SciFi/Fantasy - Technobabble (Für's Team)
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120_minutenTeam: Drache
Challenge:SciFi/Fantasy - Technobabble (Für's Team)
Fandom: Handmaid's Tale
Charaktere: June Osbourne, Nick Blaine
Ship: June/Nick
Sprache: Englisch
Wörter: 850
Kommentar: Ich hab mich im Genre verguckt, aber Handmaid's Tale ist irgendwie SciFi, oder? Oder?? Please, ich wollte nur meine neuen Autokenntnisse anwenden!
Warnung: Vage Thematisierung von Vergewaltigung zu Beginn.
It shouldn’t be possible to find a man attractive under circumstances like these.
Oder: Was, wenn Serena die Sache nicht forciert hätte.
Running Hot
It shouldn’t be possible to find a man attractive under circumstances like these.
Every month for three days Waterford gets close to her and she is repulsed all over again, by his touch, his voice, by his fucking aftershave. Serena’s illegal perfume wafts over her from behind as she’s being held and it’s all she can do not to gag.
It should be impossible. And yet…
She has too much time on her hands and she spends it looking at Nick, at his arms, his shoulders, his back. Her eyes linger on the way his watch sits on his wrist and the way he pushes up his shirt sleeves. There’s groceries to be bought and dead time to fill and she imagines those fingers touching her when she stares up at the ceiling at night.
It should be impossible to be hungry, but she is. He looks at her like he knows.
He’s hungry, too, she knows. She can feel his eyes brush over her when she enters a room, those dark, dark eyes, feels them rest on her like a physical weight. Once she brushes past him in the courtyard, her shoulder against his arm, only for a split-second, but it feeds her for the rest of the day. She has to be careful not to let Ofglen know she’s walking on air.
“Blessed day”, she says when she leaves the house in the morning, just the hint of a smile playing around her lips.
“Blessed day”, he says, leaning against the front of the car with the hood open, and his eyes follow her all the way down to the gate.
Nothing is going to happen. He knows it and she knows it, they both know it. It’s not worth ending on the wall for. But a girl can dream, right?
It happens on the way back from a birth. The house was farther away than usual, outside her radius, but somehow she was invited. She doesn’t complain; everything to get outside the house.
It’s hard to say how she feels afterwards, sitting in the back of the car, a mix of elation and envy perhaps, filled with endorphins down to her fingertips. She looks at the back of his head, at the way his hair curls slightly on his neck. He needs a haircut. It looks good on him, she thinks.
She only hears the beeping when he pulls the car to the side of the road. A red light is flashing on the dashboard. He gets outside to pop the hood.
It’s already dark, on some god-forsaken country road lined with old trees. No other car passes them. Serena will be mad, she thinks. She doesn’t know how she feels about that.
Finally she can’t stand the waiting anymore. She opens the door quietly, makes her way between the car and some bushes, loose gravel underneath her feet. She steps next to him, stares into the engine room with him. That’s what people do in situations like these, right? At least they used to. Pop the hood and stare at it like you know what you’re doing. She's so close to him their shoulders are almost touching.
“What is it?”, she finally asks. The engine radiates heat; she can feel it in her face like a bonfire.
He’s already pushed up his sleeves, bracing himself against the front of the car. “Engine overheated. Looks like it’s running low on coolant.” He nods towards a plastic tank near the right side. She leans in closer like she cares. “See the thin line? That’s where the coolant is suppposed to be when the engine’s cold. This way it’s got enough room to expand when it’s warm.”
She nods. ‘Cold’ it says right above the line. It feels like a crime, reading it. The blue liquid doesn’t even get close to reaching it even in its warm state.
But isn’t that your job, she thinks? Isn’t that why you stare at the engine every day? Or is that just for me?
“Now what?”, she asks instead. It feels like a gift, him sharing this with her. Telling her stuff.
He shrugs. “It can be filled up with water, at least in an emergency. Except we haven’t got any.”
“Oh”, she says. Then: “Oh”, when it hits her.
They’re stuck on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, with the perfect excuse.
“You should get back inside. It’s warmer there”, he says over his shoulder. He’s carefully unscrewing the lid of the tank and a cloud of hot vapor escapes it in a rush. She doesn't understand what for.
“I’m not cold”, she says. She turns to face him. His body so close, she just needs to reach out to touch him.
So she does. Her hand closes around his wrist, stopping him mid-motion. With her other, she takes the lid from him and sets it aside. Her thumb presses against the inside of his wrist and she can feel his pulse race. His lips part as he exhales suddenly.
“Actually, maybe I am cold”, she says.
Really? It’s like the beginning of a bad porno, a gleeful voice in her head says. It sounds a lot like Moira.
Shut up, Moira, she thinks. Then she presses her lips to Nick’s.
Maybe this is worth going on the wall for.
Challenge:SciFi/Fantasy - Technobabble (Für's Team)
Fandom: Handmaid's Tale
Charaktere: June Osbourne, Nick Blaine
Ship: June/Nick
Sprache: Englisch
Wörter: 850
Kommentar: Ich hab mich im Genre verguckt, aber Handmaid's Tale ist irgendwie SciFi, oder? Oder?? Please, ich wollte nur meine neuen Autokenntnisse anwenden!
Warnung: Vage Thematisierung von Vergewaltigung zu Beginn.
It shouldn’t be possible to find a man attractive under circumstances like these.
Oder: Was, wenn Serena die Sache nicht forciert hätte.
Running Hot
It shouldn’t be possible to find a man attractive under circumstances like these.
Every month for three days Waterford gets close to her and she is repulsed all over again, by his touch, his voice, by his fucking aftershave. Serena’s illegal perfume wafts over her from behind as she’s being held and it’s all she can do not to gag.
It should be impossible. And yet…
She has too much time on her hands and she spends it looking at Nick, at his arms, his shoulders, his back. Her eyes linger on the way his watch sits on his wrist and the way he pushes up his shirt sleeves. There’s groceries to be bought and dead time to fill and she imagines those fingers touching her when she stares up at the ceiling at night.
It should be impossible to be hungry, but she is. He looks at her like he knows.
He’s hungry, too, she knows. She can feel his eyes brush over her when she enters a room, those dark, dark eyes, feels them rest on her like a physical weight. Once she brushes past him in the courtyard, her shoulder against his arm, only for a split-second, but it feeds her for the rest of the day. She has to be careful not to let Ofglen know she’s walking on air.
“Blessed day”, she says when she leaves the house in the morning, just the hint of a smile playing around her lips.
“Blessed day”, he says, leaning against the front of the car with the hood open, and his eyes follow her all the way down to the gate.
Nothing is going to happen. He knows it and she knows it, they both know it. It’s not worth ending on the wall for. But a girl can dream, right?
It happens on the way back from a birth. The house was farther away than usual, outside her radius, but somehow she was invited. She doesn’t complain; everything to get outside the house.
It’s hard to say how she feels afterwards, sitting in the back of the car, a mix of elation and envy perhaps, filled with endorphins down to her fingertips. She looks at the back of his head, at the way his hair curls slightly on his neck. He needs a haircut. It looks good on him, she thinks.
She only hears the beeping when he pulls the car to the side of the road. A red light is flashing on the dashboard. He gets outside to pop the hood.
It’s already dark, on some god-forsaken country road lined with old trees. No other car passes them. Serena will be mad, she thinks. She doesn’t know how she feels about that.
Finally she can’t stand the waiting anymore. She opens the door quietly, makes her way between the car and some bushes, loose gravel underneath her feet. She steps next to him, stares into the engine room with him. That’s what people do in situations like these, right? At least they used to. Pop the hood and stare at it like you know what you’re doing. She's so close to him their shoulders are almost touching.
“What is it?”, she finally asks. The engine radiates heat; she can feel it in her face like a bonfire.
He’s already pushed up his sleeves, bracing himself against the front of the car. “Engine overheated. Looks like it’s running low on coolant.” He nods towards a plastic tank near the right side. She leans in closer like she cares. “See the thin line? That’s where the coolant is suppposed to be when the engine’s cold. This way it’s got enough room to expand when it’s warm.”
She nods. ‘Cold’ it says right above the line. It feels like a crime, reading it. The blue liquid doesn’t even get close to reaching it even in its warm state.
But isn’t that your job, she thinks? Isn’t that why you stare at the engine every day? Or is that just for me?
“Now what?”, she asks instead. It feels like a gift, him sharing this with her. Telling her stuff.
He shrugs. “It can be filled up with water, at least in an emergency. Except we haven’t got any.”
“Oh”, she says. Then: “Oh”, when it hits her.
They’re stuck on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, with the perfect excuse.
“You should get back inside. It’s warmer there”, he says over his shoulder. He’s carefully unscrewing the lid of the tank and a cloud of hot vapor escapes it in a rush. She doesn't understand what for.
“I’m not cold”, she says. She turns to face him. His body so close, she just needs to reach out to touch him.
So she does. Her hand closes around his wrist, stopping him mid-motion. With her other, she takes the lid from him and sets it aside. Her thumb presses against the inside of his wrist and she can feel his pulse race. His lips part as he exhales suddenly.
“Actually, maybe I am cold”, she says.
Really? It’s like the beginning of a bad porno, a gleeful voice in her head says. It sounds a lot like Moira.
Shut up, Moira, she thinks. Then she presses her lips to Nick’s.
Maybe this is worth going on the wall for.