Okay So That Wasnt A Suggestion That Was A Command.

Okay so that wasn’t a suggestion that was a command.

Send me writing prompts/asks and I will create your dreams.

Unfortunately, we’re all human. Except me, of course.

Mr Robot + That Gay Shit

Maybe send me writing asks I will write some small fics/headcannons?

That would be so wonderful and enjoyable. I am primed to write about Mr. Robot and I want a break from writing my Within the Haze series.

Tyrobot fluff taking place after the scene in 3x09 (I think??) when Tyrell realizes he's being used?

Pryce had left after he dropped the news about Tyrell's ‘promotion’. He was to be the new CTO of Evil Corp, a choice forced by his captor, Whiterose. Defying her wishes meant losing his son.

The only thing he had left.

*****

Tyrell had his fist full in the bottle, gulping down another hot slick round of vodka to drown his head. He fucking wanted to throw this shit away, this world, and himself. He had scraped and climbed for nothing. At least, not in the end. He pittied himself, bitting back his acrid stomach and let the tears from his eyes.

In his waking eyes, he was but a glimmer of his dreams. A thing he once felt was so attainable- within this grasp- now faded. Lapping and washing away as it beat back to sea. Stranded.

“Hey, stop that-” Robot pried the bottle from his fingertips, slicking on the cap in a quick motion. “That’s enough of that, it’ll mess with your head,” He resigned himself to a soft tone, sounding worn and kind.

“-That’s exactly what I want,” Tyrell hicked over the table, curled up towards himself as he flowed. Fingers covered his face, burying himself in darkness. “I don’t want to remember any of this-” He sniffed.

His hand rubbed soothing circular motions into Wellick’s back, letting it pour. “That’s okay,” He watched him, his heart sinking at the sight. “But it’ll make you feel worse, okay? And you don’t want that,” He scooted closer, ending the space between them. He gently grasped Tyrell’s wrist, guiding a hand from his face. “Come here baby~” He coed.

The two slipped together, holding one another as Tyrell cried into Robot’s arms. He shook, bellowing into Robot’s chest as he cried, feeling the weight of his life bare down on him. 

The taste was bittersweet and falsely true. Wellick has achieved his dreams at the cost of his wife, the threat against his son, and now- his pride. He no longer had the sense of control he so desperately carved out for himself. I way to teether himself down to Earth, to give himself a sense of purpose. It had all evaporated. He was but a doll on strings, trapped and bleeding before his maker as she watched him crumble.

His hand balled up Robot’s jacket, legs hooked around his wide frame. His shoulder became deeply wet. He sniffled as he wiped tears. “I hate this,” He croaked, feeling himself being pulled tighter against the chest of the other.

“I know, I do too,” Robot bent, kissing his cheek. “We’ll get through this, we always do.”

“How?” His head picked up, desperately looking into his eyes. “How?!”

“We’ll make a plan, we’ll figure out how to fix this.”

“I either accept or my son and I die- there isn’t another answer.”

“There always is,” He thumbed a tear from under his eye, caressing his soft cheek. “I promise, Tyrell. We’ll find a way.”

He took a deep breath, muttering soft words in Danish as he cleaned his face. A constant battle.

 He would need time to put himself together, to recover. But he trusted the words of his love. “She’s going down,” He spat.

“We’re taking her down, together.”