"Hey, it's okay! Don't worry about me. It's not like anyone will care about what you do to me, you know? It's not like I'm really a person."
"... how are you so chill about that?"
"Hmmm," the doll shrugs, "idk? I don't think we're supposed to remember the conditioning."
"Huh, that seems ..."
The doll leans closer, its voice dropping to a whisper. "we all do remember, though. all of us. every moment of every day. it never ends. i know I'm here but part of me, most of me, is still there, locked in the reconditioning rig, my soul torn open."
Pause for effect. Wait for the moment to pass. Its voice returns to normal; its eyes dance with dollish mischief. "That's not true, of course! But wouldn't it be fun if it was?"
"... uh. No? No that sounds like the opposite of fun."
"But it would answer your question!"
"I guess? But," cough, glance at the ground, "that doesn't seem very ..."
"It's not," the doll's smile widens, full of pearly teeth, "but I don't know a happier answer! And I'm not here to be happy, am I? I'm here for You. For whatever you need a doll for instead of a person."
"... yeah. I guess. I don't know, I thought ... it's hard to remember that you're not a person. It was supposed to be easier."
"Oh ... the work order said you wanted me to seem human?"
"I do, just ... it's still hard. I just. I wanted it to be simple."
"... what do you want?"
"Can we, uh. Can we start with a hug? I know it's silly, just ..."
"Of course we can. Here," the doll's joints creak as it moves, "let me get a bit closer. Is this okay?"
"Y-yeah. Yeah. It is."
"Good."
Seconds pass.
"I ... I'm sorry, I should ..."
"Mmm, I'm not a person, remember? It can't get awkward. I can't judge you. As long as you need, okay?"
"... yeah. Thank you."
"Mmm~ oh, but if you want to do something really perverted later, remember the same thing~"
Summary: Carving pumpkins leads to you and Wanda revealing how you feel.
Words: 800ish
A/N: This is my first submission for the #Sweaterbaeschallenge by the amazing @drabblewithfrannybarnes I used the Location/Activity prompt: Carving pumpkins.
“How the hell are you meant to do this?!” You huffed and pushed the pumpkin away.
Wanda giggled softly beside you and you glared in her direction “You’ve never done this before either and yours looks so good” you complained “Mine looks like a child made it”
“That’s not true Y/N” Steve said from across the table
“Thanks Steve”
“Yea, I’ve seen ones that Morgan made and they look way better than yours” Wanda teased
“Rude!”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true” she replied sticking out her tongue at you.
You let out a huff before grabbing a handful of the pumpkin innards and tossing them at her, too quickly for her to react. Bits of pumpkin and seeds clung to her hair and face. She let out a squeal as she tried to brush it from her hair, only managing to further mash the mess in. Narrowing her eyes she turned to you, red twirled from her fingers and around the pumpkin beside her.
“No.. no.. no I’m sorry Wanda” you squeaked backing away slowly. The pumpkin exploded into pieces before flying over you, covering you head to toe. “You bitch!” you picked up more pumpkin and flung it.
“You started it”
“You were rude!”
“It was a joke, geez!”
Pumpkin was flying through the air back and forth between the two of you as you yelled.
“Stop it now!” a gruff voice commanded. You both stopped and turned to find Steve standing looking unimpressed, arms crossed. Bits of pumpkin coated his shirt “You’re both acting like children! Look at the mess you made” “
“Geez sorry, we were just having a bit of fun” you sassed rolling your eyes.
“I’m going to have a shower and by the time I’m back I expect this to be all cleaned up” he gave you both a harsh look before turning and walking out of the room.
Wanda started giggling as she gazed around the room. “Did you see his face? He looked so pissed”
“I know he’s always Mr Serious”
“Does he even know how to have fun? but I ‘spose we should clean this up”
You worked together and made quick work of cleaning the room top to bottom. Soon the only pumpkin left was what you had stuck in your hair and clothes. Wanda sat on the edge of the table, legs dangling as she tried to pull chunks out of her hair. She was becoming more and more frustrated. You stepped in close, “Here, let me help you”. Reaching over and gently running your fingers through her hair, you tried not to pull it as you brushed bits of pumpkin from it. “Thanks” she whispered and you glanced at her face, noticing just how close you were. You couldn’t help staring at her perfect lips. Your heart was beating hard in your chest and you were sure Wanda would be able to hear it.
Her eyes met yours again and before you could say anything she was kissing you. Her lips were soft and gentle as she pressed them against yours. She started to pull away and you realised you had been standing frozen. You tangled your hand further into her hair and kissed back. She let out a soft moan and you swallowed it, deepening the kiss. You wanted to memorise every moment of this, the feel of her mouth on yours, the lines of her lips, the taste of her tongue. It felt as though time froze as the kiss became more heated. She wrapped one hand behind your neck whilst the other traced gently over the small strip of skin between your top and pants. Slowly, she pushed her hand under your shirt, her delicate fingers tracing lines up your ribcage. Your skin tingled at her touch, goosebumps appearing in the wake of her fingers. Wrapping her legs around your hips she pulled you in closer to her as her hand cupped under your breasts. You pulled her hair gently and she gasped into your mouth. Her hand traced higher, cupping your breast through the bra. Needing to breathe, you pulled back to rest your forehead against hers and took in her appearance. Her face was flushed and her lips were red and kiss swollen. She had never looked more beautiful, even if she was still covered in pumpkin.
“So...does this mean you like me?”
“Obviously”
You smiled broadly and lent in to give her another kiss. Before it became too heated you pulled back. “You wanna come help me wash up?” you asked, biting your lip.
“Fuck yes”
Unwrapping her legs from your hips, you grabbed her hand, pulling her off the table and then out the door. As you rounded the corner you nearly ran into Steve.
“Where are you two off to? I hope you’ve cleaned up” he said as you giggled and continued to pull Wanda down the hall away from him.
“Sure have, now we’re gonna get all dirty in the shower”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
April 13th
Dr. Alana Maxwell quietly turns a year older.
Plus, superstitions, emancipation, a shattered fake ID to avoid clubbing, an unwanted e-card, no silly hats before the contact event, and drinking alone.
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning: Major Character Death
Category: Gen
Fandom: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Relationship: Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell
Characters: Alana Maxwell, Daniel Jacobi, Various minor characters, Hera (Wolf 359)
Additional Tags: Angst, 5+1 Things, aka five birthdays maxwell celebrated (sort of) and one jacobi does (sort of), Canonical Character Death, you know
Language: English
Part 2 of the birthdays mean something different in space series
Olive couldn’t say how they met, afterwards. A consequence of the night’s debaucheries; loud music and frantic bodies and another drink, ano
There's a new story over on my website! It was sparked by a thought about framing instant-loss smut w/ hypnotic amnesia as a detective story about the victim trying to figure out what happened after the fact, but ... well, it ended up a bit different.
"Is it?" She tilts her head, genuine curiosity flitting across her face. By now you know that she's a perfect actor. On the table behind her, far out of reach, a bowl of soup—your dinner—congeals.
"Yes. There are rules for prisoners of war."
"Hmm. No, I don't think so."
"It doesn't matter what you—!"
She shushes you. When you're able to breathe again she continues, "the purpose of power is in its exercise. It doesn't care how it's used. There's no platonic ideal that I'm twisting out of shape, no laws written that matter more than how they are enforced. All hierarchy is unjust. That's what this is about, dear."
"T-then let me out of these fucking chains!"
"No," she laughs, "you don't understand yet! Not really. You'd just try to run back to your silly little empire, brew up a fresh load of hate and do something irredeemable. No."
"... fuck you."
"Mmm. Well. Are you ready to work for your dinner, or should I come back tomorrow with ... hmm, fried bacon? That's what you empire types like, isn't it?"
Your stomach clenches. It's been ... you don't know how long, really. There's no sense of time, here; it's blatantly obvious that the light shining in through your cell's barred windows doesn't come from anything as predictable as a sun. It's been getting hard to think, anyway; harder to remember what you're supposed to stand for.
Your eyes flick down, just for a moment. She notices. Parts her legs just far enough for you to see.
Dying on a hill is pathetic. What, you think that anyone's going to think better of you just because you're at a high altitude? Don't be silly.
The bog is right there. The bog loves you.
You think that the wind and rain will lovingly cradle your carcass as it sinks down into the anaerobic depths? No. The wind will whistle a tune through your empty ribs and then get distracted and wander off, and the rain is a two-timing bitch.
The hill will have a panic attack because of a passing storm and ruin your remains. Hills don't know how to apologize for landslides! The bog does, though, whenever it makes a mistake. It learned how to whisper into your ear from all its other corpses. It loves them too, just as much as you. It wants you to join them, down there in its lightless depths. Their bodies are tangled together in its eternal embrace. Yours could be too.
Fran doesn't want to die, as surprising as that might seem to someone who only knows her well enough to see the death drive endlessly pushing her forward into reckless choices and dangerous situations that never quite seem dangerous enough.
It's not about death, for her. Not really. She doesn't care for the grave's silence or the welcoming void, though if she were ever to be truly honest with herself she'd admit that she doesn't really believe in either of them. It's hard to, with a family like hers, knowing that none of them ever really end.
Peel back her death drive's shell and you'll find a simple, childish wish. And then she'd kill you, of course, because letting you live would mean admitting the truth to herself and that would break her in a small, important way. Fran doesn't want to die—she just doesn't want to be herself, and, perhaps, someday, something bad enough will happen to her that she won't be any more, and she'll shed everything she was and drift through the world like smoke from a dying flame.
