#so tomorrow i can actually tinker w it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shootingstarwritings · 3 years ago

Text

Hans Off the Computer!

The human mind, when boiled down to its most fundamental building blocks, was simply a system of ON and OFF switches. In that sense, it is functionally identical to that of a computer’s mainframe. When putting both of those thoughts together, the idea that the human brain can be completely digitized and transferred through networks isn’t too far-fetched an idea.

At the very least, that was the thought of Hans Hopper, a freelance software engineer. Currently, he was working at a computer repair shop to get some extra money and to kill time between projects—including his own.

“It could be possible,” he voiced his dreams to his boss, Carl, as they took a look at some guy’s gaming PC. The components were state of the art, some not even out in the market yet. Just the graphic card and motherboard made Hans drool at the sight. Streamers get all the luck, he thought. The owner, some small-name star with a big ego, took poor care of his machine, leading to landing on Carl's shop.

“Y’know, Hopper,” Carl began as he cleaned some dust off of the PC’s parts, “I think if you put that head of yours outta the clouds and into reality with the rest o’ us, you’d really take off. Least you wouldn’t be stuck in this freelancing business and get a real job like some o’ your peers.”

“And be like those corporate suck-ups?” Hans snorted. “As if. I’m not gonna be another cog in the machine. Now being in a machine." He grinned, already fantasizing about the things he'd do if he could ditch his flawed, physical form for a future full of infinite potential inside of a network. "That's what I'm after."

“Least those corporate suck-ups can afford their own places,” Carl sighed. “You’re still living with roommates at, what, 30?”

“...27, actually.”

Grinning, Carl said, “And there’s my point. At your age, Hans, I--” he paused as his phone began to ring with an irritatingly catchy tune. “Aw, shit. Lost track of time.” Before Carl ducked to the back of the store and towards the hall that led to his home, he glanced back and said, “Can you wrap up here and close the store, Hans?”

“You got it, boss," Hans said, waving him off. "Take care." Carl left without an answer, and Hans found himself alone with a PC he could only dream of. "Well well," he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a flash drive. "Looks like it's just you and me from now on. Let's see if what's under the hood's enough to get my program running."

While Carl had a point that Hans' dream was beyond the capacity of current human technology, the world of sci-fi and fantasy lacked such rules. "Just like that ol' title," he muttered to himself as he inserted the flash drive into a USB drive. "A machine can't act like a human mind, but it can calculate runes with no trouble. Sometimes when we can’t use tech to get somewhere, we gotta use shortcuts.”

This PC was his best chance to experiment on his little program to see if it worked. After checking to make sure the drives were all up to date and the whole thing was running smoothly, Hans executed his program. A few keystrokes later, a magic circle formed on the screen. “Let’s gooo—WOAH!”

Although Hans should have figured that the ritual wouldn’t be painless, having his physical form ripped apart and turned into data was nothing short of excruciating. Reforming himself later wouldn’t be any less unpleasant, but he could never turn down the chance to become data and revolutionize the field of… magic? Science? Magitek?

He witnessed his fingers slowly fade as if turning into dust and flow like a stream of water into the screen. As the entirety of his arms completely disappeared, sprites that resembled arms appeared on the screen. "L-Least it works?" Hans nervously said as more and more of his body faded away.

Eventually, Hans' ability to feel, taste, hear, and see waned as his body fully waxed into the computer. The sensation… was nothing. There were no nerves or sensors to feel with, but he could understand the data that his mind had access to. Overwhelming, yet the sensation felt like precious wine on his lips.

The network… Though small, Hans was amazed at how he could travel through the network of the shop��including Carl’s personal PC.

“No, no,” Hans realized he could hear. He saw Carl through the uncovered camera and heard him through a microphone that remained plugged in. For a tech-savvy guy, Carl was real lenient in terms of privacy. "C'mon, Elise, be reasonable here. We got a meeting with the divorce lawyer tomorrow. Can’t you have your little wine party another day?” Carl rolled his eyes as he pocketed his phone. “Fuckin’ bitch. Can’t give me a break.”

And now, as Carl sat down to work on his computer, Hans realized he could attempt the other upside of the ritual. With his mind now data, he could reach out and override the "data" that was another's consciousness.

“What the hell am I supposed to—MMGPHF!”

It wasn’t the most graceful exit, but Hans couldn’t deny the results. Black tendrils—an unnatural amalgamation of data and flesh flew from the screen and landed on Carl’s face, causing him to fly back a few inches. His body twitched and convulsed, back forming a C, as Hans’ essence flowed into each of Carl’s orifices. Carl’s feet kicked at the ground, fingers gripping his chair’s armrests, as Hans’ essence attacked and invaded his brain.

“A-Ah, ahhh.” Carl helplessly moaned as Hans override any freedom and control over his body. After a few painful seconds with his back arched and his toes curling as the sensation of being overtaken overwhelmed him, Hans awoke in his boss’ body.

“Well, well,” said Hans, feeling his new arms. “Not exactly my first choice for a body, but not a bad test drive.” He stretched in the comfortable office chair, a gift from another customer. “Man, Carl, for an old guy you don’t feel half-bad.” Now realizing that he was alone, a mischievous thought crossed Hans’ mind. “Well, got some time to keep doing some more research on my little program. Maybe I can find a way to hack into other networks." Grinning to himself, he stood up and slowly stripped out of Carl's clothes. First, the shirt came off as the nipples hardened in the cool air, then the shoes were chucked to the side to allow his feet to breathe. The pants came off next, and finally, the underwear flew across the room as Hans embraced his newfound potential—and his borrowed pole.

“Who knew old farts like you still had crazy stamina like this!” Hans cried out, furiously and desperately thrusting into his grip as he jacked off his boss’ body. “F-Fuck! Fuuuuuck!” Hans let out a roar as he came all over his boss’ keyboard. “W-Woah. Gonna have to clean that up later. Dunno where he keeps his tissues, but...” Hans paused and grinned once more. This wasn’t his body, so what the hell? He bent down and began to lick the keys clean, making sure to savor his boss’ taste with each slurp.

The next day, he sat in his boss' room, giving another client's laptop a check-up. It was a Sunday and so the shop was closed, but Hans' mind was far too wired to relax by simply lying around the place. No, tinkering around and keeping his hands busy was how he would wind down.

Although, Hans remained without any clothes. The feeling of the chair against his naked skin was intoxicating. Never in his life had Hans worked in the nude, but he might have to start doing it more often as he tried on new skins. For now, though, might as well enjoy Carl’s life for a few more hours before trying on someone new.

Hans’ roommates were certainly appealing prospects.

#male possession #dilf possession #male body possession #sci-fi possession #computer possession

264 notes · View notes

yandere-society · 5 years ago

Text

Day 10 | Home For Christmas

Synopsis: The two new hot guys next door are super friendly and very helpful! Especially since you’ve injured your leg and now are forced to prance around in your wheelchair. They came over to your house, put up decorations, helped you bake and kept you company when you couldn’t be home for Christmas. Although now that you think about it, they’re a little too friendly…to the point you can’t tell them no.

The 12 Days of Black Christmas Event Masterlist

Pairing: Namhope x Female Reader

Admin: @roses-ruby

Trigger warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior, Murder, Physical abuse, kidnapping

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

🎶You can plan on me

Please have snow and mistletoe

And presents on the tree🎶

“Oop, let me get that for you-”

Your outstretched hand stops midair, head turning to face the tall dimpled man on your left. He smiled at you fondly and you felt your cheeks warming.

“Thank you.” You say, pushing yourself back to make room for his long legs. Namjoon shifts, taking the red ornament out of your hand, and placing it on a high branch. You watch silently as he tinkers with the small toy stockings, humming along to Crosby’s I’ll be home for Christmas which continually rung throughout the house from your mom’s old record player on the back shelf. Suddenly, he makes eye contact with you again, his eyes turning into little crescents as his mouth stretches, leaving you blushing and turning away. It wasn’t something you could help.

Since the first time you laid eyes on him, you’ve always thought he was so freaking hot. Speaking of hotties-

“Alright, the pie is done!” A shout comes from behind you, making you turn your head as the wheels of your chair rotate back. A man with a heart-shaped smile and eyes brighter than the sun steps out of the kitchen in his pink frilly apron, setting down the holiday pie on the table directly in front. One whiff of the sweet desert has your mouth watering in delight.

“It smells delicious, Hoseok! You both are so kind…thank you for everything.”

Said man laughs, the melodious sound echoing the walls along with the music, “Nonsense, we’re always here to help.”

“Exactly, that’s what neighbors are for.” Namjoon chirped, walking over to where Hoseok stood. He took a glance at the pie and then poked the top, immediately being reprimanded by Hoseok’s oven mitt hand.

“Don’t do that, you’ll ruin it.”

Namjoon retracts his hand, resembling a kicked puppy, “I just thought it looked cool. You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be if you didn’t just drop the eggnog on yourself this morning, while standing completely still.”

“Hey! That was an accident!”

You gaze in confusion as the men began to argue, an amused sigh leaving your lips.

Namjoon and Hoseok were the two sexy guys from next door, helping you around the house while you sat there helpless with a broken leg, as well as your lovely new best friends. They had moved into the apartment next door back in July, before the start of the fall semester. It was a breath of fresh air honestly, as your last neighbor was a cranky old lady with way too many mean cats. You weren’t sure what happened to her, but you weren’t complaining once you ran into Joon in the hallway as he carried large boxes into his apartment.

His muscles ripped through his loose grey tank top and his arm flexed while he lugged the heavy load. He was tall, jacked, smart, kind and very dorky. You almost fell in love at first sight. Then there was his sun in human form roommate, Hoseok. Now, Hoseok may not have been as giant or as muscular as Namjoon, but his bright personality, social nature and lethal moves did not lose to anyone. Millions of women would become wet in a matter of seconds from the way he twisted his hips. Millions more at Namjoon’s deep honey voice.

You were blessed to have such hotties living next door.

Because of their approachable nature, they befriended you very quickly. It went from small talks in the hallway to long conversations as you rested on your couch. From shy glances here and there a few times a week to seeing one another daily. They had practically moved in. Their shoes were always in your house, you had bought them their own pair of toothbrushes for your bathroom and they even had a small section of their clothes in your closet. You all even started heading to classes together.

Of course, you had lusted for them in the beginning. Sometime their gazes were intense, and it seemed like they were eye-fucking you. Other times they seemed to get very jealous if you had anyone else in your apartment or if you went anywhere without telling them. But you knew it was all in your imagination. It’s not their fault if they just couldn’t help but ooze sex appeal which made you imagine the two hot guys next door – your best friends – being obsessed with you. As of now you were fine with the wonderful friendship you were able to build with them. Better off as friends as they say.

You had been quite lonely when you moved into the big city, away from your family who you were always close to. Your dad had warned you about the many dangers of the city so you made sure to stay safe and away from those who could wish you harm. Joon and Hoseok were the first people that made you open yourself up and for that you were grateful. It was very fun to spend your days being tutored by Namjoon or laughing at Hoseok. Though you still longed for your family when the holiday season arrived. Sadly, as you were making plans to visit home, someone had decided to push you down the University’s stairs which resulted in a horribly broken leg bone and a laggy wheelchair.

No one saw who did it.

Unable to fly, you were stuck in your small apartment for all of the festive season. The first night you had cried a lot on the phone with your mother, but your amazing best friends had barged in and promised to make this the best Christmas you’ve ever had right here in the apartment. They were so serious about it, they hadn’t let you leave the place even for a bit. Decorations, entertainment, food, they had it all planned out and thanks to them, you were able to have one of the merriest Christmas eve’s of your life.

🎶Christmas Eve will find me

Where the love light gleams🎶

The music from the record player wakes you from your daze, your eyes once again concentrating on the two bickering men in front of the dinner table.

With a smile, you turn back around to the pine tree, to see it filled with many kinds of decorations and ornaments. Yet it was still missing something. A small pout forms on your lips as you recall the weeping phone conversation you had with your mother. You had told her to send your favorite ornament – a small marbled turtle dove, over to your place so you had something from home you could cherish this year. It was a keepsake from your childhood and had many memories attached to it. Tomorrow was Christmas and you wondered why it hadn’t arrived already.

Maybe the front desk has it?

It wasn’t like you could call them, phone reception in your apartment had been getting worse and worse for some reason. With a sigh, you rotate back around to see Namjoon and Hoseok arguing about the dinner plates. If you use the elevator, you could rush downstairs, inquire about any packages and rush back upstairs without either of them noticing,

Nodding to yourself, you wheel your chair to the front door. You quietly pull open the door as Joon and Hobi’s voices and I’ll be home for Christmas continue to surround the background. With a few swift moves, you were in the hallway, heading for the elevator.

For some reason you felt uneasy. The same feeling you got before you were pushed down the stairs. You stopped in front of the lift, pressing the button and waiting anxiously for its arrival. The door of the elevator opened quickly to your relief and as soon as you were about to roll in-

-a deafening scream of your name pierces through the quiet hallway and startles you.

Immediately you were being pulled away from the elevator, pushed back into the hallway you came from and shoved inside your apartment as the door banged shut behind you. It was deathly lull, all you could hear was your heavy breathing even though you hadn’t moved an inch and the old Christmas song still repeating. Slowly you turn around to face the entrance and were met by the raging scowls of Namjoon and Hoseok.

A chill runs down your spine at the fury in their eyes.

“W-w-wha-”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Hoseok growls, and you gasp at the venom in his tone. This was not the cheerful, loving Hoseok you knew.

“Seriously ___,” Namjoon groans, voice slightly tamer than Hoseok’s, “How could you leave the second we weren’t looking?”

“N-no I-”

“This is your fault.” Joon spits at Hoseok “I told you to break both of her legs so she couldn’t move at all.”

Your jaw hangs open.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I kill the old lady, I push ___ down the stairs, I set up that complicated ass box that blocks the cell signals and what do YOU do exactly?’

All the information was speeding around your brain and you could feel yourself choking up. Did he just say kill?

“You’re the one who wanted to do all that! Always fucking criticizing me for being clumsy and shit- fuck, I plan, YOU execute, remember?”

As they begin to argue once again, you start shaking in your seat. Murderers. Not only did you befriend the people who were responsible for your broken leg, but you had let actual murderers into your home. Suddenly everything started to make sense. Your neighbor lady suddenly disappearing. You always running into them whether in your complex, university or even the store. In fact, you always felt they were a bit too pushy with their help, but you didn’t want to be mean. The over-friendly skin ship and how they constantly made you feel guilty until you blocked all the other people from your life. How they pushed themselves and their belongings into your apartment.

How they made your home their home.

Holy shit…shitshitshit what were you going to do now? Who could you call? Where would you go with this broken leg? How would you escape? They could do whatever they want to you and they knew it.

“-__?...___!” The sound of your name jolts you. Hoseok sits on his knees, eye level with you as Joon sits beside him, equally concerned. “___, are you alright?”

This…this was the Hoseok and Namjoon you know. The ones who infiltrated your life with their handsome faces and kind personalities. When you don’t answer him, he cups your face causing you to stiffen.

“Hey don’t worry. I know we argued a lot, but it’s fine now. Since you’re here…since we have you…just don’t leave us again.” He states gently, tilting his head to the side like an insane person. “Instead, why don’t we go eat that pie, hmm?”

You could feel your pupils shaking as you look into his bottomless orbs. Though you were in your own home, you have never been more afraid.

“He’s right you know.”

You turn to Namjoon beside him who places his hand above your limp one. The very first tear drops out of your socket as you find him smiling. How you wish you could have found the sinister reality of his dimpled smile those thousand times he’s shown it to you before.

“We have you and you have us. So, if you leave us like that again, we’ll be very upset…we may lose our temper and who knows what we would do…just…You should stay home for Christmas, alright?”

And as soon as he says that the stupid never-ending song repeats its end once more.

🎶I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams🎶

#bts #namjoon #jhope #hoseok #yandere bts #yandere namjoon #yandere jhope #yandere hoseok #rm #yandere rm #bts x reader #yandere x reader

412 notes · View notes

picnokinesis · 4 years ago

Note

I am having a real bad day and you are the only thing giving me joy today so let's play Search That Fic!! How about. Spoon. Screwdriver. Cup. Also like I just. I love your art and I love it sm because!! You're clearly very skilled and you know what you're doing w all the little details but you have so much confidence in your stylistic approach and even w the blocky heads they look SO MUCH LIKE THEIR CHARACTERS it is. chefs kis ok

Awwww dude, I’m so sorry that you’re having a bad day! I hope that it gets better, or that tomorrow is better <3 I’m so glad I’m sparking joy for you though ahahah

Thank you so much ahh?? I’m so so glad you like my style! I’ve worked very hard on my art for a long while, and it’s so nice that I’ve got it to the point where I’m proud of my own work - even though I know I still have so much more I can improve on! Although oh my days, the blockiness - my artstyle has gradually grown more and more blocky over the years, but I kinda like it actually? So I’m glad you do too! I’ve noticed recently that my lineart tends to be quite angular. That said, I have always drawn shoes very rectangular for whatever reason HAHA

Alright then let’s search this fic *-cracks knuckles-*

Spoon and Cup were actually in the same sentence, and it’s a long one, so:

It’s already got water in it, left over from breakfast, and so she flicks it on to boil, before grabbing a cup from the cupboard and spooning some instant coffee and plenty of sugar in.

(also, the number of times they’ve made drinks in this fic so far is ridiculous. So far it is definitely 20k of the fam having tea. THERE ARE TWELVE RESULTS FOR ‘KETTLE’)

Screwdriver does appear once, but it’s sort of referring to a spoiler in part 2, so I’m gonna search in my mega doc instead.

Oh my days. DUDE there were no matches at all in the mega doc SORRY! I’m lowkey surprised, that is 68k worth of words and I did not write the doctor with a screwdriver. Probably because I avoid writing her tinkering because I know NOTHING about engineering RIP HAHA

Oh, but for those who haven’t seen, chapter 3 of campervan part two is now up, and that definitely has a screwdriver line in it, because I sent it to a bunch of people ages back because it sounded really concerning out of context sksks

#wip search meme #taka replies #ahhhh anon i really do hope your day gets better #but I'm glad to offer entertainment #ALTHOUGH #i do need to go to sleep in about 30 mins rip #but bless you #anon

4 notes · View notes

vanityloves · 4 years ago

Note

Storm and ivy + medic

@septemberlove i have. no excuse for how late these are but uh. thank you for sending these in 💕.

[word count: 1.8k+ with the longest 'authors note' bc im mentally ill]

sfw, mmm comfy cozy, general sick hcs,

storm - what are cozy days in with your f/o like?

Whenever I think of cozy days, my brain immediately goes to rainy/chilly weather where we can cuddle up together and my brain short fuses. I'm gonna assume this is just like a day off or something though!

How I visual them together vs how I write them is odd because they technically don't act or accept they're 'together' until after the comics but I always write them like they're in a Steady Relationship while on base. I'm always writing a slight AU if you will. Or maybe it's after they get their jobs back at Mann co - I should highkey adjust that but No ♥️. No more thinking, just content based off my idealized universe.

There's definitely a point in their relationship where it's like 'I think I have to put in a little more work here'. I'm not saying either party is slacking but they're slacking ♥️. Neither of them really take action. Chef doesn't blame him or really complain about it because that's their nature, plus they don't know how romantic relationships really work or flow, especially with a person like him. Medic doesn't see an issue with anything and continues on with his normal business.

What I mean by slacking is, there's not a lot of quality time being spent together which would be fine if it wasn't both of their strongest Love Languages, which could help them strengthen their relationship. It's odd because they're 'romantically involved' but they don't spend a lot of time together for either of them to consider it romantic, simply because it's on company time.

ANYWAYS THATS JUST ME BEING CONVOLUTED. FEEL FREE TO JUST IGNORE ALL OF THIS.

Medic goes to bed pretty late and wakes up at a fairly early hour. Chef is a late sleeper and forced to be an early riser because their Actual Job is to make at least 2 or 3 meals a day (if they want something else, they're on their own but hate when anyone messes up the kitchen and will honestly, stand there and watch said person).

There's minimal time they can spend together if they want to do their own activities - for Medic, it's tinkering around with organs or in Engie's garage, for Chef, they're typically meal prepping or trying to tend to an animal or plant of some sort.

Medic is actually more direct about wanting attention and it's never been a problem because he's cautious about it. Chef is more emotionally inclined and willing to drop hints that they want more attention.

Chef probably has one day off where it's a complete free for all, for the rest of the team, which would be the perfect time to spend with Medic - If he wanted to stop working, that is. Just don't picture it but, Chef will literally sit in the medbay for hours just to be near the guy, but it isn't bad? The drone of machinery or the scratching of his pen is relaxing, or having his doves nearby is always sweet! Plus, he's prone to talking their ear off when he finds something interesting, so they'll chime in and have some back and forth.

But, yknow - sometimes having someone's undivided attention is nice and Chef is pretty dense when it comes to that and wonders why they feel so upset.

They swallow their pride and ask Medic if they sleep in his room one night and Medic's not as dense as Chef, he understands that they'd never ask for something so out of the blue for no reason and he promises to finish up his work early so they could head to bed together. Chef had nothing planned, they literally just needed that affection and closeness - since it was their day off Medic takes the hint and puts his work aside for the time being.

They'd probably sleep in and stay in bed a while longer before getting ready together - no uniform required. Chef isn't so talkative in the mornings, Medic's noticed, but they were happily fiddling with his buttons and tie, humming in thought before answering his questions. Medic's seen them out of uniform of course, but it's always funny seeing them in just a button up and jeans like … mom on the go vibes. Medic leaves his coat behind before making his way to the kitchen with Chef.

The kitchen usually has a couple people loitering around, grabbing their coffee or honestly, waiting around for Chef because they always make extra and these bitches are lazy. But the kitchen has now become A Medic Supremacy Zone and he has first dibs - the benefits of being w/ Chef I guess. The two would work as if the others weren't there, keeping their conversation between each other even if that means Medic tilting his head down while Chef leans in closer to reply. There's a high possibility the other have left them to their own devices, seeing as the couple was ignoring them / knows they won't be getting anything. Breakfast isn't extraordinary but it feels special since they actually get to sit across each other and share the morning today.

It's possible that they'd go out and run some errands today, but it's a cover to window shop and walk around. I'll be honest, they probably haven't had proper dates so it's refreshing. You could ask Chef what they liked the most and they're just like :] Yes.

Other times, they like to curl up and catch up with some reading (well, Medic at least) while Chef rests against him and skim over the words. They're not too invested in what he's reading but likes to have some idea of what he's talking about so they don't ask too many questions. (Very 'these words are big and english/german is not my first language + I can't read as fast as you can so I got lost 7 pages ago). Medic likes to watch Chef garden and tries to help them tend to whatever they're able to grow in the goddamn desert. He overwaters a cactus and looks away if it dies. Chef talks ab how they're growing mint and how it really took off while Medic's standing there like :] Oh, lets make tea with that. Because they're Old People (read: Medic is old)

🕊🐁

ivy - how do you take care of each other when you’re sick?

Chef is easier to take care of when they're sick. They continue working until they're pretty beat but once they feel sick and a break doesn't work, they'll try to finish up what they can before turning in early. They see themselves to bed and inform whoever's near that they won't ne there at dinner and if they really cant figure it out, then come get them - other than that, they're barricading themselves in their room.

When they're sick they're REALLY sick but recovery time is usually a few days (depending on how bad it is). They basically hibernate and don't like being disturbed. They're used to not fending for themselves since they've been on their own for a while but really appreciate all the check ins Medic does w/ them, especially when they're all better.

Medic, being...their Medic, he definitely gives them a check up when they first begin showing symptoms and he can be a stickler when it comes to drinking fluids and eating properly. Chef usually has a finicky stomach as it is so Medic really urges them to drink soups and easy foods like bread and crackers. He checks in on them A LOT, even if that's just peeking in to see if they're asleep or not. He backs off when Chef gives him a cold stare from under the covers and minimizes his intrusions/tries to be more sneaky about it. He has colder hands and they let out a sigh when he puts his hand to their cheek or forehead to check their temperature.

Chef doesn't hesitate to take any medication he has for them, mostly bc they aren't fully coherent but they also don't have energy to care, in fact they have the thought that if he accidentally kills them, maybe respawn will cure them. Unfortunately, Medic debunks this before they can even muster up the energy to ask.

Overall 7.5/10, very good patient. Will refuse to get up and accidently falls asleep in the shower which scares the shit out of him.

Medic on the other hand is very stubborn and doesn't like to stop working unless there's something that physically stops him (ex: vomiting, serious injuries [unlikely bc medigun], etc). If he tricked the Devil, surely the man can beat the common cold or flu! Unfortunately he gets those full body shivers and feels terrible. He can be pretty dramatic when he's sick and everyone's subjected to his bad attitude.

It's Chefs turn to play doctor - they can tell by looks alone that he's under the weather. His face is flushed and he's a bit sloppily put together, which isn't *too uncommon* but his tie isn't tied and his glasses lamely slide down his nose. They tsk a bit while taking his temperature just to keep track of it before ushering him to his room.

He can be dragged to bed if persistent enough. Chef's firm hold on his arm is enough for him to get off his chair and have them tug him along. He doesn't have any room to argue with them as they look up at him, so he relents, stating that a short break would definitely do him good, but he'll be up and at em by tomorrow.

Chef is doting and becomes a bit of a helicopter parent when checking on him. This mostly consists of peeking their head in but not really stepping in the room. Every so often they'll wake him up to drink water and either hand him an ice pack or offer a cold towel and move to dab at his forehead and neck.

Medic hasn't been too keen on having others taking care of him bc that's HIS job, and he often tries to shoo Chef away by saying he's more than alright now. Sometimes he's caught sitting up in bed doing work or taking notes on something bc he's a bit restless when he's sick and stationary for too long.

But he's right. He's very good at taking care of himself - when Chef offers him food he'll force himself to eat some of it and he's drinks plenty of fluids without needing reminders. He kinda bosses Chef around, telling them to grab certain medications from the Medbay. They trust his judgment on his own health and bring him what he asks for but Chef keeps a mental note of what he takes and when. Don't need the doctor accidentally taking too many pills today!

Overall 6.5/10. It's hard to get him into bed and becomes restless fairly easily. He is persistent that he's ok after one day of rest only to be found sneezing himself away in the Medbay.

#tf2 oc #self insert #medic #self ship #tf2 headcanons #my headcanons #my writing #i guess #'have you written enough?' idk you tell me.#s: soul food #if anyone reads even a part of this im sorry #💙 2d's spouse 💙#mars!!!#ahh thank you again.. sorry these are so late ahshhd i get caught up w/ other stuff so this was self care <3 !#im very passionate ab medic YSHDHD like yeah no shit bitch 🦧

7 notes · View notes

avenging-criminal-bones · 5 years ago

Text

Father’s Day

Irondad & Spiderson

Word Count: 2947 (My longest fic :D)

Warnings: Sick Peter at the end. Implied smut between TONY/PEPPER. St*rker is absolutely DISGUSTING

Summary: Peter has a whole idea for celebrating Father’s Day with Tony, and most of it goes right... Just not in the way that Peter had planned.

Also, HUGE shoutout to @irondadbxtch for all her help on this fic! Literally she is super awesome

* * * * *

Pepper Potts has a lot on her plate.

Between managing Tony's and Peter's publicity, she rarely has free time on her hands. Add to that all the general CEO duties? Now she's in negative hours of the day. However, when a certain Spider-Teen is calling her, she gives up that little free time in an instant.

"Ms. Potts! I need to talk to you. It's urgent!" Peter springs into the older woman's path as she tries to make it to the kitchen in one piece. Pepper doesn't answer right away, so Peter is fully prepared to back track.

He doesn't have to though, as a warm smile make its way to her face, reassuring him. "Hey Pete, is everything alright?"

Pepper sits down at one of the red leather covered stools at the island. Taking a testing sip of her hot tea, she pats the empty stool next to her.

Peter just stares at her for a minute before he remembers what that gesture means. "Oh! Right, sorry." Awkwardly, the teen stumbles into the seat. "So, life or death wise, everything is fine. But something else is not." Pepper squints trying to find out what he means, but Peter doesn't give her a chance. "Tomorrow is Father's Day, Ms. Potts!"

"Okay..?" Pepper nods slowly, still not understanding Peter's exasperation. "Why does-"

"I wanna do something for Mr. Stark!" Peter blurts and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. "Oh, um. Yeah. I guess."

Pepper flashes him a knowing smile and says, "Ah, I see." She sips her tea again before setting the mug down and says, "Well what do you need me for?"

"Ms. Potts, can I tell you a story?" Peter asks, trying not to make contact with the older woman. He knew she would just read him like a book. "Just a quick one. I know you have a lot of work. And i should go, I didn't even think. I'm-"

Pepper reaches over and grabs his hand briefly. "Go ahead, Peter."

The boy's shy smile comes back quickly. "Okay, so once upon a time, there was this kid. His name was Peter." Pepper lets out a short breath of a laugh and nods. "Peter had a rough time growing up. His dad passed away with his mom. So there's Father #1." He pauses and looks at Pepper to gauge her reaction.

Her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, but she nods, telling him to continue.

"Yeah, so then Peter went to live with an Aunt and Uncle. Time skip to nine years later, his uncle dies. That was Father #2." Peter frowns and his mouth sets in a firm line. He takes a breath and says, "Three years after that, Peter is officially part of Tony Stark's life. Consistently. Not just once a year after Germany." He doesn't even realize that he's saying the next part. "Mr. Stark is the closest thing that I've had to a dad ever since Uncle Ben died." He's vaguely aware of Pepper grabbing his hand again. "I just want to tell him that."

Pepper nods and sighs a bit. "You know, I think he already knows that's how you feel." She smiles slightly and says, "He told me you called him dad at putt putt the other day." She winked at him when Peter's eyes opened wide.

"He noticed that?!" The teen was immediately rambling. "Wait, was he mad? Oh gosh, I'm just some random kid? Did he seem weirded out? Oh my gosh. Ms. Potts, is he gonna stop talking-"

"Peter! No! He thinks of you as the son he never had." Pepper's smile is small, but it's there. The teen's shoulders easily relax and he thinks for a minute.

"Oh my God! Pep- Ms. Potts! I have so many ideas!" He starts going on and on about breakfast in bed, a nice card, a gift, and a ton of other stuff he wanted to do.

"Mr. Stark, please just go with her." Peter asks his mentor to leave for the third time since he came up from the lab that night.

Tony grumbled and shook his head. "No until you tell me why?" Crossing his arms over his chest, he puts on his best dad-face. "Why do you want me to leave my own living quarters at, " He checks his watch and then continues, "8:39 PM?"

Peter blushed, getting flustered. Luckily he doesn't have to come up with an answer, because Pepper walks in.

"Tony, he's asking for me. We were talking earlier and I told him how we haven't had a nice date night in too long." It wasn't a complete lie, that WAS mentioned. "Peter has made it his duty to change that." Pepper grabbed the collar of his baseball tee and pulled him into her. She places a gentle kiss on his lips and says, "Come on, Tony. I miss going out on the town with you."

The older man glances at Peter and gives him the 'I'm watching you' signal before nodding, and smiling softly at Pepper. "That sounds good, sweetheart. Fancy of not fancy?"

"Hmm... Fancy." Pepper nods, her smile more genuine now. When Tony leaves to get changed into something nicer, she winks at Peter before going towards her and Tony's shared room.

When they eventually left the compound, Peter was sprinting into the elevator, almost running into the back wall. "FRIDAY, to the lab!"

Yes, Mr. Parker, though I would not advise working without the Boss.

"It's fine. He trusts me." Peter says confidently, even though he knows the AI is probably right. "It's okay, just take me there please."

He hears the elevator gear up before it starts moving, accompanied by a 'yes, Mr. Parker' from the artificial intelligence system.

Peter got into the work space a few minutes later and immediately jogged to his corner of the lab. Tony had put in another (granted smaller) table on the other side of the room when Peter had started coming over to tinker more often. There had been a long conversation about why their tables couldn't face each other, and Tony's reply was simply 'Because I would not get any work done with you ogling me.'

Grabbing a few different pieces of metal and wires, he walks back to the smaller table on the far side of the lab. He hums to himself and then says, "FRIDAY, can you play that one Led Zeppelin song that played on Happy's jet?"

I can Mr. Parker, however the song is actually 'Back in Black' by the famous band AC/DC. They have been popular since 1973 and-

"Okay, whatever. Play that song please?" Peter interrupts quickly, knowing that Tony probably programmed the AI to give him all the information if he ever mentions it. The song starts playing and he smiles, bobbing his head to the beat. "Thanks FRI."

Peter pulls up a holographic image of blueprints that he starts fiddling with. He mumbles to himself as he goes and about ten minutes in, he thinks about a possible problem. "Hey Fri, if you alert me when Mr. Stark pulls into the driveway, would I have enough time to close up shop and get upstairs to my room and the common room before he gets inside?"

After a few seconds, the AI answers.

According to my calculations based on you running at a general jogging pace, you would indeed make it before Boss get's back into the building.

Smiling widely, Peter cheers a bit. "That's great. Okay. I better start soon then." He realizes that his plan won't work without wire trimming, because he can't just leave the wires open.

About an hour and a half later, Peter had created a ‘PeterBot3000′ and had half of a holographic father's day card done when FRIDAY gave him the alert.

"Oh shit!" He starts scrambling to grab the supplies that he needs and the two pieces of technology.

Language, Mr. Parker.

He huffs and says, "Are you kidding me?"

No Mr. Parker. There is a protocol in place-

"Of course there is." He runs into the elevator and yells, probably unnecessarily loudly, "FRI, you know where to go!"

The AI takes him up to the floor that his room was on and he ends up with exactly enough time to hide the things in his closet and then run out to the common room to turn on the TV. "Can you put on the 6th Star Wars movie please?"

FRIDAY doesn't respond, but she streams the movie on the large TV mounted to the wall and even has the decency to skip ahead for as long as Tony and Pepper had been out.

Peter doesn't tune into the movie, instead he focuses hard on listening to Tony and Pepper. He doesn't hear much, but he scrunches his nose and stops listening after what he does hear.

"So Pep, was your night out everything you'd hoped it would be?"

"Mmm. Yeah it was. But you know what would make it even better?"

"No actually. I can't seem to think of anything."

"Well maybe I should enlighten you?"

"Yes. Please do. Enlighten- Uhng. Oh shi- Pep..."

"Ew! Oh my God. Gross. FRIDAY volume up to 20!" groaning is disgust, Peter shakes his head and really tunes into the movie now. Eventually he dozes off, his head hanging low in front of him. He'd probably be snoring if his chin wasn't firmly pressed against his chest.

A few hour later, Peter vaguely remembers being re-positioned on the couch in a much more comfortable manner.

"Mmph. Mis'r S'ark?" He asks without opening his eyes. His voice is muffled by the tan couch pillow and the fuzzy blanket that he's curling into. After a soft chuckle, a quiet voice speaks.

"Yeah, kid. It's me. Now go back to bed."

"M'Kay." Peter rolls into the back of the couch and is snoring withing a minute.

The next morning, Peter wakes up with his alarm at 6:15. He knows Mr. Stark likes to be up and moving by 7:00 most days.

Last night about a have an hour after Tony had tucked him in, Peter woke up remembering that he had to finish the card. SO burning the midnight oil like his Da- Mr. Stark, he finished it. And then he went back to bed, but coughing all night, you don't get much sleep. Really, the kid only got about four hours last night, but it is totally worth it if Mr. Stark likes his gift.

That being said, it's no surprise that he woke up feeling just plain gross. He blamed it on the lack of sleep and how he couldn't remember the last time he ate. If Peter was being honest, he's surprised that he hasn't passed out from his fast metabolism yet.

Peter stumbles into the kitchen, sniffling once or twice as he rubs his eyes awake.

"Okay, so Mr. Stark's favorite breakfast is waffles." He thinks and adds, "Or was it pancakes? Wait- Did Ms. Potts say french toast?"

Mr. Parker, Pepper Potts did indeed say 'waffles'.

Nodding to himself, Peter's head lurched forward in an attempt at keeping bile from rising up in his throat. In surprise, he drops the bowl that he had just grabbed from the cupboard— luckily plastic— and all but sprints into the nearest bathroom, which happened to be his private one. Groaning, Peter falls to his knees and effectively empties anything that had been in his stomach into the toilet. He stay hovering over the toilet with his eyes closed, a string of spit dripping from his mouth. He really puked a lot for not having eaten much lately.

What even is that? Is that and intestine?

Peter is so caught up in his childish thoughts and mild discomfort, that he doesn't even hear Tony walk in.

"Pete? You okay, kiddo?" There's a hand on the back of his neck now. The coolness of it soothes Peter slowly. He spits into the toilet and wipes his mouth as he nods. He sits up slowly, only mildly aware of Tony steadying him by the shoulders.

"I'm fine." Peter sighs and starts to stand, but the spinning room seems to have other plans and he slides back to the floor. Exhaling softly, he rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes, brows furrowing in uneasiness.

"Nope. That's not acceptable. Okay, kid, let's go." Tony scoops Peter into his arms as if the boy weighs nothing, despite the teen's protests to being carried. "FRIDAY, open all the doors between here and Peter's bedroom, please?"

Once he has Peter settled laying on his bed, Tony hums to himself and puts the back of his hand on the kid's forehead to try and test for a fever. He felt a little warm, but Tony wanted to make sure.

"Can you also ream me Pete's temperature, FRI?"

100.2 as of now Sir. Not warranting medical attention yet.

Peter huffs from his spot curled under his covers and grumbles, "Well this blows." He reached out of the blanket burrito and grabbed his Iron Man plushy, bringing it to his chest in a tight hug.

"Why's that?" Tony sit's on the edge of his kid's bed. "And that the hell were you doing will eleven eggs at 6:30 in the morning?"

Peter frowns despite the obvious amusement in Tony's voice.

"You're gonna think it's dumb." Peter sniffles again and wipes his nose on the dark blue blanket.

"No I won't." When Tony get's an unbelieving look from Peter he adds, "I promise."

Peter sighs and looks at the plush toy before meeting Tony' gaze. "Well first of all, I have a huge and amazing plan for today. Ms. Potts and I were talking yesterday, and she told me that you're favorite breakfast food is waffles. So I got up early enough that I'd have time to make them before you woke up." Peter shakes his head and drops eye contact with his mentor, instead preferring to stare intensely at a lighter blue swirl in his blanket. "Except I don't know how to make waffles, so I just grabbed all the eggs I could find." Frowning, Peter continues. "That's not even the best part."

Tony finally caught Peter's gaze then and the kid saw that he had a soft smile on his face. That fact had the teen already a little bit happier.

"Oh it isn't? I don't know what else you can do. Eleven-egged waffles seem like a top notch plan to me." He picks on Peter fatherly as he ruffles his hair.

"Go look in my closet." Peter commands, subconsciously leaning into the comforting touch. "There's a box labeled 'For Mr. Stark' in it."

Tony gives a skeptical look, but follows the instructions nonetheless. Pulling out the box, he opens it, finding a card first. His face lights up with blue LED lights that were used in the hologram. The card doesn't say much, but its a Spider-Man webbing the front of the card, opening it for Tony to read. Inside there are a few sentences, and just as many inside jokes.

Dear Mr. Dad,

Thank you for being there for me even when I am a 'little Peter bot' whatever that means.

Now open the rest of the thingy!

Love,

Kid

Peter has conveniently hidden under his snot-filled blanket, so when Tony turns, beaming at Peter, the kid doesn't even see it. Tony carefully lifts the divider that Peter had placed between the card and the heavy gift at the bottom of the box. Tony has no idea what to expect, but it certainly isn't an actual 'PeterBot3000'.

The older man laughs then. Out loud. That was something that Peter had never seen before, something he rarely even heard of. So naturally, the kid had to peek out from his hiding spot and see what was happening.

By the time he opens his eyes though, the laughter has stopped and been replaced with the widest smile Peter had ever seen on Tony's face. Better yet, it was aimed at him. Before he knows it, his mentor, was motioning him to come here. Peter nodded with smile, sitting up to meet the hug. It was warm and happy. Tony just holds Peter close and speaks when he pulls away from the teen.

"Thank you so, so much, kiddo." Tony smile still hasn't faded.

"You're welcome." Peter smiles and then a blush forms on his cheeks. "Dad?" He tests the waters, not sure what the result will be.

"Yes son." Tony emphasizes the new name. "Dad it is." Tony looks down and inconspicuously wipes at his eyes when Peter isn't looking. He thinks for a moment and a confused look appears on his face. "Wait. When did you make all of this?"

Peter smiles sheepishly. "You know how Ms. Potts said I made it my goal to get you guys on a date?"

"That's what you were doing?"

"That's what I was doing." He smiled at Tony's evident happiness.

Tony chuckles and says, "I guess I'm going to have to teach you how to make waffles before next Father's Day, aren't I?"

"Definitely." The young boy laughs and says, "By the way. Since you're my dad now, you are completely obligated to cuddle." Peter holds his arms out expectantly as he yawns, waiting for his request to be filled.

"Alright Pete." Tony sighs happily and lays back down, pulling Peter onto his chest. Gently, he runs a hand through the boy's hair.

"I love you dad." Peter says as he sniffles again before closing his eyes.

Tony's heart clenches happily and he smiles. "I love you too, son."

#irondad #spiderson #longest fic #i'm proud #go me #anyways #fluff #sick peter #spiderman #fathers day #dad!tony #pepper potts #peter parker #tony stark #FRIDAY #ai #fun stuff

30 notes · View notes

yakumtsaki · 5 years ago

Photo

Alright you guys, sorry for the delay, I’ve had to restart this post 20 fucking times because my changes weren’t being saved in the draft and then I kept getting the ‘upload failed’ error. In case you don’t remember wtf is going on you might wanna re-read the last update (I certainly had to) which is apparently from JUNE 2018. Jfc I suck so hard. Now this was gonna be really long but tumblr wouldn’t post it so I’m breaking it up in 3 parts, part 2 to be posted tomorrow. For those that don’t feel like reading back, general recap of the last couple updates:

Jojo cheated on Wyatt with Max Flexor and my solution to that marital crisis was to adopt our first dog ever, a puppy hilariously named Maxx.

The puppy grew up to be an asshole and is constantly beating up the cats, who have turned into giant pussies (no pun intended) and are losing every fight to him despite the fact they’re named after Mortal Kombat characters. They’re a fucking disgrace to Alegra’s/Victor’s/Ronroneo’s memory and I haven’t settled on a cat heir yet because they both suck.

Jojo is perma miserable, I don’t even remember how much money away from his 100k LTW, and still not a werewolf despite my pathologically persistent attempts to make him friends with the wolf.

Fucking useless Wyatt didn’t get promoted while Komei was alive providing us with his 100 townie friends, we spent 20 updates befriending every rando that crossed our lot to secure his promotion, and then finally on the day he was supposed to become Captain Hero, Wyatt got, of course, fired and is now on track to take longer to complete his literal career based LTW than Komei took to get 6 pets on the top of their careers.

Absolutely everyone hates noogie addict Shajar, she got a Kylo Ren makeover, and we still don’t know what her sexual orientation is thanks to her ridiculous fitness/fatness turn ons and cleanliness turn off.

Golden child/10 nice points freakshow Cyneswith grew up, rolled romance with the most disturbing turn-ons/offs possible (grey hair/mechanical & charisma turn off) and the 20 simultaneous lovers LTW.

Wulf grew up into a kid, got an Amadeus makeover, is officially a Wyatt clone and the only member of this family I don’t completely hate yet.

Now I’d like to begin the first Union post in more than a year by requesting you do me a solid and lower your expectations for this thing as far down as humanly possible. Like really try to recreate the Jules Verne classic “Journey to the Center of the Earth” with your expectations here, because my brain is so fucking fried that there’s a 20% chance I randomly start citing sources at some point during this post. This grad school crap has seriously been the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever. And speaking of bad trade deals, let’s get this update rolling with the man, the myth, the legend, the husband who managed to make Komei look like a dreamboat in comparison..

..Wyatt fucking Union, née Monif. It’s been a long time, but I’m not gonna lie to you Wyatt, not nearly long enough. Looking good man, just one small question, where the fuck are your eyebrows?

-You àccidéntally deléted thém, imbécilé, et I cannôt exprèss my irritatiόn prόperly becausé I hàve non eyebrôws!

Did your selective French accent get thicker this past year or is it just me?

-It géts thickér whén je suis distrésséd, givé moi mon eyebrôws bàcc!!!

No can do, brother. Actually can do, but I think the Mona Lisa look is working for you, and more importantly I still hate you, so I’m just gonna hardcore ignore you for the rest of this post if that’s ok. Talk to me when you finally get promoted, aka never the way this shit is going.

-Non! NON! MON EYEBROWS!

It’s been lovely catching up.

Jojό I mean Jojo, goddammit Wyatt, is spending most of his time building robots in the mausoleum (sweet hipster band name alert)..

..giving financial advice in Shajar’s room (inb4 what’s the difference between the mausoleum and Shajar’s room)..

..building evil snowmen alone in the middle of the night, like all mentally healthy middle aged men with 3 kids are wont to do..

..and getting the piss harassed out of him by the cat ghosts in the bathroom (sweet hipster band name alert #2). How is this like the fourth time this happens in the exact same spot, will you just stop autonomously cleaning the bathroom after midnight? It’s obviously where the cats hang out, give it the fuck up already.

-I’m actively TRYING TO DIE you absolute moron, what does a guy have to do to get killed around here?

Yea can’t say that I blame you but not happening, you can commit suicide by Ghost Alegra after the kids fuck off to college, ok? I promise.

-Oh like you promised me being heir was a route worth pursuing??

Um obviously you too need to go back and re-read your own life story, because I spent the entirety of our “““cherished””” time together telling you heirship is a shitty gig at generation 2. And then to top it off you went and married Wyatt to ensure maximum shittiness, so there you go, fucking enjoy. God I am so sick of both of you losers and we’re only 5 pics in. Let’s check in with your spawn, I’m sure they can’t possibly be more annoying than their parents-

-oh right, I forgot, this is the generation with 10/10/9 active points where the party never stops. Cyneswith are you somehow twerking to classical music?

-How else am I gonna attract all those hot senior citizens per my grey hair turn on and 20 lovers LTW?

Ok great yea I see how this is gonna go, you’re trying to entice people into voting you for heir based on how torturous playing this fucked up LTW is gonna be for me, well forget it, my readers are intellectuals and completely above such petty entertainment. (istg mofos, don’t even think about it, i already did Komei’s 5 pets career shit, i will burn this place to the ground if you saddle me with Cyneswith banging the elderly for 30 years)

-No need to worry your stupid little head, I will beat Cyneswith for HEIR just like I beat her HAIR up daily! HAHA!

Shajar no offense but you’re a fucking war crime of a sim, nearly everyone who’s ever met you hates you including your parents, and the fact that you’re the alternative here is really not helping my situation in any way. Also how the fuck are you gonna be heir when the only thing you seem to be attracted to is giving noogies, you’re like one week away from college and I still don’t even know if you’re str8 or gay or bi or w/e the fuck you are. You have Jojo’s personality combined with..

..yes exactly, DANIEL’S SOCIAL ABILITIES. I mean I was joking with the whole ‘Shajar’s the spawn of Satan’ thing, but this combo of traits was clearly drawn up in Hell’s boardroom.

ANYWAY. It’s a snowy Sunday morning, and anyone who has been a teen knows what that means:

Time to go clubbing! Man I remember being like 15, waking up on a freezing Sunday morning and my mom making me a cup of hot chocolate before I drove off to the club. Those were the days.

-Uh, Shaj, when did you learn how to drive?

-Don’t be stupid, Cyneswith, people don’t need to ‘learn’ how to drive.

-They absolutely do, actually.

-Well what can I tell you, the dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.

-Here we are, safe and sound! Celebratory noogie!

-YOU RAN OVER 9 PEOPLE

-How many times to I have to explain this to you, Apartment Life townies are not people.

Can’t argue with that logic. Let’s just go in and find out what Shajar’s sexual orientation is once and for all so I can spend the rest of this update aggressively promoting Wulf’s candidacy.

Now I consider ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ one of the dumbest sayings there is, but even I have to concede that this particular picture truly is worth a thousand words. Quick poll, what is more horrifying, Shajar’s literal Joker face or Cyneswith, whom I’ve never seen read a book ever, autonomously pulling one out in the middle of the dance floor, in what I can only assume is an attempt to attract old perverts with the schoolgirl routine?

And I know what some of you are thinking, you’re like ‘bro, you’re just reaching to make a bad joke bro, Cyneswith is just a sweet nice introvert and not like other girls, she doesn’t feel comfortable in the club’, well to that let me reply with another picture that is worth a thousand words:

Yea that’s right, on the first minute of our first time out WE RUN INTO THAT ONE ELDER TOWNIE THAT HAS WRINKLE MAKE UP ON. GODDAMMIT CYNESWITH

Do you guys remember how Jojo was obsessed with Stephen Tinker as a teen? Are you seeing the connection here?? Those kids have literally inherited the worst possible traits from both their parents turned up to 11, it’s fucking unreal.

Right after I get over Wrinkle’s presence I turn around and what do I see, those 2, who have never had a non-noogie physical interaction, autonomously doing the family kiss thing. I didn’t even catch it on time because I was loling irl, we came out here so these assholes can find age-appropriate partners, and instead they’re kissing each other. Seems about right with this family, and clearly Striped Scarf’s dumb ass ships it.

-They look so much alike, it’s meant to be!

Yes, and they even share the same last name! Talk about written in the stars.

Thankfully Abhijeet is here to save us from incest by perving on Cyneswith. GTFO ABHIJEET. Anyone like ‘bro townies just autonomously come to greet your sims on community lots regardless of age, stop calling them perverts’, see you in about 5 pics down.

I try to have Shajar chat up Striped Scarf and suffice it to say Shaj ~stole her heart~ and presumably put it on this stick to wave around.

NO. CYNESWITH NO. I’m seriously having déjà vu of all the times I was like ‘NO. JOJO NO’, jfc.

Shajar is unsurprisingly exhibiting no interest in socializing with anyone around her, instead she’s trying every activity this terribly lit place has to offer, and she looks demented while doing it:

I’m feeling a primal urge to photoshop Darth Vader’s melted helmet on the bowling ball here, someone please remind me to do it for the heir vote photoshoot.

-HA. SUCK IT DENISE JACQUET

That’s Denise Jacquet?! I can’t tell who anyone is for shit anymore. The default replacements are a scourge upon premade brands, I’m getting rid of them pronto. Speaking of scourges, where the hell is your sister?

-Who cares?

I wanna say ‘me’ but we both know that’s a lie.

Oh ok, THERE SHE IS.

-So you see Cyneswith, just because something is technically ‘illegal’, doesn’t mean it’s morally wrong-

Yea yea fascinating stuff, now get out of the hot tub or I will fucking neuter you, I don’t know if a eunuch mod already exists for medieval games but I will make one if it doesn’t.

Here, Cyneswith, drink some water, have a nice G-rated convo with your sister about violins and stop pissing me off.

-First of all this is straight vodka.

Great.

-Secondly Shajar is talking about Mozart’s coprophilia.

-I sure am.

Amazing. Well, I guess it’s at times like these when you need to look inside your heart and truly ask yourself, what did you expect from Jojo’s children.

ABHIJEET ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME DID YOU EVEN HEAR ME TALK ABOUT CASTRATION

-Ha, I went home and put on my most elderly-looking formal wear!

-I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave Ab <3

CYNESWITH SHUT UP. I can’t believe you people are actually making me miss Gunther’s teenage whoring, at least he kept it age appropriate.

-Is some random lady pressing her breasts against my head?

She most certainly is, Shajar, because it is now crystal clear that this bowling alley doubles as the site of annual perv townie convention and we walked right into it-

-and it’s also clear we have serious issues and are enjoying ourselves. Shaj I legit don’t know what to tell you, this is the first time you get along with someone right away and it just had to be the adult with the bad haircut and the flasher’s trench coat???

-You’re damn right it did.

Alright then, I’m officially going to nope out of this situation, safe in the knowledge you’re a noogiesexual and nothing will actually happen with this freak, so I’ll focus on Cyneswith instead who is much more of a loose canon.

Here Cyn, talk to this guy, who I’m 90% sure is the same guy your father rejected in favor of stalking Stephen Tinker when he was your age.

-Ohhhh, he’s dreamy!

Omg really?? Halleluj-

-oh never mind, you were of course referring to adult ass Brandon Lillard. I do like that our townies have recurring roles each generation, we should make rejecting Blondie a rite of passage in this family. We should also officially gtfo because this is happening:

-Um, now that I’m looking at you in harsher lighting, it’s gonna be a no from me dawg.

Oh, thank the fucking lord.

-Let’s celebrate the fact we didn’t get hopelessly obsessed with any adults here by doing the traditional Dance of Normality!

-We beat Dad’s genes, we beat Dad’s genes!

-We’re normal!

Yes, and we’re definitely showing it. Can we please leave now so I can make sure I’ve uninstalled Inteenminator and turn off free will?

-Nop! Venue change!

-Got-out-of-the-car celebratory noogie!

-Made-it-to-the-door celebratory noogie!

Shajar you unironically have a noogie addiction, I’m not kidding in the slightest, you need to see a doctor.

Great, great, not another teen in sight and to top it off Denise followed us here to ensure maximum elder presence. I feel comfortable officially declaring this day a complete waste of time.

God, the vintage pink dress and the pink alcohol combo is some straight up current era Taylor Swift nonsense. That’s it, we’re outta here, back home where no one is lurking, waiting to strike at us-

-SOPHIE NOOOOOOOOOOOO💔💔💔💔💔

-The Lord is my shepherd.

NO HE ISN’T EVERYONE KNOWS YOU CAN’T HERD CATS PLEASE DON’T DIE

-Nop, I’m over it. Goodbye heathens, it’s been nice, hope you don’t find your paradise.

UGH SOPHIE, my beloved Westboro lunatic, the last gangsta generation 1 cat we had.. I can’t believe you’re gone and all I’m left with is stupid Goro and D’vorah who can’t even beat up the fucking dog. This is truly painful.

Yes, pets, I agree, Kaylynn is completely to blame for Sophie dying of old age. The time has now come to decide on a cat heir-

-and since Goro ran away like a little bitch after Sophie’s death despite the fact he didn’t even like her, he’s automatically disqualified and will be going off to live on Melody and Daniel’s farm once returned to us. Congratulations to D’vorah I guess, on being the least terrible of two terrible options.

On the topic of terrible heir options, Cyn has non-stop wants to go on dates and have her first kiss and all that crap, and since our Sunday morning clubbing was a bust we invite over the matchmaker.

-Hello there young Union, I see your house has been upgraded since I was last here.

Oh right we haven’t required your services since Daniel was a teen and we lived in a trailer, well we are flush with cash now!

-Hopefully your payment reflects that.

It will!! Just please give us someone good, I can’t deal with single teen Cyn for one more second.

-Oh my, what a beautiful BLANK PIECE OF PAPER.

WHAT!? NO THAT’S 5K IT’S JUST A SNOW GLITCH

-What do I look like to you, a money thawing service?

Does such a service.. exist??

-It does not, so I have to go home and use a hairdryer on this!

Just come inside and we’ll give you non-frozen money!

-No, no, you’ll get what you paid for..

-Have a magical time!

...

.........

......................

Lakshmi this was so fucking evil that I almost want to age you down and see if you and Shajar hit it off.

-As if, the whole neighborhood knows what you did to Komei.

Helped him achieve his insane 6-pets-career LTW?

-Turned him into a servant while your sim was lounging around all day!

Oh yea I did do that. But Wyatt was also a townie and he does literally nothing, Jojo is the servant now!

-Only because Wyatt is too fucking stupid to do things! Word has gotten out, no townie will ever marry in this family again unless they’re brain dead, so it’s Wyatts only for you from now on, sister!

Well this has been a complete fucking disaster. It was great seeing you again, Lakshmi, thanks for the dream date with the adult farting machine, 5k well-spent.

Pretty sure it was you bro, and yes, how about we don’t do that again.

Wyatt has brought over Amanda from work! (Aka Victoria’s only friend and subsequent lesbian lover, who is really pretty and is definitely getting married in at some point, preferably after the brown hair genes have been weakened so we can go back to being gingers.)

-Wow Shajar, your grandmother, God rest her soul, mentioned you were her favorite and now I can see why! Loving the Kylo Ren look!

-Is someone being genuinely nice to me?! What is happening?

-Yes, please stop being nice to her, Amanda, we don’t want her getting used to it.

Jojo istg.

-Cyneswith dear, tell Amanda all about how much money your grandmother left you so she can stop being nice to Shajar.

-Soooo much money, Miss Amanda!

-Ah, what a polite child I’ve single-handedly raised.

-Now, Cyneswith, you really need to get back on the dating scene so you have ample time to find the perfect spouse and continue our line, since you’re clearly the only one of my children that is remotely heir material.

-Dad, Shajar and Wulf are right next to you.

-Oh they are? I’m wearing my special contact lenses that make those disappointments invisible to me, but even better, they need to hear this. Shajar is a noogiesexual and thus incapable of reproduction, and Wulf is not even a Union, I mean have you seen that kid? Wyatt reproduced by himself like the amoeba he is. Now, your grandmother-

-YOU MENTIONED ME 3 TIMES AND HERE I AM

OH FUCK VICTORIA, deleting the default replacements gave you base game hair!!!!

-That’s the part you’re scared by, not my Beetlejuicesque entrance?

There’s literally nothing scarier than your ghost sporting this haircut for all eternity, I’m re-downloading that default immediately.

-Oh mom, so good to see you! Let me just hug my beloved child, Shijer-

-Shajar, dad.

-SHAJAR, let me hug Shajar, like I do all the time.

-I’m glad to see you’re not picking favorites among your children like I did, the way I treated David-

-Daniel, mom.

-DANIEL, is the one thing I’ve truly been regretting in the afterlife. That and not skinning Marisa Bendett alive when I had the chance.

-Well, as you can see by Shajar’s totally normal and not at all shocked reaction to my hug, I am a wonderful, fair, and emotionally available father.

(Bruh this freaked me out so much when it happened, I mean I KNOW it’s an animation glitch but I was convinced my sims had become sentient for a good while after)

-Is your grandmother’s ghost still on the premises?

-Yup.

-When will this nightmare end, paying attention to you is the worst.

-Ok she’s gone.

-FINALLY. Now it’s back to the crypt for you, and don’t you dare go complain to her urn!

-Ah, Stephen, Stephen, my life is crap and I can’t even🎵

And with the knowledge you have composed a theme song for Stephen Tinker, part 1 of the Union comeback update is concluded. Will Shajar’s sexual orientation reveal itself? Will Cyneswith find true love? Will Jojo become a werewolf? Will Wulf continue to be the only dignified member of this family? Will D’vorah have kittens? Will Wyatt do literally anything worth mentioning? Tune in for parts 2 & 3 to find out, unfollow button on the upper right corner for those who need it.

#gen 2 #ts2

49 notes · View notes

terapsina · 6 years ago

Text

5 Times The Doctor Talked About River Song With Graham (+1 Time The Fam Finally Met Her)

--- ao3 --- 1 ---

Graham finds it on the floor of the TARDIS control room.

Everyone else is asleep, emotionally wrung out from their latest trip, he thinks even the Doctor might have gone off for a nap and he’s never actually seen that happen before now.

But Graham can’t sleep. His mind is still painfully stuck on Grace. On having held her in his arms not even a few hours ago, on having lost her all over again. Logically he knows it wasn’t really Grace. Now that it’s over and he’s looking back he even realizes a part of him knew all along.

It doesn’t make the hurt of it lessen.

And it’s not because the illusion was flawed, if anything it’s because it was too perfect. She looked like Grace, sounded like her, fit in his arms like her. She even smelled like Grace, like Shea butter and vanilla, because all the products Grace liked to buy had those ingredients in them. Everything about her was as warm as he remembers, from her smile to the soft touch of her hand. Even her mischief twinkled like the fire from a candle in her eyes.

It was like a dream come alive, a dream he never would have been willing to wake from if not for Ryan.

He’s so angry at himself for almost having abandoned his grandson for an imitation of the woman who was the love of his life. However flawless of an imitation it was.

He’s pacing from one side of the console to the other, mind lost to self-recriminations, when he feels his foot step on something small, kicking it across the room with a light tinkle.

His eyes follow the small golden object as its slide down the floor stops in the middle of TARDIS, and finally focuses on the last thing he’d have ever expected to find here if he’d ever thought to consider it.

It’s a ring.

He walks toward it, bending to pick it up. It turns out to be a simple gold band, moving it to catch better light he notices a small inscription on the inside that he can’t read. The TARDIS isn’t translating it. It’s written in the same circular pattern that he’s seen all over the ship since the start of this strange adventure into time and space.

It’s also, unmistakably, a wedding ring.

Breath catches in Graham’s chest, because in a moment between one heartbeat and the next, he knows. And his heart breaks for his alien friend.

The Doctor was married.

He stands frozen, uncertain if he should go looking for the Doctor now or to wait until later. Picturing her face the last time he saw her, those tight and drawn eyebrows and the dropping shoulders, he comes to a decision. He pockets the ring and goes back to his room.

The Doctor deserves some sleep too, he’ll find her tomorrow morning and return it then.

Tomorrow morning turns into afternoon and then evening before Graham gets his chance. By the time he woke up, both Ryan and Yaz were awake too, and the Doctor was already busy with finding their next adventure.

And he knows if someone had found Grace’s ring he’d want them to return it in private.

He loves his grandson and Yaz. But they are so young, their curiosity would have gotten the best of them and Graham doesn’t want to put Doc on the spot like that.

So he waits until Yaz and Ryan have gone off exploring the dizzying number of rooms of Doc’s ship, or whatever else it is they like to do when they’re not running toward death defying adventures with grins on their faces, before he pulls the Doctor away from tinkering with the mechanisms of her time machine.

“You have a moment?”

She slides out from underneath the opening into the console, her sonic screwdriver between her teeth. The humming of the TARDIS engines grows softer as if in response.

“What’s up Graham?” She asks, after taking the screwdriver out of her mouth and as she’s pushing her goggles up to her hairline, making her hair go in all kinds of interesting directions. She looks like the mad scientist he might have found on the screen of one of Grace’s science fiction shows.

In a way he supposes that’s a pretty accurate picture of the Doctor, and any other time Graham might have smiled in amusement at his thought. Today he flinches at the smile she sends him, knowing he’d be taking it away with his next words.

“I found something yesterday. I think it’s yours, Doc.” He says, and pulls out the object that’s been burning in his pocket the whole day.

The Doctor’s eyes slide to his arm and once they narrow in on the ring laying in the palm of his hand, her face transforms from the carefree adventurer he’s gotten to know in the past few months, to something painful and lost and hurting. It’s a look that’s far too old for that face. And so very familiar Graham can’t help but look away.

“Where did you find it?” the Doctor asks, voice a breathless whisper, her hand hovering over the ring, seeming unable to cross that final little bit of air to touch it.

“It was here on the ground. I don’t know how it got there.” He says with a nervous shrug.

“I do.” The Doctor says, eyes momentarily glaring toward the center of the room. She doesn’t explain, instead finally taking the ring from him in one quick movement and pulling it to her chest, squeezing it in a fist against her.

“I’m very sorry Doc.” Graham says. The words are inadequate but sometimes they really are the only ones available.

“I know.” She says, eyes looking to a point in empty air behind him.

He nods and pats her lightly on her shoulder, before turning around to leave her to whatever memories have washed over her with the return of that wedding band.

“Her name was River Song.” She says once he’s already taken a few steps. He stops, turning around, giving her the opportunity to continue or not as she needs. “She was an archaeologist. And a professor. And a criminal. And she was brilliant and absolutely mad.”

“She must have been. Married you didn’t she?” Graham jokes before he can help himself.

But Doc just grins like she agrees and laughs to herself.

Something uncoils in Graham’s chest at seeing Doc’s face regaining its natural brightness, however tinged with grief. The grief isn’t new either, he’s seen shadows of it in her all along but this is the first moment she doesn’t seem to be trying to hide it. Or maybe the first time she’s not trying to hide from it.

“She did do that. Married me at every point in history happening all at the same time. And a few times after.” The Doctor tells him, leaning forward like she’s revealing a secret instead of saying something that makes no sense at all.

“Sounds like quite a woman.”

“She was.” The Doctor says, eyes now down on the hand hiding the precious metal band within its hold.

There’s an extended moment of silence and then; “Graham?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Thank you.” She says, a serious and infinitely grateful look overtaking her face.

He nods at her and turns around, knows the conversation has come to a close and he should leave his friend to a moment that’s something meant between her and the specter of her wife.

In the privacy of his own mind he wonders why the Solitract never took on the form of this River Song. Whatever the reason, he finds himself grateful, he wouldn’t wish that cruelty on his worst enemy. And he certainly wouldn’t wish it on Doc.

--- 2 ---

“She used to leave me coordinates and jump out of the most impossible places, waiting for me to catch her. I always did.” The Doctor says out of nowhere, both of them chained to the stone wall of the dungeons of the Victorian castle, waiting to get executed, or getting saved by Yaz and Ryan. Whichever comes first.

Personally, Graham’s hoping for the second one.

“What?” He asks, lost.

“River,” the Doctor explains. “She once defaced the oldest cliff-face in the universe. And before that she left me a recording inside a Home Box so I’d come catch her jumping out of a space ship into vacuum. It was the day her mother met her. Well, that face anyway.”

“That must have been frightening.” Graham says, uncertain. He’s not sure he wants to touch the bit about the mother. Sometimes he thinks she likes to confuse them on purpose.

"Oh no, she was absolutely fearless. Hell in high heels and it's the devils who ran." The Doctor says either misinterpreting his words or choosing to misunderstand on purpose, her voice full of spousal pride and a face painted with smitten adoration. It’s so unexpected, so unlike the Doctor’s usual disposition, that Graham needs to clear his throat to get past the sudden awkwardness of it.

"Sounds like she was made for you, Doc." He finally says, trying to picture this impossible woman who married the Doctor, and falling short. The only impression he can summon up is someone dangerous and larger than life.

He’s so busy with his mental portrait it takes him a moment to notice the Doctor has fallen silent, once he looks at her though his breath stutters. Her face is so pained it’s as if he’d landed a physical hit with his last words. She looks almost... ashamed.

He curses himself for whatever it was he said that put that expression there.

“You okay, Doc?” He asks, voice as gentle as he can make it, trying not to startle her into pulling back into herself.

The Doctor flinches and blinks rapidly like waking from a bad dream, then her face transforms into her usual bright but slightly removed facade, and she’s back to trying to reassure him.

“I’m always alright.” She lies and changes the subject. “I wonder what’s keeping Yaz and Ryan, they should really have gotten past the sleeping guards by now.”

He doesn’t call her on it and moves his mind back to the problem at hand. The problem at hand of course being; the part where they’re chained to a prison wall for trying to assassinate Queen Victoria. The fact Queen Victoria has been replaced by a homicidal alien copy asks for some worrying too and Graham is more than willing to oblige.

In the end it turns out there’s no need for either worry, Yaz and his grandson find them twenty minutes later and they’re away from 1882, London within an hour.

The real Queen back on her rightful throne, though still yelling threats to the Doctor’s back even as they’re being whisked away by the little blue box.

--- 3 ---

They’ve split into pairs again. Usually he prefers to watch his grandson’s back when that happens but today is March 18 - or would have been if they weren’t jumping all over time and space, - and Ryan had been snapping at him since morning.

He knows Ryan well enough to know that if he doesn’t give him some space before trying to talk to him about it, they won’t talk at all.

“Everything okay with Ryan?” The Doctor asks as they’re traveling through the apparently semi-sentient crystal tunnels of the newest planet she’s brought them to, trying to find and stop whoever it is that’s been attempting to mine it.

Grace would have loved it here. The sapphire-like stone itself is the familiar blue of what he’s pretty sure is Doc’s favorite color but it’s mixed with golden strands that run through the fault-lines and leave the strange impression of blood vessels, veins running through the body of the living crystal.

“It would have been Grace’s birthday today.” Graham says, heart clenching in his chest at saying it aloud. In a perfect universe he would be home right now, standing over her favorite cake - red velvet with cherry frosting, - and singing a ‘Happy Birthday’ with their grandson.

In a perfect universe she would be here beside him, just as in awe of their surroundings as he is.

“Oh.” The Doctor says and grows quiet.

“It’ll be alright tomorrow. It’s just… today is hard. For both of us.” He hopes he’s not lying. Hopes Ryan will let Graham find him once they’re back in the TARDIS so they can spend the evening talking and laughing and crying about Grace. So they can pick themselves up tomorrow and continue living in her honor like she’d have wanted them to.

They spend a few minutes just walking when the silence finally becomes too much for Graham.

“How long were you married?” It’s the first time he’s initiated the subject of the Doctor’s wife himself, the two previous times it was her who opened up first, so he’s not entirely sure how she’ll respond. But he’s ready to fall back into silence and not press if it looks like she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I don’t know.” She says, still steps ahead and with her back to him.

“How can you not know?” Graham asks, mind heavy with confusion.

“If I count only all the days we were together; then two, maybe three centuries. If I count all my days from our first wedding to the last time I saw her, then almost half my life.” She says with a forcefully easy tone.

Graham stops in his tracks as the implication hits. “Centuries?”

She turns around and looks at him like she’s measuring the words she’s planning to say, or if she’ll say them at all. After a moment her face clears and she seems to come to some sort of decision.

“I’m more than two thousand years old, Graham. I’ve loved River Song through four of my faces and had more than twice as many before that, most of them male. I’m not human.”

Graham had known that, that the Doc wasn’t human, that she had two hearts and enough lives to make a cat jealous. In an abstract way that they were a man before they were a woman, because she’s dropped enough comments to that effect by now. But he hadn’t realized the differences between them were quite so vast as two millennia.

“Was she?” He asks and immediately thinks better. “Wait, no, you said three centuries, she couldn’t have been.”

“What?”

“Your wife.” He doesn’t know why he’s asking that, except maybe because he knows Grace would have, and so especially today of all days he has to in her place. Or maybe it’s just that pesky human curiosity.

“She wasn’t. And she was.” She says after a moment and turns back around to continue walking. “She was the daughter of my two best friends. And the daughter of TARDIS.”

She doesn’t explain further than that, so he’s left puzzling over the new contradiction on his own for the rest of the way through the alien tunnels with his strange alien friend as his company, a silent one now.

He turns his head back toward the faintly glowing walls and once he looks more carefully notices the slightly irregular pulsing of the golden veins. Fascinated he again thinks about how much Grace would have loved to see this.

‘Happy birthday!’ He thinks toward her, hoping she’s seeing this from wherever it is she’s watching over him and Ryan.

--- 4 ---

They’re back in Sheffield the next time the subject of River Song comes up.

Yaz is off spending some time with her family and Ryan is meeting his father for dinner. Graham is trying really hard not to stress himself into growing ulcers over that last one.

It’s not that he thinks he’s going to lose to Aaron the bond he’s finally building with his grandson. He understands Ryan’s wish to repair the relationship between him and his father. It’s just that despite Graham’s belief in Aaron’s genuine regret, he can’t help worry that Ryan will get his heart broken again.

He doesn’t think he could stand seeing Ryan disappointed like that again.

Which leaves him at home. Worrying. With the Doctor as company.

“He’ll be fine, Graham.” The Doctor says, not for the first time this hour.

“I know that.” Graham says back, eyes still on the door.

“Oh, do frowns and scrunched up foreheads not mean what they used to mean in you humans?” The Doctor’s voice sounds amused so he can’t help but glare at her a bit.

“Hilarious.” He mutters under his breath.

“I am, aren’t I?” She says.

He huffs loudly and goes back to staring at the door. Waiting for Ryan to come home.

“Do you want to talk about something else then?” She offers. “Might distract you.”

“Be my guest.”

“The first time River met me she shot the TARDIS, tried to kill Hitler and poisoned me with a kiss.” The Doctor drops, and to give credit where it’s due, distracts Graham absolutely.

“What?” He doesn’t even know which part to touch first.

“Poisoned lipstick. So glad she switched to hallucinogenic ones later.” She almost sounds dreamy. Graham feels his brain beginning to hurt.

“She poisoned you?” Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he’s shocked, it’s the Doc after all. But still, how do you marry someone who poisoned you in their first interaction?

“Only a little bit. And she saved me right after.”

“And that makes it okay?” Graham says, furious on her behalf.

“There were... reasons. She didn’t know me yet but she knew about me and- well, there were reasons.” The Doctor explains. Even though Graham doesn’t really think it explains all that much at all. Something about her expression though tells him to leave it alone, there’s that guilty, haunted look in her eyes again and Graham isn’t sure he wants to know what’s behind it.

So maybe it’s a good thing that before he has a chance to put his foot in his mouth there comes the sound of a key turning in the lock and the front door slamming open.

“Hey, gramps.” Ryan says walking in, a wide smile on his young face.

Graham exhales, the knot of worry loosening for now and smiles back, hiding the stress he’d been struggling with for the past few hours. “Hello, son. How did it go?”

“Good.” Ryan says, a slightly shy happiness dancing like starlight in his eyes.

--- 5 ---

It’s almost three months since Graham found the ring and gave it back to the Doctor before a moment comes where he feels like it might finally be the right time to touch on the one thing that’s been implied but never addressed in their conversations about the Doctor’s wife.

The day isn’t particularly different from any of the previous ones.

It’s late and Graham can’t sleep so he walks to the kitchen for a cup of tea when he finds the Doctor already there, eating custard cream biscuits.

He nods tiredly in her direction, grabbing two blue cups from a shelf and going through the motions of making both of them the peppermint tea he finds on the counter-top - he’s pretty sure it wasn’t there a moment ago but he’s also gotten used to not questioning things like that while aboard the TARDIS.

“Sugar?” He asks, because he’s noticed she never puts the same amount in any of her cups. He thinks it might depend on her mood.

“Two and a half teaspoons, please.” She tells him and he tries not to grimace as he follows her instructions.

“Here.” He says and passes her the cup once he’s done. Pulling his own cup - no sugar - with him to the other side of the table.

She gives him a few biscuits in exchange and for a few minutes they share their midnight snack in peace. And then the thought that has been ruminating unvoiced for a long time now surfaces in his mind again, and for the first time he doesn’t push it back down.

“How did you lose her?” He asks.

The biscuit halts halfway to her mouth and then lands heavily back on the plate. For a long time she just stares into her tea and Graham thinks she’ll choose not to answer.

But then she looks up into his eyes and breathes out very slowly.

“She died the day I met her.” She says.

“I thought you said you were the one who almost died when you met.” Graham says, confused again.

“When she met me. This was before that- well, from my point of view at least. We never met in the right order. She was a time traveler too, had a vortex manipulator, I think she might have stolen it from an old friend of mine actually, not that she ever actually admitted where she got it.” She says, growing more animate as she switches gears mid-tangent. “Our timelines went in opposite directions. Not entirely of course, there were loops and twists and exceptions but for the most part the older I got, the more often the River I ran into was a younger and younger version of her.”

“So the day you met her...” He says not finishing the thought, horrified as he realizes what she’s saying.

“She died saving four thousand and twenty-two people.” She finishes for him with a shrug that belies the pain he knows she must be feeling at saying it.

“That couldn’t have been easy, knowing the entire time what would happen to her.”

“I spent centuries running away from the last date we’d have before she went to the Library.” She snaps. “So, no, not easy.”

“Did you ever try to-”

“What? Change it? Save her? Go back and make sure she never died there? Take her place?” She glares at him and for a fraction of a moment she looks her age, millennia old and furious and terrifying beyond reason, and for that one moment Graham is almost scared of her. And then she blinks, her gaze losing it’s terrible intensity, and he’s not even sure that he didn’t imagine it. “She would never have forgiven me. And- and her timeline is complicated, even if I tried to- there’s a very good chance if I did it that I’d be erasing her from the universe entirely.”

He stares at her, heart full of grief for the pain she must have lived through. He tries to imagine having known the entire time about the day he’d lose Grace to that fall and almost breaks with it. He doesn’t think he could have survived that.

“You’re like a Greek tragedy, Doc.” He breathes past the knot in his throat.

“Always preferred the Romans.” She says and goes back to eating her biscuits, eyes skittering away from meeting his.

He knows the conversation is over and by the way she’s starting to fidget with that chain around her neck, - the one that wasn’t there three months ago but which she hasn’t taken off since, - and by the way she is decisively avoiding his gaze. He knows she wants to be left alone.

Respecting her wish for privacy he finishes the last of his tea and gets up to leave. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

She doesn’t answer but by the time he’s reached the door he does hear her say something. Something he’s pretty certain isn’t addressed at him. Both because he doesn’t understand it and because he’s pretty sure she’s already forgotten that he’s still in the room at all.

“Not those times, not one line. I promise.”

--- +1 ---

It ends the way it began. With Graham noticing something small in the control room of the TARDIS. Though this time it’s not the middle of the night and he’s not there all by himself.

It’s mid-afternoon and the Doctor is laying on her stomach, playing with the insides of the ship, sparks flying around her whenever she touches a wire with her sonic and once in a while being interrupted by what sounds like the irritated humming of the TARDIS itself. Yaz and Ryan are on either side of her trying to figure out exactly what she’s doing, though Graham is not at all sure even Doc knows what that is.

And then something catches his eye.

“There’s a blinking button, Doctor.” He says and goes over to it for a closer look.

“Red or green?” She asks, not moving from her place halfway into the console.

“Blue.”

“Oh, someone’s left a voicemail. Put it on speaker, will you?” She says louder, in answer to the sudden shudder that runs through the ship and makes Graham catch the console for balance.

“Sure. How do I do that?” He asks, eyes running over the large number of doodads in front of him.

“Flip the first switch to the right down, and then press the blinking button.”

He follows her instructions and as soon as he’s done so, a low female voice with a Southern British accent rings across the room, a playful lilt to her tone.

“Hello Sweetie, be a dear and come pick me up, please?” There’s the sound of an explosion from the other side of the call echoed by the unmistakable clang of someone hitting their head against metal from under the TARDIS console. Before Graham can do more than lean over to check that they’re all okay, the Doctor is already up and pushing him out of her way. “I’ve sent you the coordinates.”

“Who was that?” Yaz asks with obvious concern as soon as she and Ryan join them.

Graham has a feeling he already knows.

“River.” The Doctor exhales more than says, Graham notices her hands shaking as she pulls up the mentioned coordinates.

“Doctor?” Ryan asks, looking just as worried as Yaz.

“My wife.” The Doctor says and starts running around them, flicking switches all around the control table even quicker than Graham’s already used to seeing from her.

“Your what?” Yaz exclaims in tandem with Ryan’s: “What?”

The Doctor ignores them both, halting with her hand atop the lever that will make them take off and turns her head to face Graham. She’s paler than normal, eyes blown wide from terror and tears starting to visibly gather in the corners. Graham has never seen her scared, not truly, but right now she looks on the edge of breaking.

“I can’t go through this again. I’ve already lost her three times I can’t- not again.”

Graham stands frozen, for a moment absolutely uncertain about what he could possibly say to help her. And then the answer hits him and it is so very simple.

“It sounds like she’s in trouble, Doc.” He says, remembering one of the things she’d told him.”You said you always showed up to catch her.”

The Doctor lets out a shuddering breath and seems to steel herself. She pulls the lever and they all grab for the nearest steady surface to stay on their feet as TARDIS takes off with an almost exhilarated sounding wheeze.

“Is someone going to explain what is going on? Where are we going?” Yaz yells again, this time directing the question at Graham.

“It’s not my place to say.” He says, holding on to the table for dear life but upon noticing Yaz’s frustrated expression expands on his words. “But I’m pretty sure you’re about to find out.”

When they come to a halt a moment later the Doctor is already running toward the Police Box door, flinging it open with a snap of her fingers before she’s even halfway there and then crashing to the ground as a woman lands sprawling on top of her.

“Well hello there,” River Song purrs for all of them to hear. “That’s new.”

“River!” The Doctor says, like all the breath has been knocked out of her. To be fair, Graham’s pretty sure that’s literally the case.

“Yes, Sweetie?”

“What were you doing breaking onto the Museum Planet. They execute their thieves.” The Doctor says from underneath her wife, looking all too happy to stay where she is even as her voice turns chiding. “Also it’s boring down there.”

“Yes, well, it’s not my fault that I’m so infamous that when I’m presumed dead all my personal possessions suddenly turn into priceless artifacts they want to put on display. They were practically begging me to steal them back.” The Doctor’s wife says with a smirk Graham can hear even without seeing her face.

“Presumed dead?” The Doctor asks, voice turning small again.

“Oh, honestly, Doctor! Did you expect me to spend all of my eternity in that data core? It took me a while, I’ll give you that, but at the end of the day it was just another Stormcage.”

Graham is starting to feel like he might not have gotten anywhere near the entire story himself here. But he’s also beginning to get the feeling that the Doctor might be getting her wife back from the dead after all.

“You’ve been to the Library.” The Doctor says, starting to struggle to be let up and Graham finally catches a glimpse of her face. She looks overwhelmed, but where just minutes ago it was with fear of having to say goodbye again, right now there’s a dawning realization of something akin to bliss.

Graham feels his own heart tremble in his chest. It hurts. River Song is alive and Grace is still dead and no matter how happy he is for the Doctor, there’s sudden gnawing envy trying to swallow the heart that he’d only barely started to mend.

He has just enough time to see the Doctor pull River into her arms, crushing her mouth against her wife’s, before his eyes turn away and land on the shocked faces of Ryan and Yaz.

He walks over to the two of them and turns them around by their shoulders to steer them out of the control room and into the deeper hallways of the TARDIS.

“Come on son, Yasmin, we should give them some privacy to catch up. I think they haven’t seen each other for a very long time.”

#drfic #space wives #thirteenth doctor #graham o'brien #river song #the doctor #river x 13 #13 x river #river x doctor #thirteen x river #river x thirteen #doctor who #dw fic #space wives fic #fanfic #otp: hello sweetie

342 notes · View notes

bensakindofmagic · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter Two

A/N: the response to the first chapter has been insane, i’m blown away thank you. no warnings for this one - just enjoy!

w/c: 3.1k+

(gif creds to @.mrbenhardys)

A couple of weeks into the project and you were still in the rehearsal stage for Live Aid. You were grateful for the later mornings, as you didn’t have to make sure the boys were in hair and makeup by 6am just yet. The shoot stared in less than two weeks and everyone felt the pressure ramping up. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Brian May and Roger Taylor were coming to set that day to see how it was all going and offer up a little of their considerable wisdom. It wasn’t the first time they’d been, and you had briefly spoken to them before, but did little more than introduce yourself before they were called away to more important business. It had still given you nervous jitters that morning to think you’d be within a few feet of them.

Rehearsals seemed to be going well; the guys had bonded a lot over the past weeks which filtered into their performance. When they are all jamming together they really felt like a band. You allowed yourself a smug smile, knowing that you had a small hand in that. You’d been hanging out together most evenings since your game, going to a local pub, chilling in someone’s trailer watching Queen documentaries that you’d all seen a hundred times before, or just chatting, getting to know each other better. All four of them were sweet and charming and funny, and you felt yourself getting more and more comfortable around them. You felt relaxed, which in turn led to you opening up to them, perhaps a little too much; you had a tendency to overshare sometimes. But it didn’t seem to bother them much, apart from maybe Ben who seemed to tense up and shift in his seat when you said anything too personal. He’d just have to get used to you.

You contemplated him as he played. You watched the way he frowned when he concentrated, lips silently counting the beats. You watched him bounce on his seat between run throughs, and twirl the drumsticks lazily between his fingers.

“He’s good isn’t he?” Brian said with a knowing smile. When he saw confusion flash across your face he clarified, “Ben. He’s very good.”

“Oh, uh yeah, I think so.”

“Attractive, too. I can see why Roger was so chuffed with the casting,” he chuckled.

You surrendered to the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Oh I’m sure.”

“I heard that,” Roger said little grumpily.

“What, he’s much better looking than you ever were.”

“Unbelievable! Do you agree with this?” Roger asked, turning to you.

“Uh” you said with a giggle, “can I plead the fifth?”

He grumbled and you and Brian laughed. You had to stop and take a breath to make yourself realise that you had just shared a joke with two members of Queen.

Watching everyone work was kind of mind-boggling. Everyone was so focused that they didn’t stop to look at where they were, but the scene in front of you was incredible. People everywhere were fussing over something, making sure every wire and prop was in place. Joe and Gwil were jamming quietly together, probably going over some riff, Ben and Roger were unsurprisingly tinkering with the drum kit as Brian chatted animatedly with one of the ADs. The whole stage seemed to be in motion, oscillating with potential. As you watched it all pass before your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to bask in the absolute insanity of your job, a feeling of satisfaction and excitement welled up inside you. You could feel the anticipation of what this job would bring, how it would affect your life and how you would be changed by it. You couldn’t say why, but you knew in your soul how important this job would be.

It went in a blur — the rest of the day, the week, the whole rehearsal period — and before you knew it you were due to start filming. Everyday felt like a joy. It was hard work, and every night you fell into bed, exhausted, but not before spending an hour or two with your favourite boys. You’d all become close, you was starting to feel like a little family. You and Ben in particular were getting close, the constant teasing between you becoming second nature. On this particular evening, just a few days out from starting the shoot, you were all crammed Rami’s trailer (his was the biggest), relaxing after a long day.

“You know I really think we nailed it today guys,” Joe said enthusiastically.

“Yeah except when Gwil tripped over his own guitar cable,” you giggled.

“Oh come on guys,” he groaned, “we all had a big laugh about this earlier, can we move on please?”

“It was look on your face though mate. Priceless.”

“I’ve never seen such raw panic is someone’s eyes,” you teased.

“What about the day you met me?” Ben shot at you, all confidence. “I think I got you pretty flustered.”

“Oh babe, that wasn’t panic in my eyes,” you retorted with a wink, leaving the rest to his imagination. You were disinclined to let on that you had been wandering what he looked like naked the first time you met.

The five of you joked around aimlessly, only interrupted by Gwil’s phone ringing. He explained that it was his girlfriend and stepped outside to take the call. You noticed a sadness flash across Ben’s eyes, one that had infused their bright green with a hint of grey a few times over the last week. You figured it must have made him think of his own girlfriend, and he was probably missing her. You had made the decision weeks ago that you were objectively not allowed to fancy Ben, so any flare of acidic jealousy in your stomach at that thought was steadfastly ignored.

Thinking you’d give him the opportunity to talk about it if he wanted to, you lightly asked, “How’s your girlfriend Ben? Must be tough on you both, doing such long shoots.”

An awkward hush fell over the room, and Joe and Rami looked at you with shock and horror painted across their features. You had clearly said something wrong.

After a long, tense moment, Ben quietly said, “Actually we broke up.”

A longing kind of melancholy set over him; he hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked wretched and you felt awful.

“Oh my god Ben, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” It dawned on you then that the others clearly knew, and no one had told you.

“It’s okay, it’s for the best, you know. I broke up with her.”

A plethora of questions and concerns raced through your brain. You resolutely battered away the ones that had anything to do with him now being available.

You settled with, “What happened?” quickly mitigated with, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. It’d been coming for a while I think, our lives just didn’t fit together anymore.”

Joe scoffed, “Oh come on, it’s because you have feelings for someone else.”

His eyes instantly Ben wide and you thought you saw him glance at you for a second. He quickly hissed, “What the fuck, Joe?”

Joe looked sheepish and went quiet. You looked back and forth between them, confused and a little hurt. How had they not told you about any of this?

Ben gave a throaty sigh and explained, “Things were falling apart before. We’ve been talking less, we lost the spark. I thought it was just time, you know, we got so used to each other. But then I met this girl…” his voice got so deep his words were half whispered, “I instantly felt it again - that spark. She’s smart and funny and she has such a presence. I just want to watch her, all the time.”

Thinking of Ben feeling that way about someone sent a pang of yearning through you; he looked so soft, all curves. The evening sun cast a glow over him, bathing him in gold. A lone strand of hair fell down over his forehead that you were desperate to push back. The gentle curve of his jaw, soft but defined, was illuminated. His teeth clenched behind pouted lips.

He looked deep into your eyes, so far he could have been looking through you. “It reminded what love should feel like. I guess I realised that it wasn’t right to keep fighting anymore. It was time to move on.”

A heavy silence settled in the room that you couldn’t bring yourself to break. You had to remind yourself that the urge to stroke his cheek and hold him tight to your chest was entirely unprofessional. You opened your mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say. Luckily, Gwil walked back in at that moment.

“Sorry about that, she was just checking i- is everything okay?” he said noticing the tone of the room.

Rami twisted him mouth into an awkward grin, “Ben just told Y/N about the breakup.”

Gwil nodded slowly, “Oh right.” He raised an eyebrow to Ben in a silent question: if he got an answer you weren’t aware of it. “Are you okay Y/N?”

“Me?” The question confused you; what did Ben’s breakup have to do with you? “I’m fine. I guess I’m a little upset that you clearly all knew and I’m only finding out now.”

The guilt in Ben’s eyes tore at your heart. With so much tension in the air you decided that everyone needed to let off some steam.

“Let’s go out,” you said abruptly.

All four pairs of eyes converged on you.

“We have to work tomorrow,” Gwil said, ever the responsible parent.

“Come on,” you sighed, exasperated, “It’s what people do when they’re going through a breakup. Anyway, filming starts soon and then dealing with the hangovers will be even worse. Why not go while we can?”

Joe grinned, “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Of course you do,” Rami muttered. “What do you think, Ben?”

You looked at him hopefully, and when a smile tugged at the corner of his lips you beamed.

“Why not?”

You found a small bar, with a decent crowd for a weeknight, and bagged a booth. You got the first round in, despite the protests from the guys, and gave a sweet smile to the barman who helped you carry five pints to the table. You didn’t notice the glare that Ben shot at him.

“It’s busy for a Thursday, wonder why there so many people here,” Gwil mused.

“Come on, it’s London, it must be busy all the time,” Joe reasoned.

You just shook your head and motioned with your chin to the sign above the bar that read:

 KARAOKE NIGHT, EVERY THURSDAY, FREE DRINKS FOR THE BRAVE

“You feeling brave, Joe?” you smirked. His eyes were wide with glee.

Ben sniggered, “Of course you’re the kind of guy who loves karaoke.”

“Don’t knock it Ben, or I might just dedicate a song to you. There’s no way you’ll pull a girl then.”

“Are you looking to pull tonight?” You asked, just a little too fast.

He simpered, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” It turned the groove at the corner of his mouth into a chasm, and his eyes smouldered a rich emerald green in the dim light. Like he would have any trouble pulling.

“Well I make an excellent wing woman, just to let you know,” you smirked a little sassily and took a sip of your drink.

“Role play,” he responded without missing a beat. You had to concentrate on not choking when your mind wondered to the connotations of those two words.

“I’m not going to give it all away.”

“Signature move, then.”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip a little, hiding a smirk, and said, “Well, I’d talk you up to her a bit, then send you off to get us a round, and while you’re gone I’d very subtly allude to some sexual past between us and imply that you were the best I ever had.” You could barely make eye contact with him, but as you spoke those final few words you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his self-satisfied grin. “Works a charm,” you finished.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,’ Joe interrupted before you could fall too deep into that particular rabbit hole, “but I want a free drink.”

“What, now?” you said with incredulity.

“No time like the present,” he said as he downed what was left of his pint.

“Are you seriously going to be the first person to sing?”

“Well someone’s gotta kick this bad boy off,” and with that he was marching over to the DJ.

“God, you’re so bloody American,” you laughed breathily.

Joe proceeded to annihilate a Rick Astley classic. There was a lot of cheesy two-stepping and emphatic pointing (mostly towards Ben), and he was given a loud cheer as he finished. The barman even gave him a free shot on top of his pint, just because he was so enthusiastic.

You greeted him with a chorus of ‘wow’s as he sat back down.

“That was pretty amazing mate,” said Ben.

“I was good, right,” Joe smiled, panting lightly.

“It was engaging, for sure,” you laughed.

Rami piped up, “That’s code for ‘you were horrendous but I couldn’t look away.’ Like seeing a cat in human clothes.”

“Well that’s just rude, and the crowd seemed to like it. Anyway, who’s next?”

“I vote Y/N,” Ben winked and you snorted.

“Um, no thank you. I’m no singer.”

“Well that’s just a dirty lie, isn’t it? I heard you singing from inside your trailer this morning. It was a rather lovely rendition of Crazy Little Thing Called Love, I believe.”

You eyes went wide and you blushed, remembering how you had danced around as you sang, thinking no one else was awake yet. You desperately hoped he hadn’t seen you through the window, but the twinkle in his eye made you suspect otherwise.

“Look, I’m perfectly happy sitting right here with a drink that I paid for.”

“No way,” Gwil beamed, “it was your idea to come out, I think it’s only right that you sing.”

You pursed you lips, “I’m really fine.”

Ben licked the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked with yours, and said, “We won’t force you if you don’t think you can pull it off. We wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself now, would we?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and ran your tongue over your teeth. He knew exactly what to say to get you riled up. You were desperate to prove yourself to him, but also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you wrapped around his little finger. The tension around the table was palpable as you brooded over what to do. A group of women, far too drunk for the time of the evening, had just finished screeching their way through Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, so it was now or never.

You stood without a word, grabbed a shot from the bar, and went to the microphone. You told the DJ what you were singing — Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin, which you had pre-picked for exactly a situation like this — and waited for the guitar to kick in. You took a steadying breath and stole a glance at the guys. Joe, Gwil, and Rami were smiling encouragingly, but Ben just cocked an eyebrow at you in a silent challenge.

Needless to say, you crushed it.

You let the music fill you up, ignoring the rest of room, and pretended you were in your bedroom singing into a hairbrush. You swayed your hips, just sexily enough to show how comfortable you were up there, and belted out the high notes as best you could. It was liberating, and you felt galvanised by the whoops and cheers coming from your table - Joe’s voice was unmistakable as he cheered you on. You tried to steal a glance at Ben through the lights, but couldn’t make out the expression on his face.

“Dude, you brought this on yourself,” Joe quipped, noticing the awe and the hunger on Ben’s face.

“You were the one that told her I had feelings for someone,” he sassed back.

“I didn’t tell her who!”

“Oh right, ‘cause you’re always Mr Subtle.”

“Well I’m not going to sit around forever and watch you pine over her and do absolutely nothing about it.”

You were making your way back to the table, still followed by the cheers of the crowd, and grinned at the guys, oblivious to the conversation that preceded you. Ben shot Joe a warning glare as you sat down, free drink in hand.

“I think we can safely say I did not embarrass myself,” you said, smug.

“You were amazing up there, Y/N,” Rami smiled kindly.

You looked to Ben, waiting for whatever snarky remark he was bound to make, but nothing came.

“Nothing to say Ben?”

He blinked slowly, and replied with a shrug, “I eat my words.”

You were shocked into silence, and only vaguely aware of Joe rolling his eyes. You would have wondered what it meant had you not been so distracted by the way Ben’s body seemed to clench and sigh. The muscles in his arm rippled as he tightened his fingers around his drink.

You gave your head an indiscernible shake to dislodge the image from your mind and turned to Rami to distract yourself. “It’ll be your turn next Mr Mercury,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

“No no. If this was lip sync then I could crush it, but I’m not singing.”

You spent the rest of the evening chatting, cheering on those who braved the karaoke and trying to ignore the less tuneful among them. Amidst all the joking about and teasing you were completely ignorant to the way Ben looked at you, watching your lips as you talked animatedly and the breadth of emotions dancing in your eyes. He smiled at the annoyance with which you kept tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear that kept breaking free to fall across you face. It briefly occurred to him that he was staring, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat and try to focus on other things, but his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. He contributed little to the conversation, as lost as he was in his pining after you, and it had shocked him when you asked him if any girls had caught his eye. He wasn’t looking at anyone but you.

tags:

@anikatcmh @queen-turtle-boiii @orchideax

(let me know if you want to be tagged and i’ll add you!)

#kind of magic series #ben hardy #ben hardy fanfiction #ben hardy fan fiction #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #rami malek #queen #roger taylor

155 notes · View notes

nocturnical · 4 years ago

Text

I’m crossing my fingers that this is coherent. An attempt was made at sleep but I started getting a migraine midday and consumed a prodigious amount of caffeine to stave it off & here I am, still on a fucked up sleep schedule.

Waking up is going to blow extra hard tomorrow because it’s 3 and not even a little tired & I’m going to have headache hangover & when I get done w work shit I’m going to have cooking & cleaning to do because it’s Friday.

Honestly, I only cook food-ass-food on Fridays when my brother & D come over, the rest of the week I mostly eat bagged salad & canned vegetables & maybe some crackers & humus because I’m so lazy & there is already enough to do otherwise.

Oh and a lot of candy, I eat a.lot.of.candy.

Anyway, beyond tomorrow I’ve been thinking a lot about wtf to do with my social media accts. & my website (I’m in the process of moving servers & I’m so overwhelmed) & just myself in general.

What follows is a rant/ramble. I’m posting here because I have the fewest active followers on Tumblr & it’s my void to shout into. But if anyone reads this & has thoughts I’m interested.

I’ve noticed the following things on Instagram (where I post most of my various creative things):

My poetry gets very little interaction. LIKE SO LITTLE. & honestly, it’s baffling because yeah, I’m a shitty poet & that’s okay (I’m really not trying to be negative here, I have a different approach to poetry that maybe I’ll write about someday), but there’s an editor on the other end of those pieces saying, yeah this is okay (I only post published work) — & still nothing.

My uke videos get slightly more interaction than my poetry which is a big L-O-fuckin’-L because I inevitably listen back & cringe at myself but also, I feel like there’s definitely growth there. & I don’t care if people think I suck, so showing the slow growth in real time is honest to the process of learning the craft & honest to my creative process (I often post pieces of original work in various forms of revision). I’m interested in those things & so interested in continuing to put up uke clips even though I get massive anxiety when I consider doing it.

Visual art tends to get slightly more interaction than the uke vids. & my art game has gone up a notch because I can spend hours tinkering with something on my tablet vs. tearing the tooth out of watercolor paper after a few fuck ups.

But the most interacted w posts are inevitably selfies which kind of feels shitty because I don’t care about them... & I’ve been posting lazy selfies w no makeup for good reasons and bad. The good reason is that idgaf what anyone thinks anymore. The bad reason is that I got butthurt over a few convos where it felt like people were dismissing me for being “pretty.” Sirs, I spent most of high school being shoved into lockers and walls & being called a lesbian (which is not an insult but also I’m unfortunately not) & then I just started blending in with the wallpaper at some point which was actually a relief. My point in that being, I get irked when people act like I got or am getting some pass on my looks, that has never been the case. & its a bad reaction & I should be more thoughtful about it but — I’m a WIP & I still get pissy about it.

But I have the following hangups:

I rarely use hashtags because I’m a scaredy cat. I want interaction & to find people to talk about art with to an extent but I’m also scared of people because I’m a dipshit & a marshmallow & it can be a bad combination.

I also kind of hate Twitter & prefer Insta for sharing content because retweets. I mean I guess I should hate Tumblr for the same reason but this is pretty much just my two close writing buddies & a few poetry community folks that may still be active.

I go through cycles where I don’t want to post on one platform or another because I have Twitter or Insta “crushes” (LOL for lack of a better term, god its such a dingus thing). Like people who followed me that I admire in some way & I’m afraid of looking like a doofus in front of. Luckily, most of the time these are non-interactive folks that followed back to be nice, but there’s at least one person that interacts on a couple platforms & I’ve deleted some of my more off the wall shit because of it. Maybe this is a good thing tho.

Then there’s just my leftist politics that I can’t help harping on. I have a few local folks that follow me & I worry. Like not my close friends who already know me to be a degenerate bread book type but people from local writers orgs. I always wonder if I’m going to push the envelope too far & get blacklisted from local writing stuff. It wouldn’t be the end of the world & I wouldn’t regret it, but also...

& then I look at the advice I’ve been given by pros... To have separate accounts for personal & art & then I realize I have at least 3-4 distinct artistic mediums I’m actively working in. & also if I had a personal account it would be like all pictures of pretty trees & awkward selfies & who wants to follow that? But also that’s the only content anyone interacts w now, so? I don’t fucking know.

& now I’m looking at moving my blog & condensing stuff down & like what is even worth moving? What do I want to do going forward? I’m so busy & I love everything too much to give up any of it.

I also need to get organized & try to get something going at a decent pace soon or else I’m probably picking up another retail job.

But like what? How? Wha?

1 note · View note

bouncyenvos · 5 years ago

Note

i hope this one its okay for you!! 21 with Andross & Andrew! ;w;

21. “Stop doing this to yourself.”word count: 1500

—

“Oikonny, straighten up. You going to walk around like that all day?”

Andrew groaned as he trudged all the way across the gym floor. To say he had ‘gotten his ass kicked’ was something of an understatement. While it was impressive to mention that he was training with the Wolf O'Donnell, it really wasn’t that glamorous an undertaking. The hushed snickers of onlookers did little to lessen the sting of his walk of shame.

“We’ll grow you a spine yet. Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late,” Wolf called out after him.

“Yeeaahh, I know, I know.” He had finally reached the exit safely beyond prying eyes. Physical combat was never his strong suit, yet an absolute necessity in the line of work he had chosen for himself. Many had said he wasn’t suited to mercenary work, but here he was, a member of the elite special ops Star Wolf team. The thought alone was enough to lift his spirits and he puffed up proudly as he plodded down the halls of the underground Venomian military base.

Absorbed in fanciful thoughts, he hadn’t thought about where his feet would lead him and halted abruptly in front of the towering metal doors of his uncle’s personal lab. The last time he had seen him in person had been a week ago. 2 weeks even? His uncle, the Dr. Andross, was a busy man. Andrew himself had been engrossed in his own ventures; a family trait, it would seem.

He stood there tentatively holding a long finger over the buzzer, and instead gave the hatch a few solid knocks.

“Hey! Uncle Andross! Are you busy? It’s, uh, it’s Andrew!”

His tail twitched in irritation. Well of course he was busy, and of course the soundproof nature of the door would prove the action fruitless. A text, a few disconnected calls, a bout of staring, and a more forceful knock later only earned him the glances of curious passerbys; all of which he glared down. In exasperation, he finally hit the buzzer.

No answer.

Sweat beaded on the simian’s forehead. Whether he was being unintentionally ignored, or his uncle had dropped dead from overwork, this simply would not be. He pressed a hand on the scan pad next to the buzzer. The screen lit up red and after a bit of external tinkering and overwriting with his own string of code, the pad blinked green in welcome of one Dr. Andross.

“Okay, ready or not, I’m coming in now!” Andrew called out into the compound. With a held breath, he stepped inside.

The dimmed, cool, sterile atmosphere greeted Andrew’s senses upon entrance. No voices were to be heard, and the only sources of light came mostly from the endless monitor screens and backlit specimen tanks. One of the confined creatures eyed him intently and Andrew fought back a shiver, doing his best to pry his eyes off of the thing. He continued to walk some paces beyond the tanks where he knew his uncle’s work station to be. Past the cluttered desk was where he found Dr. Andross, unnaturally slumped, and hanging off the chair. Andrew rushed over in a panic, tripping on his own feet.

“Uncle?!” he grabbed the man’s arm and gave him a sharp upward jolt. “Uncle! Are you alive? At least tell me you’re not dead? Uncle Androooss!”

On cue, the larger ape’s eyes burst open at the sudden ruckus. He stood instantly, knocking over his desk materials, and his nephew, as his eyes darted around the area. His hand reached halfway into his inner coat pocket.

“Wait, wait, it’s just me!” Andrew hoisted himself off the floor, palms up in a defensive posture.

“Oh.. Andrew.” The doctor relaxed some, rubbing at the deep bags beneath his eyes. He grimaced at the scattered items. “Why are you in here? Or rather, how did you get in here? You know full well this area is restricted…”

Andrew scratched at the back of his neck.

“I was just checking in. I mean, hey, how are you? It’s been a while, right? Anything new?” He flashed a broad toothy smile, only for the doctor to raise an eyebrow. "Fine. I know, I know, you’re busy and you do these lock downs. I get it, I disappear for days too, but you weren’t answering and I haven’t seen you in person in a looong time and I thought–“

Andross raised a weary hand and Andrew quieted.

The ape sighed. “You’ll forgive me if I cut this short, but there are still some important matters that need attending. I will be in touch within the week, but for now you may take your leave.”

The doctor turned to pick up that which was strewn about and Andrew moved to aid him, but his efforts were met with a curt “Go.”

He backed up and took a good look at his uncle. The man was irritable and looked tired beyond measure. His movements were sluggish and he was certain he’d drop if he so much as took his eyes off him. Then the tubed specimens would take their chance to escape and come for him.

“Hey, Uncle? Maybe you should…”

Andross shot him a sharp look. The younger trailed off and felt himself shrink under his Uncle’s imperious gaze; disdain more than evident. He swallowed hard. It was the same look he had often received from other ranking Venomian officials. That same despicable look that secretly spoke of his inadequacy, the telltale sign that he was, in that moment, merely a burden. It happened all too often and his face burned at the thought.

But this was his Uncle. It stung that much more, but no way was he just another parasite hovering around the Dr. Andross. After all, they were family, even if the doctor was growing ever more distant. It was then he decided that it was time to take matters into his own hands, much like Wolf would.

Before his uncle could shoo him away yet again, Andrew grabbed all the files off the floor and haphazardly plopped them down on the desk. Andross stared as his nephew yanked at his arm and began to (unsuccessfully) pull him up.“What do you think you’re doing?” he inquired, keeping as steady a voice as possible.

“That’s enough for today. Time for bed, mister.” That seemed to throw the doctor for a loop.

“Andrew, I don’t have time for this childishness.“

“Nor do I! But SOME people apparently don’t know their limits. Good thing I’m here to keep those people in check."

The doctor’s expression was somewhere between incredulity and weary bemusement. Andrew whipped around to face him.

"Listen, you can’t yell at me for this. It’s for your own good! You’re the one who’d drag me from my gamer night lock downs when I was going to pass out, and believe me, you’re seriously going to pass out.” He would know. They would both know. “And then you’d yell at me. So I’m doing you a solid here. Take your own advice and stop doing this to yourself. Get some rest… maybe?”

A pleading note wasn’t what he had hoped to end his piece on. How could he be taken seriously if he didn’t take a firm stance? Dr. Andross seemed to look upon him in thoughtful appraisal. When the scrutiny began to make him feel unbearably self conscious, he backed up and remembered to straighten out his posture, at least. He had probably, definitely overstepped.

“Uh. Right, I’ll leave so you can actually get some sleep,” Andrew scratched the back of his neck. Whether his uncle did retire for the day or not was something else entirely. “Well, see you, uncle.”

Locking eyes with the strange creature from earlier was all he could do to keep his feet moving briskly across the lab and towards the exit. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining how he had broken into the lab nor apologizing for his impertinence.

Andrew groaned inwardly upon reaching the lab door. The lock was back in place and bypassing the bio scan was a hassle at times. With a sigh, he reached into his back pocket for his toolkit, but flinched when a heavy hand rested upon his shoulder. He turned to see the tired doctor place his own large hand on the scan pad, and with a blip, the door lifted.

He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light of the hallway. His uncle did too rub at his own temples at the sudden brightness as he stepped out, but not before turning to glance at his nephew.

“See you, Andrew."

"See you, uncle. Good night– afternoon. Yeah."

Dr. Andross was without a doubt headed towards his own private quarters, and Andrew couldn’t wipe the wide grin slowly spreading across his face. Score one for him.

#yeet ty for waiting for this. I got stuck on it a lot lol #drabble #star fox #andrew oikonny #andross #psychoartits #& ty for sending in a prompt!!#omg what is up with the tumblr formatting hfgfjj

15 notes · View notes

harrypotterandthefandomaccount · 6 years ago

Text

Patience of the Prince[1]

request: Hiya! I just stumbled upon your account and saw that your requests were open. I was wondering if you could do a Snape x Reader, Beauty and the Beast AU. Maybe some angst/arguing at the beginning- but soon transitions into fluff near the end or middle.

summary: beauty and the beast but with a twist

warnings: literally everything that happens in beauty and the beast 2017

note: yes, you read that right!! this is part 1 of many! I love beauty and the beast so much, and i thought emma watson did a fantastic job of playing belle. the whole movie is just intoxicating and when this request came in, i couldn’t resist. so anyways, here is part 1 of whoever knows:)

8-23-18

Prince Severus Snape’s nastiness could be sensed from every part of Conques and even beyond it. The town knew how selfish the man was, taking after his father and treating others below him like pieces of dirt. Not a single cell in his body could bring himself to give to the needy or those who were in trouble.

It seemed like any other night with his face as pale as snow and his shoulder-length black hair gelled back. Blue and white makeup covered his face as he dressed in the fanciest clothes only the most wealthy could buy. Monsieur Cadenza played a beautiful tune while his wife, Madame Garderobe, sang the highest notes that nobody else could hit.

Everyone was in sync, ladies being lifted into the air by their male partners while their dresses ruffled against the skin of others. Not a single disturbance lurked in the halls of the castle until the glass doors from behind the throne busted open. An old woman named Agathe was covered in a black and worn cloth, her body shivering from the cold.

For a gift, the old woman gave the prince a rose, the only thing she could find. Instead of enjoying such a small yet beautiful gift, the prince laughed in her face, along with everyone else in the room. Repulsed by not only her appearance but also her “gift,” the prince casted the woman away.

However, instead of being discouraged, the old woman told Prince Snape that he shouldn’t be so displeased by looks of others. She had told him that beauty was found within, yet when he dismissed her again, her appearance had formed into a beautiful enchantress. The prince was shocked, stepping away and begging for forgiveness. No love was left in his heart and because of such hatred, she transformed the prince into a hideous beast and everyone left in the castle.

For years, the prince and his servants had been memories long forgotten by the townspeople, leaving the castle to rot. However, the rose the enchantress gave to the prince was enchanted, and if he found love, the spell would be broken. Who could ever learn to love a beast?

Any typical day in Coques for Y/N L/N consisted of her strolling through her poor provincial town. Each day, she goes through the town and greets her neighbors as though she doesn’t hear them talking about her, how “peculiar” or “strange” she is for enjoying books. The library would be completely empty except for Pere Robert who always dusts the windows, asking how his favorite, and only, bookworm was doing.

A new or old book would make its way into Y/N’s hands, knowing they’d be read in about a day or two(2). The town would be buzzing with sales from all the shops they had within the community and each person stopped to see what the young woman was doing today. More criticism reached her way while she had her nose in a book, expressing what she knew already from a chapter in.

However, it seemed as if the most popular man around town, Draco Malfoy, couldn’t stop staring all the time. The townspeople knew and respected their limits but Draco? Not a chance. He was so dull and would never take no for an answer. The man always strutted around like he owned Coques, making every girl(and sometimes men) fall to their knees in praise or adoration.

If only Draco could get it through his thick skull that Y/N didn’t like him. It just wasn’t meant to be, as he always said. He never read a book in his life and is all about himself, never other people. He was handsome, Y/N wouldn’t deny that, but his snobbish attitude was enough for her to turn the other cheek. That, and the only reason he wanted her was because he thought she was the best since she was deemed “the most beautiful girl in the village.”

His friend, Gregory Goyle, tried some of his French persuading to steer him away but for some reason, that gave Malfoy even a better drive to strive. Y/N is so well read, and while Draco is athletically inclinded, he wanted to find a balance. They both were equally good-looking yet all Draco wanted was to marry Y/N.

Three girls, however, always had their eyes for the Malfoy man; Pansy, Cho, and Myrtle. Monsieur Draco always seemed to have those three(3) bugs attached to his shoe, their attention span not going over him. Although, they never really caught on that he wasn’t interested and probably will never be.

Even with so much craziness happening within her life and the small town, Y/N wanted something more; something with a purpose. She wanted adventure and new experiences that she could share with others while having a smile on her face. Y/N knew that there was more to her provincial life while all Draco wanted to do was make Y/N his wife.

All the townspeople focused on Draco’s new, and probably another failed attempt, at wooing Y/N. He carried a bouquet of flowers and strolled up to the young woman, “good morning, Y/N! Ah, wonderful book you have there.”

Y/N glanced down at the book she was holding, “have you read it?” Her eyes seemed to look at him with surprise, ready to faint if needed.

Draco chuckled, “well, not that one but you know. . .books.” Silence between the two(2) grew while people around them talked. He then gave Y/N the flowers he had been holding, “for your dinner table. Shall I join you this evening?”

The answer to her question wasn’t entirely a surprise, along with the flowers. She gave him a tight smile, “sorry, not this evening.”

Draco gave her a smile that almost every girl could faint from if they witnessed it up close, “busy?”

Taking the flowers, Y/N got ready to head home, “no. . .” Walking away, she failed to hear the conversation between Goyle and Malfoy, admiring how attractive her “dignity” was. A part of her was glad she missed that conversation between them.

Carefully watching the stones and pavement, Y/N made sure she listened closely to hear a calming tune of a music box. With a soft smile on her face, she headed inside her small house, seeing her father, Alastor, working on another one of his inventions. He sang quietly along to the tune, making sure his trinket was stable and each detail was noticable.

When her father finished, Y/N walked along beside him with a loaf of bread. He looked up at his daughter, startled for a moment, “oh, Y/N. . .would you mind handing me a-”His daughter was already a step ahead of him, handing her dad a tool for his music box, “hmm. . .thank you.”

A slight pause took over them as Y/N grabbed something else. Her dad started again, “oh, and I also need-” She held another part of the music box in her hand, “hah, uh, no. No. . .actually, yes, that’s exactly what I need. Thank you.”

Y/N smiled at him as he continued to tinker around with his invention, “papa, do you think I’m odd?”Alastor’s tinkering stopped as he looked up at Y/N, “odd? My daughter, odd? W-where did you get an idea like that?”Moving some items around, she made herself busy, “oh, you know. People talk.”

Her father chuckled, “well, this is a small village. Small-minded, as well. . .but small. I knew a girl like you back in Paris who was so ahead of her time. People mocked her until they found themselves imitating her.”

A smile made its way onto Y/N’s face as her father went back to his small invention, “please, just tell me one more thing about her.”Alastor’s face softened while looking at his makeshift painting of his deceased wife, glancing back at his daughter, “your mother was fearless. . .fearless.” Closing up his newest gadget, Alastor and his daughter began to put some things in boxes, preparing for a drop off of some items.

Carrying a package, Y/N put a box in a wagon that was carried by a horse. Her father saddled up and looked down at his daughter, “so, what can I bring you from the market?”

Y/N rested her hands on her father’s knee, “a rose, like the one in the painting.” Her E/C eyes glanced up at her father, noticing a sad smile forming on his lips. He tilted his head, “you ask for that every year.”Y/N smiled, “and every year you bring it.”

Alastor laid a hand on his daughter’s cheek as he smiled, “then I shall bring you another. . .you have my word.”Backing away from the horse, she gave him a grin, “bye papa.” Alastor began to ride off, “bye Y/N. . .I’ll see you tomorrow, with the rose!”

Deciding to make the most of her time, Y/N got to work on an invention that her father would’ve thought of in seconds had he seen the gears turning. All she needed was a barrel, a donkey, and laundry. Bringing it to the well, she threw in some soap and the clothes as the donkey walked around the well.With a book in her hand, Y/N relaxed on an edge and read while a little girl looked befuddled, “what’s he doing?”

Y/N smiled, “laundry. . .come, come!” The little girl made her way over to the “odd woman.” While the donkey continued doing laundry, Y/N decided on teaching the little one how to read. She smiled, “the blue bird. . .that flies over the dark wood.”Y/N gasped, “that was amazing!” Just then, one of the grumpy old men of the village turned to Y/N and the little girl, “what on earth are you doing? Teaching another girl to read. . .isn’t one enough?”

The little girl furrowed her brows as Y/N looked down, disappointed. A woman who was nearby heard what the man said, “we outta do somethin’.” Not a moment later, three(3) men made their way over to Y/N’s “laundry machine” and dumped everything onto the ground.

She made work by putting everything back in a basket, giving Pere Robert a tight smile. He himself was shocked, and discouraged, that the townspeople would go as far as ruining someone’s work just because of reading. .

163 notes · View notes