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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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(i won’t say) i’m in love - pt 2

Bakugou deals with the consequences of his actions, but will he ever be forgiven?

pt 1

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pairing: platonic!bakugou katsuki x reader

warning: hurt/comfort, cursing, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings

word count: 3,032

a/n: I wasn’t really planning on writing a part 2, but I was like semi upset when I got an ask for it and practically brainstormed an entire fic in an ask, then lost it all because tumblr mobile crashed, cried, forgot about it, then saw an entire conversation happening in the comments of the first one and it convinced me to write the part 2. anyways, I hope you enjoy. can you believe I used hurt/comfort??? neither can I!!!!

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Bakugou stared at the ceiling of his room.

The past five days, he had mostly shut himself off from all of society. He showed up to patrols, ignored everyone who wasn’t essential to his line of work, destroyed his phone in his embarrassment, and had begun an emotional declination he was not proud of.

He had destroyed his relationship with you, and most likely, Kirishima too. His confession went unsaid that night, but his words of hatred and twisted jealousy remained alive. Hell, even fucking Deku had tried to talk to him about it. Still, it had resulted in both of them having their heads buried into the concrete because they were more interested in yelling at each other than actually focusing on the villain they were fighting.

It was not a proud moment.

There was a lot of guilt welling up in him though; every time he thought so much of how you looked that night, acid hot tears tore at the back of his eyes - threatening to fall in a stupid uncomposed way.

He was better than this, he didn’t need to cry.

Still, when he heard a knock at his front door, he was beyond shocked to see none other than Kirishima standing there. His hair was down, not in his usual hairstyle but natural. He was looking up at Bakugou with a strange look on his face. One that Bakugou only knew to be a gaze Kirishima held when he squared off with the most ‘unmanliest’ of villains who held no redemption.

A stone sank in his stomach, and his tongue ran dry when the two different red eyes came to lock in the middle.

“We need to talk, Bakugou.”

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Five Nights Earlier

You stormed into your apartment, angry, upset tears streaming down your cheeks while your fingers shook like leaves, and your cheeks were puffed with your restrained tears.

You hated Bakugou. You hated him.

Who did he think he was?

Talking to you like you were some undeserving child? An idiot who had been used by him of all people? His taunting words rang and danced in your head, twisting and evolving into nastier names, more sinister meanings.

He wasn’t your friend, just using you for his own wellbeing. He was a user and a taker, never a giver. He was a tramp and… and… you felt weak in the knees as your nasty thoughts fell short and thin. A sob emitted from your lips, and your head slowly shook, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t that. You knew that.

Bakugou wasn’t much of a giver, there was never any denying that, but he wasn’t a taker nor a user. This wasn’t him. It could never be him.

You sank to the floor, feeling your drumming heart exploding in your chest as your wet cheeks pressed against the floor. Was he really not a user, though?

He had used you before, the final exam was a prime example of that, but that was who he was on the battlefield. A strong yet stubborn leader, his voice loud and willing those around him. You had followed him on your own merit, knowing that he was someone to be trusted, so why was it now you were having issues with it. Was this all an illusion? Which part of him was correct?

“Y/n?” a voice called out, and your blood froze over at the thought of it being Bakugou, but at the second calling of your name, you warmed up. It was Kirishima.

Pushing off the floor, you sniffled loudly, the tears still continuing to pour down your face while you struggled over to the front door. You opened the front door to find Kirishima standing there, his hands awkwardly placed on his hips, and his head tilted to the side, concern, and sympathy clouding his face. Still, it was nice to see your boyfriend’s gentle and loving face as you let him in, immediately allowing yourself to sink into his open arms and sob in them.

It was no secret that you had desperately wanted to be friends with Bakugou. It was something you had horribly failed at high school, and now you had managed… you had done it… but was it for naught? Kirishima held you gently, though, his surprisingly gentle and soft hands coming to stroke your tear-soaked face over and over. Sweet words passing his lips as he held you, unwilling to let your thoughts consume you while you stayed at the entrance of your home.

It took much longer than you’d like to admit, a few hours at that, for you to finally be able to face your boyfriend with only tears brimming your eyes and your lips swollen and puffy from your frequent biting.

“You okay, y/n?” Kirishima asked softly, his hands moving to brush the strands of hair out of your face before pressing a sweet smile to your cheeks. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t… I don’t understand why he said that!” you choke out, your voice embarrassingly weak and cracked with your overwhelming emotions and obvious distress. “We were friends! I know we were friends! You can’t be fake friends with Bakugou Katsuki of all people! It’s… it’s not possible! But that’s… how could he say that to my face? He said some of the worst shit he could have said to me, and that doesn’t sound anything like the man I know him to be! The best friend you know him to be! I get we weren’t always… we weren’t always close, and that’s fine because not all friendships are there in the beginning, but I don’t know why it’s not here! We had something, right? I wasn’t… I wasn’t making it up?”

Kirishima stared at you with the most heartbroken yet heartfelt expression on his face, his hands readjusting their hold on your face to bring a tantalizingly sweet kiss to your mouth. It was an action that burned into your skin - a somewhat polar feeling to the dread that sat on your skin and bones.

“You weren’t, no way in hell was that a made-up friendship.”

“Then, why?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know.”

Kirishima stared down at your shining bright eyes, his lips twisting into a sad but sure smile while he pressed kisses against your tears, his warm body pressing softly into yours.

“I knew he was lying,” you mumbled, your eyes closing ever so gently when he kisses you wholly.

“Yeah?”

“He couldn’t look me in the eye when he started… that’s how you know he’s lying.”

Kirishima sighed softly against your lips, “I think I was still too drunk to have noticed that.”

“You definitely tasted disgusting earlier, Ei,” you teased, the pain in your heart tremendous but ignorable when he pulled away, the faux offended look on his face almost too funny.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, grabbing your cheeks in a threatening manner.

“Y-Yeah!” your voice cracked.

In a surging kiss that was practically all tongue, just for a moment that night, your worries and distress were forgotten while Kirishima tried to show just how not disgusting his mouth tasted.

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Bakugou stared at his friend, his hands in fists against the legs of his jeans, and Kirishima was leaning on his forearms against his thighs. They had made it to Bakugou’s living room, taking their usual seats in this room that was usually bright in atmosphere when they came together.

Despite Kirishima saying that they needed to talk, he had remained quiet for this entire time, unwilling to speak while his face clouded with murkiness and calamity. Bakugou hated this so much. He hated that he couldn’t speak up because he was in the wrong, and he hated that the reason he was so disconnected from everything was because of him.

But the worst part was that the entire world seemed to know that this was going on right now; there had to be no other explanation. It was quiet right now, his usually nosy neighbors were silent as a mouse, the outside world frozen over, and the only thing Bakugou could hear was his rising heartbeat in his throat.

What was he going to say?

When was he going to say it?

“You should tell y/n how you feel.”

Bakugou froze, well he definitely was not expecting that to come out of Kirishima’s lips.

“Excuse me?”

Kirishima finally looked up from his folded fingers and met Bakugou’s gaze. It nearly froze Bakugou to the core when his bright red eyes seemed so lost and far away. Kirishima always looked at things in a kind manner, villain or ally, he never lost that kind glint to his eyes… but right now, his eyes were deadly serious, sharp, hard.

“I know you’re in love with y/n,” Kirishima admitted, his jaw tensing slightly, his head shaking slightly. “I know, Bakugou.”

“Eh? I don’t fucking-” Bakugou couldn’t help but lie, not wanting to cause his friend unneeded stress, unneeded insecurity because he was an idiot.

“You do, I know you do,” Kirishima sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor for a millisecond before returning to Bakugou’s widened eyes. “I’ve known since the beach trip… and I didn’t have a problem with it because I trust both you and y/n.”

“Kirishima…”

“Even with what you said that night… I still trust you, and after talking with y/n, I realized that while I thought for some time that it was you just liking them, I didn’t realize it was you being in love.” Kirishima smiled sadly, his hand running through his red locks that were showing black at the roots. He was in the process of deciding if he was going to allow the black to come back. “But even though I don’t… I don’t want you to tell y/n that you love them, I think you need to. For your sake and theirs.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shot together, his feet shifting so that he could stand up, but when he tried, he realized that all the strength in his body had left him, rendering him unable to stand up.

“I’m not going to do it if you don’t want me to do that,” Bakugou hoarse out, his mouth feeling unusually dry, disgustingly hot. “I almost did on the night of your birthday party, and… I just fucking can’t anymore. I feel disgusting.”

Kirishima let a small, sad smile appear on his face, his mouth twitching with unspoken words, and his eyes finally letting on emotion. “I sort of figured that out too. Probably would’ve been a better option than lying to y/n, huh?”

Bakugou stared at his friend, emotions he was not at all used to bubbling in his chest, threatening to spill over and just shatter the world in two. What was he going to do with himself?

“I’m sorry, Kirishima.”

“I’m not the one who needs the apology.”

“You do,” Bakugou disagreed, his head shaking in his disagreement. “I hurt you, too, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima seemed to look for the next thing to say, his sharp teeth digging into his lower lip while he collapsed back onto the seat, exhaustion filling him. “That’s why I’m called the unbreakable red riot, I get hurt, but I won’t ever break or fall.”

Bakugou fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Now go see y/n, and don’t come back until things are confessed.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

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You were watching a cartoon on the screen in your living room. Well, at the very least, you were trying to, but you found yourself ignoring the brightly flashing screen and pitched voices to think back on the past two days.

Bakugou consumed your thoughts, the way that you and Kirishima knew he was lying that night, but you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Kirishima had been over tonight to eat dinner, and after helping you clean up and put everything away, he had left with a sweet kiss goodbye and a promise that things would be better.

There was a knock on the door, and the trance you were in was broken. Pushing off the couch, you walked to the front door of your apartment and opened the door. It was Bakugou.

“Can we talk?” Bakugou said after seconds of silence, the both of you frozen at the first sight of each other in days, the bitter resentment still heavy in the air while the world continued to spin. He looked worse than you expected him to, his eyes tired, and his hair flat in some areas - as if he hadn’t been able to do anything but lay on his side for days.

“Depends,” was your response, your body feeling completely numb and terribly cold.

“On?”

“Am I going to annoy you?”

Bakugou licked his lips, his eyes dropping from yours momentarily while a soft expel of air passed his lips, “Did I really say that?”

“That and more,” you smiled, but the smile was twisted and wrenching, there was nothing but hurt and anger behind it while you stared at the man who held a place in your heart.

“Can I… let me in?” Bakugou just about pleaded you - well, the closest thing to a plead that Bakugou Katsuki could make.

You clenched your jaw, thinking if it was genuinely beneficial to you if you allowed him to enter and talk, but you were never to deny your friends anything. Nodding your head once, you opened the door wider, letting him in.

“I just hope I won’t annoy you with my cowardice,” you couldn’t help but murmur while he passed you, the space he filled in your apartment was awkward, and he tensed when the door clicked behind him.

Bakugou sighed, his hands shoving into his pockets while he remained before you, refusing to look at you.

“I’m in love with you.”

Now, you were expecting a few things to come out of Bakugou’s mouth the second you allowed him to come in. An apology maybe, a declaration that you should just ignore everything that he said maybe or even a begrudging admittance that it was Kirishima who was forcing him to come in tonight. But that?

“Excuse me?!”

“I know you don’t like not speaking whenever I’m talking, but I’m asking you that this once… for this one time, you’ll let me speak without interruption.” You watched in overwhelming emotion as Bakugou turned his head, staring at you with those vermillion eyes and a spine of steel, and with a small nod, you agreed.

“I didn’t want to tell you, well, I did want to tell you. That night at Kirishima’s party, that’s what I was going to confess to you. But when Kirishima came out, I… I realized how shitty of me it was to even have entertained that thought, and I lost it. I wasn’t going to try to fix anything because I thought it wasn’t right of me after what I said, but Kirishima came over right now and told me that I should.” Your fingers fisted into your shirt, your eyes wide as the full moon while Bakugou’s head shook, a heavy sigh on his lips that reminded you to breathe. “I was a shit friend to you, and I’m not looking for you to forgive me or anything, I know I fucked up… but I’m here because… you are easily one of the best friends I have, and I don’t want that to disappear because I didn’t do anything.”

“I… I don’t want our friendship to end either,” you whisper, the truth unable to stay hidden even if you wanted to keep it from him. The fact was that you couldn’t see a life without him. Even if you could never return those feelings anymore, even if you couldn’t love him the way he loved you, you didn’t ever want to see him go. “I am upset, unworldly upset that you said that, even if it was a lie.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I love you too, Bakugou, but just… not that way… not anymore.”

“I know,” Bakugou’s lips press into a flat line, his hands shoving into his messy hair while he shook his head. “I know you won’t love me like that, and it’s fine… but I’m… I’m sorry…”

“I know you are.”

“Will… are you ever forgive me?”

You stared into his eyes, the ones that refused to look at you five nights ago, shining with his apologetic emotions and sincere thoughts. Wordlessly, you approached him, your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him into a hug, and your face buried into his neck while he remained stiff in your arms.

“Always.”

His arms rose, the tremor in his body shaking even you before they settled to wrap around your waist. You didn’t dare to speak as he silently cried in your arms, years of repressed emotions, and five hellish days of guilt cracking him entirely until the two of you sank to the ground, your soothing words a saving grace to him while he apologized over and over again.

“I’m so sorry.”

It would take some time, but eventually, Bakugou’s sobs became muffled hiccups. The place the two of you held on the floor, ultimately shifting over to sit on the much more comfortable couch. His eyes were puffy and red from his tears, and yours were swelling up as well, awkward tension still hung heavily within the two of you as your hand gently brushed away his tears with a gentle, familiar smile.

“Do you want some spicy curry? I have some leftovers.”

Bakugou let in a stuttering breath of air, his lungs still weak from his crying, but the offer of food eased the remaining knots in his stomach.

“As long as you weren’t the one who made it.”

“My curry skills are amazing, and you should shut up!”

And Bakugou watched as you left the couch, your voice pitched and a bit breathless as you went about making him his food, but he knew that even if he wanted to be more than friends, this was okay. You smiling, rambling, happy, and in love. That’s all that mattered.

Forever and always.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader

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theboneyardarts · 3 years

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DEAD BY DAYLIGHT RP SERVER, looking for canon and OC survivors and killers!

18+, but not inherently NSFW (there will be a channel for NSFW if needed, but not the main RP topic). Sorry for any formatting issues, I'm on mobile and haven't used Tumblr in over 5 years 😅

Killer and Survivors welcome, including OC's, but will ask for some kind of intro to be approved for OC's. Only canon character taken right now is the Cannibal, but message any time for an updated cast list.

3rd person POV, paragraph or multi para, and non discriminatory community building. Please message me for links/characters/other details, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Survivors:

When the darkness overtook you, fear hit your heart like a nail gun. But you didn't have long to panic. The cold numbness of the Entity engulfed your senses, stealing your consciousness away.

When you wake, an unknown amount of time had passed. With darkness still around you, it doesn't look much different from the Entity. But as your eyes adjust, you realize you're laying on the ground, trees in every direction. Only a faint spot of light glows to your left. A campfire. There are others there, in the same state of confusion and fear. As you walk toward the light, you pass by small cabins, the sort you might've seen at summer camp as a child. The windows are dark, some cracking apart, and the wood creaks in the wind. You keep going. Feeling eyes on you, you don't dare look back, even once you reach the fire.

Sitting around the campfire, you all feel it.

One brave survivor sets out into the woods, intent on leaving, but they don't make it far. You can all hear the revving of a chainsaw, mixed with horrible screaming. Then nothing. The group huddles closer to the fire, as if it would protect them from the monsters in the dark. But to your surprise, the seemingly murdered survivor wanders back to camp a while later, shaken but unharmed.

Every path leads back to the fire, no matter what direction you go in, they told the group. Even as the bravest among you, their voice shakes as they speak. "Death isn't an escape. It's a curse."

Groups of four begin to explore cautiously, and the cycle repeats. Heart wrenching screams of the dying, followed by silence. But they always found their way back.

Some are soon summoned to new locations by the Entity, trapped with one of seemingly dozens of killers. But even escape from there leads them back to the campfire.

The Entity must feed, and you're on the menu. Over, and over, and over again. All you can do is hope to not be dead by daylight. If daylight ever comes, that is.

Killers:

Whether at the height of your murderous career, or at the lowest low, the Entity doesn't care. It has found it's prize: an endless pattern of killers and victims to feed off of. You feel yourself being summoned, and don't have time to object before you too are engulfed by the darkness.

Perhaps you killed for, to you, good reason. Perhaps you do it for the sake of killing. Either way, you know your mission as you wake in the forest. Kill. Regular old stabbing or chopping won't do the trick though, you realize as you stumble into sets of sacrificial meat hooks. These would do nicely.

The group around the fire seem confused and scared, but you are filled with bloodlust. As soon as someone wanders away from camp, you hear the chainsaw, almost as loud as the screams. There are others here, with the same mission.

Maybe the Entity will release you once it is sated. Maybe it will go on forever. There's only one way to find out.

Thank you for reading, I hope to hear from you!

#dead by deadlight #dbd #discord rp #slashers #rp #roleplay #rp server #classic horror

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umbrixunversed · 3 years

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Owl House theory because I! Am! Hyperfixating!

Also I haven't technically finished season one because that requires time to Sit Down and Focus so I just have been absorbing information via Tumblr and fanfics so... Dubious understanding of canon details.

I'd use a read more but I'm on mobile and can't figure out how to do that so if you don't care or are avoiding spoilers I suggest you start scrolling.

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Belos is the son of Philip, possibly out of multiple. Mom probably a Clawthorne ancestor bc Belos also seems to like using bird motifs considering all the wing imagery + the Coven mook masks are all very much birds and birds are Clawthorne things.

This is why Belos has knowledge of a lot of things, but doesn't seem to have quite the *same* knowledge that one might expect if he was Philip. It's second hand or taught. Not lived. Personal. There's gaps.

Also two theories on how he got cursed, both mirroring Eda and Lilith in different ways.

One:

Belos doesn't have/had very little natural magic but his sibling *did*. He got cursed bc his sibling, pissed that despite them having magic, Belos seemed to be their Dad's favorite, and felt the need to one-up him somehow.

( He might have been the favorite. Or he might have just spent more time with him because neither could use magic. They were both odd ducks in the boiling isles, and weirdos have to stick together, right? )

Anyway, sibling tries to take on the power of the Titan itself. This goes… Poorly. Belos does something, possibly the same spell Eda and Lilith used-- an old family spell, which is why Eda and Lilith knew it!-- and ends up cursed himself. Maybe Philip and Mom dies in the fiasco, which is part of why Belos is against wild magic? But sibling survives, maybe becomes the Collector later, seeking more power but dissatisfied with most results after the Titan? Might have children beforehand, or maybe there's another sibling, or maybe our current Clawthornes are descended from an aunt or uncle, and technically unrelated to Belos. Shrug.

Theory 2 is:

Philip's family was down and out, and upon discovery of the boiling isles, Philip brought back some things that he could to help them out. Maybe there was a sickness going around and he used potions to help cure it? And then witch trials happened. And there's the Wittenbanes. Very much using actual literal witchcraft. Philip escapes with a sibling ( I like brother bc then terrible uncles get to be a theme ) maybe, but everyone else is dead. Sibling now hates witches and magic. Sibling extra hates that Philip has settled down here with these horrible things that killed their family. Sibling does something Very, Very Dumb. Sibling turns themselves into a curse, potent either due to the intent or possibly they tried to pull from the Titan and became a two-fold curse, with Philip being the first victim. The possession curse thing just… Tears through him. Soon enough he's dying and tries to send his family away but Belos just *refuses* to leave his Dad and tries to care for him despite his wishes. Which leads to the sibling getting a hold of him. He tries to fight, tries to find a way to extend his life to keep it from tearing through more people, but this just ends with what we see now: Someone much less Belos and much more the curse, cruel and cunning, patient after so long being held back… And much better at wheedling people into destructive behaviour.

Originally thought there'd have to be direct descendants bc Hunter but Grimwalker theory makes that obsolete. Maybe still is and Grimwalker book is a red herring. Who knows. Anyway. If Hunter is a Grimwalker I think he might be a clone of Philip. He just looks like a witch bc all those magic ingredients had an Effect.

Lil' Rascal was Philip's palisman, and it got it's scar from Belos waaaaay back when when he tried to munch it bc Titan hUNGER. Also headcanon that Palismans normally have a bit of a witches magic ( Is this Canon or did I read this in a fanfic? I don't know. ) But bc Philip was human a 'lil bit of soul will suffice :) So lil' Rascal is also kind of low-key Philip.

Also Belos either cut his ears to blend in or he was born with odd tiny crumpled mangled ears bc half-breeds are… Quirky. ( Esp bc not even any of the humans we see I think have quite the same way of drawing the inside of the ear there? Like Luz doesn't have that little round bit. )

Also Belo's plan is very much the Titans/the uncle's… And it's trying to kill off the witches. If it's the Titan it does NOT like them for… some reason. Maybe sapping what magic it has left? Or maybe sibling/uncle just really pissed it off with their stunt and these fuckers just gotta go wholesale now. Either way it's trying to get to the human realm bc 1) Humans and "witches" historically Do Not Mix. ( Hello, witch trials! ) 2) Magic seems to be in the realm of the boiling isles, not just the Titan, so removing from there might substantially weaken them eventually. Sure, they have bile sacks, but how much you want to bet that bile is produced as a by-product from everything they eat and maybe even breathe? How long will that last outside the isles? Especially if they have to defend themselves against our warmongering asses. It will NOT be pretty. Whatever's actually left of Belos is pretty much coo coo for cocoa puffs after so long. There might not even be much left, or if there is he's mostly stuck inside his own head. Might not even be aware of what's going on! ANGST!

#owl house #owl house spoilers #emperor belos #hunter #When was the last time I used my tumblr to make a post?#hell if I know but dear god I want someone to scream with #might use this to make a fic. might not. probably not my attention span is horrendous.#but maybe if people pester me? 👀

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

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Across Seven Seas

Chapter 12

Description: This fanfiction series is set in the year 2022, after the horrid COVID-19 has finally come to an end. In this fanfiction, Chris Evans holidays with his family in India and meets Meera Shankar. The story explores their rollercoaster journey and raises a question, whether two people, from two contrasting backgrounds and cultures, can build their future together?

Series Masterlist

Chapter 13

Main Masterlist

This series is Chris Evans x OFC with Chris Evans' family and friends having recurring appearances. Please find below a lot of Original Characters-

Meera Shankar - The female lead

Meera's Mother

Poppy - Meera's maternal grandmother

Rohan - Meera's elder brother who is 6 years older than her.

Ankur - Concierge of the Hotel Maple-Fawn in Mussoorie

Warning: Curse words, beginning of rape, alcohol consumption, angst

This is a work of fiction. The names of the hotels and companies have been changed to avoid copyright issues. Meera Shankar and her family is based on the author and her kin. No offense is intended.

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

...

Chapter 12

Meera rang the doorbell of the Evans suite. Situated on the top floor of the hotel, the passage way to the suite was lined with ornate arches, marble statues and impeccable sophisticated lighting. The entire decor screamed opulence in capital letters. It also made her feel uncomfortably out of place.

Scott opened the door and let her in. He welcomed her to take a seat in the living room of the suite, along with Lisa, Chris, Shanna and Carly. "Did all of you see the news?" Meera asked as she took a seat, wincing a little. "Yeah we did. We just wanted to ask a few questions. Thank you for coming up here even though you are exhausted. It means a lot," said Scott.

Meera brushed him off, "It's okay. I will try my best to put your mind at ease." She looked around at their silent faces. They looked a little nervous and Meera soon realised why. She was sitting in her usual position, legs wide apart, back slightly bent, forearms resting on her knees with her palms meeting in the middle. While she felt comfortable in this position, her Mother had always reminded her that women sat with their legs closed and not like mobsters planning to threaten people.

"Umm... Yeah so… I mean…" Scott struggled, clearly hesitant.

Meera chuckled under her breath, "Why don't I start with the obvious questions. You can ask me later on if I miss out on anything." Scott nodded.

"So first of all, why did I not take any credit for the fight? Simple. I wanted to protect my family, especially my brother. He works with a cruise ship in the US and," she sighed, "stuff like this will make it harder for him to renew his visa."

Meera looked at Chris, "You gave your honest statement to the police officer. It was I who translated it and signed the false statement. So… So please be assured, you will not get into any legal trouble." She removed her phone from her bomber jacket, "I have a voice recording of your original statement. I can give it to you right now if you want. So that just in case, in the future, if this matter ever comes to light, you will have proof to back you up."

The 5 looked considerably relieved now. Scott gave her his email ID where she could send the recording. Once she did, she deleted the sent email and his email ID from her contact list in front of them.

"Now for the next question, how and when did I manage to plan all this? I spoke with Inspector Rima when she came to arrest those 3 gentlemen. I explained to her that since you were US citizens, you were planning to file a complaint with your embassy and would see to it that this matter received international coverage. She understood that her police force would be insulted and she would definitely get suspended. So," Meera sighed again, only this time pain visibly flashed across her face, "she agreed to take the credit and include you guys in the report as just tourists."

"From whatever little I know, there were 26 members in the gang and all of them have been caught. So you guys are all safe. Plus, the hotel is…," she groaned a little with pain, "is providing us with increased security. Nobody can enter our respective floors without avoiding the hotel guards. So yes, you can stay here for the remainder of your trip," she ended.

She looked around at them with a small smile, "Any questions?"

"I do," said Shanna slowly, "Why did you not use your knife to fight those guys? I mean they had knives too right? You were lucky only your sweater was torn."

Meera nodded, "I was incredibly lucky today. The fight could have gone sideways very fast. I didn't use the knife because…" she paused again, running fingers on her forehead, "Aah... because it would have further complicated the crime scene. See you can easily explain punches and kicks as self-defence to the police, but when a knife or any other weapon gets involved, it comes close to the murder-territory. I figured if… if I could distract them with my laughter and insults, I could take them on one-by-one."

She looked at Chris again. He was still wearing her sweater and cap, "That reminds me, can I please have my sweater and skull cap back?"

Chris became tongue-tied. He could feel everyone's attention on him now. Quick! Say something smart! He kept looking at Meera. He knew her body must be paining, but he saw a greater pain in her eyes. Her pink lips were slightly quivering, as if she could cry in an instant. Her eyelids were heavy with sleep. He knew she needed rest, yet here she was, reassuring his family. He wanted to hold her, hug her tight and tell her everything would be okay. But would she let him? He should have protected her today, and instead, he was a coward. Would she ever forgive him for that?

"Umm Mr Evans?" Tell her why can't you return her belongings. SPEAK YOU FUCKING MEATBALL!! His breaths started coming in rapid successions as his eyes grew wider. You are a fucking 41-year-old man, TALK!!! But the more he thought about talking, the more he shut himself.

"Oh God baby no it's okay," said Lisa, lightly rubbing his hands while Shanna and Carly started fanning him with the newspapers. "Hey do you want to sing the Little Mermaid song?" Scott suggested, kneeling in front of his brother.

Meera got up, headed to the refrigerator and brought the ice cube tray in front of Chris. "Pop one in your mouth," she suggested in a commanding tone. Chris looked at her, a little confused but still panicking.

"What are you talking abo…" Before Scott could finish his sentence, she said, "Trust me. Pop one ice cube into your brother's mouth."

Raising his eyebrows and shaking his head in disbelief, Scott still did as she instructed.

The confusion on Chris' face grew, then the cold hit him. "AFHASGHAHAGHHFA," he said with his mouth open, his panic attack now forgotten. He looked at Meera, dancing a little on his feet with the cold ice cube in his mouth. She just nodded, "Yes you can go and spit it out now."

She placed the ice tray back in the refrigerator.

When Chris came back, she asked him, "Feeling better?" He nodded, managing to say "Thanks" quietly.

"Umm why… and how?" a stunned Carly managed to ask her.

She addressed them, "There are 3 reasons why putting an ice cube in your mouth works while having a panic attack. One," she raised a finger, and immediately winced in pain, "...the idea acts as a distraction. Two, the cold shocks your system and confuses it. And three, I figured... you might not be drinking enough water, which would have caused your mouth to produce more… ummm…," Meera shook her head as if thinking, "more saliva, which would calm you down."

She stood while they took a seat. "Mr Evans," she spoke gently, "I am sorry I caused you to have a panic attack. When I asked for my stuff, I didn't mean immediately right now. You can return it tomorrow," she closed her eyes and gripped the chair as she felt a little dizzy, "I didn't mean for you to shed your clothes in front of me if that's what you thought."

"Oh no no," Chris finally found his voice, "I didn't... I didn't think that. Please take a seat, you are clearly injured. Have you seen a doctor yet?"

Meera smiled again, "No I haven't. I don't need to. I will be fine. I will take your leave now."

As she was leaving, the family thanked her once again. Lisa asked her, "Are you sure you want your sweater back? It's been torn quite horribly."

"Yes," Meera looked even more exhausted now, if that were possible. "I… I come from a family of… of…" she shook her head and again placed a few fingers on her forehead. "Ummm you know those people who… who do repair work… but of clothes… and they sew new clothes as well? What is the word? What are they called? I am sorry I am having a hard time translating things into English now."

"No don't be sorry. Did you mean a tailor?"

"Yes! Yes a tailor. I come from a family of women tailors. Yes tailors. Thank you. I will stitch it back together," Meera bid goodbye to them, thinking about her bathtub and soft bed longingly.

…

Back in Meera's room, her phone chimed again. Vikranth: 20 missed calls flashed across the screen.

…

Meera collapsed on her bed. She closed her eyes, the pain in her arms and legs increasing with each second. She groaned as her mobile buzzed. Can't I have a minute of peace? Slowly reaching out for the phone, she saw it was Rohan.

"Are you okay?" he asked on the call.

"Yes. Will order room service and go to sleep."

"What's your room number? Ma is freaking out here," Rohan sounded concerned, "Look she is worried. Don't do this to her."

"If I give her my room number then she will come down here. She will not give me an iota of space or freedom. Tell her I am in the hotel and I am safe. Explain to her all the security measures the hotel is taking. Even after that, if it doesn't help her paranoia then I cannot do anything about it. No, Rohan, YOU please understand," she interrupted her brother, "I am in pain right now. My hands and legs hurt like crazy and I cannot take any medicine. Right now, I just need my space and time to heal. I am in the hotel so she has nothing to worry about. If she still chooses to worry then I cannot help it. Good night," Meera disconnected the call.

…

2am

Meera was back on the road. 6 big, strong men headed towards her as she ran. She knew she couldn't fight all 6 at once. She tried to run fast but couldn't. Her foot got stuck in the uneven road and she fell face-first. She felt multiple hands on her, ripping her clothes apart. Rough hands turned her around, and she saw her rapists as they started devouring her body in front of her family.

She woke up trembling with shock. Her mouth was open in a silent scream as her body was covered with sweat. She felt breathless. It took her a solid minute to realise she was safe in her room. It was just a nightmare, it was just a nightmare, she tried to calm herself down. Switching on the lights, she headed towards the refrigerator, and popped an ice cube in her mouth. She was on her 3rd ice cube when she finally stopped trembling.

Reaching for her phone, she decided to watch anything to divert her mind. That's when she noticed the multiple missed calls and messages. She clicked on the notifications and saw her Mother's messages first.

I gave you my life and this is how you repay me?

I have done everything for you! Cared for you, cleaned, cooked, drove you around, was with you every step of the way and you left me all alone? No mother deserves this.

You should be ashamed of what you have done.

No parent should have a daughter like you.

Look at how your brother is supporting us in these times of crisis. And you did nothing. You didn't even ask Vikranth for help because of your ego.

You don't deserve to have anybody in your life.

I am extremely disappointed in you.

Wow, Meera thought as she held her head in her hands. She tried to cry, but maybe her body was still in shock, because no tears came to her eyes.

Nodding her head, she hugged herself and kept repeating, Okay, okay we will get through this. We are okay. We just need to freak out and cry right now. Okay, okay. Freak out and cry. We need to leave this room now. Okay.

…

Chris couldn't sleep. It was all just too much for him to process. The light snores of his brother filled the room. They had all decided to sleep in the suite after the day's events. He couldn't even think straight, let alone sleep. Deciding he needed a drink, he quietly crept out of his bed, taking the room key with him.

He headed towards the hotel's 24x7 bar, hoping to find it deserted. As soon as he entered, he saw the bar was empty, except for one chair in the corner. He couldn't see the person except for a corner of their shawl hanging from the side of the large armchair. The person was playing soft music on their phone. Chris approached the bartender, noticing the shocked and… almost repulsive look on his face as the bartender kept looking at the person in the corner. 3 bottles of different soft drinks were open in front of him but he only focused on the person, his mouth slightly open.

"Ahem," Chris slightly coughed, drawing the attention of the bartender towards him. As Chris asked for a whisky on the rocks, he swore he heard the bartender murmur "Thank God."

He turned to look at the figure in the corner. While he still couldn't see them, he saw their reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass window. He saw Meera.

He glanced at his drink on the counter debating whether to approach her or not. He couldn't afford to have another panic attack in front of her. He had to be strong. He took two large gulps of the strong whisky, immediately regretting his action. As he coughed and sputtered, he asked for a refill.

He felt his throat and chest burn, somewhat fuelling his courage. Taking his drink, he approached her.

As Chris neared Meera, he heard the melodious song more clearly. Even though it was in Hindi, he understood the sad tune. He saw her tear-stained cheeks and stopped. There wasn't another chair besides her where he could sit and comfort her.

Maybe she needs to feel the pain. I should just leave her alone. She might not like me interrupting her… Chris thought, but he couldn't help himself. Taking another step towards her, he gingerly asked, "Meera?"

She turned her head to look at him. Squinting her eyes, she was still unable to see the person. Putting on her glasses, she spoke through tears, "Mr Evans?" her red eyes registering slight surprise.

"Do you want to talk about it? What can I do to help you?"

Meera wiped her nose with a tissue, "Please leave me alone Mr Evans. I just want to be alone," she begged.

Chris nodded, but still stood in his spot. He looked around and decided to bring another comfortable armchair near Meera's.

He dragged it and placed it right besides the sidetable where her phone and glasses were kept.

Meera looked at him in disbelief, "Mr Evans I just want to be left alone. So please! Leave!" she said, her voice breaking.

He looked at her, feeling his own emotions overwhelming, "I am not asking you to talk to me. Just think of me as another guest in this bar. I will not interfere in any way. I promise you I will stay quiet. But if you think I will leave you alone, after everything that you have done for us, for me, after what you have gone through, then you are wrong Meera. I will not leave you."

"Why do you not understand," Meera broke down further, "I need to cry, I need to feel this. This is going to get ugly. You will feel uncomfortable! Please just leave."

Chris considered her for a moment, then nodded and left. He soon returned with a stack of paper napkins and placed them on the table besides her phone and glasses. "This should get you through the next hour," he said.

She looked at him, helpless, then sunk her head in her hands, crying further. Chris settled back in his chair, his body angled towards her. He wished she would let him comfort her, but somewhere, he also understood the importance of going through this alone. God only knows how many nights he had cried himself to sleep, refusing help from his own family, all because he wanted to stay alone.

Slowly, her sobs lessened. She used the new tissue and wiped her face, discarding it in the nearby bin. As she reached for the phone, Chris placed his hand on her mobile before her. "Don't change the song." "But you don't understand the lyrics," she said, her voice still broken. "No, but I like it. Let it play on loop," Chris said kindly. She nodded and took a sip of her drink. It looked a lot like neat whisky. Chris wondered, Why was the bartender repulsed? Was it because she was crying? That asshole.

After a few more sips, she said in a quiet voice, "Our Night."

"Hmm?"

"Our Night. The name of the song is Our Night. It is about how our night is a friend of the moon, but after a long time, she has come alone. She is darkness." Meera took another deep breath, "In the song, the singer wants to switch off all the lights and talk to the darkness. She understands that the darkness is hurtful. It is crazy even, but it is still hers. She just wants to be alone with the darkness."

Meera looked ahead and started crying again. Chris just looked at her, his own eyes brimming with tears now. He knew something had happened after she had left their suite. She didn't look like the type of person who broke down easily. He would give anything to find out who or what had upset her.

He looked at her reflection in the window, his own tears trickling down his cheeks. Finally, he allowed his emotions to take over.

That night, the stars in the moonless sky smiled down at them, as two people, from two different walks of life, cried together over what had happened, completely unaware of what the future had in store for them.

(This is the song if you want to listen ⬇️)

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#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chrisevans #chris evans family #chris evans x india #chris evans fandom #india #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans x oc #chris evans x original female character #chris evans imagines #chris evans imagine #scott evans

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randaccidents · 4 years

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The Plan (Part 1)

I might be on a school trip, but it don't stop me from writing! Only mobile tumblr holds power over my ability to post.

So this is The Plan. A little knight has one, will it all work out? Only time will tell.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

TW: panic attacks, cosmic horror

Shadow people AU and its companion Abandoned shadows AU by the lovely @mine-sara-sp.

EDIT: I RETURN TO MAKE THIS POST LOOK SHORTER

This was a stupid plan.

Standing in front of the season portal, Paladin shuddered, cape wrapped around their shoulders. This was such a terrible idea, they knew that the chances of this plan actually working was almost null. They hadn't died much after all, why would Zedaph's creepy shadow look for him?

Nonetheless, here they were. Shadoc had said that that creepy shadow had found them here, but that it had to find you first.

Standing here amongst the abandoned starter houses was giving them second thoughts however. There was no one around, which was both a blessing and a curse. Paladin was certain that if someone came around the bend right now, they would abandon the plan entirely. Yet at the same time, they wanted someone to find them, tell them that this was a horrible idea.

But no one came, not even the creepy shadow they wanted to find.

Maybe today wasn't the day they would find that shadow. They were proud, but hearing Shadoc's account had reminded them so much about their, uhm, encounter with the Vex. Their scars still burned occasionally under their custom armour.

They sighed. Maybe they should come back another day. This was taking up too much of the time that could be spent at the forge or with Avarice and Keloid. Rolling their shoulders, they unfurled their draconic cape-wings, preparing to take flight.

Where are you going, little shadow? Weren't you looking for me?

They froze, wings still open. The voice behind resonated through them, echoing and multiplying in a familiarly horrifying way. It was like Keloid, it was like Avarice, it was like the Vex, it felt right, it felt wrong. Their body shuddered and shrieked for them to move, to run, though in which direction was undecided. Their scars were burning, the rest of them was freezing. They tried to flap their wings, hoping that at least in the air the presence couldn't follow them. But something was holding them down, and the magic gave out, wings refolding to its default cape state and billowing down. They wanted to turn two dimensional, slink away in the shadows, but their armour was custom-made, not summoned with them, and they didn't want to be found with their scars. They were trapped, grounded and unable to move as the overwhelming presence behind them grew near.

You came looking for a deal, little shadow?

(̷̈́̇̓̓͌̈́̀̉̇̓̀͗D̶̢̠̬̲̱̳́̈͘͜ͅͅo̸͈̼̗̮̮̠̳̟̳͛͌̎̀͠ ̶̛̛̳̋̌́̇̃̎̈̾͒̓̋̓̋y̶͔̘̮͇̹̗͉̔ơ̷̥͙̙̰̋͑̿̐̂̑͗̓̍̉̕͝ú̴̟͓͉͕͍̯̗̥̰͉̓̀͊͋͐̅̀̇͘͝ w̸̏̌͐͌̈̀̾̋̋̐͗a̶̛̅͌͛̀̓̑͊̒̋̎̄͠n̶̛̙͔̜̪̘̝̍͐̎̅͛͊͒̃́͠ẗ̴͈̞́̈́̐́̓̿̆͠ ̶̰̳̼͕͒̈́̀́̄̓̈́̀͐͒̈͘͘ą̶̹̙͖̘̬̀̎̀̇̀͑̕͠͠ ̴̧̺͖̰̺̯͚̫̬̬̫͔͍̭̒̄̿̆̔̈́͐͌̎͆̔̕̚͝͠ḓ̸̨̛͈̠̔͋͒̈̂͛́̅̍̂̎͛͠͠e̸͛̅̓̈̚͝ả̴̭̮͉͇̜̼̩͍͇̮͓̬̐͂͘͝ļ̵̹͓̱̘̗̹̔,̴̡̛̟͎̠̮̘̘̻̯̜̩̥̅̈́̔͊́͛̐̾͗͑͜͜͝ͅ ̶͂̌̈́̓̓͛͝͝͝d̷̗͕̞̮̞̓̋͌̅̉͝͝ä̴̛̠̮͖̯̱̪͎́̾͌̈́͒́̚ȓ̷̞̤̩̟̍̽͊̽̍̀̂̂̀̉̔͠k̶̸̛̛͓͛͗̽̅͂͆͋͋̎̚͘ ơ̶̛̩͉͉̺̗̔͑̓̾͒̑̎͗́͝n̵͍̭͉̙͇̻̪͂̐͗͝͝͠e̷̢̨̡̻͉̥̥̤͈̳͓̦̾͂̒́̋̈́͑?̶̛̯͈̪̹̩̜̀̓̀̈́̏̾̆̉͗̚ͅ)̸͊̇͘͠

The next thing Paladin registered was the floor, their hands clawing at their neck, their head, their breaths coming in gasps and everything they heard was muffled.

Oh, they were having a panic attack again, weren't they?

Suddenly, there was a strong grip on their shoulder, tight but not painful. Paladin tried to jerk away from the contact, but the hand held firm. It was grounding in a way, a presence on their shoulder holding them, preventing the memories from sweeping them under. Distantly, they could hear a familiar voice counting numbers.

One, two, three, four, One, two, three, four...

Those sounded like Shadoc's numbers. Slowly, painfully, Paladin followed the count, breathe in, hold, breathe out. When they felt calm enough, they remembered the hand on their shoulder. Oh, someone had seen that episode. Embarrassed, Paladin turned to face the person behind them, ready to give an explanation for their actions.

And came face to face with themself. Except, it wasn't them. The shadow knelt before them was melting at the edges, dripping black tar onto the ground as it smiled a wide Jigsaw-like smile at them. Its stance was closer to that of Killshot's, but they held themselves with the confidence of Killjoy. It opened its mouth, and spoke with the voice of Shadoc, of Murmur, of Solo.

That phrasing isn't the best for you, I admit. Shall we try again?

And really, Paladin should be terrified. The shadow before them was alien, a frankenstein of them and the others, with a certain familiarity tugging at their mind that should have been impossible. But their mind was still pulling itself together, so it asked the most logical question it had.

"And whose shadow are you?"

The Jigsaw smile grew sharper, looking more unnatural and doll-like. Ah, I forgot. I have a theme I need to stick to so people recognise me properly. Let me introduce myself. The shape before them melted, puddling together to form a familiar shape. It looked like Merino, like Zedaph...

Something clicked into place.

"You're that creepy shadow that took Shadoc's power and boosted Killjoy and Apex!"

The shadow snapped their fingers, looking pleased. I see my reputation precedes me. You are correct. It opened its arms in a bow. I am the end-all-be-all, a world and a being, that which should not be fucked with yet always is even as I do and do not exist, the originator of shadows, all of you yet none of you, and a dramatic motherfucker if I do say so myself.

Paladin blinked at the swear. They still shivered, but the alien familiarity comforted them enough to talk back. "So what do I call you?"

The smile nearly encompassed its whole face. Call me Abyss. It's what I am after all... So why were you looking for me, little shadow?

The answer came immediately, etched deep into their bones. "I heard you were collecting an army to fight Puzzler. I want in."

Interesting. The shadow, no, the figure dripped and oozed delight, shadows reaching upwards from the ground to wrap around Paladin's feet like cats. You want to help me. You're the first to seek me out for it. Abyss stepped around Paladin, observing, stalking. Paladin wanted to turn and face it, but another tendril of something held their head in place. The figure finally circled back around, smiling. I accept. But first, some caveats.

The word might be different from what the Vex used, but the meaning was the same, and Paladin tensed up.

Don't worry, it's more like taking back what's mine. The voice was cold, sending shivers down Paladin's spine. Abyss resumed its slow circular pace around Paladin. As I am a part of every shadow and every shadow is a part of me, I know when something of mine has been intruded upon. The sharp gaze turned back to Paladin, boring into them. The Vex are inside you, a part of you. I can tell it wasn't willing, and that it happened in a time of distress. I can remove them, and then you will be wholly mine, as is my right. Do you accept?

The situation was too similar to the past, stuck in place, stuck in time, a godlike entity demanding things from them. Their breathing sped up.

But this was also different. Paladin could say no. So they grit their teeth and pushed forward, relegating their panic molotov to future Paladin instead. "And how will that be better than my current situation? At least right now I'm free, if just held down. What do you have to offer me?"

Abyss' grin was calculating, like Apex. Smart. You might not have died enough to have a power yet, but you are very clever. It opened its arms with a flourish. You don't have to do anything much for me. All I ask is that you come when I call on you to attack Puzzler. You are free to say no to anything else I ask of you. In exchange, I remove the Vex and bestow upon you a power. Is that satisfactory?

It sounded too good to be true. "Do you swear it?" Paladin asked again.

A chuckle. So cautious, I like that. Little shadow, I swear it on the cycles of the sun and moon, on the heat of the Nether, and on the never-endingness of the Void, it will be as I say.

The highest promise, to swear on the Void which swallows and devours. Paladin swallowed, nodding. "Do it. Free me from them and tie me to your side."

And so it shall be. Its hands came up to rest on either side of Paladin's head. So, this is going to hurt. A lot.

And suddenly, Paladin's head exploded into a flurry of noise, glass, bells and wing beats whipping past. They could hear screaming, voices overlapping. The Vex.

N̴̢͍̅͋̑O̵̖͑̏!̶̝̠̟̽ ̸̮̯̣͂̈T̵̗̍H̸̗͙̮͂̾̕Ȋ̸̬̳̈́͌ͅS̸͇̖͆ ̶̱͚̐I̶͎̕S̸̠̑͐̀ ̸̞̑O̵̗͕͕̊̊̀Û̵̡̩̂͝Ŗ̷͙͓̓͋ ̸̡̖̓͊͘V̴̭͚̏͠Í̴̲͕̅C̶̘͆́T̵̺̱͙͊I̸̞̝̳͗̿͘M̸̛͙͕.̴̼́ ̷̰̓̓Ơ̶̛̬͈̼̎U̷͙͑̚Ŗ̷́̇S̴̱̗̓ ̴̛̯̻̲T̸̢̺̿̒Ö̴̠̫̱ ̴͈̖̳́͌͠P̶̮͙̤͝L̶̞̅̃̏A̷̺̺͚͛̋͌Ȳ̷̦̉̌ ̸̰̞́Ẅ̶͍̗͕́̈́I̷͔̅T̵̲͓̻͐̀H̶̘͖̭̃̏̒.̵̹̙́̎̕ ̵̛͖̭̋̕Ö̶̠̮U̵̟̹͌̕R̷̪̱͝Ṡ̴̙͒̌ ̷̢̯̑T̵̤̲͕̍̆Ọ̵̟̈́ ̵̹̜̿̎̚K̷̜̝͑Ẹ̶́͝È̷͔̬͌͋ͅP̵̥̘͔̐.̷̢͙̖́̄ ̵̧̡̘̎́͠G̵̘͛̊̿Ò̸̱̤͇̒ ̴̥͚̣̽̀̅Ä̸̪͖́́Ẃ̷̦̑Ă̴̤̈́Ỳ̷̺ ̷̗̄A̴̫̥̺͂N̷̫͍̍́̃ͅD̵͔̐̑̚ ̶͉͇͕̈L̸̨̨̝̈E̴͙̦̙͋̊À̷̡͇̫̄͊V̶̟̰̗̀̊É̶̦̑ ̴̲̑U̶̬̤̔̒̑ͅS̸̢̰͠ͅ ̸̨̆T̴͈̔O̴̞͗ ̶̳̺̳̔̎͝Ô̶͓͈̙͠Ǔ̸̞̘͜Ŗ̵͆ ̴͓̬̳́Ḿ̴̠̭̝I̶̹̝͌S̶̛̞͙͐Ç̶̦̓H̶͉͕͙̒̔̑Ḯ̶͎̠̹̈́E̵̛̱̗F̶̢͍̺̀̾͑.̴̫͍̕ ̵̛͔̰́Ṯ̵́͒H̶͚͔͖̋̈́́Ẽ̸̠͚Y̶̛̗̥̪̓̐ ̵̰̒̈́̃M̶̤̏A̶̫̟̪͌̾̏D̸̛͜͝E̶̮͑̎ ̵̫̍̽̒ͅÁ̷̦͆ ̶̨͇͙̃D̶͙̟̥̈́̋E̸̡̿͗͠ͅĄ̷̛̘L̴̟͓̉͗,̵̰̈́ ̸̛̦̩̣̀̂W̷̪̋̒E̶̛̳̖ ̶͇͠H̶̻̜̹͂̈́͌Ȅ̶͎̞̲͂L̴̥̋P̷̤̦̍̈́E̶̮͑̈̚D̸̹̞̣͒͝ ̵͈̐̋T̴̟͕̅H̶͖̱͊̉E̸͉̥̦͗̏M̸͔̀̽ ̸̗̣̈́M̵̡͉̜͝O̷̧̺̙̓R̴̙̝̩̔E̸͕̹̎͊,̵̢̻̮̏̚ ̸̧̖̔͘T̷͈̯̙̏̇̽H̶̲̠̖́̎̋E̸̘͝Ỳ̵̖̱͋ ̵̮̥̂̊̆O̴̡̜̲̔̓͑W̵͈̿E̷͎̅ ̵̹͘U̴̗͛̍S̶̫̥͆,̵̗͍̘̑͒ ̶̞̻̗́W̴͓̑̀̓E̶̛͕̬͓̓ ̸̺͛͠W̸͚̹̅́́İ̸̼̊L̷̛̦͙̝̽L̸̻͌ ̵̂̀͜H̶̼̥͛͆͠A̶͈͆V̸̹͍͂́E̵̯͓̲̿̔ ̶̞̜̓̓̑T̵͈̈̾̎H̶̙͔̀͒É̸͓̫͠Ḿ̵̲̋̚-̷̦̝̮͑͂̈́

Goddamn do you assholes never shut up? Fuck off!

And then there was silence. Blessed silence, an invisible noise leaving their head. Paladin slowly unhooked their fingers from where they had unconsciously grabbed Abyss. Their back felt light, an oppressive weight lifted. Twisting, they stared at the emptiness of their back. Their cape-wings were gone. They felt strangely sad at that. Keloid had been so happy when they found out that they could finally fly with Paladin. They probably just regained the ability to fear the sky again.

Check under your gauntlets. Abyss stood patiently, watching intently.

Their gauntlets? Something in them clenched tight, fearful of revealing their scars in such a public area. In a way, it was proof of their struggle, their pain. It was private and it was their secret to keep.

Don't worry so hard, no one can see us where we are. Release yourself from your own chains.

Paladin jumped at the suggestion of chains. They looked up to stare into Abyss' eyes. They wanted to be alone, but something in them trusted Abyss. Without breaking eye contact, Paladin tore off the gauntlets, not looking down.

Abyss reached forward to gently grasp their chin, tilting their head downwards. See? It's all gone. You're mine again.

And true to its word, the blue scars were gone, leaving only grey skin. Flexing their arm, Paladin realised that they didn't burn anymore. In fact, nothing did. They marveled at their scarless arms. They were free.

Now, about this transaction you were looking for.

Or at least, as free as they could be. You do not yet have a power, but you need one if you are ever going to stand up to that winged bitch. So let me ask, what do you want little shadow?

This was something Paladin was prepared for. This was something Paladin had practised in the reflection of countless polished swords as they worked. But when they spoke, only one word came out.

"Power."

The figure bent forwards unnaturally, looking as if its spine had broken. You need to clarify little shadow. There are many kinds of power stopping time, flying, becoming a monster. But more importantly, and I repeat, what do you want?

Something sunk into Paladin's chest, pulling at the deepest part of themselves, pulling it to the surface. Against their struggles and refusal they said the words they had hidden deep to protect themself from further manipulation, torn from their mouth.

"I want power. Power to protect my family. I'm always the weak one, the damsel in distress. I want to lead, to see my enemies fall before me, my family safe behind me."

Then they wrenched free of the controlling force, hand over their mouth. That was, that had been, Paladin didn't know what to think of what had just happened. It was taking their choice away, it was probing deep into their chest for all their secrets, it was dangerous.

Abyss didn't seem to notice the emotional struggle it had left Paladin, contemplating the secret it had pried out of their chest.

I understand. You want to protect, and you want to lead. I can give you both with one power.

The shadows entwined like cats around Paladin's legs suddenly tightened, vice-like. Startled, Paladin tried to go two-dimensional, to escape the grip of the shadows. But something stopped them, wouldn't let them become any less three dimensional than they are now. They were trapped. Again.

Whatever panic they had managed to bottle exploded, scattering Paladin's mind to the corners of their awareness. They tugged at their bonds frantically, panic only increasing as the shadows curled higher and tighter the more they struggled.

The strong grip from earlier returned, as did the counting numbers.

One, two, three, four, on-

But Paladin was too far gone for that, fingers scratching slivers into their legs as they continued to struggle against bonds that had already loosened. Light yellow triangles spun away into the darkness. They heard static, speaking to them, at them, in them, around them, which only made them scratch harder.

Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing. Or was there something? It was all encompassing, soothing, terrifying, nothingness. The nothingness hummed, a soft old song that resonated with something deep in Paladin's chest, something that recognised the song and tried to sing along. Slowly, they relaxed into the embrace of the person holding them, tired and pained. Dimly, they could hear someone speak above them.

Shit, this is worse than I thought. What the fuck did they do to you, to hurt you so badly?

There was a hand tangled in their hair. Where had their helmet gone? It was important, it tied them together, to Avarice and Keloid and Wels-

The helmet was pushed into their chest and they grabbed it with one arm, holding it tight like a lifeline. The humming continued.

My little shadow, I will give you the power to protect, to lead and to harm. As long as you have your feet planted beneath you and your family to keep you standing, you will be able to summon an army. Any block connected through your feet shall become armour and weapons, puppetered by your own hand, and you will have power. You will no longer be a blacksmith or a knight, but a general, a True Paladin.

Paladin could feel something enter them, become a part of them yet still something that was not yet theirs. They flinched weakly, relaxing again as the hand in their hair continued its soothing strokes. Exhausted, Paladin leaned deeper into the embrace of nothingness, something akin to sleep tugging at them.

Relax little shadow, and sleep. I will wake you when you are ready to face the morning sun.

That sounded like a great suggestion to Paladin's tired mind. And so they let the embrace of the Abyss lull them to sleep, humming deep in their bones.

#shadow people au #paladin #abyss #technically many shadows are referenced #this is the first part of the plan #what happens to our little knight next?#also Abyss is not being insensitive #they just don't know Paladin's triggers #which happen to be everything about Abyss #yes werevex be gone right now but trust me there is more to the plan #alright trigger tags time #panic attack #I FORGOT #ME WRITING TAG #my writing #cosmic horror #not cosmis horror

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shiberz-moved · 5 years

Text

I originally planned to make a short video for this but when editing it felt like I couldn’t summarize my year properly, so here’s a (hopefully) short post to show my appreciation for the friends I’ve made this year. I’m horrible with words and genuinely expressing my feelings but I’m gonna try djdjskdjjd

2018 was a rlly difficult year mental health wise n I’m not gonna sugar coat it, it was awful. I’ve met so many amazing people this year though. I’ve learned a lot about myself and got to be a little more comfortable in my skin, made a lot of progress with my art, it was a good year progress wise dkfjjd

A few dates that are really special to me:

8/25/18: the day I made it Official™️ w my wonderful amazing adorable gf

11/14/18: I got to see the lomls in concert (Day6 Youth in Atlanta)

________

🌙 = ilu and there’s a little message for you after all the other mentions djdj

☀️=we’re mutuals ilu n thank u for putting up with me djjfjd

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🌙

@jushaknyeon @straychijeu @wayvxuxi @babypyoji @finntasticart @squirrelboiii @taellet @gothbfseo @lxx-fxlix @pineapple-jisung @abangchan

________

☀️

In no particular order bc I’m doing this from mobile bc I’m That organized ! These are just ppl I interact with/see the most !! I hope 2019 treats you all a lot more gently and with kindness

@sangyeonlesbian @strayboys @hyajinth @fef65b-felix @1hyungseo @deobitual @1997chans @jisquish @deathandgeology @seungmic @cb97akamadscientist @girlspark @straylov @dollsofbishop @curlychans @ericsqhns @airplaane @younghyyun @xtellasilver + a lot more but I don’t wanna make this any longer rkffjjd I hope the best for y’all this year 💙

________

@straychijeu

K, Thank you for being so amazing and putting up with my flightiness kddjks I love you so so so so much and I’m so glad this year brought me you. I really treasure every moment im with you. I’ll send you a sappy text later sjdhsj

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@jushaknyeon

Andy, I l*ve you SO much you absolute walnut :(

Thank for being someone I can talk to n someone I can yell abt astrology with. You make me laugh so much fkjfsk I’m so glad that out of 2018 being the 100% shittiest year I got to meet you by chance n I can’t properly fldndj say what I want bc I can’t make the words but ilu a lot n you’re one of my best friends :(

________

@babypyoji

Tia, dkfjdk i l*ve you and I’m so happy we met. I’m so glad we’ve gotten close n I’m able to talk to you about anything and I know you’ll relate in some way and make me feel less like a dumbass dkfj thank you for being one of best friends 💙

_________

@finntasticart

Finny, okay first of all thank you for being such a hype man and inspiration for my art, I probably would’ve quit art months ago if wasn’t for you and I love you so much bub dkfjjs thank you for always being a positive light in my life in 2018

___________

@squirrelboiii

Hae, bub !! you’re such a talented artist and an amazing person I’m so so happy we became friends <3

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@wayvxuxi

Iri!! I had yours drafted but it didn’t include it dkfjsk ilu sm!!! Thank you for being a rlly cool friend!! You made this year a lot more bearable n partly the reason I got comfortable in stay tumblr dkfj

___________

@taellet

Juds, I love you so much !! Even when you send really cursed memes in the gc 🤧 I really adore u thank you for being so funny and supportive I really treasure your friendship thank you for being so amazing 💙💙

___________

@gothbfseo

Mer, I pick on you a lot but I really love you and I’m glad we became friends 💙

___________

@lxx-fxlix

Roxy, you’re such an angel i love you so much :( you’re such a warm and positive friend to have and im so glad that we became friends

___________

@pineapple-jisung

Hi bubby!! We haven’t known each other for very long but I look forward to every ask you send me, you’re so funny n sweet I really really adore you 💙 you deserve so many good things n I wish you so much happiness this year

___________

@abangchan

Hope!! Thank you for always being so supportive n being such a positive person dkfjdj I really appreciate every nice comment you leave on my art

#this is poorly done n not well thought out but ilu all !!!#riley.txt

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the tangled web of fate we weave: x

because no episode today and I obviously have many feelings. I am sorry that the quotes above the readmore still look messed up, because tumblr is a stupid website with stupid problems. it should be fine once you click through to the blog, or on mobile, or as a reblog. or just read it on AO3. idek.

part ix/AO3.

In any other circumstances, the fact that Garcia Flynn is presently crushed in the backseat of a vehicle that can only generously be described as “economy size” would be the worst thing about this situation. His knees are practically rammed through his chin, he may develop a permanent crick in his back from hunching, and he suspects, from catching her smirks at him in the rearview mirror, that Emma goddamn Whitmore is thoroughly enjoying watching him suffer. Except, of course, that this isn’t the worst thing about the situation. Emma is in the driver’s seat, left hand on the wheel and right hand cuffed to Lucy’s – she doesn’t have the box cutter blade at her wrist any more, but Flynn can’t try to dive forward and grab the wheel (assuming he could even get up enough leverage to move) without hitting Lucy, and then obviously endangering her in any resulting crash. If it was just him, he might take his chances, but her –

He blinks hard until the memory that has just flashed through his brain goes away, and tries to focus on the task at hand. He doesn’t know where Emma is taking them, or who they might be meeting. He’s still trying to figure out how this just went so terribly, horribly, no-good-very-badly wrong. Should have guessed that Wyatt Logan sending them a too-good-to-be-true willing Rittenhouse defector was some kind of trick – and frankly, Flynn wondered, but ignored it. Getting the files was more important. And now the files turned out to be a fat lot of nothing, and he has no idea what the situation is, much less how to get them out of it. All his training is screaming at him that this is what you avoid, you have no control, and you especially don’t want to get mixed up in it with a non-combatant. Wonderful.

Lucy sits stiffly in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, as Emma pulls out. They seem to be heading for the interstate – 95, if Flynn had to guess. They drive in silence for several minutes. Too much to ask that she at least put the fucking radio on. Then Lucy says, with admirable composure considering that this is the second time in less than six weeks that she’s been snatched by Rittenhouse, “So where are we going?”

“Just to sort some things out.” Emma accelerates up the merge ramp – yes, 95 northbound, they’re headed somewhere in New England. Flynn’s mind reels feverishly through potential Rittenhouse possibilities or important sites in the area. He isn’t entirely sure that Emma is working for them, as her statement in the library left just enough ambiguity that she could be in this for herself, or Mason Industries, or even as a double or triple agent, but it has to be deemed the most likely. “You’re in no danger, princess, as long as you cooperate.”

“Stop calling me that,” Lucy says through her teeth. Flynn could have warned her that this was a mistake; never show your enemy that they’re getting to you. “And yeah, the threatening me with a box cutter part made me feel really safe.”

“That was just to get his attention.” Emma throws an amused look over her shoulder at the fuming Flynn. “He doesn’t really do subtle. I had to prevent him from doing something stupid. Stupider, that is. It was the most direct.”

“So what was that beforehand?” Flynn barks, not that he has any expectation of a proper answer. “Show up playing the wounded fawn, run away from your evil overlords, want to go to London – that was all a lie?”

“Oh no. I want to go to London. It’s important to get our overseas operation established, just like I said. That was entirely true.”

“Overseas operation meaning Mason Industries or Rittenhouse?”

Emma gives him a demure, nasty little smirk, enjoying even more the fact that she isn’t going to tell him. Flynn curses viciously under his breath. He’s gotten himself into a lot of dicey situations, admittedly, but this ranks up there. He makes a mental note to throttle Wyatt when he sees him again – it won’t fix anything, but it will make him feel better. Assuming he does see him again. It has not escaped Flynn’s attention that Emma has promised Lucy’s safety in exchange for her cooperation, but said nothing about him. Well, he’s been a major pain in Rittenhouse’s ass for several months now, and if he had gotten a proper chance, would in fact have rushed back to the Bay Area with the intention of destroying this purported time machine, no matter what. Great way to make friends with a multi-billionaire tech mogul and all his likewise important buddies, but Flynn has never cared about making friends.

There is silence for another few minutes as they drive. Emma cuts someone off, they honk, and she raises her middle finger without looking back, in a gesture of such utterly unconcerned fuck-you that Flynn almost (almost) can’t help but admire it, considering that is how he operates most of the time. Then Lucy says, “So the turning up and promising to help us research Rittenhouse – that was strategic, wasn’t it? Get a few boxes of unimportant papers, make it look like you were really helping, find out how much we knew, and not actually give anything away. But why bring in the Nicholas Keynes stuff?”

“You might have really learned something, if you looked at those,” Emma remarks lightly. “They were mostly for your benefit, Lucy. But your boyfriend blew it.”

“He’s – not my boyfriend.”

“Oh? So when I walked in and you were about to run into each other with your faces, you just tripped and ended up that way, did you?”

Flynn can make out the flush in Lucy’s cheeks, even without her turning around. He looks down, just because whatever is on his own face, he thinks it’s better if neither of them see it. He clenches his fists, trying to forget the sensation of touching her, after diligently avoiding it for several days, since – well. And then since all his self-control went out the damn window when he did, perhaps it’s for the best, in a sick way, that Emma interrupted them. Definitely not the opportune moment, but when it comes to this, when could it possibly be?

Some interminable time passes in silence. There is obviously not a lot to gab about on a road trip with your mortal enemy, after all. They seem to be heading for New York – there have to be half a dozen Rittenhouse installations there, don’t tell Flynn that Donald Trump isn’t up to his ears in it – but Emma bypasses the city, continuing up 287. Apparently they are headed upstate, though how far isn’t clear. They can’t really do anything (or rather, Flynn can’t do anything) until they arrive, though he refuses to give Emma the satisfaction of asking if they are there yet. (It might annoy her, at least, but still.) Finally they take the freeway exit for West Point, and Flynn’s hackles go up. Are they visiting the academy? What the hell is going on there – target practice, using him? Emma’s got his damn gun. Shit.

Flynn is almost inclined to be relieved when they do not drive through the gates of a heavily secured military facility, but rather down a bumpy dirt road to a stately old house at the end. It looks like a colonial museum, handsomely restored, but the two black cars parked out front makes it clear that they’re not expecting hordes of Nikon-wearing tourists and their sticky-fingered offspring to descend. This is… not necessarily an improvement. If they disappear out here, nobody is likely to be any the wiser.

Emma parks the car and opens the driver door, swinging out. Since her right wrist is still cuffed to Lucy’s left, Lucy obviously cannot get out the passenger door, but is dragged awkwardly after her, banging her shoulder into the gearshift and getting her shoulder wrenched over her head in a way that looks painful. Flynn reminds himself that he needs to be careful, but his blood is boiling and he is sick of being careful. He’s already broken the cardinal rule, has let his enemy transport them from the scene of the crime – even basic police advice tells you that if your assailant takes you somewhere else after they nab you, they’re planning to rape and/or kill you. This is deep on their ground, and Emma has his gun. He is going to have to get that back posthaste.

Flynn yanks the door open and bursts out of the car, wrathful as only a six-foot-four man who has been packed in an orange crate to be kidnapped possibly can be. Emma jerks Lucy pointedly in front of her. “Watch it with the sudden moves.”

The whites of Lucy’s eyes are showing, but she’s calm. Coldly she says, “What was that about how I was in no danger as long as I cooperated?”

“Are you cooperating?” Emma asks – fairly enough, Flynn supposes, but he still hates this woman with every inch of him. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes, well, you people don’t really make it easy to like you, do you?” Lucy explodes. “At least Cahill tried the sweet-talking approach, get me a dream job, see the world, all the stuff that an ordinary human might like! This, now – ” she rattles the handcuff – “just went straight for the ropes and chains, didn’t you?”

“Look.” Emma seems impatient. “Just tell him not to make any trouble, and this can be a lot easier for everyone. Like I said, it’s really him we want. You just happened to get in the way. I can’t release you just yet, because you would run off and call someone and make it messy, but stop fighting me. You might not believe it, but this is the gloves on. I have orders to treat you gently. But out here – ” she waves at the house – “who knows if I do?”

A chill goes down Flynn’s spine. He’s met a lot of people in a lot of wars, some of whom like killing and some who do it because it’s their job, and he is belatedly realizing that yes, that wounded-fawn act, even if it didn’t entirely take him in, has blinded him to Emma Whitmore’s full danger. Not because she’s a woman; it has nothing to do with that. Just that she straight-up wants power (he thinks that’s Rittenhouse’s lure on her, at any rate), wants control, wants pain, and she has been given plenty of enjoyable opportunities to explore her talents. He doesn’t know what she has in there. He has to get Lucy out of this.

“Fine,” Flynn says in a growl. “I’ll play nice, for the time being.” The tone of his voice leaves it clear that if Emma takes her eyes off him for an instant, she’s dead, but she probably expected that. “Now let’s get this over with, huh?”

Emma smirks primly, then turns and starts toward the door, Lucy perforce accompanying her. She enters a code in a secret keypad, too many digits for Flynn to follow, and the door swings open, leading them into a dim, dusty front hall. An elegant chandelier tumbles crystal droplets from the ceiling, a grand staircase leads off into the gloom, and by the reverent look on Emma’s face, they might be walking into some old cathedral, some hallowed hall of power. Flynn doesn’t know what this is, but when Emma opens a glassed French door and they step into a study crammed to the brim with clocks, his stomach begins to turn. Clocks of every description, large and small, ancient mahogany grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, handsome brass navigation instruments, ornate gilded ones that look as if they’ve been ripped from a fin-de-siècle train station, fancy golden pocket watches in various stages of assembly and repair… a mad clockmaker’s lair. And the thing David Rittenhouse was known for, aside from astronomy, was –

“Yes.” Emma seems to have been following the process of realization on his face. “This is Rittenhouse’s house. You don’t realize how lucky you are, you both are, getting to see a special place like this. Ah, Millerson, Vincent. About time, boys.”

Flynn glances up to see two men, clearly the owners of the cars outside, entering the study from the other side. They both are wearing suits and have sidearms strapped to their torsos, as well as any other possible number of hidden weaponry, and they are not here to appreciate the historical value of the place. (Well, maybe, but still.) These are clearly Emma’s Rittenhouse cohorts, the muscle of the goon squad, and they come to a halt, looking at her for orders. It’s clear that she isn’t just some random piece in the system, but one of its essential and high-ranking cogs. Of course, they’d want their agent in Mason Industries, right next to the time machine, to be one of their best and brightest. Flynn feels sick.

“Got him,” Emma says briefly, jerking her head at Flynn. “It wasn’t even that hard. Like I said, don’t send a man to do a woman’s job. Boys, you take him upstairs to debrief him. We need a full and complete account of everything he knows, everyone he might have passed intel to, all his sources of information, how long he’s been on the case – everywhere. We need to make sure we have it airtight, any more leaks cut off. I know about Logan, we’ll be dealing with him, but anything else – remember you need him to talk.”

“Good luck with that,” Flynn snarls. “I’m not going to.”

Emma eyes him again, then rattles her handcuffed wrist, making Lucy’s arm shake. “Are you?”

That takes him like a punch in the gut. They can beat up on him all they want, but if they go after Lucy – and these people are exactly the kind who would do that – he doesn’t know if Emma is bluffing, if Lucy’s pureblood status (and where has he heard that before?) is enough to protect her. Lucy has rejected Rittenhouse, after all, and made things plenty difficult on her own. But if – but if –

For the moment while Flynn’s defenses are down, Millerson and Vincent swoop in on either side, grabbing hold of his arms and twisting them behind his back. They march him away – they’re good-sized gents, but it’s still taking considerable effort from them both – and up toward the stairs. He doesn’t know whether to fight. He thinks he hears Lucy yell, but then the door slams behind him, and he is in darkness.

Once the women are alone in the creepy clockmaker parlor from nightmare land, Emma undoes the cuff from her own wrist, fastens it to the old sofa instead, and obliges Lucy to sit down with a short push. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Be real,” Lucy snaps. “Like I’m drinking anything you’d give me.”

“What, princess? Think I’d give you a poisoned apple?”

“I don’t know, wicked stepsister. You might.”

“Wicked stepsister?” Emma laughs. “That’s the best you can come up with? It’s almost kind of adorable. As I said, you’re still safe, for now. But it might be a long wait.”

Lucy doesn’t answer, because she is straining with every inch of her to hear any sound from beyond the door, or from upstairs. Flynn was shot barely a month ago, she saw the wounds herself, they’re not totally healed. If they start hitting him in his bad shoulder, or pulling out the waterboard or the pliers or whatever other terrible idea they have – Rittenhouse’s idea of debriefing him is clearly not going to be a pleasant and gentle experience. This must be a major Rittenhouse black site. If she ever did get back to a godforsaken normal life, could she call someone and tell them to check David Rittenhouse’s mansion in West Point – Lucy never knew he lived in New York, what was he doing here? Or would they get here and find nothing but a handsome old historical house, all illicit tracks expertly covered, or a Rittenhouse agent waiting to shoot them and hide the corpse in the root cellar? It might be a regular Cask of Amontillado situation down there. Her heart is hammering in her ears. Oh God, oh God, this is bad. She has not the first idea of how to fight her way out of this.

“So,” Emma says at last. “You and Flynn, huh? Garcia Flynn. I suppose he’s cute in a tall-dark-and-psycho Eastern European way, but really, what else does he have going for him?”

Lucy cannot believe that Emma really thinks they will sit here and girlfriend-gossip about boys (she probably doesn’t, she’s just trying to get under Lucy’s skin) and thus maintains a dignified silence. It’s broken by a distinct thump from overhead, and Emma’s eyes swing up toward the ceiling. In that, despite the fact that she very much is still handcuffed to an antique piece of furniture, has only that Krav Maga class going for her, and is terrified out of her wits, Lucy Preston lurches (it is not nearly anything as graceful as leaps) into action.

She jumps up, wrenching her wrist in the cuff, but manages to headbutt Emma solidly under the chin, hard enough to make her teeth click. Lucy shoves a hand into Emma’s jacket and her groping fingers find the butt of Flynn’s gun, which she hauls out, trying to find the safety and switch it off. She somehow manages it, clicks the trigger to cock it, points it at the chain, and shoots.

The sound of the gunshot at close range is deafening, making her madly flash back to seeing Flynn shot in front of her in the car, and it’s like using a flamethrower to kill an ant, but it does the job. Lucy pulls her freed wrist out of the blown-apart couch, feathers floating everywhere, just in time to hear another heavy clunk, and freeze. Emma has recovered herself enough to grab a spare gun from a nearby drawer, which she is pointing dead at Lucy’s head with hands far steadier and more accurate than Lucy’s own. “I wouldn’t do that. Princess.”

The tension crackles almost unbearably as they stare at each other, as Lucy struggles with the idea of pointing it at Emma, at some vital part of her, and actually doing it. Not that there is any guarantee she’d make it, since it would be the grand total of a second time she has fired a gun and beginner’s luck is nothing to count on in this situation, but still. She feels nauseous even trying to train it on Emma’s arm or shoulder, much less her head or heart. She is not Annie Oakley, cannot shoot the gun deftly out of Emma’s grip without hurting her. And frankly – Emma has hurt them, has her thugs upstairs probably beating holy hell out of Flynn, works for an incredibly evil organization and enjoys it remorselessly – does she deserve to be treated nicely? Does she deserve to die?

Lucy can’t breathe, can’t focus, feels like she’s having a panic attack, which is obviously not conducive to firing a gun in any circumstance, much less this one. Her hands rattle hard enough to make the muzzle wobble crazily in all directions. Emma clearly doesn’t think she can or will do it, but she’s not an amateur; she’s not going to laugh off someone with motive to want her dead pointing a heavy Glock at her. Her eyes don’t leave Lucy, waiting to see what she’s going to do, what she’ll possibly –

And just then, there’s a sound at the door, it opens. One of the goons has clearly heard the gunshot and rushed down here. “Emma?” It’s Millerson. “Emma, are you – ”

“Ryan, you idiot, don’t – ”

Lucy swings around, brings the gun up, and fires in the direction of the door. There is a yell and a heavy stumbling sound, and she ducks low and sprints across the parlor. There’s another door on the far side, she doesn’t know if it leads upstairs as well – Emma is shouting, swearing – Lucy hit Millerson somewhere, he doesn’t sound like he’s dead, but she shot him, put the gun against his head pulled the trigger now he’s – no, she didn’t, he’s not, not Bohemian Rhapsody, not now, this is stupid, this is demented, this is –

There’s a staircase on the far side, which Lucy hurtles up, not sure what she’s going to find at the top and not sure she wants to, but driven on with blind panic. Halfway up, she runs very hard into someone coming down, screams (or tries – it gets choked in her throat as a gurgling squeal) and raises the gun again, just as they grab it. “Lucy! Jesus!”

She almost faints again, for a different reason. It’s Flynn, blood running down his face and shirt torn, as he wrenches what is, after all, his own gun out of her hand. This is probably a wise idea, as he can be much more effective with it, and by the looks of things, he caught Vincent in a moment of distraction after Millerson had hurried downstairs to check the gunshot. Vincent is probably soundly unconscious on the floor, if Flynn didn’t have time to do anything else, Lucy hopes he’s dead, with a savage, burning need that scares her. She hopes he's fucking dead.

There is a lot of banging and crashing behind them, and Flynn grabs Lucy’s hand, half-throws her over his shoulder (they seem to spend a lot of time escaping from Rittenhouse-owned properties in this fashion) and runs down the back corridor. They reach a door, which he wrenches open, and they spill out abruptly into the muggy spring afternoon beyond, into the thick tangles of untrimmed greenery that abut the back of the house. They bash and barge through it, branches lashing at Lucy’s face as Flynn does his best to break a path, feet slipping out from beneath them in six inches of mud. Nonetheless, they keep running, sliding down gravel and splashing through a murky green rivulet, through more trees on the far side, and finally out into an abandoned play park, which is exactly as creepy as it sounds, but looks like a warm and sunny daycare after the Rittenhouse of Rittenhorrors. Graffiti defaces the slide, the swings hang off their chains, and by the looks of things, local teenagers or junkies come here at night to get high. Lucy sways, grips hold of the monkey bar post, and goes to her knees, hoping not to stab herself on a stray heroin needle. Then she is very sick.

Flynn is likewise breathing as if they have been chased by a train, but he crouches next to her, almost but not quite putting a hand on her back, as if she is still a piece of dangerous ordnance that will explode if approached unwisely. “Lucy,” he says hoarsely. “Lucy?”

Lucy can’t answer, because she’s still throwing up, but finally spits and shudders, remaining on her knees, hair hanging loose in her face. She can feel herself shaking, a fine and constant tremor, and doesn’t know how to make herself stop. Her wrist is still in the cuff, the broken chain dangling. She feels half as if she is watching this remotely from above. Shock, she thinks. This is called shock. It’s entirely understandable, but you should have a blanket and somewhere to put your feet up. Probably also liquids and deep breathing.

All of those things seem as far away as Mars at the moment, and she retches once more, but doesn’t bring up anything except a dribble of sour bile. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. Her voice is hoarse and deep when she speaks. “What’re… we going to do?”

“We need to get out of here.” Flynn glances edgily back in search of pursuit. If Vincent is unconscious or dead, and Millerson is shot, hopefully Emma has been delayed, but they would clearly be foolish to think it was forever, and they’re still far too close. “Can you walk?”

Lucy obediently tries to struggle to her feet, but her knees immediately give out, and Flynn catches her, swinging her across his chest as he did on their escape from the first Rittenhouse shindig back in Marin County. (That one looks much more civilized and preferable, really – maybe Cahill is not so bad after all.) She can feel him shaking too, ever so slightly, as she tucks her head under his chin and buries her face in his shoulder. There is a wet spot of fresh blood on his shirt where the thugs must have broken his scab, and she shifts restlessly, pressing her hand to it. “Garcia, you’re…”

“Shh.” Flynn doesn’t break stride. “It’s fine, it’s nothing.”

“What did they – did they – ?” To judge from that and the blood on his head, he must have taken at least a few good licks, but thank God they didn’t get enough time to really dig in and go to town. “Are they – did you – ”

“I didn’t tell them.” Flynn hesitates. “Much.”

In that, Lucy can sense that whatever he did tell them, however deliberately misleading and unhelpful, was to make it sound as if he was cooperating, so they would not have any occasion to try to hurt her. Her abused heart clenches almost unbearably. They have crossed some kind of Rubicon here, some point of no return. Rittenhouse is not going to stop. They are going to keep looking for Flynn – and for Lucy, and probably for Wyatt, by the sounds of things. They’re not going to stop. They’re not going to stop.

Lucy falls into a fevered half-doze despite herself, worn out with exhaustion and terror, as Flynn keeps going. Finally, she stirs as he is stepping into the parking lot of some backwoods motel, two-story whitewashed cinderblock with garish pink doors. Flynn goes in and tells the receptionist there’s been a hiking accident, his wife is hurt, they really could use a room, at least for a few hours. He will take care of phoning the emergency services, and he has a little money, but still – if she could find it in her heart –

The receptionist, clearly alarmed by their appearance and hoping this is not the start of a TV horror series, quickly agrees. Five minutes later, Flynn is awkwardly unlocking the door of the end second-story room, carrying Lucy through, and setting her down on the bed with its polyester floral bedspread. The portable air conditioner wheezes in the grey, stuffy air. He shuts the door and swears, for which Lucy can’t really blame him in the least.

“Is this going to be our life now?” she asks weakly, eyes closed. “Hiding out in shitty hotel rooms from Rittenhouse? Running from one to the next? Having to hope we don’t get caught and do it all over again?”

Flynn doesn’t answer. It’s plain that he can’t, that he has no idea, that he has not had anything to recommend him at keeping her safe – that every time he reappears in her life, trouble and danger inevitably follows. Lucy cracks an eye to see him still standing there, staring down at her. Then he sits down on the bed and carefully picks the handcuff off her wrist, smoothing his callused fingers lightly along the abrasion. “Did Emma hurt you?”

“No, she…” Lucy feels her stomach revolting again, even though there’s nothing left to bring up, and pushes herself clumsily upright. Flynn is looking down at her hand, very small between both of his, still not quite meeting her eyes. “She just. . . she said I was safe for the time being, and gloated. I… startled her, I stole your gun and got the chain off, and…” Her words stutter to a stop. “I shot Millerson.”

At that, Flynn does lift his gaze, startled and pained. He looks at her for a very long moment, the way she can’t stop her lip from trembling, the way her eyes are wet, how she feels as fragile as porcelain. It’s clear he can’t quite decide how he wants to respond to that. He lifts one of his hands as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, still not entirely touching her. At last he says, “Did you kill him?”

“I don’t think so.” Lucy’s stomach turns over once more – and then, weirdly, it stops. She should be feeling worse about this. She, like any godless liberal academic, has plenty of opinions about American gun culture, about gun control (or lack thereof), about all the ways it’s ridiculously easy to kill someone in this country even if you aren’t part of an evil secret society. And while she does feel bad, obviously, it’s a worryingly less degree than she should. She might be able to do it again. She might be able to shoot somewhere less easily mended. This is not, is not, how Lucy wants to feel about it. And yet.

Flynn glances at her under his eyelashes again, her hand still in his, which Lucy feels as if she shouldn’t remind him of in case he pulls back. Finally he says, gruff and awkward, “Well. Good – good job. Getting away from them. Someone should teach you how to properly shoot, though. In case it happens again.”

Lucy does not want to know how to properly shoot. She wants to go home to her books and her papers and the safe, ordered, settled nature of her old life, which might have had its problems but at least was not an active turd volcano. She doesn’t know why Flynn still won’t entirely touch her or why she even wants him to, doesn’t know, doesn’t know. She is the one to pull her hand loose this time, and stands up. Has an overwhelming urge to wash until her skin comes off. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

Flynn glances at her with a pained and haunted expression. All he can fucking bring himself to say, however, until she almost wants to slap him, is, “Should I go look for some food?”

“If you want. I’m not really hungry.” Lucy sits up, and her head reels. He automatically reaches out to steady her, and their fingers lock. His tension is clearly evident, and after a dumbstruck instant – as if they haven’t been holding hands this entire time, because he has to make everything as difficult as possible, always – he tries to pull back.

Lucy, just then, has had enough. He clearly cares about her, gave up his gun when Emma had a box cutter at her throat, and even before that, in the reading room, he wasn’t exactly cringing in horror from her ugliness. But with this and everything, she isn’t in the mood to just patiently and graciously overlook his inexplicable, yo-yoing behavior one more time. This is not really a smart or healthy thing to do, but neither has been the rest of it. Lucy leans forward, catches his chin clumsily in her hand, and kisses him.

After all this time, and their multiple near misses, it’s – well, it’s as exactly as awkward as kissing someone you can’t decide if you love or hate for the first time, angry and messed up and just off a near-death experience, can possibly be. Lucy almost misses his mouth, and their teeth scrape, their noses knock, his head is not at quite the right angle and he momentarily seems to have had a heart attack anyway. His hand floats up, ghosting over her hair. The angle gets adjusted, and she cups her free hand at the back of his neck. His lips open. It turns into a proper kiss for five or ten glorious seconds, Lucy sliding forward on her knees and leaning down into him, eyes half-closed. It feels so much better than shouting at him. Then, since he must have gone too long without making a clanking emotional gaffe, he pulls back, turning his head just enough to separate their mouths. “Lucy. . .”

“Can’t we just. . .” Lucy slides up on him again, knees on either side of his hips. She has solid evidence, if you will, that he does not mind this at all. “For once, can’t we just. . .”

Flynn glances up at her with that same expression from earlier, that almost-anguished, disbelieving, tender, adoring look, that contains all the emotion he is such utter crap at articulating aloud. “You’re not in the right – ” he starts, then stops. “You’re angry, and you’re feeling like you want to lash out, and – you need a shower, Lucy. A shower, and maybe some food, and to sleep. You do.”

This may be, and indeed probably is, entirely true. Lucy, however, is aggravated beyond belief that the one time he’s able to come up with a mature, rational emotional response is the one time she doesn’t want him to. She also can’t tell if this is the “this isn’t the right moment, but we’ll get to it later” kind of gentle shutdown, or the “you’ve definitely read it wrong and I’m trying to let you down nicely” kind. You wouldn’t think so, given everything else, but she has given up on his guessing games. Fine. This has already been the worst day of her life, what else can really go wrong at this point?

Face burning, Lucy collects herself, slides off him, and retreats to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror until her eyes cross and the image blurs. Then she undresses and turns on the tap, trying to get it past a tepid trickle. The ancient boiler seems incapable of running properly hot, and the water pressure isn’t great either. It feels like standing under a dribble of warm spit, which is far from the soothing deluge that Lucy envisioned, and isn’t helping her tension or her frustration. She runs her hands over her face, through her wet hair, still possessed of the phantom urge to scrub. There’s a hard bar of blue soap that feels like gravel when she scrapes it over her skin. She sits down and watches the water circle the drain. She would like to think she’s handling this relatively well, but she has no idea.

Lucy remains where she is until the water has run completely cold, then gets out of the shower and dries herself with another sandpapery towel. She looks at her clothes and can’t really stomach the idea of putting them back on, doesn’t feel released or relaxed. Finally, she just struggles them back on, fingers fumbling. She doesn’t look at herself in the mirror this time. She’d rather not see.

Flynn is gone when she emerges back into the room, and she goes tense, staring out the window at the mostly-empty motel parking lot. There aren’t either of the black cars that must have belonged to Millerson and Vincent, but that doesn’t mean anything. They could have stolen the decrepit seventies RV parked at the end and turned it into a mobile surveillance unit. Did Flynn leave his gun here? No, that would be stupid. After what just happened, he will probably only be parted from it on pain of literal death. The world is turning out from under her, it feels like the walls are closing in. This isn’t nearly a small enough room to trigger her claustrophobia in the ordinary course of things, but –

Breathe, Lucy instructs herself firmly, locking her knees. You’re fine. You’re fine.

And in fact, since she is, in some terrible way, fine, things level out the next moment. There’s a rattling at the door, and Flynn enters with a brown grocery bag, probably from the general store down the road – this seems like the kind of place that has a general store down the road. He sets it down, regarding her cautiously. “Dinner.”

“I’m – not very hungry.” Lucy turns away, crossing her arms over herself. “If you were thinking of a shower, it’s terrible.”

Flynn raises one eyebrow, but doesn’t immediately respond. The tension in the room is thick as maple syrup, but much less enjoyably so. They have reached the limit of their polarities, cannot continue to be forced apart without some sort of major explosion, but it’s less certain if it would not then be a bigger one if they came closer. The way Flynn is standing just inside the door, watching her warily, is proof of that. They don’t know if they are arguing or on the verge of making out or slapping each other or sobbing (or perhaps that’s only Lucy). She feels like a rack of dishes tilted over and slammed on the floor. Whatever is in the bag smells good, but she can’t get herself worked up to actually eating.

At last, after another painfully awkward silence, Flynn penguin-shuffles closer, digs the food out – looks like a deli chicken special, some rolls, a couple prepackaged Caesar salads and two bottles of fruit juice – and sets it on the table. “Hey,” he says, in that gruff but gentle voice. “Come here, Lucy.”

She pauses, then walks closer, feeling rather light on her feet and glad to sit down. Flynn opens the chicken box and pulls out a leg, then hands it to her. Despite herself, Lucy almost laughs, as he reminds her of a concerned mother bird anxiously testing out the juiciest worm for an ailing nestling and trying to force it down her beak. She nibbles a little, just to placate him, as he stubbornly keeps up the process with torn bits of the bread roll and salad, handing her the juice every so often as if to get her sugars up. As food tends to do, it helps. Lucy’s head settles a little, she feels less fragile and off the handle, able to breathe more deeply and clear out the knot in her chest. “Thanks,” she manages at last. “Thank you.”

He inclines his head, watching her carefully. “Better?”

“Yes.” Lucy lets out a long sigh, then nods timidly at his cooling portion; he’s barely paid any attention to it, too involved with feeding her. “You should eat yours too.”

Flynn shrugs, then economically dispatches it, clearly as an afterthought. The silence has tipped toward the easier, and there is less chance of a stray spark blowing the whole room sky-high, but the conversation is still not bountiful. At last he says, “I still think this is too close, but without a car, we can’t move anywhere tonight. That piece of shit is not worth it.” He aims a disparaging look at the RV. “Tomorrow, when there’s daylight, I’ll find something else.”

By the sound of things, Lucy thinks, Flynn is going to steal a car. This is possibly something she should talk him out of, but she can’t be arsed. She eats a final bite of salad and then pushes it away. “So. . . I’m guessing interviewing at Kenyon would be out?”

“I think you should.” Flynn swigs the last of his juice and tosses it across the room into the garbage, with a casual skill that Lucy can’t help but admire. “Get out of California. Away from all this. It might be safer.”

“And you?” Lucy tries to speak as offhandedly as she can, but her voice trembles. “What are you going to do?”

Flynn’s eyes are shadows beneath his drawn brows. “I’m going to fight them.”

Lucy was afraid of that. She doesn’t know that she expected anything different, or that Flynn would be content to go back to whatever life he used to have before this, but it still turns something over cold in her stomach to hear it confirmed. “Garcia. . . this thing with the time machine, whatever’s going on at Mason Industries, I don’t pretend to understand it, but if that’s the scale of what you’re up against, how can you. . .” How can you do it alone?

Flynn looks back at her steadily, gently, very sadly. “Do I have a choice?”

Lucy doesn’t know. She doesn’t know, doesn’t know if they are both fooling themselves with the comfortable, comforting delusion that she can take the job at Kenyon and recuse herself from all of this. As if moving to Ohio would be any kind of deterrent to Rittenhouse, if they were determined to catch up to her. She could change her name (ha, like that’s a foolproof method). She could move to Australia. She could run. It’s all possible.

And yet. Lucy has tried to run away from Flynn enough times by now, for whatever reasons, that she’s not altogether sure there’s going to be any different result this time. And she doesn’t want to, she still doesn’t want. Yet going with him down this path is unimaginably dark and dangerous, so far out of her comfort zone that it can’t even be spotted with the Hubble Telescope. She doesn’t owe this to him. She doesn’t have to risk it.

And yet.

Lucy leans forward slowly and takes Flynn’s hand where it lies on the table, clenched and tense. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, doesn’t know what the answer is, other than that she wants their stars to align for a little while. She doesn’t want to try another move on him and get shut down again, doesn’t know what his problem (rather, problems) are. Just links their fingers and lets them rest together on the table. It is getting dark in the room. Headlights waver past on the country highway outside, a brief flash of illumination, and fade.

At last, Flynn stirs from his reverie, gently lets go of Lucy’s hand, and stands up. He strips off his shoes and belt, then shucks his shirt, revealing his undershirt beneath. There is more bruising around his wounded shoulder, deep in the muscle and continuing down the arm where Millerson and Vincent must have hit him, and Lucy sucks in a breath. It’s not like there’s much she can actually do for it, but she makes half a move to get up. “Garcia. . .?”

“It’s all right, Lucy.” He prods at it, and grimaces. “You should get some sleep.”

As there is again only one bed in the room, Lucy does not feel up to facing another bizarre repeat of the Sheraton incident, where he insisted on sleeping on the floor and then wouldn’t look at her. Her pulse is fluttering in her throat as she pulls off her own shoes and socks. Taking off her own shirt would leave her in just her bra, and that definitely seems a little too forward. Is he going to flip out again? He’s managing to act remotely normal right now, but who knows. It’s as if he can be a disaster all he pleases, but the instant she’s in worse distress, he somehow acquires the magical ability to pull himself together and try to support her. It’s almost cute, in a tragic way.

Tentative and careful, they get into bed, still in their clothes. Flynn is not insisting on the floor, so there is that, at least. The sheets smell slightly musty, and the pillows are not the most robust item of bedding ever produced. They lie there side by side, staring up at the ceiling, neither of them clearly getting much sleep given the way they jump at small noises. Then very slowly, Lucy lifts her head and moves it to his good shoulder, settling into the broadness of his chest. It’s more comfortable than the scanty pillow, and it makes her feel safer to be close to him (his gun has been left in easy reach on the bedside table). She listens to the beat of his heart, deep and strong and slow, and rests her hand lightly on his arm.

Slowly, tentatively, Flynn wraps his own arm around her, gathering her closer. Lucy edges close against him, curled into his side, still afraid of him going haywire again and doing something else regrettable. But for now, the fragile, unspoken truce is holding, and she could swear he presses the ghost of a kiss to her hair. If she’s not dreaming already. It’s the same way they spent last night (God, was it just last night?) in the same hotel bed, and yet something, yet again, has changed. Later. She’ll work it out later.

Lucy closes her eyes, and although she hears screaming in her head, she sleeps.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave

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hark-an-x-wing · 6 years

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FOR EVERY ACTION

This is my first time posting fic on tumblr(or really anywhere since I was like 13) and I am TERRIFIED. This is just the intro, but chapter one will follow shortly. Care to wager a guess at who goes with which boy? 😂 Warnings: Not reeeaaally wholllyyy TLJ compliant? Also bullshit medical discourse ahoy! Summary: In the resistance, nothing ever goes as planned, and often you’ve got to learn to fly by the seat of your pants. At least that’s how its gone in Cora and Red’s experience anyways. So when the two are sent to aid the locals on a nearby planet and the First Order shows up, it’s not a life changing moment, it’s just par for the course... right? Pairings: Poe Dameron x OC, Kylo Ren x OC Words: 2.1k+, part 1/15 INTRO The thick heels of Corrin’s knee high brown boots clanked against the metal grates of the Resistance’s main hangar as she paced the entrance way. Admiral Ackbar had paged her to be there when Green squadron returned from Ryloth- her best friend’s squadron- and that could only mean one thing. Someone was hurt. Badly hurt. The door to the hangar slid open and Corrin’s pacing came to an abrupt halt as other medical personnel filed in, along with some cots, and mobile supplies. Seemed it was someones, not someone. A nasty feeling settled in Corrin’s chest. Zara had best be alright or she’d have a storm coming to her. No sooner than Corrin had managed that thought did she hear the giant pod bay doors unlocked with a deafening ‘clunk’. Her head whipped to attention at the sound and she watched as the hydraulic shocks heaved and the hinges squealed as the doors began to open. The crew was home. She reached up and tied her long blonde locks up and out of her face; it was showtime.

The transport didn’t even come close to touching the ground before the doors were flung wide open. A sigh of relief escaped Corrin when Zara’s face was the first sight she could see inside the vehicle, but it was quickly washed away when she saw the other woman rear back and hurl something through the air. The next thing she knew was the cold metal that hit her face. Hard. As more of a subconscious reaction than anything, Corrin’s hand extended out to catch the metal thing as it fell. Looking down in her hand Corrin saw a set of identification bracelets, the ones used by the Green Squadron, with a holodata port embedded in them. That snapped her back into action; she whistled, held her arm in the air, and flicked her wrist towards the ship, wordlessly ordering the beds closer to the craft as it landed. Blood pumped through her, seeming to accelerate her thoughts and movements almost at once, as her adrenaline started really flowing. Without fumbling too much with the rush, she accessed the information on the bracelet. Scanning the information, she found the injured were people she had performed an enlistment physical for. Good news, that meant their files would be quickly accessible in her droid’s memory banks. She remembered the names ‘Sketch’ and ‘Cody’ from stories Zara told her, but faces weren’t coming to mind. Corrin had never been all that great with faces. The transport finally landed and the two injured were lifted off the floor of the transport and onto the cots, leaving dirt and blood shaped pools behind them. That wasn’t a great sign. It was a good thing Zara thought to toss over their bracelets, even if they would give Corrin a black eye later, they’d definitely be needing transfusions-and fast. Corrin quickly started barking orders to the nearest medics, keep them breathing, check for all cites of hemorrhaging, calling for orders for each of their blood types. Crimson had completely soaked through the already dirtied cloth that covered their wounds, both seemed to have passed out from the pain of what appeared to be burns and cuts, all over their bodies. Wheezing and an abnormal bluish skin tone from one, the one called Sketch, Corrin thought, based on the ‘S’ stitched into the back of his uniform, seemed to indicate a collapsed lung. She snatched up the nearest medscanner and confirmed her suspicions. She’d have to focus on him first- she couldn’t do this and walk either- she’d need to do surgery in the hangar. “I need a scalpel, and get a droid so I can look in his chest!” She yelled out to another medic, Corrin briefly thought of the name Jain, who immediately put a scalpel in her hand and then hauled ass to look for a suitable droid. Without looking away from the patient in front of her she called to the rest of the medic team, “hook him up to fluids! If he’s stable enough to be moved take him back into med 5! His name is Cody Friedalessian- his records are with my droid- clean the wounds as best you can, his blood should meet you there!” Corrin then thought to address the rest of the squadron hovering around their teammates trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on with the two criticals, “Green squadron please report to med 5 to get cleared!” The scramble of feet and the sound of the cot rolling away were the only things that let Corrin know her orders were followed. At least now she didn’t have as much of an audience. As she made the incision, Corrin noted the patient wince. Corrin’s jaw involuntary clenched. Shit, he was awake. Of course he was awake. Letting out a ‘tsk’ Corrin knew she had to continue with her task, even with her patient aware, “I’m sorry, Sketch, this is going to sting.” She kind of hoped that the incision would be enough to alleviate the pressure in the man’s chest, but she knew she wouldn’t be so lucky. Not in her line of work. As Corrin worked she could over hear the officers behind her deliberating. “It was an ambush. Stormtroopers had been stationed in the village.” Zara’s voice was terse and echoed around the hangar, “even if we had known we wouldn’t have stood a chance, it was a simple recruiting and supply job we didn’t have their numbers. They flanked us and set fire to the huts with blasters.” Zara spit in anger as she reported to the Admiral, her temper getting the best of her. Her bright blue eyes narrowed their focus to a target that was probably a whole galaxy away by now, “the villagers lost more than we did- if we had only-“ Ackbar seemed to silence her with a look, “it is war, Commander. I share your feelings, but often we will never have all the pieces to a puzzle. For now we must regroup, and learn what can be learned from this tragedy.” Zara balled her hands into fists at her side and curled her toes in her boots. “Hundreds died! Some of my men included! This wasn’t supposed to happen- it wasn’t one of those missions!” She hadn’t meant to explode like that, not to her commanding officer, but the words were rattling around in her brain and needed to get out. “No, it wasn’t. And you did what you could, Commander, and brought home the rest of your men. Which is more than some can say. They live thanks to your decision to fall back. Report to med 5, as the doctor ordered to get your own wounds looked at. After that see the General for official debriefing. Dismissed.” At that the Admiral left the hangar with an upset Commander left behind. Her head hung low as she crouched to hide the tears that were stinging her eyes as they fought to get out. She let out a pained groan as she punched the hull of the transport, “FUCK!” The hit sent shocks of pain shot up her arm immediately and she snapped her arm back into her chest, cursing herself for losing her cool, or even thinking to punch something in the first place. Corrin heard the sound of fist on metal and called over her shoulder, “I’ve got a lot of injuries to look after, please try not to add to them, Zara.” “Not the time Cor.” Zara growled. “It never is.” Corrin muttered under her breath, she really wished she could help her friend but considering she was wrist deep into Sketch’s chest that would have to wait. The droid Jain brought back was thankfully a medical one, with anesthesia.Hooking the pilot up with the right dosage of knock ‘em out drugs had been a blessing, as it eased Corrin’s mind and let her focus fully on her work. The droid was easily able to point out the gashes in the man’s lungs for Corrin to suture. But she was still in the hangar and not her medical ward so the procedure wasn’t a smooth as she knew it could be. For one, and probably the worst bit, the chest tubes she’d normally use for stabilizing the pressure in the chest cavity were replaced by a droid providing suction through some cleaned unused gas tubes found sitting in the hangar. ‘That probably won’t have any repercussions later.’ She thought bitterly to herself and continued to work. Jain made haste as an excellent assistant and took care of hooking up Sketch’s fluids, including blood when it arrived. With the help of the droid and Jain, after a long stint of working to close the gashes in the mans lungs, Corrin finally had him stable enough to close him up and move him to med 5. Which meant time to look over the other patients. After walking her patient down with her two helpers, Corrin plunged her hands directly into the nearest sink. Washing off Sketch’s blood thoroughly, she accepted a report of Cody. The wounds had been cleaned to the best of the medics’ abilities. He was stable for now, but his wounds would need far more grafting and sutures. Possibly even mech replacements. She sighed sadly at the thought. She found out that another of the pilots had collapsed in the hall- but probably due to stress and over exhaustion rather than any internal injuries. She’d check on that one after her extreme patients. Briefly wondering where the other doctors on the base were for a moment, Corrin ordered the medics to clean Sketch as best they could, and had Jain get proper chest tubes to replace the horrible “make-do in a hangar” situation he was still hooked up to. Corrin figured the droid was probably of better use doing its actual job than acting like a vacuum. Making her way over to Cody, Corrin found Zara hovering over him, with a medic fussing over her arm. Zara didn’t seem to notice him, her focus completely on Cody, fists clenched so tightly the were just about as pale as her face had turned. Corrin held in her breath for a moment, what words would comfort her friend? She crouched over the now sleeping Cody to inspect his wounds, and noted his vitals. Grabbing a marker she traced the biggest wounds- plotting the course for the synthetic material she’d have to overlay before applying the growth cells to stimulate the skin’s reproduction. She pushed the tendrils of hair that had fallen from her ponytail out of her eyes with her wrist when she finished. Physical wounds she could handle. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw Red, eyeing her with a watery gaze. Emotional wounds were a different story. With a creak in her knees, Corrin stood up and placed her hand on her friends shoulder, meeting her eyes with a look of a compassion, “I’m glad you’ve made it. I heard what you said to the Admiral. I’m so sorry for your losses.” The statements went unacknowledged for awhile, and when it was clear there would be no response, weakly she tagged on, “you did what you could, Zara.” “It wasn’t enough. I should have known, I could have done better.” Her voice cracked as she looked away, towards the back of the room. Zara couldn’t face her injured private or her friend as guilt washed over her. They were her men, her responsibility. And she had let them down. Let their families down. Tears threatened to spill, and that couldn’t happen in here. Not now. “You should have known what the General or admirals didn’t know?” Keeping her voice to a low whisper, Corrin swatted away the medic that had still been trying to inspect Zara’s arm, and wrapped her arm around her friend, shuffling her to the office Corrin sometimes used as a makeshift bedroom on rough duties. “We won’t always have all the answers. A lot of our battles will be in the dark.” She walked Zara to the couch and sat her down, the woman before her buckled into the cushions. Zara placed her hand over her mouth taking in a deep breath. Instinctively Corrin lunged for the waste bin, hastily throwing it in front of Zara, anticipating a violent reaction. But the russet headed woman kept her hand in place, waving the other in dismissal before placing it on the edge of the can, letting the cold metal ground her to something besides her whirlwind of thoughts, “I’m fine.” Corrin wouldnt have believed her friend even if her statement hadn’t come out as a whine. She leaned over her desk and hit open one of the drawers which contained a canteen of water. She popped open the cap and kneeled down to face Zara, “here, drink something. I’ll be back after I check on your squad. Are you good for a few ticks?” She asked softly. “I don’t know.” Zara answered honestly.

#star wars #star wars the force awakens #star wars fan fiction #star wars fan fic #my writing #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x oc #kylo x reader #kylo x oc #ben solo x reader #ben solo x oc #star wars tfa #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x oc

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blackbriarsraven · 7 years

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replies

Apologies guys, I have no fucking idea how this got to be so long. Ok I do. I was going to do this weeks ago but my wifi card in the laptop died so I had to wait for a new one to arrive D:

That and you are all BEAR FANATICS xD

I am simultaneously cursing and really happy at how much you guys liked the bear silliness. Sadly, their queue is almost over and you’ll be dragged along into a new (to tumblr) save. It’s going to have some of the same ridiculous shenanians though because gameplay will always be my priority <3

Let’s get this over with!

willky12

replied to your post

“Me: time to stop procrastinating and make that doctor appointment....”

Your not alone (Ɔ˘⌣˘)(˘⌣˘)˘⌣˘ C)

lifeasasim

replied to your post

“Me: time to stop procrastinating and make that doctor appointment....”

Same ;____;

crowkeeperthesimmer

replied to your post

“Me: time to stop procrastinating and make that doctor appointment....”

Same here:D:D:D

I’m so glad to know this :,) I get so worked up over phone calls, I managed to put off this address gathering phone call stuff for 3 months, until anxiety over getting the invites to my wedding out on time drove me to make the dreaded phone call.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“How did i live before i started putting invisible lights in all the...”

I use them all the time!

willky12

replied to your post

“How did i live before i started putting invisible lights in all the...”

They are good, aren't they? ;)

Absolutely the best :D I can’t live without them.

willky12

replied to your photo

“Tha tis a cruel thing to say! I can pummel a man to death, inna...”

pffft, get rid of him! hahahaa!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Tha tis a cruel thing to say! I can pummel a man to death, inna...”

Me + my husb

lmfao!! Gotta love strong women and a man that can cook <3

ninjaofthepurplethings

replied to your post

“9 hr shift ahead of me and my phone didn’t charge �� it’s gonna be a...”

willky12

replied to your post

“9 hr shift ahead of me and my phone didn’t charge �� it’s gonna be a...”

I always carry a mobile charger for just such an occasion, hugs :'(

The worst situation ): I got through it but man, it was rough.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“I swear to the gods, ye are goin’ to kill me with yer attempts at...”

I heard Irish accent in my head lol

You are very astute :D I imagine most of the natives of this land have horribly thick Irish accents. Fortunately for most people, I’m too lazy to type it out as it sounds.

lifeasasim

replied to your photo

“Morida gets up to put the baby to bed. Wait a minute. That is some...”

Hahahahahhahaha omg

willky12

replied to your photo

“Morida gets up to put the baby to bed. Wait a minute. That is some...”

Chucky >.<

katsujii

replied to your photo

“Morida gets up to put the baby to bed. Wait a minute. That is some...”

LOL!!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Morida gets up to put the baby to bed. Wait a minute. That is some...”

Ultimate toddler weapon - nasty diaper xD

ninjaofthepurplethings

replied to your photo

“Morida gets up to put the baby to bed. Wait a minute. That is some...”

BAHAHAHahahaaaaa! XD

Pffft xD lmao yeah it’s one hella creepy face that kid is making. I don’t think she’d dirtied her diaper yet, but she’s making that ugly face kids do when they’re all mad because they need to. Totally hateful xD

willky12

replied to your photoset

“Son of an ugly Llama…”

I always feel that myself!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photoset

“Son of an ugly Llama…”

LMFAOOOO

Bwahahaha it is super painful looking! And hilarious xD I like to watch sims suffer.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Morida’s home got a pretty extensive makeover. They had no room for...”

I love your dvr save!

lmfao I’m so glad! I enjoy the hell out of it too, which is why you’ve had such a loooong queue of bears xD

willky12

replied to your panorama

“@willky12 this is months out from what you guys are seeing posted on...”

Aaaahhhhh, TY ;))

lifeasasim

replied to your panorama

“@willky12 this is months out from what you guys are seeing posted on...”

Interesting. Can't wait :(, *:)

It’s coming up soon! It should start posting in the next month :)

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Their older daughter is clumsy and friendly, not much to go on yet but...”

They're yellow, what do you want? xD

Lmfao I think for them not to look yellow and sick?!

willky12

replied to your photoset

“It came to her that he needed a cold shower. That thought in mind, she...”

That should cool the flames of passion for a while maybe XD

lmfao for like 5 minutes

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“As a small condolence, I made him over since the medieval conversion...”

What do you have against bald guys? xD I think he's cute enough.

It’s not that he’s bald, really, I just think his face is ugly. He was mostly hidden under that hood before so I didn’t have to look at him. It’s for the best though. He doesn’t need to be breeding xD

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“As a small condolence, I made him over since the medieval conversion...”

Top of his head must be so smooth

lmfao!!! Like a big penis.

legendofsim

replied to your photo

“As a small condolence, I made him over since the medieval conversion...”

I love this save's aesthetics so much !

xDD I’m so glad you enjoy weird talking bears and monks with weird sexual fetishes. But thank you <3

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photoset

“It came to her that he needed a cold shower. That thought in mind, she...”

It also occurs to me in order to have a wand, your bears have an inventory. I'm both intrigued and squicked thinking about what the hell is in their inventories. xD

uhhh toys (KIDS TOYS not the adult ones XDD) fruit, wine, fish, you know, typical bear stuff.

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photoset

“It came to her that he needed a cold shower. That thought in mind, she...”

That dastardly monk. NO MEANS NO

lmfaooo Maybe he’ll learn now.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photoset

“It came to her that he needed a cold shower. That thought in mind, she...”

He has ice snot

indeed he does! :D

willky12 replied to your photoset

That's what happens when you deny yourself some human love :P

lmao he’s been alone in the woods too long.

nornities replied to your photoset

Food?

lmfao

ashuriphoenix replied to your photoset

.... Bad Dragon would have a field day with this.

*puzzled squint* Bad Dragon?

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Ahh a quiet moment in the library”

..... Bears! Wine! Toddlers! .... it's dangerous here. D:

Very xD

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Ahh a quiet moment in the library”

I see little screamer tho

Shhh it’s quiet because he hasn’t started screaming yet xD

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Fluffy wanted to try some magic. Despite the sparkles, she ultimately...”

Goddammit, woman - there's a unicorn on the nightstand. :|

Indeed there is. I like to torture you xD

ashuriphoenix

replied to your post

“blackbonesnravens: The power went out at my store for a full day so...”

Condolences. :/

Thanks

lifeasasim

replied to your photo

“Another quick reminder to the small tot that he’s to poo in the...”

Too cute �� bear parenting

lololol Learn to walk on your hind legs like your quadrupedal mothers.

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy goes to the bath, instead. Since I ran rigfix on this bathtub...”

You had me at no ducky slots. Fuck this tub. xD

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Another quick reminder to the small tot that he’s to poo in the...”

No one here is an animal. FACT.

lmfao xD This is true in a weird way.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy goes to the bath, instead. Since I ran rigfix on this bathtub...”

I agree tho

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy goes to the bath, instead. Since I ran rigfix on this bathtub...”

Lmfao at crater of hell xD

lifeasasim

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy goes to the bath, instead. Since I ran rigfix on this bathtub...”

Hahahahhaha ^^^^

nornities

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy goes to the bath, instead. Since I ran rigfix on this bathtub...”

No slot for a ducky?!?!?! This is not a bathtub, this is a crater of hell!

LMFAO ok Norn you win best comment award. Thank you, you never fail to make me laugh and make my day better with your silliness. All the rest of you are bad XD

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“After several hours in the hot sun weeding and watering their plants,...”

No one likes a stinky bear.

I bet the monk still does

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“My email worked, i got my code for milkshape ^^”

Good!

lifeasasim

replied to your post

“My email worked, i got my code for milkshape ^^”

Goodies ��

willky12

replied to your post

“My email worked, i got my code for milkshape ^^”

Yay!

I know! Of course I’m still trying to get things set up but I’ll get around to it xD

kittythesnowcat

replied to your post

“Default Replacement Hampers”

what is it with your mod folder? is it throwing a revolution?

Apparently! Though I guess I’m not the only one with the issue. I don’t have anything else that modifies hampers so what in the world could be the problem? This game is baffling!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photoset

“Fluffy out fishing.”

Dis not a salmon

lmfao

lifeasasim

replied to your photo

“Henrietta: don’t move, it won’t attack us if it doesn’t know we’re...”

Hahahahahahaha Henrietta strikes again

nornities

replied to your photo

“Henrietta: don’t move, it won’t attack us if it doesn’t know we’re...”

OH nooooo, the children!!!

xDD The poor chickens! Bears and hawks eating their babies.

willky12

replied to your photo

“Fluffy, what am I going to do with you”

can't hold back true love ;D

lmfao

willky12

replied to your photoset

“Always writing. He’s becoming a great dramatist. ”

he has such inspiration :P

xD it usually comes from his (perverse) dreams

willky12

replied to your photo

“I’m not sure if I’m more disturbed by the hawk by the chicks or the...”

that's no statue :P

xDD I know. Horrible thing.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“I’m not sure if I’m more disturbed by the hawk by the chicks or the...”

Chicks are usually the most disturbing ��

xDD true

owly-sims

replied to your photo

“Fluffy, what am I going to do with you”

Let her kiss him. :D

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fluffy, what am I going to do with you”

Make her bite Robin's face... I mean kiss him

BITE HIS FACE omggg I can’t let her kiss him, I’m not letting these bears loose to sexually harass townies XDDD We’d all be doomed.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photoset

“The horse thinks they have a crap game going on.”

They have

Not surprising. The bear probably eats more pieces than she moves.

willky12

replied to your photo

“In which Chauncey, using this juke box karaoke machine, sings his...”

don't give up, you'll work it out

Now that I have milkshape I will see about extracting the mesh and making it a new jukebox. It is on my (very long) list of projects.

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“The bear is playing with a sandcastle while the horse judges her for...”

... I can relate.

xD We all dge your ducky sandcastles, ma’am

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photoset

“Everyone loves board games with the oversized local wildlife.”

Yes but who won? xD

xD Us, because we see this strange predicament.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“In which Chauncey, using this juke box karaoke machine, sings his...”

THIS GAME I SWEAR. LIKE CAN IT BE JUST EASY

lmao nooo it’s ok, I’ll see what I can do when I figure my way around milkshape.

lifeasasim

replied to your photoset

“hehehehe. His writing career so far. I should add that I’m deeply...”

I would read all of them ��

lifeasasim

replied to your photoset

“Bear alchemy.”

Too cute ��

xDD I would too. I bet they’re all short and silly and probably filled with goofy bear doodles.

nornities

replied to your post

“I am starting my game to see if any of these objects i made will work....”

I would think that's ok, too. Also, you can always ask the original creators if it was ok with them.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“I am starting my game to see if any of these objects i made will work....”

I think it's ok to share overrides, you don't include meshes and you still have to redirect people to original creators. :)

I will keep this in mind if I make anything worth sharing as a DR ^^

willky12

replied to your photoset

“hehehehe. His writing career so far. I should add that I’m deeply...”

there are bear heads mounted for the wall, no? ;P

D: I can’t put bear heads on the wall of a bear’s home! I can’t believe you would suggest such a thing!!!

willky12

replied to your photo

“Fluffy teaches Ailbe how to talk.”

simblu

replied to your photoset

“hehehehe. His writing career so far. I should add that I’m deeply...”

HAH! Good ones.

simblu

replied to your photo

“Fluffy teaches Ailbe how to talk.”

LOL at aboves. So cute..love dem bears.

simblu

replied to your photoset

“Bear alchemy.”

I love your bears..such a unique niche you fill with these characters. Unique.

xD They are pretty weird and unique. I’m glad you enjoy these silly posts (and the silly comments), Simblu!

nornities

replied to your photoset

“Bear alchemy.”

two rabbits, some blueberries, a bit of honey, and a carrot. Ready is the stew.

xDD I’d pay to see them feed the monk that.

nornities

replied to your photo

“Fluffy teaches Ailbe how to talk.”

Bearlish?

He’s going to struggle to learn how to speak normal words and not in growls and snarls when he gets older.

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photoset

“hehehehe. His writing career so far. I should add that I’m deeply...”

There's always pictures of Andrei. xDDD

lmfaoo although he is sexy, he’s not QUITE a bear. Photos would stick out oddly in this save, or else I’d totally do that though.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fluffy teaches Ailbe how to talk.”

Rawr rawr rawr roar oar

Why did that devolve into Seal noises in my head xD

willky12

replied to your post

“Thank God my sims are so rarely wealthy… designing and furnishing...”

I'm with you there!

lmao it took me like a week to finish the Van Gould’s high rise. I run out of ideas for their rooms!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“I’m not talking to you.” “Good, shut up.”

OMG that made me laugh cry ��

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“I’m not talking to you.” “Good, shut up.”

They may be bears but they're still girls xD

lmfao this is so true!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Row over there.” “You told me to row here, so I did.” “Turn the...”

Lmao Kylie xD

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Row over there.” “You told me to row here, so I did.” “Turn the...”

Lmfaooo I love themmmm

XDDD

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“The bears have gone to the lake to go fishing.”

Bears in their natural habitat - hunting for salmons

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“The bears have gone to the lake to go fishing.”

SALMONS

xDD in a boat with fishing lines, but sure

simblu

replied to your photo

“I’m not talking to you.” “Good, shut up.”

Lol at above. @nornities you crack me up!

nornities

replied to your photo

“I’m not talking to you.” “Good, shut up.”

Oh my, trouble in bearadise?

LMFAO NORN you did it again xDDD

willky12

replied to your photo

“Row over there.” “You told me to row here, so I did.” “Turn the...”

Back seat "rowing" XD

xDD

kittythesnowcat

replied to your photo

“The bears have gone to the lake to go fishing.”

That picture would be a great desktop background

It would! Too bad this was before fraps so I do not have a big, HQ version of it to share :/

hyperkaos

replied to your photo

“Where are you off to? You’re only dressed like a bear, don’t shit in...”

Bears don't shit in the woods, they shit in the road and throw it in the woods to fake the hunters out. :P

LMFAO omg you killed me. DEAD.

ninjaofthepurplethings

replied to your photo

“Where are you off to? You’re only dressed like a bear, don’t shit in...”

Or on the rug 0_o

lmfao yes that would also be bad! No steam cleaners in those days!

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Where are you off to? You’re only dressed like a bear, don’t shit in...”

..... even though there are no bears about, only a toddler in a bear suit, this image smacks of illegal mischief.

lmfao ikr? Time to ban fun!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“I’m working on my island again. The waters are deceptively calm in...”

pls, my internet connection has been so slow in last 2 weeks, i'm dyingggg

xDD my data is slow to the point of driving me mad and I haven’t had an internet connection in like 2 weeks, I was going NUTS

willky12

replied to your photoset

“Some kids are raised by wolves, Ailbe is being raised by bears.”

Just like Tarzan really ;D

I liked George of the Jungle better xDD

willky12

replied to your photoset

“The bear suit was necessary. NECESSARY I tell you.”

*Bear Hugs*

xDD are the best hugs!

simblu

replied to your post

“Snow taught me how to change objects’ script class to make it work as...”

Glad to hear you are enthused! Life is better with enthusiasms!

Yes it is!

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photoset

“The bear suit was necessary. NECESSARY I tell you.”

.... there is a shark on the floor. That's what I got from this.

xD I’m glad you got something from it?

owly-sims

replied to your photoset

“The bear suit was necessary. NECESSARY I tell you.”

It's understandably a necessity. A bear necessity, even.

OMG now that song is stuck in my head

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photoset

“Some kids are raised by wolves, Ailbe is being raised by bears.”

LOOK AT HIS BEAR OUTFIT, PLEASE GIVE HIM A BEAR HAT, HE NEEDS IT

OMFG YOU’RE RIGHT WHO MADE THOSE HATS I NEED THEMMMM

nornities

replied to your photoset

“Some kids are raised by wolves, Ailbe is being raised by bears.”

Sounds legit to me.

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photoset

“Some kids are raised by wolves, Ailbe is being raised by bears.”

Everything about this is illegal.

XDDD and everything illegal is the most fun

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“While Fuzzy was away, Fluffy did play. And by play, I mean she carved...”

It's too bad none of your sims seem to be Evil. ... you could have a lot of fun with those pumpkins. xD

I need an evil bear.

nornities

replied to your photo

“While Fuzzy was away, Fluffy did play. And by play, I mean she carved...”

The sense for decorating and good looking things runs in the family.

Must be true

kittythesnowcat

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy and Horse return home. I need to name this fucking animal.”

I think "Horse" is an appropiate name for a bear naming a horse..

willky12

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy and Horse return home. I need to name this fucking animal.”

"suffer" ;D

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy and Horse return home. I need to name this fucking animal.”

Cow

owly-sims

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy and Horse return home. I need to name this fucking animal.”

Scott Horsely. (which is only funny if you listen to NPR)

LMFAAOOO I think Cow wins

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“I like how he turned out.”

I love him too. He has long hair ��

:D I love men with long hair. They’re a weakness.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“Snow taught me how to change objects’ script class to make it work as...”

I got excited

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“Snow taught me how to change objects’ script class to make it work as...”

See me in game in 5k years

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“Snow taught me how to change objects’ script class to make it work as...”

@David you're mvp now I'm gonna convert all the things pls

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“Snow taught me how to change objects’ script class to make it work as...”

OMG yaaas I know that feeling when I was making those god damn glasses of milk functional lmao. I'm trying to learn script modding but I'm still in wtf phase haha

LMFAO I’m glad you’re learning new things too!

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy wasn’t too impressed with the jeweler’s wares”

Also I'm dying for your graphics, so gorgeous

xDD I didn’t even have a hq edit in this game.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy wasn’t too impressed with the jeweler’s wares”

She's right tho, that jewelry is not that pretty and I'm sure it's not bear fur friendly too.

lmao good point. Might be an allergy problem xD

davidmont

replied to your post

“Snow taught me how to change objects’ script class to make it work as...”

btw @AcquireSimoleons you're a master, I love to do those kind of things haha!

Looool I’m a noob, still learning but I like to try new things and test myself.

ninjaofthepurplethings

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy wasn’t too impressed with the jeweler’s wares”

Wat da fuq dis? I am inclined to write a strongly worded letter to this establishment about the lack of bear friendly products. *tsk*

nornities

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy wasn’t too impressed with the jeweler’s wares”

I mean, you have to think about it. Heart-shaped earrings? Golden leaf armband? Though that amber one might actually suit their fur colour quite well. But the sizes!

ashuriphoenix

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy wasn’t too impressed with the jeweler’s wares”

There's nothing in her size, obvs. xD

xD Terrible selection. Nothing in the right sizes.

simblu

replied to your video

“Please take this video of a bear riding a horse and enjoy it as much...”

That was amusing!

simblu

replied to your post

“I just bought milkshape….”

Exciting!

simblu

replied to your photo

“Look at this idiot that ate a poison apple and knocked herself out.”

*snicker*

xDDD

nornities

replied to your photo

“Fuzzy: *talking about the nice weather* Merchant: *slowly realizing he...”

Is "small" talk still the proper term for this?

LMAO probably not

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“I just bought milkshape….”

ALL THE THINGS

kittythesnowcat

replied to your post

“I just bought milkshape….”

STUFF =) I want STUFF

nornities

replied to your post

“I just bought milkshape….”

Yay! So we can look forward to lots of awesome cc <3

xDD You guys will get new stuff soon! I promise. I just have WAYY too much going on to sit down and devote myself to a big project right now.

sims3hasstoppedworking

replied to your post

“Send this to 12 nicest people who you know or seem to have a good...”

We should just combine our black hearts! ��

xDD I know right?

#nonsims #text #replies #sims3hasstoppedworking #nornities #simblu #willky12 #lifeasasim #legendofsim #ninjaofthepurplethings #katsujii #crowkeeperthesimmer #ashuriphoenix

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