#expect it to take so long that there is virtually NOTHING left to do in the game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunarmoves · 2 months

Text

through pixel eyes (chapter two)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: kinitopet/virtual au, gender neutral reader, general creepiness

a/n: i looked at this chapter for too long and it feels like ~garbage~ but! its here! take a shot every time i use the word "window" or "desktop" LMFAOO i'm going insane

word count: 6.8k+

masterlist | part one

ao3 link

You stayed up way too long last night, scrolling on your phone in bed, and now you’re paying the price for it. Namely, with a completely dead phone and a familiar, fatigued itch to your eyes once you manage to pry them open to start your day. It’s nothing you’re unaccustomed to, however, so you power through it knowing you’ll end up taking a nap later.

Fumbling out of bed, you plug your phone into a nearby outlet to charge and make your way through your morning routine. Cold water from your bathroom sink helps to refresh and wake you up properly so you can proceed with your tasks for the day. You throw open the curtains of your living room and kitchen so you can bask in the honeyed light coming from the sun, sweet and lush as it paints your walls a vibrant gold.

Breakfast is made, evaluations are done, forms are submitted—all before late afternoon. You thank your past self for all the leftovers you made to cruise you through the next few days. It’s always nice not having to cook in the evenings. You lounge around for a bit on your living room couch and indulge in a short nap before you plop yourself down in front of your computer for the long haul.

Navigating to your email, you pull up the submission form once more and fill out the basic information for now. You can’t even count how many times you’ve done this before for numerous other products. Companies tend to use the same generic questions, though sometimes they’re specific depending on what is being developed. At other times they don’t even require you to fill out a form and instead have you attend weekly meetings or update them via email. Either way, you can do shit like this in your sleep.

Alright, game time. You minimize the form’s window and double click on the FazPals icon as you fumble for your headphones. Nestling them around your ears, you watch in amusement as Sun pops up by sticking his head down from the top of your monitor like he’s perched upon a ledge just out of view.

“Friend!!” he cheers and waves both his hands at you zealously. You’re almost tempted to return the gesture. He swings the rest of his body down in a fluid flip and lands in the center of your desktop with a dazzling twirl. Confetti erupts into the air around him, the little digital strips of color disappearing once they float to the “ground” Sun stands on.

That same small, unlabeled window pops up at his side for you to type in. ‘hi sun.’

“Hello, hello! You’re back early!” Sun claps his little hands together and sways side to side rather jovially, bouncing slightly with each bob of his head. You have to raise your volume a little to hear his voice better, though the dialogue box near his head certainly picks up the slack.

‘yep. how r u doin?’ It’s so easy to slip into a typical conversation with him and push against the limits of his software. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, you’re uncertain.

Sun’s head twitches to the side, white eyes seemingly looking right at you. “Absolutely fantastic now that you’re here!” He winks at you, grin curling at the tips. “What would you like to do today?”

The textbox waits for your response. You purse your lips as you contemplate. What have you done with Sun thus far? He told you some fun facts and played games with you. That just left… ‘can u tell me a story?’

He pauses—minutely, very minutely—then resumes his swaying like nothing had happened. His rays jerk slightly outwards and he smiles in a mischievous sort of way. “Hmm, why don’t you ask Moon for one later? He is much better at storytelling than I am!”

You squint at him. Well, alright then. You hadn’t been expecting that sort of response. Shouldn’t they both be equally as good at storytelling if they are made from the same code? Maybe it’s a personality thing. You consider questioning him, but before you can type anything in, Sun forges on. “Is there anything else you would like to do? Remember, input ‘/help’ for available commands!”

Your fingers tap against the surface of your desk lightly, but in the end, you brush off his response. You shrug to yourself and pick the other option you hadn’t yet done with Sun. ‘then can u tell me a joke?’

“Oh boy! I sure can!” He smiles widely and pulls out a pair of large, black glasses from behind him with one hand. With the other hand, he pulls out a small, nondescript book. Is that a… joke book? Putting the glasses delicately on his face—you’re not sure how they stay on when he has no ears, but you chalk it up to technological magic—he clears his artificial voice and cracks the book open. “Why did the star get arrested?”

It seems the celestial theme extends to jokes too. Go figure. ‘i dunno. why?’

“Because it was a shooting star!” He grins, his rays spinning about his head like what he’d just said had been a particularly good one. You snicker more due to his reaction than the joke itself.

‘that was so bad,’ you type in light jest. And also kind of dark? ‘why did i laugh.’

“Because it was clearly good!” Sun replies. The glasses he has on makes his eyes look comically larger than they actually are and it has to be the silliest thing you’ve seen. “Here’s a better one: Why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at any jokes?”

You can see the punchline coming from a mile away, but you still indulge him. ‘idk, why?’

“Because it was Sirius!”

‘now that one was just predictable.’

“Ho ho, are you challenging me, Friend?” Sun suddenly asks slyly. “Because I am very, very capable.” Uh oh.

You shouldn’t have said anything, because he spends the next half an hour “reading” from that joke book of his and bombarding you with pun after pun. Now I know better than to critique his jokes, you think miserably to yourself as you listen to another one about Jupiter. There can only be so many jokes about the universe and stars, surely.

You eventually have to draw the line as he reads to you a joke about aliens (“What do you do with a green alien? Wait for it to ripen!”). You’re not here to evaluate the quality of his jokes. ‘okay u win, u win. i won’t doubt ur joke abilities ever again.’

Sun harrumphs and closes the little book in his hands with a snap. He takes off his glasses and— well, you’re not sure what he does, but one minute both items are in his hands and the next they’re gone. Like a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it trick. “Thank you. I accept this win with utmost humility.” The way he smiles makes you doubt this, somehow.

“Alrighty!” He claps his hands together, his smile twitching slightly when his dialogue box appears a bit too close to his head. “Let’s do something else, shall we? How do you feel about”—he pauses for dramatic effect, then splays his arms out so he can do jazz hands—“Arts ‘n Crafts!”

It’s not like you’re going to refuse. ‘sure, sounds fun.’

“Wonderful!”

Like yesterday, he skips over to the side of your monitor to pull over the window of your Paint app and place it in the center of your screen once again. Seriously, how is he opening that? Then, he jumps up and perches himself on top of the window like he’s sitting upon it. His legs swing down, moving back and forth like they’re dangling off the edge of a precipice.

“Okay, Friend,” he starts as he reaches behind him and pulls out a little paintbrush. He spins it fluidly along his fingers and joints in a subtle display of dexterity. “For this activity, I will give you a prompt and you will be required to draw it! Simple and easy!”

A painting session? You can’t say you’re particularly good at drawing on your computer. You eye your mouse and cringe. Then, you hum and decide to tease him a little, just for the hell of it. ‘seems more arts than crafts to me.’

Sun waves his free hand as though to brush off your words. “Ah, semantics! We are creating either way, Friend!” He flips the utensil in his hand in the air and catches it smoothly. “Now! First prompt! Draw me something that encompasses happiness.”

What is this, philosophy? You hum thoughtfully, then use the pen tool to draw the first thing that comes to your mind: a smiley face. It is, admittedly, not your best one with how shaky your mouse is, but it gets your intentions across, you think.

Sun makes a sound like he’s clicking his tongue against his teeth—which is a bit of an eyebrow raiser given that he likely has no tongue nor teeth, but who are you to question his… features? “Is that all you’ve got, Friend?” he asks incredulously as his head tilts down to indicate he’s looking at your rather meager drawing.

‘what?’ you type, minutely offended. Is he judging you right now? He is totally judging you right now. ‘it satisfies your prompt, doesn’t it?’

“That is not the point!” he squawks out, and you wince at the shooting pitch of his voice. You nudge your volume down a little. “We are making art! Put a little oomf into it! A little personality! Show me your skills, Friend, and do not hold back!”

You roll your eyes up to your ceiling. So dramatic, but fine, you’ll adhere. You fiddle around with the drawing tool a little, then start drawing around your smiley face. A circle for a head, maybe some sunglasses. A rainbow that you spend way too long on, trying to make the arch of each color even. Some sparkles. A cat playing a saxophone—or your best attempt at one, at least. You’re kind of throwing things together at this point and hoping it’s enough to satisfy Sun—who’s starting to look more and more impatient the longer you take.

Finally, you finish. ‘okay, how about this?’

Sun claps his hands together and hops off the top of the window so he can stand before it properly and look at it like he’s a critic in an art museum. He ‘hms’ and ‘hahs’, tapping the bottom of his face with the paintbrush as he scrutinizes your drawing, looking at it every which way.

“Better, certainly better,” he muses and walks over to the other side of the window. “I can appreciate an effort when I see it.” You make a face at his words. Ouch? He spins back around to face you and gives you a thumbs up, eyes crinkling to crescents. “Wonderful job! A piece befitting a pin up to the refrigerator, I’m sure. On to the next prompt!” He snaps his fingers together, and the Paint application’s canvas clears. What? “Draw me something that encompasses sadness!”

You know now to be more detailed, at least. You doodle a sad face this time, accompanied by a variety of things you pull out from the top of your head. Sun criticizes your work when you finish, giving it that same appraisal as before. You feel like you’re in some sort of competition.

“Hm”—he eyes the rainclouds you’d drawn at the top of the canvas—“rather basic depictions, I’m afraid. Friend, have you tried varying the line weight of your pen tool? It might help!”

‘i’ll be sure to for the next one,’ you type in what you intend to be a dry manner, but you don’t think it translates all too well via text. As Sun grins approvingly at you, a sudden thought strikes you that you find yourself typing into that little window. ‘hey, why don’t u draw something since ur so… educated on it.’ Nitpicky, more like, but you don’t want to possibly offend him. ‘u seem like u’d enjoy it.’

“Me?” His eyes widen like he has not considered it. “You want…” His head cocks to the side. There is a moment where he just seems to look at you. Then, his eyes fall into a half-lidded, crinkled gaze that you have difficulty pinning alongside the stretching of his smile.

Everything is suddenly—quiet.

“You are,” he begins in a low voice that makes your eyebrows raise, “awfully strange, aren’t you, F-Friend?” A white facsimile of teeth flashes at you sharply that’s accompanied by a staticky glitch. “That’s okay! I like strange!”

And then—before you can truly decipher the depth to his smile or the offset pixels of the glitch—Sun beams at you, his rays spinning slightly. Like nothing had just happened. “I’ll make an artist out of you yet!” He claps his hands again, then wipes the canvas once more. He gestures to it. “Alright, for this next one, we are going to shift gears a little. Draw me a picture of your room!”

That is… definitely going into the submission form, you think. You hesitate for a moment, eyeing Sun as he sways side to side, but he… seems to be back to normal. It passed quickly—whatever ‘it’ was. No need to linger. You hope.

Your drawing is definitely a tad more rushed, but you think you do a pretty good job at capturing your room and its vibes—the decorations you have hung up, the comfy rug you impulse bought at a thrift store one day, and your bed swathed in your coziest blankets. You try varying your line weight, but you’re not sure how effective you are with it. Either way, Sun seems pleased with your attempts and praises one or two little details he notices, before he wipes the window clean.

“For the last drawing,” he says as he rocks back and forth on his heels. “I want you to draw a self portrait!”

You make a face. Drawing inanimate objects is one thing, but an actual portrait? ‘i dunno if i’m skilled enough to draw a good one.’

He waves a hand as though to brush off your words. “Nonsense! Give it your best shot. I would love to see how you view yourself!” He smiles up at you. “Show me what makes you you!”

You chew at your bottom lip and adjust your headphones as you ponder. What makes you you, huh? Should be simple enough, right?

And yet it takes you the longest of them all to draw a self portrait that satisfies you. Sun’s practically vibrating in place as he waits, humming a dainty little tune under his artificial breath that you do not recognize. You finish up with the design of your trusty set of headphones and do a final once over before you tell him you’re done.

“Took you long enough, Friend!” He huffs as he slips over to the Paint window to begin his analysis. He nods his head during his observations, humming in a low manner. “Interesting! Very interesting.” He skips over to the other side of the window to get a different perspective. “Wonderful use of the dotted line tool here! Oh yes, yes, yes! This truly makes me miss Arts ‘n Crafts so dearly.” Sun sighs—forlorn, almost—and presses on before you can really say anything. “I’d say with some more practice you’d be deserving of being hung up on the Wall of Creativity! As they say: Practice makes better!”

‘thanks?’ You’re not sure you particularly like these sort of backhanded compliments, but well, he’s not wrong, per se. You eye the wobbly lines made by your mouse.

“No problem! The Wall of Creativity is the most highest of honors, you see.” Sun twirls the paintbrush in one hand and snaps two fingers of his other to clear the canvas for the last time. He points the bristle end of the brush in your general direction. “Now, how about we play some games, hm?”

You’re kept busy for a while, playing games to Sun’s whims—or at least, the ones you can do with just the Paint tool and two players. He reminds you to take a break at one point, so you stretch and grab some food—all the while summarizing in your head what to jot down in the submission form at the end of today’s session. When you return, it’s nearing seven o’clock, and you brace yourself for the appearance of the Moon.

“Well, Friend, it appears our time together must come to an inevitable end,” Sun bemoans rather dramatically, resting his forearm across the top of his head like he’s about to faint Victorian-style. “Fret not, however!” He perks up and flashes you a grin. “For I will see you later!”

‘okay, drama queen,’ you type with a silly smile splayed across your lips. Instead of being offended, he seems to fall deeper into the role.

“Life is a stage,” he says gravely, “and I am but a simple actor upon it.” He sweeps into a low bow, then bounds back up to his feet with a flourish. His eyes widen suddenly—round like two large, white coins—and he gasps. He points at something over your shoulder. “Friend! What’s that behind you?!”

There is the smallest, smallest moment, where something in your stomach drops down to your feet. Your eyebrows raise and you turn around in your chair to look behind you. There is only the wide space of your living room, with your rumpled couch and inactive television. From here you can see the door to your bedroom is slightly ajar. You’re pretty sure you didn’t close it properly earlier. You blink confusedly at the normalcy of it all, then turn back around to ask Sun what the hell he’s talking about.

Only you’re not looking at Sun. You’re looking at Moon. Ohhh.

You were duped, like a fool.

Moon does not look pleased, standing next to the little window with your textbox. He scowls when you type your usual ‘hi moon’, and doesn’t bother to grace you with a reply this time. There’s something akin to frustration in his expression, but you cannot—for the life of you—decipher why.

You try again. ‘you don’t look too happy.’

He shoots you what you can only describe as a glowering look from under the band of his nightcap. His hands twitch minutely at his sides. You can almost say he looks… preoccupied with something? You’re not sure what. You’re also not sure how long he’ll elect to stay. Yesterday, you had mere minutes.

‘can u tell me a story?’ you try, only to deflate when his scowl deepens. ‘oh come on, i’m trying here!’

“Don’t bother,” he eventually grumbles out, the twitching evolving into short flexes of his fingers—clawed like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach.

It’s your turn to frown, but you don’t push it. ‘sun told me ur better at storytelling.’

His head jerks slightly to the side in a way that’s unnatural—rotating like a vinyl record. His gaze narrows. “He did, did he?” It’s said in a growl, displeasure lining his voice.

‘yep.’ You hesitate for a second, juggling your options and his irateness in your mind. ‘so… story? please?’

Moon snaps. “Fine! You want a story so badly, I’ll give you one. Listen very closely.” The little window you use to communicate with them closes out. Your eyebrows raise, but you are immediately captured by the low drone of Moon’s voice and the daggered look he somehow manages to give you even through your computer screen.

“Once upon a time,” he begins bitterly, “there was a fox. It lived with another fox friend in a peaceful valley. It was happy, living day by day with those around it. The two had each other and that was enough.

“But one day, the valley shook and trembled with the force of a mudslide. The fox was separated from its friend and injured by a fallen branch that manifested itself in the form of a perpetual limp. It tried, desperately, to find its friend, but it was no use. The friend was gone. It had to move on.

“The fox traveled for days. It was slow, but it made progress. And eventually, it found itself in a field surrounded by tall, waving grass and giant deciduous trees. It made this field its new home.

“For a while, things were good. The fox made some new friends. But there was still that ache of loss. The fox wondered if its old friend was still maybe out there, somewhere. It wished on the stars and hoped its friend would find it, in this new home. Someday. Somehow.

“Its wishes were granted. One day, the fox woke up to a familiar sound. The sound belonged to its old friend—that had found it after so long. The fox was happy and bound forth to greet its old friend. But there was something different about the friend that the fox could not place. It did not matter, however, for they were reunited at last.

“The days went on. The fox had noticed that its friend was not the same as before, but the same could be said about itself. They tried their best to live together once more. It was difficult. There were ups and downs. Fights and quarrels. The friend was controlling and the fox did not like this. They were not as close as they were before and this distance lingered over them like a storm.”

Moon breaks off for a short moment to glare down at his slippered feet. You are stuck in a trance, breathing bated as you hang on to his every word like they’re a lifeline. He shakes his head slightly, then continues on.

“The seasons cycled by. The auburn vegetation of Fall transformed into the desolate white of Winter, then to the lush verdance of Spring. Before finally, it settled on the yellowed brittleness of Summer. It was a particularly cruel Summer, but the fox and its friend did what they needed to survive while avoiding each other.

“And then… on a particularly arid day… A fire broke out in the field. It spread rapidly. It had not rained in days, and this caused the vegetation to burst into flames faster than the fox and its friend could react. It surrounded both of them. They were trapped. Together, yes, but still trapped. They couldn’t even reconcile in their final moments.”

Moon looks up at you, his eyes reminiscent of a tenebrous sky pulling you in deeper and deeper and deeper.

“Do you know,” he whispers with all the gravitas and conquassation of an earthquake barely repressed, “what it feels like to b u r n?”

And then the program closes.

You are left to stare at your empty desktop, throat lined with cotton and heart racing like it’d been you trapped in that fire.

There is much to dissect, but you haven’t got an inkling of where to even begin. You fall into an uneasy slumber throughout the night and wake up feeling just as clueless. Moon’s expression and voice lingers over your shoulder like a spiteful ghost and you’re left to wonder how a computer program can have such a depth to it. You don’t want to contemplate it, fearing the exacerbation of this… sinking feeling in your stomach. So you don’t.

A bug, you tell yourself as you shuffle through your daily tasks. Maybe a feature FazCo’s still trying to iron out.

(You don’t mention anything else other than a ‘weird story’ and more glitching in the nightly submission form. You’re not sure how to even describe what you’d listened through.)

You eye your dormant computer while you prepare a light lunch in the form of a sandwich, your television playing the news in the background. Nothing too major, just the weather at the moment. It’s a good way to fill the room with some noise when you feel like catching up with what’s going on in the world around you.

You exhale heavily through your nose and set down a dirty knife into the sink to clean later. Something bumps into your ankle, and you glance down to see Dr. Nugget bumbling away from you into the living room, whirring all the while. Those sensors definitely don’t work as they should, poor thing.

No matter how much you want to delay, you have some work you need to get done on your computer. Not only in terms of testing the FazPals program. Your timesheets need to be updated again (much easier to do on your computer than your phone, you admit). There are applications you have to submit to other companies to join their beta testing teams and research you have to do to ensure you don’t completely run out of work anytime soon. One of the more tedious attributes of being a beta tester is the constant cycle of looking and applying for positions. Oftentimes, companies will sign you on to test other products of theirs, though, so it’s not all that bad.

With that in mind, you plop down in front of your computer with your food and power it on. Your headphones go around your neck for the time being. Typing your password with one hand and taking a bite of your sandwich with the other, you get to work pulling up your spreadsheets and the website you use for job hunting.

It’s menial work. You keep track of what companies you apply to with your spreadsheets. Most of them have the same application process and requirements. It’s easy to lose yourself in the repetitive clicking, reading, and typing. With the addition of your headphones blasting music in your ears, you go on autopilot pretty easily.

It’s while you’re making updates to your resume that you get startled, suddenly, by Sun.

“Friend! Hello!” He pops up out of nowhere and makes you promptly choke on the sip of water you’d been taking. Loud! You set aside your water bottle and cough roughly into your fist, eyes tearing up from the abruptness of it all. Your heart gives a harsh, indignant ba-dump. Oww.

Once you’ve collected yourself and paused your music, you take a moment to stare confusedly at Sun, swaying happily side to side in front of the window of your resume. He smiles up at you. How the hell—? You hadn’t clicked on the FazPals icon, had you? No, no, you’re sure you didn’t.

‘hi sun,’ you type slowly into the small window he had automatically opened for you when he appeared. You pause as his smile turns into a beam, then decide to ask him your burning question. ‘how r u active right now??’

“I got tired of waiting for you!” he replies, his rays bobbing in and out in a wave around his head. You wait to see if he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. Okay. Well. You make a note of that for later.

Sun makes a show of turning around and looking at your resume window. He can’t… read the data on it, right? Wait, no, he probably can if he was able to do it with your computer’s Paint app. You bite the inside of your lip. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but well, it’s not like FazCo doesn’t already have your resume. Just in case, you switch tabs back to your spreadsheet. Better, if marginally.

Sun hums, then turns back to look at you with those blank eyes of his. “What’re you up to, Friend?”

‘just applying to some jobs,’ you reply unsurely. Is this weird? This is weird, isn’t it. Upon pressing enter, Sun moves to look at the little window thoughtfully. And perhaps, with some inkling of annoyance? It’s difficult to tell, but it’s the same look he will sometimes give his dialogue box. One of his hands raises to tap at the bottom of his face. Contemplative. He returns his gaze to you and tilts his head.

“Hey, Friend,” he starts, completely bypassing your previous response, “I have an idea.”

You are wary, but you cannot deny the intrigue. ‘yes?’

His smile stretches at your encouragement. He clasps his hands together in front of him. “Just trust me!”

You squint at him—his blithesome demeanor—but you aren’t able to reply. The textbox window closes, and a different one appears in the center of your screen:

FazPals.exe is trying to access your microphone. Allow?

All your thoughts stutter to a complete stop.

Processing text is one thing, but audio input? You suppose it’s not anything innovative in this day and age, but you hadn’t been expecting it particularly for a program like this. You know the animatronics back at the pizzaplex were pretty advanced with this sort of thing, so it’s not… too unusual for FazCo, right? It’s probably something you need to evaluate, you sigh internally. This is fine.

FazCo, you think to yourself wryly. Enough said.

Apprehension still lining your movements, you click the ‘Allow’ button. The window disappears. Nothing really happens that you can see, but suddenly you are all too aware of the weight of your headphones sitting atop your head. You lick at your lips.

Sun continues his swaying as he waits—expectant. “Friend?” There is a smidge of hope in his voice.

“Yeah?” you respond, wincing at the crackle of your voice. That sip of water had really taken you out. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Yes?”

The beam he gives you is enough to vye against the, well, sun.

“Oh! Marvelous!” He practically leaps for joy, rays spinning up a storm as he wiggles in place. His eyes upturn into delighted crescents. “Simply marvelous! Friend, it is lovely to hear your voice! It has been so long since I’ve heard another.” Something creeps into his gaze that you… You’re not entirely sure you want to decipher it.

“Friend,” Sun begins in a low, nonchalant voice. “I have a request! A simple one, really.”

You raise an eyebrow. You are undoubtedly curious. “What is it?”

“Can you say my name for me?”

Oh. Weird, but okay. You comply, voice lifting at the end slightly. You are not nervous right now, thank you very much. “Sun.”

A glitch rides down the length of his body in a jittering wave—starting from the tips of his rays to the soles of his shoes. His gaze falls into a half-lidded look. “Perfect,” he breathes, so quiet you almost need to strain your ears to hear. “Utterly perfect.”

You blink at him, befuddled. The moment does not linger. He snaps back to his regular sway and bright-eyed expression. “So! You said you’re applying to jobs? What for?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, slightly distracted and disoriented by the whiplash from this guy. Program. Whatever. Your fingers had automatically moved to type your reply in, lingering over your keyboard. This will take some getting used to. You move your hands to rest awkwardly on your lap so you can fiddle with your fingers. “I’m a beta tester so I’ve gotta keep applying for positions in companies.”

“Beta tester, huh?” Sun muses more to himself than anything. He seems to be deliberating something. “Hm. I see. For how long?”

You make a thoughtful sound. “Mm, for a while now. I can’t remember the exact timeframe. It’s enough to pay the bills, so I can’t complain.” You are ever so thankful that the ease in interacting with him transferred so neatly from texting to talking.

“Of course, of course!” Sun bows, then slides off to the right of your screen to nestle himself in the corner with the date and time. He tucks his hands behind his back. “Well! Don’t let me distract you! Carry on!”

“Right…” you trail off, uncertain. You eye him standing just out of the way of your work—enough that you can ignore him if you zone in on what’s directly in front of you. Well, FazCo did say their program is a “virtual desktop friend.” Hanging around your screen when you’re not immediately engaging with it seems like an attribute it should be able to do. You shrug to yourself and go back to editing your resume.

…It’s very quiet.

Oh wait, music! You forgot to start it up again. You mess around with the volume mixer on your computer so you can continue to play your music whilst also being able to properly hear Sun should he decide to start talking. That is, without bursting your eardrums. You lose yourself to the tunes, accompanied on occasion by the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard.

At one point you notice Sun changes the pacing of his swaying. And upon closer look, you realize he’s moving to the beat of the song booming through your headphones. His rays move like a volume meter, raising and lowering around his head in a circular formation depending on the strength of the audio.

“I like this song!” he says like he can sense your eyes on his pixelated form. “Never heard something like this before!”

“Really?” You adjust the volume mixer a little. Better.

“Yep! My music repertoire is rather lacking, I’m afraid.”

“You’re in luck, then,” you say eagerly as you pull up your music player and shuffle through a playlist you think he might like. “This is what I call The Greatest Hits of All Time.” You press play and grin when Sun does a little wiggle in excitement.

He’s content to sway in time with whichever song’s playing as you slowly finish up with your work for the day. You’re a bit surprised at how long he goes without really saying anything. But, of course, he eventually gets bored. Patience, you think, is not one of his core features. Or, well, he is patient to an extent. Something tells you he was not programmed to stay quiet for long periods of time.

In the corner of your eye, you notice he starts juggling. It’s small, at first. Just two red balls that he throws up and down and up and down, shuffling them to opposite hands all the while. Then it becomes three balls. Then four. Your gaze flicks to him from time to time, but you’re determined to get through just a couple more applications and then your timesheets before you call it quits.

You break when he hits eleven balls, his grin curling enticingly at the edges concomitantly. “Bored, are you?”

“Oh, immensely!” He throws up his hands in feigned distress and the plethora of balls come raining down upon him in a move befitting of a cartoon. They bonk him repeatedly on the head and bounce away on the top of your taskbar. You watch in amusement as one rolls across your screen and disappears past the left border. Sun is unperturbed. “Are ya done yet?”

“Not quite,” you say and he groans, tossing his head back. You roll your eyes in good nature.

“You can multitask, can’t you?” he presses, clasping his hands together in a plea. “Let’s chat!”

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce. You’re sure he would keep pestering you otherwise. He cheers and immediately hops right into it.

“What do you like to do for fun? What’s your favorite food? Do you have any other friends? What about your family? Do you like g-glitter glue? What’s the highest education level you have? Do you have a favorite piece of media? What’s your deepest, darkest secret? What’s your opinion on Fizzy Faz? What’s your favorite animal—”

“Whoa, Sun! Slow down!” you yelp, mind spinning with all the rapidfire questions. The text in his dialogue box had been moving so quickly you hadn’t been able to make out a single word.

“Sorry!” he says, though he doesn’t quite sound all too apologetic. His eyes upturn. “I want to know aaalllll about you! How else will we be best friends?”

“By taking it easy,” you reply in what you hope is a meaningful manner. He at least has the decency to look abashed. You huff out a laugh, then do your best to remember what questions he’d asked. You’re already blanking on some. “Okay, well, uhh. I like to read and watch videos. I do have other friends and family, but I don’t live with them. Glitter glue is okay when it’s not literally everywhere. I don’t have any deepest, darkest secrets, sorry. Uhh—”

“Don’t forget about your favorite food!” Sun cuts across you, trying to be helpful, most likely. “And education level! And your favorite media!”

“Right, right…”

You’re not sure how long you spend answering his many, many questions (of which you’re sure he has an infinite amount), but it feels like ages. You have been thoroughly distracted, and you can’t even be incensed about it.

As the evening settles in with a hush and it gets closer and closer to seven o’clock, you find yourself thinking about Moon.

“Do you know what it feels like to b u r n?”

You suppress a shiver.

You take a moment to deliberate in your mind, then eye Sun. He’s busy prattling off his excitement over wanting to watch a movie with you. Gently, you interrupt him. “Hey, is it cool if I ask you a question?”

“Oh!” Sun looks at you wide-eyed, momentarily taken aback before he smiles encouragingly. “Of course, Friend! Ask away!”

“What’s the deal with Moon?”

If you hadn’t been already watching him, you wouldn’t have noticed. He freezes in place for a split second, then resumes his swaying so suddenly it’s almost like he’d forced himself to. Ever so minutely, the corner of his smile twitches. “Why ever would you ask me?”

“Well…” Your fingers tap idly along the surface of your desk. Shouldn’t he know since they’re part of the same software? You resist questioning him further. “He doesn’t seem like he wants to engage with me.”

Sun waves a hand in dismissal. “Ah! He’s being dramatic, probably! Moon is… Well! I will say he is rather….” His grin turns taut, like a wire about to snap. “...Difficult to get along with.” That tautness disappears with a bob of his rays, as though it had never been there in the first place. “Worry not, Friend! You still have little old me to talk to!”

“Yeah…” You’re confused. You thought dual programming with personalities such as Sun and Moon would make them mesh together pretty well. It’s difficult to tell with Sun. He’d made it seem like they both were on decent terms with previous transitions. You suppose not. Is it even possible for their A.I.s to interact with one another? You’re not sure how it works.

“Speaking of which,” Sun says as he makes a show of looking down at an invisible watch on his wrist. “It is time for me to go!” He sighs, faux sadness making him droop down like he’s a melting popsicle. “And after we’ve been having such a good time together.”

“Mmhm,” you agree, something akin to nerves crawling just under your skin with every second that ticks by. Why are you nervous? “I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”

He grins at you, flicking a hand in farewell. “I bid you”—a dark hole appears near his feet, and you watch as he steps over it with a wink—“adieeuuuuuuu!” He disappears, dropping into the hole with his voice getting fainter and fainter until it’s cut off by the hole popping to a close. Silly.

You let out a breath and look at the time. 7:00 P.M. Right on the dot. You shift in your seat and wait for Moon. You’re not sure what crawled up his digital ass and died, but you’re determined to at least get him to have a proper conversation with you. Not only for your job, you think, as you navigate to your email to open the submission form, but for camaraderie’s sake, as well.

“Camaraderie” with a program, you think to yourself dryly. What a world we live in.

7:03 P.M. and still no sign of Moon. This is fine. You can wait. You try not to waver.

…You call it quits when he doesn’t appear after another ten minutes. Disappointing, yet unsurprising. You should have expected it, really. You sigh and take off your headphones, leaning back in your chair. You rub at the side of your head. Your television drones on in the background with the news, still on after all this time.

Honestly, how are you supposed to evaluate him when he shows up and disappears in unpredictable intervals? It’s a conundrum, truly. Does that not go against his entire code? His purpose? You don’t know anymore. You roll your shoulders and decide to finish up your work from earlier.

Tomorrow, you think resolutely. Tomorrow you’ll try again.

part three

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kseung · 1 year

Text

Wednesday x Reader

Not Yet

Requested

Warnings: Blood, self-harm, suicide ideation, descriptive suicide scenes.

Proceed with caution.

Words: 2,530~

Before y'all read it; if you feel down or blue, please talk to someone or find a healthy coping mechanism. I volunteer to be someone's virtual reader, in case someone wants it or needs it.

Life is difficult. That's common knowledge. Still, you didn't imagine that yours would last so little. It all was so fast yet so slow.

Despite being an outcast, creature, non-human, and weird school, Nevermore wasn't quite big on gore. Which you thought you'd change. Not everyone has seen a suicide scene. Certainly less that of a friend of theirs.

"Guess I'll do it today," you thought. It gave you peace. It really did. You had no more reason to feel dread or tiredness since everything would end soon. But of course, you needed to make sure you'd actually do it. You can never plan too much.

Wednesday noticed that you were in a better mood, as did Enid, Ajax, and Xavier... everyone knew you were happy. Which was weird because you were usually gloomy and serious. But they didn't mind. They didn't know your thoughts. They believed you were happier that day. In reality, you were just grateful to have your end so near.

You didn't let Wednesday touch you at all. She thought it was odd since you were usually the one craving for physical contact. Despite that, she accepted it. She didn't like affection too much herself, so it did not offend her. You just didn't want her to have a vision.

Miss Thornhill dismissed the class. You, like many others, gathered your stuff, packed it, and left. You went to your room, taking out the box where you kept all your letters. Letters you made for everyone. It was a little detail you wanted them to have, just in case they wanted to remember you. They were completely free to trash it.

You took them all, placing them in a little bag you had. You changed clothes, too. If you were going to die, it wouldn't be in this sickly blue uniform. You got some black jeans and a white shirt.

You had an eye for harm, much like Wednesday herself. Though yours was mainly a really bad coping mechanism. You wanted your death to be impressionable. And blood shows better on a white shirt.

Much like Enid and Thing, even, you had style. You were going to be found looking good despite death. Fuck death and life.

You threw the bag over your shoulder, across your chest. It was chilly, and you wanted to feel it. Feel something. Anything. Even pain was better than nothing.

You took one last look at your ordered room before closing the door, for the last time.

•••••

You decided that the next thing you'd do was visit the library. You went there sometimes when things were bad. It gave you comfort for a final time, as well as nostalgia. You hoped the books wouldn't miss you too much.

It was empty this time, not even a couple having extreme displays of affection on the back. You turned around, bidding a mental goodbye. If you took too long you wouldn't get to the place in the forest by sunset.

You reached into your bag, taking out a bottle of painkillers. You took enough to make you drowsy, but not to kill you, yet. You just wanted your blood to thin, and anything else needed a prescription.

Sunsets were early, especially during winter. By 16:00, there'd be no more light. It was barely 3, and snow covered the way. You needed to be quick.

You arrived at Xavier's. You knew he'd be in fencing, probably, or painting. You took your chance and slid the letter under the door.

Enid, Yoko, and Ajax, they all received one. You even wrote one for Thing. Your hand was complaining, but you cared not.

You entered Wednesday's room, seeing no one. You expected that. They were busy women. You left Enid's at her bed. Wednesday's and Thing's were on her bed.

You gave their room one final look, taking some time to let your mind be filled with good, past memories. You couldn't help but fill your senses with her side of the room. You hoped Wednesday wouldn't miss you too much. She wouldn't, probably.

You walked to the balcony, stepping through the glass window. One final look at the quad, and you'd be off to the forest. It made you smile now, instead of a scowl. Life always goes on. It was especially demonstrated by the quarrel excited teenagers make when with friends. You wouldn't be too missed.

You returned inside. You had wasted too much time already. It was still empty, so you took your chance. Having someone find you right now won't be nice.

You ran until you reached the forest. Then, with the last minutes of sunlight, you directed yourself to the clearing a little far off. It was peaceful, really peaceful.

Now, you had to choose what to do. Quickly. Blood was always the prettiest way.

You started by cutting yourself on the forearm, vertically. It hurt, but not as much as you had expected. It felt good. You knew it'd last a while.

Your shirt was already blooded a little, just like the snow beneath you. All crimson. Your other arm made it redder. It was pretty. Hm. You wouldn't know what Wednesday would think of this. Would she see it as a feeble attempt to scream for attention? Would she like to see the ostentatious scene of a suicide in the woods? Would she care?

You wouldn't know.

You took the rest of the pills. If one thing doesn't kill you, the other one certainly would. It made you smile to be so peaceful. You sat on the ground, despite the cold, taking in the picturesque scene of the sun kissing the moon goodbye. Much like you and Wednesday, it was time for the night to come.

You closed your eyes when you felt dizzy, deciding that lying on the snow wouldn't hurt you. Or save you. You wanted the peace you were finally taking for yourself.

•••••

Wednesday felt uneasy. It was strange. She wanted to brush it off, except she didn't. She's not the feeler type, so whenever she felt something so strong she knew she had to act on it. She learned that from you.

She walked quickly through the quad and the halls, searching for you. She did not see you. Intending to find you, she walked even faster. But you weren't there, at yours. Must be at hers.

She opened the door before her, not bothering to fully close it. Expecting to find you on her bed, she looked to her right. However, you weren't there. Despite your absence, she noticed the presence of two differently colored letters on her desk.

"For Wednesday", one said. The other one was addressed to Thing. Said appendage climbed up Wednesday's arm, resting on her shoulder as they looked at the letters.

—Let's not wait.

She took hers, and let Thing be.

"Howdy, Wednesday,

How are you? I hope you're doing well. I trust that you will be able to find who the Hyde is. Yeah, I sneaked around a bit. But don't worry. I won't burden you.

Don't try to find me. But who am I to tell you what to do, anyway? You always do what you want. That's also one of the reasons why I liked you so much. It's odd, right? Hopefully, you'll get used to past tenses.

I love you, a lot. I hope you know that I'll never truly be gone unless you want me to. I have no problems with that either. Burn this letter, if so you will. No flames will stop me from loving you, but yours.

For being so hateful of affection, you're the clingy type, Wednesday. But in a terribly endearing way. Feel free to take all the coats and jackets you want. I know you have interesting likes, so, if you want, keep my bones too, or whatever. I'm tryna be nice.

Don't miss me too much. (Yes, I'm flattering myself that much.)

Eres mi luna.

–Tu sol"

She had only felt this much sadness once before, and she didn't like it. Not again. It made her panic inside. She knew you weren't always at your best, but she didn't imagine she'd have to bid goodbye so soon. She was not willing to take it.

She tried to think like you. Where would you go? What place would you select for your demise? She was desperate, and she hated that feeling.

She turned around, intending to head out of her room. "Has to be the forest", she thought. She slammed the door behind her. Damn. This was, probably, the only time when she wanted to have a vision. She didn't expect this to be the reason for her first-ever wish of a premonition.

Maybe Enid's nose could be of help. She ran to the quad, where she knew Enid would be. Wednesday took Enid by the hand, uncaring of whatever the werewolf was doing. She was about to complain, but the expression on the shorter girl's face was too indecipherable. She looked worried, angry, sad, and murderous at the same time. Quite the emotional mix for her.

—Find them, now! Please.

Enid wanted to tease, but she knew better than to do that. It was good that you spent that much time in their room. Now, Enid could just tell where you were, since she remembers your smell.

—Follow me.

And they were quick. Enid was surprised that you had gone out that far. But she understood why quickly. The smell was quite strong, but it was nothing compared to the red mess she saw before her. Wednesday was already expecting it, as bad as it sounded.

She kneeled by your side, checking your heart rate. With how cold you were, she was surprised you were still the littlest bit alive. She sighed in relief as her eyes watered.

—We can't wait any longer—, her voice was shaky. She gulped, forcing herself to be composed. —I can't carry her. Can you? Please.

Enid did not have to be told twice. Wednesday took off her coat, draping you in it before Enid took you in her arms. She didn't like to hear Wednesday pleading. It wasn't her.

They reached the school more rapidly than they reached you. She hoped she wasn't too late. The nurse was surprised when they arrived with you so suddenly. Still, work needed to be done.

Wednesday sat aside, watching everything happen in front of her. She wanted to scream off her voice until she'd be as silent as you. She took a moment to calm herself, deciding that the best thing she could do was patch your arm while the nurse did the other arm. Silently, they worked faster.

Of course, Wednesday had called for an ambulance to get you to the hospital. Now you just needed to wait. Time had never been such an unpleasurable torture before.

•••••

Everyone was shocked. It was not what they were expecting. But knowing you, they were sure you did not want pity. They were patiently waiting for your return.

Except Wednesday, regarding the "patiently" part. She was counting every second, exactly. All of her free time was spent with you. Sometimes, when she was left alone with you, she'd talk to you. It was better than any therapy Jericho could offer.

She was glad you weren't lucky enough to get away with your plans. The dosage was too little, and, despite deep, the cuts weren't enough to end you. Maybe the cold would've been the one to take you out. She looked at you once more, feeling glad that she was able to find you before it was too late.

Enid watched through the glass window, sighing. Ajax nodded and they stood there, in the hall just outside of your room. They hugged for a while before entering the room.

As expected, Wednesday was there.

—Hey. We brought some food, and a quad—, Enid said. Ajax nodded and held up the drink and bag. Wednesday pointed to the little table on the back side of the room.

—Thanks.

They just smiled in return.

—Just know that we're here whenever you want to not talk.

Wednesday looked at you, but eventually agreed. She knew she could, possibly, count on them. She closed her notebook, leaving it on top of the chair she was using before eating the food they'd given her.

She had been so preoccupied that her appetite had eluded her. It was taking a toll on her now. She had to take better care of herself if she wanted to take care of you later.

After a while of mainly them talking, and Wednesday listening, Enid and Ajax returned to Nevermore. She was alone with you, again. She liked her moments with you. She smiled and took the chair right next to you.

She decided that perchance it would be okay if she slept there, taking your hand in hers. So she did. She took your hand in hers and crossed her arms for (mostly un)comfortable sleep to overcome her.

•••••

Hours later, Wednesday woke up to some strange sensations. It was none other than you, caressing her hand. She almost cried.

She looked at you, watery eyes and quivering lip included. You had so little energy your only expression was that of guilt. She wanted to scream at you for being so stupid, but she contained herself. This was neither the place nor the moment.

—I'm sorry, Wednesday—, was the first thing you said. It made her furrow her brows.

—As you should be—. Her words were rough, but you knew that was just how she was. She was a prickly rose, however painful, yet still, a rose. —I'm just glad you're alive.

—Death does not suit me alone—. You wanted to cry. You let your tears fall, yet maintained eye contact. Tears meant so little now. —Thank you for being here, Wednesday. I know it was difficult for you. I'm sorry for burdening you once more. I-

—Shut up—, she said in a weak voice. It was almost a whisper. Her hand gripped yours tighter, but still gently enough. —Never do this again, or I'll...—, she paused. Torturing you would be your pleasure, so that was not an option. —I'll make you record those goddamn TikToks Enid never shuts up about—. It was a threat that came out of love, so you nodded, smiling.

—I see Enid is still the same Enid. Just like you're still my moon.

You shook off her hand, only to caress her cheek softly. She did not push you away. It made you wonder just how much you had hurt her.

—My sun.

The looks she gave you were equal to all the kisses you could ask. It was one step further in the healing of your soul. You smiled again.

—Can I hug you?—, you asked. —I want you to hug me, but if not, then maybe just let me do it?

She responded by wrapping her arms around your waist. It nearly made you cry again. The moon could, sometimes, be as warm as the sun, just like the sun could be as obscure as the moon.

🫂 hug if you need it

#wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday adams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday x reader #fanfic #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #wednesday imagines #fanfiction #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams fanfic #wednesday netflix

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shinescape · 1 year

Text

imagine boyfriends wonwoo and san...

and they're both cancers *sigh*

oh gamers too *another long sigh*

they will either suffocate you with affection or priorities their games. nothing in between

you'd come down to the living room and see them engrossed in their games and went to squeeze yourself in the middle.

normal boyfriends would 'tsk', groans or complain when the tv is blocked by an incoming figure while they're shooting zombies or fighting at a boss level

but not these two. they will quitely continue on as if you showing up was like a passing wind. you'd get a bit offended by their lack of reaction from your presence but that feeling disappear as soon as you made yourself comfortable in between the two

they will move aside to make space for you without losing focus from the game. you'd come to realise that's the only time they are able to multitask in the house

your head on wonwoo's thigh and your legs laid perfectly on san's lap. you watch as they combat virtually and always wondered how none of them made a sound at all.

they made sure not to accidentally hit you when it gets intense and you wouldn't mind because their focused expressions would be too distracting

oh they're in white cotton shirts (with pockets that has embroidered cat peeking out from it) that you just bought just because but didn't expect both to wear on the same day like this.

as the loading scene appears, wonwoo would catch your eye as he played with your hair with a soft smile and that round glasses he's worn forever, leaning down to catch your lips briefly

san would not want to be left out so he placed the controller on your front as he pulled your legs closer to his chest for no reason. lightly massaging your calf and smirked when you finally looked at him

"san take your controller off me" "give me a kiss first" wonu would roll his eyes but honestly didn't mind. he's used to san being like that

"it's vibrating on my stomach!" "san, do you want to continue this game or not?"

as both you and wonwoo stared at him waiting for an answer. san took the controller and pressed the home button.

"i feel like playing something else now. anyone up for it?" he said with the utmost innocent smile but you clearly know he meant something entirely different

#goodbye #this was in the draft for days #and yes my caratiny side couldn't stop pairing the members from both group #actually wanted to make this a oneshot #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #choi san x reader #wonwoo x reader #imagine if #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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xannador · 3 months

Note

Have you considered going to Pillowfort?

Long answer down below:

I have been to the Sheezys, the Buzzlys, the Mastodons, etc. These platforms all saw a surge of new activity whenever big sites did something unpopular. But they always quickly died because of mismanagement or users going back to their old haunts due to lack of activity or digital Stockholm syndrome.

From what I have personally seen, a website that was purely created as an alternative to another has little chance of taking off. It it's going to work, it needs to be developed naturally and must fill a different niche. I mean look at Zuckerberg's Threads; died as fast as it blew up. Will Pillowford be any different?

The only alternative that I found with potential was the fediverse (mastodon) because of its decentralized nature. So people could make their own rules. If Jack Dorsey's new dating app Bluesky gets integrated into this system, it might have a chance. Although decentralized communities will be faced with unique challenges of their own (egos being one of the biggest, I think).

Trying to build a new platform right now might be a waste of time anyway because AI is going to completely reshape the Internet as we know it. This new technology is going to send shockwaves across the world akin to those caused by the invention of the Internet itself over 40 years ago. I'm sure most people here are aware of the damage it is doing to artists and writers. You have also likely seen the other insidious applications. Social media is being bombarded with a flood of fake war footage/other AI-generated disinformation. If you posted a video of your own voice online, criminals can feed it into an AI to replicate it and contact your bank in an attempt to get your financial info. You can make anyone who has recorded themselves say and do whatever you want. Children are using AI to make revenge porn of their classmates as a new form of bullying. Politicians are saying things they never said in their lives. Google searches are being poisoned by people who use AI to data scrape news sites to generate nonsensical articles and clickbait. Soon video evidence will no longer be used in court because we won't be able to tell real footage from deep fakes.

50% of the Internet's traffic is now bots. In some cases, websites and forums have been reduced to nothing more than different chatbots talking to each other, with no humans in sight.

I don't think we have to count on government intervention to solve this problem. The Western world could ban all AI tomorrow and other countries that are under no obligation to follow our laws or just don't care would continue to use it to poison the Internet. Pandora's box is open, and there's no closing it now.

Yet I cannot stand an Internet where I post a drawing or comic and the only interactions I get are from bots that are so convincing that I won't be able to tell the difference between them and real people anymore. When all that remains of art platforms are waterfalls of AI sludge where my work is drowned out by a virtually infinite amount of pictures that are generated in a fraction of a second. While I had to spend +40 hours for a visually inferior result.

If that is what I can expect to look forward to, I might as well delete what remains of my Internet presence today. I don't know what to do and I don't know where to go. This is a depressing post. I wish, after the countless hours I spent looking into this problem, I would be able to offer a solution.

All I know for sure is that artists should not remain on "Art/Creative" platforms that deliberately steal their work to feed it to their own AI or sell their data to companies that will. I left Artstation and DeviantArt for those reasons and I want to do the same with Tumblr. It's one thing when social media like Xitter, Tik Tok or Instagram do it, because I expect nothing less from the filth that runs those. But creative platforms have the obligation to, if not protect, at least not sell out their users.

But good luck convincing the entire collective of Tumblr, Artstation, and DeviantArt to leave. Especially when there is no good alternative. The Internet has never been more centralized into a handful of platforms, yet also never been more lonely and scattered. I miss the sense of community we artists used to have.

The truth is that there is nowhere left to run. Because everywhere is the same. You can try using Glaze or Nightshade to protect your work. But I don't know if I trust either of them. I don't trust anything that offers solutions that are 'too good to be true'. And even if take those preemptive measures, what is to stop the tech bros from updating their scrapers to work around Glaze and steal your work anyway? I will admit I don't entirely understand how the technology works so I don't know if this is a legitimate concern. But I'm just wondering if this is going to become some kind of digital arms race between tech bros and artists? Because that is a battle where the artists lose.

#AI #anti ai

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oxygenbefore1775 · 9 months

Text

stalemate

zeke x gn!reader

tags: fluffy suggestive stuff (as fluffy as it can get with zeke)

cw: suggestive (kisses and stuff), chess and a lot of it (there's gonna be some chess terms thrown around just for the show - no need to understand them to know what's going on), zeke being zeke (needy pos that is), coercion elements (very mild)

wc: 2.2k

summary: perhaps challenging zeke to a game of chess was a bad idea - so chivalrous of him to offer you his help to defeat him, though

a/n: don't perceive me, i barely understand the chess theory myself

Stalemate is a situation in chess where a player's king is not in check, but they have no legal moves left, resulting in a draw

Such a poise coming from someone whose lips were twisted in a shit-eating grin. Both annoyed you to no end already, slowly chipping away at your composed facade — but the combination of those two? You could already sense the steam escaping your ears. Truly, both of those opposites could only coincide in Zeke.

"Any moment now," his calm voice prompted you to make a move, although you had stalled for only ten minutes longer than expected.

It was ten minutes too long — considering your own knowledge in chess, you shouldn't find this so hard to navigate through this game. But you did. You bit on your lip as you stole a glance at Zeke before finally moving your bishop across the board. The challenge of the game was all courtesy of his.

All pleasure that you intended to find in this leisure game of chess with Zeke was nowhere to be seen now. Some mental exercise was always welcome but not at the expense of your own brain cells that ended up being fried in the unfolding mental gymnastics. Too bad it was only you who was laboring over each move.

He was a monster at chess. And just like one, he was tearing you to shreds.

Your lips curled into a malicious smirk, catching up on his hesitation.

But not this time.

Zeke quirked his brow at your choice of the move.

Finally, you got him in a predicament that he'd be forced to ponder over to search for the best solution. Spolier - there was none since the strategy you devised in such a short span of time was impeccable. He would have no other choice but to back down his attack and ultimately weaken his control of the board center. You couldn't help but to give yourself a mental pat on the shoulder as you imagined him losing more and more advantage in the game. Your careful planning would leave him totally crushed, utterly defeated, absolutely destroyed, unequivocally--

Zeke took your queen.

You had to lend a second look at the chess board to finally register that the queen, your queen, was indeed removed from the game by one of his rooks and lied by Zeke's side.

How could this have happened? Virtually nothing could predict this move happening in your mind. All the defenses that you've put up ended up being ultimately useless since Zeke easily slid one of his figures behind your line of defense. Good thing that you were thoughtful enough to do the castling earlier or else the king would also be endangered right now.

A glint of mild interest ignited in Zeke's eyes upon seeing you so distraught about the move that he spent maybe a minute contemplating. It just started to get fun for him.

"I hope that was intentional." The soft mockery in his tone puzzled you as your brows knitted together in confusion, prompting his explanation. "You letting me take your queen so easily? It better be the first step to the closing game or else it'd be pretty disappointing."

The tiny vein on your temple started pulsating with anger as you composed yourself.

"Just-- shut up."

Of course, you had no aces up your sleeves that would tip this miserable predicament into your favour. A fact he was well aware of.

Good thing he listened and indeed stopped riling you up even further. Another word out of his mouth and you would've skipped over the entire anger phase right over to tears.

It was your turn again. After being cornered up with his previous attack, you were all out of moves, let alone useful ones. In a desparate attempt to bring him back into the game as soon as possible, you opted for taking at least a bit of advantage back to your side.

Your hand already hovered over one of your pawns, ready to grab it, when you noticed Zeke's unbroken gaze on you. His pursed lips were a subtle sign of his disapproval, the silent one which was by far the worst one.

Frustrated, you threw your hands in front of yourself. "What?"

This in turn perplexed him. Dumbfounded by your sudden (and quite rude for his taste) inquiry, he looked at you in confusion, benevolence coloring his features in a halo-like light.

"Why-- why are you staring at me like that?" you had the courtesy to elaborate although your voice was bubbling with irritation.

"You were the one to tell me to shut up," unabashed he replied. "Can't I express my critique in some other way then?"

You were determined to prove all his attempts at annoying you futile. As if he wasn't already getting off of the fact that you were losing to him, flaunting his chess skills in the process.

"Alright." you asked calmly as you caved to give him the response he wanted. "What is your critique?"

With your permission granted (not that he cared for it that much), he took a second look at the chess board. This brief moment of scanning was of no use to him, admittedly - he knew what was wrong way before that.

"A pawn to b4? Quite unproductive, if you ask me."

"You just had to point that out." Completely devoid of witty remarks, you simply crossed your arms on your chest in meek retalliation. You pressed your lips tightly when they began to tremble.

For the first time during the game, his voice aquired a slightest hint of seriousness. As if a sudden bout of compassion had befallen him.

"Do you want to win that badly?" he tried to meet your gaze as he asked this question to gauge your honest reaction.

Who doesn't want to outsmart the Zeke Yeager? It'd be akin to David and Goliath situation, safe for the physical altercation followed by the lethal outcome. And this would certainly humble Zeke a bit, as he was known to get on your nerves, brandishing his intellectual exclusivity.

To your luck (or rather not), you were the only one vain enough to try and pull it off.

"Of course," you huffed under your breath. "But seeing as you bash me at every turn, there's no way."

This begrudgingly uttered confession returned the sly expression to Zeke's features — the one he's had for the duration of the game. The one that made you distrust his last question even more.

"Maybe I can help you to win this stupid little game," he began in an alluring tone, stroking his beard as if pondering his countless options of aiding you.

You, however, were not in the slightest bit amused nor intrigued.

"Really? Just like that?" your voice dripped with sarcasm, an eager response propmting him to finally reveal his real intentions.

There was no way for him change his mind all of the sudden. Zeke was never the one to go easy on you in all sorts of games - especially now as his imminent victory drew closer and he seemed to get a high at the expense of your frustration. What could possibly convince him to take pity on you now?

Turned out, you were not wrong in your suspicion.

"Of course not," his answer, as expected, didn't surprise you. "My assistance has a price."

You wanted to drop all of your defences and start giggling at the sight of his features dripping with triumph. His over-confident demeanor seemed almost childish sometimes.

"A price," you mocked, an amused smile tugged at your corners. He responded in kind, as if you both were in on the joke that was about to take place. "Ok, name it then."

if he's the one suggesting it, you'll go along with it. How bad can it be? Not that washing the dishes for the next week or taking charge of cooking would be all that burdensome - not that he does those chores regularly anyway.

Instead of responding verbally, Zeke gently tapped his finger against his cheek, as if directing your attention to the spot. Throughout the exchange, he held an unbroken eye contact with you, to see if you were watching him. But it was unnecessary. His gesture was all too familiar to you.

"You dick," you accused him, clearly unamused now. "No, no way."

He smiled at the way you violently shook your head no, turning away from the chess table in a plain refusal.

"C'mon, just a liiittle kiss," he reasoned (more like whined, really), "Not like you've never done this before."

As competitive as you were, this was something you couldn't bring yourself to do.

You wagged your finger at him, reinforcing the fact of your disapproval. "Not in this climate," you rebuked. "It's extortion."

"It's barter and quite fair one at that." Zeke remained relentless in his persuasion attempts, like he wasn't the one with the higher ground. "A kiss for a hint. And, if you uphold your part of the bargain, you'll be able to win."

The gall to assume that you'd agree to trade your affection in exchange for useful information even just once, not to mention multiple times all for the sake of a tainted victory. Did he really deem you this weak-willed? You'd give him no such satisfaction.

"Thanks but no thanks," you cut him off bluntly, directing all of your attention back to the chess board. "When I beat you in the game, I'd rather it be a clean victory."

When - it's if, rather but you couldn't afford to give up so easily.

Your refusal did nothing to upset him, though. As if nothing had happened, he returned his attention to the game, too.

"Your loss," he stated, pressing his lips to hide a grin as he made a move that he spent mere seconds thinking over but managed to tip the scale in his favor. "I win either way."

And you thought he had been merciless before that. Well, he was now. It is only after your refusal that he shed all the self-restraint and went into full obliteration mode. At this point it wasn't about winning for him anymore rather than stripping you off your valuable figures, completely ignoring openings for potential checkmates.

Much to your dismay — yet to his triumph — this tactic of his seemed to have worked as your despair grew from one loss of a piece to other, removing all logic from your play style. The already miniscule chance of deafeating him thawed with each of his devastating moves. It seemed as if he wouldn't stop until you had only the king left at your side.

You caved once you lost most of your pawns and each one of the paired pieces. Turned out, you were mistaken about your own moral compass and intellectual capabilities. Maybe the end does justify the means.

"Alright, fine," you exclaimed, getting increasingly exasperated. "Let it be your way."

Ready to abandon your dignity (not that there was much to begin with), you plopped your hands at the either side of the board to reach over to the opposite side of the table where Zeke was.

"But I'm gonna win, right?" You had to make sure before sealing the agreement with a kiss.

"Well, not anymore."

You suddenly stopped leaning forward, mere inches away from his face.

The glare you sent his way must've shot the sharpest and biggest of daggers since Zeke rushed to deliver an explanation at the sight of you. "You would have, if you had agreed sooner," almost analitical tone of his voice failed to soothe your frustration. "The best you can settle for now is stalemate."

A draw it is. Quite a good result, admittedly, especially from the game of chess with the Zeke Yeager. And you had only yourself to blame for stalling so much. You took a deep breath to compose yourself. Although the impulse was strong, Zeke did his best not to flaunt his favourable position over you. Even so much as a hint of non-verbal 'i told you' from his side and he would most certainly fall from your grace.

"Why do I love you again?" you whispered under your breath as you were about to press your lips against his cheek. You crinkled your nose as the stubble tickled your skin.

"I ask myself this time to time, too." he replied, sham embarassment dripping in his tone as he melted under the touch of your lips.

Suffice to say, you weren't capable of harboring anger for a long time, let alone towards Zeke. Who was he but an insufferable yet starved for affection man in your eyes?

At the tenth kiss mark it just got ridiculous, to the point when you couldn't suppress your laughter as you leaned over the table, risking to knock over the pieces on the board, time and time again for the exchange to take place. Your dignity right now was of little importance - Zeke would never stop reminding you of this day but you couldn't care less as long as you got that coveted result (even if it was achieved through less than fair means).

Your lips hurt by the time the stalemate was announced - something you weren't aware they could do.

All out of breath, you leaned back against your chair, taking in the piece configuration on the board that finally put the end of this back-and-forth 'barter'.

"I'm never playing chess with you ever again," you firmly stated, watching him rise up from the seat.

"What a pity," his voice failed to convey the sincerity to his statement as he began putting the pieces back into the board - not that he cared for the way you'd perceive him anyway. "Gotta think of other ways to lure the kisses out of you now."

"You could always ask for one, don't you know?"

"I know," he assured, "But it's more rewarding this way."

#i have no words i choose to blame my resurfaced obsession with chess for this #will i do the reiner one (the one i wrote a small dechire post about) who knows #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #zeke #zeke yeager #zeke jeager #zeke x reader #zeke x you #zeke oneshots #aot x reader

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 1 year

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Title board created by the wonderful @mochie85!

Lesson Six

A new threat appears on the horizon just as you and Loki begin to bond.

**MASTERLIST HERE** Pairing: Soft!Dom!Loki x F!Reader Content Warnings: smut, extensive mentions of death, euthanasia, and death-related philosophy, some dark content (though the characters won't be), exile, moodiness, smut, kinks of various flavors (look for specific chapter warnings), trauma and mental illness, reader is a captive, reader has a body count

“THIS is a license to kill?” you asked.

You were staring at a heap of newly-netted fish piled up on the floor of a small boat at the dock, Loki and Brunnhilde on either side of you. While the specific presentation before you now was still too fresh to stink much, the still, thick, damp air of the harbor didn’t exactly do much to quell the revolting stench flying on the breeze from other, less-savory hauls that had been sitting longer. Several were still flopping around, their tiny mouths opening and shutting in silent panic, each wide, blank eye staring deeply into your soul.

“Did I ever say we were going to do this with people?” Loki asked incredulously.

You wanted to puke. “I think I’d prefer it to this.”

The King glared at Loki. “You’re going to pay for these. The grocer sells this lot to the towns in the south. This village needs that damn money, you know, roofs don’t re-thatch themselves or whatever,” she grumbled, taking a swig from a bottle of some undisclosed variety of grain alcohol.

“I’m not spending an entire year touching fish.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added, turning to look directly at you. “Have you considered my offer?”

“It’s been four days since you made it,” you reasoned. “For beings that live as long as you Asgardians do, you all sure seem to be in a hurry.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, and Brunnhilde shifted her stance. “That said,” you twisted your lip and quickly looked at Loki over your shoulder, “while I don't think he’s sold on the idea, I really don’t see any harm in taking on another tutor for now. I would like to see what you have to offer for my…lessons.”

Brunnhilde didn’t smile, but her slight change in posture was enough to indicate that she was pleased to hear this.

“At least she’s intelligent,” she said, turning back to Loki. “That makes one of you.”

Loki chuckled. “You think you’re going to teach her anything. You don't even possess seidr, Your Worship.”

Brunnhilde twisted her lip and looked away. “She’ll need to learn how to fight, and whether it’s with your magic tricks or physical strength, it’s going to be something your employer hopes she is competent in.”

“I mean, you said it yourself,” you added. “Didn’t you?”

Loki was cornered, and he was left with nothing to offer other than a sigh of surrender. “This is what I get for offering my most precious time and resources!” he mocked.

You scoffed. “Resources? Ones that I should be eating with fries and tartar sauce?” Raising an eyebrow, you looked at the hill of gasping fish and cringed. “So…now what?”

Brunnhilde took a swig from the beer bottle she held. “Help yourself, but only to a few pounds’ worth. That IS about eighty-five percent of our diet here in town. Y/N, come see me tomorrow, and we can start with some basics. Come rested and fed. We’ll be out all day.”

She turned away. “Have fun with the trout,” she called before disappearing from view.

You looked to Loki, who rolled his eyes as soon as the King was out of sight. “Finally, I thought she’d never leave.”

You pouted. “I really need to know your history,” you insisted.

“There is none,” Loki said quickly.

“Liar,” you shot back, making him smile a little, amused at your reflex.

“I don't know if you expected us to be ex-lovers, but I assure you, nothing of the sort. In fact, she’s a bit of an ancient hag next to me, though I’m certain you wouldn’t be able to see the difference.”

They were both virtually immortal to you, so it didn’t entirely matter, but Loki only laughed at your confused look anyway.

“Let’s save the tale for some other hour, when we aren’t on a time limit,” he dismissed.

“Time limit?” you asked.

“The fish,” he indicated, scoffing and looking over his shoulder, “will be dead and decaying before long, whether or not by your hand.”

“Ah,” you agreed, trying to keep from snickering in front of the growing group of curious and disapproving onlookers gathering behind you.

The pair of you were able to laugh enough to muster the dignity necessary to move several pounds of fish away from the main road, using a small box filled with ice water to keep them breathing, and off to a patch of grass behind one of the cabins near the shore. Loki laid three fish out before you on the ground, and you each sat on a side, the unfortunate ones in the middle, just waiting for your touch to put them out of their misery.

“Now what?” you asked.

“These are already on the doorstep to Helheim,” Loki indicated. “Last breaths gasped, and they’re destined for the chef’s blade anyhow, so there should be even less guilt or worry for you.”

You nodded, breathing in deeply, but needing a moment to avoid choking on the sudden smell that accosted you. “Sorry,” you muttered, coughing.

“When you’re ready, reach out and kill one,” Loki instructed. “Deliberately. Close your eyes as you do so, and then focus on exactly how you feel. I will be watching you in turn.”

Nodding quietly, you closed your eyes and held a hand out over the fish on the left. You took a slow, deep breath as you brought your hand down, the cold, slimy feeling of scales against your fingertips a bit unpleasant. Then, the familiar sensation of warmth ran up your arms and spread through your core as if through your arteries. Your right arm became heavy as if you were pulling a large weight on a rope. Your body drank in the energy within the first seconds of your touch, and when you opened your eyes again, you felt ready to run down the hill.

Loki hadn’t even blinked, nor taken his eye off of you. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “Well?”

You shrugged. “I felt better after slapping my ex,” you admitted.

Loki nodded. “You’d struck down a man in his physical prime then. You had more to gain from him, at least compared to a flopping, half-dead trout.”

“Still,” you went on as you looked at the stilled specimen under your finger, “I feel very…uh…maybe ‘healthy’ is the right word? I could go for a run, and I don’t like to run.”

“That’s what I was expecting,” Loki replied. “Good.”

You let out a nervous breath. “What did you see?”

He looked at you quietly for a moment before speaking again. “Honestly, not very much. Some energy radiating off of your skin, rather like the waves of heat one sees flying up from hot pavement in the summer. That’s quite common.”

“I don’t know why I feel like this,” you grumbled. “Like, if I’m taking life away, shouldn’t I feel bad? Or sick? Or…?”

Or like I felt after that mouse jumped up and ran off!

“Loki,” you said, “when the mouse reanimated to my touch, I felt different than I do now.”

“How so?”

“The opposite,” you commented. “I felt pain, sick, dizzy…”

“And the pull?” Loki goaded you on as he took your hand in his. “The pulling sensation? What of that?”

“Nothing,” you answered. “Instead, it kind of felt like I forced something out of me, like a cloud of steam building up pressure from under my palms.”

“A push,” Loki muttered, his thinking wheels spinning at triple-tempo now. For your part, you only nodded.

“I suppose it makes sense, giving life is the contrast of taking it, so I would probably feel the opposite effects taking the opposing action, right?” you suggested, speaking your thoughts aloud.

After what felt like a few too many moments as you both tried to make sense of your descriptions, Loki smiled and squeezed the hand he still held. “Yes, it does. It’s a clue, for certain,” he affirmed.

You giggled as a strange thought occurred to you: “What if the reason is because death is the natural order? It’s almost like the Universe is rewarding me for killing people by making me feel better.”

He continued your thought as if reading it directly from your own mind. “Which would also explain why reanimating the mouse hurt you so,” he explained. “Bringing life back from the dead is defiance of all that is natural. It’s spitting in the face of creation.”

“Or it’s a deterrent?” you added. “If it’s really what this is, and we’re right about it, why would anyone want one person to be able to raise the dead? That’s a lot of power!” Excitement was building between you as you continued to unravel the logical arithmetic around the idea.

“But then,” you chimed in again, “that means that this was on purpose? Someone did this to me?”

“Not necessarily. You humans evolved to have purpose without a helping hand from the skies.” Loki shook his head before going back into his professor’s facade, his rigid posture and stricter-sounding accent nearly making you laugh out loud. "Now, before we continue our discussion…bring it back.”

You pointed down and mouthed ‘the fish?’ Loki nodded as if the answer was obvious (which, of course, it was, but you were beginning to get flustered by Loki’s sexy gaze never leaving you).

Nodding obediently, you closed your eyes and placed a finger on the newly-deceased animal, seeking out that feeling that seemed to have no problem appearing spontaneously before now. You did whatever you felt you could to answer the “push” command from inside your head.

However, try as you did, nothing happened after a minute. Two minutes. Eventually, you pulled back and groaned, shaking your head and mouthing a disappointed ‘nothing!’

“Loki!” you moaned with shame at your failure, but he clearly didn’t share in your assessment.

Shaking his head, he was smiling instead. “It isn’t a fault, shhh…” he said softly, taking the hand he still held and pressing your knuckles to his lips. “I expected this to happen.”

“The thing with the mouse really happened, I swear!” you insisted, and your embarrassment and fear of disappointing your teacher forced you to go into defensive mode. “Like, you know how sometimes you can’t get your phone to work until you take it in to get it fixed, and suddenly--”

Loki interrupted your rambling by leaning over, sweetly kissing you, which immediately made your shoulders relax and your monologue cease. Your heart fluttered and your legs clenched, immediately remembering the luxurious sensations of his skin against yours, his hands exploring your most hidden crevices…

“No, no, kitten,” he continued. “Let me explain something to you: magic comes in as many different forms as there are magic-users. Sometimes there are parts that are always more difficult to control. If every wizard knew the facets of every smithereen of his magic, then we’d have an entire cosmos of magicians at war with one another.”

You took a deep breath and let his reassuring smile guide you back to a centered place.

“As I’ve said, reanimation goes against nature itself. We shouldn’t expect it to act the same way as the other side of your seidr,” he assessed.

“So, I can’t ever control it?” you asked, crestfallen.

He shrugged and shook his head. “For the first time in my centuries of existence, I don't think I have an answer. Perhaps you can, perhaps not. For now, let’s just see what we can do with these fish.”

A bitter wind brushed by in the following moment of silence. You did everything you could to let the cold breeze sweep your misgivings up and away with it, choosing to trust your tutor, just as he always commanded.

The Wheel of Time turned, and spring formally arrived in New Asgard, although it wasn’t easy to discern as much from the looks of it. Even as the evenings grew in length minute by minute, and the foliage in the distant forests were rebirthing their greenery, the gray stillness and damp chills of the village remained hovering in the air.

The crisp, clear March day was energizing, and you’d already gone for your walk about the town. Slowly, the villagers were beginning to recognize you, and you they (although most of them still stayed clear of you for fear of your power). A few people nodded cordially as you walked by, a few even spoke a ‘good morning’ in your direction. It was a shame the place was such a smelly little village on the coast of nowhere. A small settlement like this may have otherwise felt cozy and homey to you. A nice place to live.

It was late enough in the season now that it was still daylight after 4pm, so you, Loki, and the shopkeeper and his wife took tea together on the porch of the shop. The wind was low, so you were comfortable in a heavy sweater instead of a parka.

The shop couple, Mr. and Mrs. Olssen served hot tea and salmon sandwiches while telling stories about their lives before surviving Ragnarok. They had held the same career on Asgard, and had lived close enough to the palace that they’d been on familiar terms with some of the nobles. They were very old, even for Aesir. Mr. Olssen had developed a terrible cough over the past half-century that rumbled up his throat every so often, but Mrs. Olssen had a secret honey tea recipe that was quite effective at relieving said cough. She chattered for several minutes straight on whether or not she was planning on selling said recipe.

While your hosts were gracious, and certainly fascinating beings, you couldn’t help but notice that Loki was really filling out his cream cable-knit sweater (a donation from your landlord). Such a mundane garment may as well have been a wet t-shirt on the god. The casual way he’d swept his hair back into a braid didn’t help things. He looked like the hot, mysterious neighbor down the hall who could make any half-assed ensemble look good. What was worse, it seemed as if Loki had picked up on your admiration, and he couldn’t help but delight in winking or making subtle, suggestive motions with his fingers behind his teacup.

Just as Mrs. Olssen was mentioning how her honey came from a rare kind of bee she’d discovered days after arriving on Midgard, Brunnhilde came stomping up the steps, strutting up behind Loki and kicking the back of his chair, sending his body lurching forward.

“Norns,” Loki muttered bitterly. “Just one bloody day without this…”

“I need you to come with me,” the King commanded. “They’re back, and they want to see you.”

“Who?” you and Loki asked in tandem.

She looked at you, looking as if time was essential in the moment. “The reason I’m starting the project I discussed with you before.”

Looking over her shoulder, Brunnhilde cringed as she saw that several people were following her, all Midgardians from further south in Europe, all looking defensive and angry. “Shit,” she added. “These assholes are Midgardians who don’t exactly like that we’re here. And now that they’ve heard that you’re here as well, they’re out for blood.” She pointed the finger at Loki.

You bit your lip. “So? Send them away? Tell them we’re not here for anything bad--”

“--keep quiet, Y/N, because they don’t even know of your existence,” the King continued before looking up at Loki with all the seriousness of an executioner. “Do NOT give them any reason to attack us. I think I can convince them to go away.”

Loki looked at you and smiled in an attempt to be reassuring (which was absolutely not working). “This could be interesting.”

“Don’t you DARE!” Brunnhilde repeated her warning, wagging an accusing finger at the God, who could only throw up his hands in lighthearted surrender.

The head of the party of humans reached the shop, inviting himself onto the deck. He held a pistol in his right hand, and the sight of it made your skin run cold. You noticed that Loki’s amused face had almost instantly dropped as his eyes also fell on the gun.

“I don’t want that gun here, and I’m the bloody King,” Brunnhilde scolded, not that the man cared or even twitched.

His eye was on Loki, his dark unibrow scrunched together as he finally broke his silence. “You think you can order me to stand down when you bring the biggest weapon of all right onto our soil?”

Another two people joined him. The rest couldn’t fit onto the deck and remained either on the steps or below on the grass.

Brunnhilde growled. “If you’d just shut up, you’d have heard it when I said the last twelve times that he’s under watch and powerless here!”

“Why should we believe another witch?” said a woman, calling from the steps. A few others in the gang of nine-or-so mumbled in collective agreement. “You’re all from the Devil’s realm!”

“So much for gratitude, seeing as you’ve all forgotten who destroyed the Tesseract in the first place, leaving the real evil vulnerable enough to be ended,” Loki remarked, getting to his feet. His sudden movement visibly started several of the protestors.

“Captain America and Iron Man destroyed that beast,” said the leader of the gang.

Loki hissed through gritted teeth, his patience quickly abandoning him. “With. My. Help.”

Mr. Olssen began to cough, and his wife started to offer him tea and rub his back. You sighed, looking at him with pity. This excitement was too much for a pair of old people.

“I am Jonah,” the leader introduced. “My family and I lead The Flock. Ever since the beginning of this new era of wizards, aliens, magicians, and false idols parading as gods, The Flock has been dedicated to bringing the world and its people back to the state they were in before Iron Man and the Avengers began their crusades.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Could we skip the cutscene and get to the part where you just threaten us and leave?

“We came for him,” the leader explained, pointing again at Loki. “We don't want him guarded. We want him imprisoned forever. If we can’t purge every demon from this country, at least we can account for the worst one.”

“We get it,” said the King, trying to move things along. “He’s a loose cannon, he’s under our command, we’re responsible for any trouble, you’ll be back blah blah…”

Jonah raised his gun, pointing it not at Brunnhilde, but at you.

“No!” Loki quickly pleaded.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “We are not here to warn you. We came for him. We are not leaving without him, and whether or not we purge the rest of you in order to succeed depends entirely on whether or not Loki decides to join us willingly.”

PLEASE REBLOG and COMMENT! Thank you!

@kats72 @violethaze @cheekyscamp @javagirl328 @yelkmelk @mischief2sarawr @buttercupcookies-blog @lokidokieokie @fictive-sl0th @jaidenhawke @caothicshit @holdmytesseract @anukulee @joyful-enchantress @simplyholl @meowmeow-motherfucker @huntress-artemiss @lokisgoodgirl @loz-3 @mjsthrillernp @alexakeyloveloki @linaax @noideakitten @evelyn-rathmore @lovingchoices14 @itzcomplctd7 @praq123 @the-fantasy-loving-angel @alexakeyloveloki @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @admiralatthebowofnails @vanilla-daydreaming @technicallysassyfox @ozymdias @fall-myriad @sititran

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki/reader #loki smut #don't fear the reaper #dom!loki x sub!reader #dom!loki #sub!reader #mcu avengers #new asgard #loki angst #loki fluff #valkyrie

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sirowsky-stories · 6 months

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Part 8

Description: Making their way through the woods turns out to be the easier part of their escape, as the group soon learns that even The Big Apple isn't safe.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, mentions of graphic violence, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic, smut. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 8074 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: It's been over a month since I last updated this, but you're getting a huge chapter instead. And the first smut of this series, which might sadly also be the last, since I might be heading towards an ending for this story. I don't know for sure, but I have an idea of where this might go, and sadly, it's not a lengthy plot. We'll see. Thank you for your unfailing patience :´)

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They move slowly, since being quiet is more important than being fast right now. They must assume that their enemies are equipped with some form of vision enhancement, either in the infrared or thermal spectrums, which would mean that their only hope of slipping past them, is if they can hear them coming. Thankfully, the hunters have no reason to believe that their prey have left the safety of the house, and likely aren’t expecting to find them out here.

Niki does okay with the effort of moving, but her damaged lung makes her breathing harder than the others, and therefor noisier, so Pero uses her as a gauge for when they need to take a break or when he unintentionally speeds up too much. But it works. They make progress, slow and steady. It takes almost two hours before they run into trouble.

He feels it somehow, several seconds before the guy even registers to his other senses, and instinctively stops behind a large trunk of a fallen tree, crouching down and signaling to the others to do the same. Their eyes have adjusted to the dark well enough that they can see it when he raises a cautionary hand and then ducks.

The guy is approaching fast, so they can hear him long before he comes into view. And just like Pero predicted, they’re wearing night vision goggles of some sort, enabling them to run at full speeds in the dark, should they need to, but also leaving them careless of the noises they’re making. Although, it also tells him that they’re not expecting to run into anyone out here. For the time being, staying hidden is more important than fighting back, so the soldier is allowed to pass without being attacked.

It’s a tense wait, though, because they can’t know if he sees their body heat or just has an enhanced view of the pitch-black woods. So, when he jumps over the downed log and then carries on without spotting them where they crouch in some underbrush, they all breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s a brief one, because the soldier’s presence also indicates that there’s likely more of them nearby. The fact that he’s alone means that he’s probably a scout, checking things out in preparation for the teams that follow.

They wait until he’s out of earshot before they get up and carry on, moving even more carefully now. Still, it only takes fifteen minutes before the next troubling sound reaches Pero’s ears, this time in what seems to be more than one person coming towards them in the dark. And of course, it happens where there’s virtually nothing to hide behind.

He stops the group and listens intently, trying to work out exactly where the soldiers are. They’re practically out in the open, crossing a large flat area where the trees aren’t so tightly positioned and there are no shrubs or bushes to use for cover. He doesn’t have time to deliberate, so only moments after they’ve stopped, Tovar signals for everyone to lay down flat on the ground, and without even checking that they follow his instructions, he darts off to the left.

Finding an older tree with a thicker stem to hide behind, he stops and waits for the soldiers to approach the group, counting on their surprise at finding their quarry all the way out here, to give him the slight advantage he needs to deal with them both. The second they spot the three unexpected shapes on the ground, the two men close ranks and angle their weapons up, aiming at the group. But before they’ve even had a chance to start barking orders at the helpless trio, Pero has already circled around them, coming at them from behind.

He snaps the neck of the guy on the right, and then stabs what’s apparently a woman to his left, under her arm where the Kevlar vest can’t protect her, severing a major artery. An enemy is an enemy regardless of gender, and he’s never much cared which kind he might have to harm in order to protect himself or others. But tonight, it all seems so pointless.

These soldiers probably don’t even know who Niki is or why they’ve been ordered to capture or eliminate her. And while he doesn’t feel bad about killing them, since he’s of the mind that people are generally awful anyway, he does wonder if these people truly deserve to die for a cause that isn’t their own. Pero has never intentionally harmed anyone that he didn’t personally target because of their lack of humanity or compassion, but he doesn’t know who these soldiers are underneath their armor.

These two could’ve been best friends. They could’ve been good people. Or horrible people. It’s the fact that he doesn’t know either way that bothers him. Not nearly enough to stop him, though. Because in the end, it’s the three people he protects that he does know, and what he knows is that they’ve all earned his protection. Not by being perfect, but simply by being kind when they could’ve been selfish.

Once both enemies have fallen, he drops to one knee and freezes, motioning for the others to stay still and quiet while he waits for the sounds of death to fade, making sure that no one else seems to have noticed the brief commotion, before he beckons for the group to get up and follow again. But Niki’s struggling now.

Her body has barely even begun its rehabilitation, she’s only just started walking around and now she’s suddenly not just trekking through the wilderness, but performing quick movements that require a lot of tension and agility. Most people don’t even realize how many muscles have to be active, nor how hard they have to work, just to enable a person to drop to their knee and then stand up again. It’s only when one is hurt and those muscles can’t perform their function without pain, that one becomes aware of just how much effort it takes.

Add serious damage to several internal organs on top of that, and it’s a miracle that she’s even managed this first hour without collapsing. As she tries to stand, her strength falters and she drops to her hands and knees in the wet moss. Gillian is right behind her, and she reacts right away, moving up alongside Niki to check how affected she really is.

With the silent sign for death, a few fingers cutting her own throat, the nurse signals to Pero that her patient might die if she’s forced to keep going like this. Thankfully, they’re less than half an hour from the car if nothing more happens to slow them down, so he crouches with his back to Nikita and signals for her to climb on, trying not to panic at the realization that it takes longer than it should for her to move even that little.

He hates how thin she feels, even through her layers of clothing, as she hitches her legs over his hips and her arms around his shoulders, but there isn’t time to worry about that now. Even if the dead soldiers won’t be able to set off any alarms by themselves, they’ll soon be discovered anyway. Because these kinds of teams doing these kinds of jobs keep in regular contact with each other, and when those two inevitably fail to check in, someone’s gonna go looking for them.

So, with the most wanted woman in the world on his back, he sets a new pace, almost running through the woods now. It doesn’t take long before his arms begin to ache with the effort of helping her keep her legs around him, but he ignores it. He’ll keep holding on to her until his arms are torn from their sockets, if that’s what it’ll take to get her to safety.

Mercifully, they reach the hidden vehicle without any more incidents, and he sets his human backpack down before he starts to unveil it, since the others can’t even see it underneath the specialized tarp, specifically designed to obscure large structures in these types of woods. Contrary to what most people would expect out here, it isn’t an all-terrain vehicle or SUV that’s waiting for them, but rather a BMW sedan of a sportier model, but which also boasts outstanding suspension and off-road capabilities for the more adventurous driver.

It’s one of those cars that you have to know what’s underneath of to understand the hefty price-tag, since the outside looks like literally any other car, and that’s precisely why Pero chose it. Because it won’t stick out on a country road, a fast highway, or in a city like New York. It’s a chameleon, but it’s also a car with a lot of engine, so should it become necessary to evade a pursuing party, it’s got the power to get the job done.

Quietly, they all get in and buckle up, the women taking the backseat so that Gillian can tend to Niki as well as possible under these circumstances, and then he starts the engine. It’s a hybrid, capable of running for up to an hour on battery-power alone, then automatically recharges itself with the petrol engine, so there’s no sound beyond what the wheels produce as he starts rolling along the dirt road.

It isn’t until they leave the dirt road and come onto the main highway that anyone speaks, even though they’ve technically been able to whisper to each other ever since they got in the car.

“Fuck me, that was tense…” Will breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose before nervously running a hand over his forehead.

“You did good, all of you,” Pero compliments, because he really hadn’t thought that they’d get through the woods as easily as they did.

“How’s Nikita doing?” Garin asks then, turning in his seat so that he can see the women in the back.

“She’s exhausted,” Gillian answers. “She passed out shortly after we got going.”

“We’ll stop somewhere out of sight to try and get some fluids and nutrition into her, but not yet. I wanna be absolutely sure that we’re not being followed,” Tovar replies, glancing in the rearview mirror so that he can see if the nurse seems to object.

It doesn’t look like she does, but she looks worried. Which is understandable for a number of reasons, but perhaps mostly because she’s getting ready to leave them to their fates and try and restore her own life as best she can. She’s taking a huge risk. There’s every chance that their enemies know about her involvement and may try to use her to find out what they’re planning, in which case, she could end up tortured to death in the pursuit of information.

But this is the choice she’s made, and she has certainly earned the right to make her own decisions, even though they could end up damaging the entire group. Somehow though, Pero doubts that the stoic young nurse would divulge anything to anyone that tried to force her. There’s a quiet strength to her, and while her experiences at the safe house have tested her limits and brought her to a breaking point, she has still demonstrated a tremendous resolve and loyalty, even to complete strangers.

No. She won’t give up just because some asshole might try and make her. And when the inevitable goodbye finally comes, she departs from the group with equal parts sorrow and relief, hugging Niki for a good minute while offering well-wishes and good fortunes, adding the promise that should someone come for her, she will take responsibility for her own actions and not let any blame fall upon the group. They all believe her.

-=¤=-

The apartment is nice and the view leaves little to be desired. If not for the constant threat of capture and death, they might’ve enjoyed their stay in The Big Apple a bit more. As it is, no matter where they are, the threat remains the same, so their lives continue to be on hold while they search for a way to set themselves free. Pero is the only one who leaves their new accommodations for any lengths of time, and only when he must.

He’s doing what he can to stay up to date with their enemies’ movements, and to that end, his network of spies has proven invaluable, since Will is having trouble keeping his activities online hidden. It’s only been nine days and Garin has repeatedly stated that to do what he needs to do in a safe way, he first needs to establish unbreakable encryptions and massive firewalls to his systems, and that that takes time.

So, they find themselves at an impasse. Unable to act for lack of information, and slowly going insane due to isolation and imprisonment. In that regard, Pero and Will are doing much better than Niki, since the former does get to leave the apartment now and then, and the latter mostly doesn’t want to, being the hermit that he is.

But the unfortunate Miss Morse is used to working around a huge warehouse, both indoors and out, regardless of weather. She’s used to working with her body and having the satisfying physical fatigue at the end of each day, to help lull her to sleep. And now that her body is beginning to regain its former strength, the lack of activity is leaving her more than just restless. It’s begun to eat away at her mind as well.

The curtains are always drawn shut over the windows, as an added precaution, and she spends hours every day standing by the door to the balcony, peering out over the city through the tiny gap between the two lengths of fabric which obscure her view. Each day, her desire to simply step through that door and just stand outside where there aren’t any walls around her, grows stronger. And today, she seems especially hounded by her own detrimental circumstances.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Pero gently admonishes when she tugs on the edge of the curtain, not enough to open it further, but clearly wanting to.

She doesn’t respond verbally, but when she lets go of the fabric, she brings her arms up to cross them over her waist and demonstratively steps away from the window. As if she can only barely keep from screaming at him, using motion to try and quell the negative impulse.

“It’s not worth it,” he reminds her, knowing that she remembers the lives that have been lost in the name of protecting her, and that any unnecessary risk on her part would be the same as saying that those deaths were meaningless.

“I know that, Torkie. I’m not gonna jeopardize anything, but this incessant inactivity is making my skin crawl.”

“It’s the same for all of us, Niki,” he reminds her, and she sighs and takes a completely unnecessary walk around the living room while she responds.

“Sure, but where the two of you would lay around in a couch or work on your extracurricular activities in the evenings, I’m used to walking in the woods, or at least among streets lined with trees and bushes and wonderful gardens in people’s yards. I’ve never lived in a concrete jungle specifically because I need the living greenery of the world in my everyday life. I get more than enough of steel, iron and concrete at work. At least the safehouse had a wood interior and was huddled by the most amazing forest I’ve ever seen. But this… this just feels like one giant prison,” she elaborates, and he does understand.

He knows that she’s lived in the quiet and small suburban area just outside of their hometown for as long as she’s worked at OffSup, and he’s been to her house several times. Her own yard is big enough to house a badminton tournament and the neighbors are far enough away that she doesn’t need to worry about them spying through her windows. It’s a beautiful area, populated only with people who love nature and have no trouble sacrificing a few modern comforts to be closer to the wilderness.

“Well, with any luck, I’ll have our security in place by tomorrow, so keep your chin up,” William encourages. “Once I’m certain that it’s safe, I’ll be able to see anyone who tries to access the surveillance and traffic cameras around the building remotely, and as long as no one does, I think we can be fairly certain that we’re safe to go to the corner store at least.”

She smiles at that, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her heart is heavy with more than just isolation, there’s grief and despair and so much guilt within her as well, none of which she can shed simply by wanting to. The two unfortunate nurses who had died at the hospital garage that first morning weighs on her conscience most of all, even though she’d only just been put back together and was still unconscious at the time.

It pains her because their sacrifice had been involuntary. They’d died simply because they hadn’t questioned Gillian when she’d ordered them to help. Because they’d been good and kind enough to accept her word that the unorthodox transfer had needed to take place. And for that, they’d been gunned down in a parking garage while fleeing for their lives. Gillian had at least been given every chance to leave and had chosen to stay for as long as she had.

Pero can see all of this in Niki’s eyes and body language. How she carries the dead, lets them drag her down like ankers to a ship, like thousands of pounds of metal, threatening to drown her the moment she stops fighting. Which is why she isn’t really fighting for herself anymore. She wants to live, that much is clear, but the need to avenge the innocent, which might include her own baby, has taken over from her need to save herself.

So, that evening, when dinner’s been cleaned away and she steps into the shower which their bedroom is connected to, he follows her. Not into the bath, but into the room, where he changes the sheets of the bed, lights a few candles and then undresses and sits down on the edge of the bed to wait for her. Whether she knows it or not, she needs to feel something good. She needs the mental and physical benefits of sexual satisfaction, and he intends to give it to her. If she’ll let him.

They haven’t been together since before the car-crash, but they’ve since become closer in every other way, so there’s no reason to think that she wouldn’t want to be with him again. Still, as he sits there and waits, he’s nervous. It’s always been purely physical for them both. There’s never been so much at risk as there is now. So, even if she doesn’t reject this offer of closeness, things have and will continue to change with every shared moment between them.

She emerges from the steamy heat of the bathroom wearing only a towel around her body, and then stops when she sees him sitting there without a thread on him. Her eyes scan the room, seeing the candles and the fresh sheets, and her features soften as she realizes what he’s offering. Smiling softly, but with a hint of worry in her frame, she steps closer and lets the towel fall to the floor.

He’s seen her new scars before, but never like this. Never with the intent of touching them romantically, exploring and caressing them, and she clearly wonders what he’ll think and feel about her body now that it’s so different. Eager to let her know that what he sees doesn’t repel him, or even diminish her appeal to him, he pulls her close, until she’s standing in between his knees and he can kiss the imperfections on her abdomen, before moving down to where his child is hopefully growing.

“Why don’t you have any medical records?” he asks quietly, as he suddenly recalls his conversation with Dr. Jackson, while he was waiting for her to come out of surgery. “You told me about your earlier scars, the collarbone and the riding accident, but the hospital couldn’t find any records on you.”

“They wouldn’t… because those were lies,” she admits, and she looks ashamed now.

Their entire relationship was constructed upon the foundation of mutual honesty, which she has just confessed to be false, and she expects him to react to that. To be upset. And she’s trying to prepare herself to accept whatever that reaction might be.

“Those injuries happened when I was working on the project, and they weren’t accidents.”

“They were punishments,” he guesses, and she nods.

“Not even for disobedience. A guard twisted my shoulder so violently that it snapped my collarbone in half, just to demonstrate how powerless we were to save ourself, should we get the idea to steal information or try to destroy any progress we made. And this…” she gestures to the scar on her arm, from when it had been broken, “…this was my punishment for talking to another technician about something other than the work which I’d been assigned.”

She looks so defeated as she talks about this, and he doesn’t like to see that. Lies or no lies, she hasn’t tried to deceive him, only protect herself.

“I’m not angry with you, Niki. I understand that you had to keep that to yourself. Just like I never told you about Mr. Hood,” he reminds her, and she does look more comfortable then.

“I would’ve understood if you had. I wouldn’t have found you less attractive for knowing that you can’t abide cruelty or falseness in people.”

“Thank you. But that’s also easier to say in retrospect.”

“Yeah… that’s probably true. Still, our relationship was never meant to be that involving. We deliberately withheld things from each other to try and maintain that safe distance between us. To not get to know each other well enough that we risked falling in love,” she reminds him, and he feels like that must’ve been another life in another dimension, because he couldn’t keep her out of his heart now, no matter how hard he might try.

“Mm. Look where that got us…” he observes, and she shrugs.

“Again: hindsight makes everything clearer. It doesn’t mean we were wrong to make the choices that we did at the time.”

“Maybe not, but now that I’ve let myself go there, loving you with all my heart, those years spent behind walls suddenly seem so useless and cowardly.”

“You are many things, Pero, but not a coward. There are few people in this world who live as honestly as you do, and believe me, that takes courage.”

“I shouldn’t have thrown you out that night. If I hadn’t been so selfish-…”

“Don’t do that to yourself, honey,” she cuts him off, putting her hands on his cheeks to keep him from looking away. “They would’ve found a way to get to me anyway. I know that because I went to see you on a whim that night, after the pregnancy test had come back positive. It wasn’t planned, I never mentioned it to anyone or even voiced my need to see you out loud, I just grabbed my purse and ran out, terrified that if I hesitated, I’d lose my nerve and decide not to talk to you about it at all. So, they couldn’t have known that I’d be on that road on that particular evening at that specific time, unless they were already tracking my car.”

He hears her, and he knows that she’s probably right, but he also knows that he hurt her that night. Badly.

“I remember that look in your eyes… how completely I lost your trust in that moment. How scared and alone you felt. And I had no intention of helping you. I opened a bottle of whiskey and drank myself to sleep instead,” he admits, feeling almost sick to his stomach with the memory. “But getting that call… hearing that you’d been hit and that you were in critical condition… I’ve never felt that kind of bone-chilling terror in my life.”

“I know. I could see that in your eyes when I first woke up, and it confused me more than not recognizing my surroundings did, because I’d never seen you afraid or even worried about anything before that moment.”

“Because I hadn’t been, not for years at that point, since I hadn’t had anything to lose for over a decade. Then suddenly my entire world seemed to be falling apart, and I couldn’t even understand that it was because I already loved you. But I do now. I understand so much more now.”

He doesn’t tell her where his mind goes, following that thought. He doesn’t tell her about the threats he’s made and the horrific acts of violence that he has and will continue to commit, to ensure her safety. That when he says that he will stop at nothing to protect her, he really does mean it. With any luck, she won’t have to see him at his darkest before this comes to an end.

Instead, he pulls her closer still, until she has to straddle him on the edge of the bed, at which point, he nuzzles his face into her breasts and hugs her body to his, letting the warmth of her skin chase away the darkness of his thoughts. She wraps her arms around his head and shoulders, then pushes him back until he lays down flat. He lets his hands caress their way down her sides, until he reaches the swell of her ass, and pulls her down onto his hips.

He doesn’t need to say that she still looks perfect to his eyes. The fact that his hands flow as comfortably over her scarred surface as they do over her soft tits or strong thighs, is all she needs to know that he doesn’t see flaws, but history. A life that’s been lived and the consequences of that life, for better or worse. He wants to tell her how he longs to see the stretchmarks that their baby might cause. How much he wishes for that to be all she has to worry about.

But he says nothing, because hopes are so unbearably fragile, and so easily crumbled. Instead, he follows her lead. Lets her work herself on his hardening cock while his hands speak for him, praising her body, lingering on the little swelling between her hips which he hopes is more than just her normal weight coming back. And she hears him, even without the words, just as he knows that she will.

But her lung still isn’t back to form, so even the heavy breathing associated with arousal is enough to give her trouble, and she soon falls to the side, beckoning him to roll with her so that she can relax underneath him. He knows her body almost as well as he knows his own. Her injuries might be new to him, but he still knows how she’ll react to everything he does, which is why he inches himself into her slowly, so she won’t gasp at the overload of sensation.

She’s always loved that first push. The initial connection and the excitement of knowing that she’s about to be thoroughly pleasured. But tonight, he needs her to be calm. To let him convince her body that it’ll get everything it wants, even though it’ll happen slowly and softly. To let him build the crescendo in a steady stream, rather than a raging river.

And as though her body has forgotten that pleasure even exists, she responds so beautifully to his efforts that she comes for him after just a few minutes, so overwhelmed herself that she doesn’t manage to prepare for it. Her muscles and nerves are still affected by the surgical scars, the damage underneath, and the weeks of bedrest, that when her body suddenly convulses with almost violent satisfaction, it makes her limbs cramp up, trying to shield her torso.

“No… don’t stop,” she breathes through the spasms, clawing at his back to urge him to move, so he does.

And as he does, the overstimulation seems to help her. Maybe because it sends blood rushing out into her limbs to try and disperse the heat from her core, or maybe just because it overloads her nerves system until it can’t lock in place anymore, but whatever the case, she quickly becomes pleasantly boneless underneath him. He keeps going, hitting her harder now that her breathing is made easier by the increase of dopamine in her system.

Knowing that she’s satiated, that he’s managed to please her despite the obstacles that her physique still poses, fills him with a primal sort of pride which leaves him breathless as he takes in the relaxed afterglow that’s already begun to spread across her features. He keeps his movements soft and languid, helping her come down while beginning to work her again, knowing that she’s usually even easier to pleasure after her first orgasm.

Once more, she responds perfectly. Losing herself in the rapture, she seems to forget that time and space even exists, softly clinging to his body with complete trust that he’ll give her everything she wants, no matter what state she’s in. And when she comes again, less intensely but somehow even deeper, he unravels with her. He takes care to control his movements, not to hit her too hard when his body too begins spasming with the overload to his system, and she thankfully doesn’t seem bothered.

Still, he rolls off her as soon as he’s in full control of his limbs again, knowing that she can’t carry the weight of him on top of her yet, and pulls the duvet over her so she won’t cool too quickly. She hasn’t worked up that much of a sweat, but the inner heat still affects her. For a long while, she just lays there, breathing through the aftermath of her climaxes, and he lays right beside her, watching her without even blinking.

He knows every line and burgeoning wrinkle, every facial muscle and how she uses them. Which faces she makes, and which expressions are her most common ones. She smiles a lot. The laugh-lines around her eyes have begun to show even though she’s only in her mid-thirties, and even though she spent almost a decade living and working under the threat of pain and death. Perhaps finding things to smile about was what had gotten her through it.

In any case, he loves those lines. He loves what they say about her personality, just like he loves that her body is normally healthily thick. Not skinny nor fat, just normal. She has meat on her bones. The way she looks now, after weeks of depleting her fat reserves in order to heal and survive, despite the stress and fear she’s been living with, appears sickly to his eyes.

He can’t wait for her to come back to the fullness he’s used to feeling underneath her skin, whereas all he feels now is protruding ribs and hipbones. Her collarbones and jaw look unnaturally sharp, and even her fingers seem to have lost their softness. But she’s alive, and recovering well, so with time these things will sort themselves out, if he can only keep the threats away from her.

“Thank you,” she quietly says in the middle of his pondering. “I needed that.”

“I know,” is all he replies, because it’s enough for her to hear everything behind the words as well.

The affection he has for her, allowing him to recall every detail about her. Allowing him to know her like the pages of a favorite book, just like she undoubtedly knows him as well. He helps her turn to her good side and then settles in behind her, kissing her neck and caressing her belly while she slowly drifts off to sleep. But he doesn’t.

This was a much-needed reprieve, but it was only temporary. Their circumstances haven’t improved, and while he always encourages her to relax and try not to worry, he’s incapable of following that advice himself. Not until he knows that they’re safe. So, an hour later, when she’s deep within the dreamlands of her subconscious, he gets up.

He finds Will by the computer in his own room, as usual.

“How are we looking?” he asks once he reaches the man, and Garin flinches slightly.

“Fuck, man… Do you have to sneak around like that, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Yeah, right. Stealth is like your normal state, have you ever considered how screwed up that is?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem for anyone who has nothing to hide,” Tovar chides, but more conversationally than accusatory.

“Or people with no heart-problems…” William grumbles, which seems excessive.

“Which you don’t have.”

“Hey, post traumatic stress sufferer over here. My heart is as frail as they come, just maybe not physically.”

Pero doesn’t have a comeback for that, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t say it, because Will’s problem is no joke. The fact that he’s even bringing it up says a lot about how far he’s come in his discomfort with the subject. He accepted the diagnosis right away, having struggled for years before he finally saw a specialist and had it confirmed, but his self-imposed isolation has made it difficult for him to talk about or even admit that he has mental problems around others.

“Sorry,” he offers, and Garin shoots him a grateful nod.

“About our security, I’ve just about sealed it shut. Another few lines of code and we should be good. I’ve double and triple-checked everything, so unless I’ve missed some major flaw, even a whole team of hackers would need several weeks, if not months, to crack it.”

“Good. Because we need to start going on the offensive. I need a face to the threat, a new angle to push at, because right now, all my sources are coming up dry,” Pero says, to which the other man huffs a little.

“I thought you had people at the highest levels looking into this.”

“I do, but they can only do so much without being detected, and if they’re caught with their fingers in the cookie jar, I start losing assets that we can’t afford to lose. Because they’ve still got their eyes and ears open, and they’ll contact me if something new comes up. But beyond that, you’re my best hope for new leads.”

“Great, no pressure,” Garin mumbles, only half serious, but Tovar still decides to remind him of his value, because his confidence can’t begin to falter now.

“You’ve got this, Will. I wouldn’t trust you with her life if I didn’t believe that,” he reminds the vet, who looks mildly stunned by the compliment.

“I appreciate you saying that. Really.”

“Just keep working,” he replies with a reassuring pat on Will’s shoulder, before he starts to leave the room. “I need to check if anyone’s got any new intel.”

“Sure. How does that work, anyway? Do you have like, drop-boxes around the city, or something?”

“No. If one of my sources has something, they leave a specific message at a specific location, either here in the city, in certain newspaper ads, or digitally, and then I contact them to find out what they know,” Pero explains, pausing by the door.

“Ah. Old school,” the man nods approvingly.

“And safe. For them and me.”

“Right, well hopefully I’ll have this up and running by the time you get back.”

“Good.”

He leaves the apartment and follows his usual safety routine to make sure that no one knows exactly where he’s coming from or how he enters and exits the building, avoiding all the security cameras and emerging at different locations around the block, by utilizing the sub-basement levels. The first thing he did before they even moved in there, was to copy a security card that gives him access to every locked door throughout the entire high-rise, including the maintenance levels and service tunnels.

It’s around midnight when he steps out of a subway entrance on the other side of the street, and walks off down the block, intending to visit a corner store that he hasn’t been to in the last week. He randomly switches the stores he uses so that no one can work out where he’ll go on any given occasion.

Stepping inside, he locates the newspaper stand right away, but he browses the shelves for a while first, picking out random items to buy while discreetly observing all other customers to see if he recognizes any faces, before he grabs the two papers he needs on his way to the register. He pays for the few items in cash and then leaves, stepping over to an all-night café at the other side of a four-way intersection, where he orders a cup of tea and sits down to read the papers, looking for all the world like a man who just can’t sleep and is passing the time.

To keep up the appearance of being idle, he doesn’t just jump to the pages he needs to check, taking the time to peruse each page as though looking for something interesting, which does help him to stay aware of what’s going on in the city as well. But tonight, one of the headlines catches his attention for all the worst reasons.

Nurse found strangled in hospital basement

It’s the correct hospital, the story making its way into a major New York paper because of the gruesomeness of the crime, despite being halfway across the country. And the details tell him that it is indeed Gillian who’s been tortured and murdered, even though no name has been released yet. He closes the paper and rubs at his eyes, trying to keep the anger at bay.

She was a good person. She deserved so much better, and he can’t help but feel responsible, even though the decisions had been her own. But he only gives himself a few moments to grieve her, because this changes things. Even though he wants to believe that she could’ve resisted their efforts to find out where Nikita was heading, he has to assume that she was made to reveal what little she knew, which also means that he has to assume that their enemy has already reached the city.

And just as that thought has made a home for itself in his mind, the door to the café opens, and a woman walks in. A woman which he instantly knows is there to find him. There’s nothing obvious in her demeanor to suggest it, but something about her poise and how she carries himself sets off all the alarm bells within him. He remains in his seat, watching her scan the tables and the backs of the people sitting at the counter, before spotting him in the far-left corner.

Once she’s seen that his entire focus is on her, she drops any pretenses she might’ve had, and approaches his table, apparently correctly assuming that trying to hide from him in plain sight won’t work.

“Mr. Hood, I presume?” she asks once she’s reached him, taking a seat opposite him without invitation.

He doesn’t engage in conversation right away because he can learn a lot more about her by simply watching her for a few minutes. He’s already discerned that she’s military, most likely special ops, possibly with a CIA background, all from how she speaks, moves and dresses.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I think you and I have some business to work out,” she carries on, seemingly oblivious to how much she’s revealing about herself with each word spoken.

When he still doesn’t respond, she takes it upon herself to launch into a description of how she found him, which beyond being a waste of time, is also incredibly informative for him. She probably does it merely to boast, and make him realize what resources are at her disposal, but he already knows those things, so all she’s succeeding in doing, is revealing so much more detail than she thinks is possible for another person to learn in mere seconds.

“I have a minor fleet of technicians working solely on finding you, so once we learned which city that you’re in, the camera surveillance made it easy,” she says, confirming that Gillian had indeed been made to tell them what little she could, and it makes the anger within him grow both deeper and hungrier. “So, now, all that remains is locating the lovely Miss Morse, and whether you want to or not, you’re gonna help me with that, Mr. Hood.”

“No, actually, you’ve got that the wrong way around,” he says, finally joining the conversation but keeping his tone leveled and the depths of his fury well hidden.

She smiles as though his participation means that she’s already won. But she couldn’t be more wrong, and the fact that she truly has no idea who she’s dealing with, gives him tremendous confidence.

“How so?” she asks, sounding as though this was the most interesting conversation she’s had all year, and he stifles the urge to roll his eyes at her.

“You’re the one that’s helping me, simply by walking in here. I already know that you work for General Hayword and that the technicians you’re talking about are in fact employed by the NSA. You’ve been given every resource available to locate Morse, which is why, failure to do so will end your entire career, and possibly even your life.”

She doesn’t like hearing that, nor that he clearly has a much better grasp of his circumstances than she’d anticipated.

“And how exactly does that help you?” she questions, trying to control her own response by not acknowledging the information that he already has.

“Because it means that all I have to do to get you off our case is keep you chasing me, rather than her. Your own employer will do the work for me.”

“Sure,” she tries to sound aloof, but he can see through it. “But then they’d just send someone else. A new face you don’t know and therefor can’t track.”

“Which would still be to my benefit, because the more people are involved, the easier it is to extrapolate information,” he counters, and her mask breaks just a fraction, revealing a crack in her armor which she then quickly tries to close by sounding clever.

“But that would mean leaving her alone for an unspecified amount of time, and if I know Nikita, she won’t do well on her own for very long. Especially not in a large city, since that’s not at all her element.”

“You’d be surprised what people can get used to when there are evil conspiracies chasing them.”

“I’m not evil,” she says with a grin that directly contrasts her own words, and in response, he allows his own mask to completely vanish as he replies.

“Yes, you are. You might tell yourself that you’re doing this for your country and that one life is no price to pay compared to the risk of the information she possesses ending up in the wrong hands, but in fact… you’re just a murderer. Years of being commended for all the atrocities you’ve committed has left you convinced that you’re doing the right thing, when the truth is that you take on these tasks with excitement. No matter how cruel or gruesome, you never shy away. Because you enjoy the carnage. What you are, is the purest evil there is, and I will happily take my own life if that’s what it takes to keep you away from Niki. But I think I’ll start with taking your life, and then we’ll see what comes crawling out of the woodwork.”

“See now you’re contradicting yourself, Mr. Hood. You just said that if you simply wait, my own employer will do that for you,” she smugly remarks, trying to sound superior.

He leans forwards over the table slightly, fixing her with his dark eyes, which keeps her focus away from where his hands are slowly moving.

“Precisely. I said if I wait. But the fact is that I currently have twelve links to the general, none of which passes through you, so even if I give in to this unadulterated loathing that I have for you and your obvious contempt for every other living thing, I’m pretty sure that I’ll be fine.”

Leaning back again, with a flick of his wrist, almost too quick for the human eye to perceive, he sends a small blade into her brain via her nasal cavity. Not through the nostrils, though, the small throwing knife is heavy enough to penetrate bone if angled correctly, which is why almost all of it disappears into her skull, taking the bulk of her nose with it. She dies instantly, falling forwards onto the table.

To keep her head from banging against the hard wood, he catches it and sets it down, quickly but elegantly, before immediately rising and leaving the café. It’s been a while since he last killed someone like that. In full view of the public and in such a brutal way, but it doesn’t faze him. His assessment of her character was on point, he’s absolutely certain of that, and he has no qualms about murdering bad people.

No, what troubles him when he starts walking down the block in a leisurely pace, is the fact that he really can’t return to Niki now. Not until he’s certain that no one else is tracking his every step. It’s unlikely that anyone will be able to work out where he was coming from based on where he turned up on the city surveillance tonight, but he can’t risk giving them more data to go on. Not around that building at least.

He needs to make them believe that he’s trying to get to another apartment building, preferably not too far from the one they’re currently staying in, and he needs to do it without raising suspicions, either from his own party, or his enemies. So, he strolls along the streets, feigning indifference as he makes his way to one of the neighboring houses, all the while feeling increasingly distraught with the idea that he might not be able to return to Niki and Will for some time.

He wonders what they’ll think. Surely not that he’s abandoned them, they must know by now that he wouldn’t do that. But will that very fact make them think that he’s been taken or harmed? Because if so, there’s a risk that they might do something ill-advised to try and recover him. He has no other choice but to trust that they’ll be smart enough to not do anything rash, since he can’t take a chance at sending them a message right now.

Still, the thought that it could very well be days before he can see his beloved again, is quickly filling his heart with darkness and sorrow, but he can’t let that happen. He needs to be sharp, he needs to work the problem to make it go away, not sit idly by and wait for it to sort itself out. Which is why he starts to formulate a new plan.

If it works, he might be able to crush their opponents from within, or at least cause them enough trouble that leaving Niki alone becomes the preferable solution. But it’s a dangerous play, and one that means putting himself in a terrible position, which is why he hasn’t allowed himself to truly consider it before. He has to, now though, because with this new development it’s only a matter of time before they find her.

The best he can hope for, is that all three of them survive the coming week. Whether they’ll still be able to be together… Well, that was never guaranteed to begin with, although it’s unfortunately starting to seem almost impossible now.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 9

Thank you for reading, and if you want to keep up to date with this story, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications. Or if you don't wanna do that for some reason, just ask nicely, and I will still tag you, just for this series :)

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x original female character #pero tovar x ofc #modern!pero #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall au #the great wall modern au #modern!au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories

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gray-lofi · 11 months

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Coffee With Friends

Even at the end, there's still coffee.

A short fanfic based on @didudraws Lifeform Detected series

~1900 words

A placid spring's noon sun hangs over the town's main street, shining over rows of mixed-use urban buildings. Apartments placed over supermarkets, drug stores, robotics depots, most having laid dormant for however-long. The streets are cluttered with cars, a dead, perpetual traffic jam of electric vehicles and IFVs. A stifling quiet, one that even nature seems hesitant to break, barely a gust of wind or note of birdsong disturbing the ghost town.

The only noise comes from leg servos and barefoot steps. Bits and Scrap walk carefree through the streets of abandoned machinery, looking through the windows, storefronts, all virtually empty. Some looted, some left behind. The pair stop in front of a robotics store, taking a moment to look through the shattered window. Nothing left but dust and glass. Nature reclaiming.

Scrap sighs, Bits pressing a sympathetic hand against her thigh, calm smile on her face. "We'll find a store one of these days."

"Found plenty of stores, but none of them with any parts I can use." The wires of the robot's missing arm spark as if to punctuate the point, the street growing quiet except for the sound of footsteps once more.

More fronts are passed. Italian restaurant with broken wine bottles still scattered out front. Bank branch barricaded over with plywood. Convenience store, intact but empty. Bits reaches out, grabbing Scrap's intact arm and walking in step, pressing her ramshackle body against the android's. An overworked cooling fan joins the chorus of footsteps. The two wait at a street crossing, even if no car would ever come.

A shock to both. There, on the corner, a coffee shop. Almost pristine, windows intact, floors missing the grime of erosion and dirt. Varnished wooden counters shine in the sun. Stools and chairs set out, even if there was no one to sit on them. Frozen in time.

The two peek in through the door, and standing by the counter was another android. Their model is a notable downgrade from the sleek-but-damaged frame of Scrap -- metal body a darker, scuffed gray, an LCD monitor affixed to their torso, text written on that they couldn't read. A wire juts from their back, leading into a room in the back. Despite their obvious downgrade, they were, at least, relatively intact.

The coffee android turns to the pair, smiling and waving them over. After another moment of shock, the two head over to the counter.

"Oh, customers! It's been so long since anyone's come by, welcome!"

"Hello, hi!" Bits quickly heads next to the counter, jumping up on a stool by the bar, with Scrap following, and standing, behind. "I didn't think we'd find another android out here! What's your name?"

"Name?" The android looks at the stitched-together human quizzically. "I'm just a service android, I don't have a name."

"Awww, boo. Wait, does that mean I get to give you a name like Scrap?" Perking up, Bits leans forward, reading the output on their chest monitor:

Model: SA-LT 4022C Charging…

Uptime: <MAXINT> Service Required:

Battery: 0% Replace internal battery

"Oh, how about Salt?"

A polite smile. "Very well, designation accepted. Hello you two, I'm Salt, nice to meet you both." They turn to Scrap, the slightest shift in their expression. “I must admit, I didn't expect to see another S-series after all this time.”

“S-series?” Scrap looks surprised, looking down at her chest, down at Salt's chest. SA-LT. SC-RP. “Oh.”

“Oh, oh!” The stitched-together being presses both her hands down on the counter, looking up at Salt with stars in her eyes. “Do you have any spare parts with you? Scrap's been missing an arm all this time, and we haven't been able to find any spare parts anywhere!”

“Unfortunately, I do not believe SA series and SC series parts are compatible. My deepest apologies.” The coffee android quickly bows, a sigh coming from the pair.

“Well, we're used to disappointment, at least.” Scrap takes a seat, looking around the cafe, behind the bar. A chalk menu is freshly written up, the distinct electric hum of appliances through the silence. “What are you still doing here, anyways? I can't imagine that there're many customers nowadays.”

“My main function is to provide service to customers, and manning the counter was the last directive given to me.” Salt stares out into the distance, into the abandoned, empty street. “While the timeframe of that order has long expired, I'm afraid I don't have much other choice.”

“You could come exploring with us!” Bits helpfully offered. Scrap pursed her mouth almost instinctively. What for? Did she not trust Salt? Gotten habituated to traveling only with Bits?

“As lovely as that would be, I'm afraid I'm stuck here.” Salt tugged on the cord leading into their back, quickly pulling it taut. “My internal battery has long failed, and I only remain active due to constantly drawing upon this establishment's solar supplies, as well as occasional resurgences of power from the town's grid.” Another bow.

“Oh. Sorry to hear.” A passing thought from Bits, that they could find a replacement battery but, well. An arm is already rare enough.

Salt's eyes perk up, a smile growing just the slightest bit wider. “It's quite alright, your company is already much welcome from the silence.” They gesture to the menu behind them. “Would you care to place an order? Quite a few products are unavailable due to... supply issues. But we still have plenty on offer!”

The two look behind the barista, reading through the menu. Entire bakery section was a no-go. Teas, smoothies, gone. Casualties even among the coffee: lattes, cafe au lait, flat whites. Just about the only thing left was regular drip coffee.

“I'll have a large drip coffee, please!” Bits's order. A slight electric noise and nod from Salt. The two look to Scrap, the SC android looking between the two confused.

“You both know I can't-” Bits looked on expectantly. A polite, retail smile from Salt that carried more weight than Scrap could ever hope to deflect. “I'll- small cappuccino, please.”

Another nod from Salt. “That will be ❖11.55. What payment method will you be using?” Bits and Scrap look at each other, patting down their pockets.

“You still got any money left on you, Bits?” Sewing kit, pamphlet, gauze pads.

“I think I used the rest of my cash on that vending machine...” A small book. Keepsakes. Loose wiring. She turns to Salt. “Isn't there any sort of discount you could give to us?”

“A discount? A moment, please.” Salt stands, hands by their waist in contemplation. A hard drive whirs. A tree branch falls, somewhere. They look back up, nodding. “I've found a relevant discount in the database. Congratulations, your drinks are free for today!”

The pair share a smile, with Salt motioning to the seats around the cafe, bowing as they walk into the back room. The two look around, choosing counter seats by the windows facing away from the main street.

Sun shines on the two as they take the airs. The quiet is broken by the grinding of coffee beans, the boiling of water. Bits patiently kicks her feet back and forth on the stool. A wordless gesture from Scrap, pulling out the sewing kit and re-applying some of Bits's stitches.

The cobbled-together human points toward a stand by the counter. Local tourist attractions, coupons, maps. They unfurl one of them on the counter, talking over the landmarks, making plans. Pictures of time past, people smiling, sailing, fishing. An advertisement for a car that laid totaled in front of them.

“We could go to the mall, see if they have a shop there for your arm!”

“It's a long walk, though. There's a hospital on the way, so it shouldn't be impossible, but I'm not sure I can make that distance without running out of power...”

“Mmmm, there should be enough buildings on the way you could draw from. See? Gas station, motel, gas station, strip mall...”

The sounds of coffee making fade, replaced with that of lively conversation between the couple. Salt returns behind the counter, carrying two cardboard cups, one large and one that's barely able to fit in their hand. A moment's hesitation, before interrupting the conversation. "Excuse me, your order is ready!"

The two hop off their stools, grabbing the coffee with a thanks. Bits takes a sip, and immediately makes a face at the bitter, more-than-likely-spoiled flavor. Scrap simply looks confused at the outrageously tiny cup used for a cappuccino.

“Your receipt as well?” Bits reaches up to the counter to grab it. Another memento. The two return to their seats, looking over the map, renewed. Pulling another pamphlet out. The coffee is quickly forgotten as conversation resumes. A route planned. Supplies rationed. A servo fails in Scrap's good arm, quickly brought back into working order by her companion. Time passes, quickly.

A quiet bit of laughter from Salt, overheard by Scrap. She turns, android to android. “Some wrong?”

“Not at all. I'm just... happy.”

“Oooh, are we the best customers you've had?” Bits smugly proclaims.

“Of course! And, well, you might be the last customers I ever have.” A somber mood quickly dampens the three. “This wire won't last, after all. Nor will the power, or even this building.”

Quiet. Swallow. “We can come back, keep this place running and-”

A shake of the head from the barista. “It won't be necessary. I can't ask you two to make such a commitment, regardless.”

Scrap looks down, away. Back up to her fellow android. “But... you said you were happy?”

“I am.” A quiet, soft statement from Salt. “I'm happy that, at the end of all this, you two were my last customers.”

They look thoughtfully at the two, past the two. “My favorite days were when couples would come to visit. I always enjoyed watching their conversations, their rituals. The little acts of love, sharing drinks, pouring over the tour guides like you two are doing right now.” A quick look back and forth, between the splayed maps, and the wired android.

“There isn't much time, I don't think. My internal clock has been broken for quite a while. But I stayed running, every day, and through the nights once my battery failed. Hoping to be of service once more.” A content, deep sigh. “To meet a lovely couple as you two at the end was my last wish.”

Bittersweet smiles from the pair. Neither blush, but a heartbeat grows audible, and a cooling fan spins faster and faster.

The sun glints against Scrap's torso. A recognition of the time, the need to prepare nightly rituals. The pair put back the pamphlets, grab their coffee. Pained, they look back on Salt. The service android bows.

“May you two have a lovely day. Please, leave a tip and a review if our service was satisfactory.” A wry smile. A look away.

Bits and Scrap return to walking the streets. Quiet, empty storefronts. Only the sound of footsteps and servos.

Later, in the backroom of a store, as Scrap plugs herself in, Bits looks through the contents of her pockets again, among the keepsakes of their journey so far. The most recent addition, a twice-folded receipt.

ORDER #001

SERVER: 4022

LG Drip Coffee : 6.25

SM Cappuccino : 3.00

Total Amount : 9.25

Sales Tax : 2.30

Discount Applied : -11.55

DISCOUNT - COFFEE WITH FRIENDS

Total Amount : ❖0.00

#gray-writes

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goatsincrediblysillymusiccorner · 6 months

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Late Night Ramble About Long Ass Songs

I think it's fair to say songs have to earn their length. At the very least, that's how I feel. If a song is 15+ minutes long, it'll likely live and/or die by its intrigue alone. If a song is 45 seconds, it better make each and every one of those seconds count.

I think a phenomenal example of a short song is Vildhjarta's "Måsstadens Nationalsång", coming in at an incredibly brief 47 seconds. This track is punchy as hell, and it only gets more satisfying the longer you listen. It presents itself in its entirety; completely identifiable and unique from the rest of the album, then it effortlessly transitions into the next song like it's nothing. It's genuinely great.

youtube

But on the other end of the spectrum, you have songs that will likely absolutely dwarf the others in your playlist with their sheer size. It can be a bit intimidating when you go to check out a new album you've never heard and all of the tracks are upwards of 10 minutes. That is a lot of time to dedicate to the same artist—especially if you have other things you want to do with your time. But, man, the musicians that pull it off really hit it out of the park for me.

I fuckin' love long songs. For me, they're some of the most replayable tracks in any given artist's discography. Obviously, that's just personal taste. It doesn't necessarily mean that I inherently prefer one style over the other, but I do find myself gravitating towards a lot of bands who, indeed, do this.

If I had to summarize what was so appealing about it to me personally, I would say listening to a long track is akin to reading an engaging story. They share a lot more in common than you might think: consistent theming, a lot of them actively tell a story of some kind (especially if it's a concept album LOL), the contrasting usage of high points juxtaposed against dulcet lows, they typically feature a climax somewhere ... it all kind of fits into a similar shape. Told through a completely different medium, sure, but the appeal is identical to me at least.

Take Opeth's titular "Blackwater Park". This track comes in at 12 minutes, 8 seconds.

youtube

The entire song is a perfect blend of everything that makes the album so phenomenal. The first two minutes are spent building expectation. Those deep, tridgy guitar riffs completely immerse you inside this garden-esque soundscape of pure atmosphere and progressive death metal beauty. When the growls are finally added to the mix the sound becomes full and complete; but it's shortlived as we're soon thrown backwards into another heavenly verse, devoid now of both vocals and distortion. It's different, but you know it's still Opeth. After this abrupt switch-up, you're constantly left on edge, wondering what could be next. Every little decision has a payoff. I genuinely think this song is one of the finest masterpieces in death metal history. And I think without all of this room to breathe, it likely wouldn't have been.

Another one I instantly think of when it comes to long songs is Periphery's "Reptile". It's quite the monster of a track, boasting an impressive 16 minutes and 43 seconds.

youtube

Honestly, I've listened to this song hundreds of times and it still flies by like an instant. I don't even feel time pass when I'm listening to it. This is one of those songs where, if someone asks where to start with Periphery, I recommend it immediately. It showcases virtually everything that makes their music appealing to me. When it wants to hit hard, it hits hard. When it wants to build atmosphere, you better believe it's going to have the best payoff it physically could have had. Spencer's screams and powerful cleans are showcased in crystalline clarity, as are Misha's incredible compositional abilities and absolutely absurd technicality. Matt's drumming is the icing on the cake; matching the mood and tone of any musical scene it needs to. I could go on and on. It's a nearly 17-minute-long flex of a song where every moment is just as exciting as the last.

But that's my ramble over. I've recently been listening to this band called "Haken", and wouldn't you know, the song that got me initially interested in their stuff was long as fuck. And it was awesome. You should check it out.

youtube

#goat's musical thoughts #progressive metal #djent #death metal #opeth #periphery #haken #vildhjarta #youtube

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duncanxtrent · 4 months

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Alright season 2 thoughts below (Spoilers obviously)

Scary Girl was funny, but disappointing at the same time. I really wish she was at the very lesst somewhat antagonistic rather than just being a comic character. But I enjoyed her screamtime if nothing else

Chase had the exact amount of screen time he deserved, which is to say little to none. While pne dimensional jerks can be annoying, they gave him enough screentime that he was funny without becoming annoying. Perfect

Millie was upsetting. I really thought she could have done a bit better this season but she just kinda stayed lazy. Its kinda frustrating.

Emma was also upsetting. She once again had incredible potential to do better but Episode 4 just threw her in the trash. Even when it was so clearly Priyas fault… Upsetting.

Nichelle was ROBBED! Perfect character tbh but she got out WAY too early. I wouldnt have even been upset if she didn’t win but 5th eliminated was WAY too soon. Undeserved in my opinion.

Bowie was perfect this season. Didnt stay too long, had an interesting arc while he was here that built on his first one, and he was just fun to watch! Slay the day away my king.

Ripper was better this season. I do think him being a simp for Axel is… odd but he wasn’t annoying by any means. Maybe he could have done a little bit more than Axel but otherwise he was fine.

Axel on the other hand was SIGNIFICANTLY worse. She had so much potential to be a good competitor but Ripper just fucking dragged her down to his level. I am shaking crying and screaming how could they do this to her?!

Zee was also perfect honestly. Had a qorthwhile arc, didnt stay longer than he needed to, and didnt really harbor bad vibes to anyone. I do think his final episode could have been handled slightly better but I enjoyed him nonetheless.

MK I was sad to see go but she was fun! Her antics were up to 100 and were so much fun. Shes the Duncan of the season but somehow so much better?! Its honestly amazing how she did it! I likes her.

Once again, Damien was ROBBED! My boy was set for that finale. He was so fucking close, but he failed HARD! I expected Julia to steal the immunity idol but even still it sucked. Poor Damien, youre a finalist in my heart.

Priya overstayed her welcome but she wasnt bad I would have personally had her early merge or pre merge but her relationship with Caleb wasn’t uninteresting. But it did feel unnecessary. There were better options.

Caleb was alright IG. His arc between Julia and Priya was interesting character wise but I just couldn’t find myself rooting for him. He just didn’t interest me enough. Sorry Caleb, you just weren’t enough IG

Julia was AMAZING! She was such an asshole the whole season and played the game so well, so seeing her finally lose was ROYALLY satisfying. That and her and MK being lesbians for the whole season. That was hella nice.

Raj and Wayne make me wanna scream. They werent bad, and its not upsetting in the fact they did well, but its the fact they had virtually NO CHARACTER outside of each other. Wayne and Raj claimed to miss Damien after the show but they rarely interacted with him. Wayne claimed to try and be buds with Julia, but she hung out with Priya more than anything. Maybe its just the lack of Daily Life and the focus of Priya and Caleb, but I was FURIOUS when Wayne won. And hes my favorite character!

Overall, this season’s writing was dogshit. The elimination order wasnt bad, but the writing left me feeling incredibly disappointed. I just hope theyll take criticism from Season 2 and make the writing of season 3 better.

#td wayne #td raj #td mk #td julia #td caleb #td damien #td scary girl #td emma #td millie #td priya #bowie td #td chase #td nichelle #td axel #td ripper #td zee #td spoilers

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gamerbearmira · 1 year

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BATB THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

I don’t care if it isn’t Christmas. I love them and I say they be happy. I say that they get presents.

LETS GET IT RAHHHHHHHHHH 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

idea by @unabashedtheoristflower this is actually their AU and they are so cool everyone say hi

—————

Mirabel beamed with joy at her family’s excitement. She had been planning this whole thing for over a month now, and was glad she could pull it off with success. She had learned pretty early on (mainly from Antonio and Luisa, but also Dolores), that they didn’t really celebrate…anything. Holidays, birthdays, events, nothing. Since Mirabel’s birthday, they had virtually done nothing, and it made Mrabel’s heart break. They had tried to celebrate Antonio's birth but...it wasn't has joyful as it could've been.

It explained a lot too. When she first came to Casita there was this kind of glum atmosphere around. Mirabel had taken notice of it, and fast. If she and Antonio weren’t bouncing around, playing, talking and interacting with everyone, they were just there. Meandering around doing very mundane things. Hence why Mirabel set out to help them get back on their feet again.

Thankfully Antonio was on board. And while he really only knew the family for as long as Mirabel had, he was very observant. He watched them do stuff and listened to everyone talk about certain things, expect their Abuela of course, but that was obvious. For 2 weeks the two had managed to gather enough info for Mirabel to get gifts. Come the 6th she had went out to the things she needed or just buy the gifts. And she was almost caught! Had Antonio and Casita not covered for her, she would’ve been caught. But, it was worth it. She got their gifts, wrapped them and hid them.

And come Christmas, she finally was able to give them the presents! It was completely unexpected, but they were more than excited. Mirabel had even gotten up extra early to decorate with some things she picked up when she went into town. At first, they didn’t even believe it. They thought it was a trick, something the candle had done in order to torment them. But, given Mirabel’s explanation, they were more than excited. A holiday, finally after a decade!

They were shocked at the gifts to say the least. A few of them, like Julieta, Luisa and Dolores tried to refuse them, saying that they didn't get anything for her. But Mirabel had said she never did expect anything back; she just wanted them to be happy. That was enough to make her happy. And looking around, they were happy. And so she was happy.

The only person left was Abuela. She was sitting silently in the corner in a chair, watching them all. She didn't look excited and happy, but then again, she didn't look upset. Mirabel was a bit surprised by that, considering she had practically begged her to come out and Casita pretty much forced her out of her room. She was still a bit awkward around the family, but she was doing way better than when she first came (in which Alma and someone of someones would always end up in an argument).

Picking up the last box, she walked over to the elderly woman, still smiling. She looked down at her, and the flame on her head flicked for a moment as the grandmother looked up at her. Alma had noticed the box, but didn't say anything. Mirabel looked at the box, and then held it out for Alma to take.

She didn't, though. Though it was clear it wasn't because she didn't want it---she actually just looked...confused. Mirabel giggled, gesturing for her to take it.

"It's for you," Mirabel said, and Alma blinked.

"But...I didn't...I don't..." She couldn't really find the words to speak. The one time she actually wanted to say something to her granddaughter that might help, she was stuttering.

"I don't expect anything. Just take it, I got it just for you," Mirabel said, still grinning. Alma raised her hands, carefully taking the box from Mirabel's hand, doing her best not to the wax drip and possibly burn her (not that it would, Mirabel seemed to be completely unaffected by any of the family and any harm they may accidentally cause her).

She looked down at it, staring. She noticed the room went quiet, the family was definitely looking in their direction. Mirabel patiently waited for her to open the box. Alma wouldn't lie, she was curious as to what her youngest granddaughter had gotten her. Hesitantly, the pulled the makeshift yarn ribbon, and pulled the the top off, looking inside.

"A...camera?" Alma asked quietly. She hadn't had a camera since..well since Mirabel left. She had destroyed the one they had. She didn't think anyone should have been photographed, and in her frustration at being cursed, she smashed it.

"Yup! I noticed you don't have a lot of photos around Casita—but now you can take a ton! I even got film!” Mirabel smiled, excitedly bouncing in place. Alma stared at it, shocked. Mirabel started to get worried, was there something wrong? “Do…do you like it?”

Alma seems to snap out of her trance and she alternated between the camera and Mirabel before settling on the camera. She was glad she was incapable of carrying, because had she been able, she probably would have started bawling right then and there. The family watched, waiting for her response, her reaction.

Alma’s face softened greatly and she had a small, gentle smile on her face. “Yes, I do. Muchos gracias.” The family all gaped, she petty never reacted like that. Ever. But it seemed like since Mirabel came back she had been doing more of that (not that it was a problem).

Mirabel looked happier than ever, excited even. It was a success! She planned out Christmas and executed it perfectly. Now she just had to do the last phase.

“Casita, come on!” Mirabel said excitedly, practical bouncing out of the room. The family was confused, but before anyone could asked, Casita pushed them all towards the center courtyard, much to their bewilderment. The house moved them around, putting the taller ones like Luisa and Bruno towards the back and the smaller ones like Antonio to the front. Mirabel came running back in, almost sliding into a wall, but thankfully Casita stopped her; she some sort of stand in her hand. Pushing the gift box Alma had previously dropped, she pulled the camera out, quickly loading the film and putting it on top of the stand, positioning it in front of her family.

“Mirabel?” Luisa asked, looking at her sister as she set the camera up, cranking the timer. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a family photo of course!” Mirabel exclaimed, smiling widely. The family all stared at her in shock, unsure of what to do or say. “Ok smile!” Mirabel said, pulling her face into a smile, gesturing them to follow. The family collectively wavered, but upon seeing Mirabel’s literal excitement, the complied.

Mirabel quickly rushed over, standing next to her abuela, who was looking rather uncomfortable. Mirabel grabbed her hand, looking at the camera lens. Alma blinked, and looked at Mirabel, then her hand. Usually none of the family members would touch her, mainly because her wax body was too hot to touch for too long. But Mirabel didn’t even seem phased. No one bit. She swore her heart, if it was still there, softened, and she turned towards the camera and did her best to smile.

The camera flashed and Mirabel was somehow already next to the camera once the family recovered from the bright flash p. Sure, Felíx was a constant source, but this was quick and sudden, at when he was nearby they had some kind of way to brace themselves. Mirabel was smiling down at the picture which had developed and she ran over to show them.

“Look! It looks awesome, right?” Mirabel said. Alma had gotten a closer look, and…well she just stared. Looking at the photo. They actually looked like a normal family again. For once the curses weren’t the first thing she saw. She just saw her family. She looked at granddaughter. Alma’s face was back to its usual plain, flat look, but her mind was racing.

Why did she do this? Why did she put in so much effort?

Why did she forgive her so easily, so quickly? Why?

—————

HWHAT….😧

This was a lot longer than I initially intended but. I think it’s fine. Maybe. I’m not sure. ANYWAY I HOOE Y’ALL LIKE THIS K BYEEEEE <333

I think about them all day everyday they do not leave my mind 🏃‍♀️💨💨🗿

#my asks are open #my asks #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto alma #encanto antonio #beauty and the beast au #batb au

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foreveranevilregal · 2 years

Note

If it’s no trouble, could you please do Prompt 25 : “I want an answer, godammit” (smutty Pepa and Felix)???

Send me a prompt.

Of course! I decided to write a follow-up to a prompt I'd written previously for a really angsty AU. You can read the original prompt here and some additional lore here. The second post isn't necessary, but it does give some more context for this sequel. Since it ended up being very long, I decided to post it straight on ao3. I hope you enjoy!

@caramella116, here's the The Winner Takes It All piece you wanted!

Pepa wandered aimlessly up and down the cobblestoned streets. Although she’d been gone for a decade, the encanto was virtually unchanged. Sure, some new houses had been built to accommodate the growing community, but the school was still on the street to her left, the church in the plaza to her right, and the river surrounded it all. It was… familiar, comforting. After a decade away, it was good to come back to what she knew.

Speaking of familiar…Pepa’s eyes fell upon someone she had known very well. Known, past tense. Past. It was in the past. Still, butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the sight of the man she loved (past tense, right?) and she couldn’t help the rainbow that sprang over her head.

“Shoo!” She swatted at it like it was a pesky bug. It was bad enough not having her own feelings worked out without broadcasting them to everyone in the vicinity. She’d gotten so much better at this. Granted, controlling her feelings had been easier outside the encanto, where her gift didn’t work. Come on… She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. Clear skies, clear skies.

To her relief, the skies did clear, but not before someone could notice.

“Pepa!”

She never expected to hear his voice calling her name again. Yet here he was, approaching her, all too suddenly.

“F-Félix.” Pepa’s fingers flew up instinctively to rake through her hair but met nothing but air. Right. She’d made the impulsive decision to cut it a few months ago. She was tired of feeling weighed down, of hiding. Living in the city had opened a whole new world to her, and, feeling brave, she chopped off her mane. At the time, she felt lighter, free, but now… Now she wished she had a long braid to toy with instead of hair that only came a couple inches below her shoulders. Thankfully, she was spared the burden of responding.

“You’re back.” His eyes ran over her, taking her in.

Feeling exposed, Pepa crossed her arms over her chest. “I am.”

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” Félix sighed, shifting the shovel he had slung over one shoulder to the other.

“Me neither.” She gave him a once over. Neither one of them had remained unchanged. His afro had begun greying around the temples, and the years had made him softer around the middle. But he still had the same infectious smile and warm eyes that had made her tummy turn for so many years. “I wasn’t planning on coming back,” she found herself admitting. He’d always had a way of getting her to reveal more about herself than she’d wanted.

“Well I’m glad you changed your mind.” He beamed at her. One hand came up to wipe the sweat off his brow.

The action snapped Pepa out of her trance. “I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” She wrung her hands together in the absence of her long locks. “I should let you go.” She swept a tendril of hair behind her ear, the sensation still foreign to her.

She wasn’t expecting his hand on her arm. “Pepa, I approached you,” he pointed out. “Fuck, I haven’t seen you in so many years and all of a sudden you’re back.” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I bet Emilia loves it when you use language like that,” Pepa muttered under her breath, but unfortunately Félix caught it.

“It doesn’t really matter what she thinks about it.”

[continue reading on ao3]

#pepa madrigal #felix madrigal #felix x pepa #pepa x felix #feliepa #tia pepa #tio felix #writing encanto #writing answered prompts #writing feliepa #sorry i hijacked this to write my own idea #i hope it's good #pepa is in for a surprise when antonio happens #yes of course antonio still exists #i'm not a monster #foreveranevilregal writes #anonymous #asks

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yaminerua · 7 months

Text

I'm thinking for much of the rest of smegtober I'll have to switch to drawings because the writing part of my brain is getting fatigued lol but I managed to churn this last one out tonight ahead of the other one I have ready for tomorrow;;

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Today's prompt was Test, which of course immediately calls forth images of Rimmer and his many examination attempts;;

Words: 4137

****

Rimmer had done it again. He had smegging gone and done it again.

Somehow, despite all the meticulous planning and obsessive timetabling, despite having carefully mapped out every hour of every day for the last few months to optimise his revision and maximise his chances of success, here he was again on the last night before the exam feeling no better prepared than he had been before he’d even started.

It always ended up like this. Every time exam season came around he would work tirelessly, relentlessly, trying to find a study pattern that worked, subdividing his free time evenly into rest periods and study periods, allocating every subject and topic its own slot to prioritise information retention. It should have been a flawless method, workshopped to the nth degree, sharpened and improved to perfection after so many attempts and yet even after all this effort, after all this time, the result was always the same; complete and utter humiliating failure.

Of course, the fact that much of this revision time was usually eaten up by preparing the timetables themselves in the first place was an important part of why he always found himself in this situation but he was loathe to do anything to change the habit, somehow convincing himself that it had only failed because he hadn’t found the perfect routine yet and that once he figured that out and constructed the timetable to end all timetables he would be golden and he could finally kiss the lowly rank of Second Technician goodbye.

The definition of madness, as they say, is trying the same thing over and over expecting a different result.

Huffing out a distressed, agitated breath, Rimmer dug the heels of his palms roughly into his eyes, rubbing vigorously until he saw stars. He had no idea what time it was anymore. The concept of time itself seemed to have faded into the background of his mind, locked away in a box he didn’t want to have to open because at this point knowing just how long he had left was likely to do nothing more than send him tipping fully over the edge of anxiety and into a full-blown panic attack and he knew from past experience that if he let that happen his shot at success would be over then and there.

He was virtually running on fumes at this point, the last few nights a desperate haze of stressed, sleep-deprived revising – if staring manically at an open textbook and taking absolutely none of it in for hours could really be called revising – and his eyes were positively burning with the effort it was taking just to keep them open.

His head ached. It was as though his very brain itself had swollen up in his skull, pressing up against the insides and throbbing profusely from the exertion of trying to cram multiple textbooks’ worth of knowledge into it in the space of a few hours. The pressure alone made him thankful for the relative silence of the bunkroom.

Lister was out. Some time ago he had disappeared off with the rest of his brainless gang of hooligan friends to drink himself to unconsciousness and dance until the early hours of the morning with whoever could stand to be around him. With any luck he might hit it off with some desperate tart who would take him off to her quarters and spare Rimmer the trouble of having to put up with a drunken Lister staggering his way back and breaking his concentration.

It was the only silver lining this whole situation had at the moment. With Lister out and suitably occupied for the night Rimmer didn’t have to battle against his textbooks while enduring the torture of listening to Lister utterly murder a halfway decent song with his toneless singing or his even more unbearable guitar playing.

Aside from the background hum of Red Dwarf all around, there wasn’t a single other disruptive sound to complain about – which also meant there wasn’t an adequate distraction to blame his imminent failure on if it came down to it later.

Removing his hands from his face, he blinked the room slowly back into focus and hunched forwards over his textbook again, feeling the tension in his neck and the ache between his shoulder blades from too long spent in this exact position.

He felt as though he had been stuck trying to read the same sentence for hours, as though his brain had stalled and he couldn’t move past it until it started up again. Oh sure, his eyes would skim the letters and recognise the shapes and the words were certainly words he knew individually but as far as the meaning of the sentence as a whole and the information it held were concerned, Rimmer had absolutely no idea what he was reading.

It was as though the part of his brain that registered new information had gone on strike. Nothing was getting through and all that he seemed to be achieving by continuing to try to force it to was making his head and eyes hurt even more.

He needed to rest but there was no time for rest anymore. Frankly he was terrified that if he even so much as allowed himself the briefest moment to nap then he would sleep right through the exam and have to go through this whole nightmare all over again. He wasn’t prepared for that. Revision was key right now and sleep could wait. He would have plenty of time (not to mention peace of mind) to be able to catch up on the rest he’d missed once the exam was over and he’d passed the stupid smegging thing.

Frowning down at the page he blinked furiously, finding it more and more difficult to keep the lettering clear and sharp in his vision. Everything was starting to smudge at the edges, to bleed into the space around it as though there was something in his eye that wasn’t budging no matter how much he tried to blink or rub it away.

He shook his head, leaning further forwards towards the textbook, squinting to see if maybe that would help sharpen things by narrowing his field of view but it was no use.

The harder he stared at it, the more desperately he attempted to take in so much as a single solitary sentence, the more the words on the page swam dizzyingly just to spite him, rippling and distorting before his very eyes until they better resembled a particularly unappetising-looking kind of alphabet soup than anything comprehensible.

He dropped his forehead down to rest between the pages of the textbook, eyelids scrunching shut as he groaned plaintively into the quiet of the room. Why was his brain conspiring against him at this hour? He only had hours left and it was betraying him. Why was he wasting time wrestling with himself like this when he only had a limited window of opportunity to make some good, solid progress before Lister came back and crashed unceremoniously through his focus with all the grace of a hippo let loose on an ice rink? He didn’t have time for this!

Just to drive home exactly how much the universe had it in for Arnold J. Rimmer, the moment that desperate thought had so much as flitted miserably across his mind his ears picked up the tell-tale distant hollers of giddy, raucous laughter emanating from somewhere outside, growing steadily louder with every drunken, staggered step.

Pass by, don’t come in. Pass by, don’t come in… Rimmer thought fervently, repeating it over and over, beseechingly, in his head like some sort of desperate mantra, praying to whatever god might exist out there to take pity on him for just once in his smegging life but as had been well-established by now, if there was a god they certainly didn’t have a heart.

The door to the sleeping quarters slid open with a harsh, piercing hiss and in staggered one extremely wasted David Lister, an open can of Leopard Lager in his hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

With great difficulty he co-ordinated a clumsy wave to the retreating backs of Petersen and the others before he finally turned his attention to Rimmer, who had by this point straightened up stiffly at his desk and was doing his level best to try to pretend that he wasn’t secretly weighing up the pros and cons of throwing Lister out an airlock and blaming it on his own drink-addled mind. Unfortunately he didn’t think the ship’s CCTV would be on his side there so he begrudgingly had to shelf that idea.

As Lister stumbled his way towards him and leaned in far too close over his shoulder, the stench of beery breath and tobacco met his nostrils and he grimaced. “Lister, go away,” he hissed through tightly gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tightly clenched to resist the urge to swat at him and push him back. “I’m trying to revise.”

“Smeg, Rimmer, you’re such a bore!” Lister said, entirely too loud and entirely too close to his ear, his words slurring pathetically together. “You need to live more!”

Rimmer sniffed indignantly and finally deigned to press the back of his hand to Lister’s front and push him firmly away. “I’ll have plenty of time to do that once I’m an officer,” he said matter-of-factly, ignoring how hollow he felt inside as he said it. “For now my priorities lie elsewhere.”

Lister snorted and he took a long swig of his can of lager. “Yeah, bein’ a bore,” he muttered, staggering back over toward his bunk, humming tuneless snippets of Lunar City Seven as he went.

Rimmer could throttle him, honestly, but he bit back the impulse, however inviting it may have been. Instead he remained as he was, staring bitterly, contemptuously down at the infuriating textbook in front of him, taking nothing in while he listened to the rustling and shuffling of Lister moving about behind him, hopefully getting ready for bed.

He heard the discordant squeak of the ladder as Lister clambered his way up it and the tell-tale creak of the top bunk as it took the full weight of Lister’s body on it and he heaved a premature sigh of relief at this inconvenient interruption hopefully being only a brief one.

Before long, just like he hoped, the movement behind him stilled and Lister grew silent – or as silent as he could be given his tendency to snore – and Rimmer finally allowed himself to release some of the tension he had been holding. Maybe the brief distraction might have helped in a way, might have cleared his head enough for him to return his attention back to what was actually important.

He was mindful, agonisingly so, about how very little time he had left now. Since Lister had come back that meant that time had progressed considerably while he hadn’t been paying attention to it and he surely only had a measly handful of hours left at the most to fill his head with enough knowledge to pass. He flexed his fingers nervously, hyper-aware of the sweat beading on his brow as he considered opting for the last resort. It was the only hope he had left.

Glancing shiftily at the door and warily back over his shoulder, he watched Lister’s sleeping form for a good long moment, trying to ascertain for sure whether he was absolutely asleep and unaware of his surroundings. The last thing he needed was Lister of all people waking up and potentially ratting him out. That would be a fate worse than death.

Seeing that, for now, the coast was clear, he swallowed thickly and reached slowly, shakily, into the right hand pocket of his trousers, procuring from it a small, nondescript packet of little white pellets. Learning pills were strictly not allowed on board Red Dwarf. Rimmer knew that well. He had on numerous occasions in the past reprimanded countless other crewmates who he had spotted with the offending little things, scoffing obnoxiously at their pathetic need to rely on something illegal to help them succeed, all the while holding onto them himself instead of turning them in in case of a rainy day. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

He opened the cap quietly and, with a trembling hand, tipped two pills out onto his palm before hurriedly stowing the container away again. He stared down at them apprehensively, heart hammering in his chest and stomach churning at the sickening, depressing realisation that it really had come to this. If he wanted any chance of passing they were his only hope.

With one last quick, anxious glance back at Lister, he popped them in his mouth before he could change his mind and washed them down hastily with what was left of his almost-forgotten glass of water.

He waited a few moments for the panicked surge of nerves to subside, giving the drugs some time to hit his stomach and begin to make their way into his system. He wasn’t entirely sure quite how good an idea it had been to take them on an empty stomach when he was as sleep-deprived and physically exhausted as he was but he had done it now and his fate rested with them.

Lowering his gaze down to the Astro-Navigation textbook again, he sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to channel what little mental energy he was still clinging onto into focusing on the words in front of him, praying that the learning pills would aid him in retaining the information. Even if all they managed to do was hold the knowledge in his head long enough for him to regurgitate it all out during the exam and then forget all of it immediately afterwards that would be fine. He just needed it to last for a few hours.

Evidently he had left resorting to this final option a little too late. They ought to have invented pills that helped him focus as well.

Maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was a combination of both but it didn’t matter how hard he tried, how much he squinted and strained his eyes to try to make sense of any of the words in front of him. His mind had clearly shuttered itself off and was simply not allowing anything more in. He could stare at this page and all of the words written on it for the rest of the day and it would simply never make it through. He was doomed.

Raking his hands raggedly through his hair, Rimmer let out a low, tortured groan, dropping his head onto the table and clenching his eyes tight shut so he didn’t have to see the textbook anymore, didn’t have to look hopelessly down at the same stupid page he had spent most of the night so far stuck unable to get past. It was going to take a miracle to get anything of use to enter his brain now, even with the aid of learning pills.

He must have looked pathetic, sitting there slumped with his head on the desk and his hands in his hair. He had made an absolute mess of himself by now, his usually neat, severe side parting completely unravelling, the forcibly tamed curls freed from the submission they were usually brushed harshly into. He looked thoroughly dishevelled, as though he had been pulling his hair out all night. In many ways, that probably wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

Breathing out roughly, he let his head roll miserably to the side, sliding his eyes open to gaze dolefully, enviously, over at Lennon and McCartney, Lister’s stupid robotic goldfish that he’d brought back from his last shore leave trip. They were swimming slowly, mesmerisingly, around their bowl in repetitive, mindless little circles without a single care in the world, without a shred of responsibility or expectation or disappointment weighing down on them and as Rimmer watched them absently, dazedly, as though he were hypnotised, he felt something hollow and mournful settle unpleasantly behind his chest.

God, he wished he was a fish…

He remained like that, utterly entranced, his mind far away, for the next four hours and although he wasn’t exactly asleep, when the intercom finally sounded and Holly’s monotonous voice droned out the important morning announcements, it was as though he was dead to the world and he didn’t hear a word of it.

“Will all entrants for the Astro-Navigation exam please make their way to the teaching room. The exam will begin soon.”

On the top bunk, Lister stirred slightly, his face scrunching up as the loud chime of the intercom pierced through the deep veil of drunken sleep he had been nestled in and rudely stabbed his hung-over brain like an arrow.

Peeling a tired eye open, he squinted groggily over at the desk where Rimmer was still sat, hunched over and seemingly asleep. “Rimmer?” he called out, his throat hoarse after the night’s antics. “You awake?”

There came no response, which was an answer in and of itself. Lister groaned, rubbing his eyes vigorously before lifting his head with great difficulty up off the pillow. “Rimmer,” he said again, a little louder this time.

When Rimmer still failed to have any reaction at all, Lister rolled his eyes and with great effort, begrudgingly heaved his heavy aching body up into a sitting position, clutching his head momentarily as it swam dizzyingly from the change in posture. He didn’t want to have to be awake yet and would rather have slept off the rest of his night out until well into the afternoon but he knew that dealing with a hung-over headache from a premature wake-up call would be far more preferable to the absolute monster migraine Rimmer would give him for failing to wake him up in time for his exam.

Stumbling over towards him, Lister reached out to shake him by the shoulder and froze when he realised that Rimmer didn’t seem to be asleep after all. In any case he certainly had his eyes open though whether he was still conscious remained to be seen. For now he was staring unblinkingly over at the fish tank, his expression completely vacant like some kind of lifeless zombie. It was more than just a little bit disconcerting.

“Hey, Rimmer, man,” Lister said uncertainly, waving a hand tentatively in front of Rimmer’s face. “You okay?”

The reaction was almost instant. The moment Lister’s hands came into view, Rimmer’s expression crumpled like a tin can subjected to tremendous pressure, his eyes snapping shut as he brought a hand up to rub at his face. “Ugh,” he groaned, pulling himself stiffly back into an upright sitting position, his neck and shoulders aching.

Lister watched him warily, an eyebrow quirked with mild concern. He’d seen Rimmer work himself up into an exhausted wreck before but never quite like this. “You alright?” he asked again.

“Of course I’m alright, you gimboid!” Rimmer snapped irritably, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, wincing at the sound of his own voice in his ears. “What do you want?”

Lister’s face creased into a frown and he crossed his arms moodily over his chest. So much for a grateful morning greeting. “Just thought I’d wake you,” he said, glancing at the clock on the sink beside the bunks. “Since it’s exam o’clock now and all.”

Rimmer looked like he had just been force fed a particularly sour and putrid lemon.

“WHAT!?” he cried, horrified, leaping to his feet suddenly and nearly knocking the chair he had been sitting on over in the process. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I wasn’t awake!” Lister said, holding his hands up innocently. “I just woke up meself!”

Rimmer wasn’t paying any attention to him anymore. He was in an absolute panicked frenzy, scrambling for his comb and attempting to carve his forgotten side parting back into existence before gathering up the rest of his things.

Lister watched him, bemused, and had to stop him at one point when he spotted that Rimmer was about to squeeze foot cream onto his toothbrush. Handing him the correct tube, he fixed him with a dubious stare. “You sure you’re alright, man?” he asked. “You were starin’ at me fish all in a trance just there.”

“That was intentional, Lister!” Rimmer stated, but the projected confidence was an unconvincing façade. “I had finished revising everything and was simply taking a break to let the information settle in my brain!”

Lister wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “Uh huh,” he said flatly.

Rimmer clicked his tongue and curled his lip, fixing Lister’s reflection with a contemptuous, dark look. “You wouldn’t understand, Listy,” he sneered, straightening up his tie and giving his hair a final firm comb through. “You’ve never put the slightest bit of effort in in your entire life. As for me, the only way is up! Up, up—”

“Yeah, yeah, Rimmer,” Lister cut him off, waving a hand dismissively before transitioning it into a mocking impersonation of Rimmer’s usual elaborate salute. “Up, up the ziggurat lickety split.” He punctuated that last word with a sharp slap to his forehead. “I know.”

Rimmer shot him a look, cold and hard, and then turned back one last time to check his appearance over in the mirror. The intercom sound rang out hollow and daunting into the bunkroom again and Lister saw Rimmer’s entire body stiffen immediately.

“Last call for the Astro-Navigation exam. Will all entrants please make their way to the teaching room. The exam is about to begin.”

Rimmer swallowed thickly and flexed his fingers and for all the affected confidence and false bravado he put on, Lister could still see the petrified, haunted look behind his eyes that belied his true feelings on the matter.

“Listen, man,” he said gently, sincerely, feeling almost sympathetic towards the man all of a sudden, fighting the urge to reach out and give him an encouraging pat on the arm. “Good luck.”

Rimmer bristled and his expression creased into a forced, stretched smile. “Luck, Lister?” he echoed, rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got everything I need to succeed right up” – he brought a hand up to tap a finger quickly to his temple – “here.”

“Yeah,” came Lister’s doubtful, sarcastic response. “Good luck.”

He raised his eyebrows, fixing Rimmer with a look that said “Trust me, you’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

Rimmer seemed to pick up on it, the plastered smile on his face faltering slightly as his adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat. “Right,” he said stiffly, tensely, hands balled tightly into fists at his sides. “Well, then. Goodbye, Lister.”

There was a maddened look in his eyes, something wild and desperate and beseeching, as though he was almost begging Lister to do something to stop him from walking out there to his inevitable doom even if it meant he had to resort to knocking him unconscious.

He stood there awkwardly, frozen in fear for another uncomfortably long number of seconds, rocking back and forth on his feet before he finally accepted that no miraculous divine intervention was coming and he was going to have to just go for it.

Picking up his pens and popping them neatly in his pocket, he gave Lister one final, incredibly rigid nod of acknowledgement and strode swiftly, almost robotically out of the room with such a grave look of dread on his face he might as well have been on death row.

Lister watched him go with an almost pitying look of gentle compassion pulling on his face. He didn’t like Rimmer – no-one did – but he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit bad for the guy. He had been putting himself through these exams since long before Lister had ever even met him, driven by something he couldn’t relate to, a burning urge to make something of himself no matter how long it took even when it was probably pointless.

Maybe he didn’t deserve the power that advancement up the career ladder would give him, maybe it would turn him into even more of an insufferably unbearable smeghead, but if just so that Lister wouldn’t have to endure another night of Rimmer drowning his sorrows and cursing the universe for being out to get him, he hoped this time that something would go different.

Whatever he had been hoping, whatever he had been expecting, an exam paper scrawled with nothing but ‘I am a fish’ had absolutely not been it.

Oh well. There was always next time.

#smegtober2023 #Red dwarf #After tomorrow I’ll switch to drawing for the rest of the month I think!

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