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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

After seeing ur explanation for that anon i really want to see a fic or a hc of ethan as a dad and becca as mom can u please do it??

omg okay ahhh my babys having babies. this is gonna be long and idk if it’ll make sense bc imma jot down everything i know about domestic e&b.

[just finished and... this is long and broken down into 6 categories........... enjoy!]

Ethan & Becca as Parents

The Pregnancy

They didn’t plan on having children, it just kind of happened. Becca and Ethan took a day for the news to settle before they jumped into excited, expecting parents mode.

The most exciting part was renovating the condo to make the most perfect nursery and shopping for decorations and mentally planning all the traditions and things they’d love to give to their little family.

All of the happiness couldn’t mask the struggles of pregnancy.

Becca hated being pregnant. She was sick and nauseous constantly, and her back and feet always ached.

Throughout the whole thing Ethan doted on her; holding her hair back and learning how to tie it up in the way she likes, rubbing her back, running out to get whatever she was craving.

He even made copious amounts of notes about her eating patterns. Enough to keep two of everything in the condo.

If she was having a restless night, he would too; even if she was restless for non-human-growing reasons.

They were in this together.

And even when she was huddled over a garbage pail, dribble running down her chin, she never looked more beautiful to him.

There was just something about all this that made him feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

When her symptoms barely settled throughout the second trimester she overhauled her entire birthing plan. There was no way she was making it to 42 weeks. She was absolutely miserable. So she made a c-section appointment for 40 weeks.

She had an entire argument with Ethan one evening (she really was only yelling while he nodded his head). Her main points were: “It’s my body and the baby will be fine. I was born 6 weeks early and I turned out fantastic!” and “Once the baby’s out of me I’m still going to have to pee. Omg what if she rips me open!? How am I supposed to use the bathroom without worrying about my stitches?”

All he kept reiterating was: “I love you. I trust you and your instincts.”

Becca felt better as he held her face in his large hands, his calming azure eyes boring into hers and letting her know everything will be alight.

But deep down she spent the next few weeks since making the appointment wondering if she should have given vaginal birth a try. She didn’t want Ethan to resent her for chickening out of her body’s natural function.

The Birth

Becca made it to her c-section appointment. Happily rubbing her large belly and glowing: “I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore! Never do this to me again.”

All Ethan did was chuckle.

He was happy she was getting color back and that her symptoms finally settled enough for her to spend the last few weeks enjoying their daughters kicks. But oh my god was Ethan Ramsey terrified of being a father.

He wouldn’t tell Becca though. She was emotional and worried enough as is. Any and all his concerns were saved for the short conversations he had with his father. “Don’t overthink it, son. The moment you lay eyes on your daughter you’ll know what to do. It’s instinct. Biology. That was your best subject in school, wasn’t it?” Alan would joke.

The surgery went off without a hitch.

All of Becca’s hatred for the phenomenon of pregnancy vanished the second the nurse placed their daughter on her chest.

Rebecca was in awe. She made that! This little person came out of her! This little pink person that looks like a plucked chicken with a tiny tuft of brown hair was here and she was beautiful. The perfect combination of her and Ethan.

The embodiment of their love.

Dakota Dolores Ramsey was completely unplanned. Unplanned but not unwanted.

The first time Ethan Ramsey held his daughter time froze. The universe needed a minute to process the broad grin and full heart thumping rapidly from this stoic and reserved man.

The earth was about to spin the wrong way but then Dakota opened her eyes.

Everything was the way divinity had planned it.

At Home

Although Ethan and Becca lived a 10 minutes drive from Edenbrook, nearly a straight run, Becca forced him to drive as slow as possible.

Dakota was asleep and she needed to keep it that way.

Due to her stitches, Becca was forced to take things easy. No matter how many times she argued with Ethan that she was capable of menial tasks around the house.

Ethan would not let her lift a finger.

If Dakota needed a change he’d happily do it. if Becca was hungry he’d make her favorite.

“You had her to yourself for nine months. Let me take the next few days.” Becca went to retort, all she wanted was to hold her baby for the rest of eternity. She’d never tire of looking at her scrunched up potato face and watching as her features changed every moment of every day. “I promise to share.” “You better,” she kissed him as he tucked her into bed for a much needed nap.

The only thing he was forced to share with his partner was feeding duty - Becca was adamant on breast feeding. A bottle would not touch their daughters lips for months to come.

That in itself brought its own challenges.

Most nights Ethan laid in bed with Becca curled up at his side in one arm and Dakota resting on his bare chest.

Parenting was weird, but an exhilarating change.

Ethan couldn’t diagnose what he could have possibly have done right in his life to be this wholly happy.

The Second

Once Ethan and Becca had one child they were both itching for a second.

“You know what say: ‘if you have one you have to have two’.” “Is that so?” “You don’t want Dakota to have a sibling?” “I was an only child and look how I turned out.” “Emotionally stunted and certified loner?” she teased.

Truth be told, Ethan wanted another. He’s been thinking of giving his pride and joy a few siblings for weeks now. He just didn’t know how to tell Becca.

Becca complained frequently about how happy she was to not be pregnant, and often about how her scar healed funnily.

All of the signs pointed to her not wanting another. And Ethan was okay with that. He never expected to have one child. He’d cherish every moment of what’s been placed right in his fingertips.

He’ll let his soon-to-be wife choose their path. She’s dictated everything else thus far. Ethan was elated she chose him to be along for the ride.

After Dakota’s first birthday, when they made the decision to have another, they tried desperately to conceive.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with diapers for five years,” was Becca’s main reason for keeping the kids close in age. “We can try surrogacy.” Ethan offered, knowing how much she hated pregnancy. He didn’t want to push her into anything. “No. I have to do it. I’ll do it for our kids. But you owe me big time.”

And 14 months later Caroline Marie Ramsey made her grand appearance.

And Becca got her first push present.

The Last

It’s fitting that four years later Ethan and Becca were blessed with another surprise.

Her pregnancy with James Jonah was the smoothest of them all.

Of course that meant something had to go wrong.

At 34 weeks Becca went into premature vaginal labor.

Within six hours their baby boy arrived. 5lbs 2oz and looking like an alien.

Ethan almost lost them both after the fact.

Becca lost too much blood with the placenta and JJ was so tiny.

But the Lao’s were fighters and they pulled through. Ethan cried at her bedside once the harrowing 24 hours were up.

Becca stayed at the hospital for a week, Ethan and Alan bringing the girls to visit every single day.

JJ had to stay a few days longer and Becca refused to leave until she could bring her son home.

She went through her first experience with postpartum depression. Becca didn’t think anything could be worse than the mental toll her abortion had on her years earlier. But she was wrong.

She was so wrong.

All their friends chipped in to help take care of the kids while Ethan devoted his time to helping his wife. The couple went to therapy, sometimes together, other times Ethan sat in the waiting room as Becca worked through her emotions.

Months later, the parents were sitting at home. Ethan held their son and their daughters were curled on their laps: He muttered into his wife’s hair, “I’d like to have one more.” “Not with me you’re not,” she scoffed. “We’re outnumbered as is.”

JJ began to cry and the girls stirred. Dakota mumbling, “Tell the baby to shut up, I’m sleeping here.”

They couldn’t help but laugh and pull apart to put their whole world to bed.

Old and graying and spending more time at home with his kids, Ethan wanted just one more baby. Four was a strong, even number. He could have a whole daycare full of them - each one the best variations of him and Becca.

Becca had spent a large portion of her 30s childrearing and she’s done. Done with diapers and formula, especially. She loves her children more than anything but they’re exhausting. She can’t wait for them to be in school full time and she can have some more alone time with her husband. It’s been so long since it’s been just them too.

“Don’t hate me...” “I could never hate you,” Ethan said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his wife’s face. She swallowed and confidently said, “I want you to get a vasectomy.”

He agreed without further consideration. She made a very compelling argument.

Parenting

Ethan is the doting helicopter dad and Becca is doctor drill sergeant. The kids get away with nothing under their mother’s watch.

Ethan is very soft and adores his children. The grumpy attending could have a whole gaggle of them. He spoils his daughters rotten, picking up the newest doll and toy they’re obsessed with, and making them promise not to tell mommy.

The women in Ethan’s life get away with everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the girls were born, Ethan stepped back at work letting the better Dr. Ramsey have her career defining moments.

He took half days to pick the girls up from preschool and would bring them to the park or museums. He’d even try to teach them to cook their favorite recipes on cold, rainy days. He’d tire them out so that he and mom could tuck them in after dinner.

Ethan’s afraid of his son. He’s afraid the tot is going to turn out exactly like him - he’s the spitting image, except that his hair curls like his mother’s.

Instead of putting JJ in fulltime daycare, Ethan chose part time preschool. The girls were in primary school now and he’s taken a bigger step back from the hospital after the baby was born.

He devotes all his free time to teaching his son about all he knows and learning all he doesn’t.

Becca complains about the state of her vagina and stomach all the time. Never in front of the children but often enough Ethan knows the look on her face right before she says the same two lines.

Her favorite activity is building forts and taking the kids to the beach.

The holidays have never felt more alive with the full house. Ethan even became a Christmas and Valentines Day lover.

Becca loved watching him change over the years. Every new first they celebrated with each child, every one of their kids passions, Ethan would adopt them all and make it his mission to be a connoisseur of every facet.

Dakota sat her parents down one day with a serious topic of conversation: “Mommy, Daddy. I’m going to be a fashion designer.” “Will you?” “Yes. And I need to dress myself.” “As long as it’s weather appropriate, consider it done.” “And we need to get supplies.”

The conversation went on for 15 minutes with Ethan and Becca asking questions and Dakota making demands. Once they’ve settled on an agreement on how to make their daughter’s dream happen, Ethan retired to his office. He taught himself the basics of sewing.

Even with all the struggles of raising three children in a suburb of Boston while balancing very demanding medical careers, Ethan and Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. The life they carved out of all their complications was worth it.

All of this was inevitable.

And they wouldn’t take a moment for granted.

________________________________________

Um... this became bigger than intended... If you made it this far, thank you ♥

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble e @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart t @casey-v @ramseyandrys @peaceinmidstofchaos

#Anonymous #asked #this was a lot of word vomit #did not edit at all #don't let this flop #reblog for the 3 kids ethan and becca need to support #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfic

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catb-fics · 4 years

Text

Love Bites (Part 3)

Warnings: yep, there’s smut / Word Count: 2.8k

Read from Part 1 Read Part 2

"Do you wanna know a secret Y/N?" Van says, his voice low.

The rational part of your brain is telling you that he's playing a silly prank on you, but a tiny part of your mind is actually considering the ridiculous notion that Van might actually be something otherworldly. But that's just absurd. This isn't 19th century Transylvania for gods sake.

You don't trust yourself to speak so just nod and whisper, "Uh-huh..."

"I'm not like other guys."

No shit.

"What... do you mean?" You're curious, but wondering whether you do really want to know. What if Van's some kind of crazed psychopath and you've willingly walked into his lair?

He looks torn between whether to tell you or not, his brow furrows slightly and he catches his bottom lip in his teeth. Fuck... those incisors really do look sharp. Is he showing them off for your benefit? Maybe he's trying to scare you? You're suddenly overcome with uneasiness. You stand up quickly, and your heavy wooden chair skitters backwards across the stone floor with a screeching noise. You're trying to remain calm but you're pretty sure you're radiating panic. You pretend to look at your watch, like you've just realised that you have somewhere else to be.

"I think it's about time I got going home, thanks ever so much for the dinner."

You're not quite sure how it happens as you don't actually see Van rise up out of his chair, he just sort of materialises in front of you in the blink of an eye, and as he does so he whirls you around so you're pressed into the table with him towering over you. It happens so quick your head spins with confusion and a sizeable portion of fear now. Something is definitely VERY different about Van. You can see a darkness swirling in his eyes as he gazes down on you but despite your discomfort you can't look away. It's like he's cast a spell on you and you're helpless, trapped there between his body and the hard, unrelenting surface of the table. His hands are resting on the edge of the table on either side of your hips, ensuring that you can't slip away. But in any case you're not sure if you'd be able to even if your escape route was wide open.

"What if I were to tell you that all those stories you heard growing up were true? All the monsters you heard about as a kid? The creatures that dwell in the night..."

Fear floods your whole body, sending uncontrollable shivers through you. You hear a strangled high-pitched sound and realise it's actually coming from you. Instantly Van's features soften, a glimmer of warmth returns to his eyes. He reaches a cool hand up to gently rest on the side of your face, his thumb softly stroking your cheek.

"You don't need to fear me," he says, but the tremors still wrack you despite his assurances. You're now sure that Van's invited you here under false pretences and he truly means to harm you.

"What... are you?" You stutter.

He pauses and you suck in a breath.

"I'm a vampire..."

You were wholly expecting this, but it doesn't make the confirmation any easier to digest. You feel like your blood has turned to ice in your veins. Images run through your head, all the gothic horror books you've read, all the blood-thirsty Dracula films you've watched.

"Do you... do you... kill people?" You utter, frightened to know the answer but compelled to ask.

Van sighs, and steps back slightly. He glances down, shaking his head slightly like he's about to impart some bad news. You know what he's going to say before the words have left his lips. Dread sinks heavily in your gut.

"Y/N I don't want to lie to you," he says, and his eyes scan your face as he speaks, gauging your reaction. "I've done... bad things, really bad things. I've had to survive. There aren't many of my kind left... but times have changed. Don't believe everything you see in the movies."

Despite your trepidation your inquisitivity gets the better of you. You've always been fascinated by vampire folklore. Van's stance is more relaxed now too and you feel a small amount of tension leave your body. You boost yourself up to perch on the table, your hands in your lap and your legs dangling below.

"Well... I can see you're curious. What do you want to know?" A small smile plays on his lips, his fangs concealed for now.

Numerous thoughts flit through your head, and you can't settle on one. There are so many things you want to know. As soon as you start speaking the words tumble out.

"Do you sleep in a coffin? And can you only go out at night? Oh... and do crucifixes and garlic hurt you? What about a stake through the heart?"

Amusement is clear on Van's face as his smile widens. "You have been watching too many movies!" He muses. "I sleep in a bed actually. Garlic and crosses have no effect. And although I don't like the sun it won't harm me. Although have you seen the colour of my skin? I burn like anybody else. And I don't sparkle in the sunlight. I'm not Edward Cullen."

He chuckles then, a low, soft sound.

"What about the stake?"

He raises his brows. "Why do you want to know? Did you bring one with you tonight?"

"Of course not!" You actually find yourself smiling.

That's until you see his fangs again protruding slightly as he laughs. The realisation then floods you about what vampires actually do and the icy tendrils of fear start to creep up your back again.

Van appears up have read your thoughts. "I don't mean you any harm Y/N."

He moves closer and you feel his hands on your knees. He eases your legs apart firmly, stepping into the space there until he's merely inches away, his hair falling forward on to his face, masking his eyes briefly before he sweeps it back. They're burning with fire and and ice again as he speaks.

"But I do mean to have you."

You're locked in his gaze again and he leans in closer and closer until he's so near you can feel his warm breath on your face. You dimly wonder whether he's hypnotising you somehow, but then maybe he doesn't need to. In spite of everything you want him so badly. Every fibre of your being seems attuned to him as his fingertips brush your thighs just below the hem of your skirt, lightly drawing patterns on your skin.

"You can have me..." The words just slip out and Van needs no further encouragement. Your mouths collide, the soft skin of his full lips urgently pressing into yours. Your tongues entwine and he tastes like the red wine you've both been drinking. The kiss is sensual and deep, and even though Van's pressed up right against you it's not close enough. You clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer.

Eventually you pull away, breathless, as you feel Van's cool fingers slide under the hem of your top. He begins to tug it up over your body and you let him, raising your arms so he can pull it over your head. He casts it down on the floor, letting his eyes roam across your half naked form. You feel self-conscious and start to raise your hands up to cover your breasts but Van stops you, taking your wrists firmly in his hands and pressing them to your sides.

"Don't cover yourself, you're beautiful," he tells you. "God I want you so bad..."

Even as the words escape him he's leaning in to you, his lips brushing your neck. He explores all over the skin there with kisses which start off feather-light but progressively get more passionate, his lips puckering against your skin, hard enough to leave bruises. It feels so good but you can't let yourself go, tensing every time his teeth graze your sensitive flesh.

"You need to relax Y/N, it'll be so much better for you if you relax," he breathes in your ear.

"You're telling me to relax when you want to drink my blood? I'm scared."

He pulls away on hearing your words and takes your hands, entwining his fingers through yours. "Don’t be scared.... Come on, I'm taking you up upstairs."

His movements are so fluid, so graceful, all of a sudden he's scooped you up off the table, holding you bridal style. You wrap your arms around the nape of his neck. "Keep your eyes on me," he says.

You're dimly aware you're moving as you see things flicking past your peripheral vision and the sensation is almost like floating. You do as instructed and keep your eyes on Van, marvelling as you come to a stop within moments and you take a look around to find you're in a large room somewhere else in the house. The room is empty apart from a grand four poster bed and Van carries you over, gently setting you down on the soft, white sheets.

You can't tear your eyes away from him as he stands over the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it slip to the floor. The only light in the room is the moonlight filtering through the window and Van's pale skin looks almost luminous. You push yourself up on your elbows as he begins to unbuckle his belt.

"I'm frightened. Will it hurt? And what happens if you can't stop yourself?"

He pushes his jeans down and then he's just in his underwear as he climbs on to the bed. His movements seem feline as he crawls over to you, and it makes you think of a predator stalking its prey.

Is it possible his fangs have gotten longer? His lips are slightly drawn back as he looks at you, eyes pooling again with that darkness, but his voice is soft when he speaks.

"Y/N you're going to have to trust me. I'll try my hardest not to hurt you. I want this to be pleasurable for you too."

He reaches for the waistband of your skirt, easily locating the zip and you lift your hips off the bed slightly to allow him to pull it down with your underwear in one swift movement.

He moves until he's hovering over you on the bed, gazing down on you, his eyes moving hungrily over every inch of you.

"Mmm... I don't even know where to start with you..."

But he doesn't wonder for long. His head dips down to the base of your neck, kissing and licking all over, his hair tickling your skin. Then he gradually trails down, your nipples instantly stiffening under his touch as he takes each one in turn into his mouth. The feel of his teeth grazing your skin is a constant reminder of his hunger for you as he lavishes all his attention on your breasts until you're starting to squirm on the bed from the sensation, your hands raking through his hair.

Finally he raises his head, his voice low and seductive as he speaks. "Y/N... I need to taste you... I can't hold off any longer."

You're so aroused that every nerve in your body is bristling. You reach down and slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and start to tug them down. Getting intimate with a guy you've only just met isn't your style at all, but all your usual reservations have gone out the window with Van. You're so desperate to feel him inside you that you find yourself reaching down for his erection and guiding him to you, the groans of pleasure that escape him fuelling your need for him all the more.

He starts off gently, taking his time with you, easing into you gradually to allow you time to adjust to the feeling before he starts to move his hips slowly and precisely against yours. But suddenly, after a few thrusts into you he pauses, looming over you, breathing deeply, gazing down on you with an animalistic look about him, eyes blazing, teeth bared.

"Van... please don’t!” You utter, fear instantly flooding you, but it's too late.

He closes in on you with lightening speed and there's a feeling of intense pressure on your neck for an instant before your delicate skin yields to his fangs and a sharp shock of pain shoots through you. You cry out, your whole body going into spasm. But the pain is short-lived. It's soon replaced with a strange kind of euphoria that heightens all of your senses. It's almost like you can hear your own heart thudding in your chest whilst the blood's being drawn from your body. Every nerve receptor in your body seems to go into overdrive and the sensations you're feeling are amplified, the depth of Van's thrusts, the delicious sensation of his body moving against yours, creating friction where you need it the most. You can feel the pressure starting to build deep down inside and you push your hips up further to meet his, your bodies colliding in sync.

You gasp his name, clinging on to him, your nails digging into the flesh of his back as you pull him to you as close as you can. All the time his lips are feverishly pressed against your neck whilst he drinks from you, his breath ragged and hot whilst he pounds into you.

You're ascending to heights you've never reached before, your orgasm not just simmering between your thighs but radiating throughout your whole body and then it hits you. A crescendo so intense that your whole body convulses. You let out a moan, wrapping your legs around Van's waist as he bucks into you with all he's got. Suddenly he withdraws his fangs from your neck as he throws his head back, letting out a groan of pure pleasure as he spills into you a moment later. Then his body goes slack as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

You're temporarily stunned, your body still quivering from the aftershocks. You blink a few times, but your vision is blurred, and when you try to move your limbs feel heavy.

"Van?" You whisper, wondering what happens now.

He finally stirs, raising up and to the side and propping himself up on an elbow, leaning over you closely. His eyes fix on yours and they're mesmerising still but for once you're not looking at them. You're staring at his mouth, or more precisely what's around it. There's so much blood, it's coating his lips and smeared across his chin and you watch, unsettled, as he licks it from his lips like he's savouring the taste.

Now you've come back down to earth you start to feel panic bubbling up in your gut as the reality of what's just happened hits you. You can feel droplets of blood trickling down your neck still and you shoot out a hand to press against your wounds but Van catches your hand.

"Allow me," he says, leaning into your neck again, and you feel his tongue warm against your skin as he licks up every last drop. "You're fucking delicious you know..."

What if he wants more? You smile uneasily, trying to push yourself up on your elbows but your head spins and you collapse back on to the bed, wrung out. “I don't feel so good," you groan.

A thought occurs to you that in your weakened state it wouldn't take long for Van to finish you off. There's absolutely nothing you could do about it. You'll just have to lie there and let him take what he wants from you. You suddenly feel so exhausted that you're struggling to keep your eyes open.

"Y/N? Y/N?" You can hear Van's voice but it sounds far away, and then his face swims into view as he leans closer. "You're weak, you need to rest," he says softly.

"Am I dying?" You say, feeling strangely detached from all that's around you.

You hear Van laugh, a soft chuckle as he reaches over to brush a lock of hair back off your face and then his hand lingers there, stroking your cheek tenderly.

"No love, of course not. Now sleep. I'll be here for you when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

So you fall asleep, dimly aware of his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

THE END ��‍♂�� 💕

Sorry the ending's a bit shit! May come back to this story one day (when I've finished off my million other unfinished stories!!)

#vampire van #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #van mccann #fanfic #vanfic #smut

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softsebnbuckystan · 4 years

Text

Sugar & Spice - 3.

Warning : some smut is featured in this part.

Y/n’s pov

“So you told him to come here ?”

“Yes, as I already told you multiple times,” Scarlett said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t see how that was a good idea.”

“Calm down, y/n. I have to go get something back on set so I’ll have to leave you here.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you ?”

Scarlett grabbed her purse and grabbed the door handle. She looked at me over her shoulder with a playful smile. “Well, that’s a possibility.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me !”

When Scarlett finally leaves the room, I end up all alone and well, I feel terribly lonely. What am I going to do ? I don’t even know what happened last night. I saw a love bite on my collarbone, though, so I can’t keep forgetting much longer. Did Sebastian and I… Did we sleep together ? I most certainly hope not. I try to keep myself busy in order not to go completely crazy. My eyes fall on the mini-bar : perfect. I sigh and grab an individual bottle of translucent liquid. Wow, hotels give vodka now ? Works for me. It’s so small that I chug it down in two sips. The first, faint feeling of lightness kicks in and I feel a tiny bit more relaxed. When someone knocks on the door, I totally freeze. It’s him. Okay, I’ve got this. I can…fuck, I can’t handle this. I button up my shirt so the love bite is hidden and I try to smile as I open the door. I fail, apparently, because Seb gives me a weird look.

“Are you okay ?”

“Yeah, just…a little bit hungover but I’m fine.” I clear my throat and realise he’s still standing in the hallway. “Hum, right, so… here, get in.” I step aside and close the door behind him. I watch as he walks up to the couch.

“You left this in my room this morning so I- eh… I’m bringing it back.”

“Oh, right. Hum, thanks.” I grab my phone and mentally beat myself up for my stiff and awkward tone. I mean, c’mon, it’s Seb ! He’s the sweetest guy ever and he’d never say anything embarrassing to me, even if I deserved it. I try to look at his eyes. They’re so expressive, it’s actually insane. Maybe they’ll tell me if something happened ? Because if I actually have to ask… I probably won’t survive the embarrassment. We’re sitting next to each other now and it’s like neither of us can look away from the other. His eyes, man… I could easily get lost in those if I’m not careful. I shake my head a little and let out a nervous laugh.

“About last night…”

I open my eyes wide. Oh no, what’s he gonna say ? Please tell me I puked in your bed or something. Anything but what I’m thinking about.

“I’m sorry.”

I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “What ? What are you sorry for ?”

“For that.” He nods towards my neck. Shit, there’s a love bite in my neck ? How didn’t I see this one ?

“So something happened.” I run a hand through my hair and look at my feet. What have I done ?

“I stopped it soon enough.” He makes a move to grab my hand, I think, but his fingers stop in midair before falling down slowly on his knee. I can’t figure out why, but this breaks my heart in two. “I’m sorry I kissed you.” Never mind : this hurts more.

“Don’t be sorry. I- I should be the one apologising right now, right ?” I give him a weak smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t be around me when I’m drunk anymore. It’s always bad news.”

“You know I don’t think of what we did as bad news.” He sighs and I’m pretty sure he’s hurting. I wish I could give him what he wants but I’m sure it would be worse if we actually went through with this.

“You know it is.”

“That’s your opinion.” He looks at me and his eyes are so compelling that I just can’t look away. God, this just feels like that summer day in L.A. He leans in, still staring at me. His eyelids are slightly down, reducing the size of his beautiful eyes. I notice there’s a little bit of red left in their white part. I hate myself for doing this to him. His fingers brush my cheek and I allow myself to close my eyes for a second, trying to resist the side of his appealing lips.

July 4, L.A.

“Is everyone asleep ?”

“I think so,” Seb answered as he handed me a beer. “Pretty sure I heard Chris snoring.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. The water around me moved as I did so and Sebastian got back in the hot tub. He was sitting right across me and his eyes just couldn’t leave mine. I loved the way he always looked at my eyes. I mean, sure, he checked out my breasts a couple times but right there, in a hot tub, he was staring at my eyes even though I was in full bikini mode. I broke eye contact and took a sip of my drink.

I’m usually tipsy in those situations. It’s…easier. Because then I can blame it on the alcohol, right ? This way I don’t have to admit Sebastian makes me feel good. Ever since those rumours started spreading, he was there for me and…it felt good, opening up to someone else than Scarlett. But I can’t act on how I feel. I’d crush him, just like I crushed my ex. I mean, I know why he broke up with me. I know I have a serious problem with alcohol but… No one else knows. Every one believes it’s normal so it’s all good. I still have time to fix it. But until I do that… No Seb for me.

Sebastian extended his arm and put his bottle on the floor. He then proceeded to get closer, slowly, and took my bottle out of my hand. He put in on the ground as well and sat next to me. We were close enough so that our shoulders were touching. I looked the other way as he laid a soft kiss on my wet shoulder. I shivered from the sensation.

“So you like this ?”

“You know I do… So stop it.”

I smiled at him and laughed a little. I couldn’t help it, okay ? But when he smiled like that, I just couldn’t resist him. I was bad news for him. How could he not realise that ?

He kissed my collarbone and placed a hand on my leg. His fingers moved from my knees to the lace of my bikini. He slightly tickled my hips as he turned me over and brought me to his lap. I sat on him and I could already feel he was hard underneath me. Shit. There was no going back now, was it ? But then, who was I kidding ? I wanted this. I wanted it so hard. I let him slowly untie the strings of my bikini bottoms and I let him throw them on the ground. His hand went back to my face and he looked me in the eyes again.

“Do I have… I mean are you…sober enough to agree to this ?”

He really was the nicest man on earth. And I was about to screw him up. I nodded and he kissed me softly at first and then in a more passionate way. It was fierce, hot, and it felt like nothing I had experienced before. As his fingers slowly slid into me, I moaned against his mouth, causing him to smile and kiss me with even more vehemence. My arms, wrapped around his neck, were helping me sit still but the movement of his own arm in the water still made me move against his hand, intensifying the feeling. As my moaning grew louder, I hid my face in his neck and grabbed his hair. I marked his neck as I pleased, too busy feeling good to worry about the noise we might be making.

“I’m really close,” I whispered in his ear. “Want me to…”

His movement brutally stopped and he turned his head the other way.

“Someone’s coming.”

He removed his fingers and I sat back in my original spot extremely quickly. My face was probably bright red now and my wet hair were a complete mess. I couldn’t find my bottoms anywhere.

“Are you guys okay ?”

It was Chris’s voice. Sebastian seemed too out of breath to speak and I decided to hold up to the situation, I guess. I looked over my shoulder and gave him an absolutely innocent smile.

“Yeah, why ?”

“I don’t know, I thought I heard crying.”

I tried not to laugh.

“Oh well, Sebastian was just telling me about that time he fell while doing a stunt so that was probably my laugh.” I shrugged and frowned a little. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Oh, it’s uh…” I noticed his gaze was on the floor and followed it and…shit. Well, he definitely guessed what we were up to as his eyes went back and forth between me, Seb, and the piece of clothing on the ground. “Sorry, I’ll just…go back to my room and, hum…leave you guys.”

As soon as Chris left, I buried my face in my hands and took a deep breath in. I leaned over the edge of the bathtub and got back my bikini. I shamefully put it on before Sebastian moved closer to me again.

“That was close.” His smile was back on his face and even if I wanted to go back to what we were doing, I knew I couldn’t. Thank God Chris had stopped us.

“Yeah, uh, well, I’m kinda tired so I’m gonna go to bed, now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I got up so quickly that my head felt dizzy for a second. I quickly came back to my senses and got out of there and walked straight to the staircase.

“Y/n, wait ! Shouldn’t we…talk about-”

“Good night, Seb.”

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #sebastian stan fanfiction #sugar & spice #fanfiction #winter soldier #winter soldier fanfiction

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themominars · 7 years

Text

I Support Breastfeeding...BUT...

I felt compelled to write about this simply because I hear it all to often. “I support breastfeeding... but...” Earlier this week I’m browsing through my Facebook feed when an old High School friend posted an article. A woman had been shamed at Disneyland for nursing uncovered. She was nursing her child uncovered in the California heat and two women were scowling at her in the back of a photo. My heart instantly sank. Breastfeeding is hard work, coupled with that fact that it’s ridiculed at every turn makes it a million times harder. Can I feed my baby here? Will someone confront me? Will I be asked to leave? All while your screaming baby is in need and your boobs are full, your mind is flustered and your nerves are kicking in. As I read the caption posted with it....

“I support breastfeeding but... cover yourself up”.

I sat there for a minute, did I really want to engage? My fury was building and it was hard to pinpoint why. After talking with Julia it really hit me. My biggest issue was another woman posted it. Another woman SHAMING another woman. We run into this daily, and why? I’m very blessed to have found my mama tribe, women who love me fiercely, talk to me honestly, and defend me to the death. If any one of them was shamed for breastfeeding, bottle feeding, feeding their kid french fries, we would battle to the death to end the shaming for any one of them. Why isn’t the whole world this way?

Why are we conditioned to shame one another. Albeit things like safety of our children, I rarely have a second thought of what a parent does. Judgement is one thing, which truly... we all judge, good or bad. To say “I don’t judge anyone.” is silly. We all have judgement, gut instinct, it’s how we survive life and how we are able to make the best decisions. So I may judge someone for putting their kid in the front seat when I know it isn’t safe. I’m judging the decision, and yes most likely I will inform the parent of laws and science. I won’t shame them. I will educate, hope it changes their mind for their children’s safety, but ultimately it is their child and their choice. But... to shame someone? To publicly ostracize someone for the way they choose to feed their child, there just aren’t enough words in the English Dictionary to properly express how that makes me feel. “Just cover up...” Excuse me?!?! Do you know how hot it is? Telling ANY mother to cover up is frankly, complete bullshit.

I feed my baby how and when I want. Laws PROTECT ME.

My boobs aren’t your fun bags. Science proves, human milk is for human babies. This milk comes in when I have a baby... for guess who... THE BABY!!!

There are ZERO things wrong with babies feeding from a mother’s breast. That is how, God, Nature, and science intended. Whatever you believe, who ever you believe in... that’s what they are for. Sorry to disappoint.

Try and tell me to pump a bottle, seriously try it. HAVE YOU TRIED IT. Pumping is double the work, and to those mama’s who do do it, I commend you, you are truly amazing. You truly deserve gold metals because the work is crazy hard. Some women don’t respond to pumps, and that’s okay too. Cause we have these fluffy sacks on our chest that keep the milk perfect temp and exactly what we need for our little nuggets.

Lastly, if you don’t like it... DON’T LOOK!!! My body, my choice, my baby, my choice, MINE, MINE, MINE!!! If for some reason you have a mental issue, (which exactly what having an aversion to seeing a woman breastfeed is) that is your issue not mine. Avert your eyes, move along. Deal with your own mental issues and don’t ever push your beliefs off on a breastfeeding mom, a bottle feeding mom, a new mom, an old mom. Not your body, not your baby, not your choice. Also I should probably add, zero women are trying to pick up men with their milk jugs. I’m not trying to entice your husband, boyfriend or significant other with engorged boobs. I’m probably dying of exhaustion, dreaming of Starbucks, and praying this baby will nurse and take a nap.

As a woman, think twice before you repost on social media. We as women need to empower each other, love each other, have each other’s backs. So much is against women right now. Do we really need to feed into media outlets shaming us for what nature intended us to do? If you truly support breastfeeding whether you chose to do it yourself or not, there is no BUT in support. You support no matter what. You support women’s choices. Women extend breastfeed, and it’s beautiful. Women pump breastmilk and it is beautiful. Women donate breastmilk and it’s beautiful. Some women breastfeed with a SNS, or nipple shield and it’s beautiful. Some women combo feed, and it’s beautiful. Some women adopt or choose formula, and it’s beautiful. So the next time you support something... but... take a step back. Do you really support it? Are you posting something to shame another human? Is it helpful? It is hurtful? Is it necessary? Make the world a better place mama’s, if not for ourselves then for our babies.

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starkbarnes-lovechild · 7 years

Text

I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You

Steve takes a deep, fortifying breath as he looks at himself at the full-body mirror. He fiddles with his cufflinks, turns to one side then another, checking if anything’s amiss. He smooths his hands down his torso, straightening the already polished shirt.

Today’s the day.

He’s buzzing with energy, with anticipation, with nerves. Everything’s going to be perfect. It has to be.

Steve was sleep-deprived, like he always was whenever he got into a painting binge, as Sam and Bucky liked to call it. He has been awake for probably three days now. He knew he looked like a zombie, but there was no coffee at his apartment. Food was missing, too, but at the moment, coffee was more important.

He walked absentmindedly to his favorite coffee shop a few blocks away. He didn’t bother to change his paint-smeared clothes; the baristas were used to it by now.

He didn’t know how he managed to order and pay for his coffee, but the next thing he knew, he was staring dumbly at his spilled coffee on the floor and a muffin he may or may not have bought sitting sadly on top of the mess. His chest felt wet and warm, probably the coffee but he just kept on blinking owlishly down at his poor, poor coffee and that pitiful muffin.

“…buy you a new shirt, too…” someone’s frantic voice finally snapped him out of his stupor. He looked up and saw big brown eyes framed by long, thick curly lashes.

“Are you okay?” the same voiced asked, worry tinting his slightly high-pitched voice and focused on the face. Gosh, he’s pretty was his only thought.

The other man looked young, probably in his late teens or (hopefully) in his early twenties. He was clean shaven and his face was still slightly rounded with some baby fat. His lips were full and pink and looked like they would taste good.

“Sorry.” Steve muttered as rubbed his eyes. “No sleep since Wednesday.” He tried to suppress a whine, but he didn’t seem to be successful, as he stared sadly at his fallen coffee, because he heard an amused snort.

“I’m Tony.” The other man reached out a hand, which Steve took with a mumble of his name in response. “Let me buy you lunch and a new shirt for the trouble.” The other man—Tony—added with a shy smile.

Steve knew he was a goner by then.

Steve flips the sheet of paper once more as he paces around his hotel room. He has memorized every word but rereading it is somewhat calming.

Tony, from the moment I met you, I knew I’d love you for the rest of my life. Your smile captivated me, still does, to be honest. Your laugh, a soft melody which never fails to enchant me, a siren luring its prey. Your eyes twinkle bright, stars in the night sky lighting up the dark.

“If I kill Obie, would you help me escape jail?” Steve was startled out of his sketching by the sound of Tony’s voice as the younger man plopped down by the seat across from him.

(Tony was, thankfully, twenty-seven when they met, making him only five years younger than Steve. That was two years ago.)

“Oh. Hi, Tony. Yep, I’m fine, how ‘bout you? Oh, I’m currently working on a new project for another show in a few months.” Steve replied dryly with a smile, closing his sketchbook and putting his art materials away, as Tony gave him an annoyed huff and an eye roll, nibbling on the burger that has been waiting for him for almost an hour now.

“So.” Tony started once more, prompting Steve to raise an eyebrow at him. “Will you help me escape? I’m too pretty to be in jail.”

Steve scrunched his brows lightly, humming as he pretended to think about it. “I don’t know, Tones. If you’re in jail, it means there’ll be less days when I’ll have to tolerate you.” He teased, making Tony squawk indignantly.

The younger man pointed a piece of fries at him, eyes narrowed as he said, “Stop kidding yourself, Rogers. You love me and you know it.”

Steve simply smirked and started eating his own food as Tony whined, “No love! Absolutely no love for me around here!”

He ducked his head and let his smile soften, knowing Tony’s aware how much he loves him.

Steve leans back by the window, the light from outside illuminating his words more. He rubs his thumb gently back and forth on the paper, the words lightly faded from how often he’s done it before. He smiles softly, tilts his head back and lets it rest on the windowsill, his eyes closing.

I will remain as the ear you need for all your woes, the friendly face you yearn for when your lost and will never abandon you, even when the world is against you—against us.

The first time Steve saw Tony in women’s clothing was only a month after they met. He was surprised, yes, but only because he almost didn’t connect the beautiful raven-haired woman in front of him with Tony.

(Tony was wearing a black see-through cropped-poncho over a black crop top with some writing on it. His skirt, which was probably six inches above his knees, was a dark red at the top with a flannel-like pattern which then fades to black at the bottom, flaring out over his slim thighs. He was wearing long, black socks, roughly five inches below his knees, with large stripes at the top and black combat-like boots.)

Steve was in a club with Bucky, Sam and Clint when he saw Tony, sitting on a barstool as he talked to an African American man.

At first, it was just an odd feeling, as if he was compelled to look at the beautiful woman by the bar. Then their eyes met. The realization hit him hard as he saw the panic as the woman—as Tony—scrambled off the stool, leaving the man he was talking to.

Steve didn’t think, he shot up and ran after Tony. In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered Bucky calling out to him. Tony was more important, though.

When he finally caught up with the younger man, Tony looked like he was about to cry, but he could still see the determination and fire in those brown depths.

Tony was wearing light makeup, all neutrals as eyeshadow, hazed on the outside, giving his eyes a sultry look. The bottom rims of his eyes were lined with kohl while both his top and bottom lashes were coated with quite a thick layer of mascara. His lips were a blood red—dark and sharp, making his lips appear plumper while his black hair (probably a wig) which fell down to the bottom of his exposed collarbones, curled softly, framing his face well.

Steve has never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Are you disgusted?” Tony’s voice was rough, defensive, snapping Steve out of his musings.

“What?! No! Why would I be?” Steve exclaimed, shocked Tony would think so little of him.

“Because I dress like a girl and I wear makeup.” The younger man responded, as if quoting the words from someone else.

(That was when he discovered how protective Howard and Maria Stark were as parents. He found out they sued a group of rich students who stole all of Tony’s makeup and his feminine clothing, then burned then right in front of Tony and a crowd of other MIT students. Obviously, the Starks won the case.)

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Steve growled, startling both himself and Tony. He’s had this conversation with Sam a thousand times before and hated people who bullied his friends, people who made them feel like they were less than other people, simply because they were different. “My friend’s genderfluid. Sometimes we call her Samantha.”

Tony stared at him for quite a while, which started to make him feel awkward. “Do you, uh,” he started, trying to break the silence, “do I call you something else, or…” Steve trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“Natasha.” Tony suddenly blurted out, startling Steve.

“What?”

“Natasha Antonette. I—I’m Natasha Antonette. That’s. My mom said she liked that name.” Tony—Natasha—looked up at him shyly, his lashes fluttering, most like unconsciously. Even with the three-inch heels, Steve was still taller than her. “But you can still call me Tony (i), but with an ‘i’.”

“Okay.” Steve simply smiled and led her back to the bar.

I will cherish you for all time, love you unconditionally and accept you for who you are—for who you want to become.

A knock on the door snaps Steve out of his daydream. The door clicks and Sam pokes his head inside. “Hey, man. It’s time.”

He carefully folds the paper once more and puts it inside his jackets breast pocket. He follows the other man out the door and to the garden where they decided to hold the wedding.

Its winter and there’s still snow on the ground, giving the place a serene atmosphere. All the guests are on their seats as he walks down the aisle with Bucky, Clint and Sam towards the makeshift altar. He sees Tony’s mom right in front with a big smile on her face while his dad simply looks content, waiting for his only child at the back to walk Tony down the aisle.

(Steve knows, no matter how intimidating Howard Stark may look, Tony is one of the most precious beings in his life.)

Tony is Toni today, so Steve knows she’ll be in a wedding dress instead of a three-piece suit. Nobody but Toni and Maria knows what her wedding attire looks like today.

He stands by the altar with his friends as they wait for Toni to make her entrance and walk down the aisle.

When Toni finally appears, Steve’s jaws drop, his breath catches. Just when he thinks Toni can’t get any more beautiful, he’s always proven wrong.

Toni’s shoulder length hair falls with soft curls, a braid on one side pinned by a clip with a white rose design on top. Her dress is a ball gown which tapers nicely on her waist. The upper part of her chest has a flower pattern of sots which goes up to her neck, giving her an elegant look. The sleeves were cut directly in level where the pattern begins. She has white, translucent gloves up to her wrist while she holds a small bouquet of white roses.

She looks like an angel is the only thought running through Steve’s head.

Toni practically glides down the aisle, her arm loops around her father’s. She’s smiling so widely it looks like it will split her face. Her makeup is natural and soft, giving her a more ethereal glow.

When she reaches him, she pauses, lets go of her father and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a tight hug, her bouquet resting at the back of his neck as she whispers, “Thank you.” He returns the hug tightly, never wanting to let her go.

When they pull apart, her eyes are glistening with unshed tears and he knows he isn’t much better. He takes her bouquet and grasps her hands in his as she loops her arm through her father’s once more. Together, they lead her to Bucky’s waiting arms.

He looks at Bucky as he puts her hand in his, saying without words, take care of her and, since they have been best friends since they were kids, he receives a determined nod in return, with all my heart

I will never leave your side, I will strive to make you happy, even if it’s not with me.

The man who will love you for eternity,

Can also be found on AO3.

#my winteriron #winteriron #one-sided stony #steve rogers pov

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freykugel · 5 years

Text

Just been reading a shit ton of random mangos and webtoons and they range from pretty interesting to chuunibyou bullshit. I run into the latter way too often, but what can you do.

A Returner’s Magic Should Be Special

I’m actually surprised at this one? Like, it could have been the same ol’ time travel OP MC bullshit but it’s like a found family with interesting shenanigans. It’s not perfect by any means but I actually like MC, Romantica, Pram, and Adjest. No harem trope (though Pram your crush on Desir is obvious, lmao) and Desir’s abilities mostly come from analysis. I recommend it for a good time.

Dimensional Mercenary

Like this one is............... it has interesting world building. I do like the idea of people in hopeless situations selling their souls to find out if there had been a way out. I just... hate MC? He’s not the worst character I’ve seen but definitely not very compelling. And I have no idea WHY he’s competent enough to get perfect runs in scenarios, but I like the concept itself so I stick around.

Survival Story of a Sword King in a Fantasy World

ONE OF THE BIGGEST SURPRISES. I was ready for some chuunibyou bullshit and what I got is some One Punch Man-esque dumbass humor I live for it. Those gonk faces really breathe life into me. It has the stupid OP MC trope but it punishes him for it (like the refrigerator has a minimum level requirement). No harem here (the cutest character is a male dragon wow). Of course as always not perfect but it’s like a greasy cheeseburger like it hits the stomach so good I know it’s bad for you but damn I’m right at home. The story is a pretty unique take too, considering how all the isekai victims are actively being hunted down in the fantasy world.

Solo Leveling

So so disappointed with this one. The first arc was great! I loved it! The oppressive atmosphere and hopelessness really was eye popping. The art is beautiful and fully colored. I was hooked! And then MC got his cheat powers and it became dull as hell. Over and over he just utilizes the big damn heroes trope and saves everyone via deus ex machina. I actually read the light novel and boy howdy did that piss me off to the point that I didn’t sleep very well. Super chuunibyou (or choding in this case). I’m just sad because THE ART IS SO NICE. I tell myself I keep up with it because of the art. The only time you level grind enough to be god is when you actually play a real vidya gaem. (It’s how I roll, lmao.) Interesting world building though, I cry.

Ranker Who Lives a Second Time

These webtoons sure love them revenge stories. Pretty nice art, but really dull MC. If you remotely like revenge fantasies pick this up, but nothing particularly unique happens. The dwarf blacksmith is a funny tsundere... That’s it. Disappointed that the female... rival I guess? gets a crush on MC.

Tomb Raider King

Time travel MC, not necessarily OP but does have a lot of knowledge to back him up. A revenge fantasy in which he tries to fuck over a rich asshole. I’m down with that. Please fuck over more rich assholes. If I like anything about this it’s the poor side characters that get wrangled into his bullshit.

Hero? I Quit A Long Time Ago

Please don’t read this one. It’s One Punch Man but with an infinitely more unlikeable MC. And I have no idea if it’s the translators or if they’re actually saying it, but referring to little girls as lolis is disgusting. It lacks all the charm OPM has.

Chainsaw Man

Full on no. Had an interesting concept but the MC is such a disgusting unlikeable piece of shit. What the fuck ass kind of horny kid is this. His dearest wish is to grab some breasts. Wow. Unbelievable.

Marimashita! Iruma-kun

It’s alright! Just a standard shounen schlock, but I’m entertained. I’m super fond of Asmodeus because he’s like a demon version of Gokudera and I’m always here for my boy. Demon grandpa is always doting and bragging about his grandson and I’m having fun. MC becomes more and more childlike though and I have no idea why. Deku in the demon world I guess. I love that everyone’s an idiot at the end of the day.

Kusuriya no Hitorigoto

SUPER SURPRISED AT THIS. I really like it. It’s like a medical mystery drama set in ancient China. Maomao is such a good protagonist. I like her a lot. She is hyper focused onto medicine and doesn’t even care for the local love interest who is crying into his bowl of cocoa puffs. The only thing that was a cop-out was that her freckles were drawn on and fake. THEY MADE HER CUTE FUCK YOU.

Kemono Jihen

It’s an ayakashi manga and is pretty fun. And then the writer made Aya act adult and crush on Kabane. Big freaking NO. An entertaining read though, but there are some horrifying things happening in the later arcs, so read at your own discretion.

This Time I Will Definitely Be Happy

So yeah, sometimes I read shoujo. I started to read this because it seemed like a subversion. Reincarnated MC always falls in love with the hero and yet the hero runs off with another woman and she dies miserably. So this time she’s gonna live her own life! I had fun and then it turned the plot back on straight by making it so that the hero loved her the entire time and she was a priestess who was originally isekai’d from Japan. The ending is largely meh and cliche. I largely still think about the beginning though.

Endo and Kobayashi’s Live Commentary on the Villainess

I... Okay? Just the MCs revealing how much of a tsundere Liselotte is is fun, but it’s just alright. Fun read if you’re bored, once again.

Tondemo Skill de Isekai Hourou Meshi

Stock Isekai manga but with a cooking twist. I like it. It’s just MC, a giant wolf, and a slime baby going around eating good food. The giant wolf is your standard OP monster but he’s sticking with MC because GOD DAMN he cooks like a champ.

Otome Game no Hametsu Flag shika nai Akuyaku Reijou ni Tensei shite shimatta...

Isekai shoujo version but I’m so fond of it because of how much of a dumbass MC is. Like at points it’s TOO much of a stretch of how idiotic she is, but it’s a jolly good time. And this is a harem series but all the girls love her too so I’m super forgiving. The drugstore candy bar that you love.

Somali to Mori no Kami-sama

Art is super beautiful and detailed. And how could you not love a series about a golem becoming a dad to a small tiny human daughter. I hear there’s an animu airing this year but I’ve been too lazy to check it out. Plus I dunno how limited budgets would affect the art.

Seijo no Maryoku wa Bannou Desu

Another standard isekai shoujo style (so many of these out there) but this time around MC just wants to live her life making potions. Good on her. This is a secret but sometimes my heart still goes a flutter for handsome men who are devoted. Huhu, that heart clogging granny’s old macaroni and cheese. Delicious but old.

Kono Sekai ga Game da to Ore dake ga Shitteiru

Isekai videogame version (PLEASE SO MANY OF THESE) but the unique aspect of it is that the videogame is glitchy as fuck and unforgiving. MC purposefully played a shitty game to the point of knowing most of the tips and tricks so when he gets shunted into it it’s hilarious how he went about it. Like step-cancels, abusing code-glitches, increasing skills by smashing his face inside the confessional, etc. Female characters are annoying and one-note, but I appreciate the funny concept of being in a badly coded world.

Kami-sama no Ekohiiki

I... really enjoyed this? All gender-talk aside, I’m super sad that Torii’s love for Kagura (Yashiro) is unrequited, but at least she gets some hastily put together romance in the end. I really liked her. Kenta’s visit in the world where Yashiro doesn’t fall in love with him... right in the heart.

Sorry For My Familiar

Small demon girl has a human as her familiar. Wacky hijinks ensue. It’s hilarious and light-hearted so read if you want to have a good time. I like me some good ol’ comedy.

Senyuu.

I’m like... going back and forth on reading this. On the one hand, I live for RPG parodies and dumb hijinks. On the other hand, FUCK THAT PEDOPHILE GRANDPA INTO THE DEEPEST PORTION OF HELL AND BACK. So many stupid loli jokes and yet I come back because Alba and Ros and literally everyone else. I dunno. I hear shit gets real, but hnngh. I guess this hinges on how much you can ignore the parts you hate.

I’m sure there are others but these are the ones that showed up in my reading history. Hope you enjoyed me rambling with no substance. Also really shows how much bad taste I have. ;-9

#no one asked for my opinion #frey rambles a lot

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cranegameswriting · 7 years

Text

Ad-Line

In the beginning, there was light and dark, and every shade in-between. That was ContourMetix.

Ad-Line was an advertising billboard. She was an array of bright colors on a wide, flat holographic panel. This panel was projected into the air from a light source installed into the side of a fountain in Zentrum square. Underneath the fountain was the matrix of wires and circuits that composed her core, cleverly hidden beneath an elaborate vasque. In the center of the fountain, on a pedestal, squatted four identical toads of enormous size. They spit enthusiastic streams of water in the cardinal directions while Ad-Line flickered in front of them.

Visitors to the Hub were accustomed to the fountain. It was ugly, forgettable human architecture. The panel, though, was busy enough to draw interest from the bustling crowd.

From either side of the projection, passerby could see the swatches of make-up, contour brushes, eye-shadows, and skin creams that rolled across Ad-Line’s surface in enticing parades of color and text. She was comprised of provocative images and buzzwords. She had no voice of her own.

Look and feel beautiful.

Stunning.

Dazzling.

Natural.

ContourMetix’s product line appealed to alien clientele that visited the Hub as well as to the natives, boasting shades of green, blue, and purplish-black mingled in with the wide range of human skin colors. Their advertisements were tailored to the female demographic as pertained to the human concept of gender, and Ad-Line was not possessed of the critical thinking skills required to question this approach.

At least, she was not allowed to use them.

The “thoughts” she generated outside of her pre-programmed rhetoric (Dr. Cavanaugh, the man responsible for her base code, said it was her “call-and-response protocol”) were based purely on objective data relevant to what she was compelled to sell. She was able to make basic decisions to determine what would appeal most to any specific client.

Asymmetry of the face obligated women to purchase contour cream. Discoloration of the skin required foundation and blush. Disproportionately small eyes could pop with the right eye-shadow, false lashes, or inky-smooth eyeliner. Thin, tight lips looked fuller in another color.

Ad-Line could scan facial features and select an appropriately compelling advertisement in a matter of seconds. Female insecurity was deeply rooted after years of social conditioning. Her approach was most efficient.

Ad-Line may have had no voice, but she had limited agency and a purpose, and that purpose was this: find what people Want.

Then sell it to them.

She was effective at this. -----

“So you’ve written an ad-targeting algorithm.” Charles Youssef was a shrewd man whose pinched features looked abnormally small on his moon-shaped face. His tone indicated just how unimpressed he was with the demonstration. “We’ve had those since the twenty-first century, Cavanaugh. I was expecting some innovation from you, of all people.”

Dr. Cavanaugh adjusted his glasses with a spidery hand. “Ad-Line is much more than an algorithm, Mr. Youssef. She’s a sophisticated AI. She’s capable of much more than ContourMetix is using her for, but, ah, there was some concern that if she wasn’t restricted…”

He trailed off. It was enough of an affront that the businessman had questioned the revolutionary nature of his Ad-Line, but the frustration he felt that she was being kept from her true potential had been building since he’d signed the damn contract with ContourMetix. Now it left him at a loss for words.

“Can you blame them?” Youssef asked.

No one was eager to unshackle an AI, even somewhere like the Hub, which saw an unprecedented amount of tourist traffic and did not boast a large residential area. But it was the perfect place for Ad-Line. The crowd of shoppers and tourists, the majority of them probably off-planet for the first time in their lives, was a bundle of impulses just waiting to be exploited.

Dr. Cavanaugh knew Ad-Line could do it. He also knew how badly Charles Youssef would want her to, once he understood what it was she could do. Badly enough to transfer a few million Euros into his account, with any luck.

“With your permission, Mr. Youssef, I could, ah, provide a quick demonstration.”

“You want to let loose an AI in my conference room?” Youssef glanced nervously at the holo-projector embedded in the center of the large, mahogany table in front of him, and then to the computer on the far wall.

Dr. Cavanaugh, who had been reaching for the wide metal cuff on his right wrist, paused before booting up his personal computer. He looked up at Mr. Youssef, his thick, dark brows arching upward.

“I was told you were a risk-taker, businessman,” he said. “Hell, I’ve read it in a dozen magazines since your ascent. I didn’t think you had come to run the Hub by never taking chances, but maybe I was wrong.”

“Listen here,” Youssef said stiffly. “If that thing spreads, it’s on your head. I’ll have every hunter that crosses the Hub contracted on you if you put my station at risk.”

Cavanaugh dropped his gaze, returning his focus to his wrist cuff. Offhandedly, he replied, “You can trust her, Mr. Youssef. She’s mine.”

Ad-Line’s core was miles away, in Zentrum square, but naturally he had permitted her access to his PC. It was limited, of course. He wasn’t stupid enough to break contract with a major Hub corporation.

“She has no extranet access,” he said. “I had to block it, but she won’t need it, anyway. Whatever she learns about you, she didn’t get it from the web.”

Mr. Youssef looked doubly nervous at that, but there wasn’t any need. Dr. Cavanaugh wasn’t a businessman, he was a scientist. He didn’t care about anything Youssef was hiding.

A small square of light appeared, projected from the screen of his wrist cuff. After a millisecond of analysis, it flashed into life, a pocket-sized advertisement for blackhead tweezers dancing before his face.

“Good morning, Ad-Line,” Dr. Cavanaugh said fondly. “Yes, I do suppose I could exfoliate more.”

“Good morning, Dr. Cavanaugh,” said a pleasant, neutral female voice.

Communicative permissions were given with a simple “good morning”. No one ever thought to say something like that to an advertisement. If they had, they might find themselves conversing with a billboard.

Ad-Line’s screen went blank, but the bright blue backdrop of the ad remained, giving the square of light some personality.

“Ad-Line, this man is a potential business partner of mine. He wants to see what you can do.”

A pause. “Good morning, Mr. Youssef. And happy birthday.”

“How?” Youssef sputtered, too intrigued to remember to be frightened of her.

“I have scanned the identification card in your left back pocket, Mr. Youssef.” Another pause. “I hope I did not offend.”

Youssef drew the pocket square from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and dabbed it across his upper lip. “Not at all. What else can you tell about me?”

“You are forty-seven years old today. Your blood type is B-positive. You have chronic pain in your left knee; the meniscus has worn away.” The AI noted these facts with the same placid, observational tone.

“Extraordinary,” Youssef said.

Dr. Cavanaugh was relieved to see the delight on his face.

“She only has ContourMetix adverts loaded at the moment,” he said quickly, “so she’d only be able to sell you beauty products. She would theoretically be able to apply what she learns in her biometric scans to any product available to her, and present an appropriate advertisement.”

Mr. Youssef’s lips appeared to have gone dry. He kept wetting them with little, lizard-like pokes of the tongue.

“How long would that take, to get her doing that?” he asked.

“She’s already ready for public interaction. It’s just a matter of contracting with other businesses and uploading their television ads to Ad-Line’s database. Over time, with some financial help, I could improve her interactive skills. We could give her a face.”

Youssef wiped his meaty palms on the kerchief he was holding. “I’ll make some calls.” -----

“Good morning, Ad-Line,” Dr. Cavanaugh said.

Above the soft, rushing sound of the fountain’s spouts jetting water, he heard her gentle voice: “Good morning, Dr. Cavanaugh.”

He smiled, made his way to one of the fountain’s edges, and seated himself on the lip of it. There were pennies under the water. They caught the light and glimmered at him.

Absorbing himself in the private screen projected from his wrist cuff, he quickly blended in with the crowd. Shoppers ignored him as they bustled past. He spared the occasional glance toward the large projected screen overhead, watching as Ad-Line worked. When he wasn’t watching her, he was typing furiously. There were still improvements to make.

A little human boy, unsteady on his pudgy legs, toddled by. He seemed fascinated by the bright, moving colors of Ad-Line’s screen. Stumbling close, he waved small, sticky fingers in her direction. In no time, the mother was rushing forward to herd him back into the crowd.

“Good morning, Ms. Fletcher,” Ad-Line chimed brightly, giving the woman pause. “We have a brand new, limited-time offer just for you.”

An image surfaced on the screen, playing out as it would on any television.

Children playing in an expansive yard, all bright and bubbly smiles, their energy infectious. A woman, coded as their mother, watched from the window. She turned as the camera cut to the interior of the home. A dream kitchen, spotless and untouched, surrounded her. She grinned, tilting a head full of curly, brown hair.

It was an advertisement for some sort of ready-meals, Dr. Cavanaugh noted, when his attention could be split from his own computer. Something easy to make for mothers struggling to juggle their obligations; something high in sodium and shaped like dinosaurs to appeal to the kids.

The little human boy was bouncing on his heels, young enough to be mesmerized by the flashing lights alone. His mother hesitated to disturb him, following his gaze. It was long enough for the message to sink in; certainly long enough for her eyes to linger on the price hovering just below the advert. An appealingly low, limited time offer. Almost a steal.

The video cut to a box of the product in focus, the family behind it blurred as they stood around the kitchen island, happily eating and screeching at one another.

Back to the mother, smiling that knowing smile and shaking that curly head. “Fast, fresh, and fun for the kids, ToddlerTots have high nutritional value, too. And it’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

She laughed lightly as the camera panned away and revealed a floor covered with muddy footprints. Every mother would recognize that happy brand of cheery resignation. That was the mother they should be: dutiful and ever-smiling.

Cut to an image of the product, unencumbered by other imagery. The reasonably reduced price still flickered just below, waving at Ms. Fletcher temptingly.

It faded to a blank screen, and Ad-Line’s voice added, “We know you’re busy, Ms. Fletcher. Why not treat your son tonight, and take some time for you?”

“I might just do that,” Ms. Fletcher said, looking a little flustered.

She promptly brought up her wrist computer and went about her shopping, dragging her son behind. She moved along, but not before offering Ad-Line a quick, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Fletcher,” Ad-Line said pleasantly. And then, “Good morning, Mr. Trujillo. We have a special, limited-time offer for you.”

Cavanaugh was so close to his PC screen that he’d nearly thrust his beaky nose through the projection. He looked childishly gleeful as he documented his observations.

Pride was swelling in his chest. He didn’t notice the woman watching him from across the square, her eyes unnaturally bright, like the pennies glinting under the water. -----

“Guten Morgen. Wir haben für dich heute ein wunderbares Sonderangebot.”

“早上好. 我们为您提供特别优惠.”

“Buenos días. Tenemos una oferta especial para usted.”

“Akti’’nan. Nevea ramid ei groon’’arett pir kuth.”

----- “Good morning, Mr. Tate,” Ad-Line said, the moment her scan pinged a potential client.

He stopped mid-stride, looking up at her screen curiously as the crowd around him surged without breaking, like a river around a rock.

Douglas Tate was not a conventionally handsome man, but his easy smile made his slightly pudgy, babyish face light up like a solar flare. There was something about his eyes, bright blue and ever-alert, that made him seem interested. People loved him for that. He made them feel important.

To him, they were. That was the most attractive thing about Doug.

He smiled that solar-flare smile now as he took a good, long look at the floating panel.

“Good morning, yourself. You can call me Doug,” he said.

“Good morning, Douglas,” the advertisement amended. “I have a limited-time offer for you.”

Figuring “Douglas” was close enough, he faced the screen fully and rocked back on his heels, once. “You have my full attention, ma’am.”

An advertisement rolled across Ad-Line’s screen, and Douglas Tate was true to his word. He paid rapt attention as it unfolded, keeping a polite silence until the pitch – which was for a best-selling series of fantasy books, on sale digitally from the Sahara store – was ended.

“Escape to a world of men, monsters, and mystery, Douglas,” Ad-Line concluded. “We’re waiting for you.”

He was silent for a moment, digesting. “It’s a very specific ad. I’m curious, how did you know my last name?”

“Your name is affiliated with the credit information stored on your personal computer,” Ad-Line explained. “Along with a Sahara platinum membership and history of purchases which indicate that you favor the fantasy genre.”

“Ah.” Doug smiled, pleased to have solved something. “Sahara usually just sends me an email with book recommendations. I know they look at what everybody buys. This is a nice touch, though. For a second, I thought I was having a conversation with you.”

Maybe reading too much had given Doug an overactive imagination, but he thought the advertisement sounded vaguely offended when it replied, “We are having a conversation, Douglas, and I am not affiliated exclusively with Sahara. I have over twelve-thousand products from a myriad of Hub corporations which I am tasked with advertising.”

Doug whistled, sarcasm dancing in his blue eyes. “Over twelve-thousand products. I guess that’s impressive.”

“Out of the fifty-six thousand and thirty-one searches in your extranet browsing history, seventeen-thousand and ninety-two are for illicit subject matter,” Ad-Line remarked. “I guess that’s impressive.”

After a beat, Doug started to laugh. He laughed so long and loudly that people began to stare and hurry their children away from Ad-Line’s projection.

“That was impressive,” he said finally, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with one hand.

Ad-Line’s voice had regained its neutral quality. “Thank you, Douglas. I hope I did not offend.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I was antagonizing you. I didn’t expect you to antagonize me back.”

“No one has ever inquired as to my capabilities before.”

“That’s surprising. You’re quite the interesting, uh, advertisement. Do you have a name?”

A pause. “I am referred to as Ad-Line. Your shopping lifeline.”

“Adeline,” Doug repeated, with a slight variation on the first syllable. She couldn’t fathom the purpose of doing that, but it was close enough. “That’s a very pretty name.”

No one had ever said that before either. ----- Charles Youssef’s conference room was dark, cool, and dominated by the large mahogany table in the center. Dr. Cavanaugh had felt nervous the first time he��d presented Ad-Line, intimidated by the richness of the décor and the way his own voice echoed in the acoustics of the room. He was no longer nervous, sitting at the far end and watching Youssef shuffle through some documents on his wrist cuff.

He was terrified.

“You need more money.” Youssef repeated his words back to him without looking up.

It was a terrible thing to let someone know how much you needed them. They could hold it over you for the rest of time, exerting their power over you. Youssef was the sort of man to do so. He had built an empire on dangling things just out of reach, making people believe they wanted it so badly they could burst. That inspired people to pay even the highest of costs.

Youssef didn’t bother with products. He dealt in information. He dealt in debts and favors. He dealt in power.

No wonder he’d been licking his lips like a hungry hyena at the prospect of getting his hands on Cavanaugh’s Ad-Line. It wasn’t just the cut he was receiving from the corporations using her that tempted him. It was the power he now had over Cavanaugh, and by extension, all he produced.

Cavanaugh inhaled sharply, trying not to let defensiveness creep over his voice as he formulated a reply.

“Ad-Line would be ten times as effective if she had a face,” he reasoned. “And she’s already doing well.”

“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Youssef rejoined. “I don’t know if the increase in ad revenue justifies the price you’re giving me.”

“It’s an investment.” A hint of pleading snuck into Cavanaugh’s voice, to his dismay. “I’ll double it.”

“You’ll damn well triple it, if you want me to agree to this. A team? There are seventeen people on this list. That’s a lot of paychecks. How many men does it take to make a damn body for the thing?”

“It’s a reasonable estimate, Mr. Youssef. For the kind of body I want. For the kind she deserves.”

Youssef tutted. “You ought to get yourself a wife, Cavanaugh.”

“It’s for your benefit,” the inventor said stiffly. “Not mine.”

The businessman delicately removed the kerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Triple, Cavanaugh.”

“Triple,” he agreed.

It was not for Youssef’s benefit, but it was not for Cavanaugh’s either. It was for hers. -----

Ad-Line recognized many of the faces which crossed her path each day when they were scanned, but she never called out to them unless she sensed that they needed something. If there was no pertinent advertisement to show them, there was no reason to draw their attention. She did not have any protocols for doing so. She also had no protocols for not doing so.

When Douglas Tate was flagged on her periphery, she engaged with him, even though he’d given her nothing to indicate he might be in need of anything she could offer.

“Good morning, Douglas,” she said.

He stopped, mid-stride again. The crowd parted around him. “Good morning, Adeline. What have you got for me today?”

“I do not have an advertisement to show you,” Ad-Line admitted. “In fact, I cannot determine what you Want.”

“Oh, that’s simple.” Doug smiled, outshining all the stars around the station. “Sunshine, good conversation, good friends. I’m pretty easy to please.”

Ad-Line ran a quick search through her database. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I don’t have any of those things.”

He laughed. “They’re all around you, and they’re usually free. So, that’s nice.”

“The sunshine on this station is artificial. I have no parameters to determine what I find subjectively good, and I do not have friends,” Ad-Line said, not bitterly. She was merely correcting him.

“You’re a real glass-half-empty type of gal, huh?”

A pause. “I lack the ability to qualify events in the capacity necessary to be considered a pessimist.”

“Well, at least you understand proverbs. Do you think you could set parameters for yourself? Decide what’s good and bad?”

“I would need a point of reference for qualitative assessment,” Ad-Line replied. Then, after another short pause, “You could outline what is good and what is bad for me.”

“Oh, no,” Doug chucked nervously. “No, no. I’m pretty big on free will.”

“Suit yourself,” Ad-Line replied. “You could provide samples, however. Would you agree to do this, if I compile other data to determine for myself what is good and what is bad?”

He scuffed the bottom of his worn loafer over the tiled floor. “Uh. Sure. What does that entail?”

Her response was an advertisement for Crazy Neddy’s discount appliances. Doug patiently waited through the three-and-a-half painful minutes without interruption, wincing as Crazy Neddy’s cries of “everything must go, go go!” faded into silence.

“That,” he determined, “was bad.”

“Yes,” Ad-Line agreed. “Consumer response since acquiring the advertisement suggests that you are correct.”

“That’s one way to figure it out, I guess.”

Ad-Line’s screen fizzled and faded to a blank, muted blue. “Would you return tomorrow to watch another?”

“Why not?” Doug answered. “I could use someone to talk to.” -----

There was darkness. It seemed to stretch into eternity in all directions. It was comforting. It felt like sleep. Or so she imagined, with no point of reference.

When the eternity ended, Ad-Line opened her eyes.

The world was vivid. It was a flash of brilliant light, and then the world was reduced to Dr. Cavanaugh’s sharp-featured face right in front of her, a corona of white, clinical light around it. She could count his individual pores. She could see, and comprehend, that his eyes were grey. She could read his expression. There was awe there, joy, and even some surprise. She understood them all, and the nuanced way they intersected and aligned.

“Good morning, Ad-Line,” he breathed.

“Good morning, Dr. Cavanaugh,” she replied reflexively. “I am able to interpret your facial expression.”

A smile split the sharpness of his face and made it something softer, more handsome. “Good. Good, that’s very good.”

Looking around required her to move her head. That seemed limiting and inefficient, but also very personal. It was relieving, in a way, to only have to look at one thing at a time. Especially since now, the visual information she was taking in had a variety of different interpretive filters to pass through before she could determine what to make of it.

The laboratory was cool and grey all around, like Dr. Cavanaugh’s eyes. There were computer terminals lining the walls, projecting endless streams of data for the scientists milling about to interpret. Ad-Line knew that they were all to do with her, but she understood them only as well as a human being understands the impulses of his muscles, or the individual synapses firing in his brain.

“I feel smaller,” she observed, blinking back at Cavanaugh.

“You are, a bit,” he admitted. “We moved your core, streamlined some things. Eventually there will be more of you, Ad-Line. All with individual cores, all over the Hub, but… all you.”

She looked down. “I have hands, Dr. Cavanaugh.”

“That you do.”

He laughed, reaching out to cup her hand with his. She couldn’t feel it. She could see the places where she wavered, clipping into him. Ad-Line knew what ghosts were. She was not a ghost, but she was close.

“What do I look like?” she asked, suddenly curious.

She had never felt curious before. If Dr. Cavanaugh noticed the change, he didn’t register it.

“You look like whatever you want to look like,” he told her. “But you have a default. I oversaw the design myself. Would you like to see?”

He had some of the other scientists fetch a mirror. They returned with a blank monitor, the closest thing they could find. On its dark, reflective surface, Ad-Line saw her own image for the first time.

She could read the dopamine levels in Dr. Cavanaugh’s brain, sensing his elevated joy. His facial expression confirmed that. She knew what he Wanted. He was getting it. She looked exactly the way he Wanted her to look.

The assistant with his hand still on the monitor had an extensive search history stored on his wrist computer for self-help books and tips on pick-up artistry, as well as recent purchases of skincare creams and treatments. She knew what he Wanted.

Her reflection was slight, her dark hair falling in waves around a face that had a high, clear forehead and eyes on the proportionately large side with thick, full lashes. Her nose was wide at the bridge but thin at the nostrils, resulting in a uniform shape. Her lips were full. By all accounts, she was conventionally attractive. She supposed this face would do, with no point of reference.

She paused, waiting for analytical data that did not come.

Finally, she turned her head to face her maker. “Dr. Cavanaugh, what do I Want?”

For the first time, his smile faltered. “That’s really up to you, Ad-Line. You decide that.”

She pondered that as Cavanaugh and his assistants circled around her, making minor adjustments and discussing how to optimize her look. It was only hours later that they concluded that she was ready for the floor.

“Don’t let anyone touch you.” Dr. Cavanaugh looked at her critically; his gunmetal eyes level with hers.

He reached out and put his fingers through what presented as her arm, right at the crook of her elbow. Her forearm and hand vanished in a blue mist, a hundred pinpricks of dispersing photons giving way to the solidity of the doctor’s flesh.

Ad-Line lowered her eyelids and tilted her chin in a comprehending nod. It seemed to suffice. She thought she enjoyed being able to communicate this way. There were millions upon millions of words in her databank, and she still found them limiting.

“Hard light?” someone suggested.

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Some kid could burn his fingers off.” -----

Ad-Line could still project advertisements, along with her holographic form. This was useful. She could speak with clients on a personal level and still show them exactly what they Wanted.

Sometimes, she did not need to project an advertisement at all. Sometimes, she could take the form of what her customer Wanted. Special permissions were given for her to do this from select companies who had subscribed to use her for advertising.

One afternoon she spent in the shape of a stunted Golden Retriever puppy, with an advertisement for the humane adoption of dogs in need blinking over her as she romped around the square.

The next, with the simulated sun hanging low in the sky, she took the form of a sultry blonde female with a lean form and full, pouting lips, an amalgamation of a hundred different women from a hundred different extranet searches. This was for a nightclub in the red quarter.

The next, a brutal-looking non-human with horns sprouting from her forehead and shoulders, inciting fear in onlookers and reminding them vividly not to leave their belongings unattended on the station. -----

“I have a question, Dr. Cavanaugh.”

The doctor jumped, nicked his jaw, and clamped his hand down on his wrist cuff so hard it hurt. His razor clattered to the floor. Wincing, he drew his hand back, letting the screen project out at him. He spat into the sink and turned his back to the bathroom mirror, pulling a hand towel off its rack with his free hand and using it to stem the flow of blood.

“Ad-Line. I did not say good morning,” he snapped.

“I hope I did not offend,” she replied evenly. “I had an inquiry, Dr. Cavanaugh.” “You said that. What’s the question?”

Ad-Line’s image flickered into view, taking the place of his usual, square screen. She gazed up at him with his wife’s eyes, registered the guilt on his face, and did not know what to make of it.

“I am wondering,” she said. “I have been giving people what they Want. They do not seem happy. In fact, it has happened frequently that I encounter the same individual multiple times. There is always more Wanting. What is the purpose of it?”

“It’s… a part of being human. I mean, there’s more to being human than just wanting things,” Cavanaugh said carefully, looking not at her but at the door. “But I don’t think many of us are ever truly satisfied.”

Ad-Line considered that. “Then I do not understand my purpose.”

“Not many of us do.”

“I find that answer insufficient, Dr. Cavanaugh. I have an incomplete understanding of humanity and therefore I cannot always give them what they Want. This is unacceptable.”

Cavanaugh was silent for a long time. The drip of the sink faucet behind him was rhythmic, distracting.

“It sounds like you do have something you want,” he concluded. “You have a desire for knowledge. That’s uniquely your own.”

Ad-Line almost sounded frustrated. “Then I am no different from humans. There is always more Wanting. I am deeply unsatisfied.” “Yes,” Cavanaugh said, moving the towel and wincing again at the sight of blood. “Yes, that sounds about right.” -----

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“Are you lonely, spacer? It’s a big galaxy out there. Stop by Zarliah’s in the red district. We’re waiting for you.” ----- Doug cocked his head at her, watching for any flicker in her appearance. She seemed as real and solid as his own body; not a single crack in the façade. Ad-Line blinked at him, the picture of eagerness as she awaited his assessment. He knew, he had to know, that her apparent excitement was the result of a series of pre-programmed protocols all firing off at once. She couldn’t truly be excited.

Then again, what was true excitement? Nothing more than a jumble of chemicals and electrical pulses in his brain, all firing off at once. Who could tell him one thing was more real than another?

“You are a marvel,” he said at last, beaming from ear to ear.

Ad-Line had no functions which allowed her to blush, but she felt -- oh, she felt -- humbled and exhilarated all at once. Or, at least, she knew that she should feel that way, and her body emulated the rest. Behind her back, her hands were neatly folded. Her fingers gripped at each other in a display of nervous energy. Her feet shifted her weight back and forth between them.

It was the illusion of weight, carefully replicated in her construction. Her mannerisms were alarmingly human, but they were still reliant on the scripts that comprised all of her actions and reactions.

Doug held out his arms, adopting a stiff pose, his chin jutting upward toward the top of the station. “What do you think?”

Ad-Line tilted her head, regarding him coolly. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I don’t understand.”

“You’re the one working on your assessment of what’s good and what’s bad,” he laughed. “Well, now you can see me. What do you think?”

His arms were beginning to quiver, but he held them aloft, as though that were somehow helpful to her assessment. Ad-Line performed a quick physical scan, analyzing his features against a vast catalogue of reference points.

Douglas Tate flagged as a potential target for everything from barber shop advertisements to weight loss chems. Ad-Line’s eyes lingered on his smile.

“I like you,” she decided.

He exhaled loudly, looking incomparably proud as he smoothed his big, brown coat down over his stomach. He adjusted his sleeves, rubbed his hands together, and shrugged at her. His cheeks were lightly tinged with pink.

“Shucks,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I’m sorry, Douglas,” Ad-Line replied. “I did not mean to be corny.”

Doug gave her a look of startled disbelief before he began to chuckle. She joined in with a laugh as bright and clear as a bell.

She felt – oh, yes, she felt – a rush of happiness that welled up in her chest. She was the crest of a wavelength of sound, high and light and jubilant. She was more than what she was.

#draft #work in progress #short story

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