you through the door on the right, ascending the stairs tucked narrowly between the lounges. The rose-colored light gives the cramped space an intimate feel, and part of you takes artificial comfort from this familiarity, and the memories of it you can feel permeate your consciousness. Of the way you grew up here, together with Chan. Of how thankful you are to him for teaching you and helping you survive. The embarrassment of teenage years made you closer, and you try not to smile, remembering once when you were drunk and nineteen, after your first official orgasm ever, at his hands, and the victory of such a thing made you so emotional you confessed that you loved him. Gently as ever, he brought you back down and reminded you that pleasure isn’t love. In the darkness of your personal room in this very building, your tears fell from the sudden fear of weightlessness that overtook you with such release, and he was there for every step of the way. Chan was there, keeping you grounded and guiding you on a path that would make you strong enough, smart enough, to stand on your own feet and never need anyone else. You could want to your heart’s content, but you would never need. That seems like a distant past, now. Somewhere after eating the whole pie with Chan on the rooftop, you fell asleep. You’re positive he carried you back down the stairs to his den and let you sleep in his bed. The only difference was your jacket had been removed, neatly folded over the open door of his armoire. You’ve woken up here before, sometimes alone, sometimes not when you needed to feel safe so you could sleep without screaming. Weeks or months between. Never more than 3 nights in a row. Today, only the familiar scent of Chan lingers in the room. When you rise, you notice he’s left you some of your old clothes, if you feel so inclined, and a fresh towel. The mirror of his bathroom has wispy remnants of condensation still, and the balmy humidity in the room feels relaxing. The warm water kickstarts your tired bones while you shower, giving you time to think against the white noise it provides. You wonder what time it is, but don’t bother with rushing the moment. As usual, you find Chan working in the office with his natural curls still damp atop his head. They’re unstyled, the dry strands a bit frizzy- mused from his fingers running through them no doubt. Even though you know he’s very busy, he looks comfortable. “I’m out.” you coo quietly from your position, leaning against the door frame with your jacket tucked over your folded arms. It’s a little awkward saying goodbye, knowing you’ll be back in a few weeks after you’ve rotated through your other caches. You can never stay in one place for too long. His head snaps up with the sound of your voice, and he gives you a dimpled grin, “Okay. Stay safe out there, babygirl.” It’s obvious your decision to even say goodbye makes him happy, although he has never judged you for disappearing without small talk. Neither of you owe each other anything. You remain as you both are, separately autonomous. The time you share together is a boon of respectful interest and allied friendship. It’s half past noon as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head outside, inhaling a deep breath as your palm habitually runs across the leather seat of your bike. Mounting, you bring up the routes of your recent destinations and take in the swell of momentary bliss you get when the bike beneath you roars to life. The midday sun feels good, the heat of it through your clothes and on your hands warming you the moment you ride onto the city streets from the cool shade of the undercity. When you arrive at Cloak & Dagger, you’re whisked inside by the same older woman from yesterday, and she makes a lot of fuss over you. “We’ve got to get your nails and your hair done before you can wear that dress,” she’s muttering, pulling at your hair and your hands to see your fingernails. “Excuse me?” you ask. The job didn’t entail all of that fuss. Why is going to that extent necessary? She gives you a dazzling, perhaps a little overeager smile. “You’ve got to look the part, doll. You’re not bad,” she comments, standing back to assess you from head to toe with a twist to her lips, “but we’ve still got to even out your ends and do you up for the event.” You’re uncomfortable with this, but when she confirms it will cost you nothing, you remind yourself it’s all for the money. Plus, you haven’t had a haircut in a while. “Close the shop, dear, we’ve got important work to do!” she coos in excitement loudly to her AI. Fry’s voice answers her with amusement, “We never opened today, dear.” She laughs, “All’s well that ends well, then!” as she takes your hand and walks you back behind the counter and into a large space that appears to be a dressing room. Immediately, she guides you to a comfortable-looking chair stationed in front of an old-style makeup mirror and begins talking to her AI. “Mm, yes, I think this one will do.” she says as she flips through a couple of hairstyles from a menu you don’t recognize in her H.I. Two arms fold down from the center of the ceiling here, sleek and soundless as they move. Fry’s voice is directed at you, “This is happening to you, my dear. Which of these would you like? I can do either with the length your hair will be once I even it out.” A display appears on the mirror in front of you and four hairstyles are displayed. You’re still trying to wrap your head around this ordeal and all the fuss over you, but you blurt out “number two” anyway. “Excellent choice, my dear.” he says, gentlemanly as always in his American accent. The arms behind you start working immediately, folding out to comb your hair and part it, taking clips from a tray that’s been set up just behind the chair. It takes longer than you anticipated for the AI Varian Fry to cut your hair and style it into the selected choice, all while he comments how wonderful it looks on you. You’ve lost count of how many pins he’s put in by now. The quirky woman jabs often at you with small talk that you needn’t reply to, or she comments on the work Fry is doing while she tends to your nails. “I can do that, darling. No need to fret.” the AI says to her while she fusses over evening out your nails, but she waves him off. “No no, I want to. It makes me feel useful. We never get to have this kind of fun anymore.” Her words are cryptic and the way she says them tells you there’s a mountain of information behind the comment, but she says nothing else about it. Your nails aren’t something you get a choice with, as she layers gel onto them, building it up and evening the edges before she finishes. You watch, moving your fingers in all kinds of ways to get used to having longer nails, almond-shaped no less. Admittedly, you like the matte hue she chose as the color. Once she’s finished, she stands and walks to the left side of the room. There’s a long, rolling pole with clothes hangers adorning it, and a single garment is neatly folded in a black bag. She removes it and unzips it just as Varian Fry places the final bobby pin in your hair, covering your eyes with a metal visor briefly while hairspray plumes into a cloud over your head. “I can’t wait to see this on you,” the woman coos excitedly, “You might just be our best work yet.” When Varian finishes your hair, the arms spin your chair in the direction of the woman, and she’s holding up a black and violet dress, the heavy yet gentle shine of velvet catching light. Typically, you’re not the dress type, but again, money is money. At least it isn’t hideous, and the colors and style are gorgeous. There’s isn’t much you find that would annoy you with it, other than perhaps the inability to run if necessary. “We’ve only got your makeup left to do!” she chimes while she hangs the dress on a hook high off the floor, just beside the mirror. Another cart is wheeled over by one of Varian’s arms, full of high-end makeup brands you recognize from huge ads in the shopping districts of the city. She takes your hand with a laugh, “Up up up, come on now, let’s get you into this.” Ushering you into another room, you’re granted a moment of privacy to use the restroom and collect yourself before she’s knocking at the door and shamelessly stripping you of your outer clothes. Being naked in front of others stopped making you feel insecure a long time ago, and the benefit of it is the efficient speed of doing the task you needed to do instead of milling about in a flustered state of undress for longer than necessary. It doesn’t mean you enjoy being in the nude, but when duty calls you do what must be done. The older woman of Cloak & Dagger doesn’t seem to bat an eye either, assuming years of her dressing up others in her creations has kept the professional efficiency all the same. If she notices any of your battle scars, she doesn’t pause or comment on them. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you don’t recognize the woman staring back at you, except for her eyes and the color of her hair. The dress hugs your form like a thick and warm blanket, accentuating the lines of your body and appealing to the curve of your hips you hadn’t realized were so generous. You turn several directions, analyzing yourself. Perhaps it had been too long since you looked in the mirror at your body. You could appreciate the shape of your own ass, and the swell of your breasts, the gentle caress of line that was your own spine, clearly visible in the cutout back of this dress. Even the muscle of your own legs, visible from the mid-thigh down to the shiny black heels on your feet. For once, even with every sad story of the scars you know riddle your body, you couldn’t stop staring at yourself, liking the way you looked. Finished with fussing over yourself, the woman cracks a grin at you, cooing with excitement at the spectacle before her. “You look ravaging, darling.” She opens the door and takes your hand. Leading you back into the center of the prep room, she waits. Walking in heels is going to be the death of you- you’ve never worn any quite this high and pointy. In your mind, the only upside is the way you could stab someone with one if warranted. When Varian doesn’t respond and no movement is noticed from any of the things he can control, she asks, “Varian dear are you awake?” To which the hand-like ends of the limbs from the ceiling give her a single finger of silence, he whispers, “No, no please I need a moment to enjoy this absolute dream.” The woman barks a loud laugh, giggling to herself with pride. The joke does not go over your head, realizing with a smile that Varian was giving you a compliment. The entire ordeal has taken far longer than you think is appropriate, but if you try to think about your feelings, you can admit you enjoyed the pampering, and you feel good. You’ve never done anything like this, and there are small parts of you that had always wondered about why women fuss over their appearances so much. Now, you know. “The car has just arrived, dear.” Fry’s voice cuts in just as the woman finishes applying one more layer of lipstick to your face. She claps her hands together and smiles, “Right then! One last piece.” With a sway in her step, she leads you back out to the front of the shop and muses over the selection of handbags to her right briefly, deciding on a black leather clutch with a silver crossbody chain that she drapes over your body. You spy through the front window curiously, eyeing a man standing beside a car door wearing a black suit and tie with dark sunglasses. He’s not moving. “One more thing.” says the old woman, her finger raised in the air as she rounds the counter. She pulls a small 10mm pistol from somewhere below the register, checking it with a speed you find almost as alarming as the immediate panic that sets into your bones. You’re frozen as she checks the six spaces are all filled with bullets, snaps it shut and puts the safety lock on. Then, she’s standing in front of you, holding it out for you to take. Slowly, as if the gears of your body have been rusted still far too long, you shake your head. “What’s the matter dear, don’t know how to shoot? I don’t think you’ll need it, but just in case.” “No,” your voice quivers. She makes a sound of disbelief, misunderstanding you as she reaches for your bag, attempting to put the gun in it. “Get that thing away from me.” you command, wrenching the bag out of her fingers. She gives you a look, open-mouthed and taken aback a bit. When the pause between you grows too heavy, the man at the car breaks the silence by knocking on the door. The old woman blinks, “Oh, goodness okay okay, have it your way. Just be safe. I don’t want any idiots ruining this stunning creation.” she says to you with a wistful smile and a pat to your shoulder. Once she ushered you outside, you’re not sure why, but your head seemed to turn of its own volition, back to the front window of Cloak & Dagger, where you spied Varian’s metal arm whipping a handkerchief from an unknown place and offering it to his wife. The SUV in front of you is dark. Black paint, black trim and rims, and every window except the windshield looks deeply tinted. The man in front of you, painfully obvious with his secret and important aura, sticks out like a sore thumb. His only motion is opening the rear door for you. You’re desperate not to wobble or fall as you climb inside, already scowling at the heels on your feet. The inside of the SUV is more spacious than you gave credit for, with the seats rearranged in a way that opens the space like a lounge of sorts, complete with ice bucket and the glow of colored lights overhead. You perch yourself on the edge of an open section of the long seat across from the only other person in the back of the car, save for the sound of the man closing the door behind you and climbing into the driver’s seat of the SUV from the other side of a thick panel of black glass. The eyes of the person across from you are dancing along your skin, you can feel them, but it’s not in a way that raises the hair on the back of your neck. When you look ahead, you find a pair of dark eyes, crinkled at the outer corners and smiling at you, one hand extended in your direction. “Good evening, thank you for coming.” His voice is smooth. Neutral, with a hint of amusement. You say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. He is handsome, you’ll admit, but in an almost too-pretty way. Hair swept up and to the side, in a full three piece suit that looked as if it cost an absurd amount of money to buy. His posture, with one knee over the other and his torso draped at an angle, with one arm over the back of the seat across from you. He raises his thick brows once when you say nothing, still analyzing him. “Right.” he chimes, placing the glass from his hand in the holder beside him. “I’m Suho, the one who posted the job.” he states matter of factually, in a calm and even tone. The first indicator that his request is legitimate, you think. His posture is too relaxed and he speaks too clearly to be afraid of being overheard by nothing more than an anxious or guilty conscience. He is not out to get you. “What is it exactly that you need my help with?” you ask, matching his tone. A small part of you relaxes into the seat at your back, adjusting to sit a little more comfortably. He smiles wistfully, “I’m glad you asked,” a pause, before he sits up and places his elbows on his knees, hands folded together in front of him so he can address you directly. “We’re headed to a Gala as we speak. The Medical Advancement Technologies Gala, to be precise. There’s a certain politician attending that must be dealt with, but there is information I need from him in order to deal with him appropriately.” Suho explains, skirting the details. Whether at your expense or not, it pisses you off. “You don’t need to sugarcoat it with me, just so you know. So what did he do and why do you care?” He blinks at you, then quickly collects himself with a smile, “Apologies.” There’s a brief moment where his brows knit together before he continues, “He is… someone who uses his political power to do unforgivable things. I care, because one of those things is sex trafficking.” You don’t flinch, you don’t move, you don’t blink. You want to ask why that’s what Suho cares about, but you remind yourself that’s not the most important line of questioning right now. It’s not about Suho, it’s about the politician. Nodding when you notice he’s waiting for your response, “How is it that you came to find out about it, and how do you know it is him? Does he use an alias?” Suho hums with agreement, “He does. I’ve been tracking his association with trafficking for months, and have done what I can to gather information, but it is that last missing piece he keeps locked up that I need help with.” He makes a distinct motion with his right hand, elegant and graceful, almost as if dancing, so subtle and strange you almost miss it. It takes you a moment to realize that was his initiation to awaken his own Atlas. He begins flicking his way through a series of locked programs and folders in his own archives. Bold of him to do so directly in front of you. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of, and although it isn’t easy to read some of his things both backwards and at a speed to see anything useful, it isn’t impossible to pick out the keywords ‘Olympus’ and ‘Tartarus’ from some of his files. “So you need someone to hack into his Atlas to retrieve the final key.” you assume of him, understanding now exactly why the job was so specific. The man in front of you motions for you to open your own, intending to share some files with you. Blinking it to life, you accept his immediate offer to link up after a brief moment of hesitation. You have plenty of safeguards on your own tech, and there should be virtually no way for anyone to hack and see anything of value since you are the sole creator and user of Ghost tech, but something else tells you this won’t be the last of Suho you’ll be seeing. Suho nods when you accept, “Yes. You’ll be with me all evening, and I’ll introduce you to him. I promise there will be no sexual favors or activities involved, whatsoever.” You tilt your head, puckering your lips for a moment. Your eyes trail him up and down through the glowing blue lines between you, gauging his reasoning for a woman rather than a man. “Why a woman then?” He blanches momentarily, before shrugging, “Just my personal preference I suppose.” He meets your stare but doesn’t express any other emotion, as far as you can tell. “Yet you wish for no acts of sexual service?” Suho nods, “That’s right. Just be my date. I won’t even kiss you.” Nothing here screams danger to you, no fight or flight instincts kick in, but you find yourself asking a question and playing a game regardless. A game your inner self loathes, and your survival self thrives on. The addiction of power that comes with winning in any form. You make a show of eyeing him from the dark hair atop his head, all the way down to the perfectly polished tips of his shoes. “That’s a pity.” Suho, who you barely know, blinks at you and surprise settles on his face, trying to hide the smile in the apples of his cheeks while he pretends to look out the window. You wait, openly watching him for any subtle signs of odd behavior. For any slip ups. This is where checkmate is called in the game. The part where your victory is certain but the game drags on. And yet, no such euphoric victory sweeps through your bloodstream. Instead, he murmur’s a simple phrase to flip the tables and lance you with the first striking blow of information. Information that is dangerous. “This is why it had to be you.” Quickly your dress seems to morph its shape into the most constricting piece of clothing you’ve ever worn. You can do nothing, sitting perfectly still. Suho takes a moment to realize your reaction was intense, a deep furrow in his brow when he understands. “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, though.” he attempts to pacify your anxiety, holding up his empty palms. “Explain. Now.” is all you can force from your throat. With a sadness to his expression, he tucks the corner of his mouth into his cheek and gives you a hard stare. Then, he sighs. He sags a little more along the bench seat across from you, letting his heavy head hang a little lower, shoulders a little looser. Relaxing his posture to appeal and seem less dangerous. “We need your help, Ms. Maneater.” he breathes at last, as if the face were plain as day. Your silence is heard everywhere like the command of a god in the small space of the SUV. “I’m one of the rare someone’s who gives more fucks to humanity than to money. I came from money, and lots of it. Until my humanity was handed over to a human trafficking trade by my own parent’s filthy hands.” For the first time in a full minute you take one small breath. Nothing in his posture or words or expression rings false. There is no tension in his throat, wrought tight with lies. “You could say I had my eyes opened. Today, I manage a team of others like me, with their own trauma and stories of how they’ve survived to rise from the ashes. Our scars are what keep us motivated to put bad people away in the deepest pits of hell forever.” He talks lowly now, just low enough to be more than a whisper. Your lips form a word, barely audible, “Tartarus.” This time, it is Suho’s turn to be taken aback with shock. “Where did you find that name?” His reaction gives you the strength to relax a fraction, fighting through the tension in your jaw to speak, “You’ve got nothing to fear from me.” He scoffs as you throw his own words back at him. “I just read it on your Atlas.” It takes him a moment to weigh your words, understanding how careful he should be. “I didn’t think that was possible, I moved through them so quickly.” You nod, folding your hands together, “Well, you did say it had to be me. I can only allude to that meaning of my technical abilities if you know my moniker.” His smile reappears, not too much, but just enough to curve his lips, “We need your help.” “How exactly am I supposed to trust you? You didn’t tell me how you knew it was me.” Suho pouts his lips, considering your question, “You’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” he begins. “Although we mostly went off of clues and a hunch, Mrs. Fry and her AI did their due diligence to confirm your identity through your Atlas.” You narrow your eyes at him, ready with a threat. “Varian is amazing, yes? There is so much he can do to go undetected if he only looks, but doesn’t touch.” Your rage is simmering, in part that you are impressed, “Why not have him do the hacking for you then?” Suho clicks his tongue, “AI are not allowed at the MAT Gala, and even if he were it would be incredibly suspicious to bring an AI for a companion to such an event.” “And you prefer women anyway.” you chide sarcastically. You sigh, “How did you know I would come?” At this question, he fixes you with a hard stare as if deciding what to say, “I didn’t, but I had hope that the price tag would catch the Wolf’s eye for you when I had Varian post it on the brothel’s board.” “Excuse me?” you growl, ready to whip off your heel and stab him if necessary. You push the shame down that you let your guard down with Chan. What if he is in danger because of you? Although no danger seems to come from Suho, it doesn’t mean there aren’t other targets on your back. You can only hope that Chan isn’t as stupid as you are. “Relax,” Suho says, “I’m not interested in that information, and I hope I’ve already established that I’m not in it for the money.” A tap on the black glass between you and the driver pulls Suho’s attention away briefly, “We’ve got about 20 minutes to talk about the job.” It takes you a moment to nod at him, “Fine. Tell me what I need to do.” He smiles at you, “Thank you.” It takes ten minutes for Suho to share the information he’s gathered with you so far, from pictures to audio recordings and statements of witnesses given to others and collateral information taken from various sources. All with the initials of CIG under something called ‘Project Zero’.

Suho gently tries to escape the horrific details that ‘Project Zero’ uses funds from taxpayers in order to feed, shelter and educate homeless persons and families in an effort to reduce the number to zero, and the fact that it more than likely means the funds are being used to eradicate or enslave them in the trafficking market.

In the last ten minutes, you think of how you’ll collect the piece of information Suho needs. An offshore account where his embezzled funds are kept and used, under the alias of one CIG. Suho shows you backdated statements of funds going to and coming from the account from another account, a tertiary, privately owned finance management company connected to ‘Project Zero’.

Suho has the login information for the accounts, and is certain the politician is the CEO of the finance company managing the whole thing. All you have to do is hack in and find the items necessary to link all three together.

The Gala is… impressive. Deciding to trust Suho for the evening, at least, you walk beside him, arm in arm down the velvety carpet rolled out between the street and the venue.

“How are you connected to all this?” you whisper to him as you pause, waiting your turn for the media and news outlets to take your photos. It makes you uncomfortable.

Suho hums beside you, smiling and patting your hand affectionately, “Do you know Guardian Hospitals?”

The name is not uncommon to anyone as a well-known chain of general hospitals across Korea and China.

He pulls you forward gently, walking to the center space between two glittering, fluorescent obelisks that frame the ‘MAT GALA’ backdrop for photos. Several cameras flash in succession, making you squint against the headache you receive by waving a hand and smiling, playing your part beside Suho.

“I own the Korean branch.” he says when you’ve passed the threshold into the venue, grinning from ear to ear at your expression.

You suppose that’s not too far-fetched an explanation. You know three things about Suho now, and although you don’t have time to consider the surely intricate way to link it, you idly wonder if his connection to the hospital chain is how he knew to find you. Once or twice you’ve had to go, for illness or injury and at Chan’s insistence.

He doesn’t freely give up any other personal details about himself or ask you any questions. Nor do you, and the fact that he is patient and doesn’t pry is something you accept with good grace.

There’s an excruciating amount of idle small talk fluttering around you and Suho where you’re seated. Other people of importance come to the assigned table and take their seats. Some leave and come back. The same conversation floats around the table over and over again, asking the same uncaring greeting questions.

Some, like yourself, are deep into their Atlas’s, reading articles or working to answer emails or draft important papers or speeches- even in the middle of an event like this, too preoccupied to leave their work alone.

You can’t say you blame them, considering you’re here doing the same thing, regardless of it being the sole purpose you’re wearing this ridiculous outfit in the middle of an uncomfortable situation.

Suho’s fingers gently caress the point of your elbow, subtle in the way he directs your shoulders to turn acutely to the right. His face leans close enough that only you will hear the words whispered at your ear, not that anyone else cares to listen.

“There, coming this way. Red suit.”

Only one person fits the description, and you reach for your drink on the table, taking a small sip as you watch to fit in with the movement of people around you. An older man, average build with a suit that looks just as expensive as the rest of the people here, a dark and bloody red.

You watch, leaning back slowly into Suho’s grasp as he slings one arm over the back of your chair and curls himself toward your shoulder to talk. A tactic you know to create a more intimate space and make watchful eyes turn away with discomfort.

Suho’s talking in your ear again as the man approaches. A slight moment of unexpected anxiety raises your heartbeat a fraction, wondering if you’ll have to speak to him. The tension dissipates as he stops at the table directly behind yours and pulls out a chair, talking immediately with someone he knows at the table. The breath you didn’t know you’d been holding escapes from your throat in a long, quiet exhale.

Suho notices your anxiousness, taking your hand and patting it gently as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to touch you with such care. Somehow, the action quells you nerves.

You’ve hacked people before, but never someone who looked as powerful or important, and never in the presence of the public eye.

Your counterpart leans closer to your ear again with a smile, “Relax,” he says. “Nobody is paying you any attention.”

His words aren’t enough to hold back the wildness in your expression, and he chuckles softly, “Not that you trust me very much, but I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. For once, you have someone literally looking out for you.”

This time, his assurance cuts deeper, but not in a painful way. There’s a sincerity in his tone you can’t dispel, and it helps ground you.

You blink, slow and purposefully, and the soft and familiar blue glow of your Atlas casts a wave of color on your skin that washes over you like a comforting touch. It steadies you to dive deep into your world.

Part of you is weary about Suho watching, afraid he may somehow know about your Ghost tech. You briefly consider this a test to see how true to its name your self-made program is, and the part of your conscience that wins is curious to see if you pass.

Refusing to let it weigh you down, you get to work.

________________________________________

Fourteen hours later, you’re sitting at a window seat table sipping strawberry milk and fidgeting with the in-ear piece you just finished outfitting with the latest hologlass tech.

The rays of sunlight warm your arm where its closest to the window, and the chattering of the bustling cafe helps fight your drowsiness. There isn’t a crowd here, and the noise is just the slow side of steady that its easy to pick up the conversation of anyone around.

So, you listen. To an older couple talking about the vacation they are on, although you’re not sure why anyone would vacation in this city. You listen to the table of young people in the corner booth talking about homework and research papers as they simultaneously watch a single tablet with a lecture playing at the head of the table.

You listen, when the middle aged man closest to your table laughs. “What a deplorable monster.”

The sentence piques your interest. Stealing a glance, you notice he’s commenting on the news.

News that shows a headline of ‘Breaking News’, and a video clip of a politician being walked down the wide and pristine granite steps of the city judicial building. He’s handcuffed, and there are tons of reporters and cameras in his face that the police are shoving out of their way as they descend.

Your blood runs cold the moment you realize it’s the politician from last night. You freeze, with a mouthful of strawberry milk you refuse to swallow, and wait for the rest of the information.

“Choi In Gyong will go on trial for the undeniable and anonymously leaked evidence of embezzling funds from Project Zero- a campaign he sired to help the homeless- and participating in the purchase, acquisition and selling of people in an American sex trafficking cartel.” explains the newscaster. Her expression of disgust is plain for all to see.

Her AI counterpart, wearing a suit and tie, gives further details, “Jumbotrons all over the city, as well as the police headquarters were somehow hacked, but only to blast the evidence of his connection to such atrocities. Details on who or how the information was obtained and who hacked into these secure networks are still unknown. Many have speculated it was the work of Maneater, but one detail snufs out that option.”

The woman anchor smiles, turning to her co-host, “Oh? And what’s that, Yeoguk?”

Anchor Yeoguk cocks his head to one side, a quirk all his own, “The only indicator from whom the evidence was sent was the letter ‘O’.”

You jump as your phone rings, facedown on the table beside your forgotten milk. When you turn it over, you recognize the first two digits of it as a payphone number.

“Hello?”

A hum from the other end of the line, followed by a familiar voice, “Have you seen the news recently?”

You’re still a little shocked, but snort at the obvious excitement in his tone nonetheless while you stand and make your way out of the cafe.

“I just happened to catch the headlines.”

“And have you checked into your collections yet?”

You smile, “Not yet. Why, is there 1200c sitting prettily in there for me?”

Suho laughs from the other end of the line, “Yes, and more if you’re willing.”

The meaning of his statement catches you off guard, “What are you getting at?”

He hums again, but this time there’s no excitable tone to his voice, “I’d like to make you an offer, Ms. Maneater.”

You pause, pulling your phone away from your ear briefly to look at it questioningly.

“Last night’s job was… a test of sorts. We’ve had our eye on you for some time and last night proved you are just what we needed.”

“Am I supposed to be offended or impressed?” you ask through clenched teeth. You feel uneasy about this, you’ve never worked directly with anyone before on your hacking, and certainly not with such high risk and reward.

Suho laughs again at your reply, “Consider this the official, cordial invite to join Olympus.”

You scoff, of course he would call it that. However, you can’t deny that it is worth considering. After getting past the shock of your work having such a huge, direct effect, you feel… content.

Content that what you did was important to a lot of people like you. Content to know that there is a little bit of hope out there. Content to know that Suho wasn’t all bark and that perhaps, you can learn to trust him and his crew.

“I’ll give you some time to consider. It’ll be in your inbox.” Suho says. “Thanks for everything.”

“Wait!” you try, hoping to get some more information, “What will be in my inbox? How did you get my number? Hello? Hello…?” To your frustration, the dial tone is the only response you receive.

#heat seekers #chanyeol x reader #exo fanfiction #exo angst #exo smut #exo hurt #exo dystopian au #exo fanfic #chanyeol fanfiction #exo dark cyberpunk au

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arshipweek · 4 years ago

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AR Ship Week - Fanwork Recs

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This is the fourth and last weekly post in the lead up to Alex Rider Ship Week. Only 1 week to go!

This week we’ve got a selection of shippy fanwork recs submitted by members of the AR fandom. Enjoy and hope to see you next week!

**Please note that I haven’t listed all the details for the fics so take care to read the tags on AO3 before diving in!

Yassen/Alex

Our Endless Numbered Days by Galimau Just your run of the mill heartwarming look at the quiet beats of Alex and Yassen's relationship...after the apocalypse. Soft and sweet this fic focuses on the very still and quiet moments of two men at the end times trying to hold onto the things that bring them joy. It's an intimate view of what Alex and Yassen's life could be like of all their cares were quite literally wiped away - excellent world building and writing make this a must read.

Yalex art by Ireliss Alex and Yassen in a lake! Everything about this picture is perfect - the light, the colours, the feeling of stillness... Probably the most beautiful picture of Alex and Yassen I've ever seen.

Sun Poisoning by fElBiTeR Angsty, beautiful, slowburn soulmate fic with a twist on the usual tropes and gorgeous imagery

Twisting, Turning, Tumbling by ShiruyTheSecond A glacially slow burn, road trip au, and sick fic all mashed into one fic, in non-chronological order based on 100 themes. I'd say this was one of the gateway fics into Yalex for me; there's nothing like reading a longfic you thought was gen and wishing it were slash, only for the realization to hit you in the face like a brick 50 something chapters later. Alex is on the run for a variety of reasons after a mission for MI6 goes spectacularly wrong, so he surprisingly finds himself leaning on Yassen for help, experincing whumpage along the way. Absolutely delicious.

Specific Performance by BurntWhisper Alex is a good spy, good enough that SCORPIA has tasked Yassen with killing him. Yassen can't do that but he can give Alex a very...enthusiastic going away present even Alex hasn't been a very good boy. It's a fun look at Alex and Yassen's first fling with callbacks to the original gen fic. That hits every perfect note and hits a few other things too.

Interlude by Suzie_Shooter Incredibly soft and fluffly Yalex that ends with an unexpected top!Alex and bath sex. Will absolutely warm your heart the way it does mine every time I read this fic.

Medicine by Suzie_Shooter The other fic in response to the prompt of "Alex is given a serum that makes him feel good when he tells the truth" except this one is praise kink while the other is humiliation kink! Specifically focused on a smoking hot blowjob and Alex's reluctance turned enthusiam, plus, there's a second chapter, just in case one dose of the antidote isn't enough.

One Year by BurntWhisper The slowest of slow burns featuring Alex and Yassen on the run from MI6, SCORPIA and their own feelings. Covering 3 months of their life on the run this fic features action as well as the slow, quiet moments where the budding relationship can truly shine through and behind it all the intelligence world continues to grind on threatening to take their happiness with it. It's a beautiful fic with strong, detailed writing and the emotional weight that it deserves.

Midnight Smoke by Hijja If you're in the mood for darker fics with plenty of Yassen hurting Alex complete with violence and heavy dubcon, Hijja has you covered. This particular fic features a mission-type premise with Alex being sent to investigate a spate of teen abductions only to be captured. Yassen is there, and he has his own goals...

Hello Alex by anonymous Fanart: a reunion hug between Yassen and Alex.

Face The Truth by capeofstorm Alex is given a serum that makes him feel good when he tells the truth. Yassen is absolutely a man to take advantage. Recced by Suzie_Shooter

Lights Out by Suzie_Shooter Yassen and Alex left tradecraft behind for a new life in the Greek islands. Ten years on, their relationship is still going strong and they've become island locals, the proprietors of a sailing club and a windsurfing business. Their idyllic life is disrupted by a new threat that wants them dead. I just love the premise of Yalex riding off into the sunset and not looking back. This fic not only has suspense, action, hot sex, and the intimacy borne of ten years...but once you're done, there are two excellent sequels and a prequel to lap up!

Villa in the Sun by BoldAsBrass A multi-chapter story within a story as Yassen and Alex keep in touch over the phone through a tale of a Russian bodyguard's encounters with a young English man. This is so cleverly done and beautifully written; I could re-read it and re-read it (in fact, that's exactly what I've done).

Sting in the Tail by Suzie_Shooter With the world hanging in the balance, MI6 presses an imprisoned Yassen into service. They use Alex to convince him, but also a nasty "sting in the tail" incentive to guarantee results. A thrilling Yalex mission!fic where Yassen and Alex forge their trust in each other by facing mortal danger and saving the world together. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, eating up the slow burn and wondering how on earth they were going to succeed with all the obstacles Scorpia and MI6 threw in their way.

Rarely Pure And Never Simple by fElBiTeR Non-con > dub-con > fuck-yes-con speedrun. Recced by Suzie_Shooter

Just Say I Do by Nanimok I'm possibly biased because this was written for me, but 'woke up married' is a great trope and this is both snarky and adorable. Recced by Suzie_Shooter

Open Invitation by Suzie_Shooter After Ian's death in TV 'verse, fifteen-year-old Alex is living alone in a depressive, self-destructive spiral. He realizes someone is watching him at home...and decides to give them something more compelling to watch. I am squicked out by creepers, but the characterizations tackle the thorny elements head-on: Yassen's mixed feelings and understated pursuit tactics are 100% believable, as is Alex's volatility; he's alternately confused, provocative, and defiant. Exhibit A:“Does that make you a victim, or a slut?” The question came casually, but it had the unexpected sting of a slap. Alex blinked. “What, I can’t be both?” he countered after a second. Plot ensues, because how can a relationship possibly form from such a premise? Mind the tags (you might trip into your next kink because the sex is mind-blowingly hot).

Flirting with Danger by BoldAsBrass Basically THE gateway fic into Yalex for me - short and sweet, snappy narration and dialogue, a sleekly dangerous Yassen and Alex who might be a skilled, pragmatic adult but quickly realises he's in over his head. Sprinkle in a bit of dubcon and scorching hot writing and you get this perfect fic.

Burning a Dead Man's Fingertips by GreenQueenofClubs Multichapter slow burn, MI6!Yassen AU - an excellent premise done extremely well and feels fresh and new, balancing mission-style fic with character development! The dynamic between Yassen and Alex is somewhat different here compared to most Yalex fics as they don't meet until Alex is an adult; a really intriguing glimpse into what could have been...

A Little Pat Down by Nanimok Airport security can be frustrating at the best of times but couple it with being edged like none other by an assassin turned security guard and it can really be a pain in the ass. A filthy but extremely well written premise. Crack taken seriously is this author's strong suit so not a single one of their works will steer you wrong.

Yalex Ballet AU by anonymous Yalex ballet AU with absolutely gorgeous imagery and slow burn. Fluid prose and in the background, the shadows of past histories and things unsaid.

Gentleman's Agreement by Valaks Yassen and Alex have a "gentleman's agreement" for handling their business in the field. No one ever said anything about parent-teacher conferences. Claims to be gen, but deserves a place on this list for subtle genius alone, because with lines like "Like a fine wine, Alex Rider was improving with age" and "How interesting that Alex Rider would be that interested in his hands", what are we supposed to think....? UST in all caps is the best description.

Salty the Sweat on my Fingertips by Galimau A fun little romp of Alex visiting Tom and having to call his overly protective boyfriend? because he's pregnant and everything hurts. Beautifully written, this fic explores the ending of Oceanbreeze7's Moonfish and follows the extremely creative monster biology to its logical conclusion of Alex getting knocked up.

Slipping Through My Fingers by Nanimok This kink meme fill hits in all the right places as we watch through the eyes of a very jealous Julius as Yassen gives Alex all the attention he needs. The writing is, as always, on point and the characterization of Julius gets absolutely nailed (almost as much as Alex). Julius/Alex, Yassen/Alex

Other

Miss Julia by DantesThird Very creepy and traumatic noncon but really believable with Julia Rothman's obsession with John Rider. Alex/Julia Rothman

gone loose inside the shell by cyanides Fantastic messed-up fic where Julius keeps fantasising about killing Alex, but then the fantasies take a different turn. The possessive 'If I can't have you no-one can' dynamic really encapsulates the ship for me, and the fic stuck in my mind afterwards. Alex/Julius

smoke haze by Ireliss Dubcon, gun kink. A really intriguing and quite dark exploration of a young Yassen's situation with Scorpia and his very complex relationship with Hunter. John/Yassen

Our Settling Bones by Galimau A multi-chapter slow burn focused on a former assassin who has lost everything...and Yassen Gregorovich. The tension is off the charts and the characerization is on point. Everything you could want from the rarest of pairs. John Wick/Yassen

Lemniscate by Ireliss A look at what awaits Yassen when he arrives back at Scorpia after killing Vladimir Sharkovsky. This is deliciously dark as well as being entirely plausible. The sensory descriptions are fantastic. Yassen/Julia Rothman

#alex rider #ARshipweek #yalex #....#.....#mod posts #recs

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seavoice · 4 years ago

Text

i don’t believe in an interventionist god

Sometimes, Fate sticks you together for years. Sometimes, Fate sticks you together for half an hour.

Or — maybe, you don’t meet each other because of Fate’s best attempts to bring you together. Maybe it’s in spite of its best attempts to keep you apart.

[this IS a pjo fic, i promise. ao3 link in the title]

Adam didn’t have the time or emotional wherewithal for dying grandmothers.

It sounded so terrible, but it was the truth. Today had been a hard one. The transfer from Chicago to New York City had been a much needed change of pace, a welcome one, but his workload at the new hospital was so much more stressful than the last. Bigger, more reputed, and exponentially busier. It ate away all of his time and more than a fair bit of his peace of mind.

But whatever. He could take the late nights and early mornings, the incessant paging by his attendants, the neverending piles of paperwork and his Chief Resident’s pissy attitude on even the worst of days. As much as it sucked, he was the one who had signed up for this kind of life. He’d known what he was getting into the minute he’d decided to become a doctor. He had known he would spend the rest of his life paying off the student loans for med school, being bossed around by his superiors and being puked on by his poor patients. Whatever. All of that had been — to be completely cheesy, but also completely honest — a cost he had been willing to pay for a chance to save lives.

Technically, Adam had also known that death would be a tragic but inevitable part of the life he had chosen. As terrible as it was to think about it, Adam had thought about it. He would mourn the patients he lost, he would be kind to the families he broke the news to, he would not forget the losses he witnessed, he would remember each and every one of those faces and names. But at the end of it, he would pull himself up, because he had a job to do, lives to save still. He would mourn each patient, but he would not drown in grief. His seniors had warned him that growing too attached to patients was a slippery slope, a fine balance — you wanted to be kind and warm and empathetic, but losses piled up over the years. To be a good doctor, they had said, you had to be kind and you had to remember the losses, but you also had to make peace with the presence of death.

Easier said than done.

The thing was, it wasn’t even his day to be on call. He’d been covering a shift for a friend with a family emergency, and it was going to be like any other day. Draining. Tiring. But normal.

And then the kid had died.

Sweet. Twelve. Brown haired and bright eyed, and so, so sick. Cassie was her name, and her green eyes had fluttered shut bare seconds before she’d flatlined. Her parents had clutched on to each other, the mom nearly collapsing to her knees while the dad buried his face in his wife’s hair and held her up. Adam had spoken to the grieving, broken parents with steady words, and disconnected the girl from life support with steady hands, and he had filled out the paperwork with his steady handwriting, but after that he’d walked out to the reception on his break and suddenly he was no longer steady. It was like he was coming apart at the seams, and Sarah, one of his friends and fellow residents put her phone down and stared at him.

“You alright?” She asked, hand still worrying the phone cord.

“Yeah, just…” Adam closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could still hear the parents wailing down the hallway as the senior surgeon in charge spoke to them. “You know how it is. She was — uh, very young.”

Sarah nodded in sympathy, “Cassie right? I met her during rounds when I was on Dr Freehold’s service.” She tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

“It’s okay. It’s —” Adam reached into his lab coat and pulled out his beeping pager. He groaned. “Aw, shit. Room 114.”

Sarah winced. “Oh, that’s the—“

“Yeah,” Adam sighed, stuffing the pager back into his pocket. “Jack’s off today cause of the family thing, so I’m rounding with Dr Solanki. Wish me luck.”

Old. Sweet. Terminally ill, but still extremely intelligent and alert. Jack was just one of the residents on the case, not the primary attendee, but the way he’d briefed Adam about this particular patient you’d never know it.

Patient 114. She was famous throughout the hospital for her visitors. So sick, but so visibly loved, because there didn’t go a single day without her being visited by a steady stream of children, grandchildren and friends. A remarkable life led, clearly, a life full of overwhelming love.

Adam wondered, sometimes, how a life like that looked from the inside. Wondered it for himself.

He’d never be lonely, for one. For another, he’d never want anything more.

Adam wondered, sometimes, how anyone could get over the loss of a life like that.

He sighed again and read the name on the patient chart. It was a lovely name. Sarah gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and then he was off to meet Dr Solanki.

Dr Solanki waited a second for him to catch up, then she knocked on the door to Room 114. The elderly woman inside had her eyes closed, grey hair a regal cloud on the pillow. She wasn’t sleeping, she was holding herself too stiff for that. “Ma’am? Can I come in?”

The woman opened her eyes. They were sharp eyes, warm and old, but with an intelligent sparkle. They looked like storm clouds.

“Dr Solanki, hello. How are—Oh,” the woman said, moving to sit up straighter she saw Adam. She propped herself up on her pillow. “You’re the one in for Dr Jack Sullivan? He told me he had to leave for Minnesota. Something about his sister?”

Adam nodded and offered his hand. The woman had a surprisingly firm grip. No. Not firm, strong. A President’s handshake. A football team captain’s handshake.

“I’m Dr Tartal,” Adam said, pushing a smile on to his face. He gestured to his clipboard. “I’ve been brought up to speed on your case—“

“Oh, it’s hopeless isn’t it?” The woman laughed gently at Adam’s inability to school his features fast enough. “Ah, I’m sorry, that was blunt. But I’m quite familiar with my disease and the odds, you see. It’s pretty hopeless. There’s not much to do.” She looked at Dr Solanki. “You’d agree, wouldn’t you, Dr Solanki?”

Dr Solanki smiled politely. Patient 114’s illness was not one with a full-stop cure, and they all knew it. It was a smile Adam knew well, a common shorthand for doctors everywhere— yes, for all practicality, but not technically. While medicine was a lot about practicality, patient care was about technicalities. And tact. “There are still many options for—“

“Dr Solanki doesn’t believe in death,” the woman told him. “She doesn’t believe in my death, specifically. There’s always more options for her.” She said it with a distinct fondness; she and Dr Solanki shared a small, familiar smile. “But, alright. I’ll look into your options, Dr Solanki. You have given me months more than my prognosis ever promised.”

Dr Solanki nodded. “The nurse was here to take the temperature earlier, I believe?”

“Yes, I was running a fever, but it broke.” She pointed to Adam. “This one is shaping up to be a good doctor? As good as Dr Sullivan?”

“Dr Tartal is one of our most promising residents,” Dr Solanki said. “You are in very good hands.” She inclined her head. “I’ll get you the relevant literature, and I’ll come in to explain the treatment plan. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“You too, Doctor,” the woman said. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr Solanki shook the woman’s hand, and then with a nod at Adam, she left the room. Adam gave his chart one last once-over and was just about to take his leave as well when the woman fell back with a weary sigh, blowing a strand of grey hair from her face.

“Dr Solanki,” she began, “is the very, very best. I quite literally owe her my life. But there is no hope.”

Adam didn’t say anything. This was the most difficult part of being a doctor, these conversations. No protocol, no training. It wasn’t so much about being a doctor in these moments than it was about being a human. And there was no school for that, no degree.

Good thing, though, Adam thought wryly. He was already drowning in student debt. He didn’t want to tempt Fate, or the American education system.

“I’m not sure if I’ll even make it through the night, to be honest,” the woman said. She closed her eyes. “Gods, I don’t want to die, but I really am so tired.”

Adam still didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry for unloading this on you,” the woman said at last. “Dr Tartal was it?”

This at least Adam could formulate a response to. “Yes,” he said. “And it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“My children are running late today,” the woman said. “Weekday, you know. It’s fine, really. I’m glad. They have their own lives, and I’m glad my constant nagging them about that fact has finally gone through their heads. They’ll be here later. But this sudden silence...it’s weird.” She let out a weak chuckle and opened her eyes. “I’ve grown so used to all their overwhelming love, I’ve become greedy. I’ve not been so lonely in a while. I don’t really remember how to be.”

A look inside. Adam had wondered.

“Can you keep me some company?” The woman said. “Of course, only if you aren’t busy. I get that as a doctor—“

“It’s okay,” Adam said. He could spare a moment. The woman reminded him of his grandmother in a way, and how lonely she’d been those final weeks, wasting away in a nursing home on the other side of the country. He drew a chair and sat down next to the bed. “Unless I get paged for an emergency, I can stay.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” the woman said. “I just—I do not want to be alone, now.” She sighed. “Really, I’m lucky,” she said. “Not many get the loving family I have. Believe me, I would know.”

“Is it just your children?” Adam asked. He felt the tips of his ears burn a second later. He was being too forward with this patient. He tried to backtrack. “I mean—“

“My husband passed away ten years ago,” the woman said. Her eyes held a glimmer of sadness, but mainly she seemed amused at Adam’s flustering. “It’s alright, Dr Tartal. I was the one who asked you to stay and keep me company.”

“Has it been terrible?”

“Sad,” she said, “yes. Painful. But we had seen too many of our friends die too early to not take each day for the gift it is. He was seventy. It was a long, good life.”

Adam nodded.

“We built something permanent in our time together,” she said firmly. She wasn’t talking to him now, not exactly. Her eyes were far away. Far away from this hospital room. Far away from now. “Something that will outlast us.”

“That’s—“ Adam struggled to find suitable words. This wasn’t unusual really—people were more willing to share their life stories at the end of their time. It didn’t really make it easier for Adam to react though. “That’s really good,” he finished lamely.

The woman didn’t seem to mind. She was silent for a few moments longer, eyes a million miles away, a million years away.

“Enough about me,” the woman said at last. “Let’s hear about you. You’re from New York?”

“Chicago actually,” Adam said. “Moved here last December.”

“And you like it here?”

“Hm. It’s…” A new start, Adam thought. A new place to call home. He’d worn out Chicago—Chicago with his parents who didn’t speak to each other, Chicago with his old school that had given him nothing to miss, his old hospital that had given him nothing to stay for, Chicago which was much, much bigger than him, but now felt like a glove that pinched his fingers when he wrestled it on, a place he’d outgrown and had to be left behind. “It’s happening,” he settled on. He let out a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, it’s New York. It’s happening. It’s cool.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’m not from New York originally either. But my husband was. Loved it with every fibre of his being. I do too. It’s where I found my home. My family.” The woman weaved her fingers together and looked down. When she looked up, she met his eyes with a tired, knowing expression. “It’s happening certainly. City of the gods, isn’t it?”

That was a strange way to put it, but Adam didn’t say anything. New Yorkers were fiercely and loudly proud of their city—city of the gods wasn’t really the most egotistical or absurd of claims, to be honest. More than a couple of his colleagues had called it “the greatest city in America”, a few even going as far as to say “the greatest city in the world”. Adam didn’t really have anything against the city, or in fact the claim, but he thought that was perhaps a little too bold and presumptuous of his friends, considering that hadn’t lived anywhere else.

“Forgive me if this question is too repetitive,” the woman said. She laughed. “Or too much of your classic “old grandmother you meet at a wedding” question. But I have to always ask, I’m so intrigued; medicine is a gruelling career. What made you choose it?”

A flash of green eyes. Sweet smile. A sob bursting forth as the mother went crashing to the floor, her husband’s arms reaching out to catch her even as tears slipped down his own face. Twelve years old written on a death certificate.

Gruelling was an understatement.

Adam himself wondered why he had chosen it some times.

At first it had been easy to explain—you said I’m going to be a doctor, and people didn’t interrogate you on the hows and whys. They congratulated you, clapped you on the back, went here’s a promising young man! A noble profession! Throughout med school he’d had his reasons, recited carefully to fortify himself during the hardest all-nighters: a good stable job, a way to help people, an interesting profession. It was a fascinating subject to study. It was a noble job, one that could save lives.

And then he had become a doctor. Those reasons shifted and changed, and some days it was worth it. Some days not so much. Everyday it was different.

Today it was this—to see that there were no more Cassies. No more signed death certificates for twelve year olds. No more mothers collapsing to their knees on hospital floors, no more fathers breaking down next to them.

It wasn’t a possible wish, a probable reason. You couldn’t wipe away every tear from every eye, and you could not save every sick child you treated.

It didn’t mean he could not try, however.

That was what it had become for Adam. Trying.

But he didn’t know how to put it in a way that felt impersonal, that didn’t feel naïve and corny, in a way that felt like he wasn’t unloading his deepest wishes on essentially a stranger. So instead he just tried to fix a grin and said, lightly, “Well, I had the scores. And I’ve always liked pushing myself.” This wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. And it was enough for a woman he had just met.

The woman seemed to accept the answer. She closed her eyes. “I guess that’s fair enough,” she said. “An ambitious young man.”

That was a way to put it.

“Do you believe in any afterlife?”

Adam shrugged, “Not really sure? Maybe not. My family’s never been big on religion, or God or anything, so that wasn’t really something I’ve thought about.” He paused. “I’m willing to be proved wrong though. After.”

The woman chuckled. “Yeah? Open mind.”

“It would be more interesting than total oblivion, that’s for sure. Do, uh, do you believe? In any afterlife?”

The woman’s hands were clasped tight in her lap. Her good humour seemed to have been replaced by a sudden and jarring sadness, but it didn’t rattle Adam as much as he would have thought. There was something else shining through the sadness, a quiet but ferocious hope that laced her words. “Yes,” she said. “The Underworld.”

Adam’s first thought was underground crime circle, exhilarating despite himself. It was surprising to imagine this woman as part of any crime ring, but it would make a good story for sure. Then he remembered the grainily illustrated “Greek Mythology For Kids!” he had had in his childhood, a birthday gift from a well-meaning aunt who lived too far away and visited far too rarely to get to know his real interests. Adam has only flipped through it once half-heartedly before it had been lost or torn or given away, but he remembered the crude sketch of a dark cavern. Hades it had said. Greek afterlife.

This was probably weirder than the crime ring. But he’d met people with weirder stories. Weirder dreams and hopes. So what if this sweet old woman believed in the Greek underworld? He wasn’t one to pass judgement on people’s beliefs.

And as the people here were fond of saying of the city’s eccentricity—this was New York, after all.

“Hades?” Adam asked.

The woman’s eyes brightened. “You’re familiar?”

“Not really,” Adam said. “But I’ve heard. We all learn Greek myths in school right? Like Icarus, the Orpheus guy…” It has just been a unit in History, to be honest, learnt alongside other cultural tales from around the world. But the woman was alert now. “Something about a cave? Or was it a pit?”

The woman’s face did something complicated, a shadow, a shutter. It was gone as quickly as it came, but some of the hollowness remained in her eyes. “The pit...you mean Tartarus. That’s—well that’s part of the Greek underworld for sure, but not all of it. It’s hell.”

Adam hadn’t signed up for an impromptu Greek mythology lesson, but he guessed he was here now. “Sounds dark.”

The woman didn’t answer.

This was getting weird. Adam hurried on quickly. “Well, if this Tar place is hell, where’s the...heaven? Heaven equivalent? Like, where do the good guys go?”

“Elysium,” The woman said, looking grateful for the sudden change in subject. “The Elysian Fields.”

“The Elysian Fields,” Adam repeated. It had a ring to it, he had to admit. “Sounds—um, very peaceful.”

The woman simply smiled.

“You must really love your colleague if you’re willing to cover their extra shifts.It being Christmas season and your residency and all that. You must be busy already.”

Adam tried not to frown at the woman’s words. It wasn’t like she was wrong—Adam did love his colleagues, they had been through a lot together. Jack was a good friend, his best if he had to pick. But also, it was just one shift. That wasn’t a blood pact. That was a decent thing to do.

Adam played it off with a forced laugh. “Yeah. Basically family.”

Another moment of abrupt silence.

“That’s an important promise to keep,” the woman said. “Family.”

Okay, now Adam really was confused. He loved his friends like family, but it had been—in all practical ways—a throwaway line.

Sure, it was the most common vein of conversation he’d heard from dying patients, especially the elderly ones. Unsolicited pieces of advice. Family is everything, one man had told him last year, and Adam had grit his teeth and nodded, even though the word family had brought him the memory of his mother crying at him on the phone about his father’s new girlfriend. Young kids like you don’t know how much family means till you start losing then. Well, sometimes people didn’t have them in the first place. Never give up on family. Never. That was advice that only worked if everyone followed it. Often, it was just one person dragging them onto a capsized lifeboat. Adam had dismissed most of the well-meaning advice. It was advice for happy, loving homes, for happy, loving families. Blood and water.

But as much as the woman’s words rankled him, there was a hint of something else, a sort of understanding, in her words. He didn’t think she meant family as in blood. As in parents.

Adam swallowed down the bad feeling and said pleasantly, “I’ll do my best.”

“Sometimes the best isn’t enough.” For some reason, the woman’s eyes looked watery. Oh no. Oh no. Adam didn’t know how to approach this.

Luckily, the woman blinked her eyes and the tear was gone. A trick of the light.

“You will keep your promise,” the woman told him, with a sort of finality. “I know that.”

She offered him her hand. Adam hesitated only a moment before taking it. It was a cold and calloused hand, smelling faintly of eucalyptus oil.

“I don’t think I have much time left,” the woman admitted. “I’ve lived a long life. Longer than I ever thought I would get. I hope I’ve lived a good one.”

Adam didn’t trust himself to speak.

In a day full of weird, slightly off comments from the woman, these were probably the most normal words she’d spoken. Yet, they unwound him like nothing else till then had. Adam had sat with patients as they had died, had comforted them in their worst moments. He had grown used to the losses, the way you grew used to other unbearable things—you were alive, and so you bore them, because there was nothing else to do.

This felt different. All deaths were sad, but something in the woman’s touch was familiar. This felt less like sadness and more like quiet devastation. It was a tilting feeling. He had not known this woman for even an hour.

He tried to keep his tone light. “So, the aim is to make it to these Elysian Fields?”

“There’s another part of this Underworld I didn’t tell you about. Isles of the Blest,” she said. “Rebirth. I think...I’ll try thrice.”

Despite himself, Adam felt himself smiling. “Overachiever.”

The woman’s smile was worn out. “But not yet. I want to meet some people first. I want to see my husband. I’ve missed him. More than—more than I thought ever possible, and I thought every possibility, believe me. I want to see some old friends.”

The hollow, slow devastation persisted. It wasn’t unbearable, because nothing truly was, but it was a burning in his stomach. A dull ache. This was not the worst thing to happen to him, this old stranger’s death, but he could feel a weight press on him anyway, a weight like lead on his shoulders, a weight like lead in his stomach.

He wasn’t sure what else to say, but it turned out that was alright, because the next moment the door flung open. “Mom? Hey, I’m sorry we’re late. We got caught up—“

“Grandma!” A small blur of blond hair flew past him in their hurry to jump into the woman’s arms. She obliged for her part, a beaming smile on her face as she lifted her granddaughter into her lap.

“Don’t trouble Grandma,” a young lady wearing a work shirt said, coming to stand by the bed. She caught sight of Adam and gave him a small, kindly smile. “Oh, are you the new doctor?”

“Yes,” Adam replied. He got to his feet. It seemed his use as company was done. He turned to the old woman and tried to smile as genuinely as he could. “It was nice acquainting myself with you, ma’am. I’ll see you tomorrow on rounds. Have a lovely day with your family.”

“Thank you, Dr Tartal,” the woman said. Her grey eyes looked luminous as she smiled, crinkled with laugh lines. “It was nice to see you again.”

It was a jarring second in a day full of jarring seconds, but for one moment he held her gaze, and she looked—familiar. It was only a moment, right before her attention was grabbed by her granddaughter tugging on her shoulder as she began to narrate an incident from her school, but it was a buffering moment. The woman looked quite young caught in it, grey eyes and greying blonde hair that curled like a princess’s and a smile that ached with familiarity. It was gone with a shift of the light.

Adam shook it out of his mind, the weird sense of déjà vu of meeting her eyes, but he couldn’t shake off the way she seemed to have tripped over his name on its way out from her mouth. The way she seemingly swapped some other name for Dr Tartal at the last minute, a last chance at catching herself.

He couldn’t shake off the way she had said nice to see you. The way she seemed to have been unable to catch herself tacking on that “again” to the end of it.

——

Two weeks later

Adam saw it in Jack’s walk. He saw it in the way Dr Solanki hurried past them into the bathroom, eyes red.

It was a strange sort of grief, mourning for a stranger essentially, but regardless, it hit him like a freight train.

“Oh,” Adam said, as Jack met his eyes and gave him a desolate shake of his head. “Oh, God. Man, I’m so sorry—“

“Thank you.” Jack’s voice was heavy. He sighed and came to join Adam at the nurse’s station in front of the OR Board. His friend closed his eyes. “Everyone knew—“ Jack cleared his throat. “We knew there was a risk. She knew there was a risk when she agreed to the surgery. Eighty years, it was always—“ He shook his head. “I have to go tell the family.”

Adam nodded. “Of course.” He clasped Jack’s shoulder as his mind wandered to the small blonde girl who’d been hefted into her grandma’s lap. The sizable entourage of visitors who trailed into Room 114 day after day. The eyes of the old woman, intelligent and alert as she held his hand on the shift he’d covered for Jack, the one day he’d spoken to her. A single hour.

A single hour with her had apparently been enough to make a mark on him.

Adam watched as Jack made the slow, lonely walk to the waiting room. Then he sighed, closed his eyes for a quick moment and went back to his chart. He had paperwork to finish, three patients left on his rounds to visit, and then the clinic. It was going to be a long day.

Thirty minutes later, he was well into his second pile of paperwork when there was a slight shuffle of feet. Adam looked up.

A young girl, maybe fifteen, sixteen, stood still in front of the OR board, electric blue eyes scanning the names. She had a silver jacket on, accessorised with buttons for bands that had lost relevance in Adam’s father’s time, bands that were now only listened to by edgy teenagers rediscovering “real” music and nostalgic old folks with YouTube accounts. Her hair was spiky, streaked blue and white.

The girl tore her eyes away from the OR board just as Adam opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright. She looked taken aback for a moment.

“Can I help you?” Adam asked.

“I’m Thalia Grace,” the girl said after a pause. “I’m looking for a woman in Room, uh—“ she put her hand in her pocket to pull out a hastily scribbled note. “Room 114? She had surgery today—“

“Oh.” Adam put his pen down. He could feel his chest constricting. Was this another granddaughter? “Oh. Um, Thalia—Thalia was it?—are your parents around? You may want to sit down fo this.”

“Oh gods,” Thalia said. “Oh gods, did—the surgery didn’t go well, did it?”

Adam didn’t have the details. “Look, I will be back with someone to explain it for you—“

“No, that’s—that’s fine, that’s…” Thalia looked like she’d been hit. “Are you sure it’s the patient in Room 114, her name—“

“Annabeth Chase passed away earlier this morning, I’m afraid,” Adam said. “There were complications in her surgery.”

Thalia seemed to wilt like a flower. No—not wilt. Sink.

“Let me get you to a place you can sit,” Adam said, moving to guide her to the waiting room. “Is there anything I can do for you? A glass of water? Can I call somebody for you?”

The girl shook her head, moving away. “No. No, it’s…” She blinked and looked up at him. “Time is weird,” she said, sounding much older than a teenager. “Time is weird. I always think I have so much more time than I do. I didn’t think—I didn’t think it would happen today.” She swallowed. She looked stunned. “It doesn’t—it doesn’t really ever get easier.”

Adam could understand very little of what the girl was saying, but he nodded anyway. “Okay. Alright.”

The girl was shaking like a leaf. Adam watched her for a few seconds before realising he had to get someone—preferably Dr Solanki or Jack—to talk to this girl about Mrs Chase. No, Mrs Jackson-Chase. That was what had been on her chart.

Eventually though, the girl stopped trembling. She looked at her feet for a long, long time before her head snapped up and found his eyes. It was a thousand yard stare. It went through him. It went through him and then all of a sudden, it was no longer going through him, but was instead very, very intense.

More staring. More silence.

Adam wasn’t wholly unused to the staring. He didn’t even mind it all that much now, to be honest, even though he hadn’t been a fan of it in middle school. He had unique eyes—pretty, his mother often had said. Heterochromia, a strange yet alluring variant which gave him one eye blue and one eye a hazel that looked gold in the right light. There wasn’t anything more interesting about his face apart from that; he looked like your average twenty-something year old, with his sandy blond hair and easy smile. The only other thing uncanny about his appearance was the odd birthmark that stretched out under his right eye—a dark jagged mark, somewhat a line. But it wasn’t very noticeable unless you knew to look for it.

“Everything alright?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” Thalia said. She didn’t shift her gaze away. “Yeah—you just...you just remind me of an old friend, that’s all.”

#pjo #Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson and the olympians #rrverse #voop fic #if you DO read this I love you this is sooooo....idek. It’s the Adam Tartal Show

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devinfzsb743 · 4 years ago

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Facts Science With Python Schooling.

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friendofspidermannedleeds · 4 years ago

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Fictober - Day 7

Prompt #7: “yes I did, what about it?” (remixed) Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: G Warnings: None Characters: May and Peter Parker, May Parker and Karen (AI) Words: 1879 Summary: May needs a system to keep track of Peter. Karen is here to help.

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“Peter, I can’t keep doing this.”

May sat at the kitchen breakfast nook, holding a mug of tea between her hands in an attempt to remain calm and level-headed when Peter had returned home after 3am for the third night in a row.

He skittered back and forth around the kitchen, sloppily piecing together a PB&J.

“Can’t keep doing what, exactly?”

“You know what,” May said. “When I agreed to support your Spider-Man stuff you promised to get home at a responsible hour for school. You promised to text or call if you had to be out past 1am. I’m so sick of this.”

Peter talked through a giant bite of his sandwich. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. But my phone died, so I couldn’t—”

“Okay, so, you shouldn’t patrol if your phone’s dead. We’ve been over this—”

“How was I supposed to know it was gonna die? It’s not like I planned for that to happen, it was still at 11% when I left—”

“You left to do some dangerous crime-fighting with your phone at eleven percent??”

“Yeah I did, so??”

“PETER.”

His shoulders slumped at her tone.

“Sorry, May. That wasn’t cool. I’m—I’m so tired.” He joined her at the table, munching his sandwich defeatedly.

May rubbed her temples. “I’m not trying to be unreasonable here, sweetheart, it’s just…it’s just that we need a new system,” she said with a sigh. “I know you are capable, and I know you’re not trying to be out so late. But you can’t put saving the world before your own sanity or mine. You just can’t.”

Peter didn’t respond immediately, his eyebrows furrowed as he chewed the last of his PB&J. He swallowed, then spoke with intent.

“I really am sorry, May. I don’t mean to stay out so late, and I don’t mean to forget to text you. I don’t go looking for trouble after midnight when I’m making my way home, but this week stuff just kept coming up. And when I’m out there, in the middle of things, I just—I won’t leave people who need my help just to get a few extra hours of sleep. I can’t.”

“But you can, Peter, and you need to. You’re a person too, it’s not your responsibility to—”

“But it is, May!” He interrupted. “If I have the ability to help but I don’t, then that’s on me.”

May stared at him, her heart twisting at how much he looked and sounded like Ben. He was so earnest, and so stubborn. She knew she couldn’t convince him to put himself first with just one talk. This wouldn’t be an overnight fix. They needed a more immediate solution.

“Can you just—just try a little harder to make it back on time? And to text or call if you can’t? For me?”

He nodded with his eyes cast downward at the table. “Yeah, May, I’ll try. I—OH!” He shot his head up, eyes bright with inspiration. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before, I’m so stupid. Here—" He ran to the living room where he’d discarded his mask. “Karen can help us!!”

“Karen?” May asked. “Your suit lady?”

“Yeah,” he said enthusiastically, “When I unlocked her I found out she could send and receive calls and texts, I’ll just have to ask her! But she’s super fancy, so I’m sure she can also do things without me telling her to—we can program her to do whatever you want!”

May smirked. “Can we program her to turn off your webs at 1am and send you home?”

Peter looked guilty and she melted. “Just a joke, sweetheart. You were saying?”

“Right,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “So, we just ask her to do whatever you want her to do, which is…” his words were interrupted by a huge yawn. “…which is what, exactly?”

“Bed.” May said decidedly. “We can figure this out tomorrow night.”

“No, I owe it to you to fix this now,” Peter protested weakly, looking more exhausted by the minute. He fumbled with the mask. “Here, I’ll put it on and ask her—hey!”

May had snatched the mask out of his hands. “Tomorrow, Peter. It’s a school night!”

“Okay, okay.” He rubbed his eyes and turned to head to his room. “But if you want to ask her yourself, just put the mask on and talk. Karen’ll walk you through whatever.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, try it.” Another yawn. “G’night, May. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she replied, waiting until he’d turned the corner to sink into the loveseat and stare at the mask. She gave the thought of bedtime for herself only the briefest consideration before pulling the mask onto her head.

An overwhelming array of virtual nonsense and a faint funk of teenage sweat nearly caused her to rip it back off, when—

“Hello, May Parker.”

She jumped out of her skin. “He-hello?? How did you kn—”

“What can I assist you with this morning?”

May felt like an idiot, sitting there with her nephew’s mask on—her spider-kid superhero nephew’s mask that was created by billionaire Tony Stark—at 3:15 in the morning, talking to an AI Peter had affectionately named “Karen,” of all things, but here she was. This was her life now.

“Hi Karen, yeah. I need help keeping track of Peter. His phone sometimes dies when he’s out late at night, or he sometimes forgets to text or call to let me know what’s going on, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to know where he is so I’m not up worrying all night.”

“Understood, Mrs. Parker. If Peter fails to notify me to contact you, I can text your phone myself. What time is his curfew?”

May laughed. The absurdity of talking to an AI about parenting her super-kid wasn’t lost on her, but it was still nice, somehow—she couldn’t talk about this stuff with anyone else.

“It was unofficially 11 before Spider-Man, but since he’s so hell-bent on saving the world, we agreed that midnight is the goal and he should let me know if he can’t be back by 1.”

“That sounds very reasonable, May. I will ensure that he or I will contact you if he is ever out past 1am. Is there anything else you require?”

May spotted a video camera icon in the left-hand corner of her view. She was tempted to ask what footage Peter collected with the suit, but quickly thought better of it. She trusted him, and he trusted her. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the whole truth of what her boy got up to.

“I don’t think so, Karen, at least not right now.” She sighed. “I just… I just worry about him, you know? Like it’s hard to sit here and know he’s out there saving the world and what-not, and there’s nothing I can do to help, or to keep him safe. Can you—this is so weird, talking to a computer—can you just reassure me—is he okay out there? Does he…make good choices and all that?”

“Peter is young and inexperienced, but Mr. Stark’s technology has helped keep him safe.” Karen replied, the kindness in her tone both reassuring and slightly unsettling to May’s tech-inept mind. “He has also been much more careful since you discovered his secret.”

May’s heart warmed at that. “He has?”

“Yes. But I can add extra protocols to reassure you further, if you’d like. Would you like me to alert you when Peter acquires an injury?”

May startled. “I—what? How often does he get injured? I mean I’ve seen some bruises and cuts, and I know he got pretty seriously hurt Homecoming weekend, but—he’s not been hurt recently, has he?”

Karen projected a video in front of May’s vision. “Last Thursday he took a pretty nasty fall.” May watched the footage of Peter’s POV in horror: his left arm mis-aimed a web while swinging in the rain and he slammed into a fire escape before falling three stories. “I detected a hairline fracture in his left wrist, a minor concussion, and a sprained ligament in his left ankle, as well as several bruises.” The video replayed on a loop as she spoke, and May shut her eyes, feeling nauseous.

“Stop, stop it, please.” She begged the AI. “What the hell, Karen, that was awful—don’t show me any more videos, I can’t watch that.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t he tell me about any of this?”

“Mr. Parker specifically requested that I keep the fall a secret.” Karen said apologetically.

“I’m gonna kill him.” May muttered under her breath.

“That was his fear.”

“Great, Karen. Thanks.”

She imagined Peter stumbling through his bedroom window with broken limbs and made her decision.

“You know what? Please do inform me when he’s injured. God knows he doesn’t tell me this stuff himself, and I have a right to know.”

“Noted, Mrs. Parker. Anything else I can do for you?”

May nearly said no, nearly thanked Karen for her services and went to bed. But sitting and talking to this AI was oddly comforting, and the thought of Peter’s escapades had been keeping her up at night anyway.

“Karen—Tony Stark made you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you know a lot about superheroes?”

“Yes,” Karen answered, “I know everything about all superheroes, including the Avengers.”

May nodded. “Okay, then…can I ask you a question? Are…are all superheroes like this? Are they all infuriatingly self-sacrificing, and stubborn, and do they all insist that saving the world is more important than saving themselves?”

Karen did not answer immediately, and May felt like an idiot for asking such a loaded question to an AI whose capacity for emotional intelligence was still unclear.

“You know what,” she said, “forget I asked that. Just forget it, I—”

“May,” Karen interrupted kindly, softly. “Peter is okay.”

May took a shaky breath. “Right. I know that. I know he’s okay. But I just feel like he’s taking on too much, you know? He thinks he’s responsible for…for everything. It’s ridiculous, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I mean he’s just like—”

She cut herself off. She was talking to a computer who probably reported everything back to Tony Stark, and well—some things were sacred. “Karen” didn’t need to know that Peter was just like Ben.

“Would you like to talk more about what’s troubling you, May?” Karen asked.

“No, Karen. But this was good, thank you. It was really nice to have somebody to talk to.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

May removed the mask and exhaled. Conversing with an AI had made for one of the weirdest nights of her life, no question, but she’d needed it. As absurd as it was, Karen knew what May’s friends couldn’t—her kid was a spider in spandex.

May would know where Peter was now, and she’d know when he was hurt, or running late, or unable to talk because he’s busy saving the world.

Peter believed it was his responsibility to help everybody. May knew it was her responsibility to help him.

And Karen was her new secret weapon.

#fictober20 #may parker #peter parker #fanfiction #spider-man #spiderman #my fic #fos fic #stayed up waaaay too late on this #did not rly plan this one #so it's more rambling than anything else #no focus to speak of here #just me loving may and karen lol #a mess #but one i had lots of fun with #will i edit it before it goes to ao3?#probably should

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emmarcraft · 5 years ago

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The Nurturing Needs of Your Moon: Part One (Starry Sunday)

Hello, everyone! We are well into Cancer season now, and with that being the theme of these times, I thought it would be fun and perhaps functional to discuss the different needs of the Moon in the signs. Note that since there is a LOT here, and I want to give each sign the thought and care that they and the Moon deserve I will be splitting this post into two parts.

The Moon rules Cancer and is one of the most important forces in a given natal chart. One may argue that it is the most important of all, as the Moon rules our instincts, our comforts, and our natural mode of being. We all want to feel secure and to feel loved. To accomplish this, it is often helpful to understand your Moon.

I want to make the distinction between the ways in which the Moon, Venus, and Mars affect our senses of love. Love is often expressed through these three together. However, as a central theme of the Moon, love is specifically nurturing and comforting. Think again of the Mother archetype of Cancer. As opposed to fun, flirty Venus and fiery, passionate Mars, the Moon is focused on how one best feels cared for emotionally. At the end of the day, what does your Moon need?

I will be going through the Moon in each sign, but keep in mind that it is not as simple as knowing what sign your Moon is in. Houses and aspects are critical as well. For example, having my Moon in Gemini might make me sound like someone with a breezy emotional nature, but it is also in the 8th house, representing some deep childhood trauma and emotional burdens which I bear and hide. I won’t go into aspects and houses here for brevity’s sake, but I recommend that you look into it! And who knows, I might revisit the topic sometime. The Moon demands some attention, after all.

By element:

Fire moons are independent and passionate. Dedicated partnership is their ideal, but it may not be their comfort zone. Indeed, these moons are happy being the leader and protagonist of their own stories, and as such, they need both admiration and some space to let their spirit and spark run free and wild.

Earth moons are stable and physically nurturing. The space around them is very important and they have a strong sense of home as a place. The needs of an Earth moon are to be cared for physically, whether it’s through money, material objects, or a safe space to call their own.

Air moons are intelligent and social. Depending on their quadruplicity (cardinal, fixed, or mutable), they may be more focused on individual connections over community or vice versa. The novel and the intellectually stimulating are their delights in life, and any sort of clinginess may be claustrophobic for an Air moon.

Water moons are deep and sensitive. For them, instinct is not cerebral, or grand, or rooted in pace, but anchored in emotion and feeling. Individual attention and truly being perceived is critical for all moons, but it is the foundation for a water moon’s sense of reality and being.

Moon in Aries: At times restless and combative, at other times clearheaded and brave, an Aries moon is full of energy at every moment and thrives in chaotic environments. It is crucial for an Aries moon to have a sense of independence and to be allowed to fully express themselves in sometimes explosive ways. They need people in their lives who will match their fire rather than try to contain it. Creating an environment of “keeping it real” will do wonders for the contentment of an Aries moon.

Moon in Taurus: The Moon is exalted in Taurus, and the blessed ideal of Venus sums up the nature of a Taurus moon. True homebodies, they prefer familiar settings to unusual locations because chaos is rather frightening for them. Remember: Scorpio is opposite Taurus. Taurus moons are very attuned to their physical bodies, so any sort of physical touch and affection will go a long, long way for their contentment in the moment and in life. Additionally, good food does wonders for a Taurus moon’s mood.

Moon in Gemini: The emotional nature is breezy and light with this one, but with the side effect that they sometimes have trouble feeling their emotions and prefer talking about them. New ideas, new hobbies, words and communication are essential for all of us in a way, but it is the instinctual need of Moon in Gemini. Breadth over depth is what it’s all about, and the space for new food for thought is key. “Variety is the spice of life.”

Moon in Cancer: Sensitivity and passion run together with Moon in Cancer natives. The shell covers a soft and deeply romantic nature. Memories are the heart and soul of life for these watery moons, and they will want to make lots of good ones with the people they care about. Believe it or not, solitude is also an important component. It allows them the time to retreat into their shell and reflect on the events surrounding them and how they feel about it.

Moon in Leo: Dramatic and proud, Leo is a dynamic and fiercely independent sign that also wants desperately to hide a sensitive and fearful core. Rejection deeply wounds Leo moons. At once both strong and vulnerable, Moon in Leo natives love being the center of attention, and the praise and kindness of others encourages them to continue being their fiercely wonderful selves. They also love generosity, and when given love in verbal, physical, or other forms, they will give right back in equal measure.

Moon in Virgo: A deep appreciation for routine, for a sharp eye for detail, and for intelligence drives Virgo moons. Of the five love languages, gifts and acts of service will make a Virgo feel seen and loved. They channel the Earth element via a shrewd and resourceful manner, and they care little for words. They want to see that the effort they put into all their endeavors is seen and emulated by others. Don’t hesitate to be physically affectionate, however. A hug here and there is lovely, too.

Stay tuned for the second group of signs next week!

#moon #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #moonsigns #astrology #moonaspects #witchcraft #stars #air

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eyebeastposts · 5 years ago

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Fan Fiction Road: The Altar of EyeBeast

SUGGESTION PHASE CLOSED

Driving down Fan Fiction Road in the dark of night, your car suddenly breaks down as you pass through a thickly wooded area. Devoid of phone service, you find yourself drawn to a strange light in the tree line. Pushing through the bushes you find yourself standing in front of an old church. The pictures and strange runes along the walls do not appear to come from any known religion. Peeking up at the stained glass window, you see a glimmer of the light that first drew you in. Steeling your nerves, you push open the imposing set of doors and step inside.

Your nose is assaulted with the scent of heavy incense. You find yourself in in the center chamber where dozens of hooded figures dressed in black robes are gathered. They don’t appear to pay much attention to you, even as the door shuts loudly behind you. The reason becomes evident as you look at the thing atop the grey, stone altar.

Its shape mimics that of a singular, human eye blown up to the size of a hot air balloon. Its grey sclera counteracts the void of black making up its glowing pupil and iris. The eye shifts gradually, to both observe its followers and maintain a glimmering cloud in the center. Mesmerized by the thing’s strange aura, you take another step forward to look into the anomaly.

Upon a closer look, you see dozens of images pass through the cloud. The images depict characters from various, popular franchises going through strange and unusual sequences. As off-putting as some of the scenes are, you can’t help watching out of either curiosity or genuine enjoyment. A tap on your shoulder brings you back to reality.

Turning your head, you are met with the soft gaze of a woman with a shaved head. The eye creature is drawn on her forehead in ink, surrounded by the same symbols from outside. “Hello traveler,” she says in a low voice. “I see you’ve stumbled upon our little gathering.”

Without a word, she leads you deeper into the crowd. “We are the followers of the All Seeing One, the deity you see before you. Their power is immense, able to alter space, time, and various realities to create pocket dimensions for its own amusement. From time to time, it gives us certain request. In return for providing a list of acceptable candidates, it demonstrates its powers to us by recreating the scene using the choices agreed upon by its followers.”

As soon as she stops talking the image at the altar disappears, making the rest of the hooded figures turn towards you. “If your mind is open and your desires forthcoming, feel free to join our group of worship under the eye of the All Seeing One. However, if you reject our offer we will have no choice…but to politely ask you to leave.”

Someone in the crowd purposefully clears their throat. “After you’ve helped yourself to the food table of course,” she adds. “Especially Stephen’s snicker-doodles, they are just divine.”

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For the past few years now, I’ve made it a tradition to have people vote on what kind of fan fiction story I write next. Typically, I would pick a subject (weight gain, transformations, etc.) and have people suggest various characters and scenarios that fit the subject. While I have enjoyed the previous sessions, I want to shake things up a bit in terms of how things are done and what kind of stories I get to write.

If you’ve read the above story, it sets the stage for what I want to do. I’m going to provide five different scenarios, each of which is a different request from the All Seeing One. For two weeks, your task will be to suggest offerings (characters) that will fit the criteria for each scenario. Once the suggestions are in, there will be a survey that will determine which stories you want me to write and with which characters. And yes, I said stories.

My plan with this session is to suggest ideas that can be told in relatively short stories. Using this method, I should be able to do multiple stories going in order of popularity. I can’t promise that I’ll do every single one, but I’ll try to do most of them. If you want to get involved and become a member of the Church of EyeBeast, take a look below at the guidelines and scenarios. Please read carefully.

Guidelines:

To suggest a character/characters, send the name of the character, what franchise they’re from, and which scenario you want them in. You can either use my ask box or message me directly

Regardless of method you use to suggest a character, no names will be attached to the candidates.

You can submit as many suggestions as you wish until I close the submission phase.

You are free to suggest any characters you want, but if you want to suggest one from something I know, you can refer to my media sheet: https://www.deviantart.com/eyebeast.....heet-819010665

NO CHILDREN

I will be looking just for characters, not scenarios.

The same character can be suggested for difference scenarios as long as they fit the criteria.

During the suggestion phase there will be no cap on how many characters can be suggested for a scenario. However, once the polls are made I will be narrowing down the character pools to no more than 10 entries each.

The suggestion phase will last for two weeks, ending on JULY 15TH. At that time, I will open up the survey for people to vote. After another week, I will close the survey and announce the results.

Scenarios:

A) Couple’s Feast- We have an issue of too many leftovers from our last meeting. The All Seeing One wishes to give them to one lucky couple. For this one in particular, they will be looking for one male and one female.

-General Idea: Male and female mutual weight gain.

-Criteria: Any male and female couple.

1. Joker (Persona 5) and one of the girls based on a poll

2. Breath of the Wild Link and Zelda

3. Andy and Mai (KOF)

4. Hiro and 02 (Darling in the Franxxx)

5. Chris and Jill (Resident Evil)

6. Tharja and Male Robin (Fire Emblem)

7. Shuichi and Kaede (Danganronpa)

8. Mulan and Shang (Disney)

9. Vincent (Catherine) and either Catherine or Katherine based on a poll

10. Kimihito (Monster Musume) and a Monster girl based on a poll

11. Ryu and Chun-li (Street Fighter)

12. Izuku and Ochako (My Hero Academia)

13. Ed and Winry (Fullmetal Alchemist)

14. Makise Kurisu and Houoin Kyouma (Steins;Gate)

15. Male Reader and Doki Doki Literature Club Girl based on a poll

16. Male Reader and Huniepop Girl based on a poll

17. Hisao Nakai and Katawa Shoujo Girl based on a poll

18. Joey and Mai (Yu-Gi-Oh)

19. Inuyasha and Kagome (Inuyasha)

B) Princess Makeover-The All Seeing One wishes to gift someone who is of lower class or rough around the edges a taste of the high life, specifically what it’s like to be a princess. They will be given an extreme makeover, giving them the curves, bountiful hair, and regality befitting someone of royalty. Gender of tribute does not matter.

-General Idea: Extreme hourglass expansion, hair growth, princessification, and, if applicable, gender swap.

-Criteria: Any character that could be described as being against traditionally girly things. Things like a tomboy, a warrior, etc.

1. Samus (Metroid)

2. Ryuko (Kill La Kill)

3. Sakura (Street Fighter)

4. Chie (Persona)

5. Korra (Avatar)

6. Aladdin (Disney)

7. Lady (Devil May Cry)

8. Tracer (Overwatch)

9. Lara Croft (Tomb Raider) poll to decide between classic and reboot

10. Kazuma (Konosuba)

11. R. Mika (Street Fighter)

12. Rotty Tops (Shantae)

13. Ganondorf (Zelda)

14. Amara (Borderlands)

15. Asuka (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

16. Shinobu Jacobs (No More Heroes)

C) Royal Reversal- The All Seeing One wishes to teach humility to the upper class. The offering shall be given a complete reversal for their life. Skinny to fat, clean to dirty, intelligent to idiotic, male to female and vice versa. Obviously the offerings we are looking for must come from royalty or are suitably upper class.

-General Ideas: Weight gain, IQ loss, slob, and gender swap.

-Criteria: Royalty or upper class. Things like kings, queens, princes, princesses, and the fabulously wealthy.

1. Karin (Street Fighter)

2. Wonder Woman (DC)

3. Satsuki (Kill La Kill)

4. Sonia (Danganronpa)

5. Lucina (Fire Emblem)

6. Midna (Zelda) poll to decide which version

7. Hilde (Soulcalibur)

8. Peach (Mario)

9. Parasoul (Skullgirls)

10. Mary Saotome (Kakegurui)

11. Malty Melromarc (Rising of the Shield Hero)

12. Catarina Claes (My Next Life as a Villainess)

13. Emelia (Re:Zero)

14. Risky Boots (Shantae)

15. Starfire (Teen Titans)

16. Jasmine (Disney)

D) Pig Deity-The All Seeing One wishes for an ego boost. Provide to them the name of a god or holy person to wallow in the mud and become the patron saint of hogs.

-General Ideas: Weight gain and anthro pig transformation.

-Criteria: A holy person, either a deity or someone very religious.

1. Palutena (Kid Icarus)

2. Aqua (Konosuba)

3. Crim (Interspecies Reviewers)

4. Tiki (Fire Emblem)

5. Panty (Panty and Stocking)

6. Rosalina (Mario)

7. Azazel (Helltaker)

8. Venus (Huniepop)

9. Sophitia (Soulcalibur)

10. Haruhi Suzumiya (The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya)

11. Hestia (Is it Wrong to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?)

12. Holo (Spice and Wolf)

E) Pokemon Fusion- The All Seeing One has become aware of a world inhabited by creatures called Pokémon. Its interest has piqued concerning the everlasting bond made between the creatures and their trainers. A test must be performed to see if we can further this connection by combining the two beings.

-General Ideas: Transformation and other effects based on the Pokémon chosen.

-Criteria: A trainer and a Pokémon, preferably one that they have some kind of connection with.

1. Roxie/Koffing

2. Whitney/Miltank

3. Bea/Hariyama

4. Flannery/Magcargo

5. Melony/Lapras

6. Sabrina/Slowbro

7. Nurse Joy/Chansey

8. Pokemon Breeder/Ditto

9. Fantina/Driftblim

10. Hilda/Scolipede

11. May/Slaking

12. Cynthia/Garchomp

13. Dawn/Spiritomb

14. Kiawe/Salazzle

15. Jessie/Arbok

16. Hex Maniac/Gourgeist

17. Officer Jenny/Arcanine

18. Lusamine/Buzzwole

19. Iris/Zekrom

#eyebeast #fan fiction #road

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queennicoleinboots · 4 years ago

Text

Office Woes, part 1 (Michael the Great Arc Angel POV)

It was yet another day amidst a pandemic of the Coronavirus and spiritual warfare. It was my appointed task from Ahayah, the true creator of this world and all worlds, that I was to protect and serve the people of Gwinnett County, Georgia. I also was appointed to protect the people of Walton and Clarke Counties by Xara Nahara Campinelli. I am honored to be Michael the Great Arc Angel.

Once again, I spent my morning flying over people who had no concept of how to drive. They were going the wrong way through the intersections, shoving their cell phones in their butts while driving, and playing rap sounds. Rap is not a form of music. It offends me and Ahayah. When I hear it, I burn the source of the sound with laser eye beams. If I hear the "Ooh shit! You Got Coronavirus" song one more time, I plan to stomp on the vehicle where the car is coming from and of course spare the life of the son of a bitch who played that song.

In other news, a goat in a suit and tie was jacking off while he drove. He looked like Paul the Goat, the same goat who helped with quality control of produce in Kroger later that day.

At least Gwinnett County drivers weren't as terrible as those in Conyers, GA. It was truly the city of apes. Every time I fly over that city, my Intelligent Quotient drains from my mind and soul. I have to walk tall among the apes because my large angel wings don't work there. I question my angelic nature when I am there. I am the man on the fence who shrugs his shoulders. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. So I acted like an ape until I could fly again. I'm still in therapy with Ahayah about that issue. I go twice a month.

I arrived at the office in my majestic splendor. The cops and I saluted each other as I walked in the building. Goats, humans, arc angels, and bears were processing paperwork and bitching at the pigs who did dispatch. I had to process the paperwork, call Paw Patrol, a series of small dogs who were good at life, if any social services were required, and sing if any babies or mothers were upset at or around each other. My baritone voice calms down the general populace.

"Good morning! Good morning!" Ned, a short goat with glasses, brown curly hair, and a white shirt with a pocket protector, shouted. He bleated.

"Good morning. What's the situation?" I asked as I walked with strength to my desk.

"Gwinnet County hasn't burned to the ground yet. Melissa is late for work. La Bamba in Walton County is running a special of five tacos for five dollars. Ricky Valens hasn't been brought back to life to sing 'La Bamba.' Satan still thinks he is going to win the spiritual war going on outside. And BLM hasn't been summoned yet. CERN is still at large opening portals to hell. Edward Snowden is alive and in prison. We still have no access to the Vatican's telescope on Mount Graham in Arizona," Ned took a deep breath before continuing. "And the son of a bitch delivery boy from Grub Hub spilled my drink on the desk."

"Very good. I authorize a pardon for Melissa's lateness. She is at a meeting with Ahayah. I think it's about female stuff," I spoke, but then shouted. "WHY THE FUCK HASN'T RICHY VALENS been brought back to life? He is supposed to sing a cover of 'Earth Angel' at NOON!!!"

"I'm sorry. The pigs at Dispatch are fucking up the resurrection spell!" Ned shouted.

"AAAAHHHH!!!! Ahayah, guide me! I need the voice of Richy Valens! I need to practice singing so that the 'Earth Angel' can bless Georgia," I shouted.

All of a sudden, I heard "Oooooooh Donna!" come out of my mouth in Richy Valen's voice. I sang "Donna" to calm the pigs at Dispatch and to the children who needed Child Protective Services.

Melissa the Great Arc Angel flew through the door. Her brown hair flowed in the air as she descended into the office. Her blue eyes showed fury in them. "Sorry I'm late. I would have been later if Richy Valens wasn't singing. Thank you, Richy Valens," she said in a strong voice as she went to her desk. "When are we going to lunch? La Bamba is running a special on five tacos for five dollars, and I'm ready to get my dance on?"

"No problem. This beats working for the Angel of Death for seven years. Those stories are still great to tell at parties. Unfortunately, I had to steal the soul of a Richy Valens fan one time. Did I mention that I was the one who stole the soul of Courtney Love? Her music was okay, but she needed to stay off the drugs," I said as I printed documents for the pigs at Dispatch to deal with. I would hate to be those sons and daughters of possible bitches. "Also, I think lunch will be after the singing of 'Earth Angel.'"

Melissa the Great Arc Angel laughed loudly. "I took the soul of Kurt Cobain. I was singing Nirvana songs for weeks afterward. I'd like to talk about it at lunch," she said as she sent faxes to the Gwinnett County Fire Department. She added a snarky office chuckle.

"Good riddance. Eddie Vedder has a much better voice. I'd rather hear those stories," I said. "Why couldn't you take his soul?"

"Excuse me! Ahayah required him to live!" Melissa the Great Arc Angel said vehemently. "Would you like to talk about our back story to the new hires?" Her blue eyes and smile sparkled.

"True. But still, Kurt Cobain? How about the son of a bitch who is the lead singer if Smashing Pumpkins. That mother fucker is talented," I said. "Also! Back stories are NEVER to be discussed with new hires! George Lucas specifically made that a rule! Those are strictly for the break room!" I slammed my fist on my desk.

"Billy needed to tell his life story on the Joe Rogan show, and NOT to the new hires on set. Sorry, Michael. He and I both have the same question. Is making music really something that has to involve signing your life away to these record labels?" Melissa the Great Arc Angel asked.

"He had no idea what he got himself into until it was too late," I said before the printer jammed. I looked at it before I said, "You son of a bitch I don't have time for this shit!"

The printer was jamming up and malfunctioning.

"Yes, you asshole, you already printed this page," I said to the printer.

The printer then started printing in Spanish.

"Do any of the pigs in this office read Spanish?!" I asked. I understood Spanish, but it wasn't my job to deal with these notes.

The pigs were oinking up a storm as they called the police, firemen, rent-a-cops, sanitation workers, other dispatch offices, and churches.

I sighed. I took the notes to the pigs. Fuck it. They can figure it out.

A female pig linked and looked at the notes. "Ay caca! Otra vez de los hijos! Mama y papa estupidos hijos de las putas!" She started swearing in Spanish at Child Protective Services. Those kids were forced to wear clown suits and make videos to entertain the country clubs in Gwinnett County. I was hot with rage.

"THOSE BASTARDS HAVE PLENTY OF ENTERTAINMENT!!! CHILD CLOWNS ARE NOT ACCEPTABLE!" I shouted. The son of a bitch printer was still jammed.

What I read next was astounding. And I quote:

"An irate woman called the sheriff's department, the fire department, CNN, Fox News, and Todd from Myspace.com. She reported that Publix had moved the 'Whole Golden Kernel' corn 30 feet down the aisle from where it had been for over 20 years. The whole customer base was an outrage and wanted to beat the store owner's ass."

I screamed. "WHY THE FUCK DID THEY MOVE THE CORN????!!!" I shouted. I was so angry at all of this bullshit that I ripped the printer out of the wall and started beating the hell out of it with the sword.

"WHY THE FUCK WEREN'T THE POLICE CALLED FIVE MINUTES AGO?!" a bitchy pig from Dispatch asked.

"Michael the Great Arc Angel is beating the hell out of the printer!" Ned answered the bitchy pig.

"WHY THE FUCK IS HE DOING THAT?!" she asked.

"I DON'T KNOW! LET ME ASK!" Ned shouted. "MICHAEL THE GREAT ARC ANGEL, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BEATING THE PRINTER?!"

"I'M FIXING IT!!!" I shouted. "Goddamn mudder fudder..." I spoke in tongues at the printer as the reel ended up on the other side of the office. The black ink covered the dark green carpet which had ugly pink spots. The ink improved the carpet.

Miraculously, I fixed the printer and had it in working condition. Now that's what I call Imformation Technology! Orders were backed up, so the papers sprouted wings and flew to their respective desks. Everyone in the office was swearing as they tried to file paperwork. The pigs and bears were using the extra copies of the documents to wipe their asses.

Gabriel the Great Arc Angel burned his extra copies to relieve stress and anxiety. He also hired Peter Griffin for midday beer runs.

A call came in.

"Hello!" I shouted.

"Excuse me, sir. Are you sexually frustrated?" the caller asked.

I sighed and transferred that call to the pigs.

I was filing paperwork and checking E-mails before another call came in. "HELLO!!!" I shouted.

"Hello. Guiseppe would like to speak to you regarding business with the Mafia, Atlanta Chapter!" a guido sang to me.

"GODDAMMIT I TOLD YOU TO NEVER CALL ME ON THIS LINE!!!!" I shouted as I stood up and shot death lasers through my eyes at the wall in my cubicle that permanent permanent burn marks. The roof became temporarily detached from the building.

Ned came in and threw a cup of coffee at me before he galloped out of the office for a break.

I caught the coffee and drank it as I stared at that burn mark. The Guido transferred me to over to the Atlanta Mafia. The leader was a bear who was growling at me.

I growled in fluent bear and explained that there was a restraining order in place, and that those Italian bears were not to contact me. I faxed the documents proving that my loans were forgiven by Ahayah.

"SORRY! I WON'T BOTHER YOU AGAIN! THANK YOU!" the leader bear shouted as he hung up.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH BASTARD!!!" Melissa the Great Arc Angel screamed. "Send the fax to the Gwinnett County Medical Center you son of a bitch! PEOPLE'S LIVES ARE AT STAKE!!!" She was beating the desk near the fax machine.

I sighed, took a deep breath, and did what any responsible Great Arc Angel would do: rip the fax machine out of the wall and bang it against the top of my head several times over.

A black pig who looked like Mr. T just stared at me and asked, "What the fuck are you doing now?!"

"FIXING THE FAX MACHINE!" I shouted before the phone rang in my office.

Everyone else was too busy cussing at whatever to answer my phone. One exceptionally large male pig even screamed, "YES I AM SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT???!!!" So I walked over to my phone while I was still beating the fax machine against my head. Melissa the Great Arc Angel was singing "Part of that World" in Ariel from The Little Mermaid to someone on her phone line.

I answered the phone and started screaming and continued to beat the fax machine against the top of my head.

There was a pause at the other end of the line before a goat bleated.

I bleated, "I'm sorry we haven't faxed over the instructions to the EMTs at the Gwinnett County Medical Center. Our fax machine needs fixed."

He bleated, "That's some bullshit. A man is liberally being suffocated by COVID-19!"

I bleated, "Couldn't I just text the instructions over?" I was all the while beating the fax machine on my head.

He bleated, "I wish. Group texts never work. OH SHIT THE SONG IS PLAYING!"

I beat the fax machine to the rhythm of the "Ooh shit You Got Coronavirus!" song. I even added a dance as I finished beating the fax machine against my head. The damn thing was fixed, so I plugged it back into the wall near Melissa the Great Arc Angel. She was now singing "Poor Unfortunate Souls" in Ursula's voice. I think she was talking about everyone on Earth.

I bleated, "I'll be right over!" I then hung up the phone and flew the fuck out of the office at the speed of Superman. I used to be Superman until an orange female cat named Kissy meowed a great meow and called upon the Heavens in Swamp Business. Ahayah appointed me to answer the call of Kissy Anne Campinelli and gave me the title Great Arc Angel.

As I flew out of the office, a pterodactyl flew in and started screaming her head off. A goat spilled coffee and bleated swear words. That was a typical day at the office. My wings beat against the wind and rain outside. I sighed and flew over cars that were hydroplaning.

One of the cars was playing DarthSydePhineas nerd rap, and as much as I hate rap most of the time, this mother fucker is talented. I can see why Xara and Count Colonel Mac listen to this guy. I wanted to get on the ground and dance, but I had a life to save at the Gwinnett County Medical Center.

Some dumbass in a piece of shit sedan ran a red light in the middle of this storm. He was playing "Yeah!" by DarthSydePhil as he was speeding on the stream road: https://youtu.be/aZ7iZrpB2Lc

"No. Fuck this guy," I said as I sounded like DarthSydePhineas and swooped from the sky and lifted this guy off the road.

He screamed like the little bitch ass bitch he was.

I screamed back. "That's what I think of you. You damn near ran into that 2000 Toyota Tacoma who was rightfully trying to turn left. You're a bitch," I said.

"Am I going to hell?" the bitchass young kid driver asked.

"Not necessarily. It isn't my choice," I said as I flew his ass to the Gwinnett County Medical Center.

"I Spawn, I Die!" by DarthSydePhineas started playing from his radio. I agreed with the lyrics of the song: https://youtu.be/gVq03wz6DeA

"Where are you taking me?" the bitch ass bitch asked.

"To Gwinnett Medical Center. I have lives to save there. I am required to sing "Earth Angel" by Harry Waters, Jr. and Marvin Berry," I said.

"Who the fuck are they?" he asked. DarthSydePhineas was now talking bullshit about Fall Guys, a new video game in which everyone looks like a minion from Despicable Me.

"Musicians," I said before I threw that piece of shit sedan into the heavens. DarthSydePhineas's voice was fading away as his car flew the fuck into the sky. The last thing I heard DarthSydePhineas say "Oh shit. I got screwed!!!"

I descended into the Emergency Room and sang in my full baritone voice "Earth Angel" to an elderly couple that was close to death. It was then noon.

"Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine?

My darling dear, love you all the time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore

Love you for ever, and ever more.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

I fell for you, and I knew

The vision of your love's loveliness.

I hope and I pray, that some day

I'll be the vision of your hap, happiness.

Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.

My darling dear, love you all the time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

I fell for you, and I knew

The vision of your love's loveliness.

I hope and I pray, that some day

I'll be the vision, the vision of your happiness.

Oh, oh, oh, Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.

My darling dear, love you for all time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you."

The elderly couple ascended to heaven. Everyone was emotionally moved by this Code 1 situation, in which sirens and lights were sounding on cop cars around us.

The goat bleated and cried. "Thank you, Michael the Great Arc Angel," he said. "We are distraught. Can you sing songs to calm our nerves so that we can deal with living with this miserable world?"

A goat doctor announced, "They died from Covid-19. We get $8,000 from the federal government, but this situation is still sad."

I sang "Amazing Grace," "We Shall Overcome," "Like A Shepherd Who Feeds His Flock," "One Bread One Body," and "Ave Maria."

After my last note in "Ave Maria," a disgruntled pig called me.

"What code?" I sang in my booming baritone voice.

"CODE 1! A grass monster is attacking Dunkin Donuts in Snellville!" the pig screamed before he snorted and hung up.

I flew out of the Gwinnett County Medical Center and to Dunkin Donuts. A church choir was singing in the sidewalk. I sang a few notes before I damn near ran into Aladdin and Jasmine on the magical flying carpet. I sang a few notes before saying, "This fly zone is for government officials only!"

The grass monster was eating the donuts as he terrorized the customers of Dunkin Donuts.

I flew down in splendor as I flapped my large white wings for effect. My eyes were blue with rage. I stared at the grass monster. "Did you pay for those donuts?" I asked.

"YES! They fucked my order up. They forgot to add the corn to my cornbread donuts. Sons of bitches!!" the grass monster yelled as he ate the top of the restaurant.

"THOSE BASTARDS!" I shouted. "Did you kill anyone?"

"Not yet. Most of those assholes ran out of the building. Fuck them," the grass monster said as he ate the building.

"Good. Fuck them indeed. Anyway, I am heading to a better restaurant for lunch, care to join?" I asked.

"Hell yes. Where?" the grass monster asked.

"La Bamba," I answered.

"Ooooh. I love Mexican!" the grass Monster shouted.

"Let us go!" I shouted as I picked him up and flew out of there. What was left of the Dunkin Donuts building somehow became on fire. It was time for my lunch break. I didn't give a fuck. That Dunkin Donuts was horrible anyway.

We flew up so high in the sky that no one saw us. The grass monster was shouting with joy as we flew in the sky. Our descent was a bit rough. Aladdin and Jasmine were flying in the correct zone on their magic carpet.

"Excuse me! We're trying to get to La Bamba!" I shouted.

"Oh God! We always eat there! I'm trying to find a decent Middle Eastern Cuisine!" Jasmine shouted.

"Dilja Cafe Lounge in Decatur, GA," the grass monster said as we continued our descent into Loganville, GA.

"Thank you! Some asshole grass monster devoured the one we used to go to!" Aladdin called.

"The building tasted better than the food!" the grass monster called back.

We descended in the Loganville Crossing parking lot near La Bamba a few minutes later. I put the grass monster down before I brushed myself off.

He went in the restaurant. After flapping my wings to ensure no grass blades were on me, I walked in the restaurant.

Richy Valens was brought back to life. He was singing "La Bamba" in La Bamba! I hope to Goodness no one was going to say "La Bamba in La Bamba!" PeeWee Herman would be all over that.

Richy Valens's face was deep-faked on Melissa's body. Deep faking is a technology in which someone else's face can be programmed on your body. It's basic, really. I deep-faked Illidan's face on Grom Hellscream's face so many times when I played World of Warcraft, a popular multiplayer massive online roleplaying game.

I ordered the five tacos for five dollar special. The grass monster ordered the loaded nachos. He ate like crazy.

Richy Valens then returned to Heaven after he sang the song using Melissa the Great Arc Angel's body. Her face had returned.

"I'm starving!" she shouted as she stole one of my tacos.

"I PAID A DOLLAR FOR THAT!!!!" I shouted. The roof accidentally flew up from the restaurant. It then returned to its normal state.

"Sorry," she said as she finished her taco and ordered 50 tacos for $50. She WAS hungry.

"You will pay me back by not MENTIONING a back story on this restaurant," I said.

"I wasn't-" Melissa the Great Arc Angel started to say.

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shewritesometimes · 4 years ago

Text

Catching Up (Story)

Let me preface this story with a little background story: I was a young 16 years old when I first met Khalil. I remember being in the hall during passing period with my friend Zhane when he walked past us, going through the double doors that led to the staircase right outside of our classroom. He wasn’t a familiar face, and in knowing that, I knew quickly that I wanted to get familiar. Zhane told me that he was in her class, which meant he was a year older than me. Apparently, he had been around because when I asked around, everybody seemed to know who he was except for me. During our second semester of the school year, we got put into a social studies class together, where he, Zhane, and I sat near each other. I don’t remember if we got to choose our seats, but I ended up just a few rows away from Khalil. It was perfect because I got to stare at him. Like they do in the movies, I used to just sit in class and daydream; scribbling his name on the side of my notes, making sure the ‘i’ in his name was dotted with a heart. He was so fine, especially when he talked. Khalil was so handsome to me and not just because he was cute but because he was incredibly intelligent. He could command respect in whatever room he walked in with his demeanor, and if he didn’t, people knew that he was someone to be listened to the moment he opened his mouth and began to speak. I learned quickly that he wasn’t the type to speak up on things he didn’t know too much about, but always made sure to share his thoughts when he was very well versed in something.

Khalil and I clicked instantly and were suddenly on a first name basis. We flirted. A lot. He spoke my language, meaning that when we flirted, it was on accident. I’d say something and he’d make an innuendo or vice versa; our chemistry was insane. If there was a wet meter for every time that I talked to Khalil, it would’ve shown “drenched” at all times. Then, when his senior year was over, so were we. We spoke maybe four times total after he graduated. When we stopped communicating, we just stopped. As life does, both of ours went on without each other. I graduated, went to college, and started my career. I thought about Khalil from time to time but figured that after all of the contactless years, he’d forgotten about me. Those last five months of high school when we became friends seemed to pass us by and we were never able to make good on the flirting that we did; it made us appear to be all bark and no bite. I didn’t think of Khalil much but when I did, I thought that maybe he was married by now. He probably had a kid or two. As smooth talking and intelligent as he was, I just knew that his life post high school was lavish and that those days were long gone from his memory. I thought wrong.

Summer had rolled around again meaning that I was on summer break because the kids were out to enjoy their summer. As always, I offered my services to my students and their families for emotional support through the summer and always kept my work phone on me as a result. Today, I had received two calls from rising second graders who just wanted to say hello while they were enjoying being away from school. I had just sat down with my laptop, opening Constant Contact to get ready to draft my monthly newsletter when my laptop and phone notified me that I had a text message. It was from an unknown number, asking if my number belonged to me. I was perplexed. My phone number had not changed since the summer before my Junior year in high school. Most people that had it, were contacts in my phone; aside from the weird political and scam text messages that I would get. I was hesitant to respond but figured that it had to be someone that I was familiar with.

Me: Who is this?

Unsaved number: Khalil Barker.

I dropped my phone in complete awe. Khalil Barker was texting me. I wondered how he had gotten my phone number. I knew for damn sure that he didn’t still have it from high school because it had been more than half a decade since the last time that we had talked to each other. None of my friends had told me that they had run into him, so I was really at a loss for words. I picked my phone up again and saw that the dots in the thread were animated on Khalil’s end, signifying that he was typing something to me. I exited the thread to collect myself, but I didn’t have long before my phone told me that he had sent another new message.

Khalil: If I have the wrong number, my apologies. No need to respond.

I waited another three minutes. I called my best friend on facetime to tell her what was going on.

“Hello?”

“Jaylin girl.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ll never believe who just texted me.”

“Who?”

“Khalil.”

“Whaaaat?”

“Yes bitch.”

“What did he say.” I looked at my phone again, wondering if Khalil still had the same number from high school. There was no way for me to know; all of the phones that I had had back then were broken and I never bothered to get them fixed.

“He just sent a text that said, ‘hi is this Taylor Moss?’” I kept staring at the thread, wondering what I was going to say.

“Did you respond? What are you going to say?” Jaylin was just as intrigued as me. If anybody around me really knew how I felt about Khalil, it was her. She listened to me go on and on about all the fantasies that I had had about him in high school.

“No, I haven’t responded yet. I don’t even know how he got my number.”

“Ask him that then. It could be a conversation piece.”

“You don’t think that would be too arrogant of a response? We haven’t talked since he graduated. Well, a little bit after he graduated.” I started recounting the years. Like I said, it had been more than half a decade; seven whole years to be specific since the last time we had spoken to each other. I don’t remember exactly when we had held our last conversation, but it was shortly before I started my senior year in high school.

“Okay bitch you right. Just tell him it’s you and see where it goes from there.”

“Thank you because I was definitely overthinking. What you doing?”

“About to get in the shower. Mal coming over to see me.”

“Bitch,” I smiled. Mal was Jaylin’s boyfriend and I already knew I wouldn’t hear from her for a couple of days. “Enjoy. I’ll let you know how this goes.”

“I love you!”

“I love you too. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome girl. Good luck, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.” We exchanged goodbyes and hung up the phone. I was in fact Taylor Moss and the simplest way to find out how Khalil was able to get in contact me was to confirm that for him. I moved my laptop off of my lap and sat with my phone too close to my face. I lowered it to my lap, using both hands to respond to Khalil.

Me: This is Taylor.

The word delivered changed to read at 2:33pm so quick that I almost threw my phone across the room.

Khalil: Hey, I know that this is weird since we haven’t talked in a few years, but I ran into Zhane and she gave me your number. That answered my question. I hope that’s okay. I was wondering if you’d like to go out to maybe go out to dinner. We could catch up.

A few years? Did this nigga not realize how long it had actually been since the last time that we had talked? Dinner? Everything was happening so fast. I hadn’t been on a date in months. My ex was still on my line begging me to talk to him and I entertained it but never to the point where we got to see each other. Did Zhane tell him that I was single? How did I even come up? I had so many questions that I wanted to ask but none of them mattered much.

Me: I’m not even going to lie to you; you texting me caught me all the way off guard. You’re the last person I thought I’d ever hear from. I’m down to go to dinner. When would you like to go?

As soon as I pressed send, I put my phone down on the black couch in my living room then walked into my kitchen to grab something to drink. I grabbed a cup from my cabinet, ran the ice machine on the outside and settled for water because I was still at a loss. Fine ass Khalil Barker was hitting me up after all these years to go out to dinner. I didn’t even feel comfortable thinking of him as fine because I had convinced myself long ago that he was a married father already. I leaned on my granite island, hunched over thinking about what the hell was going on in my world for this to happen. The last good deed I had done was a month old and that was just me giving money to someone that was down on their luck. I couldn’t imagine that this was the universe paying me back. I walked back over to my phone to see that Khalil had double texted; the messages were eight minutes old.

Khalil Barker: I’ve debated on texting you for a couple of days now because I didn’t know if you would respond.

Dinner tonight if you’re free? I can pick you up.

Tonight? He was just as eager as I was.

Me: Tonight is perfect! I deleted that because ‘perfect’ made me sound as excited as I was, and I was not trying to let this man know that. I typed a million responses before finally sending “that works for me.” I texted Zhane to catch her up on what was going on. She had told me that she ran into Khalil at a barbecue and that when he asked her for my number, she was shocked but wanted us to possibly rekindle our old flame, so she gave it to him. I thanked her for looking out for me and let her know that we were set to go to dinner that night. She wished me good luck and good dick; to which I ignored because I knew he was a married man; and finalized dinner plans with the man that I had the biggest crush on all of those years ago in high school.

We decided on dinner at seven in the evening at the Applebee’s just a few blocks away from my house. I told Khalil that I would drive myself because it just seemed easier than having him pass the restaurant to come and pick me up, just to drive back to it. He agreed and let me know when he arrived there. I was in the parking lot; fifteen minutes early because I prided myself on my punctuality to everything that I ever attended. Because we were only going to Applebee’s, I didn’t put on the grandest outfit. I threw on a maroon crop top and black dolphin shorts, paired with gold sandals that matched my bracelets, my belly button ring, and the crossbody bag that I had. I got out of the car to meet him at the entrance, nervous because of the time that had passed. When I approached the door, he was there. He was wearing a white shirt with a floral bar across the front, black pants, and black and white ones to match. He looked so good. Time had done him well. He was looking at his phone as I made my way over. The closer I got to him, the finer her appeared and I couldn’t even hold it back.

“Wow.” It slipped. I was a little embarrassed but it was truthful so I couldn’t be too upset. Khalil locked his phone and put it in his pocket. He turned to me and smiled.

“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” His voice quickly reminded me of high school when I would daydream about him whispering in my ear telling me how he wanted me. That made my pussy tingle with excitement.

“It’s good.”

“I’m sure.” I knew he was saying that to be slick. We hugged and he opened the door for me. We were seated in a booth that looked out onto the grassy area of the mall that Applebee’s was located in. We ordered our drinks. Small talk ensued after the waitress gave us time to order.

“What do you want to eat?” I asked. He looked up from his menu at me and smirked.

“I’m sure you don’t want me to answer that question honestly.”

“You could answer honestly, then follow that up with a food item.” We smiled at each other then went back to silently exploring our menus. I got a burger and he did too. I wanted to know if he was just flirting with me because, or if he was trying to make something happen between us.

“So, you ran into Zhane and just casually asked her for my phone number?” I asked.

“That’s not exactly how it went but if you want to paraphrase it that way then it’s not entirely wrong.” The light above the table that we were sitting at made Khalil glow. I couldn’t stop looking at his arms, which were more muscular than I remembered them being in high school. The longer he talked to me about being in the service, the more I wanted to just fuck him, right there in the restaurant. By the time we finished dinner, I had learned that he was not married, that he had recently moved back home, and that he hadn’t had the best of luck in the dating world since he had returned back to North Carolina. I told him that I was a counselor for elementary school kids, that I wanted to open a school, and that I had wondered why he never reached out before. In the day and age of social media, following someone seemed more common than to ask someone for their phone number. Khalil explained to me that social media wasn’t really his thing and that he wanted to be sure that he had the right person, even though he had found my Facebook page after running into Zhane.

“I can’t believe I got to see you tonight. It always feels good to catch up with people.” We were now leaving the restaurant.

“True. Even better when the catching up is with someone that you want to catch up with.” We laughed as he walked me to my car. “This you?” he asked. He was referring to my car which was a dark gray two-year-old Toyota Camry.

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re kinda bougie.”

“Why do you say that?” I unlocked my doors.

“This car is nice as hell.”

“It’s a Toyota.” There was a moment of silence where we made eye contact.

“Damn Taylor.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just giving you a hard time. Look,” he paused. I got nervous. “We should do this again.”

“Absolutely. Just let me know when and we can see if we can make it happen.” He ran his hand across his head and sighed. It sounded like disappointment, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t ask.

“Sounds good. Please let me know when you get home safe. It was nice seeing you tonight.” I relayed the same message to Khalil as we hugged. I thanked him for dinner and then got in my car. I watched him walk over to his car, get in and start up before I drove home. As I approached home alone, I couldn’t help but to think that maybe Khalil and I should’ve ended the night together. Pulling into my garage, I convinced myself that it was way too soon for that. I didn’t want to seem desperate, but I didn’t know how else to think about how the night should’ve ended. Even after showering and getting into bed, I thought maybe I should’ve kissed him. I started thinking about what it would be like to fuck Khalil; the sounds he made, the facial expressions, if he could handle me. I made things much worse on myself when I started thinking about the ways he would take control while fucking me. I fought every urge to text him and tell him to come to my house. I shook that thought and quickly made the executive decision to handle the urge myself. After I came, I wondered for a quick second if it was the lack of sex I was having that made me want Khalil so bad, or if I was genuinely still attracted to him. I went to sleep wishing that I had gotten my back blown out instead of making myself cum to the thought of it.

Chapter 2

It had been three days since Khalil and I had gone out for dinner. The last text message exchange that we had was us letting each other know that we were home safe and saying goodnight. I had debated with myself over and over about texting him and asking him to come over because I didn’t know if he was really feeling me like that. It was mid-day on a Friday, and I decided to throw all caution to the wind and find out where I stood with him.

Me: Hey, I have a question, and I apologize in advance if it comes off as lewd and forward. I’ve just been wanting to ask it since the night that we had dinner and wondering about it is killing me.”

Khalil: Shoot.

Me: Well, all bullshit aside I just want to know, at this present time, would you fuck me? I sent the message and almost blocked him immediately after. I hurried out of the thread and wasted time anticipating his response by watering all of my plants. When I came back, Khalil’s message had been received twelve minutes ago. I hesitated to open it because I was embarrassed that I even went ahead and asked the question in the first place.

Khalil Barker: Lol that’s not lewd at all. First of all, the answer to that question is absofuckinglutely. Second, I’m glad your curiosity got the best of you because I’ve been thinking about fucking you since I saw you on Tuesday. We should’ve gone home together if I’m being completely honest with you, I wasn’t trying to be that guy. Sorry if that’s lewd. I bit my lip reading his response. I was flattered because I didn’t think his answer would be yes. I quickly envisioned him having my legs wrapped around his face as he explored me with his mouth, and then I remembered that I needed to respond.

Me: I honestly didn’t think your answer would be yes. I don’t think I would’ve told you no if you asked me to come home with you the other night.

Khalil: Well if that’s the case, come over.

Me: When?

Khalil: Right now. I’ll see you when you get here. He followed that message with a text that contained his address. He lived twenty-three minutes from me. I was floored. He didn’t give me much of a choice to show up or not, so I went to get dressed about twenty minutes after he sent me his address. It was 3:19 on a Friday afternoon and I was getting dressed for a dick appointment. I put my hair in a curly bun because it was going to get messed up anyways. My outfit of choice was one that gave Khalil easy access to everything; a baby blue bandeau top that somehow fit my size 34DDD’s inside perfectly and a black maxi skirt with high slits on both sides. I debated on putting on underwear because they’d be coming right off, but I opted in for a pair of gray and blue ones that sort of matched my shirt. I put studs in my ears because I didn’t want to have to take off anything except for my clothes and shoes when I arrived. I laced up a pair of blue sandals around my ankles, put on lip gloss and packed a few things in an overnight bag that I threw in the trunk just in case Khalil wanted me to stay.

Chapter 3

I pulled up to Khalil’s house which was a blueish gray two story home. The windows had dark gray trimmings and the doors were a very rich, dark brown. I pulled into the driveway, in awe at how beautiful his home was. He opened the garage before I could call to let him know that I had arrived. The door rose, revealing him standing at the top of a two-step staircase just above the floor of his garage. He had on a black V-neck shirt, black and blue basketball shorts, and socks. I suddenly felt overdressed. I turned the car off and got out.

“Well shit.” I stopped, pretending I didn’t know why Khalil was having the reaction he was having.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I continued walking through his garage, the light from the sun dimming as it closed behind me. I stepped close to Khalil, smelling whatever cologne he had on and wanting to jump on him as he allowed me into his home. He closed the door to the house, and I took a look around. He had a beautiful house; carpeted floors, a gray sectional in the living room, what looked to be a seventy-five-inch flat screen TV that was mounted above a fireplace, a white kitchen and granite counters.

“You have a beautiful home.” I admired what I was seeing. “Did a woman live here with you before?”

“Most people say ‘hi’ when they come in somebody else’s house.” He was joking with me and it made me smile wide.

“I’m sorry. Hi Khalil.”

“Now you want to speak?” He laughed with me and we hugged. “You got somewhere to be after you leave here because I know you didn’t come over here dressed like that just to see me.” He held my hand up and I turned so he could see me from every angle. When I was facing him again, I stepped closer to him.

“You told me to come over so I’m here. I follow directions very well.” I put my hand on his chest and looked up at him. He was so tall and handsome.

“I’ll be damned. I mean I know you asked what you asked but I didn’t know… you want a tour?” The sexual tension could be cut with a knife. I took the tour of his house although his open concept floor plan showed me most of everything. I got to see his bedroom and his guest room, which were both upstairs. When we came back to the living room, he offered me something to drink and we went onto the shaded patio that the French doors in the kitchen opened up to. Outside, there was a black and gray patio set that we sat on.

“It’s so hot, thank goodness for this breeze or I’m sure we’d both be dripping in sweat.” I said, shifting so that the breeze hit me just a bit more.

“Some days, it’s too hot to even be out here. I’m usually in the house playing 2K.” I took a sip of the strawberry lemonade that he offered me.

“This tastes really good.”

“I’m sure the same can be said about you.”

“Khalil stop playing with me. I can’t imagine that you wanted to fuck me before now.”

“Pardon my language but for what crazy ass reason would you think that?”

“I mean, we were young when we used to talk about it you know? I was inexperienced so it was all talk for me.”

“And you knew I was fucking so my statement stands.”

“I think you’re lying; you didn’t want to fuck me until we saw each other for dinner.”

“Taylor, I used to fantasize about fucking you on the desks in class. And remember that conference we had to go to for our final presentations? Yeah, I wished that we had sat together on the charter bus. I wanted you to sit next to me so I could do some things to you and see if you could keep quiet. The list goes on.” My mouth was left agape. I quickly closed it to smile and inquire.

“Things like what?”

“To start, I probably would’ve fucked you in the bathroom of that bus if we were ever on that thing alone. If this hadn’t been on my mind, you wouldn’t be here right now.” I could tell by the tone in his voice that Khalil was serious. I thought back to the one class we had together and envisioned myself getting fucked on the desks, then flashed back to the charter bus ride to and from California for the Social Issues Today conference with Dr. Rosen. I sat with Zhane and now I wished that I would’ve sat with Khalil.

“Okay so what I want to know is why I’m just now hearing about this. The most you ever did was lick my face.” I crossed my leg, exposing my whole thigh as I waited for Khalil’s answer.

“Man, high school was rough. So much fucked up shit was happening for me all at the same time. I wanted you, trust me I did. But I didn’t pursue you because of everything else that was going on and because of the fact that I was leaving. I didn’t want to subject you to that.”

“I kind of figured that, but you never reached out while you were away because?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it.” He paused, as if thinking of how he was going to explain what he just said. But I was sick of talking and I wanted him.

“That’s fair.” I got up, grabbed my cup, and walked to the door to go back in the house. “Come on, we can finish talking inside”. Khalil came inside after me, locking the door. I went and sat on his couch.

“Look Taylor, I don’t want you to think that I didn’t think about you while I was gone. I did. Do you know how many times I thought about flying you out so you could come and visit? So that I could finally taste you?” Khalil sat down next to me on the couch. I was on the longer part of the sectional and he was on the cushion to my right. “I lived in this apartment that overlooked a waterfall by the pool and it would’ve been romantic as hell to fuck you on the balcony with that as our view.” I moved over to Khalil, making sure to place my hand close enough to his dick that I didn’t touch it, but he would want me to.

“I hear all of these things that you want to do, but you have me here and we’ve been engaging in conversation since I arrived. Either you gon fuck me like you wanted to on that balcony and in class or you can stop telling me what it is that you want.” I got up and straddled him. Once I was sitting on him, I looked over my shoulder and turned the TV on, letting SportsCenter run in the background as I turned back around to look at him.

“Are you sure?” he raised his hand to my neck, gently squeezing on it. I put my hand on top of his, bit my lip and smiled at him.

“Put your money where your mouth is.”

“My mouth could be elsewhere, I’m sure you’d like that better.” Khalil’s free hand caressed my thigh softly. He literally had me in his hands and at his mercy. I moaned slightly as I felt his hand come closer to my vagina. He let go of my neck and had begun to lick, kiss, and bite on it at the same time that he inserted two of his fingers inside of me. It was driving me crazy. He laid me down on the couch, giving me the two fingers that were inside of me to taste. I sucked on them as if I had his dick in my mouth; that’s what I really wanted. His hand made its way back to my neck, my skirt exposed both of my legs and he positioned himself between them. He leaned down so that he was right by my ear. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth but far enough where his lips weren’t touching. “You said you follow directions very well, right?” He whispered. I gushed. I’m pretty sure if I didn’t have underwear on, I would’ve made a pool on that man’s couch right then.

“Mhm.” I moaned, unable to suppress how I was feeling. He was about to make me have an orgasm without even penetrating me. I had fantasized about him being in my ear since high school and now it was happening.

“Prove it.” We started kissed and tugging at each other. It wasn’t long before all of our clothes were off and thrown aimlessly about the living room. The sun was setting outside. Khalil kissed up my thighs, kissing the crevices near my vagina to tease me. I closed my eyes waiting for him to put his mouth where he said he wanted to earlier.

“Sit up.” He said. I was caught off guard. We were already on the couch, so I didn’t know what he wanted me to sit up for, but I obliged. “I want you to look at me when you cum.” He was talking that good shit that I wanted to hear. He kissed up my thighs again, rubbing them as he closed in on my vagina. The first lash of his tongue across my sensitive clit made me moan so high pitched that it almost sounded like a mouse. I opened my eyes and looked down at him, he was smiling at me. He had his hand wrapped around my left thigh, squeezing it. I reached for his hand, and he held it while he made me cum in his mouth. I thought that he would want to have sex after I came, but he ate me out for what seemed to be another 35 minutes. He even moved so that I could ride his face comfortably. We made direct eye contact. He made sure I watched him wipe me off of his chin.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.” My voice vibrated as I bounced up on Khalil’s dick. I always knew it would be big because he was tall and skinny, but I was shocked when he pulled it out. He freed one of his hands from my hips to put one of my breasts in his mouth. I threw my head back, tightening my grip on the back of the couch. “I’m about to cuh-uh-uhhhhmmm.” And just like that, I did. I hopped off of Khalil and dropped to my knees in front of him so that I could clean myself off of him. My hair came out of the bun I put it in when we first started fucking on the couch. I took all of him into my mouth, making sure to slowly bob so that the sensation of me riding could subside. Khalil gave me back to back orgasms and it was amazing how he got me to cum on command for him. We had come together twice now. His stamina pleased me.

“Give me this nut.”

“You gotta take it.” I continued to suck his dick, and the longer I went, the wetter I got. It got real messy; the best way to give head. I slurped and moaned, making sure he knew that I enjoyed his dick down my throat. I reached to fondle his balls and he flinched, letting me know that I was going to get exactly what I wanted. I placed one hand around his shaft, stroking it while I focused my mouth on his baby carriers. I popped both of them into my mouth, then one at a time, and then both again. I licked the area one more time before returning his dick back to my mouth. “Shit.” Khalil tried to say it so that I couldn’t hear it, but I did and that hyped me just a tad, so I got louder with my moans and slurps until I felt him squirming under me. I focused on the tip, tightening the grip my mouth had on his dick and I used my right hand to stroke him as I continued to perform head. His dick pulsed, signaling that he was about to cum. I encircled my left thumb with a fist to relax my gag reflexes and deep throated him. He shot right down my throat. I clicked my tongue.

“Want to know a fun fact?”

“What?”

“Spitters are quitters.”

Chapter 4

I woke up in Khalil’s bed. The clock next to his bed read 2:17. It was early in the morning. He wasn’t asleep, so when I rolled over, he smiled at me.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Why are you still awake?”

“I’m always usually up at this time.”

“Have you been to sleep at all?”

“Yeah. I just woke up maybe twenty minutes ago.” I stretched, accidentally touching Khalil’s dick when I did. “Again?” he looked at me with amorous eyes. I moved the covers off of me, reached for his hand and put it on my vagina so that he could see that I was ready to go again if he was.

“If you want it, I want it.”

“Bet.” When we had come upstairs from our wild couch session, I was too tired to hop in the shower, so I took a hoe bath and Khalil gave me one of his t-shirts. He didn’t have a shirt on, but he had on a different pair of basketball shorts with nothing under them. We started to kiss and soon enough, he was inside of me again.

“It’s yours.” I sang. I was gripping the hell out of Khalil’s arms, and he was keeping me in place on the bed. My head was hanging off of the side of the bed and he was so deep in me that I thought I could feel him in my chest.

“Yeah. That’s what I like to hear.” He slowed down to pull my whole body back onto the bed.

“Please don’t stop.”

“Turn around.” He came out of me to let me toot my ass up so that it was facing him. I arched my back and knew that he was about to take everything that I had left in me. He entered, starting slowly and then picking up his pace again. He reached down, grabbing my neck, and pulling my back up to his front. “This pussy so fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” I felt myself getting closer to my third orgasm of this session.

“I want you Taylor.”

“Kha….” His name faded out of my mouth as I moaned when he let me go and I was able to arch my back. He smacked my ass and it echoed in the air. He positioned his hands on my hips and pounded faster and harder with each stroke. “Oh fuck.”

“Whose is it?” I couldn’t even close my mouth to try to form an answer for him. He smacked my ass again, and the sting made me wetter than I already was. I reached back and held onto his arm. “Whose is it?” he asked again, knowing we were both close.

“Khalil…. Shiiiiit.” I turned before he could cum and put his dick in my mouth, cumming while he came in my mouth.

“Fuck.” He said, twitching at the same time that he enjoyed his orgasm. I kept sucking after he came because that was just good manners. Khalil leaned forward, smacked my ass, and enjoyed the head he was receiving after giving me such a powerful climax. Finally, I stopped, and he pulled me up to tongue kiss me after. I smiled as we parted lips. We took a shower together, washing each other down while inside and then returned to bed together.

“Good morning Taylor.”

“Good morning.” I smiled at him.

“This isn’t quite what I imagined that you would look like on the first morning that I woke up to you, but for the first time, it’ll work.” Khalil moved my hair out of my face and kissed my forehead. He was already out of bed and moving around.

“When you get out of bed, meet me downstairs, I’m making you breakfast.” I looked at him like the white man blinking GIF.

“Making me breakfast? Was I that good last night?”

“You was aight.” We smiled at each other.

“I guess you were aight too then.”

“Na uh, don’t front on me like I didn’t have you hanging off the bed.”

“You just said I was aight and I didn’t say nothing. I know what she’s capable of.”

“If you’re looking for me to tell you that you put that Erykah Badu on me and changed my life, I’m not gon do it. But I will tell you that no other woman has ever gotten breakfast out of me.” I watched him disappear out of his room and heard him go down the stairs. As I lay there staring out of the window, I realized how happy I felt; happiness that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I got up, used the bathroom, and grabbed my emergency “spennannight” kit to brush my teeth. As I headed downstairs in another one of Khalil’s t-shirts, I hoped that he wanted me as much as I wanted him, because he and his dick were both something that I could and wanted to get used to.

To Be Continued

#monay's work

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whiskeyworen · 5 years ago

Text

Aspect IV: Of Inspiration and Communication

Inside Vigil Keep, weeks before “Bound By Blood”

"Soldier Sonnya Danae; Package for you." The delivery person looked at his clipboard tiredly, before turning it around with a quill in hand for her. "Sign here please."

"I wasn't expecting any packages." Sonnya pointed out, scrawling her name in Asuran swirls on the line. It didn't matter that the form was written in Krytan; names are names. Besides, she'd seen people just scribble nonsense on the line before.

The delivery person shrugged slowly, and handed her a brown paper wrapped parcel. "I just deliver'm, miss."

As he turned to walk away, Sonnya retreated to her quarters, closing the door and locking it. She barely realized she'd done it; her attention was entirely on the mysterious package in her hand.

She sat down at her desk, placing the package on the table top, just...staring at it. Who could have sent it? There was an address on it from somewhere in Lion's Arch, but that might not mean anything; as long as you put an address from Lion's Arch, no one would bother looking it up. It might not even exist.

"Well, time to find out what's in this thing." Sonnya declared, and ripped the package open. Her eyebrow rose slightly as she pulled out the small, hand-sized comm device. It kind of looked like the standard Pact communicator that unit leaders and commanders had, but it was almost half the size.

The structure and layout were different as well. Instead of an On and Off button being the only keys, there was an entire set of number keys, some symbols she didn't recognize, and a few adjustment dials. Embedded into the top left corner appearred to be a micro-golemite eye. "....the hell?... why would a communicator need to see? Is it a golem or something?" She mumbled quietly, turning the device over in her hands. Satisfied there were no other secrets to it, she flicked the 'On' switch. She expected to hear one or another commander somewhere, talking to their companions; Pact comms were always open to anyone who had a comm, so the idea of private conversations was kind of an illusion.

Instead, there was silence. After a few seconds, the micro-golemite eye raised from its alcove, did a quick scan of everything in front of it (including Sonnya) and settled back into its groove. While the eye turned off, apparently the device finally activated. "Hello? Is this one Sonnya Danae I am speaking to?"

Sonnya waited for the no-doubt dozens of confused responses from others in the commnet, before realizing none were coming. So she hesitantly replied. "Uh, yes. This is Sonnya here. I received this comm unit in the mail?"

"Yes! Then it worked as I had planned! I am very pleased to make your acquaintance!" The voice on the comm was quite enthusiastic, but crystal clear. "I was unsure how to properly reach you, and this seemed most appropriate. I regret we cannot meet in person, but I am...on task in Elona at the moment."

Sonnya gave the comm an odd look. "Oh...kay?... Sorry, but I'm honestly surprised no one else has broken in to ask how I'm comming, or who you are? There's no way everyone turned their comms off."

"Oh, this comm is on a secure channel." The voice replied brightly. "Sadly, Pact comms are pretty basic. They are designed to be used as a single network, with everyone connected. I do not believe any research was ever done into solitary, private commlinks. At least, not until my Father suggested it and the rest of the crew figured it out. I helped of course."

"I'm...sorry, but I'm still really confused." She scratched her ear, placing the comm down on the table top. "So the comm is on its own, private line or something? The only people who can talk and hear are you and me?"

"Unless we cut someone into the signal, or they cut themselves in somehow, yes." There was a thoughtful pause in the line. "Of course, they would have to decrypt about a hundred and forty-four thousand lines of code to even FIND the signal. There's a lot of radio, ley, and Mist spectrum to work with. If we cut them in manually though, it would be a simple matter of dialing their number, provided we knew it, into the comm and then pressing the little button that looks like three dots connected by lines."

"I saw that, but didn't know what it was." Sonnya admitted, before shaking her head. "Wait wait. Okay. Hang on... WHY are we even talking? Why did you send a comm to me?"

"Oh! Right! I was so pleased with having made contact, that I placed the reason for it in the back of my memory!" Sonnya was pretty sure that the person on the other side of the comm was clapping their hands, though she couldn't hear the sound. "I wished to speak to you about the construction of your wonderful powered-armor suit, and your integration of technical devices into your biological structure!"

Her jaw dropped. No one knew, apart from the Warmaster, knew anything about her implants, or her suit. No one...except maybe Tenna. If Tenna even knew. "How... I mean, what makes you think I have anything like that? I don't know what you're talking about."

The person on the other end laughed pleasantly. "Oh please. There were recordings from all angles in the battle against that Shatterer. The Charr Legions were recording because they wanted to see the result of their new weapons. The Priory was recording for archives' sake, and the Order of Whispers and the Vigil were recording for references for future battles! Your little stunt might not be explainable to them, but I assure you, I understand exactly what was going on."

"You...have me at a disadvantage then." Sonnya frowned, crossing her arms. "My...implants won't work with anyone else. I only ever designed them to work with me."

"Oh do not worry about that. I am not interested in that. Not really." There was a smile in the voice. "I am planning something that requires... let us call it a very fine integration of biological and mechanical components. I wished to pick your brain, as it were, for ideas on how to smooth out some of the issues I have encountered in my simulations. Basically, I want you to double-check my ideas, and make sure I have not done something foolish or impossible."

"So, you don't want to steal my tech or anything like that? You just want to ask questions on how to improve your own? Your own tech that is similar to mine, but less refined?"

"Precisely."

"...Well, what did you have in mind then?"

***

Several hours later

"... so the circuitry integrates with the implants directly via surface-to-surface interface." Sonnya explained. "I can't give you the specifications of the implants themselves, but based on the ideas you've thrown at me, this should allow for a faster information rate and a tighter connection."

"I see! Thank you for the insight." The voice on the comm acknowledged. "I believe you're right. While I have no intention of using your implants, or trying to extrapolate them based on available information, I do believe I can manage to decrease reaction times by half at least, and muscle-load by a factor of five! I am sure if I work at it a little more, I can coax even more out. My investigation into magitech-neuromuscular modification is still rudimentary, but I'll soon have a few prototypes to test out."

"Glad to be of service." Sonnya smiled. She took a sip of beer from the bottle she'd gotten from her personal cooler. "Do you have any ideas on what you'll do with it all? I mean, you weren't looking to make a suit at all it seems. Or rather, the powered armor suit is almost a secondary item to whatever you're making."

"Publically, when it all is arranged, I will be setting up the sale of fully-working, personally customized prosethetics. The market will be for those individuals who, through birth or injury, are suffering from lack of limbs. I understand there's a similar market in Rata Sum, but it is small because everything is based off Golem-limb construction. Which, if you ask me, Golems are remarkably...brutish."

Sonnya shrugged. "True. But the refinements in magic circuits and power systems is making them more powerful and intelligent by the day. Shape doesn't really mean much, does it? Just look at that golem that kid in Dragon's Watch had. What was her name again?..."

"Taimi." The voice supplied reluctantly. "And yes, her Scruffy models are aesthetically pleasing, and very unique with their ability to be a conveyence AND a powered mecha suit, as well as a fully functioning autonomous golem...but they are still not the angle I am going for."

That brought a frown to the guardian's face. "I still don't know what you mean. The only other examples of golem-type things I know of are like, the Exalted, which AREN'T golems but kinda look like them, the Jade Constructs which are closer to Elementals in nature... and the Watchwork nightmares."

"Oh yes... the Watchworks. I know them well." The comm replied quietly and cryptically. "Very interesting designs, those."

"Scarlet was a maniac." Sonnya said flatly, frowning before draining her beer. "Her Watchwork creations made Steam creatures look tame by comparison. And we still have to wipe out infestations of THOSE in Lornar's Pass every year! They just keep making more of themselves!"

There was a pause, a silence over the comm. Then, "...Perhaps I should investigate how they replicate? If I can figure it out, it might come in handy for self-repairing prosthetics."

"Be my guest. Just don't come crying to me when a Steam Brain zaps you with lightning for coming too close." She laughed. She could still remember seeing Priory researchers bounding across the ice, backsides singed while an angry Steam Brain chased them, lightning arcing from its central eye, while the entire time it swore at them in machine-language. She assumed it was swearing of course. Wouldn't you, if some know-it-alls tried to shove a stick in your ear? Or whatever a Steam Brain has?

"Duly noted. Thank you again, Miss Sonnya."

"Well, it was my pleasure. It's not often I can talk shop with anyone." Sadly truer than Sonnya would like to admit; most soldiers in the Vigil were more concerned with using things rather than making things.

"....In that case, allow me to make you an offer." There was a nervous note in the voice's tone. Sonnya had the impression that, had someone been present, they would have been talking behind a cupped hand, afraid someone would hear. "In a week's time, my ship will dock in Lion's Arch at airdock 42 in the Aerodrome. If you show up, say, around noon, I will let you see the secret project I have been working on. The one that your information has come in quite handy in its completion."

A clandestine meeting at a secured, out-of-the-way airdock? Sonnya had flown on ships from the Aerodrome before, and remembered how it was laid out; Dock 42 was the furthest out, on the backside of the Aerodrome, facing Bloodtide Coast. It was so far out that merchants refused to park ships there because it would take so long and was so complicated to get things on board. Why would anyone willingly park there? "Uh, sure... A week from now, noon, Lion's Arch, Dock 42. Sure thing."

"Excellent. Perhaps when you see it, you will be able to offer a more hands-on, practical examination. You might see some things that need improvement from the prototype to a production model."

"Alright. Sounds fine to me!"

"Good, good. I must go now. Needs of the ship are building up on my task-list. I need to focus on that for a while."

Sonnya picked up the comm, surprised and a little worried. "Wait, before you sign-off or whatever... When I get to your ship, which ship am I actually looking for? And who should I tell them invited me?"

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, a smiling, almost devious tone to it. "... The ship is called the Forsaken Aspect. You just need to ask to see Alice."

A chuckle rolled from the comm. "I assure you, the person you meet at the dock will know exactly who you need to see, and why. Just trust me."

"Okay... Well, I will see you then... Alice?"

"See you then, Sonnya."

#gw2 fanfiction #short fic #tyrias-library #My Characters #Sonnya Danae #Forsaken Aspect #Female Asura #Asura #Asura Guardian #Talking shop

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3dmouseart · 5 years ago

Photo

Supercorp: Heartbreak (Part 4)

In which Lena does something bad. And the truth about her is revealed.

The art that was flagged by tumblr can be found here on pillowfort.

2066 words.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Lena stirred and tried to open her eyes. Tears and sleep had caked on her long lashes. She gently pried them open.

As she stumbled to the bathroom the music continued to play.

*Get up in the morning, look in the mirror One less toothbrush hanging in the stand, yeah My face ain’t looking any younger Now I can see love’s taken a toll on me

She’s gone, she’s gone Oh I, oh I I better learn how to face it She’s gone, and she’s gone Oh I, oh I I’d pay the devil to replace her She’s gone, and she’s gone Oh why, what went wrong?

“Danielle, stop the music.”

“Certainly, Lena. How else may I be of service: would you like me to run the shower now?”

“Wait till I’m inside then give me thirty seconds of cold water followed by warm, please.”

She undressed and sorted her clothes into different laundry baskets, then forced herself to look at her reflection in the full length mirror. It was the first time since they had become a couple that they hadn’t slept together (not counting trips and missions apart) and she missed Kara’s touch. She really would need to fix herself before going in or people would see something was very wrong and send L-Corp stock prices plummeting.

She sighed and got into the shower. The cold water made her gasp and she waited it out. The warm water that followed eased the tension of her body as her legs gave way and she sobbed.

* * * *

Work was a relief: the million and one concerns of a successful and profitable business empire needed to be addressed, which kept her busy throughout the day.

It also helped that Alex called in sick for Kara, although she had planned to talk to Kara’s sister (as a kind of back door checking in), it was nothing that couldn’t wait. She was still hurt, but was unwavering in her love for Kara. It was also maybe time to tell her the truth.

She waited till she was home to check on her other companies: it was one thing to be a billionaire when you could leverage your family’s pre-existing reputation, wealth and industries; it was something else entirely to build a billion dollar business entirely from scratch. That was really “self-made”. And what she had done as Leah Quint.

Her LeQuomm telecommunications was already a profitable concern before she took over Luthor Corp and relaunched it as L-Corp after moving it to National City. That move provided the impetus to launch LooQ Sys: a vertically integrated system that provided telecommunications, internet service and electronic security. Shell corporations within shell corporations kept her involvement hidden and pricing the hardware as loss leaders resulted in greater sales.

It took three years but now LooQ Sys was ubiquitous enough for her to initiate the 700Q533 protocol alpha test. The timing and subject was not what she would have wanted it to be, but whatever.

But then maybe the timing was perfect, after all, because Kara and Alex would be horrified by what she was going to do now. They would be appalled even if they weren’t the unwitting test subjects.

She took a deep breath and strode to the largest of her walk-in closets. As she approached the cabinets housing her bags the gait analyzer scanned her.

“Stage one passed. Hello Lena.”

The cabinet swung out and the wall behind it slid open.

“Stage two: biometric verification initiated.”

The retinal and palm scans were carried out efficiently. She performed the cheek swab herself and a panel opened spoke into a metal grill as she dropped the swab into a glass cylinder. “My name is Lena Kieran Luthor. My voice is my passport. Verify me.”

A green light went on and the wall slid open.

“Identity verified. Please proceed.”

Lena stepped into the room. She called it a “no-room” after the construct in a popular science fiction book. Its default (and minimum) surveillance countermeasure was red level which meant it was 99.0 % undetectable by anyone or anything on earth as well as low earth orbit. Above red was scarlet which rendered it 99.99% undetectable even from deep space scans. Then finally crimson which rendered it 100% undetectable by anyone, anywhere– theoretically. She was sure about the science and technology for that setting- all that was required was human testing with her as the subject.

She sat down in front of a console and switched it on: cool blue lights cast a soft glow and the screens on the video wall in front of her flickered to life.

The 700Q533 had actually been ready for months now, but other… tests, specifically the one in the floor below had kept her occupied.

She would have preferred different parameters for the alpha but this was as good as any.

“Danielle.”

“How may I be of service Lena?”

“Record and annotate everything until I tell you to stop.”

“Recording now.”

“Looksee protocol alpha test one point zero: initiate.”

“What is the date and location?”

“Last night, 10:00 p.m. Location is…” She paused; if she really did this there was no turning back.

“Do you wish to proceed with the alpha test?”

Lena took a deep breath and nodded. “16 Hope Street, Apartment 4A.”

Images of Kara’s apartment from different angles appeared on some of the screens: they were from the building and room CCTVs, Kara’s cell, the cameras from her notebook computer and desktop. Step one, but an elite hacker could patch into those electronics with ease.

The next step was the beginning of the real test. “Initiate looksee protocol at this location.”

The other screens flickered to life with negative images of the apartment from other angles. The protocol had turned the other appliances into sonar sources: on the V-darknet there had been talk of The Bat doing this on a city-wide scale. She had borrowed the idea and expanded on it.

Now came the critical part.

“Stitch.”

There was a slight flicker as the room disappeared– replaced by Kara’s apartment. She had done it: she had turned the electronics in Kara’s apartment into imaging sources and the looksee protocol had stitched the data together to form an immersive environment in real time.

She got out of the chair and walked around. It was like being at Kara’s; the thought made her breath hitch and brought tears to her eyes.

Now all she had to do was wait.

It didn’t take long: Kara zoomed in and still in her work clothes threw up into the toilet in the bathroom.

Lena watched her clean herself off and remove her uniform. She ached to touch that amazingly toned, warm body. Instead she watched Kara stare upward till sleep came and tears seeped from beneath the closed eyelids.

She stayed by Kara’s side while she slept then watched and listened intently as Alex visited and comforted her sister. All in real-time simulation.

As the Danvers sisters gently snored, she wiped her eyes. “Looksee protocol alpha test one point zero: terminate.” Her voice caught on the last word.

Then she went to her bathroom and had a long soak.

* * * *

It was something of a comfort to know that Kara’s infidelity wasn’t caused by attraction (physical, emotional or otherwise which would have meant that she was no longer the most important thing in her girlfriend’s heart) but by need (she had been obviously thinking with her vagina which was cold comfort and that irony was deliberate). It could have been foreseen, considering the frequency of their “alone time” had taken on a decidedly upward trajectory. Still, she wondered why the silly girl just didn’t—-

And then everything clicked into place: she didn’t because she didn’t know how! “Self-care” would have been as alien to Kara as sex was before she deflowered the Kryptonian.

Strangely it made her feel much, much better. And now she could forgive Kara. She dried herself with a soft fluffy towel and wrapped herself in a luxurious bathrobe as she padded barefoot downstairs to the most secure section. Her verification was good for the whole day, as long as no one else entered: then it would have to be done again: this was the standard protocol, a countermeasure against shapeshifters.

While those were effective with a 99.99% confidence level, *this* section required 100% as the technology here was the most dangerous thing she had ever built. That *anyone* had ever built in this era.

She reached a glass booth, and placed her robe on a peg and entered naked. This was the final fool-proof failsafe: a comprehensive DNA analysis. While it was theoretically possible for the best shapeshifters to copy her form and mannerisms to perfection, it would be impossible for them to copy her genetic code because it was unique.

And not just the 0.1% that differentiated one human being from another.

Her DNA was only half-human.

Lena Kieran Luthor, the sister of Lex Luthor, adoptive daughter of Lillian Luthor, two of the world’s most rabid human supremacists, was in fact a hybrid: half human and half Coluan to be precise, gifted with the best traits of both species. The vast intelligence and longevity of the latter and the compassion, empathy and intuitive leaps of the former.

That genetic makeup alone would have been enough to make her a unicorn but her mother’s bloodline was peerless: she was a Dox. Querl Dox was her son, making Lena the half-sister of perhaps the most brilliant Coluan to ever live.

There was a very good reason the Dox family was far more intelligent than the rest of Colu: recombinatant eugenics. The first Dox to have attained twelfth level intelligence due to a genetic mutation was also farsighted enough to realize that it needed to be preserved in the bloodline but was also cognizant of the dangers of inbreeding. The solution was the recombination of Dox DNA with the genetic material of the dam or sire (selected for desirable qualities) of whoever married into the family. That way both parents would pass on the genetic mutation for twelfth level intelligence to their offspring.

After her mother, once Colu’s foremost researcher in twelve disciplines, suffered a calamitous drop in intelligence due to the deployment of a bio-weapon against Coluans designed for that express purpose, she changed her appearance via nanobot epidermal resequencing and exiled herself to 21st Century earth as her now seventh level intellect was now only slightly ahead of the planet’s inhabitants.

A chime sounded.

“Analysis complete: DNA is hybrid human and Coluan. Identity confirmed. Hello, Lena.”

As she put on the robe a panel opened and a screen flickered to life. There was a virtual keyboard with Interlac characters. Lena keyed in Danielle’s original designation as the user name: C-O-M-P-U-T-O.

The screen blinked green as the name was accepted and the characters changed to Kryptonian. She smiled. She pressed the equivalent of “r” then when it blinked traced a circle: the symbol for Rao.

The wall slid open soundlessly. In the distance was a blue glow. From the outside the space seemed as it would be very small, like a closet. As she entered and walked towards the glow it was anything but- a space larger on the inside than the outside: a tesseract.

The darkness gave way to glowing blue patterns on the walls and floor. Quickening her pace she made for the center of the room where a spherical vehicle that had a steampunk-ish vibe was parked.

She called it the RiDire, a pun on the Irish name for a chess knight. It was possibly the most dangerous invention in the world. Using the here and now as an anchor the vehicle phased to a parallel dimension by moving sideways through reality’s spacetime. Once in the alternate dimension it could move forwards or backwards in that dimension’s timeline, maintaining a phantom presence as its vibrational frequency was still anchored to the home dimension.

Dangerous, yes. Reckless, absolutely. But this gave her knowledge that only gods should possess.

Like what if she and Kara never met?

Or more chillingly: what would happen if they became enemies? She shuddered- the answer to that question could never be unseen.

She left the chamber in a rush and called Kara.

“Darling, it’s time we talked.”

* “She’s Gone” written by Daryl Hall and John Oates. No copyright violation is intended.

(Author’s note: This is where I was heading to from the start. The amazing Katie McGrath, who puts so much love and artistry into bringing Lena Luthor to life, deserves more than being reduced to arm candy or a love interest of a non-lead character. She is one half of Supergirl’s power couple after all. CW Supergirl showrunners and writers: elevate Lena Luthor to Supergirl’s level: this is one way to do it.)

#supercorp #supercorp fanart #supercorp angst #supergirl #kara danvers #melissa benoist #lena luthor #katie mcgrath #3d artwork #fanart

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