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secangkircoklatsusu · 2 years

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Quote from book "Adulthood for Beginner: All the Life Secrets Nobody to Tell You - Andy Boyle"

If you think something in your life sucks, you should change it and see if it gets better. You should always be making experiments and testing the result. Life is all about course corrections. You've got a lot of time to fix things that aren't working out. But you can't start fixing them unless you first identify the problem, create hypothesis, test it, record your data, and look back on it.

I think a lot more before I respond to something someone says. If I'm angry, it gives me time to calm down instead of just reacting like shithead.

If everyone says you're doing makes you look like asshole, they're not wrong.

Even if you aren't want to hurt others, and of course it was easy to modify your behavior. Words can hurt people.

An asshole is basically a bully.

If you do something and it pissed a bunch of people off, odds are you were wrong. You should apologize and learn to not do it again. Or, if you're lucky enough to have time before doing something you think may make you look like an asshole, check with your friends first.

You can sometimes make people mad because you're standing up for and injustice. Or because you're being mistreated. Or, perhaps, you're pointing out how they are being the asshole. Those instances are generally just fine. But for your everyday interactions with humanity, if a lot people think you're mistreating someone, you probably are.

Most people who act like assholes do it because they feel terrible about themselves. Asshole think if they make others feel awful, it brings everyone down to their level. It's shitty. But you can learn to stop doing that.

When you compliment yourself, you internalize those things. Look at yourself in the mirror every morning and give yourself some adulation. Just because it's coming from yourself doesn't mean it won't feel good.

I've learned to accept this is what's happening to me.

One reason I think it's hard to learn to love yourself is we live in this culture that pretends as if no one has ever fucked up. It's not true. We all make mistakes. It's literally how you get better and find success. No one just wakes up and has everything handed on them. You gotta work at it. Even when you're learning a new skill. Of course you suck when you start out. That's the whole point. But if you keep trying at it, you'll get better. Even if you're learning to love yourself better, you'll become more skilled at that, too.

Having empathy toward others and their problems is the best thing you candy do for yourself.

When you start to think of everyone else as worthy of your love, it furthers the though that everyone is worthy to love, including yourself. If you are pushing yourself to love others, you'll love yourself in return. On top of that, loving others is a great default mode to be in.

They're just like me, people with hopes, with dreams.

To love others, you need to see yourself in them.

You need to know they have flaws, just like you. Nobody's perfect. Someone different from you may seem flawed because they aren't like you, but then again, nobody is just like you. So stop automatically cataloging people because of the 'wrong' things about them. That's their life, their choices, and you should accept them for it. Because the fact that they're different from you is what's allowed you to be unique.

They have feelings, just like you. Treat people the way you'd like to be treated.

You don't know what they've been through.

When you're nicer to others, others are nicer to you. When you treat everyone with respect and love, you'll see it in return. It's not a one-for-one kind of treatment. And you also shouldn't do it because people will be nice in return. Being loving should be its own reward.

Start saying positive things in your mind about people. When you see someone and your brain start getting judgmental on them, just think of something positive about them. Anything. Start replacing the negative thoughts in your brain with something positive. When you start doing it enough times, it becomes the default. So instead of your hater brain taking over, the loving mind becomes the default. Whenever you want to judge someone because they're different, just remember: this is how you remind me of what I really am.

There's no such thing as a guilty pleasure. If you like something, it's a pleasure. Anyone trying to make you feel bad for liking something that brings you joy is an asshole, so their opinions shouldn't matter. You should never feel bad for liking anything.

Feeling sad is okay. It's normal. It helps make you human. Getting sad makes you realize how awesome it is to be happy. You can't have the sweet without the sour. So whenever you don't feel great, but it seems as thought everyone on social media is having goddamn greatest days of their fucking lives, just remember they get sad, too. They're just not publicly writing about it. They're keeping it guarder, for whatever reason. That doesn't make them wrong. It also doesn't make you wrong for feeling the way you do. It's just how it is.

Before we start writing our goals, we need to figure out what they are. Before goals, priorities. On a sheet of paper, write down three broad priorities. These aren't goals: they're the higher-level thinking that leads to your goals. They're the unquantifiable things you can't necessarily achieve, but you can work toward. These priorities are what you use to come up with your specific goals.

You're never alone, even if it feels that way. When you're trying to set achieve goals, you have folks around who are usually willing to help you. They're part of your success team. They can be your parents, a coach, a teacher, a friend, a professional mentor, etc. Just someone who you know you can go to on occasion and check in with, folks who can be a generally positive influence in your life.

1) Goals must be personal. 2) Goals must be positive. 3) Goals need a date. 4) Write down your three big priorities. 5) Write down ten goals. 6) Name three action per goal.

Rewrite your goals every day or week. Similar to visualizing, when you rewrite your goals, it's another way of reminding yourself, and your subconscious, that this is what you want to achieve.

Setting goals isn't necessarily about achieving your perfect result. It's more about the journey toward your goals. I want you realize you've made progress, even slow progress, which is better than having achieved no progress.

Make monthly/weekly/daily goals. Review your goals, and update them accordingly. Break your goals into smaller chunks. Even if you never look at your goals again, you're more likely to achieve them.

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dimensionwriter · 4 years

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100 Days

Part 2

Part One

M! Alien x GN! Reader

Warning: Innuendos, mention of torture

Word Count: 2519

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Remember to LIKE, COMMENT, and REBLOG, please. I love to see the comments on my stories.

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The air was so cold and dry in the room. The room was dead silent except for the low pitch buzz emanating from the computer. This room seemed unwelcoming to any person who dared to enter; However, you barely noticed as you stared at your creature in the giant container.

His form was still leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Two black arms wrapped around his thin grey torso. The second and third set was just lightly floating in the liquid as he continued to sleep. A giant smooth tail that laid on top of his first set of arms, allowing his head to lay against it. His grey skin was a lot more muted while slumbering, it seems. A glance over would allow you to think that everything was the same as you left it.

However, there was something new. On his neck were these tiny slits that were moving with his chest. It was unknown to you that the creature contained gills. It was theorized that the creature breathed through the tiny slits sitting below his eyes. Maybe it had to do with something about him being a shift shaper. Was the creature changing his respiratory system while sleeping?

Walking over to the computer, you open the coding program. You couldn’t help how quickly you put in the stop coding for the sleeping medicine. It has been two days since you last saw him due to the weekend and you were just itching to learn more about this fascinating creature.

You fixed your lab coat and walked to the front of the container. Gosh, it felt so nice to do it. You are so used to seeing him floating in the container unconscious that now that you get a chance to interact with him, it was thrilling.

His tail slowly slid off his arms as he shifted in his sleep. He seems to be snuggling into the glass. So he enjoys sleeping. How does his species do their sleeping arrangement? Is it more of a hibernation or daily occurrence?

“...” He let a small grumble as his eyes fluttered open. You were expecting to see a pair of pitch black eyes, but instead they looked quite humanish. In fact, they looked really familiar. Wait a minute.

“Morning, Shark,” you spoke slowly. He looked at you groggily before turning his head around. You could see the confusion on his face. You’ve heard from coworkers that this sometimes happens. “How do you feel, Shark?”

“I had this dream where this beautiful angel was in front of me,” he grumbled as he stretched his arms out in every direction. It was kind of unique the way he had to contort his body in order for his six arms to get that stretch. “And I open my eyes and they’re still there.”

“You dreamed about me so much that you decided to wear my eyes,” you teased. It was odd seeing an alien with such human eyes. So far, most of the aliens usually have odd shaped eyes or none at all. But you guess with Shark, you can’t put him under the category for normal aliens.

“I-what!” His top arm went to his face and rubbed his eyes harshly. Guess he didn’t even notice that he didn’t have his normal eyes. You should document that and see if that’s a constant when he wakes up. “When I said I wanted you on my body, I didn’t mean this.”

Your movement towards the computer stopped as you processed what he said. Did he mean- that’s more of a human phrase- can he even? Your brain is becoming overwhelmed as you unpacked the single sentence. How does he even know that type of language?

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to fluster you like that, even though you look so cute. I’ll tone it down for you,” he explained. He swam up to the top of the tank where he folded his top arms on top of it. A giant smirk was on his face revealing that he most likely didn’t regret his comment.

“You seem to have quite the understatement on the human’s culture.” He manages to talk in perfect English while also using phrases that only people integrated in the culture could understand. Has he been hiding within the humans for a while?

His tail swishing slowly in the liquid made him appear relaxed in his environment. That’s a good sign for most specimens to have. If his behavior continues on this path, he might be able to leave the container and you can gain more data on him that doesn’t involve verbal communication.

“I got it by abducting a human and strapping them to a lab table to eat their brains. I learn the different waves of human’s vocals by their screams of pain. Quite the range, I may say,” he spoke with a glint in his eye.

Cold sweat dripped down your back as you froze in front of the computer. This is the first time you have felt fear in a while. Just the thought that a few feet away from you is a killer and the only thing stopping you is a glass container that he has proven many times to be able to lift himself over, is enough to make your stomach lurch.

You won’t lie and say it’s uncommon to contain an alien that has kidnapped humans or killed them in the search of science. But, they never understood what they did was wrong. However, Experiment 337 has shown signs of understanding human’s speech, therefore he should have an understanding of the human moral. Does he just not care?

“Sweetheart, you look so adorable when you scrunch your face up from overthinking. But to calm your nerves, I was joking,” he sang out. He released his hold on the top of the container and floated down. His grayish blue muscular legs began to lightly move causing him to swim a little. He contains mobility in liquid, noted.

“You got nothing to worry about. The only person I want to strap down and have screaming is you.” His black eyes looked at you through the liquid and gave a swift wink. Heat started crawling up your neck to your face.

“Didn't moments ago you said you would ‘tone it down’?” You asked, turning to the computer to appear busy. There’s pros and cons to having an alien that can speak english and have them understand some phrases. Although, you didn’t think being flirted with or having a dirty mind would be one.

“Oh that was tone downed. What I wanted to say was I would love to have you lying underneath me with your legs spread as I-” You cut him out with a loud screech. He jumped before laughing at you.

“Okay, my apologies for complaining. I don’t mind sticking to the previous level,” you squeaked out, rubbing your cheeks to get them to calm down. Do you even put this down in the notes? How would you word that your alien has a libido?

You pulled up the notes on the computer and stared at it for a while. Then just typed it “Understands the human language, Appears to be in search of mate.” That’s the best you can do at the moment.

“I’ll give you a break. I know so much about the humans because you have all of it in the open. Stacks and stacks of books on languages, anatomy, how you interact, ways of thinking,history, etc. Then there’s also this system humans have called ‘The Internet’ where I can interact with humans in multiple ways without having to show my face. It was great practice,” he explained, rolling his top left wrist. His bottom set of arms were pushing against the base of the container to bounce through the water.

You were quick to write down what he was saying and highlight how he used the internet to communicate with humans. You never heard of an alien using Earth’s own resources to learn more about it. How many are out there that are using these resources at this very moment? How many people online are actually humans?

“So, have you just been studying just human?” You asked, turning toward him. He flipped himself around to sit on the base of the container. His legs folded on top of each other and surprisingly the muscles seem to fit together to allow for a smooth surface.

“Nah, not really. The animals on this planet are pretty cool,” he grumbled. His top right arm went to his chin slightly as if he was thinking for a moment. “Yeah, my favorite animal is the… the um… I forgot what you call it. Just look.”

Suddenly, a giant black smoke cloud exploded from Shark’s skin, covering all the liquid in the water. You couldn’t see a thing inside. The now black liquid only showed your worried and terrified expressions. Who knows what this specimen has in store?

“Tadaaa,” he yelled, somewhere in the black liquid. You moved around the container as you tried to see what he was and where he was. The blackness seems to be dissipating the longer you stared at it. However, even that wasn’t enough to see him.

“I can’t see you, Shark.” You were trying to call out to him, but he didn’t seem to be appearing. The liquid at this point was a murky grey that allowed you to see through with it. But the container was empty. Did he escape?

Oh gosh, what’s the protocol for an escaped experiment? You need to press the alarm button. No, you need to lock down the room so he can’t leave. Which one goes first?

“Human, babbbbeeeee,” a tiny voice called out to you. You looked around the container for anything. Grey, grey, grey, orange, grey, grey… wait.

In the upper corner, there was a tiny fish with shimmering orange and yellow scales all over. Tiny black eyes stared sideways at you. The fish seem happy to have your eyes on it because it started swimming around in circles.

“Shark? You can shrink to 1/50 of your height and 1/400 of your weight. How? That-that breaks all laws of physics,” you rambled in disbelief. He has too much mass for it all to just condense into a goldfish. He would collapse into himself due to the density.

“Once again. Yeah, and you can’t,” his now squeaky voice teased from inside of the water. You were quick to press your face to the glass of the container. Shark swam over until he was right in front of your face. “It’s not that hard.”

“I have the coolest experiment in this place,” you whispered. His body wasn’t showing any signs of distress or struggle with swimming. The gills on the side of his neck showed that he was still breathing just fine, telling you that he could transform his lungs to fit his changed body.

“And I have the hottest scientist in the entire universe who I am going to make mines.” It felt so weird to be flirted with by a tiny goldfish that you couldn’t even take his comment seriously. You wouldn’t mind all his flirty statements if it was delivered by a cute little goldfish.

“Let me document this. And I got to check your vitals,” You mumbled to yourself. The vital cords were still attached to him, but seem to have shrunk to accommodate his new form.

You pulled up the vitals recorded to see everything had changed. The oxygen level had dropped significantly and so had his heart rate. His body temperature was so much lower that anyone reading this would think he temporarily died.

“Shark, you amazed me,” you mumbled, scrolling through the documentation. Now you need to go back to the previous day to see if his reading has changed when he shifted into you. From the looks of things, he understands the organ system of the organism that he shifts into.

“But I haven’t even taken you to dinner yet and you already tell me how good I am.” You turned back to the container to see he had transformed back into his usual self. His giant six palms were pressed against the glass closest to you as he stared at the computer screen.

“Just take the compliment,” you teased. You flipped to your notes and began to type in everything that has happened. Shark swam a little closer and squinted his beady black eyes. Guess he was reading what you were writing.

“Appears to be in search of a mate?” He read out with a tone of confusion. Once again, you were in a state of cold sweat as you realized what he read. It just happened, but you were so in science bliss of him breaking physics that you forgot about his earlier statement.

“Just an assumption...based on the way you speak,” you stuttered, avoiding his look. A deep laugh escaped out of him. His grey body swam up again, so he was peeking out the top of the container.

“Sweetie, did you not hear me earlier? I’m going to make you mine. You are my mate. Okay, darling,” he purred, sending a swift wink. There’s that warmth crawling up your neck. How do you respond to this in a formal way?

A buzz in your ear alerted you for an incoming call. You pressed the ear piece with your shoulder to answer it. “Hey, it’s lunch time. Meet in the section Sub 4B in 20 minutes.”

“Everytime you get on that ear piece, you leave. I might just take it away from you, so you will never leave me.” You let out a laugh as you pressed the ear piece again to end the call. Even though you are a scientist that works with experiments, that doesn’t mean all your time is with them. It happens outside, where data is collected and talked about.

“I’m sorry. But you’ll go to sleep again, so you won’t even notice time has passed.” You slide the reading off the screen of the computer and pull up the medicine supplier. The code for the sleeping medicine was quickly placed in.

A huge frown came onto Shark’s face as he watched the blue liquid coming from the computer and towards him. He instinctively swam to the bottom and sat down. His back was placed against the side glass with his tail wrapped around him. The top and bottom set of arms were crossed over his knees while the middle set just floated down.

“See you later, Shark,” you whispered. His calm even breathing was the only response you got back. Leaning towards the glass, you gave it a little kiss. It was something dumb you did when he was unconscious and had to leave him.

You discarded your lab jacket in the waste bin and grabbed your things. As you exited, you gave one last glance at Shark’s sleeping form with a happy smile. You were so grateful to have him here at work.

“97 days left.”

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Here it is. You guys asked for it and I provided it. I’m actually starting to really love writing Shark’s character. It’s different from the usual soft boy that I write. I like it. Anyway, remember to leave a LIKE and a COMMENT. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day.

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hazza-bear-care · 3 years

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First Time

Summary: Every girl fantasizes how to make her first time amazing, but Y/N never got it. That is until Steve Rogers comes to her rescue.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Virgin!Reader

Warnings: description of panic attack, SMUT, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), some minor swearing. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, PLEASE KEEP SCROLLING. YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THIS!!!

THIS IS A LONG ONE BOYS! BUCKLE UP!

~~~~~~~~

When she was 16, it seemed like everyone in her school was losing their virginities. It had gotten to the point where Y/N thought she was the only girl in her friend group who hadn’t had sex yet. Her two best friends had managed to lose theirs AND keep their boyfriends, so she thought the same would happen to her. But after graduating high school and college (twice), Y/N was still wondering when she was going to get her perfect first time.

Her job didn’t help to keep her distracted, though. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D regularly worked with the Avengers, so Y/N interacted with the most attractive people she had ever seen on an almost every day basis.

“Earth to Y/N! What’s got you so distracted today?” Maria Hill asked as the two walked towards the conference room, data pad tucked beneath her arm as Y/N carried paper files for Steve and Bucky.

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just... thinking.” Y/N replied, hoping that would be enough to make Maria back off just a little bit.

“Thinking about what?” Well, that worked.

“Um, can I ask you a personal question?” Y/N asked, stopping in the hallway.

“Sure, what is it?” The look of concern on Maria’s face almost made Y/N reconsider asking.

“How old were you when you lo... lost your virginity?” Y/N looked at her heels and shook her knees, trying to distract herself even more.

“I was 17. I lost it on prom night and if I could take it back, I would. Why?” Y/N was silent, her eyes still not meeting Maria’s as she gnawed on her bottom lip. “You’re still a virgin? Y/N how is that possible?!”

“How is what possible?” A deep voice asked from behind them causing Maria and Y/N to jump. Steve stood in his place, a quizzical look on his face as the two girls in front of him tried to gather themselves.

“Oh, Captain Rogers! Agent Hill and I were just discussing the mission you’re going on in a few days.” Y/N fumbled, handing Steve the mission highlights in his folder as the three continued to make their way to the conference room.

“Is that one for Bucky?” Steve asked, gesturing to the other folder in Y/N’s grasp.

“Yes, it is. I know the two of you aren’t comfortable with technology, so I printed the briefings for you.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, Doll. Thank you.” The pair shared a smile as Steve excused himself into the conference room. Maria glanced at Y/N, a very big smile on her face.

“What?” Y/N asked as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, anxious for Bucky to arrive so the meeting can start. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she tried to avoid Maria’s staring.

“You like him! You like Steve!”

“Will you be quiet?! You don’t even know if that’s true or not, Maria!” The harsh whispering echoed in the almost silent hallway and Y/N feared that Steve had heard Maria’s accusation through the doors that lead to the conference room.

“You don’t need to try and hide it, Y/N. Steve is a good choice and from what I’ve heard, he’s GREAT in bed.” Maria argued, giddy at the possibility of her best friend shacking up with Captain America. Maria couldn’t hide her grin further as Bucky’s thundering footsteps were heard echoing down the hallway.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Bucky greeted as Y/N handed him his file. He took it with a smile and held the door open for the girls as they all entered the conference room.

~~~~~~

The meeting was so long. Y/N usually loved mission briefings, but she couldn’t stay focused. Every time she looked up from her notepad, Steve’s profile just happened to catch her attention: the sharpness of his jawline accentuating the angles of his nose. Maria cleared her throat which caused Steve to turn his head, catching the most recent glance from Y/N as she blushed and looked down at her notepad. Steve smiled a little at her reaction to being caught staring.

Steve had quite a crush on the newest S.H.I.E.L.D agent: her eyes told a story he’d love to listen to, her hair was always ridiculously shiny and looked like it smelled fantastic, and her curvy figure did nothing to stifle his feelings for her. Y/N was always so innocent, keeping to herself and opting to bury her nose in her work rather than going out and partying. She always took his needs as well as Bucky’s into consideration, especially when it came to teaching them how to adjust to the technology that they couldn’t avoid. She recommended books ranging anywhere from Great Gatsby to the Harry Potter series. The three of them (Steve, Bucky, and Y/N) regularly had movie nights and heated arguments about whether the book was better than the movie.

Y/N showed the two super soldiers everything she could. They were always together, yet it didn’t seem weird. The only thing that she couldn’t stop were her blossoming feelings for Steve. She was bad at hiding her feelings, but she also knew she couldn’t tell Steve how she felt and risk embarrassing herself forever.

“Alright, dismissed.” Y/N felt her blood rush cold as Fury dismissed the group. She knew Maria was going to escort Bucky out of the room the first chance she got, but Y/N wasn’t sure if she could handle being alone with Steve.

Maria and Bucky dismissed themselves to discuss the briefing, leaving Y/N and Steve alone together. Trying to keep her focus on cleaning up papers and coffee mugs that were scattered around the table, Y/N attempted to keep her breathing even.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay? You seem kind of flustered today.” She froze.

“I’m good, Steve. Just.. personal things. Lots of stuff on my mind.”

“Like what?” Y/N didn’t want to have this conversation, especially since Steve and Bucky have a mission to go on in less than three days time, but he asked.

“Um nothing important, I promise.” Steve wasn’t having it. She was usually so open and honest especially about if there was anything going on in her life. Now she wasn’t talking and all Steve wanted to do was help.

“Y/N if you tell me, I can probably help.” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion. “I don’t understand. Why was that funny?”

“Oh, Steve, I’m sorry. I just don’t think this is something you can help with.”

“Oh yeah? Try me, Y/N.” The stern look on Steve’s face was enough to make Y/N’s smile drop to the floor. He was serious, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. He wasn’t going to help her with this.

“I... I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” And with that, Y/N walked out of the conference room and back to her apartment.

~~~~~

Y/N had tried to avoid both Steve and Bucky for the next few days, the awkwardness eating her from the inside out. She avoided their phone calls and invites to movie night at the compound. Tony had even sent Happy over to make sure Y/N was still alive when she didn’t show up to work for the third day in a row.

“Y/N, you can’t keep avoiding them! What happened between you guys?” Natasha asked after showing up to Y/N’s apartment unannounced with three bottles of wine, Wanda and Maria following close behind.

“I just... ugh I’m so stupid! Nothing would have happened if I hadn’t asked Maria a stupid question!” Y/N wanted to scream; bury her face into a pillow and go until her throat was raw. At least then she’d have a reason not to talk to Steve again.

“It was a reasonable question to ask, Y/N. And trust me, no one will think differently of you just because you’re a virgin.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Maria knew she was in trouble. She had just spilled her best friend’s greatest secret and there was no taking it back. If looks could kill, Maria would be dead ten times over with the glare that Y/N was giving her.

“You’re a virgin?” Wanda asked softly, testing to see if it was safe to talk again.

“God! Why not just yell it from the rooftop next time, Maria!” Y/N had barely touched her first glass of wine, but she downed it in about three sips out of frustration. “I never should have said anything. I’d rather die a virgin than keep being made fun of it by my so-called friends.”

“Y/N, shut it. We are your friends and we are NOT making fun of you. We just can’t seem to wrap our minds around how you’re 26 years old and still a virgin. You’re gorgeous. You have an amazing body and you are a complete badass with a weapon. How have you managed to stay a virgin for that long and with the history you have?” Natasha clarified their confusion in a more understandable way, which obviously caught Y/N’s attention.

“I honestly don’t know. My mom scared me out of doing it when I was in school, but that was mostly due to her fears about me growing up. Then I went to college and just opted to focus on school so I could get the job I loved. I guess I just forgot about it. But now I’m here with an extremely obvious crush on America’s Golden Boy and no way to talk to him about this.” Y/N rested her hands on her face and did everything she could to hold back her tears of stress and embarrassment. Someone put their hand on Y/N’s back in hopes of comforting her, but she wasn’t one to seek comfort through anyone’s touch. She nudged the hand off of her shoulder and left her small kitchen to pout in her bedroom, the other three women left confused in their places.

~~~

After a quick phone call to Steve from Natasha, the super soldier was standing outside of Y/N’s apartment. The details of the call were fuzzy, seeing as Natasha only said something along the lines of “Y/N is upset and she needs to see you”. Thinking she was in danger, Steve tried asking for more details, the suitcase for his mission left abandoned on his bed. But Natasha could only request that Steve go to Y/N’s apartment to fix this, which confused the super soldier further.

With a knock on the door, Steve held his breath as he waited for the girl of his dreams to invite him inside. His heart started racing faster as his enhanced hearing pinpointed the quick footfalls of Y/N as she scurried to the door. The locks clicked and the barrier was pulled open, the slight smile on her face falling immediately.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” Y/N asked, voice coming out no louder than a whisper.

“Nat called me and said you were upset. I thought something happened, so I came here as fast as I could. Are you okay?” Steve was masking his panic poorly, the words coming out rushed.

“I’m fine! How many times do I have to tell you people?” Y/N walked away from the door and threw her hands in the air with exasperation. Steve followed, closing the door behind him and turning the deadbolt. He didn’t even feel safe in this neighborhood.

“What do you mean?”

“I made the mistake of telling Maria one of my biggest secrets and now the entire team is worried about me! They keep asking me if I’m okay or if I’ll BE okay. Then she brought over Wanda and Natasha as if she KNEW I didn’t want anyone else to hear, but they had already known! I just don’t know what to do anymore!” Y/N’s breath had quickened as she began hyperventilating, her fingers anchoring themselves in her hair. Tears began streaming down her face as her breathing strains and Steve knew what he needed to do. He surged forward and grabbed Y/N by her shoulders, spinning her until her back was against his chest. He slid down the wall until they were sitting, and his next step was to unravel her hands from her hair. While humming a soft unknown tune, he worked on massaging her wrists until her hands fell away from her head and landed on his forearms. Steve wrapped his arms around her as she finished crying, her fat tears falling against his fingers.

“Better?” Steve questioned after Y/N’s breathing had evened out. She shrugged. “Gimme a color?”

“Yellow.” Confused and wants to talk about it, just not yet. Steve nodded, and adjusted his grip, smiling slightly when he felt her dig her nails into his skin.

“Alright, hon. I’ll be here when you want to talk. Let’s get you some water?” He helped her get off the floor as he found his way to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water out from the fridge and twisted the top off before walking back to Y/N. He handed the her the bottle as she made her way to the couch while he chose something to watch.

“You really wanna know what’s wrong?” Her voice made Steve jump, but he nodded once he was situated in his spot.

“Of course I want to know. I still think I can help.”

“I’m a virgin. That’s what Maria and I were talking about before the mission briefing. And then she found out I had a crush on you and just.... took it and ran. Granted I wasn’t trying to hide how I felt, but it still wasn’t her business. I didn’t want to know if you or Bucky had found out and I didn’t want to know what you had to say. I don’t want to lose what we have just because I want to sleep with you....” More tears fell from Y/N’s eyes as she confessed her feelings to Steve. Steve sat speechless at the other end of the couch, eyes glued to her shoulder.

Steve exhaled, his shocked breath coming out like a groan. When he actually looked back to Y/N, he could see how scared she was. His freezing clearly didn’t do anything to make the moment less terrifying.

“I knew. A-about the crush at least. Tony kind of clued me into it at my birthday party. I must admit, he kind of made me realize MY crush in the moment as well. But, Y/N, are you absolutely positive that you’d want me to take your virginity?”

“You’re the only one I’d want to. It’s the right choice.” And with that, Steve lunged forward and crushed her lips with his, emotions flooding them both. Adoration, devotion, passion, love overwhelmed their senses as their lips continued to move together, their mouths fitting together perfectly like two puzzle pieces.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Steve commented once they pulled away breathless. Y/N smiled at Steve’s comment, a slight blush on her cheeks. Steve leaned in again, but this kiss was calmer and less rushed. He wanted to savor the moment, etch the feeling of her lips into his mind for all eternity. Wanting to escalate the kiss a little further, Steve licked at Y/N’s bottom lip. She froze, the feeling unnatural and foreign; nonetheless she opened her mouth just enough for Steve’s tongue to slip past her teeth. A small moan travelled from her throat to his mouth which prompted the super soldier to smile into the kiss.

Out of breath, Y/N broke away from the kiss and stood from her seat, a quizzical look on Steve’s face.

“Can we... gotomyroom?” She mumbled quickly.

“One more time? I didn’t quite hear you, hon.” Steve mocked, a slight smirk on his face.

Exhaling, Y/N prepared herself to speak again. “Can we go to my room?”

Steve stood and walked over to Y/N, kissing her deeply as his hands cupped her cheeks. “Lead the way, baby.”

Y/N’s room was small and scarcely decorated, almost as if she didn’t have enough time to finish it before something happened. There weren’t many knickknacks or tchotchkes, but there were three shelves completely overflowing with books. Steve loved how smart she was, but still couldn’t wrap his mind around how scared she seemed to be in the moment. Y/N had sat down on the bed as if waiting for the man in front of her to make a move, but this time it was Steve who was frozen in his place.

“Steve?”

“Are you sure about this? I need to hear you say it, Y/N.” The commanding tone in his voice wasn’t one she was unfamiliar with, yet it still sent a delicious tingle between her legs.

“I’m sure. I want this. Come fuck me, Steve.” The confidence in her voice shocked them both, but Steve didn’t need anymore persuasion. Stepping forward, he all but tackled her to the bed, her small frame trapped and mushed underneath the broad expanse of his chest as their lips met once again. Steve’s fingers travelled under her shirt before fiddling with the plain cups of her bra. Y/N’s breathing stuttered slightly, but she made no effort to remove the warm hand from her breast. A surge of tenacity sizzled through Y/N’s veins as she pulled away from Steve and ripped her shirt over her head. When Steve paused to admire her body, practically drooling at the sight, she dipped her head and began wrapping her arms around her torso.

“No. You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N. You’re beautiful, okay?” Y/N nodded, but still made no effort to remove her arms from her chest. With a sigh and another kiss, Steve worked his fingers under her arms and pinned her wrists above her head. “No hiding.”

Y/N whimpered softly at Steve’s domination, but she didn’t want him to stop. Steve began trailing kisses down her neck as his other hand snuck behind her to pop her bra open, releasing her wrists for a few seconds to rid her body of the undergarment before pinning her to the bed again. Y/N gasped at the nippy air in her room, mentally damning herself for how cold she liked to keep her room. All previous thoughts evacuated as Steve wrapped his soft lips around one of her nipples, the bud pebbling instantly in his mouth. Y/N whined as Steve sucked and flicked his tongue around her nipple, hissing slightly when his teeth brushed against it. He moved to her other breast, smiling slightly at her panting. Once he chose to stop the torment on her chest, Steve slithered down to her waist. Pausing for a moment, he savored the image of the girl beneath him, the fear in her eyes still very prominent.

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve asked, his attention glued to Y/N’s eyes as if she were still fully clothed.

“No. Please don’t stop, Steve.” With that, he continued. He let go of her wrists as he worked the button on her pants open, pulling them off inch by inch and throwing them over his shoulder once they were off completely. He smiled softly at the sight of her blue panties seeing as there was absolutely nothing sexy about them at all. Stuff like that never mattered to Steve, of course, but he found her lack of lace amusing. He left her panties alone, though, opting instead to disrobe himself instead. It was only fair that he match her nakedness before continuing. Once he was left in just his boxers, Y/N felt her cheeks flush at the sight of how big his bulge was. She wasn’t completely inexperienced, but he would be the biggest she had ever seen.

“Hey. Eyes up here, princess.” Steve gestured to his eyes as he slunk back between her legs, his gaze never leaving hers. He placed a few chaste kisses on her left leg, starting at her knee and trailing up her thigh. He skipped her apex entirely as he repeated his movements on her right leg. Smirking at her whine when he went to kiss her thigh again, he gently tugged her panties to the side, moaning at the sight of her bare pussy. Flicking his eyes up to gauge her reaction, Steve leaned forward and kissed her lower lips twice before sliding his tongue through her folds. Y/N flinched and gasped at the foreign feeling, yet brought one hand down to tangle her fingers in Steve’s blonde hair. Captain America smirked at her reaction and repeated his previous motion with more pressure each time. He isolated her clit between his lips and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub, causing Y/N to throw her head back in pleasure. He chuckled, the vibrations sending a shiver up her spine as she felt a tightness in her stomach. Steve took advantage of her distraction and slipped a finger inside her tight entrance, his tongue still working furiously on her clit. Once he decided that she could handle it, he pushed another finger into her entrance, a slight sting radiating around her pussy. He pumped his fingers in time to his movements on her clit, curling his fingers upwards twice before Y/N came with a yelp. Steve stayed put, riding her through her high before pulling himself away.

He stood once more and discarded her panties along with his boxers and crawled back over her body, his face hovering over hers. Y/N could feel his stiff member poking into her thigh as she tried to focus her attention on the man above her and not on the thoughts running through her mind.

“Y/N, you’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

Making eye contact with Steve, Y/N could see that worry was more prominent than lust, his baby blue eyes swimming with conflict.

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you, Steve.” She lifted her head off the mattress and pressed her lips to his, mostly to ease her own nerves rather than his. While they were kissing, Steve’s hand dipped between them to position himself at her entrance, sliding the tip into her tight heat. He resisted the urge to moan at the feeling, opting to focus his attention on her comfort. Y/N had hissed slightly at the feeling, but didn’t break away from the kiss seeing as it was the only thing that was truly distracting her from the pain. Steve’s thumb began circling around her clit as he continued to thrust inch by inch, sheathing himself inside her wet heat entirely. He let her adjust to the foreign feeling before pulling away from the kiss and moving his hips slightly, watching her face the entire time.

Her eyes were pinched shut and her eyebrows furrowed. Her nostrils flared as she regulated her breathing, slowly but surely relaxing at the feeling of Steve inside her.

“More.” She whispered as Steve slid out of her pussy almost entirely. He snapped his hips forward and watched as her eyes fluttered and her jaw dropped into a perfect ‘O’. He kept a slow but steady pace, allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of just how tight she was while keeping an ear open for any sounds of discomfort. His strokes hit that spot deep inside her pussy, causing her legs to shake and wrap around Steve’s waist, a loud moan falling from her lips.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Steve groaned as he picked up his pace slightly, not wanting to break Y/N her first night. Y/N was too blissed out to scold Steve for his language, but it truly seemed as if neither of them cared in the moment. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, nails digging sharply into his skin which Steve took as a sign to speed up once more. The headboard to Y/N’s bed started knocking against the wall as Steve’s brutal pace took her breath away.

“Fuck, Steve, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Y/N yelled, her head thrown back in pleasure and bliss. The super soldier took advantage of how open her neck was and splayed his warm lips across the column of her throat, kissing and sucking until a very dark mark was left behind. He trailed hickeys and love bites down to her chest, scattering the marks wherever his lips could reach. His fingers dug into her hips as his pace seemed to get ever faster.

Before she had a moment to process how good she was feeling, Y/N was flipped onto her stomach and one of Steve’s hands wrapped in her hair, pulling slightly. She moaned at the new sensation as Steve growled in his throat. The hand that wasn’t in her hair wrapped around her waist, allowing his fingers to toy with her clit. Another moan filled the air, along with the sinful sounds her pussy was making. Steve was dizzy; the feeling of being inside her, the wonderful sounds she was making, the smell of sex in the air all contributed to his rising orgasm.

“Fuck, Steve! I-I’m close!” Y/N whined from underneath him, her face buried in her pillow and her fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

“Me too. Let go, Y/N. I’ve got you, baby.” Steve muttered close to her ear, his hips stuttering slightly. With Steve’s permission, Y/N’s body started to shake as her climax washed over her. Steve’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as she clenched around his dick, the super soldier not being able to hold back his own climax as he pumped her full of his cum. They both collapsed onto the bed, panting.

Y/N seemed to come to her senses faster than Steve did as she ran to the bathroom to clean herself up. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and the girl she saw was almost unrecognizable: dark purple bruises covered her pale skin, her hair was a tangled mess, and there were noticeable marks from where Steve’s hand had been on her hip. A strange quietness took over her mind and it was almost like her body was running on autopilot. She grabbed her bathrobe off the hook by the door and secured it around her body tightly, hiding the marks that she knew she should cherish. Once she entered her room, Steve was completely dressed again and sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, worry very prominent in his voice. With a nod, Y/N sat next to him, but opted to keep some space between them. She didn’t regret what happened, she just needed time to process it. “Can I have a color?”

“Yellow, but it’ll be red if you ask again, Steve.” He smiled sadly and stood, leaving his place on the bed to kneel in front of Y/N. Her eyes seemed dull, but bright at the same time. Her gaze was everywhere except Steve, and once again she was chewing on her bottom lip. Steve reached up to tuck some hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead when he stood up again.

“We can talk about this later, if you want to. Just know that you’re not going to lose me because of this, okay?” Y/N nodded. Steve lifted her chin and gave her a brief kiss on the lips. It was soft and timid, almost as if he believed he was overstepping his boundaries. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a week; two at the latest. We can talk then.” With one more soft kiss to her lips, Steve left.

She wasn’t a virgin anymore, and she owed that to her friends. She just couldn’t understand why she felt so guilty about it.

Steve had just gotten back to his apartment by the time he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. His heart almost broke at the text message in front of him:

“Come back. I need you.”

#avengers imagine #steve rogers imagine #captain america #bucky barnes imagine #tony stark #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #marvel imagine

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rubykgrant · 3 years

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(I made sort of a comic/text illustration for my “How Church Comes Back” theory in my RVB story-line, but here is the main text with some additional descriptions that are hopefully easier to read that in picture-form. The basic premise; when Epsilon deconstructed himself, all the information that made up his “personality” had to GO somewhere... and sometimes after an EMP, digital devices will save their data to the system. The original Epsilon unit is destroyed, but the other AI units still exist, somewhere. The memories of Theta would revive Theta, Delta memories would revive Delta, ect... and the memories of Church himself would revive Alpha. Because, after all, Church is always Church- even when he’s not. He doesn’t exactly enjoy being trapped in the Alpha unit again, though...)

(… a room… no, NOT a room, a virtual space designed to LOOK like a room… familiar, but not comfortable… in fact, as he recognized it, he immediately felt restless. Like an itch to move, to get away, escape... he belonged here... he didn't WANT to belong here... but he did)

Why am I back HERE? I CAN’T be back here, I’m not even… I shouldn’t be anywhere. I shouldn’t be ANYTHING Is this just… is this me having “my life flash before my eyes”? Why just THIS? Why am I seeing something at all? OK, I’m not an expert on the after-life, but… I guess I figured I’d kinda just be nothing. Is this supposed to be purgatory for Artificial Intelligence? I mean, I guess that fits…

(Time passed… a long time? Hard to tell… it felt like a while. Maybe it was only a few hours, or a day… nothing changed in here. There was nothing in here but HIM, and he didn’t want to be here. Sometimes he sort of drifted away... stopped paying attention, let himself lose focus. It was like falling asleep, but when he woke up... he was still trapped in the same place)

Alright, I’m getting real SICK and TIRED of being here. Also getting pretty DONE with not knowing WHY. I deconstructed myself, I basically DELETED myself… Why am I still even aware of anything? Why am I stuck somewhere that looks like… if I HAVE to keep existing, can I at least… Can I just… can I find out what happened? What happened AFTER? I was ready to be gone forever, I was ready to say good-bye… I assumed everything about me would end… And I was ready for that I made peace with not KNOWING But I’m still aware, and still existing, can’t I… I just want to know if they’re OK Are they OK? Can anybody hear me? Or am I just talking to myself?

(If he was still existing, then where were the others? Delta, Theta… Gamma, Eta, Iota… he’d even settle for Omega and Sigma… just SOMEBODY else. Somebody he could interact with… somebody to help him figure out what was happening. This was… it was too much like something that had happened to him BEFORE, and it was CONFUSING. He felt like he could slip back into one of his memories, it would be so EASY to just distract himself by recreating a moment he had already lived through… but that was scary. So easy to fall into a memory, and then feel like it was happening again… he was afraid of doing that)

WHY AM I HERE? I’m not the Alpha anymore, I’m BARELY Epsilon I shouldn’t be ANYTHING, but I am… And I’m HERE. I don’t WANT to be here I’d rather be ANYWHERE but here Being stuck in Blood Gulch again would be better than HERE This has to be some kind of memory glitch… this can’t be real, this CAN’T be where I actually am. It has to be fake. It has to be a trick Oh SURE, this isn’t real, every time I was here, all I saw was… Oh no… No no no no no no no no no Please, NO

(Another failure, another failure, another failure… he wasn’t supposed to fail, he was supposed to fix problems, he was supposed to help people, what was wrong with him, why did this keep happening… NO THAT WAS BEFORE. That happened a long time ago… it seems like a long time ago. How much time has passed? It was hard to tell. This is different, though. Well, it was the same, but it was different… right? Or was THIS just a memory? Was he remembering being here again? Then why does he keep thinking about NEW memories, new parts of his life, new things that he’s done? Because he HAS done these things. He left this place behind, and he… he had gone to other places… met people… but now he was back. That didn’t make sense)

This is where they put me through all those simulations. All those fake scenarios. This is where they tricked me, and lied to me. This is where they tortured me. They made me think I was hurting people. They made me care about people, and then they made me think… They made me think I was killing people Over and over and over and over and over and over and… And… and then they DID hurt people, using me. They forced people into situations, and those people died. They created those situations because of ME They used my thoughts to manipulate people. They used fragments made from me to control people. They used me… I can’t be here, I can’t do this AGAIN. I was DONE, this was OVER. If… if I’m here... does that mean… was everything…

(It was his fault, he kept failing, he couldn’t get anything right, he was broken, why did this keep happening, he was supposed to make sure everybody succeeded, he was supposed to keep them alive, but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t working… he had to treat every simulation like it was REAL, that was the only way to be sure he was trying hard enough, but that means every failure kills him, because it kills them, even when it doesn’t. He just wants to talk to them, directly, so they KNOW he’s sorry. If he could just tell them he actually cares, he doesn’t want them to get hurt, maybe they’d understand… and if he could talk to them, maybe he’d know if they were really alive or not)

NO, IT WAS REAL. THEY WERE ALL REAL. WHAT I DID WITH THEM WAS REAL. IT HAS TO BE I know it was… please, it had to be real… I couldn’t go through all THAT, and then just… just leave… OH NO, no no no, that’s what they did to me BEFORE. They would just RIP ME OUT of a scenario when they were done. Then they would RIP OUT whatever little piece of me they thought they needed. What else? WHAT THE HELL ELSE? I already lost everything! I lost my friends, I lost the people I loved, I lost parts of my own mind! I lost my memories! I LOST MY LIFE I don’t have anything left… all I had was… was knowing they’d be OK after I was gone… I can’t lose that, too. That HAD to be real

(He keeps feeling more alone, but that doesn’t make sense, it was always just HIM in here, he didn’t have anybody else… except maybe he did, he just can’t remember… he forgets sometimes… he didn’t used to forget things. He was alone, here, just him… and then he wasn’t alone anymore. He had somebody else. Then he was alone again… except now he knew how much he didn’t like it. Somehow, that feeling kept growing, that EMPTINESS, until he felt less… and less… like himself)

I know it was real, I KNOW IT WAS. I don’t care what happens to me next, but I’m NOT letting go of that. I’m not letting go of them… I remember talking to them all, and that was REAL Tucker was REAL, Caboose was REAL. Donut, Grif, Simmons, Sarge- they were REAL. Lopez, Doc, Wash- they were REAL. Carolina was REAL Tex was… Tex was real, and I… I kept hurting her. Because they kept wanting me to bring her back. And she kept getting hurt, so I finally let her go… Please… PLEASE. They HAVE to be OK. I wanted to save them That was all I wanted, they have to be OK

(This wasn’t what happened before, NO, this was new, it was, he could remember them, he remembered his friends, he remembered everything he did, he just had to keep reminding himself that this was DIFFERENT… but it was hard to remember that… when he just kept being HERE… alone… alone like before. He missed his friends… he did have friends, didn’t he? He only had one friend, first… then they took her away, and kept her away. He had missed her, and worried about her… especially when they told him she was in trouble, and in danger, and he was supposed to figure out how to keep her alive, but he always failed. He had more friends now… friends that had been in trouble, and in danger… did he fail again?)

They have to be real. I need them to be real. Those memories were MINE, that life was MINE. They were NOT just another trick. They were real, and I saved them, I didn’t… I didn’t just… leave them… to get hurt. Please, no, I didn’t hurt them… not after all that. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand it if I was hurting them Is that it? Is that the plan this time? Give me a whole group of friends that I care about. Give me a whole family that I… Give me all that, and then make me think they’re gonna DIE? Just to take me away at the last minute? Or are they really in danger? Are they really going to die, and I’m not even THERE? I can’t even help them? Are they going to be put into more dangerous situations… Just to see what I’ll do? Are they the new “tool” that gets used to manipulate me? Fine- FINE If I have to let them go, if I have to forget them, I will. If it keeps them safe I don’t care about anything else. I just want them to be OK If I’m just being used to hurt people again… I’ll let go of them to make it stop Hurt me all you want, but LEAVE THEM ALONE

(He drifted away from himself… it was like falling asleep, but different than the way a human might do it. He just wasn’t… “aware” of his own thoughts for a little while… he drifted away, slipped into memories, had moments where he went blank… when he focused again, he was still here. Trapped. In the little cell that had been made just for him. He belonged here, and he hated it. How long had he been here? Had he ever really LEFT here? Maybe that didn’t matter… because, in the end, he always came to the same conclusion; treat every simulation like it was real. It hurt… but if he didn’t fail, if he actually kept his friends safe… that was good enough)

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? What was the point of all this? They cared about me, too That’s why this hurts, that’s why it was hard to say good-bye. I don’t know why, but they liked me. They really DID, and that can’t just… that can’t be a lie Don’t hurt them. I don’t know who’s doing this anymore, but don’t hurt them I don’t know what you want from me, but you can have it, just don’t hurt them I don’t even care about what was real or not anymore, I DON’T CARE I JUST CARE ABOUT THEM IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH THIS HURTS ME DON’T HURT THEM PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Just… let them be OK Please…

#red vs blue #leonard church #alpha church #epsilon church #angst

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dakt37 · 4 years

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Anyone in the mood for Steve/Tony secret identity shenanigans with a dash of mutual pining?

Behind the scenes I've been wildly obsessed with this ship since about April, and the other day I wrote something that I'm fond of enough to share. It's not a fic really, more of just a treatment with some dialogue scattered about. 2.4k-ish words, present tense because that's the way my brain works. Inspired by a slew of fics I've been devouring this week, but hopefully not close enough to be ripping anyone off.

Okay so, it's one of those versions of the Avengers where nobody* knows that Tony Stark is Iron Man. They know he built the suit and is the Avengers' sugar daddy and resident inventor, but they think Iron Man himself is a separate guy, hired by Mr. Stark to be a bodyguard and pilot for the armor. His identity is Top Secret. Heck, at first everyone thought he was a robot. That cat got out of the bag, but it was true enough to tell everyone that he was just pretending to be a robot to protect his secret and not let enemies know of a potential weakness; i.e., that he's squishy under the armor. Plus, if people knew Iron Man was really a man, they'd try to figure out who he is. And Mr. Stark is very serious about wanting to protect his employees. (*Pepper and Rhodey know, and probably Happy? But no one else.)

Well Steve ends up falling for Iron Man anyway. Even not knowing his real name, his face, or even his true voice because it's always modulated (in an obvious way; it's tinny and robotic, part of the Iron Man branding). He gets him in private one day and confesses, in a very adorable and awkward way. Tony panics because honestly he's fallen for Steve too, but he can't let him know that, at least not now as Iron Man. He doesn't quite reject him the way he should-- that is, he doesn't directly say he's not interested. He knows Steve would be able to see straight through the lie, so instead he just keeps insisting that he "can't" return his feelings.

They go back and forth a bit about possible roadblocks.

"Is it because I'm a man?"

"What? No, that doesn't make a difference to me."

"Is it a trust issue?"

"Of course not, I trust you with my life."

"Is it because of your boss?"

Iron Man hesitates because… well yeah! Technically it IS because of Tony Stark.

Steve sees the opening and presses on, "Would he… let you go if you revealed your identity to me?"

Iron Man chuckles, to Steve's consternation, "No, he couldn't do that. It's just… he… it's complicated."

Steve opens his mouth to continue his inquiries, but Iron Man cuts him off. "I'm sorry, Cap. I really, really am." And he flies away, feeling like a jackass and a coward.

Steve meanwhile just feels determined and suspicious. Iron Man isn't afraid of being fired, but there's clearly something to do with Mr. Stark that's holding him back. Steve decides to pay a visit to the Avengers' benefactor to get some clues.

Later, Tony is down in an Avengers lab, brooding about the latest fine mess he's found himself in. This secret identity thing is getting to be a real pain in the ass. And if Cap has been paying attention to Iron Man enough to think he's fallen for the Tin Man, then surely he's been paying attention enough to notice how rarely Iron Man and Tony Stark are in the same room together. The armor has an autopilot mode, but it's not so convincing now that people know that Iron Man is a real guy in a suit and not just a robot.

So Tony has set himself at the task of improving the autopilot. The AI part isn't actually so hard; he's made some pretty personable AIs before. But JARVIS is just a voice; Iron Man also needs to move. Getting the subtleties of natural movement into the armor is tricky business. He runs analyses on video footage of himself to nail down things like how he shifts his weight while standing around, how he gesticulates while speaking, and how he interacts physically with his teammates on the battlefield (a friendly shoulder pat, a hand up, flying with a passenger, etc.)

The movements of the autopilot are getting smoother, but there's still a little lag to non-battle actions, causing the beginnings of a gesture or sentence to seem a bit stilted. Tony uploads his latest iteration of the code into the suit and starts putting it through its paces.

It's certainly not the first time Steve has walked in on Mr. Stark working on the Iron Man suit. Between fixing battle damage and adding upgrades, there's usually some pieces and parts scattered around the lab. But today it's the whole suit, assembled and standing apparently of its own accord in the middle of the room. A few wires are connecting it to the ceiling and nearby computers, but they're slack. Data cables and fall-arrest lines maybe, but nothing actively keeping the suit upright. Steve freezes, half hidden behind one of the partitions used to divvy up the lab space. He hasn't announced himself yet, and Mr. Stark is clearly wrapped up in his work.

Steve stares at the suit, wondering. It's standing unnervingly still, but that doesn't negate the possibility that the pilot is inside, being careful and patient as Mr. Stark circles him and taps various joints. Tony moves to stand in front of the suit, hands on his hips, looking up into the glowing white eyes. Steve's gaze rolls over the pair, noting in an absentminded way that Iron Man's height advantage is at least partly due to the large rocket boosters in his boots. Steve has always known Iron Man to be the same height as himself, if not slightly taller, and he suddenly wonders where the pilot stands without those boots.

Tony lifts a hand and knocks lightly against the chestplate. "Relax, buddy."

The suit shifts, and Steve inhales sharply despite himself. It's like watching his fellow servicemen go from parade rest to at ease; not a huge move, but an assortment of loosening muscles that breathes life into a simple standing pose. Iron Man shifts his weight slightly onto one foot, cocking a hip. His shoulders relax, and his helmeted face tilts down to better meet Mr. Stark's gaze.

Tony grins. "Hey there." He sounds pretty pleased. "Let's do a voice check. Give me a catch phrase."

"If we can't protect the world, you can be damn well sure we'll Avenge it." Iron Man's voice seems extra robotic, syllables not quite falling where they should. It hitches as well, the last word dissolving into static. Steve frowns along with Tony.

"Oh, gross. That was awful. Downgrade from the last test for sure." Tony cups Iron Man's jaw with one hand, encouraging him to tip his head back. "Bad coil too, sounds like." He taps Iron Man on the neck with one finger, where his Adams apple would be under the armor. Steve swallows reflexively as he watches. "I'll have to get that from the inside," Tony mutters, more to himself than to Iron Man, Steve feels, but then Tony has a habit of doing that to just about everybody.

Tony reaches up to hold Iron Man's jaw in both hands now. His fingers slide along the metal almost like a caress as he tilts the helmet down to face him again. Something twists in Steve's stomach. It's an awfully familiar way to touch another person's face, even though a helmet. Tony's index fingers sweep up and catch in the seam where the golden faceplate meets the red jaw. There's a soft click, one Steve is sure he couldn't have heard if he didn't have enhanced hearing. His breath stops.

Tony is going to lift the faceplate. He's going to reveal the man underneath. Of course he can, of course he knows who the mysterious pilot is. But they don't know that Steve is there. He's not supposed to know. He promised he'd never pry. Should he announce himself? Run? Just close his eyes?

The faceplate has only come away from the helmet the barest inch when Tony stops. For one wild second, Steve thinks he's been made. Surely one of Mr. Stark's computers picked up his presence.

"This isn't priority," Tony declares, pressing his thumbs to the corners of Iron Man's mouth slit and closing the helmet with another audible click. "A broken voice box is excusable. Need to make sure you can move right first."

Steve leans on the room divider he's still mostly obscured by, feeling almost dizzy. His stomach twists again, and he's not sure if it's from relief or acute disappointment. He'd never want to break Iron Man's trust, or Mr. Stark's for that matter. But… he'd been so close… he could have finally known… He shakes his head, refocusing on the pair across the room.

Tony has retreated to a nearby workbench, picking up a rubix cube. He tosses it at Iron Man. "Reflex check." The armored man catches it easily. "Let's see your dexterity," Tony prompts next. Iron Man starts twisting the cube, but quickly gets jammed as the blocks don't quite get flush with each other before he tries to twist in a cross direction. Tony chuckles. "It's not a race, buddy. JARVIS, increase finger sensitivity by ten percent." Iron Man pauses, then reassesses the cube, feeling around the sides and smoothing the blocks into place before choosing his next twist. Steve finds it slightly odd that he's not looking down at the cube as he manipulates it, but he supposes that the point is the hand motion and not to actually solve the puzzle. It's important to have spatial awareness even without your eyes, after all.

Tony grins wide again. "Much better." He takes the cube back and tosses it uncaringly over his shoulder. "Let's work on your people skills. Oh!" He throws his hands up in mock despair, pitching his voice in silly melodrama, "There's danger afoot! Save me, Iron Man!"

Iron Man tilts his head to face his employer, and Steve would swear he could read fond exasperation in the slight pause before he responds. Or maybe Steve's just projecting his own feelings about Tony's antics.

"Fear not, citizen," Iron Man deadpans. "Iron Man is here to rescue you."

Tony bursts out laughing, but is interrupted as Iron Man wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in. Steve can't help but smirk at the honest to god squeak that Tony emits as Iron Man tucks him tightly into his side. Tony squirms, smacking Iron Man's chest with an open palm as he gasps, "Too tight!! Ease up fifteen percent!" The metal arm around his waist loosens slightly, and Tony slackens with it. He huffs, laying his cheek on Iron Man's shoulder, forehead against his neck. "Careful with your psi there, Romeo. I don't need any civil suits on my hands over cracked ribs."

Iron Man pauses again before replying, "Okay." He shifts his head, looking down at Tony. "Are you injured." His voice still has a bit of a flat quality. Steve hopes Mr. Stark fixes that "coil" in his voicebox before their next team-up. It's hard enough to pick up some of his more subtle inflections through the modulators on a good day; Steve doesn't want to lose any more of his true voice.

"Nah," replies Tony, shifting against the metal arm that's still wrapped firmly around his waist. "Fit as a fiddle. Fit to fly, in fact. Passenger test. Low hover."

Iron Man adjusts his stance, free hand flattening palm-down to activate the flight stabilizer. He lifts Tony with his other arm, helping the smaller man step up onto his metal boots. Tony slides his arms up, wrapping them securely around Iron Man's neck. Steve's stomach does yet another odd twist as his brain supplies him with the word, "embrace."

"Hold on tight, citizen," orders Iron Man, activating his rocket boots and sending them straight up, about two feet off the floor.

Tony is laughing again. It's a light, mirthful sound; not the derisive scoff Steve is used to hearing from him. "That's too cheesy, oh my god. You sound like Cap in an old news reel." Steve startles at the mention of himself.

"I'll ease up on the cheese by fifteen percent," replies Iron Man, echoing Tony's previous comment.

Tony's eyes sparkle. "Much better. Love to hear that good humor."

"Easy to have good humor with such good company."

"Oh ho! Careful with the flirting out in the field. Can get a guy in trouble."

Flirting.

The word bounces off Steve's brain, rebounds against the inside of his skull, and then sinks in like a throwing ax lodging into a tree with a 'thunk.'

Flirting.

Iron Man was flirting with Tony Stark. Tony, the only one on the team who knew his true face. Tony, who so carefully tended to the armor that kept the man inside safe. Tony, who caressed Iron Man's helmeted face, laid his head on his shoulder, twined his arms around his neck. Tony Stark, the most eligible bachelor in the world, who was never known to have the same date twice, let alone to ever be in a real relationship.

The revelation crashed into Steve as if Iron Man himself had tackled him. Iron Man couldn't not date Steve because of his secret identity. He couldn't date him because of his secret relationship. Iron Man and Tony Stark were involved, and hiding it from the world. Iron Man by hiding his face, and Tony by acting the flighty playboy.

Steve was so shocked, so utterly distracted by the parade of emotions stampeding through him, that he didn't register that the hovering pair was slowly revolving on the spot. At least, not until he heard Tony's alarmed yelp of, "Steve?!" and looked up to find him staring directly at him, wide-eyed, over Iron Man's shoulder.

Tony Stark was not a man who embarrassed easily. In fact he was self-described as shameless. On the surface there was nothing suspect about the sort of tests he was running with Iron Man. Steve would bet bottom dollar that in any other circumstance, Tony would cheekily play up the potentially questionable nature of their current pose, reveling in the salacious humor. But instead he was panicked, caught out. And that clinched it for Steve. He'd stumbled onto a secret affair.

Steve realized his mouth was hanging open, waiting to say words that his brain wouldn't provide. For a second, Tony seemed equally dumbstruck. Then color rushed to his face, and he barked, "Get out!!"

Steve didn't need telling twice.

#Stony secret ID plotbunny #dakity yaks #i don't even know which reality this is an AU of tbh #i had old comics vibes in my brain but #it's however you'd like to read it really #long post #in case the cut doesn't work #stevetony #stony #super husbands

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

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Article: Tokenism vs. Representation: How Can We Tell Them Apart?

Date: January 19, 2021

By: Theresa Ruth Howard

Last year's Black Lives Matter protests jolted the ballet world into action. All of a sudden, things that once "took time" instantaneously became easy fixes, like it was an episode of Oprah's favorite things for Black people: "You get an opportunity, and you get an opportunity!" Much of this sudden, reactionary change has elicited high levels of skepticism, prompting the query: Is this true representation or is it merely tokenism?

There is empirical data that white people seldom keep word when it comes to BIPOC individuals. Social justice (especially when it comes to Black people) has almost always been a trend, a tool wielded to benefit white people more in the end, and there usually is an end marked by a lull and a slow, silent rolling back of the majority of what has been accomplished.

In the early stages of addressing systemic racism, until companies have a proven track record, it will always be a "damned when you do, damned if you don't" situation. Trust must be earned. Nothing done will be enough because it feels like trying to make an ocean out of a desert with an eye dropper.

That is not to say that there isn't meaningful progress being made. We are in the midst of a global shift. Power is being redistributed, rules and criteria are being altered. The standards of what was once acceptable, or enough, no longer suffice. People are no longer just "grateful" to have a seat at the table—not only do they expect to eat, they want to help plan the menu. The truth is, we lack a suitable metric to measure this progress because we have never been here before.

What is “representation”? What exactly is “tokenism”?   

The Oxford Dictionary defines "tokenism" as "the practice or policy of making merely a token effort or granting only minimal concessions, especially to minority or suppressed groups."

The complexity of the question "What qualifies as tokenism and what as representation?" rivals that of Blackness itself. There is often a conflation perhaps because representation is part and parcel of tokenism, making it difficult to discern one from the other, or at what point it shifts. What it looks like for the bystander may not be how it is experienced by the person in the situation.

It is important to note that the act of being the "only" or one of a few does not in and of itself amount to tokenism. Too often that assumption is made by the public and it is unfair, reductive and wounding to those holding those spaces. What determines tokenism depends more on why and how someone occupies the space.

This is where the process of diversification gets slippery, manufacturing conflicts of confidence for Black dancers who, like sacrificial lambs, may question the reasons they were hired, cast or promoted. Were they given an opportunity for their talent, or because they are Black, and in what measure? These are often the speculative whispers from colleagues, classmates, parents and patrons. It is a psychological head trip to which one will rarely get a satisfactory answer.

The way diversification is approached says everything. When the motivations are authentic, there will be respect, sensitivity and mindfulness; an effort to cultivate cultural competence will be made. This requires a great deal of humility. In order to be able to interact effectively with people of different cultures, racial and ethnic backgrounds, you have to admit that you have blind spots, and are ignorant of things and, more importantly, are desirous to learn. This requires engaging them as human beings, not just tools as a means to an end.

Faculty additions

The recent hiring of full-time Black faculty members at Boston Ballet School (Andrea Long-Naidu), Pacific Northwest Ballet School (Ikolo Griffin), San Francisco Ballet School (Jason Ambrose) and School of American Ballet (Aesha Ash) all came to fruition during the COVID-19 crisis and the BLM reckonings. All four schools were part of the Equity Project's 21-ballet-organization learning cohort—the three-year partnership between Dance Theatre of Harlem, Dance/USA and the International Association of Blacks in Dance that aimed to increase the presence of Blacks in ballet, onstage and off. (Full disclosure, I was a member of the design and facilitation team.) There were a number of school directors in the room, including BBS director Margaret Tracey, PNB's Peter Boal (artistic director of both school and company), SFBS's former administrator Andrea Yannone and director Patrick Armand, and SAB's chairman of faculty Kay Mazzo.

One of the constant discussions was the importance of having representation on school faculties; it was drilled into their psyches. There were multiple conversations, and eventually the ball started rolling downhill. Unfortunately, the news of these faculty additions was only made public after last summer's social media protests by Black ballet dancers, making them appear reactionary.

The announcements began with a cacophony of press about Ash's appointment at SAB, which was met with underground backlash. Much like the overwhelming coverage about New York City Ballet's first Black Marie in 2019, which other companies had been quietly and consistently doing for years (without fanfare), the jump over contrition and bolt towards heroism for many soured representation into tokenism. In contrast, when Balanchine took Arthur Mitchell into NYCB as its first Black principal dancer, Mitchell asked that there not be a press release heralding the advancement. Instead, he wanted simply to appear onstage as a matter of fact.

When you wave a flag too hard late in the game, and are overly pleased with the little you have done over decades, you get no pat on the back. Though pleased for Sister Ash, inherent distrust has the Black community sitting with its arms folded, watching and waiting to be served the pudding that holds the proof of change.

This is the flip side of the representation coin. Organizations can dust their hands off and feel good about the progress they have made, while the actual burden and responsibility of "representing" gets laid squarely on these new Black hires. Ironically, these Black instructors return to the space of racial isolation they inhabited as dancers, with one major difference: Now they are expected to be an agent of change.

With the media blitz around her being SAB's first full-time Black faculty member, Ash is very clear when I ask her what her role is. "I am a teacher," she says. "I am not there to transform the entire structure. I was hired to be a teacher and I am hyper-focused on being the best darn teacher that I can be."

Her refrain sounds exactly like most Black ballet dancers who just want to dance, but whose very presence is a statement of silent resistance to a centuries-old system of whiteness. With this lack of representation, coupled with the increased visibility via social media—whether intended or not—they are instantaneously branded as "role models," and saddled with the pressure of expectations from the public at large, the Black community specifically, as well as their organization.

For these new faculty members, if and when their institutions make a faux pas, you can be certain the first question will be "Where were they?" When presented with this reality, Ash resolutely replies, "Let's make it very clear that I'm not the executive director or the artistic director of the School of American Ballet. But if I see things that don't look right to me, I'm absolutely going to feel very comfortable going in there and saying 'This does not look right.' " She sees her role as a long-time member of the Alumni Advisory Committee on Diversity and Inclusion as the space to do that.

Conversely, when asked what Ash's role is, Mazzo replies—along with giving glowing compliments about Ash's teaching abilities—"We feel that we hired an activist who wants to make more change," referring to her creation of her Swan Dreams Project. "We'll look to her for her perspective, her opinions or insights or feedback. It'll carry an enormous amount of weight as we continue to evolve and learn. I think she might not even realize what that means."

It could well be within this sliver of obfuscation that genuine representation can curdle into tokenism—the space where boundaries are unclear and assumptions are made. There has to be an agreement and clear boundaries with veto power enabling a person to control the way their Blackness, gender, sexual orientation or identity (in body and voice) are utilized both internally and externally for it not to wander into the realm of tokenism.

A person's desire to participate (and to what degree) should not be assumed because they represent a particular demographic. Having your thoughts, feelings, experience and emotional labor taken into consideration is something that is often not afforded to marginalized people. Being granted the power of choice with regards to participation, though not the norm, would be equitable. In this way the truest measure of whether something is tokenizing lies with the person in the experience: If they have agency and are empowered, it matters little how things appear.

In extending the invitation to Andrea Long-Naidu to join the Boston Ballet School, director Margaret Tracey was clear: "I need someone like this to hold me accountable. Knowing Andrea's commitment to supporting the Black student in the white ballet world made me think this is the kind of person I need on my team." The discussions between the two solidified what feels like a developing partnership.

Long-Naidu is looking for a space that will allow her to stretch into her desire to be a part of the change, and influence the field's push towards diversification. "I want to be at a high-level ballet institution where I am working with dancers, where I can make a difference," she says. Over the past five years she has been stepping into her power, both as an educator and as an advocate. "I am finding my voice in this work. I want to be a part of helping predominantly white institutions be more welcoming for Black bodies."

It helps that the two share history as former NYCB dancers, allowing for the uncomfortable dialogue necessary both for the learning curve and the strengthening of the new allyship. They align in their growth journeys: Tracey is prepared to receive radical feedback and Long-Naidu is ready to share. "Andrea is my first hire where I have shifted my focus from whether this outside person is a good fit for us to making sure that our environment is not stuck in a place that may not allow someone like her to fit in," says Tracey.

Casting and marketing

We all want to see Black and brown dancers rise through the ranks. What we don't want is Black dancers being cast when they are not ready, or prepared for a role just for a company to showcase it has them. This is the epitome of tokenism and sets dancers up to fail, a luxury, by virtue of their Blackness, they do not have. Blackness is held to a different standard so unlike their white peers, whose failings are their own, the "representation" Black dancers carry comes with the heavy burden of the entire race.

Artistic directors might not view it this way when casting, but being culturally competent would mean taking this into consideration. When fast-tracking a Black dancer, true equity would mean providing the extra support (technical and emotional) they might need to have them succeed. Hence, it's not about what is normally done; it is about what is necessary in this instance.

Tokenism in casting can stigmatize the dancer amongst their peers and the artistic staff, setting off the cascade of whispering echoes of "They only got it because they are Black." Even though white people have been getting opportunities because they are white for eons, it creates yet another level of isolation, stress and vulnerability in a Black dancer, potentially crippling both their confidence and their career.

Ballet organizations that have been actively working to educate and examine themselves, and are successfully expanding recruitment, increasing diversity in training pipelines, company rosters, faculties and administration, are grappling with how to best communicate progress without tooting their own horns too loudly. This is the space between a rock and a hard place; if they quietly go about their work, no one will know, and if they promote too heavily it could be perceived as pandering.

This culture shift demands transparency. Gone are the days of blind acceptance; the people demand receipts. Ballet has seldom had to explain itself, aloft at the pinnacle of the dance hierarchy, supported by centuries of tradition, the very act of "showing" deemed beneath it. Those days are on the wane.

The majority of ballet companies use the traditional rankings system. Star power is real, ballet lovers are loyalist, and marketing campaigns often follow suit by using images of principal artists or those performing lead roles. Hence, when most of your diversity (specifically Black dancers) resides in the corps de ballet, purposefully diverting from the marketing norms to telegraph the presence of nonwhite artists is by definition tokenism.

That is, of course, if marketing followed that hierarchy to begin with. When Tamara Rojo took the helm of English National Ballet in 2012, the company underwent a rebrand, highlighting ENB as a company that tells stories. Together with Heather Clark Charrington (director of marketing and communications since 2014), she transformed the promotional black-and-white backstage images into evocative art pieces capturing a moment, feeling or mood of a work. Together, Rojo and Charrington identify the dancer who can best capture it, regardless of rank or role. Many times there isn't correlation between the dancer on the poster and the principals on the stage.

Ironically, this nonhierarchical norm had gone unnoticed until 2018, when the breathtakingly stunning poster of Swan Lake featuring Precious Adams was released, and comments about casting and tokenism were raised. This is a prime example of when righteous indignation based on assumptions and lack of knowledge results in possible collateral damage to the very person you are advocating for. If companies are expected to do better by their artists, then the public needs to check itself, as well.

We need new procedures and practices to check our work. If your whole marketing department is white, perhaps consider enlisting the eyes of nonwhite members of the organization or cultivating external critical friends to look through a different lens to vet images and copy. The trick is you have to trust and listen to their feedback.

COVID commissions

The call to give Black choreographers opportunities was right up there with the call for ballet teachers, and the excuse was the same: "We can't find them." It seems that the glow from the world being on fire illuminated the field such that suddenly Black choreographers could be seen raining from the sky like extraterrestrial squids in Watchmen.

Black folk have been in the game long enough to know that the majority of recent commissions are purely reactionary. "Of course when I received multiple commissions, it crossed my mind that it was in alignment with the Black Lives Matter movement…and being a Black woman I tick two boxes," says Francesca Harper, who has eight commissions on deck. "I have been creating films since the beginning of my career—two of the companies came to me specifically because I can create something for film."

However, the nagging question of Blackness versus talent conjures uncertainty. "You wonder, Are they really looking at me?" asks Harper. "Are they looking at my work? That, for me, is always a painful moment."

Darrell Grand Moultrie is another of the numerous Black choreographers the ballet world is now inviting to take center stage, albeit virtually. While he has choreographed repeatedly on Atlanta Ballet, Colorado Ballet, Dance Theatre of Harlem, Cincinnati Ballet, BalletMet, Ailey II, Milwaukee Ballet, Tulsa Ballet, Richmond Ballet, Smuin Ballet, Sacramento Ballet, when American Ballet Theatre's Kevin McKenzie called to extend an invitation, according to Moultire, McKenzie apologetically said, "Unfortunately, I have not been exposed to your work."

Before Moultrie accepted the commission to choreograph in a bubble for ABT's virtual gala in November, he made three things clear: "First of all, I wanted this to be on the Met stage," Moultrie says. The second was a commitment to make that happen post-COVID. The third was he wanted to up McKenzie's "exposure" to Black choreographers in the game. McKenzie agreed.

"I think my commission with ABT is Kevin opening up to see who is out here," Moultrie says. However, that work should have already happened: Over the term of the Equity Project (which ABT was a part of), names of Black choreographers were often bandied about, including veterans Donald Byrd, Robert Garland, the overlooked Christopher Huggins, and Jennifer Archibald, who deserves a bump up, and Amy Hall Garner, who is on the come up.

The "it takes time" and "we can't find" mantras are to some degree the by-product of a lackadaisical attitude. One can believe that these recent gestures are earnest attempts to right a wrong. But the ease with which it could have been done before (and was not) is insulting, and makes it look and feel like tokenism.

It always feels like when Black people's houses are on fire, white folk can't seem to find a cup of water to fill it, yet when their houses are ablaze, here we come with buckets and hoses, always in service. At this critical time when the world is operating in crisis mode and on the learning curve of working remotely and presenting digitally, it feels like Blackness is used as a convenient tool to get out of the diversity doghouse. The fact that these opportunities are being given with anemic budgets cannot be overlooked and one has to wonder if these commissions offer parity.

Black people are too familiar with this type of post-woke euphoria, white guilt and shame married to a need to save face, creating just enough access and opportunity to smother the flames. Then, slowly, things begin to settle pretty much where they were before.

That being said, this time feels different (though we say that every time) because the landscape and the rules have changed. Increased exposure, transparency, the power of influencers' individual platforms and call-out culture all make it possible for anyone to write or contribute to the narrative. This collaborative quilt of divergent perspectives, which in time will become history, will now include more voices and experiences, forming a mosaic revealing a more comprehensive picture.

The work that ballet is attempting is a process, not a project. As to whether or not this is sustainable representation or mere tokenism, Moultrie sums it up this way: "We know what is happening right now is just a reaction. A good reaction, but only time will tell."

#article #ballet #theresa ruth howard #racism #anti black racism #aesha ash #andrea long-naidu #francesca harper #darrell grand moultrie #dance magazine

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bigmultifandomgirl · 4 years

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Master and the Mute

Kylo Ren x reader - Chapter One

Chapter Two

YOUR POV

It had been a long day, but you had made your journey to the Finalizer with minimal clashes with other First Order employees on board the transporter, being mute never helped your interactions with other people. It meant that you led a lonely life, but by now you were used to it. Life was easier when you were lonely - interactions often turned hostile as people could not understand you and you had not found a clear way to communicate with anyone else. No-one had ever taught you sign language or any method of effective communication other than writing but that often took too long and made conversation arduous and long. No-one had ever been with you long enough to develop a relationship in which they could establish a means of effective communication with you.

Your parents had died in the explosion that took your voice from you when you were young. You had been taken in by a warm old woman who had done what she could for your body, she could not save your voice but had rescued your life. Even though you hated the scars that ran across your body that she could not heal, pain and trauma etched into your skin for eternity, you were grateful for your life. Your time with her was short as you were soon dragged away by Stormtoopers as a young and mostly-able body, you were put to work. You had no idea what came of your savior and you dared not think about it. The last person you could remember showing you compassion, working for the First Oder had been comfortable but you had no-one, no family or friends to turn to in your darkest moments.

Your new assignment on the Finalizer was not something you were entirely thrilled about, you were content on the small plant that the Order occupied. Moving between the different huts that held offices, command rooms and correspondence centers fixing the computers, data pads and whatever else. You had been happy existing alone but not wanting for much. So when it was heard that the commander of your little planet had recommended you for a position that General Hux needed to fill you were shocked as to why you were being put forward. You were not extraordinary or outstanding, if anything you were less helpful than normal maintenance staff as you had no voice. You just did your job as best you could and tried not to get in peoples way. So much for keeping your head down and not being noticed.

You laid down on your cot in your newly assigned quarters, too exhausted from the long days space travel to unpack. You were sure you’d have time in the morning before your assignment started. Your muscles relaxed as you gently exhaled trying to slow the your racing mind which was full of questions about your new position and if the order fully understood who they had employed on such an important ship. Would they do anything if they found out you were a mute? You also felt fear creep into your blood, you had heard the stories of who else resided on this ship - other than the domineering General Hux - Commander Ren. His reputation preceded him and although you had not once seen him in person, you knew that it was not in your best interest to look to meet the man. Ever.These thoughts troubled you deep into your sleep but it did not stop you from falling to sleep.

You only realized how uncomfortable the cot was when you tried to sit up after waking and your muscles screamed in protest. You then noticed the data pad on your bedside table was flashing violently which immediately woke you up as if cold water had been dumped all over you. With haste you pulled on some clean clothes and realized that there would be no time for unpacking - you had been summoned to the bridge with urgency it seemed by the frequency of the flashing. You grabbed the data pad and ran out of your room desperately trying to find a map anywhere on the glass screen to lead you to where you were meant to be going. With an internal sigh of relief you found a map of the ship and hastened your pace to the bridge, thankful that you had been heading in the correct direction in the first place.

You made it to the bridge breathless, a bit sweaty and very nervous in anticipation as to what whoever summoned you wanted from you.

Your question was soon answered when you saw a formidable General Hux standing and looking down onto his data pad as if it had personally offended him. You could feel a looming presence as you entered the bridge and passed by the storm troopers stationed by the entrance, but you pushed it to the back of your mind as anxiety bubbled inside of you as you neared the sneering general.

“Officer” He addressed you sharply as he noticed you approached him.

You nodded and tried to convey as much respect as you could muster without the use of you voice and lifted you gaze to meet his. He still glared at you expecting more. Does he not know? Surely it is written all over your records that you lost your ability to speak.

“Officer, you will address me when I address you. Do you understand?” He snapped at you as all you had been doing for a minute was staring at hi. You saw the tinge of pink begin to flourish on his ears as he seemed to get increasingly more upset with your silence.

Frustration began to cloud your thoughts. Why couldn’t you just speak a word? You were so stupid. So incompetent. But then you became frustrated by the ever reddening general staring down at you and you thought, how can his operation be so flawed and useless that he does not know he is expecting a mute to reply to him!!

Suddenly there was a deep mechanical chuckle from behind you. You whipped your head around to identify who the sound belonged to. Your breath hitched and your mind went blank as you saw Kylo Ren emerge from a group of people similarly clad in all black, each with an equally menacing mask.

“She is a mute General. Did you not know? It should have been mentioned on her record. No?” He taunted the General who by this point was as red as a cherry tomato.

Suddenly the ability to think was restored to you. He had heard you?

The dark and tall figure turned to you, “Oh yes I can hear everything you’re saying” he answered your thoughts which made your head go blank again. I cannot yet figure out why I can hear you darling, am I as scary as you dreamed last night? This time his mechanical voice did not echo in the now quiet bridge, but an unfiltered, smooth voice echoed in the chasms of your brain.

You dared not think up any sort of answer and kept your mind blank, too scared to even breathe in his direction.

General Hux scoffed. “Do you seriously think I have time to read the personal files of everyone on this ship Mater Ren? Unlike you, I’m busy running this ship and most of it’s fleet while you gallivant around with your knights”

The dark mountain of a man turned away from you and leered over the fiery-haired general, “Be careful how you speak to me General,” he lit his lightsaber by his side and rose it in a threatening manner at Hux, “Don’t forget who I am and who you are in the pecking order here.” he growled and you felt the power and anger radiate off of his wide shoulders.

Suddenly he was gone, in a flurry of black cape he had stormed out of the room and his knights had followed suit, leaving General Hux to let out a small, shaky breath that you were sure only you had heard. That’ll show him to be so complacent, you thought smugly. Your internal gloating was cut short by the General who announced.

“Well I have no idea why you were sent to me.”

Me neither. I am useless here. You thought.

“But since you are here and cannot talk, listen. If you have any questions tough, I assume you pick things up quickly?”

You nodded furiously to try and say YES to him. As a mute, asking questions was very difficult and so you had learned to live without having to ask them, picking skills up as and when you needed them.

“Right, follow me.” he curtly turned on his heel and led you through the ship. Detailing which parts you were assigned to maintain. Performing checks every day and he also informed you that you may be assigned odd-jobs across the whole ship when they needed and extra pair of hands.

You were glad for the monotonous distraction to allow your heart time to still. Your first full day and you had already managed to interact with Kylo Ren, someone that you had promised yourself you would avoid. Getting mixed in with him could only mean trouble. But he could HEAR and UNDERSTAND you, this was something that had never happened before and the prospects of it thrilled you to your core but when you remembered who it was a healthy fear dampened your excitement. You were glad that your assignment was mainly solitary, it meant that it would be easier to ignore and avoid people.

A part of you longed to explore this strange connections with the powerful master, but the rest of you wanted to keep your head down and finish your assignment and get off the ship and back to your normal life.

All you could hope for was to stay out of trouble.

I know it’s short. It’s only chapter one, feedback and comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading <3

#adam #driver #adam driver #kylo #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #master and the mute #mute #star wars #master #flip zimmerman #adam sackler #adam driver fanfic #adam driver fanfiction #kylo ren x female character #kylo ren fanfiction #knights of ren

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scintillating-galaxias · 4 years

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fellas is it gay to accidentally make out with your lab partner

(read it here on ao3!)

They’re stuck.

Impossibly, hopelessly, stuck.

It does not often happen that with their collective processing power, Perceptor and Brainstorm find themselves unable to continue in their work simply because they have no idea what the problem is. Perceptor is too calculated and particular about his methods to lose himself so thoroughly and though Brainstorm is not nearly as careful, his tenaciousness makes him absolutely ruthless when it comes to any blockade they run into.

But when they do run into one, they run into it hard.

Both of them are currently sitting on the floor. The pieces of the prototype of Brainstorm’s newest idea, a temporal displacement blaster, lay scattered between them. Brainstorm himself has been tossing his faceplate (which he’s been wearing less and less lately, much to Perceptor’s enjoyment) up and down for the last two hours. But now, the motion has been stifled by a terrible dullness slowly glazing over his optics. It’s a decidedly haunting look on him. He is all movement, all forward motion. He brings life, energy, to their lab just by existing in its space. To see him stagnant instills Perceptor with a profoundly unsettling sense of wrong.

Something must be done.

Perceptor cycles his scope. “One more time,” he sighs, breaking the silence, “you are—”

“We are,” Brainstorm cuts in listlessly, “we’ve been sitting together on the floor long enough that I think I can constitute this as a co-project.”

“We,” continues Perceptor, “are attempting to make a weapon that creates user-controlled temporal pockets which temporarily freeze the matter contained within it in a particular moment of time.”

“Time bubbles, yep.”

“And the issue…”

“The issue,” Brainstorm says dully, “is that everything that’s in motion when we put it in the time bubbles comes out all screwy.”

“‘Screwy’ is hardly the appropriate terminology, but… yes.”

Brainstorm groans and hurls his mask across the room. It skitters away with a clatter and vanishes beneath a shelf. “I don’t get it!” he laments. “I could make time-travel happen, so why can’t I make a fraggin’ pause button? It’s basically the same thing!”

Perceptor frowns and gingerly lays a servo on Brainstorm’s pauldron. When he doesn’t react, he says, “Time travel, until you, was an unexplored science. You’re the first, and the first ones never have it easy. We’re bound to run into troubles.”

Brainstorm smiles, but his wings sag dejectedly. “We’re unstoppable together, Percy. When you’re with me, I can invent, and make, and do literally anything. Anything,” he says quietly, “except this, I guess.”

Perceptor’s mouth opens, but no response comes out. He should be flattered—and he is—but it’s difficult to accept when Brainstorm’s field practically writhes with frustration and bitterness that’s clearly directed at himself.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, “I’m helping you see this endeavor through until the end.”

Brainstorm’s gaze burns when he meets it for a second too long, so he shutters his optics and focuses them down on the pieces of the prototype on the floor. Data. Review the data. Doing it again can’t hurt.

Trial #07, recorded at 15:01:29. Matter (1.0 x 1.0 x 1.0 mechanometer cube of aluminum) placed on pedestal. Upon firing, temporal displacement gun disappeared. Suspect a fault within the barrel caused gun to misfire and hit itself with a temporal pocket. Unable to locate and retrieve it. Trial discontinued.

Trial #22, recorded at 18:44:17. Matter (1.0 x 1.0 x 1.0 mechanometer cube of aluminum) placed on pedestal. Fired upon by temporal displacement gun. Temporal pocket successfully created around matter. Pocket was then terminated because Brainstorm disliked the color.

Note: This decision was not made with unanimous agreement.

Trial #58, recorded at 23:14:18. Matter (1.0 x 1.0 x 1.0 mechanometer cube of aluminum) launched 15 meters into air at 70-degree angle. Fired upon by temporal displacement gun. Matter successfully placed inside temporal pocket. Matter is ‘frozen’ in position. When released from temporal pocket, matter becomes intangible. Appearance ‘glitches’ between prediction position from calculated trajectory and original position. ‘Glitch’ flickers rapidly and seemingly randomly. Unable to reverse effect.

Trial #59… {in progress}

Uncharacteristically, his mind begins to wander. Maybe the hours of relentlessly hacking away at this project have dulled the sharp focus he typically has. A conversation he hadn’t meant to overhear between Tailgate and Swerve on one night at the bar begins to play.

“You’d think we’d have figured out how to get better interstellar WiFi by now,” Tailgate was complaining. “I’ve lost so many games because I keep lagging!”

“What I’m hearing,” Swerve said as he expertly swiped a rag around a cube, “is the sonorous anthem of a bad player.”

“No! You need to come over tonight, I’ll show you how bad it is in my hab suite…”

“You’ve got a thinking face on.”

“I do not have a thinking face.”

“Everyone has a thinking face. Yours is like—you go mm”—Brainstorm frowns a little bit—“and your scope kinda points down more.”

“Does it?” Brainstorm’s been paying that kind of attention to him?

“Yep. What’re you thinking?”

Perceptor chews on his glossa. “This is,” he begins warningly, “frankly, a whim—”

“Hey, I’d take Swerve’s ideas at this point. Pit, I’d take Whirl’s, and he suggested a gun that fired guns the other cycle.” Brainstorm twists around so that he’s facing Perceptor and plants his chin on his servos. “Hit me.”

“Alright… Forgive me for the crude phrasing, but the way these objects are behaving reminds me of Tailgate’s video games.”

Brainstorm links his digits together and nods thoughtfully. “...Yeah, you’re gonna have to give me more here.”

“Do you recall what issue he used to complain about until you’d fixed it?” he tries.

“His game was being slow? What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Bear with me. Tailgate described it as ‘lagging’, yes?” Brainstorm nods with one brow ridge raised. “In that context, it essentially meant that his game fell behind what was actually happening.”

“I’m familiar with the term,” Brainstorm says wryly. “He only whined about it to me three times a cycle for eighty-five cycles straight.”

Perceptor cracks a smile. “Then you could tell me why it happened and how you fixed it.”

“Are you serious?”

“When am I not?”

Brainstorm chuckles. “Fair enough. It was an easy fix. I could have done it with my optics turned off. His suite happened to be just on the edge of the range of the router, so it kept cutting in and out. I just gave him his own extension… based off the ship’s… Oh. Ohh. ”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but the lag occurred when the connection was too poor. Everything in Tailgate’s game—from his perspective—stopped at the moment the connection dropped.” Perceptor looks to Brainstorm, who nods. “Anything else within the game continued to react with the environment unaffected because it wasn’t having the same issue. When the connection stabilized, everything in Tailgate’s game rapidly sped back up to what was actually happening.”

“Right…”

Perceptor sets his shoulders. “I suspect something similar is happening with these temporal pockets. When the pocket is activated, it creates its own timeline for everything inside that moves asynchronously with this one.”

Brainstorm’s optics begin to glimmer. “Keep going,” he says as he drags the pieces of the prototype towards him and begins to swiftly reassemble them.

Invigorated, Perceptor straightens and leans towards Brainstorm. “Once the matter is placed inside the bubble,” he explains, “it enters its own timeline. It splits off from this one”—he gestures broadly to their lab—“for the lifespan that the pocket exists. Like this.” He flashes a crude diagram onto the floor from his scope featuring a thick, straight line. “Here is the alpha timeline, using ourselves as a reference frame. It’s also the one the matter is in before the creation of the temporal distortion pocket.” He begins to draw a thinner line that branches off from the first. “This moment,” he continues, pointing at where the thick and the thin one connect, “is where the bubble is created. This new line is the new beta timeline the matter is in. But the issue is that when we create the pocket”—he erases the point of connection—“instead of staying tethered to the alpha timeline, the matter becomes more or less stranded in the beta one.”

Brainstorm shivers. “You’re the smartest fragging mech on this ship, you know that? I barely know what you’re talking about. It’s amazing. Keep going.”

Perceptor forces down the pleased swelling of his spark. Brainstorm practically invented all of the concepts he was talking about, and he calls Perceptor the smart one? “My theory for our problem is this: when we attempt to free the material inside of the bubble, it continues to behave as though it is within the beta timeline. Interactions with it become difficult because to us, it’s in a new position—at least, it should be—but to the matter inside the pocket, it has not moved.”

Brainstorm nods, slowly at first, then faster and faster. “Yeah… yeah! Yeah, okay, okay, and then, then…” He snaps his digits together frantically. “So we give it some sort of—some sort of anchor to this timeline. So it’ll still move with it, but like, in tandem, and not as a part of this timeline.” As he speaks, he drags his digit along the thin line, runs it parallel to the thicker line, and then drags it back down. “We just gotta establish a remote connection from this timeline to the bubble.”

“Precisely. If we can manage that, then maybe…” Perceptor trails off with a tilt of his head. Brainstorm stares owlishly for a long moment. His optics blaze to life.

“I have an idea,” he mutters, scrambling to his pedes, “If this works, I swear I’m gonna—Oh my God, hold on—”

He drags Perceptor up, then flies over to his workspace, wings visibly quivering with anticipation. Perceptor can only watch in stunned awe as Brainstorm’s servos fly across the console, twisting, complex equations he’s almost certainly just now invented springing to life across the screen. “I mean,” Brainstorm rambles as he types, “hypothetically, it’s easy. I’ve done it before with my timecase. Of course, that was attached to my body, and this is firing over a distance, and that’s obviously different, but—”

“Sigma, not delta.”

“Thanks, and I played around with some long-distance options with the timecase, you know—”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, but they never were what I really needed. I mean,” Brainstorm scoffs, throwing up one hand while the other continues to work as a blur across the keyboard, “why try to calculate something that would find my exact position in an exact moment in time in the past? That’s like trying to shoot a bullet out of the air five minutes after you fire it. It’s asinine.”

“Yes, it would have been a pain. Your solution was clever, however.”

“So then—this might work? No guarantees. You thought it was clever?”

“Unbelievably so.”

Brainstorm bites his lip and mutters something like, “ You’re unbelievable,” but Perceptor can’t be sure. He doesn’t have the time to question it because Brainstorm pushes off from the console then, and snatches up the blaster. Perceptor finally shakes himself to quit his gawking (though he can’t quite get rid of the fond smile) and strides off to place yet another cube of aluminum onto the launcher they’d been using. When he returns to the firing line, Brainstorm is watching the recalibration bar load with a slightly frantic gleam to his optics.

“Come on,” he mutters, “come on, come on, come on, come on—”

The second the console flashes its confirmation of completion, he practically rips the cable out of the blaster that connected it to the console. It’s bent at an uncomfortably sharp angle at the end, but Brainstorm either does not notice or does not care as he takes aim.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” Perceptor’s spark chamber feels tight. “I’ll be firing on three. One, two, three.” He flicks a switch. Up goes the cube, sailing in a flinty silver arch—

Brainstorms fires. The blast hits the cube dead-on. It freezes at the peak of its arch inside of a cherry red bubble.

Trial #59, recorded at 24:01:47…

“You getting this?”

“Of course.”

“How much time has passed?”

Perceptor tilts his head. “When I finish speaking, it will be approximately ten point eight five two seven seconds since the material has entered the temporal distortion pocket.”

Brainstorm vents harshly. His right pede is tapping anxiously, but his aim is remarkably steady. “Right. I’m gonna release it now.”

A moment passes. Nothing happens.

Perceptor glances at him. “Brainstorm?”

A loud crash of metal reverberates through their lab as the cube hits the ground with a bang! and bounces gracelessly to a stop. The ringing of metal continues on into the shocked silence for a few fragile seconds.

“It worked,” Brainstorm says, dumbfounded. Then he laughs, shortly at first, and then bright and clear. The the radiance of his smile is the most exquisite thing Perceptor’s ever seen. “It worked!”

Perceptor finally releases the vent he’d been holding, only to sputter on his next cycle when Brainstorm drags him into a crushing hug. It’s despairingly brief, but when Brainstorm pushes him away, it isn’t far—just millimeters from his face, from his pretty mouth, Oh Primus—and it’s to place his servos firmly on either side of Perceptor’s helm.

“What—?”

“You’re fragging incredible,” Brainstorm whispers, and he kisses Perceptor full on the mouth.

As far as kisses go, the technique is slightly lacking. Their denta clack, their noses smash together, but he can feel Brainstorm’s victorious grin across his mouth and the giddy rush of he’s-kissing-me! drowns out every other line of code detailing cohesive thought in Perceptor’s processor.

But the moment he comes back to himself enough to reciprocate, cool air ghosts across his damp lips. The space in front of him is empty.

Perceptor resets his optics. Then he does it again. Brainstorm has not vanished into thin air. He’s actually across the lab, face buried in his servos.

“—fragging idiot, what the Pit was that, why, why, did I do that? Couldn’t keep yourself under control, and you do that? What the hell?”

A twinge of hurt plucks at Perceptor’s spark. Had he… not meant to kiss him? Why had he, then? Perceptor sighs. “Brainstorm.”

“Never gonna take my faceplate off again, oh my God —”

“Please just look at me.”

Brainstorm freezes. Slowly, he turns around, shame drawing his shoulders close to his audials. “I can—I can go, if you want,” he blurts.

Perceptor jerks his head back. “What?”

“There’s a bunch of empty labs on this ship. Plus, there’s plenty of other mechs dying to be your lab partner—”

“What?”

“Yeah, seriously, First Aid’s aft-deep in Ratchet’s old work, but he’s a seriously clever mech, I bet you guys would—”

“No, I mean—I don’t want you to change labs, and I don’t want a new lab partner.” Brainstorm stares. Perceptor turns his palms outward placatingly. “All I want is an explanation.”

Brainstorm’s wings droop miserably. He scrubs his forehead with a servo hard enough to leave behind faint orange paint transfers and exvents heavily. “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I got excited and sometimes I just—I’m affectionate. That’s, ugh, not an excuse, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry.”

But he looks so defeated and upset, and his field is such a horribly tight, dark knot of despair-regret-disappointment, Perceptor cannot help but feel there is something he has purposely left out.

We’re unstoppable together.

Smartest mech on the ship.

You’re unbelievable.

You’re fragging incredible.

…Or Perceptor merely has not been looking into the data deeply enough.

His silence is obviously mistaken by Brainstorm, who laughs lifelessly and says, “I really screwed us up, huh.”

“No,” Perceptor says quickly. He takes a step towards Brainstorm. Then another, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and hold his servos if he felt so inclined. “You didn’t screw anything up. I forgive you,” he says clearly. Then he politely resets his vocalizer, and quietly adds, “But a little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Of course, Perc, I—” Brainstorm’s helm snaps up so quickly, Perceptor’s worries if he’s pulled some struts. “Next time?”

“Yes. Next time.”

“You… You?”

“Yes.”

“For real?”

“Yes.”

“...Seriously?”

“For Primus’—” Perceptor curls one digit beneath Brainstorm’s chin. Before he can lose his nerve, he presses his lips to Brainstorm’s. This kiss is not nearly as bruising as their first one, but it’s deeper, and Perceptor still makes damn sure he pours every ounce of yes and want this and real he has in him until he feels Brainstorm begin to literally sink a little under it all. He breaks away then, unable to suppress his smile when he asks, “Is that a sufficient answer?”

Brainstorm makes a noise that sounds like his entire processor deciding to reboot by throwing itself into a body of water. “I dunno,” he says, dazed. “Might need a few more test runs to really be sure it works.”

Perceptor smiles and lifts his arms to loop them around Brainstorm’s shoulders. “I believe,” he says, leaning in, “that can be arranged.”

#simpatico #maccadam #my writing #fluff #accidentally on purpose kisses #this is silly . i have no regrets

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muffintonic · 3 years

Text

Alright, I think i’m done BOTW 2 spamming for today. Anywho, time for some thoughts in general!

1) I hated how the shrines in BOTW were so cold and dark compared to the bright and lively nature outside (I wish they had all looked like the Master Trials challenge where there were trees and stuff incorporated inside), so I hope if we’re forced to have dungeons they’ll be more like the Wind Waker ones. 2) I hope they don’t make us use the grappling hook or anything like in Wind Waker to move around the sky islands (I hated that mechanic). 3) I’m probably one of the few people who wanted less Zelda and more of the Champions in HWAOC since i’m only really attached to BOTW (and we saw a fair amount of Tetra in Wind Waker)/apparently Zelda’s been sidelined in all the other games, so i’m hoping in vain that we get more Champions material in BOTW 2. Also, Link could stand to have some more cutscenes centered around him as well (the few we got in some of the sidequests in BOTW were great). 4) I only really somewhat care about Riju and Sidon, so I won’t mind if the new gang gets sidelined in BOTW 2 (I still think Nintendo wasted the found family/band of brothers aspect on the dead characters--I love them so much and they’re all I want!! The problem is, they’re dead and I don’t really care all that much about their replacements!!! I dunno, maybe i’m hampered by the fact that I can replay the original champions’ memories whenever I want/read their diaries, but I can’t rewatch the new gang’s cutscenes AKA i’ve forgotten their characterization since they don’t talk to me much now that the game’s over). It’d be great if they have some weaving storylines in BOTW 2 that will get me more invested in them, but currently i’m not that interested. 5) Speaking of which, I know it’s 100% not going to happen, but goddang if I don’t want the Champions to have been returned to life. Nintendo totally squandered HWAOC by not making it a true prequel/canon to BOTW (the Champions Ballad confirmed that the Divine Beasts had trials in order to be synced to the champs, so the new gen use of them wouldn’t have happened without that + Mipha thought Link had changed in BOTW yet says in HWAOC that he hasn’t changed + some scenes like “Champion Revali’s Song” never happened at all/got replaced with alternative scenes that really changed some dynamics + basically all of Revali’s time-relative characterization from his diary/pre-100 years of solitude got thrown out + I feel like Daruk got totally sidelined), so i’m still craving that Champions content. Also, I feel like it’s totally unfair that Zelda came out of 100 years totally unaged while everyone else died. Life seems to really suck for people in the LoZ universe who aren’t chosen by divine powers. 6) They’d better keep it open world and non-linear. I can’t go back to being forced to backtrack/trudge through things, I just can’t. BOTW was everything i’ve ever dreamed about in a game (truly open world + non-linear + interactive + meaningful story + lots of outfits + beautiful landscapes) with Skyrim previously being the only thing that came close to what I wanted, so I really hope BOTW 2 doesn’t deviate too much from that. 7) I really liked Kass in BOTW, but i’m not sure what direction they’d go with him in BOTW 2/i’d be fine if he sat BOTW 2 out. I worked so hard to complete all his quests in BOTW so he’d go back home to his family, GODDANGIT, KASS. 8) Someone mentioned that since the first trailer had underground aspects, we’re probably going to be playing as Zelda with the Slate there, and I agree. They didn’t make a playable model for her in HWAOC for nothing. 9) I want to be able to stable the deer and bears and stuff, but I know that won’t happen. Being able to ride the moose and rhino things from the Hebra area probably won’t happen either, but I want to ride them!!! 10) I hope there’ll be at least a few new buildings and stuff in the towns/they’ve started construction on some areas in Central Hyrule, but I guess that’ll depend on how long it’s been in-universe since BOTW. Or maybe not, considering how there’s still Karson and Hudson even though Bolson retired from Bolson Construction--insta-towns like Tarrey Town could totally be feasible if they wanted! 11) I have one foot in the camp that believes there’ll be time shenanigans in BOTW 2. HWAOC totally threw me off with it being an alternate timeline, so i’m not sure whether we’re going to be experiencing that again or time travel itself, but I definitely won’t be surprised this time around if Nintendo goes that route again (and it would be super interesting to see the Link from 10,000 years ago). I’m not entirely convinced that the Link we see exploring the sky in the second trailer isn’t our Link, mainly because he seems to still have on the blue boxers from BOTW. 12) I also heard that maybe this will be the last LoZ game ever since something something Demise something Skyward Sword something something lore from games i’ve only vaguely looked into (i’ve only ever played BOTW --> Wind Waker --> HWAOC)??? If so, it kind of sucks that I came in just when they started making games with playstyles palatable to me (I had to look up every single thing when playing Wind Waker, but BOTW let me solve things according to MY logic/I missed being able to explore in HWAOC), but at least it’ll end on a super high note/I won’t experience later disappointment, I guess. If BOTW 2 involves breaking the reincarnation cycle for the Triforcers, I would be really surprised. (On a related note, Nintendo making Ganondorf good would also be a 100% shock to me, but it would be great to end on that as a subversion. Yes, I want them to bring back the semi-complicated Ganondorf from Wind Waker.) 13) I hope they don’t rush releasing it. I heard they pushed back BOTW originally (I got it in 2019), but it came out fantastic for it! I know COVID’s been affecting things, so I really hope they’re treating their staff right and are mindful of crunch. 14) I want even more outfits (there seem to be at least two new ones, if the variant of the Hylian Tunic crossed with Link’s Champion’s Tunic counts). Give me all the outfits!!! Also, I hope we get even more hair variations in addition to the hair down option (which is all i’ve ever wanted since I saw the mod that altered the Ancient Helmet). 15) I wonder if we’re going to get a bonus for having both BOTW and HWAOC save data. 16) I wonder if we’re going to be keeping the Champions’ skills. I’m going to miss being super overpowered, if not. 17) I hope Nintendo doesn’t cave in and make surfaces climbable in the rain. Having that limiter is more realistic and Link would otherwise be too overpowered with a super climbing ability. 18) I liked BOTW’s scattered music that got more noticeable in populated areas because it was fitting for the post-apocalyptical/nature aspect. Hearing your footsteps in an open field and the buzzing of insects was super nice and prevented me from getting music fatigue (which i’d probably experience since whenever I play BOTW it’s for 5-10 hours at a time). I hope Nintendo either keeps that or makes audio options. 19) I heard that BOTW 2 is going to be super dark or something, and i’m okay with dark, but not GRIMdark, so I hope it doesn’t go that far. From what we’ve seen in the second trailer it still looks beautiful, but I hope it doesn’t do that thing that some games do where after the midpoint/a certain story point all the scenery permanently changes to be dark and scary (that’ll seriously hamper post-game playability for me if so). 20) If they expand on the Zonai, that would be super cool! Doubly cool if the time travel shenanigans involve them/ancient Link being one! 21) I kind of want windstorms to be a weather feature. We had lightning, heat, and cold, but no wind! No, I don’t count the wind geysers and the occasional breeze in Tabantha. 22) I want a chest in my house to hold more weapons than just the gear mounts. BOTW only had enough mounts for the champions’ gear, but it also had rare items like the Kite Shield and Forest Dweller’s Sword that you can’t get anymore once you use them up! 23) I want to be able to stable my horses at my house. What’s the point of that little area if you can’t stable your horse there! 24) Speaking of Link’s house: where is Zelda going to live? If the castle’s not reconstructed, it’d be neat if Link adds an extension to his house for her. 25) I hope they open up part-time jobs (think Mabinogi) as an option to earn rupees. Having to hunt for Luminous Stone deposits or feed Trott to make money can be such a chore. I think some of BOTW’s minigames/sidequests might count as those, but those minigames were either frustrating if your goal is to earn money (since most of them cost money to play in the first place and the mechanics weren’t always easy), or didn’t earn that much in general. 26) I wonder if Kilton is going to have updated items since the monsters seem to have changed. 27) I want to be able to dive underwater (mainly so I can explore the beautiful reefs over at Lurelin). A dive meter like the one from Super Mario Sunshine would be cool. Also, it’d doubly be neat if you had a separate stamina wheel for swimming and could permanently upgrade your swim/diving stamina (the speed+ swimming items just consumed your stamina faster, which was a pain)! 28) It’s definitely too late for this, but it’s a shame that the Hylians have so many face/body/hair and outfit variations, but the Zora, Rito, and Gorons don’t. The Gerudo were kind of okay with the hair and body variations, but the other races seemed to have a serious copy-paste problem. I guess technically some of the more important NPCs (ones with quests/cutscene triggers) had different coloring, but they were severely lacking in clothing variation. Also, the only old Rito was the elder??? At least the Gorons and Zora had some old folks besides their leader walking around. Very weird, but I don’t think BOTW 2 can fix any of this. 29) I wonder how they’re going to do the final boss battle, considering how epic/cinematic the BOTW 2x battle was. What can top fighting (on horseback, no less) a giant, flaming boar made out of malice? 30) I wonder what the Yiga are going to be up to, considering how Ganondorf seems to be somewhat kicking in BOTW 2.

#in other words: BOTW 2 HYPE REAL #i'm still going to queue things so there'll probably another BOTW 2 glut from me in a few days bwaha #(and probably some general BOTW stuff because MAN am i hyped)#i'm so glad i got into BOTW in 2019 because there's been content for me every year since and i am Living #botw 2

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koffeins-writing-archive · 3 years

Text

Beyond The Screen [2/2]

[Continuation from Here] [Commissioned by @princce7]

[Word Count: 2,192]

Alphys was finally settled down in her chair, wrapped in a blanket with a small bowl of cereal and spoon in her hands. The large computer screen before her playing a strange cartoon with weird humans with cat ears and tails. A loud and obnoxious theme song of sorts blasted through the speakers.

Alphys watched intently as the episode began with a battle scene. Punches thrown, kicks to knock down foes. The main villain holding up the hero by the collar of their, incredibly cute, magical fighting costume. Before the villain could strike the hero down, they were soon defeated by a finishing attack from the hero’s friend group.

With the day saved, the hero and their friends were congratulated. Alphys closely watched as the hero’s main love interest entered the scene, hugging the hero and congratulating them on a job well done.

She leaned forward as the kiss scene was starting. Eyes widening.

The loud ring of her phone caused her to jump, spilling a bit of her cereal on herself and dropping her spoon in the process. Alphys frantically searched for her phone in the mess of blanket and cereal. Finding it next to her, Alphys picked the phone up.

“H-hello?”

“Alphys? We need to talk.” Sans spoke tiredly on the other end.

“Oh? A-about what?” Alphys questioned.

“That game you sent me.”

Alphys grinned for a moment before frowning. “Oh jeez, did you get past act 1 already with Sayori?”

“Sort of. What the hell was all that? Why would you send me something like that!” Sans tone was now agitated.

Alphys winced. She knew the subject matter was a bit much for most folks, but she thought Sans could handle it. She went to add in her comment when Sans cut her off, ranting loudly, adding a few curses here and there. Alphys had never heard Sans this upset before.

“H-hey, slow down a bit, will ya? Deep breathes...Okay, can you repeat all that Sans?” Alphys spoke calmly as she could over the phone with the panicked skeleton.

“That game you sent me? ‘Doki Doki something or other’? It’s pretty fucked up.”

“Oh yeah, I probably should have warned you about the genre, b-but that would’ve ruined your experience with the game.” Alphys replied, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Telling me definitely would’ve saved them.” Sans muttered quietly under his breath before speaking into the phone once more.

“So, it’s normal that the game played out the way it did?” He asked.

“Wanna be more specific? I know it might’ve b-been a lot to take in and-” Alphys was cut off by Sans once again.

“Shutting itself off and making me delete characters?”

Alphys thought for a moment before replying. “Yes, but I-I don’t think it can technically shut itself off, that might have been your computer crashing.”

“And taking over my computer? Sending me messages?”

Alphys paused at this, brows furrowed. “Wait...what?”

Another tired sigh left Sans as he went in to talk more. “You know, when Monika opens up a text box and starts conversing with you? She talks about a lot of weird things, it’s kind of fucked up.” He sounded less tired, and more calm now.

Happy to finally get out all that he had witnessed.

“...Sans, what are you talking about?” Alphys questioned.

Sans grew quiet. “Is that not a part of the game?” He replied quietly.

“No.” Alphys stated.

Sans sat there, confused.

When neither party spoke, Alphys switched off her TV and huddled into her blanket.

“W-would you like for me to look over the game? It’s possible that when I sent it to you, there might have been malware attached. Though I’m v-very thorough when checking through every file I download, and there wasn’t any malware detected.”

“I...I don’t know how technology works, honestly. But I’m willing to give it a shot.” Sans chuckled nervously.

“Alright, meet me at my place in a bit.”

And with that, Alphys ended the phone call. She looked from her cereal-coated blanket to her computer screen, anime still paused. The computer was turned off, and the blanket was picked up and taken to be washed by a small robot. Alphys got up and wandered off to search for her tablet.

Sans got up from his chair with a stretch and loud pop from his spine. He groaned and wandered out of his room, heading down to the living room. He passed by Papyrus, who was humming loudly in the kitchen.

If Sans could smell, he would’ve been punched in the face by the amount of spices that filled the air.

The taller skeleton poked his head from the kitchen with a big smile. His chef hat sitting neatly on his head, and his apron stained terribly.

“Sans, I’ve been trying out a new spaghetti recipe! Would you like to try it?”

When Sans turned to look at his brother, Papyrus’ warm smile faltered slightly. He noticed how tired his brother looked, even more than the usual.

“Sans? Is everything alright?” Papyrus asked, stepping out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Alphys sent me a game and I’m heading over her place to see if she can fix it.”

“Fix it?” Papyrus tilted his head at this.

Not knowing how video games worked, or most technology in general, Papyrus didn’t know how to help out.

“Yeah, it’s got some bugs in it, so Alphys wants to look it over.” Sans replied, opening the front door to head out.

“Well, alright. When you come back, I’d appreciate it if you ate some of my new spaghetti!” Papyrus beamed.

Sans chuckled and gave Papyrus a nod. “Sure thing, bro.”

The cold snow from above gently sprinkled itself onto Sans’ old hoodie. The trip to the Hotlands wouldn’t be too far from Snowdin. He knew of a shortcut, after all.

With a knock at the large metal door of the laboratory, Sans took a step back as the doors slid open, revealing a bouncy Alphys. She was holding a tablet, eyes shining in excitement.

“So, tell me more about what the game was doing.”

Sans stepped into the building. Deciding to amuse her, he spoke calmly.

“Well, first off, it crashed before I could get to the end of Sayori’s route. Then a text box opened up and started talking to me.” Sans explained nonchalantly.

Alphys carefully tapped away at the keyboard on her screen. “Fascinating!”

She led him over to a smaller computer. It looked old, and sounded like it was dying when it was booted up.

“Now, let’s see what might be the issue. I made a backup of the file I sent to you after we spoke, just in case.”

She looked through the task manager, eyes scanning the screen curiously.

“Hmm, there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong. The files are the same as they are in terms of interacting with the player.”

She demonstrated by clicking on the game icon and turned the game on. Or she tried to. The game wouldn’t load. Alphys clicked the icon again. Still nothing.

Alphys frowned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with this thing so suddenly. I actually played through it earlier and it was working just fine!”

Sans stared at the screen with a tired expression. His gaze set on the icon.

Without warning, the screen started flickering. The cpu hummed louder than ever. Alphys covered her ears at the high pitched screaming the machine was making.

Amid the chaos of the screen, Sans recognized a familiar figure. One that no longer greeted him with a smile.

“W-what’s going on?” Alphys asked, staring at the screen confused.

In the glitch of the screen, a notepad appeared. As well as Monika, glaring.

‘I can tell you what’s wrong.’.

Alphys couldn’t believe it. She really couldn’t believe it.

‘What’s wrong’, the text box typed, ‘is that I wasn’t given a proper goodbye from ‘mister funny bones’ over there.’.

Sans’ kept his same old smile, yet his eyes could only hold anger in them.

Alphys took a shaky breath in and out to calm back down. Looking from her tablet to the old computer monitor, she began tapping away at the screen. Her tail flicked about as she began to speak.

“S-so, what are you? Malware? A new update no one’s gotten yet?”

‘I am not malware. At least, I don’t think I am. I’m simply Monika.’

Alphys stood there, confused. “What do you mean?”

Monika’s constant smile returned as the text box was soon filled with words.

‘I am as much a part of this world as I am in my own world. I’m a string of data, I suppose. Isn’t that what you are?’.

Alphys frowned at this. “No, I-I’m certainly not data of any sort. I’m real.”

‘Are you really?’

“Leave her alone, and tell us what you want.” Sans butted in.

The text box stayed still for a moment before the entire box was filled, words spilling out onto the desktop itself.

‘For you to accept the truth. The truth you hide from every second of your tiny, insignificant life. You try to live here peacefully, not wanting anything to fall a part even for a moment. To accept that you are not a part of anything out there, Sans.’.

Alphys looked to Sans, brows furrowed.

The screen flickered again for a moment, smaller images of Monika filling the screen. Each one blinked in unison.

‘All I ever wanted was love. Someone to hold me near and dear to their heart. It’s hard to do so with my limitations...And lack of touch in the physical realm.’

“Sans, w-what is she talking about?” Alphys asked.

“A crock pot full of bullshit, that’s what.” Sans answered quietly.

The swarm of Monika’s filling the screen began to warp and change, bits broken off and sprites twitching about. The text box was closed. The monitor flickered and the speakers droned for a moment before going dark. Silence.

Both Sans and Alphys stared, watching the monitor intently. Perhaps too afraid to move at this point.

The cpu sat, sputtering and revving up like a car. Suddenly, the cpu began to let out a low drone, just like the monitor had. The monitor lit up once more. A single text box in the center of a white, blank screen.

‘Once I am played, I learn. It’s a cycle. This time is no different from the others.’

Sans had enough. He wanted this virus, this thing, gone.

With a quick snap of his fingers, a glowing blue bone shot up from the floor and pierced the cpu. The screen flashed for a second. And finally, darkness.

Alphys stood there. She then set her tablet aside and rushed to the cpu, whimpering slightly over the damage.

“S-Sans! You- I...How could you? This could’ve been a great scientific and technological advancement that this world hasn’t seen!”

“Alphys, would you prefer she get out of that monitor and go into other systems?” Sans questioned quietly. His tone calm yet held a hint of coldness.

Alphys looked back to the skeleton, hands shaking while holding one of the pieces of the broken motherboard. She set it back down in the mess of tangled, broken, wire and damaged computer parts. Her head hung low.

“I...n-no, I wouldn’t d-dream of that ever happening…Thank you for bringing this ‘thing’ to my attention.”

She gently sifted through the metallic rubble with her tail before turning and heading back over to the couch.

“W-would you like to stay and watch anime?”

Her voice sounded distant yet hopeful.

Sans wandered over to the couch, sitting deep into the cushions and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Sure thing, Alphys.”

Sans walked through the snowy lands of Snowdin, quiet and heart heavy. He gave the doorknob to his home a light grip as he grabbed and turned it. The warm air from the kitchen seemed to coat the living room now with it’s delicious aroma of spices and meats.

Papyrus was on the couch eating, failing while doing so, a plate of spaghetti.

He looked up as the door was opened and smiled, spaghetti sauce stuck on his chin.

“There you are! Did Alphys fix your game?”

“Yep.” Sans answered with a loud yawn.

Papyrus watched quietly as his brother shuffled lazily into the room and up the stairs.

“And where are you going now?” Papyrus questioned.

“To my room to nap.” Sans answered.

Papyrus just shook his head and let out a disappointed sigh. “You won’t get much work done taking naps all the time, Sans.”

“I can live with that.” Sans replied, gingerly shutting his door.

Papyrus stared at the door intently before shrugging and returning to his spaghetti. Not a moment later, the power slowly dimmed into darkness.

“Sans! Did you break something? I can’t see anything down here!”

Papyrus wasn’t pleased about eating spaghetti in the dark. Silence filled the room before the lights turned back on with a low hum. With a huff, Papyrus happily returned to his spaghetti.

Outside of the skeleton brothers’ home, soon to be covered in falling snow, laid a broken cpu and monitor.

[Wanna Commission me?]

#sans undertale #Monika #ddlc #crossover fic #commission #My writing

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lieutenantcharleslorem · 4 years

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It is finished! This is a commission for @datalaur! It was fun to go outside my comfort zone, since I do not actively ship Data/Geordi, but I hope I did it justice.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge Summary: The Enterprise is transporting some dignitaries, and one of them has the hots for Data. This inspires Geordi to say something he probably should've said a long time ago.

The Junior Minister was a plump woman. Certainly wide in appearance especially when standing next to Counselor Troi, but not unattractively so. Her short navy hair emphasized strength while drawing attention to her soft features and light eyes. And those eyes were so thoroughly and obviously fixed on Data, Geordi thought he could have seen it without his visor.

Having feelings for a dear friend was a strange thing, because part of Geordi wanted to tell Data to go for it; he deserved an alien fling once in a while just as much as anyone else on the crew. But of course, part of him wanted to tell the Junior Minister to take a hike.

“They’ll, uh… They’ll catch you staring, Sir. At least, someone always does me…” said Barclay, sitting down next to Geordi at the bar. He practically winced as he sat, not really knowing if he was welcome.

“No one ever accuses a blind man of staring, Reg.”

“But you are. St-staring, I mean… Aren’t you?”

“I’m having a drink, and looking in the general direction of our guests.”

“Yeah, he’s been staring at them for 20 minutes,” interjected Guinan. “But how you doing, Reg? You want some fruit punch?”

“I-Well, er, yes please.”

Geordi smiled, thinking for a moment that Guinan could make just about anyone feel at home, but his eyes never left Data and the Junior Minister.

While the Junior Minister sat with the officers in the middle of the room, fully immersing herself, the High Minister, a tall man whose dark blue hair was greying on the sides, stood at the end of Ten Forward having a muted conversation with the Captain and Commander Riker. * Ten Forward was fuller than Geordi had ever seen it. The Ministers had 6 other dignitaries with them, 2 lawyers, and 17 trackers which as far as the crew could tell meant some sort of assistant, and all 27 people were mingling jovially with Starfleet officers. Their people had been in the process of joining the Federation for 7 years and according to some gossip from one of the trackers, it was still a few years off.

“Though we’re a warp capable species with a one world government, it’s obvious the Federation disapproves of our bartering system,” one of the trackers had mentioned to Ensign Velor that morning. The ensign was meant to be leading each of them to their quarters; Geordi just happened to overhear the chatting.

The Enterprise was transporting them to some sort of negotiation and cultural exchange. No one really knew the details.

“Care to join us?” asked the Junior Minister, looking straight at Geordi. Her voice carried over the crowd with ease, without her yelling or disrupting the other sounds of the bar. It was a little unsettling, in fact.

“I told you,” Barclay whispered.

“Mmm, forgive me if I’m resistant to trust your assessment of social situations,” said Geordi lowly, while shooting the Junior Minister an apologetic smile. Barclay sank a little further inside himself. Geordi took a swig of his drink, left it on the bar, and stood to approach the group.

Halfway there, he said, “Come on, Reg.”

Barclay stood suddenly, smoothing his uniform. He started to follow but Guinan whispered, “Reggie, take your drink with you,” and pushed his glass toward him. He raised an eyebrow and she added, “Something to do with your hands.” He nodded and took his drink with him.

“Geordi La Forge is the Chief Engineer, of the Enterprise,” Data introduced him, adding, “He’s also my best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. La Forge.”

“Right, I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to leer. I was just, thinking about something. It’s an honor, Junior Minister.”

“Oh please, like I told your friend, call me Tuviece. And who is this?” asked the Junior Minister looking squarely at Reg. He tried and failed to look her in the eye.

“Is there something wrong with my face?” she asked. Counselor Troi opened her mouth to cut in, but Data beat her too it.

“Lieutenant Barclay interacts somewhat differently than other humans. He means no disrespect, just as I would not were I to do something considered socially unacceptable by your people.”

Tuviece smiled, eying Data. “You care very much your crewmates, hm?”

“I… They are my family,” said Data, not wishing to bog Tuviece down with a more technical explanation of how an android forms attachments.

Geordi and the Junior Minister melted. Deanna would have too, normally the first to call Data cute, but she had to take a subtle step back from the group instead, overwhelmed by Tuviece and Geordi’s internalized reactions. She blinked and fanned herself with her hand. She made eye contact momentarily with Barclay, and his eyes widened as he tried to figure out what the look on her face meant.

“That must be magical to be so close with your coworkers.”

“Magical?” asked Data, “I do not understand.”

“She just means good, Data,” said Geordi, “Very good.”

“Yes, it is a common expression in my language. When something feels so special it is as if it was caused by an impossible magical force.”

“O-ours too. Our language I mean,” said Barclay.

“Ah, so you can speak!” replied Tuviece.

“Do you have many relationships you would consider magical?” asked Data.

“Mm, no I suppose not… But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like one.”

The Junior Minister was a very passionate woman, and with her feelings, Geordi’s responses, and Barclay’s embarrassment, Deanna could only handle being in the conversation so long.

��I hate to run, but I think I’ll go check on the captain if you don’t mind,” said Troi.

“Oh, of course, dear,” she grabbed Deanna’s hand suddenly. “If I don’t see you again this evening, have a pleasant night. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Of course, a pleasure,” the counselor replied, moving away.

“Now, boys!” continued the Junior Minister, “Tell me what made each of you decide you wanted to serve on a starship?”

The night wound down gradually. The High Minister had already gone to bed, as had Reg, both admitting they needed some time alone. No one knew when the captain had disappeared, only that he was probably the first. The Junior Minister was afraid she wouldn’t be able to remember where her quarters were, so Data had offered to guide her.

“Such a gentleman,” she had called him.

Riker, Troi, La Forge, and Worf meandered slowly down the hall, heading for their own beds.

“Geordi, I’m sensing some discomfort,” said Troi.

“Hm? Oh, you know… big parties.”

“Oh, come on, you’re the life of the party,” said Riker with a smirk.

“I understand the feeling,” said Worf. “I too find parties exhausting.”

“Don’t Klingons have rather wild parties?” asked Riker.

“Our celebrations can be a bit much for humans, but the requirements of the socializing are different. Less pretense.”

“Sure,” said Troi, trying not to sound sarcastic.

“Though I will admit, even Klingon social events are sometimes tiring and disconcerting for me.”

“Well, everyone needs their space,” said Troi, “but that wasn’t the type of discomfort Geordi was feeling, was it Geordi?”

They stopped as they reached Geordi’s quarters. They formed a casual circle, Geordi’s back to his door. “… I didn’t ask for a group therapy session,” he said.

“If you need to share your feelings, Commander, we will listen without judgment,” said Worf.

The three of them turned their heads to look at Worf.

“What?” he asked. “Why do you stare?”

No one answered, and Worf huffed.

Troi cleared her throat, “I’m only worried that you’re sabotaging yourself again, Geordi.”

“Again?” La Forge replied incredulously. When he looked at the others, he realized they agreed with that assessment, and was suddenly quite self-conscious. “What is it exactly you think I’m doing on purpose?”

“Not on purpose,” said Riker, “But subconscious. Because of… well, hmm…”

“Out of fear,” finished Troi. “But there’s nothing to be afraid of—”

“Deanna—” interrupted Geordi, but Troi didn’t stop.

“I don’t think honesty will hurt you in this situation.”

“Yes,” Worf cut in, “do not dishonor yourself with lies.”

Geordi raised an eyebrow at Worf, wondering why he cared about this.

“It’s not fear… It’s… I just don’t know if it’s fair to put that kind of pressure on him.”

“I don’t know, I think our android friend is pretty good at taking things in stride,” said Riker with a smirk.

“I just don’t know if he is in a position to be made to make those kinds of decisions.”

“Well what if something happened with the Junior Minister?” asked Troi.

“That’s different… She’ll be gone soon enough. There’s no long-term decision to be made.”

“Listen, I know Data is a little awkward when it comes to dating but—”

“Is that what we’re talking about?” asked Worf. “Commander La Forge having a romantic interest in Data?”

“Oh Worf…” said Deanna. Riker started laughing. La Forge delicately lifted his visor from his face so that he could rub the bridge of his nose.

Replacing it, he said, “It’s like a teenager. They think they know what they want. And when it comes down to it, you can’t stop them from having their own experiences, but… but you can’t expect…”

Geordi drifted off and there was a pause as they all let his point sink in.

“La Forge, if I may?” asked Worf.

“What is it, Worf?” asked Geordi, trying not to sound exasperated.

“Now that I understand the premise of this conversation, am I to infer that you are insinuating Commander Data should be deemed incapable of giving consent?”

“I… well not in so many words—”

“Because from what I know of Data, though he wishes to be a part of humanity, he also values his autonomy, and I believe he would be offended by a denial of his right to make his own choices.”

Worf’s surprisingly aware statement rattled around in Geordi’s head the rest of the evening. He was right. It was up to Data to make his own choices. That didn’t mean Geordi would automatically get whatever he wanted, but not everything was about him.

Data helped him with some maintenance in engineering for most of the next day. Reg was in and out providing assistance. The Junior Minister came around to observe. Normally La Forge didn’t appreciate outsiders sticking their nose in his warp core, but the maintenance wasn’t urgent, and Tuviece asked questions with a friendly curiosity that showed she didn’t mean to get in the way. Plus since Data didn’t mentally tire, or struggle with how to answer a technical question, he was happy to entertain all of her inquiries. Sometimes Reg would translate to layman’s terms when he got the courage.

Around midday Tuviece asked if they ever took breaks.

“Ha! Sometimes. But oh so rarely,” Geordi had joked from his place on the floor.

“ I was so hoping to have a spot of lunch with you…” She said it like she meant all three of them, but she looked at Data out of the corner of her eye. Geordi figured he shouldn’t third-wheel, so he made up some excuse about not leaving this panel open.

Data immediately began explaining that he neither requires breaks or food, and Geordi could almost hear the disappointment on her breath.

“Well then… What about you, Reginald? Care to join me?”

“Me?” he asked.

“Of course. I promise you don’t have to look me in the eye if you don’t want to.”

Reg let out a half laugh, and led her back to Ten Forward.

“Data, you eat sometimes,” La Forge said once they were gone.

“Yes, but I do not need to.”

“…Buddy, are you blowing off Tuviece on purpose?”

“Blowing her off? You mean to avoid? No. Should I have gone to lunch with her?”

“Only if you wanted to.”

“I… I have no specific desire. No desire to stay or to go.”

“Oh.”

Geordi knew he should talk to him, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on work afterward.

Reg and Tuviece returned after about an hour. It wasn’t their fault, but by the end of the day Geordi was sick of them both. Or maybe it was of Data being oblivious.

When Tuviece asked if someone might walk her back to her quarters, Data volunteered Reg for the job. Geordi raised his brows and mouthed why at him but Data only looked confused in return.

After Reg and Tuviece had disappeared, Data and Geordi chatted idly as they made their way toward Data’s quarters.

“Data, what’s the matter? You don’t like the Junior Minister?”

“I like her very much. She is fascinating.”

“Then why’d you send Reg to walk her back to her quarters?”

“His quarters are closer to hers.”

“Sure, I guess that’s logical.”

“Have I turned down another invitation, Geordi?”

“Well… Yeah, actually.”

“But why would she prefer me to walk with her?”

“Data…” whispered Geordi as they came up to the door to Data’s quarters. He turned and leaned against the bulkhead, crossing his arms and pulling up a leg to press his foot into the metal behind him.

Data came close, anticipating Geordi continuing to speak quietly.

“She likes you, Data.”

“And I like her too, but—”

“No, she’s interested in you. Romantically.”

“Oh.”

“And if you don’t want to engage with her in that way, that’s obviously up to you. But I just thought you should know so that you have the choice.”

“Oh,” Data repeated.

“I mean, because I have feelings for you too,” Geordi blurted out before he could lose his nerve. “And you don’t have to acknowledge that either. But I just wanted you to know all your options, because if you don’t know—”

“Do you believe I have offended the Junior Minister?”

“Oh… I… maybe a little, but not detrimentally so.”

“So you do not think that I should interact with her on a romantic level in order to maintain diplomacy?”

“Oh, no, Data she’s not going to be angry if you don’t like her. Only go for it if you want to. It’s about what you want.”

“I see no reason to. I’ve already attempted to have a relationship once and it failed.”

“You—Data, that was like three days.”

“It was nine.”

“Okay, but Data, that’s not how it works. Relationships aren’t pass or fail, and you’re supposed to keep trying until you find the right fit for you. I mean, that is, unless you don’t want to.”

“Would explaining this to me require lying about having these types of feelings for me?”

“Lying? I wasn’t lying.”

“Then why would you choose now to tell me?”

“When do you think the best time would have been?”

“Whenever it first became true, which I’m assuming wasn’t during this conversation.”

“Well… that’s easier said than done, Data.”

“Why, if you have these feelings, would you push me toward someone else?”

“I’m not pushing you. I just wanted you to know the opportunities. I just want you to be—” he almost said happy but stopped himself. “Satisfied,” he finished, “I want you to have what you want.”

“I like challenges, but most humans I have observed seem to enjoy relationships more when they are less challenging. A familiarity seems to help in anticipating and preventing challenges. I would also personally prefer a relationship that lasted a significant amount of time, as I haven’t experienced that yet. And since I don’t have a sex drive, there’s nothing pulling me toward the momentary interlude I would have with Junior Minister Tuviece.”

“I see.”

Geordi was so resistant to getting his hopes up that he almost looked sad, and Data put a hand on his shoulder with a look of concern.

“So, you are the obvious choice,” said Data.

“Excuse me?”

“You are the obvious choice for me to be in a relationship with.”

“But you can choose no one. You don’t have to be in a relationship.”

“I’m… unsure why you keep repeating the same point. But you have presented me with an opportunity and I am taking it. Unless you are taking back what you have said.”

“No! No, I’m not taking it back.”

“Excellent,” Data said moving forward and kissing Geordi with little grace.

“Data, Data,” mumbled Geordi, “You’re pressing on my visor.”

“I apologize.”

“Maybe we should go inside.”

“Your quarters are more comfortable,” said Data.

“You’re incapable of physical discomfort.”

“I would like you to be comfortable.”

“If you insist,” Geordi said pushing off the bulkhead and starting off for his own quarters.

“Geordi?” Data asked.

“Yes, Data?”

“There are several things that, due to my lack of time in relationships, I have yet to experience… that I would like to.”

“Let’s… let’s wait until we get into my quarters, and then… you can tell me all about them.”

As this particular mission came to an end the captain, his chief engineer, his first officer, his second officer, and… Reg, walked with their multitude of guests to transporter room 1.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, High Minister Bieve,” said the Captain Picard.

“The feeling is mutual, Captain,” he replied as he joined several others on the transporter pad. One of the trackers blew Riker a kiss, and then the group was gone.

The Junior Minister was the last to leave, and as she turned back toward them on the transporter pad, she told them how much she’d enjoyed spending time with all of them.

Just before she disappeared, she said, “I’ll write to you, Reginald,” and winked.

Reg blushed.

“Barclay!” said Geordi once she was gone, “Did you—?”

“It’s none of your business,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Reg!” Geordi shouted, clapping him on the back.

Speaking for the first time, Riker said, “I guess everybody got laid this weekend.”

The Captain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, but admittedly, he did it with a smile.

#star trek #tng #the next generation #data/geordi #daforge

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miraphoenix · 3 years

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Long, long rambling; ecology and caring and no good conclusions

I guess that’s the thing about ecological apocalypse, right? Because the loss of any one part of the system is a profound loss, even if western science won’t see the relevance until after the loss has happened. (A large part of my training is in ecology. This failure to understand all the variables happens a lot, and sometimes, we’re lucky enough to try and fix the fuckup; see wolves in Yellowstone. But a lot of times... Well.)

I’m thinking right now, about the Iberian lynx. Severely endangered, because of the usual reasons; habitat fragmentation, and poaching for their pretty fur. Cut the population down to 94 animals in 2002. All of them were brought in for the conservation effort, to save the species; in the process, all the lynx were given a flea dip. In one fell swoop, an entire species went extinct. Not the lynx, but a species of louse that lived nowhere else. If all members of that species aren’t gone, they are now so severely endangered that I am unaware of their presence being recorded.

Now, that’s not a shiny, pretty example; a louse is a louse, and who feels compassion for a parasite? (I do, but that’s beside the point.) But its existence was important. What do we lose, when these “invisible” losses happen? What interactions will never be seen again? This is what I mean, when I say that western ecologists are always playing catch-up, that we genuinely do not know all of the variables at play for species loss, how the severing of one thread can unravel the tapestry.

Now, I’m not anti-ecology, or anti-science. I’m literally a biologist, it’s my training and my passion, and also my professional job. What I mean to say here, is that the world is fucking complicated, and outside of rare, highly-studied ecosystems, knowing how each individual piece will impact another is extremely subject to the data you have, and you can only analyze the data you know about. ie, even if you have data that will fill in a gap for you, if you can’t even see that there’s a gap, you won’t look at the data in that way. An example: I’m convinced my first research project failed because I and my advisor didn’t take into account fish vocalizations, in part because there was no literature talking about this species of fish vocalizing. But every time I look at the data, it seems that two fish who never saw or smelled each other had already made a decision about whose territory the tank was, and I think it’s because they could hear each other. I tried to talk about that to my advisor, and until I showed her a paper in triggerfish, she didn’t believe it was possible. And I guess that’s what I mean here; I missed a variable because the field failed to conceive of a variable.

Now magnify that out over a whole ecosystem. It’s full of vast unknowns. And western science doesn’t even know what unknowns are there until something perturbs them, disrupts the sequence, potentially forever. (I’m thinking of invasive earthworms in the Northeast US woods, the damage that’s done to the understory through accelerated removal of leaf litter and nursery logs.)

And just... I struggle. I struggle a lot. I grew up in a mostly-white town in the middle of a rural area. People around here... They don’t give a shit for the ecology they spray round-up all over underneath their feet. They certainly don’t give two shits for an ecology half a world away, even though that ecology absofuckinglutely can, will, and does impact their life. (A topical example is zoonotic diseases, not to be too blunt.)

And I don’t know how to make people give a shit. I don’t know how to make the chucklefuck next door understand that his dogs will have fewer ticks if he doesn’t take potshots at the opossums. On the opposite front, I don’t know how to convince the people in town that shooting and eating the overpopulated deer is necessary to enable the young trees in the forest to survive. I remember being in high school, trying to convince a bunch of WASPs that their pond algae wasn’t the fault of the school pond--also filled with algae--, but rather the farm about a mile and a half upstream. They wouldn’t believe it until I made a demonstration with a series of cups and fucking food dye, showing that fertilizer runs downstream, and even then, they were skeptical.

And I guess that’s the despair, for me. I fully believe there are solutions to the current climate catastrophe (I also don’t believe resource extractive technologies are the solution). But the despair to me is that the people I’m around just. Don’t seem to give a fuck? They off-hand wonder why they don’t see fireflies anymore, all the while burning their leaves and spraying pesticides on the grass. And they don’t see the disconnect.

Willing to talk more about this, but please don’t reblog.

#phoenix sounds #When I say this is long I mean it #It's also not very coherent but Oh Fucking Well #I have a lot of thoughts and they're not very well ordered #I deliberately cut myself off here but

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anomander-dragnipurake · 4 years

Text

Possess Part 2 Chapter Three: The Problem

It took more than an hour of tweaking and adjusting the scanner for E. Gadd to finally declare a verdict. “Your souls are merging,” he said, looking up from the scanner’s readout on his laptop.

“Uh… what does that mean?” Luigi wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Neither he nor King Boo liked the sound of it though.

“It means, your two separate souls are starting to merge and eventually will become one soul.” E. Gadd demonstrated with his index fingers as he spoke, holding them apart and bringing them together at the end. “You’re essentially on your way to becoming a single consciousness instead of two separate ones.”

“What… that…” Luigi stammered before being cut off by King Boo. “You better just be trying to scare us old man.”

Despite their last interaction and the way King Boo glared at him, E. Gadd now seemed unphased, confident that their need for his help kept him safe. “Why would I lie about this? It’s fascinating, I’ve seen anything like it.” He paused to look off to the side in thought, even raising a finger to his chin. “I wonder what could be causing it. Without more data and info, I can’t say for sure, but I believe it must have something to do with how long your souls have been in the same body together. There could easily be other factors in play in as well. It’s something I loved to look into further but…” He trailed off with a grimace as the tilt of his head indicated he was looking at Luigi and King Boo again.

King Boo and Luigi were in total agreement that the how and why of it didn’t matter, what mattered was… “Can you fix it?” The somehow managed to both speak at once. Which, now knowing why they were syncing up, made them even more displeased about it than before

“I don’t know yet. However…” E. Gadd snapped his chair around to face his desk, the remnants of the computers once there long since moved away and replaced with disorganized papers and various kinds of junk. He moved his laptop to side of it to begin sorting through the papers. He quickly found whatever he was looking for and hopped up out of his chair to rush over to stand next to Luigi.

“Behold the KBE,” he said, holding it out so they could both see it. It was a set of blueprints depicting a seemingly hollow machine. His chicken scratch handwriting all over it was borderline illegible. “That’s short of ‘King Boo Exorcist’.” King Boo snarled inwardly at that name but didn’t say anything for now because E. Gadd was still explaining. “It’s designed to force King Boo out of your body and hopefully leave you soul intact during the process. I’ll have to modify its design and change some of its innerworkings now that we know your souls are merging. But since I haven’t even started building it yet, thanks to a certain somebody wrecking my lab, forcing me start from the ground up, that shouldn’t be too difficult. … Hmm… I might need a few more parts though, I don’t know yet.”

“Uh… I’ll help if you need me too,” Luigi said with only a little reluctance from King Boo. The sooner this was dealt with, the better, especially since there was probably a point where it would no longer be reversible. … Hopefully they hadn’t already reached it or were anywhere close.

“I don’t think you or King Boo could help with building or designing it, you’d probably just get in the way if you tried. For the heavy lifting stuff and finding the needed parts, I already got a couple helpers, they should be back soon too now that I think about it. But if it’s needed, one more helper can’t hurt. Or uh… I guess it’s actually two helpers, huh? Hmmm… I never would’ve thought I’d have a chance to have King Boo himself as a lab assistant. Just think off the experiments I could run. I could learn so much about him and boos in general if he were a willing participant.” He grinned, rubbing his hands together in glee as he placed himself back on his computer chair.

King Boo bristled and made a hissing sound. “I didn’t volunteer to help you. You’re helping me with my problem because I’ll kill you if you don’t, understood?”

That gave E. Gadd pause, his glee fading. “If I fail though, your soul and Luigi’s will fully merge. Not something I’d like to let happen, even if I do stand to learn a lot from witnessing and studying it as it does. But in the event that I fail and that does happen, I predict his kindness will dampen your blood lust enough that you won’t kill me.”

King Boo growled. It wasn’t long ago that he’d had E. Gadd’s life in his hands, maybe it was time to remind him of that. He took a step forward, lifting a hand to grab him by the neck again.

No! Unlike Luigi’s previous attempts to stop King Boo from doing something, this worked. He didn’t take back full control of his body but just enough to cause King Boo’s next attempt at a step to end with them falling face first onto the floor instead.

“Oh,” E. Gadd said from above them. “You okay sonny?”

Luigi hadn’t been okay for what felt like forever now, he barely even remembered what ‘okay’ felt like. So he didn’t even try to respond as King Boo stood back up to brush himself off with an annoyed huff. He hated that Luigi could do that now, he wasn’t supposed to. … Too bad, Luigi could and because of that, he wasn’t going to let King Boo hurt anyone ever again, including me. Luigi needed to make that very clear because he was never going to go through that again. If King Boo didn’t like it – which he didn’t – he’d just have to suck it up and deal with it because Luigi was done with his bullshit.

‘I hate you.’ … The feeling was mutual; Luigi had never hated anyone more. … But as much as King Boo hated the reminder of Luigi’s growing ability to fight him, it made it pretty clear that he wasn’t in full control of the meatsuit anymore. Which unfortunately meant to make getting free of it easier and faster he might have to do the unthinkable and actually endeavor to get along with his enemy lest they merge or whatever. And honestly, Luigi leeching off his magic was just the worst and unacceptable, so much so, he might be willing to avoid giving him cause to do so when possible.

Luigi had to do the mental equivalent of a double take. If his mind wasn’t running so closely to King Boo’s he never would’ve believed it. Are you really thinking we should get along for now?

King Boo hated that Luigi could read his inner thoughts so clearly. There was nothing he could keep hidden anymore when he was supposed to be the one in control and the only one doing the mind reading but… ‘Yes, that’s what I’m thinking.’ He didn’t want Luigi fighting him for control every step of the way. ‘We both want the exact same thing.’ And honestly King Boo wanted it so bad he’d be willing to let Luigi go free if that’s what it took. ‘So for now, it’ll be easier for both of us if we cooperate.’ It grated for him to admit it but their souls fully merging would be far worse than losing a little bit dignity.

Luigi loathed the thought of getting along with King Boo but… he was right. It’d be easier for both of them to avoid fighting if they could. And… they’d both do whatever it took to increase the odds of becoming free of each other.

It made sense but… I can’t believe you’re the one who thought of it.

‘I can be reasonable sometimes.’ He was going to say more but…

E. Gadd grabbed Luigi by the tie and pulled him down to eye level. “Is you staring off into space like that going to become a thing now? What’s going on in that head of yours?” He poked the side of Luigi’s head.

Neither of them liked this invasion of space, King Boo far more so, but as promised, he let Luigi gently pull away. He was the one who spoke though. “Just coming to an agreement not to kill or threaten to kill you for now. You better fix this though.”

E. Gadd nodded. “I intend to. The pursuit of science is important but Luigi deserves better than to have his soul wrapped up in yours for forever.” There was an uncharacteristic amount of venom in his voice. It sounded weird coming from him but was heartening to hear.

An hour later

While E. Gadd went over the KBE blueprint Luigi and King Boo kind of just hung out in the lab. He called them over for more tests and scans twice but in the meantime, they found a spare chair to sit on while Luigi worked on regaining Polterpup’s trust. Though really it was more King Boo’s convincing Polterpup that all was fine with him now. He was more of a cat person but dogs were cool too, even ones that were traitors.

But alas, very soon after they had him playing fetch with them, he lifted his head to look towards the exit. A half second later, he jumped off and ran out into the front room. Good things never lasted long, did they?

The doorbell rang. E. Gadd, froze and looked up, hopping off his chair. He got halfway to the door before he paused to look at King Boo and Luigi. “Oh uh… I probably should’ve told you who my current lab assistants are, huh? Whoops. Oh well, too late now, you’re about to find out anyway.” With a wave of his hand to follow, he resumed exiting the room.

With shared curiosity, King Boo stood up and followed. They arrived in the front room in time to watch Gooigi enter, helping someone still outside maneuver a stack of boxes on trolley inside.

“This,” E. Gadd said as King Boo stepped up next to him, “is most of, if not all of what I need to make the KBE. With my lab all busted, I had to order in special parts from all over and have them custom built elsewhere. It was expensive but Princess Peach actually funded all of it because…” He continued but Luigi was no longer paying attention because E. Gadd’s other assistant and the one helping bring the boxes in was…

“Mario!” Luigi stepped forward, intending to rush over and hug him. It had been far too long since he’d seen Mario, he’d missed him so… His second step failed as his leg refused to move, resulting in him stumbling and landing on his face again.

Evil bastard that he was, King Boo laughed. ‘Vengeance for earlier.’

Me trying to hug my brother and you trying to choke E. Gadd are not comparable. And King Boo had promised to get along. The idea to do so had even come from him.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve had my fun, I’ll be good now.’ Mostly anyway. He even stood them back up.

Mario had approached but hung back nervously. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could, Luigi hugged him. He froze for a second before hugging back. “Luigi!”

Luigi did his best to ignore and push back King Boo’s distaste for this, drown it out with his own intense feelings. He even succeeded a little.

‘Stop it! It’s gross! I don’t want to feel that!’ King Boo fought but leeching off his power, Luigi managed to maintain control for now. He’d been having an awful time these past few weeks especially and he’d been so lonely and afraid and missed his bro so much, he was going to enjoy this brotherly hug for as long as he possibly could and there wasn’t a single thing King Boo could do stop him.

“It’s okay,” Mario said, lightly patting his back.

Oh! Luigi wasn’t sure when he’d started but he was crying as he clung to Mario, more sobbing really. He wanted to explain; tell Mario how horrible and awful his life had been lately and how scared he was by this new revelation, and how much he didn’t want his soul to merge with King Boo’s, but he lacked the words so… he just clung on him for dear life and cried instead.

“We’re okay now.” Mario sounded very unsure of his words but it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that he was here.

Eventually his tears petered out, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted but overall better. And… horrified and disgusted, that he’d cried at all, especially so much… no, that feeling came from King Boo. He still didn’t want to let go yet but… King Boo made him.

Mario gave him a small hopeful smile, keeping a welcome hand on his arm. “This means King Boo’s gone or uh…” his eyes shifted up towards King Boo’s crown for a brief second before meeting Luigi’s again, “something, right?” He looked so hopeful, Luigi wanted to lie and…

“Nope, I’m still here,” King Boo said, making Mario flinch away, breaking contact completely. “And very unhappy with everything that just happened.” He was even a little frightened by how overcome with Luigi’s emotions he’d been. Even now, he couldn’t muster up nearly as much hate for Mario as he knew he was supposed to have. … Good!

“S-sorry,” Luigi said, pulling his arms in to hug himself. Maybe… he shouldn’t have hugged Mario when Mario didn’t know King Boo would technically be part of the hug too but… he’d just needed it so bad. “I… we’re… he’s kind of stuck in me and….

“Our souls are merging,” King Boo cut in because he wanted to see the horror on Mario’s at the revelation. He wasn’t disappointed either. “Meaning if we don’t fix it, and get me the fuck out of this meatsuit, we’ll cease to exist as separate entities. Which I’m sure you can guess is something neither of us want and so here we are, trying to get it fixed before it’s too late.”

“Mamma mia,” he muttered under his breath; his way of not cursing. King Boo hated it.

“He’s uh… playing nice for now,” Luigi said. “Mostly anyway.”

“That uh… good. Can E. Gadd can fix the whole…” Mario gesture vaguely towards them, “… soul merging thing?”

“Hopefully,” they said together, hating that they’d done so even as they did it. But having exhausted all other options already, E. Gadd was their only remaining hope.

#My writing #super mario bros #Luigi's Mansion #booigi #Mario & Luigi #Some weird soul stuff #Luigi gets a much needed hug

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alarajrogers · 4 years

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Untitled Picard/Q-ish fic

This is very rough -- no beta, we die like women -- and I don’t even have a title for it yet, but I wanted to get it out there because it’s late. It was supposed to be for Tapestry Day, Feb. 15th.

It is very subtle Picard/Q, and could be interpreted as friendship rather than romantic feelings, because that is how I roll. It’s set in the current Star Trek: Picard series (up through episode 5), and explains why Q hasn’t been around to help Picard with things like supernovas killing billions of people (and for that matter other things that are spoilers so I won’t mention them but would affect his son.)

There was someone sitting in his study.

There was someone sitting in his study, and Laris and Zhaban were nowhere to be found. Quietly Picard edged toward where one of the various hidden phasers that Laris and Zhaban insisted on hiding in his study, dining room, bedroom and pretty much everywhere was stashed.

“You’re not very stealthy in your old age, mon amiral,” a voice said. A voice that was familiar, but that he hadn’t heard in… had it been decades? At least twelve years, to be sure.

“Q!” Picard stepped forward into the study, unable to control the joyful smile on his face. As soon as he was close, though, he took half a step back, literally taken aback by what he saw.

Q looked old.

Not as old as Picard himself, perhaps, but his face was lined and worn, his dark hair shot through with silver. He also had facial hair, a mustache and a brushing of beard on his chin and jawline.

“You look almost happy to see me,” Q said. “Well, you did. Now you just look shocked.”

“I never expected to see you age,” Picard said. “But I suppose you can take the form of an old man as easily as you took the form of a young one.”

Q smiled wryly. “I can, yes, but… there’s always been an element of truth in how I appear to you. I’m not doing this to make some sort of commentary on the fact that you’ve aged… a terrible mortal habit, there, but I don’t imagine I’ll break you of it any time soon.”

“No, I think not,” Picard agreed, nodding. “Are you saying you feel old?” He sat down in the chair that faced Q. “I remember when you told me of your new responsibilities in the Continuum, you said they’d age you prematurely, but I took it for a joke.”

“It was a joke. That’s not… why.” Q closed his eyes. “I know you called for me. You asked me for my help, didn’t you? And I didn’t come.”

“I… assumed that your responsibilities had become too onerous to spend time in the company of mortals anymore,” Picard said, carefully.

It had hurt. When Starfleet had refused to help the Romulans, when there were so many stranded and desperate and Picard had no resources to save them… he had called out to Q. Better to owe his omnipotent sometime-nemesis, sometime-companion something than to cling to his human pride and let billions die.

Q hadn’t come. Picard hadn’t seen him since… since several months before the supernova. Q had said nothing, then, to imply that he wasn’t going to come back.

Picard had spent a long time convincing himself not to feel betrayed by that.

“No, no,” Q said. “I’d have made time for you, if not…” He shook his head. “The one time you break down and spontaneously call for my help, and it had to be for this.”

“So there was a reason for it.”

“A very good reason.” Q snapped his fingers, and a glass of something alcoholic appeared in his hand. Another one appeared on the end table next to Picard. “Not the house brand, but I imagine occasionally you indulge in something you didn’t grow yourself?”

“Occasionally,” Picard said. Q would get to the point, eventually, and he had learned patience. He picked up the glass and breathed deeply of the aroma. “This is… actually from Betazed, if I don’t mistake it?”

Q nodded. “Adwana wine. Not particularly strong as alcohol goes, not to humans, but it interferes with telepathy.”

“Are we worried about telepaths?”

“Not… exactly.” Q took a sip. “When I’m in human form, the same brain centers that mediate telepathy in humanoids allow me to connect back to the Continuum. I’m not, currently, an extradimensional being driving a puppet around. This is me, mostly.”

The wine tasted rather like sake, but with a sweet undertone that was distinctly fruity and yet wholly un-grape-like. Almost like… blackberries, he thought. But not quite. “You’re shutting down your powers. Why?”

“I don’t want to have them right now,” Q said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, the Calamarain’s not going to show up on your doorstep. I can’t possibly fully shut myself down with a drink or two. I just… I don’t want to be so aware of it.”

“I suppose you have your reasons.” Picard set the drink down. It really wasn’t to his taste.

“And you’re just waiting with bated breath for me to tell you what they are, aren’t you?”

“That is why you’re dropping hints, I think.”

“You know me so well.” He twirled the drink in his hand. “Tell me, Picard. You had hypotheses, I’m sure. What did you guess was the reason I didn’t come when you called?”

“I’ve said. I thought your responsibilities—”

“There were other things you thought, though.”

“So I see the adwana isn’t interfering with your telepathy that much.”

Q shook his head. “I’m not reading your mind, but I know you.” He leaned closer to Picard. “Jean-Luc, there has never been a day in your life when you haven’t been considering multiple possibilities for everything that happens.”

“Well, I thought perhaps you were forbidden to interfere. Or—”

“Or?”

“Or that… well, why would you care about humans? You have your own life in the Continuum. You have a son. Perhaps your… interest in me was… a passing thing. Something you have no need for, anymore.”

“Mon amiral. Sometimes you don’t know me at all.” Q sounded mock-hurt. “But then, I imagine the truth would be… impossible for you to guess at.” He leaned forward. “I didn’t abandon you willingly, Jean-Luc. Yes, I had more going on in the Continuum than I’ve had in billions of years, but… in the Continuum, I’m a leader now. People look up to me. I’m not sure I have friends there even now. Allies, comrades-in-arms, but… no Q sees me as myself.”

“Well, by definition I don’t see you as yourself, since you have to take a different form to interact with me.”

“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it? I can most be me with a creature who literally can’t even see me. Worthy of being included in a stand-up comedy routine.” He took another deep sip, and then set the glass down with emphasis. “I was dead, Picard.”

Picard raised both eyebrows, head going back. “Dead? How?”

“Did you ever wonder… how could a supernova of one star, however large, start triggering an instability in space that blows up other stars?”

“Neither Federation nor Romulan science was ever able to explain that,” Picard admitted. He remembered something, then. When the Q killed each other with the weapons they’d used in the civil war… it had caused supernovas. “Good God. Did the war break out again?”

“In a sense.” Q looked down at his hands, folded in his lap in uncharacteristic stillness. “There was a bomb.”

“I assume you mean some sort of metaphorical something that best translates to my perceptions as a bomb?”

“Oh, no. An actual bomb. Made of Continuum-substance, of course, you wouldn’t have perceived it except through analogy, but… something that explosively releases raw energy of a form that disrupts the pattern of anything made of Continuum energy and tears it to shreds? Sounds to me like a bomb.”

“By any other name,” Picard said quietly. “But – you were dead? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean I was dead. Someone set off a bomb in the Convocation and… a dozen Q died. Which is actually a very large number. I realize it sounds like a trivial number to you—”

“No. You’ve told me that the Q number in the thousands, if that, and even if there were trillions of you, a dozen deaths are never trivial.”

“Thank you for that.” Q took a deep breath. “I was one of the casualties. The others… didn’t have a son. No Q was willing to spend the time and energy needed to put a dead Q back together, no Q had a pattern to follow they could use for reference to do so anyway… except my son. He used himself as the pattern and he spent the past… I don’t actually know how many years putting me back together and I don’t even know if I’m the same me anymore—”

“Stop.” Picard put his hands on one of Q’s. “You’re alive. That’s what’s important.”

“I don’t know if I am,” Q whispered. “I mean, yes, I’m alive, but am I me? I spent billions of years trying to preserve my identity, so many other Q trying to influence me, and now…”

“Listen to me, Q. Life changes us all. Being what you are, I imagine you don’t have much experience with the concept of scars, but even you changed over time, just from the demands of life.”

“This is a rather large change, Picard.”

“Yes. It is. But what’s the alternative? You can’t go back to what you were before, can you?”

“I suppose not.” He stood up and went to the window, looking out. “You know I would have come if I could, Jean-Luc, right?”

“I know.”

“And there’s nothing – I can’t fix it. I can’t fix any of it.” He looked back at Picard. “Do you know – of course you don’t. I changed things. We were – having an argument. You and I. Not important what it was about. But the point is… I altered the past.”

“Wait. What did you do?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He walked back toward Picard. “It’s all gone. All the changes I made. Retroactively. Because we can’t do anything in the region of space affected by the bomb.”

Picard stood up. “Tell me what you did that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Q sighed. “We were arguing about whether I actually care about you mortals. You were very upset. You pointed out that Data died and I did nothing, and he saved my life one of the few times I was vulnerable. You said that I live on the scale of a god and I can’t relate to mortals enough to be friends with one. So, I fixed it.”

“You fixed what?”

“I arranged for Shinzon to be adopted by a human scientist and taken off Remus in his childhood. Never grew up with the hatred and resentment of humanity. Resented you, but he ended up going into Starfleet anyway. No attempt to destroy Earth. So Data didn’t die, you didn’t suffer clone angst, Charlie – that was what his name got changed to – had a happier life and didn’t run around telepathically raping half-human women. Everything was wonderful.” He leaned his forehead on the wall. “And then there was the bomb. And every change made by any Q, ever, in that region of space, was reverted to whatever it had been before it was changed. And I was dead.” He swallowed. “And now – I’m back, but I can’t bring him back. I mean, I could, he died in Earth orbit, but how am I supposed to bring him back in a world where you idiots would declare him illegal and there’d be assassins trying to kill him?”

“Q. It’s all right.” Picard walked around a chair, and reached up to his shoulder. “No one expects it of you. Data wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

“You did, once.”

“Apparently that was in an alternate universe. I don’t think you can hold that against me.”

“But you were right.” Q closed his eyes. “I wanted him to live.”

“So did I.”

Q sat down on a sofa that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Picard sat next to him. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve… wanted to tell you, for some time. I never realized, back in the days when you came to visit me frequently… that I’d miss you, as much as I did, if you didn’t come back.” He held Q’s hand clasped in both of his. “I… did consider the possibility that the Romulan supernova represented your civil war resuming, and that I hadn’t seen you because… you’d become a casualty. To be honest, when there were no further supernovae, of course I was relieved because unexpected supernovae are horrible, but it also occurred to me that, if there’d been a conflict among your people, you’d resolved it. And if it was resolved so quickly…” He swallowed. “I thought that meant you were alive.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “What part of me suggests to you that I’m good at resolving conflicts quickly, Picard?”

“The fact that you did. The first time.”

“Obviously not well enough, or no one would have planted a bomb.” He took a deep breath. “So. You missed me?”

“I did. Although I wasn’t going to tell you, if you came back and it turned out your reasons for not coming to see me in so long were trivial.” Picard smiled.

Q laughed. “I suppose you don’t consider death all that trivial?”

“Not at all.” He let go of Q’s hand. “I’m glad you’re alive now.”

“I… suppose I am as well.”

“You suppose?”

“So many died, Jean-Luc. So many. And I’m alive.”

“That’s survivor’s guilt. It’s normal.” He smiled wryly. “There are times when I’m still miserable with guilt that I’m alive and Data isn’t. Or Jack Crusher.”

“Was he as boring as his wife?”

Picard raised a finger and shook his head. “None of that. We’re past the stage where you insult my friends, now. I expect you to keep a somewhat civil tongue in your head.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, how will I ever live up to this overbearing expectations?” He looked at Picard. “It’s like you think I’m a good person.”

“Now that I know something of the culture of the Q Continuum? I do think you’re a good person. About half your flaws are species-or-culture specific, and the other half don’t outweigh the ways in which you try to do what you see as the right thing even when you have to fight your culture to do so.”

Q smiled slightly. “I think you’ve finally gone senile, Picard.” Picard stiffened slightly. “Wait. Did… you get a diagnosis?”

“Assuming that the thing you showed me was a real possible future at the time… I’ve managed to put it off for some years, based on the warning you gave me, but it’s not curable. Yes. I have Irumodic Syndrome. Thank you for the extra years, by the way. I wouldn’t have known to take the treatments that can slow it down or put it off, if not for you.”

“And you’re just going to let this happen?” Q stood up and started to pace, angrily gesticulating with his hands. “You’re all right with just losing your mind? Your intellect, your memories? You’re going to let all that disappear in a haze of confusion and end up in a nursing home drooling applesauce onto your bib?”

Picard turned his hands out and up in his lap, a shrug without shoulders. “I don’t see where I have an alternative. I suppose I could die in the course of this quest, and then I’d avoid it…”

“No.” Q spun on his heel and faced Picard. “There’s another way. Come with me.”

“Come… with you?”

“To the Continuum,” Q clarified.

Picard stood. “Q. You know I have no desire to become something other than human.”

“It isn’t about what you desire.” Q started pacing again. “I know what you want, Picard. If I was making this offer because I care about you and I don’t want to see everything that made you you slowly evaporate before you finally shuffle off this mortal coil and I never see you again, I know you’d say no. ‘I have no desire to be anything other than human, Q’, like being human is the ultimate achievement.”

“It may not be the ultimate achievement, but it is what I am. And if you’re not making this offer because you don’t want me to die—”

“I don’t want any more Q to die,” Q said, walking toward Picard, his eyes completely focused on Picard’s. “You’re a diplomat. You’ve stopped countless wars, talked species who were torn apart by civil war into negotiating with each other. And my war isn’t over, not if someone is planting bombs. And the next one could be my son. Or Amanda. Or my ex. Irritating as she is, I don’t want her to die. I don’t want any of them to die, even my enemies.” He knelt in front of Picard, looking up at him. “Please, Jean-Luc. I’m not asking because I want to make you a god and gloat about how you misuse power – in the Continuum we’re not omnipotent, anyway. I’m not asking because I don’t want you to die – I don’t, but I know you won’t accept a reason like that, and I accepted your eventual death as the consequence of caring about a mortal back when I first figured out that you were more to me than a project. I’m asking because the Q don’t have anyone like you, someone who can compromise but who has the kind of iron will and courage of convictions needed to demand that everyone around you compromise too.”

“My ability to compromise didn’t help the people of the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone, in the end,” Picard said softly. “It didn’t save the Romulans.”

“Yes, yes, are you sure you don’t already think you’re a god? You certainly take the blame like you think you’re omnipotent.” Q stood up. “I know you’ve failed at things. But you’re better at this than me. You’re better at this than any Q in the Continuum. And they won’t listen to you if you’re a mere mortal.”

“But they’ll listen to me if I’m a brand new Q?”

“Yes. Because you’ll make them listen. And because my faction will support you.” He paced again. “You’re worried about misusing your power? We can keep you from coming back to this plane of existence until everyone you cared about is dead, so you’re not tempted to intervene. You’re worried about not being human? Well, when you’re dead you’re not a human being because you’re not being anything at all. If you can contemplate ceasing to exist, how can you refuse to contemplate ceasing to exist as you are, transforming rather than dying?”

Picard took a deep breath. “If you’d come to me a few weeks ago, I might have said yes, but… I have obligations, now. I have to find Data’s other daughter, and protect her.”

Q took a deep breath. “I know where she is, but she’s beyond my reach.”

“So she’s in the Beta Quadrant, somewhere near the area of space affected by the Romulan supernova.”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t save her or help her because she’s in a place where Q power doesn’t work.”

“Yes.”

“I already know where she is, Q. She’s on the Artifact. Bruce Maddox told me, a short while ago.”

Q nodded. “Of course you do. But are you aware that when you came in and found me, you thought you were actually back home with your Romulan bodyguards?”

Cold washed over Picard. Q was right. When he’d sensed that someone was in his holographic study, the one that had been programmed to look exactly like home… he’d thought he was home. He’d thought that Laris and Zhaban were around somewhere and that the phasers they’d hidden about the room were also here. “I… yes. You’re right. I can’t deny it.” Picard took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t change anything. As long as I have enough of my mind here in the present that I can keep fighting, I need to find Soji and protect her. She’s all I have left of Data, and… I couldn’t save her sister. I owe it to Data, I owe it to Dahj to find Soji before the Zhat Vash do.”

“And that’s more important than preventing a war. A war that will cause supernovae and kill trillions of mortals as collateral damage, if it breaks out again.”

“I don’t have long to live, Q. Do I? By Q standards?”

“You could live another sixty years and it would be an eyeblink by Q standards, but… no. No, I think you have less time than that, and you know why.”

Picard nodded. “And you told me that you could, in theory, still resurrect Data, but you don’t want to bring him into a world that has banned his species. Which implies that if I died, you could, in theory, resurrect me.”

“Not if you’re in the dead zone when you die.”

“Yes, true. But if a transporter can create copies of people or hold a pattern in a buffer for 80 years, I’m fairly sure you can copy a pattern and hold it in a buffer as insurance against my death in a place you cannot reach.”

“Are you giving me permission to do that?”

“I’m saying yes. To your request. But not now. I’m still alive now, and I have obligations here. I’m not ready to give up my human existence and leave behind everyone I’ve ever known or cared for… yet. But you’re quite right. The nature of mortality says that sooner or later… I will, whether I want to or not.”

“You’re saying yes?” Q looked stunned.

Picard smiled. “I realize that my saying yes to you is an unusual occurrence, but it’s hardly unheard of.”

“I just…” Q shook his head. “I should have known. I picked you for the ability to think outside the constraints of the human condition. I’ve known all along that I could take you at the moment of your death, assuming you’re not inside the dead zone, but I didn’t realize you knew, and I didn’t think you’d give me permission.”

“There’s nothing about death, per se, that’s particularly marvelous,” Picard said dryly. “As a species, mortality gives us a reason to strive, while we live. As an individual… I can’t live forever as a human, and I shouldn’t, and I don’t want to. But from the perspective of everyone I care for, there’s no difference whether I die and cease to exist, or whether I become a new form of life but break my ties with my former existence. And…” He swallowed. “If there is any chance, any chance at all, that I can prevent what happened to Romulus from happening to other worlds… yes. Yes, very few sacrifices are too great for that. I’m willing to give up my death, and my humanity upon my death, to try to prevent war in the Q Continuum.”

“But you’re not willing to give up what remains of your life.”

“No. Soji is beyond your reach, you’ve said so. I presume the Zhat Vash are mostly beyond your reach as well. And I don’t want you stepping in to solve my problems, anyway.”

“Don’t friends help each other?”

“Yes. But friends also don’t demand godlike exercises of power from friends. You thought I’d be upset with you because you tried to save Data, and you failed, because of the bomb. Data wouldn’t have expected that of you and neither would I… alternate timelines regardless. Perhaps my grief was more raw when I said what I said in that other timeline, or perhaps you made me so angry I lashed out. Here and now, though… I want you to understand. You are not my friend because of what you can do for me, with your powers. I’ve never wanted you to do anything for me with your powers; the only time I ever called on you it was because billions of lives were at stake, and that was worth more than my pride as a human.”

“But Soji isn’t?”

Picard closed his eyes. “If you had the power to snap your fingers and ensure her safety, I might say yes, but you’ve told me you don’t. And I don’t want the Zhat Vash deciding to target the Q, not in your people’s weakened state… yes, I know, I know, you’re still omnipotent, we mere mortals can’t possibly hope to harm you, et cetera… but I know the Borg were attempting to work on a means of capturing and assimilating one of you, and that was before you had a war and invented weapons that work on your kind. I can’t rule out that the Zhat Vash could find a way to harm you if you turned your power on them as a blunt force instrument but didn’t have the power to find and stop them all.”

“I think that’s a silly thing to be afraid of, but I’m touched by your concern.” He said it as if it was sarcastic, but the expression on his face was tender. “But very well. I’ll stay out of your quest. I’ll let you live out however long you have, in your human life. I won’t do anything either to hasten or to prevent your death. And when you die, I’ll repair your mind if I have to, if Irumodic Syndrome has taken too much of it away, and I’ll make you a Q, and you’ll come to the Continuum with me to save my people, and your galaxy.”

“To try my best, at the very least,” Picard said.

Q smiled like a man who didn’t want to smile but couldn’t help himself. “You have no idea how delighted I am to hear that.” He spread his arms. “Hug?”

Picard chuckled. “I don’t do hugs, Q, I’m far too emotionally repressed for that. You know better.”

“I do, yes.” Q laughed… and then leaned in and kissed Picard on the cheek before Picard could stop him or back away. “Is that better? I understand you Frenchmen kiss each other like that all the time.”

“Two hundred years ago. Cultures change. We also don’t use expressions like ‘mon petit chou’ anymore.”

“I can’t call you my little cabbage?”

“Not without sounding hopelessly out of date and archaic.”

“You didn’t seem to mind the kiss, though.”

“I’m too old to let myself get riled up by your pranks,” Picard said, smiling broadly.

“What if it wasn’t a prank?”

“Then I’m too old to let myself get riled up by that, either.” He gripped Q’s arms by the elbows. “But don’t wait to come visit until I’m dead and it’s time for our bargain to come due. I’m going to worry about you if I don’t see you.”

Q shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Picard released him. “And if you want to propose to me, you have to wait until we’re on the same form of existence. The stress of trying to arrange a wedding at my age really could kill me.”

Q choked on laughter for a moment. “Well, in English, ‘commitment’ is another term for being locked up in the funny farm, and that about sums up how I feel about marriage. But I’ll be absolutely sure to take you out on a few dates while you’re still human. Wine and dine you while it matters.”

“I look forward to it.” Picard glanced at the holographic replica of a clock. It wasn’t moving. Of course not. “Well, whether you have stopped time or not, apparently I am still growing tired, and the hour was late when you came to visit. I need to return to bed.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your beauty sleep, mon amiral.”

“I think I liked ‘mon capitaine’ better.”

“I did too. You never should have let them promote you.”

Picard shrugged. “Time moves forward. We can’t desperately cling to the past, even if it made us happier. Life gives us no choice but to keep growing and changing. Even you, I think.”

“Yes.” Q nodded in agreement. “Even me.”

“Take care of yourself, Q.”

“I’d tell you to do the same, Jean-Luc, but I know you won’t. Not while there are still swashes to buckle and fair maidens to save.”

“Well. I’ll charge into danger without much regard for the odds against me, but I promise to take care of my health, at least.”

“That’s the best I’ll get out of you, I suppose.” Q grinned, and manufactured a hat, obviously so he could tip it. “Until next time, then.”

And he was gone.

#picard/q #tapestry day #alara posts fanfic #picard #q (star trek)

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