#wakecp

[falkenar-a]

          x|| @wakecp liked.

    “𝓨ou do realize that it is highly insulting to be staring at someone for a prolonged period of time?” The Englishman stated as he dropped his hand from his lips where it simply rested. He sat in the living room on an armchair waiting for Carlisle to return from the hospital, but it seemed like it would be a rather late shift for the man. 

[walkingshcdow-a]

((Thank you @wakecp & @gwenbrooks for letting me play around with modern Erik’s criminal past! I’m STOKED. I’m so used to starting him after he’s made a proper, healthier life for himself in modern (which is weird, given how often I try to write Persia Era canon Erik..?), so it’s a blast!

Also thank you to @fictioncoxnt for taking a chance on a plotline with me that I know a lot of other RPers would leap to make romantic. Thank you for understanding me when I say that I think Erik and Christine can reach a deep, soulmate-level platonic relationship under different circumstances and that I recoil at shipping them. Thank you for understanding.

Also, huge shout-out to @exitiumparit for the gift of Dad Verse. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Haley for taking a chance on an out-there AU that has been one of the greatest joys in my career of writing Erik (and Nadir). You bring me such joy and I love you.

Thank you to everyone who RPs with my Erik and makes me feel safe, secure and loved, even though my source material isn’t the most popular and my shipping preferences are unorthodox. Your support is what makes me feel at home on my dashboard and in this fandom. I love you  all.))

[shesquiinnsane-ar]

slogging! - charity x

❖ @wakecp ❖

SHE WAS A girl who wasn’t afraid to get herself dirty but that didn’t mean there were no squeals in this sort of environment typically taking her anger out on the cause of such an inconvenience. Kicking the slush in frustration she splattered her top further, before arguing with it, “ You wen’ an’ put I don’t even know what in my boots! Now I’m gonna have to change when I’m outta here! ”

SEND “SLOGGING” FOR A STARTER WHERE OUR MUSES ARE WADING WAIST DEEP THROUGH SOMETHING GROSS // no longer accepting

[diiagnose]

arden  puts  even  more  distance  between  him  &  the  water  edge  ,   slightly  PACING  in  a  small  ,   invisible  rectangle  .            ❛        speak  for  yourself  .        ❜            it’s  muttered  under  his  breath  ,   hands  fidgeting  with  each  other  .            ❛        what  -  what  are  you  ..  doing  anyway  ?        ❜            for  a  boy  who  can’t  swim  ,   he  can’t  let  up  on  the  fear  &  weariness  in  his  gut  .   mind  continues  to  scream  that  while  she  might  not  drown  ,   HE  WILL  .

@wakecp    |    here  .

[diiagnose]

[  text  |  trap  queen  ];    your contact name has been changed accordingly

[  text  |  trap  queen  ];     what do you say? we can go out, hit up a few pubs, and then just fucking sell a fuckton of drugs together

[  text  |  trap  queen  ];     oh, there’s a point in the song where they use “bando” to reference “abandoned house” or some shite like that, but i kept hearing it as “banjo”, because I Really Wanted It To Be “Banjo”

[  text  |  trap  queen  ];     it would have made no sense, but it would have made me happy

@wakecp    |    here.

[cybersentandroid-blog]

MISSION PENDING --- cont. from [ x ] @wakecp​

                           From the outside, the store seems inconspicuous enough. Shabby and in a state of disrepair, with faded paint hanging in peeling strips from its wooden framework, but still and silent amongst the many dilapidated buildings cluttering this side of the city. Connor scans each brick in vigilant turn, synthetic skin damp with the dew of early morning fog. As insignificant as the store may appear at first glance, its roof remains intact and the fire escape at its rear looks sturdy enough to hold a man’s weight -- it’s a perfect location for squatting deviants, with adequate shelter and multiple routes of escape.

The anonymous tip-off had been patched to the DPD late the previous night, whispers of a shifting shadow seen moving beyond the store’s boarded windows. No lights, no heat, nothing a human would need to survive a cold winter night; Lieutenant Anderson had begrudgingly allowed Connor to investigate the building alone, his lips pressed to a thin line as he’d watched the android leave the station with little more than a handgun strapped to its hip. He had no real reason other than a misplaced sense of duty to accompany Connor to every mission, after all -- the android had not earned its nickname, ‘the deviant hunter’, for nothing. It was perfectly capable of a solo mission, and should it fail, then it would be easily replaced.

Weathered hinges squeak as Connor pushes the door wide, silhouette cutting a sharp figure against the dimly lit street. A cursory scans reveals little information --- withered plant-life litters the tiles beneath the android’s feet, dry soil and pollen spores showing as flurries of pinpoint yellow light to its visual receptors. The store has clearly laid dormant for some time, its shelves neatly stacked and counter-tops gleaming despite the vegetation strewing the ground. A human may label the scene as lonely, sad, a shadow of its former self; Connor looks only for signs of life amidst the debris, artificial or otherwise.  

A noise from the storeroom catches the android’s attention, the soft scuff of moving feet. Dead leaves crunch with each step as Connor moves hastily toward the door, already reaching for the gun at its hip. It’s ready for a chase, calculations showing a high probability that the deviant will run. They always do.

The storeroom door hits the wall with a bang, and Connor’s vision fills abruptly with unexpected error codes as something close to shock stops it in its tracks. The android in the room smiles, its arms held out in greeting and the flash of its LED a flickering red light that washes the room with a crimson haze. Connor performs a soft reboot, jarring itself out of its momentary lapse. Surely a deviant would have made a break for the nearest exit, or at least launched a counter attack --- is this little more than a malfunctioning shopkeeper, running its welcome program to any visitors in a fractured, disjointed loop?

The gun never wavers in Connor’s grip as it trains its sights between the android’s eyes. It has one chance.

“AX650 -- state your primary function.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

@wakecp liked and plotted for a starter | Erik & Meg

The rush from Paris had been mad - a last attempt to save his own life. Often, Erik thought that he should have stayed in the mouth of the subterranean tunnels and let the mob have him. There was nothing to live for now that Christine was gone.

Except that there was so much to live for. His grief had been rudely interrupted by his spite towards mankind. No man would apprehend Erik. No man would find him. No man had.

A woman had found him furiously packing a satchel with clothes and valuables and loading it to one of two horses. She had passed, it seemed, through his little house - a house he hadn’t even dared show Christine and which was now upended. His mother’s old, fine furniture, ransacked. Theirs had been a strange meeting. Little Giry had so often spoken of the Opera Ghost with what he presumed to be fear. How bold she had seemed then! And the bargain he has struck with her was desperate man’s act. He would not accept a travel companion under normal circumstances. But in his foolish, single-minded pursuit of Christine, he had lost his network of devoted workers. Who would be his face in Brussels when he arrived as an architect? Who would carry his instructions out to the letter? Not Jules, who he could no longer afford to pay; not Madame GIry, who had betrayed him to the vicomte. And what pathetic chance was it to take that Nadir might work as his agent? Erik was alone in the world. And here, Meg GIry stood, begging to go with him. 

He let her. 

They rode on towards Brussels, not taking main roads and lodging in hotels only when Erik feared he would otherwise lose mademoiselle Giry’s faith otherwise. Even then, he preferred to sleep outside, under the stars, than to subject himself to innkeepers’ stares. He could rent in Brussels and then build a home after building for sufficient clients. But the roads they took took them further from traditional roads to Brussels... Instead, one dark night as they rode confidently towards a home in a small town, Erik believed his subconscious had not permitted him to go to Brussels at all. How familiar were the ivy draped walls? The attic window? This had been his childhood home, his childhood prison. Erik drew a sizable rent from those who stayed in the country during the summers, but as it was now drizzly April, the house was quite vacant. It would provide a place to rest before he and mademoiselle Giry continued towards Belgium. 

“We’re here,” he said. He did not tie the horses; he never needed to. Erik dismounted and seized hold of his modest bounty as he walked towards the door. “Come. Surely you are tired from our travels.”

[cybersentandroid-blog]

continuation from here --- @wakecp

                          The silence that fell over them as the taxi slid its way through the city’s restless motorway system was far from uncomfortable. Connor watched, a quiet smile touching his lips, while Iris all but pressed her nose against the glass in her effort to drink in as much of the view as possible. He didn’t need to ask to understand why she was so fascinated -- until recently, she had been cooped up inside of the flower store, her daily life consisting of routine, rhythm, the two dimensional world of a machine. Connor had witnessed more of the city than she had in his time before deviancy, but his own routine had been made up of crime scenes and dark interrogation rooms, the stale scent of coffee, cigarette smoke and blood more familiar to him than the open air. It felt nice, now, to be able to view parts of the world he would never have had the chance to before. Maybe they could visit the countryside sometime, or watch a sunset dip below the horizon on a beach in Ludington? Such things were in his reach now -- why, then, did they still feel so impossible?

As the cab pulled up outside Hank’s modest home, Connor couldn’t help but feel relieved to see the Lieutenant’s car missing from the driveway. He’d be at work until late in the evening, giving Connor plenty of time to make Iris comfortable, as well as ready his excuse for bringing her home in the first place. He considered sending a warning message, LED spinning yellow, but decided against it; things would be better explained face to face, later.

Climbing out of the cab, Connor waved away Iris’ concern. “Don’t worry about money, it’s not an issue you need to concern yourself with right now. Besides,” he added with a short grin. “I can always charge my taxi rides to the DPD as travel expenses.”

As they grew closer to the door, Connor soon picked up on the sound of Sumo’s great paws padding curiously from the kitchen. Gone were the days of jumping up to bark at the mailman, but these days the dog was always quick to recognize Connor’s footsteps. His low, excited whuff was muffled by the door, Connor’s mood brightening immediately.

“Before I show you the garden, why don’t you meet Sumo?” Fitting his key in the lock, Connor glanced at Iris over his shoulder. “He’s really very friendly. Don’t let his appearance scare you -- the same applies to Hank.”