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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “To learn.”

My brain wanted to write something in first person present tense today. I have no idea why, but I let it go wild. I hope you all like it :) A little bit different than my usual style :)

I just needed some time.

You ever tried putting yourself back together after war, it isn’t easy, or at least I don’t find it to be. I don’t know, call me a sissy, but I don’t actually like war., I don’t take pleasure from killing, but it is part of my job, a big part of it and if the universe continues the way it is, I am going to see war a lot more often.

I wish it didn’t affect me so much.

I wish I had a better way of handling it.

People think I’m a strong person, but they’re wrong. There are plenty of people who could take up my mantle and do a more badass job. They wouldn’t grow sick as the sight of carnage, and they wouldn’t hesitate to put the armor back on.

I’m not like that ….

I’m a coward.

If my friends knew…. Well I have no idea what they would think of me.

But that’s why I had to take some time. Since my first injury, I have never been totally alone. There was always someone there to check on me, there was always someone there to help me deal with my issues. I don’t think I ever figured out how to take care of myself, which is why I decided to take this trip, alone.

The others didn’t understand it…. well , one of them did but he still didn’t like it, but If I am being honest it will be good for them….. Especially her…. The last thing I want to do is make it so we can’t function alone.

I think its called…. Codependency or something.

I don’t know sounds like the sort of thing I’d get caught up in.

I suppose it's for all those reasons that I ended up here.

Looking out the window, I can see Anum suspended against the sky glassy in shades of blue purple and green like a lucky marble. It almost feels as if I can reach out and touch it.

The last time I saw this place, it was receding into the distance,.

I lost a lot here, my leg, and my mind for a short time.

Now it kind of makes me laugh to think that a piece of me was left behind to fertilize some of the plant matter. Of course, it looks a bit different now that the dark season has abated. I had only ever seen the place when it was covered in ash, but it's actually quite beautiful.

The pilot of the shuttle is pretty average, and I only feel like tightening my hands on the seatbelts just a little as we enter the atmosphere.

Fire rolls up around us as friction begins to heat up the outer hull.

Around me men and aliens alike rock in their seats.

Most of them are miners, come here to work on extracting the precious metals from below Anum’s surface.

Personally, I prefer asteroid mining, but statistics say that is more dangerous and expensive so of course corporations like it a lot less, and besides, all of this was sort of just a massive pissing contest with the GA forcing the Drev to pay for the damages caused during war. I don’t think they should, but who am I to give my opinion.

I’m just a soldier.

It doesn't take us long to leave the atmosphere, and it isn’t long before we are looking down at a massive open mining operation. The face of Anum has been scoured with a massive terraced hole overrun by machines and workers cutting into the stone. Volcanoes pipe smoke in the distance.

The scars of industry really are ugly sometimes.

I’ve seen pictures of anum during the bright season, without the machinery.

It's honestly very beautiful, but maybe I'm a bit biased. It’s the one part of home that Sunny misses, and I’ve always wanted to see it for myself. With all the times we’ve gone to earth, you think we'd have visited her home planet too, but I guess the cosmos have ust never taken us this way.

Red lights blink above the doors, and I unbuckle my harness pulling on my bag and gear with the rest of the miners, though I’m not here for the same reason they are. Boots clatter loudly on the ramp below our feet, and I head outside.

It smells clean and cool, though for a distant tang of sulfur.

You barely notice it though, less bad than visiting the hot springs at yellowstone, so your nose adjusts quickly.

The sky overhead is blue, just like on earth, though the ground beyond the launch pad is an amalgamation of rainbow color. I have to blink a few times to adjust my vision, pulling up the eyepatch to take a look from my mechanical eye and its UV filter.

“Holy shit.”

It's beautiful, the sheer amount of color is astonishing like the Lucky Charms leprechaun had some sort of horrific accident. T

he miners ignore me and continue on their way towards the docking pad.

I don’t plan on following.

I am not here for them. I drop the patch back over my eye, and adjust the bag over my shoulder striking it out into the bush, barely looking back. No one notices, or cares, and it isn’t long before the launch field and the mining operation disappears over the horizon. Anum’s circumference is just a little smaller than that of earth with the horizon eating up anything beyond that around three miles.

Gravity is somewhat lessened too, which makes it easier as I walk.

My boots are silent against the multicolored moss at my feet, this stuff teal in color. Little white flowers spring up from the surface like clover back home. A light gust of wind rolls past me causing the flowers to ripple. I lift my head closing my eyes and allowing the wind to carry with it distant smells.

This is the same wind that Sunny would have known growing up, the same feeling under her feet.

I decide to stop a couple miles out under the meager shade of a coiltree. I have never actually seen one before now, and I can see why it’s called a coiltree. Honestly it looks like something straight out of a Dr. Seus book striped up the trunk and with branches that curl into spirals. More little whit blossoms erupt from the trunk, and between those are little white berries.

I seem to recall those being edible.

Reaching up, I pluck one or two down from the branches and pop them into my mouth. Though the skin is white, the berries juice stains my hands purple. One of them is horrifically sour, but the other is pleasantly sweet, probably more ripe than the other, though I can’t yet tell the difference between them.

I sit there under the tree for a little while looking out across the lonely landscape. Something is moving on the distant horizon, though I can't exactly tell what they are, a herd of some sort of animal or another. They are very tall as far as I can tell, just a little shorter than the coiltree.

As a last moment decision, I kick off my boots, and strip my socks tying them to my bag before standing.

The moss is very soft under my feet erupting upwards between my toes like a shag carpet, but you know much less hideous.

My footsteps are even softer now, though the prosthetic clatters sometimes when metal hits stone.

Sweat runs down my back,sides, and front.

I have no idea where I am going, but I know they will see me soon enough.

They have patroll parties out here, and if they aren’t watching me already, then they will be soon enough.

I keep walking heading parallel to the volcanic chain.

For the most part, my hike is uneventful, except for that time that I stepped on something slimy and wriggly. I hate to admit it but I squealed like an idiot and nearly fell over, only made worse when I looked down and saw the giant pale maggot burrowing into the moss and underground.

I nearly gagged, and my skin crawled.

Sunny had mentioned those, though I forgot their names.

THey lived primarily off of decomposing plant and animal material, very common in areas where war had continued.

I didn’t like it, but it was probably one of those nasty suckers that ate my leg.

Ew…

Gross.

I contemplated putting my boots back on, but kept walking instead.

A group of unknown flying critters appear overhead. They have two sets of membranous wings, kind of like those of a bat, no tail though, just a long rail of fur like the streamer of a kite.

These ones are bright colors like pink and yellow.

Pretty cool.

Its nice to walk in the silence, though after a while my brain devolves into humming the star wars theme, and then singing stupid songs dancing around and hopping about from one foot to another as I badly sing the choruses to all the songs I know.

My eye of the tiger rendition probably left something to be desired, though I doubt anyone out here would know the difference.

Then comes the stupid dialogs with myself as I try to imagine what Krill Conn and Sunny would say about all this.

“Commander, I will have you know that you behavior is highly disquieting, I insist we get an MRI on your brain to make sure you have not developed a severe case of bilateral goop disease.”

“What kind of dumbass just goes wandering around with no idea where he’s going. The dumbass kind of dumbass.”

“Adam, I need you to understand that Anum is a dangerous place. I know you grew up on earth, but there are still things that can go wrong on Anum. Do you know how common surprise hot springs are. What if you fell in and died.”

Speaking of which, “Thanks imaginary Sunny, I totally forgot about that.”

Other than that, what can go wrong, it is a bright shiny day, the temperature is perfect, nothing someone like me can’t handle. Oh and is that a crunchy pink orb I see. I fucking love those, they taste so good.

I hop over the rocks, my feet warm on the moss, and reach down to pluck one of the spheres from it’s short stumpy stem.

And that's when the spear appears at my throat.

Shit.

I drop my hand back and look up to see a drev that is at least three feet taller than me, holding his massive spear orange eyes narrowed. Holy shit, I didn’t even hear her/him coming. Honestly I should have seen them coming long before anything else bright fuschia as they were.

“Lod tsa ee nin tsa daeen darish.” They jab the spear at my neck, and the obsidian lined head cuts through my sin like butter.

Oh shit, uh, my translator is not picking up shit. Guess these guys have a different accent than we’re used to. I rack my brains trying to remember how to speak what little I know, but it seems that it has all fled me when I needed it the most.

“Lod tsa ee nin tsa daeen darish!” I stumble backwards onto my butt and hands. Shit shit.

I hold up a hand.

“Cheeyat neahasan!” Shit I forgot to conjugate the verb. Damn I must look like an idiot yelling ‘to speak slow!’ at the top of my lungs

However, my botched attempt at speaking seems to work, and they pull back. “Tsa dzhal Cheeyish.”

Oh I understood that one, “Yid zhe cheeyi dzhal.” yes, yes I speak Drev, “neahasan.” Slolwy anyway.

They pull back. I don't know why, but I’m getting a female vibe off this one. I can't tell though, Drev voices all tend to be rather deep.

“Lod tsa ee nin tsa daeen darish” She says it slower this time, and all around her I watch as a small group of other Drev move to flank me from the sides. They are listening very intently.

I think I understand this time, the rough translation being who are you and what are you doing.

I want to speak with your leader, “Zhe zhegingi s tsak eeda cheeyat.” My voice is halting and I am butchering the pronunciation, but they seem to get my request.

She trusts the spear at me, “Tsaee!”

I hold up my hands, “Woah woah, easy easy…. I uh.” Shit what was the word to learn, “zhe….zhengingi hak tsa…. “ Damn it… I can’t remember, “um….. Rekazat nin dzhal….. Rekazazh.”

Oh wow, that sounds really intelligent. I wanted to learn from them but instead apparently I ‘want to know what they know.’ riveting conversationalist that I am.

She stares at me confused.

In frustration I point at her spear, “Zhe zhengingi…..zheengat?”

Uh this was going poorly. I clearly did not know as much of their language as I thought I did.

I want to know to fight.

Wow excellent work their commander that will convince them.

They look back and forth at each other, and fire off some quick shot dialogue that leaves my head spinning.

She turns to me and lowers her spear, “s jya Hajish.”

Come with us.

Great a sentence I understood.

It was in the next few hours that I was either going to live, or I was going to die horribly.

A pretty exciting time in my life.

And I followed.

Not like I had a choice at this point.

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dreamingofscully · 5 years ago

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Bated Breath

Rating: G Length: 2198 words Classification: M/S UST

Summary: Mulder drives Scully home from the hospital after the events of “Milagro”

Thank you to my wonderful betas @suitablyaggrieved, @starbuckthirteen, J_A_Hunnings/AO3, and Princess 20-Sided Die. This is my first fic and I’m so nervous.

Read this on AO3.

*****

On the short drive from the hospital to Scully's apartment, Mulder feels like the air between them is almost tangible, heavy with their unspoken words. He glances over at Scully every few minutes and he can't help but notice the small imperfections that tell the story of what she's been through - the smudged makeup, the spot of dried blood she missed below her ear.

His hands tremble. He tightly grips the steering wheel when he thinks about how he almost lost her. He takes a deep breath, and reaches his hand out between them, touching the side of her leg with the backs of his fingers. Her fingers grasp his wrist - briefly, gently - and she leaves them there, skin against skin. Barely a handhold, but enough to know he's not unwelcome.

When they arrive, Mulder walks her up to her apartment and unlocks the door for her. He's reluctant to let her out of his sight but he's not sure how much she'll let him hover. She isn’t pulling away from him - her usual strategy after experiencing any sort of trauma. He keeps silent, afraid that if he said something wrong, she’d snap back into the Scully he knew and that she’d insist she was fine and tell him to leave.

She enters in front of him, the space barely big enough for her to fit but she slips through effortlessly, like she takes up no space. Her hand reaches towards him, inviting him in.

Mulder shuts the door behind them and stands there awkwardly. He's not sure what she's thinking, not sure how long he’ll be wanted or needed.

He thinks back to that moment he found her in his apartment, covered in her own blood and so quiet and still on the floor. His relief upon her awakening shattered by her fear and desperation. Her desperate need to be reassured and held. Images flash through his head of her hand seeking his when the police questioned her, her shoulder leaning towards him when he insisted on taking her to the hospital, her forehead pressing against his chest while they waited for a doctor to check her over.

It’s just a lingering need for comfort, he concludes, she just needs to know she's alive. Soon she'll go back to keeping her distance. He hopes that this uncharacteristic mood will stick around for awhile though, because he doesn't want to stop being close to her. He offers to make them tea, a hopeful waver in his voice.

Scully smiles warmly, her eyes finally connecting with his. He sees a strange calmness there.

"I'm just going to have a quick shower and get changed. Make the chamomile." Her first words are soft and scratchy, just barely loud enough in her silent apartment. She places her hand on his arm, brushes it down to his hand, where she squeezes their fingers together briefly before walking towards her bedroom.

He doesn't know if she needs him, but he needs her.

Mulder heads to the kitchen, fills the kettle and places it on the stove. There are three boxes of chamomile, and he can't tell which one he should use. He walks to her bedroom, thinking he'll just tap on her door to ask which one she'd prefer; instead, he finds the door wide open and Scully's pale, slim back visible just inside, the dim light from her bathroom illuminating her from behind. She's pulling on her robe and for a moment Mulder swears that time slows down. He watches the glow of her skin disappear under the blue silk of her robe, and as his gaze travels upwards he sees her watching him over her shoulder. The fan of her hair covers half of her face, but he can see her mouth turned up faintly in another smile.

She ties the sash on her robe, walks over and taps one of the boxes of tea in his hands. “This one,” she says, still smiling. He tries to respond, but finds himself unable to come up with just the right sort of joke to hide behind and regain some measure of control. He’s floundering, frozen in place, unsure and speechless. Her smile widens and she walks towards her bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Normally, Mulder would have felt like an intruder after having witnessed such an intimate moment, but her warm expression seemed to welcome him, or was that simply wishful thinking? Either way, he takes a few minutes to recover before heading back to the kitchen.

On the way, he absentmindedly picks up something hard and smooth from a table in her living room - a shell. He pauses, rotates it in his hands, wondering what this item means to her. Is it something that represents a significant memory, that she smiles at every time she notices it? Or was it a gift, equally precious because of its reminder of a special person? Maybe it caught her eye in a shop, and she simply admired its appearance.

He is suddenly and desperately filled with the desire to know, and saddened by the fact that he has never bothered to simply ask her these things. So much of her past is shrouded in mystery, only because he’s been so selfish and obsessed with his damn quest. He demands so much, and she gives of herself always and without hesitation. If something were to happen to her or she finally decided to leave, what memories would he have to hold onto? How much of her would he actually have?

Mulder’s depressing, rambling thoughts are broken by the tell-tale rattling of pipes that signals the end of Scully’s shower - he hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there beating himself up. He places the shell back on the table and rushes to finish the preparations for the tea. His fingers tap restlessly on the countertop as he waits for the kettle and he shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts, not wanting to bring any more darkness into their time together tonight.

The kettle whistles and he pours the hot water into two mugs - an elegant cup for her that he knows she favors and the “Albert Einstein was an alien'' mug for him, a gift he got her several years ago that he always uses when he’s here. Just as he's carefully fishing out the label that dropped inside, he feels a small hand on his lower back.

Scully.

She inserts herself beside him and underneath his arm, her small form surprising him with its graceful agility. Her hand grazes from his back to his waist, wrapping around him with ease and strange familiarity. She looks up at him and smiles, her face scrubbed clean and hair curled and towel-dried from her shower. Her glance moves from his eyes to his mouth, where he's sucking on his burned finger.

"Thank you." she murmurs. She tugs on his shirt and pulls him towards her living room, grasping her cup of tea in the other hand. He follows, feeling oafish and gangly compared to her sudden transformation into some sort of ethereal sylph.

They sit close together on her couch, sipping their tea. It's not something he would normally drink, but he sips slowly, tolerating the smooth, slightly bitter flavor for as long as it lets him stay. He fidgets and can't quite figure out how to sit next to her, discomforted by his awareness of her physicality and his inability to define this shift that has taken place within her.

Scully rests one of her hands, warm from the tea, on his thigh. Her calm seeps into him and he feels content to just sit and be. A few minutes pass, and Mulder finds his voice. He begins to tell a rambling tale of a dryad who loved a mortal, trailing off when he nears the inevitable tragic ending. She finishes the story for him, a dimple forming in her cheek, that she should finish his tale for him.

“Keep talking.” she urges. He obliges, talking of nothing and everything, until their tea cools and they seem to relax into each other.

He turns to look at her, shifting away slightly so he can study her face. Such a contrast to her panic and fear from earlier today - she seems to have recovered remarkably quickly. Maybe it's not the quickness he's noticing but the distance she's come, the complete turnaround from before. He's not sure what it is but she's... still touching him. Smiling frequently. It's definitely good - great, even - but he feels like he’s in a dream. This version of Scully leaves him disoriented and self-conscious.

She turns to face him as well, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a half-smile. The mug of tea makes a muffled click as she sets it on a coaster.

"Like what you see?" her voice is amused, teasing. He realises he's been staring.

Mulder continues to look at her. Impulsively, he reaches out a hand and runs his knuckles delicately over her cheek.

"Very much." His voice is tender and sweet, and he’s not sure what possessed him to diverge from their usual playful banter.

Scully's eyes flicker, her pupils dilate slightly, and they lower briefly to his lips. Her tongue slides out and wets her upper lip and she seems, somehow, to be closer without moving an inch. Mulder feels a spark travel from his chest to his groin. An overwhelming feeling of intense anticipation rises within him - like he's at the top of a roller coaster about to take the first fall.

The silence stretches between them for too long. Scully's eyes shift away and sudden shyness and insecurity seems to take hold of her. Him too - what is he thinking?

They both turn away with a sigh, chuckling at their synchronized stumbling. The moment lost, they lean back against the couch, still joined from shoulder to thigh.

Mulder breaks the silence by clearing his throat. "You seem really OK - more than me, Scully." Mulder tilts his head in her direction. Scully seems to be watching the ceiling; her damp, wavy hair fanning out around her, the ends tickling his arm.

"Yeah. I'm... OK." Scully's mouth lifts slightly, but doesn't quite reach a smile this time. "I don't think I've ever been that scared before but... after my, uh, outburst I felt..." her hands wave as she searches for the right words. "I don't know, I felt peaceful. Like some sort of darkness I've been holding on to for a long, long time just melted away." Her eyebrows are slightly knitted together, the way they do when she's deep in thought.

"This case made me realize something, Mulder, something we've been trying to avoid for a very long time." She turns her head to look at him, still lying back on the couch. They’re sitting even closer than usual, and Mulder can feel the warm puffs of each breath as she thinks about what she’s trying to say.

"I... " She drops her gaze. He can see the war within her, the arguments taking place, a decision being made. She meets his eyes with a steely determination, and utters a single word.

"Us." Staring at him directly. There is no mistaking her meaning. There is no room to hide from the implications. Mulder is knocked sideways, his mouth dry. It's not strange that Scully is the one confounding him, but he's definitely unaccustomed to feeling like she has all the answers and he's left behind, trying to catch up.

And with that she pats his leg, smiles again and rises from the couch, taking their cups to the kitchen.

"You can sleep on the couch. I know you probably want to stay and make sure I'm alright." She returns with a pillow and blankets, all business and common sense now, a familiar Scully that comforts him but makes him feel as if he's squandered something special.

"I know you're really tired. Please don't leave. I don't want to worry about you driving." She ruffles his hair as she passes behind him, not waiting for an answer. "Good night, Mulder."

With that, she's gone, her slippered feet making only the barest of whispers on the carpet as she shuffles towards her bedroom.

He needs to think, to finally allow himself to contemplate what happened between them tonight. It’s something he’s pushed aside and didn’t allow himself to seriously consider because he always paired relationships with their painful and inevitable end, and that absolutely couldn’t happen with him and Scully. She seemed so sure though, and if there was one thing he learned over these years, it was that she never made a decision without weighing all of the possible consequences. Maybe he should trust her with this as well.

Not knowing what else to do, Mulder makes his bed on the couch, strips to his t-shirt and boxers and lies down. Exhaustion pulls at him as the last pulses of adrenaline fade from his bloodstream.

As he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend she’s still here beside him, her scent lingering on the cushions. He smiles and thinks, Soon.

#xf fanfic #my fic #post-Milagro #UST #almost there #important fluff #this is what I see in my head #msr #msrheadcanon #mulder and scully #xfiles #x-files #mulder x scully

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izukillme-moved · 5 years ago

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for the 20 minute challenge thing,, tsukkikage?

sure!! It's my all time favourite Haikyuu ship, yet the first time writing it ahaha 😂😂

Snowball Fight (TsukkiKage)

Words: 1260

Time taken: wayyyy more than 20 minutes, but it was worth it!!

It was the morning of 22 December, and Karasuno were huddled quietly around the fireplace at the resort they were visiting. Kei hadn’t thought it was the greatest idea at first, but he’d grudgingly admit – he had enjoyed the trip so far. The strawberry shortcake here was fantastic, and their coffee was nice, too.

And – cue the gasp – the King and he had actually gotten along this entire vacation! Yes, you may all pass out from shock. Kei couldn’t say he wouldn’t judge you – it was his basic nature to judge – but he wouldn’t judge you very harshly, seeing as Yamaguchi had also passed out when he saw Kei and Kageyama interacting almost… civilly.

Kei turned back to his hot chocolate, sipping on the beverage that had now gone cold. Ah, well, it was still sugary enough to indulge his sweet tooth.

Another draft of icy wind swept through the hall, and the team shivered, huddling closer together in the hopes of some warmth. Kageyama was one of the few who wasn’t shivering, though, and it was solely because of his attire.

Kei still couldn’t believe that the King, of all the people, had been the one to look up weather forecasts and pack accurately. When he’d asked incredulously why exactly Kageyama hadn’t told the rest of the team, he had gotten the reply of, “I thought everyone did that. Checked the weather forecasts, that is,” along with a look of confusion that made Kei both want to smack him and kiss him.

Yes, Kei had a crush on Kageyama. No, that’s not why he teased him so often – it was just fun to rile him up, and before Kei had gotten to know that he was really just a sweet and adorably abrasive dork, the teasing hadn’t been as light-hearted and fun as it was now. Thankfully Kageyama seemed to recognise that there was no real heat behind Kei’s words anymore, and had even started to hit back with some mild roasts of his own. Granted they weren’t particularly good, and nothing near Kei’s level of course, but it was something.

Kageyama sat across from Kei now, all bundled up in a dark blue and cream plaid scarf that had come in the mail for him yesterday. He also wore a knitted sweater that had a woollen snowman motif stitched over his breast, and though he looked like the dorkiest dork ever he also looked… well… absolutely beautiful.

“It’s snowing out,” Tanaka commented, glee in his eyes. “You know what this means, right, Noya-san?”

Nishinoya’s eyes took on the same glee, and Kei’s stomach filled with dread.

“SNOWBALL FIGHT!” he cheered, springing up quite energetically despite the fact that he had been shivering not five seconds ago.

Daichi raised an eyebrow at Noya. “Weren’t you the one complaining about how cold it was about five minutes ago?” he asked sceptically.

Tanaka laughed a carefree laugh, springing up too. “It’ll get our blood pumping and get us warm, Captain!” he shouted, yanking Daichi upwards with one hand. Daichi stumbled forwards from the sheer power Tanaka had put into his pull, and winced.

“Tanaka, I don’t think that’s a very good idea-” he began, but Sugawara cut him through.

“Actually, Tanaka might be right,” said the setter, smiling his smile that Kei was never sure if it was angelic or demonic. “Besides, a snowball fight is just the thing to kick off Christmas.”

Kageyama looked up, eyes shining. “I love snowball fights,” he said to no one in particular.

Sugawara gave Daichi a meaningful glance.

“See?” he said persuasively. “Kageyama likes snowball fights.”

“I do, too!” shouted Hinata, leaping up as energetically as Tanaka and Noya had. “Let’s go, guys!”

Yamaguchi smiled softly. “I have to admit,” he said. “It might be fun. C’mon, Tsukki!”

“We aren’t dressed for this weather,” Kei groaned.

“I have some extra stuff that might fit you guys,” Ennoshita piped up, he as well as Kinoshita, Yamaguchi and Narita the only others to have packed properly. They probably hadn’t warned the team out of cruelty, thought Kei bitterly, missing his scarf and his favourite hoodie that was lying on his chair back home. Yamaguchi was really turning into a prick.

“So do I,” offered Kageyama. “Hinata-boke might actually drown in my jacket, though, so he gets the scarf.”

Kei felt instantly jealous. Why did the shrimp get Kageyama’s stuff and not him?

“If you have an extra sweater, I’ll take it,” he said quickly. “Ennoshita-san, no offence, but your clothes might be too short for me. Kageyama’s a little closer in height.”

Ennoshita nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “None taken, Tsukishima.”

“I have one that’s too large for me,” Kageyama said. “It might fit you. Though since you’re so skinny you might drown in it too.”

I’d like to drown in you, was what Kei wanted to say. But he held himself back, instead retorting, “What, King, have you had your servants pack your entire winter wardrobe?”

Kageyama flushed, ignoring his comment, and said, “I’ll just go and get the stuff,”

As they watched him leave, Ennoshita pulled on Kei’s sleeve and whispered, “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer today.”

Kei frowned. “What? Why?” he replied equally quietly.

“Well, see…” Ennoshita glanced around to check if anyone was listening in – they weren’t. Hinata had followed Kageyama up the stairs, and the rest were ransacking Ennoshita, Kinoshita and Narita’s suitcases.

“It’s Kageyama’s birthday today.”

Kei’s lips opened slightly in surprise.

Ah. So that’s why he got that scarf. Must have been a present.

“I see. I suppose I can try,” he added.

Birthdays were a special occasion in Kei’s home – the entire family would always make sure to be home, and they would celebrate by going on a picnic which often lasted the full day. He could respect the fact that it was the King’s birthday today…

And maybe even… do something nice.

“Tsukki!” called Yamaguchi’s voice, and his best friend stepped back inside. With a conspiratorial wink towards the stairs, he said in a stage whisper, “Not following Kageyama-kun upstairs for some alone time?”

Kei blushed furiously. “Shut up,” he hissed. “Ennoshita-senpai-”

“Already knows,” said Ennoshita, smiling in amusement. “You’re not very subtle, Tsukishima, despite what you may think. Everyone knows you’re in love with Kageyama, except probably Hinata, and of course Kageyama himself.”

“Tsukishima is in what with Kageyama?!” shouted Hinata’s voice from behind them.

“Tsukki looooooveeeessss Kageyama!” shrieked Yamaguchi gleefully, much like Happy the flying cat from that stupid manga he loved. Kei regretted ever letting him read Akiteru’s copy of that thing – Fairy Tale or something.

Hinata, who was practically cocooned in a red scarf, stared. “But Tsukishima hates Kageyama,”

“It’s a little thing I like to call UST,” said Yamaguchi a little too happily. Ennoshita slapped him on the back, saying, “Let’s not ruin Hinata’s innocent mind just yet.”

“Tsukishima… likes… Kageyama,” Hinata said to himself, still a little in shock. “But… actually, when I think about it… it does kinda make sense…”

Kei choked. No, no, no… he��ll blabber…

“Don’t worry, Tsukishima!” Hinata declared smilingly, giving him a thumbs up. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Hinata’s good at keeping secrets, don’t worry, Tsukki,” said Yamaguchi reassuringly.

“That only makes me wonder what secrets you’ve told him to know that,” Kei retorted.

Yamaguchi grinned. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, Tsukki,” he sang, and skipped outside after Hinata.

Kei stared after his best friend, shaking his head.

“Since when did you become such a sassy little shit?” he called after him, but Yamaguchi chose to ignore him.

Ennoshita shrugged. “Well, looks like it’s just Kageyama left in the dark now.”

“Left in the dark about what?” asked Kageyama, coming down the stairs slowly.

Kei was blown away by how pretty he looked – he was wearing a dark blue puffy jacket that brought out all the colours in his eyes, making them look like the ocean at night. His thick black tracks outlined slender but powerful legs, and his winter boots were dark brown, the perfect contrast to his clothing. He wore a cream-coloured plaid scarf – seriously, how many plaid scarves did he have? – around his neck and cream earmuffs to top it off.

“Nothing,” Kei said quickly, all too aware of the faint blush on his face. “You got the jacket?”

“Yeah,” said Kageyama, handing black earmuffs and a large white puffy jacket to Kei, who put it on and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was exactly the right size. The earmuffs sat perfectly on his head and warmed his ears without pressing the ends of his glasses against his head, just the way he liked it.

“Thanks,” Kei said, and meant it. He probably would’ve frozen to death out there without the jacket and earmuffs.

“You’re welcome,” Kageyama replied, looking away, and was that a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks?

Kei blushed too, turning away so Kageyama wouldn’t see, and headed out.

The snow was white and pristine, and as Kei stepped onto it, he thanked all his stars for having given him the common sense to at least pack proper winter boots.

“It’s really pretty,” said Kageyama softly, eyes shining as he stared at the wintry wonderland around them.

Kei nodded. “It is,” he couldn’t help but agree.

“Do you ever get-” started Kageyama then, but he was cut off by a snowball hitting his face at 150 mph. Hinata giggled and pointed at Kageyama, who’d fallen on his ass and was glaring his demon glare up at him.

“I’ll get you for that, boke!” he shouted, bending down to package a perfect snowball in his hands and tossing it. It hit Hinata directly in the mouth, and this time Kageyama was the one smirking while Hinata wailed from his place on the ground.

And just like that, what he’d wanted to say was forgotten. Kei shook it off – it probably wasn’t that important.

Kei bent over, spotting Yamaguchi defenceless, and decided to get him back for all his comments earlier. He was just making the perfect snowball when something hit him powerfully in the left and knocked him over sideways –

Straight into Kageyama.

All sixty-eight point four kilograms of Tsukishima Kei lay sprawled on top of Kageyama Tobio, gold eyes staring into stormy blue. Their limbs were tangled together, making it near-impossible for either to just get up. Kageyama’s lips were light pink, Kei noticed absently, and his breath was hot on Kei’s cold skin.

Kei didn’t think as he bridged the distance between their lips, kissing Kageyama softly. The kiss tasted cold and sweet, like ice-cream, and there was an undertone of saltiness, which was just so Kageyama.

Then Kei realised what the hell he was doing, and he pulled away and scrambled upwards, falling back on his ass in the snow but not caring. As long as he wasn't kissing Kageyama anymore – how much stupider could he get?!

Kageyama rose, cheeks flushed dark red.

"Tsukishima," he began hoarsely. "What did you just do?"

Kei gaped up at Kageyama, for once speechless. He prayed with all his might that a hole would open up and swallow him into the ground – he had, after all, just kissed his crush.

"You kissed me," Kageyama continued, stepping forwards so he towered directly over Kei. His face was still red, but he spoke with a clarity that belied his embarrassment.

Kei was tempted to respond, Well, if you knew, why did you ask me? But he held his tongue, saying nothing.

Kageyama squatted down so he was at eye level with Kei.

"I liked it, if you were wondering," he said softly, leaning in close. "You can do it again if you want to."

That's when the words came pouring out of Kei's mouth.

"Want to?" he breathed, regaining his composure and cupping Kageyama's face in both hands. "I've been dreaming about this for nearly eight months now."

And then he kissed Kageyama again, eliciting a good number of whistles and hoots from the rest of the team. And again, and again, and again, despite the number of snowballs hurled at both of them.

When Kei finally pulled away, both his add Kageyama's faces were bright red.

"So…" started Kageyama, clearing his throat. "Are we… dating now?"

"If you want to," Kei said, suddenly nervous.

"Yeah," Kageyama said, and he was smiling and his eyes were shining.

He looked beautiful.

"Okay," Kei whispered. "Happy birthday, Tobio, my boyfriend."

The pleasant flush on Kageyama's cheeks and the tight squeeze he gave Kei's have as they walked back in showed how happy he was, more than any words could ever say.

And call Kei a hopeless romantic, but he couldn't help feeling so glad that he had been the one to give Kageyama that happiness.

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loquaciousquark · 6 years ago

Text

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E64 (May 28, 2019)

Another week, another adventure into the the wild and dangerous minds of BWF and his wacky sidekicks. I have to say, the quality of Critical Recap has increased dramatically since it first started. Awesome job, Dani! Tonight’s preroll is the celebration of the birthdays of Laura & Liam, which is today, May 28. For those who don’t know, this shared birthday is why they decided to create twins in the first campaign.

Tonight’s guests: Taliesin Jaffe & Matt Mercer.

Tonight’s announcements: Next Monday, June 3, the episode with Ashley Johnson of Between the Sheets will finally air at 7PM Pacific. Brian says she hates talking about herself, but he got her to open it up. They’re already filming season 3 of Between the Sheets, and that will drop monthly episodes once it begins airing. The My Little Pony oneshot, led by Mark Hulmes from High Rollers, will air this Friday night, May 31, at 7PM Pacific. Roger Craig Smith will be one of the special guest stars on that episode. Tales of Equestria will be loaded to YT on Sunday. Denver Pop Culture Con will be this coming weekend. Limited photo and autograph tickets are still available.

Episode 64: A Dangerous Chase

CR Stats: The phrase “end of the day” was used 11 times this episode. 5 things were invented: “don’t shoot the messenger,” “don’t beat a dead horse,” “par for the course,” the game of golf, and ravioli. Laura held Jester’s astonished look for 15 seconds. CR has now aired over 800 hours in total.

DMing for Colbert was surreal for Matt. It was a week one pipe dream for Matt, which means he was a little afraid it would be a letdown. As soon as they began talking about Stephen’s history, he started feeling more comfortable, but it wasn’t until he saw the first cut the next day where he realized how great it had been. He hopes it isn’t the last opportunity they have to play together. They managed to raise over $100,000 for Red Nose Day.

Caduceus is taking a Mary Poppins approach to talking to people as a way of teaching by example. He hopes people will realize that you don’t have to always use violence to get the information you want. Taliesin, on the other hand, realizes that will never happen. Matt talks about how much he really likes the the impact Caduceus has had on the game, and both Tal & Matt talk about the 3-4 day planning session they had on what high wisdom/low int looks like. “That’s rough, buddy.” “Ahh, that’s exactly what that looks like.”

The M9′s deception during Speak with Dead was a little better than Matt had anticipated, so he gave away a little more information than he’d originally intended. Tal talks about how this must have been something Clay watched happen many times growing up in a funeral home, seeing his family Speak with Dead in order to give peace to a grieving family. It’s an interesting juxtaposition of seeing something his family used a bunch of times growing up being used in a very different way now.

The Charis DC was just because it was a very very high DC--but not impossible. There are people in the world who know about it, but they wouldn’t have reason to cross paths with the M9. It would be like an archaeologist.

The stern Cad during the interrogation was partly an act, because he was trying to perform, but also because there’s a bit of Cad we haven’t seen yet. They all agree that in the cast of CR Ashley is the most actual zen. Everyone agrees Travis isn’t even in the running.

Cosplay of the Week: @graviteacosplay with this nifty Nott cosplay.

Matt was a little surprised they took a path just straight through the Barbed Fields instead of taking a more circuitous, safer route. He expected the rest of the group to protest and was more surprised when they didn’t. They talk a bit about Fjord as an agent of both order and chaos and about how he’s trying to find his place in the world.

The near-death experience has left Cad in a place where he’s not making the best decisions right now. He knows this is dangerous, but he knows they need to check it out, and since they’re “on a mission from God,” everything they do is right. “His risk assessment is a little off right now.” Matt is delighted remembering Sam’s face; BWF points out it’s rare we get one on Sam like that.

The Sorrowsworn are scary because they’re entirely based on emotion. To further develop them, Matt likes looking at their abilities and basing their movement in a horror-film way off that. He knew he would get Travis; he wasn’t expecting to get the rest of the table. “I was very proud.”

Tal has no idea how Cad will process these horror creatures. He wasn’t frightened or freaked out by the grotesque, but he wasn’t really prepared for it, and having Caleb go unconscious was a bit of a fright.

Brian mentions for probably the third time in this show that the next season of Blindspot will be the last one. I’m getting the feeling he’s very ready for it to be done.

When Matt was developing Xhorhas, he wanted to develop all these other societies without the ties to the dark gods. How would they develop with their clan ties? What about as people were assimilated into the clans? What tropes has he seen in other media that he needs to avoid? He talks about how when you build independent areas of your world, it’s a helpful thought experiment to imagine what would happen if they collided. He developed a lot of Xhorhas in pockets and then put it all together.

Tal asks Matt if he was surprised they’d picked up the dodeca. He wasn’t exactly surprised--he’d planned for pretty much all the outcomes of that particular early encounter. He’d meant it more as an exploration of the intro to the Xhorhas world and the Krynn dynasty.

Tal laughs about his very visible reaction to Laura’s Vex voice coming out of Jester this episode. It had nothing to do with his efforts at diplomacy later; he just realized he hadn’t been paying enough attention and had no idea what part of Jester this was supposed to be coming out of.

Fanart of the Week: Just a couple of bugs flyin around, by @_sunsetdragon.

In talking about Clay’s pranks on his siblings, he thinks at some point they at the very least took the bed of an errant sibling out while they were sleeping and put it in a tree overnight.

Matt talks about how if there’s nothing in the books that suits the monster he needs, he just creates one. Tal & Matt start talking about a monster he made for an old campaign called a Dragon Engine; it was designed to build a disease that turned all dragons in a world to crystal, which in turn slowly destabilized the world/planes. Matt took a Dollar Store doll head and covered it in Saran Wrap & hot glue with wings & tentacle bits in odd places. His inspiration was a fetus god boss from the Dark Stalker series. Tal remembers being so annoyed he made this amazing, horrifying creation out of four dollars’ worth of miscellanea. Matt talks about how you can do a lot of amazing things with a bit of hot glue (veins, paint, skinless surfaces).

Cad is aware that the the Xhorhouse is a stationary point in his quest; he is not measuring his quest via distance. He feels okay being stationary right now.

Dunamancy had nothing to do with Caleb; Matt had that inspiration on his own as he was developing the Krynn dynasty. It just ended up working very very well with Caleb’s backstory. He talks about how when he reads theories on Reddit about things linking up, 60-70% of them are actually complete coincidence.

Caduceus has zero interest in the war. At best he doesn’t really like the Empire, but Tal doesn’t think he has the intelligence to formulate a more complex opinion on the war. He has no stake in or understanding of the war in any deeper capacity.

Shakaste’s current location was made up on the spot. Everyone thinks about who Shakaste would main in Overwatch. Matt pulls out the McCree voice. Bastion’s short is Matt’s favorite. BWF loves Reinhardt’s. All three of them start talking about John Wick 3 which I HAVEN’T SEEN YET, GDI, if they spoil that I’m going to weep bitter tears of bitterness. Okay, good, we get out alive.

And we’re done and done! We linger on a shot of Matt & Tal trying to figure out why Episode #69 is funny... (nice).

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long post for ts

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emospritelet · 6 years ago

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Honourable Members - ch 2

[Part 1]

[AO3 link]

I hope you guys like UST :)

The next few days passed without another encounter with Belle French, and Sutherland was surprised to find that he regretted it. He caught himself thinking of her at the oddest moments, and told himself firmly that his interest had been sparked by her daring to stand up to him, unlike most of the spineless career politicians he had to deal with. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was fierce and beautiful and passionate, or that she had delightfully shapely legs, or that she had been just the right height to suit his shorter stature. Nothing whatsoever.

The tabloid press had pursued the idea of the two of them being an item, but he had been pleased to see in the one interview he caught that Miss French had politely but firmly shut down any suggestion of impropriety when asked, and had steered the interviewer towards her concerns over policy. He was less pleased that her concerns brought further attention to the Wolsingham debacle, but it couldn’t be helped.

Tossing a briefing paper aside, he grinned as he recalled the flash of her eyes, the set of her jaw as she tried to look down her nose at him, the way her chest had heaved in outrage. The memory dissipated in favour of the more lurid fantasies his mind could conjure up: fantasies in which she was looking up at him from a very different position, his fingers curled in her hair, her eyes half-closed and dark with desire and her lips full and moist...

Sutherland groaned, letting his head thump onto his folded arms, and called himself every word for idiot he could think of. She was a new MP, she was far too young for him, she wasn’t remotely interested, and he was an old pervert for thinking of her that way. It was the stress, he decided. A pathetic infatuation brought on by late nights, too little sleep and too much whisky. Clearly he needed more coffee to get through the morning without his mind wandering.

“Look, I know the Wolsingham issue is going to cause an uproar whichever way it goes, but I don’t think things are quite that desperate,” remarked Carrie, making him lift his head. She dropped another leather folder of documents in front of him. “The papers you asked for earlier? Just need your signature.”

He grumbled something, pushing upright and pulling the folder towards him. He could feel her eyes on him as he opened it up, and he waited for her to say what was clearly on her mind.

“We’ve had responses on the cross-party group for the Borders regeneration strategy,” she said. “You know you don’t have to chair this yourself, you could leave it to Sir Anthony.”

“I know, but it was a key campaign promise, I’d rather have a little oversight.”

“You can’t oversee everything.”

“Yeah, well, just let me see how this first meeting goes,” he said, a little impatiently. “If I don’t feel I’m adding anything, Sir Anthony can take over.”

“Very well,” she sighed. “They can all attend for an initial meeting today, so I’ve rescheduled your three o’clock; the Minister’s coming in tomorrow instead. Thought we may as well strike while the iron’s hot and today was the best in terms of diary space.”

“Good.” He ran his eyes over the document in front of him. “I presume we’ll be in the Cabinet Room. How many are we talking?”

“Oh, about a dozen, not including you,” she said airily. “Representatives from DERCA, obviously, along with DII, and I thought DfTI would want in on the act. Plus MPs from the other major parties.”

“Who’s in that group?” he asked absently, signing the papers with a flourish.

“Bit of a mixed bag,” she mused, taking them from him and indicating another document. “Baron Samdi…”

“Hardly a surprise, it’s his constituency that’ll be one of the most affected.”

“Victoria Belfrey and Fiona Black…”

Sutherland grumbled under his breath, reading over the document in his hands a second time.

“They’ll both disagree with anything I say just to be bloody-minded. Anyone on our side in this?”

“Well, there’s Sir David,” she said. “Not saying he’ll be one hundred percent behind the scheme, but he’s fair. Press the point home about the extra money for farmers in the area and you’ll win him over.”

He looked up then, frowning.

“You’re holding out on me,” he said suspiciously. “Who else?”

She rolled her eyes, putting fists on hips.

“Can’t I have any surprises?”

“I hate surprises,” he said. “Come on, spit it out.”

“Belle French.”

“What?” He stared at her in outrage. “She hasn’t even been in post three weeks! How the hell did she swing that?”

“Well, you know what Sir Anthony’s like,” she said. “If I were her, I’d have batted my eyelashes and paid him a compliment and watched as he bent over backwards trying to keep me happy in the vain hope of getting a shag out of it.”

Sutherland shot her a flat look.

“Are you telling me this is a habit with you?”

“Oh, I didn’t bother doing it to you,” she assured him. “Waste of time.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved or offended.”

“Well, you didn’t need convincing when it came to my competence,” she said. “Besides, I’m just saying what I would do if I were her. I’m sure she has far too much integrity than to try that one.”

“I’m sure.”

“Which is a good thing, because that randy old goat has no integrity whatsoever…”

“Carrie, could we talk about something other than Miss French’s potential conquests?” he asked impatiently, and she smirked.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to attend the meeting?” she asked, and he grinned at her.

“Of course,” he said. “Who else is gonna keep me in line?”

Carrie sniffed, gathering up the signed documents.

“Well, perhaps one person springs to mind…”

The committee meeting was a disaster.

It had started out well enough; there was general agreement about the level of deprivation in the Borders area and the need for long-term investment and improved transportation. Sutherland had laid out the preliminary findings of a Government consultation on proposals for regeneration, and it was then that things had started to fall apart.

Looking back he supposed it was inevitable; different departments had different priorities, and the opposing parties had staked out their own positions depending on their manifesto commitments, but he had hoped they could arrive at something resembling a way forward. Baron Samdi: handsome, erudite, and eager to deliver for his voters, was inclined to support the Government's preferred option, but Sir Anthony Challoner: balding, earnest-looking, and resistant to change, was opposed to anything too ambitious. It made him want to grind his teeth. Fiona Black and Victoria Belfrey, members of the Opposition and long-time thorns in his side, had teamed up to attack not only the scheme itself, but also any attempt he made to find consensus on the proposals. And then there was Belle French.

“Well, personally I think the fifth proposal goes some way towards what we need to achieve in the area,” she said, looking around the table after the latest heated exchange had died down. “But it doesn’t go far enough.”

“That proposal is already absurdly expensive!” protested Victoria Belfrey, glaring at her. “My party certainly can’t support such a wasteful use of taxpayers’ money!”

“I trust you’re not saying that any investment in my constituency is a waste, Victoria,” said Samdi, shooting her a flat look, and she rolled her eyes.

“Of course not, just - I think we need to be realistic here.”

“I’m not proposing we move ahead with proposal five, I’m proposing we look at something else entirely,” said Miss French eagerly. “One of the constituencies covered by the scheme borders my own, and I know from talking to my own people what the needs in the area are.”

“Which is presumably why you’ve been given a place at this table,” said Sutherland, sounding far calmer than he felt. “Opinion has already been canvassed. Proposal five is as radical as the Government is prepared to be, I assure you, Miss French. Please note our responses as set out in section four of your bundle. Proposal three is the preferred option.”

“But if you just—”

“The consultation is over,” he interrupted. “This committee hasn’t been formed to come up with proposals, but to discuss those already put forward and agree on a cross-party strategy.”

She seemed to struggle a little, her mouth working, but then reluctantly shrugged acceptance. His eyes narrowed at the rapid capitulation; he suspected she wouldn’t let the issue drop entirely, and was proven right ten minutes later when she piped up again.

“If we follow option three, how can we be certain that the contractors will get the infrastructure done on time and to budget?” she asked. “I still think we could go further than what’s being proposed.”

“Preliminary costings and time estimates have already been provided by Wolsingham plc,” said Samdi, waving one of the papers. Miss French turned to Sutherland with an outraged look on her face.

“You’re going with Wolsingham?”

“They are a Government contractor,” he said blandly. “It seemed reasonable to let them give us an estimate, at least.”

“But - but everything we spoke about the other day!” she protested. “I wasn’t making it up! Sir Cyril Wolsingham is known for ripping off subcontractors and employees! We can’t possibly consider his firm for this!”

“You know, when last I looked, it was my Government that entered into contracts,” he said, his voice cold.

“No, you’re right,” she agreed, in a wry tone. “It’s definitely not the place of this committee to tell you how to do your job.”

“Well, thank you for that concession, I’m sure,” he remarked.

“Perhaps it’s one of those things that gets sewn up on the golf course or over a glass of something in the clubhouse afterwards.”

“Do I look like I play fucking golf?” he snapped.

Seated at his left, Carrie cleared her throat, a familiar warning that he chose not to heed. Miss French managed to look down her nose at him, not in the least intimidated, and Fiona Black sucked in her cheeks, pursing her lips and exchanging a knowing look with Ms Belfrey. It did nothing to improve his temper.

“The estimate was for the purpose of initial costings only,” he said, hating that he sounded defensive. “The scheme will be put out to tender when we make a decision on how we want to proceed.”

“Well, I really think we should talk about the potential contractors, given Wolsingham’s reputation for dodgy dealings—”

“How about we do that once we’ve chosen a bloody way forward?” he snapped. “It’s all very well to fight the good fight, Miss French, but you can’t do so on all fronts.”

She glared at him.

“And if you give up the fight entirely, what then?” she demanded.

“Well, sometimes a battle must be lost in order to win the war itself.”

“Easy to say for the king in his castle with nothing to lose!”

His eyes narrowed, mouth flattening in irritation.

“Be careful, Miss French,” he warned. “You’re currently here against my better judgement, but I can easily find someone else from the New Liberal party who’ll be every bit as competent while keeping a civil tongue in their head.”

"Fine," she said stiffly. "As you say, nothing's been decided yet."

"Thank you."

"And I suppose with election year looming in the not-too-distant future, you're reluctant to take any risks or lose any friends."

"Miss French, so help me..." he growled.

"Perhaps we could get back to the proposals?" said Samdi, his voice smooth and calming. "I definitely think we can rule out options one and two."

"Not so fast," said Victoria. "Let's at least consider option one."

"'Do nothing' is not gonna happen, Victoria, and you bloody know it!" snapped Sutherland. "I campaigned on this fucking thing, and I'll deliver it with or without your input!"

Miss French leaned forward, the light of fervour in her blue eyes which made him want to groan.

"Prime Minister, I understand you have a lot of conflicting priorities to consider," she said. "But I really think we have an opportunity here. An opportunity to make a real difference to the lives of people in the north of England, to increase trade and improve infrastructure! Isn't that what we're all here for?"

Victoria and Fiona shared a grimace, and Sutherland wanted to sigh.

"No one's denying that we're here for the common good, Miss French—”

"Then why can't we talk around some different options other than what's been proposed?"

"Am I speaking a foreign fucking language?" he snapped, slapping the papers in front of him and making Sir Anthony jump. "A lengthy consultation has been carried out, and before you are the options on the table! Bloody well pick one! Or do you want to just sit around fucking talking about it for the next ten years before someone's got the bollocks to make a decision?"

Miss French sniffed.

"Well, I see your reputation for collaborative working is well-earned," she said dryly.

Fiona Black snorted and tried to turn it into a cough. Sutherland gritted his teeth, and put down his pen very deliberately.

"Miss French, you've been at Parliament a grand total of eighteen days," he said curtly. "If you're looking to sit in my fucking chair anytime soon, you're in for a disappointment."

She looked a little chastened at that.

“I just meant that—”

“Can we move on, please?” he interrupted. “I’d like to get this meeting over with before bloody midnight.”

Ten minutes to nine, and he still had a set of prepared responses to read through and approve and a draft paper to look over. Sutherland sighed, blinking rapidly to try to concentrate on the words in front of him. It had been a long, frustrating day, and he wanted nothing more than to say fuck it all, pour himself a drink, and slump into one of the comfier chairs in his apartments. He kept replaying the cross-party meeting in his head, and wishing he had been calmer. Miss French seemed to be able to push his buttons. Every last one of them.

He closed his eyes as his mind came up with a very different ending to the meeting, one in which he hadn’t lost his temper in another angry exchange with her, in which he hadn’t stormed out without a backward glance, bristling with righteous indignation. He imagined the other participants leaving he and Miss French alone, their sniping increasing along with their passion until something broke and she kissed him hard and he shoved her up against the wall and—

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Ridiculous! As if she’d kiss you! She’d fucking slap you, either with a hand or a bloody sexual harassment claim, and you’d fucking deserve both. Snap out of it, you moron!

“Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”

A familiar female voice made him look up in confusion. Miss French was bent over in the doorway, a file in one hand and the other scratching Arthur’s ears. The plump tabby was gazing up at her adoringly, back arched and tail curled over as he butted his head against her fingers. Sutherland’s mouth flattened in resigned amusement. Traitor.

Miss French was wearing blue again, a slim-fitting dress with a pencil skirt and a V-neck, her pale arms bare. He found that his eyes were following the curves of her hips and waist, and he hurriedly flicked them up above the top of her head just as she straightened up. Arthur wound around her legs, purring as his tail curled around one pale shin, and she nodded cautiously.

“Prime Minister,” she said, and he sat back, tapping his pen against the paperwork in front of him.

“Miss French,” he said wearily. “If you’re looking to resume our fight, it’s a little late.”

“No, that wasn’t—” She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before opening them again. “I was talking to Sir Anthony, and he said he had some documents to hand to you regarding Monday’s Select Committee hearing, so I - I said I’d bring them over.”

She held up the file, and at his nod, stepped forward and placed it on his desk.

“You could have just left them with Carrie,” he said.

“I know.”

“In fact, I’m impressed that you managed to get past her.”

“I kind of waited until she went to the ladies’ room, and then sneaked in,” she said, having the grace to look a little guilty. She was tugging at her lower lip with her teeth, and it was rather distracting. He shook his head.

“Yes, well,” he said. “It’s late, and I have things to do, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“I - I just wanted to apologise,” she said hurriedly. “I was out of line. You were right to call me on it.”

“Oh, I know that,” he said dryly, turning the pen between his finger and thumb. “But I appreciate the sentiment."

"You were right to say that we need to make a decision on one of the options, as well," she said. "I'm not sure we can find a consensus on option five, but three might be possible."

"Well, I'm glad you're committed to working towards a solution," he said. "However, I think I should warn you that if you continue to talk over others on the committee and to push your opinions as fact, you’ll soon find yourself out on your arse.”

She stepped closer to the desk, leaning on it with both hands, her chestnut hair swinging forward, gleaming copper in the light. The angle of her body gave him an excellent view down the front of her dress, and a glimpse of the lacy edge of her bra. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, cursing himself for a bloody fool.

“Look, I know you think I’m naive,” she said earnestly. “But I’m not an idiot. I’m right about Wolsingham!”

“I’m sure you think so.”

“I know how Sir Cyril works!” she insisted, straightening up again. “He’s nothing but a conman and a thug! He duped my father into investing in his business decades ago! Fed him a bunch of bullshit about contracts that turned out to be non-existent, and by the time Dad realised he’d been screwed over, he couldn’t afford to bring the case to court. Dad lost everything!”

Sutherland wanted to sigh. A family history of animosity with a major contractor, and she chooses now to bring it up? Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

“So.” He closed the file in front of him. “You have an interest in this matter?”

“Well, obviously!”

“Then, even more obviously, it’s not appropriate that you should have any involvement in the regeneration strategy.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She opened and closed her mouth, her eyes wide.

“You can’t be serious!”

“On the contrary,” he said coldly. “I’m very serious.”

“But—”

“Do you deny that you have highly negative opinions about the intentions and reputation of one of the board members of Wolsingham plc, a potential contractor?”

“I—” She struggled visibly. “I - well, no, I can’t deny that, I suppose.”

“Then there’s no more to be said.” He pulled a document towards himself. “I thank you for bringing this conflict of interest to my attention, and for your honesty in revealing your father’s prior dealings with the firm. I’ll expect the Shadow Environment Secretary to name a replacement within due course. Ms de Ville will show you out. Good evening to you.”

Having dismissed her, he dropped his eyes, reading the paper in front of him. He could almost feel her frustration, a pressure in the air around him, as though a whistle was being blown that was pitched a little too high for him to hear. He sighed, scrawling his signature at the bottom of the document and setting it aside.

“Miss French, you clearly have something you’re almost bursting to tell me, so let’s hear it.”

“I - I just think it’s unfair to throw me off this committee because of my opinion of one aspect of the regeneration!”

Sutherland’s head jerked up.

“Unfair?” he snapped. “What are you, fucking five?”

She opened her mouth, looking furious, and the door opened behind her, Carrie looking at first puzzled and then cautious.

“I - I was about to go home, sir,” she said. “I wasn’t aware that you had an appointment.”

“I didn’t,” he said curtly. “Miss French was just leaving.”

“No I wasn’t.”

Carrie’s eyebrows shot up as her eyes flicked to him, and Sutherland slumped in his seat a little, letting out a rumbling sigh.

“Carrie, go on, go home,” he said wearily. “Give my regards to your lovely wife. I’m sure she’d like to have dinner with you for once.”

“If you’re sure, sir.”

Miss French had gone very still, as though she thought he would forget she was there, and Sutherland jerked his head towards her.

“I can always get Special Branch to toss her out, can’t I?” he said, and Carrie smirked.

“I’ll say goodnight then, sir.”

She eyed Belle one last time, with a look in her eye as though she had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but thought better of it. The door closed behind her, and Sutherland turned his attention to the woman in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the desk, and made a decision.

“D’you want a drink?” he asked bluntly.

It was gratifying to throw her off her game. She blinked at him, suddenly unsure of herself.

“What?”

“A drink,” he said impatiently. “Whisky, brandy... I might have some gin if Carrie’s left me any.”

“Uh - okay.” She seemed to rally again. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Whisky, then.”

He pushed back from the desk, going to cabinet which housed the bottles of spirits and selecting two cut crystal glasses. Whisky poured in a tawny stream, and he turned back to her, holding out a glass. She took it from his hands.

“Thank you.”

He sat back down in his chair, the cushioned leather squeaking a little as he sat down, and took a sip of his drink as he met her eyes.

“So,” he said. “You’ve been an MP for barely three weeks and you’ve already managed to get on my tits. I don’t know whether to be impressed or pissed off.”

“Well, at least you’ll remember me,” she said, with a tiny grin.

“For all the wrong reasons, maybe.”

“I assure you there are a lot of excellent reasons too,” she said. “I realise we may have got off on the wrong foot, but there’s no reason we can’t work together, is there?”

“Of course not,” he said, and she smiled. “But we won’t be working on this committee.”

Her brows drew down at that.

“Prime Minister, if I may, I really think I can bring something to the table—”

“No doubt,” he interjected. “But I can’t have you on the committee for this particular project, Miss French. I’m sorry, but that’s my final word on the matter.”

She sighed, shrugging in a defeated manner, and took a drink, her eyes on the floor. Her head bobbed up almost immediately.

“Will you promise to put me at the top of the list for the next cross-party committee you oversee, then?”

“Fuck's sake!” He scowled at her. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not usually.”

“I don’t even know when the next committee will be, or the subject matter,” he snapped. “I’m certainly not about to agree to put your name on the list on a fucking whim!”

She merely smiled at his aggressive tone, taking a sip of her drink as she eyed him. She didn’t seem remotely intimidated by him, and it was annoyingly alluring.

“Well, if you can spare ten minutes, I can show you why I’d be an excellent addition to any team you may want to put together,” she said airily.

“I see.” His eyes narrowed. “A first class PPE degree from Oxbridge, a head stuffed full of idealistic nonsense, and suddenly you’re a bloody expert, are you?”

“So.” She looked satisfied. “You read up on me.”

“No,” he said truthfully. “I just know what cloth the new breed of politicians is cut from, that’s all. I know there’s a path to be taken, a set of milestones to be reached, and it has nothing to do with understanding what the majority of working class people go through in this country. Picking a political party is all about what colour tie suits, for a lot of you.”

“That’s remarkably cynical,” she said flatly, and he shrugged, taking a sip of whisky.

“Goes with the territory.”

“I read about you,” she said.

“I’d be astonished if you hadn’t,” he said. “It’s all true. Even the bad stuff. Actually, especially the bad stuff.”

“Left school at sixteen, no qualifications, worked your way up from the shop floor in the shipyards,” she went on. “Quite the firebrand as a union rep, by all accounts.”

Her focus on his background, his lack of qualifications, made him bristle, even as he told himself for the thousandth time not to let his lack of formal education bother him.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But given that you’ve reached the highest office in the land, it might be time to get past the chip on your shoulder. The fact that some have a more privileged upbringing than others doesn’t make their contributions worthless or their intentions less honourable.”

He kept his face smooth, but inwardly he was quivering with outrage. She may have been right, and it may have been something he told himself regularly, but he didn’t appreciate hearing it.

“I’m not ashamed to call out inequalities when I see them,” he said evenly.

“Then maybe you can understand the reasons for my passion,” she countered, and he tilted his head.

“Oh, I do,” he agreed. “I also know what this place is like, Miss French. You can’t get your way all the time. Public service is about compromise. Something you’ll learn in time, I have no doubt.”

“The greater good?” she said sardonically. “Yeah, that always ends well…”

“Like I said.” He took another sip. “Pick your battles.”

She took a sip of her own drink, eyeing him over the rim of her glass.

“Well, since you were kind enough to offer me some of your whisky,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll take your advice.”

“Good.”

“At least for tonight.”

He smiled briefly, and some of the tension left the air.

“Why politics, anyway?” he said, gesturing with his glass, the whisky sloshing inside it. “Surely you could make better money with better hours doing something else?”

“Do you do this for the money, then?”

“You must be fucking joking.”

“Then why would you assume I would?”

It was a fair point, but he stared at her unblinking, wanting a reply to his original question. After a moment she sighed, setting down her glass.

“I wanted to do some good,” she said simply. “Thought I could do more from this place. Couldn’t do much worse than my predecessor.”

“I always find that a bar being set low only invites people to try to go under it, but fair enough.”

“There’s that cynicism again.”

He glanced away to hide a smile, and took another sip of his drink.

“How did you manage to swing the place on the committee, anyway?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Sweet-talked Sir Anthony, how’d you think?”

“I think,” he said, “that Sir Anthony is a fool if he underestimates you.”

“Well, I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

He grinned at that.

“And other than picking a fight with me, how did you find your first meeting?” he said. “What you expected?”

“More or less,” she said. “You know what they say, know your enemy.”

“Are we enemies?”

“I hope not.” She took a drink. “We both have similar goals, after all. We’re just on slightly different sides.”

“Perhaps adjacent rather than opposite, then,” he suggested.

She had pursed her lips a little, an amused glint in her eyes.

“You know the press thinks we’re having a passionate affair, right?”

“So I heard,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry about that.”

She giggled, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “Considering the other men I spend my days with, it could definitely be worse. At least you’re actually my type.”

He almost choked on his whisky at that, and tried to keep a straight face while his eyes watered.

“I’m just hoping no embarrassing pictures from my university days surface while they’re raking around in my private life,” she went on, seemingly oblivious. “I suppose you’re used to it by now.”

“A single man is a rare thing in this job,” he said. “Tends to invite speculation. No doubt you can wheel out some large and manly boyfriend to prove them wrong.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “It’s just me and the cats. You’ll have to put up with the gossip.”

“Fuck ‘em, I don’t care what they say.” He took another drink. “You have cats?”

“Two,” she said. “They’re called Fifi and Fudge.”

“Well, that’s Arthur,” he said, nodding to the tabby, who had jumped onto one of the chairs and was watching them placidly with jade-green eyes.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Aye, and he bloody well knows it.”

She smiled, turning a little and sitting on the edge of his desk. It made his eyebrows climb, but he said nothing. It seemed rude to make her look over her shoulder at him, so he got up, pacing the room with his glass in his hand, listening to the low tick of the clock and feeling her eyes on his back. When he turned to face her, she had gotten a better seat on the desk, knees crossed, her legs long and pale and perfect. Her lips were parted, full and moist, and for a brief, insane moment he wondered how it would feel to kiss her. He felt a tug low-down in his groin, and took a drink in a bid to ignore it, relishing the mellow heat of the whisky in his mouth.

“How are you finding being an MP?” he asked almost desperately, hoping the innocuous question would get his mind out of the gutter.

“Hard work so far,” she admitted. “And living in London is - very different. I enjoy the work, but it’s still a relief to get back to the country.”

“Aye, I can understand that,” he said, with a nod. “You can lose perspective, being here too much of the time. It’s good to ground yourself every now and then.”

“There’s a reason they call it the Westminster bubble, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

Silence. He watched as she finished her drink. Good. She’ll go.

“Another?” he heard himself say, and could imagine the sensible part of his brain making an incredulous gesture. She held up her glass.

“Oh, go on, then,” she sighed, a tiny smile curving that perfect mouth.

He finished his own, and stepped forward to take the glass from her. Their fingers brushed, a swift rush of pleasure making him shiver, and she licked her lips as she glanced at him. His heart was thumping hard, the perfume she wore drifting into his nose, and he was finding it hard to breathe.

“It appears I’m very easily led astray,” she said, holding his gaze. “Tongues will wag.”

“Everyone in this place knows how to keep their mouth shut, I assure you.”

He wanted to wince as he turned to the whisky bottle. Why the hell had he said that? It wasn’t as though he was contemplating - no, best not to let his mind go there.

“Well, I imagine secrets are a part of life, at your level,” she observed.

“Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

It felt as though they were talking in code, each fully aware of what the other was saying but choosing not to acknowledge it openly. He told himself he was creating a ridiculous fantasy in his mind, and poured two small measures of whisky, his hand shaking slightly.

“Do you live far from here?” he asked, hoping that his mind would find something to latch onto other than how lovely she was, how good she smelled and how much he wanted to kiss her.

“Not too far. I just moved into a place in Battersea. Far cheaper than the city, and easy enough on the Tube.”

“Well, I could have one of the cars take you home,” he said. “It’s no problem.”

“Are you going to let me drink that whisky first?”

He turned, carrying it over to her, and she took the glass from him, swinging her legs a little. At that height, she was at just the right position to kiss, and he licked his lips, imagining how it might feel to have his mouth on hers, to taste her on his tongue. How good it would feel to slide her skirt up to her waist and expose all of those perfect legs, to put his hands on her thighs and push them apart and press himself against her. His cock twitched, and he bit the inside of his cheeks, hard. She eyed him over the rim of her glass as she sipped at the whisky, her eyes wide and clear and beautiful.

“I do have chairs, you know,” he remarked, and she shook back her hair.

“Does it bother you that I’m sitting on your desk?”

“No.” No, it doesn’t bother me. ‘Bother’ isn’t the word I’d use.

“In that case, I’m fine.”

Silence. The clock ticked. Arthur stood up with a prrp noise, turned around and curled up again.

“So,” he said, wishing she’d drink faster. “You got elected. Now what?”

“Now I fight for my people,” she said simply. “If you want to meet to talk about how that might be achieved, my diary is open.”

She shifted position a little, uncrossing her legs, and he felt his pulse increase, the blood pounding in his throat.

“Well, mine certainly isn’t,” he said truthfully. “But that’s not to say your concerns and priorities won’t be addressed.”

“Good.” She took a sip of her drink. “I’ll put them in writing then, shall I? Like a good girl.”

“Please do.” He elected to ignore the dry tone of voice she used. Protocol was protocol, after all. He dimly recalled finding it just as much of a pain in the arse when he himself was first elected. “What are your ambitions?”

“Well, Shadow Cabinet within two years, for a start.”

“Unlikely, given your party’s numbers,” he remarked. “I know we’re not technically a two-party system, but we may as well be.”

“For now,” she acknowledged. “But these things aren’t set in stone.”

“So, you’re hoping for a future coalition?”

She smiled at that, a tiny, secretive smile.

“I'm keeping my options open.”

More silence. Sutherland took a larger drink of whisky than he had intended, coughing slightly, and Miss French sipped her own, eyes flicking around the room.

“I know you’re disappointed about being thrown off the committee,” he said. “But I have to be seen to be impartial. Any whiff of prior interests—negative or positive—and the press would be all over me like a fucking rash. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I do,” she admitted. “But if you ever want to discuss things off the record, I’d be more than happy to help.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“And make sure you keep me in mind for anything else that may need cross-party input,” she added.

His mouth flattened, but he raised his glass.

“You’re tenacious, Miss French,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

“When I see something I want, I go for it,” she said.

There was a moment of silence, a moment in which she met his eyes with a steady gaze. It gave him a flutter of nerves in his belly, made his mouth dry, and he licked his lips. Fuck’s sake, man, get your mind out of the gutter, that’s not what she meant!

“You - uh - want me to call you that car?” he asked.

“I’ll take the Tube,” she said, with a shrug. “It’s not too late.”

Another look, her eyes flicking over him. His heart was thumping, and he threw back the remains of the whisky.

“Well,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “If you’re done with your drink, I’ll say goodnight.”

“For now,” she said. “You haven’t seen the last of me, Prime Minister.”

“I’d be disappointed if I had,” he said, in a dry tone.

She grinned, draining her glass and setting it down with a clink before she slipped from the desk.

“Goodnight, sir,” she said, and walked out, her hips swaying enticingly.

Sutherland waited until she had closed the door behind her, and sagged a little, letting out a breath that seemed to be all that had kept him upright. He glanced across at Arthur, who blinked at him contentedly.

“Well,” he said. “It appears I’m in fucking trouble.”

#fic: honourable members #sutherelle fic #my fic #rumbelle fic #sutherelle #anyelle

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janeykath318 · 7 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Nyota Uhura Characters: Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Romance, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Nyota doesn't want a husband but her parents are after her, This is vaguely nsfw, a bunch of allusion to but no actual explicit scenes, just that heady sexual attraction between two hot as fuck characters, you know how it is Summary:

He won’t look away from her and she is about to get up and move just so she can shift the weight of his gaze. She shifts her body weight forward, but at that moment, he leans in.

“You should not play games with your prey, my lady. It’s impolite.”

And then he is gone and she is left to stare at the settee where he was a moment ago. She can smell a faint whiff of his cologne and remember the cut of his cheekbones; how brown his eyes were and the shape of his mouth as he spoke.

Or; scenes from a not-courtship.

#read this now #the UST is piping hot #wow #uhura x mccoy #regency AU #bones x Uhura #mchura #fic recs

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doubleheartcd-blog · 8 years ago

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...Well.

#reflect reflect reflect what's inside (ic commentary)#WE BOTH COULDVE SWORN LAVI (THAT ONE NEMO KID VOICE) TOUCHED THE BUTT #aND YET........ j ust tea #still a dangerous and risky feat tho i must admit #(good thing it was lena and not sasume or smth bc the latter would prolly make sure it was piping hot aND DUMP IT ON HIM)

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konnoutagoewa · 7 years ago

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The Big O

Early 2018.

By order of President Trump (aka "Big Orange"), American server owners were allowed to charge money for access to their servers - an action which became famous as "the death of net neutrality". Soon, prices sky-rocketed, making the Web a place exclusively for the richest of the rich. The rest of the population rebelled against the loss of their freedom, but were suppressed by armed forces, resulting in a large-scale rebellion against the government that quickly spread around the globe's World-Wide-Web citizens forced to emigrate to the darker ends of the Internet. "Nerds", previously bullied for their interest in automated technologies, quickly rose as national heroes, being the only ones with the knowledge to oppose the orange forces.

Years later . . .

Trin didn't need her eyes to type. In fact, with the speed her fingers were moving over the keyboard, no eyes could help her do it any better. Thus her eyes were glued to the screen, dashing over the numerous data that flowed over it, with her glasses reflecting it in the otherwise mostly dark room where her keyboard resounded. A faint light seemed to dare that reflection from the other end of the room, flickering brighter from time to time, showing how much data passed the little computer it was attached to. But Trin didn't need to look at it - amongst the tons of information that were on her display, she could fish out the state of the Raspberry Pi in less than a moment. Yet her interest was dedicated to a completely different server - one far away from her, and one that she was not precisely expected to have access to. That surely made it significantly harder for her to access it and get the information she wanted, but ust because she wasn't expected to do so didn't mean she didn't have the right to - or the abilities.

Her fingers stopped moving.

"They are using UNIX?!" she shouted in the small, dark room. "What the hell . . ." she added on to it with a whisper and a grin. The system she turned out to be faced with was a spinoff of her favorite system that used to be made through the efforts of many, many freelancer coders and, with the downfall of internet freedom, went crashing as well - soon becoming illegal and replaced by the much more monolithic and useless Windows system, made off the money they gained from forcing people to use it. Nonetheless, most of her computers ran a very similar Linux system, in its core elements the same as every other Unix - it was flexible, it was fast, it had all the tools she could ever need, and most of all, it allowed her to remain quiet and unnoticed - quite vital traits for someone with her way of life.

Knowing what she was working with, the rest became fairly easy: she knew every bug, every backdoor, every little hole in her favorite system and, with a version of it made specifically for forcing such holes open, she proceeded to force her way into the much wankier distro that ran the server she was attacking. Considering her economical status, she would have needed to wait for 50 years before she could access it, but such numbers meant little if you weren't following the law.

Grinning from the thrill of breaking the law, which Trin did daily anyway, she passed a few more arguments into the black rectangle on her screen. A few moments later, the prompt changed. She snickered and started navigating the server, which was now completely under her control. After going around a bit it occurred to her it might be too bothersome to download data from a server via bash, the default language of both computers, while the server was still running, so with a few keystrokes, she switched to SQL and, now in a fitting environment, needed less than a minute to find the files she was ordered for.

Because yes, despite being a hacker and an anarchist, she still had to work, yet she did so with pleasure. Her current job was to publicly release data on molesters from the old times when there were still poor people on the Web to be molested. She didn't have an account for the social network she was hacking, but she had heard of it - after all, "Tumblr" was one of the social networks most influenced by Big Orange's actions. Yet that didn't matter - she did her job, she got paid, and that's all she needed to know. Not that she didn't keep records of all her jobs - it had saved her life a few times already, and why change a bad habit?

The good thing was that the data she was looking for was stuff like IP addresses, user names, etc - the kind of information saved in metadata, which was pretty much everywhere. And Trin had asked for a sample post when receiving the job, so searching for that and exploiting the return value was such a simple approach that she nearly felt like she had scammed off her customer - not that she would give the money back just because the job was easy . . .

Contemplating on the low security of the server, she piped the data download to multiple dedicated servers (read raspies-in-trash-cans-that-she-connected-to-the-internet-beforehand-just-in-case-you-know). It meant that the data would be downloaded on the raspberries instead of her main computer, which in turn meant she couldn't be tracked that easily. It took a while, during which she stared at the screen blankly - if something was going to fuck up, that was the time for it.

Nothing fucked up.

Proud, she disconnected her main computer she had been using so far from the server, deleting her traces in the process, switched to the raspi that was still blinking shyly in the corner of the room and ran the same process backwards - yet this time, instead of random metadata about assholes from the last age, she made her little minions send little packages of scrambled code - every single one of them completely useless, yet put together they made a powerful killcode for the server. She liked the approach. Code golfing had always been a hobby of hers, and let's just say, she also just enjoyed wrecking servers. She originally set up the raspies for DDOS attacks (every single one of them annoying the server until it can't keep up and crashes), but it turned out these could be easily tracked and her home system could do it better anyway, so she started using scrambled killcodes instead. And she was quite proud of the results.

With the server wrecked, she connected to her raspies instead, downloaded the data for the catalogue from there instead, and disconnected again. Job well done, now she just had to wait a bit and find a place to publish it, then get paid - and hope the little ones weren't discovered beforehand. The police had managed to get a few of her minions in the past, but after running apt update, it became too hard for the rather dumb Informatics Technologies Crime Department to keep up with the rather old updates. Still, as someone living on the edge, she had to consider all possibilities, even if all she could do against them was to pray. Not that she wasn't an atheist . . .

Trin stood up from her chair and stretched. It had been a long day she had spent on her computer, and she hurt all over. "God, I might just go by foot tomorrow . . . " she said to the empty room. Tomorrow was Thursday, her day for making deals in real life. Years ago, when she was still burning with a fire for rebellion, she had bought herself a motorbike and, despite it being quite old and rusty now, it helped her move around from place to place when she had to - for example, on Thursdays.

"Oh. Fuck . . . ", she whispered to herself. Thinking of Thursdays, she remembered she had another job to do. Quickly going through some of the drawers on her table, she found an empty memory card and put it in her computer, turning the chair around so that she could just lean on it instead of sitting down again. This job was much easier - she just had to find some files and deliver them directly, no hacking, no DDOSing, no onion routing. Even better - the "files" were one of her favorite series that she even occasionally rewatched, so she didn't even need to find them - she had already down loaded them years ago. In fact, Trin really wanted to talk about it with the customer - there weren't many people she could relate to and spend time with - but again, work politics were important when living like her. She sighed - being an outlaw hacker was cool and all, but it had some drawbacks. How did she wish that she could one day just meet up with someone for a coffee and chat about books and banned Internet series and politics and Linux kernels and bot networks and homemade ISAs and how often she forgot that memory cards were pretty much instantaneous but she forgets it so she keeps waiting for them and then dozes off thinking about coffee dates. Like now, for example. She ejected the card ("Don't want to ruin the goods now, do we?"), put it in her bag with thingies, and after a moment of contemplation about whether she had forgotten something again, put the computer to sleep again.

Again, she stretched, with a considerably deeper sigh this time. "I need a fucking shower," she decided after a short pause, and proceeded to take her tank top and shorts off. She liked hot showers to relax her muscles after a long sitting in front of her machinery, so we will leave her to relax for the night.

~~~

"Aaargh!", she shouted, first thing in the morning, and punched her alarm clock which had just been "brought to life". She had been considering setting the alarm to something else than Evanescence for quite a while, but had never bothered doing it. Until now. She coded at night, for Turing's sake, she couldn't just wake up at eight o'clo- "Fuck?!", she shouted at the clock, and jumped out of her bed immediately. Changing the song was one thing, forgetting to set the timer a completely different one. She rarely cared about waking up early or other such saintly narcissities, but she had one job this time, and she kinda failed at it.

She pulled up a map on her computer. Another good habit of hers was to never uselessly shut it down completely. "Okay so twenty minutes away, I won't make it, but it'll take about five with Bumbs, so what the FUCK AM I WASTING TIME FOR!", she shouted at her screen before hurrying off into the bathroom. Deciding teethbrushing was for losers who had the time for it, she tied her hair a bit more properly than usual - in other words, she did it - and hurried back to put some proper clothes on. Luckily, she wasn't very creative when it came to outfits, which meant she had been wearing the same outfit on Thursdays for a few years now so she didn't waste much time on that. Ready, she took her bag of thingies, dug out her keys, unlocked the front door, ran out, came back, put her fancy shoes on - a pair of punk army boots -, ran out again, then came back again, turned her computer off since she wouldn't need it all day, then went out for the last and final time that morning, and didn't forget to close and lock the door behind her.

"Bumbs," as she playingly referred to her motorbike, was still chained in the common garage where she had last left it. For an anarchaic district, it was better kept than most people would expect - if only because "anarchaic" had acquired the meaning of "moral". She unchained it, swung the chain around the steering bar, took herself a precious minute to put her headphones and the "N2-BMB" playlist on, then pulled her helmet over her (still surprisingly neatly arranged) hair, swung herself over the relatively thin frame of the bike (even after the death of net neutrality, making stuff from carbon fibers remained popular), pushed the key in and, after turning it with a roar, dusted off down the dark, dirty street in the foggy morning light.

~~~

Eva was getting worried. It was already past the time she had expected to be done by, but her contractor still hadn't shown up. She was planning on going - it would be pretty bad if she was late for work - but on the other hand, she was dealing with an underground business, so she wasn't sure what were the consequences for not keeping her end of the deal. She looked at her watch and decided to wait another five minutes before leaving the old, loud, plastic-smelling room that had once been a university's cantina, but was now used as a meeting place for underground deals. Even with the orange forces doing anything to oppose them, nerds had still managed to secure some places for themselves. This university, for example, had been a meeting place for them back in the times when internet was free, and it had remained one.

From the few noises that came from the neighboring street, one separated itself by getting much louder and then ending in an unpleasant squeaking. Less than a minute later, a very chaotically looking individual came in, with a camouflage jacket and their helm still on. With everyone's eyes on them (except maybe for a pair in the corner that was meant for dealing more erotic material), they took their helmet off to unleash a wild, long, curly hair over their freckled, round face. Some whistles were heard, but she ignored them and headed towards the desk. Since it was an anonymous meeting place, the middleman was important, yet he just looked at the card the wildly haired woman showed him and pointed her in the direction of Eva.

Eva sighed. It was about time. The woman approached her, digging for something in an overly big black bag that seemed to consist of countless belts and pockets and a large flap, seemingly made from an old sail (surprisingly, it actually used to be a sail once), that covered them whenever the owner of the bag wasn't digging in its pockets. As Eva watched it, it was flipped back over the bag, as the owner had found what she had been looking for. The woman stopped in front of Eva, took a second to get used to her client being half a head shorter, and reached out her hand, a small card laying in it.

"The goods. Sorry for being late."

~~~

Ping was from China. Most of his customers often assumed Ping was his real name, yet he had just chosen it because he found the bash command to fit the purpose of a middleman that connected Internet junkies in a dystopian world. He had been working with Trin for years, and had long grown accustomed to her frequent latecomings. Otherwise, he liked working with her - she was one of the best at what she did, and still had a sense of humor that was rarely seen in their world. He might have started hitting on her if he had been straight.

As usual, she came at the latest possible time. She showed him the card that was supposed to tell him who he was supposed to connect her to, and without even looking at it, he pointed at the blonde girl at the end of the hall - the person who had been waiting the longest. Trin looked at her and blushed.

"I ain't arranging dates, you'll have to ask her out yourself."

Trin shushed him and went away from the desk. They had met in a gay bar, shortly after Big Orange's idiotic order and a while before gay clubs ended up being forbidden as well. He knew her well enough to know what was going through her head.

The following was going through her head:

"For Bell's sake, I'm late again. I hope they haven't gone away. So, who am I- fuck is she cute. I wonder if . . . Ah, better concentrate on the job, I'm late enough as it is. She's probably straight anyway. Still, no harm in asking her out on a- wait! The card! Yea, I better find that card. Dear, I really have a lot in my bag. Where did I put it again? I think it was here . . . Yup. Funny how such a small thing was still so easy to find. Anyway, let's just hand it over and be done with- oh dear Torvalds, she's shorter than me. So cute! I'd totally have that coffee date with her . . . But dah, that's not my job. Give her the- wait, I should say something. What should I say? WHAT SHOULD I SAY?!"

"The goods. Sorry for being late."

Hesitantly, the short, fair-skinned woman reached for the little chip in the hacker's hand and picked it up with her pinkishly lacquered nails. "Well, you are pretty late . . . it's very small, are you sure that's all I asked for?"

Trin shrugged with a jolting movement. "It's 32 gigs, you know. You could write the soundtrack once more onto it. And you'll still have space left over." Eva pouted her lips, colored to fit her nails. "I didn't ask for the soundtrack . . ." Trin forced herself to a grin. "There was free space?"

For a few moments, the two women looked at each other, slowly blushing. At about the time most people would start sweating furiously, a small LED started blinking on Eva's slim silver wristband, reminding her that she didn't have much more time left to complain in. She jumped slightly, startled by it, tapped it gently, after which a gentle display lit up in the air above it, which she started manipulating with her thin fingers.

Something in Trin's heart twitched. They might have been around for about as long as her, but holographic displays still fascinated her. Such small things, yet graciously bending both light and matter to create elaborate miniatures that disappeared with a blow of the wind . . . yet slowly and surely, her eyes wandered a bit further up from the tiny wonder of engineering.

"So um . . . sorry, but I'm kinda running late, you know, what with you being late and all . . . we settled for 20 dollars, I'll just add another 10 for the soundtrack . . . then, 30 dollars for the first four seasons and their soundtrack, would that be a deal?" Eva looked up to the much taller freckled girl whose hair kept her shaded. Trin just kept staring into her person of interest, still a bit too oblivious to the question.

"Yes?" Eva bowed a bit and looked into Trin's eyes. Trin jumped back with a shout. "D'AAH!"

The eyes of even the shadier corners of the hall were now on them. Trin hid her face behind her hands out of habit, then played it off by combing them through her still wild hair.

"Um. 20 dollars, was it? The soundtrack is on me . . ." she left one hand on her head, just for reassurance. "As I was just saying . . . whatever, twenty be it." With another few quick movements, Eva once more corrected the value on her dial, then reached it out to Trin, who blinked at it, confused.

The hacker knew what a wireless check was, of course. She had had the opportunity to hack them many times, and didn't even really need to be in its proximity to make it work. The hand that the device was on was a different matter, though. Despite her job, she still had trouble with people, and even as a child of the "introverted millennial generation", she was still exceptionally shy when it came to physical contact. She preferred to perform transactions in BitCoin, and to let Ping handle whatever required physical contact. Yet even with modern technology, transferring 20 gigs of data was a bit hard to do, at least if she wished to remain unnoticed. So despite her deepest instincts, she had forced herself to come over physically - and was now faced with an even deeper instinct of hers that got significantly less chances to shine.

"I uh . . . I think I'd prefer it to . . . um . . ."

Eva raised an eyebrow, thinking of the steadily increasing number on the silver ring. "Yes?" She observed as her partner slowly reached a hand out for hers and, impatiently, grabbed it herself- "Aah!" - causing a shreak of surprise in the still unsure hacker. "Look, I don't have all day to loose. Cool, you don't like me, you're weird, I get it, now just take my money because I really have to go!" With each word, the shorter girl's voice had become louder, until she was nearly screaming at her provider. With trembling hands, the hacker was thus forced to face her anxiety and put the lightsaber-like rod she had had in her back pocket for a while on the thin bracelet's dial. If her mind wasn't getting overstressed with anxiety, it might have occurred to her that Eva couldn't possibly know what a lightsaber was.

"Some other weird hacker stuff? "

"Um, yea . . . third party routing . . . otherwise, it can be tracked with much more ease . . . "

"Isn't blockchain based on the idea that everyone can route it?"

"Kinda . . . "

Trin couldn't bring it over herself to tell the girl she found it hard to talk without crying. At least her hacker's reputation gave others the impression that she knew what she was doing (more often than not, she was just winging it while jamming to "Three Days Grace"/"Hollywood Undead"), and thus Eva didn't ask her again what she was doing. The actual reason why Trin was using third party routing was that, while blockchain was indeed the main transaction method nowadays, all state-issued "SilverChain" devices were carefully tracked by that same state. And since Eva was using precisely one of these, Trin knew she could get in a lot of trouble if she didn't go the extra few moments to route it properly. Eva seemed to mind.

"Did I mention I don't have time?"

"I'm . . . it just finished anyway. So um, have fun watching it? Hope you come again . . ."

"Aha." sighed Eva. Without long goodbyes, she nodded at Trin and went away. "And be careful with it!" shouted Trin after her, not receiving a reaction.

~~~

"I mean, you were quite late again . . . maybe actually set your clock next time?"

Trin took another sip from her coffee. She had a Thursday ahead of her, and if she wanted a job, she had to stay away from alcohol. Thanks to Ping's subtle interventions, she hated drinking it anyway, yet he still proved to be a good drinking buddy, even if only for coffee.

"That aside, can I borrow your bots sometime soon?"

"What for?"

"This guy said he needed some routing for some large files, and I thought we could distribute it over your net . . . "

"What files?"

"You know I can't ask for that."

"Can't he just encrypt then and ssh them over?"

"You could try doing that, you know. I'd give you his contacts, but he wanted to remain anonymous, so I'll have to ask before that."

"And gender somehow doesn't count as personal data?"

"I never said he's a guy?" Trin raised an eyebrow. "Fine, you got me. Ain't telling you anything else, though."

"I can hack it myself if I cared."

"And get yourself blacklisted from my bar?"

" . . . eye for an eye, I guess. Assume I take the job - how much would I get?"

"A twentieth, risk factors and transport included." Trin considered it. A tenth of a bitcoin could allow her to renew all her electronics, state-of-the-art computer with at least basic quantum support and hydrogen cooling included, and maybe finally buy herself a bed. She was getting bored of her hammock anyway, she told herself, and assembling a bed would be fun . . .

"I refuse. Too risky."

"Said the girl who times how long she needs to hack the discontinued Oath Inc FreeBSD mainframe in Linkin Park songs?"

"Hey, hey, hey! Keep my gender out of this!"

"Sorry, sorry . . . "

Another hacker, recognizable by his large headphones covering the sides of his head, entered the bar and exchanged a few cards with Ping, who sent him to a nearby table. The "bartender" then spent a few moments on the console hidden behind the plot that had been locked until now.

"There's this girl who's looking for her . . . brother of a kind?"

"DNA sampling?"

"No, just IP7 address . . . "

"His?"

"Have a guess."

"Oh dear . . . "

"Should I tell her?"

"Don't bother, she'll figure it out herself soon enough . . . I kinda feel sorry for her, though."

"If it's important, she'll manage."

"I certainly hope so."

Ping wondered whether there was anything else to say.

"I guess you won't hack my servers to get the girl's data, right?"

"Why would I? It'll only give me her IP, but I could get that otherwise as well . . . "

" . . . I meant today's client."

"Oh."

"I shoudln't be telling you, but she seemed pretty straight."

"Are you telling me that based on her looks or her search history?"

"The latter, plus tests from her job application."

"Oh right, they reintroduced that shit . . . when was it made again? 1950?"

"Well they got the pupil cameras fixed . . . took them long enough . . . "

Another few moments spent looking at a screen and mourning the victims of heteronormative societies..

"Aah. Here's one for you."

"Lemme hear."

"Recovering WhatsApp conversations with ex."

"No way. I hate Erlang."

"Oh come on, it's just a language!"

"So is Malborge . . . "

Trin had long suspected Ping of having tried to learn "that one language" that had been specifically designed to be impossible to use, and his suppressed, choked laughter confirmed her suspicion.

"You gotta admit, though, it makes for completely foolproof programs!"

"Yeah, and I've never used nmap before."

A ping from Ping's computer pinged his attention, interrupting their line of puns. He glanced at it.

"Oh snap."

"What?"

"It's your customer from today, and she's not asking for a date."

"That sounds . . . bad?"

~~~

Eva came in right in time, which was bad. She technically had enough time to dress up and start work in the time given in the job description she signed three months ago, yet with a boss like hers, she had to be ready to start serving at least half an hour before. It wasn't legal to make her work with such a schedule, yes - but "legal" was a very varying term, set according to charisma of the workgiver, his (there were few hers in power) wealth, and last but not least, whose contacts he had on his bracelet. Her boss happened to have the contacts of a few of the more important inspectors at the constitution that was responsible for making sure politicians still had a "law" to refer to.

Long story short, she had to use the back door and dress in the toilets. At least she knew her boss wouldn't look for her there. He had installed cameras there and often misused them, which was the reason her female colleagues and her used the bathroom of the neighboring hotel whenever possible, but she took the risk - the consequences for directly disobeying his tyrant order were worse than having him see her undress. It wasn't right, but "righteousness" and "justice" were things that few believed still applied to women after Big O's rise to power.

Her bobbish haircut held back by a yellow hair band, a thick, uncomfortably sticky lipstick and makeup on her face, and such a revealing outfit that it didn't matter much whether she changed into it in the bathroom or not were the quick changes she had to adjust before going back out into the uncomfortably cold and gray corridors of the fast food building she worked at. She remained silent for a moment, listening for someone who might run into her and tell her boss and, after not hearing anyone close, tiptoed to her locker further down the corridor. Luckily, her boss was too greedy to pay for proper lockers, so there was no pad to register when she came in to work - a useful detail she and her colleagues had learned soon after applying.

Still on tiptoes, she ran past the "meeting room", mainly used by their boss to shout commands and molest his female subordinates, and stopped in front of the kitchen door. Beyond that point, anyone would be able to see her, and she would most certainly get noticed by the cook. So the question was, which cook was on duty? It didn't matter much, since she couldn't change much about it anyway, yet Eva tried to use every chance to calm her throbbing heart.

Leaning against the cold metal door, she was assaulted by all the noise going on early in the morning. Since the shift had already started, the kitchen was already working, and she could barely distinguish a silent whistle, accompanied by a deep hum and roughly following the melody of "Heartbreak Hotel". Eva sighed happily, creaked the door open and entered.

The slightly overweight, balding white man behind the grill who nonetheless still looked like in his thirties stopped turning the steaks and turned to her instead.

"Hi, Elvis." she whispered. Nodding with a smile, he beckoned her closer and whispered in return, "Irene is on the counter, so serve the back for a while first. Table 21 ordered a big coke less than a minute ago, bring that and check it with her. I'll be a witness if she asks when you came."

She gave him a quick hug and dashed off to the drink machine while he continued whistling where he had left off, quickly turning half a dozen steaks that threatened to start burning soon.

~~~

Eva had lost count on how many times she had convinced herself of Elvis' kindness. Most of the tables in the back had to be served, some more than just a coke. Yet from the Neo-nazis that shouted slurs left and right, and the businessmen discussing how to drench their employees of even more money, he had managed to send her to the only table that didn't pose any potential danger to her physical or mental health. Table 21 was occupied by a rather decent looking guy who seemed to be doing something very uncommon for his times - studying. Eva placed his coke down next to him, distracting him from the thick white book he had been engulfed in. "Oh, thanks," he mumbled, taking a sip from it. "Haven't seen you around?" he asked her, making her exchange her anxiety for confusion.

"Wha-, um, do you come here often?"

"Yeah, I study here a lot. I don't live far, but there aren't many fast food places near me, so I come here. The staff is nice."

Eva tried to pull her skirt further down, remembering that she tried that every day and still forgot how futile it was. The only place 'near by' that didn't have fast food restaurants and where you would expect to meet someone wealthy enough to study was the Manhattan - a walled-off downtown district, soaring to the skies where the rich bureaucrats and businessmen lingered in pleasures while the rest of the population had to find their place in the communistically designed slums that composed the rest of the city. While he seemed nice, Eva knew the boy could probably buy her as a dog and treat her as such, and get away with it without anyone batting an eye.

Yet again, her knees were trembling. She didn't have much of a life, yet for someone to be able to change hers at will frightened her. And she had good reason to be frightened, for very few with that ability cared to use it for the good of those whose lives were influenced.

Having noticed her lack of response, the boy turns to her, making it even worse. Threatening to fall, she grabs the table, supporting herself.

"Miss, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just had a little trouble this morning, and it still seems to weaken me . . ."

Politely declining his outstretched hands, she turns to go back to the kitchen, only to see yet another horror. Having been distracted by her contemplation on modern society, she had not noticed the flashing blue and red lights, and only noticed the policeman when he was almost in front of her.

"Where is Brian Naille?"

"Whu, what?" she asked with a trembling voice, too distracted to understand his otherwise rather simple question. The officer, on the other hand, wasn't that understanding, and decided to shout in case it helped her - which it didn't.

"You useless slut, didn't you hear me?! Where! Is! Brian! Naille?!"

Eva had raised her hands over her head. Officially, the police was meant to protect the people, but everyone knew better than to pointlessly trust them and get killed in their own homes. And this specific example didn't seem to think much of her anyway.

She glanced to the kitchen. Elvis had that ability to him to calm people, yet behind the thick glass panels, he hadn't noticed anything yet. Which got Eva thinking: what was his real name again? The officer followed her line of sight and didn't need to think long. He went away from Eva, yet her knees didn't stop trembling. Waving his badge around, he entered the kitchen. Elvis finally saw him, and his peaceful expression was replaced by one of bitterness and hate, one no one knew he knew how to make. With a speed Eva didn't think he was capable of having, he lashed himself towards the officer who, also having not expected such agility or speed, didn't even move when the hot and oil-dripping spatula dug into the flesh of his face. Even behind the isolating glass, his shout was still well audible. Having scarred him for life, Elvis reached for the backdoor that Eva had come in through, yet the officer, having been frequently beaten at his training camp and unusually furious, grabbed for him and lashed him back, bringing him to the floor.

Despite her best attempt, Eva couldn't tear her eyes from the brutal beating that followed. A few lower policemen joined their boss on kicking down on the now defenseless cook, yet still restraining themselves enough to leave him alive - they'd need him alive in order to torture him in prison, they knew in their rather primitive brains. Nonetheless, they kicked for a while. Eventually, he had stopped moving, so they dragged his lump, bloody and disformed body through the corridor and out of the building.

Eva had fallen to her knees, unable to look away. Aside for her little purchase this morning, she had expected to have a normal day - getting shouted at by Irene, spilling a drink or two, getting slapped on her butt by clients who she had never spoken to, the usual abuse. But actually seeing someone getting beaten was too much for her. Sure, it was daily news to hear that someone close got beaten and imprisoned, yet seeing it happen right in front of her was a completely different story.

She looked around. Did it even happen? Or was it just another fantasy of her tortured mind? The clients had been excited, and now seemed content of the little show. Most of them had already gone back to their useless talks. She looked at the now empty grill. Blood still covered the marble white floor panels in front of it. The steaks on it were beginning to raise a cloud of black smoke, yet no one seemed to care much. It was not their job.

"Are you okay?" The boy reached a hand out for her again. "Did you know him?"

"I- . . ." her own voice choked her. She coughed it away, and started again. "I have to go."

~~~

Not bothering to give the employees a proper explanation, the police department had sent their boss the report. Brian Jackson Naille, or Elvis, as they called him, was fired on the spot, his records sent to the police for analysis and then deleted. His drawer was emptied - there were some clothes that got thrown away, and a few electronics got discovered that were also sent to the police. Apparently, he had trafficked illegal data about the new trackers that were soon to be made public, earning him a life sentence in jail - if he managed to even get there. He had earned himself a respectable loan, which ended in their boss' pocket.

Eva was given a half-hour 'break' - after cleaning whatever remained of him, she was free to spend the rest of the time as she pleased. She spent most of it puking in the toilet. She went back to pack the cleaning utensils, and involuntarily eavesdropped as Irene chattered to one of her vultures about why they got him. She went back to the staff room to pack said utensils, and remained in the toilet, playing with her bracelet. If they had caught him for smuggling such data, it would surely be easy to also track her conversation with Ping. The SD card that was still in her bra - she wasn't allowed much privacy - happily glinted when she took it out, innocent of the trouble it could cause her. She stared at it for a while before raising her hand again, activating the display. She had to warn them.

She didn't know anything about RSA - the unbreakable algorithm that her device was supposed to use instead of its way too simple substitution algorithm -, nor did she know much about routing. Yet she had already managed to get in touch with them once and, despite the insecurity of using the same route again, she opened up the chatbox from last time.

"A much needed plea from a silenced drudgess. In the dread of blood, a fleeting hope is all I beg."

She wanted to come up with something smarter, she knew she had to, but her overstressed brain failed to think with something aside for her addiction to poetry from when she was eight. Hoping that it won't be intercepted by the router that her boss was very keen on observing closely for precisely such complaints, she raised her hand again, breathed in, hoping to make it stop trembling, and pressed 'Send'.

~~~

Eva's eyes were closing. It had been at least an hour after her break was over, yet no one had come in to look for her. She had cried, she had crawled herself into a ball on the floor, she had almost started lashing out on the door, but held back, knowing that then someone would have come for sure. Now, she was just lying on the floor in her small gray cabin, not moving, not expecting anyone, just listening to the noises from the corridor - often steps, the occasional trolley, sometimes shouts for oil or another ingredient.

Certain steps grew louder. She could make the difference between most of her colleagues, but she didn't recognize those. They were heavier, sharper. Angry. Unlike the others, they were looking for something, and quickly rushed to the toilets after entering the corridor. The steps threw the door open, confirming her fears, and rushed to her cabin - the only closed one during work time. Eva was trembling again. If her message was intercepted, then even the stupid boss would have guessed why she had sent it, and would have called the police back to get her as well. Her life hadn't been that bad, after all - sure, she didn't go to university and was ditched at a roadside fast food place by her parents, but all things considered, it could have been much worse-

"Your name was Eva, right?"

She jumped up. The voice was slightly hoarse, but she was sure she knew it.

"We um, we have a policy to not look into our clients' personal data, but I kinda had to in your case . . ."

Eva unlocked the door and opened it wide. With the same old army jacket and an even wilder haircut that aerodynamically went down to her shoulders, Trin stood there and was still trying to catch her breath.

"Ping caught your signal, and I rushed here on Bum- uh, my motorbike," she explained briefly. "Get out before they notice-" she began again, but was interrupting by the auburn waitress hanging herself on her neck and starting to cry. "Um." was all she managed to add to it, reddening up again.

"Oh god bless you're here, I was so worried, they got Elvis for some data traffic and I knew they had tracked me too, god I was so worried but you came please please help me, help me . . ." she kept on, but soon her pleas were drowned in tears and snot and she had to sob silently, curled up on Trin's chest while Trin herself was busy caressing her hair and blushing heavily. "I um . . . I jammed the cameras, so we should have a bit of time to get out. I'll let you stay at my place, okay? You'll be save there. I promise."

Eva dragged herself up on her, holding her for another while before standing on her own. "Th- thank you," she managed to mumble. "No problem. We help whomever we can." Nonetheless, she leaned closer. "Honestly though, think before you contact us. You put yourself and all of us in great danger, you know."

"I know . . ."

To her response, Trin covered her face with her hands and thus muffed her shout that she gave off out of nowhere. It was Eva's turn to put on a worried face. "Is everything okay?"

"Stop being so fucking cute, I can't think properly!"

A couple of seconds of silence followed, disturbed only by the steps coming from outside. Trin took her hands off her face and pointed to the door with a serious face, yet her blush betrayed her. "I never said that. Now go pack your things and let's get out of here."

~~~

Eva didn't need much time to get ready. She took her jeans from her locker, pulled them on under the shirt without bothering to go back to the bathroom, took the rest - a jacket that she threw over herself, a notebook, a few cards that she used whenever her wristband couldn't fit, and a shirt that she wrapped them in before stuffing them in the jacket - and turned to the hacker. Trin had politely waited and after she was done, guided the way through the slowly thickening crowd of employees in the corridor towards the exit that Eva had come in through before what seemed like an eternity. The door was open - it had to be left so for "security reasons", yet no one dared to use it during work time. Bumbs was parked a bit further off in the parking slot of the building. Trin took a helm from the baggage compartment and handed it to Eva. "Give me your stuff and put it on." Eva did as told, letting Trin lace her shirtbag over her own portable computer in the box at the back end of the bike. Then Trin put on her own helm that had rested on the driver's seat, swung herself over it, and beckoned Eva to do the same. She had trouble doing so, having never even ridden a bike, but managed with a bit of help. "Name's Trin," her savior remembered to inform her. "Hold tight."

"Hold tight where?"

"Hug me from behind."

Even under her helm and the serious voice, Eva could still tell she was blushing. What an interesting woman, she thought. Not only an outlaw of such degree, but savvy enough with electronics to remain an outlaw for long. And she rode a motorbike. Eva didn't know what it was about motorbikes - they were loud, they were much more polluting than, say, public transport, and they were prone to breaking. But she had somehow always imagined being swept up by a guy with one of those bikes with the high steering bars and the many leather straps and belts. It didn't turn out as she imagined - and to be honest to herself, she had always known that she didn't really like such guys anyway - but having an outlaw friend that rode a motorbike sure looked like an interesting idea.

Her subconsciousness would have had something to say about that vision too, had it not been busy accommodating itself to the fact that Eva just used the word "savvy". It needed a while to process it. Had the day been calmer, it might have brought up a little detail about the outlaw's behavior that Eva had remained oblivious to.

She wrapped her hands around Trin and laid her helm on her army jacket. Seeing as her passenger was secured, Trin turned on the for Eva surprisingly silent engine, pushed the holder aside, and gently steered her bike to the main road. The jammer in the baggage compartment lost contact at about that distance, and Eva's boss was granted a pericular view over the ladies' dressing room and lockers, with no auburn Eva to be found.

~~~

Despite the clouded gray sky, it didn't rain. Trin drove into what was once a parking school lot and shut down the engine. "We're there." she said to her passenger. Eva took her hands off her and let herself be helped down from the machine. Ping had seen them coming, and was jogging towards them from the cantina building, looking mad. He didn't even bother looking at Trin when he reached them, instead he just grabbed Eva by the shoulders and shook her roughly.

"What happened to Brian?!" he shouted without warning. Trin threw her helm aside and grabbed him, pulling him away from the panicking Eva. "What happened, god damn it?!" he shouted again before Trin ripped him off her recently saved friend. "For Snowden's sake, Ping, she's under shock! Think a bit and leave her to calm!"

For a moment, she thought he was going to jump at her dear waitress again, but he bit his teeth together and held back.

"Apparently, the police caught word of Brian's dealings and went to arrest him. He was beat up pretty bad," she rewarded him for his consideration. He didn't like his reward. Instead, he started trembling just like Eva, shaking from anger and helplessness. Trin ignored him again and hugged her auburn companion, holding her tight to stop her shaking. "I know it hurts, and I know you don't want to remember it, but we have to know what happened, or it might get much worse." The now stable girl nodded guiltily and turned to Ping. Her lips trembled, but holding her savior's hand, she managed to speak.

"The . . . A cab had parked outside the door, but I was busy with a customer, so I didn't pay it much attention. The police officer came in and shouted at me, and I thought he would beat me or kidnap me, but he left me alone and went after the cook- "

"What was his name?"

"I, I don't- "

"God damn it, Evelyn, I have customers there!" He pointed at his bar. "And if you don't tell me what those damn officers know, they might die just like your cook! So who was he?!"

The now again shaking waitress looked up at Trin with a worried, questioning look. "He had to get your personal data so I could come to save you," she explained. Eva nodded, even more worried about how much they knew.

Yet one important thing they didn't know. Ping came closer and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt - he had tears in his eyes.

"Overweight white man with balding hair?"

"Yes, exactly. We, we used to call him Elvis, he always listened to those old songs . . ."

Ping had feared it and had held back his tears, but now that he knew, he had no reason to. Being the strong and serious man that he was, he didn't have much experience in crying, and it looked sobbier than usual. Nonetheless, he remained silent. Howling wouldn't help anymore.

"What . . . what happened?" asked Eva. "I . . . I will have to evacuate the bar," he managed to mutter. Trin stepped forward from behind Eva, still holding her arm for support - whose she didn't know.

"I'll take care of her."

"First, you will wait. Then you can do what you want."

As he had said it, he turned around and went to the bar. His feet were shaking and he nearly fell down a couple of times, yet he ran - he had to.

Eva wasn't trembling anymore. She had had enough of being worried, and found it increasingly hard to be worried, so she stopped. "How do you intend to take care of me, actually?" Trin was experiencing a similar emotional deficiency and failed to blush. "If you don't mind sleeping in a hammock, I could take you home with me . . ."

Eva raised an eyebrow. She had never been good at raising her eyebrows in any other emotion but fear, but she somehow managed. "You sleep in a hammock?"

"It's comfortable and easy to maintain. I have an extra sleeping mat, so I'll be on the floor." Eva considered the suggestion. Trin was an interesting woman indeed. Leaving aside the issue with loosing her hard-earned flat and earnings, Eva didn't regret having to live with her. "Well, you've read my records, so you know I have anxiety . . ."

"I kinda had to. Sorry."

". . . I don't know if I can do it."

The brunette with the messy hair turned back to face the somewhat shorter auburn. "You can. You've come this far, there's nothing to hold you back anymore." Lowering her head, Eva covered her chests with her hands. It was cold, and her outfit wasn't made for that weather. "That's . . . that's not true. You saved me."

Despite not being good at guessing other's emotions, a stroke of genius lit up Trin's mind. She took off her leather jacket, leaving herself in a pullover over a short-sleeved shirt, and draped her jacket over Eva, hugging her to compensate for what it didn't cover. It was Eva's turn to blush. "I couldn't have done anything if you hadn't called me. I may have a motorbike and sick nerd skills, but the bravery was on your side."

After a short contemplation, Eva decided she really liked that woman. She hugged her closer. "Trin, was it . . . for how long can I stay?"

"Uuummm . . . I lived alone, so I guess for a while . . ."

~~~

The two remained hugging each other for a while. Trin's ever-logical brain wanted to leave, but it knew Ping was coming, so it waited, leaving the emotional part of it to cuddle with her crush. Unsurprisingly, people started pouring out from the cantina and dashed to the parking lot, ignoring the two women and rushing to their vans, cars, motorcycles, bikes - one person even left on roller skaters. Eva had trouble guessing what gender that person was, but Trin knew it was neither of the ones she was thinking of. When everyone was gone, Ping came out as well, carrying a largish black bag towards them. Even from a distance, it was obvious he had cried. He seemed to be done with it, though, having regained his serious composure. He put the bag down next to them and started digging in the surprisingly low-tech tools that it contained. Eventually, he pulled out a largeish wire cutter and pointed it to Eva.

"Hold your hand out."

Eva was, for reasons obvious to everyone but Ping himself, very reluctant to obey. Trin grasped her wrist and pulled her closer to herself. "Your bracelet. I once had the honor to set up quite a complex jammer for Ping, but once we're out of reach, they can track you again."

With a proper explanation, she trusted Trin and let her hold her hand out while Ping cut the thin but surprisingly resilient band of silver away from her wrist. Once the heavy cutter was through, Trin gently peeled it from Eva's wrist, letting her examine the newly acquired blankness on her hand.

"It's so . . . empty? It feels weird."

Ping snorted, taking out a funny-looking baggie from his bag. Trin just grinned. "Kinda ironic how people find freedom weird . . ." Ping handed her the wire-coated baggie, and she put the silver band in it before closing it tightly and stuffing it in her bag. "It's a Faraday bag," she explained for Eva. "It's a small, handy version of my jammer. If we turn your bracelet off, we will loose data we might need later, so instead we'll isolate it until I can hack it safely at home." Then she turned to Ping and switched to a somewhat nerdier English. "You 'dd'ing your servers?"

"I have the data on a HDD stack. I'll have to shut it down and then I can pack it on the van. Can I ask you for a favor?"

"I'll inform the others, don't worry about that. Though to be honest, I think they know already."

"Can't hurt to be save. I'll go finish the setup, you have fun with the lady. I'd stay wary of the Paper Doll if I were you."

Trin gave him an odd, cold look, but still laughs at what seems to be a private joke to the unknowing Eva. After another moment, she lets go of her female friend and gives him a hug instead. "For Neumann's sake, Ping, don't die," she said, choking on tears. "I wouldn't be so worried about that, I know every hideout in this city."

"You know that's not what I meant."

After another moment of silence, he tapped her back. "Take care of her."

"I will."

Turning around and not looking back, he let go of her, took his bag, and went away again. Trin didn't wait either, picking up her helm from where she had thrown it earlier and handing Eva's to her new roommate who had silently waited out the confrontation. "Brian was Ping's boyfriend," she began explaining without being asked, "He was a data trafficker - he was also the one that sent you to us. If-, no, when the police finds the location of this place, they will come to ransack it just like they did your place, and we won't get to save innocents like you."

"What will happen to him?"

Trin seemed to choke. Her voice was certainly hoarser when she whispered "Don't ask."

Skillfully, she swung herself on her motorbike and helped Eva to climb on again. She even put her helmet on for her. "Keep my jacket on."

"Isn't it colder for the driver?"

"Keep it on."

Trin locked her own helmet below her chin and swung her bag in front of her - it was less comfortable for her, but more so for Eva. Having been beckoned, she hugged her driver from behind again. cuddling against her almost bare back.

"Eva . . . is it just me, or are you hugging me a bit more persistently this time?"

"Well you need a bit of warmth, don't you?"

Trin smiled and fired up the engine. Thinking back about it, she had indeed wished to be hugged like that when she first saw her. Sure, a few things turned out different than she had anticipated, but otherwise, she was quite happy with this Thursday.

~~~

Years later . . .

Gentle chants filled the room. Trin would have played something more norsic - there was a half-ancient band she had had in mind - but it wasn't her who chose what got played this time, so instead of her treasured Manowar, she was listening to the soft notes of the sharp Digital Daggers. Not that she didn't like them - as long as she could concentrate, all was fine with her. Her concentration currently had some trouble revealing a hidden solution to the gibberish that was displayed on her screen and that her eyes were captivated by. She had written it herself, and wasn't exceptionally happy with the result.

With a wisdom that had taken her a while to acquire, she leaned back. Straining herself wouldn't help, that she knew well. She stood up, stretched her tired back, and went to the kitchen. Despite what people often thought when seeing her going around with her shaggy clothes and haircut, she loved plants. Every window had at least one vase or can or anything that could hold water sitting in front of it, with plants ranging from bean sprouts to peace lilies to even a cactus that she picked up one winter out of fear it might freeze to death. Leaning herself on the window frame, she enjoyed the sun that came through and gazed on her little assortment of plants in front of it. Besides computers and books, she cared a lot for them.

Oh, and for another thing.

The circle plate in the middle of the iron apartment door turned, gliding the locking bar together and unlocking the door. With a bit of effort, the woman behind it managed to pull it open, bringing in the two bags of supplies she had brought. Trin took them from her and carried them in the kitchen while she was busy closing the door behind her.

"Oh, you brought asperges?"

"You said you liked them?"

With a smile, Trin started putting the food in their fridge. She hadn't been very concerned with eating habits until Eva came, and she could definitely tell her health improved altogether once the food got better.

"I think about boiling them with some potatoes on the side. It would probably be hard to boil them on a grill, but you have nice pots . . ."

While Trin enjoyed the voice, she wasn't precisely listening, so she didn't notice when Eva stopped talking and went over to Trin's computer. Just like Trin, she glanced at the screen for a while, and then started typing. She was still on it when Trin put the empty bags aside and went over to her side.

"What are you . . . doing?"

She stared while Eva finished typing and then proudly put her hands on her hips. "You have never been good with binary trees, were you?" Eva pouted, commenting on the somewhat recursive structure that Trin indeed never managed to use properly. The nerdier of them scratched her head. "I'm more impressed that you are . . ."

"I've practiced. Anyway, now that you're done . . ." She swung her arms around Trin, who lost her balance and started falling, and with Eva's help, the two ended up in the narrow hammock. " . . . we can cuddle, right?"

Trin was red again. "You little rat, abusing my computer like that!" She started tickling Eva, who twisted around in laughter. For yet another time, Trin convinced herself that she couldn't be mad at her auburn roommate for long, even if she tried.

They cuddled for a while. After moving in with her, Eva had had much trouble with panic attacks, and the closeness the hammock created helped her. Eventually, she just decided she liked to be packed close with Trin, and thus they didn't have to buy a proper bed, continuing to sleep in the somewhat overcrowded hammock that Trin had creatively hung on the thin walls with the help of Ping and a few thick logs. Surprisingly, it managed to hold the weight of the two women, in addition to the occasional swings and pulls that occurred whenever Eva played around in it or got tickled. All in all, it was a design worthy of respect that Ping had come up with.

Out of nowhere, Eva squeezed her roommate tighter. "Um . . . Trin?" The hacker patted her head. "What is it, sweetie?"

The auburn girl turned her face, rubbing it against Trin's chest and hiding in from her. "Have you ever . . . you know . . . wanted to . . . "

Her voice, quiet since she began speaking, shrank to a whisper. "Hey, I can't hear you when you speak like that. You can tell me anything, I won't mind."

Eva took a deep breath and started again.

"Do you want to adopt a child?"

~~~

A long silence followed. It was the kind of uncomfortable silence that you could feel sticking to you and choking you. Eva had feared it for a while.

"You know, I've . . . been thinking . . . because you know, I always thought that once I earned enough money to live properly, I'd find a boyfriend and have a family and the such, and . . . well, you aren't a guy, but I won't mind founding a family with you . . . and um . . . you know, I was thinking that, well, since there's no guy, we can't get pregnant, so we could, you know, adopt a kid, since there are many that need a family either way, and we don't necessarily need a child to be, like, biologically ours . . . "

She was interrupted by her friend's hand that she raised to her face. Scared, Eva looked up at her, to see that she was trying to wash away her tears. Still scared, she tried to continue, with even more confusion in her voice.

"I uh . . . I . . . I'm sorry if I brought up something bad . . . it's just that . . . you know, we've been living together for two years now, and I thought we could, like . . . "

Trin put her hand on her partner's shoulder, and she stopped talking. Despite crying, she managed to smile.

"It- it's okay. Sorry."

Eva hugged her girlfriend tightly again. "Don't be sorry, Trin, you did nothing wrong. I . . . kinda thought you've had trouble with your family, so I should have worded it differently-"

"No, Eva. It- it's okay. Really. I've . . . well yeah, they abandoned me when I was very little so I never knew them, but I don't regret it. After all, I got to be with you . . ."

Eva giggled. They were having a nice time indeed. Sure, most of it was spent working on computers and Eva had to use a raspie for a long time before Trin bought her a laptop - a slim white thing with hearts on the cover -, but most of all, they were together.

"So, my little romantic. Wanna go visit my old place tomorrow?"

"To- tomorrow?!"

"Why not? It's a Thursday, we have time, and if I heard right, you've wanted to do it for a while, right?"

Eva buried her head in her partner's chest. When she looked up at her again, she was red with smiling, and Trin went blushing as well.

"We are gonna need a bigger apartment."

"And a bed."

"Right, a hammock is a bad idea . . ." Trin commented through a yawn. As the two drifted asleep and had sweet dreams of each other, the computer kept gently lulling in the back.

" " "

When the moon is in the seventh hour, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets, and love will stir the stars . . .

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius, the age of Aquarius . . .

" " "

#writers of tumblr #dystopia #gay #hacker #surprise i finally finished something #i care a lot for this story #ave #net neutrality

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vicioushyperbolizer · 7 years ago

Note

Nurseydex prompt where the team forces Dex and Nursey into a closet or supply room or some small space so theyll talk and deal w the UST and finally get together but once the door is closed Dex starts having a panic attack either bc small space (memories of bullying? Claustrophobic?) and bc he's forced to talk FEELINGS w Nursey and its all 2 much and Nursey tries to convince the team to let them out while also comforting Dex thru this and ends with them getting out and start (secretly?) dating

So, I deviated away from the prompt a little. Mostly because I didn’t feel like Bitty, who had been locked in a closet before, would even a LITTLE bit approve of this plan if he had been consulted. Hopefully you like it.

Dex wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t. Except, yeah, he totally was freaking out.

“Dude, you spend your summers on a boat, how are you claustrophobic?” The fact that Nursey wasn’t the least bit bothered just made things so much worse.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not claustrophobic. I just don’t like closed spaces. And it’s different on a boat.”

Dex was going to fucking kill Holster. Maybe Ransom, too, since they did everything together and he probably had a hand in it, too. Once they got out of the basement supply closet, that was. At least Holster turned on the light before he locked them in.

He should have known better, honestly. When he got an urgent text saying that one of the pipes in the closet was leaking everywhere, he knew it sounded off somehow. For one thing, Dex couldn’t remember there being pipes in the supply closet; they were on the other side of the basement entirely. For another thing, it was the middle of the day and the only person who would be at the Haus would be Nursey, who had a midday break on Tuesdays and Thursdays that he used to nap in Chowder’s room.

Or at least, everyone else was supposed to be in class, but it was undoubtedly Holster’s voice that he heard as the door slammed behind a sleepy-faced and half-dressed Nursey.

“Work out your shit, dudes. I’m on a mission to relieve the Haus of any and all sexual tension before I graduate. I’ll be back for you two later.”

It took about two minutes before Nursey gave up his half-assed efforts at trying to open the clearly locked door. It only took Dex one and a half before it started getting harder to take a full breath.

Okay, so maybe he was a little claustrophobic. And maybe he was a lot freaking out. And maybe verging on hyperventilating and a full blown panic attack. He tried to remember the techniques his childhood therapist taught him to calm himself down, but he couldn’t focus.

He was stuck in a cycle of cantbreath-breathingtoofast-needmoreair-cantbreat.

Dex came back to himself with a warm hand on his shoulder and a steady stream of words flowing around him. His back was braced against the door and Nursey was crouched in front of him, looking more serious than Dex had ever seen him.

“There you go, just like that. Breathe with me. You back with me, Will?”

He nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He felt his face flush in embarrassment. Dex couldn’t fucking believe he had a panic attack, his first in over two years, in front of Nursey of all people.

Nursey sat back on his haunches, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry I was chirping you about being claustrophobic. I didn’t know it was actually a thing. It never, like, come up before.”

The way he moved brought Dex’s attention to the thick bands of ink on Nursey’s bicep, the powerfully corded muscles of his forearm, and the fact that he was incredibly shirtless. Dex barely held down the hysterical feeling laughter that was bubbling up in his chest.

The horrifying and hilarious truth of the matter was that Holster… wasn’t wrong. Or at least, he was half right. Dex was embarrassingly attracted to Nursey. He thought it was hiding it well, but apparently not. Jesus fucking christ, he was minutes out of a panic attack and his first thought was to ogle Nursey.

He had to find a way out. Between the stress of being stuck in a fucking closet (literally, in this case, because fuck knows he’s used to being stuck in the metaphorical closet), and the stress of…. Nursey, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. And who knew how long Holster would leave them there.

Dex scrubbed a hand over his hair. “It’s whatever, man. Like you said, never came up.”

He tried his best to think about anything except the walls of the closet, and just how tight the space felt. Dex focused on the scratchy feel of his hair on his palms, the hole in the toe of his sock, the place where his leg was flung out and it brushed against Nurse’s soft cotton sleep pants. The place where his jeans felt a little too tight, where his cell phone was pressed into his thigh.

Goddamn it. Of course, his fucking phone. With fumbling fingers, he tried to pull it out of his pocket. The flush reignited under his skin. Stupid fucking panic attacks and stupid fucking anxiety and stupid goddamn Holster. The more he struggled with it, the more difficult it was to shove his hand into his jeans.

Dex felt his heart rate rising, his blood pumping in his ears, and hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Nursey seemed to understand what he was trying to do. He slowly pulled Dex’s hands away from his pocket and slipped his own nimble fingers into the denim before quickly pulling out Dex’s phone. He handed it to Dex only long enough to swipe the unlock code, then Nursey took it back and quickly began typing away.

When Dex noticed that his hands were still shaking, a fresh wave of tears tried to push its way out. The anger helped him get the panic under control, just a little. He pressed his palms down on the concrete, hard, trying to visualize pushing all the way through the foundation.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed sitting that way, how long Nursey spent texting on his phone. He zoned out until he felt a warm hand cover his own. He looked down, amazed at how warm Nursey was and how cold his own was.

“Bitty’s on his way. Think you can make it another five minutes or so?”

Dex nodded. It’s not like they had any other choice, anyway. Nursey nodded back, before he cleared his throat.

“So…” Dex had hoped they could avoid the whole talking part of things, just sit there until Bitty let them back out. Apparently, Nursey actually wanted to talk, though. Dex didn’t have the energy to try to fight him on it.

Dex let his head knock back against the door. “What?”

“I’m not, like… bothering you, right?”

Dex could barely contain his laughter. Generally, the answer to that question was yes, Nursey was bothering Dex. His fake chill demeanor, his stupidly pretty face, the chirps Dex desperately wanted to be flirting but weren’t. It all bothered Dex way more than he wanted it to.

“Probably, but what specifically are you talking about?”

Nursey looked… Was he blushing? Dex lifted his head so he could get a better look at his partner. Yes, definitely blushing.

“The, y’know. The whole sexual tension thing. The flirting.”

Dex couldn’t figure out what Nursey meant. It was the right subject, but Nursey wasn’t telling Dex to back off, because he was making things super awkward, and couldn’t he just see that Nursey wasn’t interested?

Nursey must have read the confusion on Dex’s face, because he followed up with, “I don’t try to, but apparently i don’t try hard enough not to. If it makes you uncomfortable or whatever, I can stop.”

“Wait, what? But I was the one flirting with you.”

They stared at each other, wide-eyed for a second. Dex leaned forward, moving slowly so that Nursey could pull back if he needed to. He pressed their lips together, a barely there kiss. And then another, and another.

A few seconds later, shouting from upstairs broke them apart.

Bitty yanked open the door looking the picture of a southern storm. He quickly looked Nursey and Dex up and down to make sure they were okay, then turned on his heel, and started marching back up the basement steps. Dex was very glad that he wasn’t Holster right now.

He picked himself up from the floor, then held a hand down to Nursey, who threaded their fingers together once he was standing. They both leaned in. Dex was so ready to put the whole mess behind him, and maybe definitely make out for the next two hours. Suddenly, Nursey pulled back.

“But, like… How does working on a boat work when you’re claustrophobic?”

Dex rolled his eyes, but pulled Nursey back in for another kiss.

#prompts #answered asks #anonymous #my writing #nurseydex #william poindexter #derek nurse #holster's good intentions are going to kill someone one day #or get him killed #Anonymous

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whoinwhoville · 8 years ago

Text

Lab Mates

Okay, I decided to post this here in case you don’t have access to AO3. I know this is a bit of self-promotion, but I’m really proud of this fic. And for some reason, you guys really like it, and it makes me SO HAPPY to give YOU a smile! There are too many sad things in the world right now, and I just want to make the world a little bit brighter.

Ten x Rose Martha Jones Rated All Ages University AU, Professor x Student AU (but no hanky panky), Lab Partners AU, texting fic, UST, mutual pining,

Tuesday September 27

8:42 pm - HoppingForMyLife Hi. Your lab partner here. Name’s Rose. You weren’t in lab when we were given partner assignments. So here’s me, and you have my text now. We need to get going on this project. Sounds like a bugger.

8:42 pm - Doctor10 ???? Which class ???? I’m taking 5 classes this term.

8:42 pm - HoppingForMyLife Blimey. 5? RLY? That’s a lot. I’m in 3. But it’s Psych 221 since you asked.

8:42 pm - Doctor10 Oops forgot that one. when/where?

8:43 pm - HoppingForMyLife Psych building, L400 T/Th 6:05

8:44 pm - Doctor10 Done and on my calendar C U tomorrow

8:44 pm - Doctor10 Thx

8:45 pm - HoppingForMyLife bye

oOo

8:45 pm - HoppingForMyLife Think I got a clunker of a psych lab partner

8:45 pm - PreMed&Dead BIGHUGS guy or girl?

8:45 pm - HoppingForMyLife dunno no profile pic on text. and forgot to ask name. who forgets first day of class? and who takes 5 classes?

8:46 pm - PreMed&Dead 5 classes????????? he’s either a genius or cray-cray.

8:46 pm - HoppingForMyLife gotta go m tired and have my first physics lecture @ 7 am. ugh ugh ugh ugh. :barf face: and i signed up for physics why?

8:46 pm - PreMed&Dead cuz Jack said the prof is hot and u need a science to grad

oOo

8:49 pm - HoppingForMyLife hello doctor10. forgot to ask your name.

8:50 pm - HoppingForMyLife hello u there?

8:50 pm - HoppingForMyLife i’ll see you tomorrow. I’m blonde and wear a pink hoodie.

oOo

Thursday September 29

7:35 pm - HoppingForMyLife partner no show. again. maybe dropped? only one person left to partner with. looks creepy. old guy. like 80. only has one eye - other one all covered with shrivelled up eyelid. :shudders sticker: and he talks to himself.

7:35 pm - PreMed&Dead sorry.

7:35 pm - HoppingForMyLife i don’t have an idea for the project either.

7:35 pm - PreMed&Dead you’ll think of one. more important is psychics prof as hot as Jack says?

7:35 pm - HoppingForMyLife YOU. HAVE. NO. IDEA. I’m still fanning myself. Good thing no teaching today because I didn’t hear a word he said. :heart eyes emoji:

7:35 pm - PreMed&Dead Niiiiiiice

7:35 pm - HoppingForMyLife u still at SBux? i took pic of him and he may or may not be my homescreen pic

7:36 pm - PreMed&Dead hot for teacher?

7:36 pm - HoppingForMyLife ha ha. thx for ear worm Mar. c u in 10 and if u r good will show you the pic of my future husband.

oOo

Friday September 30

8:05 am - HoppingForMyLife martha! helpmehelpmehelpme i just got out of my physics lecture and i’m dead i’m dead i’m dead and in love or maybe lust how am i ever going to pass physics when the prof is so gorgeous that i just can’t even… all i do is stare at his lips and hips and his hair and guh. everything. he talks and talks and talks and all i hear is the ringing in my ears from the blood rushing from my brain. except when i’m listening to his velvet voice of sex. and he wears these glasses. and a suit. and it’s tight. and his tie. i just want to grab it and pull him down to my lips. i’mdeaddeaddeaddead

8:05 am - PreMed&Dead At least you’ll die… happy?????

8:05 am - HoppingForMyLife here’s a new pic. rear view. i will be forever thankful that he uses an old fashioned chalkboard instead of smartboard.

8:05 am - PreMed&Dead :drooling:

8:06 am - HoppingForMyLife did i tell you I’m gonna marry him?

8:06 am - PreMed&Dead a time or ten. but what if he’s a jerk? or dull? physics, Rose. pretty dull stuff.

8:06 am - HoppingForMyLife impossible.

8:06 am - PreMed&Dead heard from psych lab deadbeat?

8:06 am - HoppingForMyLife nope. sigh…

oOo

Tuesday October 4

8:10 pm - HoppingForMyLife Doctor10, i rllllly need to know if you are still in psych lab. u have missed 3 labs now. Need new partner if u dropped.

8:10 pm - Doctor10 I. Am. SO. SO. SOOOOOOOO SORRY. Got tied up with papers. can we meet today? i promise i am a responsible adult AND i’m a genius.

8:11 pm - HoppingForMyLife humble too. maybe psych test subject should be u? god complex? u r taking 5 classes after all.

8:11 pm - Doctor10 u wound me :brokenheart:

8:11 pm - HoppingForMyLife let’s meet today. library?

8:11 pm - Doctor10 my second home. i’m already there. on second floor. i have a standing reservation for study room 2B.

8:12 - HoppingForMyLife ok if I come over now?

8:12 - Doctor10 yep. looking forward to meeting you. oh, and I’m John by the way.

8:12 - HoppingForMyLife Hello John. :goofy tongue smiley:

8:13 - Doctor10 Goodbye Rose. :happy smiley:

oOo

10:32 - HoppingForMyLife i have a problem. world-ending bad.

10:33 - PreMed&Dead Adam got that promotion to shift manager and you’ll have to work for him?

10:33 - HoppingForMyLife worse. much worse.

10:33 - PreMed&Dead SPILL

10:34 - HoppingForMyLife met my lab partner.

10:35 - PreMed&Dead one-eyed guy?

10:35 - HoppingForMyLife Gorgeous physics prof.

10:35 - PreMed&Dead . . .

10:35 - PreMed&Dead That IS bad.

10:35 - HoppingForMyLife And he’s not a dud. or a jerk. at least I don’t think he is. please don’t be please don’t be please don’t be.

10:36 - PreMed&Dead still gonna marry him?

10:36 - HoppingForMyLife yep.

oOo

Wednesday October 12

5:32 pm - Doctor10 Hello Rose Tyler. Something’s been bothering me since we met, and then again all during lab yesterday. and I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking. And then it hit me. I know you. You’re in my intro to physics class! You always sit in the front row, right in the middle.

5:33 pm - HoppingForMyLife yep. that’s me.

5:33 pm - Doctor10 why didn’t you say something?

5:40 pm - HoppingForMyLife because I’ve requested a transfer out.

5:50 pm - Doctor10 Oh. Aren’t I a good professor? Am I boring? A dullard? Obtuse?

5:51 - HoppingForMyLife No. U R a great professor. I have a heavy class load and your class is very challenging.

5:51 pm - Doctor10 If you need help, I’m there for you! I have office hours! Come by any time!

5:55 pm - Doctor10 U there still?

5:55 pm - HoppingForMyLife Yeah.

5:55 pm - Doctor10 Is this because we’re lab partners? And you’re worried it’ll be awkward?

5:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife yes

5:56 pm - Doctor10 Don’t worry. I grade all of my assignments by student ID. Completely anonymous I don’t know whose paper is whose. And I’d miss your cheerful face every morning. :happy smiley:

6:02 pm - HoppingForMyLife I’ll think about it.

oOo

6:03 pm - HoppingForMyLife Heeeeeeelllllllp

6:03 pm - PreMed&Dead Again? What’s up with Prof SexyHair this time?

6:04 pm - HoppingForMyLife I got a 52 on my first physics assignment. I can’t concentrate.

6:05 pm - PreMed&Dead You HAVE to go to his office hours Rose!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Imagine he’s one eyed creepy guy.

6:06 pm - HoppingForMyLife :headbanging on desk gif:

6:07 pm - PreMed&Dead You can do it. You can do it. I’m here for you. You can do it.

oOo

Friday October 14

8:34 pm - Doctor10 I have an idea for our project.

8:34 pm - HoppingForMyLife another one? this is your 5th i think.

8:34 pm - Doctor10 8th idea. double-blind of course. NO! triple-blind.

8:35 pm - HoppingForMyLife triple? I don’t think that’s a thing. r u always such an overachiever?

8:35 pm - Doctor10 i take my work seriously Rose Tyler.

8:35 pm - HoppingForMyLife so what’s your brilliant idea?

oOo

Sunday October 23

6:30 pm - PreMed&Dead What did Dr. SexySuit say when you asked him why he’s taking classes when he’s already a professor AND has a PhD? And why psych??? He’s a physicist.

6:30 pm - HoppingForMyLife Said he wanted another degree. His third. THIRD. that’s 3. And you know what this one is in? Fine Arts! He’s taking history of medieval choral music, classical sculpture, and learning how to play the pipe organ. And modern dance.

6:31 pm - PreMed&Dead WHUT?

6:31 pm - HoppingForMyLife The psych class is so that he can “better understand the human condition and transfer that into my study of the physical world.” That’s a quote.

6:32 pm - PreMed&Dead If you weren’t so in love with him, I’d hit that. In fact, don’t turn your back, Rose. I might try anyway.

6:52pm - HoppingForMyLife :side eyes smiley:

6:32 pm - PreMed&Dead JK

6:32 pm - HoppingForMyLife Like I would ever even have a chance with him. He’s probably got some amazing girlfriend with a PhD or two just like him.

6:33 pm - PreMed&Dead Has he ever mentioned anyone Rose?

6:33 pm - HoppingForMyLife No. But I’ve never asked either.

oOo

Wednesday October 26

8:04 pm - HoppingForMyLife Martha, the subject actually moaned. MOANED. And it wasn’t the first time. i didn’t mention it before because i thought it was an anomaly. thought maybe she had indigestion or something.

8:04 pm - PreMed&Dead And tell me again why you agreed to this particular study?

8:04 pm - HoppingForMyLife How was I supposed to know that the test subjects would get so worked up! Right there in the lab! Doesn’t anyone have any self-control? I’d be humiliated if I moaned as a test subject during a psych experiment! It sounded completely innocent when he described it!! Well, not completely innocent. But my point stands. Moaning. And panting. In a lab. In front of people. It’s just chocolate! And a piece of silk!

8:05 pm - PreMed&Dead Uh, and handcuffs. And a blindfold. And didn’t you tell me you had a dream about that very same chocolate and a silk necktie and handcuffs and blindfold and Prof SexySpecs just the other night?

8:05 pm - HoppingForMyLife :blushing smiley: Maybe we should add a second element? Put him behind one-way glass?

8:05 pm - PreMed&Dead Results are results. And science doesn’t lie. It’s all about the data Rose.

oOo

Thursday November 3

9:00 pm HoppingForMyLife Moaning Myrtle is 10 for 10. That’s not her name of course. Just for the record. You reading this MI-5?

9:01 pm PreMed&Dead :smiling in sunglasses emoji: At least your results data are consistent.

9:01 pm HoppingForMyLife I sorta just roll my eyes now. Not sure I’d fare any better. He didn’t wear a tie today. Had this layered t-shirt and henley thing happening. And cut his hair shorter in back and spiked it up front. It. Is. HOT.

9:01 pm PreMed&Dead I dare you to give it a good tug.

9:01 pm HoppingForMyLife In my dreams. He doesn’t have a girlfriend BTW. Told me that today.

9:02 pm PreMed&Dead And you’re just telling me this NOW?

9:02 pm HoppingForMyLife He asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I said no. And then he tells me he’s not seeing anyone either. I just stood there chewing my stupid lip. Didn’t say a thing. And then he turned around and left.

9:02 pm PreMed&Dead Oh Rose. sigh

oOo

Wednesday November 30

5:05 pm - HoppingForMyLife I GOT A 98 ON MY PHYSICS EXAM!

5:05 pm - PreMed&Dead You go girl! :party emoji:

5:05 pm - HoppingForMyLife He’s a really great teacher. And I mean that. He helped me understand something that was a complete mystery.

oOo

Wednesday December 1

6:02 am - HoppingForMyLife Remember how I told you he’s been acting weird the past few days? really quiet. About 2 this morning, my mobile rings. It’s him. Middle. Of. The. Night. He asks me about my Christmas plans. If I’m staying in town, going back home, working… And then he asks me if I’m taking physics winter term.

6:02 am - PreMed&Dead Like a real live voice? Not a text?

6:02 am - HoppingForMyLife TALKING in that amazing gorgeous sexy voice of his. I tell him I’m staying around to work until Christmas Eve and that I have a psych internship planned, and no physics cuz I need to focus on my major and he says oh good. and then he hangs up.

6:03 am - PreMed&Dead Just hangs up?

6:03 am - HoppingForMyLife Just hangs up.

6:03 am - PreMed&Dead Ask him what he’s doing over Christmas.

6:03 am - HoppingForMyLife I can’t do that.

6:03 am - PreMed&Dead Yes you can.

6:04 am - HoppingForMyLife He. Is. My. Professor.

6:04 am - PreMed&Dead It. Is. A. Conversation. AND he is your LAB PARTNERRRRRRR.

oOo

Saturday December 3

11:05 pm - HoppingForMyLife I sent you the data did u get it?

11:05 pm - Doctor10 Yep

11:05 pm - HoppingForMyLife And… ????????

11:06 pm - Doctor10 Not the results I expected.

11:06 pm - HoppingForMyLife How’s that? We proved the theory. Did you want to disprove it or something?

11:11 pm - HoppingForMyLife U there?

11:11 pm - Doctor10 Yep.

11:13 pm - Doctor10 I have some thinking to do. We can start working on the conclusion piece tomorrow.

11:13 pm - HoppingForMyLife K. Bye.

11:13 pm - Doctor10 Nighty-night sleep tight with sweet chocolate dreams. I know I will.

11:15 pm - Doctor 10 For the past 8 weeks it’s been chocolate chocolate chocolate.

oOo

11:17 pm - HoppingForMyLife Martha. MARTHA. Look what he just texted me.

11:17 pm - HoppingForMyLife :screenshot:

11:17 pm - HoppingForMyLife What does that even mean? HE. IS. KILLING. ME. And I think he’s clueless, too. He’s been as friendly as can be. FRIENDLY. And now this. Is it flirty? Or friendly? It’s all how you read it.

11:17 pm - PreMed&Dead he’s a professor and you are his student. Assume it is friendly. Now what the two of you get up to in your dreams… :saucy wink smiley: :smiling devil smiley: :chocolate bar emoji:

11:18 - HoppingForMyLife :heart eyes smiley:

11:18 - PreMed&Dead Still gonna marry him?

11:18 - HoppingForMyLife yep.

oOo

11:25 - PreMed&Dead Rose… did you notice the timestamps between the last two messages???????!!!!!!!!

11:25 - HoppingForMyLife So?

11:25 - PreMed&Dead You’re the psych major. You figure it out.

11:25 - HoppingForMyLife 11:13 nighty night 11:15 chocolate chocolate chocolate :wide eyed blushing smiley: Was he flirting with me?

11:25 - PreMed&Dead :rolling eyes gif:

11:25 - HoppingForMyLife HE WAS flirting with me. I didn’t respond, and he backpedaled. I am such an idiot.

11:25 - PreMed&Dead You may be an idiot, but there are only one week of classes left. In one week the two of you can be idiots together.

oOo

Saturday December 10

4:55 pm - HoppingForMyLife Professor Smith. This is a physics thing. Not a psych thing. And I apologize if this isn’t appropriate. I mean texting you because we’ve only ever texted for psych. Never for physics.

4:55 pm - Doctor10 I don’t see a problem Ms. Smith. :regular smiley:

4:55 pm - Doctor10 HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA MS. TYLER. T Y L E R. :regular smiley: :regular smiley: Damn autocorrect.

4:55 pm - Doctor10 HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife ha ha ha. I wanted to thank you for all of your help. I couldn’t have passed your class without it, let alone with a 95.

4:56 pm - Doctor10 You were the 95! Only gave 2 grades above a 90. Brilliant! I knew you had it in you! Congratulations! You deserve a celebration! :balloons and confetti gif:

4:56 pm - Doctor10 Taking off Professor Hat putting on Psych Lab Partner Hat. ROSE TYLER! WE GOT PERFECT MARKS ON OUR CHOCOLATE STUDY!

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife WE DID???????!!!!!! How’d you find out?!!!!????!!!!!! I didn’t think the final grade would be released for a week.

4:56 pm - Doctor10 I may have used my Professor Smith powers of genius to get into the grading system. Shhhhhh! Don’t tell anyone.

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife I won’t. YAY! HUGS HUGS HUGS HUGS!

4:56 - HoppingForMyLife And those text hugs are to you as my lab mate, not to you as my professor. In case anyone’s reading this.

4:56 - Doctor10 Molto bene.

oOo

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife calmingbreathcalmingbreath. Read this screenshot

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife :screen shot of conversation with the 'Ms. Smith' typo circled in red:

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife :X eyes emoji face: I’m dead. DEAD. What do I say to this? Just a typo? But his HAHAHAHAs! He's obviously embarrassed. And then the two smileys! They are casual smileys! Not embarrassed smileys!

4:57 pm - PreMed&Dead two things come to mind. 1: he has practice written your name so many times as Ms. Smith on his three ring notebook and put hearts around it along with JS + RT = LOVE that it is second nature to write Ms. Smith. Or...... He has Freudian slipped Ms. Smith so many times that he can't even type Rose Tyler anymore. Because there is no possible way that TYLER would EVAH autocorrect to SMITH.

4:57 pm - PreMed&Dead or it could be a third thing. He's subtly proposing. You have told me about a billion times that you're going to marry him, you know.

4:58 pm - HoppingForMyLife Ha ha ha ha. So not autocorrect?

4:58 pm - PreMed&Dead :Antione's You're So Dumb gif:

4:59 pm - HoppingForMyLife A+ gif usage. That’s my fave gif. Hide yo kids hide yo wife hide yo kids hide yo wife

4:59 pm - PreMed&Dead Thx for the earworm. We gon find you we gon find you

4:59 pm - PreMed&Dead And by the way, YOU ARE SOOOOO IN LOVE

4:59 pm - HoppingForMyLife (((whispering))) I may have text-hugged him too.

5:00 pm - HoppingForMyLife :screen shot of hugging part of the conversation:

5:00 pm - HoppingForMyLife But only cos we nailed the project.

5:00 pm - PreMed&Dead Riiiiiight. text hugs. cos they don’t count. :massive eye rolling emoji:

5:00 pm - HoppingForMyLife Wish you were here so I could hug YOU.

5:00 pm - PreMed&Dead Awwwwwww.... Hugs right back. See? text hugs are real.

5:00 pm - HoppingForMyLife I AM pretty proud though. didn’t even’t think I’d pass physics. He told me I deserved a celebration. he’s right! I do deserve a pint or two! He said he didn't know that the one 95 that he gave in his class was to me. Only had two students even in the 90s.

5:01 pm - PreMed&Dead Here’s what you’re gonna do. Tell him you’ve taken his advice and you’re gonna celebrate passing physics AND for getting perfect marks on your psych project with some friends you down at McKenzie’s. But we will come later. But don’t tell him that. And we’ll come down when you text. If you even WANT us there.

5:01 pm - HoppingForMyLife I’m biting my fingernails. Literally.

5:01 pm - PreMed&Dead Don’t. Now put on that sexy red wrap dress and keep my posted.

5:01 pm - HoppingForMyLife Wish me luck.

oOo

4:56 pm - HoppingForMyLife Hi. I’ve decided to take your suggestion and celebrate. Both things. Physics AND Psych. I’ve invited some friends to meet me at that pub on the corner of Winston and Main. McKenzie’s. You know that one, right? And I think I’ll arrive around 8:00.

4:56 pm - Doctor10 That is an excellent plan. 8:00 is a fine hour to start a celebration.

oOo

8:25 pm - HoppingForMyLife He’s didn’t come, Martha. :single tear emoji: I suppose he was just being friendly. And stupid. And perfect. And flirty. And one of those blokes who is clueless about his effect on women.

8:25 pm - PreMed&Dead I’m sorry. :hugging friends emoji:

8:25 pm - Doctor10 Rose… I’m a bit embarrassed, and nervous to ask this if i’m being honest because I have no idea what you are going to say. Here goes. can I come to your party?

8:25 pm - HoppingForMyLife Standby Mar! He just texted me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

8:26 pm - PreMed&Dead SQUEEEEE!!

8:26 pm - HoppingForMyLife You want to come?

8:26 pm - Doctor10 Only if you want me to come.

8:26 pm - HoppingForMyLife I'd like you to come

8:26 pm - Doctor10 OK. Good. I’d like come too. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

8:26 pm - HoppingForMyLife HE’S COMING. I REALLY didn’t think he would. Maybe I was too subtle with my hint. My heart is pounding. :red heart emoji: :red heart emoji: :red heart emoji: What do I do Martha???????

8:26 pm - Doctor10 Rose ????????? You really thought I wouldn’t come????????? Of course I’m coming!!!!! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!

8:26 pm - HoppingForMyLife Oops. I sent that text to wrong person.

8:26 pm - Doctor10 Your heart isn’t the only one that’s pounding. :red heart emoji: :blushing smiley emoji: Look behind you.

“Rose Tyler. It needs to be said. I am really glad that this term is over. You are very distracting. Why do you think I spent so much time with my back to the class writing on the chalkboard? I have every single lecture committed to memory, but the words evaporated from my very big brain every time I looked at you.”

“I didn’t really mind the view. Oh, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Cheeky, Ms. Smith. And I thought I might die every single time you ate a piece of chocolate. Did you know that you make sounds when you eat chocolate?”

oOo

9:02 - HoppingForMyLife He brought me flowers. And twenty bars of chocolate.

9:02 - PreMed&Dead You are SO going to marry him.

The End.

#i wrote this #ten x rose #university au #ficandchips #texting au #martha jones #martha jones is a star #shameless self promotion

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paull-green · 4 years ago

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fixerupperchic · 7 years ago

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It’s TIME! I’ve been plotting & planning, dreaming & scheming, adding & subtracting….and now FINALLY it’s time to tear into this house & MAKE IT HAPPEN!

or…time to let the house reveal its dirty secrets…

OK, so we KNEW the old ac was leaking….we KNEW the laundry room sub-floor was going to need to be replaced….

But it was still a bit of a shock to see just HOW rotten that floor was, as Jose peeled and scraped away the layers of time-worn flooring! Obviously the old vinyl fashion statements were all that was holding the laundry room floor together!

Just some housekeeping notes (pun intended): when I looked at the house, it was obvious the old HVAC unit housed just above that HOLE in the floor was leaking, though very slowly. The top layer in the laundry room was carpet, and it was damp around the HVAC closet, just a tad….UNTIL the day the appraiser came, that is! Most of you know that an appraiser visits the house about a week or so before the intended closing date…just to be sure it’s worth the sales price, right? Well, on that particular day, for unknown reasons, the AC had really leaked, and there was water on the floor. The appraiser wrote it up as a condition of sale that the AC be replaced to prevent further damage to the structure.

If you’re thinking “that sounds reasonable“…..sure, but he meant it had to be replaced BEFORE closing. BEFORE I owned the house. If you’re thinking “yay, then the seller had to replace it!“….no, that was not reasonable. Not only had they given me a ridiculously low price, but I had already planned to replace the unit first thing after closing. So….I was to replace the AC system in a house I didn’t own??? (shameless plug coming…)

This is when you need a good REALTOR on your side of the transaction! Happily, I had myself (warned you!) We were able to work out putting $$ into escrow with the lender, so that the AC could be replaced once I actually owned the house; this required the appraiser to go back out after replacement to sign off that it HAD in fact been done, and done satisfactorily. By the way, I now own a super duper efficient (and shiny and huge) new Carrier HVAC unit; the inside portion now resides in the attic…the outside unit will be ‘dressed up’ with the L-shaped iron gates I showed you earlier, hopefully covered with beautiful vines of some sort!

(yes, these are actually laying on the floor, and I rotated the pic to make them easier to see….so if you feel dizzy looking at the floor acting like a wall, just move on)

~~here’s a little tear-the-house-apart ditty for you~~

A few demo stories for your enjoyment…

The big blue dumpster was supposed to be delivered & plunked down in the backyard…oh so convenient for the whole sunroom being torn off….the guys were ready, with a section of fencing rolled up and the yard cleared…but the dumpster couldn’t back over the curb – ouch! So when I pulled up later that day I saw the BIG BLUE DUMPSTER right in the middle of the front yard; they had to take down the mailbox to get it in! Not only do we now have deep ruts….it’s already been dumped once and so now they’re re-delivered and made NEW deep ruts….grrrr

Last Saturday I had real estate appointments stacked up all day, but I finished some showings that happened to be in Kilgore a little early…so I decided to drive by my house before heading back to Longview. I knew nobody was working that day, but something told me to go! As I turned the corner onto my street, I was stopped, as a man was standing in the road (curious yet?!)

(first you should realize I had been knowing I needed to find tree trimmers, as there were huge branches hanging over the garage and part of the house on the other side; they’d have to be removed before we could replace the roof….it was nagging at me, but hadn’t risen to the top of the priority list yet!)

Now, back to the man in the road….my brain took in, all at once, the fact that there was a crew trimming trees across the street from my house, there was a long trailer already piled high with huge branches, there was a truck with a tree trimming sign on the front door….and there was the owner, inexplicably standing in the road as if I wouldn’t run over him!

Feeling completely bemused that something I so needed was presenting itself so easily, I pulled over and asked the man (still in the road) if he was the owner. “Yes”, he said. “Will you come give me a price to trim my trees too?” I asked……well, within about 5 minutes I had a very good price quoted, and a promise to get it done the next day! Margarito Ramirez and his crew did an excellent job; now the large oaks are canopied nicely all around the house, and it happened while my whole crew was off!

Serendipity??

As it happens, right after I talked to Margarito, at a time I wasn’t supposed to be there, my contractor Roger pulled up, quickly followed by Don, the plumber! Don hadn’t looked at the job yet, so they just came by to go over things….at the absolute perfect time! Having worked with Don a few times before, I was able to go over the particulars of where everything would be…..and he had some great ideas! Since he’s already re-piping the whole system, we can add tankless water heating for just the difference in cost of the system and what the new tank would have cost. YES! This means NO water tank in the attic, and NO chance of running out of hot water ever! I’ve had tankless in my last 2 houses (one a retrofit like this) and admittedly, I’ve become spoiled! It bears noting, however, that a tankless system is more efficient, as you’re not paying to keep gallons of water hot until the moment you choose to use it, and it also cannot suddenly burst and flood your house!

This is the former kitchen sink area; to me it just said NASTY! To Don it said, “Let’s replace that galvanized pipe while we have the chance”. OK, sure…that’s not my thing…..as I always say, I don’t have to KNOW everything….I only have to know who does! Go Don the plumber!

So…I left to continue selling houses, excited about coming back on Sunday to test paint colors on the brick…I was determined to order the exterior paint during the Sherwin Williams Labor Day Paint Sale, you see! I had left home EARLY that morning to go by SW for a few sample jugs. The plan was to test Sunday…. and order paint Monday….

Mmmm hmmmm….yet another blue box greeted me as I pulled into the driveway on Sunday….planning to test paint, right? This was my FIRST CLUE that Don had turned off the water after I left Saturday. Always the optimist, I chose to celebrate PROGRESS rather than bemoaning the fact that I had no water to clean brushes between tests….

Well, I did test the paint around almost noon on Sunday…it was a beautiful day! Saturday when Margarito said they’d trim my trees the next day, I really wasn’t thinking about how much noise tree trimmers make! As I painted bricks against the ear-shattering noise of chainsaws and the front-end loader they used to carry the branches, I just hoped my soon-to-be neighbors would still be talking to me when I finally move in next month!

My last demo story of the day is really a design story….let’s call it the saga of the original wood floors not making the grade…and why:

From the beginning, I’ve known that a pier and beam house built in 1961 would have original wood floors under the plethora of flooring subsequent owners chose to “upgrade” it with.

If you wonder how I knew, just think about it; what else would they have used? Though plywood had been widely used in furniture & some construction for 40-ish years, there was a huge shortage of it at the time (the shortage was of the wood used to make plywood). Particle board had come along as an alternative, but wasn’t widely accepted as being stable, and really wasn’t, for a subfloor. This was long before OSB became a standard subfloor material, and just before slab construction began to be common….thus the need for the basic flooring to be used in a pier and beam house. Pine or oak planks were readily available and relatively inexpensive; if you’ve seen old-house wood floors, they were generally 2 3/4″ to maybe 3 1/4″ planks. It’s always good to find a corner of carpet or lineoleum to pull up and peek (and we did) but the chances of ‘original wood floors’ being underneath any other flooring in a 50’s-60’s era house are worth betting on.

OK, back to my flooring saga…I knew there could be some damage to the living room and hall floor due to the leaking AC unit, so had to consider keeping the floors COULD prove to be a problem until all the carpet was removed. Further, Jose had pried up bits of the kitchen vinyl earlier, and it appeared there was some type of plywood under it. That left me with non-matching floors in the kitchen and living room, and I was tearing out that wall! Ugh. Of course I knew the laundry room floor would have to be something different since it was clearly going to have to be replaced all the way down to the sub-floor.

We had determined the bedrooms all had wood floors under the carpet, so I definitely planned to leave those intact….2 of the bedrooms, that is. The 3rd was destined to become the master bath, so that floor would have to go. THIS IS WHAT I THOUGHT I KNEW BEFORE DEMO TOOK PLACE! Remember my subtitle at the beginning of this post?

or…time to let the house reveal its dirty secrets…

Yes, my sweet little house let me down all around on the wood floor issue! I’ll be installing ALL new flooring

This is in the living room, obviously right in the walk path leading to the hallway….who’s ever seen an old floor grate for an old gas heater?! Yep – at some point the old gas heater was upgraded to CHA – and at that point the old grate had to come out. It’s not IMPOSSIBLE to replace the missing boards with ones from, say, the room that becomes a bathroom, but it would be very difficult to work them in right in this main walkpath! Anyway, that was only problem #1

Though the hallway does have the original wood, it does have enough damage from the adjacent leaking AC to rule out it’s use….

We were surprised to find that under ALL the layers of flooring, the kitchen did in fact have the wood planks. I had argued with Jose that it couldn’t be anything else! But it was buried so deeply…to his credit he did not give up until every piece of every old floor in the house was scraped up and added to the dumpster! But even IF we could patch the former grate in the living room, getting this yucky smucky stuff all the way down wouldn’t have been easy.

Strangely, this room is the one that disappointed me the most! Known as “bedroom 2” it is going to be MY home office. What you’re looking at is the remains of the walls which formed the world’s smallest master bath (remember the pic? if not I’m reposting here)

Not only was this tiny bath useless, the loss of it caused us to NOT be able to use the original wood floor in this room either. I was so bummed! I had just been SURE this bath was added later, as I couldn’t imagine it being part of the original plan! If it had been added later, they wouldn’t likely have dug out the planks for the footer, so either they had the most patient remodeler ever to exist, or they actually built this bath from the beginning. No wood floor for Nancy’s office – pout!

Ditto for the closet in the soon-to-be-master bath…but that floor will be tiled anyway. Ditto again for the hall bath, and ditto on the tile too. There is exactly one bedroom where there is nothing at all wrong with the wood floors! But alas, we can’t really go to all the trouble to refinish ONE bedroom floor….and worse yet, we can’t have new wood, tile, or any other new material come up next to that old wood floor…

So the consensus is….we are unable to use any of the original wood floors and I’m so bummed about it!

Tune in next time to find out what I’ve cooked up to make me feel all better about the floors…..I’ll start sharing colors and finishes with you next week – fun!

Let’s also say goodbye to the old bathroom heater; I would love to hear from you in COMMENTS if you had one of these in your house growing up! Wow, there was never any WARMER heat than what you got from a gas space heater! These are actually illegal now, though. Of course I wouldn’t use it again anyway, but they have to be removed with a permitted remodel. Say goodbye….and tell me about your favorite childhood gas space heater!

(did you race your siblings to get to it first in the morning???)

Once again, I thank you for keeping me company on my little cottage redo…I’ll be inviting you over to celebrate the finish before you know it!

Let the DEMO begin! It's TIME! I've been plotting & planning, dreaming & scheming, adding & subtracting....and now FINALLY it's time to tear into this house & MAKE IT HAPPEN!

#cottage #demo day #fixer upper #original wood floors

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