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iwantutobehapppier · 4 years

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Still Remains

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You had planned a great Friday, sometimes things don’t go as planned. Perhaps your boyfriend can help salvage the day?

Warnings: 18+ Only, smut, fluffy so very soft, fingering and cursing

Word Count: 2,969 (hehehe 69)

A/N: Hey hey! Happy Third night of Chanukah I hope you all enjoy some soft Bucky for tonight’s Chanukah present. Huge shout out to @sagechanoafterdark for her amazing beta skills on this one. Was def out my comfort zone.

You had a perfect day planned.

It would involve a workday where you gave minimal effort after completing a rather taxing project for upper management under the deadline. Then, go to your favorite and the best-smelling shop for a signature bath bomb, a quick stop at the upscale corner store for some wine plus a premade meal as cooking was not on the agenda tonight. All of that was to be followed by something good and dramatic on your iPad coupled with a face mask while you soaked in the bath not having a care in the world.

Your boyfriend, the ever understanding James Buchanan Barnes, knew how important your much needed me time was. Agreeing to meet with you on Saturday for lunch, leaving Friday as ‘you time’.

That was the plan.

It was a good plan. The best plan you’d had in weeks after endless work and long nights.

But that plan fell apart before you finished brewing your morning cup of coffee.

Your boss returned from his morning meeting with devastating news. The project you'd been slaving over for the last 3 weeks needed to factor in new data he'd failed to previously provide. Not only that but your deadline was moved from next week to today by 4 pm. Making the excuse about upper management leaving by then.

Coffee hastily made you care less about the creamer you spilled on the counter. Rushing to your desk to boot up and start compiling the required information. By lunchtime, you had a tension headache, a stomach ache, and your lower back was throbbing.

Catching one of your coworkers as they went to the cafeteria. You begged them to pick you up something, feeling guilty about leaving your desk for even a second while such a critical project was due in such a short amount of time. You couldn't even consider stopping for something like lunch. Hell, you barely had any water, something Bucky would certainly give you hell about tomorrow.

Speaking of the man, you checked your phone spying a sweet good morning text you had missed followed a little while later by an inquiry about how your day was. Quickly, you sent a quick reply summarizing how it was not a good day then quickly put your phone away, focusing back on the task at hand.

One good thing was you had sent the newly finished project out by 3:45.

The problem that followed?

Your boss had left early dumping their work on your desk. Groaning as your hopes for an on-time escape were dashed, you paused for a break to get some water and check your phone. Replying to some friends you saw your boyfriend’s concerned text, feeling your chest warm.

‘Do you need me to do anything? I can help you relax a little more tonight instead of hanging out with Steve.’ He was a sweet and caring man. Even though most of the world feared him, you only saw the caring, attentive, and dashing lover.

You wouldn’t take up his time tonight though, you needed a solo night in and he deserved time with his best friend for how much you normally take up his time. Sending a quick dismissal reply, ‘No honey, I’ll make it work thank you for being so amazing’ you’re back to the grindstone.

Leaving the office by 6, you thought the shop for our bath bomb closed at 7, and with it raining the past hour the chances of making it there on time were slim but you would not be bested. You had the perfect night planned and salvaging it was a must.

Reaching the doors at 7:30, locked for the night. You couldn’t help the anguished cry you gave out, stomping your feet in the puddles outside the locked doors. Allowing yourself a small pity party, you square your shoulders and make your way to the corner store. Refusing to allow another piece of your perfect plan to be dashed away.

They were out of your favorite wine.

Your bottom lip trembled as you stood in the aisle frustration sweeping over you. Shoulders dropping you drag your feet to the fresh market area, finding a lone wilted sandwich remaining. Clearly, a massive rush of people had been just as desperate for the corner store’s fresh market food as you were. Or, your melodramatic brain supplied, the world was against you today.

Shaking that unhelpful thought away you quickly sent a venting text to your boyfriend. ‘I was too late for a bath bomb and the corner market is a bust. :(’ Your mind coming up with a quick contingency plan as you typed. You knew you had some wine in the apartment that you barely liked but it would do in comparison to what the store had. If you recall correctly you think you had some papaya scented bath rocks that could be an okay substitute.

Moving on to your newly formed Plan C, you made your way home. Arriving home you were soaking wet as the rain had never let up.

Clutching your broken umbrella, because why not?

Your feet drag you through the front entrance of your apartment building. You could feel the building pressure of tears behind your eyes but you wouldn’t let them fall. Nope, not until you are at least in the safety of your home. Sighing in recognition of the terribleness that was your day you go to check the mail and just as your turn to the bulletin board your heart drops at the sign “Water Heater Out Until Sunday”

Fuck today.

Fuck your boss.

Fuck the rain.

Fuck your stupid super, who barely kept your apartment up to code.

Fuck the people who bought your wine and food.

Fuck today.

Sucking in a deep breath you turn and start the walk up the steps when your phone rings. You answer it without a second thought, trying to keep your mental state from cracking before getting into your apartment your only goal.

“Hey doll,” your boyfriend’s deep silky voice in your ear, “I wanted to see if your night got any better.”

You tried to tell him what happened, you really did but as the words formed you plopped down onto the stairs; then, became a crying and blubbering mess. Your sweet boyfriend only able to make out blips like “water heater, fuck my boss, lazy super, I just can’t anymore.”

As you kept trying to explain what was wrong through your uncontrollable and frustrating sobs, Bucky’s voice finally broke through, “Stay on the phone with me, doll,” he instructed. Hearing rustling on the other end, “I’m on my way.”

Not even thirty minutes later Bucky found you, sitting on the steps. No longer sobbing, but tears intermittently still falling down your cheeks and emotionally wrung out.

He called your name softly and you looked up at him. Tying your best to smile, but it was hard. Without another word, he picked you up off the stairs and carried you to his car bridal style. Turning on the heater after starting the car, he begins to make his way back to his place respecting your silence.

“Bucky,” you whisper out as you both sit at a red light. He turns his head, those cerulean blue eyes shining with adoration and a bit of concern. “Thank you,” is all you can get out but god you want to say more the words stuck in your throat.

Knowing you were still decompressing his hand squeezes your thigh. “Anything for you, doll.” He winks before facing the road once more as the light turns green.

Pulling into the garage of his house, he exits the car lightly jogging to your side and opening the door. You go to grab your bags before he can get you. “Leave ‘em, I'll get them later.” Heeding his advice you let him pick you up once more leaving your stuff in the car.

Carrying you through the house into the master bath he gently set you on the edge of the tub. Holding up one finger he turns around looking under the sink before pulling out your favorite bath bomb. The exact one you threw a fantastic pity party about earlier tonight.

Your jaw goes slack before you rapidly question your boyfriend, “where did you get this? When did you get this?!"

“I stocked up last time we took a bath together,” he explained. Leaning over you Bucky swept the hair off your forehead before kissing you there. “I wanted to make sure you could be comfortable here.”

“Oh,” is all you can get out, floored by such a sweet and selfless gesture.

“Your shampoo is still in the shower,” he said, gesturing to the stand-up shower to the left of his free-standing soaking tub. “I know you like rinsing off before a bath.”

“I don’t wanna be in a soup of my own filth,” you said with a pout, justifying your pre-shower bath ritual. He chuckles at you leaning down farther before capturing your lips. Slipping his tongue into your mouth, trailing over the roof of your mouth, cupping your chin with his cool metal hand. Bucky hums into your mouth when your tongue connects with his.

The kiss feels endless, the gentle caress of his tongue on yours exploring your mouth a much-needed comfort after this horrible day. When he pulls away your mouth remains slightly open, eyes closed a soft whine coming out at the loss. When he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles you open your eyes.

“Go on,” he nods his head to the shower, “relax and enjoy your bath.”

Watching his retreating figure you lick your lips eyeing his back end. Shaking your head out of your dirty thoughts you strip down to shower.

Once sufficiently clean, you wrap your hair in one of the microfibers wraps you’d left last time. Realizing you’d actually been leaving a lot more here and Bucky seemed to by buying stuff you normally kept at your place. Eyeing the double sink counter, you notice some of your creams and cleansing products there. Fairly certain you hadn’t purchased some of them twice due to cost alone.

Smiling at all the self-care items he had clearly bought just for you, your fingers trail along the marble countertop until you reach your bath bomb. Grabbing the half pink and half purple ball, you make your way to the giant tub. Slipping in you set the bath bomb onto the window sill beside you.

Setting the water to the perfect warm temperature, you push the stopper down and sit back, resting your head on the tub rim as the tub fills. Once it hits the right level you turn the tap off and drop the bath bomb in, enjoying the scents of Jasmine and Ylang Yalng permeate the air as the tub water begins to turn a dusky pink.

A few minutes later Bucky walks in, holding a bottle of your favorite Rose Gold Rosé, a sparkling wine glass, and a clear package of food. Setting it all on the counter he turns to you and smiles at the sight of your already relaxed body.

Looking up at him a soft smile pulls on your lips. “I noticed you bought some of my products for here,” you comment.

“Is that a problem,” he inquires, rather sure it’s not but he wants to make sure he’s not crossing a line.

“N-no,” you stutter briefly, worried you might offend him for such a kind gesture. “No, I just didn’t know you did that.”

Smiling he sinks to his knees next to you outside the tub, folding his arms over the lip, “Well, didn’t wanna make a big deal of it.”

You nod, but still curious, “Why though?”

“So you’ll stay here more often,” he admits with a shrug. Bucky felt that the tactic was purely selfish on his part, but if all your things were here why would you need to go back to your place? He’d use tonight to show you that you can have your own space even when living with him.

“You like me being here?” Bucky wants to laugh at your doubt but doesn’t, knowing your nerves are rather frazzles so any sass from him could be misconstrued.

“Of course,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I always want you here.”

“Wh-what?” you gasp sitting upright in the tub so fast the water sloshing on the sides, trying to put together exactly what he is saying.

“This is a conversation later,” he cuts off with a smile. Wanting to stop your brain from the tailspin it was definitely heading towards. “I just wanna help my baby relax,” he says, cupping your cheek with his flesh hand.

You nuzzle into his hand with a contented sigh, “Oh, alright.”

His hand resting on your cheek slips down under the water, tweaking both your nipples pulling an involuntary gasp from you.

“Yeah,” his voice a whisper. Fingers trailing down your stomach to cup your heat, slipping between your slit. “You gonna let me help you relax after such a bad day?” You nod your head, mouth open in a muted moan panting with each stroke against you.

Bucky takes advantage of your open mouth, leaning in for a kiss with his tongue taking residence in your mouth. His fingers capture your clit gently squeezing before rubbing tight circles. Your eyes slipped closed at the growing pleasure.

You whimper into his mouth as he quickens his pace. Dipping your head back as he hits a good rhythm and pressure, making your toes curl but his other hand grips you by the back of your neck keeping your lips pressed tightly against his.

Two fingers dip inside you, slowly pushing in and out curling upwards, his palm rubbing against your clit in tandem with his fingers. When he hits that one special spot you try to slouch down into the water but his hand on your neck keeps you in place.

Your hands grip the lip of the tub, legs moving underneath the water and making soft waves that splash against the sides of the tub. Whimpers and moans pour from your mouth into his, eager to consume them.

Bucky tilts his head, making your teeth clash, ramping him up more. He’s moving faster now keying you quickly up but it’s not enough, he knows you need direct stimulation. Pulling his fingers back out of your heat, he rubs your clit in quick concise circles.

Your eyes pop open catching his intense stare, knowing he’d been watching you all along. Bucky was observant and always intense, picking up on every brow tick, nostril flare, and lip twitch. Almost studying you and picking you apart for his and your pleasure. It’s a goal for him, to make you feel all the emotions you make him feel, giving you the physical pleasure you bring to him.

The intensity of it all was too much.

His fingers keep their tempo, applying a little more pressure and it’s enough. Your legs shake and spasm making the water at the surface choppy and slosh in the tub. He released your mouth to hear your cry out in ecstasy, knuckles turning white as they held the edge of the tub.

“That’s my good girl,” his voice rumbles out.

Removing his hand from the dark pink water, at the same time his metal hand releases your neck. You look up at him panting, dazed in the euphoria of your orgasm as he stands. Bucky turns around, uncorking the wine with a pop and pouring you a glass. Looking around he frowns briefly, walking to the closet and returning with a brand new large bath tray, similar to the one you have at home. He sets it over the tub in front of you and places the bottle and full glass on the tray along with the cheese, crackers, and fruit pack.

He cups your chin pulling your slightly dazed eyes to him, he leans down pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Now you enjoy the wine and eat a little bit of food for me. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

“Uh-huh,” is all you can get out. Bucky smirks with pride at your ravaged state as he leaves you alone in the bathroom with one last look.

After a good two-hour soak where you ended up emptying the tub a little before refilling with warm water halfway through, you finally felt relaxed enough and left the bathroom. Wrapping yourself in a plush white towel you slowly unwrap your now almost dry hair.

Padding into Bucky’s room you smile at the blue henley he left laying on the bed for you. Lifting it up you notice something is missing.

“Bucky?” you call out in confusion, brows furrowed as you look over the bed.

“Yeah, doll,” he replied, walking towards the bedroom, turning off lights as he made his way in.

“Do you have any of my underwear here?”

He starts pulling his sweats off watching you search for the missing item, “Yeah, I have a few.” He admits from behind you. You jump and playfully swat him behind you, a soft chuckle rumbles from him when he spins you around to face him.

“Hmm,” your lips turned up in a smile. Wondering why he didn’t provide you any and just with his shirt. You wrap your arms around his neck pressing your foreheads together. “I’m going to need a pair.”

He tugs at your towel smirking when it falls to the floor. His eyes trailing down your exposed body and back up to your face.

“No,” he gives you a pointed stare pulling you tight against him, “you don’t.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #fluff #smut #put on your yarmulke its time for fucking chanaukah

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kentonwrites · 3 years

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Hiemal and “Anamnesis” Update

Welcome back to another update!

“Anamnesis”

I finished writing and developmentally-editing this story, and it actually ended up being over 7k words. I sent it to @breefrankelwriting for critiquing and we agreed that after another few line-edits and a couple other fixes it’ll be in a good place! I have no idea what to do with it after that though!

The writing process went surprisingly smoothly, even when editing. I think since it was such a short piece it was easy to build motivation to work on, since my creativity burns out after a good 20 seconds. This was the first piece that I’d actually finished for a long time, besides random poems that I’ve been submitting to magazines and getting rejections for the past couple months!

Hiemal

This is my newest project. I know, I know, I should just SHUT UP and actually work on my other projects for once in my life and obviously this shiny new idea is just a distraction and as soon as it starts to get difficult I’ll switch to something else BUT! Buckle up because this project has history.

Hiemal all started, actually, when I was in TENTH GRADE. During English class I’d literally just write stories on my iPad and it was great. One of the stories was about a woman who flew to northern Russia and lived off the boreal land for a few years before being mauled by a bear at the very end. It was the first piece of mine where I really started to put imagery at the forefront of my stylistic devices. I actually finished it! The story was titled “Fish Ribs.”

Then, over the next few months I wanted desperately to turn it into a novel. I made up a few characters, played with setting and worldbuilding, and had numerous stops-and-starts. It just wasn’t happening.

Finally in 2018 I had a full outline and began to work on it. I called in Pine Marrow. I got to around 40k words (which was about 3/4 through the book, it was severely underwritten) before shelving it. I don’t know why, but reading it back now it wasn’t...terrible, but it wasn’t good.

A year later I was having a crisis because my writing productivity was at an all-time low and I was disenchanted with the craft altogether. So I spontaneously bought a screenwriting software and started translating it into a screenplay even through I had no prior experience! It actually went quite well, and I LOVED working on it, but as soon as I got 3/4 through (when things actually start getting really exciting no less?) I quit AGAIN.

So, what makes me think I can actually pull it off this time?

1) I’ve restructured the story to occur in much smaller, bite-sized, vignette-esque chapters. This helps monumentally with maintaining motivation and really dedicating time to each individual piece of the story, instead of getting overwrought with like an 8k word mess of a chapter.

2) I’m giving myself more creative freedom to experiment with the characters, voice, and form.

3) I have a general outline on where things are heading, but I wanted to sort of discovery write this draft. I’ve been writing scenes and concepts that were never originally in the plan, and they’re turning out to be some of my favorites! Giving the writing a sense of mystery to me is helping combat the fatigue of translating prose from outline bullet-points.

What is it about?

Hiemal takes place from 1996-2002, and follows a girl named Victoria and her friends as they try to escape the remote outpost/cult they were raised in since birth. The only problem is, they’re located in the boreal regions of northern Canada with thousands of miles of subzero forests separating them from other civilization.

TITLE: The word “Hiemal” means “relating to the cold or winter.” It’s also the name of the village/cult that Torr lives in.

CWs: Theocracy and authoritarian rule, violence, domestic abuse, gore, suicidal thoughts

CHARACTERS:

1) To save time, I’m only going to talk about Torr, the protagonist. She’s 17-18 for the majority of the story. The story is narrated retrospectively from her POV. On the outside she’s reticent and distant, but her narrative is full of chaotic, unhinged thoughts. At the beginning of the book, when she’s 12, she has an experience that changes how Hiemal is governed, and has a lot of misplaced guilt over it. A lot of her arc is about discovering her religious identity.

PROCESS: I’ve written about 8k words so far, and it’s going decently smoothly although I am encountering some problems along the way. Namely Torr’s voice is not as voice-y as I would like, and the characters aren’t “springing to life” the way they did in previous drafts, partially because Torr is less demented and more, I don’t know, soft-spoken now. I feel like the writing style and intrigue has increased, but balancing the worldbuilding with the character relationships is proving to be extremely difficult at this stage. I’m hoping once I get everything introduced it’ll go a lot better.

Here are some quotes!

From the very first paragraph:

The chapel was a relic when I turned seventeen. Its black planks groaned and squelched in the nightwind, its steeple javelined the moon. Frosted shingles sled down the roof, the emerald windows snow-bleached and somber and the doors clattering against the sawhorses. Eugene had pushed at every Founders Meeting for it to be salvaged as lumber, but it was more than enough for it to be empty. I made it empty.

Here’s one of the last lines I wrote:

I wanted to rip the duvet off my legs and sprint through the gate, tear through the night, wind gouging at my eyes, and visit someplace hot, get blood in my hands and brain. I wanted to snatch Van by her flimsy wrist bones and Nik by his and fade down a foyer of pine, show Van the world beyond words and convince Nik he didn’t want to settle here. But we’d just run, and run, and our muscles would scream--we’d collapse to a stop, and the wind would scrape in and out of our lungs, no progress made, a mote in the waste.

That’s all! I’ll do another update when I get to around 20k words.

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danetobelieve · 4 years

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Tech-tonic Shift || Dave and Winston

When: week beginning 12/07 or so Who: @seizethecarpe & @danetobelieve Where: the station and etc. Summary: Dave brings Winston some technology that they found at the beach. Warnings: content warnings for death discussion, some slight description of gore and the like

Winston was actually starting to be able to do their job again. They’d taken the week off after Bea’s resurrection, mainly because all the tech around them had immediately gone haywire. After a week it hadn’t really been that workable but Winston had barely been in the job a week and taking an extended period of time off was hardly ideal. Things had improved vastly since then. A knock at the door however dragged them from their thoughts and Winston looked up from the array of monitors they’d been given as part of their new role. Honestly, one of the reasons that Winston enjoyed their work so much was the cool stuff they got to work with. Obviously this wasn’t all top of the line, but then again it was a ‘sleepy’ backwater town in Maine. Looking up, Winston spotted officer Redwood. “Hey Winston, there’s a guy here to see you, found some tech on the beach or something … seems more your area then ours?” Winston honestly wasn’t sure that it was, but when it came to anything with anymore then a six inch screen they were usually the one who ended up doing it. Apparently things hadn’t changed with the new job. Which was fine. “Sure, I’m happy to take a look at it.” Winston held the door open and spotted someone almost exactly there height. “Hi, my names Winston Dane, I’m a forensic technician here, you had something you’d brought in?”

Sometimes the end of the hunt wasn’t a successful kill, but the hope of closure. Dave knew a thing or two about that. Some days he woke up with nothing but the desire to feel the fury’s neck tear under his teeth, and sometimes he was too worn to want anything but the chance to say goodbye. Figured it was the same for everyone else, so when he’d heard rumbles of a beach that was the site of a number of disappearances he’d had to explore it. When he saw some seals hauled up and untouched, it looked all kinds of friendly to him, even with the broken down warning signs. But when he’d had a real walk, he’d begun finding them. Bits of sunglasses here, phones there. After an hour's walk on the beach, he’d found some things worth salvaging. Things that had been spit back out after. Some of it was beyond rescue, some of it wasn’t, but hell, maybe there was someone who would want them back. And hell, Dave had no idea what people could do with tech these days. So he’d brought the whole batch over to the WCPD. When he was finally directed to the person who could help, he offered them a wide hand to shake. “Dave Herring. I was having a walk on one of them beaches that no one sunbathes on, and found all of these ipods and kindles and I don’t know what kinda gizmos. I was told you might be able to help me get them to the right persons.”

Honestly, when Winston had started their day today (with coffee as usual) they hadn’t expected this. But it was certainly an interesting problem. Winston paused for a moment as they considered what this guy was saying. “Okay Dave, cool to meet you…” Winston glanced at the man opposite them before pulling up a chair and taking another one for themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve got all of that stuff with you, but the best way to do it would probably to see if we can work out who they belong to and then I can try and get in contact with them and let them know that you found them and returned them. I’m sure they’ll be really grateful, it’s really nice of you to bring these up.” Winston found that it was less nerve wracking talking to people in a professional capacity then it was when they were in a social environment. “Which beach did you find these at?” Winston asked, curious as to why there was such a great variety of items just being abandoned on a beach.

“As a matter’o fact, I do,” Dave replied, swinging a rough looking tackle bag from his back, that he hadn’t updated since at least the eighties. Why replace what you could stitch and fix back together? ‘Specially when things these days weren’t made to last. Piece by piece, he picked out the salvaged tech, sand grains sticking to each piece. No matter how battered each individual thing was, he set it down on this young Dane’s desk with careful reverence. Some of these things likely had photos of the people that had lost them, and maybe answers too. “Uh, the one just south of Vicker’s beach.”

“Oh, wow, cool.” Winston was pretty sure that the bag that Dave had used to bring the proverbial goodies into Winston was older then they were. However, they weren’t going to complain. At least he had thought to have the good sense to bring them in at all, which was more then most people. Apparently that fact was more true on the one just south of Vicker’s beach. Winston was pretty sure that there was a veritable plethora of iPods (there was an old nano, an iPod classic, two iPod shuffles and four iPod touches), several phones, a couple of kindles and a few other versions of e-readers, an iPad and what looked like the very battered remains of a Alienware laptop. Winston pulled on a set of gloves and glanced at the tech. “You weren’t kidding, this is really a lot of stuff. Weird that people would just leave this all behind, I guess the first thing to do is clean them all up as best I can, then get them charged and see if I can access them.” Winston looked up at Dave. “This is gonna take me a while Dave, can you come back in like a few days or something and I can let you know what sort of progress I’ve made?”

“Sure thing,” Dave said, slinging the worn canvas bag back onto his back, looking at the random assortments he’d left on the technician’s desk. Hoped this Dane person would be able to find their homes, even if their owners were long gone. Plucking his sunglasses from his shirt pocked, Dave nodded his head, and headed out. No point in lingering to waste anyone here’s time.

-------

Several days’d passed, and Dave’d eventually made the trip back to the station to see where the electronic detective had gotten with all them gizmos. He’d done another pass of the beach in the mean time, running his fingers through the sand, but nothing new had surfaced. But sand beaches could swallow and unearth their secrets at any time and maybe he’d found all the big things on his first round. Maybe he wasn’t the only one patrolling the beach for little treasure treats. All the same, he was quickly directed back to Dane’s office, and knocked politely, summer hat clasped in his hands.

Winston had been working on the lost items as much as possible. Finding all the various charging cables had been challenging in itself. Of the gizmos that had been brought into Winston, a good proportion of them would need repairs to hardware before they could be recharged. A few had broken screens which made accessing them difficult. The rest worked to varying degrees. Spotting Dave knocking at the door to their office, Winston pulled it open and ushered him in. “Hey, welcome back Dave, you want a drink or anything …” they weren’t sure if Police Station Coffee would be to Dave’s taste but it was polite to offer, “You didn’t find anymore tech did you?” Winston asked, a little concerned about the amount of it that was apparently turning up.

“Nah, I’m alright, thanks all the same,” Dave replied, waving away any such coffee request as he stepped inside. He set his bag down, and pulled out a quarter of some old kindle, and what had once been the motherboard of some kind of smart phone. “Ain’t too sure you’ll get any use out of these. It’s just that one shore, though. You’ll find trash anywhere, but just whole things abandoned on this one.”

“Sure, it’s cool, the coffee here sucks,” Winston raised an eyebrow at the scraps that Dave had brought in. “I’ll take a look at them if it’s all the same to you, I don’t really know what I might be able to do with it. You never know what you might be able to pull off of something, even if there’s no way to access any of the data that was once there forensics can get a lot. I’m always … surprised by it.” Winston paused for a second. “Anyway, I’ve managed to get into one of the phones, it’s one of the newer models actually and the lady who owned it had a pretty good case on it. It was just scratched up really.” Winston pulled a evidence bag towards them and turned it over so Dave could see the phone inside. “It’s belongs to a lady called Elaine Thompson, she lived here in town, is a retired lawyer apparently. When I matched the phone to her I realised that there is a missing persons report attached to it. Elaine went missing in February of this year.”

“Ha, noted,” Dave replied with a laugh. “Not much of a coffee guy myself, but I’ll keep that in mind.” The caffeine gave him headaches as often as not these days, heavy pounding ones not worth the kickstart to the morning he promised. Besides, sleep was the one thing in his life he had complete control of. He slid the little pieces onto Winston’s desk. “Yeah, you;d know better’n me.” When Dane said they’d found something, he perked right up, clasping his hand behind his back and leaning over the phone. “Shit. That aint good. This here uh beach I found this all on, it had a couple broken signs, saying it wasn’t all that safe to stay there too long. Wonder if maybe all this has somethin’ to do with that.”

Winston was not convinced that there was such a thing as someone who wasn’t a coffee guy. They themselves lived off of the stuff. Sometimes to an unhealthy level. However, that was hardly important compared to the other problem at hand. Dave seemed concerned by the news, however it was nothing compared to the concern that Winston themselves felt at the fact that they had been found in an area with broken signs warning about a hazard. “Okay, that sounds like bad news,” Winston wondered whether this was a coincidence. Maybe Elaine had simply wandered onto the beach and something terrible had happened. They were almost praying that this wasn’t supernaturally related. “I’ve got a map of White Crest’s coastline, can you show me where on the map this area is?” Winston pulled up the map on an iPad and handed Dave a stylus, “You can just draw onto the screen, if you use your fingers to like drag the map to where you want, then you can you know … draw with the pen thing.” Why would they call it a pen thing? “Anyway, if there were signs here we should definitely get someone to check it out properly.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Dave agreed, sitting in the seat opposite Winston’s desk. He’d expected them to pick up a physical map, but instead he was handed an iPad and a stylus. Hell, Dave had only made the switch to a touchscreen phone three years ago, and was constantly typing the wrong buttons, clicking on things that he oughtn’t and getting lost through ads that looked like links on the website and dragged him some place else. The moment he took the iPad, he accidentally clicked the homescreen button. “Uh,” he said, gesturing for Winston to refind all of it. Once they had, Dave was more cautious, poking the screen in short bursts until he got to the area south of Vicker’s, using the pen, he cautiously drew a bubble around the beach in question.

“Awesome,” Winston dropped slowly into the seat next to Dave’s, watching them carefully pick up the iPad. There were some set backs but that was to be expected and Winston had seen much worse. Some of the older members of staff in the station didn’t know the difference between a fax machine and a printer, many of them were convinced that faxes were the optimum method of transferring information too. “Don’t worry, happens to the best of us.” Winston watched Dave mark out the area before taking several screenshots and sending them off to the relevant people within the station. “Some officers are going to meet us down there, but you’ve actually … you know been out to this beach and gotten there relatively unscatched, do you think you could show us the areas you found everything and we can set up some method of monitoring it so we can work out why this is happening…?”

“Hmmm,” Was all Dave had to say to that. He was happy just fine with his laptop from 2010 and a phone with a case thick enough it could be mistaken for a brick. This was not his expertise. At Dane’s suggestion, he nodded, although he had a bad feeling about it right deep in his gut. “Ain’t too hard to get to, it just seems dangerous to stay on.” With plenty of signs of danger on all ends. It wasn’t even one of the beaches with the more dangerous waves nor riptides. “Anyhow, I’m here to help, however that might be. Just letting you know I’m new to town. Don’t know much of anything about the beaches yet.”

“Well, welcome to White Crest, I’m sorry that this was one of your first experiences of the town, it’s not as bad as everyone makes it out to be.” Winston being one of the key culprits for that particular crime. “If you’re free now we might as well go check it out now, officer Redwood has volunteered to drive us down to the beach,” which was good because Winston didn’t think that they should be having anyone in their terrible piece of shit car within any sort of work capacity, “so if you’re happy to join us then we can get going straight away. Hopefully this won’t take too much of your time.”

“Sure am,” Dave replied, dropping his hands to his thighs and pushing against his knees to stand up again. “No time like the present.” Not long after, there was officer Redwood, whose hand Dave shook too, and they were lead to the car. Dave gave directions to the beach, and they were soon on their way. As Officer Redwood pulled up, Dave scanned the waters. Shrinking tides, and with the sunny sky, the water wasn’t that violent either. In all things, it seemed a perfect beach day, but the beach was near empty of people. Everyone either avoided it or somethin’ worse was causing the gap. “See here. Sign’s barely even legible, completely rotted through.” He pointed it out, nudging it with his boot

The sea wind swept through Winston’s hair and slowly dried out their lips. Winston squinted into the sun through their glasses and couldn’t help but wish that they had brought their sunglasses with them. Looking down at what was a truly rotten sign, Winston couldn’t help but wonder what was up with this place. “That’s really weird,” Winston crouched down and pulled the remains of a large red sign that had once given a warning of some kind from the wet sand. “Did you see other signs like this … ?” Winston had to admit that it was weird to them, they weren’t sure what it was, but there was something off about this that didn’t quite add up, Winston took a step towards the beach.

“Yeah, one down on the south end. Doesn’t seem to matter that you can’t seem them though, for a sand beach it sure is empty,” Dave said, looking out along the beach. He’d been wrong. There was one man, lying on a striped blue beach towel, flicking on his phone. David frowned, looking around the rest of the beach. Instinctively, he raised his hand in front of Winston, because while he knew he’d walked it fine, people didn’t avoid such a pretty place for nothing. “Careful now. Sure those signs are there for a reason.”

Spotting the man lying on the beach towel Winston was about to say something to them and was making their way over when Dave’s hand rose in front of them. “Broken signs and an empty beach,” Winston wasn’t sure whether or not this was really true, but they were almost certain that there was something going on here that was supernatural, it didn’t make sense for this to be something … mundane, and yet there was definitely something weird going on here, “that doesn’t seem weird at all.” Swallowing, Winston looked at the man on the beach, was he beginning to sink a little or were they seeing things? “Is he getting lower…?”

“I don’t have the faintest-” Dave turned back to the beach with a frown. Winston was right, the man was sinking, slowly at first. He didn’t seem to realise, but as Dave began to move, the man began to yell. Dave dropped his things and sprinted across the beach. Ignoring the police altogether, he grabbed the man’s arm, and tried to yank him back out. He came far too easily, so much so that Dave fell back from how hard he yanked. Only, the only thing he’d rescued was an arm dripping blood. “What the fuck.” He began to dig through the sand where the man had been, frantically throwing sand behind him as he dug his hands deeper and deeper, but as most when he reached the water logged sand, it smelled like iron, but he couldn’t quite see how blood soaked and red it truly was.

What happened next would’ve been perfectly placed within a horror movie, Winston saw the man sinking, they tried to move with Dave as he went to help the sunbather but they weren’t nearly as quick or spry as their older companion. Darting after Dave, Winston was gasping for breath and had half a mind to reach for their inhaler and then they saw the hand that was in Dave’s possession. “Okay, fuck, off the sand now.” Winston wasn’t giving an option here, they could look for the man all that they wanted but from the arm that had been left behind and the red splodge of blood soaking into the water and dirt around them, Winston doubted there was anything left to look for. “I think he’s gone Dave,” they swallowed as the Officers that they had come here with looked at one another as if they should be doing something but weren’t sure what, “we need to get back to the station and cordon this place off but first we need to get out of the sand.”

After a long pause, Dave nodded, pressing his bloodied hands against his knees to push himself standing upright. He was breathing heavily, his lungs protesting the exertion. “Think you’re right, Dane. Alright, let’s go.” Pressing a hand to his side, he followed them off the sands, still holding the arm in his hand, it dripping blood onto the sand as they returned back to the embankment. “Don’t understand a thing. I walked that beach for hours last week. Ain’t seen nothing like this.”

Pursing their lips at the scene that they had just witnessed, Winston couldn’t help but worry about all of the people who could’ve been hurt like this. They weren’t sure what they had just seen. Honestly, it didn't really make any sense to them. They had seen things that could do this, but they were always physical things. Not entire pieces of land. Apparently previous signs hadn’t been successful but they had to do something. “I don’t get it either, but I’m going to look into it, I don’t think it was entirely natural and whatever it is that can do something like that is beyond me.” Winston paused for a second longer and frowned. What was different about Dave if he had been able to comb the beach without getting harmed. “We’re missing something and as soon as we find out what we can actually do something about it.”

#wickedswriting #para #p: dave #chatzy para #chatzy #tech-tonic shift

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pug-bitch · 5 years

Text

That’s not why I’m going (38)

Keep it together

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: around 5,000 (oops) (I am on the app right now on my iPad and I can’t for the life of me figure out how to add a ‘keep reading’! If anyone knows, that would be super helpful, if not, I’ll add it when I’m on my desktop :))

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, the day of the Decision Ball, starting with Drake’s POV.

*****

Drake watches Amara as she frantically tries different pairs of shoes to go with her red gown. She looks so beautiful in this color, her dark hair down on her shoulders, curls everywhere. He can’t help but smile.

‘What?’ she asks, grinning too.

Drake shrugs. ‘You’re beautiful. Can’t help it.’

She smiles a little wider. ‘You’re beautiful too. I can’t believe you got ready so fast. I’m already a record breaker, but you have me beat!’

He runs his hand through his hair, his smile stuck on his face. He wishes he could stop time, right now. Just be with her now, and for always.

But she’s right. They have to face the world. She has to show them that she won’t be broken. How could she be, she’s Amara Suarez! Detective Badass.

A knock on the door pulls Drake away from his thoughts. As Amara applies her lipstick, he walks towards the door and unlocks it.

‘Hey guys,’ Maxwell says with exaggerated caution, his hand on top of his eyes and a smiley Michael behind him. ‘Just checking in to see if you’re doing alright. Are you decent?’

Drake rolls his eyes and gives Michael a shrug as if to say Sorry man, he’s always like that, gotta get used to it. Michael laughs. Drake says, ‘Max, uncover your eyes, I wouldn’t open the door if we weren’t decent.’

Max obliges and comes into the room. Upon seeing Amara in her red gown, he gasps. ‘OMG babe. You’re gorgeous! And that hair… As Bertrand would say, Yass Kween!’

Michael chuckles. Maxwell looks at him in all seriousness. Michael’s eyes widen. ‘Wait, you’re serious? Bertrand says Yass Kween? Your brother Bertrand, with the long swimming shorts?’

Amara lets out a throaty laugh that makes Drake’s heart flutter. She says, ‘He saw the light when he discovered Queer Eye, but his closet didn’t get the memo.’ She turns to Michael. ‘You look amazing, Michael. Max’s tux suits you!’

Maxwell beams. ‘Right? I told him he can keep this one. He pulls it off better than I ever did. He gives out some James Bond vibes.’

Michael blushes. ‘Oh please. You all look great, by the way. I feel so intimidated right now, you’re all so comfortable with all this fancy stuff…’

Drake leaps in right away, ‘Oh, don’t be fooled, Mike. I’ve been at court basically my whole life and I’m still super uncomfortable in any fancy setting. It’s just a lot better when you have loved ones around you, to help you through it.’ He glances at Amara. ‘Hey guys, maybe I could take a picture of you to send Amara’s dad? He’d probably love seeing his daughter look so regal and happy, and of course, seeing you two together.’

Maxwell’s face lights up. ‘OMG how have we not thought about it?? Let’s show Jorge how hot his daughter is.’

Amara grimaces uncomfortably. ‘Not sure it’s the point, Max. Plus, it’s a little gross, when you say it like that. But it’s a great idea, Drake. Michael, what do you say?’

Michael’s grin can’t lie. ‘Let’s do it.’ He places himself right next to Amara while Drake takes out his phone. ‘Let’s do the prom pose,’ Michael says. ‘Plus, it’s a nice callback to your actual prom date, who was also a gay man.’

Amara gasps in mock shock and nudges Michael’s elbow. ‘How dare you talk about Adrian?’ She says in an exaggerated manner. They both laugh. ‘Well,’ Amara adds, ‘at least I look less like a cream puff than I did on my quinceañera…’

Drake glances at Maxwell and they share a knowing look, both happy and relieved to see Amara and Michael reunited, and acting like siblings. ‘Alright guys,’ Drake says, ‘smile!’

*****

Jorge is busy painting with his granddaughter, and he barely hears the ping of his phone. Callie is growing up so fast, and she looks so much like her father, that Jorge wants to soak up every second with her. The little girl is not one for staying inside the lines, but Jorge is a patient grandpa. He shows her how to follow the curve of the puppy drawing with her crayon, again and again, until she’s happy with what she’s colored.

‘Jorge!’ Nancy cries out. ‘Your phone is beeping!’

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, making Callie laugh. ‘Grampie, your eyes are crazy,’ she says through giggles.

He sighs and gets up, his back bothering him slightly. ‘Alright, let me go see what’s going on, sweetheart!’

He meets Nancy halfway and she hands him his phone. ‘I think it’s Amara,’ she says with a wide grin.

Jorge puts on his reading glasses, forced to admit that they do help him see better. He opens his texts.

Papi, Michael surprised me in Cordonia! All is well, we talked, we love and miss you. Give our love to Callie and Nancy. Attached is a picture of us, getting ready for a ball! Xo Amara and Michael.

Before he knows it, a light sob escapes his body. He didn’t mean for it to come out, he really didn’t. Now Nancy is looking at him worriedly. Fat tears are forming in his eyes as he stares at the picture of his kids who have forgiven each other. Unable to say anything yet, he gestures for Nancy to come look at the picture too. She gasps.

‘Honey, they look adorable. This is so great!’ she says, tears in her eyes.

Jorge takes a deep breath and kisses his wife on the cheek. How blessed is he? His Sergio must be so happy, watching over them. ‘Callie, sweetie,’ Jorge finally says. ‘Wanna see a picture of Daddy and Auntie?’

*****

Amara is sitting in the back of Bertrand’s car, with Drake next to her, and Hana in the front. Olivia is riding with Maxwell and Michael.

‘Is everyone doing ok?’ Bertrand asks, probably perturbed by the silence.

Hana responds first. ‘I’m fine, thank you Bertrand. Just anxious to see the end of tonight!’

Amara is too. She nods and turns to Drake, who offers her a smile. They agreed to stick around Ramsford and possibly the cabin in Portavira once the evening is over, for a few more days, while Michael is still in Cordonia. Then, they’ll keep a low profile and travel around Europe, away from the spotlight, the time for everyone to forget all about her and any impact she ever had on Liam. They will try to find Savannah. Then, when things have calmed down, they will resurface and tell Liam about their relationship. Drake told her earlier that he’s not sure there’s anything to salvage in terms of his friendship with Liam, but Amara doesn’t want to jeopardize it. After all, they have been friends for a long time, there’s always something to salvage.

After all, she didn’t think there was anything to salvage between Michael and herself. Look at them today.

Amara silently hopes Hana will stick around, too, although she’s pretty sure her friend will be headed to London to see a certain someone again.

As much as Amara is happy that the competition is almost over, a bittersweet feeling invades her. What if it’s the last time they’re all together, here, bitching about the court and its politics?

She shakes her head. No, this isn’t helpful. Her eyes meet Drake’s again, and he gives her a reassuring smile, as if he’d been in her head, reading her thoughts. She takes his hand, briefly, and squeezes it.

‘Here we are!’ Bertrand proudly announces.

Amara takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, after one last longing look shared with Drake.

*****

‘Holy shit,’ Michael whispers. ‘It’s even more opulent than yesterday.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘Yeah, they really went all out for the Decision Ball. Hey, have some champagne!’ He hands a flute to Michael, and one to Amara, before swiping one for himself.

Amara drinks hers nervously. She should mingle, but her heart’s not in it.

‘Hello, Maxwell,’ she hears an unknown voice behind her. ‘Long time no see, you old bitch!’

Maxwell’s eyes widen. ‘Leo! Hi! I had no idea you were here!’ The two men hug. Amara has heard so much about Leo, Liam’s older brother, that she feels like she should have recognized him solely from the way he greeted Max. Also from his looks - Leo seems to be chiseled from bronze, from head to toe. Wavy golden hair, sort of like a young Hercules, and a smile that has probably made a lot of panties drop.

Leo pats Maxwell on the back. ‘I heard about your coming out. It was really badass, man, congrats!’

Maxwell smiles. ‘Thanks, Leo. I appreciate it. Hey, let me introduce you--’

‘Amara Suarez, right?’ Leo interrupts, offering her his hand to shake. She complies.

‘Um, yes, nice to meet you.’

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it. Amara has to stop herself from grimacing. ‘VERY nice to meet you,’ he says in a voice that is supposed to be sexy. ‘My brother did not lie about your beauty. You’re stunning.’

‘Hi, I’m Michael,’ Michael says, holding out his hand. Leo takes it.

Amara grins. Michael is obviously nervous and overwhelmed by the Palace and the whole thing, but he’s in big brother mode right now, sensing that Amara needed rescuing from a creep. The three men exchange pleasantries that Amara does not pay attention to, until Leo changes the subject. ‘Where’s Walker?’ he asks.

Maxwell stops in his tracks for a split second, and responds, ‘He’s over there with Rashad. Why do you ask?’

Leo smiles broadly. ‘I haven’t seen the son of a bitch in a while, so I want to say hi. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.’ He turns to Amara and winks at her. ‘And lovely lady. I hope to see more of you later.’

He walks away. Amara frowns. ‘More of me? What does he mean, more of me?’

Maxwell grimaces. ‘Ew. He has become even sleazier, and I didn’t think it was possible. Little Blossom, I have some Purell for your hand if you want. He almost licked it.’

Michael snorts, ‘So I’m not crazy, right? For a second, I thought it was a local custom and I wondered, should I have kissed that woman’s hand when you introduced me? Then I thought, no, he’s just a creep.’

Amara shakes her head. ‘I guess Liam doesn’t seem so bad now...Why do you think he wants to see Drake?’

Maxwell puts a reassuring hand on Amara’s arm. ‘Honey, it’s fine. He just wants to say hi. Besides, Drake can hold his own.’

*****

‘Father, can we talk?’ Liam whispers to Constantine, who is helping himself to a seltzer water.

Constantine sighs. ‘Sure, son. What is it?’

Liam smiles nervously. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about it. I’ve made my decision. I’d like to run something by you, now. Can we go outside?’

Constantine reluctantly agrees. He tries to limit his amount of walking in public, to avoid being perceived as sickly. He can’t control his movements as well as he could, just a few weeks ago. He can feel himself become weaker physically, and he can’t stand it. He certainly doesn’t want his subjects to see him as weak. But his son insisted, so now he’s wobbling around, trying to keep it together until they’re out of the ballroom.

‘So?’ he asks Liam impatiently.

Liam clears his throat. Constantine has always hated when he does that. ‘Father, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m going with your suggestion.’

Constantine can feel his whole body relax. Finally, his son has heard the voice of reason. Maybe he can even cancel what he had planned for later. Maybe it’s no longer necessary. ‘Good,’ he says, remaining completely calm and trying not to appear too excited. ‘I’m happy you changed your mind, Liam. This is the right decision.’

Liam gives him a weak smile. ‘That’s not all, Father. I have a non-negotiable condition to this.’

The King has to make a superhuman effort not to roll his eyes. What, now? And to think he was this close to being proud of his son’s decision. Now he’s about to ask for something. As if it wasn’t enough to have to watch his other son running around the ballroom, winking his way through all the ladies present. King Constantine loves his sons, but he wishes he could punch them sometimes. He sighs. ‘What is your condition, Liam?’

Liam adjusts his ascot. ‘Father, I am making this decision for Cordonia, because I am aware that I can’t follow my heart on this one. But I don’t want to give up on true love.’

True love. Constantine can’t believe his ears. But he has to keep listening, after all, Liam is meeting him halfway by making the right decision. ‘What do you propose we do, Liam?’

He continues. ‘I want to give Valtoria to Amara.’

Constantine’s face falls. Valtoria? To a Mexican whore? Over his dead body. Which, for the record, might happen sooner rather than later. ‘That’s preposterous,’ he whispers, outraged.

Liam stands his ground. ‘Well, whatever you may call it, it’s non-negotiable. I have feelings for her, Father, and I know she doesn’t...yet. But if she can’t stay close, she’ll leave without having given us a chance. At least, if she stays in Valtoria, she’ll be able to get to know me. It will be a lot less scandalous if I have a Cordonian arrangement with a noblewoman. Plus, she has made a great impression on the press, she has made a lot of effort to learn about Cordonia and our history, and let’s not forget that a lot of the nobles have already taken a liking to her, even Olivia—‘

‘Oh, you mean the woman who fornicates with her servants? What a great endorsement.’ Constantine spits out.

‘Father,’ Liam says calmly, ‘I’m not asking for the moon. I’m asking for your approval. The duchy is unclaimed, it would just mean that I have to make her a Duchess. It’s been done before.’

Constantine remains silent. It’s worse than he thought. And to think he was about to call off what he’d planned for after the ceremony… No way he’s doing that now. Not a chance in hell. His son needs to see for himself what he really wants to bring to court. He shakes his head vigorously. ‘Liam, this is ridiculous. Everyone will see through this, everyone will see it’s a whim.’

‘Valtoria needs a Duke or Duchess, and I found you one,’ Liam says firmly. ‘I don’t think it’s that much to ask for you to just say yes. Once you pass over the crown to me, once I choose a spouse, we can work through the details. Like I said, it’s non-negotiable.’

Constantine snorts. If he says no, Liam might not honor his end of the deal. So, for now, he has to make it seem like he’s open to it. ‘If you say it’s non-negotiable, then let’s leave it on the table. We’ll talk about it again after the ceremony.’

Liam beams. ‘Thank you, Father. I can give you more compelling arguments later, too.’

Oh, so can he. He smiles and walks away from his son, slowly but surely. Bastien is standing near the door, waiting for Constantine to make his way back to the ballroom. As he passes his bodyguard, the King whispers to him, ‘Please make sure that what we planned happens after Liam has chosen his spouse. I want it out there for everyone to see.’

Bastien nods curtly. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

Constantine gets back to his original spot, silently seething. Yes, he will show his son how terrible his judgment is.

*****

Drake sips his whiskey slowly, next to Leo. Sure, it’s nice to see him again, but he can’t help but think that Leo’s excitement over spending alone time with him rings a bit false. Like he’s trying to milk him for information on behalf of Liam.

Leo’s known for a lot of things, and subtlety is not one of them.

‘So,’ Drake risks, ‘How was your trip?’

Leo gives him a dashing smile. ‘It was awesome! I went all around Europe on a cruise, and since it’s ended, I’ve been in Morocco, and then Brazil… Just having a lot of fun.’

Drake nods and takes another sip. ‘That’s awesome. It’s nice of you to come back for your brother’s ball.’

Leo’s smile falters. ‘Yeah, I gotta say, I’m a bit worried about this little bastard.’

Here it is, Drake thinks. This is a lecture on friendship. Oh well, he’s not all innocent in this whole thing, so the least he can do is stick around and listen. ‘Oh, really?’ Drake asks in a falsely nonchalant tone.

Leo nods. ‘Yeah. You know he’s completely fooled by Madeleine’s newly found niceness, and he feels very isolated from everyone. The pressure of being King is getting to him, and believe me when I say I understand why.’

Drake bites his lip, trying not to say what he wants to say, along the lines of Leo, you are the very reason why Liam has to go through this pressure. But this wouldn’t help anybody right now, so he just nods. ‘I get it. But you gotta know that he’s been hard to support, these days. The Liam we both knew is difficult to see, through the mask of Courtly Liam.’

‘Drake, can you blame him? He has new responsibilities, and for God’s sake, our father is sick! Liam needs friends and support right now, not the cold shoulder.’

Drake takes a deep breath. ‘So, I take it you’ve heard that Liam and I have had tough times, huh?’

Leo shrugs. ‘Yeah. He told me that you didn’t like the way he acted with this woman, Amara.’

Drake has to try really hard to remain expressionless. ‘Yes, well, Amara is a friend, and I don’t like to see women being preyed on by entitled men. That’s all. If you had seen the whole thing, you’d understand.’ Maybe, he thinks. He would probably not understand, but it was worth saying it.

Leo raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re telling me you’re picking sides, and you’re choosing a chick you barely know, over your best friend?’

Drake sighs. Of course he didn’t get it. ‘No, Leo, that’s not what I’m telling you. It was just the starting point of our differences, but there’s more to it than that.’ He stares into his glass. ‘Plus, I don’t think you understand the whole ‘picking a side’ thing. If I see someone doing something wrong, I’m gonna call them out on it, whether they’re my best friend or a complete stranger.’

Leo nods. ‘I guess. But Liam needs you. Now more than ever. Think of all he’s done for you.’

Drake’s heart sinks. Of course he thinks about it, all the time. Of course it kills him. Of course he owes Liam so much… But is it a reason to close his eyes on the different person he’s become? Is it a reason to let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to him? Once again, he can’t count on Leo to understand. ‘I know,’ he says sadly. ‘I owe him everything.’

Leo’s stare hardens. ‘Yes, you do. He took you in, Drake. He includes you in everything. Hell, he considers you as more of a brother than me. Don’t forget that.’ He pauses. ‘He needs a brother.’

Drake frowns. ‘Got it. Good talk, Leo.’ He walks away, a knot in his throat.

*****

‘Hey guys,’ Drake says as he approaches Max and Michael.

They both smile, and Maxwell greets him warmly. ‘Hey Drake, where did you disappear to? We’ve been looking for you! Come have some of these amuse bouches, you’re gonna love them.’ He hands Drake a tray of little canapés.

Drake smiles. ‘Did you swipe that from a staff member?’

Maxwell nods enthusiastically, his mouth full of puff pastry.

Drake and Michael chuckle. ‘I just had a chat with Leo,’ Drake says. ‘He came on really strong. Told me I need to be there for Liam. It messed with my head.’

Maxwell sighs and smiles. ‘Don’t let him get to you. He basically licked Amara’s hand like a cartoon wolf, earlier, right, Michael? You can’t trust a guy like that. Don’t humor him.’

Drake nods. He’s still painfully uncomfortable, but he did the right thing coming to Max. The guy’s crazy, but he has a way of supporting his friend like Drake has never seen before. Even the way he immediately took Michael under his wing is remarkable. ‘Thanks, Max,’ he says as he pats his friend on the back.

‘Oh shit,’ Maxwell says, ‘speak of the devil, here comes Liam, everyone smile!’

Drake turns around, and sure enough, Liam is coming towards them, his fake smile plastered on his face.

Michael whispers, ‘Should I bow? What should I do?’

Maxwell whispers back, ‘Relax. Follow our lead, I’ll introduce you.’

‘Hello, gentlemen,’ Liam says enthusiastically. ‘How is everyone doing on this fine afternoon?’

Drake has to force himself not to roll his eyes. ‘Good to see you, Liam,’ he manages.

Maxwell chimes in, ‘You probably remember Michael Hansen-Suarez. Michael, this is Prince Liam of Cordonia!’

Michael awkwardly curtsies, which he probably has seen on The Crown or some other show. ‘Pleasure, Your Highness,’ he says, his head bowed down.

Liam holds out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Michael. I’m happy to see you back here again, I feel terribly about the way that you were introduced last night! Please accept my most sincere apologies.’ He does not even wait for Michael to respond, and turns to Drake. ‘Drake, do you have a second? I want to talk to you about something.’

Drake nods, looks at Max and Michael and excuses himself.

Once the two men are out of earshot, Liam’s smile drops. ‘Jeez, this is stressful,’ he says.

Drake nods understandingly. ‘I can imagine. How are you holding up?’

Liam nods. ‘I’m ok. Not completely happy about my decision, but it’s the best I can do, with what I’m given at the moment.’

Drake raises an eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me—‘

Liam shrugs. ‘What am I supposed to do, Drake? Father is dying. It’s his wish.’

Drake remembers Leo’s words. He needs to be supportive right now, especially since he may disappear after the ceremony and not be there when Constantine actually dies. ‘I understand, Liam. I just hope you can find happiness in any way you can. Honestly.’

Liam gives him a sad smile. ‘Leo talked to you, huh?’

Drake chuckles. ‘Yeah. He made me feel like shit, which I probably deserve. I—I didn’t mean to abandon you. At all. I was just really put off by some things. You know me, I don’t change my mind easily. I should have supported you more.’

Liam sighs. ‘It means a lot, Drake. Thank you. For the record, I didn’t ask Leo to come to you. He told me he might, and I told him not to.’ He snorts. ‘Ironic, huh? My notoriously flaky brother, giving you shit for not being there? It’s fucked up.’

Drake chuckles earnestly. ‘I guess. But you know you can count on me, right? Even if we’ve had our differences…’

Liam smiles. ‘I know. Plus, I’ve come to realize that you were truly right about how I behaved with Amara. And this whole thing with her brother-in-law...how is she doing, by the way?’

Drake nods, stunned that Liam is asking him that when he hasn’t checked on her once since last night. ‘She and Michael talked, she’s doing ok.’

Liam smiles. ‘Good. Let me tell you, something wasn’t right with that speech I was given. I need to look into it. Between this and the way I’ve behaved with her...I owe her, now.’ He clears his throat. ‘Which is why I negotiated with Father, and I’m going to offer her Valtoria.’

Drake tries to speak, but the words are stuck in his throat. ‘Wh—what?’

Liam gestures to stay quiet. ‘Shh, no one knows yet, and no one will until after this is all over. But she’s been a great person through and through, she has made a lot of connections here, and I just thought as a symbolic gesture—‘

‘You are giving her a duchy?’ Drake’s head spins. What’s Liam’s angle? Does he simply want to keep her close? Is that his way of apologizing for trying to fucking grab her?

Liam nods excitedly. ‘Yes. Well, if she accepts. But, from what I gather, she doesn’t have much to tie her to her life in New York. So… Fingers crossed.’

*****

Amara has been hanging out with Hana and Liv, safely away from all the drama around. The three women are enjoying light chit chat and beverages, all three of them choosing to remain blissfully ignorant about the rest of the world, and the rest of the evening.

‘What do you mean you’ve never been skinny dipping?’ Olivia says, a frown on her face.

Hana shrugs. ‘No I haven’t. I’m not saying I’m opposed to ever trying, but I have to say, I don’t see the point.’

Liv snorts. ‘True. Unless there’s someone in the crowd you’re trying to see naked, there’s no point at all.’

Amara is looking at her two friends, a goofy grin on her face.

‘What?’ Liv spits out.

Amara laughs. ‘Nothing. I’m just enjoying the banter. You guys are the best.’

Hana squeals. ‘Aww, you’re the best, honey!’

Liv chugs her drink. ‘You girls are gross.’ She turns her head towards Drake, who is walking towards them. ‘Walker, long time no see! Where did you put Domvallier? Wasn’t he with you?’

Drake gives her a faint smile. ‘He had to take a phone call, but he’ll be back. He said he wants you to save him a dance.’

Amara smiles broadly at the thought, and is about to tease Olivia about her budding romance, when she notices Drake’s pale face. ‘Drake, are you okay?’ She says worriedly.

He nods. ‘I’m fine. I’m just—thrown for a loop. Can I tell you guys something and we all remain calm? I don’t want to attract attention by going outside—‘

Hana puts a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Of course. Tell us, Drake, don’t worry.’

*****

Drake feels slightly better after telling the ladies about what Liam just announced. He had asked him to keep it to himself, but it’s impossible. The thought of Amara being stuck at court because Liam wants her close… he doesn’t know what to think, how to react, but his gut instinct is sadness. Court always had made him feel inferior. It’s full of sharks. Of people like Madeleine, like the new version of Liam, like the Duke of Karlington, and so many more people who thought commoners were lesser than. Of course, on the flip side, there’s good people like Maxwell. Bertrand. Even Liv. Rashad. But would that life make Amara happy? He’s too afraid of studying her face to see the answer. He stares at his feet instead.

Olivia is the first to speak. ‘Okay,’ she says softly, but firmly. ‘It’s obvious that Liam is doing that to keep her at hand, huh? So the intention is already...not fucking great. But…’ she trails off. ‘I mean… that would give you an opportunity to stick around, and it could be your out,’ she says to Amara. ‘You manage the duchy for a while, you’ll be near Drake and near...us.’

Hana chimes in, ‘You don’t have to accept, though. If you want your freedom over the title and the rest, you can absolutely say no, and I’m sure Maxwell and Bertrand will find a way to have you stay in Cordonia, if that’s what you want. Amara?’ She asks her friend, who is still silent.

Drake finally raises his eyes to her level. God, she’s so beautiful. Her face looks just as lost as his own, which somehow reassures him. They’re on the same page. He wants to take her hand so badly, and out of habit he almost does, but stops himself.

‘This is nuts,’ she says, a nervous smile on her lips. ‘I do love being here, I love you all, but doing it this way…’ she chuckles. ‘It’s fucking crazy. I’m not a noble, I’m a cop, and I’m a bartender.’

Olivia laughs. ‘There’s a first for everything.’

Amara shakes her head. ‘No, if he really does offer it to me, I’ll have to turn it down. Let’s stick to the plan.’

Drake can breathe again.

*****

‘Shit, look at these flowers,’ Michael whispers. ‘And these picture frames. And do you think the sword over there is real?’ He asks Maxwell.

Max laughs and nods. ‘Yeah, it is. I opened a bottle of champagne with it once. I can vouch for its sharpness.’

Michael smiles. He has to make a true effort in order to keep his shit together and not squeal. He wonders how Amara does it. He’s been observing her all day, and she is right in her element, she looks like she was made to mingle with nobles.

He smiles wistfully as he thinks back of the young woman Amara was when he met her, ten years ago, when she was just graduating high school, ready to go to college and take on the world.

Nope, not the best way to keep it together.

‘You okay?’ Maxwell asks, concerned.

Michael takes a deep breath and tries to will the tears to go back to where they came from. ‘Yeah, just overwhelmed.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘I get it. You have your sister back, and you’re in a foreign court, it’s a lot to process.’ He pats his back. ‘Take your time.’

He’s about to open his mouth and thank Maxwell yet again for understanding him so well, but he’s interrupted by a change in the music. There is, all of a sudden, a violin solo coming from the orchestra, which silences everyone, until the King is the center of the attention.

‘People of Cordonia,’ he says, ‘The time has come for my son, Prince Liam of Cordonia, to make his decision.’

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @andy-loves-corgis @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love @drakewalkerwhipped @drakxwalker @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @thisperfectmemory @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @mrsmairstanley

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

#that's not why i'm going #drake walker x amara suarez #dramara #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #drake walker #trr drake #drake x mc #drake walker trr #drake x amara #amara suarez

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lindoig4 · 5 years

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Across Canada

I will try to post a little more text today, but the internet service here is pretty poor so I will leave posting of any more photos until we get home. We leave the US this evening and arrive back in Melbourne before dawn on Wednesday, having missed an entire day along the way.

We took a cab to Union Station to catch the VIA Rail across the country. We have usually paid cab fares by card, but Heather used cash this time. The cabbie gave her a few coins as change and when Heather said that there should have been some notes, he said he was keeping that as his tip - about 50% of the fare. Heather argued, but he bullied her and insisted that he was keeping it. Had I been closer instead of getting our bags out of the boot, he may not have been so demanding, but it left a sour taste in our mouths as it was.

The train is by no means luxurious, obviously oldish, but it is quite functional and we are comfy enough in our little cabin. One good thing is that the bunks are bigger and much more comfortable than on the ship or the other trains we have used. We have both slept well.

On the other hand, there is no WiFi at all, only an occasional phone signal and although there are 110-volt power outlets, they won’t charge my PC - so once again, the technology has failed us. Maybe I am naive, but we are now in the 21st century and I reckon basic power and signal issues should have been sorted out years ago. As it is, the battery in my PC is flat and there is no way I can use it until we reach Vancouver at best. That means I can’t look at my photos or do much with my blog other than draft bits on my iPad.

Canada is exquisitely beautiful. It is an absolute picture postcard, full to bursting with trees and lakes. The overwhelming colour is green, with literally billions of tall skinny pointy trees. Actually, they are not that tall. We have seen very few trees more than 8-10 metres tall, but there are zillions of them, mostly densely packed with both understory and overstory. In some places, it is a bit more open, but still usually gloomy and mysterious, inviting us to explore - if only we were out there in the bush. Aspen, larch, spruce, alder, birch, pines and firs, conifers of every description, millions of stark white trunks, black trunks, all sorts, drowning in a thousand shades of green, leaves shimmering in the breeze, gleaming in the sun, with just a smattering of autumn tones starting to appear here and there.

Then there are the thousands of lakes. We must have traversed 1000 kilometres of marshy land with water shimmering through the low vegetation as far as we could see. But there are thousands of open lakes as well, from just a hectare or two to those speeding past the train for kilometre after kilometre. Did I say picture postcard? We have seen them all. The little ones that look like they came out of a cutesy 50s or 60s movie, with the summer camp atmosphere - a few canoes tied up to a little landing, a pontoon and shallow diving board, a short rowing course, maybe a pathetic little waterski-jump and a collection of quaint little huts that are probably family holiday shacks. Then there are the more remote ones, some with a tiny island or two with just 2 or 3 perfectly conical fir trees on them and a kayak tied up to a partly-submerged drowning landing that defies imagination about how one might access it - not even a hiking track, much less a road, in sight. Then we have the larger ones with a couple of small tinnies out there, each with a fisherman or two, sound asleep with their rods dangling limp over the side, or perhaps the ten deserted sheds, some literally falling down, and only a tiny Cessna anchored to the shore to suggest that anyone might occasionally visit them. We are not talking upscale Hillbilly country. This is magically picturesque country that should warrant criminal charges if anyone but us invades it. Add your own superlatives, but for me, I have run out. Simply stupendously glorious!

Later. We have just crossed the border from massive Ontario into Manitoba - after more than 20 hours heading west. Slowly, the trees and lakes seem to be getting slightly larger, the terrain is a little more open, the trees a little lighter green and the wildflowers more profuse and colourful - mainly white, yellow and mauve/purple.

For the entire trip, there has been a line of telegraph posts and cables beside the train: around 20 cables, but obviously long defunct. Thousands of the posts have simply sunk into the boggy earth or fallen over or submerged into the lakes, and many of the cables are broken or hanging limp and tangled. I am amazed that nobody has attempted to salvage the hundreds of thousands of dollars of copper out there.

As we went west, it became a little hillier and we even went through a couple of short tunnels. We also went through many cuttings where the rock had been blasted away for the track. There was a lot of red in the rocks and it is likely that some sort of algae was growing on it to make it that colour.

It was getting dark when we rolled into Winnipeg, but we had an hour and a bit stopover, so we went into the station and used the WiFi to download our email - alas, mostly more bills to pay! I had prepared a few emails to send, but they were all on my PC and inaccessible due to the flat battery!

It was a very rocky night, but we were up early for showers. I raised the blind just a centimetre or two in our cabin and could see everything there was to see. The landscape was entirely in landscape. Flat, flat, flat - all the way to the horizon. Everything looked manicured as if the farmers had risen early and swept or ironed their paddocks to welcome us. A bit later, we saw patches of forest and lots of neat (or sometimes sprawling) farmhouses, often with 2 or 3 little cottages and a barn or two, and mostly at least a field-bin or ten (or 30) and a tractor parked nearby. Many farms also have a machinery graveyard, usually at a distance from the house, with rows of rusty tractors, trucks, cars, pick-ups, ploughs, harvesters, caravans, campers and who knows what, all lined up in their final resting places, slowly sinking into the landscape. The houses all have pitched rooves, presumably to avoid too much snow collecting on them in the winter.

The paddocks are mainly cropped with wheat, barley, oats and canola, but there is also a lot of uncropped land, mostly looking too boggy to crop. Quite a bit of the uncropped land is still productive though, with miles of road and rail verges being harvested and baled for silage. It is obviously harvest time over here with quite a lot of crop already cut, but with plenty more still to go. We haven’t seen much actually being harvested, but plenty of hay bales in neatly shorn paddocks. There are a few cattle but no big herds. Also a few horses, half a dozen goats, a donkey, a young deer standing beside the track staring at me - and at least one fox scampering across the prairie with four magpies harassing it. It was nearly two days later before we saw any sheep: about 20 near one house and 3 at another – then none through to Vancouver.

There have been a few shallow lakes, mainly fairly small and at last, a few birds. We crossed one wide river, very shallow with flat mud islands and hundreds of birds: all gulls and Canada Geese as far as I could see. It is very frustrating not having any internet because I can’t identify the birds conclusively without my favourite Merlin app, but I am taking photos and making notes and hope I will be able to tie some of them down later. It is even more frustrating that Heather can sit there posting to Facebook and her blog almost any time when the SIM we purchased for me doesn’t work in either my phone or my iPad!

There were a few places along the rivers and nearby lakes where I suspect beavers were at work. A couple of creeks appeared to be dammed and there was an area near one suspected lodge where a whole lot of smallish trees had been felled – all with pencil-sharpener bases. And I saw a few flat conical structures a metre or so above the water level – again with a collection of pick-up-sticks pencil-ended logs embedded in the structure. I could be just imagining it, but the indications seemed to be there that beavers could have created the dams and underwater pyramids.

It is strange that we rocketed through the night, speeding along much faster than anywhere to date, making for a very bumpy ride - then arriving in Saskatoon where they said we were way ahead of our timetable so there would be a two hour stopover to get back on schedule. Go figure! The track we are on is apparently owned by a freight company and freight trains always have priority. This means that we frequently need to stop at sidings or on branch lines, often for half an hour or more until a freight train passes. The freight trains are massive, up to about 3 kilometres long and mostly double-deckers that roar along carrying hundreds of thousands of tonnes of cargo across the country day and night. They are not as bad as in Russia where a few kilometres of freight barrelled past us every time I raised my camera for a shot, but there must still be at least several dozen here each day.

Next time we woke up, we were in Saskatchewan and the terrain slowly became more varied, with lumpy low hills, uneven ground, more diverse vegetation, taller trees and in due course, we had an hour or so stopover in Edmonton and next morning we rolled into Jasper in the Canadian Rockies. Our Edmonton stop was marked by the start of a dramatic electrical storm. It was really ferocious with lightning flashing brilliantly around us every few seconds. We went to dinner as it was getting dark and the lightning outside the dining car was tremendous. We were soon locked up, cosy in bed, but several other passengers said the electrical storm was amazing and followed us for hours.

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troubleisfree · 5 years

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breaking news: anonymous witnesses spotted the tablet being abducted by aliens, there is also suspicion that Najila has been abducted by aliens too and will soon lose all memory of the case

Hahaha yes, the aliens were curious what's on that tablet so they took it so it's been irreversibly lost but you got the second part wrong- they saw the craziness and passed on taking the girl, she was last seen fleeing the scene on a pink unicorn yeeeehaaaaa

why is police making so much fuss about her phone and tablet in the first place, everything on IOS systems get stored on iCloud surely professionals know this and can salvage any date directly form servers they dont need actual fuckin device this whole thing is a media joke

I don't get this either. She recorded on the phone, edited and kept the smaller video, then transferred the whole video to the iPad (how? even giving the benefit of the doubt, if it's not thru the cloud, then she must have copied thru a computer which still means that there is a copy on it?), then left the iPad, you know the one containing THE PROOF, in her old apartment. Wtf? If it was me, I'd be keeping multiple copies on multiple devices backed up on multiple computers, flash drives and cloud services, and emailing it to myself on multiple emails. Cuz you know, it's kinda important?

wait wait wait so lemme get this straight? police has been asking for a phone and she didnt want to give it, she invented this tablet also and her lawyer has been asking for both phone and tablet for a week to be able to defend her, and now he stole it? is she really going with this story lol? girl.... sit down lol

I know right? Who's supposed to believe this?

this woman, she said to her first lawyer when Ney told her: "relax and continue with your life" that she thinks it's a threat (???) her ex said she has history of neurotic behavior and thinking everyone conspires against her, she claims her lawyer took tablet now, the one he's asking for and needs as proof lol! why? claims people are out to kill her and all of the police in Brazil is bought by Ney apparently, she is batshit crazy Im starting to think, sounds like paranoid/delusional disorder...

Her story has more holes than a fishnet. Really makes me doubt her sanity. Granted Neymar's story has a couple of holes too (e.g. he said in his video that he's showing the entirety of their communications on WhatsApp but there was more), but this girl is just on another level. I was talking to someone here today about something else I noticed. In her story, after the rape, she went into the bathroom, then neymar came in and she went out the other door, then after he showered and dressed, he came out, pushed her down and took that photo of her butt, where she is still naked, without permission. i was thinking why didn't she dress while he was in the bathroom? I would assume that a rape victim would what to cover up as soon as possible kinda like as a physical and psychological barrier? Yet, there she is still naked. And also the photo looks to me that it may be like she is posing, her arms are not visible so they can only be centered straight under her torso, and if you are pushed down your arms would go down at least shoulder width for support. I may be wrong, but the photo and her story about it is fishy to me. I only hope she remembers she has a child and gets herself together after she is exposed and pays for it. Poor kid. But she seems so unstable I hope she doesn't break down and do something even more stupid.

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scripttorture · 7 years

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I have a sci-fi short story with a torture scene in it that I think violates the “torture is not high-tech” rule/fact/thing, and I’m hoping there’s a way to salvage it. I have this guy strapped to a machine that blocks his natural painkillers. I heard a thing once that said if we didn’t have those chemicals, we’d be able to feel our own cells dying. (Source: 1970s med journal). My betas really liked the concept, but the whole draw for me was that I thought it was “realistic”. Help?

Alright well I thinkthe best thing I can do here is start by talking a little bit about torture tropes and‘high tech torture’ in particular.

There are a lot ofhugely inaccurate torture tropes out there and they form a sort of consistentstream of misinformation about torture. I’d prefer depictions of torture to beas accurate as possible because there’s so much misinformation out there.

But having said thatnot all tropes are equally harmful.

The idea that‘everybody talks’ is incredibly pervasive and incredibly damaging. It is quotedregularly in real life to justify or argue for actual torture.

Similarly ideas about what torture does to victimspsychologically are- well if you’ll excuse my bluntness they’re fucked up.

Depictions at themoment are nonsensical, with a character’s resistance to torture often beinglinked to their physical strength, moral integrity or political beliefs. Themessage is that ‘good guys’ resist torture because of their inherent goodnessand ‘bad guys’ (or ‘weak’ people or minorities) ‘crack’ because they lack moralstrength.

Confronted with thatsort of ‘logic’ real victims just can’twin. Because the message is that the symptoms they suffer are a sign ofweakness, that they personally just weren’t ‘good’ enough.

Fiction doesn’t reallytend to show characters ‘recovering’ in terms of working out ways to cope withthe symptoms they would have. Instead it downplays or ignores symptoms andoften links recovery to a complete lack of symptoms. That’s a standard realsurvivors are never going to achieve.

The trope that tortureis high tech and ‘scientific’ is demonstrably false and I’d prefer not to seeit used.

But it isn’t activelydamaging to victims in the way that other common tropes are.

If you really want touse the concept I think the easiest way to make it more……feasible is by takinga look at the machine itself and the world it’s in.

A high tech machinethat is designed specifically to cause pain is highly unlikely even in asociety that allows and accepts torture. It’s not just a case of these thingsbeing complicated to use, it’s a case of expense. Someone will have had to dothe research necessary to conceptualise the machine. Someone will have had todesign it and the designs will have had to go through multiple revisions tomake them ‘work’. Someone will have had to build the thing and again therewould have been multiple tweaks throughout the process and multiple rounds oftesting. Someone will then have to transport the machine (which for really hightech equipment such as an NMR can be an expensive fiasco) and someone will have to install the machine. Someone willprobably have a full time job repairing and maintaining the machine.

Now my instinctivepoint of comparison is medical devices and pharmaceuticals and that means myinstinct is that a machine like this, from start to finish, would costsomewhere in the realm of tens of millions of US dollars.

What does that mean forrealism and your story?

Essentially it meansthat a machine like that will not be primarilyfor causing pain. Because there’s no sense spending tens of millions ofdollars on something when a Taser costs somewhere in the realm of twentydollars and the fresh chilis in my fridge cost about $4. (Depending on theexchange rate).

I can’t think of a goodreason to have a machine that onlyblocks natural painkillers. There isn’t any benefit I can think of to aprocedure of that kind.

However-

You’re building a scifi world and a machine that manipulates a person’s natural biochemistry wouldbe an incredibly useful medical device. Something like that could treat diabetes,epilepsy, depression and a host of other conditions.

That still wouldn’t beenough for its use in torture. MRI machines are incredibly useful medical toolsthat are found in a lot of hospitals but they have never to my knowledge beenused to torture someone.

The next thing that’snecessary is for the machine to be widely available. It would need to be such astandard part of this world’s medical care that nobody would be surprised tofind it in any public building. It needs to be seen as essential, as somethingyou couldn’t reasonably take awayfrom a police station. In this case I’d say treating it as basic and essentialemergency medical care would probably be a good way to approach it. Almost makingit the equivalent of a first aid kit: something that is available everywhereand is seen as a reasonable precaution rather than an unusual device.

Having somethingwidespread with in the world still isn’t quite enough though. Mobile phones arewidely used, but I’ve never heard of them being used to torture the waytelephone magnetos were. And I doubt that’s because of any safety features.

A device also needs to be incredibly simple touse. If it’s easier to use a piece of chilli pepper or a stick then torturerswill probably use the chilli or the stick. It has to be push-button level ofsimplicity.

If you’re approachingthe machine itself as a medical device that cantreat a range of conditions and is basically designed to keep someone aliveuntil medical help arrives- well it would make sense for something like to besimple to operate because it isn’t necessarily intended to be used byprofessionals.

This sort of set up wouldmean that the machine isn’t going tobe unusual or scary to your character. It will be a device he’s seen often andhe’ll probably have been in one for minor medical treatment before.

What the torturers haveactually done then becomes a lot simpler. They’ve basically manipulatedprocedures that were already present within the machine. This takes it out ofthe realm of designing and building an ipad from scratch and more into the realmof downloading an app.

I’d also suggest makingthis kind of modification a commonmethod of torture in the setting you’re writing; in the same way that misuse ofTasers/stun guns is a common method of torture in the USA.

With all of thatbackground world building I think your scenario would seem more reasonable. I’dwarn against presenting it as scientific in any way and I personally wouldstill be more comfortable not seeing high tech machines in torture scenes. ButI don’t think this would be insulting to victims and I think if you’re carefulto present the machine itself as a common part of life in this fictional world thenyou’ll have made it as realistic as you reasonably can.

I hope that helps. :)

Disclaimer

#tw torture #sci fi ask #tropes about torture #high tech torture #tasers #nikkilbook

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