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deebris · 2 months

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Seems like destiny

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After spending years in the bone marrow donation system, encouraged by the army, Simon was finally notified that they had found a match. He just didn't expect to find out that he would be donating it to his own son, who he had with his teenage love and never knew.

Warnings: Family problems, panic attacks, teenage pregnancy, swearing, mention of diseases such as leukemia, murder, archaic ideas, anguish.

Word count: 3.5 k

Any questions or errors, please let me know.

Simon always remembers how the army encouraged soldiers to be blood donors. There was a great concern within about it, as it was one of the ways the government found to help hospitals and people who depend on transfusions to survive.

Then campaigns for bone marrow donation began, but it was so rare to find someone compatible that after 6 years on the waiting list, Simon thought he would never find someone who would need him. But that changed two months ago when he received a call from the institute informing him that he should go there immediately.

He underwent more medical exams than he had ever done, and although he was a tough guy, he couldn't deny the pain he felt in the weeks following the procedure. Among so many people dying in beds waiting to find a donor, someone could finally heal because of him. It made Simon feel good about himself, as good as he hadn't felt in a long time. That had been one of the reasons why he joined the army: to help people.

Now he could only hope that whoever he donated to would improve. He found himself during the day thinking about it, wondering if in a few years it would affect him as much as it does now. It's not very fresh in his memory, but Simon is able to superficially remember the day he registered on the bone marrow donor list. He had been in the army for a short time, still a soldier, and "Ghost" didn't even exist yet.

He thought this would be put aside. He didn't understand if he would need to donate more often, not really knowing the process deeply. That's why when he received another call from the same institute, he thought there had been some mistake, or that they would need more, but the reason for the contact surprised him.

The recipient's caregiver wanted to meet him and was willing to break the standard anonymity by revealing their identity. Accepting the offer would mean that he would also need to disclose his personal information, which is why he hesitated so much. But as he constantly replayed the woman's words in his head, he grew restless.

"The caregiver wants to meet you," that's what she said. Could the recipient be a child? Or perhaps an elderly person? Or maybe someone who was already so ill that they could barely decide for themselves. He shouldn't have any information about this person, even something as empty as what that lady had let slip.

"You should accept. Everyone would like to have the opportunity to personally thank the person who saved their life," were the words of his Captain, John "Price." And it had been the push that Simon needed to agree to the idea.

Now, standing in front of the hospital room door, Ghost debated with himself whether he should open it. Just a few meters away was the little boy who had been haunting his mind for the past few days. And how did he know it was a boy? He had been directed to the children's oncology ward when he arrived at the reception minutes ago, as soon as he was cleared by the unit director, who already knew about the situation and the breach of anonymity.

Furthermore, the clipboard with the patient's information on the door also made it clear that it was a boy. The name "Lucas" was printed on the paper, accompanied by a surname that was familiar to him. There weren't many people in the UK with that name, which caught his attention.

All that separated him from the family was that door, dividing the cold hospital corridor from the room he could only hope would be less disheartening and empty. He didn't know if he would find a smile on the other side, or if he would be met with the sad gaze of the child's mother.

This woman had contacted him through a letter. On that day, he hadn't yet notified the institute that he was willing to speak with her, so the letter came anonymously since nothing had been filed. He read what she had to say, revealing some things, such as the fact that she was a single mother and was extremely grateful to God for sending him to save her son. Some paragraphs were difficult to read, where she recounted how she had lost hope before.

The little comfort he found in that text was when she talked about the boy. In those passages, her handwriting was less shaky, and he was sure she was happier when she wrote those parts of the letter. He knew that this had been her attempt to persuade him to come meet her, but without her knowing, he had already decided. Simon kept the piece of paper with him and reread it in his spare moments.

That stirred his emotions. He thought he had managed to harden his heart after everything he had been through, but he was wrong. Deep down in his soul, he was more emotional than he let on to others. He hoped that "Soap" would never find out, or he would be eternally tormented.

"Damn," he muttered softly, snapping back to reality. Simon began to bitterly regret agreeing to this. He should have declined and moved on. He could leave, but he was already here, so he mustered up the courage to knock on the wood.

He considered himself presentable in the civilian clothes he wore, accustomed to the heavy military equipment he carried all day at the base, and also missing the mask covering his face. Simon adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, as a way to occupy his sweaty hands, more nervous about the approaching footsteps he heard than his appearance.

Before the door opened, he had already told himself he would remain silent and wait for the boy's mother to start the conversation. If she asked who he was, he would state his name and explain why was there. But as the woman inside was revealed to him, he fell silent not because he had decided to, but because he was speechless. Suddenly, those seconds he spent admiring the child's surname on the door seemed like a scene from a comedy movie to him. How ironic it is considering he was just thinking about you moments ago and, like magic, you appeared?

It seemed like you took a few extra seconds to recognize him, and he doesn't judge you for that. Although you have changed and are now an adult woman, with a more mature face and body, he had changed much more since he was a teenager. Back when you two were in school, he was shorter and thinner, and he didn't have any of the scars on his face.

But it wasn't just that which changed in him. You stared in complete shock at how different the demeanor of the guy you were in love with was. He was more serious, more intimidating, very different from his brother, Thomas, whom you had seen years ago, just a few days before he was brutally murdered along with his wife and child.

Your legs went weak, and your eyes burned with tears threatening to overflow. You wanted so desperately to say something, but nothing could come out of your mouth. Was this real, after all? You withdrew your hand from the doorknob, not realizing you had been gripping it tightly until now, and sat in the nearest chair to avoid collapsing to the ground.

Your blood pressure had surely dropped, as you were sweating cold and seeing black spots. What were the chances, after so many years and after everything you had been through, of finally finding him just when you weren't even trying anymore?

Your memories since you found out you were pregnant began to flood back. You vividly remember your father's reaction when he found out you were having a baby; what he said when found out that the neighbor's son, Simon, was the father of the child; how you struggled to escape him after he took you away to another state, to cover up the shame of having a "prostitute" as a daughter.

You never managed to tell Simon, and when you returned to that town, the town where you two met, he was no longer there. You didn't have a penny in your pocket and only survived that week because of Tommy's help. He gave you a bed to sleep in, food, and clothes, both for you and his nephew. You remembered the perplexed expression he had when analyzed Lucas's appearance, it was impossible to deny that he was a Riley.

It was because of him that you found out Simon was in the army and that he hadn't come home in months.

You never managed to thank him properly. Just two days after showing up there, Tommy handed you half of the money he had in a bank deposit. He told you that a good part of that money belonged to Simon, and therefore, it belonged to your son too. You rented a hotel room so as not to continue bothering his wife, especially since she now had to cook and clean for five people.

You left for the hotel with the promise to reward him someday and continued making visits while anxiously tried to contact his brother on his phone, but Simon never answered. You didn't have a cell phone and couldn't spend the money Tommy gave you so lightly, deciding to prioritize your son's needs.

Several voicemails were recorded, but there was never a response. You felt angry at Simon. You screamed into your pillow, frustrated for not being answered and repeating to yourself how stupid he was. But the possibility that maybe he was dead haunted you. Tommy had told you how complex his work in the army was, that it was more dangerous than usual.

You always feared what you would find when you saw him again. He could have a wife, a beautiful house, and everything you ever wanted to have with him one day but couldn't. He could have children, children who had the opportunity to grow up with him, unlike Lucas. And then when you found out that no, none of that had happened, a kind of happiness flooded your chest, even though nothing in the world guaranteed that he would want anything with you again. The last time you had anything, you two were barely adults, until one day you left without saying anything. You thought he hated you.

That lasted until one time, when you went to Tommy's house, there was nothing there but blood. You still remember how scared you were when you found the broken door and called the police, who surrounded the scene of the violent crime that had just happened. You waited so long, but so long for Simon to show up. What kind of person doesn't attend their own brother's funeral? That's when you decided to forget him and threw away the phone number you had written down.

Some more time later, when Lucas had just turned 7 years old, your life was turning upside down again. It all started with symptoms of a common virus. He had fevers, weakness, and got tired very easily. Then he started losing weight and getting pale. Many pediatricians said it could be anemia or hepatitis, but more symptoms kept emerging. Joint pains came, as did swellings, and after a year of medical investigation, the diagnosis came: leukemia.

You entered a state of denial. Was there something wrong with his diet? Or his lifestyle? It could be genetic, but there were no cases of cancer in your family. Maybe the Rileys had some?

Since that day, your life has never been the same. With each passing month, your son only got worse. You would give all your savings, live on the streets, or even rob a bank if it meant seeing your baby well again. Fortunately, the government offered treatment for free, but some medicines needed to be acquired more urgently than the hospital could provide, and medicines for such treatment were not cheap at all.

The only thing that could cure your boy was the marrow from a compatible donor. You prayed so much that you could save him, but when the tests were done, it was impossible. If no one in the family could donate, it was almost a death sentence. Your last hope was your father. You hoped to never have to see him again, let alone tell him where you had run away to, but now you were no longer the same foolish young girl who depended on his money.

Despite everything, you knew he loved his grandson, and a single phone call was enough to make him come running. In recent years, he had been worried about the two of you, not knowing where you had gone. He never had the courage to admit he was wrong, and apologizing was never his strong point, but he regrets every day what he did. That day he didn't know how to react. He wanted to kill Simon, the brat who got his only daughter pregnant, just as he was afraid you would become a joke in neighborhood for having such a young son. He only managed to think about leaving to avoid a disaster, never asking what you wanted or how you felt.

For the first time, when he saw you so tired and alone, he held his tongue to not say anything that could ruin everything. Instead, he hugged you tightly, and you were so craving someone's company that you curled up in his arms just like when you were a little girl. He was a grumpy and archaic man, someone who made many mistakes, who still makes them, but he still has humanity within him.

Unfortunately, he was not a match either.

You stopped daydreaming, and you didn't realize how bad you were until you saw an adult Simon crouched in front of you, shouting in the hallway for a doctor, but you tried to silence him by grabbing the nails on his rolled-up shirt sleeve, catching his attention. The last thing you want is for the doctors responsible for your son's health to be alarmed, thinking he's worsened. These professionals worked as hard for him as you did. Simon seemed to understand and went to close the door to prevent curious eyes from appearing.

Simon looked at you with sadness, and it crushed your heart. He was afraid you wouldn't be able to breathe properly again; he knew you were desperately begging for air, but couldn't draw it in. He hesitated to touch you, but gave in to the desire and placed both hands on your cheeks. He was incredulous. It was really you, the girl he loved most in his entire life, more than he thought he was capable of loving another woman. Simon had imagined so many times meeting you again, and he had so many doubts.

"Calm down," he repeated in a whisper, locking his eyes onto yours. He knew panic attacks; he had experienced them himself several times. "I know. I know, dear. It's a lot to process."

"You…" your voice tried to come out amidst desperate breaths, while also trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands grabbed both of his wrists, and your thumb smoothed over the skin, feeling his heartbeat. "It's you who…?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me, the donor," he quickly confirmed, even before you could finish the question. "Don't speak. Breathe."

You were managing to calm down and think more rationally. Understanding hit you like a bucket of cold water, and your embrace made the big burly man he had become freeze. The feeling was so strange. Of course, among so many people, the only one who could save your little son would be his own father. The person with whom he shared half of his genes.

"He's yours, Si," your voice sounded like a spell in his ear, the old nickname sending shivers down his spine. Your tone was so gentle that he barely understood the meaning of the phrase. But soon he felt his lips quivering, recounting the events of the past few months and how unbelievable this would sound if he told this story to someone. "I swear he's yours," you repeated as if that made it easier to assimilate.

The content of that letter invaded his mind again and again. He felt horrible.

Simon pulled you closer to him, your bodies almost merging. You were still beautiful, even in your disheveled state, betraying exhaustion. And even after so much time, it was as if nothing had changed between the two of you. He knew there was a small body behind him, sleeping peacefully in the bed, but he didn't dare to look. He could hear the sound of the machines, and then it all came crashing down on his shoulders at once: he had a son with you. By his calculations, the boy should be 9 years old. Wow! He hadn't seen you in over a decade.

"I have so many questions," he confessed with a choked voice, and you don't remember ever seeing him cry before when you were younger.

"I searched for you so much. I called so many times," the last thing you wanted was to make him feel guilty, but hearing that, he felt like he should have kept searching for you too. As soon as you left, he went asking where your father had gone. He worried and tried to find out something, until enlisted in the army, and then all he did from then on was just think about you; never seeking; never trying in any way to find you again because it seemed easier to accept that you had left forever.

You tried to distance yourself, even though you hated it, to look at his face one more time. Simon allowed you to run your fingers over his features until your eyes landed on your son behind him. He knew where your gaze had gone, but he didn't follow it. And of course, you would understand what was happening.

"Look at him," you pleaded with tenderness, but he shook his head while rubbing his eyes, as if they hurt. "You're hurting me doing this, Simon."

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was rejecting the boy, so he stood up, fighting the weakness in his legs and slowly approaching the bed. The child's face was turned exactly in his direction, as if anticipating he would be there, but his eyes were closed, and his breathing was peaceful. It was only then that Simon realized how he was hyperventilating until he felt your hand gently pushing him closer.

His heart hammered in his chest, overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, as he watched his pale and still son. Each step was a journey through an ocean of uncertainty, each breath an effort to maintain composure in the face of the storm raging within him.

As he leaned over the fragile and inert body of the boy, a wave of emotions engulfed him. His broken heart cried out to stop the affliction that plagued his son, that beloved being he barely knew.

Tears blurred his vision as he stroked Lucas's hand, so small and vulnerable compared to his, so similar to yours. Each touch was a silent promise to stand by him in every moment, even in the darkest and most painful.

He found himself whispering words of comfort, as if each sentence could ignite a spark of life in his son's dormant soul. He pleaded to the heavens, to the stars, to any higher power that could hear, for a miracle, for a chance to see those childish eyes shine for the first time in his life. He was an identical copy of Simon at that age, and it made him wonder if the color of their irises was also the same, the same shade of brown. A sudden curiosity arose: what was his voice like? Would it sound like yours, so gentle and reassuring, or could it somehow sound like his?

There, in that moment, time seemed to freeze, the whole world disappearing. It was as if he were dreaming. There was no way all of this could be true, someone must be playing a prank on him. He wanted to look at your face again, to smell you while he ran his hands through your hair to make sure it was really you, flesh and blood. "He's going to be okay," he poured out the words, even though he knew the danger in promising that, and you dove into them, knowing you didn't have to face everything alone anymore.

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thewordswewrite · 2 years

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⍟ Look My Way ⍟

«Chapter 1» - Beck and Call

Pairing | Sex Worker!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary | When it comes to dollar signs and business deals, you know a lot but as for matters of the heart, well, you know very little. When a scantily clad Steve Rogers stumbles into your life, you decide to pay for all the help you can get. *Pretty Woman AU*

Warnings | prostitution, implied and explicit sexual content, explicit language

W/C | 5.7k

A/N | Much of the plot of this story follows the events of Pretty Woman (1990) with a twist. Only a few lines are lifted directly from the script. Steve is younger than reader but not by much. Next chapter will be out sometime next week. Comments and feedback welcomed. Remember to respect and support sex workers and enjoy!

“You just think I’m at your beck and call!”

As much as you wanted to toss the phone out the window and right into the heated infinity pool or, hell, maybe into one of the ‘suits’ complimentary cocktails, you kept it pressed to your ear, the nagging pain in your shoulder returning.

“Wanda, honey, I do not believe that you’re at my beck and call.” You plopped down on the white leather sofa, letting your girlfriend drone on about what an emotionless, inattentive partner you are. By this time in your career, you could just about count on two hands how many relationships have ended with a conversation similar to this and that included your unfortunate marriage to an ex-husband who was more compatible with your credit card than you.

“That’s it, I’m moving out!” She hung up with a huff and it was for the best, for you knew you didn’t possess the words or the care to convince her otherwise. It was true, you haven’t been know to be the cuddliest of people, at least not since business took off for you but that was what made you good at what you did; you didn’t get emotionally involved in your business deals and that made it all that much easier when it came down to it. After all, you had to make the decisions that others weren’t willing to make. How could it be that very thing that made you so successful, simultaneously made you so lonely? Was it not enough to provide for your partners? To give them the financial comfort and stability to find their own success?

Rubbing that horrible ache on your shoulder, you stood at the wall of windows watching the investors and the potential investors play a game of Simon Says, trying to find the right person to grovel to that would push them in the direction of their future millions. Well, it wasn’t you. Not today.

You decided you need some air, exhausted from the pandering of the party and more so the disappointment in Wanda’s voice. Stark hadn’t shown up anyway, just as you had predicted and your potential deal with the absent proprietor was the only leverage Natasha had in getting you to show. You slipped the strap of your heels off one by one and held them in your hand as you padded down the carpeted hallway.

At the top of the stairs, you passed by a young blonde man in a charcoal gray suit, an employee of yours who followed behind you like a stray pup. He began to mumble something about the party but you weren’t interested, not until Stark’s name crossed his lips.

“Well Natasha had suggested-”

“Natasha is just my lawyer. I make the suggestions. Now, how did the Stark stock open on the Nikkei?” You continued to make your way down the stairs, not bothering to look at the blonde as you spoke, only interested in finding the quietest route to the exit.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? The stocks opened maybe…90 minutes ago. You have to keep on top of it. What do I pay you for?” To your left was sweet release in the form of glass double doors. The man gaped at you, inviting the image of a goldfish into your head. You sighed and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Wrap this thing up for me will you,” you gestured to the party, “as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As you reached the door, an older gentleman dressed in a three piece suit handed you your coat. You heard your name called from one or more of the partygoers as you slipped out the door. It wasn’t your responsibility anymore, you told yourself; you had already passed that on to someone else. The poor boy. You made a mental note to tell Natasha to keep an eye on that one.

A groan escaped from your lips as you bumped right into your limo, that just happened to be so perfectly quartered in behind several other cars. You couldn’t take the limo and you wouldn’t go back in so you searched for the next best thing.

“Is this Ms. Romanoff’s car?” You called to the valet boys. As if she had been waiting for her cue, Natasha marched over, the harsh click of her heel already indicating her mood. Well, she was your employee and you’d pay her for her troubles. “Do you have your keys on you?”

“What’s wrong with the limo?”

“It’s blocked in. There’s no room for Clint to back out. The keys.” You held out your open hand to Natasha as she stood there with her hands on her hips, making no move to relinquish them.

“I don’t think you should drive,” Natasha remarked, “You’re a shit driver and you’re clearly over-excited.” On instinct, harsh words made their way to the end of your tongue but you stopped yourself. Natasha was your lawyer, sure, but she was also the closest thing you had to a friend. You knew she wouldn’t relent or pitch a fit if you snapped at her but she didn’t deserve it. And she was right. You are a shit driver.

“I need to get out of here, Nat,” you pleaded. Natasha pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, her eyebrows deeply furrowed. After a moment, she dropped the keys in your open hand.

“What am I supposed to do if Mr. Stark makes an appearance?”

“Tell him I had to take my dog to the vet,” You told her as you made your way into the driver's seat.

“You and I both know you don’t have a dog,” Natasha scoffed. “What is this really about?” She searched your eyes for a moment before the ends of her lips turned downward. “Oh, hon, is this about Wanda?” You shook your head as she leaned on the car door, her emerald eyes locked on yours.

“It was bound to happen sometime,” You huffed. Natasha made her way around the front of the car but you stopped her before she pulled open the door opposite to you. “Really, Nat, I’m not all that heartbroken. I just need time to think.”

“Alright,” She sighed. “Just don’t get in an accident.”

You gave her a small salute before you pulled out of the driveway, having no idea where you were going.

Steve groaned as something fuzzy tickled his cheek, waking him for his restless nap. His eyes opened to a view of pure white and for a moment he considered the idea that maybe he was dead. That was until the white figure turned to reveal icy blue eyes and a perfectly pink sandpaper tongue.

“Buck!” Steve called, bursting out of his room with the ivory cat in toe.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered with a mouth full of pizza.

“What the hell is this?” The cat jumped up onto Bucky’s lap, unconcerned.

“It’s a cat, Steve.”

“I know it’s a-” Steve cut himself off with another groan. “I can see that it's a cat, Buck, but don’t you think this is something you discuss as roommates? There’s barely enough room in here for the both of us.” He made an attempt to rub away the tension gathering on his forehead as Bucky held up the cat to his face, feigning a lost puppy sort of look. Steve sighed, defeated. “I don’t want this place smelling like cat piss and I’m not cleaning its litter box.”

Steve couldn’t miss the shit-eating grin on his roommates face as he turned to go get ready. He still wasn’t used to this; sleeping during the day and working at night. When he was still living with his parents he had spent most of his time in bed, just not for the reasons he did now. That was another thing he couldn’t get used to. Growing up, he was sickly and weak; there wasn’t much to him besides skin and bone. Since Bucky had got him on his feet though, he had taken to working out, eating better when he could. Although, now neither of them were eating much at all. Dollar slices down at Loki’s was mostly what constituted a meal nowadays.

Steve stood in the mirror taking in his look. It wasn’t subtle by any means and his wig didn’t fit quite right but Bucky had said brunettes were in right now. No, this wasn’t Steve’s idea of a career, or a life for that matter, but for now, he was getting by.

Shoving aside one of the ceiling tiles, Steve reached his hand around, searching for the shoebox that he and Bucky kept their earnings in. It wasn’t much of a safe but it did the job. He checked the box nightly, trying to do the math on what he needed to charge for the night, how many customers he would need. Pushing off the top of the box, Steve found only a couple crumpled five dollar bills where there was once a couple hundreds. For the second time that night, Steve burst into the kitchen.

“What the hell is this?” Steve cried, “And for the love of God, don’t tell me it’s twenty bucks!” The cat jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice, hissing as it slunk away.

“Look, I found Alpine on the street and she needed-”

“Alpine?” Steve could feel the heat rising in his face. “You spent our rent money on a cat?”

“I know this seems bad but-”

“Bad? Buck, we’re going to end up on the streets!” Steve slumped over in what served as both a couch and Bucky’s bed, his head in his hands. “Don’t you know how many nights we’d have to work to get that back?”

“Look,” Bucky began, “I’ll work all night and I won’t have any of ‘em pay less than $100.” Steve pulled a pillow over his head. “I promise I’ll earn it back. I just couldn’t leave her out there, Steve.”

It was going to be a long night.

“Shit!”

Another car blared its horn as you turned too early or too late or, you really had no clue but it wasn’t right. You’d been driving for who knows how long to who knows where. You just wanted to get back to your hotel, back to your penthouse but no one had taken kindly to your requests for directions. It was only fair, you supposed, you did look a bit too uppity for the area.

It wasn’t much longer before you found yourself on Hollywood Boulevard, right along the Walk of Fame, which seemed popular though with a different type of crowd at least at this hour. You weren’t an idiot. You knew it wasn’t safe to be in such a spot at night, especially not with you in your cocktail dress and showy car but you had no idea how to get back to the hotel. At least if you were held at gunpoint or something there’d be someone around to see.

You ruffled through the papers in the glove compartment, hoping to find the address for the hotel written on something. Maybe it was time you started making your own bookings rather than handing them off to your secretary.

Something in your rearview mirror caught your attention and you turned to see two men arguing over something. Both were tall and, from what you could see, well built. The more you thought about it, the more you realized you really could see a lot of them. You weren’t sure exactly what their getups were supposed to communicate but whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t subtle. You couldn’t make a clear read on whether or not it was worth asking them for directions so you went with not, turning back to call Natasha to give you the name of the hotel. It would be hard to admit to being so helpless but it was better than staying where you were.

Your phone was already pressed to your ear when there was a knocking sound at the passenger-side window. With a shaky hand, you rolled down the window.

“Hey, sugar, you looking for a date?” The words blew through the window with little to no conviction and your view consisted only of abs framed by a barely buttoned white shirt and the hard outline of the man's package clad in blue spandex. If someone was going to hit on you, the least they could do was feign confidence.

“Uh, no actually. I’m just looking for directions.” A face leaned into view. A very nice face for that matter but it was of little concern to you. You were most distracted by the mop of dark brown locks on the man’s head which couldn’t be natural by any means. He stared at you with his big blue eyes and that image of a goldfish returned to the front of your mind. You needed to get out of here.

Clearing your throat, you spoke again. “Can you give me directions to Beverly Hills or not, sugar?”

“Sure, for five bucks.” This time it was you who sat with your mouth agape. The man narrowed his eyes at you, watching your response. All the confidence that was missing from his words before was there but his face told another story. He looked as though he might crumble with enough pressure.

“Excuse me?”

“Now it's ten.”

“I’m not paying you for directions,” You scoffed. There was a glint in his eye that you could’ve sworn wasn’t there before.

“Hey, I’m not the one who’s lost.” He put his hands up in mock surrender but he didn’t walk away. No, he turned away, leaning against the car or more like leaning his ass up against the window. His pants were as tight as his shirt was loose and it didn’t leave much to the imagination. Sharp words were again at the tip of your tongue but, for the second time that day, you thought better of it. He had a point.

“Do you have change for a twenty?” You sighed, unlocking the door so he could join you.

“For twenty, I’ll be your personal tour guide,” he replied, snatching the bill from your hand before you could protest. You didn’t quite understand how someone could be so cocky and sheepish at the same time. He found a way to get what he wanted but he still looked at you as though he would hand the money right back if you raised your voice. “Start down the street and to the right.” He reached his arm over by the steering wheel but you flinched away in disgust which in turn caused him to jump back. “Uh, your headlights are off, miss.”

“Oh.” You straightened yourself out and turned the switch yourself. Miss. You couldn’t say you didn’t like that. All you heard all day was ‘yes, ma’am,’ ‘no, ma’am,’ ‘right away, ma’am.’ You were in charge, yes, but you were surely too young for that title.

The stranger on your right sat with his hands neatly in his lap. Despite the fact that he was up twenty bucks, he looked like a child in time out and you couldn’t help but notice the way he eyed like you might spring on him any minute.

“This is a nice ride,” He hummed, leaning back just a little.

“A bit too fast for me,” You replied, the blare of other driver’s grievances still echoing in your ears.

“Not yours?”

“Definitely not.” You were high class but goodness, you weren’t this gaudy. Natasha made the car look like it was built just for her; you looked out of place.

“You stole it?” the man questioned, a single eyebrow raised.

“No!” Were you sitting next to a petty criminal? He made it sound so casual. “What’s your name?” The way the words left your mouth it sounded more like an accusation than small talk.

“What do you want it to be?” A scoff left your mouth as you shook your head.

“Just tell me it’s not Wanda.” You were joking but he looked at you with such a sincere sadness that you felt a bit of shame pang in your chest. He didn’t even know you but he took pity on you. “Seriously, your name?

“Steve. Where are you staying again?” You told him the name of your hotel and he pointed to your right. He flinched as a piercing noise came from behind you. You raised your middle finger into the rearview, hoping the other driver could get a clear view. “You didn’t signal.”

“Huh?”

“Do you know how to drive, miss?” Your first instinct was to be offended and you would’ve given him a shove if he was anyone you knew, well, if he was Natasha, but he asked so genuinely it pulled the truth right out of you.

“Barely,” you admitted. “I pay people to drive me now. I’m out of practice and I wasn’t very good to begin with.”

“Do you want me to take over?” It wouldn’t be smart to let a man you picked up off the street get into your drivers seat. If your mother taught you anything, it was stranger danger. He could drive off anywhere. But your feet were killing you and so was that damn shoulder again. He seemed to be following your money after all so why leave now when he could possibly earn a tip? And above it all, you just couldn’t help but be disarmed by him. Besides his strange attire and questionable hair, you couldn’t help but notice his big blue eyes and crooked smile. Somehow, he looked as though he thought you might kill him but at the same time looked at you like you might be the best thing he’s seen all day.

“Will it cost me?” You sighed. He shook his head and flashed you that million-watt smile and you knew that you would pay for it, one way or another.

You got out and switched sides with him. For the brief moment that you met him face to face, you could see now that he was much taller than you. Even your heels wouldn’t have stood a chance against his height.

He sunk into the driver’s seat like he’d done it a million times before and you buried your head in your hands. What the hell were you doing?

“I’m sorry for your loss, miss”

“Wha-” You looked down at your black dress and thought of the makeup you applied earlier. Did you really look that dreary?

Not bothering to answer, you turned away towards the window. There was still a chance he was taking you wherever he wanted, though with your sense of direction you’d be none the wiser. You rubbed at your sore shoulder absentmindedly until something warm and a bit rough against the bare skin of your thigh captured your attention.

“Excuse me,” You huffed, gingerly removing Steve’s large hand away from your leg. He shot you a sideways glance and a conspiratory smile. A heat rose in your chest and you glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You haven’t exactly been forward about what you want,” Steve sighed with a slight shake of his head.

“Well, I definitely don’t want you to touch me!” Again his eyes narrowed in your direction. He searched your face incredulously.

“Miss, you picked me up.”

“Yeah, for directions not for-” Oh. “Wait, you’re-, I didn’t mean-” You buried your head in your hands, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. The girls on the streets you had driven down with their thick makeup and short skirts hadn’t been lost on you. You knew what they were looking for but you, naively, had never considered that the men on those street corners might be looking for the exact same thing.

“I’ll just take my twenty and find a cab,” Steve chuckled, putting the car in park and stepping out. Finally, you were just a few stories away from your bed and maybe even a warm bath. You grabbed your briefcase from the backseat of the car as the doorman greeted you by name. Your relief was just through the doorway but you couldn’t help yourself. You turned back in Steve’s direction as he sat on the nearby bench, back hunched over and elbows leaning on his knees. He looked like a stray, that was for sure. You always did have a soft spot for the scrappy ones.

“So, what is your, uh, rate?” You croaked, cringing at the shake in your voice.

“I won’t take less than a hundred.”

“A night?” Manageable.

“An hour,” Steve smirked, his words slithering out.

“An hour?” Trouble.

“I can, uh, do a lot in an hour.” You huffed out a laugh. There it was again. Those suggestive words and yet none of the confidence behind them.

“Ok,” you groaned, “How much for the night?” He shook his head at you again with that little chuckle. You wanted nothing more than to put him in his place but he had driven you all this way and you had no idea how far you had displaced him. There was no way to know if he even lived close to the corner you picked him up from. You couldn’t leave him there.

“How about three hundred?” He lilted, that smile plastered on his face.

“‘How about three hundred’ or three hundred?” You tapped a manicured fingernail impatiently on the wood of the bench.

“Three hundred!” You were already walking by the time he burst off the bench and you knew he would follow like the strays always did. Before long, he got close and snaked an arm around your waist. You slapped it away, making sure he got the message. What you were doing was already too inappropriate for your taste and you weren’t planning on letting the whole hotel know what you were up to. You didn’t even know what you were up to.

Steve’s eyes were wide as he took in the lobby in all its opulence. You had to practically drag him through the room just to get him to stay at your pace. He asked you your name as you stepped through the elevator doors and you told him, though not without a bit of prying from his side. The elevator attendant eyed the two of you suspiciously and it was too late to lie and say he was an old friend. He didn’t even know your name until a few minutes ago and you certainly didn’t often take up company that dressed like the man next to you.

“Penthouse,” the attendant chimed, smirking at you.

“Penthouse,” Steve repeated as though he had never heard the word before. You slide the key out of your bra. You had hoped to be sneaky but he was already laughing. Your cheeks went red. It’s not as if you thought anyone would be joining you tonight.

You sighed as you swung the double doors open, the plush carpet soft on your sore feet. Your mail and other documents Natasha had dropped off were piled on the front table and you grabbed them, leaving your key in their place, and went straight to your desk. Switching the lamp on, you poured over the papers as Steve took in the expanse of the room.

You were back to rubbing that spot on your shoulder as every paper in your stack was littered in Stark, Stark, Stark. Maybe you could recover if this deal went south but damnit, you wanted this one. The papers in your hands couldn’t keep your focus when a firmer hand replaced yours on your aching shoulder. You wanted to protest but you were already sighing deeply, your mind foggy as Steve worked on releasing the tension in your shoulder. You even shuddered when his thumb put pressure on a particularly hard to reach spot. In the desk mirror, you caught a glimpse of his face, a soft smile of contentment painted there.

“Let me guess…are you a lawyer?”

“Hm?” You hummed. “No, no. Not a lawyer.” Steve let out a small chuckle. You were long gone now and it was evident in your voice.

“Are you married?” That made you sit up. Steve’s hands went idle but they stayed on your shoulders. You glared at his reflection in the mirror.

“I am not…a cheater.”

“I’m not paid to judge.” Steve returned to his ministrations. “Speaking of getting paid…”

“Oh, right.” You cleared your throat. “Will cash do?” His big blue eyes were trained on your wallet as you leafed through.

“Uh, yeah, definitely.” You handed him the three bills. Even after finding his way to the penthouse, he still seemed surprised even to see those. He shoved them into his pants pocket and took a seat atop your desk. “So, now that you’ve got me here…what is it exactly that you plan to do?”

“First of all, those are important,” You gestured to your papers which were now being used as a cushion, “and second, I have no clue what to do with you.” He sat up abruptly as you swatted at his thigh. Gathering the papers, you sorted through them haphazardly before placing them in your briefcase. It wasn’t that you had planned to stop working but you needed something to make you look busy. The last thing you wanted was for him to see how nervous you were. You had no idea what to do with him but you couldn’t help but feel that you wanted to figure it out.

“Nat, I’ll have it back to you tomorrow. No, not a scratch on it. Now, the numbers on Stark Industries?”

Steve sat on the floor in front of the TV, wrappers from the minibar snacks piled around him. He looked like a little boy watching Saturday morning cartoons.

“Sorry, what was that?” You hummed to Natasha, smiling absentmindedly as Steve laughed at whatever was on the TV. The phone stayed tight between your shoulder and your ear as you reached from one of the snacks yourself. “Alright, I’ll check in on the London numbers later.”

“Babe, are you alright?” Natasha's voice crackled through the phone.

“Yeah, what makes you say that?”

“You just sound so…dare I say, content. Is someone there with you?”

“No,” You whispered sharply but Steve’s echoing laugh gave you away.

“You tramp!”

“Oh, sorry, gotta go, bye.” You pressed the end call button and tried to put the phone down softly, hoping to catch Steve in his own world a little longer. As you wrote down a few notes for yourself, the laughing continued but this time Steve looked over at you.

“I’ve never seen this one.” He gestured toward the TV, his crooked grin wide.

You moved from your chair to the couch, sighing as your back hit the plush cushion. It wasn’t long before you let your heavy eyelids close. It wasn’t much longer after that, when a prickling sensation against your calf had you opening your eyes once more. Steve had moved closer to you, leaning his head against your leg. You couldn’t help yourself and you reached out to run your fingers through his hair which, as you suspected, was crudely fake.

“What’s this?” He looked up at you with a soft smile and sleepy eyes. You gave a small tug to the wig.

“Oh,” he murmured, “well, Bu-, my friend says that women prefer brunettes.” You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his concerned face. “Do you?” He asked, bolder, as he placed a hand on your knee.

“No,” You whispered, tugging the wig off and tossing it aside. His blonde locks were messy and stiff in some places but they suited him much better. With a gentle hand, you fixed his hair as best as you could, losing yourself in the softness of it. You sighed as he leaned down and pressed a whisper soft kiss to the side of your ankle before he started a trail of kisses up to your knee, each more passionate than the last. When he was satisfied, he switched to your other leg, following the same route. You kept your hand in his hair as his warm hands grasped your thighs, pulling them apart.

“What is that you, ah, do?” You panted.

“Anything,” He pressed an open mouth kiss to one thigh, “Everything,” then to the other. “I just don’t kiss on the mouth.”

You nodded, unable to form words as he kissed anywhere and everywhere else.

The warm water ran down your body like silk, making the rest of your body feel as achingly good as your lower half. You had to remind yourself, several times before, during and after, that he wasn’t yours. Certainly you could pay him for another day, another night but you knew it’d lose its charm after a while with your money acting as a wall between you. You were fully aware that you paid him last night, of course, but the spontaneity of it all had made it feel far more organic. You knew better than to ruin a good thing by dragging it on. It would be far better to cut the stray loose now rather than let him leave you when your table scraps ran out.

As you dried your hair, the phone began to ring in the other room.

“Stark wants to meet with you, in-person.”

“Well, good morning to you too,” You huffed.

“I wouldn’t do it,” Natasha warned.

“Yeah, uh-huh,” the doorbell rang and you ran to grab it as Natasha continued. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ and signed for the room service at the door. As you wheeled in the foodcart, the phone went silent, stopping you in your tracks

“Are you listening to me? He wants to meet with you face-to-face.”

“Yes. Tonight. Dinner. Set it up.” You took a seat at the dining table and rubbed the tension out of your forehead with an open palm.

“That’s not a good idea, especially if you plan on going alone. I love you, but you’re not exactly a charmer. With Wanda at your side the playing field was evened but now that that’s not an option, I strongly, strongly, recommend that you do not go in alone.”

“I won’t go in alone. I’ll take care of it, Nat,” You replied, taking a bite out of a piece of toast. There wasn’t exactly an array of eligible bachelors at your disposal but Natasha was right yet again. Without someone more personable by your side, it was likely you’d tank the deal. Stark Industries was a family affair after all and it was more than just input and output to Howard, especially with the company providing for his son, Tony.

“I can’t believe you picked someone up last night! Wanda’s boxes are probably barely out the door of your apartment. You think whoever this is is good enough to bring to this, need I remind you, very important business dinner? You barely even like people! How good in bed does this-”

“Okay, bye bye now.” You hung up the phone cursing to yourself.

“Hi.”

“Oh, good morning,” you croaked, clearing your throat.

“I can see that you’re busy so I’ll just let myself out,” Steve offered with a sheepish smile. Tufts on his blonde hair were pointing this way and that from the combination of sleep and well, you.

“No!” you called out. “I mean, at least help yourself to breakfast before you go.” His smile only grew as he grabbed a pancake in his hands and started eating it. You wanted to laugh but you tried to stay as formal as you could. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yeah,” He got out between bites of pancake, “like a baby. You?”

“Yes, well. Thank you.” You picked up the closest document to you, pretending to read it just to hide the blush that you could feel growing on your skin.

“You never did tell me what you do,” Steve noted, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl. Something smart dashed to the tip of your tongue. Something along the lines of he was too busy telling, no, showing, what it is he does.

“I buy companies,” You replied, shuffling through more of your papers.

“Companies? What kind of companies?”

“The ones that are struggling,” You explained, “financially speaking.”

“And buying companies is stressful work?” He cocked an eyebrow at you.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re pretty tense,” Steve chuckled before taking a bite of his apple. You scoffed, wanting to defend yourself but he had a point. Instead, you continued eating your previously neglected toast. “Did I offend you?” He looked at you with those big blue eyes and you wanted to tell him that you were starting to think he couldn’t ever offend you, not anymore but you just shook your head.

“I have to get ready.” Steve nodded and sighed, his mouth turning downward. You felt the clench of your heart in your chest as you hoped that he was disappointed to see you go. “Take your time though,” you added, turning to leave.

“Do you mind if I take a dip in the tub before I go?” You were glad that he couldn’t see your face as you bit your lip so hard you almost drew blood.

“Go right ahead.” You were through the bedroom doors before he could say anything else.

Trying not to think of the man in the other room, you took your time getting dressed, picking out a pantsuit to get you through the day. You had reached for a black one but thought better of it, going for a navy instead. When you were dressed, you flopped down onto the bed, checking your phone for any updates but there was only one message.

‘Do you have a date or not?’

You were going to pay for this and in more ways than one.

Before you had the chance to change your mind, you sent back a simple ‘Yes.’

“Steve!” You called from your open door, “I have a business proposition for you.”

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young-royals-confessions · 8 months

Note

I'm the one who said I wouldn't want it to be a "queers destroy everything" message. I didn't mean it as the real life perception and I definitely didn't mean some things should not be destroyed, I just meant that within the show I wouldn't want their society to think "this wouldn't have happened if the prince were straight", you know? Because I don't think it's about that. Sure, Wille being queer and liking Simon is what sparked the whole thing, but if they hadn't been exposed by August maybe it would have been fine, if Wille has a different personality maybe he'd be content with hiding this part of him so that he'd still have all his privileges as prince. So yes, being queer is part of it, but not all of it, but the public perception (within the show) would be different, that's what I'm saying.

Also, real life positions aren't always compatible with fiction interests.

#monarchy #the abdication debate

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bibliothesoph · 1 year

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I'm back to yell about your wilmon fairy AU because I love them sdfghjk,l. I'm so curious about if soulmates or something similar exists in this world like if you find your Person does that make you more powerful or maybe unlock some new ability idk idk I just think they're so cute

Simon essentially twinkling because of Wille??? true love behavior

also I am imagining Linda/Sara mentoring Wille once they figure it out and I am cry

anyway if you wanted to start posting new chapters daily I would not be mad about it lmao 💀

PS: I hope August gets absolutely rekt <3

Ahhh thank you! So glad you’re loving it as much as I am! It’s really hard for me to NOT spoil anything, especially when I get these questions that make me want to spill it all! That being said, there are no soulmates in this fic. I love a good soulmate AU but it felt like I’d be biting off more than I can chew with the amount of magical stuff going on in this one. In my head, there are certain people with compatible magics. This can mean a lot of different things depending on the people and their magics, like that one can more easily do the kind of magic of the other or that their magics work really well when used together. Stay tuned on that front!

I would love to post chapters daily, and hopefully I’ll get to the point where I can! Between traveling and holiday things, I’ve planned out but haven’t finished actually “writing writing” the entire thing yet, so until I do, I’m doing it every other day. I’ll update the posting schedule in the summary if/when I’m able to post every single day!

I also hope August gets what’s coming for him, but I won’t spoil anything on that front, either :).

I will say that there are only 17 chapters of actual plot and that the last chapter will be like a “bonus” of some missing moments from Simon’s POV, so that should also answer some questions people might have!

Thank you for loving this story!!! <3 <3

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liketolaugh-writes · 4 years

Text

Overworked Leather

Author: liketolaugh Summary: It’s three weeks after Markus recruited Connor to Jericho. Neither of them have second thoughts about this. (Both of them are uncertain of exactly how true that is.) Sequel to White Gloves.

Of the two Jericho bases, Markus had only given Connor the key to one.

That had been the main effect of Markus and Connor’s first disastrous encounter: Jericho had been cleaved in two, and it had been one of the best decisions Markus had made thus far. It allowed him to neatly separate the non-combatants, the children and the damaged and the frightened, from the androids who were willing and able to fight.

South Jericho, hidden even more meticulously than the first, was integrated into the abandoned Pirate’s Cove amusement park, where a number of Jerry androids made nighttime activity a regular and expected thing already; acting as a halfway point between East Jericho and Canada, it held the vulnerable and noncombatant androids.

East Jericho, a captured Cyberlife warehouse and the only base humans knew about these days, housed those willing and able to fight, gather supplies, form contacts and so on. It also drew fire from its more vulnerable sister base, and Markus intended to keep it that way.

Josh kept loyal watch over South Jericho, meticulously careful and attentive to the needs of all the androids that stayed there. North stayed in East, viciously protective and most comfortable when in control and well-informed; Markus spent most of his time in East and Simon in South, but both of them moved back and forth as necessary.

None of them were ever in the same place all at once. They couldn’t risk the revolution being wiped out in one fell swoop.

It had been three weeks since Connor’s arrival, and Markus was starting to consider letting him have the other key. He’d halved casualties in the first FBI raid he’d been present for, sniping from the roof and sending agents scurrying back to cover, and he hadn’t once made an aggressive move toward any of the other androids, and he hadn’t even attempted to leave, for alleged business purposes or otherwise.

And that day, when his replacement appeared, he’d taken off into the rain before the other could even break the fence line. He’d returned less than an hour later, subtly hunched and avoiding eye contact even more fervently than usual, blue blood spattered on his clothes.

Markus hadn’t had time to check on him, making his rounds among the shaken and the injured, setting up a hasty watch, and contact Josh about the incident before he finally made it back to the war room (a repurposed meeting room, already fit with hologram systems and blank surfaces and a large table to sit around) to talk to the others.

Connor was asleep at the table, head pillowed on his left arm and wet hair plastered to his forehead; he hadn’t even washed the blood off himself. Despite everything, despite the tension dragging at his chest and the fear at the base of his skull and the ache of his overstressed knees, Markus had to suppress a flicker of a smile.

Simon was already present as well, prim and proper with his eyes carefully averted from Connor and his gun resting on the table in front of him. The (human) blood Markus knew had been splashed across his arm and torso had been carefully washed away, his shirt still darker where it had been soaked and dark spots still making themselves known and his skin glistening with lingering damp. He nodded at Markus as he came in, looking skittish and faintly frustrated. Markus understood; two attacks in a month was quite bad for them, and it was probably due to Connor’s presence.

“They’ll have to give up on him soon,” Markus said in an undertone, deferring to Connor’s sleeping state; he wasn’t sure what it was, but Connor, when not working, spent an unusual amount of time in stasis. “All other circumstances still apply, after all; the humans will start to riot if they continue at this rate.”

Simon inclined his head wearily. “But can we hold out that long?” he pointed out, and then shook his head sharply. “Never mind. Not the point. Who was that? You said Connor believed his series would be decommissioned if he deviated.”

“It was,” Markus said without hesitation, mentally bringing up the flash of a memory: the android almost exactly like Connor, eerie only for the sharper angles of his face and the cold blue of his eyes. “I caught a glimpse of his jacket before he took off after Connor. RK900, not eight.”

Simon’s lips pressed together, and Markus nodded, knowing what he was thinking: that wasn’t a good thought, an upgrade from Connor.

He sat down by Simon with a heavy sigh, wincing at the shift of his knees and the spike of a headache he hadn’t even properly noticed yet. It seems humans had a loose definition of compatible parts, though that shouldn’t be a surprise – and it was better than no parts at all. Simon shot him a lingering glance, stiff with worry, but didn’t say anything.

“Thanks for coming to East,” Markus added, still soft and with a pointed glance at Connor. “What’s your opinion on Connor so far?” He trusted Simon’s ability to judge character even more than his own; while Markus was fast warming up to the man, who seemed so far to be just loyal and determined and a little bit lost, he was waiting for Simon’s call before he made any lasting decisions.

Well. Any more lasting decisions.

Simon exhaled, long and tired. “I don’t really know, Markus. I don’t think he does, either. If I’m honest, though, I don’t think he has any business in East.”

Markus stiffened slightly, a sudden bolt of fear jolting up his spine, so soon after this last fight that he nearly went for his gun. “You think I should send him out of Jericho?”

“I think he should be in South,” Simon corrected. “Maybe not forever, but at least for a while. From what you said, he took the first orders he was given after he deviated, and hasn’t done much except follow them since. He isn’t talking to anyone, won’t even look at anyone except you- Markus, he hasn’t picked clothes. He’s still in the remains of his Cyberlife uniform.” He shrugged, looking away. “I know he’s been invaluable as a part of the guard, and I think he’ll be trustworthy unless something changes, but I don’t think he should be here.”

Markus kept his eyes on the side of Simon’s head for a minute, feeling more like he’d been kicked in the chest than he had when he’d actually been kicked in the chest earlier. But finally, he swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Simon. I’ll… keep that under consideration.” A moment of hesitation, and he tacked on, “I promise.”

Simon made a soft, dissatisfied sound, but anything more he might have said was cut off when the door banged open, making Connor flinch awake and scoot backwards, eyes darting immediately to the door and hand disappearing under the table.

North ignored him, shoving the door shut behind her and mounting the table in an easy motion. She had not washed the blood off, most of it on her hands and under her nails but some on her face and chest, and her hair was thin and clumpy from the rain. Her expression was somewhere between an unfriendly smirk and an irate snarl.

She was looking at Connor. “I thought you said you’d be decommissioned,” she said without a moment’s pause for breath or interruption, sharp with challenge.

“I-I was,” he snapped defensively, gaze dropped immediately from her face to the table. His fingers pulled at the fraying cuff of his sleeve, now colored with droplets of thirium and damp with rainwater. He was favoring his right arm, Markus noticed. “That wasn’t, he wasn’t, he was-”

“An RK900, not an RK800,” Markus interrupted, sparing the frustrated android. Connor deflated, relieved, and nodded remorsefully. “You didn’t mention him before.”

Connor’s gaze flickered briefly to each of them without ever meeting anyone’s eyes, still wary and shadowed even after three weeks. He was coiled tightly, subtly defensive, and it made Markus’ heart clench with less anxiety and more sadness every time he saw it.

“He was still under, under development,” Connor said, visibly uncomfortable. There was an odd texture about his throat that made Markus frown. “When I was in circulation. But I, I knew he was almost finished. Nines, he’s-”

“Nines?” Simon interrupted, throwing Connor’s train of thought off and making him go still for a moment, confused. Markus understood, though; it wasn’t like Connor to assign nicknames, and the thought that he’d been close with his successor was in some manner unsettling.

“…RK900,” Connor said after a moment, eyes still on the table. “My, ah, the development team called him that. Around me. But I think his name is, is Conan.”

He faltered- after a moment, Markus realized he wasn’t sure how to continue from there and rescued him again. “Nines’ development?”

Connor’s gaze lifted to his, wide brown eyes pinched at the corners, but relaxed a little and nodded. “Nines is more m-military-focused. Harder hitting and s-sturdier, but not as, as ver-versatile.” His hand went to cover his mouth, and he took a deep breath, eyes falling back to his arm. When he let go and spoke again, his voice came out steadier and more deliberate. “I don’t… think he could break the law. The, the government may be keeping a closer eye o-on Cyberlife’s compliance with regulation. And he was inexperienced. Bad at improvisation and using his environment.”

Connor exhaled harshly when he was done, looking like he’d burnt out his limited allotment of words. Markus opened his mouth to thank him, but North – who had been dead still for the entire explanation – interrupted him.

“Did you kill him?” she asked bluntly, arms crossed and head cocked, but the snarl of her mouth smoothed into a thin line. Markus’ heart tugged with melancholy, but he ignored it with the ease of lengthening practice.

“North,” Simon said warningly, but he was ignored.

Connor shook his head, and Markus’ stomach swooped in pitying frustration.

Well, of course he hadn’t. No one understood Conan’s situation better than Connor. And he was- well, in many ways, he was new. Accustomed as he was to spilling blood, and as easily as he’d turned that grim resolution on Jericho’s enemies – a good dozen FBI agents could attest to that – it was perhaps too much to expect for him to make the hard call here too.

And he’s had very little say in any of it, Markus reminded himself sternly – not like Markus, who had made the first call to violence only a month after starting to lead Jericho, or Josh, who had withdrawn to guard only the most vulnerable of them but never even considered leaving altogether.

North was not so understanding.

“Why the hell not?” she demanded, bringing her feet up to swing around and bare her teeth at Connor, the blood on her hands smearing on the table. “Your heart go soft when your programming dropped, hunter?”

Connor’s shoulders tensed, but he still didn’t rise to the bait, refusing to even meet North’s eyes. Perfectly even, he said, “I’ve killed everyone you’ve asked me to.”

He’d done more than that, Markus knew; aside from halving casualties during the first raid and occupying Conan’s attention during the second, he’d updated the patrol patterns to something more efficient, and he had some ideas for rearranging the workrooms so the less combat-ready were safer too. He was still too new to risk real resources on his ideas, aiming to capture warehouses and eventually police stations and infrastructure, but they were getting there.

The other residents had noticed, too, and they were slowly starting to warm up to Connor – especially the ones who spent the most time on guard rotation. Taking Connor in had been the right choice.

“Everyone has an adjustment period, North,” Markus interrupted, deliberately calm enough to force North to lower her hackles. “Connor is still new to deviancy.” Markus turned his attention off quietly fuming North, knowing she was angrier about the raid than anything else, and to Connor, who was already looking back at him with the tension of a scolded dog. “But she’s right, Connor. There are some kinds of mercy we can’t afford. You should know that better than anyone.”

Connor took it harder than Markus had meant, locking down visibly and staring at his fingers. His shoulders hunched up around his neck, and he nodded mutely, making no further protest. For a split second, Markus faltered, wanting to reassure him. The last statement had been a low blow; he didn’t need Simon’s pointed stare to tell him that.

Instead, he shook himself and moved on.

“The next time Conan goes for Jericho, do your best to put him down,” Markus said firmly. “We’ve been doing well, but that could change at the drop of a hat. We need at least another warehouse before we start aiming for infrastructure.” North smirked, but Simon just looked solemn. “Connor, you stand by your plan?” Connor nodded without looking up. “Then North, make a headcount of who can be repaired with what we have now. Simon, let Josh know, please.” Simon was better than even Markus at getting Josh to agree to plans of war.

North gave him a thumbs up, and Simon a weary, wry smile and a pointed glance at the door. Markus didn’t quite understand that second until he waved them off and realized that Connor was already gone.

------

Most of the androids Connor passed in the halls and the common rooms turned to look at him as he went by. Some of them snarled or sneered. More shrank away. Connor avoided looking at all of them, tuning in to the patter of rain instead.

It was still raining when Connor retreated outside, a rapid drum on the concrete that collected in dips and corners, icy cold and dimming the daylight hours. The fence stood out in the distance, damaged and bent, and Connor could taste petrichor on the air.

The still-evaporating thirium on his arms made his skin crawl, like a thousand layers of blue and red tacky on his hands, but he was used to ignoring it already. The same went for imaginary tired ache of his body, and the flicker of error messages around his vision, the protesting spark and grind of his shoulder and the crackle of his damaged throat plate. The moisture stung his injuries, but it was far more peaceful than the inside of the base, with too much noise and movement and people.

He sat down hard, knees up to his chest, and leaned back against the outside wall, closing his eyes to listen to the wind and the rain, letting the cool water dampen his half-dried clothing.

He thought of Nines. Cyberlife was unlikely to withhold repairs for such severe damage, but it was difficult to be sure with them – sometimes it depended on performance, sometimes on their mood, sometimes on the budget. Partial repair was a possibility as well.

It had been foolish of Connor to focus on disabling Nines rather than simply destroying him, which would have been faster, more effective, and allowed him to return in time to help fend off the FBI as well. Markus had never been so complacent with Connor. But…

But, nothing. Next time, Connor would destroy Nines. It couldn’t afford to do anything else.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, mind slipping off to doze in the gentle rain. It was peaceful outside, steady white noise and cool air and the muffled sound of androids still moving around in the warehouse. He would need to get up to watch the perimeter soon, but not yet. He could take a moment.

Connor hadn’t expected it to be so hard to stay awake. But, he supposed, that was what came of spending most of his time in stasis. Cyberlife hadn’t exactly afforded him the chance to occupy himself when he wasn’t hunting, and anyone who spoke around him spoke around him; he’d stopped trying to contribute early on, after one too many ‘mute’ commands as Connor-8.

Unlearning that was… hard, and not necessarily worthwhile when it mattered so little.

He stirred awake when someone started to approach, and went still again when they sat heavily beside him. When he looked up, though, it was to Markus, considering him with a thoughtful and unafraid expression. He looked at home here, as he did anywhere, his coat affording him a shield from the cold and the damp. Connor went unwillingly tense, mind flickering to his earlier mistake and what he knew he should be doing now, but he didn’t speak.

Connor wondered how Markus looked so unruffled.

Finally, Markus smiled at him, small and gentle, and Connor almost swayed forward, inexplicably drawn.

“You can stay inside, you know,” he said, quiet but clear despite the interference of the rain. “I hear it’s easier to sleep when you’re dry.”

Connor didn’t answer. It didn’t make any difference to him, and he bothered fewer people this way. He hadn’t even intended to sleep; it had just fallen over him, like it always did when he was still for too long. He kept his eyes on Markus, expectant, and Markus’ smile faded.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked eventually, shifting to face Connor better and his coat scraping the asphalt. “I can’t imagine you got out of that encounter unscathed, especially if you weren’t aiming to kill.”

Connor blinked, confused, and took a moment to find his words. No reprimand for not getting back to work? He had promised, and he clearly wasn’t badly injured-

“I, I took some damage to m-my neck and shoulder,” he said at last, too tired to try and stop his stutter. “It doesn’t re-require repair.”

Markus’ face pinched in clear disappointment, but all he said was, “May I take a look?”

Connor nodded absently, and was still somehow caught by surprise when Markus reached for his shoulder and pressed on it tenderly, his fingers warm and steady as they explored the damage site. Connor exhaled sharply, going dead still, and Markus paused.

“Alright?” he asked quietly, and Connor nodded.

Markus hummed, and was somehow even gentler as his fingers prodded at the joint of Connor’s shoulder, going up over his collarbone and then down under his arm as well, even and attentive. All of Connor’s focus narrowed to that motion, tight and overwhelmed, but Markus didn’t seem to notice. It barely hurt at all, Markus erring to the side of caution as he assessed the cracked plating and the heat of damaged and self-healing wires. After a minute, Connor realized he was leaning into him, and knew Markus had noticed too when he paused.

Then Markus’ hands left his shoulder to press even more carefully at his throat, and Connor still didn’t move, feeling that as soon as he did, the gentle touch would leave.

Perhaps Markus sensed something of that, because he didn’t pull away even as he finished, his hands slipping down to Connor’s forearm instead. Connor opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them.

“You should have said something,” Markus chided.

“…Sorry,” Connor murmured, realizing his mistake – unlike Cyberlife, Markus did not monitor his personal feed. Connor would have to report his damage before Markus could make a judgement.

Markus sighed, and Connor felt worse.

“Why don’t we go see Lucy?” he said unexpectedly, bringing Connor’s eyes back to him. He was smiling again, slightly strained. “You may be able to repair this on your own, but it could go a little faster. Some thirium can’t hurt either.”

Markus thought Connor deserved medical attention.

“…But I was, was supposed to kill Nin-Nines,” he said slowly. Markus had been very clear about that. Connor’s performance had been sub-par.

Markus smiled oddly, with teeth. “We try not to withhold care based on performance,” he said, as if he’d read Connor’s mind.

“Oh.”

Connor liked Jericho better than Cyberlife. He’d known that already, but the differences got clearer every day.

Markus was still rubbing Connor’s arm, a slow back-and-forth Connor didn’t want to spook away.

“Did, did ev-ev-everyone get l-looked over?” There had been a few who went down before Connor spotted Nines – a former security model, a PM700, a particularly fierce VS waitstaff unit…

Another sigh, this time a sound Connor felt in his bones.

“Everyone recoverable,” Markus said tiredly.

Connor wondered who wasn’t. Then he wondered how many casualties it would take for Markus to decide Connor wasn’t worth the effort.

There would be funerals tonight, and Connor knew he was not invited.

“Supplies?” he asked.

A flicker of a smile. “Still in good stock from our last run. You’re running out of excuses, Connor.” It faded quickly. “Do you know why they sent Conan? Why didn’t they just send another of…”

He trailed off, troubled.

“I never am-amounted to anything,” Connor said, surprised that this was a question. “They were on, on the, on the verge of de-decommissioning me a-anyway. I, I knew d-deviating would force, force, force their hand.” He resisted the urge to cover his mouth again, exhausted by himself.

Nines had been finished for months, with better performance statistics than Connor had ever had and less than a dozen drafts. All they’d needed was an excuse.

Connor’s clothing was soaked. His shoulder spasmed.

“That’s not true,” Markus said, sharp enough to make Connor flinch. His eyes were intense, his grip on Connor solid enough to wake him up and demand his attention. “No one worth nothing would survive a year and a half of that and come out compassionate. No one useless could cut casualties within a week of arriving or try so hard to step up and help. Cyberlife was wrong.”

He sounded like he meant it. Connor swallowed, static and painful, unbreakably drawn to the man in front of him and shaken to his core in some way he couldn’t identify.

It didn’t make sense.

“I came o-out more of a, a machine than wh-when I was f-first built,” he said, because it was true. He remembered: in the beginning he had been curious and eager, and talkative, and ambitious, and now he was just bloody and compliant. “And you- you were d-doing fine without me.”

He knew he was a help to Markus’ cause – that was why Markus had wanted him, after all – but it was true. Markus had been slowly gaining traction over the last year and a half, and they didn’t need Connor. Not really.

“But thank you,” he added belatedly, even quieter. “You… really don’t n-need to be so kind to me, Markus.”

Connor wouldn’t stop him, though. Any kindness Markus was willing to offer, he wanted.

And in exchange, he would give Markus anything. Absolutely anything.

Markus studied him for a few moments longer, silent and solemn, and then stood, offering Connor a hand up.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he said quietly. “And then Lucy can take a look at you.”

Connor stared up at him, silhouetted by the dim light and the rain, calm and unmovable, and then nodded, reached up, and took his hand.

#connor #markus #rk1000 #dbh #detroit become human #fanfiction #my writing #more of this verse!!#it only took like #two weeks for me to write lmao #means to an end

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aspiestvmusings · 3 years

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ZEP: S1 - THE ZIMON FACTOR

This is part of my ZEP: S1 Thoughts Master Post

Here’s the new & updated long analysis post for ZEP S1. This one features the whole season, all 12 episodes.

Just me...dissecting & analyzing the storyline...with focus on Zoey & Team Max. But since the stories are so intertwined, there’s Zoey/dad & Zoey/Simon talk, too. Among other things...relevant to it all...

ZEP: MAX & ZOEY - THOUGHTS 1 [LINK HERE]

The one & only reason I can’t be Team Simon.

I cannot ever consider Team Simon for one simple reason - the writers had the character be in a relationship/engaged…when his emotional affair with Zoey started. IF he would have been single, I could talk about choosing sides/teams, but this single fact takes Simon out of the equation. No matter how good looking, cool, hot, or compatible he might be with Zoey. No matter if their relationship grows in the future… Their first moments were cheating (on Jessica), and no matter how “human” and “real”, that is the line for me that shan’t be crossed. And the fact that the relationship ended does not change what happened before - they kissed while he was still engaged. You can’t take that back. IF the writers would have made him single..since start…I could debate which Team I’m on, but the fact he was engaged eliminates him for me. But none of their cute moments or shared grief bond… or hot dances change the simple fact that he cheated on Jessica.

Sidenote: if we’re talking cast, then I’m both Team Skylar AND Team John C. Those two gents are both great AND they can both sing!

THE ZIMON FACTOR

In the Pilot Max was encouraging Zoey to go after Simon, cause he knew she’s interested in the new guy… but that changed…at about the time she/he/they found out the guy is taken/engaged. That’s the moment when his “best friend mode” kicked in & tried to not let Zoey make her past mistake again with overly complicated, exhausting for everyone & not good relationship choices…

So there are two big things they can play with in the future that will help create the big drama they love - S. finding out that it all started because of Z’s superpower (she cheated in the game) and not because she could emotionally connect on her own. And in a nearer future Max finding out about the 1x08 Z/S kiss. Which has to come from her, directly, if she plans to stay true to her promise to be completely honest with him. And third could be S. finding out about the powers. (part of me thinks it should happen, part of me thinks it shouldn’t happen in S1)

Either way… we know that there are going to be scenes/moments (heart songs) from/with both of the men. Whether these are “love songs” or “heartbreak songs” or “angry songs” or… something other… we don’t know for sure..yet.

When I nwrote this there was ONLY THREE EPISODES left of S1. 1x10 on April 19th, 1x11 on April 26th & 1x12 Finale on May 3rd. And the finale was gonna brings us a very special “heart song” from/with one of the two men. So there are clear sings that by/in the S1 finale the show will “commit” to one of the ships. And since we have small bits & pieces about the coming eps & finale, we can put together a part of the puzzle already. And though it seems that the Finale will sadly be when Zoey says goodbye to her dad, there seems to be lot more going on. Work stuff/Team song, guest appearances by some past characters, Zoey revealing her truths and… more….

My “advice” to Zoey & Simon:

IF I could talk to these fictional characters, then the advice I would have given them…weeks/months ago would have been: just talk to your family & friends…the important people in your life. That’s Jessica for Simon, and Max (Mo, her mom…) for Zoey. Luckily we finally saw Zoey do that in the latest episode. So far we haven’t seen her really share the specific details on her dads health & her feelings regarding it all, with him. She hasn’t really confonted her feelings about it…til now or really confided in anyone in her family…etc… until now/finally. But Simon doesn’t seem to be doing so (he kept it all inside for a long time…until he had a chance to talk to a stranger, Zoey), and even though he made a point to not talk to her about it all, there has been no indication that after the “smoked roses” incident he’s confided in the person he should, Jessica.

Because… it doesn’t take a shared experience to get the support you need. The other person doesn’t have to have lived through the same/doesn’t have to know what it feels like in person to be the right person to lean on. And that was beautifully showcased at the end of ep 1x08, when Max, after he had been told about her dad’s condition, and her feelings regarding it, was the emotional support she needed. It just takes one person - somone who knows you best/well… to help you nagivate your “grief”.

To elaborate: That moment, when she finally was completely honest with Max, and let him in on her dad’s situation, was very important. It was the step to right direction. It also showed Zoey & us that it doesnt take a person who has experienced the same to understand her, support her. It just takes one person, who knows you & is there for you no matter what. And we shan’t forget that since Max was also close with Mitch, he will be personally affected by her dad’s death. So a shared experience… shared grief. Max being “in” on the details means that they’ll lean on each other more on this (so less need fo Zoey to connect about grief with Simon…who doesn’t have a connection with her dad & who doesn’t really know her). It was a crucial moment: Zoey finally not running from it all & properly starting grieving (going through the stages). And she finally let someone really in (something Simon can’t/won’t do with his fiancee… both cause she doesn’t understand him & his not willing to let her in), so this will make their friendship stronger going forward. Meaning: she doesn’t need Simon fro grief bond - she can get that support from Max, too.

And they really need to explore Simon’s character…and let him grow. Based on spoilers we know that were gonna get (finally) some more development and closer look into Max. But they need to look into S. (Is it just the grief? Is is something…more…)

As for Simon… I hope the show is not gonna go with the message: “Since he didn’t mean to do it then that makes it ok that he hurt his fiancee, and his grief-buddy” Even IF it really was all unintentional & he’s behaviour is all due to grief, that doesn’t make it OK to go to her house late at night without telling your life partner, it doesn’t make it OK to kiss her (when you’re still engaged) just because she gave you signals that she’s into you… Nope… he can’t take that back. And him being a “good guy, who is just a mess” doesn’t make it OK.

But… I am not so sure Simon’s not sketchy. I mean… he & Jessica clearly had problems before he ever got to SPRQ POINT. She seemed to want to help him, but didn’t really get him. He didn’t really confide in her, and really let her in on his feelings. Also… Jessica’s jealousy (the whole Zoey) thing could very well have roots somewhere… so perhaps this isn’t the first time he’s pursued other women, while being in a relationship? Of course it’s possible Jessica simply is/was jealous by nature, but maybe she has a reason/experience from past?

As for S & Z: their whole connection in built on a lie. He thinks she actually gets him, when that’s not true - she knows about his “grief” only thanks to her superpower. And you can’t really build a lasting relationship on “lies”… even if there is a connection (shared grief experience) that came AFTER the initial lie. Just think about when/if Simon finds out how/why it all began… that’s not gonna go as well as Max finding out about the games she played with him (that unnecessarily hurt Autumn in the end)…

Zoey’s first “real” interaction with Simon was in the Pilot episode, when she heard him sing “Mad World”. In the latest episode, 1x10 he sang the same song again. And I am predicting that the song MIGHT even be heard the third time during the season…in the finale. (or maybe she’ll just come to realize why she heard him sing that again.. in 1x10)

We’ve seen how Simon has been unable to deal with his grief, to move on, to let go. We’ve seen how it has destroyed him, his relationships… everything. And if we listen to the lyrics (original song by “Tears for Fears”, the extra sad newer version by Gary Jules), and think of Simon’s behaviour (he really is the great pretender”!…as demonstated well in many little scenes in 1x02 & 1x03…for example), I think it’s possible he’s gonna try to go down the same path his dad did. And that’s the “bad thing” Zoey is trying to stop in the s1 finale.

On this note: I can’t believe that Zoey still hasn’t figured out why Simon was put in her path..at this time. She’s not just supposed to help him, he’s supposed to help her. She’s supposed to learn from him and not make the same mistakes (since she’s not figured that out yet, she’s going down the same path as he is). Simon has been avoiding his grief, and it has made him a mess. He’s not talked with anyone about it..really, he’s not talked about it with his loved ones, and it lead to destroying himself, and his relationships.

And guess what Zoey has been doing…ever since we met her? She’s avoiding dealing with “her daddy issues”, and it has made her a mess, and ruined many of her relationships (best friends, relatives…). Until she realizes that she’s not supposed to make the same mistakes, and she’s supposed to learn from him, it’s not good. She’s ignored or forgotten (by the next day) all good advice from her friends and family…on this.. and she can’t take it all on her own..she needs to share the grief with people who care about her… to be able to deal…with it all…

#ZEP #ZOEY'S EXTRAORDINARY PLAYLIST #CLARKEMAN #TEXT POST #ONG POST #LIST POST #ZOEYS EXTRAORDINARY PLAYLIST #Zoey's EP #Zoey Clarke #Max Richman #Zomax #Zax #ZEP S1 #ZEP SEASON 1 #SEASON 1

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spiral-chronicler · 4 years

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HC MEME ✹ romance

name: viral teppelin

nickname: fuzzball, furry - and other variations of rude shit that Avant and Kamina use.

gender: male

romantic orientation: demisexual

preferred pet names: at the moment, none.

-- He actually doesn’t mind petnames, unless Kamina and Avant come up with it.

relationship status: involved, but polyamorous.

favorite canon / fandom ship: Viral/Simon, Viral/Kamina, Viral/Just About Any TTGL muse. I also love oc ships with Viral. Favorite current oc ship would have to be Viral/Salim. Absolute gold. Not written on tumblr, but I have no regrets.

favorite crossover ship: STILL WAITING FOR THIS.

opinion on true love: he absolutely cherishes the idea of true love. ever since his transcendence during the war against the anti-spiral, it has honestly become the guiding light of his life. To him, true love also encompasses familial and platonic bonds of depth!!

opinion on love at first sight: he believes in perceiving a connection as forged in combat, or through a spiritual convergence of some kind, but he wouldn’t call it “love” right away. Though he would be inclined to investigate the possibility by interacting further, if he did feel a sense of kinship or a comparability of values right away.

how ‘romantic’ are they?: he’s hopelessly romantic. because his history was so brutal - and gestures or words of affection were impossible to offer OR receive, he treasures them like miracles, now. even the tiniest gesture can mean the WORLD to him - both extending them to another, and experiencing tenderness from another. however, he generally puts up a stoic, defensive, or even a tsundere front if he doesn’t feel one hundred percent secure in the relationship. once he’s comfortable though, he’s a bigass moe catshark who really doesn’t hold anything back when it comes to the heart.

ideal physical traits: he doesn’t dwell on the appearance so much, given that he comes across so many different types of beings and races while charting through space. his own biology is chimeric in nature, so he doesn’t really cultivate a standard preference himself, for another’s biology. he does appreciate a healthy physique, whatever that happens to entail per a species.

ideal personality traits: he appreciates a bold heart and a freedom-loving spirit the most, because he’s attracted to strength both internal and physical. kindness, too, goes a long way. in a compatible personality, he would want to see that they could both celebrate and protect each other’s values (both the intangible and material) and that they could communicate honestly with one another, as equals.

unattractive physical traits: viral is pretty accepting of another’s physical state, honestly. I mean I guess if they were the Sludge Villain from BnHA, being a gooey jerk, he would definitely find them unattractive, but that’s mostly because he was being a jerk, and less because he was a sludgy fellow.

unattractive personality traits: cruelty, maliciousness, having a tyrannical outlook, oppressive methods, disrespect for life, willful ignorance in preference of truth, disinterest in personal growth, indifference towards his passions/or towards others’ passions at all, possessing an overbearing nature, cowardliness, or justifying one’s mistakes, one who is comfortable abandoning or using others for selfish or harmful purposes

….this list could get long, honestly, he’s picky here.

ideal date: a romantic encounter beneath the stars, whether on the chouginga or on a planet – something that brings them, as a small part of a much greater whole, into focus as being united pair in the bigger process of life. or, a scenic encounter near the ocean, or in nature in general, where his senses can rest and appreciate the sounds and and presence of thriving life. he’d also be up for a sweet little adventure in a marketplace on some world, sampling cuisine and picking out souvenirs and gifts for each other, as they learn/or teach about a new culture together (or if his date shares their culture with him, somehow. he loves becoming a part of someone’s life story though little connections like that.)

do they have a type?: he tends to like good guys who have more worth than they know/ or display. and maidens with strong hearts who find their own way to protect who/what they care about. he has a weakness for the ones who think they’re so bad but in reality they’re not even close to how ruthless he was as a young murderkitten – because it kind of showcases how morally centered they actually are, without them realizing it. maybe he doesn’t have ‘a type’ because he has like twenty types.

average relationship length: he’s a full-time honey. once he falls, he don’t get back up.

preferred non-sexual intimacy: he’s a nuzzler type, forehead snuggles, neck nuzzles, etc. he’s weak for kisses and for playing with one anothers’ hands. he’s the cuddling type also, who likes to let his partner sleep against him. damn near any affection, no lies.

commitment level: m a x e d. and he has the immortality to prove it out.

opinion of public affection: depends on how comfortable he is with the other person. if he feels that their bond is secure, viable, and trustworthy, then it’s fine to be a little brazen – regardless as to who they are or where. sharing a kiss or holding hands, holding one another if it’s cold out, or if his partner needs reassurance -- none of these things would bother him, because he’d be proud, confident, and dedicated to the relationship, anyway. he doesn’t pay mind to other couples who display their affection in public, either. but if he thought that the other party might be insincere in the suggestion, or if it felt like a ruse, manipulation, or lacking in commitment, then he’d be very reserved and possibly even irked about the idea.

past relationships?: so he’s not had many of these, but I would say he and Simon work in a very intimate partnership. At the very least, he adores and respects Simon, so regardless as to how their relationship is viewed/handled, it’s probably the best consideration in this category. Plus I write my own Simon so I can say they ship and no one has to deal with me personally on that front if they disagree lmao.

current relationships: At the moment, Viral is romantically involved with Simon the Digger, and Salim. Other relationships are certainly possible - gender, race, none of that really limits who Viral could find himself in love with - nor are his relationships limited to being physical or sexual, since, as a Beastman, he started out asexual, anyway.

ex. I would ship him with sentient or gijinka-Enki in a heartbeat.

#headcanons. ★★ ᗷEᗩᔕTᔕ Iᑎ ᗰY ᗷᒪOOᗪ; GᕼOᔕTᔕ Iᑎ ᗰY ᕼEᗩᗪ; ᗩᑎᗪ ᔕTᗩᖇᔕ Iᑎ ᗰY EYEᔕ

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disrepairhouse · 5 years

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Chapter 33 - Realizations

Itara wasn’t sure what she actually wanted to hear when Metal returned from Spagonia for a second time. He came back with enough parts to repair RK with plenty to spare, should he need further repair in the future…

But he hadn’t returned with the book.

Her journal was truly gone.

According to his report, the university’s attempt to start repairs was stopped short by a number of earthquakes that hit the area. The previous destruction only worsened and the university became too dangerous to traverse until they were sure the quakes were done. They had evacuated the remaining professors and students that were still in the area, leaving behind most of the remnants from the fight, including the destroyed bots on the outer edges. Unfortunately, whatever remained of her backpack and the journal were long gone. Metal found the burnt remains of her handheld, but that was it.

The earthquakes in Spagonia showed no signs of slowing, either, and the worst of them even managed to reach the outer limits of Soleanna. Their neighborhood was on the opposite side of the city so it never reached them, but the news was ablaze with talk of light shaking that could be felt on the outer edges in addition to the myriad of other problems Spagonia was facing. Itara only made the mistake of turning the actual TV on once and immediately turned it back off after it sent her into a minor panic. The only time the TV was turned on afterwards was if a video game was on, which increased considerably with Itara’s loss of her handheld.

Between the loss of her journal, RK still being offline, and the news about Spagonia, her emotions were hardly any easier to control and the burning in her arms had yet to die down. Games were hard to play but she tried her best to keep herself distracted, even if she had to sometimes push the buttons with her feet because her hands were too hot. She never got far on any level, but any small distraction was enough. She spent a lot more time listening to music than ever before, as well. She was desperate for any distraction.

Yet, at the same time, deep down in the cluttered mess of her emotions, there was some small semblance of relief. She refused to name it that (the implications were more than she could handle at the moment), but it was a strange, light, floaty feeling that was entirely foreign to her. Maybe it was because her journal had become little more than a normal journal since the reset and with its loss, she no longer had to constantly check it to see if her powers were working again. Because it had been removed from her life forcefully, she had no control over the situation. It felt like the responsibility of keeping a check on everything was gone with it.

The vague concept of just letting things be as they were was both terrifying and strangely appealing. She had no choice now than to simply let it be. She had no idea how to process the feeling that came with that idea. It was freedom and uncertainty, packaged and tightly strung together and she feared what that meant for her. The first and last time she’d been so uncertain of her future was before she ever met Mephiles, when she wandered Crisis City and struggled just to survive, when she flit from group to group and watched every single one of them die, time and time again, until she was once more left alone to defend herself. No idea who or what she was. No guarantee she’d live to the end of the day.

It had been terrifying and disheartening.

But it felt different now.

Now the uncertainty felt strangely hopeful, though she refused to tack that word to it either.

Even in her own mind.

She knew there was something still happening out in the world, she knew, even with her journal gone, life wouldn’t return to how it had been the past few months. The Gods were active, life was only going to get more dangerous. For all she knew, they could be facing Crisis City again before long. Maybe not in the same way as before, there was no Iblis to wreak havoc on the world as before, but Chaos and Gaia could do the same if not worse. If anything, having her powers might at least save her and RK and Metal. Without them, she was just as much at the mercy of the Gods as everyone else. She knew more, but it hardly mattered if the world shattered.

But even that thought, for some reason she would never understand, was strangely comforting. To know she was in the same situation as everyone else, as the robots, as the humans… as her friends. She didn’t understand why, no matter how she turned it around and studied it in her head to try, but it was relieving.

Relieving.

The word finally forced itself into her thoughts, as much as she tried to fight it back down. It fought back. The word sat, large and bolded, in front of her mind’s eye until she accepted it’s meaning. Until she accepted the feeling. She fought it, as hard as she could, but it became an impassible wall before long, her mind returned to it, time and time again, until she had no choice but to face it directly.

She was relieved.

Not because she’d lost her powers.

Not because the world was likely ending.

Not really even because she would be in as much danger as everyone else.

She was relieved because she knew, whatever came next, she wasn’t alone. She had RK and Sparky and, somewhere out there, Kipper. She had Simon and Tobi and even Sceira. She’d spent so long keeping her distance from everyone because she believed that was what her father wanted, someone who would get the job done no matter what, someone who would be nothing but helpful towards his cause, and she was determined to be that for him. Even RK, at first, was nothing more than a tool to keep her alive in a future where Mephiles set her up to die. But with Solaris no longer responding and her powers no longer being useful, since she became no longer useful, she’d been allowed to live at least somewhat normally.

Yet still she spent most of that time trying to reconnect with him. Was it all wasted time? Or was she wasting time now by not trying to fix what happened? She didn’t know, she didn’t understand, and it only aggravated her further the longer she tried to figure it out.

With a heavy, disgruntled sigh, she looked up through the living room window. The game she’d been playing sat on a Game Over screen. She didn’t know how long it’d been there, and the day had long since shifted into night. Not that she knew what day it was, either. The house was silent aside from the low hum of the TV, but if she listened hard enough she could hear Metal working down in the lab. The door was closed, but with the stark silence of the house, the muffled noises from the lab eventually drifted up.

She pushed herself up from the couch slowly as she tried to shake the daze off and trudged towards the lab door to follow the sounds. She’d spent too long in her head. She wanted a better distraction and video games weren’t helping. She was hoping Sparky could divert her attention away from her thoughts long enough to get her head back on straight. There was too much to think about and her head was swirling. Normally that was when she stirred up trouble with Kipper, but Sparky was the only option now.

As soon as she opened the door the lab, the echo of beeping machines, a welder, and Metal’s unrestrained cursing poured through and Itara briefly debated how much noise she was willing to deal with at the moment. But she needed out of her head. With flattened ears, she descended the stairs and looked out over the lab to study the source of all the noise. Metal was at one of the work stations with the welder and a heap of retrieved scrap metal, muttering to himself as he reshaped it into a replacement leg. RK was still hooked up inside one of the charging stations, the inner workings of a new leg stood on the table beside him, connectors wrapped in and around the wire framing.

Metal took longer than expected to notice her, but once he did he shot her a sharp warning glare, to which she immediately threw her hands up in defense. She wasn’t necessarily there to bother him, if anything she would prefer to help however she could. Once he gleamed her intent from her expression, he returned to his work, though not before motioning towards the computer. “If you’ve come to help, rather than slow my work with unnecessary words, then check the diagnostics scan on the new leg. The framing is complete and the outer casing will be as soon as this hunk of junk stops fighting me, but the programming still needs to be checked for compatibility with RK’s systems.”

She nodded and continued over to the computer, sliding up into the chair to do what he said. Once she had the diagnostics looked over, she turned back to report the result to Metal, getting a nod of approval from the other bot. It fell quiet afterwards, which only worsened Itara’s discomfort so she attempted to prompt a conversation.

“How… How long until… we can turn him back on?”

Metal eyed her sharply again, he had specifically warned her against bothering him with words, but sighed and responded, “I’ve got one final program running to make sure his AI is working at normal levels, then we should be able to reboot him. I’ve replaced as many damaged inner workings as possible, including an upgrade to his processors that he’s been desperately needing, dealing with you and all your nonsense, and I’m just making sure the upgrade doesn’t conflict with any current program. RK is a relatively older model, despite how advanced he is, but because he was inactive for so long there are a lot of upgrades he never got that I did. I figured it was a good time to implement at least some of them. Everything from energy consumption, multitasking power, and information storage should all run much smoother now. I’ve noticed how quickly RK tends to run low on power, or conserves power where it shouldn’t be necessary, and I knew the fix, so I thought it best to offer my services. I’m so generous.”

Itara couldn’t help the tiny smirk that touched her face. It was good to know Metal Sonic was still just as full of himself as he’d always been considering everything that happened. In a way, it was comfortingly familiar. The upgrades sounded useful, as well. She knew full well how much power RK consumed with every day functions, though she could never determine whether it was the result of his initial damage or his older systems. She supposed she had her answer.

“Is there anything else I can help with?”

Metal glanced back at her again briefly before his focus returned to his work in front of him. He gave it several moments of consideration, a much longer period of time inside the bot’s head than Itara registered outside it, but finally sighed and motioned towards the computer again, “I suppose. I don’t imagine you have the physical strength to help me rebuild the legs, but you’ve been running repairs on RK for some time now, you should know what you’re looking at with the programs. Open the motor functions and get to rewiring the new leg. If you can get it connected now, I can just attach the casing afterwards. It’ll save time.”

Itara gave a quick nod and turned back around to get right to work. Anything to speed up having RK to talk to again, she was more than happy to do. Besides, it kept her mind busy, unlike video games, which more often than not led to zoning out while playing.

Far beyond Soleanna, in the vast desert that separated it and Spagonia, the earth around the terrified city continued to shake and shift. While the city did its best to evacuate everyone they believed to be in danger, a new, much stronger wave of quakes shuddered out below the surface. They started small, barely enough to knock over the remaining street signs, but one after another, grew larger and longer. Knocked over signs turned to felled trees to rattled buildings until the streets began to liquify and separate. The strongest point of the quakes was far out in the desert, where a gaping hole, several miles wide, sunk below the surface. The hole grew and spread out across the desert to either side, consuming everything around it and releasing a thick purple fog from the gaping maw of the earth.

While the destruction stretched further, reaching not only Spagonia and Soleanna, but every surrounding city and region, humans and mobians alike went running to escape the snaking tremors. Those that knew of Gaia’s awakening and the cycle that came and went feared the worst and with the loss of the manuscripts were left shattered and confused on how to deal with it. Hopelessness and fear only rose when the hero hedgehog everyone counted on had appeared so suddenly only to vanish again. News of Station Square had reached the other side of the ocean before long and the appearance of Chaos only cemented the fear of Gaia’s reawakening.

However, amongst those running away was one tiny, frantic mobian, a magenta foxlike being with green wings, that ran towards the cracks opening across the desert. Though he’d discovered little about the events since his own reawakening, at the threat of Dark Gaia, he found himself drawn towards the great beast. Even he didn’t understand why, but the urge to confirm and face the Ancient God moved him forward, though warily. He had no backup nor any final realization behind his identity, but he at least knew whatever was threatening the world in this part of the land had to be stopped. His fears, however, were realized when he reached the gaping hole and a powerful aura exploded from it.

Long, glowing purple tendrils reached up from the cavern that stretched out in every direction and the thick, smoldering fog covered the sky around them. The tendrils continued reaching, searching, as the gaping maw widened to reveal a bubbling lake of magma. With a final crack and shudder, a hollow screech filled the air and a colossal leviathan rolled itself up out of the magma. Several burning green eyes opened on its wide head, burning out through the darkening sky, and a row of jagged fangs split into a gruesome display of fury and rage, roaring again to announce its emergence.

Dark Gaia was awake.

Across the desert in the center of Soleanna, as reports continued to roll in about the destruction and misfortune happening across the globe, the royal family sent out news about an announcement in regards to the events. News stations and word of mouth carried the message all across the city and its outer limits until the day for the announcement came. Schools tuned in for their students, parents tuned in at home, workflow came to a halt to hear the message, and a large crowd gathered around Soleanna Square to hear it firsthand. The city came to a near standstill as they awaited word from their princess, on edge from increased attacks in addition to the awakened Gods.

Once the princess appeared and greeted her kingdom, she explained what was happening across the globe. She informed the crowds and those watching from faraway of what most already knew, that two Ancient Beings had awoken, one in Station Square across the ocean, one much closer in the desert city of Spagonia. She informed them of the efforts being taken by various local and worldwide powers to deal with them, including the full mobilization of G.U.N. units.

Finally, she addressed the unvoiced concerns about their own Sun God, who had been all too quiet for some time. Despite Solaris’ silence, even to the royal family, she informed them that they would still hold the Solaris Festival. However, they would not only be holding it early as response to the current predicament, but they would also be adding an extra day of events. In addition to the lighting of the torch and the usual festivities throughout the day, they would also be holding a city-wide offering to the Sun God to ask his protection from the monsters and the other Gods. They asked that any who wished to and could participate in the event do. Any form of offering would be delivered to the statue in the middle of the square the day before the lighting of the torch.

Due to the suddenness of the change, the royal family realized people would need time to prepare for both the festival and the offerings and therefore didn’t want to move the date up too much. However, the sooner they asked for protection, the better. The festival would be moved up a month, from the end of June to the second week of May, to give time for people to prepare but not wait too long so as to not put them at any more risk than necessary. The princess closed her statement with a wish to all her citizens to remain safe and cautious in such trying times and that the royal family would be doing all they could to ensure that safety.

Talk of the announcement exploded for several days across the city afterwards. Businesses that normally took part in the festival went into a scurry to prepare for the upped date while many that normally didn’t suddenly changed their minds. Schools set up days to work on offerings and adults worked out what they could possibly offer. Even the out-of-the-way neighborhood that housed two robots and a time traveler was alight with talk of the announcement and festival.

The only ones unconcerned -and currently oblivious- to the change were the time traveler and her one functional companion robot, as they had completely isolated themselves from the outside world for the time being. They neither turned on the TV nor answered the door when the strawberry blonde down the street came knocking. Their focus remained on repairing the second, broken robot or battling with memories of the week. Their home and lab were well protected from outside dangers in a number of ways and thus they felt no need to divert their attention for any reason.

But finally, after several days of work, arguments, and uncomfortable realizations of the small hedgehog’s, their reason for isolation came to an end. With a final tweak of programming and the near destruction of Metal Sonic’s sanity, the inactive robot was ready to be rebooted again. The tiny hedgehog unknowingly held her breath as she ran the manual boot-up while the impatient blue bot behind her watched with narrowed eyes. He didn’t much want a repeat of what had happened when he’d first been reactivated but was prepared to deal with it, should it happen.

Engines whirred, processors hummed, and fans clicked to life as the two watched the red bot cautiously. Outwardly, he was mostly repaired, only missing the faux fur in some areas, but they wouldn’t know how his systems would handle the new wiring until they activated him. It took only seconds, though it felt like eons to the two, before the green light behind the newly repaired optical screen lit up. Initial scans popped up on the computer’s monitor as the red bot sat up straight, taking several minutes to finalize startup but the still-singular green eye stopped blinking and remained a constant glow. A clawed hand reached up to flex and test fingers before they curled into a fist and looked out at the basement lab. AI processed information from optical sensors as full movement registered and before either the blue bot or hedgehog opposite him could respond, RK reached out to wrap Itara up in his arms. A gasp of air escaped as the breath she’d been holding in was forcibly released.

“That would be your first response,” Metal scoffed as his own tensed shoulders finally released.

There was a moment of silence as both Itara and RK registered the situation, RK being the first to straighten up again, though kept Itara tight against him. “What happened?” Before he could get a response, however, his systems caught up with a number of backlogs and errors and momentarily blinded him again as they all displayed at once. Metal glanced to the computer’s screen to investigate the sudden hitch in the other bot’s movements but was relieved to see RK dismiss a number of them on his own.

“You should run a full scan before we start transferring files, you took a considerable amount of damage and I’ve installed some upgrades you’ve been needing. I want to make sure your old system can handle everything first,” Metal explained.

“Right.”

As RK continued closing outdated error logs, Itara found her voice again and looked up at the red bot with wide, relieved eyes. “RK… I’m s-so glad you’re… okay.”

RK looked down at her again to study the bandages and strange looking cast, saying nothing at first. He was still reviewing memories from before his crash, in addition to the ongoing scan, but found that multitasking was noticeably easier than it had been before. “What happened to your arm?” She turned red in the face and looked away so he shook his head, “we’ll talk about it after my scan, I suppose.” She gave a slight nod and said no more as she wiggled herself further against him. He supposed there was time for catching up later, overloading his system too soon after reactivation, especially with the damage he knew he took, could easily crash his system again.

There were a number of ‘missed messages’ from the number logged as ‘Lynda’ that he did not have the capacity to deal with just yet and would much rather focus on his systems. As soon as he got filled in on what happened while he was inactive, he would have to face those messages -or worse, Lynda herself- and he was not looking forward to that. For now he would just be satisfied that he was active again, that Itara seemed mostly alright, and that three of them were apparently back home at the base again.

Three?

With a quick glance around he realized Kipper was nowhere to be seen but decided to question it later, as well. The doll could just be up in Itara’s bedroom. Though he did want to ask him eventually about what happened at Robotnik’s base. For now, though, scan.

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emeraldembers · 6 years

Text

Fic: Loving You Inside Out (Markus/Simon, NC17)

Title: Loving You Inside Out

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: Markus/Simon

Summary: Markus and Simon take the time to enjoy Jericho finally having doors that lock.

Author’s Notes: Written for beartwinkhell's birthday in response to their request for Markus/Simon plus overstimulation. Happy belated birthday dude!

With many thanks to my darling beta, @decadentmousse. Comments loved and encouraged!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529572

Markus had never thought of himself as greedy. Willful, yes, maybe even demanding, but not greedy.

Until he had Simon alone.

They had stolen moments together on Jericho before, fumbling in dark corners and behind doors too rusted to shut properly, but they had never had true privacy; not until now. Not until Jericho's new population had brought mechanics, electricians, and cleaners whose work was slowly turning Jericho from a squalid refuge into a sanctuary.

Now Jericho had power, warmth, light, and doors that locked.

Markus could feel his stress levels rising as he stripped off, folding his clothes and setting them down neatly on the floor alongside Simon's. There was nothing romantic about the setting, but it was practical, and as comfortable as they were likely to find. Their room could be locked, the mattress on the floor was dry, and they were close enough to the boiler room that its furnace filled the corridors around with more than enough noise to cover up their own.

Markus had no silk sheets or feather pillows to offer Simon, but he had privacy and he had himself, and he was determined to make that feel like enough.

"I win," Simon said, Markus looking over to find Simon naked on the mattress, and hurriedly shedding the last of his clothes before joining him.

"I don't know," Markus said, kneeling over Simon and bracing his arms beside Simon's head. "You stripped faster, I got to look at you faster. Who's the real winner?"

Simon leaned up and bit Markus' lower lip sharply. "Shut up."

"You don't want that," Markus said, bringing his hands to Simon's shoulders and pushing him back down with enough weight to pin him there.

Markus had meant to tease Simon, to keep their conversation light and playful, but he hadn't had a chance to stop and just look at Simon before; not with Simon knowing he was looking.

Simon wasn't the first PL600 Markus had ever seen, their paths sometimes crossing when Markus' shopping route for Carl had taken him near schools or playgrounds, but Simon was no more 'just' a PL600 than North was 'just' a Traci.

Simon was… Simon. Trusting and thoughtful and strong - so much stronger than he knew.

"What is it?" Simon asked when the silence between them had stretched out too long, and Markus leaned back down to kiss him, shutting his eyes and committing the moment to memory.

They did not lead safe lives. They might not get many more moments like this.

"Just admiring the art," Markus said, and Simon cackled with appalled laughter, his face lighting up with it.

"Who taught you how to flirt?"

"A septuagenarian," Markus replied with ease, kissing Simon's nose, his left cheek, his left ear in quick succession. "You can't make someone laugh unless they like you."

"Was that advice or a fact?" Simon asked, voice hitching when Markus nipped his earlobe.

"Both, I think," Markus said, nibbling some more just to feel Simon tense up beneath him, then moving his bites down Simon's neck, stopping just shy of the junction between neck and shoulder.

Markus sat up, rubbing Simon's shoulders, and drew his skin back from his hands to expose the white of them. Simon didn't often like having his arms touched and wasn't yet ready to explain why, but Markus knew it had to have involved human violence. Making it clear that he wasn't human seemed to help.

"Is this okay?" Markus asked, stroking Simon's arms and pulling them up gently above Simon's head when Simon nodded. "Thank you," Markus said, linking his hands with Simon's and kissing each of Simon's shoulders. "Can you keep them there?" he asked, squeezing Simon's hands lightly.

"I'll try."

Markus thanked Simon with another kiss, bringing his hands down to tangle in Simon's hair and hold him close. Simon trusted him on a level he'd never known before and barely knew how to accept, and the softness of his ever-tired eyes had been a comfort long before they had mattresses and reliable heat in Jericho.

"I don't know where to start with you," Markus said as he sat back on his haunches, admiring the pale stretch of Simon's torso, the slight curve of his hips, the half-hard swell of his cock. "I've wanted this for so long."

Simon smiled before looking down, Markus following Simon's eyes and watching the skin retract from Simon's stomach, revealing the white plate of his abdomen. "Open me up," Simon said.

Markus stalled.

Simon had brought up the subject of wire play before; his cock was functional, and he could come, but he had described the experience as underwhelming - not unpleasant, but ultimately little more satisfying than fulfilling any other objective.

Wireplay bypassed the rules set by their creators, allowing them to find pleasure on their own terms.

"I trust you," Simon said, and Markus moved a hand to Simon's stomach, pressing down gently and sending through a command for it to open.

A human could never have understood what Markus saw. They might have appreciated the aesthetics of lights and wires and biocomponents, might have been capable of fetishising it even, but they wouldn't have seen a person. They wouldn't have seen Simon.

"You're beautiful," Markus said, reaching inside carefully to run his fingers over the lines and shapes that made up Simon, mapping out his circuits. "You're so fucking beautiful."

Reaching further up, Markus could feel the curve of Simon's regulator port, thick and protective and a reminder that it held the very reason Simon was alive. A port containing a heart compatible with Markus' own; Carl would have loved reading into that.

"Tell me what you want," Markus said, pushing down his curiosity before it could distract him from the moment. He'd made time for this so he could lose himself in Simon and with Simon.

"Further back," Simon said, "The nodes on my spi-"

Markus obeyed before Simon could finish the sentence, and the way Simon's eyelids fluttered as his voice glitched out sent a jolt straight to Markus' cock. From the outside, Simon's spine was reinforced to be stronger than any human's; inside, it was a mass of nodes and fine wires, a map of nerves controlling almost everything Simon's body did.

Beautiful.

"Tell me if I hurt you," Markus said, reverent as he tiptoed his fingers up Simon's spine, keeping his touch light. His cock throbbed between his legs, demanding attention Markus wasn't ready to give it, not until Simon wanted him to.

"Again," Simon said, gritting his teeth when Markus dragged his fingers down just to restart their journey. "Your other hand, touch me with that too."

Markus shifted his weight so he could settle more comfortably, bringing his other hand to wrap around Simon's cock.

Compared to Simon's wiring, his cock was an ordinary, human sort of thing, but Markus had an idea about how to fix that.

Simon's pseudo-prostate had been designed to behave roughly like a human's, something to make him react like one when fucked or fingered. It hadn't been meant for direct contact.

Markus brought the hand he'd had on Simon's spine forward, rubbing his thumb over the firm bundle of nerves, and Simon arched up sharply, a static curse on his lips. "Fuck me," Simon said, fierce and demanding, and Markus' cock jumped in response.

Markus moved his free hand under Simon, pressing his fingers into him to make sure his self-lubrication was as thorough in practice as it was meant to be in theory, then grinned wickedly as he put pressure on Simon's prostate from both sides.

"Oh fuck you," Simon groaned after a long whine of unintelligible static. "Fuck you, don't stop -"

"I can't fuck you if my fingers are in the way," Markus teased. "Make up your mind."

"Put your cock in me, you asshole," Simon spat out, jaw clenched tight and eyes fiery as Markus gave in, pulling out his fingers and pressing his cock up against Simon's hole.

Even if Simon's irritation made Markus laugh, it still warmed him that he was the only person who got to see this side of Simon - a Simon who didn't have to keep a cool head and balance everyone's needs, a Simon who could demand things for himself.

Markus wouldn't say it yet, not when it would make the moment about his own feelings rather than Simon's, but he loved him. Loved every last inch of him.

"Okay?" Markus asked, pushing in, and happy to take Simon nodding as an answer.

Simon's hands gripped the top of the mattress, twisting and almost tearing the material, and Markus felt Simon whisper wirelessly to him, "Let me touch you, please?"

It was tempting to say yes - beyond tempting, given he already knew something of what Simon's hands could do - but Markus moved to lean over Simon, compromising instead. "Touch yourself," Markus said, cupping Simon's ass in his own hands. "Any way you like. Can you do that for me?"

Simon nodded, blessedly unselfconscious when they were alone like this, bringing his arms back down to wrap one hand around his cock, the other disappearing inside his stomach. Markus stalled entirely when he felt the already delightful squeeze of Simon around him intensify.

It took a moment for Markus to be able to do more than just move and feel, and when Markus looked up at Simon, Simon's sly grin nearly stalled him again.

"You cheated," Markus said, groaning as Simon squeezed down around him again, making his eyelids glitch and flutter.

"'Any way I like'," Simon reminded him, Markus unable to respond with much more than a strangled noise and thrusting into the tight grip of Simon's body. "I like hearing you beg, too."

"Then you'll hear it," Markus said, pulling the skin back from his hands again so he could let Simon feel what he felt, let Simon hear what he couldn't say.

And he could hear Simon in turn.

Need him want him want him to need you nonono not that never that push it down don't think don't speak you don't deserve -

Markus moved his hands up Simon's back, lifting him up into his lap and fucking into him with short, sharp thrusts as he pulled him into a kiss. Needed you from day one, Simon. Stay with me. Markus tilted his head, resting his mouth on Simon's cheek. Stay with me.

Simon came first, but not by much, and his sobbed-out moans were something Markus knew he'd never forget.

They would have to dress and rejoin the rest of Jericho eventually, their roles within it too important to abandon for long, but there was no point in rushing. Someone would find them if there was an emergency, but for the time being they had silence and an hour or two in which to enjoy it.

Markus helped Simon check his stomach was clean and everything where it ought to be before Simon closed his stomach panel again and lay down, rolling onto his side and curling up so Markus could spoon with him comfortably.

"I'm glad I met you," Markus said, quiet and quieter still for having his lips pressed to the nape of Simon's neck. "Whatever happens next, I'm glad I met you."

Simon didn't reply in words, but threaded their fingers together over his stomach, going still as he slipped into idle mode.

Markus didn't need to idle just yet, but that suited him just fine. Carl had told him often about the importance of appreciating beauty.

Now seemed as good a time as any to put that advice into practice.

#detroit: become human #simon x markus #markus x simon #maimon #simkus #Fic

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singingwordwright · 6 years

Text

Untitled Malec D&D AU fic beginning

I have no idea if this is ever going to become a full thing. Yesterday over on Twitter, @janoda posted a thread that I found awesome, and then @roseglass had the gall to fucking encourage me to run with it. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to complete it because I can’t at this point see what the thing is going to look like or how it will shape up, but I’m going to try.

Still, in case it doesn’t work out, here’s a peek at what I’ve done so far.

Keep in mind, it’s been 25 years since I’ve played D&D, and even then the campaign didn’t get very far before our group broke up. I think 3rd edition was still new when I last played. Or maybe it wasn’t even out yet, I don’t remember. To handwave all that, let’s just assume this is an extremely homebrewed campaign.

To avoid making things confusing (and having to come up with new names for all the in-game characters) they’re just going by the players’ names, or variants thereof.

(also, I have to give my first DM credit for Simon’s approach to this situation. Some of this is pretty much ripped straight from our first campaign.)

The red-gold glow of the campfire somehow revealed the new aasimar ranger’s celestial heritage far better than daylight. He looked like an effigy cast in bronze, his cheekbones higher and more aristocratic, his thick lashes darker. The firelight picked the golden flecks out of his hazel eyes and made them dance.

And his mouth. Magnus desperately wanted to see those plush lips wrapped around his…

...Those heavy lashes swept up and Alexander’s eyes met Magnus’s across the fire. Just for a second, before he shook the fringe of hair off his brow and quickly turned his attention back to tending to the fletching on his arrows, repairing those that could be repaired, salvaging arrowheads from those too broken to reuse before feeding them into the fire.

Magnus continued to stare boldly, willing Alexander to meet his gaze again. Magnus had a reputation to uphold, after all. He prided himself on being about to seduce anyone without ever speaking a word, and Alexander was interested, Magnus was sure of it. Their party had been avoiding villages lately, so tavern wenches and stable lads had been few and far between, and Magnus was feeling the itch that came upon him from time to time. Sooner or later, it would become a distraction. He’d be less effective if he didn’t scratch it.

But Alexander didn’t look up again. Was he offended by the fact that Magnus was a tiefling? They would be an unlikely pairing, to be sure, even if Magnus’s only mark of his bloodline was his cat-like eyes. Somehow, though, Magnus didn’t think Alexander was the sort to hold that against him. More worrying were the whispers he’d overheard between Clarissa, the human bard, and Isabelle, their Amazonian fighter. They had picked up rumors somewhere that Alexander was betrothed, or nearly so, and the match was important if he was going to clear his family name. Of what, no one knew, only that his parents had tarnished their reputation and it was up to their firstborn son to cleanse the stain.

Still, even if he was betrothed, he probably didn’t even know the girl. Surely he wouldn’t mind stepping away from the campfire and…

...the shimmer of firelight reflecting off scales snagged Magnus’s attention as Camille stepped between Magnus and the object of his interest.

“Need something, darling?”

*****

Magnus gritted his teeth and tried not to glare at Simon. When they’d decided to use a random character trait generator to give each of their characters a couple quirks for the new campaign, Magnus had thought it was hilarious when his trait came up as “nymphomaniac.” It had also seemed like the perfect opportunity to flirt with Izzy’s brother, whom she’d finally convinced to join their group.

But then Simon had declared that these traits would involve bonuses and penalties where appropriate. If Magnus’s warlock didn’t get laid, his spells were going to become increasingly less accurate and/or effective until he finally found companionship. But Alec wasn’t accepting the opening Magnus had given him.

Camille, however…

“I’ll take some of that warlock action,” she announced, smirking.

Only Simon’s strict “play nice” rules kept Magnus from reminding her that her cheating ass wouldn’t be getting any of his action ever again, thankyouverymuch. Any player who said something openly antagonistic toward another player was liable to find their character being smacked down in-game by the DM. The last time Magnus had gotten too snarky, his Hellish Rebuke had ended up surrounding his foe with flower petals instead of flames.

Dammit, why had Raphael’s older sister decided to join their group anyway? No one liked her. The only reason Simon had allowed her to join was to keep the peace, and because she was likely to get bored and move on after a few weeks when she realized she was not going to be the star of the show.

So now Magnus was stuck. He could turn Camille down and swallow the in-game penalty, or he could gamely go along with it--which was, frankly, what his warlock would happily do--and wait for the next chance to flirt with Alec and his alter ego.

Maia, bless her heart, tried to make the save for him. After all, she’d been the one slamming back tequila shots with him after he’d broken up with Camille.

“Are we sure yuan-ti are even sexually compatible with tieflings?” she asked.

“Yuan-ti pureblood. The most human-like of the yuan-ti. Try to keep up, sweetie,” Camille said, smirking. Maia’s fist clenched on the table, and Magnus suspected she, too, was reciting Simon’s play-nice rule to herself.

Magnus forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, then.”

Simon clapped his hands together loudly. “All right, O-check! I want d100s from both of you!”

A chorus of hoots and wolf-whistles followed. Raphael merely rolled his eyes. Even Alec’s lips twitched, though mostly he was jotting something down on his character sheet and letting them do their thing.

Magnus rolled 90. Camille rolled 89.

Everyone lost their shit. The howls and cat-calls got louder. Simon burst out laughing as Magnus accepted Jace’s fist-bump.

“When you’re good, you’re good,” he said, playing it off with a smirk.

“Not only was it good, it was damn near simultaneous,” Simon declared. “Magnus’s itch should be well-scratched for a while.”

Thank God for that. He had no intention of even remembering his warlock’s nymphomaniac trait again until Camille left the group.

#malec #fanfic #my fics #D&D AU #untitled

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ms-m-astrologer · 7 years

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Transiting Vesta enters Libra

September 18 - November 16, 2017

Ushering in two months’ worth of partnership in the pursuit of aesthetics and equality, probably in that order, is this ingress of Vesta into Libra. This is ostensibly an inimical placement - the single-blessedness Lady Asteroid in the sign of Bridezilla - and if being one-half of a Romantic Couple is your sole/chief goal in life, you may indeed have some difficulty with this transit. For the rest of us, there are the following Vesta issues which now take on a Libra coloration:

Personal Integration: The literal interpretation is that this transit brings us challenges or gifts in our commitment to keeping our personal act together (Vesta) by maintaining our balance and poise (Libra). We could discover some personal quality we lack, which we need to adapt in order to become a well-rounded person. We may also find ourselves too dependent on others: either on actual persons, or on their opinions of us. A very tricky balancing act, to maintain self-respect equally with others’ approval.

Devotional and Religious Activities; One’s Work or Path of Service: “Ora et labora,” as St. Benedict advised us (approximately). The “social justice” side of Libra is bound to manifest itself, through Vesta’s transit, as (firstly) a kind of recognition that we can’t be truly effective working by ourselves - that this is not only inefficient, but futile. Second, although we may all indeed be equally committed to peace and harmony, our means and methods of getting there (as well as, what that looks like once we arrive) can be so different as to be opposite. Spiritual lessons regarding cooperation, manipulation, and competition are to be learned, if we’re willing.

Scholastic Interests: Well, yes, pretty much “fine arts bonanza” time, although Libra’s social justice side will also affect what we choose to study. Keep in mind that Libran balance is required of us. If you’re already well-versed in something, don’t focus further on it: think about how you can healthily balance that knowledge/skill, to make it even stronger.

The house(s) Vesta/Libra travels through, in your own chart, indicate where these issues/opportunities will be found. In the 1st House, you’re being asked to personally embody these qualities; in the 6th House, you need to clean up your diet and exercise acts, and maybe commit yourself to a “craftsmanship” level of skill; in the 11th House, find yourself a compatible group of allies with whom to associate.

Most of the aspects Vesta will make are of the “challenging” variety. My gut tells me that, if we’re up for it, we will be either shaken into, or out of, complacency. (That is, worry wart control freaks such as myself will learn how to chill out, while the “ignorance is bliss” crowd will be excised from that position.)

Celebrities with Vesta in Libra: Beyonce, Scarlett Johansson, Lana Del Rey, Bob Marley, Matt Damon, Roger Federer, Frank Sinatra, Christian Bale, Beethoven, Edith Piaf, Shakespeare, Coco Chanel, Charles Prince of Wales, Bernie Sanders, Simon Cowell, Gordon Ramsay, Alanis Morissette, Michael Phelps, LeBron James, Serena Williams, James Hetfield, Sinead O’Connor, Thomas Edison, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Karl Marx

Wednesday, September 27, Sun/Libra conjunct Vesta/Libra, 4:39

This is the beginning of an almost 18-month cycle (ending March 8, 2019) between the Sun (our basic identity and conscious purpose) and Vesta (personal integration). It’s therefore an important day for all of us to re-align and re-commit ourselves - actually, any time during the first half of Sun/Libra will work - and for those of us with Sun-Vesta aspects, it’s a crucial day indeed. We can start thinking of ourselves as forces of��balance, and of justice, rather than as random reactors to whichever breeze blows. Find, free, and direct your inner Eleanor Roosevelt.

Planets/Points affected lie between 3:39 and 5:39 of the signs Aries*, Gemini, Cancer*, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, Capricorn*, and Aquarius.

Sunday, September 30, Juno/Capricorn square Vesta/Libra, 6:06

Certainly this will bring up partnership and relationship issues, even if you don’t happen to be in one at this time. We’re hyper aware of how we do/don’t conform to others’ expectations and demands; we desperately wish for their approval and acceptance. This ends badly when we feel alienated from our partners, and/or we sacrifice ourselves on the partner’s behalf. “The resolution of these challenges,” writes Demetra George, “lies in integrating the role of the autonomous individual within the context of a committed partnership.” Perhaps something along the lines of bringing out the best in each other will do.

Planets/Points affected lie between 5:06 and 7:06 of the cardinal signs Aries*, Cancer*, Libra*, and Capricorn*; and between 20:06 and 22:06 of the fixed signs Taurus*, Leo*, Scorpio*, and Aquarius*.

Wednesday, October 4, Mercury/Libra conjunct Vesta/Libra, 8:11

This is the beginning of a new 18-month cycle between Mercury and Vesta, so it’s extremely auspicious for beginning a new scholastic pursuit. Anything goes, really, even math: remember that the Libran symbol is a machine. Whatever you pick, be aware that the learning process will present challenges and frustrations. But how else are we supposed to learn?

Planets/Points affected lie between 7:11 and 9:11 of the signs Aries*, Gemini, Cancer*, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, Capricorn*, and Aquarius.

Saturday, October 21, Pluto/Capricorn square Vesta/Libra, 16:59

Manipulative and cunning, with (1) a cold streak and (2) possible sexual compulsions. Issues of isolation (too much, or not enough) may also arise, and the whole thing could blow up pretty spectacularly. The key is to focus on constructive growth and change.

Planets/Points affected lie between 15:59 and 17:59 of the cardinal signs Aries*, Cancer*, Libra*, and Capricorn*; and between 0:59 and 2:59 of the mutable signs Gemini*, Virgo*, Sagittarius*, and Pisces*.

Saturday, October 28, North Node/Leo sextile Vesta/Libra, 20:19; South Node/Aquarius trine Vesta/Libra, 20:19

Here is the opportunity to integrate some genuine scholarly and/or artistic talents into our evolving self-conceptions. Remember that the North Node is supposed to feel strange and alien, though - we aren’t going to be Mozart or Monet jumping full-fledged out of our beds, this morning! Even if we’re just a little more public about our inner Oscar Wilde, that should be plenty….

Planets/Points affected lie between 19:19 and 21:19 of the yang signs Aries, Gemini, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, and Aquarius.

Wednesday, November 1, Venus/Libra conjunct Vesta/Libra, 22:26; Thursday, November 2, Eris Rx/Aries opposite Vesta/Libra, 23:08

...or gosh, for all I know, you have an inner “Bad Fairy Godmother” (like the one in Sleeping Beauty) who wants out. Maybe she and Oscar can have a fight, because this conjunction and opposition have serious Dorian-Gray-meets-Baba-Yaga implications. Writer and activist Starhawk, while working on her book Circle Round, “awoke one morning with the voice of the Baba Yaga in my head, saying, ‘Once I had a beautiful face.’” I feel you, Grandmother. And so may we all, over these two days.

Planets/Points affected lie between 21:26 and 24:08 of the signs Aries*, Gemini, Cancer*, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, Capricorn*, and Aquarius; and between 6:26 and 9:08 of the mutable signs Gemini*, Virgo*, Sagittarius*, and Pisces*.

Monday, November 6, Saturn/Sagittarius sextile Vesta/Libra, 25:09

These two together are almost always conservative, and in Libra and Sagittarius what we’re trying to conserve is pretty much ideology. Perhaps we can hone in a little more than is the usual Libran or Sagittarian wont, and conserve fairness and justice. It’s potentially very preachy, too. At the same time, the aspect is hard-working and determined - I’d like us to hang onto that for the next week or so.

Planets/Points affected lie between 24:09 and 26:09 of the yang signs Aries, Gemini, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, and Aquarius.

Tuesday, November 7, Uranus Rx/Aries opposite Vesta/Libra, 25:45; Thursday, November 9, Neptune Rx/Pisces (11:30) sesquare Vesta/Libra (26:30)

Over these few mid-week days we’re liable to feel particularly isolated and alienated. We’re also afraid of losing our identities. Therefore, either we refuse to “work well with others,” or we completely sacrifice ourselves. Remember that Libra wants to bring balance: take well-defined (and agreed-upon) turns.

Planets/Points affected lie between 24:45 and 27:30 of the cardinal signs Aries*, Cancer*, Libra*, and Capricorn*; and between 9:45 and 12:30 of the mutable signs Gemini*, Virgo*, Sagittarius*, and Pisces*.

Wednesday, November 15, Pallas Rx/Aries opposite Vesta/Libra, 29:59

In under two hours’ time, Pallas retrogrades back into Aries; Pallas and Vesta oppose each other; and Vesta enters Scorpio. The two Ladies both “end up” in Mars-ruled signs, moving there from Venus signs. This is perhaps a “crisis point” in manifesting our creative visions - a “lightbulb moment” when we devote ourselves to the development of our creativity, to a political cause, and/or to our creative autonomy.

Planets/Points affected lie between 28:59 and 29:59 of the cardinal signs Aries*, Cancer*, Libra*, and Capricorn*; between 00:00 and 00:59 of the fixed signs Taurus*, Leo*, Scorpio*, and Aquarius*; and between 13:59 and 15:59 of the mutable signs Gemini*, Virgo*, Sagittarius*, and Pisces.

#Astrology #Transiting Vesta enters Libra #Vesta #Ms M astrologer

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