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dindjarindiaries · 5 months

Text

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “You could have died, you know.” “I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” and “I’m afraid of losing you, okay?”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

"Hey! Hey. Stay with me." There was a gentle tap on your cheek that smelled of leather and blaster fire. You groaned and blinked your eyes open, wincing as light caught the silver helmet that leaned over you. "Hey." The modulated voice was even softer that time. "You with me?"

You nodded, grunting as you sat up on your elbows. Din's hands continued to hold the sides of your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as his visor gave you a once-over.

"Easy." His command was gentle, rooted in nothing more than concern as his hands eased their way down to your shoulders. "That was a hell of a blow you took there."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me." You exhaled and began to stand. "We need to get back to the ship."

Din stood with you, one hand on your back and the other holding tight to your hand. If you weren't still somewhat disoriented, your heart would've been pounding at his touch and his proximity. "Only if you're able."

You huffed and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine." You gestured with your head in the direction of the ship. "Let's get going."

Din nodded, drawing his blaster as the two of you began to run to back to the ship. There was no doubt the two of you had already taken care of your attackers, but it never hurt to be cautious. Din, however, was even more on edge than usual, his free hand staying close to you as his visor checked on you more than it did on the way ahead.

It was perhaps the most nervous you had ever seen him.

Once you were on the ship, Din secured the hatch closed behind you, and he wasted no time heading to the cockpit to get you off the planet. You collapsed into the nearest chair and took a few breaths, running your hand over your forehead as a slight ache began to arise. You had known you wouldn't be able to walk away from a detonator blast without at least a little pain.

You were so distracted by these thoughts that you didn't even hear Din return until he was kneeling in front of you with the medpac. You lifted your head at the sight of it and clicked your tongue as you shook your head. "Din, that's really not necessary."

He didn't stop shuffling through the medpac as he answered. "I'd like to make sure." Din paused and glanced up at you. "Please."

You couldn't help giving in to the pure worry in his tone. Your lips stretched in a small smile as you nodded. He returned the gesture and lifted a handheld scanner, using it on various parts of your head, arms, and more to make sure you were free of any critical injures. It time and time again chimed in the negative.

You watched him as he worked, taking note of the way his gloved hand shook as he held the scanner. His free hand was on your knee, and his touch pulsated every once in a while as if he was grounding himself to you over and over again. You furrowed your brow, and once he had completed his scans, you couldn't help speaking on it.

"Din." You reached out for the sides of his helmet, encouraging him to look at you. You searched his visor before nodding firmly. "It's all right."

Din held a breath in his armored chest, his shoulders tensing as his hand on your knee tightened again. His visor fell to study his grasp on you, as if you would fall away if he let go or looked away. After a long pause, he spoke in a voice so strained that it pulled on each of your heartstrings. "You could have died, you know."

You softened even more at that, your thumbs running over his beskar cheeks as you tried to soothe him. "I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about."

Din shook his helmet, lowering it until it was resting against the knee he wasn't still holding. His shoulders rose and fell with each unsteady breath he took. Your softness was exchanged for fierce worry of your own as you ran a hand over his helmet.

"Din." You utterance of his name was just above a whisper. He still remained where he was, practically curled up into you as he clung to you the best he could. "What is it?"

He didn't move even as he answered your question. "I'm afraid."

Your eyes widened at that. You had been convinced that there wasn't a single thing in the galaxy Din Djarin was actually afraid of. He had sure as hell proven that over your time together. "What are you so afraid of?"

Din sighed, lifting his helmet once again so that his visor could face you. His hand ran from your knee to your thigh as if the motion helped him to gain the strength to say the words he was holding so close to his chest. "I’m afraid of losing you, okay?"

You instantly fell apart at his vulnerability. Your brow relaxed as you held his helmet between your hands again and urged him to get closer. The way you moved to the end of the chair helped to close the distance, and soon, you were able to rest your forehead against his helmet. "You won't lose me, Din." You shook your head to emphasize your point. "Not now, not ever."

Din exhaled a troubled breath. "We don't know that." His gloved fingers drummed against your thigh as he fought for strength to go on. "I... have lost so much. It almost feels inevitable. I've put my head down and kept going, but..."

His breath caught in his throat. Your sympathy for him nearly made your eyes well with tears as you waited patiently for him to finish.

"If it were you..." One of Din's hands rose to hold your wrist in place. "I couldn't bear it. Not even the thought of it."

You tried your best to put on a genuine smile for him as you began to reassure him. "I'll be more careful, Din. Okay?" You kissed the center of his visor. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it's not easy."

Din huffed, and a wave of relief flowed through you at the evidence of the darkness starting to leave him. "Neither is jumping near a detonator to protect me."

You chuckled, shrugging as your face began to warm. "Well, you would've done the same for me."

Din tilted his helmet at that. "Yeah. In protective armor."

You closed your eyes and savored your closeness. "I guess you'll have to find me my own suit of armor, then."

Din's hand gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. "I'll be your armor."

You reopened your eyes, smiling at him before you wrapped your arms around his neck to embrace him. Your cheek rested upon the cloth around his neck and shoulders as you nodded to yourself. "Perfect."

din djarin tag list: @yorksgirl @zenrobbins0021 @cyaredindjarin @cw80831 @maddiedrmr

#hopefully this makes sense bc i wrote this while like half asleep HAHAHA #i just want to comfort him #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #prompts #dindjarindiaries

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dandylovesturtles · 4 months

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I lied

this fic is going to have at least four parts. oops.

Sorry this took longer than I intended! I started working on it literally the next day after the first part went up and banged out 3K words, then wrote another 1.5K over the next couple days, ended up hating it, deleted the whole thing and started over. I'm much happier with this version.

I had intended for this part to go deeper into the immediate aftermath buuuut this part ended up so long I decided to make that the next part!

And I got enabled on discord to be mean with the cliffhanger, so... sorry <3

CW: minor violence, angst, nobody having a good time, Bishop being Bishop

btw this is Part 2 of the Room Fic that doesn't have a title yet. If you're confused, start here!

-----

They're somewhere in Nebraska, and Raph's never seen so many stars before.

He thought he had seen stars, when they went camping in the woods that time with Todd. Now, sitting on the side of the road by the Turtle Tank, he's realizing that he didn't really see them.

He wishes he could enjoy it, but he can't. Not really. Because nine days ago, Leo stormed out of the lair and never came home.

(Raph knows the thing he'll always blame himself for is picking the fight in the first place.)

It took them several days to learn what had happened to him. Even more days to learn where he was taken. And now they're stuck on the side of the road in Nebraska while Donnie fixes a flat.

Mikey's dozing against his shoulder. He hasn't been getting enough sleep, not that any of them have. April's handing Donnie tools and keeping him company while he changes the tire. Draxum and Splinter are inside the tank, on the lookout for cops with the help of Donnie's police scanners.

It's cool since the sun went down. Quiet. Crickets are out and playing their songs. Raph's seen a few deer, and an owl. The stars are twinkling overhead, and it's calm, peaceful.

The weight on his shoulder is suddenly gone; Raph looks down to find Mikey sitting up straight, wide awake and head cocked to the side like a bloodhound who just caught a scent.

He opens his mouth to ask - and then he feels it too.

It's a cacophony of emotions, strong and hot and mixing together until they're overwhelming. Fear, pain, exhaustion, loneliness, and a blinding fury like even Raph has never felt before. Hatred and bile and the desire to attack, to harm, to destroy.

And underneath it all, a presence as familiar to him as his own, one that's been by his side since almost the day he was hatched. One that is fragile and desperate and screaming out for help.

Leo.

Raph stands up - next to him, Mikey is already on his feet. Raph reaches out his hand, his ninpo flaring to life, straining out into the open air like if he just stretches far enough, he can pluck Leo out of the hell he's trapped in and bring him home.

But he can't reach far enough, because the EPF took him all the way to Colorado. And they're still on the side of the road in Nebraska.

As quickly as it came, the presence is dying away again. It shrinks smaller and smaller and then fizzles out. Raph releases his breath, letting his ninpo fall away, his fingers still grasping open air.

A sniffle. Raph looks down and finds Mikey sobbing. He scoops his little brother into his arms, and Mikey throws himself into Raph's chest, heaving breaths shaking his tiny frame.

"Leo," he whimpers. All Raph can do is pat his shell.

He turns to take stock of Donnie next, carrying Mikey over. His other little brother has tears trickling down his face, too, more subdued but still visible. He's holding his wrench in a vice grip, and for once he doesn't utter a single protest when Raph reaches out and tucks him in under his free arm.

"...What just happened?" asks April, hesitant. Raph wishes he knew how to explain.

"It was Leo!" Mikey does it for him. "He... he's reaching for us."

"What!? Like, mind meld or something!?"

"No," answers Raph. "I don't really know what that was... but it was definitely Leo."

"So..." April pauses, eyes searching each of their faces. "Is he... okay?"

None of them know what to say, but she gets it anyway.

"...I'm going to destroy the EPF," says Donnie, voice dark and cold. "I'm going to raze it to the ground. There will be nothing left."

Raph squeezes his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He doesn't know what to do other than agree.

-----

"This is a good thing," says Draxum. "That means he's still alive."

"But they're hurting him!" Mikey argues. He's halfway in Draxum's lap, arms wrapped around Draxum's middle. Donnie sits on one of the bench seats, curled tight around his own legs, while Splinter strokes his head. Raph sits on the bench seat across from them, April leaning against his side.

"I told you what the EPF is capable of," Draxum reminds them. "This is not a surprise."

"Read the room, Barry," says April.

Splinter's look is increasingly far away, his touch on Donnie's head automatic and absentminded. He's able to stay in the room with them when there's something to do, but now the fear and depression are threatening to take him away again. For the hundredth time since this nightmare began, Raph feels the hopelessness set in.

Draxum sucks, but he's right, echoes the voice in his head that sounds too much like Leo. The plan hasn't changed. Now get moving before you tire out.

"Drax is right that Leo's alive," Raph echoes. "So we need to get a move on. Donnie, how's the tank?"

Donnie uncurls, coaxed by the request to talk about his baby. "The spare's on, and I did some checks on the engine and interior systems. We're ready to go."

"Alright." Raph stands up, rolling his shoulders. "It's Raph's turn to drive. Everyone buckle up."

The mood in the tank shifts after that; they have a direction, and a plan. Leo is hurt, but he's still alive, and nothing has changed.

Donnie and April sit together in the front seats. Mikey passes around snacks and drinks from their cooler, then snuggles in between their dad and Draxum. Draxum says something negative about the snack food, which pulls Splinter out of his trance and starts up some heated bickering between them. Even more of the tension leaks out of the cab.

Raph puts the tank in drive and pulls back onto the quiet highway, driving west again. At their back, the sun starts to rise.

-----

It's late in the day when they reach Colorado Springs.

Donnie was able to pin the EPF base's location down to the mountains surrounding the town, but he couldn't find its exact location. Whatever equipment they have, it's completely scrambled the subcutaneous tracker Donnie put on Leo (and boy, was that a stir when Donnie revealed he'd put trackers on all of them). It had taken a combination of Donnie's hacking and April's investigative skills to get this far.

"It makes sense," says April as they pull the tank into a campsite outside the city limits. "There's, what, three bases here? Where better to hide a secret branch of the military than with the military?"

There's snow on the ground outside, even though it's early May. Even so, the temperature was pretty mild while the sun was up. "It's the proximity to the mountains," Donnie explains when Raph mentions it, but the rest of the explanation blurs together. He's too tired to keep up with Donnie's science facts, but infodumping calms his brother down, so he lets him do it and nods along.

They eat a proper meal that Mikey cooks for them on one of the campsite grills, then settle in to nap until the sun goes down. Raph isn't sleeping, and he can tell from all the shifting around that Mikey and Donnie aren't, either. They're too close to Leo now to rest.

But you gotta catch some Zs before you go storming into enemy territory, the Leo in his head reminds him.

Raph hates every second you're in there, he thinks. But it won't be long now. Big bro's comin'.

He wishes the Leo in his head would say that he believes that. But all Raph can remember are the words they said during the fight, and he never quite goes to sleep.

-----

They break into pairs for their search. Raph goes with April, Mikey with Splinter, and Donnie stays with Draxum at the tank. Donnie uses his tech to try and narrow down the location of the base, while the other two teams go in opposite directions and start scouting the area on foot.

It takes a long time for them to learn anything, and as the sun comes up again, Raph starts to worry that they're going to have to leave Leo trapped for another full day.

But then he and April finally get a lead. They send the info to Donnie, and it helps narrow down his search.

Just after dawn, they reconvene at the tank, gathered around satellite images and drone shots of a nondescript military compound several miles outside the city.

"There it is," says Donnie with finality. "That's where they're keeping Leo."

"Then what are waiting for?" asks Mikey.

Wait for dark, says the Leo in Raph's head.

And that advice makes sense. There will be fewer employees at night. The dark provides natural cover. It's sane. It's smart.

Raph ignores it entirely.

He's not leaving his little brother with those people for one second longer. Not after what he felt, sitting on the side of the road in Nebraska.

"We're not waiting for anything," he says. "Let's move out."

From the looks on their faces, they all agree.

------

The site looks as generic as possible. There's a high electric fence circling the whole thing, with a basic "No Trespassing - Government Property" sign. A simple guard stand sits at the drive-in gate. The buildings visible beyond are drab and featureless.

The government stopped publicly funding the EPF in the nineties, Draxum had told them. But the organization had never truly gone away; it was just funded through underground means now. Miscellaneous defense funding. Anonymous donations. Private benefactors.

Originally it had been founded to defend Earth against aliens. But when no alien threat appeared, they moved on to a new mission: defending the United States against yokai.

"Even though we were here first," Draxum had said testily. "Typical Americans."

Raph hadn't liked anything Draxum had to tell them about the EPF. That they weren't bound by any of the laws the rest of the military was. That the yokai they had managed to capture were never seen again. That Draxum had had a very brief run-in with them once, decades ago, and he doubted they had ever forgotten it.

Really, though, all he'd needed to know was that they had his brother.

It's the middle of the morning, so their stealth options are limited. Still, they aren't ninja for nothing; they use the forest and the snowy terrain to their advantage and sneak their way into the compound. Raph has to admit, he was a little worried about Draxum on the trip over, but the old goat does a pretty good job keeping up.

It takes them a bit of time to work out which building to enter. They rule out a mess hall, a medical ward, the barracks, and some kind of training center first. Then, toward the furthest reaches of the compound, they find a building that looks particularly suspicious, with a guard gate on the path leading to it and more armed guards on the roof.

"That has to be it," says Raph. No one disagrees.

They use a passing supply truck to slip past the guard gate, then sneak around the back and use a fire ladder to get to the roof. They dispatch the guards on top quickly and easily, then find a ventilation shaft leading inside. Mikey, Donnie, April, and Splinter fit easily enough, but Raph and Draxum are too big to wiggle through.

"Find out where we're going. Radio us as soon as you find something," Raph says. Then he gives Mikey, April, and Donnie's shoulders each a squeeze in turn. "And be careful."

"Take care of Red," their dad says to Draxum just before he follows the others inside.

"He's safe with me," Draxum promises.

"You're safe with Raph," Raph feels the need to say. Splinter chuckles before disappearing into the shaft after his siblings.

Waiting outside becomes nerve-wracking quickly. Raph starts to pace the length of the roof, back and forth, glancing at the unconscious guards from time to time to make sure they're still unconscious.

"You're going to wear a rut on the roof," Draxum admonishes him. Raph keeps going anyway.

-----

Finally, after what feels like ages but is only about ten minutes, his radio crackles. Raph freezes, pulling his wrist close, where Donnie's tech is hidden under his wraps.

"Hey." It's April's voice. She sounds out of breath, but not distressed. "Come to the back of the building. Should be a door."

"On our way," says Raph, waving at Draxum to follow before dropping off the roof.

The door is easy enough to find, the snow around it trampled down. He gives the metal a rap with his knuckles when he gets there, and the door swings open, April grinning, her bat perched against her shoulder. Behind her is another unconscious guard.

"Nice, April," says Raph, hustling inside. He kicks the last of the snow off his feet once he's on the cold linoleum floor, Draxum following suit. April lets the door swing shut again. "Where's everyone else?"

"We found some kinda security room. Leo's gear was in there." She pushes by and starts to lead them down the hall, voice low, eyes watching for anyone rounding the corner. "Donnie's poking through the camera footage. Didn't look like anyone much was in this hall, so I came to get you."

"And Leonardo?" asks Draxum.

April gives a shake of her head. "Haven't found him yet, but he's gotta be here. There's not much more of the building to search, so we're close."

Raph peeks in open doors and through windows as they walk, taking in the space. It looks like an ordinary office building inside; nothing nefarious, except for the fact that the people working here are kidnapping scum who have done something so terrible to his little brother it made him scream out in anguish and fury. But if he hadn't known that coming in, he wouldn't have expected anything. It all looks very...

Raph comes to a sudden stop. Through the sliver of window in a door, he sees the first occupied room since he's entered the building. Only one person is inside, wearing a white lab coat and tapping away at a computer.

But what's more interesting is the door on the other side of the room: solid metal with no window, and a sign that reads "Inmate Observation - Authorized Access Only".

Raph grabs April by the shoulder before she can get too far ahead, pointing at the window. "Do you know what's in there?"

She turns back and takes a peek. "...No. I don't think we went through there yet."

So they haven't ruled this part of the building out yet. And it's the only one so far with anyone inside.

Inmate Observation.

"Raph, wait, I think we should-" April starts, but Raph doesn't listen. Raph can't stop himself.

His little brother is in here. He knows he is. The one who was taken from them. The one who cried out to them in fear, begging to be saved.

He's not making Leo wait a moment longer.

Raph throws open the door and marches inside.

"...Okay," April says behind him. "I guess we're doing it this way.

-----

The scientist or whoever they are tries to radio for help. Raph picks the radio up and crushes it in his hand. They turn and run, and that takes care of that.

April calls the others on her radio. Raph doesn't listen to the conversation. His eyes are locked on the door.

Inmate Observation.

He reaches out and throws the door back with a bang.

He's ready for the gunshots before they come, and his ninpo is already active, forming a protective bubble around himself and shielding Draxum and April. He's expecting bullets, but instead it's darts; they embed themselves harmlessly in the arms of his projection. Raph waits until the volley stops, then drops the projection, and the darts fall harmlessly to the floor.

He steps into the room and clocks one of the guards on the head before they can reload, watching as they fall to the ground. April wallops the other one, then kicks their fallen gun under a desk. She brandishes her bat at the other occupants of the room: two more scientists in lab coats, and one steely faced man in a suit.

The scientists seem intimidated. The suited man does not.

"Ah," he says. "So you've finally made it here, Draxum."

"Bishop." Draxum sounds equally unimpressed. "I thought you died in the nineties."

"So does most of the world. It's convenient for my work."

"You guys know each other?" April asks, looking between them.

"We know of each other." Draxum sneers. "If my plans had gone as I intended, he would truly be dead by now."

Raph narrows his eyes at the man. "Are you the one who's been keeping my brother here?"

To his credit, Bishop still looks unphased, even though Raph is tall enough to hulk over him. "I am the director of this facility."

It's enough of a yes.

Raph rushes Bishop, slamming him into the wall behind his back. Raph keeps him pinned, one hand on his neck, the other arm pressed against his chest, and Raph presses until he feels something start to crack.

Bishop hisses but does not cry out.

"Where are you keeping him?" Raph demands.

"He's in there," says Bishop, wheezing only slightly from the constriction on his lungs, his voice firm otherwise.

Raph tosses a look where Bishop indicates, seeing a large window. It's looking into a seemingly empty room; white walls and no furniture other than a toilet in the corner.

"Raph don't see him," he growls.

"He hides under the window." Bishop's eyes flicker to one of the scientists. "Pointless, really," he says, giving the man in the lab coat a nod. "Show them."

The scientist looks uneasy, but he turns and clicks a few buttons on a desktop. A screen pops up, but it doesn't show anything other than static.

"...Something is wrong with our camera signals, sir," the scientist reports.

"Ah." Bishop's eyes glint, and then flick back to Raph's face. "So there are more of you."

Raph doesn't answer that. He gives Bishop a rough shake. "What have you done to him?"

"Your brother?" Bishop clarifies. "Nothing."

Another shake. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying." Bishop's eyes are steely, even as his wheezing picks up the more Raph leans into his chest. "Other than as was necessary to move him, we have not touched him."

Raph doesn't move an inch. "I don't believe that."

"Then see for yourself." Bishop looks at the other scientist now, giving a small nod of his head. "Dr. Keller, open the door for this brute so he'll stop assaulting me."

Raph scowls, staying exactly where he is while the other scientist scurries to the metal door by the window and inputs a code into a keypad. There's a beep, and a clipped, artificial voice says, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Finally, Raph lets Bishop go, and approaches the door.

-----

When Raph imagined one of them getting kidnapped by a shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, he always pictured something... different.

He thought they would be in cages, not tall enough to stand in. That they would be fed from dog bowls or water drippers. That handlers would patrol the room with cattle prods, ready to shock anyone who stepped out of line.

But there is no cage, and no cattle prods. Leo is just in a room.

The first thing Raph notices about the room is the cold. The rest of the building is hardly stifling, but even then, the blast of air that comes through the open door feels like Raph is stepping into a freezer.

As he saw from outside, there's no furniture. Or he doesn't think there is, until he looks down, under the window, and finds a cot.

And what's on the cot makes his heart stop.

Raph can barely remember the last time he saw Leo pull himself fully into his shell for anything other than shell bowling. He complained that it was too small, that the hot and cramped space made him feel claustrophobic.

Now he's completely pulled inside, still and silent in a way Leo should never be.

For an eternity, Raph thinks he's too late. They came all the way here only to save Leo's corpse.

"Leo...?"

He kneels by the cot, reaching out and putting a hand on Leo's shell. He's cold to the touch, and it unsettles Raph even further. He shouldn't be this cold.

Raph keeps his hand where it is and stays very still and very quiet. And he waits.

And then he hears it, so faint he almost misses it: a terrified, whimpering chirp.

Leo is alive.

Raph feels tears spring to his eyes. He puts his other hand on Leo's shell, rubbing in big, soothing motions.

"Leo! Leo, it's me! We're here, we're getting you out! It's all going to be okay, just trust Big Raphie, alright?"

So saying, Raph straightens back up, and grabs Leo's shell in his hands to carry him out, to take his little brother home.

A hand shoots out of the shell, stick thin. Though it's clearly weak, it grabs on to Raph's arm with a desperate ferocity, clawing at the skin there.

Raph freezes, not putting Leo down but not lifting him any further, either. He peers into the gap in Leo's shell, and sees eyes peering back at him, glassy and wide and full of terror. A cornered animal fighting for his life.

Raph takes a deep breath. He summons all the love he has for Leo, all the relief he feels at finding him alive, all the happiness he has from having his little brother in his arms again, and he pours it into a genuine smile, no matter the danger outside.

"Hey, Leo," he says, voice soft. "It's just me. Raph came to get ya. Everything's okay now."

A second passes, then five, then twenty. April starts to come in, but Raph waves a finger at her to tell her to go back before she startles Leo. He keeps the smile on his face, his eyes locked on Leo's, his hold secure but non-threatening.

And then, slowly, Leo pokes his head out.

"Raph?" he asks, in a voice that is exhausted and hoarse and warbling and absolutely beautiful.

"Yeah," says Raph, blinking tears back. "Hey, buddy."

Steadily, Leo unfurls the rest of himself, one limb emerging at a time. He looks terrible. His cheeks are sunken and gaunt, his skin is an unhealthy color, his eyes are ringed by dark black circles showing off how little he's slept.

Raph is so happy to see him. He so wishes this wasn't the state he was finding Leo in. If he could turn back time and make it so Leo never suffered, he would in a heartbeat. But he's so happy to have Leo back that the tears keep flowing.

The grip Leo has on his arm shifts. No longer trying to claw himself free, but grabbing on, holding still, with all the same desperation as before. His eyes search Raph's face, over and over until it seems he's finally satisfied.

"Raph," he repeats, and it's not a question this time.

"Yeah," Raph says anyway. "I'm here."

He lifts Leo the rest of the way, cradling Leo against his chest. Leo's so much lighter than he should be, and Raph feels a sharp pain in his heart over it.

It's okay. They'll leave. They'll take care of him. And then Leo will be all better again.

Leo shifts himself, reaching one arm up and hooking it around Raph's neck. Just that much movement seems to sap a lot of energy, and he slumps his head against Raph, giving up on holding it upright. It reminds Raph of when they were little and he would carry Leo to bed, before Leo started insisting he's too old for that.

"Am I dreaming?" Leo whispers.

Raph's heart breaks, but he doesn't lose his smile. "Nope. You're wide awake."

"Then..." Leo nuzzles closer. "Can we go home?"

"Yeah." Raph sniffles, shifting his grip so he can get a hand free without disturbing Leo. "We can go home."

Leo doesn't say anything more, just hums quietly against Raph's neck. Raph wipes his tears away, then turns and carries Leo out of the room.

-----

Bishop is still against the wall; it's Draxum's vines holding him there now.

When Leo sees him, he shrinks into himself, crossing the arm not hooked around Raph over his chest. Raph turns his body so Leo is shielded from view, glaring hard at Bishop as he does.

"Didn't do anything to him, huh?" he asks, voice icy.

"He is unharmed," says Bishop, equally cold. Raph wants to kill him.

"That's enough out of you," says Draxum, and a new vine wraps around Bishop's mouth. That shuts him up.

April's eyes are wide, her hand over her mouth as she looks at Leo, but she quickly pulls herself together, her expression turning to one of hard steel. She comes closer, only softening when Leo's eyes lock on her.

"Hey, Leo," she says, reaching up and giving his arm a pat. "How're you feelin'?"

"Happy to see you," Leo rasps, and it's so sincere that Raph feels tears spring to his eyes again. April has to blink hard behind her glasses.

"We're really happy to see you, too."

"Yes, everyone is happy now," says Draxum, though his eyes are worried as they look Leo over. "But we still need to get out of here."

"Right." April opens the door back into the offices, letting Raph through, before she pulls up her wrist to talk into her Donnie tech. "Guys, you there?"

"We're here, April," comes Donnie's voice. "We've extracted the information and we're on our way to meet you."

"Great." She smiles up at Raph. "We got Leo."

"Leo!" Mikey's voice comes booming through the radio, loud enough that April cringes and leans back. Raph can hear Donnie make a noise of protest in the background. "Is he okay!? Can I talk to him!? Did he miss me!?"

April raises her wrist so the tech is in front of Leo's mouth. He tilts his head towards it, saying, "Course I missed you."

"LEO!" screams Mikey even louder, and Raph thinks he hears the shout from somewhere in the building, too.

"-key, give me back my arm-" comes Donnie's voice, then there's an exaggerated throat clearing before he's saying, "We'll be there in one minute. Be ready to move."

"We're ready," Raph assures him. They move to the door and watch for the others to appear.

-----

Days of stress seem to fall off his brothers and Splinter when they see Leo.

Raph wishes they could have all the hugs and reassurances he knows they all need, but there's just no time; they're still in enemy territory, and the man who hurt his brother the most is just behind two doors, only being held by Draxum's vines. There's time only for brief shoulder touches and for Splinter to jump up on Raph's shoulder and give Leo's forehead a quick, relieved kiss.

Raph gives the rest of his family a quick glance over. Mikey is carrying Leo's gear, the katana sheathed across his shell and the rest of it slung over his shoulder. They haven't gotten any injuries, as far as he can tell. Everyone looks good to go.

"How do we get out of here?" asks Raph. Donnie pulls up his wrist tech.

"It may be inevitable that we'll face resistance on our way out... But the closest door is this way." He points down the hall, back the way Raph, Draxum, and April came from.

There's a weak thump against Raph's shoulder. "Gunners on the roof," Leo rasps once he has Raph's attention.

Raph wonders how he knows that, but there's no time to ask.

"We took care of 'em," he says instead. "You just relax, okay? We're getting out of here."

Leo lets his head fall against Raph's shoulder again, and Raph takes that as the okay to move.

It takes less time to get out than it did to get in. No need for stealth now that the director knows they're here, after all.

They run down the hallways, through doors, past the still unconscious guard April took care of earlier. Draxum takes the lead through the door, and they all crash as a group outside.

Where a ring of soldiers are waiting for them, guns trained their direction. And Raph isn't sure they're loaded with darts this time.

Leo shudders in his arms, and Raph curls protectively around him, already summoning his ninpo to shield them. His family forms their own protective barrier around the two of them, readying their weapons and squaring off against the soldiers.

Behind them, the door opens.

"This doesn't have to end in anyone getting hurt," says Bishop as he walks out.

Raph doesn't turn towards him, keeping the shivering Leo out of his sight. "What, like you didn't hurt my brother?"

"I've already told you, I didn't touch him." Bishop sounds only mildly put out. "He can attest to that himself."

"It's cute that you think any of us care what you have to say," snaps April, rounding on him and pointing her bat his direction.

"You should care what I have to say." Bishop nods at Raph. "Your comrade needs medical attention. Care that I can provide, if you lower your weapons and surrender."

"Care he only needs 'cause you jerks kidnapped him!" yells Mikey.

"Mikey," whispers Leo. Raph glances down at him, but Leo isn't looking his way.

"I gave Inmate 24365 plenty of chances to cooperate in exchange for more comfortable living conditions. That he declined was his choice. But I have no wish to see him dead. We were going to transfer him to the medical unit just as you arrived and interrupted us; surrender, and we'll take him there now."

"No," snaps Splinter, stepping toward Bishop. "You will come nowhere near my sons ever again."

"Mikey," Leo hisses with more urgency.

"These turtles are your sons? Really?" Bishop sounds disbelieving. Raph still doesn't turn his direction. "What am I supposed to believe next? That humans can give birth to birds?"

"They are my sons!" Splinter asserts. "Come near them again, and you are dead!"

"Perhaps we should kill him now, Lou Jitsu, and be done with it," Draxum suggests.

"Mikey," says Leo, kicking one emaciated foot. Mikey finally looks their way, confused. "Gimme... swords."

He doesn't have to explain. But Raph feels uneasy. He exchanges a glance with Donnie, who seems similarly concerned. "Nardo, I don't think-"

"Hey," says Leo, and even though his vocal chords sound tired and out of use, they can all hear him, their confident face-man of a brother, with a big ego and a cocky tone, shining through. "Trust me, I got this."

Mikey gives him the katana.

"The American government have allowed the yokai to live peacefully within our borders up until now," says Bishop. "If you kill me, that peace will be ruined."

"This war was started when you kidnapped my child!" cries Splinter, snapping his tail.

"You threaten the Hidden Cities as though you know anything about them," says Draxum. "They do not fear you."

"We know more about them than you think."

"You expect me to listen to this blathering?"

"Is it a chance you're willing to take, Draxum?"

Draxum falls silent. The lack of answer makes Raph feel even more on edge. But Leo is holding his katana now.

"You'll threaten the yokai no matter what we do today," says Splinter, voice dark. "No. We will not hand Leonardo over to you. You will not lay a single finger on him."

"So you're saying you won't surrender." Bishop pauses. Leo takes a deep breath. "You agree, Draxum?"

"...Leonardo is my creation. My son." Draxum sounds resolute. "No. I will not surrender."

Bishop scoffs. "Your son... this animal."

It's only the fact that he's holding Leo, fragile and shaking in his arms, that keeps Raph from turning around and killing Bishop right then.

But he doesn't, and Bishop raises his voice.

"Baron Draxum is a known yokai terrorist, who has threatened mass murder on the civilian human population of the United States and the rest of the earth. These five yokai are co-conspirators, and this woman with them a sympathizer and accomplice. They are attacking this base with the intent to harm those inside, and so anything we do now is self defense."

There's a smile in his tone as he says it.

"Fire at will."

Around them, triggers are pulled, and gunshots sound off.

But the flash of blue under their feet is faster.

For the first time since coming outside, Raph chances a look over his shoulder at Bishop, just as he's falling through the portal. Bullets whiz overhead, and one hits home.

The last thing Raph sees as he disappears into the blue light is blood blooming across Bishop's suit.

-----

They fall out of the portal somewhere outside the fence. Raph's not sure exactly where. He's not even sure Leo was aiming, beyond getting them away.

He lets out a relieved laugh, looking around at everyone, in one piece and notably not shot. They still have to get back to the tank, but they made it. They're safe.

"Leo! You did it!" He whoops, looking down at his little brother. "I can't believe you really- ...Leo?"

That's when he realizes that Leo isn't moving.

He's slumped over in Raph's hold, no longer holding himself up. His katana slip out of his lax grip and fall into the snow with a soft whump.

"L-leo!? LEO!"

Part 1 | Part 2 (here) | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A |

#rottmnt #dandy fanfiction #rise raph #rise april #rise mikey #rise donnie #baron draxum #rise splinter #rise leo #cw violence #cw guns

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jji-lee · 2 months

Text

mark had no idea what had gotten into him. he had already been walking towards the library as he typed out a quick thank you to haechan, maybe he should’ve asked where he got head, to avoid that area, but he had other priorities in mind. he didn’t even realize he was speed walking until he got into the elevator and felt how fast his heart was beating, was he that out of shape?

as he walked up to the library doors he stopped to take a deep breath, fixing his hair, not like he was gonna go up to you anyways.

“um excuse me are you going in?”

he turned to eye the shorter male recognizing him from somewhere,

“oh uh yeah my bad.”

he ducked his head opening the door for the familiar stranger. he entered after him stopping to look around the library. it was exactly how he had imagined it, nerds everywhere. but he had to try his best to fit in, again ruffling his hair a bit and evening out the string on his hoodie. all he had to do was pretend to be interested in books and look around, hopefully catching a glimpse at the check out desk. but somehow he found a way to look as unnatural as possible.

he had been in the library for a total of 5 minutes and he had already dropped 3 books and disturbed at least 6 studying students. he bowed, apologizing for making noise. after all the ruckus, he somehow found his way to the drama-tragedy section, haechan would’ve loved this and- oh there’s the check out desk, he peeked through the shelves trying to see if someone was at the register,

“mark? what are you doing here?”

he quickly got off his tippy toes, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t just trying to spy on someone, of course dropping a book along the way.

you picked the book up handing it to him. mark lee at the library, now you had really seen everything. he threw you a dirty glance once he recognized you, snatching the book from your hand,

“this is a library, i’m obviously just looking for a book y/n, this is the one actually!”

he held up and shook the book in his hand. you let out a laugh,

“romeo and juliet? really?”

he raised his eyebrows looking at the title of the book he held, clearing his throat,

“yes, actually, maybe if you read something like this you’d actually, you know, understand the depth of romance.”

you grabbed the book from him,

“from the sound of it next door you don’t even, you know, understand the depth of romance. so if you’re done being a dumbass i can check you out so we don’t have to keep talking to each other.”

he smirked at you,

“you wanna check me out? didn’t know you were so straight forward. i knew you were dirty when i found out you liked to listen to me fuck through the walls.”

you scrunched your nose at him in disgust,

“who said i liked to listen, you’re just fucking loud, the whole floor can hear you but i’m the only one with the balls to tell you to shut up.”

he smirked again, obviously about to make another stupid remark, but you beat him to it holding the book up and pointing at it.

“before you embarrass yourself more, i meant check you out as in check out the book so you can take it home.”

your free hand reached for the scanner in your back pocket, aiming the red scanning light at his face. a soft beep sound filling the air as you pressed on the button.

no fucking way mark felt his stomach tighten at your words no fucking way you were the mystery girl working here at the library. he licked his lips trying his best to keep his cool,

“uh i’d prefer to be checked out by someone with a little more respect for their customers, is there anyone else that can help me?”

he pretended to look around for another worker. you rolled your eyes at him,

“i’m the only one on shift today, so suck it up markie.”

no fucking way, he knew he’d done a lot of bad shit in his life but he still went to church on sundays sometimes and even donated to cute kitten foundations again sometimes, so how could something this bad be happening to him! there was no way that you could be his sweet juliet.

he followed you as you strolled to the check out desk, getting behind the register before scanning his book. there was no way you could be his juliet, haechan must’ve given him the directions to another library, maybe his juliet was lying about working at the library and telling a little lie just like he was, but then wouldn’t that make her a-

“hellooo? earth to mark i know i’m a pretty sight but i really don’t want to spend any more time with you, give me your ID so i can scan it.”

oh right his id, he dug into his pockets, where did he put that damn ID. you stood behind the desk hand on your hip as you waited, he dug into his jean pockets and into his hoodie pocket, nothing, of course he left his wallet in his dorm. he laughed nervously,

“uh actually on second thought, i don’t really wanna check this book out.”

you raised an eyebrow, confused at his sudden change in demeanor.

“i’m gonna uh, go now, thanks for the help or whatever.”

he quickly shuffled away, looking back at you every few steps, what was wrong with him? you heard a loud slap against the desk table making you flinch,

“romeo and juliet huh, who knew mark lee was a romantic.”

you held up your hand towards the short brunette, eyes focusing back on mark.

“renjun you need to stop sneaking up on me.”

he hummed in response also turning to watch mark awkwardly leave the library.

“you should’ve seen him at the library entrance he was fixing his hair and hyping himself up to enter.”

now you turned to look at renjun, curiosity in your eyes,

“do you think he might have a crush on someone?”

renjun laughed at your question,

“that is literally impossible-”

but then he stopped himself, turning to point at you and nod,

“maybe you’re right! that explains the sudden silence next door!”

you couldn’t believe it. could mark lee have a crush?

you looked down at the book he had left, mind abandoning all thoughts of your neighbor's mystery crush. romeo and juliet huh? wonder what my romeo is doing right now...

𖦹 .ᐣ.ᐟ₊ ⊹ cryptic crush — [13] 10/10

previous — masterlist — next

notes : we all know y/n is hawt, so what will mark now do with this information ououououououou.....

taglist : @sunghoonsgfreal , @dalsosapple , @nanaxwi , @neverbeurs , @miichellehciim , @h-aechanie , @hizhu , @mystverse , @wonwootakemyheart , @ppeachyttae , @jae-n0 , @onlyhyunjin , @alethea-moon , @onyourmark-99 , @sunnystarred , @p-d1ddy , @hisrkive , @flwrs4marklee , @haechskiss , @rutheaflowers , @busy-daydreaming02 , @byeonwooseokabs , @bunniin , @odxrilove , @candied-czennie , @injunnie-lemon , @sunflowerhae , @nosungluv , @222brainrot , @vklve , @aerivrs , @slayhaechan , @aek1ra , @honeynanamin , @roseangelxfuma , @starfilledgaze , @meowtella , @grassbutneo , @hyuck-me

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

Text

It was all downhill after the Cuecat

Sometime in 2001, I walked into a Radio Shack on San Francisco’s Market Street and asked for a Cuecat: a handheld barcode scanner that looked a bit like a cat and a bit like a sex toy. The clerk handed one over to me and I left, feeling a little giddy. I didn’t have to pay a cent.

The Cuecat was a good idea and a terrible idea. The good idea was to widely distribute barcode scanners to computer owners, along with software that could read and decode barcodes; the company’s marketing plan called for magazines and newspapers to print barcodes alongside ads and articles, so readers could scan them and be taken to the digital edition. To get the Cuecat into widespread use, the company raised millions in the capital markets, then mass-manufactured these things and gave them away for free at Radio Shacks around the country. Every Wired and Forbes subscriber got one in the mail!

That was the good idea (it’s basically a prototype for today’s QR-codes). The terrible idea was that this gadget would spy on you. Also, it would only work with special barcodes that had to be licensed from the manufacturer. Also, it would only work on Windows.

https://web.archive.org/web/20001017162623/http://www.businessweek.com/bwdaily/dnflash/sep2000/nf20000928_029.htm

But the manufacturer didn’t have the last word! Not at all. A couple of enterprising hardware hackers — Pierre-Philippe Coupard and Michael Rothwell — tore down a Cuecat, dumped its ROM, and produced their own driver for it — a surveillance-free driver that worked with any barcode. You could use it to scan the UPCs on your books or CDs or DVDs to create a catalog of your media; you could use it to scan UPCs on your groceries to make a shopping list. You could do any and every one of these things, because the Cuecat was yours.

Cuecat’s manufacturer, Digital Convergence, did not like this at all. They sent out legal demand letters and even shut down some of the repositories that were hosting alternative Cuecat firmware. They changed the license agreement that came with the Cuecat software CD to prohibit reverse-engineering.

http://www.cexx.org/cuecat.htm

It didn’t matter, both as a practical matter and as a matter of law. As a practical matter, the (ahem) cat was out of the bag: there were so many web-hosting companies back then, and people mirrored the code to so many of them, the company would have its hands full chasing them all down and intimidating them into removing the code.

Then there was the law: how could you impose license terms on a gift? How could someone be bound by license terms on a CD that they simply threw away without ever opening it, much less putting it in their computer?

https://slashdot.org/story/00/09/18/1129226/digital-convergence-changes-eula-and-gets-cracked

In the end, Cuecat folded and sold off its remaining inventory. The early 2000s were not a good time to be a tech company, much less a tech company whose business model required millions of people to meekly accept a bad bargain.

Back then, tech users didn’t feel any obligation to please tech companies’ shareholders: if they backed a stupid business, that was their problem, not ours. Venture capitalists were capitalists — if they wanted us give to them according to their need and take from them according to their ability, they should be venture communists.

Last August, philosopher and Centre for Technomoral Futures director Shannon Vallor tweeted, “The saddest thing for me about modern tech’s long spiral into user manipulation and surveillance is how it has just slowly killed off the joy that people like me used to feel about new tech. Every product Meta or Amazon announces makes the future seem bleaker and grayer.”

https://twitter.com/ShannonVallor/status/1559659655097376768

She went on: “I don’t think it’s just my nostalgia, is it? There’s no longer anything being promised to us by tech companies that we actually need or asked for. Just more monitoring, more nudging, more draining of our data, our time, our joy.”

https://twitter.com/ShannonVallor/status/1559663985821106177

Today on Tumblr, @wilwheaton responded: “[T]here is very much no longer a feeling of ‘How can this change/improve my life?’ and a constant dread of ‘How will this complicate things as I try to maintain privacy and sanity in a world that demands I have this thing to operate.’”

https://wilwheaton.tumblr.com/post/698603648058556416/cory-doctorow-if-you-see-this-and-have-thoughts

Wil finished with, “Cory Doctorow, if you see this and have thoughts, I would LOVE to hear them.”

I’ve got thoughts. I think this all comes back to the Cuecat.

When the Cuecat launched, it was a mixed bag. That’s generally true of technology — or, indeed, any product or service. No matter how many variations a corporation offers, they can never anticipate all the ways that you will want or need to use their technology. This is especially true for the users the company values the least — poor people, people in the global south, women, sex workers, etc.

That’s what makes the phrase “So easy your mom can use it” particularly awful “Moms” are the kinds of people whose priorities and difficulties are absent from the room when tech designers gather to plan their next product. The needs of “moms” are mostly met by mastering, configuring and adapting technology, because tech doesn’t work out of the box for them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/19/the-weakest-link/#moms-are-ninjas

(As an alternative, I advocate for “so easy your boss can use it,” because your boss gets to call up the IT department and shout, “I don’t care what it takes, just make it work!” Your boss can solve problems through raw exercise of authority, without recourse to ingenuity.)

Technology can’t be understood separately from technology users. This is the key insight in Donald Norman’s 2004 book Emotional Design, which argued that the ground state of all technology is broken, and the overarching task of tech users is to troubleshoot the things they use:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/29/banjo-nazis/#cuckoos-egg

Troubleshooting is both an art and a science: it requires both a methodical approach and creative leaps. The great crisis of troubleshooting is that the more frustrated and angry you are, the harder it is to be methodical or creative. Anger turns attention into a narrow tunnel of brittle movements and thinking.

In Emotional Design, Norman argues that technology should be beautiful and charming, because when you like a technology that has stopped working, you are able to troubleshoot it in an expansive, creative, way. Emotional Design was not merely remarkable for what it said, but for who said it.

Donald Norman, after all, was the author of the hugely influential 1998 classic The Design of Everyday Things, which counseled engineers and designers to put function over form — to design things that work well, even if that meant stripping away ornament and sidelining aesthetics.

https://www.basicbooks.com/titles/don-norman/the-design-of-everyday-things/9780465050659/

With Emotional Design, Norman argued that aesthetics were functional, because aesthetics primed users to fix the oversights and errors and blind spots of designers. It was a manifesto for competence and humility.

And yet, as digital technology has permeated deeper into our lives, it has grown less configurable, not more. Companies today succeed where Cuecat failed. Consolidation in the online world means that if you remove a link from one search engine and four social media sites, the material in question vanishes for 99% of internet users.

It’s even worse for apps: anyone who succeeds in removing an app from two app stores essentially banishes it from the world. One mobile platform uses technological and legal countermeasures to make it virtually impossible to sideload an app; the other one relies on strong-arm tactics and deceptive warnings to do so.

That means that when a modern Coupard and Rothwell decides to unfuck some piece of technology — to excise the surveillance and proprietary media requirements, leaving behind the welcome functionality — they can only do so with the sufferance of the manufacturer. If the manufacturer doesn’t like an add-on, mod, plug-in or overlay, they can use copyright takedowns, anticircumvention law, patent threats, trademark threats, cybersecurity law, contract law and other “IP” to simply banish the offending code:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Many of these laws carry dire penalties. For example, distributing a tool that bypasses an “access control” so that you can change the software on a gadget (say, to make your printer accept third-party ink) is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a $500k fine and a 5-year prison sentence.

If Cuecat’s manufacturers had simply skinned their firmware with a thin scrim of DRM, they could have threatened Coupard and Rothwell with prison sentences. The developments in “IP” over the two decades since the Cuecat have conjured up a new body of de facto law that Jay Freeman calls “felony contempt of business model.”

Once we gave companies the power to literally criminalize the reconfiguration of their products, everything changed. In the Cuecat era, a corporate meeting to plan a product that acted against its users’ interests had to ask, “How will we sweeten the pot and/or obfuscate our code so that our users don’t remove the anti-features we’re planning to harm them with?”

But in a world of Felony Contempt of Business Model, that discussion changes to “Given that we can literally imprison anyone who helps our users get more out of this product, how can we punish users who are disloyal enough to simply quit our service or switch away from our product?”

That is, “how can we raise the switching costs of our products so that users who are angry at us keep using our products?” When Facebook was planning its photos product, they deliberately designed it to tempt users into making it the sole repository of their family photos, in order to hold those photos ransom to keep Facebook users from quitting for G+:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

Companies claim that their lock-in strategies are about protecting their users: “Move into our walled garden, for it is a fortress, whose battlements bristle with fearsome warriors who will defend you from the bandits who roam the countryside”:

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

But this “feudal security” offers a terrible temptation to the lords of these fortresses, because once you are inside those walls, the fortress can easily be converted to a prison: these companies can abuse you with impunity, for so long as the cost of the abuse is less than the cost of the things you must give up when you leave.

The tale that companies block you from overriding their decisions is for your own good was always dubious, because companies simply can’t anticipate all the ways their products will fail you. No design team knows as much about your moment-to-moment struggles as you do.

But even where companies are sincere in their desire to be the most benevolent of dictators, the gun on the mantelpiece in Act I is destined to go off by Act III: eventually, the temptation to profit by hurting you will overpower whatever “corporate ethics” once stayed the hand of the techno-feudalist who rules over your fortress. Under feudal security, you are one lapse in corporate leadership from your protector turning into your tormentor.

When Apple launched the Ipad 12 years ago, I published an editorial entitled “Why I won’t buy an iPad (and think you shouldn’t, either),” in which I predicted that app stores would inevitable be turned against users:

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

Today, Apple bans apps if they “use…a third-party service” unless they “are specifically permitted to do so under the service’s terms of use.” In other words, Apple specifically prohibits developers from offering tools that displease other companies’ shareholders, no matter whether this pleases Apple customers:

https://developer.apple.com/app-store/review/guidelines/#intellectual-property

Note that clause 5.2.2 of Apple’s developer agreement doesn’t say “You mustn’t violate a legally enforceable term of service.” It just says, “Thou shalt not violate a EULA.” EULAs are garbage-novellas of impenetrable legalese, larded with unenforceable and unconscionable terms.

Apple sometimes will displease other companies on your behalf. For example, it instituted a one-click anti-tracking setting for Ios that cost Facebook $10 billion in a matter of months:

https://www.cnbc.com/2022/02/02/facebook-says-apple-ios-privacy-change-will-cost-10-billion-this-year.html

But Apple also has big plans to expand its margins by growing its own advertising network. When Apple customers choose ad-blockers that block Apple’s ads, will Apple permit it?

https://www.wired.com/story/apple-is-an-ad-company-now/

The problem with app stores isn’t whether your computing experience is “curated” — that is, whether entities you trust can produce collections of software they vouch for. The problem is when you can’t choose someone else — when leaving a platform involves high switching costs, whether that’s having to replace hardware, buy new media, or say goodbye to your friends, customers, community or family.

When a company can leverage its claims to protecting you to protect itself from you — from choices you might make that ultimately undermine its shareholders interests, even if they protect your own interests — it would be pretty goddamned naive to expect it to do otherwise.

More and more of our tools are now digital tools, whether we’re talking about social media or cars, tractors or games consoles, toothbrushes or ovens:

https://www.hln.be/economie/gentse-foodboxleverancier-mealhero-failliet-klanten-weten-van-niets~a3139f52/

And more and more, those digital tools look more like apps than Cuecats, with companies leveraging “IP” to let them control who can compete with them — and how. Indeed, browsers are becoming more app-like, rather than the other way around.

Back in 2017, the W3C took the unprecedented step of publishing a DRM standard despite this standard not having anything like the consensus that is the norm for W3C publications, and the W3C rejected a proposal to protect people who reverse-engineered that standard to add accessibility features or correct privacy defects:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

And while we’re seeing remarkable progress on Right to Repair and other policies that allow the users of technology to override the choices of vendors, there’s another strong regulatory current that embraces companies’ ability to control their users, in the hopes that these big companies will police their users to prevent bad stuff, from controversial measures like filtering for copyright infringement to more widely supported ideas like blocking child sex abuse material (CSAM, AKA “child porn”).

There are two problems with this. First, if we tell companies they must control their users (that is, block them from running plugins, mods, skins, filters, etc) then we can’t tell them that they must not control their users. It comes down to whether you want to make Mark Zuckerberg better at his job, or whether you want to abolish the job of “Mark Zuckerberg.”

https://doctorow.medium.com/unspeakable-8c7bbd4974bc

Then there’s the other problem — the gun on the mantelpiece problem. If we give big companies the power to control their users, they will face enormous internal pressure to abuse that power. This isn’t a hypothetical risk: Facebook’s top executives stand accused of accepting bribes from Onlyfans in exchange for adding performers who left Onlyfans to a terrorist watchlist, which meant they couldn’t use other platforms:

https://gizmodo.com/clegg-meta-executives-identified-in-onlyfans-bribery-su-1849649270

I’m not a fan of terrorist watchlists, for obvious reasons. But letting Facebook manage the terrorist watchlist was clearly a mistake. But Facebook’s status as a “trusted reporter” grows directly out of Facebook’s good work on moderation. The lesson is the same as the one with Apple and the ads — just because the company sometimes acts in our interests, it doesn’t follow that we should always trust them to do so.

Back to Shannon Vallor’s question about the origins of “modern tech’s long spiral into user manipulation and surveillance” and how that “killed off the joy that people like me used to feel about new tech”; and Wil Wheaton’s “constant dread of ‘How will this complicate things as I try to maintain privacy and sanity.”

Tech leaders didn’t get stupider or crueler since those halcyon days. The tech industry was and is filled with people who made their bones building weapons of mass destruction for the military-industrial complex; IBM, the company that gave us the PC, built the tabulating machines for Nazi concentration camps:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IBM_and_the_Holocaust

We didn’t replace tech investors and leaders with worse people — we have the same kinds of people but we let them get away with more. We let them buy up all their competitors. We let them use the law to lock out competitors they couldn’t buy, including those who would offer their customers tools to lower their switching costs and block abusive anti-features.

We decided to create “Felony Contempt of Business Model,” and let the creators of the next Cuecat reach beyond the walls of their corporate headquarters and into the homes of their customers, the offices of their competitors, and the handful of giant tech sites that control our online discourse, to reach into those places and strangle anything that interfered with their commercial desires.

That’s why plans to impose interoperability on tech giants are so exciting — because the problem with Facebook isn’t “the people I want to speak to are all gathered in one convenient place,” no more than the problem with app stores isn’t “these companies generally have good judgment about which apps I want to use.”

The problem is that when those companies don’t have your back, you have to pay a blisteringly high price to leave their walled gardens. That’s where interop comes in. Think of how an interoperable Facebook could let you leave behind Zuckerberg’s dominion without forswearing access to the people who matter to you:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

Cuecats were cool. The people who made them were assholes. Interop meant that you could get the cool gadget and tell the assholes to fuck off. We have lost the ability to do so, little by little, for decades, and that’s why a new technology that seems cool no longer excites. That’s why we feel dread — because we know that a cool technology is just bait to lure us into a prison that masquerades as a fortress.

Image: Jerry Whiting (modified) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:CueCat_barcode_scanner.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A Cuecat scanner with a bundled cable and PS/2 adapter; it resembles a plastic cat and also, slightly, a sex toy. It is posed on a Matrix movie 'code waterfall' background and limned by a green 'supernova' light effect.]

#pluralistic

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iwendix · 6 months

Text

BABY, CAN YOU

CALL ME BACK?

I MISS YOU

request: "wonyoung smut." | me: i accidentally deleted the message with request(I'm so sorry😭). but here you go, wony is here!! |

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: not proofreaded(probably misspellings, etc), smut with a little bit of a plot. fingering, grinding(?), kisses, praising, gentleness, needy!wonyoung, sub! wonyoung, gentle and loving sex, some teasing. idol!wony x idol!reader(sixth member le sserafim), mentioned!eunchae.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: being in different groups sometimes caused inconvenience, but you always found a way to be together and not leave each other feeling left out or unloved. you tried to arrange your schedules so that you could have free time together, usually it wasn’t that difficult and overall, this type of planning was very convenient for you. at least that's what reader thought before wonyoung suddenly called her when she was in cafe with eunchae.

lately you have been very tired, preparing for the comeback that should come out very soon, trainings haw been very exhausting. besides, the choreo was quite intense... you preferred not to think about the fact that dancing and singing at the same time will be even more difficult, you just hope for the best, honestly. one of the movements in the choreography is quite complex, all of you didn't make it in a first try. though, eunchae had really hard time with it. for several practices in a row already, she was unable to do this movement, which made her very worried and stressed, but all of members tried to help and comfort her. anyway, as they say, practice bear victory, soroday finally she showed some progress and maid it. after the practice today you promised to take your makne to a cafe. she's trying so hard for this comeback, you can't help but want to try cheer her up at least a little. you were so focused on your work that you didn't even noticed missed call from wony and voicemails that she sent you later.

you two were in a cafe, you were sipping your coffee, listening attentatively to how excitedly eunchae was telling you a story. you nodded when she asked you something, and overall, everything was going absolutely calm until you heard your phone vibrate in your bag. that's when you understand that you haven't checked your messages and calls since the very morning. you apologized to eunchae and went to the restroom. looking around and making sure that you are alone here, you took your phone out of your pocket, put your finger on the fingerprint scanner and opened the notifications. seeing the missed call from wonyoung and her voicemails, your eyes widened, for a moment you felt worrying, even panic. the first thought was: what if something happened? though, you decide to listen messages and just find out already, not letting yourself start panicking with no reason.

"baby, can you call me back? i miss you" light smile tugged your lips as you hear wony's voice. she calls you baby, it makes your heart flutter every time. you think that you surely should call her after listening to all messages.

you tapped on second voicemail.

"baby... please..." that's all you managed to make out between these sweet little moans and whimpers you heard with a light sound of some music on the background. you feel warmth spreading in your cheeks and body. is this an urgent enough reason to leave the cafe early?... definitely. wonyoung sent this message not long ago, you should hurry up.

you return from the restroom to the cafe itself, sit down at the table again, continuing to listen to eunchae's story, not wanting to seem rude or as if you're bored with her. your cheeks still red and you feel how with every second something tightening in your lower abdomen. you can’t control your thoughts and concentrate on your bandmate’s voice, your thoughts involuntarily return to those voice messages that wonyoung sent you. you squeeze your thighs under the table, trying to somehow calm down that fire you feel down there. your hand clenches into a fist, your nails dig into your palm, grounding you a little. eunchae, seems to notice how you squirming in your seet. she tilted her head to the side, looking at you a little worried.

"are you okay? you're face kinda red and you're shaking a little... are you feeling fine? maybe you got sick?" she asked you with such genuine worry, you can't help but smile to herself, feeling happy that she cares about you and a little embarrassed at the same time because you're definitely not sick.

"I'm... yes, maybe i got sick..."

you didn’t have to say another word before eunchae had already called you a taxi and sent you home, ordering you to get treatment. in the taxi you had to change the route, you need to go to wony's, not to yours but you couldn't tell about it eunchae. the driver grumbled a little at you for changing the route, but still accepted the situation. some minutes later you were already standing in front of wonyoung's front door, taking the keys out of your bag, and then trying to push the key into the keyhole with yours trembling with impatience hands. several very difficult minutes pass until you finally open the door, go inside and lock it behind you. you take off your shoes and coat, trow them on the hanger, without caring how they would look after that.

"wony, dear! I'm home..." you say as you walk into the bedroom and you stop in the door frame, with your mouth open. you close your mouth and open again, wanting to say something but nothing come out. your girlfriend sleeping on the bed in nothing but your shirt, cuddling to the plush bear you gave her for valentine's day. her small frame in this king sized bed looks just too adorable.you quietly take off your street clothes, changing into a similar shirt and carefully crawl onto the bed next to wonyoung, taking the teddy bear from her hands and lying on it's place. you press closer to her a little, feeling the warmth of her body and the corner of your lips rises up. you kiss her forehead, quietly whispering to yourself*

"such a sweetheart... she couldn't wait for me... oh, she's probably tired..."

suddenly wonyoung opened her eyes, looking around a little sleepy and confusedly, a sweet yawn leaves her lips. It takes her a couple of seconds to wake up enough to finally notice you lying near, waiting for her to acknowledge your presence.

"baby!..." she jumped on you with a tight hug, her face hiding into your neck, taking in aroma of your perfume. your hands gently roaming along her waist in gentle circling motions as you shuggle her closer.

"aw, wony, you missed me so much?" you can't help but feel butterflies and already familiar feeling of something hot in your lower abdomen when she is so close to you.

"yes. of course I really missed you!... I thought you listened to my voicemails..." she pouted and you already know this upset little pout, this is the beginning of the disaster to say at least. you immediately shake your head and give her gentle "mwah" ob the cheek.

"i listened to them, don't be so pouty. by the way, i liked the way your moans sound so sweet and needy." you give her cheek playful pinch.

she blushed a little and rolled her eyes, giving your shoulder little nudge. not her fault you were away for so long, right? she seems in thoughts for a couple of seconds and then everything happened really fast: you just find yourself lying in the bed with wony sitting on top of you and straddling your hips. you feel her wetness on your skin, your hands lying on her waist gently helping her guide her movements as she grinded against you. she unbuttons her shirt, exposing her chest and collarbones to your gaze. her skin is so soft and light like silk and you can’t take your eyes off her. the way her hips swaying enticingly as she rided you, the way her breasts moving in the same rhythm and the way you can feel more and more of her wetness covering you. you hear her every gasp and needy whimper as she closed her eyes feeling pleasure closer wigh every second. she is just so addictive in every single way you can't help yourself but want her all.

"so wet and still nothing inside? tch, such an inconvenience..." you say teasingly, smirk tugged your lips as you take in how flushed she looks and how her thighs are trying to squeeze around your hips, so desperately craving more touch and friction. you gently flip her on her back, your fingers trace haotic patterns across her skin, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from her lips. eith every touch and whisper, you feel her need for you growing. you slowly slip two fingers inside her, feeling the warmth and wetness enveloping your digits. wonyoung's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering shut as pleasure washes over her face.

"please, baby... you're so... taking me so good..." she whisper into your ear and you feel like your body trembling from how tight her walls gripping your fingers and how nicely she asking you for more.

wony arches her back, her hips backing against your hand, trying to get you deeper. her muscles clench around your fingers, each movement drawing out sighs of blissful satisfaction and her speech turned into incomprehensible whimpers. with her nails dig into your back, leaving faint trails of pleasure across your skin as she reached her peak, cumming all over your fingers with your name on her lips. you gently take out your fingers, kissing her temple and whispering praises, saying how good she is, and how much you love her.

#wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x fem reader #wony #wlw #character x reader #idol x reader #wlw smut

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dragonnarrative-writes · 3 months

Text

Slasher Handler Interlude - Soap

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Freedom tastes like a cold beer and mince and tatties.

Johnny gives his second best roguish wink to the waitress when she comes by to clear the table. She blushes and pouts her lips in a promising way before another, older woman chases her away from the section.

“Don’t you be sniffin’ around ‘ere,” she tells him, no nonsense. “She’s a good girl, don’t need your kind of trouble.”

Johnny props his head on one hand and smiles up at her. “Aye, ma’am. Don’t want to trouble a sweet bird like tha’. But maybe you have use for a bit o’ trouble?”

She’s not at all impressed with him as she drops the bill, which reminds him that he hasn’t gotten a haircut or shave yet. The little cash he has on hand goes to his lunch, and then he’s back on the street. Breathing free air feels damn good, so he strides into the park at the end of the block to think about his next steps.

The fact that he only had cash enough for a single meal tells him that Price didn’t know he was getting released today. That or he’s punishing Johnny, but he’s not gotten in any trouble his whole incarceration, mòran taing. (Many thanks.) So probably, it’s the former. That means he needs to call the old bastard. Unless...

He nicks a phone with a bump, apology, and a smile. Knocks the man’s wallet from his hand and gives it back with an exaggerated wince. It’s not hard to guess the man’s pin and add his own fingerprint to the scanner before disabling the damn lost phone app as he strides out of the park. Two minutes later, he’s dialing a number he’s memorized back and forward.

“This is Laswell.”

“Hello, Laswell,” he purrs. “Guess who’s out on good behavior?”

She must pull the phone from her ear, but he still hears as she swears rather impressively. “MacTavish. Who knows you’re out?”

“Naebody, apparently,” Soap says, exiting the opposite end of the park. “Barely had enough cash fer a scran.”

“How long ago did you call John?”

“Now, why would ah call Price, Laswell? Pretty sure he paid to ‘ave me killed in there.”

“No, he didn’t,” she sighs.

“Nae, Price’d do the deed himself,” Johnny laughs. “Pretty sure it woulda been Castle. Anyway, you got a pretty little lock box at the bank ah’m lookin at?”

“Do not rob a bank, Soap.”

“You wound me. I got out on good behavior, remember?”

“Soap.” Her voice brooks no nonsense. “Do not rob that bank. I’ll call John to wire money over.”

“Swell,” he chuckles. “Three hours?”

“You in a rush?”

“Well, ah gotta toss the phone back in the park.”

“Wonderful. Give it four hours. And Soap?”

“Aye?”

“I paid to have you shanked. Rachel sends her best.”

“Aw, ah kent ah was yer favorite, Laswell.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #slasher handler #soap suds #john soap mctavish #watcher one kate laswell #Soap + Kate = BFFs 4 Eva #Rachel is Kate's wife #castle is an oc of charliemwrites #other people's gorgeous ocs #(:

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

The Devil Wears Armani 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

—posting to the correct blog lol—

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The appletini at girls' night does little to ease you through a restless night. You’re not a traveller. You’ve never flown before. The only reason you have a passport is it was required for the job. You didn’t expect to actually use it.

You give into consciousness around 3am and double check your bag for everything you need. You forego your usual coffee as you fear an anxious bladder adding to your addled state. You still can’t figure out why Mr. Stark told you to come along. You don’t have anything blocked into his calendar. He’s had weekend meetings before but you usually pop into zoom to take notes and nothing else.

You spare the fare for a cab as the streetcar isn’t in service yet and you don’t feel like venturing into the underground at this hour. The ride is swift in the dead streets of the city. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so empty.

You arrive at the airport and realise you’re missing a very important piece. A boarding pass? Terminal information? Any sort of direction to find where you need to be. Well, it never hurts to ask for help even if you don’t get it.

You enter and go to the counter. The woman behind it looks tired as dark rings stain her sockets and she fixes her smile to greet you. You nervously clench your jaw and exhale through your nose.

“Hi, I... I’m supposed to be flying, er, private? I work for Tony Stark?” You creak out through your dry throat. You need water.

“Mr. Stark?” She lowers her brow, “do you have proof of employment?”

“Erm, yeah,” you unhook your keyring from your purse and shove it towards her. Your company ID is hooked onto the cluster of novelty attachments and keys.

“I need to make a call,” she says as she examines your identification.

Great.

You bob nervously on the other side of the counter as the attendant speaks quietly into the speaker. Your phone buzzes and you jingle the keys as you find it. Stark has sent you a simple message; ‘Terminal 1, tarmac. Now.’

As you peek up over the counter, the woman hangs up. “You need to head up to Terminal 1. Find an employee there, in a white shirt like mine, and show them this.” She kits a few keys and her printer grinds with great effort. She hands you a boarding pass but most of it is empty. There’s only a code at the bottom.

You thank her and head off. You scramble through security, walking through the scanner as your bag rides the conveyor through and x-ray. You retrieve your things on the other side and run off to reach Mr. Stark before he gets too impatient. He’s probably already agitated.

You check your watch. It’s only 5:01am. You’re on time, right?

You follow the signs to terminal one and find a large man standing by a ramp entrance. You approach him and show him the pass. He points you to another employee at the far end as he talks over his walkie talkie to them. You cross the tiled floor to meet the man and he beckons you towards another ramp.

You’re led down to the tarmac and left to shuffle across it on your own. You’re only told to approach big jet waiting by a tower set of stairs. There’s an attendant at the bottom who greets your brightly and you show the pass again.

“Mr. Stark is expecting you. May I take your bag?” She offers.

“No thank, I can handle it,” you nod and lift the bag off its wheels.

You climb a stair at a time and pass another attendant at the top. She directs you to leave your bag in the front carriage and you roll it behind the wall of webbing there. You turn to the ivory curtain and peek through tentatively. The movement of fabric draws Mr. Stark’s gaze from his phone.

“Get in here,” he demands, “about time, George. I was about to fall asleep.”

You push through and near him, “sir, did you need coffee?”

“They got the long-legged ones for that,” he waves away your offer with his lecherous allusion to the pretty, tall attendants. “Sit.”

You look at the chair on the other side of the table, across from him, and you hesitate. You lower yourself into the cushy seat and cross one leg over the other, your foot bouncing anxiously. You clutch your hands together and stare at Mr. Stark.

“You look tired as hell,” he cackles.

“Sir, it’s early.”

“Ah, don’t let that ruin an all-inclusive. Tell me, Georgie, a girl like you, are you jet-setting every weekend? You got billionaires flying you to the Caribbean on the reg? Didn’t think you were the popular type.”

“No, sir, I--” you try not to wince at his insinuation. You are all too aware that you’re on the bottom rung of the ladder he sits atop of. “Thank you for this. It’s very nice of you to bring me along.”

“You are very welcome,” he says smugly, “move.”

He points to the seat next to him.

“Oh, uh,” you pull your hands apart and push yourself up with the armrests, “sorry.”

He grunts, irritated, and signals with two fingers. As an attendant approaches, you sidle around the table and in front of Stark to get to the other seat. You feel a brush on your thigh but ignore it. It’s a tight squeeze.

He asks for an espresso as you lower yourself down. He reaches over and pinches the fabric of your pants, just at the top of your knee. He sniffs.

“This isn’t very Caribbean-friendly. You’re gonna sweat your tits off,” he derides.

You try not to show your embarrassment, ignoring the urge to cover your chest at his comment. Out of habit, you put on your usual attire. A cardigan, a tidy blouse, and slacks. He huffs again and tugs at the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Get rid of this,” he demands.

“Oh, uh...” You sit forward as you undo the single button and you shrug out of the wool. He swipes it away and tosses it on the floor.

The attendant returns with his espresso and gathers up your cardigan as you send her an apologetic look. Stark takes his coffee and tastes it before setting it on the table. He turns to you and clucks again. You let out a squeak as he reaches to pop the top button of your blouse, then the next. You flatten yourself to the seat helplessly.

“Better, gotta let those things breathe,” he winks and sits back with a smirk.

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #the devil wears armani #series #drabble #au #bad bosses #iron man #avengers #mcu #marvel

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scribble-dribble-writes · 1 year

Text

When the night calls

---

Pairing: Miguel o'hara x female reader

Word count: 1800

Warnings: none

Content: hehe angst, love sick soft Miguel 🥹😌

---

When the moon rises, so does your alternate life. The one you’ve kept hidden, the one that could cause damage and let people know of your weakness. Being a superhero meant having no loose ends, strings that you could get caught by, so in a life that was deemed for you to be lonely in, you had found a way out of it.

You evaded the street scanners and cameras as you scaled the building, your fingers itching to get to a specific balcony. The lights were out, it looked like no one was there but that was all part of the illusion. To distract and keep wandering eyes at bay.

Your feet touched the cold floor of the veranda and swiftly moved towards the sliding door to see if it was open. It was a sign, if it was locked, he wasn’t home. And if it slid open like now, it meant he was waiting for you. A web of secrecy. You both preferred it this way, away from all the attention, atleast you did. But with how busy he was with keeping watch over the multiverse, these rendezvous got a lot less frequent.

Sure, you saw him around HQ or worked on a couple missions together but it never amounted to how he let you see him during these nights. His tenderness and whispers, the sound of his bare feet padding across to the bedroom, his time in the kitchen as he made dinner with his headphones on utterly lost in his own world. Nothing could be more precious.

The moment you entered the premise, you felt your wrist get caught in the hold of his arms. You didn’t protest as he led you in deeper, away from the dark and into the candlelit room. You knew you were late and during these days, he didn’t like to be left alone. You were feeling his touch for the first time in weeks, you would pass by in corridors without as much a glance or a faint trace of your fingers. So to feel his warmth sink into your bones felt intoxicating.

Having concluded you were in a safe space, he spun you around to face him, his eyes taking in every glimpse of you, his fingers shooting up to the edge of your mask to softly remove it, he was tired of all these layers of security you had established within this relationship.

His gaze finding yours in the dim light and the thirst in it meant he wanted more. He pulled you close as mumbled in Spanish, frustrated he couldn't get enough of you, to pull down the zipper of your suit, removing it from your body as though he was allergic to latex. To then wrap his arms around you as if that was the only covering allowed, when your skin was free from being trapped and free for his hands to roam about. You rested your head on his chest, his white tank top smelling fresh with the scent of his cologne mixed with laundry detergent.

The mundane and ordinary seemed more exotic and addicting than this little stunt you both were pulling off.

“You’ve grown impatient.”, you hummed.

“No more games to play?”, you chuckled to which he grumbled.

“You’re the one playing games, I’m clear as to what I want.”, he spoke into your ear.

You pursed your lips, his fingers digging into your hips telling you in gestures how he didn’t want to be fed scraps of attention.

“You were the one who suggested this… this setup.”, you pushed away from him to catch his gaze. His arms not letting you go out his hold.

“And now when I want it to end, you keep it going.”, his eyes narrowed down on you, the candle light giving him a golden glow.

“porqué es eso?”, he leaned closer, his lips almost on yours. But you tilted your head, causing his lips to land on your cheek.

What should have been a fun night was already turning into an argument.

“Because…”, you couldn’t meet his worrying gaze, his tender eyes had a way of undoing your heart.

“If we stop this, then what are we?”, you bit back what you wanted to say and instead asked him a question in return.

He was thinking through his answer, you could tell by the way his brows furrowed but when he met your gaze, he didn’t give you an answer either.

“Exactly.”, you got out of his hold because he let you go.

Picking up your suit that laid on the floor, you made your way towards the bathroom. A warm shower felt better than continuing this conversation. But to your surprise he trailed behind you, his large frame blocking the doorway as he leaned on it.

“We’re friends, Miguel. This is all there is to offer.”, you said looking into the mirror as you tied your hair up.

“We’re more than that, amor.”, he said with certainty.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love with me.”, you laughed but he didn’t.

“And what if I have?”, he asked which made you pause as you reached for the face wash.

Your throat ran dry, all your worst fears were coming true, this setup with him worked well because deep down you both had lost your families. You lost your fiance to a freak accident much like how he had lost his home.

So this deep rooted fear never left your system, that if you began to enjoy your life, it would be ripped away from you.

“What do you want me to say to that?”, you shook it off, continuing to set up for your shower.

“I want you to tell me why you keep fighting this?”, he held a towel out for you and with every small gesture it was beginning to get difficult.

Difficult to lie to him, difficult to not confess that you loved him. But, his honey glazed eyes were on you, the fear, the anxiety, losing him would be..

You didn’t want to finish that thought because even thinking about it would lead to another heartbreak, one you weren’t strong enough to survive.

You couldn’t answer him either, you turned away taking the towel and pulled the shower curtain to a close. Maybe if you turn on the water, you could cry in peace, without leaving evidence. But it was clear that nothing was going to stop him, he peeled away the screen to join you as he got out of his clothes.

His eyes softening seeing your hurt expression, his hands slipping onto your waist again to pull you close, that his constant need to touch was somehow to reassure himself that he had hope to save this relationship, resting his head on yours the water cascaded over you both in an attempt to wash away all the distress.

“What are you so scared off?”, he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“How aren’t you afraid?”, you sobbed, his calm voice working it's way into your soul.

“We’ve both loved and lost it all.”, you wrapped your arms around him, like he was the anchor to your storm.

“How are you so sure about this?”, you questioned him, his hand traced up the curve of your waist reassuring you of his presence. That he was here no matter how heavy your grief was.

“Because its you.”, he said confidently and you braced yourself to look up at him, his eyes warm and sure.

“You’re worth the risk, mi vida.”, he wiped the water droplets on your cheeks but only you knew that he had seen the invisible tears.

Here in his arms, here in the myrrh of his words, it felt safe and secure. That this was truly possible, loving each other and living to see where it went, to hold onto him forever.

“But you don’t seem to miss me as much as I miss you.”, he confided in you, the thoughts that he had held back had now come up to the surface.

“You don’t answer my calls, you don’t let me in.”, he continued, communicating his hurt, hurt that you had caused and now you couldn’t hold back either. You placed your hand on his jaw and watched him lean into it.

“Now I can’t sleep, I can’t work, you’re always on my mind. Making me constantly worry about finding us a cure.”, you see the pain in his eyes and you were angry with yourself. Your actions had caused you to withhold the love he craved, the love he deserved, from him.

As you traced your thumb over the edge of his lips, you felt your heart break. It was inevitable, that he was so strong having survived through the worst and then here you were, given the privilege of being held by him only to let your fears to wreck it.

“So do your worst and tell me the truth.”, he turned serious and you could feel it, that if you didn’t fight for this, you were going to lose it. You were going to lose him.

“Dime que no me amas.”, he demanded but the way he held you by your shoulders and stared into your eyes, he was begging you for an answer.

Your lips parted, he was convinced you didn’t love him when you were fighting your past to let yourself to embrace a future with him. So you stayed quiet, his eyes glimmering with the faintest hope.

“I’m growing tired of this distance you maintain, querida.”, he pushed away the strand of hair that followed the flow of water to get stuck over your forehead.

“So go easy on me and tell me you don’t feel the same.”, he pleaded again, his voice turning soft, losing the authority he had when he was in HQ.

You couldn’t run from this anymore. The other truth was, you wanted this, the easy ordinary moments he cultivated with such ease, showing you that he was capable of loving you. Where you didn’t have to question his admiration or demand his affection. He gave it freely, so it was time you did as well.

“If I say I do feel the same?”, you asked and finally observed the stress melt away from his features. He sighed with relief to slowly place his forehead on yours.

“What happens next?”, you asked quietly, like you wanted to know the start of the next chapter having finally put an end to the hold your past had on you, to look ahead. To dream again.

“I would then ask you, if you would like to marry me.”, he spoke the words that seemed to reassure you that you could in fact expect the best in the years ahead.

“Here in the shower?”, you laughed as the sound of the rushing water and the haze from the steam that encircled you made it all the more magical, right here in the ordinary.

“Well when you lose a universe, you don’t exactly wait around to lose the next one.”, his eyes were alive, his smile reaching the corners of his face. Hinting to the fact that he didn’t want to lose you. His new universe, the one full of his hopes and dreams.

“So will you?”, his question hung in the air between you. His hair dripping wet over his eyes. You smiled, pushing them away to hold his gaze. You didn’t want to run anymore.

“Yes.”, you whispered and as though he wanted to seal his forever right this instant, he kissed you gently, grateful that you had granted him his only desire.

A chance to start again.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099

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onmyyan · 3 months

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A/n: had a thought about a homelander-like reader in the DC universe, reader has homelanders powers minus his incel-like qualities just something self indulgent

It was over in an instant, the second her eyes refocused she calmly stood from the ratty chair he had her bound to, the dark steel cuffs he'd been sworn would weaken her became paper as she stood and shredded them to nothing. The tall young woman rolled her head between her shoulders, and the small grimace on her face fell after a satisfying pop echoed throughout the room.

"You know how I feel about people poking around up there." She smiled at him, tapping her finger against her temple, then took her first step forward, like a predator stalking its prey.

"In fact- I'm almost certain you know how much I hate it." Another calculated step.

They both knew she could end him anytime she felt like it, so the slow almost teasing way she hadn't yet, chilled him to his core.

"I was only trying to right a wrong- you must understand the world must be protected-"

His tearful plea was cut off by the harsh bark of laughter leaving the younger woman. "Please, this is me you're talkin' to. I know you old man- you don't give a shit about the world." Her smile cracked giving him a flash of the beast he'd raised.

"You just want someone to remember your sorry ass when you keel over and die. You want them to think you were worth something- well guess what? You were. You made me, and I'll always remember you for that." She stared down at the man she'd called Papa, her serene smile looked as hollow as it felt.

She'd finally made it close enough to see the microscopic beads of sweat on his upper lip. Her stare was eerily curious, (e/c) eyes forced him frozen as she looked him over, akin to the way a cat stared at a mouse it was about to bat around for fun. Her (s/c) hand came up to rest gently on his chest, dead center. She patted the area a few times as gently as she could, the force shaking him in place, he moved for the syringe on his belt, if he could get to it fast enough he had a chance of survival.

"I'll also never forgive you for it."

He saw it before he felt it. In a flash she had pushed forward and punched a hole straight through his chest, her fingers made contact with the cool cement wall behind him, Her free arm came up to cradle the back of his head, and she calmly pets his hair in a gesture she'd only seen in the hero films they showed her, his choking, bloodied sputters and gasps were quickly shushed.

"I think it's time for me to move out." She sighed to herself, yanking her arm back from the warm insides of her papa. Her face twisted in disgust at the chunks and viscera clinging to her skin, she wiped as much as she could off on the cleanest part of the deadman shirt before making her way out of the room, she had a few more doctors and nurses to say goodbye to.

Across the city was a soon-to-be hero having a not-so-good time.

Tim was having a very, bad day.

His alarm never went off forcing him to run to his classes to be on time, some freshman got too excited at lunch and knocked his soup all over the front of Tim, he had to wear his ugly gym shirt for the rest of his classes, then that idiot Kon accidentally crushed his phone with a little too much strength so Tim was screwed when it came to patrol tonight, he had a police scanner on that thing.

Then it began to rain. Sure he had an umbrella, but with the way it was coming down, it was useless.

He huffed a harsh breath through his nose, trying everything not to scream, there was an alleyway nearby that had a cover, and he quickly ran under it to avoid getting any more soaked. That was when he saw her.

A woman stood hovering over a mewling kitten, the small creature's desperate cries were almost inaudible from the harsh pound of the rain. He watched as she just stared at the helpless creature and felt himself hit his breaking point, he stormed over with a vengeance.

Tim glared at the odd woman, his attitude more directed at his shit day than her.

"You some kinda' sicko? What the hell are you doing just standing there?" He yelled poking the taller woman in the shoulder.

She didn't budge.

"I can't grab her cuz' I can't control my strength. I think I might hurt her." She responded in such a sad tone, the guilt in her gaze made his stomach lurch with shame, the instant regret was a new feeling he noted, not one he enjoyed. "And you're standing there because you couldn't leave her either." He said it more like a statement than a question.

The drenched (h/c) haired woman remained silent, offering a nod instead. He cleared his throat, a nervous pattern developed in middle school, and took the few steps needed to kneel next to the creature, he untied it simply enough and the small kitten instantly calmed down, rubbing its little face against his palm.

He risked a glance up and found the stranger smiling down at the scene before her. His heart did a funny little skip when he caught her gaze. From the way her eyes reminded him of warm honey, to the way she stared at him as if he was the most interesting person in the world, down to the way the rain beat against her (s/c) face, her plush lips curled up in that smile that sent shivers through his belly, everything about her pulled him in. She was enchanting so- enchanting, he'd thought it was her quirk.

"Thanks, mister." The tall woman smiled at him so brightly he felt the urge to shield his eyes, but he couldn't look away, she stood there like this goddess carved from marble, it almost seemed unfair how she lit up the grimy alleyway, how she looked to good just standing there.

"My name is Tim, what's yours?" She seemed to ponder it for a second, her head tilting, eyes calculated as she smiled at him again, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone,

"(Y/n), I'm gonna be a hero." Her greeting was odd, but he returned her smile with a small one of his own, she stuck her hand out and shook his with a toothy grin, he could feel her strength in the simple motion as they shook hands. He had a feeling she could give Kon a run for his money.

"What are you doing out here? Besides rescuing kittens that is."

"Oh, you know stuff. Normal stuff." Was her calculated answer? He laughed to himself a bit, "Well whatever you're doing, you know you don't have any shoes on right?" She looked down with a hum.

"It would appear I do not." He took that moment to really observe her. She looked like a gorhamite, including her clothes, she wore a white set of hospital thermals, well mostly white. Splotches of pink stained her front as if she'd been splattered with paint. Thick (h/c) curls clung to her perfectly carved face, framing it even more, the fabric of her clothes hugging her body like a second skin. He had a feeling she'd been in the hospital recently, judging by the thin band across her right wrist. He got close enough to read the word 'HOMELAN' but the rest was concealed, He chose not to comment on that, having a feeling one wrong move would send her flying.

"You hurt?" He asked standing to his full height, he had to look up a bit to meet her gaze, "Nah- I'm all good hot stuff." She made a point to flex her arm playfully, even in jest he could see she was packing some serious muscle under there.

"You running from someone?" Again she took her time to respond, her finger tapping against her chin in thought.

"Hmm, I'm gonna go ahead and say no. They definitely can't chase me anymore." The thought pulled a snort from her as if genuinely tickled, by the it, her gaze seemed gleeful, but something in her tone made his stomach do a flip, and he didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Another thing that caught his attention was that innocent look in her eyes whenever she looked away from him, how she stared at the ivory leaf-covered brick with the most interested expression, something in the way she looked at the sky reminded him of a child's innocence.

It was as if this was her first time outside or something.

His heart had been steadily rising throughout the entire interaction, a strange but warm feeling began to grow, and a dangerous little seed had sprouted in his heart the second he realized she was just some poor soul looking for someone to reach out and save her.

He could definitely be that person.

"I can't leave you out here like this- do you have someplace to stay?" He watched her rack her brain for an answer.

"Yes, thank you." She nodded more to herself than him and began walking in the opposite direction, straight into the storm that seemed to only worsen. He cursed under his breath and did a light jog to catch her. "You're a terrible liar." It was instinct to lift his umbrella higher, now standing side by side the good few inches on him really seemed to stand out.

"You can tell? Gotta work on my poker face then." The smirk on her plump lips felt teasing, paired with the confident way she carried herself left the purple-haired man with a swarm of dancing butterflies in his tummy.

"I know somewhere safe-" he flicked his tongue out over his lip, "I'm..connected with some heros in this town, I can protect you." He said as earnestly as he could, something telling him not to let this one go, he rubbed her arm, trying to warm her with his hand as he gave her a crooked grin. She giggled at the man before her, she wasn't used to people worrying for her so intensely, so honestly, to think she'd known him five minutes and he'd shown her more kindness than any of the cold, calculating doctors who raised her ever had, it made her laugh to herself. He had no idea how little she needed protection, but still, the thought made her chest feel funny and warm.

"Oh jeez, my own personal hero? Lucky day." He returned her grin, the festering feeling of obsession gripped him all that more. With that, he took a calculated risk and linked his pinkie with hers. "Come on, it's not far." The kitten was happily asleep in his hoodie pocket, the stallion beside him reminded him a lot of a feral kitten, just asking to be taken home and pampered.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere dc #yandere dc imagine #yandere dc x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere tim drake x reader

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puppygirlclaspers · 5 months

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Your mission is simple: provide fire support from a distance while your comrades engage the primary target. You've been specifically chosen for this job. You've always excelled in long-range engagements, and this is a perfect opportunity to stress test the prototype long-range cannon your sponsor has been developing. You don't know the name of it, you were just given the machine and told to make it work. A piece of cake for you, given your experience.

The cannon you were told to use is heavy. Heavier than anything your suit has ever carried before. There's a twinge of worry that the servos and joints might buckle under the weight, but you trust your machine to carry you and the payload to your destination. It always has.

You arrive at your sniper's nest and prepare the cannon for firing. This thing is massive. The barrel is long, and thick, made of high-quality alloys that even you can't quite recognise. The firing mechanism and bolt action nature of it is simple, yet powerful. Setting this up on the ground is like assembling a mortar. Multiple pieces, big and small, but all forming to make something so much bigger than the sum of it's parts.

You revel in the sounds and feel of the assembly - the clicking and snapping of smaller parts, the sound of friction when metal slides on metal, the delicate nature of it all. There's no way a pilot can do this on their own without their mech, the machinery is simply too large and complex. You work alongside your suit, controlling it as the optical scanner guides your vision and thought process. It is the mind, and you are the hands.

Within minutes, you are finished the assembly. Faster than anyone else could have ever hoped to do it. There's a while longer before the mission is set to start, so you take some time to appreciate this machine of war. Trace the fingers of your mech's hands along it, and feel the grooves and imperfections through the haptic feedback of your controls. Inspect the bolt, the cartridge that holds your ammunition, the scope, everything. Everything about this is perfect to you. It's like this was made specifically for you to use. It's beautiful. It's love, and it's hurt, and it's yours.

It's almost time.

You lay the cannon on the ground, with the tripod attacked to the barrel sticking into the dirt. You use the mech as an extension of yourself in order to position yourself comfortably. Your legs fall to each side of the cannon as you lay above it, almost as if you intend to mount it. Your feet dig into the ground, preparing yourself for the inevitable recoil that firing this artillery will bring. Your knees fall to the ground, for further stability, and your body is mere inches away from touching the hardened steel of this machine below you. Your dominant hand reaches for the trigger, and your free hand holds the top of the barrel down to prevent it from flying away when you fire. You position your head perfectly in line with the scope, and you can see your allies now engaging with the target. You are ready to fire.

Your breath is shaky, heavy and getting faster. This is... exciting. You can't wait to pull the trigger and see how much damage this cannon will do. You're already thinking of names to give it, of how to modify it to make it more reliable, of how to make it yours. All yours. Your eyes are trained on the target, and you're listening to the comms channel for your order to fire, though your focus only allows you to parse half of what is being said.

Finally, you hear the order. Through half-understood chatter, you hear a loud and stern "fire". You pull the trigger.

Time slows.

First, you feel the recoil of the firing mechanism pushing back against you.

Then, the deafening, piercing sound of the combustion that propels the bullet forwards towards your target.

The cannon pushes back against you and pushes you both back several feet, leaving a trail of dug-up dirt and sediment around where you and your weapon are planted. You feel the joints of your suit scream against the strain of the sheer force, and the haptic feedback from your controls is going haywire.

Everything hurts. This hurts to use.

But it's worth it. You feel amazing. You feel alive.

A sudden gasp leaves your mouth, and you start breathing heavily. The ringing in your ears, the tingling feeling in your hands, the pain you feel must be the same way your suit feels in this moment. You are as one. You are together.

But there's no time to revel in this feeling. You have a mission to complete. Another round needs to be prepared before your comrades are struck down. This is what you're ultimately here for.

You don't even have a chance to look at the damage this cannon dealt, you simply start reaching for the next cartridge to load.

You pull back the bolt on the cannon, feeling the friction of it sliding against the body of this gargantuan weapon.

The used cartridge falls to the ground, cracked from the force of this machine, with wisps of smoke trailing off of it.

You hastily slide the fresh cartridge in, holding it in place with one hand as you push the bolt forward to lock it in place.

The strained joints of your suit ache and tremble as you use all of your strength to push, and eventually you load the next shot.

The barrel is still red hot, and dangerous to the touch, but you have no choice but to stabilise it like you did before. There's no time to worry if the heat will melt you suit's hand onto this thing. A small part of you wouldn't even mind if it did.

You readjust your sights and focus on the target again, and finally, you can admire the damage that this cannon did. It's a miracle that your shot didn't finish the job, but that's okay. You have plenty more.

This next one should do it.

Once again, your focus is trained on the comms channel, waiting for the firing order.

Breath getting faster, heavier, warmer. Heart beating out of your chest. Feeling pistons, servos, joints, every mechanism of your suit as a part of you.

"Fire"

#mecha #robot #i was having impure thoughts about robots on my walk #tee hee

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

hi i love your writing!! can i request hotch x reader where he did a press conference or something on the news (i just watched the halloween one in s10 he looked fiiiine) and then reader runs into him in public and recognises him ty in advance

Perhaps you should have taken his casual attire as a sign that he wasn't on duty, but you can't stop yourself from blanching at the sight of the man stepping up to the counter before you. Hotchner was his name? Agent Hotchner?

"You're the man from the news," You blurt, before he's even able to get his coffee order out. He looks somewhat taken aback, dark eyes widened slightly, and you're sure it's not often that he's ambushed by his baristas, and you clear your throat, "I- sorry, I just- I saw you last night on tv."

"Our press conference," He's skilled at overlooking your awkward interjection, nodding with the hint of a smile on his face, "I'm glad you were tuned in to the news and stayed safe."

"Did you catch him?" You ask, coffee long forgotten. You'd been a nervous wreck at the announcement of a serial killer in your town, a real serial killer killing real people like you, and you almost hadn't shown up for work today out of anxiety.

"We did," He nods, "He's safely locked away. And he will be for a long time, I promise."

"Thank you," You breathe, palpable relief in your tone, "Thank you, I- I can't even imagine how scary it must be to chase after people like that, but thank you for doing it."

His brows raise and his eyes flood with gratitude, something you hope is visible in your own gaze. Evidently, he doesn't get this very often.

"It's my job," He smiles fully now, settling into his place at the counter as customers come and go on either side of him, "There's no need to thank me."

"It's a job you chose," You counter, "I was really- it was scary, thinking that he was out there. That I might be next, that my friend might, that my mom might. I do need to thank you for that."

"You're safe now," He promises, and something about the honey-sweet tone of voice he uses makes you truly believe it.

"I'm sorry for holding you up," You apologize after a beat of comfortable silence, refocused on the screen in front of you, "What can I get for you, sir?"

"A medium coffee. Black, please." He recites, "And a cheese, egg, and ham sandwich, if you've still got any."

"That'll be all?" You verify, punching his order into the computer. He nods with a smile, already pulling out his wallet.

"Oh, no sir," You clear his total, pulling from your tip jar to cover the cost of his order, "I'd feel guilty for charging you. You helped a lot of people, your order is free."

"I insist-" He tries, moving his card towards the scanner, but you tug the appliance away.

"I insist," You stand your ground, "Please, I'm going to be able to get home safely tonight thanks to you, I have no problem giving you a free coffee."

"A sandwich, too." He reminds you, "You're very kind, but I can't take free food. Please, let me pay for one of the items?"

"My treat." You slide bills into the register, triumphant when his shoulders sag and a sheepish smile overtakes his face as he slides his card back into his wallet.

"Thank you," He returns your gratitude, eyes the color of his coffee somehow sweeter than sugar "I appreciate it. I meant it before, you're very kind."

You're happy that the breakfast sandwiches are stored behind you, because it gives you a chance to hide the way your face contorts into a bashful grin as you prepare his order. Now that the fear of being attacked is out of your head, you're able to marvel at the man's looks, something you'd tried tamping down to focus on bigger issues at hand. A smile suits him, and so does a t-shirt and jeans, and you're glad you got to see a side of him that isn't grim and grey.

"Thank you," He beams when you return with his order, simple enough that you'd made it while he stood at your register, "Have a great rest of your day."

"You too, sir." You nod, trying not to react when his fingertips brush your hand, and you applaud yourself for keeping your composure until he's safely out of the building.

That same composure breaks when you're emptying your tip jar for the day, counting out each bill to stuff them in your wallet and grocery shop for the week. A wad of them falls out that you're fairly certain you didn't see anyone drop off, and it's revealed to be three $20 bills with a stiff piece of cardstock in the middle.

You're momentarily horrified that someone dropped the wrong amount in, put in the contents of their wallet when they meant to leave a $5, but the name on the card hits you like a semi-truck.

SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Damn that man, he must have slipped the cash into your jar while your back was turned. You'd been trying to save him $7 for the coffee and the sandwich, and he treated you to a cart of groceries instead.

You flip the card to find his number, not sure if you're brave enough to call and give him a speech that's half thankful and half scolding. But there's pen scrawled on the back, and you squint to read the print.

'Don't try returning the tip, I won't take it back. Thank you for being so kind, and if you ever need a favor, you know who to call. - Agent Hotchner'

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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listentothelittlebird · 1 month

Text

so I have been avidly following the lovely dbhc au that @shepscapades has made and I have made a little drabble fanfic of Doc and Xisuma because I feel very normal about them :)

setting: hermitcraft season 10, while Doc is in skyblock jail

word count: 1361

Doc is grumbling to himself, ramming his fist into the newly-sprouted tree with not an insignificant amount of prejudice, when he hears the distinct whistling of fireworks crescendoing towards him.

“Have you come to watch me punch wood like an imbecile?” Doc snarks, expecting to hear Scar’s fumbling denials, or Cleo’s cackling assent.

“That wasn’t the plan, no.” The quietly amused voice is far from his first prediction. An oversight on his part, really.

[Vocal Recognition: Xisumavoid.]

“Xisuma!” Doc’s next punch misses the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, glancing off the side and chipping off the bark instead. He blinks away the vocal recognition pop-up, glancing behind him just to check it really is him and not Tango with a goat horn. “Hey, man!”

“Hey! You’ve been busy.” Xisuma’s boots scuff against the cobblestone as he inspects the progress of his miserable sky island. A shulker box thunks onto the stone, freeing his hands up to brush against the cherry wood planks.

“Hardly anything else to do besides work.” Doc throws the words over his shoulder as he continues to gather his cherry wood, not one to leave a project half-done.

His visitor is content to hum and haw at whatever he finds as Doc works away. It has only been a few days, but the one-sided commentary is surprisingly comforting. After all, no touching the ground means no redstone, which also means no time in the lab. The thought has Doc speaking up, slipping between Xisuma’s quips.

“It’s not been too busy, yeah?” Doc clambers onto the tree as he plucks off the highest branches. He pauses to flick open a calendar overlay, skimming the dates. “Nobody’s scheduled for maintenance checks until next month.”

“It’s been alright.” The fuzzy wolf-shaped wool mask pops into view as Xisuma emerges from Doc’s pink abode. “Been a bit too quiet, even. It’s weird not having you around.”

Doc snorts to hide the way his thirium pump hiccups at the words. Logically, he knows the sound is far too soft for Xisuma to hear. Having emotions, Doc has found, is hardly ever logical.

“So you came over ‘cause you missed me?” The words are out before Doc can even try to edit the response. It instills in him the same kind of floundering exasperation he feels when trying to recall a comms message already seen by everyone.

“Well.” When Xisuma ducks his head, one ear of the knitted wolf flops to the side. “I mean. I suppose so.”

[Emotion Identified: Shyness.]

“But I did come with an agenda!” Xisuma reaches for the shulker behind him, pulling out a mobile scanner from the lab.

“You’re right about having no maintenance checks on the schedule,” Xisuma says, waving around the scanner. “With you out here roughing it out, though, I figured I should check on you.”

“Ah.” Doc chuckles, ignores his cooling vents spinning faster. “I see.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting! You look about done with your tree.”

“I am, I think.” Doc squints through the already-thinning leaves, nodding when he finds no branches left. “Alright, one moment.”

Dismantling the remains of the trunk takes only a few seconds. Doc gathers the wood and plonks them into the chest in his shabby house, with Xisuma trailing behind.

With two people inside, it only reminds Doc how small the shelter is. Turning around after closing his chest puts him directly in Xisuma’s space.

“So, uh.” Doc shifts back, as much as he can. He ends up plopping down on the edge of his bed, which, well. “Go ahead, then.”

A check-up does not require much space, really. Doc has done maintenance with the hermits in caves, in redstone farms, in underwater bases and nether bases. This is just the first time Doc himself has been examined outside of the yawning expanse of their labs. The change in routine leaves him uncertain, like recalibrating on angled terrain.

The ease that Xisuma slips into the motions does well to settle Doc’s stress, however mild. The mobile scanner takes a while to gather results, so Doc answers Xisuma’s laundry list of questions. The list of questions is one curated by both Doc and Xisuma. Most of it is data, which Doc rattles off easily from the numbers that he pulls up in the corner of his vision.

The mobile scanner beeps cheerfully just as they reach the end of the lengthy questionnaire.

“Clean bill of health.” Xisuma shows Doc the display, which focuses less on internal processes and more on external damage or abnormalities. “Although, your average temperature is a bit lower than your usual.”

Doc shrugs. “It’s the altitude, man. Going from spending significant amounts of my time in the deserts and swamps to this is quite the change. Not to mention the wind chill.”

As if to prove his point, a gust hits the shelter hard enough to make the planks rattle and creak. With no door, the icy breeze rushes in quickly. He tucks his metal arm into his lab coat with a sigh, the exposed components always prone to freezing the fastest.

“It’s not that bad,” Doc states flippantly, knowing without looking that Xisuma is taking in his every move. “I’m working most of the time, which keeps me warm. Plus I have my lava pool to sit beside when I need to warm up.”

“If you say so.” Xisuma shifts, leaning against his crafting bench. “The moment you start to experience temperature glitches, though, call this off. The rest will understand.”

“I know, I know.” This is all in good fun, when it comes down to it. He plays along for his own amusement. “I’ll be fine, Xisuma. I know how to take care of myself.”

“That you do.” Xisuma nods, then, with an “ah” of realisation, pulls his wolf mask off his helmet.

“Here!” It only takes a step for Xisuma to be back in Doc’s space, pulling the wool over Doc’s head before he can react.

“Uhm.” The mask is large enough that it goes over his horns easily, fitting loosely around his face. He has to lift and adjust it slightly to get his eyes back through the openings. “What?”

“To keep you warm!” Xisuma draws back again, settling against the crafting bench and tapping his heel against its side. “I mean, even over my helmet, it sure retains the heat. I know it doesn’t quite help with your metal arm, but it’ll at least warm up your horns and face.”

Doc does feel warmer, in fact. Though that is not necessarily correlated with the wool mask itself, and more the action of gifting it to him.

“But it’s your mask,” Doc replies, a flimsy rebuttal. “For your Woolves of Wool Street.”

“I have spares,” Xisuma chimes, eyes squinting happily through his helmet. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if you’re wearing it. Take it as a souvenir, of sorts.”

“Right.” Doc reaches a hand up to the wool. The material is soft, slightly worn from use. It smells a bit like Xisuma’s armour, the polish that he uses to clean it at the end of the day. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.”

Xisuma’s communicator chimes. A quick look has Xisuma turning back to Doc with an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll come back soon, though, if you don’t mind?”

“Come back anytime,” Doc replies. He tries to reel it towards comedy with a gesture to his surroundings, his meager belongings. “You won’t be interrupting anything.”

The dry quip draws out a laugh from Xisuma, even as he gathers his shulker and activates his elytra.

“See you, Doc!” Xisuma waves from the edge of the cobblestone, then nosedives away, a rocket propelling him rapidly out of sight.

Doc takes a moment to watch the clouds, then laughs at himself. Did he not poke fun at Tango last season, when he stared longingly at the portal Jimmy left the server with? Now look at him.

He draws a hand up to the wolf mask, rubbing the soft knitting between his fingers, and decides that Tango absolutely cannot see him wearing this.

He can keep it on for now, though.

#New fav au #<- that’s my organisation tag for this au #dbhc fanfic #dbhc xisuma #dbhc doc #i really need a tagging system #Hi shep your newest comic made me remember how feral these two make me and so i finished the piece i started #Which i started around the time you made the i am not a toy art for doc hehe #I just thought he needed a bit of fluff #Just a wee bit. You know. A xisuma sized bit of fluff

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piratefishmama · 1 year

Text

Fake it till you make it | Part 12

Check in and going through security were painless, it went by with only minimal sweating from Eddie as his bag went through the scanner, the all clear earning a breath of relief that’d almost raised a few brows. After that Eddie spent the majority of the wait time before boarding practically glued to the windows in the business-class lounge, eyes wide with wonder as he took in all of the planes coming and going from the runway in plain sight before him, Lynda sending Steve pointed little looks every now and then as if to say, “He’s very cute, isn’t he?”

Which Steve had no choice but to agree with, not just for the bit, but also because he was cute. He was very cute, like a kid outside of a candy store trying to inhale candy through the glass windowpanes. He couldn’t believe he’d never noticed just how cute Eddie Munson could be sometimes.

Boarding was trickier. Eddie decided last minute that he was glued to his seat in the lounge. His parents going on ahead to get themselves settled, taking theirs and Steve’s carry on’s with them, Steve stuck behind to coax Eddie into moving. “Eddie you have to get up”

“Ooor I could just stay here, on the ground, where humans belong.” Steve was actually pretty surprised at how strong Eddie’s grip actually was because he couldn’t seem to pry it from the arms of the chair.

“Just think, someday, when you’re a big rockstar, you’ll be travelling in these all the time from place to place!”

“Nuh-uh, we’ll drive there, US only shows, we’ll have coaches.”

“You really wanna spend all that time in a bus with Gareth and Jeff? I mean Frank’s pretty solid but Gareth and Jeff? Pretty sure I remember them both having Cheeto dust on their fingers for a whole week solid one time and don’t even get me started on that time Gareth slurped up mountain dew from the lunch table.”

“That was a dare” Eddie was valiantly choosing not to turn into a puddle of ooey-gooey mess over the fact that Steve knew the names of his bandmates, they’d never believe him, no way did Steve Harrington know who they were. Nuh-uh.

“That was disgusting, is what it was. They don’t even wipe those tables.”

“I know, he got mono.” Sure as hell didn’t get it from makin out with anyone.

“Oh my god. Look, we have to go Eddie.” Hands on hips, typical mom stance.

“…Can you hold my hand like you promised?”

“Yes.” Steve offered his hand, which hesitantly, Eddie took, finally relinquishing his grip on the chair just enough for Steve to yoink him out of it, giving him just enough time to grab his guitar case before he was being pulled down the gangway and onto the plane.

Just like the kisses, all it took was a little coaxing, a gentle nudge to push those fears and anxieties away.

He was practically soup in his reclining window seat business class seat right up until the attendant came by to tell everyone to sit up straight and buckle up for take-off. He didn’t let go of Steve’s hand though. Their seats were next to each other, and that hand was glued to his. “Is it too late for me to run away?” Eddie asked, eyes on the window as the gangway was retracted, ignoring the captain’s announcement over speakers greeting them and thanking them for choosing the airline.

“Little bit, yeah.” Steve gave his hand a gentle squeeze as the plane began its slow crawl to the runway. “I’ve got you though, okay?”

“Okay.” There were no delays, there was no waiting, the plane made its way directly to the runway and rounded the corner to the long strip of tarmac that it’d take off from, engines thrumming, Eddie’s hand gripped his tighter, those big brown eyes wide on that window.

“Eddie”

“What?”

“Look at me.” Eddie, with great hesitance, turned away from the window and looked to Steve. The plane started moving. Steve, with his free hand, reached forward and took Eddie’s jaw, easing him in closer, those doe eyes flicking down as if expecting something more “focus on me, not on the window.”

“But—”

“On me, Bambi, eyes on me.” The plane sped up, faster and faster, machinery whirring, the sound of metal and gears moving filling the plane as the wings adjusted to climb, Eddie wanted to ask, wanted to check, just to make sure that the plane was supposed to be making those sounds, but he could barely breathe under Steve’s gaze, trapped in it, Bambi rattling around in his head because where had that come from? And then they were climbing. “You can look now, baby” he blinked, his head snapped round to the window to see clouds.

“Holy shit we’re—”

“We’re flying” Steve finished, giving his hand another squeeze.

“We’re flying, holy fuck!” There was that smile, toothy, dimpling his cheeks, Eddie’s free hand pressed against the window, face pressed up next to it as he tried to look up until the clouds cleared for him, revealing nothing but blue skies above and the cottony white of the cloud tops beneath.

He didn’t even notice the disgruntled looks or the mutters of stuck up rich people, didn’t notice the negativity he was receiving from the other business class flyers, all of which were promptly subdued by the scathing expressions of all three Harringtons combined. He didn’t even notice that he’d slipped his own hand free just to press that one against the glass too.

Steve caught his mother pressing a hand to her chest over her heart as she watched him, clearly deeply affected by his childlike wonder at something all three of them, likely everyone in that section, took for granted as if it were just driving a car, or riding a bike.

Nine more hours to go.

“Have you ever joined the mile high club?” It was as though Eddie timed the question, waiting until the perfect moment, the first gulp of a complementary glass of champagne that Eddie politely declined for himself as more of a shots shots shots!! Type of guy, it was as though he timed it precisely for the moment that Steve took his first sip.

It went down the wrong hole, Steve winding up choking in his seat on his first glass of champaign while Eddie grinned like a maniac, his legs pulled up criss-cross on the reclined seat while most of the eyes in the section turned to look upon them in judgement.

His parents just shook their heads and continued with their conversations, something about business, Eddie hadn’t been paying too much attention to them both since he’d gotten tired of watching clouds go by. Couldn’t even make shapes out of them that high up, it was just a blanket in most places, all the definition and shape on the underside.

He was waiting for a moment to be childish.

“W-what?” Steve asked through his coughs, Eddie took a little pity on him and gave his back a couple of firm smacks to help clear out the liquid.

He wasn’t done though. “Mile high club, y’know, sex in a plane? Your exploits in the boudoir, Sir Harrington are legendary, I simply must know if you’ve ever gotten down an dirty in one of those tiny bathrooms on these things.” Steve caught the look his mother sent him, the slow turn of her head, the dry raised brow, then his father leaning forward in his chair, his own brow raised in question, his father slightly more entertained than his mother.

“No!” Steve spluttered “No, I haven’t, I wouldn’t I—”

“Liar liar pants on fire, you would, you know you would, how could you lie to me on our first trip as a family, Steven I’m heartbrok—”

“Eddie oh my god, why?” What had he done to deserve this?

“Bored.” Such a simple answer, Steve had hired a demon. It was the only explanation, Eddie was sent to torture him by being mischievous and cute, should have been way more cautious about anything Dustin suggested. “An you totally have, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, and what makes you so sure?”

“W—”

“Don’t answer that.” Steve very quickly thought against allowing him to answer when his question was followed by thee most devious grin Eddie Munson had ever displayed in public. “Just sleep like most people do on these things.”

“When have I ever been able to be defined by the words ‘like most people,’ Stevie? I laugh in the face of most people, most people tremble in fear at the very mention of my name~ muwahaha” It wasn’t actually fair how easily he could make Steve crack a smile. No matter how annoying he was being, how unusual, no matter whether he was clearly trying to annoy the other passengers now that he’d noticed their looks.

Steve couldn’t fight the traitorous smile that snuck upon his lips and why would he want to when Edde seemed to light up like Christmas when he got that magical smile? When his shenanigans were proven effective at getting Steve to smile like that? “Is that your actual name or your dungeons and dorks name?”

“Mostly the dungeons and dorks name, if I’m honest, I have a reputation, it’s pretty brutal. I killed Gare-bear within ten minutes of a campaign once he sat there fuming for the whole session.” It’d been a complete fluke, a bad run of rolls right out of the gate, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. So much so that Gareth threw the dice into a bonfire afterwards so they could never do harm again. Hilarious to everyone else though. “Have you though?” Eddie lowered his voice, leaning in just enough to appear quiet in his probing,

“Have I what?” Steve finally felt right enough to take another sip of his drink.

“Y’know…” Eddie pressed his forefinger and thumb together and stuck his other finger into the hole twice then pointed upwards with both hands, wordlessly, as if playing charades. “Wink wink, nudge nudge, airplane bathroom?” Charades ruined somehow still charming.

Steve was in trouble, but future Steve could deal with that trouble. Present day Steve had an adorable metalhead to fuck with.

“Bambi, if you’re looking to lose something today, how about we wait for a bedroom, m’kay? Way more spacious than the bathroom on one of these things, trust me.” Ended with a side-eyed wink and another cheeky sip of his wine while Eddie just sat there wide eyed, cheeks flushing with colour as those words sunk in.

“You HAVE!” Wrong words sunk in, dammit.

Part 14

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #Eddie strikes me as the type of person to be terrified of something until he tries it once #then never addresses how pathetic he was about doing it #will deny ever being scared of it

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