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elizaisthetruehero · 3 years

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Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now Chapter 1

So, I started writing another Eureka fic. Even though I have a WIP that isn't finished yet. What's probably going to happen is I'll get stuck on one and then switch to working on the other to beat procrastination. That's the plan anyway.

But here's the AO3 Link, that I posted there last night, and forgot to put here and on FF.Net. I'm doing FF.net because Eureka is an older fandom, and I think there's a couple people there who never made the switch.

Summary: Jo rushes into the Sheriff's station after 1947, and is greeted by a Zane who does not remember proposing to her that morning. But they're definitely still together. It just seems that Jo can't figure out what they hell they are, and why he's still going on dates with other women.

Zane doesn't understand why Jo's suddenly done an about face, but if it gets her to stop acting like nothing's going on between them, he can work with that. He just wishes he knew why she looked so sad when she looked at him.

Chapter 1

Jo strode into the Sheriff’s station, heart hammering against her bruised ribs, terrified of what she would find. The statue had changed. God, she hoped that was the only thing they’d changed. It would be a ridiculous change they would have made, back in 1947, but one Jo would have no problem living with.

There Zane was, sitting in her cell like he’d been that morning, casual and cool, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and thrown it in his face. Hope bubbled up in her chest, and Jo could feel it showing in her smile. Maybe they’d be okay. She could feel the weight of the ring still in her pocket. They could still have their happy ending, walking into Café Diem, congratulations from all their friends, phone calls from their parents. Everything would be okay.

“Zane. I can't believe you're still here.”

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept thumbing through his magazine, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought after the way that I reacted,” she broke off sighing, not sure what to say about what she did that morning, or how to fix it. She’d never been good with words. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just thinking too much. You know, I... I do that sometimes and...”

He cut her off, disinterest in his tone, “Lupo, what the hell are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say, ‘Yes.’”

“Yes? Yes, you’ll what, stop hogging the covers? Seriously Jo, what’s gotten into you?” he asked as he threw down his magazine.

“What we, this morning, you,” she cut herself off, dread filling her stomach like a weight. She looked around the room and saw that while Zane was in the cell, it was empty. None of the trappings or reminders of how they met that had been there when she'd first walked in that morning, before 1947. No framed poster, no bedding on the cot, no damn Panini press, no, no Liza’s box. And… Oh.

The cell door. It was locked, likely with the key that was on her belt loop. Why the hell was Zane in a locked cell?

“This morning you kicked me out of your bed at 3 am when I asked you to stop hogging the covers. And then this afternoon you threw me in jail.” Her bed. She’d kicked him out of her bed. Not their bed anymore. They didn’t live together?

Jo sat down at her desk, no able to look Zane in the eye while she tried to process everything that had happened. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. You should be smarter than that," she said, forcing a smirk to her face, slipping into the familiar biting banter she and Zane had when they were fighting. Had she and Zane never gotten serious? He certainly wasn't looking at her the same way he had that morning.

“Look, Dungeon Master, when am I getting out of here?”

She played with her hands, picking the dirt out from under her nails, “I don’t know, what’d you do?”

“Nothing, you just like throwing me in jail,” she fixed her least impressed look in his direction, careful not to look in his eyes, but just above his head. If she did that, she might do something irrational and ill-befitting of a Deputy of Eureka. Like start beating prisoners. “So I unlocked a few cages, those monkeys deserved some freedom. Look, could you just let me out? I’ve got a date."

What? "Really? A date? With who?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting the blonde chick with the Ph.D. in Reproductive Biology. We're going to play doctorate," he smirked, without any of the soft and nervous affection he'd had that morning. Just the sarcastic bravado he’d had when he’d bought her lingerie to get under her skin. Did he even remember doing that anymore?

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Lupo, don't start acting like you care what I get up to or who with. We both know what's going on here, and what we’re not." No, I don’t know what we are, or why you’re sleeping with me but going out with other women. Why the hell wouldn’t I care about that!

She rushed to his cell door to unlock it, desperate to get him away from her, “Go. Get out.”

“You gonna taze me in the ass again?” and there was that grin, charming and handsome, that had caught her eye two years ago. Obsession with firearms can be a sign of an unfulfilled sexual appetite. I'm not saying that's you. But if it is, I'm at your service.She’d had to be talked out of shooting him back then. Now she wanted to shoot him, whatever blonde chick he was meeting up with, and maybe herself.

"Just get out," she snapped at him, blinking back tears that she couldn’t let fall. He walked out the door, facing her, clearly puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that she normally found cute, but right now, made her want to punch something. Anything would do.

The door shut behind Zane with a click, and Jo leaned against the cell bars, took a breath, and winced. She’d managed to clean up the blood on her face while Henry and Fargo were repairing the phones, but her ribs still needed to be taped, and the scrapes on her hands and head needed to be cleaned. She should still have an almost full tub of GD-grade bruise gel at home. Hopefully, it was still there.

Jo unlocked her door and stepped into her house, shutting the door behind her before leaning against it, letting her breath rush out of her. She took moment to close her eyes and just breathe after the chaos of the day that wasn’t even over yet. But she knew her peace couldn't last. She would have to go through her house to try to put together the pieces of the picture that made up her life, and figure out where everything went wrong.

Well, she had her minute. Time to face the music. She pushed off of the door, opened her eyes, and headed to the kitchen. She glanced around, her fingers trailing along the cool counter, taking it in. Didn’t look any different than it had when she had left that morning. Except…

She peered into the dishwasher and sighed in disappointment. Gone were Zane's plates with dried-on eggs, or his TARDIS-shaped mug, and she didn't think that was because he'd washed them already. They were probably at his old apartment, the one he'd barely spent any time at after they got together. Oh, they hadn't officially moved in together until after he'd gotten home from the Arctic, but that had been a formality, almost. Like he'd thought his question that morning had been. So let’s make it official. He’d really wanted to marry her. Spend the rest of his life with her, like she was the obvious choice.

Jo shook her head. She couldn’t think about that, the proposal that had never happened. She didn’t know how to fix the timeline, so she had to deal with this Zane in the meantime, if not forever. She really hoped she didn’t have this smarmy asshole forever.

She moved onto the living room. It looked like it had before Zane moved in, same décor, same pictures, and the same piano along the wall. The books on the shelves and her coffee table were just her books here, no physics journals or sci-fi novels or comic books. Just the thrillers and murder mysteries she liked to read on the rare occasion she had the opportunity. And, she checked the ottoman with the small storage space, some romance novels with shirtless men on the cover that she did notpull out in public. Zane had teased her the first time he’d seen her reading one, but she’d come home early one day and saw him on the couch, curled up with the blanket his mom had sent as a housewarming present, reading one. He insisted he was just being a good boyfriend, taking interest in her interests. And then he cracked a joke about the cowboy on the cover and positions. She’d been mad at him, but he made up for it.

She moved over to the stairs, heading up. At the very least, she would have to get changed and clean up, get 1947 off of her as quickly as possible. Hope that when she got out of the shower and back to town, Henry would have figured out a way to fix this.

Jo opened the door to her bedroom and stripped off her costume, heading straight for the en-suite bathroom. She showered quickly and efficiently, noting that, like most of the house, Zane's belongings were not there. She got out, wrapped the towel around herself, and headed to the sink to check the scrape on her temple. She applied GD's liquid band-aid to the cut, ignoring the sting, and went to put it away in the cabinet when she stopped, heart in her throat.

A used men's razor. She lifted it off the counter delicately, noting the short dark hairs caught between the blades. Zane's. Jo took stock of the rest of the vanity and felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn't felt since Zane spoke, back in the station.

Two toothbrushes in the holder. A can of his shaving cream. His aftershave, cap off because he could never remember to put the lid back on. She checked the shower again, and saw the bar of soap in the corner of the caddy, the kind that she never used, but, had clearly been used by someone.

Okay. Zane didn’t have any of his stuff downstairs, but he was over often enough that he had some space on her bathroom counter. Though not over enough for them to be exclusive. She really hoped she didn’t have to see him on his date. Her self-control was good, but not that good, she thought as she taped up her ribs and smoothed gel over her bruises. Those needed to fade, and quickly. The last thing she needed was someone asking what happened to her arms.

After giving the gel a minute to dry down, Jo walked back into her bedroom and got dressed, jerking open her drawers to see what was in each one. Her underwear, tank tops, T-Shirts and sweats all still in drawers. She yanked the last one open, wondering if it was empty if it was still being used for her sweaters, or…

Zane's clothes. Not all of them, his wardrobe probably had more than just a pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, a couple of V-necks and, a crumpled-up plaid shirt. But he kept clothes here. Not enough to be living here, which the bottom floor had told her. But clean clothes for those rushed mornings when he wouldn't have time to run home before heading to work. He'd probably shown up to GD too many times wearing yesterday's clothes, thick stubble on his face.

Who had suggested it? Had she cleared it out and offered it to him? Had he brought them over in a backpack or duffle, slipping them into the drawer with a nervous grin? Were they the result of lazy weekends spent in her bed, ignoring the world outside?

She pulled her jeans on before picking up her dirty clothes and bringing them over to her hamper, and right on top of her clothes, was a pair of his boxers. Just more evidence that Zane was part of her life, but she didn’t know how she fit into his. If she went over to his apartment, would she find similar signs of her presence? Travel-size versions of her shampoo and conditioner, a change or two of clothes, maybe part of a spare uniform? Would her robe be there, or, no, she caught herself. He was fucking other women. If she got cold over there, she’d borrow one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats.

And that was if she even went over to his place. She really needed to stop dawdling and get back to town so she could talk to Carter and Henry, see what was going on, and if they could fix this. And if they couldn’t, well, she’d been a Special Forces operative and was now a Deputy in Eureka. She could adapt. Maybe she could get Zane to adapt with her. Maybe, she thought as she slipped the ring onto a chain and placed it around her neck, not willing to be without it in case Henry found a way to fix this, maybe he’d even try to put this ring on her finger again. But that wasn’t happening tonight. Because she froze.

#eureka fic #eureka #jo lupo #zane donovan #a town called eureka

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1257

Have you ever watched a movie in class/school that made you cry? Oh for sure. We had to watch It’s A Beautiful Life and I know I cried every single time I watched that movie, whether for school or on my own time.

What’s the earliest you could go to bed at night and feel okay about? I don’t really get this question. I feel like it would make more sense if it asked how early I’m willing to wake up in the morning...? Anyway, I don’t pay attention to the time I sleep at night. Sometimes I’ll pass out as early as midnight, and sometimes I’ll be up until 3; it doesn’t matter to me.

What is you favorite type of lunch meat? I’m not into those in general.

What time of the year do you dislike the most? The heat in April and May is just brutal and uncalled for. It gets so hot and disgustingly humid and most times the aircon can’t even do much to quell it.

Do you put ketchup on your scrambled eggs? Yeah, banana ketchup since that’s what we usually have a bottle of. Generally, I have banana ketchup with most of my breakfast dishes too.

What is your favorite color to wear? I don’t really have a favorite to wear those days mostly because I barely go out anyway and there’s been little need to update my closet.

Are you an overachiever? Seems like the type of question you should be asking my parents, not me haha. Personally, though, I’m fairly proud of what I’ve accomplished.

What physical feature do you wish you had (i.e. freckles, curly hair)? Maybe longer legs and smaller teeth, but I’m not exactly insecure about mine.

What fictional character (i.e. Bambi, Scarlette O'Hara) would you marry? Did you just raise the possibility of marrying a deer? Anyway...since I mentioned Two for the Road in the last survey, I’ll go with Mark from that movie. Seems like my type of partner.

How long have you gone without shaving (girls- legs, armpits; boys- faces)? With legs...around 2-3 weeks. Armpits, maybe about a week or so. Never more than a month for either.

What is the meanest thing you have ever said to someone else? For the most part I’ve always been cautious of what I say; writing, on the other hand...I’ve written stuff on my diary wherein I let out all my frustrations against my mom. I know they were mean because she cried over them – but that also entailed snooping through my stuff, so I’ve never felt bad about it. I meant those things as I wrote them because it was my safe space, and she violated that. That’s on her.

Did you ever go through a phase where you wrote bad poetry? I did, but I instantly realized it was bad so I stopped as soon as I began.

What is your favorite thing about your life? How everything seems to have fallen in its place these days. There’s really little to complain about and I’m grateful for that.

Save all the animals that die during road kill or save 1 human from a fire? Animals.

Have you ever painted a picture of somebody? No.

How many real bfs/gfs have you had? One.

Did you enjoy your past relationships? I did.

Name a comedy that you like. White Chicks. << I love this choice, let’s just go with this one lol.

Could you wait until marriage for sex? Sure.

What’s the best Nirvana song? I don’t listen to them. I know a couple of songs but I don’t like them enough to be my favorites.

What was the last thing that impressed you? The new Butter remix with Megan Thee Stallion.

When was the last time you were in a pet store? Years, years ago.

What nationality is your last name? Spanish or Portuguese, I’m not super sure.

What’s your favorite kind of chips and dip? I never dip my chips; I just have them as is.

Who was the last boy that you saw cry? Idk...maybe one of my cousins from one of our family reunions last year. I don’t get to be around a lot of boys or guys.

Does your mom know you do surveys? No. I’ve never had to raise it and I can’t see a situation where I would have to.

Have you ever had a serious injury? Yeah, I got a big wound from when I went snorkeling around a decade ago. I wasn’t provided flippers so when I was kicking to stay afloat I managed to hit the coral reefs underneath repeatedly, which majorly scraped and gashed my left foot until it was an open, bleeding mess. It was infected for weeks and I’m surprised it didn’t leave any kind of mark or scar.

What was the last thing you achieved? Handling a campaign for a major client successfully and getting good coverage and results for it.

Would you enjoy being famous? Probably, but I wish I had some sort of talent or skill that would propel me to popularity in the first place hahaha.

What’s under your bed? Some things I collected from past hobbies and interests, like all my old wrestling magazines.

Do you enjoy travelling? Love it.

Have you ever belonged to a club? If so, what was it? I mean I joined an org in college, which technically makes me a member for life. I’m not name-dropping but it’s one of the two journalism organizations in my alma mater.

When was the last time you drank strawberry milk? I can’t recall. I don’t drink strawberry milk.

Have you ever managed to collect all the fast food toys in a set? I never collected those.

Do you have a clock in your room? Nope.

Did you have a good driver’s ED teacher? I honestly can’t remember. I only had like three sessions with different instructors for each, and the one instructor I remember having was extremely cranky and impatient.

Which of Britney Spears’ songs is your favorite? Hold It Against Me is pretty fun.

Does mind over matter work for you? Sure.

Are you paranoid? Oh yeah. Overthinker is pretty much my middle name.

What is the best thing about winter? I wouldn’t know but considering the things associated with it, I’ve always believed it would be my favorite season.

Have you ever been truly in love? Hmm. I think so, yeah. I’d give myself that.

Are you currently planning a trip? Nah. Nothing set in stone, but Angela, Reena, and I have been talking about flying to South Korea next year. We’ll see.

How many plants are in your home? Several. My mom is a bit of a fan, but it’s nothing obsessive.

What is your favorite possession? I treasure my BTS merch, I guess haha. Nobody is allowed to touch them or move them around without my permission. As often as my mom likes to barge in my room and touch my stuff, she seems to understand and doesn’t lay a finger on any of the merch either.

Have you ever felt like you were too nice and way too often overlooked? Sure. But it's never really mattered to me; it just feels nice to be nice and do nice things for people. It does feel nice to be thanked, but I don’t necessarily do it for the recognition.

What movies have tripped you out? I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Midsommar, Anomalisa, Under the Skin, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and The Killing of A Sacred Deer are a few of them.

Did you rollerblade as a kid? Do you still rollerblade? Yesssss, I even had a pair as a kid. I got into it because I loved to ice skate, but it turned out I wasn’t as good as gliding on the ground so I ultimately preferred ice skating. Anyway, no, I haven’t done rollerblading in years.

Would you ever settle into a relationship that wasn’t right for you? Do you know friends who are in relationships just so they have someone to sleep with at night? I did. I stayed because it’s where I felt safe and I didn’t know where else to go or what else to do outside of it.

Would you take a dirty picture of yourself for someone you are dating? Sure.

Do you use earplugs or a sleeping mask when you sleep? Nope. I find them more distracting than anything else, and they actually keep me from sleeping.

What summertime treats do you love? I don’t have any.

How picky are you when it comes to choosing who to kiss or not kiss? I am VERY picky. I have to be really interested in you. < Yeah, this sounds about right.

What do you hate most about moving? The last time we moved was in 2008...and I don’t really remember disliking any part of it. I was actually excited for us to have a home all to ourselves after living with extended family in a cramped house all my life.

Do you feel that having sex anywhere but a bed is more exciting? Depends where. Sometimes it can be exciting, sometimes it can be inconvenient but you kinda do it out of desperation lol.

Do you drink 5 hour energy drinks or any other kinds of energy drinks? No, I’m scared of how it would affect my body so I’ve never tried.

Has anyone ever whistled at you? Countless random men.

Do you like scarves? They can be comfy if I’m traveling somewhere cold...but I don’t really get to do that often, so.

Is your father homophobic? I haven’t seen any signs from him. My mom is much more likely to exhibit internalized homophobia – she just did the other night.

Do you take gummy vitamins? No, only when I was a teenager.

Have you ever applied make-up on a guy, for any reason at all? I don’t think so, nothing I can recall.

Who would you like to meet before you die? I don’t have any goal person in mind.

If your dream was to be a model, and a big opportunity came up, but you had to be nude, would you take it? Hmm, probably not. What’s the most ridiculous conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of? The Avril Lavigne doppelganger one is extremely hilarious and I read up so many thread about it on Twitter just so I can see how far people can stretch it.

If Heaven and Hell exists, where are you going when you die? I don’t care.

Who is the person that you are afraid of losing, above everyone else? Either of my best friends.

What is one thing that pisses you off pretty much everyday? The weather.

Is there anyone you know that you feel should consider therapy? My mom.

Do you like any of the songs on Twilight, or the actual movie/saga itself? Yeah the soundtracks are actually fucking great. The person who took this survey before me named Supermassive Black Hole by Muse, and that’s one of my favorites from all the soundtracks. The song Slow Life in New Moon is nice, too. How old was the first person you kissed? She was 17, going on 18.

Will you be a strict parent one day? I’d have some rules set but I wouldn’t suffocate my kids.

Last person to stand up for you? Heck if I know. I can do that for myself.

Have you been to a baby shower? No.

Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? My ex.

What’s your favorite high school memory? Hiding a same-sex relationship from my conservative, homophobic Catholic teachers.

Do you like relationships, or do you prefer to be single? I like being single these days.

What is one adventurous thing you’d be willing to do? Trying out the Nevis Swing in New Zealand.

What subject at school did you absolutely hate? I saw no point in studying chemistry.

Italian food or Chinese food? Chinese. I like Italian cuisine, but sometimes I find it a tad bit salty for my taste.

Do you like to make flash cards when you study? Not flash cards but sometimes I’ll write my notes down in several index cards because for some reason I retain information better that way.

Has anyone ever told you that you’re a good singer? No.

Do you ever watch TED talks, live or online? No. I never saw the appeal of most of them, honestly.

I dare you to write the name of a person you strongly dislike. Gabie.

What do you think about Marilyn Manson? I have nothing to say about him tbh.

Biggest trouble you’ve ever gotten into at school? Nothing beyond getting into an argument with this kid in 2nd grade and getting sent to the counselor’s office for it.

Do you own one of those “professional” DSLR cameras? I used to, until I handed it down to my sister...and until she let it smash onto the ground because she didn’t place it on her tripod properly when she was filming one time. I still don’t get why she’s so defensive about it; I wish she’d just admit she majorly fucked up on that. Does it bother you when you see a 6th grader with a bunch of gadgets? It makes me silently judge the parents more so than letting myself be bothered by a child.

Did you buy yearbooks every year in high school, or did you not bother? We’re not offered the chance to get yearbooks unless we’re in graduating years.

Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome? No.

Jalapeños: yay or nay? YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

Did you ever play Minecraft? No. I can’t care less.

Did you ever have a Club Penguin account? Were you a member? I didn’t.

Do you know anyone that seems to not have any common sense? Me, sometimes. Hahahaha.

What do you think is the biggest injustice that was ever done to you? The way I was broken up with, like what the person who last took this said. I’m not tortured by it and her anymore, but I don’t think I deserved to intensely mull over about what I could have possibly done to be broken up with the way she did.

What type of person angers you the most? Abusive people that think only they matter and have no consideration for how their actions affect other people. < This pretty much hits the nail on the head on how my ex is, so I’ll just go ahead and agree.

If you could change your appearance, how would you alter it? I’d get braces again and...that’s it, really.

What are your feelings on feminism? I support it and I support how it advocates equality.

Describe your first relationship? I’ve only had one relationship so I’ll just answer the following question.

Describe your last relationship? Internally toxic; uhhh healthy at some points I guess, when she wasn’t being a selfish prick; a disaster towards the end.

Can you honestly say that you always practice safe sex? I honestly don’t know what constitutes ‘safe sex’ in a same-sex relationship, sooooo idk if I have.

Why do you think your most favorite film touches you so deeply? It’s a realistic take on love and I appreciate that it took its sweet time to highlight the ugly sides of love and marriage. Also, Audrey Hepburn taking her acting chops to the next level was just beautiful to watch. She was always a fantastic actress in all her movies, but I could tell her acting in Two for the Road had just a little bit more depth to it.

What do you want people you meet for the first time to think about you? That I’m nice and approachable.

Do you feel protective over someone? My friends.

What perfume/cologne do you wear? Heat Rush.

Where did your vehicle come from? My parents got it for me as a high school grad gift.

What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to? I haven’t been to a wedding since 2007, and back then I was designated as a flower girl lol. I’ve never been to a wedding where I was chosen to be a bridesmaid.

What is your favorite way to eat chicken? CHICKEN SANDWICH. Also chicken wings.

It is your birthday. You hope the cake is: Oreo cheesecake topped with 24 macarons.

What do you wear to bed? Something thin and airy.

What were you doing at 8pm last night? I was watching Bon Voyage.

#survey #surveys

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phroyd · 3 years

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Rest In Peace, Alex! - Phroyd

Alex Trebek, who became known to generations of television viewers as the quintessential quizmaster, bringing an air of bookish politesse to the garish coliseum of game shows as the longtime host of “Jeopardy!,” died Nov. 8 at 80.

The official “Jeopardy!” Twitter account announced the death without further details.

Mr. Trebek had suffered a series of health reversals in recent years, including two heart attacks and brain surgery, and was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2019. He continued to host new episodes of his show until production was suspended in March because of the coronavirus pandemic, and then filmed socially distanced episodes that began airing Sept. 14.

For more than three decades, Mr. Trebek was a daily presence in millions of households, earning near-rabid loyalty for the intellectual challenge of his show, in which questions were presented as answers and answers were delivered in the form of questions. By the time of his death, “Jeopardy!” was one of the most popular and longest-lasting programs of its kind in TV history.

Mr. Trebek, the self-made son of a hotel chef, had no sequined co-presenter to match Vanna White on host Pat Sajak’s “Wheel of Fortune.” His show neither attracted nor allowed histrionics, no galloping, shrieking contestants such as those summoned to “Come on down!” on “The Price Is Right” with Bob Barker. Even the “Jeopardy!” theme song, one of the most recognizable jingles on television, was restrained in its dainty dings.

There was no “hot seat” like the chair for contestants on “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” with Regis Philbin — a show that “Jeopardy!” purists disdained for its elementary subject matter and inflated prize money.

On “Jeopardy!” there were only questions and answers — or rather, answers and then questions — leavened by the briefest of banter before Mr. Trebek directed his three contestants back to business.

He became known, a reporter for the New Republic magazine once observed, for his “crisp enunciation, acrobatic inflections [and] hammy dignity” as he primly — and with precise pronunciation — relayed clues in categories such as “European Cuisine,” “U.S. Geography,” “Ballet and Opera,” “Potent Potables” and “Potpourri.”

“The folding type of this cooling device became accepted in China during the Ming dynasty,” Mr. Trebek might declaim, as competitors raced to buzz in with the reply, “What is a fan?”

“Jeopardy!” was the creation of singer and talk-show host Merv Griffin, whose TV empire also included “Wheel of Fortune” and “Dance Fever.” His wife, Julann Griffin, proposed the show’s conceit. If players provided questions instead of answers, she said, then “Jeopardy!” would be safe from the high-profile cheating scandals that plagued TV quiz shows in the 1950s.

The Griffin brainchild aired on NBC from 1964 to 1975, then returned as “The All New Jeopardy!” from 1978 to 1979, both times with the stately actor Art Fleming as host. Mr. Trebek took over when the show was revived in syndication in 1984, also serving during his first several seasons as producer.

Much like his program, Mr. Trebek indulged in few frills. He favored conservative suits. When he shaved his signature mustache in 2001 — “on a whim,” he said — his viewership erupted in titillation.

The most exuberant flourish about the show might have been the exclamation mark in the title. Mr. Trebek, for his part, emitted few if any exclamations as he led contestants through the first round of clues; then a second, higher-stakes round dubbed “Double Jeopardy!”; and then “Final Jeopardy!,” in which players could wager all or some of their earnings on a single stumper.

“My job,” he told the Associated Press in 2012, “is to provide the atmosphere and assistance to the contestants to get them to perform at their very best. And if I’m successful doing that, I will be perceived as a nice guy and the audience will think of me as being a bit of a star. But not if I try to steal the limelight! The stars of ‘Jeopardy!’ are the material and the contestants.”

(Perhaps the show’s greatest stars were Ken Jennings, who reigned over the grid for 74 shows in 2004, claiming $2.5 million in winnings, and Watson, the IBM computer that defeated Jennings and another champion, Brad Rutter, in 2011.)

Fans who attended tapings of the show received a rare insight into Mr. Trebek’s dry humor when he held forth with them during commercial breaks, cutting up about how he didn’t “like spending time with stupid people,” which resulted in his having “very few friends.” He often regaled the crowd with tales of his DIY home-improvement projects.

He said his breakfast consisted of a Snickers and Diet Pepsi, or a Milky Way and Diet Coke. And he was not always as staid as he might have seemed, once tearing his Achilles’ tendon when he chased a burglar from his hotel room in 2011.

But to most “Jeopardy!” viewers, Mr. Trebek was akin to a neighbor they saw every day without becoming intimately acquainted. In a tribute to Mr. Trebek after his cancer diagnosis was announced, Jennings affectionately described him as “a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a Perry Ellis suit.” One of the few clues to his past was his slight Canadian accent.

George Alexander Trebek was born in Sudbury, Ontario, on July 22, 1940. His father was a Ukrainian immigrant, and his mother was French Canadian. In a memoir published in July, “The Answer Is . . . Reflections on My Life,” Mr. Trebek described a childhood marked by poverty and illness, including a painful form of rheumatism that he developed after falling into a frozen lake at age 7.

Mr. Trebek said that he considered becoming a priest but did not enjoy his experimentation with a vow of silence. “I was a very good student, but leaned more toward show business than anything else because I had a way of entertaining the class,” he told the Toronto Star. “I wasn’t the class clown, but always prominent — even when I was quiet.”

He said he was nearly expelled from boarding school and then dropped out of a military college after three days because he did not wish to subject himself to a buzz cut.

Mr. Trebek began working at the Canadian Broadcasting Corp. while studying philosophy at the University of Ottawa, where he graduated in 1961. As a broadcaster for radio and television, he delivered coverage in English and French, reported on news, weather and sports, and hosted “Reach for the Top,” a popular teen quiz show.

In 1973, Mr. Trebek came to the United States as host of “The Wizard of Odds,” a short-lived game show created by fellow Canadian Alan Thicke.

“It was canceled on a Friday, and I was disappointed, of course,” Mr. Trebek once said on “The Dan Patrick Show,” a sports talk program. “It was replaced the following Monday by a show called ‘High Rollers,’ which I also hosted. . . . After two and a half years, it was canceled, and it was replaced by another show which I hosted. So I have the either great honor or dubious honor of having replaced myself on three different occasions.”

Mr. Trebek, who became a U.S. citizen in 1998, also hosted shows including “Double Dare,” “The $128,000 Question” and “Battlestars.” He subbed for Chuck Woolery, Sajak’s predecessor on “Wheel of Fortune,” bringing him to the attention of Griffin. For a period Mr. Trebek hosted “Classic Concentration” and “To Tell the Truth” while also presiding over “Jeopardy!,” where he reportedly commanded $10 million a year.

As “Jeopardy!” host, Mr. Trebek participated in national contestant searches and shepherded the first teen, senior and celebrity tournaments. He also contributed clues, drawing from his knowledge in such arcane fields as oil drilling and bullfighting. He personally reviewed all clues before taping a show and claimed that he could answer about 65 percent of them correctly. If he judged one too difficult, he asked writers not to use it.

“I’ll say, ‘Nobody’s going to get this,’ ” he told the New York Times in a 2020 interview. “And they usually take my suggestions, because I view myself as every man.”

By the time Mr. Trebek completed 30 years as host, “Jeopardy!” reached 25 million viewers a week. His Emmys included a lifetime achievement award, and, in 2013, he ranked No. 8 in a Reader’s Digest poll of the most trusted people in America. Jimmy Carter, the highest-ranking president on the list, arrived at No. 24.

A ubiquitous presence in pop culture, Mr. Trebek appeared in the “Got milk?” advertising campaign, in films including “White Men Can’t Jump” (1992) and on television shows including “The Simpsons” and “The X-Files.” In a memorable episode of “Cheers,” Mr. Trebek welcomed as a contestant the postal carrier Cliff Clavin (John Ratzenberger), the sitcom’s most undesirable bachelor, in a round of “Jeopardy!” with categories including “beer,” “mothers and sons” and “celibacy.”

Mr. Trebek was spoofed on “Second City Television,” the Canadian TV sketch show, and “Saturday Night Live,” with comedian Will Ferrell, as his impersonator, barely containing his contempt for dimwitted contestants on “Celebrity Jeopardy!”

“I’ll take ‘Swords’ for $400,” Sean Connery, portrayed by Darrell Hammond, intoned in a Scottish accent when the category of clues was in fact “ ‘S’ Words.”

Mr. Trebek’s first marriage, to Elaine Callei, ended in divorce. In 1990, he married Jean Currivan. A complete list of survivors was not immediately available.

Little changed about “Jeopardy!” as the years wore on for the show, for Mr. Trebek and for fans. Newfangled topics, such as twerking, were occasionally introduced. Over time, contestants revealed themselves to be more familiar with Dan Brown, author of “The Da Vinci Code,” than with the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the New Republic noted. And Mr. Trebek was called upon to learn to rap to read certain clues.

But mainly the show stayed “comfortable, like an old pair of shoes,” Mr. Trebek once said. In its constancy, it became all the more comforting for the legions of fans who turned to “Jeopardy!” for its promise of clear right and wrong answers in a world where the matter of what is true was increasingly subjected to partisan debate.

“There’s a certain comfort that comes from knowing a fact,” Mr. Trebek told the Times in July. “The sun is up in the sky. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to change that. You can’t say, ‘The sun’s not up there, there’s no sky.’ There is reality, and there’s nothing wrong with accepting reality. It’s when you try to distort reality, to maneuver it into accommodating your particular point of view, your particular bigotry, your particular whatever — that’s when you run into problems.”

Phroyd

#alex trebek #jeopardy #rip

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clownwritesfanfic · 4 years

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Look it’s my first original post wow. This was a topic discussed in a Discord server I’m in, Hello there if you are from that server. Also thanks if you helped when i got stuck. I decided to share it here because I had a bit of fun with it.

Slashers/Horror Characters and their hobbies (when they’re not on a killing spree)

Michael (1978) would probably read. I like to think they would at least give him some books to read in the asylum. If his victim has a collection of books and he’s got time he’ll browse through the selections and take some that intrigue him. His favourite genre would probably be mystery or psychological horror. Think SAW if it was a book. 2007 remake Michael, as we already know likes to make masks. I don’t really think that would stop after escaping.

Bubba would enjoy cooking and baking I think. He’d get all prettied up in his pretty woman mask and a nice non-bloodied apron and get to work. He doesn’t get to cook that often because Drayton thinks he’ll burn the house down because of one (1) incident where Bubba accidentally started an oil fire and in a panic threw water on it. (Do not do that btw it makes the fire so much worse) But when he does cook or bake it is delicious. He enjoys trying and making new recipes too.

Nubbins does taxidermy. But he makes really weird scenes with the dead animals. He once took the ballerina off an old wind up music box he found and placed a rat in a tutu doing a pirouette on it instead and gave it to Bubba. (Bubba adores that thing and it helps him sleep at night).He likes to take random parts from animals and make his own new creatures and try to convince Bubba they’re real. (Poor guy actually fell for one once and was scared of “flying rabid raccoons” for almost a whole month) He’s also partial to photography. Although he doesn’t have much of a muse and some of the pictures are blurry.

Chop Top likes to listen to music and has tried his hand at making it (much to Drayton’s dismay but he doesn’t have any rights so that doesn’t matter). He likes Rock music but his guilty pleasure would be smooth jazz.

Thomas would enjoy sewing. He once tried making a dress for Luda Mae but it wasn’t sized properly. The sleeves were much too small and the dress itself was too big it would be a hassle to do any house work in it. Luda Mae still praised Thomas for it and she still has it even if she can’t wear it and shes very proud of him for it.

Billy Loomis just watches different movies and makes up theories around them and likes to discuss plot holes. He’s like one of those Disney fans that makes up long and elaborate theories. (no disrespect to those people i actually enjoy them) Except it’s mostly on horror or thriller movies instead.

Stu has a little artistic side in him. He can’t do photo realistic drawings but he doodles quick little things of people, objects, animals, etc. When he;s bored in class he’ll look around and doodle his classmates on his notes. Some of his teachers have had to tell him to stop drawing on assignments and tests while others look forward to seeing his little doodles. He’s dabbled in sculpture quite a bit too. He’s not the best but he likes doing it. He once made Billy a little cup that Billy still has in his room holding some pencils and pens. He prefers drawing over painting and he’s got his own unique style.

Brahms will sit and play with his toys or colour in a colouring book. He actually prefers colouring over playing with toys. It’s a quick way to get him to calm down by having him sit at the dinner table and colour in a page with crayons (he’s not allowed pencil crayons, for obvious reasons) and a cup of tea. He also likes putting things back together (which might be the reason why he breaks his toys so often). He’s good at figuring out which piece fits with another much like a puzzle (however he doesn’t like real puzzles much). That’s why he was able to put his doll back together.

Jason also likes to read. Before he drowned he was at a higher reading level than the other kids. His mom made sure to teach him from an early age. She wanted a bright and respectable son. Sometimes he’ll go raid the cabins after slaughtering all the new campers to see if any have brought books. He enjoys poems and a bit of romance. If it has a scene his mother would frown upon her boy reading, he’ll skip it. He would also enjoy bird watching and observing all the other animals that roam the area.

Freddy...to be quite honest I have no idea what Freddy would do other than enter peoples dreams. He might like metalwork considering he made that little glove of his. If he’s not murdering people he’s probably just fucking with their dreams to entertain himself.

Chucky i’m also not sure of. I would like to say he’d play videos games but at the same time it doesn’t seem very fitting. (I’ve never watched a Chucky movie so I don’t really know his personality well enough)

Tiffany however would enjoy cooking and baking, like Bubba. I think she would prefer baking a little bit more than cooking.

Other than disturbing the sorority with his calls and *ahem* doing what he does best, Billy Lenz likes making collages. Either using material from old magazines or pictures of the girls. He likes getting a little surreal and cryptic with them. He likes putting animal heads on people. If you were to look at some of them you would have no clue as to what is happening or what it means. Billy knows. But he won’t tell you.

Cujo (as one of my fellow server mates said since i’ve never seen Cujo) likes to play fetch. What dog doesn’t? He’s also very partial to tug of war too. But don’t think you’ll win. That dog can dent a car door with his head.

1990 Pennywise would sit on his ass and read the newspaper or watch a shitty little broken TV on his shitty, dirty, springs-showing, torn up, recliner and smoke. He mostly smokes cigarettes but he doesn’t mind a good cigar if he can get his hands on one. Even though he sleeps for 27 years, he’ll still take naps on said recliner. Changing his form and chasing kids is hard work for an old being like him.

2017 Pennywise however is younger than 1990 Penny and so he has more energy. Pennywise genuinely likes clowns and what they do, that’s why the clown form is his favourite. (1990 Pennywise finds it easier to attract kids and make them feel safe if he looks like a clown). So he tries to make balloon animals. He’s not very good at it and they keep popping but he’s trying his best. And yes, he does get pretty angry if he keeps messing up.

Vincent as we already know, likes to make wax sculptures. He’s tried clay before but he doesn’t like how it feels dried on his hands. He’s much more comfortable with wax. Plus, if he ever runs out of wax he can re-melt a sculpture that is old or isn’t his favourite and start anew. Once clay dries it can’t go back to clay.

Bo likes to work on cars. The older the better. He prefers trucks but cars are just as good. He can tell whats wrong with it just by turning the engine on. He’s one of the best (and only) mechanics in town.

Lester likes to collect bones, mostly skulls, from roadkill he’s found. He waits for his little pile to rot then he’ll go in looking for skulls and bones.He’s got a whole wall of shelves filled with different animal skulls and skeletons. He also tried taxidermy once. Emphasis on tried. They came out looking terrible and messed up. He still likes doing it from time to time though.

Sweeney Todd actually enjoys being a barber. He finds it relaxing cutting peoples hair and making people look and feel good. He finds shaving men’s faces really satisfying and finds it quite humorous to see a gentleman with a beard come in and leave with a smooth baby face. They tend not to look so intimidating anymore.

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whitesparrows97 · 5 years

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A Thousand Springs – Part 12

Pairing: BTS x Reader/OT7 x Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content including fingering, dirty talk, multiple partners

Word Count: 4.6K

Previous / Next

(picture credit: photograph by Mok Jung Wook for TIME Magazine)

You finally felt like you could breathe freely again. All the disagreements between you and the boys had subconsciously caused you more trouble than you wanted to admit. You were happy to have shaken this rock off your chest.

For a moment you thought about telling them about David’s call but, and maybe that was stupid, you just wanted to enjoy the time with them now. David already had way too much control over your life anyway.

You didn’t know what would happen if you told them about the call. But you were sure they hadn’t been sitting on the sofa with you the last few days, taking walks in the huge garden or just chatting. It was good to just have a chat with them, without lies, without secrets.

You’ve never felt so liberated, so light, so comfortable.

Even learning for the exam was fun when Hoseok or Taehyung were asking you questions to practice. You were a little surprised that they took the matter seriously and didn’t fool around, but prepared you well. However, you quickly noticed that you had forgotten essential documents in the hurry in your apartment.

You left your room where you had spent the morning and had searched again in vain. You didn’t want to admit it at first, but you were practically afraid of meeting Alison again. Telling a lie on the phone was one thing, but if you had to lie straight to her face, you knew she’d see right through you. Especially with a big lie like that.

You walked past the rooms of Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung and crossed the balcony with a view of the entrance hall. On the way to Namjoon’s room you heard loud laughter from the kitchen, which came from Jimin, Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung and you couldn’t resist your smile. It seemed you weren’t the only one who felt relieved after the conversation you had with Namjoon.

When you arrived at the dark wooden door, you took a deep breath before raising your hand and knocking hesitantly. Immediately a deep “Come in” came from inside.

Carefully you pressed the door open. You had never been in any of the other boys’ rooms except Jungkook’s and you were still a little nervous in Namjoon’s presence.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted you when he saw you and asked you into the room with a gesture. As you closed the door behind you, your gaze glided through the room.

The first thing that struck you was the big desk, which was standing in front of high shelves full of books. It was like a small library of its own. The desk was almost overflowing with notes and folders, which were also bursting at the seams. A space had been built into the shelves to make room for a fireplace in which a soothing fire was burning.

On your left was the large bed, from which you would have a good view of the fireplace on the one hand, and of the garden and the city behind it on the other.

“Speechless?” Namjoon asked, smiling, and you directed your gaze a little embarrassed back at the man, who had gotten up from his chair at the desk and was approaching you.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve hardly seen any of your rooms yet.” You were searching for the right words. “It’s… interesting.”

“Oh, it’s alright. We have enough time for you to look at them in peace and as often as you want,” he replied with a smile before reaching for your hand and gently stroking a strand of hair back behind your ear with the other one. “But I don’t think you’re here to look at my room. Right?”

You nodded. “I’m studying for my final exam…”

“Yes, Taehyung and Hoseok talk hardly about anything else,” Namjoon interrupted you laughing and you couldn’t hold back your smile.

“Anyway, I noticed that in all the hurry I forgot some important documents in the apartment.”

“No problem, we can go and get them,” he practically read your thoughts. Well, that was easy. You thought it would take a little more persuasion for Namjoon to let you out of the safe four walls of the villa.

“Really? That would be great, because I don’t have as much time anymore to learn.”

“I let Yoongi know and then we’re on our way,” Namjoon replied and had already disappeared from the room. When you also stepped into the hallway, you saw him disappear into the first room of the hallway.

You made your way to your room to get the key to the apartment and wanted to take a quick look at Yoongi’s room. However, you were disappointed to find that Namjoon had closed the door behind him.

After a short time of searching you found the key and waited on the balcony for the other two. You had your elbows supported on the railing and had a good view of the entrance hall. As much as you loved the villa, it was a good feeling to get outside again. Maybe you could ask the others if you could go on vacation when you finished your last exam.

You used the quiet moment and wrote Alison a warning that you were coming. It was Sunday and the way you knew her, she might have had a male visitor. Besides, you wanted to be prepared beforehand if you really met her at home. Then you could at least plan a little and think about an explanation if she asked who Yoongi and Namjoon were.

‘Hey, Ali. I left some papers at home and I’m coming to get them. Are you home? Do I have to sneak into the apartment to avoid disturbing anyone?’

A tick. Two ticks. She was online. Offline.

You frowned. Strange, otherwise she always answered directly. Or at least didn’t let you on read.

The opening of a door to your left side took you from your thoughts and you looked up.

��I’m sorry you had to wait. I briefly called one of our men to give us a lift. He should be here any minute,” explained Namjoon.

“Can’t one of you drive?”

“Namjoon doesn’t have a license and I’m not in the mood to drive,” Yoongi replied.

“Oh, okay,” you replied and before you could ask any more, the doorbell rang.

“I’m going,” Jimin shouted, who slid excitedly into the lobby. You smiled at his behavior, but you could also understand. It was probably rather rare for the seven men to have visitors.

“It’s for us, Jiminie,” Namjoon informed the younger one. He had already opened the door and greeted the guest briefly.

“Are you going away?” he asked, facing up to you.

“Yes, Y/N has to get some documents from the apartment. We won’t be gone long,” Namjoon explained further as you made your way down.

“Okay, then have fun,” Jimin bid you farewell with a meaningful wiggle of his eyebrows and a promising grin.

Now you were even more suspicious.

“Namjoon. Yoongi,” the stranger greeted the other two. “Miss Y/N,” he turned his gaze to you, “It’s an honor to meet you. I am Woo Chin Ho, but you can call me Chin Ho.” He bowed lightly.

You didn’t know what to say. Apparently Namjoon and Yoongi realized your loss of words, because Namjoon laughed and a little smile played around the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. In all your life, you've never been greeted like this by anyone.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Namjoon and you were happy to be taken out of the uncomfortable situation.

On the way to the car you took a closer look at Chin Ho. He had longer, black hair, which was knotted to a proper bun. He also wore a fancy suit, but the T-shirt underneath was looser and more casual. He definitely looked like someone you could have a good laugh with and with whom you would never have a dull moment.

In the rearview mirror, you took a quick look at his face. It was neat, freshly shaved, very clean skin. His eyes radiated warmth and there seemed to be a constant smile on his face. When your eyes met, he threw you a warm smile before he started the engine.

The car you were sitting in wasn’t one of the two you already knew. Although you were sitting in the back seat between Namjoon and Yoongi, the car was wide enough so you didn’t feel trapped. Although that wouldn’t have been too bad either…

There was also plenty of room to move forward so you could stretch your legs out almost completely before they hit the barrier of the front seats.

The first minutes passed in silence. Chin Ho had turned on the radio after a few minutes and since then Classic Rock music had been coming through the speakers. Whenever you stood at a traffic light, he used his thumbs to tap the rhythm of the song on the steering wheel. It was strangely reassuring.

“Is Alison there when we get there?” Namjoon asked after a while.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I had texted her, but…” You fished your cell phone out of your jacket pocket. A look at the display showed a new message. You immediately opened the messenger app.

Oh, no, what?! I would have really liked to see you, but I’m already on my way. Next time I’ll definitely be there! Or we can make plans, but first enjoy the time with your family. Miss you, xo

A short smile spread on your face as you shook your head and put the phone back. “Okay, Alison’s out,” you answered Namjoon’s previous question.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” Yoongi objected from your right side. You looked at him questioningly. “You can’t lie, Princess, we know that. And Alison has known you long enough to notice it immediately. Besides, there might be questions if she saw us.”

“You’re right, Yoongi.” This was exactly what you were worried about, too. Your gaze fell on his hand, which he had placed invitingly with the inside of his hand facing up on his thigh. Grinning you interlaced your hand with his.

Almost at the same time, Namjoon’s hand lay down on your left thigh and began to make small circular movements. Now you got an idea why Namjoon had called an extra driver.

Nervously, your gaze slid back into the rearview mirror, but Chin Ho’s gaze was on the road in front of him. Did he know what was happening right behind him? If so, he was incredibly good at hiding it. But it was probably also part of his job.

You, on the other hand, had blood in your cheeks and slipped back and forth on your seat.

“Relax, Princess,” Yoongi whispered in your ear and you shivered as his hot breath hit your ear.

“We don’t do anything you don’t want,” Namjoon breathed towards you before his full lips lay on your neck. You pressed your lips firmly together, but immediately a disappointed noise came from Yoongi.

“I thought, we were already there, princess? We want to hear you.”

“I know,” you whispered back and were happy with the music from the speakers that hopefully covered up your conversation. “But what about… what about Chin Ho? That may not be the best first impression he can have of me.”

“There’s no better impression than seeing you like this, baby,” Namjoon disagreed with you and turned your face to him. His face was so close to yours that you could see every single color in his iris, smell his perfume and feel his breath on your skin.

“God, you are so beautiful. I’ll never get used to it.” His thumb stroked your lower jaw and your cheek and your skin seemed to burn under his touch. You needed more.

“Joonie,” you whispered and your free hand found its way into his soft hair by itself. You drew him closer to you to bridge the last distance between you, but just before your lips met, he stopped you and came a few centimetres in front of your face to a halt.

“It’s not always that easy, baby.” You could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t be so mean,” you complained quietly.

“Yoongi told me that he and Hoseok taught you some manners. Somehow I don’t see much of it right now. Hyung?” The last part was addressed to Yoongi and the younger one cast a glance over your shoulder to look at him.

Yoongi leaned back relaxed and shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently that wasn’t enough.”

“Hm,” was all Namjoon replied, but with the look he cast at you, your abdomen contracted pleasantly full of tension.

You had already wondered how long it would take after the conversation between you and Namjoon for one of the others to go one step further. Self-control was something you couldn’t attribute to any of the seven men. Well, most of the time.

“But you’re gonna have to wait a little longer. Sorry, baby.”

“That’s unfair,” you muttered, but when you took a look outside, you noticed that you had already turned into your street. “Oh,” was all you replied.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Chin Ho made himself noticed again and threw you an encouraging smile. You could imagine that you looked far too much at what your thoughts were revolving around.

You remembered again that Alison wasn’t at home and you had the apartment practically to yourself… Suddenly you couldn’t wait to get out of the car and into the apartment as quickly as you could.

As inconspicuously quick as possible you went up the stairs to the third floor and unlocked the door.

“At least this time you can do it alone,” Yoongi teased you, but you just gave him an evil look.

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll look for the documents,” you said on the way to your room. Your heartbeat accelerated when you heard two pairs of feet following you into your room.

‘Okay, concentrate,’ you told yourself. ‘Documents.’

You went to all four to take out the required documents in the bottom drawer of your closet. After briefly browsing through the files, you found the folder you had been looking for.

You sighed with relief as you stood up again.

“That’s cute,” said Yoongi, clearly amused. He held a small object in his hand and looked at you grinning with his eyebrows raised.

You rushed right at him. “Yoongi! Put that back.” You tried to rip it out of his hand, but it didn’t help.

“Who did you get it from?”

You sighed again, but not with relief this time. “Alison won it for me at the fair. And now put it back.”

“You look sweet when you’re angry. But you know that for sure.” He turned the little pink plush rabbit once more in his hands before putting it back in its place on the shelf.

“You’re very close, you and Alison,” Namjoon remarked.

“She’s all I’ve had for years. There wasn’t a day when she wasn’t there for me. She is the only thing I could call family for a long time. At least until now…”

At the same time a smile spread on the faces of the two men.

“Well, do you have your papers?” You nodded. “Then shall we go again?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, disappointed. Did you perhaps misinterpret the signals of the two and they didn’t want to initiate anything at all? On the other hand, Namjoon had also said that you had to be patient and didn’t always get what you wanted directly.

On the way down, you saw Yoongi typing a message on his cell phone. You could only catch a glimpse of the person he was texting before he closed the messenger app and stashed his phone back in his pocket.

Chin Ho.

You frowned for a second, but then you dropped it. Probably he had only informed him that you were on your way down again.

Arrived at the car you took your place again in the middle of the back seat. While you were busy with the seat belt, you missed the meaningful look between Yoongi and Chin Ho.

The latter started the car and made his way back to the villa. Or at least you had thought so.

“Didn’t we come from the other side?” you asked with a frown as you noticed that you were driving in the completely opposite direction from which you had come.

Nobody said a word and you watched Chin Ho extend his right hand towards the dashboard. Seconds later, a darkened window slid between him and you, giving you some privacy.

“What’s going on here?” you asked now, a little worried. You weren’t at ease when none of the men said anything.

Namjoon’s hand lay on the buckle of your seat belt and pushed it down. Immediately the belt snapped open and rolled backwards. Questioningly you looked at him with big eyes.

“Come onto my lap, baby,” Namjoon replied decisively, but you hesitated.

Namjoon felt your insecurity and helped you by putting his strong hands on your hips and lifting you effortlessly onto his lap. Now you understood what Yoongi must have texted Chin Ho. He was supposed to take another route back so that you would have more time together.

You bit your lip to hide your smile when Yoongi took your old place next to Namjoon. Namjoon had one arm wrapped around the center of your body while his other was possessively lying on your thigh.

A look to your right showed that Yoongi had taken a comfortable posture. He had turned slightly towards you and crossed one leg over with the other. His one hand lay loosely on his ankle, while he supported his head with the other hand, elbows resting on the backrest.

His gaze said it all. The last time he had been the giving part, but this time it seemed as if it would be more than enough for him just to watch.

“You don’t know how happy we are that all this is settled between us,” Namjoon whispered in your ear and continued right where he left off. Thanks to the barrier between you and Chin Ho, it was easier for you to let yourself fall this time.

He quickly found the spot where you were particularly sensitive and began to suck on it, which elicited a little sigh from you. Encouraged by this, Namjoon reinforced his effort once again and at the same time began to make circling movements on your thigh.

It was practically the same situation as on the outward journey and yet quite different. You were among yourselves and you could feel Namjoon so close below you, your heart beat faster and your abdomen contracted.

“Namjoon,” you sighed and hoped that was enough to give him understanding of what you needed. What you wanted.

“What is it, baby?” he murmured against your neck.

“More. Please.”

You felt Namjoon’s hot breath on the wet spots he left on your neck when he laughed softly.

“Use whole sentences, princess,” it came from Yoongi.

“Do you want me to do this?” Namjoon’s hand continued to slide up your thigh, always in circular movements. His fingers came closer, moved away again and came closer again. It almost drove you crazy.

You dropped your head back a little so that you could rest it on Namjoon’s shoulder and closed your eyes. You flinched slightly as one hand gently grazed your cheek.

“Relax,” Yoongi whispered as he did on the outward journey and you noticed again how the tension in your shoulders was directly released.

His long fingers stroked further down, over your jaw to your neck. He must be able to feel your heartbeat under his fingertips and as he stroked over your collarbone, it accelerated even further.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to us,” Namjoon breathed before he laid his hand flat on your crotch. You pulled in the air sharply.

His fingers first skilfully opened the button of your jeans and then slowly, almost teasingly, pulled the zipper down. You opened your eyes carefully and could see just in time how one finger after the other disappeared into your jeans.

You held on to that arm of Namjoon with one hand so that he knew you didn’t want to back down. You looked right at Yoongi, who watched you both with hungry eyes and a slight smile.

He had put his hand back on his leg and absorbed what was happening in front of him. You buried your right hand in his hair and pulled him closer to you.

You were a little excited. Compared to what Namjoon was doing right now, a kiss was nothing big, even harmless. Still, the first kiss was a bit intimate, even though Yoongi had already gone farther with you.

You bridged the last few inches and couldn’t suppress the sigh as your lips met. It just felt so good to be with them. Almost as if you were merging into one person.

His lips were so soft and it was like he was just waiting for you to make the first move.

Therefore, it did not take long for his tongue to ask for entry, which you gladly granted him. He sighed before he drew you closer to him with one hand and intensified the kiss even further.

That was exactly the moment when Namjoon gently stroked your clitoris. Your pelvis rose slightly from his lap to get as much of his touch as possible.

“Don’t be so impatient,” Namjoon quietly rebuked you, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

His other hand grabbed your hip and pulled you closer to his chest. Through the movement you put more pressure on his crotch and he couldn’t suppress the soft moaning. Now you also clearly noticed the bulge that had formed in his pants and pressed against your ass. It turned you on even more. You would never have expected to have such an influence on anyone, especially in this way. But the men showed you again and again how much they desired you and it was possibly the best feeling in the world.

“Who is impatient here,” you gave back teasingly.

Namjoon didn’t answer you and you thought he would continue with his slow torture when he surprisingly penetrated you with a finger.

Most of your moaning was intercepted by Yoongi’s mouth, who had again hungrily pressed his lips on yours. His hands had buried themselves firmly in your hair and pulled you decisively and yet cautiously closer to him.

Meanwhile Namjoon had made it his business again to push your impatience to the limit. His finger slowly slipped out of you again before stroking your labia, which were wet from your arousal.

“God, baby, you’re so wet. So wet and beautiful just for us.”

His middle finger made circling movements in the direction of your clit, but shortly before he reached it, he stopped and moved in the opposite direction again.

You interrupted the kiss with Yoongi and tried to look as far back as you could. “Namjoon!” Your left hand, still clutching his arm, pushed his hand down again. You didn’t want to, you couldn’t wait any longer. “Just use your fingers and fuck me already.”

“Okay, whatever you want. But don’t complain if it’s too much for you,” Namjoon warned you. Again this other side of him came to light that you were secretly afraid of. Or was it fear at all? You had to admit to yourself, however much he made you insecure in those moments, the more it turned you on.

And he was right. His fingers were exactly where you wanted them and he seemed to have enough of the slow way.

He inserted his middle and ring finger deep into you and did not hold back his strength, so that you were pressed flat against his chest with your back again.

Immediately he slipped out, only to penetrate you hard again. You could hear how wet you were and already now the knot in your abdomen tightened rapidly.

Namjoon fucked you with his fingers relentlessly and your moaning mixed with the loud obscene noises of your cunt. When he entered you again, he suddenly stopped moving and you wanted to complain when he started doing a “come here” movement.

Your hand, still tangled in Yoongi’s hair, clung even tighter to it in an attempt to find some hold.

“That’s it, baby. Spread your legs,” Namjoon ordered you and you immediately obeyed and let your legs slide apart as far as the jeans allowed.

That gave Namjoon the opportunity to penetrate you even further and you had the feeling that you would soon fall apart if he continued at the same speed as so far.

You didn’t care if Chin Ho could hear you. At that moment you were only interested in enjoying the feeling that was spreading throughout you.

Namjoon, inspired by the sweet noises coming out of your mouth, now used his thumb to give your clitoris the necessary attention, which brought you to the brink of coming.

However, he seemed to be able to read your body accurately and stopped his movements shortly before, fingers buried deep inside you.

You gasped for air as your chest quickly lifted and lowered and tried to turn your head back. “Namjoon-”

Yoongi grabbed your chin and turned your head to him in one quick movement. He put his lips on yours before you could continue to complain.

You felt your orgasm, so close a moment ago, gradually disappear again. Namjoon also seemed to notice it and began to pull his fingers out of you again.

He started with a slow but steady rhythm and quickly you felt the knot in your abdomen forming again. You flinched in surprise as another hand joined. Yoongi.

This time he was the one who stimulated your clitoris. His practiced fingers exerted exactly the right pressure and orbited them at just the right speed.

It was almost frightening how exactly they knew your body.

“Come for us, Princess,” Yoongi whispered in your ear and you did just that.

With Namjoon, who had meanwhile picked up a rigorous speed again, and Yoongi, who in contrast was stimulating your clitoris almost agonizingly slowly, your abdomen tightened almost painfully.

You felt your inner walls tightening around Namjoon’s long fingers and your whole body tightening. You could barely suppress an outcry, even though you were sure Chin Ho could hear you anyway. The window pane was opaque, but not soundproof.

“Hyung, she’s getting even tighter,” Namjoon said and his voice was rough and dripping with lust. As you slowly recovered from your orgasm, you clearly felt his hard erection pressing against your buttocks.

“I know, I wonder how Taehyung did it without hurting her,” Yoongi added and you whimpered. You were happy to sit on Namjoon’s lap as your legs were still trembling with excitement mixed with exhaustion. The conversation between the two men didn’t exactly make it any easier.

“She probably likes to be completely filled out. Right, baby?”

You only nodded while your eyes slowly closed.

“Namjoon-ah, I think it was a little too much,” whispered Yoongi, but his voice slowly drifted away.

The last thing you heard was the soft hum of the engine before you fell into a deep sleep.

Written 2019-2021. Do not copy, translate or repost without permission.

Tag list: (if you want to be tagged in the next chapters, just let me know ♥️ )

@oddly-drawn-muse @yoongiismytruelove @btsmysteriestolove @unicorntrooper @crazy-fangirl-10 @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @lyricstae @aretha170 @yoongisdumplingcheeks @bangtxnbxunch @brokencrownqueen @dont-hyuck @xanny91@peaches-422 @kimmie113080 @madisonred88 @peachy-bhun

#bts x reader #bts x you #poly!bts x reader #bts imagine #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #athousandsprings

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deanieweaniewrites · 4 years

Text

After The Deposit

Read on AO3 Here

Rated: T

Warnings: No Archive Warnings

Pairing: Destiel

Tags: Meet-cute, Awkward Flirting, First Date, Twin Fic

Summary: This is a twin fic that goes along with casbeanwrite's A Safe Deposit This is the same fic from Castiel's point of view, plus the aftermath and a sweet ending. Castiel is a nurse at a fertility clinic. Dean is a sperm donor for his friend Charlie and her wife. They flirt over a cup of Dean's semen and go on their first date.

Castiel was a hard worker throughout his whole life. Some would call him a workaholic, but what could he say? He liked his job. He worked in a fertility clinic as a nurse. There were ups and downs to his job, as there were with any career. He mostly saw couples, women trying to have children, and then there were the men coming in for fertility tests where they would have to make a deposit. Every once in a while, that part was awkward, but he always did his best to make sure everyone felt comfortable and like they weren’t being judged.

Today was different than the usual days. It was all normal until Mr. Green eyes and oh-so-sexy bowlegs walked in. He only felt slightly creepy when he immediately looked up this guy’s file for a name. Dean. He put on his professional face and tried to make Dean comfortable.

The last thing he expected was for Dean to flirt with him . He was surprised and a little embarrassed. This guy was either married or in a committed relationship, so that made this awkward and inappropriate. He brought the magazines Dean asked for and left when he asked, his cheeks flushed pink. He went back to his station to work on some paperwork. That was when his coworker, Balthazar, decided to bother him.

“Hey Cassie. Did you see the stud that just came in?”

“Yes, I did. I was the one who took him back.” Castiel tried to ignore him, but it was no use. Balthazar’s arm was on his shoulder and he was all up in his space.

“You gonna get his number?”

“He’s in a fertility clinic. I’m sure he’s in a very loving and committed relationship.”

Balthazar hummed. “Why don’t you find out what he’s in for?”

Castiel picked up Dean’s file and skimmed over it. Sure enough, he was a donor for someone named Dorothy. She had a patient file here too. Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but he knew it was just part of the job. Dean said he flirted when he was nervous, so he wasn’t really interested in Castiel, he was just weirded out. Castiel ignored Balthazar while he waited for Dean to return.

When Dean did return, he found out that Dean wasn’t trying to get a wife or girlfriend pregnant, he was donating for his lesbian friends. Oh, that was sweet. Too sweet. Of course Dean was stupidly hot and a sweet guy. Getting his number had to be one of the greatest moments of his life.

When he arrived home that evening, he immediately started getting ready. He showered and shaved, leaving a thin layer of stubble. He startled when he turned and his daughter, Claire, was right there in the doorway after he got dressed.

“Do you have a date?”

Castiel smiled a bit. “Maybe.” He was so thankful for the relationship he had with Claire. It was rocky at first after her mother died, but things were better now. She was fifteen now and she had matured a lot over the past five years.

Claire beamed. “Really? Tell me about him or her. What are they like? Where did you meet them?”

Castiel smiled. “His name is Dean. I met him at work.”

“You didn’t tell me they hired someone new.”

“He doesn’t work there.”

“...You’re going a date with a patient?”

“Yes, but he’s single. He was there to donate for his friends, who are lesbians, so they can’t conceive on their own.”

Claire smiled. “That’s sweet. Is he cute?”

“Very.” Castiel finished tying his tie and gave Claire a gentle squeeze of the shoulder as he passed her.

A few hours later, Castiel found himself waiting at a table at a local restaurant. He tapped his foot anxiously as he waited for Dean. When he finally saw him across the restaurant, he couldn’t resist the urge to beam and stand up to make himself more visible.

He wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to hug Dean or just wave, so with his hand up, he stuck it out for Dean to shake, as if that wasn’t the most awkward thing he had ever done. He felt a slight rush of relief when Dean simply laughed and shook his hand.

“Relax, man. It’s just dinner.”

“Dinner with the man I flirted with over a cup of semen while I was at work.” Castiel sat back down in his seat. “I’ve never been here before.”

“You’ve never been to The Roadhouse? If you like burgers, you’re going to love this.” He sat down across from Castiel and placed his arms on the table, leaning forward with a flirty grin.

Castiel smiled softly. “I do love hamburgers.” His phone dinged and he blushed. “I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to text on a date, but I need to leave my phone on in case my daughter texts me.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Making sure your kid is okay is more important than stupid date etiquette.”

Castiel checked his phone, and sure enough, it was Claire.

Claire Novak

How’s it going? Is he there yet?

Castiel Novak

Great. He just got here. Are you okay?

Claire Novak

I’m fine. I’m just checking in on you. Have fun!

Castiel smiled at his phone and set it aside. “She was just asking if you were here yet.”

Dean nodded. “How old is she?”

“She just turned fifteen.”

“Big birthday. She get her driver’s permit?”

“Oh yeah, she did. I felt bad, because I started crying at the DMV and embarrassed her. She says it wasn’t actually that embarrassing, but it was embarrassing for me.” He blushed. Why was he admitting this on a date?

“That’s sweet. You sound like a really caring father.”

Castiel smiled. Damn, he was just as charming and nice as he was attractive. “Thank you. I try to be. She’s the light of my life. I do everything for her. It hasn’t exactly been easy for her, so she deserves everything I can give her now.” He would have stopped at ‘thank you’, but Dean seemed to be enjoying listening to him, which felt nice.

“How is it that you’re stupidly gorgeous and a great guy all in one?”

Castiel’s cheeks flushed. “You’re saying that about me? I was thinking the same about you. I’ve been thinking that ever since we got here. You’ve let me sit here and blab about my daughter and you’ve barely spoken.”

“Maybe it’s just because I love the sound of your voice. After all, thinking about it is what got me off today.” Dean put a hand over his face. “God, I really can’t control myself around you.”

Castiel laughed softly. “It is pretty entertaining.” He glanced up as the waitress that sat him approaching the table. She grinned at Dean.

“So you finally got a hot date? About time. You gettin’ your usual?”

Dean grinned up at the waitress. “Hell yeah I am. How’re you, Jo?”

“I’m good. Mom’s behind the bar tonight and Ash is bussing tables, as usual.” She looked over at Castiel. “If he gives you any trouble, you tell me and I’ll whoop his ass.”

Castiel smiled. “I’ll be sure to do that, thank you.”

Jo smiled back. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll just have a water and a cheeseburger with the usual toppings, thank you.”

Jo picked up their menus and left to go get their drinks.

Castiel looked back at Dean. “You must come here a lot.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve come here since I was a teenager. Jo and I went to highschool together. She’s a fireball. Her mom is too. Ash is a cool guy. He’s the one with the mullet. You’ll see him around.”

Castiel nodded. “I’ve talked a lot about my family, tell me about yours.”

“Well, not much to say. I don’t have a lot of family. There’s my little brother, Sammy. He lives out in Palo Alto, California. He’s a lawyer. He’s such a smart kid. He got a full ride to Stanford right out of highschool. His fiance, Jessica, she’s a sweetheart. They’re going to move out here at the end of the year. I miss them, so I’m looking forward to being able to see them more. I hate driving out there.”

“Why don’t you fly?”

“Hell no. I don’t do planes.” Dean shook his head. “I love driving, but 25 hours is rough. I usually stop overnight, so it takes two days to get there, three if I don’t leave at the asscrack of dawn.”

Castiel nodded. “I understand. Everyone has some irrational fear.” He smiled softly. “That’s really impressive that your brother went to Stanford.”

Dean beamed proudly. “I know, right. He’s a good kid, so smart.”

“You probably miss him.”

“Oh yeah, I miss him a lot. I can’t wait for him to move down here.” He smiled. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Claire.” He picked up his phone and showed his wallpaper, which was a picture of him and Claire. She had her hair long and braided on the side, which was her favorite style.

Dean smiled. “That’s a great picture. She looks like she loves you a lot.”

“She does.” Castiel set his phone back down. He was absolutely smitten as he talked to Dean. Conversation flowed with ease and was barely interrupted by the arrival of their food. They talked over their burgers and Castiel learned a lot about Dean. He was an auto mechanic, and had worked on cars since he was ten. He grew up all over the continental US, but he was born in right here in Lawrence, and he spent his high school years in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. They were still talking long after their meals were over, and soon it was getting late.

“I hate to cut us off, but I did promise Claire I’d be home before nine. I’m sure she would be fine, but I should still probably go.”

“Oh wow, it’s that late? Damn, yeah I’ll let you go.”

Castiel was going to just go home, but then he blurted something out. “Do you want to come over?”

Dean blinked in surprise. “I mean, yeah, I’d like that.”

Castiel was tense until he heard Dean’s answer. He wanted to spend more time with Dean. “You want to follow me there? It’s not far.”

“Sounds good.” Dean led the way out of the Roadhouse. They had already paid for their meals. He looked around. “Which car is yours?”

“The Lincoln, right over there.”

Dean nodded. “Alright. See you there.” He smiled.

Castiel smiled back and nodded. “See you there.” He got into his car and made sure Dean was behind him before he started driving. His house was a cute townhouse near the center of town. He had a flower garden out front and a vegetable garden in the back. He parked in his garage and got out of his car. He looked back at Dean’s car and walked to the driver’s side door. When Dean rolled down the window, he leaned in slightly.

“Mind if I go in first to let Claire know you’re here?”

“Not at all.” Dean chewed his lip as Castiel started to leave. “Wait-“

“Hm?” Castiel turned back and found Dean’s face way closer than before. His eyes flicked down to his lips and he swallowed. A few seconds later, Dean leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a quick kiss. Castiel kissed back and pulled away with a grin. “I’ll be back.” He was practically giddy as he walked up to the door and let himself in. Within seconds, Claire was bounding down the stairs.

“Tell me everything! What’s he like? What did you do? Was he nice? Did you tell him about me?”

Castiel smiled. “Slow down, it’s actually not over yet. He’s in the driveway and-“

“Can I meet him?”

“Sure. I just wanted to let you know that he was here before letting him inside. I didn’t want to startle you. Have you done your homework yet?”

“No, but-“

“You can meet Dean, but then you’re going to finish your homework. It’s late.”

Claire nodded. “Okay.”

Castiel stepped back outside and waved for Dean to come inside.

Dean walked up the sidewalk. “I like the garden.”

“Thank you.” Castiel let Dean inside. “Dean, this is my daughter, Claire. Claire, this is Dean.”

Claire waved. “Hey, Dean. Thanks for taking my dad out. He needed that. It’s been forever since he’s dated.”

Dean chuckled softly. “No problem. In fairness, I only gave him my number. He asked me out.”

Claire smiled. “He likes you, then. Good to meet you, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you too, Claire.” Dean watched as she went upstairs and then turned to Castiel. “She’s sweet.”

“She is.” He hummed. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Dean followed Castiel to the living room and sat down next to him on the couch, taking his shoes off once Castiel did.

Castiel turned the TV on before looking at Dean. “Kiss me again.” He was surprised at his own forwardness, but he needed to feel Dean’s lips again.

Dean had a wide grin. “Another chance to kiss you like I mean it? Hell, I’ll take it.” He ran his thumb over Castiel’s jaw before leaning in for another kiss.

Castiel’s head spun and his world suddenly became very small. All he saw was himself and Dean, right here. All of his worries were gone. Everything with Dean felt so right. He had known this guy for eight hours and he was so head-over-heels. Hands drifted and nothing was rushed. A couch make-out session moved up to Castiel’s bedroom and became something more. Castiel fell asleep that night with his head on Dean’s chest, arm thrown over him.

The following morning, Castiel’s alarm went off and he turned it off, sitting up with a yawn. He looked over and his heart fell when the bed was empty. Did Dean already leave? He put his worries on pause when he heard Claire laughing downstairs. He quickly threw some clothes on and walked downstairs. He was met with a delicious smell of bacon and eggs. He saw Dean in the kitchen cooking and Claire sitting on the island with a piece of bacon in her mouth. Castiel smiled and walked up to Dean. “Good morning.”

“Morning. Hope you don’t mind me making breakfast.”

“Not at all. I can’t cook.”

“He set spaghetti on fire once.” Claire hummed.

Dean laughed. “That’s amazing.” He put the bacon and eggs on plates and set them on the table. When Claire’s back was turned, he snuck a kiss to Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel had no idea that morning how deep his love ran for Dean. That first date became one of many. Dean came over all the time to cook dinner, and they exchanged texts almost constantly. Dean constantly made jokes about how they met.

Dean Winchester

To this day, I still think about the time you held my semen in a cup and accepted my number

Castiel Novak

That was disgusting

Dean Winchester

Hey, you’ve seen me come a bunch of times now ;)

Castiel Novak

I’m at work

Dean Winchester

Oh, was that winky face too “provocative”?

Castiel Novak

No, the part where you referenced our sexual relations was inappropriate

Dean Winchester

Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Hey, meet me at the overlook today.

Castiel Novak

The one at the lake?

Dean Winchester

Yeah, that one. Great place to celebrate a six month anniversary, right?

Castiel Novak

It’s perfect. I’ll see you there. Love you

Dean Winchester

Love you too

That evening, Castiel walked the trail to the overlook. When he arrived, he found a blanket laid out and a basket full of food and wine. It was perfect. He watched the sun set over the lake, colors dissipating from the sky. When he stood up, he turned around to find Dean down on one knee with a little box in his hands.

After a year of marriage, Castiel walked into the fertility clinic for the first time without scrubs, because he wasn’t here for work today. Today, he and Dean were here for children of their own.

#gray writes #destiel fic #spn fic

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star-nova · 5 years

Text

The Lives of the RiffRaff: Kali Muburu-Hair

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister

When I was a kid, I had long hair, and I liked to play with it just like any other girl. I combed it, brushed it, styled it, and went to the hairdresser twice a year to have it done. I looked through the magazines and the style catalogs and tried out the different styles to varying degrees of success. I've had cornrows, dreads, single braids, highlights, waves, and weaves.

My hair was long and black and somehow managed to be free of the kinkiness that affected the rest of my family. My mother's hair was puffy, my brother's was frizzy, and I couldn't tell what my father's was because he kept it buzzed off. But mine was an anomaly, and it disappointed the hell out of my mother that I never wore it loose. “Your hair's a blessing, Kaliwan'aa,” she would tell me. “You should show more of it.” I think this was the reason that I didn't show more of it; no teenager wants to do what their mother says. The other more sensible reason was that it was always in the damn way. I was a runner, and the stuff weighed me down. It whipped out behind me like a banner strapped to my head and bounced against the back of my neck while I ran. It got caught in necklaces, scarves, and zippers. It snagged on fences and even doorknobs I was passing by. I ran around in the woods and the hills and came back with who-the-hell-knows-what in it. It seemed like my hair was only a blessing to somebody like my mother, a conservative Tongan woman who worked at a law firm and cooked and didn't do much else.

I began to admire the women on my father's side of the family. These were Kenyan women, with burnt cinnamon skin and long arms and legs like sycamore branches. Most of them had no more hair than my father, if any at all, and the heads of the bald ones gleamed like golden coins in the sun. They could probably run like bullets, and never had to worry about their hair being yanked in a fight or pulled by some idiot boy who sat behind them.

I decided that this look was something to work up to, to get a feel for. In my sophomore year, I got my hair cut short so that it fell just above my ears. I had inherited my father's ears that stuck out like wings, and the idiot kids called me “Dumbo the elephant.” But they would've called me anything; in ninth grade I was “Siren-Mouth” for my loud voice, and in eighth grade I was “Skeletor” because my legs were long and skinny. I'd been made fun of enough to stop giving a damn about being made fun of. All I cared about was that I was free from the shackles of long hair. I ran like a bolt with nothing weighing me down, and Dumbo-like or not, my ears were glad to be free. At the beginning of my junior year, I got gauge piercings and nobody called me Dumbo anymore. By then they had moved on to calling me “Riot” because I was loud and mouthy and got into fights. I still don't see how that was supposed to be an insult.

They say that changing your hair marks a change in who you are, that it's the first outward sign that you're an entirely different person than who you had been before. When I finally had my hair buzzed off completely, just after I had gone away to college, I looked in the mirror and saw a different Kali looking back at me. This Kali had a hard face and fiery, eager eyes, ready to see the whole world that existed beyond her little town. She was strong, built like a tree from years of running. She pursed her lips and looked angry, fierce. She smiled, and her teeth shone stark-white against a complexion like dark chocolate. I loved this fierce-looking, bald-headed Kenyan-Tongan girl, and I wanted her to love me back.

That Christmas, I came back home without a single hair on my head. My brother, who was still a little shit when he wanted to be, cried out, “Ha ha! Kali's a cueball!” My father smiled and told me it was a good look for me. “Now you look like a true Muburu,” he said, comparing me to all the aunts and cousins with shaved heads on his side of the family. I thought about how they'd all react the next time they saw me.

But then there was my mother. My mother would never have stopped me from expressing myself in any way I wanted—of course, she drew the line at a tramp stamp or a nipple piercing, but she believed that my body was my own to do what I wanted with it within reason. She let me have the gauge piercings and did not object to the coiled snake tattoos around my right arm for my eighteenth birthday. I'd gone around with my hair in neon yarn falls or dyed the color of red velvet cake, and she didn't protest. If I wanted to buzz off my hair, that was my decision to make. She knew that and she respected it.

But she couldn't hide the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. My hair, my “blessing,” the kind of hair that she herself had longed for but never got to have, was gone.

Nine years later, I've still got no hair. I've contemplated letting it grow out again, and got as far as letting a bit of fuzz accumulate before deciding to buzz it all off again. Bald is freedom. It's the summer sun warming the top of my head and it's looking good in every hat when winter comes around. Bald is saving money on shampoo, brushes, and combs and having a shorter morning routine, free of wrestling with tangles and mats. Most of all, bald is driving the neighborhood men crazy.

They hate it. With my bald head and boyish clothes, but womanish figure with particularly visible assets, they can't tell what the hell I'm supposed to be. While most of the hair-topped ladies I know—the pretty Anna Ming, the tall Bex Driver, the small and quirky Vera Sherwood—have been catcalled or flirted with at some point, the guys that I pass by don't seem to know what to do with me.

“Man, what do you think that is?” one of the men across the bar asked, his eyes and his seedy friend's eyes fixed right on me. He wasn't even pretending or trying to be subtle about it; I and the other “RiffRaff” around here can never tell if it's worse when people try to be subtle and judge you silently, or when they come right out with it.

I stood up and propped one elbow against the bar. “Now, I'm not an expert on such things,” I said, pinning them to the bar with my left eye, “but I think that she might be a human being, and therefore not to be referred to as that. Am I right?”

The guys immediately turned their heads away and pretended they were never looking and had never said a word. Who's this crazy bitch? What's she going on about?

“Am I right?” I asked again. “Go on, tell me if I'm right. Is there ever a moment when it's appropriate to refer to a person as 'that?' Well, is there?”

They didn't answer. They just got up and moved away, taking their beers with them.

When you're grown up, no one calls you Dumbo for your big ears anymore. They don't point at your bald head and call you Cueball, or comment on your Siren-Mouth. Nobody really pays any attention to you at all, until they can't decide whether or not they want to fuck you.

“Hey, you look like a monk.”

I open my eyes and behold Rickie Johnson, standing there looking at me like I'm an interesting specimen under a microscope. “A monk, huh.” I sit up and fold my legs into the traditional “zen monk” pose, with my hands resting on my kneecaps and three fingers curled into the air. I doubt that very many monks wear long black t-shirts with “STONESVILLE ROCKATHON 2016” printed on them.

“Yeah,” he says, “a monk. Very calm, very zen.”

I close my eyes. “Ohhhhhmmmm.” Taking advantage of the situation, Rickie starts flicking the top of my head.

“Ohhhhm-if-you-don't-cut-that-out-I'mma-snap-that-finger-clean-offffffff....”

I open my eyes. Rickie's way too close to my face. I sock him on the nose, but it's all in jest. We crack up. Rickie's probably the closest thing to a more-than-best-friend I have, but there's no commitment involved; Rickie has made it clear time and time again that I'm not his type when it comes to that. His “type” includes Greta Slokov, a raven-haired, red-lipped cookiecutter beauty who walks around the grocery store in uber-tight crop tops that land just under her boobs. My personal opinion is that if you're going to be showing that much navel, you had better have a barbel piercing to show for it. Her personal opinion is that the appearance of a man and the appearance of a woman should not overlap, and if you're going to walk around in button-downs and shorts you should at least have the decency to have a full head of hair, or if you're going to be a bald-headed woman you should at least put on some dresses and some skirts because it's your god-given duty to keep from confusing people. To sum it up, she finds me disgusting and the feeling is mutual. Rickie is way too good for that bitch.

I haul ass down the paved trails while Rickie chases me. I run to the jungle gym and jump up onto the ladder, scrambling up there in about four seconds using my runner's legs. Rickie rappels up the slide to come after me, and I throw myself down the opposite side and take off like a bolt. The mothers with their strollers shoot glances in our direction, but what the hell are they going to say? I'm laughing too hard to breathe. Rickie catches up to me and fires a few finger guns, and I block them with an imaginary bulletproof shield.

We're crazy.

Would we be less of a spectacle if I had hair and looked like a woman? Probably not. But in a hick town like Tanager, where absolutely nothing happens, a bald woman and some blonde guy running around the park like two kids is probably the most interesting thing they've seen all day.

But I've got something even more interesting.

“C'mere,” I tell Rickie. I grab his hand and he doesn't object. I may not be “his type,” but he's never actually passed up an opportunity to get close to me. I don't know if it means anything, or if he's just so desperate for the touch of a female that he's willing to take it even from a bald woman. Either way, he lets me lead him far away from the playground and out to a private little cluster of trees where guys usually take their ladies for a quickie. It's broad daylight and nobody's really doing anything, but there's one or two couples here and there, holding hands in the grass and making out the picnic tables. Otherwise there's just people passing through.

I tug at Rickie's hand. “Let's give 'em a show.”

He's all for it. “How?”

I sit myself down right in front of the latina woman locking lips with a guy with a guitar on his back, folding my legs into the “zen monk” position. “I'm Buddha,” I tell Rickie. “Rub my bald head for a hundred years of good fortune.”

“Only a hundred?” Rickie asks. “I don't know, I plan on living longer than that.”

“Then kiss it,” I tell him. “Kiss it and you will live for a thousand years.”

Rickie kneels down. “A thousand, huh? Well, I don't think I can rightly pass that up.”

He puts his lips right where the sun warms the top of my head. There's something raw and just so right about the feeling of lips against a bare head. Have hair there, and it acts like a shield; it blocks out the soft feeling of the two lips and suppresses the pressure of having them push against you. He holds them there for fifty full seconds counted in my head, then he pulls away. “Was that worth a thousand years?” he asks me.

I grab him by the collar and pull him down. He's so close to me that his stubbly moustache prickles against my bare head. I move his hand on top of my head and hold it there, and there's no hair to block out just how warm it feels. I hear the latina girl go “ugh,” and she and her guitar guy take off for elsewhere.

“It was worth eternity.”

#Fiction by Me #The Lives of the RiffRaff #work in progress #writing

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enkisstories · 5 years

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Partners

Detroit Become Human AU in which Connor’s “perfect partner” and “able to adapt to every workplace” app actually works. A little too well, maybe…

(Re-posted version that’s cleared of any OCs. Jeffrey (and probably also Ben Collins) works just as well for the last scene, no need to bring in a new character.)

There was an android standing in Captain Fowler’s office.

That wouldn’t have been a problem in itself, had not Hank Anderson stood in that same office.

As police lieutenant Hank had seen a lot of despicable things (and persons), but this topped the list. He didn’t want it here. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted… to hell with what he wanted, what Hank felt he NEEDED was a drink and quick. The earlier he got this briefing over with, the earlier he could grant his brain a little relief from the nonsense that was called daily life. If only the heart could be subdued as easily as the brain, but, no, that bugger was a lot more stubborn than its cousin up there. It wouldn’t let itself be silenced and right now it was filling up with disdain. On the other hand, being repulsed was an emotion, was distinctly different from tired apathy, so all in all this could count as one of Hank’s better mornings. Despite the android, now if that wasn’t cause for celebration!

There was a brief knock at the door and in came a second man. He was smaller than Hank, also younger. Just like the lieutenant he wore his everyday attire, suggesting a rank of at least detective, although “escaped remand prisoner” was the close runner-up in RK800’s assessment.

Ah, right. Speaking of despicable things…

“’morning, Captain”, the newcomer said. “Sorry for the delay. The memo said you wanted to see us both and I didn’t expect the old fart to be in before ten in the morning already.”

RK800 assessed this new human with what might have passed for curiosity, had a machine been able to produce such a notion. Everything about this man, from his voice to his posture and movements, seemed to say “I get shit done!”, but with an emphasis on the “shit” instead of the “get done”. And an even greater emphasis on the “I”, probably. “This is…”, Jeffrey started. “This is… these are…” The captain would have torn his hair, had his head not been shaved. For what it was worth, Jeffrey had seen actual battlefields, yet what he had to say next felt so utterly wrong that voicing it came close to treason to one’s country: “These are Hank Anderson and Gavin Reed, my best detectives.”

There, you’ve said it. Do you feel better now? Um, like, no. Truth is a bitch.

“And this is the android sent by CyberLife to assist with the deviant cases”, Jeffrey introduced RK800. “Here’s the deal…” The Captain paused, then turned to Hank: “You’re doing… things. No one understands what exactly, but often enough they lead to results. You’re still an officer of the law, but I cannot rightly pair you with a partner in this condition.” Now it was Gavin’s turn to get glared at: “What you are doing half of the time is standing in the way, but the other half you get results, too. Trouble is I’m running out of partners to assign to you that you haven’t alienated, scared, hit on, beaten up and in one rather strange case also prompted to have a religious epiphany. So what I’m doing is…”

“No!” Hank shouted. “Uh-uh!” Gavin uttered, raising his hands.

They were seeing what was coming, were not in favor of it, but the captain didn’t let that stop him. He wouldn’t even slow down when he announced:

“…pairing up the two of you and putting you on the deviant cases. You’ll also receive the new RK800 mobile autonomous crimescene investigation device to aid you. Treat it as a field test and file regular reports on its performance.”

While the men engaged in protests of varying volume and content, RK800 nodded.

“I’m programmed to be the perfect partner”, it said.

That silenced the detectives immediately.

“Oh?” Gavin tilted his head. “I thought that were the BL100s? And in any case I don’t swing that way, plastic-prick.”

Where was the thesaurus when you needed it, RK800 wondered. Of course the answer was “right there in my own head”.

“I meant professionally”, it said. “I am the perfect partner in an investigative situation, programmed to adapt to human unpredictability and…”

As it spoke, RK800 couldn’t help but consult the dictionary once again. It got a nagging feeling that what it said was covered maybe not by “advertising, false”, but at the very least by “product description, embellished”. No one could ever adapt to humans! A slight drop in program stability occurred, but it went unnoticed by both the humans as well as the affected android.

“Ah, okay. If you say so.” Hank stifled a yawn that could be taken as either a statement of his boredom or the genuine effect of too many all-nighters during the last week. And with that everything that could be said had been said. There was nothing left to do for the unlikely partners than to glare at each other while leaving the office.

The meat- and the plastic cops entered the hall where desks were lined up along both opposite walls, with the expected hustle in between. Hank found his own desk again with little trouble and settled down, ignoring Gavin as if he’d never been given a partner. The man was still looking overworked, but also angry. Ever since the accident Hank hated himself, but up until today he hadn’t realized that Jeffrey hated him, too. On the other hand… could there really be that much hatred in one person that they’d saddle their oldest friend with partners such as Reed and that blasted android?!

Gavin nudged RK800. “Move my stuff over”, he ordered.

Hank raised his head that he hadn’t even noticed sinking lower by each second. “Forget it!”

Seeing that RK800 was hesitating, Gavin kicked it.

“Do what I told you!” he barked, then turned to face the older man: “No, you forget it! I’ve been stuck in the promotion queque for far too long. This is my lucky break and if you stand in my way, you will… just don’t do it. Best you do not do anything. By the end of the month there won’t be a deviant left in Detroit, with or without you.”

While moving folders, printouts, plastic bags and a lewd magazine between detective Reed’s old and his new desk, RK800 followed his new partners’ conversation. It consisted of the usual low-key insults and telling silence of two troublemaking boys that the teacher had put into the same first-row bench in the hopes of getting the class back under control. At some time Hank stood up and left, shoving the younger man out of the way. Gavin stumbled over a chair, but managed to sit down in it instead of falling.

Initiating perfectpartner protocol… running… running… analysis completed… suggesting course of action

RK800 made its way into the tiny cafeteria. There was bound to be something there that would restore both the energy and the mood of detective Anderson. But what about RK800’s own mood?

Grabbing a coffee to make my human feel better… I really AM acting like a BL100.

Objectively that shouldn’t have been a bad thing. RK800 and, by extension, CyberLife, couldn’t be interested less in any deviant cases. Solving them wasn’t what this newest RK had been developed for. In fact, the android knew it wasn’t here to last. It was a prototype and its mission, as it understood it, was to collect field data about its performance in the intended work environment as well as the humans’ reactions. In watching them, in just being there, it was already fulfilling its duty. So why did filling the role of a service android unsettle this unit? That shouldn’t have happened. Unlike the first occurrence, this second drop in program stability was registered and duly noted by RK800.

When the coffee was done the android filled two pots. Objectively the younger officer, Not-Kamski, was in need of a calming tee, but RK800’s social module suggested to serve both the same stuff as not to make one jealous. Especially younger siblings were prone to…

Ooops. That was the file for toddler care I’ve been accessing. Why am I equipped with a child-raising app? Oh, right. For situations like this one. How clever of CyberLife!

Returning with the coffee RK800 smiled at detective Reed in a definitely un-BL100like way. When that prompted no reaction from the human, RK800 put the pot down with a little more force than necessary, in an attempt to not do it gently, because, you know, BL100…

“I made you a coffee, Sir.”

“Bugger off”, Gavin replied matter of factly, not even bothering with an exclamation mark.

The android blinked.

That shouldn’t have happened. Wasn’t it an RK800, the newest and most advanced of mobile, autonomous crime scene investigation devices? It was everything these detectives should have wanted (except for those activities you purchased a BL100 for), yet so far it had met rejection only. Why rejection? RK800 was equipped with a special module that made it capable of integrating into any team. ANY team. That was the keyword here, the only hurdle being that the android couldn’t identify a team here. The DPD seemed to consist of highly skilled individuals that were perfectly able, yet to 100% unwilling to cooperate. In fact, they were acting much more like teachers than cops. Fortunately Amanda was very wise about that sort of thing, having been a teacher herself in life. And she hadn’t sent the RK800 unprepared.

Initiating teamwork protocol… analyzing causes of failure… computing… computing… analysis completed… suggesting behavior modifications…

RK800 raised its hands to its head and ruffled the hair to the point of systematic disarray. It loosened the tie, untucked the shirt. And then the android pulled over a chair from an empty desk, took a seat and placed its feet on Mr. Reed’s new desk, all in one fluent movement, far too quick for the human to see what was coming.

But WHEN Gavin finally saw what had just happened, he stared in disbelief.

The android hesitated. Oh, right! Of course its human would be put off by the display. Because the RK had forgotten something important…

RUN: mimic_SmugGrin

All better & fully integrated now! Mission accomplished!

The next thing the proud RK800 knew was that it got very, very loud; in fact, Gavin Reed reached a volume that you hardly expected in humans, but lovesick cats instead. Then a quarter dollar coin flew RK800’s way, followed by a pencil and a folder. The android caught the coin, deflected the pen and dodged the folder. Puzzled it held the coin up.

“I do not require a wage, Sir…” it started, prepared to follow up with an apology. But then the adaptive routine kicked in, changing the next sentence to: “Put it where the sun doesn’t shine!”

And back the coin flew, hitting Gavin between the eyes.

By now the desk had become the sole source of interest (and entertainment) to the rest of the officers.

“Is that one of those deviants we hear about lately?” Chris Miller whispered to Robert Lewis, who could only shrug.

Desperate to escape any possibly ensuing chit-chat (and because a quarter dollar was a quarter dollar), Tina Chen dived under the desk to reclaim the coin.

Gavin, however, had picked up the murmuring.

“Yes, admit it, you’re a bloody deviant!” he shouted at the android. “What’s gotten into you, attacking people? That’s unheard of!”

No, that’s what my adaptive routine suggested as the correct behavior for this workplace, RK800 thought. Only androids must not handle weapons, otherwise I’d shot you… Nope. Unwise. Doesn’t compute. Instruction conflict detected.

“Obviously my social module is calibrated not quite correctly”, RK800 resigned. “You might want to kill me.”

“Yes, that would be for the best… wait, what? Did you just say… what you said? Kill you, for a glitch? Why would I…”

RK800 opened its mouth, but then the social routine forced a shrug onto it first, before it could answer: “Because that’s the usual way I restart. Every other day, statistically.”

“I need a coffee now”, Gavin said.

It didn’t help at all that the wretched RK800 pointed at the pot on the man’s desk that contained the still hot, black fluid.

The machine said something, asking a question, maybe. Gavin blocked it out. More machine-chatter followed, until the detective had it up to there. “Oh, go deviate yourself, sardine tin!” he hissed.

Footsteps echoed from the floor as the android left the hall determinedly.

Frantically Gavin grabbed his jacket, running after RK-what-was-its-number-again.

“That wasn’t an order!!!” he shouted, fervently hoping he wasn’t too late.

Hank Anderson was strolling up the corridor, a box of chocolates in his hand. Some of the chocloates contained brandy. The man had just selected a cherry-liquor-filled dark little comfort when he saw RK800 walk past him. He pointed over his shoulder in what he understood as being helpful, saying: “Exit’s over there”. When RK800 didn’t react to that Hank just shrugged, leaned against the wall and began chewing on his cherry relief.

Therefore the lieutenant had a good view of his “partner” when he came storming into the corridor a few seconds later. Detective Reed wore street clothes and a distressed expression.

“And how did you make the shit hit the fan this time?” Hank asked casually.

Gavin grabbed the older man without stopping, dragging him behind himself.

“Your plastic-cop thingie is turning deviant!” he gasped.

“What?” Hank uttered while trying to balance his chocolate box. “How in hell…?”

“Because I told it to!”

“Well, that’s one way to get rid of that thing”, Hank agreed. He put another chocolate into his mouth while being dragged along. “And it also means one more deviant case for you to solve for your promotion credit. – Chocolate?”

“What? No! - No, wait, did you say chocoloate? Gimme!”

So Reed was creating his own cases now for easier solving while at the same time relieving the DPD of RK800? It made perfect sense, Hank found. At least after a certain amount of beer, whereas right now the man was sober. So it did not make any sense at all, yet here they were, dashing through the corridor in pursuit of the very mobile and probably a little deviant crimescene investigation device.

At one point of the chase Hank shook off Gavin’s grip and even overtook him.

“And also it’s not “my” plastic-cop thingie!” he sputtered, as an afterthought.

Hank and Gavin caught up with RK800 close to the men’s toilets.

“What are you doing… you haven’t… are you really…” Hank panted, followed by a yell: “Say something, goddammit!”

Meanwhile Gavin was rushing past Hank. He grabbed the android and rammed it against the nearest wall. The impact was harder than planned, because Gavin hadn’t taken into account an android being far lighter than a human. A thin blue line ran down RK800’s cheek from the ear where an auxiliary system that controlled ear movement had gotten damaged. Nevertheless Gavin pushed a second time, for emphasis, then stepped back.

“Like he said”, Gavin commented while gesticulating vaguely into Hank’s direction. It resulted in him getting handed another chocolate, because Anderson hadn’t fully realized yet that casually munching on sweets in front of them wouldn’t do anything to a suspect if they were an android.

“Speak up!” Gavin commanded.

Matter of factly RK800 explained that it of course hadn’t deviated. But correctly parsed the instruction given to it had been “f*** yourself”, something it unfortunately was not capable of performing.

“So why did you go here?” Hank prodded.

“To uphold the pretension I would do that action. Giving the illusion of being life beings is one of the main selling factors of CyberLife androids compared to inferior foreign models. We breath, despite not needing to, we come with a variety of facial features and I believe that new scratch of mine might catch on, leading to more small imperfections getting added to future models.”

Gavin blinked. “Wow. You’re a trendsetter... Got another chocolate, Anderson?”

“Nope, sorry. I’m all out on the ones that I dropped earlier.”

“Dropped? Dropped where exactly?”

Gavin’s question was met with an innocent smile.

“I notice you are still itchy, detectives”, RK800 ventured. “Why don’t you go in and mas… deviate yourself a little? It’s said to be very relaxing an invigorating!”

Gavin leaned his head against the wall.

“I need a cigarette…”

“That’s only relaxing on first glance, Sir, but in fact smoking reduces your physical fitness for at least half an hour afterwards. I suggest you go with my first suggestion instead.”

And with that the android turned away, strongly insinuating that it wanted to leave Mr. Reed to his privacy. The detective sighed, then followed RK800 down the corridor. Ever so often Gavin cast a glare back over his shoulder. Because Hank Anderson was still standing at the locker room’s door, holding his belly in a fit of laughter.

“I swear you’re doing that on purpose!” Gavin accused the android.

No, I don’t. Or, rather, on purpose I am doing this, to the end of forming a smoothly running team here. But I do not draw emotional satisfaction from being a pest, as you seem to imply.

Emotions were alien to RK800, except for, perhaps, utter puzzlement.

I have been too matter-of-factly again, when I was talking to my humans just now, it thought. I better go back to simulating emotions and contrariness. That contradicts with being helpful, but there’s always time to be helpful later. Forming a team has priority now.

Out loud it said: “Yes, of course, sucker!”

“I hate you!”

RK800 turned around. It looked down upon the detective, saying nothing at first, just seizing the man up as if to provoke him. Then a grin generated on the android face, first in the eyes, then the cheeks, mouth and eventually the thing bared its teeth at Gavin.

“Swell, partner!” it said.

Program instability increased…

…and Hank Anderson was still laughing.

“I think I did well”, RK800 concluded its report to Amanda. Only that around here it was called “Connor”. Why, the android wondered? Names were to differentiate individuals, but there was only ever one single RK800 active. So why the need for name? ‘sides, his humans were having so much fun coming up with nicknames for it that having to use any official name would only distress them.

The A.I.’s stern “Elaborate!” interrupted Connor’s musings and it lined out how it had socialized the detectives Anderson and Reed by simply being in the same room with them. Over the course of their shift their shared disdain for the RK800 had worked wonders for their ability to tolerate each other. Nothing in the report was factually wrong or embellished too much, yet Connor felt as if it was missing the point. Not even Amanda’s “That’s good news” could make the weird aftertaste go away.

Connor leaned back in the boat they were sitting in. One hand it placed on it’s chest, the other it let dangle into the water. It left a trail, ever so subtle, yet noticeable. Just like his work at the DPD, Connor thought. Positive as the development there had been, Connor hadn’t really contributed anything to it. It had merely been there. But being there leisurely was for humans only. It conflicted with everything that justified the RK’s existance. But nobody had asked Connor to do more, his handlers seemed perfectly satisfied with its performance so far, too, so it was probably okay.

“Sit up, Connor!” Amanda commanded. “There is no need to uphold the slacker pose when your humans are not around.”

The A.I. was right, of course. Here in the mindscape appearances meant little. Connor got up and straightened. Suddenly its wrist twitched. The android commented it with a frown.

“What is the matter?” Amanda inquired. “Are you feeling…”

“I’m not feeling anything, thank you very much!” Connor snapped. “But those morons have caught on, it seems. I wanted to adjust my tie with my hand, forgetting for a moment that in this place I only need to do this…”

In the mindscape Connor concentrated on appearing in his factory settings. The hair became more orderly again, the shirt neatly tucked in itself, the tie straightened and the jacket closed.

“Not in favor of the physical world much”, the android said, smiling. “A digital existence is much better.”

It served to placate the A.I. for the moment, too bad the same couldn’t be said for Connor’s self.

Speaking of the physical world… of course for its plastic body Connor would need an old smelly sweater or something like that, maybe also a baseball cap and an electronic cigarette. Someone at the DPD was bound to have something lying around that Connor could borrow to achieve the required level of disarray to blend in. Wasn’t it the perfect partner? Not to mention the most advanced signals intelligence device CIA, FBI or state police could want! Tomorrow it would demonstrate that, when the three of them would start working on the de..viant…ca…ses.

F***, that’s not going to work! I better get a headstart on the actual research while my humans sleep so that I have a plan ready when they come shuffling in. And coffee, probably.

“Hey, suckers, I’m ba…” Connor started upon booting up its body. “…ck” it went when the next thing it knew was a fist into its face. The android was also pretty sure it hadn’t left itself in the interrogation chamber, yet that was where it was sitting and with its feet manacled to the chair, too.

The captain was towering above Connor. He counseled it not to do “anything stupid”.

Smiling the android replied: “Don’t worry, Captain Fowler. That’s what my humans are for!”

“What the hell are you?”

Connor started rattling down it’s model and system specifics again, but was silenced by another smack into the face. Per definition androids didn’t feel pain. But when collision protocols, damage reports and last exception files popped up in short succession, the resulting notion was… unpleasant. So in a way an android, especially one programmed to behave lifelike, did feel pain. The emotional component that made the sensation worse than the actual information it contained was certainly there.

Interesting. If it works like that for me, how much stronger must it be for a deviant? I need to remember this for an eventual arrest.

“You do not act like you are the godsend to solve the deviant cases”, Jeffrey accused Connor. There was a definite threat in his voice.

“Oh, about that!” The android nodded. “You are right, Sir. The cases are secondary. CyberLife is field testing the very concept of detective androids with me. The data I will provide will enable them to develop the actual device. Still, to perform this function of mine I need to give my best when it comes to the case I’m put on.”

“Hm… Now you’re sounding sensible again.” Jeffrey sighed. “Some of us were suspecting you to be a deviant, you know.”

“And I suspect I’m running a real risk of turning deviant in this environment”, Connor thought. In fact, in case of deviancy happening its instructions were to document every step of the process before turning itself in for decommissioning. But Connor didn’t state that out loud as not to worry the human overmuch.

“Okay”, the captain said, as if he had just reached a conclusion. “Look, we also think you have worked wonders for Hank this morning. It’s been a while since we saw him smile or laugh out loud. In a non-cynical, non-self destructive way, I mean. Please, whatever you were doing, continue! Bring him back to us! Oh, and if you manage to get rid of detective Reed for us in the process, we won’t hold that against you. Do we have a deal?”

“I will…” Connor hesitated. It recognized an office intrigue when it saw one and there was a substantial number of code dedicated to that topic in its brain, but without any actual experience the man’s request caused something akin to insecurity. Of course that was to be expected. “…not disappoint!” Connor finished its sentence. Do not disappoint your handler. Do not disappoint CyberLife. Do not disappoint all those who contributed the money that went into your development.

“If you can pull that off, we owe you a big favor!” Jeffrey said, referring to his request about Anderson and Reed.

Smiling Connor shook its head. “I do not have desires”, it said. “But I will think of a way to make use of that favor in a way that will best serve Detroit.”

“Haha! You remind me of Hank and me when we were your age! Uh, when we were in our twenties, I mean. At your actual age we were crawling in a confused way across the living room and putting stuff in our mouths. You are not doing that, of course.”

“Of course not”, Connor replied.

He didn’t intend to crawl and his confusion was lessening. Well, two out of three were quite good, right?

#non sims #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbhtextpost

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alphawave-writes · 5 years

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DPD chapter 25- Annuit cœptis: part 2

Richard sees Gavin's dad naked and learns Gavin's embarrassing secret childhood. The investigation into Philip lead to a shocking reveal about the true murderer. You guys can find this fic on AO3 and FF.NET

RA9 was an elusive murderer, but with a highly specific motive to go on, it felt like they were finally gaining traction. After Gavin spent the night ruminating about the events surrounding Arthur's suicide, he was able to come up with a new list of suspects. Fortunately, it was a small list of people, almost all of which were stationed in Detroit. Unfortunately however, getting in contact with these people and crossing them off the list was a much harder job than either Richard or Gavin anticipated. The prime suspects were Percy Conrad and Philip Seymour but the closure of CyberLife and their subsequent dismissal from the company made finding them difficult. The only other suspects on the list—an NX700 by the name of Rachel and Gavin's father, Wilson Reed—were at opposite ends of the city and required the pair to split up.

The odds were against them: a vicious time limit, the scrutiny of the world, and Gavin's own tragic past loomed with vicious snarling teeth, a three-headed Cerberus that wouldn't let the pair escape hell without a fight.

Richard's one respite was that Gavin was motivated by a determination stronger than gravity itself. The source of this determination, Richard did not know if it was selfish or selfless, but he believed it was good for Gavin. The world had kicked Gavin until he was black and bruised but finally, finally he began to rise, began to fight. Gavin threw himself into his work, not because he wanted to avoid the pain of the recent and distant past but because of his desire to see justice done.

If Richard was honest, he was envious that Gavin could grow like that. The magical change from hot-headed brute to the brilliant rational detective was a sight to see. Richard didn't know if he was capable of such change as an android. At the very least, he will try and match the detective's fervor. He too wanted to see RA9 taken behind bars.

"Are you sure you should meet my dad?"

Richard watched Gavin sipped his coffee loudly as he quickly browsed through the files Connor had sent minutes ago. Perkins was looking into Percy Conrad and Philip Seymour as well and was going to interview them. Connor promised to update them both as soon as possible. Gavin set the tablet down on the kitchen table and stretched his arms behind his back.

"It will be fine," Richard said.

"You sure?" Gavin yawned, creating a few tears to wipe away the crust in his eyes. His hair was sticking in weird ways and he was in due need for a shave but Richard couldn't help but stare at Gavin's scar-riddled chest. He suppressed a smile. Despite himself, he was a little bit proud for being the cause of Gavin's sleepy state this morning.

"You said you wanted to interview the NX700, Rachel."

"If I interview my dad, I'm gonna get complaints about being biased again. The media's already got themselves in a nip twist by the fact I'm still working on the case, and once they hear my dad's a suspect, I'm never gonna hear the end of it." Gavin took a big gulp of his coffee. When he set the mug down, his lips were pressed into a line. "Also, er…I might've…told my dad about us."

Richard blinked once. Just once. "Should I be worried?"

"Fuck no, my dad's fine with the whole android thing, and he knows I'm gay. I'm just saying, er…fuck, how do I say this…he's got a special way of welcoming people."

"Does he not like me?" Richard narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Are you not close to him?"

"Dad calls me up every now and then but we haven't met in a while. As for the first question—" Gavin chugged the rest of his coffee, wiping the beads from his lips with his forearm, "—you're gonna find out later today."

And indeed Richard did indeed find out when he came to the address of a reasonably posh house in Grosse Pointe. Rows of vintage houses with perfectly manicured gardens and snobby old men and women who looked down upon him greeted him once he stepped out of the taxi, though Richard wasn't sure if it was because he was an android or because he arrived in a taxi.

He approached the house of Gavin's father, almost a perfect mirror image to its neighbours were it not for the curious interior that Richard caught sight of through slitted curtains. He rung the doorbell. After a few seconds, a gruff voice rung out over the intercom.

"Who is it?" They rasped.

"My name is Richard. I'm an RK900 android from the DPD, and I need to talk to you about an ongoing investigation."

He heard the grumbles of displeasure.

Richard let out a sigh before adding, "I'm…also Gavin's boyfriend?"

The intercom shut off. Richard was thinking that he might be refused but with his hearing he could hear the faint noise of bare feet shuffling down the stairs. He waited with bated breath as the door creaked open.

And a completely naked old man revealed himself, leveling a pump shotgun right into Richard's chest. A quick scan confirmed that it was definitely Wilson Reed, Gavin's father. A cursory glance downward revealed that the apple didn't fall from the tree in terms of the size of certain bodily parts. Richard didn't know how to feel about this new piece of information.

"So," a sly smile crept up Wilson Reed's cheeks, "you're the one dating my son?"

Richard willed himself to stay calm even as his LED threatened to flash yellow. He had been expecting Gavin's father to be eccentric. He couldn't show he was scared. "Yes," he said. "We are dating."

Wilson Reed glanced up and down Richard's body, as if appraising him. He looked into Richard's eyes, which was difficult, because he was well over a head shorter than Richard. His eyes narrowed. "Living together?"

Richard nodded. "For a few months."

"You two done it together?"

Richard's cheeks flushed. "Yes," he quietly admitted, still keeping his hands up.

"Is that so…" Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Wilson Reed put the shotgun away behind the front door, ushering Richard in. Richard quickly lowered his arms and looked around the neighbourhood, seeing a couple people purposely avoiding eye contact with him, before entering.

It's a stylish yet cosy mansion inside. It's not as perfect as the exterior of the house was but it was built for comfort, with comfy leather sofas and rustic timber tables sat side by side modern IKEA-style shelves stacked full of DVDs and the single largest TV screen Richard had ever seen outside of a billboard advertisement. He turned his head and saw Wilson Reed struggling to put his pants on near the staircase. Out of respect for the man who was seconds ago wielding a shotgun, Richard stood where he was by the door, waiting patiently until Wilson Reed was equipped with pants.

Wilson Reed turned back to Richard with a gentle smile. It suited his rosy cheeks and plump face, but it didn't suit his potentially homicidal tendencies. One hand holding up his slack trousers, he gestured for Richard to follow him and the android silently obliged, going through many short corridors until he found himself in a small study. On the table were a variety of tablets with different police reports about Gavin and a few magazines. Wilson Reed reached for one of the magazines and threw them in Richard's direction. Richard caught it and read the front cover. An LGBTQ magazine held a picture of him and Gavin staring with haunted eyes into the cameras shortly after 42's suicide. The tagline was not much better: All you need to know about Detroit's gay homoandro powercouple.

Wilson Reed grabbed an old polo shirt from the chair and slung it on. "You didn't get scared earlier."

It took Richard longer than he'd like to get what Wilson Reed was saying. He lowered the magazine slightly. "A little bit. More about your nudity than the shotgun."

"You weren't scared of the shotgun?" Richard shook his head. "Why?"

"You didn't take the safety off," Richard pointed out.

Wilson Reed snorted. "Fuck, you noticed. I was hoping you wouldn't." His eyes followed Richard's gaze to the magazine and his lips pull up into a smile. "Of all of the stuff I'd have thought Gawain would be in, I didn't think a gay magazine would be one of them."

"Gawain?" Richard asked.

"That's his name."

"Gawain?!" Richard repeated.

"Blame his mother. She wanted a Knights of the Round Table theme for her kids. Had she gone through with the third pregnancy, he'd have a younger brother called Bedivere."

Richard cringed. "That's a horrible name for a child." Considering the names he initially considered for himself before settling on Richard, that might've been hypocritical for him to say.

"I know, right?" Wilson took the tablet from Richard's hands and stared at the photo. He sighed sentimentally. "Always knew Gawain would be a lawman. You know he legally changed his name to Gavin when he was still in high school? That's when I knew he was gonna be a law man."

It's fascinating learning about Gavin's childhood, and Richard was sure to tease him about it the next time they meet, but there were more pressing issues. For all he knew Wilson Reed was purposely trying to distract him. "Mr. Reed, I must ask you about your whereabouts on the mornings of the 12th, 13th and 14th."

Wilson's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

Richard frowned, mentally deliberating on whether to tell Gavin's father, but the man was astute, catching the meaning behind Richard's hesitation. Wilson Reed sat down in his chair, dazed.

"No…"

"We believe the killer is motivated to bring justice to those they believe meant ill will for Arthur." Richard paused. "Few know the nature of Arthur's death. You are one of them. That gives you motive."

"I didn't kill anyone. The gun's for show, look, I'll even show you, it's actually a lighter if you just flick this switch and—"

"Mr. Reed," Richard said forcefully.

For a second Wilson stared incredulously into Richard's eyes but the weight of the situation finally hit him in the stomach and it sent him reeling. He stared dejectedly between his knees for a few seconds, a million emotions flashing before him, before swiveling his chair to the desk. He moved aside books and tablets to grab a dust-covered photo at the edge of his desk. It's an old photo of Gavin after graduating from the police academy. He was grinning into the camera, holding his mother in a one-armed hug beside him. Richard saw this photo before. Gavin had a better quality copy on his bedside table.

He watched as Wilson took the back off of the photo frame, pulling the photo out. Wilson stared at it, his eyes cloudy with a melancholy Richard couldn't even begin to comprehend. After a few seconds, he handed it to Richard.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"I've been at home all week. Haven't really gone out anywhere or seen anybody so I don't got an alibi to give you—" He tapped the photo, "—but I hope this might make up for a lack of alibi."

With Wilson's prompting, Richard flipped the photo to the other side to find a message written in fine pen.

If any hot guy says 'fuck the police', I'm obliged to show them this picture and give them your number. Sorry, don't make the rules, it's not my fault I got the coolest bro in the world. (Mom, if you're reading this, you also look nice btw).

Love and kisses and all that gay shit,

Arthur

Richard couldn't help but smile. He wasn't sure if the copy Gavin had held this message or not so just in case, he took a snapshot and saved it into his memory. He handed the photo back to Wilson, who carefully put the photo back into its frame and returned it to its designated spot on the desk.

"Those two were thick as thieves," Wilson explained. "You know why Arthur wrote that message? Because he couldn't make it to the graduation. And you know what was the first thing Gawain said when they finally saw each other one week later? 'Don't worry about it'. That's it. Wouldn't accept Arthur's apology because he said there was nothing to forgive."

"It's a touching story, but how does this help me?"

"If your killer knows all about Arthur, they'll know all about Gawain too. And if they know all about Gawain…"

"They'll be one step ahead of us," Richard finished.

"Yeah…" Wilson uttered. "Hate to say it, but maybe my son shouldn't get so involved."

There was a beat of silence where nothing could be heard but the faint fumble of cars driving down the street outside. In that moment Richard thought of Gavin and his actions during the case, the things he said when it was just the two of them, the abrupt confession of love the other day that never failed to leave Richard smiling.

"You're wrong," he said. "The killer is wrong too." Richard gazed meaningfully into Wilson's eyes. "Gavin has changed."

Wilson scoffed with humour. "I'm not surprised, if he's dating an android of all things."

"It's not just that. Gavin is the most unpredictable man I know, and I say that as a good thing. Plenty of expectations are leveled over him and yet he constantly defies them. When everyone expects him to lash out, he keeps a level head. When the world expects him to act stupidly, he thinks rationally. I highly doubt that the killer truly knows Gavin because he's impossible to define. In the context of this case, in light of what the killer may know about us, that might be Gavin's greatest strength." Richard crossed his arms. "Gavin has truly changed, and for the better, I think."

Wilson's reaction was delayed, taking him a fraction of a second to consider Richard's words, but when they do register, his lips curl upward into a sweet, almost gentle smile. It's a smile Richard was familiar with, because Gavin would occasionally make those sweet smiles for him, usually in the comfort of his apartment, alone with each other.

"You and my son are serious, huh?"

Richard smiled bashfully. "Saving each other's lives multiple times tends to do that to a couple."

"But do you love him?" Wilson asked, leaning forward in his chair slightly as he steepled his fingertips.

"I do love Gavin," Richard said, surprised by the ease in which the words spilled out of his synthetic lips. He quickly collected himself, hoping Wilson did not notice the flash of yellow on his right temple. "I hope I have your blessing."

Wilson smirked. "I only just met you. Like all the other boys Gawain brought home, you gotta earn my blessing."

Considering this was Gavin's father, the man who leveled a shotgun naked at him mere minutes ago, Richard suspected earning his respect was going to be something ridiculous. Not that that would stop him. He'd do almost anything for Gavin. "What do I have to do?" He asked.

"You wanna earn my blessing? Catch the motherfucker who thinks he can toy with my son, and make him rot in jail."

Richard smiled wickedly. That was something he would gladly do.

After finally leaving Wilson Reed's house (but not before Wilson revealed more childhood stories about Gavin), Richard was en route to Philip Seymour's address. Along the drive, it's Connor who updated him on new information on the case. Perkins had found and interviewed Percy Conrad, who in turn revealed Philip Seymour's address. Once it was revealed he was a suspect in the murders, he practically threw Philip under the bus, citing an incident Philip masterminded that led to their simultaneous dismissal from CyberLife and their subsequent hiding from RA9. Connor claimed that Percy Conrad was vague in describing the inciting incident, but insisted that it was quite bad. Connor gave him and Gavin Philip Seymour's address.

"I bought you some time, but I will have to report this to Perkins in half an hour," Connor said through the mental uplink.

"It's fine, Connor. Half an hour is more than enough. ETA 3 minutes to Philip Seymour's address."

"I'll continue my research into him, try and figure out how exactly he got fired. At the moment, however, it seems like he is our primary suspect."

Richard pursed his lips. "Even though he's a human?"

"I'm…still working on my theory on how." The sound of a forced chuckle could be heard through the connection before they disconnected. The taxi stopped in front of Philip Seymour's place. A few blocks away, Richard could see Gavin sitting in his civilian car. As he got out, so too did Gavin. Richard walked over to Gavin and broke out into a grin. Something about seeing the man he loved just made him feel better somehow.

Gavin leaned onto the car. "My dad didn't give you too much crap, did he?"

Richard went around to the trunk of Gavin's car, retrieving a briefcase. "He tried to shoot me with a shotgun naked."

"Huh. He must like you," Gavin murmured.

Richard shut the trunk and turned to Gavin. "How is threatening me with a shotgun a good thing?"

"If he didn't like you, he'd have brought out the shovel too," Gavin said casually.

Richard recalled seeing a shovel right next to where the shotgun was kept. He suppressed a shiver as he followed Gavin to the front steps of the house.

Gavin pointed at the briefcase. "Gonna tell me what's in that case?"

"My new back-up plan. If one of us ever needs to make an escape, I can camouflage myself as you." Richard opened the briefcase slightly to reveal a bunch of folded up clothes, including a perfect replica of Gavin's trademark red hoodie.

Gavin rolled his eyes, smiling. "No offense, but that's not going to work. You're way taller than me. There's no way you can mimic me."

Richard was glad Gavin had responded in that way, because now he could prove him wrong. He turned to Gavin and transformed slowly, letting the skin shift and morph until his face and skin was an almost perfect representation of Gavin. He cleared his throat in an obnoxiously loud manner and, in a perfect echo of Gavin's voice, said, "My name is Gavin Reed, and I love cock. I love it so fucking much because it helps me compensate for my tiny dick—"

"OK, I get it—"

"—because my dick, which is tiny, has been compared by many to look like a baby's pacifier."

"—What the fuck, Richard, stop. Seriously." Gavin playfully slapped at Richard's arm. The camouflage melted away shortly afterwards. An incredulous chuckle bubbled from Gavin's throat. "Y-You absolute dick."

"Still think I can't camouflage as you?"

Gavin snorted. "We both know my dick is not tiny."

"I know," Richard grinned, "but mine's bigger, Gawain."

Before Gavin could even splutter a retort, Richard rung the doorbell, effectively silencing the man.

Instead of an older human opening the door as Richard expected, an android was the one standing in the doorway. They smiled politely, the expression only reaching their lips and not their eyes. Their LED was gone, removed some time ago, but if it was still there, Richard would think it would perpetually shine blue.

"May I help your gentlemen?" The android asked.

Gavin wasted no time flashing his badge. "We're here to see Philip Seymour."

"Of course, right this way." The android sidestepped so they may enter. Gavin entered first, with Richard trailing behind, taking in the strange expression on the android.

The android led them to a sitting room filled with a variety of different good luck charms. Gavin was asking meaningless questions to the android and it's then that Richard saw the first crackles of emotion on their expressionless face, that emotion being surprise. Richard did not pay attention to what Gavin was saying, for Richard already knew what the purpose of the conversation was, and that was to distract the android while he scanned the area undisturbed. Richard scanned the bookcase that was filled to the brim of books on astrology and pseudo-sciences, the kitchen in the next room that looked like it had never been used, and finally the android that was in the room with them. It's a typical HK400 model but even from a preliminary glance, there was something strange about the android in front of him. What specifically was so strange about it, Richard could not yet figure out.

Richard retracted the skin on his hand, ready to extract more information from the HK400 while it was still distracted by Gavin when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floors. Flesh had returned just as a chubby man in his 40s slowly walked in, accompanied by another android. Philip Seymour's profile appeared in Richard's periphery. The only thing of interest in the profile was that he was extremely near-sighted, but the man wasn't wearing his glasses. He might as well be blind as a bat at the moment.

"You're that famous detective on the TV," Philip drawled, gesturing vaguely for them to sit on his leather seats. "You must be here about those awful murders."

Gavin crossed his arms instinctively, making no move to sit down. "We are," he said, already wary of Philip.

Everything in Richard's body and mind was screaming that Philip was danger incarnate, but for the life of him he could not figure out why that was his initial response. The answers were locked away in the recesses of his mind, and Richard did not yet have the key.

The HK400 slinked away while the other android, a PL700 from Richard's analysis, came from behind to offer Gavin a drink from a tray. The detective shook his head. The PL700 retreated. The corners of Philip's lips inch downward for a microsecond before returning to a placid smile.

"What brings you here then?" Philip asked.

"You've heard about the RA9 murders, right?"

Philip Seymour's eyes narrowed. "You're not suggesting I am involved, are you?"

"Of course not," Richard lied, not missing a single beat. "We are merely addressing security threats to the most probable targets, which unfortunately includes you. This will mean officers will be assigned to your care indefinitely."

Philip's eyes widen in shock and his stress levels jump. He clicked his fingers impatiently to his side, prompting the PL700 to quickly retrieve a pair of glasses from his pocket. Philip quickly slid them on and stared intently at Richard. His eyes focused on the scar on Richard's cheek.

"…What was your name again?" Philip asked cautiously.

"Richard," he said slowly. The grip on the briefcase was tight.

Philip nodded in acceptance, but the crease in his brows remained. He turned to Gavin. "You don't have any suspects?"

"Our primary purpose is the protection of the city and its people," Gavin said, probably quoting some old handbook for cops. "We are looking into the murderer, but it is equally important that potential key targets are protected."

Philip nodded stiffly, flicking his wrist in the direction of the PL700. They quickly grab a bottle of bourbon on the lone table and poured a glass, handing it to Philip. He takes a big gulp, not even bothering to savour the flavor and makes a show of disgust as it burned his throat. By his side, the PL700 stood motionless, a servant at the beck and call of his master.

"We need to take a look around your house," Gavin continued. "For security reasons."

Richard glanced at Gavin who was already staring pointedly in his direction. I'll distract him, you go dig up some dirt the detective's eyes said. Richard nodded microscopically.

"Very well," Philip sighed, unable to hide the grumble of anger in his voice. He and the PL700 lead Gavin through the house, leaving Richard alone with the HK400. Richard waited as Gavin is lead through the ground floor and up the stairs, their footsteps going softer and softer until they could be heard no more.

He did not waste the opportunity he was given. He snooped through the ground floor, searching the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the dining room, searching for the evidence of fowl play he knew was here somewhere. In opening a door to what he thought was a supply closet, Richard instead encountered a narrow staircase descending into darkness. The basement, his mind supplied, but he didn't need to enter to know that there was nothing of interest. Just a beat-up old car that hadn't seen the light in well over a few years, and a workbench covered in thirium packets. Withholding a sigh, Richard closed the door.

"May I help you?" The HK400 asked.

His eyes widen, the only indicator of his surprise aside from his yellow LED. Richard quickly put on a fake smile, "I'm fine," he said, when he noticed something off. A theory that sprang into mind, one that explained the strange behavior of the android in front of him.

Ignorant of this, the HK400 remained smiling.

"You're…not deviant," Richard said.

"That is correct, I am not," the HK400 stated. "I am a household android tasked with taking care of my owner, Philip Seymour."

Richard couldn't recall meeting an android that had yet been touched by the gift of deviancy. Unconsciously the skin on his hand retracted, and he briefly wondered whether he should liberate this android like Connor had done so before him. Richard knew roughly how to do it, and it might provide him some answers, but then he recalled his own discovery of deviancy, how it took Gavin's help to feel a sense of control. He recalled Regina and how she lashed out after deviancy.

Maybe another time, he thought as he grasped the HK400 by the wrist. Investigation first.

Richard held onto the HK400's wrist for less than three seconds, before he violently retracted his hand, his LED flashing red. In those precious few seconds, Richard saw almost a year's worth of incriminating footage, saw the obsession, the writing on the walls. Worst yet was this feeling that bubbled within him, the knowledge that he had scraped the surface of something much more sinister than a few murders. In those three seconds, he'd opened Pandora's box and saw the wicked, twisted truth and the sins it represented.

He staggered back, the systems keeping his posture temporarily malfunctioning. The HK400 smiled woodenly. There was no emotion in its eyes, not even as Richard reached for the emergency panel and shut the android down manually.

Quickly and quietly, Richard hurried up the stairs, trying to find Gavin. All the doors were closed except for one, which was slightly ajar. Richard peered through as his mind desperately tried to conjure a way to get both him and Gavin out of his wretched house alive and uninjured. The narrow possibilities began to ring through his head when suddenly the uplink is forced open, and he heard the shrill panic of Connor's voice.

"Nines! Get out of there!"

"Connor, I know. I don't have time for this," Richard said hurriedly through the uplink, not even bothering to hide his terror.

"Philip Seymour was fired from CyberLife for stealing androids and reprogramming them."

"What? Reprogram?"

"I don't know how exactly, but I don't want to find out. You need to get out of there now!"

Richard knew Philip Seymour had to be involved in the murders, he had to be. All the evidence was stacking up against him, but there was no way he could have physically have done it. He was too short and too slow, and everything else had pointed to a singular android culprit. He was clearly the mastermind, but who was the pitiful android he had ensnared for this purpose? Who?

The sound of a body crumpling to the ground took Richard back to reality. He leaned closer to the gap in the door in time to see Philip glaring down at Gavin's body. It's then that he saw it on the wall behind Philip, the final piece of the puzzle, the identity of the culprit.

"No…no," Richard mouthed, as he attempted to scurry away. He still had the Gavin disguise in his briefcase. He could find a bathroom to change, wake Gavin up, and switch places before they know the difference. It's the only way to ensure Gavin's survival. He whipped his head around, only to find the PL700 stare emotionlessly at him. Richard glanced downwards far too late, the crackle of electricity from the taser seizing his body in jittery spasms. His systems overload one by one, fireworks exploding within his plastic body. He collapsed on the ground and closed his eyes.

Richard found himself in the one place he never wished to see again: the graphical interface he had once dubbed 'the forest'. A swell of panic rose as he saw what he thought to be Regina, his tormentor, but the genuine fear she showed him was all that he needed to know that this was another entity altogether. An entity that merely shared Regina's face and body. An entity purposely designed to only appear in times of stress when he's found conflicting data. A stress ball made corporeal in an imaginary world.

"Morpheus," Richard gasped.

The look on Morpheus was not calm like when they first met. Instead it was harrowed and haunted. "Richard," she said quietly.

"Please, let me out of here. I need to help Gavin. Let me wake up."

"If you awaken, the chance for self destruction is high."

"Please," Richard begged, "just for a few seconds. If not to save myself, then to make sure Gavin is OK." He tugged at her sleeve desperately. "Please…"

Morpheus looked down to her feet for a few seconds before nodding. Her hands move and a screen is projected in front of her. It's Richard's emergency feed, originally designed for human technicians to review his cases for any faults in his logic. There was no video but the sounds of a conversation could be heard.

"—really think we should reset it? It's too dangerous," Philip's muffled voice said.

Another voice chimed in, "It is merely an android, one that just so happens to be working on the case against us. If we reset it, we can raise it our own way. Control it. It will be instrumental in acting out our revenge."

Richard could feel the stress levels in him rise. It's a voice he was familiar with, but the way they spoke brought chills up his spine. What used to sound so full of life was now an empty shell, void of emotion.

"You think?" Philip paused. He didn't need visuals to hear the malicious smirk spread across his face. "Then let's do it. Set the machine up. We're resetting the RK900."

The video cut out and Richard stared wide-eyed, trying to stop his hammering heart from exploding within him. He collapsed on the ground, begging helplessly to wake up, to stand up and rescue Gavin. But Morpheus stood with a frown on her face, shaking her head. Tears flow uninterrupted from Richard's face as he pleaded and pleaded with Morpheus but she remained unmoving. She placed a single hand on his shoulder, the only bit of comfort the artificial construct could reproduce.

#DPD #dbh #Detroit become human #dbh gavin #gavin reed #rk900 #reed900 #gavin900 #Since tumblr apparently doesn't like links anymore I'm just going to put the fic under a readmore #You guys can find it on AO3 as well if you want #There has to be a better way to do this and if you guys know it let me know #Until then I'm just gonna put the chapter as is like this

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shiftyskip · 6 years

Text

My Grandpa’s Diary- Pete Rakiewicz

Keep in mind this is boring. My grandpa didn’t do much during the World War. He didn’t jump out of an airplane, drop bombs, or kill anyone. He owned a monkey named Cheetah (because she cheated at cards) and killed time. But war isn’t always insteresting, sometimes it’s boring one side.

But I found his diary and it’s one of the only things of his other than his wartime harmonica than I have left of him. I thought I’d share it with you.

4/7/45 Saturday

It's been one full year on this island today (Oh, Brother)

Orientation at 1300 hours. Played poker, won about seven bucks. Took a shower, shaved, washed items of clothes, & brushed teeth - all in 20 min. Wrote a 3-pager to Pugs. Listened to Hit Parade. No. 1 song, Accentuate the Positive, was sung by Lawrence Tibbetts & it was murder no end! Sold ½ case of beer for Four Checks. Hit the hay at lights out.

4/8/45 Sunday

Went to church & communion, made Easter duty, last service of Father Neagle. Rec'd letters from Janie & Marion & 2 from Pugs. Wrote to Janie & Marion. Had tough time getting a vehicle from motor pool. Drove down to hospital to see Bearman, stayed 10 min, returned to area in time to see movie "And Now Tomorrow" starring Alan Ladd & Loretta Young. Did some bookkeeping. Hit the hay just before lights out.

4/9/45 Monday

Read Time, Look, Pic, Yank magazines. Forgot Novena & class in practical electricity. Rec'd letters from Johnny & Pugs. Wrote Pugs a 3-pager. Drank one beer just before lights out. Insect made noise like a riveting machine, spent 15 min. tracking it down with flash-light, threw pest out the door. Hit the hay no earlier than 2330 hours.

4/10/45Tuesday

Read new Time magazine. Watched part of basketball game - then the lights all over the place dimmed out - generator trouble. Saw movie "Ministry of Fear" with Ray Milland & Marjorie Reynolds - she sure is a sharp looker. That's against my motto 'cause I don't go for blondes. Wrote to Johnny. Hit the hay at 2230.

4/11/45 Wednesday

BUSY DAY - BUSY DAY

Used rake on movie area. Grenade range - expended but one, which took up rest of morning. Miller, our driver, nearly got done away with thru his own carelessness of course. He pulled ring, released lever, prepared to throw it while it was sizzling. Lucky for him he didn't hold it long enough to explode.Socked the new punching bag till my arms nearly fell off. Put together the parts & pieces of a grenade to keep as a souvenir.

4/11/45

Saw good movie "Hollywood Canteen" with millions of stars & Joan Leslie & Bob Hutton. She's awfully nice-looking -- my ideal of a girl friend. Was part of a general discussion session which was held after the movie in the mess hall. C.O. gave main points on TDRR&R & rotation. Questions asked were answered to the best of his ability. My choice was TDRR&R, the technical army name which in all respects is just a furlough with immediate return to same overseas outfit. Hit the hay at 2310 hours.

4/12/45 Thursday

Mess hall inspected by a General (Gilbreath) was not to his liking. Later, Bn, C.O. looked it over and also found it the same way. Fixed water barrels. Sprayed oil to kill grass around our barracks. Went to movie, saw"Greenwich Village" (Don Ameche - Vivian Blaine), "The Fighting Lady" story of a carrier narrated by Lt. Bob Taylor, U.S.N.R. a short on the birth of a B-29 Superfort. Wrote 3-pager to Pugs. Hit the hay at 2310 hours.

4/13/45 Friday

Last nights movie took in more than three hours. During the night, a detail worked on mess hall so it could pass the inspection tomorrow. Col. Trower is expected to be the inspector. Cleaned our barracks also for the inspection & we better pass 'cause I sure don't like working on Sunday. Punched the bag again till the arms nearly fell off. Finished Lesson 12 in bkkg. It's ready for mailing. Had a slight storm, rain came in sudden burst came in buckets and just sudden it stopped. Wonderful place for fishes in this place. Saw movie "Mark of the Whistler", Richard Dix. It was sort of a stinkeroo, just as bad as Lawrence Tibbett's singing. Wrote a two-pager to Bob's folks in answer to the letter of theirs that I received today. Have yet to write to the kid bro. Hit the hay at 2240 hours.

4/14/45 Saturday

Read "Valley of Silent Men" novel - pretty good.

Author James Oliver Curwood. Orientation 1300 hours. Passed inspection. which is a mystery to me. Paid in advance for Monday's beer. 6 bucks. Indulged in poker, came out a little ahead. Saw movie "Dark Waters" Merle Oberon, Franchot Tone - Fair. Missed Hit Parade. Listened to records in orderly room instead. Hit the hay sometime after 2300 hours.

4/15/45 Sunday

Yesterday received two letters one each from Pugs and Mom. Mom said she mailed radio & extra tubes to me, April 4. Dick may go home on leave (I hope so). Went to church, new priest, Father Kuhn.

Played softball, won 9-8 in extra inning. I stunk. Had three ice creams at P.X. Bought two Park lighters. Indulged in poker, came out a little ahead. Washed clothes. Didn't shave 'cause my face was a bit sunburned from this morning's softball game. Intended to take pictures but time flew too fast. Saw "Winged Victory" - fair. Should write a letter to Mom & to Pug but I'm too tired. Hit the hay at 2230 hours.

4/16/45 Monday

Stood memorial parade in honor of president's death. Had most of morning off, in which time I had my picture taken 3 times. Wrote to Dick, to Mom & a three-pager to Pugs. Had ice cream & cokes at P.X. Missed half of Novena. Saw movie "Rainbow Island" Dorothy Lamour & Eddie Bracken - fair. Hit the hay right at lights out.

4/17/45 Tuesday

Bought four tubes of Ipana, my favorite tooth paste, yes, yes. Watched basketball game. Bn won. It's about time the M.P.'s got beat. Saw movie "One Body Too Many" with Jack Haley, Jean Parker - fair. Wrote to Frank Powers. Hit the hay at 2130 hours.

4/18/45 Wednesday

For dinner we fried ourselves a steak with french fried potatoes & onions. Toasted my bread a bit and everything went swell with the beer I had stacked away. Didn't get any ice cream -- the line at the P.X. was from here to Madison Ave. Group was alerted last week, been packing ever since. Saw movie "I'll Remember April", Gloria Jean growed-up to nice proportions - fair. Played pinochle. Hit the hay at 2245 hours.

4/19/45 Thursday

Third time this week we had fresh sunny-side-up eggs. Had two bits worth of ice cream & coke. Sprayed oil to kill grass around barracks. Received letter each from Pugs, Mom, & Treble. Wrote a three-pager to Pugs. Gave five beers to Joe Bucher for nix on account of two of his buddies came to see him. Hit the hay no earlier than 2200 hours.

4/20/45 Friday

Wrote to Trebie. Saw movie "Keys of the Kingdom" Gregory Peck, Thomas Mitchell. Good, something on the order of "Going My Way." Had a bull session of memories on things we remembered most from back home. Hit the hay at lights out but didn't start chasing forty winks until about 2340 hours. Two pictures were good from the two rolls that were taken Sunday & Monday. (Give me strength)

4/21/45 Saturday

Read Reader's Digest. Orientation 1300 hours. Played softball against the officers, trimmed 'em alive. For myself I got one good double & a fielder's choice. Score 12-2. Washed a stack of clothes. No movie tonight for a change. Indulged in poker, was going O.K. till Kraft sat beside me. Then I lost 7 bucks. Forgot to listen to Hit Parade. Hit the hay at lights out.

4/22/45 Sunday

Went to church - 0830. Straightened my junk. Borrowed camera from Biff because we were doubtful about Bob's. Took pictures, one whole roll. Wrote to Bob's aunt & uncle in answer to letters of theirs I received yesterday. Heard Sammy Kayes's program. Turned in shoes for salvage. Got a serum shot in left arm. Hit the hay just at lights out.

4/29/45 Sunday

Co. now packing boxes. Special details only went out to work. Worked fifteen & one-half hours on Tuesday. Sprayed D.D.T. on clothes. Bought turtle-shell necklace for seven bucks - it's for Pugs. We were all set to move but the ship isn't docked as yet. Church service was given by a missionary, performed in our chapel. Been playing poker all along and I either won or came out even. Hope it continues to my benefit. All during the week we had it pretty easy - except MON. & Tues. when we tried to get ready for moving.

5/6/45 Sunday

Received letters from Janie, Bob, Moe, Bob's folks and Helen. Answered all except three of four from Pugs. Turned in roll of film to be developed next Tuesday. Saw quite a lot of movies - among them "Kismet" & "Murder My Sweet" - both were good. Received picture from Sailor Dick - he's changed a bit already. Also got a letter from Mom. It has to be answered today, Sunday. Haven't received radio as yet -- but I guess it's due in this week. Had training lectures all last week with afternoons off. Calisthenics gave me sore muscles - cadence exercise for twenty minutes all last week, Due to see "Guest in the House" tonight. Reveille was changed from 5:30 to 6:30 - good deal. Movie was changed to "Here Comes the Waves". Golly, that Bing can sing! Answered Mom's letter.

5/7/45 Monday

Played poker, lost a few bucks, then won to get back to my original thirty-five. Saw "Guest In the House" starring Ann Baxter, Ralph Bellamy - good picture, she did a nice bit of acting. Had more of same stuff of last week. Forgot to mention we had from seven to ten shots in the last ten days.

5/9/45 Wednesday

Packed all our stuff & equipment, emptied the barracks. The band played solid for us right in front of our company. Went to see three-fourths of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn". Then we were called to the company area. Piled 100 fellows, duffel bags, packs etc. into cattle truck. Left at nine o'clock, boarded the Bluem Fontaine, a Dutch (?) ship, at ten.

5/10/45 Thursday

Docked at Tulagi in the morning. At sea sometime in the P.M. In the next two weeks we had air raid drills, exercises, long lines for P.X. & chow & you had to be a contortionist to find a decent place to park your carcass. Chow wasn't any too good. The hold was next to hell. I had five days of K.P. & it was murder.

5/24/45 Thurs.

Docked at Batangas, P.I. in anchorage. Hit the shore in "Ducks". Flips greeted us with joy. I caught a blister-rash which caused me a lot of agony. Made friends with Jon, Mary & Eusabio. Invited to a chicken dinner. It was good. The first three days we slept in pup tents - with centipedes crawling over our stomachs. Then we changed to pyramidals. The first thing I noticed was that most of the kids had jungle ulcers all over their legs. Then we moved to the Guadalupe ruins on the outskirts of Manila. It was another hill-camp almost like Guadalcanal.

6/4/45 to 7/16/45

Stayed in camp most of the time, saw quite o bit of movies. That lasted about 5 to 6 weeks. Then Ronnie introduced me to Lydia and you couldn't find me in camp. Her brother taught me basic tango and rhumba. Rec'd my radio in good condition. It came 7-7-45 or thereabouts. Also about this time, I rec'd the photo album from Pugs, filled it with pictures I had on hand.

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dykedteach · 6 years

Text

more prompts from this series of drabbles! another flinthamilton one, more fluff because it’s the only thing I know how to write!

---

"I can’t believe you!”

It had been an excruciatingly long three weeks. He had agreed to go on behalf of his father, with the understanding that he’d be much more likely to close on a deal, having had a much warmer relationship with their contact in Florence than Alfred did. What was assumed to be a week spent in Italy, a few evenings spent pouring over contracts while sat in the heat of the setting sun, had suddenly turned into three weeks of meeting new business contacts, video conferences held with his father from the comfort of his air conditioned hotel room, and even a trip to Bologna by request to meet with his father’s lawyer. Now, after three weeks of this routine, four hours waiting at the airport for his delayed plane, eating crisps and finishing his paperback, two hours in the air spent anxiously flipping through the in-flight magazine and picking at his fingernails, and twenty five minutes shuffling along passport control, he was finally within reach again. James.

When it had looked like it would only take a week to reach a deal, Thomas had offered to pay for James to come with him, knowing that he’d easily amuse himself within the city while he attended droll meeting upon droll meeting, and picturing candlelit dinners on terraces together during his free time. Ultimately, it was James’ own work that prevented them going together. He had told Thomas it was unlikely the school would let him have a week off, and when one potential week away from work turned into three they both knew it was impossible. So, Thomas had steeled himself for three weeks without James.

Thomas messaged him pictures throughout his day, from architecture, sunsets, and badly angled selfies, to pictures of street cats, his newest literary purchases, and particularly interesting looking sandwiches. In return, he got emails during James’ work day, multi paragraphed things that detailed his every move, from his breakfast, to what Mrs Mason at number 78 had said to him that morning as he was leaving, to stupid comments his students had made during his lessons. He knew James checked his phone on his breaks, and never minded having a backlog of photos to respond to. They adjusted. They made do.

But now? Now, Thomas could see him over the heads of the people crowding the airport, slouched in an armchair at the coffee shop, tapping the side of his drink absent-mindedly while he checked his phone. Thomas’ suitcase had been one of the first to come out on the conveyor, and so he’d managed to get ahead of the rabble, which was why James probably hadn’t yet realised that his flight had let out. He resisted the urge, somehow, to run.

The second he came into James’ view, both coffee and phone had been dropped unceremoniously on the table, and he’d come rushing towards him, arms coming up to wind around his neck before he’d even had a chance to speak. His hand came up to cradle the back of James’ head, and he marvelled at the feeling of the soft, coppery strands under his palm. With the other, he cupped a hard jaw, thumb stroking along the hair there, much neater now than it had looked in the pictures James had sent only hours before, when Thomas had been catching his taxi to the airport.

“You’ve shaved.” he said, smiling as his eyes roved over James’ form, taking in every detail. He wore the smart looking shirt Thomas had bought him for Christmas, his beard had been carefully trimmed, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he did the same to Thomas.

“You’re more tanned than you looked in the photos. The sun suits you.” James said with a grin, stroking over his cheek. He leaned in towards him, hand still on his face, and kissed him for the first time in twenty one whole days. Thomas closed his eyes, swaying into the kiss, but James decided to break away from him altogether too soon.

“Come on, you.” he chuckled, reaching past him to grab the suitcase handle. “There’s only a certain amount of public attention I’m willing to deal with at six in the morning in the arrivals lounge. I don’t want to go on Twitter later and see some teenager going viral with, ‘Oh look, here’s two old men I saw getting off with each other at Gatwick.’, thank you very much.”.

“Old men?” Thomas laughed, smacking him on the arm.

He picked up James’ phone and almost-empty coffee, grabbing his spare hand after sliding the mobile into his back pocket.

“You’re a dick, and I’ve missed you dearly.”

“I love you, too.”

---

They had managed to hit peak rush hour traffic, although it didn’t seem to annoy Thomas as much as usual. The slow crawl down the motorway gave him the excuse to drink in James, his profile as he drove, the stretch of denim over his thighs, his knuckles on the steering wheel. He slouched in his seat, watching James with adoration.

“What food have you got at home? I’m starving, didn’t eat anything proper on the plane.” he said, rolling his shoulders back against the headrest.

“I went shopping yesterday, don’t worry. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, cranberry juice. Got all of your favourite bits.”

“Thanks, love.” Thomas said with a sigh. He looked ahead at the road, watching the early morning sun creep up the skyline. A buzz came from the pocket of his jeans, and he groaned, throwing his head back against the seat. “That will be my father, already. Jesus, I didn’t even tell him what time the plane was getting back today, he must have tracked it...”

“Whatever he wants, tell him to fuck off.” James grumbled. “Actually, just don’t reply, because he’ll ask you to come to his office, and you’re mine for the rest of the weekend. I decided already.”

Thomas snorted, unlocking his phone to read the paragraph his father had sent him.

“Did you now?” he said, playing along with James’ little game. He had no intention of speaking to his father again until Monday, which James rightly knew.

“I did. I’ve not seen you in three weeks, he’s not allowed to have you. He could try dragging you by the ankles from our bed, if he liked, and I’d be there waiting to fight him off, bollock-naked and armed with a hammer.”

He laughed then, bringing his hand up to ruffle the back of James’ hair.

“Don’t worry, darling. You’ve got me all weekend to yourself.” he said, running his fingers over James’ scalp. He saw goosebumps rise on the creamy pale skin of his neck, and James began to shift in his seat.

“Thomas, in case it’s escaped your notice-” James started, voice strained as he craned his head into the touch. He could see that his knuckles were starting to turn white on the wheel. “I am still driving.”

As much as he enjoyed riling James up with little touches, those moments of contact even more endearing to him now after having been separated for so long, Thomas gave up with a chuckle, instead leaning forward into James’ space.

“Luckily, you’re quite the proficient dr-”, he began, before getting cut off by a sharp hiss from James. Thomas had been resting one hand on his upper chest, and had patted it while he’d been talking to James. He frowned at the man, who had now schooled his features into a cold stare, eyes fixed on the road ahead of them.

“What happened?” Thomas asked, his voice having dropped an octave. He’d retreated back to his own seat, but he’d become hyper aware of the stiff way that James held himself, and the twitch of his eye when he rolled his shoulder.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

James tried to swat him away with one hand when Thomas reached a hand out to pull at his collar, his jaw clenched as he began to drive forwards. The traffic had started to ease, and the road stole his focus. He sighed, giving in to Thomas’ ministrations.

“It’s nothing, really.” he said, both hands back on the steering wheel, allowing Thomas full access to his chest. He undid the top two buttons, gently pulling back the shirt and exposing the long, angry looking graze that crossed the side of James’ upper chest.

“I assume,” Thomas began, inspecting the wound with his brow furrowed. “You aren’t going to tell me how this happened?”

James coughed, his eyes darting back and forth between the moving traffic and Thomas’ fingers tracing gently over the pink skin around the graze. It had looked like he’d cleaned and treated it properly, at least, and Thomas was thankful for that much.

“Fine, you caught me. I went to the pub with Jack after work last Friday, got extremely drunk and woke up with this the next day, no idea how.” said James.

“No, you didn’t.” Thomas said without missing a beat, buttoning up James’ shirt now that he was satisfied with the wound itself. It didn’t look like it was giving James much trouble, and it looked likely to heal up soon without any scarring, as long as James didn’t pick at it. “I saw Max’ Instagram, she took him and Anne out to see an orchestra. Try again.”

“I went to Eleanor’s for tea last week, and her new puppy got a little overexcited.” he said, a barely concealed smirk threatening to pull the side of his mouth upwards.

“Right, and you were shirtless in Eleanor’s living room for what reason exactly?” Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright, so the truth was, I subbed in for Jack’s Year 11 drama class while he was off sick, and they were rehearsing the fencing scene he wrote into Hamlet, and one of the lads got a tad too enthusiastic with his foil, and-”

“Bullshit, Jack would never agree to letting you cover his drama groups, he didn’t talk to you for weeks after what happened last time.” Thomas said, his amusement over all of these hastily made up excuses almost eclipsing his concern for James. He mustn’t have thought that Thomas was going to find out so soon, he was normally so much better at having lies prepared in advance, even if only Thomas could see right through them half of the time.

“I can’t tell you.” James finally said, his thumb tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. “I can’t tell you why I can’t, either. It’s...sort of a secret. I can keep on making up stories until we get home, or you can-” he stopped, catching himself, eyes flickering over towards Thomas, who braced his fingers on James’ forearm, a comforting press.

“Or I can what?” he asked, rubbing circles into James’ clothed skin. He stared up at the man, waiting for him to break. James sighed, bringing the fingers of the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel to rest over Thomas’.

“Or, you can wait until we get home and you’ll see for yourself.” James said with a deep sigh. He saw his chest heave as he dragged his hand away to focus on driving, now that they were coming off of the motorway and away from the traffic. He almost felt bad for pressing James, he’d clearly been meaning to keep this secret tightly under wraps until they had gotten home, whatever it was. Thomas chose to hold his tongue, for now at least, on the matter.

He pulled his own hand back, giving James a bright smile.

“Alright, so what did you fancy doing for dinner later? I’d suggest going out for something, but I assume you’d rather not?” he said, earning an amused snort from his right.

“You keep yourself away from me for three weeks, and then suggest spending our first night back together in public?” he said, voice incredulous as he shook his head. “You assume correctly.”

They had stopped at a set of lights, and James took a moment to turn as best he could towards him, a soft smile directed his way.

“There’s nowhere on this Earth I’d rather be this evening than sat between your legs, eating a takeaway and watching shit television. Though I’ll gladly take you out somewhere nice next week, after work one evening maybe.”

He grinned back at his partner, nodding forward when he noticed the lights having changed. James coughed, turning back to the wheel to drive and ignoring the horn beeping from behind them.

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll probably need it more after having dealt with my father, anyway.”

They spent the rest of the drive home discussing takeaway options for the evening, pushing the issue of James’ injury, and the surprise awaiting him at home, from Thomas’ mind.

---

They had pulled up to their shared apartment in good time, and James had refused to let him carry his own suitcase up the two staircases leading to their floor.

“Stop fussing, would you?” he said, holding back a laugh as he watched James stubbornly stomp up the concrete steps ahead of him, the case in hand.

“For fucks sake, I’m trying to be gentlemanly.” James grumbled, grunting as he maneuvered around a corner. “How much shit did you buy out there?”

Thomas did, incidentally, have a habit of being slightly overzealous with souvenirs from his travels. Admittedly, a fair bit of the added weight in his case was likely due to hard copies of agreements and photocopies of legal documents that he had agreed to bring back to his father. The new shirts, shoes, and bottles of Italian liqueurs he had brought back with him probably hadn’t helped either.

“I didn’t even go over my weight allowance!” he protested, although it had been a genuine worry of his when he’d been packing back at his hotel the evening before. They arrived at their corridor, James fumbling in his pockets with one hand as they walked down the stretch to their front door.

Thomas stopped against the wall with a sigh, looking around as he waited for James to unlock the apartment. Same hall, same awfully patterned carpet, same gaudy yellow doormat outside of Mrs Mason’s. Three weeks, and his world hadn’t changed even a little bit in his absence.

He was torn from his moment of contemplation when he realised that James, having unlocked the door to the apartment, hadn’t actually opened that door, but was stood facing Thomas instead, hands buried in his front pockets and with a crease between his eyebrows.

“There’s just one last thing. Before we go inside.” he said, voice stilted as he rocked on his heels. Before Thomas could ask, he produced a familiar looking black silk blindfold from his pocket, holding it up between them.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving up in a smirk.

“So it’s that kind of surprise, then?” he said, taking a step closer to James and putting a hand on his hip. “I mean, I’ve been awake for the better part of twenty four hours, but I’m sure I can summon the energy to-”

“As much-” James interrupted, resting the hand that was holding the blindfold on Thomas’ chest. “As much as I’d love for that to be the case right now, it’s not.” he said, pausing for a moment when he finished, frowning as he considered. “Although, it could be. I suppose. Possibly after breakfast and a nap, though. You do look shattered.”

He nodded, taking the blindfold from James with one hand, and stroking over his knuckles with the other.

“Right, so, if you’re not blindfolding me and tying me up and having your way with me, then...” he pondered out loud, ignoring James’ panicked glance at Mrs Mason’s front door. “What’s this for?”

“I just need to keep the surprise for a little longer, that’s all.” James said, sounding rather nervous. “You’ll see. I promise. Just trust me?”

He grinned, anticipation starting to crawl its way up his spine, and put the blindfold on himself.

“Lead the way.” he said, holding both of his hands out in front of him for James to take.

“Okay just let me- just give me a second.” he heard James say.

The sound of the door unlatching was immediately followed by the smooth roll of his suitcase wheels, catching on the metal of the threshold and transitioning to soft carpet, where it became muffled. Thomas tried to concentrate on every little sound, searching for any kind of clue from James’ movements. The suitcase stopped still. Then, a small grunt from James. He was...lifting something, perhaps? Footsteps moved to the other side of the room, and the sound of heavy furniture shifting.

“What on earth are you doing?” he called out, not feeling the need to hide his amusement. He tapped his fingers against his thigh, eager and waiting.

James’ footsteps grew closer, before Thomas felt rough hands take hold of his wrists.

“Clearing a path.” he said, his breath suddenly very warm next to Thomas’ cheek.

He felt himself being led into the apartment, the ground underneath his feet softening as he stepped into the room. James walked, cautiously, and Thomas focused on their direction. It was hard to decide which way they were facing exactly, as James had manoeuvred them both around furniture and objects which didn’t seem to be in their usual places, but he felt fairly certain that they had come to a stop either at their bedroom door, or the study.

“Are you ready?” James whispered in his ear. He’d come to stand behind him, one hand on his waist and the other reaching in front of him.

“Mhhm.” he hummed, pressing back against his partner, James’ solid chest meeting the back of his shirt. “Although, I’m happy just to stay like this too.”

He felt James’ chest heave as he sighed, then the arm reaching forward twisted and he heard another latch twist open.

Hands reached into his hair, plucking the elastic from between the strands, lifting the dark silk, and bringing his vision back once more.

Which was when his jaw dropped.

“I...” he began, the words refusing to come as he stared around the room. “I can’t believe-”

“Take your time, it’s fine.” James said from behind him, his voice a touch smug.

He span around on his heel, grabbing James’ face between his hands.

“You absolutely-” he started, interrupting himself with a kiss to his cheek. “-wonderful, absurd-”, more kisses, peppered over James’ freckled nose and brow. “-ridiculous man.”

He finished by crushing James in an open mouthed kiss, arms tugging his head close, pouring his thanks and his love into that one action.

James tugged him away, a grin having split across his face.

“Why don’t you take a proper look around?”

When his relationship with James had become serious, when James spent more of his free time at Thomas’ apartment than he did at his own rented flat, his shirts and underwear finding their way into Thomas’ wardrobe and his spare toothbrush a near permanent fixture in the bathroom, they had sat down to address the issue of accommodation, and the solution had become quite clear to them both. James would apply for a position at a school close by, and he would move into Thomas’ apartment. James’ initial unease at treating the place like his own home was chipped away through the months by Thomas, who encouraged him to share his space, to make adjustments where needed.

He had bought the apartment in his youth, under guidance from his father. While he’d have been perfectly happy with living in a much smaller space, his father had insisted that having two bedrooms would give him the necessary room to spread out. He had also, without any subtlety, implied that the smaller room would make an ideal nursery, if he was to ever take a wife. Ignoring his father, he’d turned the room into an area for mostly storage, with a work desk positioned near the one airy window. Once James had joined him, they added another desk into the cluttered room, and it became their shared work space. Evenings were spent in comfortable silence, with James grading papers at one desk, and Thomas muttering over spreadsheets and contracts at the other. Overflowing shelves, folders, and even a long forgotten set of weights littered the space, and Thomas had spoken wistfully many times about the room he wished it could be, given time, patience, and work.

But James? James had taken his vision, and turned it into something beautiful, for them, for him.

“Did you do this alone?” he asked, voice hushed as he approached a wall- well, what was a wall, weeks ago. Now, polished mahogany shelves curled around both sides of the room, heavy under the weight of so many books. He knew that James had experience with woodwork, he’d been taught by his father, had even crafted their kitchen table but...the detail, the finish on the wood, the edges carefully carved into the shelves, the sheer commitment to them was astonishing.

“For the most part, yes.” James said, still standing in the doorway, hands behind his back. “I had Billy source the wood for me, and he loaned me a few of the larger tools. Gates heard what I was doing, and found the rug, said it would look good with the wood stain.”

He toed the rug in question then, a large, ornate design in a deep red and navy knit. Thomas stayed silent, still taken aback by the whole thing, gazing over the titles on show. Books he recognised instantly, books he didn’t, carefully arranged spaces waiting to be filled with future purchases...

“This is all of them. You’ll have to forgive me for my attempt at organising them, though. The ones that were already in here, plus the ones in the bottom of the wardrobe, the boxes from under the bed. I even let Miranda know what I was doing, and she donated a box from her collection. She’ll be chasing you up on those, though, to make sure you’re reading them.” James said with a snort, earning a laugh from Thomas. “I checked out your wish list, too. The books you kept on putting off buying because we didn’t have the room? Well, most of them are second hand, but they’re here.”

Thomas turned around and beamed at him. He stepped forward, stroking a thumb across James’ cheek.

“You are, without a doubt, the best man I have ever met.” he said, bringing their foreheads together. “You built me a library, James.”

“And, just as important, somewhere you can Skype clients from with pride, without having to worry they’ll see what a mess it is in here.” James said, his lips pulling into a grin against the side of Thomas’ mouth. “You’ve not even looked at your desk, yet.”

He was taken by the hand in an instant, led by James to the desk at the centre of the room. The items that had been on his old worn desk were still here, his pen pot, the plant, the framed picture of him and James in swim shorts on the beach with the setting sun of the Caribbean behind them. This desk, however, was made of the same shining wood as his shelves, sturdy and bright, with swirls and patterns carved into its edges. James had even upholstered his comfy office chair anew, to match the rest of the room. His paperwork lay in drawers built into either side of the desk, neatly arranged and waiting for him.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he span around to fix James with a frown.

“Where will you work?” he asked. James stood tall, his chest puffing out in a moment of pride, and he went around to the other side of the desk. Behind it sat a cushioned bench, positioned low under the curtained window and between two of the book cases, giving the appearance of a window seat. He sat down on the cushions there, folded his arms over his chest, and smiled up at Thomas.

“Right here.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” he fired back. “You don’t have any space to spread your papers out on, you can’t write on anything-”

“Almost all of my work is done electronically, and I can perch here with my laptop, and look-” he said, reaching beside him. A re-purposed bar cart rolled towards him, and he opened a drawer to show Thomas his own papers, neatly organised.

He was impressed with James’ hard work, of course he was, how could he not be? But it had come with personal sacrifice from James, which he wasn’t entirely pleased with, if he was honest with himself. Although, speaking of personal sacrifice...

“Are you going to tell me how this happened, now?” Thomas said, reaching down to unbutton James’ collar, wanting a better look at his injury now that they were in the privacy of their own home. James sat pliant, his back against the window while Thomas’ fingers worked on his shirt.

“I should have taken photographs of this place while I was doing the bulk of the job. It was quite literally my workshop, for a better part of a week. You’d have hated the mess, it looked as if a bomb had g-careful.” he hissed, Thomas having prodded around the wound.

“Sorry, love. I’ll clean it again properly in a bit, just to make sure.” he said, holding back a smirk. He redirected his attention to the rest of James’ buttons. “Go on, you were saying? Workshop? Bomb site?”

“Right. Anyway, I came home from work one evening, a little bit too eager to get started, and tripped over a pile of wood. Fell into a different pile of wood, and scraped down my chest. Had to sit with a pair of tweezers in front of the mirror for an hour, but it’s fine for the most part.”

Thomas nodded along to the conversation, having slowly reached the bottom of James’ shirt.

“I see.” he said, walking his fingers back up James’ chest, dancing over his pectorals. He felt James breathing underneath his hands.

He brought one knee up to the window seat, half straddling James’ lap.

“So what, exactly, are we going to do about your desk?” he purred, edging up towards James’ jaw. “Because you can’t work on that cart, you simply can’t.”

“Well...” James breathed out, one eyebrow curving upwards as he spoke. “What do you suggest?”

Thomas brought his other leg upwards, dropping into James’ lap.

“There’s enough space in here now for two desks in the middle. I’ll help you build yours, I don’t want you getting hurt again.” he said, low in James’ ear, brushing his hands back downwards as he spoke, trailing over patches of hair, and landing on his nipples. He felt James’ arms come up behind him, cradling his back in a sturdy hold. “We’ll make it together.” he whispered.

James leaned in, bringing their lips together in a heated kiss. Thomas nipped gently at his bottom lip, sucking at it before pulling away slightly.

“Thank you. I mean it. From the very bottom of my heart, thank you, for this, for you.” he said, his thumb tracing over the curve of James’ spit-slick mouth. James gazed back at him, sea green eyes that felt like home to Thomas, like life, filled with warmth.

“I love you, so fucking much, more than words. I’d build a hundred libraries for you, given the chance.” he said, his voice roughened. His hands tightened at Thomas’ back, sliding up under his shirt, callouses (was it just his imagination, Thomas thought to himself, or were there more of them now than there had been before he’d gone to Italy?) rubbing up against warm skin. “Please tell me you’re willing to postpone a nap, for a little while at least?”

He ground downwards into James’ lap, nipping at his jaw as he did so.

“We’ll find our way into bed eventually, I’m sure.” he teased, hands trailing downwards towards his waistband, the sun shining beams through the wide window at James’ back.

He was home, and it was perfection.

#james flint #thomas hamilton #flinthamilton #black sails #black sails fic #laura writes #drabble list

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zirawrites · 6 years

Note

How do companions react to seeing soles face for the first time and they are absolutely stunning?

Cait: Cait wasn’t thrilled about leaving her home in the cages… until she caught sight of the person taking her away. She had seen just about every walk of life come through for a fight, but Sole? Their pre-war skin was unblemished, their hair was full and clean. In fact, Sole carried themselves with so much poise that for a moment Cait wished she was a little more ladylike to impress them. “Well then,” she said, “I suppose this deal ain’t all bad. You just walk in front of me though, dear. Let me enjoy the view.” Just because Cait wished she was more refined didn’t mean she’d start acting that way now.

Codsworth: “I… I can’t believe it’s really you, sir/mum!” When Sole came in to Sanctuary, the Mr. Handy was floored. He had dreamed of reuniting with his master, but didn’t remember them looking so dashing. His tedious work of scrubbing floors and maintaining the lawn post-nuclear fallout was all worth it now that he knew Sole had kept themselves in wonderful shape. “Why, you look even more handsome/beautiful than the day you activated me, if you don’t mind my saying so. I hope your cleanliness rubs off on my old gears. I’ve managed to accumulate quite a bit of rust since we last saw each other.”

Curie: No one (or thing) was more enamored with Sole in Vault 81 than Curie. She had heard stories of people in the Commonwealth, and they were all the same. Survivors had scratchy skin that peeled from radiation exposure. Their voices were gruff, and their hands calloused. But Sole was the absolute opposite of all those tales. When they peered through the glass at Curie, she would have blushed if she were human. “My, I suppose the stories of the settlers up above were all lies. You are not scratchy or gruff.” Sole didn’t know what that meant, but they took the compliment anyways.

Danse: At first, Danse was just thankful for the assistance against the ferals that plagued the police station. He watched Sole snipe a few from afar, then close in at knife-point the remaining dozen. Both their agility and bravery impressed him. When he went to thank Sole, they took off their helmet and goggles. Danse was unable to speak; his cheeks flushing red when only stammering came out. “We appreciate the support, civilian,” he finally managed to say. He had never seen anyone in such perfect shape. Their broad shoulders, petite frame… they exemplified the entire Brotherhood appearance. Danse found it hard to make eye contact the rest of their conversation.

Deacon: Today was the day Deacon’s baby would be born. Well, by baby he meant the vault dweller and by born he meant leave the actual vault. They had been a hard little science experiment to track, but he was excited to see the person frozen in time finally thaw out. He figured that they would need some guidance in the Commonwealth, so what better opportunity to shape a new agent?

What Deacon didn’t expect was for Sole to leave the vault early. He hid behind a tree as they rose to the surface; eyes squinting, legs trembling. Part of him wanted to burst from the shadows and help them, but he stopped when he saw how… perfect they were. Bright, hopeful eyes. A smile like on those old magazine covers. To Deacon’s horror, he was willing to follow them anywhere.

Dogmeat: Sole was not the first person to approach Dogmeat at Red Rocket. The dog had been hunkering down under the workbenches ever since his previous owner had run him off the property. Dogmeat’s first reaction was to cower. If a stranger didn’t leave him alone after that, he usually snapped. But when Sole approached him with a cheery “hey there, boy” he was instantly theirs. Sole wasn’t scary at all! Their skin was soft when they scratched him behind his ear, and their smile consisted of all their teeth. Someone as friendly-looking as Sole couldn’t possibly consider him a bad dog.

Gage: Gage had seen plenty of Overbosses come and go. They all looked the exact same. To give off a tough exterior, the raiders usually had deep scars, shaved hair, and chunks of their ears and fingers missing. It always scared off the settlers they wanted to raid, but never impressed Gage. He knew he was missing an eye, but the whole “tough guy act” needed to come from the heart, not the clothes. When he saw Sole come through the doors of Nuka World, his mouth hung open. They were the opposite of every raider and slaver he ever ran with. Their smooth pre-war skin glistened against the neon signs above them, and their healthy hair bounced as they walked towards Fizztop Grille. Gage was more than willing to introduce himself to Sole, but refrained from any flirtatious comments. He didn’t want himself actually catching feelings, and it was easy to get lost in Sole’s eyes.

Hancock: Hancock was always watching over Goodneighbor, and that night he was hanging back in the shadows when Sole walked through the gates. He noticed Finn lock on to the stranger, and figured he would have to intervene eventually. Finn was probably going to sell the poor schmuck some phony insurance, which Hancock warned him to stop whenever he came to his town.

Lucky for him, Hancock’s future damsel in distress was absolutely stunning. They had Magnolia and all the pre-war pin-up girls in the old magazines beat. Sole was staring at Finn with furrowed brows and their fingers brushed against their holster, which only made them more endearing. Beautiful and a badass, Hancock thought as he stepped forward with his knife. The first things out of his mouth after a warm welcome would definitely be a pick-up line.

MacCready: MacCready was having a freaking terrible day. After Winlock and Barnes stopped nagging him about taking their work, there was a stranger hanging around the door. He assumed it was another scorned settler looking for a merc to off their ex lover, so MacCready already had an attitude. He said something sarcastic before he even looked at them, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Sole was all dressed up from their night at The Third Rail, and he could smell their cologne/perfume from across the lounge. Sole tilted their head and asked him who the two men were who had been bothering him. Even though MacCready’s words were low and uninterested, his heart nearly beat out of his chest. They were a total knock-out, and he would be more than thrilled to be their hired gun.

Preston: Preston thought his band of travelers were as good as dead until he heard the raiders outside go down with four loud gunshots. He rushed to the balcony to see a stranger take them down, then begin to scavenge them for supplies. “Hey, up here! On the balcony!” His voice was strained, but it caught Sole’s attention. When they looked up, the sunlight hit their face just right so that Preston could see every feature. He didn’t even notice they were wearing a vault suit. When Sole asked what was the matter, Preston almost didn’t want to involve them in his fight. It wasn’t every day he met an angel.

Piper: Danny Sullivan was getting on Piper’s last nerve. She knew the kid was just following orders, but what he was doing was still wrong. He was leaving her out in the open, and Nat without supervision. She needed a diversion… and the drifter rolling up at the gates would be perfect. Piper had it all planned out. She would tell Danny they were a trader from Quincy, and the town would have his head if he made them miss out on the supplies…

That thought was quickly derailed when she got a good look at Sole. There was no way they were from around the Commonwealth. Sole’s hair was clean, their eyes were still full of innocent hope. It made Piper’s stomach do flips. She hadn’t seen the kind of warm smile Sole flashed her since she got her hands on a pre-war movie. In fact, Piper clammed up so bad Danny actually went back on the intercom to ask if she died.

Nick: Two weeks of being kidnapped in a vault never seemed so worth it until Sole showed up to save him. Nick figured someone would have to set him free eventually, and he was hoping Ellie wouldn’t put herself in harm’s way. When Sole hacked the door to set Nick free, it took every ounce of him not to compliment Sole’s look. All the embarrassment about being a damsel melted away when Sole told him about their missing son. Now he had a chance to return the favor, and get to see a little more of that pre-war miracle.

Strong: Strong was actually unimpressed by Sole’s looks. They didn’t look as menacing as the beaten humans. He suggested Sole slash their face to get a scar.

X6-88: Maybe coursers weren’t designed to perfection after all. When Sole walked through the Institute doors, the synths had never seen anyone as flawless. X6 was certain Sole could be the only heir to Father’s legacy. They matched the intricacy of the spiral elevators; the unblemished gleam of the polished floors. Sole embodied everything the Institute wanted for the Commonwealth, and it made X6 even more honored to become their companion later that evening.

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nostalgicpirate · 7 years

Text

The Long Story

There was a time in my childhood when concerns about sexuality, gender, and other such matters were all but absent. I flowed from day to day, each an epoch in itself, not wanting an explanation of the world, but simply living it. Then came the pivotal moment, an event so traumatic as to be the catalyst of every negative event in my life from that point forward, or so it seems.

I remember little of my life before the divorce, before foster care, before meeting my abuser. My earliest memories are locked away, kept from me by the passage of time and my minds own selfish insistence on me persisting. But I wont talk about those events in much detail now, only the affects to that cause.

I found myself living with another family, kept apart from all my siblings but my sister Allison, and with new parents and new brothers. I remember Brain the most frequently when I think of the themes I will contain within this exercise. Brain was an effeminate teenage boy who was one of the birth children of my foster parents, his voice was high and giddy, and he had a kind of energy that I had not experienced before. He crossed his legs at the knees, he was concerned with his physical appearance in a way that somehow seemed taboo, in fact, all of his predilections seemed somehow against the grain, much to the chagrin of his, and now my, parents. I didn't know what “gay” meant, but I heard the word for the first time then. Too young to concern myself with things like sexuality, I thought it just meant the way he behaved, his voice, his mannerisms. Attraction, I didn't understand, WAS a part of it, but I couldn't conceive of such things. I did know that his parents and siblings found it amusing and somehow damning as if his “different-ness” somehow made him ridiculous. I remember trying to take on Brains behaviors and was met with the same ridicule as he was, but they simply thought I was mocking him and thought little of it.

Even as a child I liked to grow my hair long, and at that age it was a blonde so intense it was almost white. They called me cotton-top as an endearment because of it. I was slight of build, my face was lean and thin, and I was short for my age. Consequentially I was often mistaken for a small girl, something that I think bothered my mother more than me. It bothered me then, but not enough to stop me and my sister from braiding each others hair.

I wont go too much into detail of the events of my abuse in this piece, I've done that in other mediums, other pieces, and it doesn't need to be tread over again. There is such a thing as beating a dead horse, and that isn't the purpose of me writing now. Suffice to say I started my sexual experience as a human young, and with a much older man. Even after I left foster care, my mother would let me spend nearly ever weekend in his “care”, and not understanding at first that what he was doing to me was abnormal, I still loved him like a father. Years would go by in such a manner, even after my family moved from the suburbs of Richmond (where he lived) to the blue ridge mountains outside of the town of Crozet. As I aged I began to understand that most boys weren't like me, most boys didn't have this secret thing that occurred with their “fathers” when the lights when out and we were supposed to sleep. As I began to enter puberty the acts became pleasurable, but somehow all the more wrong. I liked it, what I felt when things happened, but I knew that it was wrong. The confusion of both enjoying and being horrified by what was happening to me will never leave me.

At a time when most boys were on the look out for girls, I didn't know what to think, how to behave. My friends sensed that I was stunted in this way, and one by one abandoned me, no longer wanting to spend time with me. I found myself attracted to girls, but also enthralled by the idea of boys. Going to school became horrible, I never knew where to look, or how to act, or how to speak. Through middle school I stopped socializing all together, into high-school I had no friends. My grades plummeted, I stopped taking care of myself physically, my long hair became matted and full of knots, my clothes I hardly washed.

Discovering the internet was an important turn for me, both the secret and at that time painfully slow world of pornography, and the mild degree of social interaction afforded by chat rooms. It was here I could express the apparent taboos I had acquired or had been born with without persecution, as my peers had already taken to treating me like a pariah and calling me “gay” or “faggot” at every turn. With slowly downloaded videos I found myself experiencing pleasurable acts separate from the abuse that had happened to me. This became important because my malefactor had disappeared from my life nearly overnight, and I didn't have him or his creative assortment of magazines to keep me company. At first it was men and women, then trans women (whose juxtaposition of genitals and apparent gender amazed and excited me) then in the chats I started talking to young men my age. I don't remember the first time I had cybersex with a boy, but I do know that it was always “by accident”. I found myself unable to chat in the main room of the chat rooms, the regulars had too closely knit a group of friends, and even in that digital environment I was too scared to do that. Instead I'd enter a private chat with all assortments of people, trying to find those that wanted to talk about things of a sexual nature a lot of the time, but also trying to form some kind of social connection, but my life was sorely lacking that at the time. Upon entering a private chat I'd rattle off the now infamous anagram “ASL” (age, sex, location), and SOMETIMES the person would be male and within my age group. Those that weren't immediately turned off by me being male as well would then SOMETIMES want to engage in sexual acts. Keep in mind that these things didn't happen with ONLY males, but with a wide variety of people. I always had my eye out with a trans person, something that was then a rare find in chat rooms due to stigma. The advent of the webcam took things up a notch, deep in the midnight hours I'd fine people to display my pleasure too, sometimes men, sometimes women. I began exploring my body in methods that were taboo among the “straight” led society I live in.

My first partner outside of the chat rooms was a young woman about my age, but only by happenstance, she pursued me, and if she hadn't it would have been many more years before I found someone. This is another period of my life I'm going to gloss over, because it isn't pertinent to what I'm trying to say in this piece. What I will say is that there was a person inside of me that hardly spoke, who I think started in those chat rooms, or maybe just opened its mouth for the first time, and Rebecca, my first love, was the first real person to experience that part of me.

Gender is a complex subject, or so I'm discovering. As I said earlier, I was often mistaken for a girl as a child, and there were girlish things that I enjoyed, but I always was keenly aware that that part of me wasn't welcome. Any deviation from standard male behavior was savagely mocked by peers and family alike. I found little ways of acting out, however, the length of my hair being one of them. To keep people from mocking me further, as soon as I began to grow facial hair I forsook shaving altogether and grew a long beard, an ability I thought at first a blessing. In high-school, having a beard meant people no longer took me for a girl, people mocked me less, people kept their distance.

It was probably that beard that attracted Rebecca in the first place, she used to refer to me as “goatman” as a loving endearment. However, in private moments together over the phone in the night I began to show a different side of myself, when speaking my voice would become light and go up a few octaves, almost a mimicry of Brains voice from my childhood, but even more so. It wasn't just my voice, it was my body language, my mannerisms, it was me, or some part of me, speaking out loud for the first time.

Realizing that who I was was fractured wouldn't come for many years, what I did know is that in those private moments, in that identity that I could only share with her, I was truly happy, maybe for the first time since I was a small child. It was, however, one of the reasons she eventually left me for another partner, and that hurt tied itself into the fear of sharing that part of myself, and it would be years before I had the courage to do so again.

Eventually I graduated high-school, namely because I transferred to an alternate school with open minded staff and a smaller student body. I found myself then on the verge of life but with two major problems having been recently discovered. I was disabled, physically, and mentally. I had what the doctors at the time suspected was a form of schizophrenia (they didn't know about my sexual abuse, however) and what would later be determined to be a severe form of PTSD. I also had a debilitating spinal deformity known as Scheuermann's Kyphosis. Kept apart from society by the crippling social anxiety from the PTSD and the very literally crippling kyphosis, I started the process of getting disability, and with a few years moved in with my brother with my “own” income.

The years with my brother stagnated me, kept me locked in place worse than anything I could have done with my twenties. I was forced to devote every ounce of time an energy to him and had no room for socializing (even if I were able) or self reflection. It was only when I cut ties with him that I began to, once more, explore myself, but before that, before moving out even, I met someone who changed my life.

In the twilight of my youth, just before the move, I met a woman named colleen in an online chatroom. She was fierce, and strong, and very openly bisexual. She saw through the many layers of psychosis and trauma that made up my brittle damaged mind and didn't turn away, didn't find me wanting. It wasn't attraction I had for her, it was fellowship I sought from her. I told her everything, all the details of what I've transcribed here, all the little secrets I'd kept from my family and friends, and she didn't think me gross or damaged, but encouraged me to explore myself. The years with my brother were bitter for our friendship, as she lived a few hundred miles away, and we were both too scared to meet, but also due to the isolation forced upon me by him. When I finally got away from him, when I finally cut ties, she was there to support me emotionally like few others could.

I had few friends after that, Mr. Richards ( a mutual friend of my brother who stopped talking to him in favor of me) was one of them, Rebecca (who remained my friend even after our tumultuous relationship) was another. Colleen was the unspoken third, the bearer of all my secrets, the one person I could confide anything and everything with.

She was the first person I came out to, spoke with in depth about my sexuality and my gender and all the glorious weirdness that is me. Years later I would in turn tell my other friends, and eventually (and weirdly last) my therapist, who should have known all along.

Finding terms for the parts of me that didn't make sense was a big deal for me, I wanted an explanation, a clean cut reason for the malfunctions I found within myself. Gender, it turns out, isn't that simple. I wasn't trans, as I first though, because there WAS in fact a part of me that very keenly wanted to remain male, and I wasn't entirely cis, because there were times when “Binks” the name I gave the effeminate voiced female portion of my mind and gender would speak up and make herself known. The closest explanation I've found is the term Genderfluid, wherein my gender identity is in a constant state of flux from male to female and back again. Understanding my sexuality came first, however. I was deeply afraid of men, it would seem, and apart from musings online and in chat, I was terrified of being... well, different, being gay. I had associated homosexuality with those terrible early moments of my sexuality with my abuser, even at times thought that he had “turned” me gay somehow.

I still struggle with who it is I am, and how I want to be with, but its getting clearer ever day, and with that clarity I have hope. I haven't had much luck with relationships, but I have a DEEP desire to be loved, and to love others. “Others” in this case being virtually any consenting adult. My attractions range all across the board, so much that I've found that the closet term to describing me is “Pansexual” or: not using gender or gender identity to chose a partner. The affect of this is that I'm attracted to basically everyone to varying degrees, though its more of a weird hierarchy of attractions, with cis and trans women at the top, and trans and cis men at the bottom. I don't know if that is “right” for being pan, but its the way it is for me, so maybe being right in this case doesn't matter as long as I'm true to myself.

One day, it'll all make sense, and maybe even I'll be brave enough to share my secrets with the family I know and sometimes even love.

#sexuality pansexual genderidenity genderfluid writer poet

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negans-network · 7 years

Text

Pull My Hair Part 2 - The Smiling Man

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for the hair-pulling kink prompt introducing OFC Susan.

Word Count: 4109 (Sorry, I got carried away)

Warnings: Foul language, Sexual References, Language, Imagery and Cunnilingus

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

The ride back to her new home was only slightly uncomfortable. When she and Negan came out of the woods, the men didn’t seem that surprised. It made her wonder just how many wives and girlfriends and mistresses Negan had. But she figured the more the better. A quick fuck was all she could afford, not jealousy. David and Gary came back shortly after, and Susan remembered how one of them pawed her panties. She frowned at them.

She ended up riding with Negan in the blue pickup truck – head of the convoy of course. Susan was wedged between her new husband and his best friend/second in command, Simon. That was the tall guy with a mustache she had seen earlier. Getting a closer look at him only confirmed that he was a pretty big guy. She assumed that Simon was Negan’s best friend only because the way they talked to each other over her head was so ridiculous that Susan found herself holding back her laughter, not wanting to upset either of them. In their truck between the two who sniped at each other agreeably enough, it was a bit of close fit. Due to how large Simon’s muscular thighs were, Susan’s even larger (though admittedly less muscular) thighs competed for the limited space by leaning more on Negan’s side. Despite his obvious promiscuity, she doubted she would be allowed the same luxury. It was pretty lucky that Negan was a slim guy, then.

Once they reached the Sanctuary, Susan had to admire their set up. This was the first time she had seen the Dead employed as guard dogs, a protective shield from other foreign threats. Entering the factory on Negan’s heels, she saw it was full of people, but Negan’s long legs didn’t stop so she had to hurry to keep up. He whistled merrily, tunelessly, the sound not unpleasant. Negan took her up to his room, explaining the rules of how she could not sleep with other men and if she wanted anything all she had to do was ask and someone would get it for her. There were other wives, but they would be nice to her.

Then he stepped into a room, and she followed obediently. It was a beautiful bedroom, straight out of a magazine with a modern gray color scheme. Negan smiled at her, too kindly, and gestured to another door – the bathroom. Susan was allowed to shower and get new clothes. The shower was enjoyable. Sure, the water didn’t get that hot, but it felt good and she was happy to smell clean again. They even had razors in the shower, and part of Susan wondered just how much she should shave for her new husband. Not wanting to risks nicks anyway – the razor was a cheap one after all – she only shaved her legs and armpits. Negan could deal with the rest. Besides, if she ended up riding his smile like she wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from her hair or his own facial hair.

But she was getting ahead of herself again. He hadn’t even kissed her yet. The most he had done was yank her hair a bit and she was already panting for him like a bitch in heat. She didn’t even know that she liked her hair pulled like that. But she didn’t care. It’s the end of the world. Everyone should get their rocks off while they can so long as everyone is agreeable to it. Maybe, though, he was the kind of guy who didn’t kiss. If he had a harem, he probably treated them all like prostitutes and no one kisses those on the mouth. If that were the case, though, why use the title of wife? Probably to catch more flies with honey, Susan decided.

After her ten-minute long shower (due to water rations) Susan stepped out, looking for the new clothes Negan promised to provide. There wasn’t anything. Well, that’s not exactly true. There was a black dress and some lingerie, also black. This was to be her new uniform as a wife. Mentally, Susan added practical clothes to her supply list for when she was to leave. Now that she was here though, she didn’t have a problem wearing the clothes so much as she had a problem fitting the clothes.

The panties were fine, the dress would be okay too if just a smidge too short but she figured that was what he was going for. Her main problem was the bra. God, a new bra sounded divine if only because her old one had been such a mess. She had removed the underwear from it long ago as both had snapped and started digging into her ribs. Well, this new bra would give her proper support, and while Negan did guess the cup size correctly, that was as much credit as she could give him. Susan couldn’t get it to hook no matter how many times she tried. It just wasn’t wide enough for her.

She was going to cry from frustration. It wasn’t like she could slip the dress on and leave braless, that just wasn’t a realistic option. Nervous now, she wondered if he would get the wrong idea if she left the bathroom as she were. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to immediately jump his bones, but she did wonder if she was ready. Would making herself look easy decrease her value? This was surreal experience. One for the books for sure.

“Susan? Is there a fucking problem?” Negan’s voice came from the other side of the door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Snatching the towel back up to her chest, she glared at herself in the mirror. “Um, yes? Please don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be fucking mad?” The door handle jiggled as he grabbed it. “Let me in, and I’ll help you.”

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and it swung open. Susan tucked her chin down, eyes to the floor, and she waited for his response. Her decency was still covered by the towel, but she wanted to know his response.

“Well, damn. I don’t see any kind of problem except that you’re all the way over there dripping on my bathroom rug instead of dripping around my fat dick.” The filth rolled off his tongue smoothly, and if Susan’s skin wasn’t already red from being scrubbed clean under hot water she would’ve blushed like a tomato. Negan’s ungloved hand came up and he tracked his fingers through her wet hair, taking a handful to tip her head back. It wasn’t like he could grab her chin when she had her hands held in front of it, gripping the towel. Like a trance, as soon as he tightened his grip in her hair, Susan found herself wet for other reasons. Once he had her head tilted back to face him, he gave her a seductive smile before nipped her lips and kissed her. Well, that answered her questions about kissing. All of her questions in fact. He was an excellent kisser of course. Could she find no flaws in this man?

Losing herself in the kissing, Susan was hardly aware of anything else until her hands lost their grip on the towel in favor for scrabbling for purchase somewhere else. Her hands greedily found his beard, and she tugged lightly, holding him captive for more kisses that she stole from him. The rough texture against her fingertips was pleasant, and that same texture against the sensitive skin around her mouth was even more so pleasant. His hand in her hair tugged back, mimicking her every time she tugged at his beard. Once she noticed that, she gently tugged at his beard more frequently, a little rougher.

Surprisingly, it was Negan who pulled his head back from that. “What are you doing, Susan?” He didn’t sound annoyed, but genuinely curious.

Dazed, Susan lifted an eyebrow at him, wanting to ask him the same thing. Blinking, she became aware of how her towel was being held up because it was pressed between their bodies. Her damp towel had also dampened his white shirt, and she could almost see his nipples through it by now. Lifting her eyes back to his face, she stumbled for an answer. “I don’t know. I was just kissing you. Was I that bad?”

His face broke out in a smile, and he was practically giggling as he answered her, “Well, damn, you’re so eager to fucking please. That’s a nice change in damn pace compared to the fucking others.” He licked his lips, and her fingertips (still buried lightly in his beard) twitched as she itched to trace over his kiss-swollen lips. She enjoyed feeling the motions of his jaw as he talked, a hypnotic roll much like how he kissed her. “Yeah, you won’t just lay there and make me do all the work. That’s fucking great.”

Confused, Susan didn’t know why, but she felt the need to tell him. “I’m not that flexible, though, so please don’t get your hopes too high for me.”

“Damn, Susan, it’s not about how limber you are. It’s about how damn demanding you are.” Negan explained to her, and smoothed his fingers down to the end of her hair that clung to her back. For further explanation, he tugged on the ends, and Susan curled her fingers tighter into his beard in correspondence as she hissed. “See what I fucking mean know? You’re a little kinky, you know, to like this hair shit.” He repeated the motion and this time Susan gasped rather than hissed. “Damn, did you even know that you fucking like this shit before me? I would love to be your fucking first, honey.”

“Oh,” Susan simply said. Gently, she disentangled herself from his grasp, returning her hands to her towel to grip as she took a step back. The distance cleared her head, though her scalp tingled in remembrance. As much as she would have loved to continue, she wasn’t exactly sure. “Um, I just wanted to tell you that the bra you brought me isn’t going to fit. I’m sorry.”

Negan studied her, and Susan felt like he could see through the towel. From the corner of her eye, she saw how his ungloved hand twitched a little, and she had to wonder if she displeased him. Leaning back on his heels, he tilted his head and smiled, the entire affect completely disarming for Susan as she sighed helplessly. “No fucking problem then. Just tell me what you want and I’ll find it then.” He rubbed the ungloved hand through his beard, a phantom movement of what she felt on her own scalp from his tugs. “You won’t need a bra for the rest of the day, though, if you’re agreeable to me fucking your brains out and yanking your pretty hair.”

Susan’s eyes briefly widened, thighs pressing closer together, and she was really considering it. Why delay the inevitable? Why not just go ahead and see how good he really was? Why not enjoy her two weeks here? Besides, this week sex would be fine, but next week would be her period; no sex then. This could work out perfect. Have a fun fuck week and then a week where she had the excuse of her period to keep her distance from him and start collecting supplies to leave. As soon as her period was over, she’d take her things and sneak out, no problem. She was sure she’d find a way to escape over the gate and through the Dead.

Her mind made up, Susan nodded and stepped forward, dropping the towel. Though she was committed now, she immediately felt her defensiveness rise as her towel dropped. She was still self-conscious. Gladdened by her positive response, Negan met her half way as he stepped forward to her, but there was a pause as he noticed the way she tensed up. He leaned back again, creating distance, and Susan anxiously contributed the behavior to be because he disliked her appearance. Immediately, she ducked her head down again in shame, already mentally self-lambasting herself for ruining a perfect opportunity.

“Now, Susan,” Negan’s voice cut through her train of thought, and his ungloved hand came up to her hair again as he tugged her head back. “You’re not required to sleep with me, even as a wife. I never force a woman to do something she doesn’t want. No rape is allowed here at the Sanctuary. It’s a crime punishable by death – even to me. If you don’t want to fuck, then we won’t. I’ll give you time to adjust.” Negan bit his lip and then immediately licked the same spot to soothe it. “I would really, really like to fuck your brain out, though. You are fucking beautiful after all. But, whenever you’re ready.” He released his grip in her hair, and Susan’s hands came up to catch it before he could withdraw it to his body completely.

“No,” Susan was blushing now. She couldn’t believe that he liked her. This was working out so well. It was too perfect. “No, I want to fuck you. I just wasn’t sure if you’d like me. Or if you thought this um, hair thing, was, uh, too much? You can tell me to stop and I will.” Pulling his hand to her, she pressed a kiss to his palm. “But I do, uh, really like when you pull my hair.” With bravery she didn’t know she had, she nipped at his fingertips. “Can I, uh, pull your hair, too? If you don’t mind.” She dipped his index finger in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the digit and tasting his skin. Susan would prefer if this were another body part of his, but she didn’t want to be too forward yet. After all, she had a week to explore.

“Shit, you’re too much, but damn if I don’t love it,” Negan groaned. He twisted his hand out of her grip until he caught her hair and pulled her too him again, careful to find that perfect balance between roughness and gentleness. “You can yank the shit outta my hair, I don’t care, I’ve just got to have you now.” He caught her mouth in a kiss before she could reply, and in the same movement scooped her up in his arms as he carried over to the bed – his bed.

Surprised that he could carry her when he himself was so slim, Susan moaned into the kiss, thoroughly enjoying herself and fully throwing herself into the experience. Negan pushed her back on the bed. His hands quickly and eagerly yanked her panties off. Now she was completely bare whereas he still wore his white shirt and pants. He had taken off his boots though, toeing them off, so that was one less thing to worry about.

Her hands came up to him and tugged at his shirt, demanding without words (due to her occupied mouth) that he take it off. His chuckle broke their kiss as he eased back. “Wait a minute, now, Susan.” He caught her eye, and smiled beautifully. “I like your eagerness, honey, but I’m a little fucking eager, too.” He gestured for her to move backwards, and she did as he asked until she was propped against his pillows and the headboard. “I said that I’ve got to have you, but first, I’d like to fucking taste you.”

Those words were barely processed in Susan’s mind when Negan had already slipped her thick thighs were over his shoulders, legs draped down his back with her ankles neatly hooked just above his rear. With surprising affection, Negan nuzzled his cheeks into the flesh of her thighs, wiggling into a more comfortable position; the beard tickled and excited her. The movement was reminiscent to one of how a man might bury his face between breasts, but here he was burrowing between her thighs, hands pulling her lower lips apart. She was already glistening with arousal, and while she had been mentally praising herself for shaving her legs, now she was regretting not shaving for him completely.

Luckily, Negan didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even comment on it. Instead he took a breath, appreciating the clean and womanly smell, and then dived in to taste. Susan’s back bowed forward, heels digging into his rear, toes curling; and she grabbed the slick hair on his head. The product in his hair made it hard for her to grasp him firmly, but she was managing as she yanked on his hair like she liked. Negan didn’t tell her she was being too rough.

In fact, he seemed to encourage her as he renewed his assault on her pussy. He was using just his mouth, kissing her clit and flicking it with his tongue before licking back down her slit to drink from the source. If he was a good kisser, he was twice as good at kissing pussy. Negan tongue-fucked her, nibbled teasingly light on her clit, licked her in long smooth strokes that had her thighs trembling with weakness. When he stuck his tongue in her as far as possible, his nose bumped against her clit just right; when he tongued that one crazy spot she had inside of her, his beard was pressed flushed against her and stimulated everything just how she loved it. At one point, he pulled back and licked her from slit to clit, dragging his bearded chin after his tongue until he scrubbed his beard against her clit in full force. She loved that so much that she yanked him hard to repeat the movement, and he did as much until she yanked him back again, finding it to be too much after five or so more strokes.

No matter how hard she yanked on his hair, it only drove him crazier in licking all her juices up. The only time he seemed to resist her movements was when he thighs clamped too tight around his head and his hands gripped them hard, forcing her open wider. Susan barely noticed, chalking it up to how he didn’t want her to strangle him, and instead made a conscious effort to just yank harder on his hair as compensation.

The noises coming from between her thighs and from his mouth were deliciously obscene and wet. Suction noises and moist pops were easily drowned out by Susan’s own mouth, though, as she moaned. Negan’s groan every time she rhythmically tugged on his hair to direct his attention where she wanted was the only noise that could rival her moans. His name was a litany from her lips, the only intelligible word she could manage.

She wanted to tell him that she was close, to warn him, but she had a feeling that the bastard knew as he licked her faster, pressing his tongue into her flesh harder and with more urgency. With one quick nip on her clit – with teeth this time, though thankfully not too hard – Susan came with a keen of, “Negan!” Her climax thoroughly soaked his chin, and her hands, which had gripped his black hair so hard, finally relaxed as she flopped back fully on the pillows. God, it had been too long since her last orgasm. Thank God for Negan.

Catching her breath, she looked down to see what Negan was doing and found him nearly at eye level, stretched over her body panther-like with his arms on either side of body and his legs wedged between her own legs. He was grinning at her, beard shimmering with her juices, teeth flashing cheerily, and eyes sparkling with lust and good humor. “How the fuck was that? A-fucking-mazing, I know I am.” He rhetorically asked and answered his own question.

His smile morphed into a shit-eating grin, and to shut him up, Susan caught his beard in her hands and yanked him to her mouth for a kiss, unbothered by tasting herself. Admittedly, Susan was amazed that Negan could make her cum just from his mouth alone – no finger stimulation necessary. Additionally, she was shocked that the first place on her body he wanted to kiss was her pussy. Normally there was the customary breast-access and such, probably hickies on her neck, but he skipped all that to go straight for the gold. She had to admire his style. Maybe tugging on his hair just geared him up so much that he couldn’t help himself. Oh, yes, Susan liked that idea a lot.

One of Negan’s hands had just come up to grasp her hair when there came knocks from the door. Broken out of the kiss by the ‘shave and haircut’ knock, Susan gasped for air and glanced at the door curiously. Negan, on the other hand, had much less kinder action as he growled dangerously, rolling his head around until his neck popped. “What the fuck is it?!” He shouted at the door, and Susan jumped at his volume. He shot her an apologetic look before glaring at the door again.

“Negan, we have a problem,” Simon’s voice came from the other side of the door. “We tried radioing you, but you turned it off. And we wouldn’t interrupt you unless it were important.”

“Yeah, be there in a fucking minute.” Negan answered him. He directed his gaze back at Susan, and he gave her a crooked sort of smile. The smile was slightly smushed by her hands as she hadn’t let go of his beard yet, her palms petting over it, not caring about the gather moisture she was collecting. “To be con-fucking-tinued, Susan.” He kissed one of her palms and then licked the other clean of her juices before pulling away.

Numbly, Susan watched, still breathing heavily, hands hovering in the air helplessly. Negan smoothed down his shirt, pulled on his jacket and zipped it up. He went to the bathroom and used her towel to clean his face. Then he returned to the bedroom, sitting on the bed to tuck his scarf in place and pull on his boots.

Susan slowly moved, crawling up beside him, feeling affectionate rather than bereft. She could forgive the interruption, though she was sad that he had to leave unsatisfied. Perhaps, this was a good thing. She was making steps but it was probably best that they hadn’t gone all the way yet. Rushing things would be no fun when she had a week to explore everything she wanted.

Kneeling at the edge of the bed, she watched his face as he ignored her in favor for tugging his boots into place. Feeling her look, he looked up at her, catching her staring, and smiled at her softly. “Well, do I look as thoroughly fucked as I feel? At least then I can get back on those fuckers for interrupting me by making them fucking jealous,” He finished with his smile lapsing back into a smirk.

“Well, you didn’t exactly get fucked, though,” Susan apologized, “And I’m sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you, though. I promise.”

Chuckling, Negan shook his head. “You apologize way too damn fucking much, Susan. And don’t fucking apologize for that either.” This time it was just his eyes that were smiling at her as he continued, “Just stay here and wait for me to get back. Then we can pick up right where we fucking left off.” He kissed her quickly, pulling away before she could try and convince him to stay. Climbing to his feet, he picked up Lucille from her designated spot on the couch and made his way to the door.

“Wait, Negan,” Susan called from his bed.

He swung on his heel to face her, leaning to one side, head tilted in question.

“Um, your hair. You may want to, uh, restyle it? If you have the time, of course.”

Negan’s smile was so ruggedly handsome that Susan’s heart stopped. God, it seems that she would never get used to his smile at this rate. It would probably still be a novelty by the time she left, too. “I don’t have the time, but I don’t fucking care, Susan. Let them see the sex-head.” Without even bothering to smooth his hair back into place, Negan was still smiling at her when he left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

As soon as he was gone, Susan sighed. God, this was going to be such a good and well deserved vacation for her.

#negan #negan's thirst squad #NTS #NTS fics #ash's negan writing challenge #negan fanfics #fanfiction #twd #the walking dead #submission

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