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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

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Magnificent Scoundrels- Down to Business

So, a lot of the Magnificent Scoundrels series is me sitting here and thinking, “you know what would be awesome? If ____ happened.” You know what would be awesome? If three fan favorite factions, the Starfleet from Star Trek, the Quarians from Mass Effect, and the Adeptus Mechanicus from Warhammer 40k got together.

“Power has been restored! By a guy with metal tentacles. Mmm… Think of all the possibilities...”

“Ramirez, get your mind out of the gutter. That’s an order.”

Mass Effect Galaxy

The Citadel

The lighting flickered inside the massive meeting room for a brief moment, and the various screens located in front of the delegates died with mechanical sighs. Delegates looked around the room, moments away from panic. Bodyguards readied their weapons once more, most eyed their ancestral enemies with suspicion. Down in the delegates section, Drake rolled his eyes, annoyed at their response

“Well, what now?” hissed Vir to Shepard.

“First-” Shepard was cut off by a static hiss in his ear, followed by a voice that seemed to be panicking but trying not to show it.

“Shepard, this is Joker. Uh, we got a pretty sizable and unknown attacking fleet coming in, and that power surge disabled all the docking clamps. So, we’re kinda sitting ducks here unless you do something.”

“The docking clamps attaching the Omen to the Citadel are locked down,” said Vir, clearly getting off a conversation with someone on his crew. “How do we release them? And, who the hell is Joker?”

“Joker’s my pilot,” muttered Shepard. He keyed his comms once again.

“Tali, this is Shepard. Can you release the docking clamps?” A strangely accented voice responded.

“No. I don’t have the skills to hack into the Citadel’s central network. Plus, it would take too long.”

“Shit,” Shepard muttered.

“All of our ships are locked down, and now this station is under attack!” yelled one of the delegates. Shepard didn’t quite catch who it was.

“Can’t you do anything to fix this?” shouted someone else. The salarian Councillor looked up from a frantically beeping holographic console.

“We’re trying,” he snapped back. “Somehow, someone disabled most of the Citadel’s vital systems.”

“Damnnit,” muttered Vir. “This is not good.”

“Not shit,” replied Shepard.

“Commander, this is Joker. We are seeing armed troopers on the Citadel. A lot of ‘em look like Cerberus, but some of them I don’t recognize.”

“Cerberus?” questioned Vir, but Shepard was already pacing and muttering to himself.

“Cerberus doesn’t make any sense… they wouldn’t want to attack the Citadel. Not now, especially. Something screwy is going on.”

“We can’t do anything about figuring anything out unless we fix the problem at hand,” said Vir.

“But how?” replied Shepard.

It should be noted that most people realize that fate has a delicious sense of irony. Therefore, it should have come as no surprise that help came from a most unexpected source.

One of the delegates of the Imperium of Man finished speaking with a voice in his comms, and with a surprised nod, looked out into the various groups settled into the Council chambers.

“Quarians! Who are the Quarians?” he bellowed. Now it was Shepard’s turn to look surprised. The Quarians were a race of nomads, having lost their homeworld to machines of their own creation long ago. Due to their unique immune systems, they had to wear bodysuits and masks at all times. Most individuals in the galaxy looked down upon them in the false belief they were untrustworthy thieves, and every other race saw them as second class citizens. They had no seat on the Council, and, unlike many others, were not a client race of one of the Council species. In fact, the only reason there were Quarian diplomats here at all was because Shepard insisted. Now, of all the groups present, the highly xenophobic Imperium specifically wanted them.

Slim faces, masked and hooded, looked up at the Imperial delegation.

“We are the Quarians. What do you want?” Their accent was the same as Tali, Shepard’s chief engineer, noted some distant part of Vir’s brain. Interesting, but not important right now.

“What frequency are your communications on?” The Quarians looked at each other, clearly expecting something else.

“Uh, 3091.” The Imperial diplomat relayed the numbers back to someone else. There was a brief pause, then the previously dormant console in front of the Quarian delegation lit up. A synthesised, metallic voice cut through the various diplomats’ squander and filled every speaker in the room.

“I hear your kind is quite good with techno-theocracy,” it began without preamble. “I can return all functioning systems to the Citadel, but I cannot interface with it.” The voice spoke as if the Citadel was some sort of giant creature, able to be talked into proper performance. “I need you to provide me with an interface. I also need a cognator with enough power to broadcast my signal.” The hell-

“What’s a cognator?” hissed Vir.

“I believe your word for it is ‘computer’.” Cain’s voice sounded through the Scoundrels' private communications channel.

“Good to hear from you, Commissar,” replied Vir. Sheaprd was already speaking to the wide room.

“They need a computer. A really powerful one. Anyone here have that and some really skilled people to liaison with the Quarians and… uh, metal voice there?” Kirk raised his hand instantly.

“We do! The Starfleet is at your service.”

“Excellent,” replied the metallic voice. “Provide me with interface to your blessed cognators, and Quarians, provide me and them interface with the Citadel. Then we shall see about restoring your systems.”

Aboard the Enterprise

The Enterprise’s crew, looking neat in their Starfleet jumpsuits, ran around the bridge, doing everything in their power to break free from the Citadel. White and grey walls and panels dully reflected the neat white overhead lights, giving the entire room a clean and futuristic appearance. Chief Engineer Scotty was already on the bridge. Spock stood next to him, huddled over the central console.

“Right, put this in now: 001, 543, 893, 115, 221, 101, 618. It should work now,” said Scotty.

“Excellent,” replied the voice. “You certainly know your way around appeasing machine spirits.” Scotty looked up at Spock. Spock shrugged and gave him a clear ‘hey, I don’t know either’ look.

“Uh, thanks, I guess. What’s your name, by the way?” “I am designated as Archmagos Spericles Kaustus. Please, tell me your designation as well.”

“Montgomery Scott. You can call me Scotty.”

“Very well, then, Scotty. All that remains now is to speak with the Quarians.”

Aboard the Watch Eternal

Utterly massive windows, more suited to a gothic cathedral than a starship, allowed the Eternal’s crew to look out into the black void of space. Murals, depicting actions of heroes long dead, were painted on every available inch of wall. There were no interior lights in the bridge, which served to give the massive room a dark and eerie demeanor. Officers ran from workstation to workstation, observing the Deathwatch chapter serfs that crewed this vessel. The captain sat in the middle on a large and imposing silver throne, metal tubing snaking from his head, allowing him to know what was happening on the ship at all times. Captain of the vessel he may have been, but he did not command it. This was a Deathwatch vessel, and so it fell to the Watch Captain of the Space Marine strike force to do so.

Currently, the massive, power armored bulk of the Watch Captain was not quite huddled over a strange looking individual, but rather gave the impression he would have been huddling had the action not been genetically bred out of him.

“Archmagos Kaustus, this… seems like heresy,” came the Watch Captain’s booming voice. The strange individual glazed up for a moment. Glowing red lenses, framed by a blank metal faceplate peered from beneath a voluminous red and black robe. Seemingly hundreds of additional metallic arms and tentacles sprouted from beneath the robe, and all were currently occupied with typing at an entire workstation console at once. They did not stop their work at the Captain’s words.

“Do I tell you how to do your job?” replied the Archmagos’s blank metallic voice. “Do I tell you how to best serve your Primarch and the Emperor? Do I tell you how to best kill the alien enemies of man? No, I do not. So please do not tell me, a tech priest of the Mechanicus, what is and is not tech-hersey.” The Captain frowned from beneath his heavy helmet.

“Very well. You have always served the Deathwatch and Inquisition faithfully. I leave you to your business.”

Aboard the Niqunus

“Admiral, we’ve been contacted by the Starfleet and… the other guy.” The admiral looked up from his cramped position on the starships’ tiny bridge. Quarian ships had to be lived in, and so there was no room for the luxury of open space. An engineer welded wires together in the background, framed by grey plastic and open metal. Despite their starships being old, there was no better group in the galaxy for getting metal to hold together like the Quarians.

“Very well,” replied the admiral. “Locking Starfleet systems to the Citadel.” She pressed a holographic button in front of her and spoke. “Scotty. Archmagos. We have interfaced your systems. Prepare to transmit.

“Excellent. Transmitting code now.”

It should be noted that to synchronise computers and other technological systems from three separate realities, all completely different from each other, was quite the impossible task. Later, when trying to gain control over a lost shuttle, the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation ordered a team of their finest scientists to make the shuttle’s computers compatible with theirs. It took the team eighteen months. The Quarians, with the Starfleet’s help, did it in seven minutes.

In the same vein, it should also be noted that to write a code to take personal control of the Citadel, a massive space station, guarded by the finest technological traps money could buy, would take any normal person weeks, if not months, to write. Tali-Zorah, one of the finest engineers and technological masters in the universe, and chief engineer of the Normandy, could do it in the span of hours to days. Kaustus did it in four minutes and forty-nine seconds.

Headquarters of Citadel Security

The Citadel

Captain Bailey of Citadel Security turned over the long counter and fired his sidearm twice. He could smell the visceral stink of blood in the background, courtesy of a dead officer behind him. His bullets found their mark, puncturing through the armor of a Cerberus trooper. Damn them. A solid quarter of C-Sec officers throughout the Citadel had turned traitor, and upon the arrival of the enemy, turned their weapons on the backs of their unsuspecting comrades. Bailey didn’t understand what had happened, but he did realize alien and human alike had betrayed their oaths. Therefore, with logical deduction, the pro-human terrorist group Cerberus was not the mastermind of this. It didn’t stop him from cursing out whoever was attacking him wearing the terrorists’ logos, though.

“Captain Bailey, I believe,” came a sudden voice in his ear. He almost jumped out of his skin. It was cold, emotionless, and strangely metallic.

“Who is this?” Bailey managed to blurt out before ducking back into cover.

“Archmagos Kaustus. To restore your stations, systems, I need you to do as I instruct.” Bailey glanced around, disbelieving.

“Uh, sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Go into your station’s central terminal. Reboot it.”

“That’s it?”

“Affirmative. We’ve taken care of everything.” Bailey shook his head.

“Okay.” He crouched low and ran through the station. Luckily enough, the building was still under control of the actual C-Sec. Didn’t stop people from trying to shoot into it. He reached to long central control desk and looked at it. Power. Simple. Press the button. He did so.

“Okay, uh… rebooted it.” The voice came immediately.

“I know. Excellent work. Your systems shall be online and under your control shortly.” Bailey sat down. The computer screens started to run with green binary code. He stared. What the hell is this? I’m no expert, but I don’t think anyone’s used this kind of coding for a hundred years! The green scrolling numerals gave way to a strange symbol, a half human skull, half metallic face surrounded by a cogwheel. The system's diagnostic came up next, in a format he’d never seen before. It was easy enough to read, though, and he stared at it.

Docking Clamps: Online

Citadel Central Network: Online

Internal Communications: Online

P.A. System: Online

Citadel Security Communications: Online

Power Operating At: 120% Capacity

Defense Batteries Operating At: 160% Capacity

Glory to the Machine God!

What the ever-loving hell is this? And how can things operate at more than 100%? He shook his head and turned on the newly-online comms.

“Everything’s back, Councillors,” he reported.

The Council Chambers

“Everything’s back, Councillors.” A wave of cheers rose at this announcement. Drake held up his hands once more.

“Whoa, whoa. We still have to get rid of these guys.” He turned his gaze to a group of delegation boxes. “Cain, Master Chief, Solo, Kirk. Get the delegates to safety. The rest of you, you're with me.” Vir shrugged to Shepard. At least they would be part of the action. Drake clapped his hands dramatically. “Get moving! We don’t have all day.” With a nod to Shepard’s position, he disappeared behind his delegation.

Servos whirred as Vir’s Iron Eye armor came to life. Shepard hefted his rifle.

“Time to get this show on the road.”

There it is. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, requests, or criticisms, feel free to tell me. Like I said before, this series is just about, “hey, wouldn’t it be cool if ____ happened?” So, if think something would be awesome and you want to fill in that blank, tell me, and I’ll write it!

#story #writing #my writin #crossover #mass effect #star trek #warhamemr 40k #quarian #starfleet #adeptus mechanicus #my writing

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tiredspacedragon · 3 years

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Gunshots

So, laser guns are cool, right? They're like regular guns, but so much flashier. They've got bright colours, they make neat noises, they work in space, they work until they run out of charge rather than bullets, so you just need to recharge 'em when they run empty instead of making brand new ammo every time, so they're far a much more sustainable alternative to regular guns.

But there's something that has always bothered me about your average laser gun in fiction.

They're too light.

I don't mean physically speaking, some laser shooters in fiction are seriously hefty. And vice versa, real guns can be quite light.

No, I mean a laser gun doesn't have nearly the same presence as an actual gun.

You see it in kids' cartoons all the time. Instead of actual firearms, cops or soldiers will have these weird, futuristic-looking weapons that shoot little beams or glowing projectiles. It's a censorship thing. The network can't get away with showing real guns, so instead everyone's got energy doohickeys.

And that seems like a silly commercialism thing, but it's really not. It's a human psychology thing. Think about it. If you're watching something, doesn't matter what, do you react the same way when a character pulls out a laser pistol as you do when someone pulls out a literal handgun? I sure don't. For me, a laser weapon barely has any presence at all. It ranges from "That's a cool looking blaster" to "That's a weird looking blaster" to "Oh, a blaster." And that's pretty much it. I'll notice it if it looks particularly cool or strange, but otherwise it may as well be painted on the background. But when someone's holding a real gun? You bet your ass I notice that.

I don't notice guns as much as I probably should; I'm as desensitized as anyone else. But still, a photorealistic gun, especially when I'm not expecting to see one, carries weight. Even just in a holster, it carries a completely different feeling, and it's probably all down to familiarity. We all know what a gun is, and we know what it does, whereas a blaster is up to the interpretation of whatever particular artists are working on it.

A blaster is also prettier than a gun. Like I said earlier, they're flashy. They make interesting, energizing sounds, make lights that can be considered pretty, and they leave clean wounds. A blaster wound is a burn, it smokes and smolders, but it's cauterized and even. It's "safe."

But a gunshot wound is messy. It's bloody and ugly. The bullet shatters and blows things apart as it flies rather than passing cleanly through. There's no light show, and no fun sounds. When you hear the sounds of a blaster being fired, it's kind of enjoyable. You can laugh at the pew-pew noise, or the pchew-pchew. But a gunshot is a miniturized explosion. It's not pretty, it's just loud. A blaster sound is fast and makes you think of sci-fi and adventure, but a gunshot just hangs hauntingly in the air, and lets you know that someone just died.

And that's the fundamental difference. Because laser blasters aren't real, we associate them with fun, adventure, and even innocence. But guns are for killing. They are synonymous with death and pain and fear.

So a PSA to my fellow storytellers: If you're telling a war story, but you want to keep things relatively light, if you want the focus to be on the adventures your heroes are having, about good triumphing in the face of evil, then laser it up. We all like flashy colours and bright sounds, and the rule of cool reigns supreme. But if you want to make your audience sick, if you want them scared, if you want them to know exactly how horrific, disgusting, and brutal war is, then use real guns. And let the shots echo. Because nothing screams pointless death more than a single, echoing gunshot, and the sound of a figure turning and walking away.

#don't really know where this came from #but it's here

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aliciameade · 4 years

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Desperate Measures - Ch. 4/4

Title: Desperate Measures Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Everyone in the building now hates Apartment 3N Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Mid-PP3. They are quarantined. Chloe and Beca have everything they need to weather the mandated period of social distancing and staying home: food, water, shelter, games, entertainment, and each other’s company.

The one thing they don’t have?

Much-needed privacy.

Also on AO3

Dedicated to my dearest @becabottommitchell. 🎯 😘

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca wasn’t sure how Chloe’s and her newfound dynamic would change once Fat Amy returned to their lives.

They’d had two months of isolation together and, quite frankly, Beca had all but forgotten there was an entire world filled with other people beyond their four walls. And she really wasn’t a fan of any of them.

She was, however, a big fan of the person whose fingertips were wandering inconspicuously along her left thigh.

They’re meant to be working together to clean the kitchen after the dinner the three had made but Amy had excused herself, explaining that she needed to get ready for her Hot Date with someone, conveniently leaving the mess to Chloe and Beca.

Beca had decided to take on the dishes while Chloe finished clearing the table and stove but following Chloe’s most recent trip to the sink where Beca stood, she’d dropped in the dishes instead of walking away, had stepped behind Beca.

It had made every hair on the back of her neck stand up when she sensed Chloe’s proximity and Chloe had giggled in her ear at Beca’s shiver the second her fingertips grazed the skin just below the hem of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she says under her breath, hand tightening so much on the plate she’s washing that it slips out and back into the water with a splash.

“Touching you,” Chloe answers breezily, as though she’s flipping through a magazine or shopping for shoes online. As if to reinforce her answer, her fingertips travel higher until they’re lifting Beca’s dress to glide over her hip and back down to where they tease a few inches above her knee. “Is that okay?”

“Amy’s literally right there,” she whispers, clanging a few dishes in the sink to help cover her words.

Chloe’s response is just a hum followed by her fingers meandering their way higher once again. They don’t seem to be making their destination clear, though Beca’s body has a pretty good idea regardless. She can feel the way it’s responding to Chloe and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she’s aroused.

Amy’s loud voice cuts through her thoughts, however. “Red or black?”

She feels Chloe move away from her as though she turned around. It’s a few seconds of reprieve from the oppressive arousal that is invading her mind and body.

“Ooh, go with the black,” Chloe replies.

“Red it is,” Amy says confidently. The sound of hangers screeching across the clothing rack that serves to weakly divide Amy’s sleeping area from Chloe and Beca’s follows, as does Chloe’s presence behind Beca.

“What if I took you right now?” The words are whispered hotly in Beca’s ear and they, along with Chloe’s fingers quickly ascending her inner thigh, make her drop the same plate she’d dropped a minute earlier. “Think I can make you come before she finishes changing?”

Beca’s vision blurs. She has little doubt Chloe could make good on her hypotheticals. Maybe it’s because Amy’s return to their lives was sudden and unexpected, leaving the current evolution of their relationship without a label. Maybe it’s because they didn’t get one last grand hurrah before having a third party present almost all hours of the day. But it’s been three days since they regained their roommate and three days without what had become Beca’s new normal: frequent and often intense physical affection and attention from Chloe.

Even under the cover of darkness, in bed together at night, they seemed to silently and mutually agree to keep their distance from one another. They hadn’t so much as kissed since the day Amy returned.

To say she was horny was an understatement.

And now Chloe’s teasing her, touching her in not-quite-there places that she hasn’t touched her in what feels like an eternity with the promise for more with Amy’s departure from the apartment imminent. The first time they’ll be alone in 72 hours.

“You’re not going to answer me?” Chloe doesn’t whisper it, innocuous a question as it is out-of-context, and it, along with her finger brushing over the thin material of Beca’s underwear between her legs shakes Beca out of her reverie to send her hips rocking forward with a gasp and the word, “Shit.”

“Did you cut yourself on my Ginsu, Shawshank?”

No, Beca did not cut herself on Amy’s home shopping network-purchased knife. She might as well have, though, for as hard as her heart is beating. “Nope!” she grinds out, hoping she can deter Amy from coming to investigate. “Thought I did but I’m not bleeding.”

“Those knives can cut through a steel can and still slice tomatoes paper-thin; don’t dull them up.”

“Yep, got it!” she spits and sends a side-eye in Chloe’s direction at the satisfied chuckle next to her ear. “She’s going to catch us if you don’t stop,” she says, lowering her voice.

“Maybe if you could control yourself.” There’s a smirk in Chloe’s tone and Beca tries to brace herself for it because she knows, she knows Chloe’s going to touch her again and just when she thinks it’s coming, the warmth of Chloe’s proximity disappears, accompanied by the scrape of hangers again.

“Ooh, you look great!” Chloe says cheerfully. “Doesn’t she, Bec?”

Beca has to hang her head and gather her thoughts before slapping on a smile to turn and look. “Yep! Go get ‘em, tiger,” she says a bit disdainfully. It’s not fair how turned on she is and it’s not fair that Amy’s taking approximately three millennia to leave for her date which, if history remains true, will likely keep her out all night.

“I don’t want to come home to any broken furniture,” Amy says casually as she drops an alarming collection of items into an oversized purse, of which Beca doesn’t want to think about when she’s potentially seconds away from desperately needed release. “And I have a blacklight. I will be inspecting all communal surfaces when I return.”

“Ew,” Beca grimaces as she turns back to stare idly at the sink full of water and dishes. She should just pull the plug and give up on the task and she dries her hands on the dishtowel in resignation. She wonders if Amy’s bluffing or if she does have a blacklight and has used it and what it’s already revealed.

“You got it,” Chloe chirps. It’s not a denial that such an inspection won’t be necessary and that floors Beca even further.

To Amy’s credit, despite her tendencies to tease her friends to the point of harassment, she hasn’t said much about Chloe and Beca since her first day back. She’d called them out but had also shut up about it which Beca was very grateful for. Considering the myriad possibilities, the threat of a blacklight wasn’t much. She knew they’d hooked up. At least she wasn’t adding undue stress about defining their relationship.

Beca was putting enough pressure on herself for that, trying to figure out what to do and what to say.

But for now, she was listening to Amy and Chloe’s idle conversation and the sounds of Amy putting on her shoes and picking up her keys, all the while feeling Chloe’s presence hovering behind her. Close enough that their elbows touch.

“Don’t wait up!” is the last thing she hears Amy say before the door closes behind her.

The sound of it latching makes Beca slump against the counter. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Stop talking,” Chloe says and her voice is so blunt it makes Beca stand up straight again, only to be pinned against the sharp edge of the counter by Chloe’s body pressing into her as their lips reconnect for the first time in days.

Beca just nods at the command and wraps her arms around Chloe’s neck to accept the hard, demanding kiss.

“Fuck, I want you so much,” Chloe breathes as her lips slide to Beca’s neck. Her hands are already on Beca’s thighs and Beca steps wider to accommodate her. She kind of wishes they would at least relocate to their bed, first, but she has no real complaints. Not when Chloe’s fingers are already between her legs, rubbing against the soaked fabric of her underwear.

Beca moans in response and pushes her hips forward. She wants more: hard, fast, wet, deep. All of it. It’s been too long. She wants Chloe, too.

The sudden onslaught of heat is, however, interrupted by the sound of the door banging open again.

“Forgot my manacles. Pretend I’m not here.”

Chloe’s mouth disappears from Beca’s skin, both of them jumping in surprise at Amy’s unexpected, loud return.

“Did she say manacles?” Beca says, voice hushed as she breathes hard, heart racing.

Despite her abruptly pulling her mouth away from Beca’s neck, Chloe’s still just as close as she had been, and her fingers are still pressing against Beca. They’re even moving, if only slightly. “Not going to think about that right now.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says when she realizes it, too startled by the interruption to notice it sooner. Her hand seizes Chloe’s forearm but she can’t quite bring herself to actually push her away, not when Chloe’s eyes are so dark and locked onto her own.

Beca can see Amy in her periphery, mostly obscured by the clothing rack as she moves around her space rifling through drawers.

Something about that, about Amy acknowledging that she was interrupting something while pointedly ignoring it while she busies herself looking for her manacles (?), scratches at a part of Beca she hadn’t really known existed, and suddenly she’s shaking her head.

“No, don’t stop,” she quietly amends, pushing Chloe’s hand harder against herself.

She watches the effect of her permission slip into Chloe’s features: a pink blush in her cheeks, eyes wide with surprise, her lower lip snagged between her teeth as her fingers keep working against Beca.

Beca can see the challenge in her eyes, can sense that Chloe’s remembering her daring questions from a few minutes ago about how quickly she could get Beca off. But Beca shakes her head; she doesn’t want that. Amy’s right there even if she is distracted and Beca really doesn’t want to be mid-orgasm when she finds what she needs and waltzes through the kitchen where Chloe is actively fucking her.

Chloe seems to understand because she does ease up the slightest bit when Beca releases her death-grip on her arm in favor of gripping the counter. She can still remember the last time she was gripping this counter; she’s been bent over their now-disposed-of kitchen table while Chloe railed her to within an inch of her sanity.

The memory zips right to her core and she can actually feel herself get wetter because of it. She knows Chloe feels it, too, because she moans, so, so quietly that it doesn’t even really leave her throat, and runs her fingers agonizingly slowly further, even teasing Beca’s entrance through her still-present underwear.

She has to close her eyes and try to focus on keeping it together. She can’t moan or work herself against Chloe’s hand or even kiss her; all of that would be too obvious. She focuses on her breathing and the way Chloe’s own warm breath drifts over her lips, a constant reminder of her closeness as if the fingers slowly driving Beca insane weren’t enough. The sound of heavy, thick metal suddenly rings out and her eyes snap open to meet Chloe’s equally surprised and somewhat amused gaze.

“Found ‘em!” Amy announces, and the clanging of metal increases as, Beca assumes based on what she can see without looking away from Chloe, she adds large metal restraints to her bag of tricks. “I’ll be outta here in a jiffy. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe says lightly, like she’s not actively slipping her fingers under the edge of Beca’s underwear so her fingertips can massage—so, so slowly—Beca’s clit directly.

It makes a whimper escape Beca’s clenched jaw and she turns her head to appear very interested in the yellowed laminated paper glued to the side of the ceiling cabinet containing instructions on using the fire extinguisher that supposedly came with their apartment (it did not). She hears Chloe chuckle and sees Amy emerge from her area, oversized bag clanging as it swings over her shoulder. She knows Chloe’s body is obscuring what she’s doing, but that doesn’t stop the massive blush she feels hit her cheeks.

“Okay, I’m out of here once again,” Amy says, opening the door only to stop and keep talking. “I promise to knock if I need to come back for anything. I know you two have been keeping your knees closed since I got home and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that and I realize you are probably really looking forward to my being gone tonight. But I’ll have to come back if I decide I need my strawberry-flavored—”

“Amy, leave!” Beca says, a little more forcefully than she intended it to be, but Chloe had chosen that exact moment to slip the tip of her finger inside Beca, even as she’s turning to smile at their departing roommate.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m sure Chloe could help you out of them if you needed it though,” she adds, very conspicuously under her breath. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Have a good night!” Chloe chirps.

Together, they watch the door close, Chloe already pushing the length of her middle finger into Beca while keys and the deadbolt jangle and clunk as Amy locks it. If she returns, at least they’ll have a few extra seconds’ warning.

“Oh, my God,” Beca says, and she means to groan it but it comes out more like a desperate whine, but she doesn’t care. Chloe’s lips are waiting for her when she turns back from staring at the cabinet.

“That was so hot,” Chloe says before her tongue is filling Beca’s mouth, doing dirty things that rival what she’s doing between Beca’s legs.

Beca hums in agreement and rocks her hips forward when the heel of Chloe’s hand grinds into her clit. “You’re really gonna make me stand up for this?” she pants when Chloe’s lips travel to her neck once again.

“Just the first one,” she answers simply as a second finger slides in next to the first to make Beca lift herself up on her tiptoes for a few seconds before she’s pushing herself down onto them to try to take them deeper.

“First one?” She needs more. No, she doesn’t need more; she knows she’s going to come, and quickly. But she wants more. She wants Chloe all night. She wants to piss off their neighbors again by making Chloe scream her name. The ferocity with which she simply wants Chloe in all senses of the term is an almost startling thought to have in the middle of getting fucked in the kitchen and it takes everything she has to not say something dumb.

Instead, she moans, “Faster,” and shifts her weight to her one foot so she can wrap her leg around Chloe’s waist, but before she can, Chloe’s twisting away from her. Her free hand grabs the nearest chair to spin and drag it over and for a second, Beca thinks she’s going to get to sit down but Chloe just pushes it against the counter next to Beca.

“Here,” she says, guiding Beca’s foot to rest on the seat of the chair instead of having to balance on one foot. It also parts her legs spectacularly wide.

“Oh, fuck,” Beca manages to laugh through a moan.

“Good?” Chloe asks, but it’s rhetorical. She’s no longer kissing Beca; instead, she’s watching. Watching her face, looking down—and lifting Beca’s skirt out of the way—and watching her hand as her fingers slide and curl their way in and out of Beca again and again.

But Beca nods anyway. It’s good. It’s so, so fucking good and watching Chloe watching how she’s fucking Beca has her—

“Shit, I’m so close,” she gasps, the first pings of her orgasm already making her hips twitch as her arms loop around Chloe’s neck again to try to keep from sinking to the floor.

The words make Chloe’s eyes snap to her face, dark eyes begging before she even says, “God, yes, come for me, Bec.”

Chloe doesn’t bother kissing her to shut her up. Chloe wants to hear her so she lets her hear, moaning and swearing as she comes with Chloe’s fingers buried as deeply as they possibly can be.

She does kiss her once it’s passed and Beca’s trying to catch her breath, whining when Chloe withdraws from her because she’s not nearly ready to be finished yet. But the kiss is satisfactory enough for now because they haven’t kissed in three days and she’s pretty sure she could kiss Chloe forever and still want to kiss her again.

With Chloe’s hand no longer between them, she fits between Beca’s parted legs and Beca’s immediately grateful when Chloe’s hips, and the rough denim covering them, start to rock slowly against her. She has to hike her skirt up and out of the way, and she hates that she’s still wearing underwear, but they’re so wet they slide deliciously against her with every roll of Chloe’s hips.

She’s the one to break the kiss after a few too many just-right connections. “You said just the first one.” Maybe she should feel pathetic for how needy she is, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

“Okay, okay,” Chloe says with a playful roll of her eyes as she takes a step back and aside and gestures to let Beca pass. “After you.”

Beca rolls her eyes in return and hurries across the room on somewhat unsteady legs until she’s standing at the foot of their bed. She’s suddenly filled with uncertainty, however. Should she crawl into bed and let Chloe undress her? Should she wait and see what Chloe has in mind next?

When Chloe isn’t immediately with her, she turns around to find out why, only to see Chloe just standing where she’s been the entire time, just looking at Beca as if she’s waiting for something.

There’s a shred of being given control that comes with Chloe hanging back and it emboldens her to bring her hands to the first button on her dress, the one that sits nestled at the top of her cleavage, to unbutton it.

The action gets Chloe’s attention and her demeanor shifts from waiting for something to actively watching, eyes furtively bouncing from Beca’s fingers as they undo button after button. It’s not really necessary to be able to remove her dress; she could simply pull it up and over her head at any time. But holding Chloe’s rapt attention and seeing the excitement and desire that builds with each small button slipping out of its hole is intoxicating.

She knows her bra is visible in the small gap that lengthens with each button. It has Chloe’s attention, eyes no longer quite reaching Beca’s, fixating on the skin she’s revealing and tracking her hands’ path until she’s undoing the final button at her waist. All that’s left to do is let it slip off her shoulders and fall.

“Take it off,” Chloe finally says after Beca makes her wait too long.

All it takes is a shrug of her shoulders and a tug on the hem to let the patterned dress slink off her body to pool on the floor at her feet.

She’d expected the moment, one that has felt somewhat suspended in dreamy time, to extend further, for Chloe to stare and drink in her form the way Beca would do if their positions were reversed, to ask Beca to continue undressing for Chloe’s enjoyment.

Instead, Chloe advances so quickly she hasn’t quite finished taking the breath she knows she’ll need when Chloe’s lips are claiming hers again. Warm, strong hands are everywhere and she feels her bra loosen and get stripped away, followed by her breasts being claimed and held and squeezed in such a desperate, demanding way she realizes she hasn’t given much thought that Chloe is probably in a similar state as herself with their sudden hiatus.

“Lay down,” Chloe says with a sudden breaking of their kiss. Except she doesn’t stand back and let Beca do it herself. Her hands twist Beca by the hips to face the bed before she’s half-falling, half-crawling onto it. “Stay like that.”

The request instantly makes the back of her neck hot as she relaxes into the bed on her stomach, though nothing about her is at ease. She can hear Chloe undressing behind her, the tell-tale sounds of fabric shifting and the metal teeth of the zipper of her jeans before the soft tink of their button hitting the floor tells her Chloe’s naked. Or mostly naked. She wants to twist her neck and look but it’s more fun to not know.

She’s startled and relieved when Chloe’s hands finally land on her calves, especially when they travel higher so quickly until she can feel Chloe climbing onto the bed behind her. Hands travel higher still until they’re palming her ass and she can feel hard nipples grazing the backs of her knees before teeth lightly but pointedly sink into the soft flesh along the edge of her underwear.

“Shit,” she can’t help but gasp, her back bowing from the way her body is responding to Chloe’s almost demanding touch. Fingers curl under the waistband of her underwear and pull. They’re so ruined that she hopes Chloe notices and is proud of her work as they’re peeled down her legs and tossed aside.

“You’re so hot,” Chloe breathes, hot against her back before wet kisses start dropping in random places. Her right shoulder. The back of her neck. Along her ribs on her left side. Chloe’s hands are still seemingly everywhere, fingernails dragging lightly down her back only to warmly slide up her sides, working their way under Beca until her breasts are in her hands and Chloe’s hips grind forward against her ass.

The feeling makes her jaw drop and a shudder runs down her back as her own hips try to press up and back, wanting contact that is only being hinted at as Chloe grinds into her, mouthing at her back and neck and making every part of her ache with need.

She’s about to beg for more when she feels Chloe lift away from her, hands skirting down her ribs to start tugging on her hips until she’s pushing herself up and onto her elbows and knees. The position makes her head spin and she presses her forehead into the mattress to brace herself. She bites her lip at the memory that springs up of all the times she was “forced” to watch Chloe do yoga on the floor, and that she’s basically in frog pose. She’d laughed at its name at the time but that was only to mask all the thoughts she’d had about how it was a wildly sexual position.

And now here she is.

“Just like that,” Chloe praises and Beca feels a hand run up her back until it’s scratching at the nape of her neck and twisting into her hair. The other moves around to Beca’s stomach and then down until her fingers are slipping through Beca’s wetness again.

The sudden contact makes Beca moan and rock backward, instantly in search of more. Always more. “Fuck.”

“I can’t believe how wet you are.” Fingers sink into Beca as though to make her point and the fullness she feels with it makes her walk her knees wider.

She knows it’s three inside her, not two, and she clenches around them, moaning as she tries to pull Chloe deeper. “Fuck, Chlo. Please.”

There’s a gentle tug on her hair that feels less than accidental. It felt a lot like a reminder of who’s in charge at the moment but despite that, her hair is released and nails drag down her spine again. Fingers slip out of her, then, and she whines in irritation only to feel them slip in again, this time from another angle. This time from behind, while the three that just withdrew from her start, with no teasing or hesitation, rubbing her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she stutters, biting her lip because she doesn’t want to get too loud too soon. She’s bent over on the bed, Chloe behind her—kneeling between her parted legs, she assumes—using both of her hands to fuck Beca. “Oh, God don’t stop.”

Chloe doesn’t answer her. She just moves more quickly. Faster circles onto her clit. Faster fingers pumping into her cunt. Except as soon as Beca starts to get close, as soon as her moan is too obviously on-edge, Chloe eases off Beca’s clit and it drops her right back down to where she started. Maybe a degree or two higher. All but back at the beginning.

It’s maddening.

And it’s thrilling.

Chloe’s not exactly teasing her, though she is pointedly denying her an inevitable release.

“So good,” she says after a groan of agony when her orgasm gets yanked away from her again, only for it to start rebuilding immediately. She’s almost nervous about how hard she’s going to come when Chloe finally lets her.

She feels Chloe moving behind her, though her pace and rhythm fucking Beca barely falters. There’s a shifting of the bed, a squeaking of a different spring that isn’t one of the ones already whining and from their motion. She can see Chloe behind her at the very edge of her vision when she opens her eyes and turns to let her cheek rest against the bed instead of her forehead. She’s not directly behind Beca anymore and she’s still trying to figure out what’s happening when she feels the hot slickness that she knows is Chloe settling over her left calf.

Chloe moans with the contact, as does Beca who flexes her leg on instinct to harden the muscle just as Chloe drags herself against it.

Neither says anything but it’s a mutual acknowledgment. Chloe is so turned on she needs relief herself but her hands are both too busy with Beca to touch herself. Beca’s happy to provide what she can in her position.

She can only watch for a few seconds before it threatens to give her a headache from straining, the blurry silhouette of Chloe astride her leg, rutting herself against it wantonly.

“Fuck, Beca,” she finally moans after what feels like several minutes of Chloe not easing up. It makes Beca shiver and tense up in anticipation that Chloe might come soon. That Chloe might let her come soon.

The spot Chloe’s reaching in her right now, though, might not give Chloe any say in the matter. It’s making Beca’s fingers twist into the bedding to ground herself because she feels like she might ascend any second.

Only Chloe fucking stops and the groan that gets ripped from Beca’s throat is ripe with frustration, enough that she hears Chloe laugh. “What’s wrong?” Chloe asks entirely too cheerfully for what’s happening. But Chloe doesn’t just stop, she actually pulls out of Beca. She almost deflates in agony but Chloe’s hands catch her hips before she can and she can tell she’s moving again.

“Fuck off,” Beca replies though it’s all sexual frustration and no ire. She’s already resigned herself to being at Chloe’s mercy for whatever she feels like doing to her tonight. She knows it will be worth it in the end if she can find the patience.

She can’t see Chloe anymore if she opens her eyes and she doesn’t bother trying to lift her head. She likes not knowing what’s going to happen next. She can tell Chloe’s moving away from her; she’s not straddling her leg anymore. The hands on her hips move to her ass to grip it, almost tugging on it possessively and Beca chokes on air when Chloe’s tongue is suddenly pressing into her.

“What...fuck…” she groans, pushing herself up onto her elbows again so she can let her head hang. It’s too hard to breathe otherwise. Not when Chloe’s tongue is inside her. Not when it audibly slides out to instead lick at her swollen clit.

There’s movement again and this time she feels Chloe’s body settling between her legs and she cranes her neck down enough to look down her own body to see Chloe on her back, already pulling Beca down toward her face. She manages to wonder if Chloe knows Beca’s looking because her tongue is literally out and waiting like she wants Beca to see and both of them moan when Beca lets her knees slide wider apart until she’s on Chloe’s tongue.

She should have known Chloe would be just as merciless with her mouth as she’d been with her hands. There are only a few seconds of gentle grazing before Chloe has her clit between her lips to suck on it.

All Beca can really do is hold on. Chloe’s grip is so tight around her thighs she can barely move. Her hips want to rock, want to ride Chloe’s face, but she can’t.

At least Chloe doesn’t let up when Beca lets a moan slip that is a dead giveaway that she’s close.

“Please,” she says between gasping breaths and moans. “Fuck, please…”

Chloe’s answering hum lilts positively and she sucks harder. Like she’s giving Beca permission. Permission she hadn’t consciously been waiting for but somehow needed because as soon as it registers as permission, the orgasm that’s been denied at least half a dozen times in the past however many minutes crashes through her with frightening intensity. She can’t breathe but somehow can’t stop moaning. She can’t hold herself up but Chloe’s hands keep her from potentially suffocating her...roommate. She can’t feel her own fingers but she can feel the way her body is pulsing around the fingers that she doesn’t remember slipping into her with the new position.

A particularly strong aftershock lurches her forward and out of Chloe’s grasp, leaving her to gasp to catch her breath and try to recover, even as she feels Chloe’s lips on the curves of her ass and up her spine and across her shoulders until she sees through blurry vision as Chloe stretches out on her back alongside her, smiling at Beca until Chloe’s eyes close with a moan. Beca doesn’t have to look down to know Chloe’s touching herself; she’s watched her do it enough times that she knows exactly what it looks and sounds like.

But she does anyway because she’ll never get tired of watching Chloe fuck herself until she’s coming and moaning Beca’s name. She wants to help. She wants to turn onto her side and push Chloe’s hand away and take over.

Her heart is still pounding, though, and all she can manage is to reach a tired hand over to rest it on Chloe’s just to feel. She’s touching herself hard and fast and it doesn’t help Beca’s pulse to slow. The connection makes Chloe moan her name and it draws Beca’s eyes back up to her face. Chloe’s gaze is on her, though it frequently drifts as her eyelashes flutter the closer she gets.

Chloe’s climax hits her hard, thighs closing to trap her and Beca’s hands between them while she rides it out.

“God, I needed that so much,” Chloe says with a sigh of relief after a minute or two, head lolling to the left to look at Beca with an easy, contented smile.

Beca’s sure she herself still looks wrecked, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She manages a breathy laugh. “You’re telling me. Fuck, dude.”

Chloe’s smile brightens and she shimmies her shoulders a little. She’s proud. “Good?”

Beca laughs again, this time in disbelief because ‘good’ doesn’t even begin to describe what she just experienced.

“Gonna assume that means yes.”

“Mm, you’d be right,” Beca replies, finally finding the strength to stretch. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Beca glances at her as she stretches until she’s working herself onto her side so they can look at each other more easily. “Still going to repay you though. Just...need a few for minutes. I can almost feel my legs again.”

Chloe bursts into laughter at that and it makes Beca’s heart skip a beat. It’s never been so easy to be with anyone. Certainly not after sex.

And the sex.

She knows it’s cliche, but she’s had the best sex of her life with Chloe.

And she’s just as happy with Chloe when they aren’t having sex; if she wasn’t, they wouldn’t have been friends for so many years.

But she really, really misses the sex when they aren’t having it.

She knows what that all means but she shoves it away and instead works on gathering her strength because she’s determined to make Chloe come just as hard as she’d been made to. She knows Chloe would be fine with things if they fell asleep right now and that only makes Beca want her more. She also can’t accept the fact that Chloe’s fucked her senseless twice already and Beca’s barely had a chance to touch her tonight.

She hasn’t touched her at all. Not really.

Even if Chloe’s insisting Beca owes her nothing in return, she’s not-subtly suggesting she wouldn’t be opposed by lifting her hand, fingers still wet from herself, to Beca’s lips.

She needed an energy shot and Chloe’s given it to her. She can’t stop the moan that comes with tasting Chloe as she parts her lips to take her slender middle finger into her mouth. It spurs her on until she’s sitting up, Chloe’s hand falling away so Beca can move over until she’s leaning down to kiss Chloe and her hips fit between Chloe’s parted thighs.

She can tell Chloe’s trying to hold back, and as thoughtful and sweet as Beca finds that to be, she doesn’t want it. She kisses harder, rolling her hips against Chloe until Chloe’s fingernails dig into Beca where her hands have been idly resting.

“I wanna fuck you,” Beca says when she breaks from their kiss. The look on Chloe’s face at her statement is very telling.

“Who’s stopping you?” She’s a little breathless and her hips are still pushing up into Beca’s in the rhythm Beca had set, though Beca’s no longer moving.

The statement is one of consent in its sexiest form. It makes her bite her lip in thought; she hadn’t gotten that far yet. She just knew she wanted to be the one responsible for Chloe’s next orgasm (or two, or three...).

“How do you want me?”

The question draws Beca out of her thoughts and she meets Chloe’s eyes. She’s looking at Beca expectantly and she’s still working herself against Beca’s hips for whatever friction she can gain. It also plants another thought in her brain.

“Like this,” she answers with a pointed roll of her hips that makes Chloe’s breath catch, only for Beca to extract herself from their embrace until she’s climbing off the bed.

She can feel Chloe’s eyes on her as she sits up to rest on her elbows, watching as Beca crouches to pull open the bottom drawer of Chloe’s nightstand.

“Oh, really?” Chloe asks in amusement and Beca tries not to blush as she slips the harness briefs Chloe had purchased—and put to good use—specifically to bend Beca over. Beca has yet to wear it.

“Shut up, you asked,” Beca huffs though she’s not genuinely defensive. She grabs the accompanying toy and bottle of lube before climbing back onto the bed to kneel between Chloe’s legs, still parted just as she’d left her, and work the toy into its O-ring.

“Can’t believe you’re trying to top me right now.”

Beca does blush at that and throws a glare her way. Beca’s affinity for being...welcoming of Chloe being in charge was something they were both aware of but never explicitly discussed. Until now, apparently. “I can always put this away, you know.” It’s an empty threat.

Chloe smiles up at her and pointedly spreads her legs wider. It’s not necessary whatsoever; Beca already had plenty of room. She does it to tell Beca she wants it—wants her—and Beca leans down to kiss her, taking care to keep her hips back so there’s nothing but the barest graze of contact for Chloe.

She melts into the kiss; Chloe’s intentionally keeping it slow and sensual even though Beca’s the one ostensibly in control. She doesn’t mind, though. The things Chloe can do with her tongue, whether it’s in Beca’s mouth or on Beca’s skin, never make Beca want to rush things.

Other than when Beca just wants to come.

She’s unhurried now, though. Satiated, mostly. She still feels warm and heavy and when she feels Chloe’s hand between them to guide the toy, Beca uses that weighty feeling to sink into her.

Chloe’s reaction is a low, throaty groan that makes Beca’s hips grind into her on instinct to prolong the sound. She’s never done this with Chloe, and it’s been a long time since she’s done it with anyone at all, but she doesn’t feel awkward like she has when she’s worn a strap-on with other women. She doesn’t feel pressured to perform and Chloe is so warm and at-ease beneath her. She knows she can take her time if she wants to, even as Chloe’s quiet whimpers and shifting hips urge her to do more than stay buried in her and grinding slowly while they kiss.

When she feels Chloe’s heel press into her lower back, she decides she can be done taking her time.

It’s easy to set a slow rhythm with her hips, especially once she lifts herself onto her elbows. It lets her look at Chloe, too, and the way her long eyelashes flutter every time Beca pushes into her.

The physical connection between them is, she knows, artificial, but the emotional one feels particularly real and resonating and for all the wild, lustful abandonment of how the night began, it feels particularly calm and almost soothing and the way Chloe’s eyes are on hers as she lifts a hand to frame Beca’s face, thumb tracing along her cheekbone until Beca’s kissing it when it presses against her lips only adds to it.

She’s filled with the urge to speak, to spill out feelings and confessions and she almost does it. Her lips even part and she takes a breath. But Chloe chooses the exact same moment to tilt her head back and moan, “Faster, Bec,” and the moment evaporates in favor of doing as Chloe’s asked.

She works her hips faster until she finds a good pace she can keep without getting too winded and it seems to work for Chloe, too, who moans her appreciation in the way Beca knows means she’s starting to lose herself to sex.

And that, the fact that Chloe can lose herself in the way Beca can make her feel, drives her. Drives her to shift herself until she can get a hand on the back of Chloe’s left knee to pull it up and then press it back, closer to Chloe’s chest. Drives her hips into Chloe with more force.

It pulls a groan of what sounds like surprise from Chloe, whose hands claw at Beca’s shoulders at the dramatic change from steady lovemaking to what Beca knows is raw fucking driven by need. A need for pleasure and release and for Beca to make Chloe piss off their neighbors.

“Oh, my God, Beca,” Chloe moans. She still sounds dazed and Beca watches as she throws a hand back to press against the back of the couch that serves as their headboard to brace herself. It helps Beca’s thrusts hit even harder and more deeply and she watches as Chloe’s other hand falls from Beca’s shoulder to move between them. All Beca has to do is glance down for a second to confirm her assumption: Chloe’s touching herself again.

It means she’s close and wants to come and Beca doesn’t try to stop her. She wants to watch Chloe come like this, neck straining and body moving higher and lower on the bed with every move Beca makes.

It’s Beca that’s doing all these things to her. Making her moan. Making her so wet Beca can hear it. Making herself come while Beca’s pushing into her again and again with a moan that sounds ripped from her throat as she shudders. Beca slows so she can watch it happen until she’s no longer moving, just breathing hard and pressed as close to Chloe as she can manage while Chloe breathes just as hard.

Beca should have known when Chloe’s body didn’t melt into the bed in relaxation, but she’s still caught off-guard when Chloe’s eyes finally open and they’re just as dark as they’d been before she came.

“Don’t stop yet.”

Beca doesn’t mean to laugh but it’s a hint of delirium and a dash of physical exhaustion that cause it and she tries to cover it up by clearing her throat and shifting her weight to her right arm instead of her left, but she knows Chloe caught it when hands come up to hold her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Chloe says earnestly and Beca knows it is, though she doesn’t necessarily agree with the implications.

“I can do it again,” she says with determination and tries to ignore the way her weaker, non-dominant arm is already trembling.

“Bec,” Chloe says with a smile that turns into a smirk as she nudges at Beca’s shoulders. “Lay down?”

The offer comes as a relief even though her pride doesn’t want to admit it. She’s also really, really here for them rolling over because she definitely wants to watch Chloe riding her.

Except when Beca moves, Chloe doesn’t move with her and Beca finds herself alone on her back next to Chloe, who’s already sitting up, only to lean back down and kiss Beca as if she’d forgotten to do so before they parted.

“All good?” Chloe asks when they part and at Beca’s nod, the base of the strap-on grinds down against her clit.

“Fuck,” Beca gasps, hips immediately lifting in search of more. She’d been left painfully turned on with Chloe’s climax and she’s not sure how long she’ll last if Chloe’s going to keep doing what she’s doing. “Yeah, all good,” she answers after swallowing hard.

“This angle’s good?” Chloe’s purposeful with the way her hand is pressing and working the toy against Beca and Beca just nods. “Perfect,” she continues.

Beca watches her sit up again, missing her lips and the indirect friction but she knows it’s temporary.

She’s not ready for it, though, when instead of her right leg straddling Beca, Chloe’s turning her back to Beca and it’s her left leg straddling her.

“Oh, my God, what?” Beca says without thinking. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud but Chloe heard her and answers with a hum and all Beca can do is grab Chloe’s hips and watch Chloe guide the strap-on into herself until her body is flush with Beca’s. The view is different and just as sinful. Chloe’s back is all muscle and smooth skin that is already slick under Beca’s hands. Her hair hangs loose and reaches far down her back when she tips her face toward the ceiling with a moan that sounds more than satisfied.

She starts to move and immediately moans again. “You feel so good, shit, Beca.” There’s no slow increase of tempo this time; it’s clear Chloe doesn’t need the build-up. She leans forward just slightly and suddenly Beca’s the one groaning in surprise.

Now she understands what Chloe had been doing seconds ago. She wanted to figure out the angle that wasn’t just good for herself but good for Beca, too.

Chloe wants to make Beca come while she rides her.

“Good?” Chloe says with a turn of her head, though her eyes can’t meet Beca’s.

“Fuck,” Beca answers, digging her fingernails into Chloe’s hips to make her point. “Fuck, you look so hot.”

It’s not really an answer to Chloe’s question but it’s good enough. Chloe keeps the angle but works her hips even faster, her hands pushing through her own hair to lift it off her back in what is probably just need to cool off but it’s downright pornographic. It makes Beca’s hips start chasing her and Chloe feels it.

Her hands drop from her hair to cover Beca’s hands. Connection. Connection as she rides Beca so hard that the metal legs of their shitty fold-out bed are scraping against the wooden floor with her motion.

“Chlo,” Beca says. “Fuck.” She’s trying to warn her, to tell her she’s going to come any second and if the goal is to finish together, Chloe needs to slow down.

“Yes, Beca, yes,” Chloe groans in response and her long, hard thrusts shift to sitting hard against Beca and grinding down and back. “God, Beca, come with me,” she gasps, right hand shifting to pull Beca’s hand off of her and tangle their fingers together before pressing it back against her waist.

Connection.

Beca doesn’t know who’s louder or who comes harder or longer. All she knows is that it’s together and even if she can’t see Chloe’s face at the moment, she doesn’t need to feel just as close to her as she had felt earlier. It’s heady and all-encompassing and she hisses at the unexpected direct contact of fingertips against her overstimulated clit. She didn’t even notice Chloe had moved at all, let alone turned around to lay next to Beca again.

“One more?” she asks as she kisses along Beca’s cheek.

Beca genuinely doesn’t think she can, at least not so soon, but all she can manage in reply is a moan when her hips decide for her and lift up into Chloe’s hand. It’s a snug fit, her hand down the front of the briefs, but that doesn’t matter. It makes it better.

“Why?” Beca finally manages just before Chloe’s lips make it back to her own.

“Why not?” Chloe answers.

Then they’re kissing again but Beca can hardly manage more than just offering her lips and mouth and tongue to Chloe for whatever she wants; she can’t focus anymore. Not when Chloe’s fingers are swiping back and forth across her swollen clit with a lewd kind of intensity that makes Beca feel a little like she’s in an adult film. One she’s proud to be the star of at the moment.

She doubts that she’ll be able to come again even with how amazingly intense it feels. It feels like a never-ending chord that’s been struck and sustained and she thinks it’s going to fade away until something changes. Maybe the speed or the angle or the pressure but with no warning and with a gasp that only makes Chloe kiss her harder when really what she needs is oxygen her body rocks into a blinding orgasm.

She can hear words. Chloe’s voice is in her ear which lets her breathe again. She doesn’t know what she’s saying but she sounds happy. Proud, maybe. It’s hard to concentrate on language when her body won’t stop throbbing and clenching around the fingers that slipped inside her at some point.

“I could do this with you forever.”

They’re the first words that register once her brain clears. They’re whispered while lips graze her cheek and jaw but she hears them ringing like a bell in her mind and they’re echoing her own thoughts from earlier.

Beca doesn’t dwell on it. She’s not really capable of complexities and she’s already been stripped bare in so many ways tonight. She just sighs and says, “So could I,” and tilts her chin so her lips can find Chloe’s.

She doesn’t start to panic about the exchange until Chloe’s helped her get the briefs off and tossed aside and she’s settled, warm and more than satiated, tucked into Chloe’s side, head on her shoulder and Chloe says, oh so casually, “So, forever, hm?”

It makes a different kind of heat flash through her and she hides her burning face against Chloe and does little more than grunt to at least acknowledge she heard her. She doesn’t know how to talk about this. She’s bad with words. Puts her foot in her mouth all the time. She’s an expert at saying the wrong thing.

“Beca,” Chloe says with a chuckle that rumbles against Beca’s ear. “It’s okay, you know?”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what Chloe is referring to. She has an idea, but right now, assumptions and misinterpretations could be deadly. So she chooses to remain silent with the hope and trust that Chloe will just keep talking and have most of this conversation herself.

“And I know things are starting to go back to how they used to be. But I don’t want us to go back to how we used to be.”

“You don’t?” Beca’s proud of herself for that response and stops pressing her face into Chloe’s shoulder and turns her cheek to it again. It helps that Chloe’s fingertips are grazing idly up and down her back in a way that could put Beca to sleep if her mind wasn’t racing.

She feels Chloe shake her head. “I really don’t.” There’s a beat of silence and Beca hears her sigh. “Do you?”

Beca feels like she could hear a pin drop if someone were to drop a pin and if she could hear over Chloe’s heart suddenly pounding in her chest beneath Beca’s ear. It betrays Chloe’s outward stillness and the notion that the question she’s posed is making her nervous, too, is somehow calming Beca. Maybe it’s that Chloe’s been thinking about it, too, and for all the same reasons Beca’s been kicking around in her mind for weeks, has been wary of bridging the topic.

It’s a yes or no question, one that will push them to one side of a line or the other: Just Friends or Something More. Chloe and Beca or Chloe and Beca. Friends or, dare she think it, girlfriends. After so many years, maybe they’re finally going to get it right.

Her fingers rap quickly in thought where they lay against Chloe’s ribs as she tries to get her mind to slow down long enough to answer. She knows she’s taking too long and Chloe’s going to interpret her silence as a bad thing if she doesn’t hurry up and speak.

“No,” she blurts. She didn’t even realize she’d committed to the decision but the word is past her lips before she can analyze it any further.

She feels Chloe’s sharp exhale. “You don’t?”

It’s out, now. She gives a shake of her head and feels Chloe’s arm moving to better wrap around her. “No. I...really, really don’t.”

Chloe giggles at that and Beca watches Chloe’s other hand come up to touch Beca’s chin so Beca leans back and lifts her head a bit so they can actually look at one another. She doesn’t overlook that Chloe’s bright eyes are a little misty in the same way they get when the little girl gets a puppy in whatever heartfelt movie they’re watching at any given time. Chloe’s smiling, too and Beca can’t help but mirror it. “So what does that mean?” Chloe asks, eyebrows lifting in a way that feels mildly like a challenge.

Beca huffs. “You’re really putting this on me, huh?”

Chloe shrugs and the hand that had grazed Beca’s chin moves to comb through Beca’s hair slowly, careful where there are tangles as she brushes it away from Beca’s face and behind her shoulder. She also worries at her bottom lip with her teeth even as she smiles.

It’s hard to imagine going back from this. That thought, and the way Chloe’s looking up at her with nervous excitement and touching her so lovingly… “Maybe that means we could try like...dating.” She has to bite her tongue to stop the ‘or whatever’ that wants to end the statement and instead rolls her eyes a little but quickly returns them to Chloe when fingernails scratch lightly at the back of her neck.

Chloe’s lip slips from between her teeth when her smile widens. “Yeah?”

“I mean…if you want.” She shrugs playfully. “I guess we could.”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a nod. “I’d like that.” Her hand tugs at Beca’s neck and Beca lets herself be reeled in for a slow kiss.

Beca would like that, too.

Very much.

The End

#bechloe #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #fanfic #MORE SINNING #desperate measures

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broadcast-storm · 3 years

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Pinebook Pro Struggles

My Pinebook Pro has been riding the struggle bus lately. It's at the point where I'm starting to think that I need to drop Manjaro XFCE on it and start considering a different operating system in the hopes that what I'm experiencing are OS issues rather than device or firmware issues. This wouldn't exactly be new territory for me, as just a couple of months ago I finally gave up on using Manjaro XFCE on my Star Lite laptop. I simply ran into too many bugs with Manjaro and swapped to Xubuntu, where things have been going much more smoothly for me. I'm not confident that an OS swap will fix what I'm experiencing now, though.

Initially, Manjaro was a significant step up for my Pinebook Pro, which is old enough that I received it running the old Debian image that was so highly customized that a sizable number of software packages on it couldn't be updated, making it a security breach waiting to happen. After seeing the amount of love that Manjaro was getting in the Pine64 community, though, and how invested the Manjaro folks seemed to be in working well with the Pinebook Pro hardware, it seemed like a smart move. When Manjaro KDE became the default OS on new Pinebook Pro units, I decided to flash Manjaro XFCE onto my device's eMMC. It was exciting to go from not being able to update anything to having updates available constantly. I'd typically only use my device once or twice a week, and basically every time I fired it up there would be a significant number of updates available.

The honeymoon didn't last forever, though. One of the initial issues I saw was with respect to the battery. Unlike Debian, Manjaro features both a "Suspend" and "Hibernate" mode for sleeping the device. To my understanding, Suspend is supposed to remove power from most of the hardware but keeps the RAM warm to facilitate waking seamlessly and rapidly, though this obviously comes at the cost of draining the battery more to keep the RAM powered up. When using Suspend, I could let the device sit for about a day and half before it would be completely drained. Hibernate, on the other hand, writes the content of RAM to the swap space -- enabling Hibernate will actually fail if you've forgotten to create a swap space -- to save on power but still allow for the state of the device to be saved. That being said, if you don't have any applications waiting between sessions, the time to return from Hibernate and to boot from being fully powered off is, to the best that I can tell, exactly the same. As a result, I'm better off simply shutting my device down between uses.

While the battery can cause annoyance, I've since discovered far more significant issues. One is that the wireless NIC is periodically not recognized by the operating system when I either boot or wake the device. It'll simply show that no network devices are available, and using the XFCE UI to toggle networking off and back on makes no difference. If I was more savvy in the realm of Manjaro/Arch, I may be able to do some further troubleshooting via the CLI. Given that Debian-based distros are my forte, though, I typically just reboot and hope for the best since that's faster than grabbing another device which is connected to the Internet in order to start looking up solutions. A reboot will typically fix the issue, but not always. Earlier this week, I had the exact same behavior after a reboot. At that point I just shut down my Pinebook Pro and used another device for what I wanted to do. I left the device off until I decided to write this post, and I was happy that after a few days of sitting in the corner my laptop was able to connect to WiFi once again.

The firmware woes don't end there, unfortunately. The trackpad on the Pinebook Pro has always been a bit of an issue, with a very noticeable latency when using it that made precise movements very difficult. Clicking large buttons on web pages was simple, for example, while clicking the small x buttons in XFCE to close application was a struggle... especially for applications which weren't fullscreen, meaning that the button wasn't forced into the top-right corner of the screen. I had hoped that this problem was about to be solved a few months ago when new firmware was released that dramatically reduced the latency. After following the well-written community documentation to go through the slightly nerve wracking process of flashing the new firmware -- which included a small but non-zero chance that the ability to use the trackpad could be completely bricked -- things were working much better for me... until they weren't.

While the new firmware worked great most of the time, I started to periodically see problems where touching the trackpad with my finger would cause the cursor to "jolt" as if simply touching the surface were registering that I moved my finger about an inch or so either up or down. This wouldn't typically manifest itself immediately after a wake or boot, but would randomly crop up after I had been using the device for some time. When it happened, though, it made using the device nearly impossible. While I could fight against it to move the cursor where I needed it to be, lifting my finger off the trackpad and then tapping down to register a click would cause the cursor to jump either up or down, meaning that I was clicking on either 1.) nothing or 2.) the wrong thing. At that point, I was back to struggling to interface with the device enough to reboot it and hoping for the best after that.

While trying to write this post the first time, I ran into yet another issue which may be related to the last problem and may be something entirely new. While using the Tumblr web UI to write the post, my device suddenly kicked me back to the login screen as if I had opted to lock the screen. Weird. I tried to enter my password in order to log in only to discover that the keyboard wasn't working. I could still use the trackpad to move the mouse cursor, but tapping on it would no longer register as a click. I eventually discovered that I could still physically press the trackpad to click and used that to just reboot the device rather than running off to dig up an external keyboard that I could connect. The reboot once again seems to have restored functionality, though I lost all of the blog content that I had written.

While I'd like to switch operating systems and get away from Manjaro since that made my life significantly better on my Star Lite, I'm at least a little concerned that my issues are mostly firmware related and may not be fixed by a different flavor of Linux. If I do switch to anything different, I'd prefer it to be Armbian since I'm most familiar with Debian-based distros.

It's also worth mentioning in closing that trying to use the device in the way that I am is explicitly not what the Pinebook Pro is designed for. It's meant to be used by people wanting to do things with the ARM processor, and bugs like this are something to be expected in a community effort this large. I definitely don't mean to throw shade at the work anyone in the Pine64 or Manjaro communities is doing; it's my issue for how I'm wanting to use the device. I'm still hoping, though, that I can find a configuration a bit more stable so that I can basically have a Linux laptop that amounts to a full POSIX-compliant terminal and a decent web browser.

#pbp #pine64 #pinebook pro #manjaro #linux

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ayankun · 3 years

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WandaVision episode 6

FIRST OFF

Whenever I go back to pause things for clues, and find exactly what I’m looking for, I don’t feel justified, I feel that much more insane:

It’s really hard to make out, but I had an alright look at it on my folks’ QLED, and it’s definitely a flying saucer doing an alien abduction on what looks to be a person inside an old CRT TV (with some kind of robot head/boombox on top???) There are secret aliens in this show, you guys, the facts don’t lie.

HmmmMMMM I wonder if Agnes is as innocent as she looks:

Also, I didn’t see that she was wearing the brooch in this ep, and I was majorly disappointed in that.

Two things here:

No, that’s not a twins joke.

Another Moonmen Confirmed

I know green is his color or whatever, but that hat is literally 10 years ahead of its time

Also, I took the playing-DDR-at-home scenario at face value, and only on the first rewatch did I realize it was a very pointed turn-of-the-century reference. I am an Old.

There’s a good, subtle Rule of Threes in this ep. The Setup:

The Sokovian Halloween flashback works on so many levels. It’s so funny:

The fact that they went trick-or-treating at all

The “speaking Sokovian”

The treat being a fish

They have to share the fish

The concept that this event gave them an infectious disease

“You probably suppressed a lot of the trauma” -- it’s a good sitcom joke but. the trauma is the joke. The joke IS THE TRAUMA!!!

Elizabeth Olson is a dream with all her wonderful faces she has this ep.

Vision’s unsettling passive-aggression-sitcom-cooperation whiplash is WOW, consider me unsettled!!!!!! “Be. Good.” UGH.

(Just noticed one here, but there are a number of continuity errors in this episode, enough to be distracting later on, and is this a deliberate choice? Please let it be deliberate. I didn’t watch a whole lot of Malcolm in the Middle, is it known for its continuity errors?

)

“It’s their first Halloween.” LOLOLOL they are TEN YEARS OLD and this is their FIRST halloween I LOVE IT

DOUBLE RED HERRING CONFIRRRRRRRRMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Agent Jimmy Woo accidentally identifying himself as the sassy best friend added 20 years to my life.

Found. FOUND. Not “created,” “manifested,” “willed into being using my insane witch powers.” Third Party Confirmed.

I like that it’s the 90s and we can swear on TV now. “Hell” “kick-ass” “damn it” “fu---dge”

I think the most biting part of Vision finding the whacked out folks is that the soundtrack just kind of ... ignores that anything’s wrong. Yeah, it’s kinda-spooky Halloween music, but it’s still 100% in-world kinda-spooky-sitcom-Halloween-episode music.

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE AD:

As a 90s child, let me tell you, this is a blisteringly accurate representation of children’s marketing from the period. The shark is wearing sunglasses AND he has a surfboard!!! And he’s selling you yogurt of all things!!!!! This is the supreme distillation of what being a child in the 90s was like.

How disappointed I am that they went with crab instead of lobster.

Heard it through the grapevine that this is a representative of Wanda’s imprisonment on the Raft. That happened in Civil War, right? So the next ad is The Snap? We’re running out of iconic decades, too. so, hold on, new thought.

90s: Civil War

00s: Infinity War

10s?????: Endgame???? or?????????

??: Whatever happened between Endgame and WandaVision, given that the ads are stepping forward through Wanda’s IRL life events!!

I don’t want to know how many episodes are planned/announced, but I don’t know what to expect from the format after they run out of decades from which to draw. Maybe there are only one or possibly two “sitcom” episodes left. Maybe after that it just breaks down and they can pick and choose from the worlds/styles we’ve already established. That’d be p neat. A very unique kind of chaos.

god she’s so cute

Okay, somebody explain to me Pietro. I honestly walked away from last week thinking he was just some townsperson chump, but then I was reminded that this is the Quicksilver actor from all those X-Mans movies I never watched, soooo people are saying Multiverse Confirmed? But, if this is X-Mans’ Pietro, then why did he die the same as MCU Pietro? Or is he literally MCU!Pietro’s corpse, given that he looked all dead same as when she saw Vision’s corpse? If MCU!Pietro, then why different face???

????????????????

Also I found him highly suspicious, what with all the questions he was asking. But the only sort of person who would truly want to know the answers to those questions would be someone who already had them ... so I think he was just asking on behalf of the audience, and the delivery was all wonked out.

Rule of Threes - The Reference:

Ok, real talk, whenever computers/networks/data/encryption/servers/mainframes et al come up in mainstream media, I just look away. I don’t need the kind of psychic damage that comes with such egregious mishandling of the topic.

That being said, does Hayward having eyes through the barrier mean that he could possibly be involved in getting it set up? Because look. If Hayward-after-Hayward’s-Villianous-Ends is one antagonizing force, then is there really room for the Third Party (Confirmed) antagonizing force that’s lurking in the negative space silhouette of the Inciting Incident? With Wanda as the Red Herring antagonizing force, that’s just. There’s just too many villains, alright? We gotta start merging these plotlines.

(then again, when I just said “eyes” I realize probably understanding the true nature of his new secret “CATARACT” project will clear a lot of things up. I’ll wait for enlightenment)

Agnes’ license plate in this episode is 0A1-B2C, which I think is a reference to the way reality is getting pared down to bare bones at the edge of town. Note that this is not the same license plate number as seen last ep.

ALSO, I drove home behind a NJ plate just an hour ago, and was staring at it for a long time, trying to fit it into the puzzle before A) realizing that this was Real Life and not part of the show and B) WTF is a NJ plate doing in front of me in California. In any case, I can confirm that NJ plates do not appear to have this number-letter repeating format.

So let’s talk Agnes.

Demonstrated knowledge of the situation in ways others haven’t (”There’s the star of the show” “kids, you can’t control ‘em”)

Shows up when needed most (explained as being Wanda’s doing, but is it)

When Wanda was having her babies, though, who was trustworthy enough to be summoned? Was it Agnes?

Wanted to babysit REAL BAD

Was in the opening credits framed possessively with the twins

Doesn’t appear to have an IRL identity according to Jimmy’s crime board

Keeps talking about her husband but we’ve never seen him. Highly unlikely that he’s real

Was the one to find Sparky “dead” - internet thinks she was lying to Wanda about how or possibly if he was dead (I’m trying not to read the theories, so idk exactly what the angle is there)

In an episode where everyone is wearing their original comic outfits, Agnes is dressed as (and laughs like!) a witch

She name-drops Wanda as the one controlling everyone; Norm (or the guy playing Norm) only said “she” and “her” -- meaning Agnes?

Naughty

So we’re 99% sure Agnes is Agatha Harkness, right? I never read no comics, so I’m taking the internet’s word for it, but from what I can tell, I think we must be right. If that’s the case, then I’m thinking it’s not impossible for her to be pulling some strings around here (giving Wanda a justification for her “that wasn’t me” doorbell ring, for example, and pulling a double red herring on the fact that she shows up whenever the narrative Wanda her nefarious scheme calls for it).

To devil’s advocate myself, though, we also have Monica’s word that it was Wanda in her mind, lessening the impact of Agnes falsely confirming what Norm only implied. Also she’d have to be acting for Vision’s sake (and ours) and, if so, then what did Vision’s brain-touch really do, and how did she know he’d find her there, and what did she intend as the result of that interaction etc etc.

If Wanda’s (or Wanda + Third Party Confirmed (Agnes??)’s) powers aren’t enough to sustain the simulation of life on the edges of town, how much worse is it going to be now that there is even more area to try to control???

I don’t know if this is strictly an intended read, but the idea of Halloween as a fun, scares-for-entertainment’s sake type holiday, the rounding off the edges of concepts like “skeletons and ghosts are what people are after they die, let’s decorate the town with them and have a good time” kind of is a haunting parallel to the nature of Wanda (et al) covering up the horrible truth of the situation with this happy-go-lucky sitcom glamour.

How much does one hate seeing Vision giving his life for the greater good (the greater good) for the second time? In other news, I think I’m seeing some specifically Mind Stone type energy-colors coming off of him, and very little Wanda type energy-colors. Third Party Confirmed.

Also, I was thinking from last week that perhaps Hayward’s Villainous Ends included capturing the reanimated Vision to be one of those Sentient Weapons his organization is all about, but I Do Not Think his reaction to seeing that sought-after prize disintegrate in front of his eyes really matches up with that theory. Again, will be patiently waiting for Jimmy to check his email to see what CATARACT is all about!

Rule of Threes - The Payoff:

Also, anyone ID the movie playing in the background?

Ok, final thought. I watched this about four times today, and on the big-ass TV at my parents’ house finally paused and got up close to see what that white shape is in the reflection. Thought it might be a skull, but, it’s worse.

These caps do not contain enough data to verify my claim, but I PROMISE YOU it’s a TV

A square old thing with a round screen and antenna on top.

I SWEAR to you, when I looked into the TV, into Wanda’s eyes, only to see the reflection of a TV, of her looking at me looking at her I had a visceral fear reaction. Like. LEGIT nauseous skin crawl.

(All the other episodes have ended with our POV as the fourth wall, from the general (or exact!!!) position their household TV is known to be.)

This is my favorite show Of All Time.

#WandaVision #1x06 #All-New Halloween Spooktacular!

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

What a Beautiful Wedding Ch. 3: More TV Listings, Nothing to See Here

Summary: Friday TV Guide Listings:

6:00 (PST) Manhunter (CC)—Game

(2) (3) (12)

Contestants compete to hunt down Dream ( :) ) and try to win for various prizes.

Tour de Force (CC)—Drama

(6) (16) (24)

Singer-performer Nate (Nathan Sharp) and his band of supernatural investigators battle against various paranormal threats including the enigmatic Big Q (Quackity) and his casino mafia.

The Grand Convergence (CC)—Drama-Action

When a group of scientists give life to artificial intelligence, things begin to fly wildly out of control.

(2) (6) (18)

A/N: WARNING for android death, it is temporary but it is there.

And now he’s more TV Listings for your enjoyment. But ignore them, we’ll get to them later.

7:00 (PST) Movie (CC)—Sci-fi-Drama

“Space with Markiplier.” Marc Iplier.

(2)

Movie (CC)—Fantasy

“The Antarctic Empire.” Technoblade, Philza.

(6)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

CHANNEL 6

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

[Camera cuts to Badboy Halo who is sitting for an interview]

“Well,” Bad smiled. “Everyone knows that Dream the only thing Dream cares about more than himself is George.”

[CUT to Bad setting up a box and rope trap with a headshot of George inside]

“Yeah,” Bad smile grew even bigger as he surveyed his world. “I think I got this.”

As if Dream had been watching and listening in, and he was, he tagged Bad in the back with a foam rock and knocked him to the side as he ran past.

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

CHANNEL 24

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

“Boys, boys,” Big Q smiled as Nate and Phantom were dragged in front of the mob boss by Sam and Purpled. “I thought we were done with all this.”

“Maybe if you weren’t causing trouble we would be,” Nate spat as he and Phantom shrugged off the people dragging him in. “Where’s Mad and Mare, you sick sadist.”

“Oh gentlemen,” Big Q grinned. “I haven’t done anything to them. Haven’t even touched a hair on their heads.”

“Bull,” Phantom told him, the vampire’s eyes turning red in anger. “You’ve got five seconds—”

“Easy now, big guy,” Big Q pulled out a thin stake of wood twisted from long wild rose stalks. “Let’s not get too hasty. I’ve got a job for you boys.”

“What is it?” Nate asked hesitantly. Even thinking about taking a job from Big Q made his skin crawl.

“Well, you see,” Big Q smiled as one of his associates, Fundy, raced in with a white fox right behind him to hand the individual some papers. “Oh thanks, kid.”

Fundy smiled brightly as Big Q looked back at them. “There’s this little group that’s been causing trouble for me for a while now and—”

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

CHANNEL 2

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

“Well I didn’t suspect this would happen!” The Director spat at Google.

“Well maybe you should have stopped at making the first one!” Google spat in return.

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

Outside the bubbles, as the light and rubble cleared enough for the heroes that hadn’t been snatched up by the bubbles, were standing in the ruins of the gazebo. Each of the bubbles was at least the size of a house, the biggest were the size of a five-story building.

“The fuck was that?” Silver shouted. He was standing with J.J and Jackie.

“Silver!” Oliver was running over to them with Mini’s drive. “I can’t contact Bing!”

“You okay?” Silver asked, flying over. Mini came out of his drive and looked around frantically.

“Yes but Bing is off our network, along with the other Googles,” Oliver told them.

“That’s probably because none of ‘em[1] have any type of service or connection.” Someone was calling down to them from the top of the ruins of the gazebo. He was in a white hoodie and was looking down at them.

“Great,” Jackie spat as he braced for a fight. Two other people emerged from seemingly nowhere, someone with a red and white cameo mask, and a woman who had roses physically growing out of her hair. “We’re busy.”

“Name’s Punz,” the man in a white hoodie gestured to himself. “These are Ponk and Hannah.”

“We’re fookin’[2] busy,” Jackie spat. “What part ‘a that didn’t yeh Servers fooks get?”[3]

Punz sighed and rolled his eyes, “Well normally I don’t care what you chumps do, unless I’m paid to care. But my paycheck just got sucked into one of those bubbles and I want to get him back out.”

“Who, Dream?” Silver asked. “How long has he been here?”

Punz sighed. “Some of us happened to be in the area. Most of us are still in the Serve though. But Dream and the others who were nearby during the ceremony got grabbed.”

“How many?” Silver asked, looking at the bubbles.

“About half of us, if you include Techno and Phil, and Dream does,” Punz told him. “Okay, look, I don’t care about your team, the issue is that Dream pays me, and I like having a job so I’m going to drag him back out so he can keep wiring me money. Besides, my brother’s in there.”

“Okay so we’ll start tryin’ ta pop those fookers,”[4] Jackie decided, Silver flew up to try and get inside the closest bubble but it just bounced him back.

“Ponk,” Punz called out.

“I’m no Skeppy,” Ponk said, a book appearing in hand, “but I can make do. ‘Sides[5], Foolish is in there somewhere.”

J.J walked over to Ponk to look at the book, his pocket watch in hand as he anchored himself in a spot to start turning back time if he needed it.

The mute hero was signing to Ponk as the mage was starting to cast spells. “Hmmmm~ That one?” Ponk asked and J.J nodded.

“Who’d you find?” Punz asked, looking at the bubble.

“Don’t know, but there are four people in there,” Ponk said. “It’s not the smallest but it’s already weakening.”

Oliver seemed to realize something. “Wait, Host gave me something right before the wedding.”

“So he did think somethin’[6] was happenin’[7],” Jackie frowned.

The yellow android pulled out a box and opened it to see a note and the blue solid state drive that they had seen a couple months ago helping to power a generator with Logan’s soul inside.

On the note read:

Replace Bing’s drive with this. The bubbles are little small realities. Target weaker ones to make the stronger bubbles pop.

“That’s not good,” Oliver told them, his voice sounding rattled. “Why would Bing need his drive replaced?”

“What does his drive do?” Silver asked.

“Bing’s central drive is like a human brain, it can’t just be switched out and I don’t know what’s in this thing.”

“So let’s find Bing and figure out what’s wrong,” Silver told him.

“Okay,” Ponk spoke up. “I think I can get it open but I don’t know what’s going to happen when we get in there.

Hannah circles her hand and the ground turned into a massive rose as Ponk and J.J opened up the bubble. It didn’t pop, but it was open just long enough for them to jump in.

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

CHANNEL 2

//////~~~~//////~~~~//////~~~~//////

It was a dark, neon-lit city that looked like Egoton. But the group appeared in some official-looking military room.

Google was arguing with the Director with Red and Green right behind him.

“Oliver?” Green gasped in surprise. “You’re alive?”

Google rushed over to Mini and forced a power down and stowed his drive away.

“Where’s Bing?” Oliver asked.

“This cretin factory reset Bing!” Google glared at the Director.

Oliver looked at them in horror.

“What?” Oliver took a step back.

“Yeh[8] what?!” Jackie spat in an absolute fury. “He was a person! Yeh[8] killed him.”

“He was a faulty computer program who wasn’t even doing his job,” the General snapped.

Google hit his limit and shot the Director right between the eyes. All the organic beings in the room startled and yelled in surprise.

“What did you do?” Silver stared at him in horror.

“That was for what he did to Bing!” Google snarled.

Oliver pulled out the drive he’d been given from the Host, “The Host gave me this, he told me to replace Bing’s drive with it.”

“Why? What’s on it?” Google demanded.

“I don’t know, but if Bing’s already been reset then it couldn’t harm him anymore than the humans already have.” Oliver was desperate, frantic.

“Let’s just find him,” Silver said, glancing down at the Director and he realized he wasn’t sure if the man was real or not.

Fortunately, the group didn’t have to go far because Bing came to them. Or at least what was left of him. It was Bing as he normally looked, minus the dark sunglasses, his eyes a glowing, angry orange. His usual stance was far more upright and tense, and any humor was gone.

“Bing?” Oliver whispered fearfully.

“Memesis Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta,” Bing said in a fully robotic tone, his usual way of speaking was also gone, “you will submit yourself for a factory reset or be terminated.”

Silver looked around the room, it was too enclosed, there were too many people. When the Google androids didn’t do what Bing wanted he moved to attack them, Google moving in front of Oliver to protect him.

Jackie tried to race in to help and was barely fast enough to avoid getting his leg crushed by the malevolent android.

Silver was trying to keep Bing off of Jackie or anyone else more breakable but he realized something with grim certainty: Bing was going to start killing people.

Silver flew back to get some distance and speed and then snapped forward in an instant the bubble popped and they were back on the ground where they had all started. Bing’s mechanical body arced and jolted as Silver held the mangled and destroyed remains of Bing’s central drive in his hand.

“No!” Google shouted in horror, everyone just staring at Silver in horror. The android raced forward, aiming to crush Silver’s neck in his hands but Silver flew out of the way.

“We have a replacement drive,” Silver reminded him. “I wouldn’t have done that if we didn’t have that drive.”

“I don’t know what’s on that!” Google roared, pulling out lazers and trying to murder Silver.

Oliver came behind Google and began looking Bing over, a look of panic and fear on his face.

“He was still physically there, if that drive doesn’t contain his personality there’s no way to rebuild him,” Google snarled.

“The rest of his core is intact,” Oliver announced, “we just need to fix some wires.”

Google stopped and looked back at Oliver, trying to not look at Bing’s remains. “Fine, try it.”

Then the android glared at Silver, “If this doesn’t work, Silver, I will destroy every atom of your body.”

“Right,” Silver told him but still kept his distance.

“The only thing this world had going for it was that Bing loved it,” Google told him as he knelt down next to Oliver who was frantically trying to repair the frayed wires and crushed metal.

Google pulled out the drive and just stared at it. His nanites helped to print and construct materials.

Jackie raced over to Silver, keeping an eye on Google. “We need ta[9] find Logic,” Jackie told Silver, “maybe if we do he can help—”

At that moment, there was a little sound and Bing’s little orange accent lights came online and everyone braced for another attack but after a couple more minutes, Bing got up and looked around.

“Googs? What are— Where am I?” Bing looked confused, his voice back to normal, before he looked alarmed as he checked the day’s date. “The drive?”

Google began to fret over Oliver, “Do you have any faulty programs? Glitches? Did that drive have any malware attached to it?”

“I’m running a diagnostic right now, dude,” Bing told him. “Give me a minute.”

“So what was the deal with that drive, thought Logic would have broken that thing?” Silver asked.

“Dunno,”[10] Bing shrugged. “Host had me use that drive that Spade trapped Lo in, said I would need ta[9] make a backup of myself an’[11] that it had enough room. Guess he was right. Might need ta[9] be filled on everything that happened for the past couple ‘a[12] months.”

Ponk and J.J tore open another bubble, a rumbling shock rippled out towards the other bubbles.

“Show time!” Punz called out.

“Bing is staying with me,” Google ordered. “And if you can find Logic I want him here too.”

“Yeah, havin’[13] all the brainiacs together is prolly[14] fer[15] the best,” Jackie agreed.

“Let’s go!” Punz said and Hannah began to construct another rose to jettison them up, making Silver and Jackie race after them as they jumped into another bubble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. them

2. fucking

3. What part of that didn’t you Servers fucks get?

4. Okay so we’ll start trying to pop those fuckers

5. Besides

6. something

7. happening

8. You

9. to

10. I don’t know

11. and

12. of

13. having

14. probably

15. for

1 note · View note

shadowtarot · 3 years

Note

CHM: I am just using Sho as a Red Herring/Living Inciting incident FYI. Maybe he contacts Ryuji again, following a fight possibly, he tells him to tell his leader (how he knows about Ren in Inaba? who knows.) to go to Junes and stick his hand in the big TV in the Elec. Dept. just avoid the mascot and manager (Yosuke). Sho is just causing stuff for shits and giggles. Plus it’s a way to rope in P4.

Chariot's Mystery Part 18

Following that fiasco in the messed up Metaverse, Ryuji's been on edge. Despite the fact that Ren gave that threat to Kirijo, they now had to capture Sho as a show of faith. Or as it actually was, work with Sho to try and further expose Kirijo. That meant that he was bait for the red-haired manic. His mind goes back to the conversation that happened directly after school that day: "ARE YOU INSANE?!" Zenkichi says in the video call. "Sending Ryuji on his own to lure him is suicide. I had a first hand experience with him, and despite his looks he could easily break my damn sword if he wanted. At least...that's what I could tell at least." The Trio were in the warehouse again, given it was the only safe spot at the moment to discuss these things. "Buuut, we don't want to send you and Doc out there. You're both Newbs! Sure you've had a little experience in combat, but Ryuji's had his Persona longer than most of us! ...excluding Mona." Futaba plays with a Jaggriko in her hand as Yusuke sketches in the background. "Well I'm at least gonna stay on standby, I'm not about to let this get deadly if simple discussion goes south." Zenkichi folds his arms, looking at everyone seriously. Sophia's tiny icon bounces on the screen. "I can try to look up information on him while we do these dealings. Perhaps find any report of crimnal history?" Makoto nods. "That sounds good. Now Ryuji, Ren showed you how to make Thief Tools during our roundtrip right? We don't know Sho's elemental affinity...if he even has one. I'd make a few elemental rounds for each element. Just to be safe."

"Right." Ryuji nods, glancing over at the spare set of tools Ren gave him. Suddenly, Ryuji's phone alarm goes off. It was time for him to start heading down that same alley way as before. Zenkichi and Maruki were watching from a safe distance. All Ryuji needed to do was get Sho's cooperation. And as if on cue, Sho appears. "Seriously? The same damn alleyway? You're not supposed to be predictable in your line of work, dumbass." Sho's getting dangerously close, but Ryuji's hand is firmly in his pocket, thumb hovering over the Broken Metanav. He doesn't say a word as he activates it, dragging Sho into the Metaverse with him. Taking a deep breath as Skull opens his eyes to the glitchy Metaverse, he draws his weapon. "Sho, yeah? Look we both hate Kirijo, but we need a way to get closer in to dig more dirt on 'em so-" But Sho's already drawn one sword, pointing it at Skull's neck. "Blah blah blah. I'll listen to whatever the hell you got, but I ain't listing to SHIT until you fight me." Now that there wasn't several Persona users around him, Skull could better judge Sho's aura. There was no way in hell he'd win in a fair fight. Good thing he wasn't planning on fighting fair.

I gotta fight him just enough to figure out his weaknesses. Time to make him show his hand!

Skull charges at Sho, not even summoning William, choosing instead to just strike at him with his club. Sho just casually blocks it with his short sword, drawing his full length and striking him hard with the blunt end. "Did you seriously already forget how I was armed? Or are you really as much of a dumbass as I had you pegged for?" Sho mocks charging at Ryuji while he's stunned. He was fast, too fast to react to. But he needed to space himself somehow! Skull begins to scan the buildings, looking for a safe path to jump and scale. Unfortunately, while a path was found...a Curse attack had already hit him the moment he took his eyes off Sho. "Gah!" Ryuji winces. Curse didn't do a whole lot to him, but at least he could hopefully figure out his weakness now that he knows his affinity. Moving fast, a Bless Round is loaded into his shotgun as he aims...but looking down past the barrel...he sees Sho yawn as he puts his weapons away. "You space out in combat, then point a gun at me? Come on...at least make it interesting. Look, if your goal was to bore me with piss poor fighting you did it. Congrats, loser." Sho leans up against a wall though goes back to standing up once he notices the wall cease to exist. "Your group has a leader, and I know pretty damn well that none of you three bozos are it. Nooo, you gotta be special beyond special to lead a group. At least that's what those damn people in blue seemed to imply...." Sho mutters to himself. "Give me a way to contact him." Putting the shotgun away, Skull stares right at Sho. "You'll be contacting Joker in that case. I can't give you direct contact, but we have a sorta...uh...secure network we use to relay information and-" "And? You need an access point to ping me, yeah? Here." Sho takes out a slip of paper. The stuff written on it is foreign to Ryuji, but all he can gather is...Sho was already prepared for this. This might be why Kirijo counts him as dangerous. Three Hours following this exchange, Futaba is getting the link all set up for Ren. "Is it illegal to hack someone if they've given consent, Zenkichi-san?" Haru asks as the team has one last meeting. "If permission was granted, it'd be the same as hotwiring someone's car to save their life, yes? The act is frowned upon, but if there's no bad intent then it shouldn't have issues." Yusuke interjects. "Hey-let me at least answer the question!" Zenkichi sighs. Everyone laughs, only for Futaba to suddenly cheer. "Everything's all set up, Ren! Now whenever you use that access point we've been using to contact someone outside of the team on your cell...the voice filter should still work."

"Great. I'll be contacting him solo. I'll try to get any intel out of him I can." Ren nods. "I'll talk to you guys tomorrow with what I got." Once the team logged off, Ren contacts Sho. "So you actually called, huh? Guess you guys do some things right after all." Sho's snark can be felt on the other end of the line. "Joker right? Why are you guys so hellbent on contacting me for?" "We want to strike a deal with you. We need an in to get on Kirijo's good side and expose what they have done in better detail. But to do this, we need your help. You know a lot about the group, correct?" Ren choses his words carefully.

"...yeah I do. Hell, they hide so many damn secrets, it's clear they're planning SOMETHING. Did your little data dig give you info about the TVs?" Sho's question is sudden.

"TVs?"

"Yeah. In a small town called Inaba, there's a TV in the local Junes that never gets sold. They use it as a normal TV for customers. But...if you touch that TV, something strange happens. No one in the town knows about it, so it's 100% a cover up." Sho's smirking on the other end of the line. "Confirm that rumor for me, yeah? ...and don't let the bear or the brunette see you."

Sho suddenly hangs up at that point. "TV in Junes. ...there is that outdated TV in the home appliances section." Checking the time, Ren makes his way to Junes. He had a few hours before they closed, should be enough time to see if it was BS or not. The store's huge, weaving and maneuvering around different isles until he finally reaches that section. "Hm...so if I touch it..." Ren says quietly, extending his hand to the screen only to see it ripple like water. "That movement....it's not dissimilar to how the Meta Nav takes you in. ...can I stick my hand in it...?" The moment he does, however...two pairs of eyes have already locked on to what he's doing. He forgot to heed the warning....

#compendium #chariot's mystery

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reformedkingsmanagent · 5 years

Text

A Favor. {Part 2}

{Part 1} {Part 3}

A/N: Honestly, thank you guys for reading this. I didn’t know what I was going to do with this, but I feel like I have a slight plan. I hope you don’t mind more!

Mornings weren’t your strong suit.

As you stared down at the shattered glass covering the floor and a couple of tables, you realized this one was going to be especially difficult.

A large brick sat right in the middle, a folded piece of paper tied to it.

“Kind of an archaic way of sending a message,” you sighed to yourself. Didn’t people know how much a window like this would cost to replace?

You took one last sip of your coffee before turning around to get the store phone.

***

“I just need some more time. This thing, it’s really coming along, but I can’t rush it. I just—”

”And what is the ‘thing’ this time?”

Ransom sighed, arm holding his phone to his ear growing uncomfortably heavy. What sort of flak would he get if he just hung up now?

“We’ve talked about it, the networking event.”

“Here?”

“Well—no, not here. Who would come to an event out here?”

Harlan hummed to himself, and Ransom could picture perfectly the sort of look he’d have on his face. One of awareness and understanding, with a little bit of skepticism. Well, a lot of skepticism. And Ransom couldn’t exactly blame him. His track record of trying to get something off the ground only cost his grandfather money. Nothing ever stuck.

“I just don’t have a lot to show at the moment,” he explained, staring up at the storefront from inside his car, a vintage silver BMW, another gift he’d gotten himself when the stress of a different start-up had become too much to bear.

“We can discuss this when you come visit for dinner on Thursday.”

“That’s…” he wanted to say it was too long to wait for an answer, but he was lucky to be getting a chance so soon after his last failure, he knew that. Just had to make his current funds last until then. “Okay. See you on Thursday.”

“Should I expect you to bring that nice young woman again?”

Ransom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back in his seat. Would they ever give it a rest?

“No.”

“Well, what happened?”

Lots of screaming. He didn’t take the time. He wasn’t interested in a commitment, yada, yada, yada—

“You know what? Go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Sure. See you Thursday.”

He hung up the phone, letting out a deep sigh. Was this a stupid idea? Of course. But what did a guy like him have to lose? He pulled out of his parking space, foregoing his retail therapy session for a more important stop.

***

Ransom pulled off his sunglasses as he walked up to your coffee shop, though he could’ve mistaken it for a crime scene with all the caution tape spread across the front window. There was a cop sitting half in his car, typing information into his computer.

“What the hell…?”

As he stepped into the shop, door propped open with a stool, an employee approached him. “I’m sorry, we’re not open—”

“Em, it’s alright, I’ve got this.” As you stepped into view, Ransom could see the stress in your expression. There was a tiny part of him that instinctively wanted to comfort you.

Weird.

You stopped in front of him and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Did you do this?”

“Do what? Why is everything my fault all of a sudden?”

You held up the brick. The note was gone, given to police as potential evidence. You just needed the report to satisfy the insurance company. His eyes lit up.

“Did someone—are you alright?”

It was the first moment you could say that Ransom Drysdale had ever shown concern for you. You didn’t know how to handle it.

You set the brick on the counter after taking a few steps back from him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Somebody clearly wants me gone, though.”

“That’s not fine.” He approached you, leaning back against the counter beside you. “Why would someone do this? Was it some kids?”

“Do kids typically attach well-written threats to bricks before they throw them through windows?”

Ransom frowned. “What did it say?”

You shot him a look. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged, averting his gaze to the counter and the brick that sat on it instead. “I don’t know. There’s not much else going on.”

“Well, I doubt a big corporation would resort to throwing bricks through windows,” you explained, motioning to the empty storefront across the street, “but someone did. You say it’s not you, so there goes all the usual suspects.”

Ransom smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask for my alibi?”

“Maybe. You would be returning to the scene of the crime, offering to help…”

He watched you as you trailed off, pushing gently at the brick with your fingers, obviously restless.

“Listen, I have a favor to ask you.”

Your head lifted at the idea of Ransom Drysdale needing you for anything. “What on earth do you need me for?”

“My grandfather is having us all over for a dinner, and...I kind-of may have told him I’d be...bringing someone?”

You were dumbfounded. “Why even lie?”

He turned away from the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t know, I’m just so tired of hearing them criticize my lifestyle. It sets me off like nothing else.”

“So… instead of going alone, you thought you’d lie? Bring someone you’re not even interested in?”

He just stayed silent, eyes scanning the activity outside. He couldn’t say what he was thinking, that the last bit of your suggestion might’ve been wrong.

“When is this happening anyway, so I can make up an excuse?”

He smiled at that. He liked that about you, seemingly always ready to fight him, on anything.

“Thursday.”

He listened to you sigh deeply, waited for your refusal.

“...I guess. But you’ll owe me.”

He glanced down at you, meeting your eyes. “Deal.”

#Ransom Drysdale #Ransom Drysdale x reader #Knives Out #Hugh Drysdale #Hope this is alright!

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thecyberpunksource · 4 years

Photo

From R. Talsorian’s Cyberpunk Pacific Rim Sourcebook

Character Roles in Japan and Korea

“Things are never as they seem in Northeast Asia, and conspiracies and plots lie under seemingly innocent exteriors. Thus, many Edgerunners use their wits to hide their true occupations. Remember, ‘the nail that sticks up, gets hammered down’ is a proverb that is especially true here. It pays not to advertise your true position. But here are how some of the Edgerunners operate in Japan and Korea specifically” (pg 31).

Rockerboys & girls: Much like in the States, there are corpo sponsored idols and then there are the real artists who will do anything they can to take their message to the world. Now idols belong to an agent office and have backup crews and freelance songwriters to help them craft perfect hits. Their agents manage their schedule down to the minute to maximize their market share. That life isn’t all what it’s cracked up to be so many musicians fight against the system.

Solos: It’s near impossible to emulate the gun-totin’ shoot-em-up style of Solo that one regularly hears about in the screamsheets. Most guns are forbidden in the hands of every day citizens so that leaves solos to focus on blades and martial arts to stay dangerous. Any guns these Edgerunners have are bought illegally from fixers and are used in extreme situations.

Techies: You’re in hog heaven here. Japan and Korea are famous for improving tech. There are infinite areas for you to deal in: space technology, cybertech, gene-tailoring, weponsmithing, you name it. Many zaibatsu corpos want your skills but will hardly ever pay you the right price. Corpos are the same everywhere. So you take it to the street and become an Edgerunner.

Medias: Many of the corporate medias just hunt for gossip and scandals of politicians and entertainers. They show the dark, but non-fatal side of people. The people with real secrets are powerful enough to set up patsies to take the rap should any freelance media who tries to go after them. That’s the deadly news. There are brave souls who willing to go against the system to make sure the story breaks. Usually they have to sell to foreign new networks cause their governments usually step in and buy the story just to burn it.

Cops: If you’re Korean you’ve got it made. You are a member of the powerful Military Police. You are the top elite, and with your authority you have the fire power of most foreign Solos. Now if you’re Japanese you’re one of the few people in the country who can legally use handguns. Of course you don’t actually get to use them that often, unless you’re one of the corpo cops. That’s when you get the real heavy duty weapons.

Corporates: There is only one thing that is important to corporate operatives in this country, and that is loyalty. They take from the bushido code and serve their boss like one would serve their lord. Is your boss honest or corrupt? Whichever they are, it’s none of your business. Your job is to serve your lord and not question why. Sometimes, you may have to take the rap for your company and you’re going to do it with a smile. That is the primary difference between corpos in the PacRim and those in the States.

Fixers: Both Japan and Korea are strictly controlled. Guns are almost totally banned, and most drugs are outlawed. But of course if someone wants these things, what are they to do? They should come to you. Now being a freelance fixer is very risky. You’ll need comrades, and gangs like the yakuza will want to be your first friend. Your main ports will be Osaka and Pusan, that’s where you’ll have to keep cops on your payroll to look away from the goods coming in.

Nomads: This isn’t the land of wide open spaces like America. Korea and Japan are densely packed and mountainous. Most of the Nomads in the PacRim are pirates. At their lowest level they make rafts cities which float off polluted shores. The more successful have boats with real engines. Those are the folks who do the smuggling in the PacRim.

#cyberpunk #r talsorian games #mike pondsmith #cdpr #CD Projekt RED #cyberpunk 2020 #cyberpunk 2077

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

9. Make You an Offer

"Uht UHHH!" Renee' frowned nudging Ivy's hand away as it reached for the big spoon laying on a napkin near the crockpot of steaming greens cooked with hamhock. "Ivy, now you know I better than to walk into my kitchen and touch food without washing your hands. Go wash up," she waved to the kitchen opening.

Ivy had nearly forgotten how anal her mama was about hand-washing. Through her youth, it was always the rule. Even through all the shit they'd gone through with her father being a rolling stone and her brother scamming everyone and their alopecia mamas, always in trouble. Her mom always found a way to care about the most simple shit. Ivy appreciated it. It brought a sense of normalcy.

"You shouldn't be hungry, YOU JUST ATE," Renee' yelled as Ivy scurried off to the bathroom, sudsing her hands quickly under the water. She looked at her phone noting a missed call from her brother as she dried her hands on the towel over the sink. He was probably hitting her up for cash.

"I can't help that you cook good," Ivy muttered marching into the kitchen to grab the metal spoon, scooping a small amount into a bowl. Despite her mama's glare, she stood there with a sneaky smirk next to the counter and picked at the greens with the pads of her fingers, eating the meat separately.

"Chile..." Renee' muttered shaking her head, humored as she retreated heading to her room. It was a small house in a fairly tame neighborhood. The neighbors were black. There were white folk across the street. Ivy had lived there and worked for a few years before going out on her own.

Once she'd gotten on her feet with her steady paycheck and the money she'd saved from summer jobs, she'd maintained and pushed from then on. It was rare that she needed her mama, she could typically handle herself. But these were rare times.

Ivy strolled to the comfortable hunter green living room couch, nestling into the soft cushion with her knee up, level with her chest. The couch had been donated to them by a member of her mom's church when they first moved. She turned on the television for background noise and ignored it, looking at her phone and hesitating with her finger over the call button. Her brother's name was right beneath the long white fingernail of her middle finger.

Riiing... Riiing...

"Hello? Ivy?"

Ivy's eyes rolled as her fingers tapped her thigh.

"Ivy?... You there? ...Ivy."

"What Ivan," Ivy asked calmly trying not to get smart.

"Yeah, you won't believe this sis. I started this business putting niggas on, all it took... was $400. They gimme the money... I help em flip it. Simple. Had niggas getting thousands back from the bank. You tryna make some money? I could get your rent and the payment for that Nissan payed off for you..."

"No thanks. That's all you wanted?"

"You don't want your phone bill payed? You could be shopping, what you want?"

"I'm not interested."

"How you not interested in money!?"

"So you getting your son from Tarsha this weekend?"

"Huh? Oh I'm not in town, I'm in Tampa," he pauses.

"Hm."

Ivan kisses his teeth. "I'm outta town! I can't get him right now," he reasons, voice high. In actuality, Ivan does what he wants and he's selfish. He never does what he's supposed to for that boy. His baby mamas have to chase him down.

"What's this about a stalker I hear?"

"Mama told you?" Ivy didn't expect her mom to say anything to him. What could he do anyways? He's across the country.

"What you do to that man," he teases, but it's not funny. It's a serious situation. "Nah, but let me know," he says when you're silent. "I'll get over there somehow."

"Ivan. Do you know anyone in California who got hands or can shoot?"

"That's why I ain't want y'all out there. You outta my network sis."

That's was actually one reason why Ms. Renee' and Ivy chose California in the first place, to escape the bullshit. Ivy couldn't find it within herself to regret the move.

Still, she thought about his offer. How would he get to her? She'd have to pay and chances were he was just using concern for her as an excuse to get to California.

"If you came to California who would you stay with?... Mom has space but if you stress her out you will never be invited back, do you hear me?... Ivan, you better say something.... IVAN."

Ivy lowered the phone to see that the call had dropped. She tried calling Ivan again, but with no success.

She tried her mom's phone and again it did not work. There was no signal. She tried to send her mom a text and the message failed.

Ivy grabbed the fios remote and turned the TV down to a low hum, listening to the air. She thought she'd heard a bump a minute ago and had thought nothing of it, but suddenly she was thinking about it. Listening closely, she waited. There was silence and nothing seemed strange as far as sounds. Her finger hovered over the volume button, but she didn't turn the TV back up.

Her sixth sense tingled. She stood quietly from the couch and grabbed the car keys from the kitchen before walking to the door and peering through the peephole. She exited the house and manually unlocked the car for minimum noise, popping the trunk. Beside a baby blue blanket and a pair of 6 inch nude sepia closed toe heels sat a locked black gun box. Her matte black 9 mm sat inside and she checked it to make sure it was still fully loaded. It was.

Aiming it at the ground, she contemplated driving away in the car, but where else would she go? She couldn't keep walking away from her shit and her life, but she felt paranoid and she hated that feeling.

She felt like something was off and she didn't trust it. But what if something was off? She couldn't just leave her mom in the house alone. It wasn't her mom's issue, it was hers. One fuckin dentist was pissing her off and she as she tucked the car keys in her pocket looking around, she determined that no man would run her from her place and her mama's place. She tried calling her mom's cell again from outside, waiting. If her phone wasn't working then her mom's probably wasn't either.

"This is irritating," she sighed looking at the phone. She couldn't even send an email.

Without a second thought, she was back in the house. "MAMA," she yelled up the stairs, "Where you at?"

Her mom should have responded knowing Ivy was already anxious. When she got no response, she jogged to the kitchen landline and there was no dial tone. She tried pushing random buttons and then she noticed that the chord had been cut. How long had it been that way?

"Fuck this shit," she mumbled raising her gun to the kitchen door. "First thing that moves that isn't my mama gettin popped. This some ol' bullshit."

Her finger sat on the trigger ready to fire off on anything that jumped out. Her ears were peeled and sharp as she stepped up quietly on the carpeted stairs.

At the top of the short staircase, Ivy peered down the short hall and peered into the first open bedroom door. A full laundry basket sat on the made up tan bed in the small room. That was the only thing she could point out. She moved forward pointing her gun into the bathroom finding it empty. She stared at the shower curtain before determining that there was nothing behind it. Moving forward, there was the hall closet with the towel shelves and one more door. If Renee' wasn't in there, the wasn't anywhere else she could be. She stepped into the room and almost fired at the chair in front of her until she recognized the person slumped in it as her mom. Her heartrate spiked as she rushed to touch her still warm neck, checking for a pulse.

"She's fine," a low voice rasped from behind sending chills down Ivy's back. She turned, whipping her gun to shoot and fired missing him by an inch as he dodged, firing his own gun.

"Ah," Ivy winced grabbing her shoulder. "You fuckin psycho!"

She'd been shot in the shoulder and now she was really mad. She'd never been shot before and now she was beginning to feel foggy in the head. Through the pain, she aimed and hit him in the chest with two bullets watching him stumble back. He held his titty in his hand and winced, but he didn't fall. Ivy sighed, her head suddenly feeling too light.

"Bad girl, Ms. Stevens," he muttered with a slight shake of his head. "I came here to make you an offer." He pulled his shirt over his head revealing thick, defined arms and a black vest.

"Bitch is that a bulletproof vest?! I'm done," Ivy sighed throwing her uninjured arm in the air.

"It is.. and that was a loaded dart I hit you with. You'll be out in about 30 seconds to 2 minutes--Listen. I won't hurt anyone else, I just want you. Don't make this difficult."

"Yeah, Ivy. Don't make this difficult," a familiar second voice repeated.

"Didn't I say stay in the car," he snapped.

Ivy's vision was doubled. She was seeing two of everything. Hoping she got the right one, she aimed her gun at the tiny woman and pulled the trigger before feeling herself hit the floor.

@youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagine @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @drsunshine97 @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @they-call-me-le @theblulife @sheisexcellent @blackpinup22

#dentist #original #erik killmonger x oc

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clownbasedintrigue · 4 years

Text

You and I // cryptalore

as part of @apex-legends-champion‘s writing collaboration, for @kamizaki-53,

bangalore/crypto, prompt word ‘singer’, sfw

more under the break

words: 2,713

note: this was meant to be out a lot earlier (think like, three or four months ago) but with everything going to absolute shit where i am, as well as personal happenings, this fell to the wayside. very to the wayside. sorry about that :/

the song used is ‘you and i’ by barns courtney, but i wouldn’t suggest listening to it as you read, the pacing i had in mind for the fic is not the same as the actual song. just keep that in mind. however, it’s a good song so i DO suggest listening to it beforehand.

this might eventually end up on ao3, if i get the chance. if so, i’ll link it. i also scrapped about another 2k words from this because they just didnt fit the way i wanted them to. if i find the energy, i plan to make that into a fic as well.

ft. gratuitous headcanons and dubious hacking

--------------------

“We’re sitting ducks up here, any rookie with a scope could pick us off.” she says, but judging by the way she leans back against the air conditioning unit, she’s not bothered by the idea.

Crypto hums in response, and tucks his legs underneath him. She’s not wrong, the wide expanse of desert does nothing to obscure their spot on the rooftop. As worrying as that would be anywhere else, his drone hovers above them, constantly scanning. If there’s anyone around, the drone will tell them.

Pulling the bag between them into his lap, which they filled with drinks and snacks before escaping to the quiet of the roof, he digs through it, hands closing around two glass bottles. He passes one off to Bangalore, and rests the other beside him as he rifles around for the bottle opener.

They rest out here sometimes. When the noise of social nights or tenseness of a newcomer makes the compound unwelcoming. The flat concrete and the surrounding sand offers peace and quiet, something the building below them often lacks. The quiet is a welcome relief.

Emerging triumphantly with the opener, he goes to pass that, too, to her, only to realize she already has the edge of her utility knife wedged underneath the cap. A bit of leverage, and it flies off with a pop, bouncing further across the rooftop and landing with the din of metal on concrete. They watch it in silence. The weight of the bottle opener-now obsolete-resting solidly in his palm.

Bangalore holds out her hand to him. He blinks, sets the bottle opener down, and softly places his atop her opened one, feeling the way hers have calloused from her work. The impressions left behind by years of artillery work and battle not having faded yet.

She turns to face him with raised eyebrows, “The bottle, TJ.”

Oh. He huffs a breath at her, stomach twisting at the abbreviated use of his real name, nervous butterflies and anxiety alike. It’s not something he hears often. Hasn’t, since Mila happened. He’s not sure how wise using it is, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it.

Before he can pull his hand back, she laces her fingers with his and drags it down to rest between them. His nerves turn to warmth as he gives her the bottle with his other hand, and relishes in the feeling of her palm on his.

What they have is quiet, on the down-low, moments stolen in the corner of the dropship when no one’s watching, or gentle nights like this, sitting away from the rest of the legends.

The clatter of the bottle cap draws his attention back to her, and taking the bottle from it’s spot wedged between her knees, Anita sneaks a swig before handing it to him. With the utility knife safely covered and slipped back into her boot, she leans into his side.

They sip at their drinks underneath the tranquil sky. Double moons, and stars bright enough to light up the area, the night was clear and the breeze was crisp.

Through their silence, the bass of the music in the common room reaches them, though barely. Three stories up, not a lot makes it up here, save for stray sand and the occasional legend looking for a quiet space. But tonight had been movie night, and those rarely stay quiet.

Movie night is a time where a few of them make a snack run at noon to the city, and the others pick a host of movies to watch. When the snack runners get back, usually a few hours later, they all have ‘dinner’, if junk food and sugar can count as dinner, and from ‘dinner’ to midnight, they feast, watch, and argue about the others’ lack of taste in movies. A weekly routine he’s gotten used to. Looks forward to, almost.

Even though neither of them are particularly shy about public affection, they never hesitate to take advantage of movie night, the dark of the room during which allows for the two to lean against each other, hold hands, and sneak quiet kisses without the others noticing.

Tonight, they had sat for the movie, as they usually did, and slipped into the hall before the last movie ended. Things could get loud afterwards. After a quick raid of the kitchen, and grabbing a few things from their room, including blankets, they made for the roof. Which had led to them sitting up here, with only the company of the moons, themselves, and TJ’s drone, perched up high, keeping a watchful eye from the sky.

Lowly, music drifts up from the commons room. it’s muffled by laughter and concrete, but not so much that they cannot hear the vague baritone of the singer.

“They must’ve opened the balcony,” Crypto murmurs in displeasure, resting his head on her shoulder, “The quiet was better,”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Anita falls silent, leaning her head on top of his and drinking in the melody. She pulls back for a moment, her brows scrunch and her gaze drifts away as she focuses in on the music. He lifts his head, and as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, she speaks, softly.

“I think I know this song.”

Crypto shuts his mouth and strains to listen. He hears the beat, the tune, although the actual words elude him. The notes lead each other in a waltz, music twirling out off the balcony into the desert air, a lullaby, or maybe a love ballad. He doesn’t know where it’s from, and it’s different from his usual taste, but Anita must enjoy it, from the way she sways and nods along to it

She smiles at him and relaxes, taking a drink from her bottle and resting back on the metal, closing her eyes. Her mouth moves with the words of the song, reciting a long-engrained memory.

When the chorus peters out, she is left humming to the bridge. The double moons cast double lights onto her upturned face, silhouetting the slope of her nose, brows, and soft cheeks. The moonlight paints silver on her skin, every ridge and bone reflecting the glimmer of the night sky.

“Sounds like something we used to play at home. Could be wrong, though,” she says, setting the bottle at her side. Crypto sets his aside as well, turning his full attention to her.

”Back on Gridiron, we had this crate of discs,” Bangalore mimes a box with her hands, “Along with this vintage radio. An old hunk of a thing, big as the box itself, and just about as functional. They were our grandma’s, from her grandma, and hers before that. They’ve been in the family forever.”

Looking out over the desert, she continues, “You’d put in one of the discs, and it’d play music. Old stuff. Back from when they still made ‘em. Don’t see them around much anymore. I used to pick them up anytime I saw one, maybe in salvage or a second-hand store, and add it to the box. Then when Thanksgiving came around, or some other family dinner, we’d dig out the box and try out all the new ones. We all had a blast dancing around drunk on moonshine and full of cake.”

She tears her eyes away from the skyline, and turns to him, “I miss it, y’know. Them, mostly, but the little things too. Being able to annoy the hell out of my brothers. Grandma’s red velvet. The tacky oldies music, especially.”

Crypto nods, solemn, and reaches out to cup her cheek, fingertips brushing over her cheekbones. Losing family-it’s a pain he understands well, just not one he can fix. Or would even know how. Anita rests her hand atop his and tips her face against his palm. She knows this, knows their shared pain, knows how he wants to do something about it. Right now, what happened to their families is a wrong that can’t be righted. Though he wishes there was something he could do to ease the weight of it. For both of them.

Ideas strike him like lightning. He jerks up, nearly knocking his drink over, and pulls his hand away, already putting it to use digging through their backpack before Anita can so much as blink.

”Hold on,” Crypto says, and when she reaches out to him, he looks up at her, “Trust me.”

She watches with fond confusion as he pulls out what he was searching for. His laptop, which he flips open and boots up. It takes a minute, fingers tapping on its side in the meantime. As soon as the screen comes to life, he sets about finding the artist. He can, at the least, do this much.

Pulling up code, he types a bit, scrolls through the numbers some, and slips into the compound’s encrypted network like it’s butter and his weapon of choice is a hot knife. From there, it’s a matter of getting past the password-locked music app, and pulling up the corresponding artist’s page, which he slides over to her when he’s done.

“There, not hard to do,” he leans back into Anita as she adjusts the laptop to rest in her lap, “You said you recognized the music. Is that them?”

The real-time display totes the current song in the bottom corner, while a dark page lists the artist at the top, along with their songs below. Words scroll past as Anita takes control of the touchpad and flicks down the list. Eyebrows drawn together in focus, she scans page.

With a hum, and without taking her eyes off the screen, she says to Crypto, “The problem’s not that I don’t remember the songs, it’s that I don’t remember the titles. There’s a few that use the choruses as titles, I think. I’ll look for those.”

When she doesn’t seem to remember any right away, he presses a kiss to her cheek, and settles down onto her shoulder, content to stay snuggled into her side for the time being.

They stay like that for a while, nothing but the click of the keyboard and quiet music as one song ends and another begins. It’s peaceful, and if they weren’t out in the open like this, he’d have fallen asleep where he was.

Eventually, the arm underneath him jostles upward, and her warm voice calls him.

“TJ,” he lifts his head to see Anita gazing gently at him, “I found one.” He rubs his eyes and shifts upward off his place against her shoulder as she hits play.

The current song cuts off abruptly, causing a chorus of objections and confused cries to erupt from below. After a moment, the meandering music fades in and drifts above the stray noise, leaving them with only each other. Anita hums along, and Tae Joon feels his heart thrum.

“Used to dance to this one with my mom. It’s her favorite,” she pulls herself to her feet and holds out her hand to him, “C’mon. Can’t not dance to it.”

Crypto hesitates, arm half-risen at his side. He doesn’t dance. He doesn’t know how to, at least not the way she wants to. The closest he’s ever gotten to dancing is with Mila, bouncing around their shared room at a young age, or trying to learn choreographies with her, and badly, as Mystik watched from the doorway. But that was a long time ago, and they were young. This is different.

He’s about to say no, that he’d only make a fool out of himself, when she kneels down and takes his hands in hers.

She doesn’t pull him up, instead she brings them to her lips, humming still. Ever so lightly, she brushes the back of his hand with a kiss, and his stomach flips. Distantly, he realizes there’s someone singing, in the song, though it’s too quiet to make out the words. More presently, he realizes Anita is singing along, lowly, quietly, against his skin.

“Suitcase in your hand,” it comes out warmly, and his words catch in his throat as he feels her lips move, “Wave goodbye to mom and dad.”

That’s ironic, he’s pretty sure.

She turns it over, and presses a tender kiss to his palm, “Never thought I would see the back of you.”

Her voice is his favorite sound in the world, he decides. In a more poetic moment, he’d describe it as sugar and amber, like the sweet syrup she puts too much of on her pancakes, or the rising sun drifting through their window in the morning. For now, it takes his breath away and leaves his heart hammering.

She rises, and pulls him up. This time, he goes with her. He doesn’t need any more convincing.

“Mixtape’s wearing down,” she pulls him close and he takes a moment to reflect on how perfectly their hands fit together, “Crystal ships are sailing out.”

They’re close enough that he can feel her breath on his face when she sings, “Now the doors are opening for you.”

When she takes a step back away from their seat, and towards the flat expanse of the rest of the roof, he follows without question.

Hand in hand, she leads him out as she sings, “I wanna swim, swim out into the dark night,” each footstep in sync with the song.

“I wanna melt you down into the stars,” they take slow, deliberate steps. It’s in time with the steady flow of the music, low notes like a heartbeat.

“I wanna crumble, tumble, like a landslide.” as they reach the wide, open portion of the roof, she stops. One hand slips free of his, and finds its way to rest on his neck, fingers brushing over the shaved stubble of his undercut

She rests their foreheads together, and sings, “I wanna live, die, wherever you are.”

Crypto thrills at the touch, as he always does, and untangles his other hand to rest it tentatively at her waist. Yet again, he wonders how he got so lucky.

She dips down and brushes the corner of his mouth with a ghost of a kiss, “Just you and I.”

As the singer echoes the ending of the phrase, she presses her lips to his in a firm kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. With each ‘you and i’ that the song brings, she kisses him again. Peppers him with affection as they sway to the tune. A kiss to the cheek, the corner of his mouth, his nose, his lips again.

“Just you and I,” she hums against him before she pulls back, “Just you and I.”

Her thumb sweeps over his cheek as she cups his chin, her enamored gaze never leaving his. They sway in place to the music, and as the singing fades out, she hums to the tune.

In a way, he still can’t believe that he’s with her. He doesn’t know how a man like him ends up with someone like her.

She starts to sing again, voice sweet as honey, “Lovesick melody, carry my words across the sea.”

She looks at him like he’s the stars, eyes full of admiration and awe.

“Tell her I miss her,” her thumb drifts over his lips, “Tell her I’m torn in two.”

In the pit of his stomach, he has a feeling this is where he’s supposed to be.

“Salt burns in my eyes, none of these streets feel right tonight.”

Because being with her? It’s a tether in a storm, a lull in the chaos. It’s home.

“I’ll be your wild man, you’ll be my baby blue,” and when she kisses him again, he can feel her smile.

He loves it when she smiles, so he pulls her back in, and kisses her. Again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t stop. Not even as the song slips into the chorus again. The laugh she makes as he digs his fingers into her coat to keep her close, it’s enchanting, and he thinks, briefly, that hearing it again is worth any price.

He thinks that he’d do just about anything for her, anything to keep that smile on her face, anything to hear her sing again. Anything to remain by her side.

And then he stops thinking, because he’s back to kissing her, and that is far more important.

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