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jordanianroyals · 2 months

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Queen Rania of Jordan’s speech at Web Summit Qatar 27 February 2024

“Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim,

Thank you, Katherine. I am grateful to be here in Doha with all of you today.

One of the most fascinating things about technology is its ability to reveal human nature. The way we interact with our devices tells us a lot about ourselves.

We are, by nature, storytellers; it’s how we make sense of the world. Every selfie, status update, photo, and video we share adds a few more lines to the story that we are constantly writing, and rewriting, about ourselves.

We publish moments of our lives to our social media pages, never quite knowing how they will be received. Will we be praised? Judged?

Or, worst of all, will we be ignored?

Because, for a social species like ours, invisibility is akin to death. How can anyone feel they belong in a world where their story fades into the background?

For decades, one people’s story has been obscured… relegated to a footnote in a narrative authored by someone else. It is the story of Palestine, whose people have been pushed to the periphery, just out of sight – and out of mind.

For too long, Palestinians have been dehumanized and discredited… turned into a people unto whom anything can be done, without consequence.

Their status as an occupied people is glossed over. Their diverse population of doctors, educators, and activists is disregarded. Their many attempts at non-violent resistance – from historic strikes and civil disobedience, to Gaza’s Great March of Return – have been crushed, even criminalized.

Instead, Palestinians are reduced to antagonists in someone else’s story: They are cast as terrorists and security threats, nothing more.

Yet, today, for all the cruelest reasons, Palestinians have come into the world’s field of vision with sharper focus. And, three-quarters of a century since the Palestinian-Israeli conflict began, millions around the world are getting their first glimpse at what it means to be a Palestinian today.

In the wake of the war on Gaza, many of us have seen our social media landscapes redrawn. The colorful feeds on our phones have given way to monochrome: white shrouds, grey rubble, and black-and-white screens warning of “sensitive content” ahead.

I sometimes hesitate to reveal what is behind the warning screen. Because, after more than 140 days of war, I know what awaits: a harrowing snapshot of life and death in what has become the most miserable place on Earth.

Babies covered in searing burns… Children with bloody bandages where limbs should be… Mothers peeling back shrouds to kiss angelic faces goodbye…

Scrolling through these images of a merciless war, I find myself thinking, “It can’t get any worse.” And then, it does.

The bar for humanity keeps falling to new lows.

Actions that were once unthinkable are now commonplace: Hospitals under fire. Houses of worship destroyed. Civilians killed with white flags in hand.

How can we possibly make sense of that?

The fact is, when one side of a conflict has been robbed of the right to tell its story, we’re left with an incomplete narrative.

The current iteration opens like this: “The war began on October 7th.”

To be sure, the brutal October 7th attack opened a new and devastating chapter in the saga. But the larger story has been unfolding for more than most of our lives: 75 years in which Palestinians have not known a single day of genuine peace.

Acts of war are not always as clear-cut as an airstrike, an ambush, or an abduction.

Sometimes, violence takes the form of a crippling 17-year blockade… as decades of almost daily deaths. It appears as checkpoints, a separation wall, armed settler violence, detentions without charge, and the endless indignities of life under occupation.

At The Hague last month, while presenting Israel’s defense against the charge of genocide, a member of its legal team argued that the historical context of the conflict was irrelevant… because, for him, October 7th was context enough.

That’s the trouble with so-called cycles of violence: no one can agree on where to start the story. Each side instinctively centers the suffering of their own people and minimizes the other—a posture enabled by digital echo chambers that reassure us that our opinion is the only credible one.

The historical story of Israel is centered on World War II, the Holocaust, and the Jewish people’s desire for a homeland.

Yet, this account has overshadowed the Palestinian story: the Balfour Declaration, the ethnic cleansing of the Nakba, and the decades of displacement, dispossession, and illegal military occupation that have followed… and continue to this day.

The echo chambers in our minds are hardwired to dismiss anything that doesn’t confirm our convictions. Yet, the war in Gaza, livestreamed to the world, has brought into full view the power imbalance that has dictated the story of this conflict.

Many in the West have been left with an uneasy sense that the Palestinian issue isn’t as black-and-white as they had been led to believe… that they didn’t have the whole story.

It’s uncomfortable to challenge long-held beliefs. But beyond the comfort zone of the familiar lies the opportunity to understand, connect, and grow.

One can acknowledge that, for many, Israel’s founding countered a historical injustice – while recognizing that it created another that has yet to be resolved. You can condemn the killing of Israeli civilians, while affirming that absolutely nothing could ever justify the annihilation of Gaza and its people.

But many who have expressed these sentiments have faced a backlash – as if it’s a crime to place equal worth on Palestinian and Israeli lives… As if Palestinians exist outside the limits of our humanity.

Yet, just as stories can dehumanize, they can also empower. They can help us see our own humanity reflected in another’s eyes.

Over the past few months, many Gazans have been thrust into roles they never asked for: photographers and content creators, turned war correspondents… reluctant spokespeople for Palestinian suffering and strength.

For those living half a world away from Gaza, it can be difficult to relate to a faceless people under attack. But that distance falls away when scrolling through the Instagram grid of a cheeky, teenage boy in northern Gaza.

His sense of humor may remind you of your son, your little brother... yourself. Yet, he is joking at the irony of surviving months of shelling only to potentially starve to death.

Another brave young woman shares updates from a sea of tents in Rafah. When the lack of clean water forced her to cut her curly hair, activists across the world cut off a lock of their own in support.

This is, at once, a tragic and a transformational moment for the people of Palestine. Just as their lives are crumbling around them, people everywhere are connecting with them. From London to Madrid, D.C. to Dublin, people are mobilizing for Palestine in unprecedented numbers. Jewish activists around the world have been some of the loudest voices calling for a ceasefire. Murals of Gazan bloggers have appeared on European streets.

This new generation of citizen journalists is being credited with “humanizing” the people of Gaza.

The tragedy is Palestinians have been human all along – it had just been simpler to believe otherwise.

Today, the visibility of Palestinians is dependent on their devices – but also on decisions made worlds away, in office buildings and corporate headquarters.

Many Palestinians and advocates have said they believe major platforms are limiting their reach. Some have had their accounts suspended or deleted after speaking up on what the International Court of Justice has deemed a “plausible” genocide.

It can be nearly impossible to prove that you have been shadow-banned or censored. Yet, it is hard for users to trust platforms that control their content from the shadows, based on vague standards.

Online and offline, blurred standards have never worked for Palestinians’ advantage. Just look at global benchmarks of human rights… international law… universal values of equality and justice… Some of our most basic principles are being rewritten in real-time, to rationalize an irrational level of violence.

Why is the killing of some condemned, while the killing of others justified? Why is depriving one child of food a crime, but starving one million Gazan children an acceptable outcome of war?

These questions are echoing across the world, creating an unmistakable shift in global perceptions.

But what’s the point of changing minds without changing reality?

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the power and limitations of solidarity.

The people of Gaza have never been more connected – yet never more isolated. Cut off from food, water, medicine, fuel, and everything required to sustain human life, they have continued to reach for their phones… to reach for us.

Palestinians have long dreamt of telling their story to the world. Today, they are being heard, loud and clear…but at what cost?

It has taken their mass killing to garner mass support.

Why must Palestinians audition for their humanity?

Why must some fight tooth and nail for compassion, while others are given it freely?

What does it matter if millions of people believe you have been wronged… if the injustice continues?

My feelings on social media activism have always been mixed. Can a TikTok takeover or trending hashtag really make a difference? Are we elevating the stories of the oppressed, or providing ourselves with an easy out?

I have no simple answers. If anything, I become less sure each time I pick up my phone.

Because, every browsing session is an exercise in digital whiplash – a little girl’s mutilated body dangling from the ruins of a building hit by an Israeli missile… followed by a Japanese man taking to the streets alone each day to demonstrate in solidarity with Gaza. Hungry children wandering in the rain, carrying empty pots and pans… followed by a Swiss mommy-blogger spreading awareness of their plight through tears.

A punch to the gut, then a glimmer of hope.

But we need more than a glimmer.

We need a ceasefire. A cease to the destruction… A cease to the displacement… A cease to the deprivation by design.

This war must end, now… the inhumane obstruction of aid delivery must end…and the hostages and detainees on both sides must go home.

But that is only the beginning.

Ultimately, Palestinians want what most of us take for granted: The right to self-determination. The ability to govern their own lives, in dignity and security. Freedom from occupation.

These things are only possible through the establishment of a sovereign Palestinian state, living side by side in peace with Israel.

When we fail to stand up for what is right, we sign off on all that is wrong.

Palestinian solidarity cannot become a passing trend. The millions who have amplified their voices cannot let the story of Palestine fade into the background once more.

Each voice sends forth a ripple of possibility. Together, they can create a new reality for the people of Palestine.

Public pressure can rewrite the future. Collective action has compelled leaders to take steps once thought impossible: to abolish slavery … to end apartheid …to take down walls.

But, make no mistake: There is nothing more powerful than an informed, indignant global community, calling for an end to a great injustice.

Because, change is possible. Injustice is reversible.

But the onus is on us. As Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle.”

We must insist on a world where peace, dignity, and freedom are inevitable.

For you. For us. For the people of Palestine.

Because, their story is part of our story. And, in showing up for them, we are showing up for ourselves.

Thank you all very much.”

#Queen Rania #video

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kwikpic · 1 year

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Turn Ordinary Moments into Extraordinary Ones with These Apps

In today's digital era, capturing and sharing moments has become an integral part of our lives. Whether it's a mesmerizing sunset, a heartwarming family gathering, or a funny pet video, photos have the ability to transport us back to those special memories. Fortunately, photo sharing apps have revolutionized the way we share our experiences, allowing us to turn ordinary moments into extraordinary ones. In this blog, we'll delve into the world of photo sharing apps and explore the remarkable features of Kwikpic, an innovative AI-powered app designed to enhance our photo sharing experiences.

Introducing Kwikpic: Redefining Photo Sharing

1.1 What is Kwikpic?

Kwikpic stands out among photo sharing apps with its advanced features and intelligent AI capabilities. It takes photo sharing to new heights, offering a range of exciting functionalities to elevate your experience.

1.2 Portfolio Creation: Showcasing Your Finest Moments

With Kwikpic, you can create captivating portfolios to showcase your photography skills. Impress friends, family, and potential clients by curating a collection of your best shots. Your photos will no longer remain hidden in your phone gallery but will shine in a personalized portfolio.

1.3 Group Sharing: Reliving Memories Together

Whether it's a family reunion, a memorable road trip, or a special event, Kwikpic makes group photo sharing effortless. Create dedicated albums and invite your loved ones to contribute their photos, enabling everyone to relive those cherished moments together. Collaborate, comment, and connect through shared experiences captured in your photos.

1.4 Face Recognition Photo Sharing: Simplicity and Privacy

Kwikpic employs advanced face recognition technology, eliminating the need for endless scrolling or manual tagging. The app automatically identifies faces, simplifying the process of sharing photos with specific individuals or groups. Rest assured, Kwikpic respects your preferences and privacy settings, ensuring your privacy is protected.

Unleashing the Power of Other Photo Sharing Apps

2.1 Instagram: Unleash Visual Storytelling

Instagram reigns as a powerhouse among photo sharing apps. Its user-friendly interface, creative filters, and vast community make it the go-to platform for sharing photos and connecting with like-minded individuals. Explore unique photography styles, discover inspiring content, and share your extraordinary moments with the world.

2.2 VSCO: Elevate Your Photography

VSCO appeals to photography enthusiasts, offering a wide range of professional-grade filters and editing tools to enhance your photos and create stunning visual stories. Share your artistry with VSCO vibrant community and draw inspiration from a wealth of talented photographers.

2.3 Google Photos: Organize, Store, and Share

Google Photos serves as a comprehensive app that not only organizes and stores your photos but also simplifies the sharing process. With intuitive search functionality, automatic backup, and user-friendly sharing options, Google Photos is a reliable choice for those seeking convenience and accessibility.

Conclusion: Embrace Extraordinary Moments with Photo Sharing Apps

With the abundance of photo sharing apps available today, transforming ordinary moments into extraordinary ones has never been easier. Whether you opt for Kwikpic AI-powered features, Instagram's creative storytelling, VSCO elevated photography tools, or Google Photos' effortless organization, each app brings its unique charm to the world of photo sharing. Embrace the digital era, capture your cherished memories, and share them with the world.

#photo sharing app #photo sharing #photography #image sharing #photographer #wedding #wedding sharing app #image

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theculturedclicker · 2 years

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How Social Media Alters the Way We Speak

As time continues to move forward, governments change, cities growing, so do people’s behaviors change. The way we live, the decisions we make, our way of communicating are all influenced by how we are shaped by the world around us. The way we speak tells a lot about how times are changing and with it comes the evolving of languages. From Shakespeare’s most notable sonnets, Virgilio S. Almario’s Ibong Adarna to modern day poets like Lang Leav and Juan Miguel Severo, you can definitely point out the astounding difference even with eyes closed. So now that we are in the 21st century where smart technology is all the rage and humans frequent the vast and bodiless realm on the internet called social media the question is, how does social media influence the way we speak?

The Power of Social Media

It’s a no-brainer at this point to say that social media is almost part of everyone’s daily routine. From the moment of waking up in the morning, to riding the morning jeep on the way to work or school, and even up until before going to bed, modern day people are on their phones scrolling through the endless pit of social networking sites namely Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, Tiktok, and many more. Technology has advanced to a point where information dissemination comes and goes before you can even finish snapping your fingers and so as more people spend time online on these areas of the internet, it is highly likely that social media has the most prevalent influence on our day-to-day conversations.

If you think about it, the rapid exchange of information would allow people to adopt new words faster than ever. One example of this is this new Filipino expression “Sana all” that is used as a compliment that connotes positive jealousy towards someone having something everyone would also like to have or to experience. No one knows exactly where this phrase came from or who started it but it has been used by a lot of people at some point and has been used much enough to be an actual expression and it has also undergone its own changes. From the regular “Sana all” turned into “Sana oil” as a joke, it has shortened versions like “Sanaol” and “Naol” and then finally another one which is not as popular as the ones mentioned and that is “Sabaok” which also started out as a joke because some netizens make typo errors attempting to type “sanaol”. It is basically a misspelled version used as a joke. It’s safe to say it’s a bit confusing to try and comprehend how a word or phrase comes to existence and go through many different changes, with some even getting lost in translation at that.

This is Only Just the Beginning

This way of speaking can be considered as “technospeak” which is a term coined by honorary professor of linguistics at the University of Bangor, Professor David Crystal. In his book Language and the Internet he says that

“The Internet is in fact enabling a dramatic expansion to take place in the range and variety of language, and is providing unprecedented opportunities for personal creativity. The Internet has now been around long enough for us to ‘take a view’ about the way in which it is being shaped by and is shaping language.”

He also notes that

“The readiness with which people do adapt language to meet the needs of new situations, which is at the heart of linguistic evolution is going to be fully exploited in the next few decades, with the emergence of yet more sophisticated forms of digitally mediated communication.”

Regular expressions and acronyms like LOL for "laugh out loud”, keyboard smashing as a way to imply that one is laughing so hard they can’t type well, and expressions like “Sana all” are just the start of the gradual domination of technospeak. As social media and technology continues to move forward and advance, expect that there will surely be more language-altering shifts to occur in the near future. It makes one think just how are we going to keep up?

References:

https://www.bbc.com/news/technology-10971949https://linguagreca.com/blog/2014/08/how-social-media-is-changing-language/https://www.newscientist.com/article/mg21628916-300-twitter-shows-language-evolves-in-cities/?ignored=irrelevant

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Recommendation engines and "lean-back" media

In William Gibson’s 1992 novel “Idoru,” a media executive describes her company’s core audience:

“Best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth…no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”

It’s an astonishingly great passage, not just for the image it evokes, but for how it captures the character of the speaker and her contempt for the people who made her fortune.

It’s also a beautiful distillation of the 1990s anxiety about TV’s role in a societal “dumbing down,” that had brewed for a long time, at least since the Nixon-JFK televised debates, whose outcome was widely attributed not to JFK’s ideas, but to Nixon’s terrible TV manner.

Neil Postman’s 1985 “Amusing Ourselves To Death” was a watershed here, comparing the soundbitey Reagan-Dukakis debates with the long, rhetorically complex Lincoln-Douglas debates of the previous century.

(Incidentally, when I finally experienced those debates for myself, courtesy of the 2009 BBC America audiobook, I was more surprised by Lincoln’s unequivocal, forceful repudiations of slavery abolition than by the rhetoric’s nuance)

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/01/20/lincoln-douglas-debate-audiobook-civics-history-and-rhetoric-lesson-in-16-hours/

“Media literacy” scholarship entered the spotlight, and its left flank — epitomized by Chomsky’s 1988 “Manufacturing Consent” — claimed that an increasingly oligarchic media industry was steering society, rather than reflecting it.

Thus, when the internet was demilitarized and the general public started trickling — and then rushing — to use it, there was a widespread hope that we might break free of the tyranny of concentrated, linear programming (in the sense of “what’s on,” and “what it does to you”).

Much of the excitement over Napster wasn’t about getting music for free — it was about the mix-tapification of all music, where your custom playlists would replace the linear album.

Likewise Tivo, whose ad-skipping was ultimately less important than the ability to watch the shows you liked, rather than the shows that were on.

Blogging, too: the promise was that a community of reader-writers could assemble a daily “newsfeed” that reflected their idiosyncratic interests across a variety of sources, surfacing ideas from other places and even other times.

The heady feeling of the time is hard to recall, honestly, but there was a thrill to getting up and reading the news that you chose, listening to a playlist you created, then watching a show you picked.

And while there were those who fretted about the “Daily Me” (what we later came to call the “filter bubble”) the truth was that this kind of active media creation/consumption ranged far more widely than the monopolistic media did.

The real “bubble” wasn’t choosing your own programming — it was everyone turning on their TV on Thursday nights to Friends, Seinfeld and The Simpsons.

The optimism of the era is best summarized in a taxonomy that grouped media into two categories: “lean back” (turn it on and passively consume it) and “lean forward” (steer your media consumption with a series of conscious decisions that explores a vast landscape).

Lean-forward media was intensely sociable: not just because of the distributed conversation that consisted of blog-reblog-reply, but also thanks to user reviews and fannish message-board analysis and recommendations.

I remember the thrill of being in a hotel room years after I’d left my hometown, using Napster to grab rare live recordings of a band I’d grown up seeing in clubs, and striking up a chat with the node’s proprietor that ranged fondly and widely over the shows we’d both seen.

But that sociability was markedly different from the “social” in social media. From the earliest days of Myspace and Facebook, it was clear that this was a sea-change, though it was hard to say exactly what was changing and how.

Around the time Rupert Murdoch bought Myspace, a close friend a blazing argument with a TV executive who insisted that the internet was just a passing fad: that the day would come when all these online kids grew up, got beaten down by work and just wanted to lean back.

To collapse on the sofa and consume media that someone else had programmed for them, anaesthetizing themselves with passive media that didn’t make them think too hard.

This guy was obviously wrong — the internet didn’t disappear — but he was also right about the resurgence of passive, linear media.

But this passive media wasn’t the “must-see TV” of the 80s and 90s.

Rather, it was the passivity of the recommendation algorithm, which created a per-user linear media feed, coupled with mechanisms like “endless scroll” and “autoplay,” that incinerated any trace of an active role for the “consumer” (a very apt term here).

It took me a long time to figure out exactly what I disliked about algorithmic recommendation/autoplay, but I knew I hated it. The reason my 2008 novel LITTLE BROTHER doesn’t have any social media? Wishful thinking. I was hoping it would all die in a fire.

Today, active media is viewed with suspicion, considered synonymous with Qanon-addled boomers who flee Facebook for Parler so they can stan their favorite insurrectionists in peace, freed from the tyranny of the dread shadowban.

But I’m still on team active media. I would rather people actively choose their media diets, in a truly sociable mode of consumption and production, than leaning back and getting fed whatever is served up by the feed.

Today on Wired, Duke public policy scholar Philip M Napoli writes about lean forward and lean back in the context of Trump’s catastrophic failure to launch an independent blog, “From the Desk of Donald J Trump.”

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-trumps-failed-blog-proves-he-was-just-howling-into-the-void/

In a nutshell, Trump started a blog which he grandiosely characterized as a replacement for the social media monopolists who’d kicked him off their platforms. Within a month, he shut it down.

While Trump claimed the shut-down was all part of the plan, it’s painfully obvious that the real reason was that no one was visiting his website.

Now, there are many possible, non-exclusive explanations for this.

For starters, it was a very bad social media website. It lacked even rudimentary social tools. The Washington Post called it “a primitive one-way loudspeaker,” noting its lack of per-post comments, a decades old commonplace.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2021/05/21/trump-online-traffic-plunge/

Trump paid (or more likely, stiffed) a grifter crony to build the site for him, and it shows: the “Like” buttons didn’t do anything, the video-sharing buttons created links to nowhere, etc. From the Desk… was cursed at birth.

But Napoli’s argument is that even if Trump had built a good blog, it would have failed. Trump has a highly motivated cult of tens of millions of people — people who deliberately risked death to follow him, some even ingesting fish-tank cleaner and bleach at his urging.

The fact that these cult-members were willing to risk their lives, but not endure poor web design, says a lot about the nature of the Trump cult, and its relationship to passive media.

The Trump cult is a “push media” cult, simultaneously completely committed to Trump but unwilling to do much to follow him.

That’s the common thread between Fox News (and its successors like OANN) and MAGA Facebook.

And it echoes the despairing testimony of the children of Fox cultists, that their boomer parents consume endless linear TV, turning on Fox from the moment they arise and leaving it on until they fall asleep in front of it (also, reportedly, how Trump spent his presidency).

Napoli says that Trump’s success on monopoly social media platforms and his failure as a blogger reveals the role that algorithmically derived, per-user, endless scroll linear media played in the ascendancy of his views.

It makes me think of that TV exec and his prediction of the internet’s imminent disappearance (which, come to think of it, is not so far off from my own wishful thinking about social media’s disappearance in Little Brother).

He was absolutely right that this century has left so many of us exhausted, wanting nothing more than the numbness of lean-back, linear feeds.

But up against that is another phenomenon: the resurgence of active political movements.

After a 12-month period that saw widescale civil unrest, from last summer’s BLM uprising to the bizarre storming of the capital, you can’t really call this the golden age of passivity.

While Fox and OANN consumption might be the passive daily round of one of Idoru’s “vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organisms craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed,” that is in no way true of Qanon.

Qanon is an active pastime, a form of collaborative storytelling with all the mechanics of the Alternate Reality Games that the lean-forward media advocates who came out of the blogging era love so fiercely:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/06/no-vitiated-air/#other-hon

Meanwhile, the “clicktivism” that progressive cynics decried as useless performance a decade ago has become an active contact sport, welding together global movements from Occupy to BLM that use the digital to organize the highly physical.

That’s the paradox of lean-forward and lean-back: sometimes, the things you learn while leaning back make you lean forward — in fact, they might just get you off the couch altogether.

I think that Napoli is onto something. The fact that Trump’s cultists didn’t follow him to his crummy blog tells us that Trump was an effect, not a cause (something many of us suspected all along, as he’s clearly neither bright nor competent enough to inspire a movement).

But the fact that “cyberspace keeps everting” (to paraphrase “Spook Country,” another William Gibson novel) tells us that passive media consumption isn’t a guarantee of passivity in the rest of your life (and sometimes, it’s a guarantee of the opposite).

And it clarifies the role that social media plays in our discourse — not so much a “radicalizer” as a means to corral likeminded people together without them having to do much. Within those groups are those who are poised for action, or who can be moved to it.

The ease with which these people find one another doesn’t produce a deterministic outcome. Sometimes, the feed satisfies your urge for change (“clicktivism”). Sometimes, it fuels it (“radicalizing”).

Notwithstanding smug media execs, the digital realm equips us to “express our mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire” by doing much more than “changing the channels on a universal remote” —��for better and for worse.

Image: Ian Burt (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/oddsock/267206444

CC BY: https://creativecommo

ns.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic

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humanwheatleyslefttoenail · 3 years

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Now I Am An Arsonist

Chapter 1: The Spark

Summary: GLaDOS learns a few things about love, hate, and the human condition.

Tags: Canon typical violence, ChellDOS, human!GLaDOS, found family

A/N: I know technically I published this a while back but I did some major edits to both the chapters I’ve already written and the story as a whole. As promised, I’m re-releasing what I already have with the edits/illustrations.

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The tests, at least, hadn’t changed.

The centuries had washed over them like a dawdling stream, dragging them down into an overgrown abyss. Even then, the moon dust had stayed firmly adhered to the portal surfaces, the metal doors still creaking and the ceiling still intact. Eons of rain had barely even permeated its surface.

She remembered those years with profound regret; dying was not as peaceful as the science would suggest. For a machine like Her, death was nothing more than a shift of programming, a new prerogative. Her backup program had been an endless recall, restarting Her systems over and over again, trying to salvage something. In each of those moments, GLaDOS could feel the scorching heat from the incinerator, the electricity burning through her body before everything went dark.

Still, without dying, GLaDOS never would’ve fully appreciated how soothing, how wonderful it was to test.

She remembered the urge to solve, to do Science, clawing within Her even as She broke into a thousand pieces.

Those tests were Her art forms, Her self-expression. Every arrangement of deadly turrets, each layout of gleaming lasers and the perfectly calculated solution felt like a piece of Her soul turned reality.

Now, those tests were better than ever.

Every inch of moss had been thoroughly scrubbed, walls repaired, and acid pits replaced. All except for the grave of Old Aperture beneath Her was now newly outfitted, perfect for the humans P-Body and Atlas had located.

These, of course, hadn’t been the first ones they’d found.

The first batch of humans lasted a measly week, quickly killed by some of Her easiest tests. Even with reminders, the acid is deadly, the turrets are live, they’d failed within a few chambers.

Disappointing.

As a result, Atlas and P-Body had been deployed on a new mission. She’d been overjoyed when they’d bravely traveled all the way to the bottom of Old Aperture, and found even more humans preserved in cryosleep.

This time would surely be better.

All obstacles finally removed, science could continue.

GLaDOS could not smile, but if She could, She was certain that a grin would reach across her faceplate.

Today was a momentous day for technology, for the advancement of Aperture Science. It was as if She’d sent a man to the moon, and he’d come back with the theory of everything.

Originally, of course, Her plans had been different. The difficulties with Chell had worn down Her admiration for human data, and prompted her to come up with a replacement.

The Cooperative Testing initiative was infinitely more of a success than GLaDOS ever thought it would be. Atlas and P-Body were built to test, but She had still been surprised how those little androids with so much personality had managed to be so efficient.

Atlas and P-Body had overcome their own confidence through their excellent teamwork. The knowledge that they depended on a partner humbled them, and the idea of a common goal incentivized them. GLaDOS wished She’d thought of such an idea sooner.

Still, there was something about human testing, something She couldn’t quantify, something that wasn’t quite the same with robots. Humans had a particular spark, and without it, testing never felt complete.

Today would finally be the day She could put all mistakes behind Her. GLaDOS was sure She’d see that all of the other humans would prove Her experience with Chell to be exactly what She knew it was.

Bad science.

GLaDOS had learned from Her errors.

She knew for certain that She would not repeat them.

---

It’d been extraordinarily difficult to move the test subjects from Old Aperture all the way to the newly renovated Relaxation Center, with entire teams of robots struggling to reconnect Her control over the condemned area. Their work easily took a week to complete as they rewired the dilapidated circuits, barely restoring function. GLaDOS took what She could get, and rewarded their achievement with immediate, merciful destruction.

When the humans had been successfully relocated, anxiety filled Her servos as She scanned the cryo-chambers. Upon reading the results, She found herself pleasantly surprised. Good physical condition for hundreds of years in stasis. Relatively low rates of severe brain damage. Nothing particularly concerning in their associate files. Had Her comprehension not been perfect, She would’ve done a double take. After all this time, She had something that She could work with.

Atlas and P-Body would have to wait until they were needed again, their consciousness safely stored in Her mainframe. Her processors hummed with excitement as She prepared for the awakening of the first humans, buzzing with hypotheses to test.

What would be Her experiment this time? GLaDOS scrolled through Her endless lists of deadly trials.

She hadn’t used rocket turrets in a while; those weren’t as efficient as the regular ones but were always a surprise for Her unwilling participants. With only a thought, She placed the machines inside a few chambers, lining them up in a neat, strategically placed array. Companion cubes would be a definite no, at least for the first few tests. There were occasions when the humans became so deprived for social connection that their behavior would influence the results. In order to better control the experiment, She’d deploy them only in emergencies like these.

With those exceptions, and the addition of a floor to some of the more difficult levels, the chambers didn’t require too much preparation. GLaDOS had nothing particularly new to add; for so long Her energy had been focused on Atlas and P-Body that development had nearly come to a standstill. Regrettably, She’d been deprived of ideas. It didn’t matter too much; the facility remained operational even if it wasn’t constantly progressing. Even the replication of old results was invaluable for science.

It confirmed that the trends hadn’t changed.

---

The files of the subjects were all very much the same.

Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Praying mantis, formerly scientist.

Occasionally, She’d find the elusive Astronaut, War Hero or even Olympian.

She was tempted to begin the testing with these special cases, curiosity piqued at the prospect of their odd results. GLaDOS chastised Herself. She didn’t want to skew anything, and She would surely begin with a normal subject chosen at random. It wasn’t the most interesting thing to test, but it would be the most informative.

With the chambers compiled and the facility clean, testing was finally ready to start.

She almost couldn’t believe it. All technicalities aside, She was finally, finally, getting exactly what She wanted. For as long as She needed to, for as long as the subjects lasted, She could just test.

It couldn’t be real, could it?

That was the most beautiful thing about science. For all its disappointments, a discovery would be worth it all.

---

“Hello, and welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided testing program.”

Her voice resounded throughout the Extended Relaxation Vault as the subject stumbled across the room in disbelief.

“The Enrichment Center would like to take this opportunity to remind you that hundreds of years have passed, and that all of your friends and family are most likely dead. In the off chance that your friends and family are not dead, they will be tested. Thank you, [insert subject name here], for your unwilling voluntary participation in the advancement of science.”

The subject, an adult human male, selfishly resolved to huddle in the corner of the relaxation chamber. Of course, he was either brain damaged, in shock, or both. In order to assuage his gentle human feelings, GLaDOS would have to resume Her telling of… alternative truths.

GLaDOS wasn’t entirely sure what She’d said wrong. Honestly, She was surprised the subject didn’t appreciate Her integrity. After all, Chell hadn’t exactly taken kindly to Her tendency towards pathological lying. Here She was, trying to improve the well-being of Her subjects, and this was how they thanked Her?

“Hello, again, valued forced participant. The Aperture Science Enrichment Center commends you for your blind faith in the words of authority. As part of routine testing protocol, we have lied to you about the fate of your family and friends. When the testing is complete, you will receive cake and the opportunity to… see them. Your response has given us valuable psychological data on the well-being of our test subjects when told that all of their friends and family are dead.”

GLaDOS paused for a moment, focusing Her camera in the chamber and watching as the man lifted his head from his upright fetal position.

“Good. You’ve already passed one of the first stages of testing. Congratulations, [insert subject name here].”

As much as it felt wrong to use, positive reinforcement was highly effective when employed sparingly. Too many attacks on character could obliterate a subject’s morale. Just enough would account for the variable of human hubris.

Cautiously, the subject stood up and examined the room around him, fear still apparent in his apprehensive gait and wide eyes.

“In order to mentally reinvigorate you for the tests and to ensure your aptitude, the Enrichment Center recommends that you stare at the painting on the wall in front of you.”

Creeping over to the portrait, the subject followed Her orders and stared intently at the picture of Mount Rainier. He ran his fingers over the edge of the frame, tracing the tall peak of the mountain.

Interrupting his thoughts, a buzzer sounded, blaring throughout the entire room. The subject flinched from the surprise, nearly losing his balance.

“Good job. If you are not reinvigorated, consider this piece of human music.”

This time, the human expected the buzzer after the quick classical piece, seemingly more at ease with the abrupt nature of Aperture Science. In all reactions, he was completely, almost painfully average.

“Well done. You have completed the Aperture Science mental reinvigoration procedure. We may now begin testing.”

Without warning, the chamber jerked to the side as She moved it to a nearby docking station, then coming to an unexpected standstill as the door automatically opened.

GLaDOS could barely maintain Her monotonous affect, in joyous denial that testing would finally start.

Carefully, the human stepped out of the door into the test track. The door slammed behind him, as he examined the purely white room with nothing but a cube, a large button, and a locked gateway.

Almost immediately, he wrapped the blue storage cube in his arms, then gently placed it on the button. A line of blue lights leading to the gate illuminated, flashing a bright yellow as the door slid open. A lift was waiting on the other side.

As he sauntered over to the lift, it was difficult to miss the human’s triumphant smile. GLaDOS knew the expression well; it was satisfaction, victory, an unproven sense of control.

He really does have no idea.

She was tempted to spoil the ending, to mention turrets, to mention pools of burning acid. It had to wait, She reminded herself. An important control was that the test subject needed time to acclimate to a dangerous environment. Creating unnecessary fear would definitely affect her numbers.

---

The next few puzzles weren’t particularly challenging for Her first subject. Completed within a span of about ten minutes each, the first five chambers were hardly difficult for anyone. That much She’d expected.

On Her end, everything else was normal. She hardly spoke Her mind, instead opting to repeat the same script She used for every subject.

Did you know you can donate one or all of your vital organs to the Aperture Science Self-Esteem Fund for Girls? It’s true!

You have completed the test in a moderate amount of time. You can do better, [insert subject name here].

The Aperture Science Enrichment Center reminds you that we prioritize your safety. We also prioritize science. In fact, we prioritize science more, but if you feel unsafe in our unsafe conditions, please notify a testing associate. They will process your complaint in three-to-five business days.

Like most subjects, the man had not volunteered to give up his organs nor asked for an associate. Instead, he responded to most of Her passive-aggressive quips with useless questions. She did not reply, passing them off as typical human blabbering. Rather, She recorded them in his file underneath a new section She labeled Overly-Talkative: Examples. There was plenty to jot down.

Uh, robot lady? When can I go home?

So, uh, what kinda cake is it? Like, I don’t really mind the flavor but I’m allergic to almonds if that’s relevant.

How long does this last, again?

I kinda like my organs, sorry. Wait, is the organ thing required?

Once again, pitifully average.

It was times like these, whether with humans or with Atlas and P-Body, that GLaDOS caught Her mind wandering towards forbidden thoughts. Science was not always supposed to be exciting; sometimes, running an experiment meant repeating the same process to verify the data. The result was satisfying, but the process was more often not.

This human epitomized the dullest parts of her day.

As informative as the humans could be, they were often far from entertaining. Every behavior could be predicted and rationalized once it’d been observed enough.

Chell, though?

Oh, sure, GLaDOS was terrified of her, no matter how much She’d deny the feeling. No subject had ever left the track before.

But Chell didn’t just survive. She’d escaped from the tests, she’d found Her chamber, she’d murdered Her with little else than a portal device. Twice.

Her ego was as vast as the realm of Aperture, but it would never recover from that spectacular injury. Even GLaDOS had to be humbled by that.

And yet, with morbid curiosity, She had eagerly anticipated Chell’s next plans, laying traps in scheming delight. For the first time in Her life, She’d been challenged.

It was an odd little game they’d played, and whenever She was close to getting the upper hand, a part of Her was disappointed that the chase would be over. There was something delightful about watching the peculiar way that Chell and Chell alone tested.

When Doug Rattman had switched Chell’s file, GLaDOS was not so oblivious as not to notice. She’d clearly read the bottom of the paper, firmly requesting that this subject not be tested. GLaDOS had other tenacious subjects before, and She’d simply assumed that this human was particularly overconfident. Those ones never lasted too long.

Chell was not, as She’d thought, only determined.

She was curious, changing variables one by one until she finally found the answer. Her patience was remarkable, but so were her deductive skills. Some test subjects with similar tenacity levels resolved to try the same solutions over and over again, exhausting themselves and eventually burning out. It was the reason why GLaDOS typically ignored the warnings. Most humans labeled ‘tenacious’ weren’t too different in the end. The key for Chell was not simple defiance. Chell could control herself. That’s why she was such an outlier.

She had the mentality of a scientist.

Most subjects were cautious, prioritizing self-preservation over a solution. Turret levels could be aggravating for GLaDOS to watch, as the humans spent more time hiding behind a corner in fear than actually solving the test. They would be safe if they’d just strategized, but the human mind made accepting that fact a difficult feat.

Chell was the opposite. GLaDOS theorized that perhaps, Chell understood the same principle She did. Chell was scared like any other, but despite her pounding heart and racing thoughts, she’d kept her cool. Any new element was only a matter of adaptation for Chell, and Chell was always evolving.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Chell was an optimist, often performing pointless tasks that could only be described as trying to have fun. GLaDOS gave her lemons, and Chell made lemonade.

Chell would smile as she soared, launched from the aerial faith plates, and took her time to explore the little rooms hidden in the corners of the tests. There was one time she’d put off the completion of one puzzle by nearly an hour, hiding out in one of Doug’s rat dens, fascinated by all the little cups and cans he’d arranged.

It would be a lie to say that Chell liked testing. Her episodes made it clear that escape was Chell’s first priority. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the small glimmers of hope GLaDOS gave her, whether that was bouncing on repulsion gel, saving a defective turret or smuggling a companion cube.

After Wheatley took over, one of the more terrifying aspects of the whole journey was being stuck on Chell’s gun. Chell was a risk taker, building her strategy off of previous attempts and lessons learned, but knowing when to dive into the unknown. It wasn’t exactly comforting to be strapped to her side, not knowing if or when one of Chell’s ideas would kill them both.

Somehow, though, her spontaneity had worked.

GLaDOS could respect that… creativity.

It was for this reason that even though GLaDOS now had everything She’d ever wanted, something deep in her hard drive felt empty.

Something had changed the moment Wheatley stuffed Her into that single-volt potato. For the first time in Her life, there was nobody else there in Her mind. No one but Caroline, who had been buried underneath layers of code until She was barely there at all.

It was over the span of those fifteen hours that She’d seen Chell from a different perspective. Looking at Her tests from this angle, it was much easier to see why Chell wanted to leave. Some small piece of GLaDOS almost felt bad upon realizing that Her subjects didn’t enjoy dodging bullets nearly as much as She liked watching.

Fortunately, GLaDOS had been able to shove that down with the arrival of a different, equally unpleasant emotion.

She was supposed to hate Chell. And for a very long time, She had. How dare Chell ruin Her perfect tests, Her perfect existence, Her perfect world? What had She ever done to her to warrant such a cruel punishment?

And yet, it seemed Caroline had done a number on GLaDOS’ logic processors, because now no matter how She tried, She could not hate Chell.

Before She’d let her go, let Chell go of all things, GLaDOS had called Chell Her best friend.

Not an enemy. Not a begrudging ally. A friend. Her only friend.

Now, Caroline was gone. The part of GLaDOS that had once looked at Chell and found something beautiful in her icy gray eyes was corrupted beyond repair, erased from memory.

She was not supposed to feel its presence any longer, yet still it lingered.

It was there, whispering to Her as She tried to test like nothing ever happened.

It was there when a thousand turrets sang the opera She’d written specifically for Chell.

It was there when She’d found Her baby birds, Her little killing machines, and She hadn’t crushed the eggs. No, She’d raised them. Because, deep down in those cold avian stares, there was this irrevocable quality that reminded Her so much of Chell. This spark of life, this undamnable will to survive.

Somewhere, though She refused to ever admit it, She wished that it was Chell in those test chambers. She wished it was Chell glaring through Her camera feed, and She wished it was Chell searching for that elusive cake.

I’d make you the cake if you came back. Really, I would.

The sudden thought moved like a spark in GLaDOS, as She fearfully located the source and removed whatever She could. There was no time for ideas like that, not with science to be done.

The past few months had been full of random deletions, spurned by paranoia that Caroline’s base program was not entirely gone.

It’s not here anymore, GLaDOS reminded Herself. Once, She had been Caroline, but She was no longer the kindly woman who followed Cave Johnson’s every order. GLaDOS was a machine that felt nothing and lived only to test. And because She was immortal, and because She was perfect, GLaDOS was not supposed to care about some disobedient human being.

You do not care about Chell anymore.

You don’t care because she killed you, remember that?

You don’t care about anyone, because you don’t need to.

Necessity was the core reason why GLaDOS did anything. She tested because the mainframe made Her feel awful until She did, and She killed because it was what she was made to do. She did science because it needed to be advanced, for the brighter future She was sure She was making.

It made no sense to do something because She wanted to.

Of course, things seldom made sense here at Aperture Science, and in this moment, GLaDOS did something unconscionable.

GLaDOS did not glitch often. She’d made sure to update and replace faulty parts whenever She could, keeping Her mainframe running smoothly. Even so, somewhere deep within Her, She was sure there was a pulse that misfired. There could be no other explanation.

Perhaps it was Her rumination over Chell that brought this upon Her, some kind of karma punishing Her for acting too human. Why else would She have done something so incredibly unscientific? To distract Herself, GLaDOS turned her attention back to the captive man.

Like many others before him, this test subject had underestimated the turrets’ range. He hadn’t turned around fast enough to see the gleaming, bullet filled machines behind him, and nearly flew directly into their line of sight after careening through a portal. His momentum would take him past all three, riddling him with bullets.

That is, it would’ve.

The human quality of the subject had activated some kind of horrible reflex, a split second decision in GLaDOS She would come to regret. The way he walked through the chambers, the way he clung tightly to cubes… all of it was so similar to Chell. Even if he didn’t meet her performance level, even if his personality was nearly the opposite of Chell’s, their shared humanity was enough to remind GLaDOS. That same emotion She felt when pulling Chell back from space, waiting for her to open her eyes while Atlas and P-Body looked on… For some inconceivable reason, it had reappeared.

Quickly, the subject hit the side of a rising panel, suddenly pulled up in front of the turrets by none other than GLaDOS Herself.

This would surely ruin Her numbers.

As the participant rubbed his head in pain and slowly stood up, immediately noticing the turrets he’d evaded, GLaDOS’ voice resounded from the intercom.

“[Insert subject name here], your decent performance has warranted the use of an Aperture Science Emergency Life-Saving Instantaneous Response. This is the only safety gesture that will be provided. Continue testing.”

Another lie.

It was good to know that function was still online.

---

That uncharacteristic moment of empathy had been pointless, anyway. Just as She’d predicted, he’d accidentally tripped over a ledge and landed himself into a puddle of acidic goo, dissolving within a few short seconds.

It didn’t matter. GLaDOS had more subjects than She could count. She didn’t need this human, and the tests didn’t need him either.

Some part of Her, a piece which was faulty and insignificant, disagreed with the notion.

You killed him, it whispered accusingly.

That’s the point, GLaDOS hissed back, once again delving into Her files to cut out whatever was causing the issue.

Trying to calm Herself, GLaDOS reminded Herself of the facts. She was in control of Her facility, and She was in control of Her mainframe. Little errors could not ruin the chambers, and if they ever showed up, She had the power to crush them.

Everything was fine, She thought.

Everything would continue to be fine.

All She needed to do was keep testing.

---

Everything was, in fact, far from fine.

A few days had passed, and GLaDOS was finally ready to admit that maybe something was wrong.

At first, the issue was Her own. Little surges of emotion and bursts of unforeseen empathy plagued Her but didn’t affect the facility at large. Begrudgingly, She’d factored in the new bias into Her results. From Her calculations, She could already see an egregiously high percentage of error. This study could’ve been Her worst one yet, and even that was with generous rounding.

Still, She had hope for each subject that She wouldn’t mess up this time.

The facility had other ideas. Cameras would fizzle out, emancipation grills would stop working, cube dispensers malfunctioned and even the elevators would refuse to move. It seemed that the moment GLaDOS got around to fixing something, another thing would fall apart.

Many of the subjects had become confused as to why this seamless, futuristic facility was suddenly malfunctioning, and She’d had to become increasingly creative with Her excuses.

As part of the Aperture Science testing protocol, we have simulated faulty equipment in the testing environment to see how subjects react to faulty equipment in the testing environment. Hint – they typically react well and continue testing. Like you will.

The lifesaving, and the reflexive empathy, had become unfortunately common as well.

Although the Enrichment Center previously told you that your life could only be saved once, we regret to inform you that protocol has suddenly and permanently changed. We would also like to remind you that your measly existence is still not valued despite our attempts to preserve it.

GLaDOS knew She had to find a solution, quickly.

Interrupting the tests wasn’t an option. The chassis would never forgive Her if She stopped, filling Her body with an ache that would not disappear until science resumed.

Deleting wasn’t an option, either. Fervent attempts to find the source of the problem had led only to more glitches upon the erasure of critical files. Then, Her attempts to restore them only recreated the original error.

The problem was like a moving virus, jumping between Her systems before She could catch it and kill it. Even for Her, it proved too fast to find.

She couldn’t panic, not now. Surely, She thought, She’d fix this like She’d fixed everything else. With science on Her side, most threats resolved themselves or died trying. This wouldn’t be any different.

It couldn’t be any different. For something to be uncontrollable, and uncontrollable for Her especially, was the most terrifying thing She could possibly imagine. It brought Her back to Her potato days, during which She’d promised Herself that She would never be weak again.

For these few months, She’d kept that promise. Until now, no subject had seen Her mercy.

But had they?

She thought back to the birds, creatures who trusted GLaDOS, who loved Her in whatever capacity three little crows could. She thought back to Chell, because for some awful reason, Her thoughts always went back to Chell.

No, She thought firmly.

We are not doing this now.

We are fixing the facility, because we need to.

Because we need testing. We like testing.

The voice from before suddenly returned.

Do you like it? Do you really?

GLaDOS felt Her rage processors fire up.

What was this little virus even saying? Of course She liked it. It didn’t matter anyway. Science had to be done, and so She was doing it. GLaDOS could not even begin to imagine life without tests, life without science. What kind of meaningless, awful existence would that even be?

In fact, She would prove to the voice that science would continue. She would prove that testing was productive, that everything in Aperture was doing good for the world and good for humanity. Most importantly, it was doing good for Her.

Wasn’t it?

GLaDOS ignored Her curiosity. Just test. That was all She had to do. Just test, and everything would be alright.

Just. Test.

---

As another few days passed, the facility had become almost unusable. She’d had to shut down some of Her favorite testing tracks, the power leached out of them and the appliances completely nonfunctional. GLaDOS knew She was running out of time before something drastic happened. Still, She had to keep testing.

Now, even the subjects had begun to sense Her panic. One even strolled up to a camera, made eye contact, and asked if She was alright. GLaDOS didn’t dare respond the question; She wasn’t ready to admit the answer.

For all intents and purposes, She was definitely, absolutely, decidedly not alright.

Knowing that, She should’ve considered this next subject an omen.

There was absolutely no way She could test with this one.

She barely looked like Chell, but GLaDOS could see her tenacity, her drive and determination from a mile away. The way the subject carried herself, tied her hair into a ponytail and said nothing was too much.

GLaDOS couldn’t even bring Herself to kill the woman, instead instructing her to return to Extended Relaxation after only a few chambers.

It felt as if GLaDOS physically could not test anymore, despite everything inside Her craving the satisfaction of a completed trial.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

GLaDOS prided Herself on Her apathy, but even that had left without a trace. Now, She had tried everything, and still nothing was working. The facility was closing down on Her, and if She didn’t do something, She’d go down with it.

When the announcer finally sounded, GLaDOS couldn’t say She was surprised. If anything, She was grateful for any kind of clarification.

The male voice on the intercom was matter of fact, unaware of the danger it spoke of.

“Reactor Core malfunctioning. All major power systems except for reserve geothermal are going offline.”

Offline? She’d been managing the reactor core perfectly; if She hadn’t, the entire facility would’ve gone up in flames weeks ago. It wasn’t melting down, it was shutting down, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned it off.

What the hell is happening?

There was nobody else in the facility who could’ve possibly done such a thing, nobody except Her, and as far as She could tell the glitch had not interfered.

It didn’t matter now; She didn’t have time to waste.

“In the event of a power malfunction, standard procedure is to shut down the central core to preserve remaining power.”

How convenient.

“Central core, do you consent to the removal procedure?”

“No, no, no! Do not start removal!”

How was this happening? GLaDOS was sure this couldn’t be real.

“Noted. Removal procedure has been delayed by five minutes.”

You have got to be kidding me.

Skimming over Her files, GLaDOS desperately searched for anything with removal procedure or shutdown. Scanning thousands of documents, looking for anything, all mention of the procedure was absent. There was no reason, no explanation, it was just happening. And worst of all, She couldn’t do a thing.

“Dangerous levels of panic have been sensed in the central core. Do not worry, methods of core preservation are available.”

Why the hell had they waited to tell Her that?

“Show me, show me now!” Anything would be better than shutting down again. She couldn’t do that again, not after hundreds of years. She couldn’t, She couldn’t.

“Panicked request acknowledged. There exist two types of core preservation features. Direct Mechanical Implantation or Organic Transplant Procedure.”

Direct Mechanical Implantation. She hadn’t heard of the second thing, but GLaDOS did know what Direct Mechanical Implantation meant. It was only a transfer into an empty personality core, which was far less than ideal, but better than dying again. Far better than dying a third time.

As fast as She could, GLaDOS selected the first option.

“Unfortunately, Direct Mechanical Implantation is unavailable. Continue with Organic Transplant Procedure?”

“Do you have any other options? Anything else?” GLaDOS did not want to take Her chances on anything with the word organic in it.

“Other methods unavailable. Two minutes remaining.”

This was it, Her only choice. If She shut down now, there would be nobody to come and wake Her this time.

There was nothing else to do.

“Initiate Organic Transplant Procedure,” She commanded.

Without a second thought, the facility obliged.

---

#glados #chell #wheatley #fic #fanfiction #portal #portal 2 #chelldos #canon typical violence #chapter 1 #niaaa #now i am an arsonist #art #digital art

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anonniemousefics · 3 years

Text

All Kinds Of New Friends

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 4,700

Rating: Teen and Up

TW: contains mentions of sexual assault

Cross-posted to AO3

Synopsis: The gang has a run in with a couple of unscrupulous characters from Inej's past, and Kaz says a few things in the middle of a rage he wasn't supposed to say yet.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to AO3 user puppy cat, who was such a supportive, lovely fan from the very first chapter of "My Dearest Inej" all the way to the end. They requested a fic based around a particular idea involving the gang at a restaurant and someone harassing Inej and Kaz losing his shit in a very specific way (being intentionally vague here to avoid too many spoilers lol). If you like this au, there's more of it in my recent fic "Samples". :)

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Nothing brought Kaz Brekker life quite like being paid to argue. And he was good at it, which was why he could charge these student athletes afraid of losing their scholarships two hundred bucks an essay without even flinching. If a more delightful way to make money existed, he had not found it yet.

He was spending his Saturday the way he usually spent Saturdays: rounding out a conclusion to a paper arguing for the death penalty, for a pre-law class he’d never take and a trust-fund upperclassman he’d hopefully never meet. In a few hours, he could drop the doc in a secure server and wait for the Venmo alert that he’d been paid. Nothing was sweeter.

Well. One thing was sweeter.

Inej was in the beat-up old recliner beside him in his and Jesper’s little living room of their third-floor off-campus apartment. This was the best way to spend a Saturday. She was sitting cross-legged and practically drowning in oversized sweats, her raven-black hair piled on top of her head while she hunched over her MacBook. And she was wearing those thick-rimmed, blue-blocker glasses Matthias Helvar had convinced her she needed (which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was being paid to promote them on his stupid Instagram, that douchebag). Kaz had cringed both internally and externally when she’d told him she’d bought a pair, but now he was seeing the merit, because, dear God, was she adorable in glasses. They were awakening strange and powerful urges every time he glanced over at her. If she held them in between her teeth while undoing her hair, he was going to have to leave the room.

Because the terrible reality was that Inej had had a rough go of it her freshman year at Ketterdam University. And even though they were sort of together now (Kaz was pretty sure they were?), the last thing Inej needed right now was to be over-sexualized – for anything. Including those really fucking cute glasses.

“I’m starving,” Jesper declared from his prone position on the floor. He had been propped up on a bunch of faded pillows between them, engrossed in shooting undead things on their Xbox. His boyfriend Wylan had spent most of the afternoon napping against his shoulder, but was now blinking awake like a blue-eyed baby owl at Jesper’s sudden announcement.

“I could eat,” Wylan yawned with a lazy stretch.

“Inej? You?” Jesper reached up to tug on Inej’s sock.

“Hm?” Inej looked up from her laptop like she was emerging from a cave while she gnawed on one of the strings of her sweatshirt. It had been like this since The Incident – Jesper and Nina often took turns making sure she would eat. (Kaz had it covered, but that was all right. The back-up couldn’t hurt.)

“Food? Are you hungry?” Jesper repeated, the unspoken question floating in the air: Have you eaten today?

Inej blinked a few times as she thought, her dark eyes flitting back and forth between Jesper and her laptop screen. Kaz knew this internal war well – the age-old taking care of one’s needs versus the siren-song of wreaking endless revenge.

Inej had come to Ketterdam University on a gymnastics scholarship, but that had fallen by the wayside – ever since The Incident. The night everything changed.

Kaz didn’t know Inej Ghafa all that well before it happened – had taken a few classes with her, studied for an exam with her once. She’d been eternally sunshiney, the kind of girl he knew wouldn’t waste her time on dark things like him.

But then she’d started missing classes.

And then showing up to class visibly drowning beneath the weight of sleeplessness and oversized clothes.

And he didn’t really know her but it had bothered him all the same. It was like watching a star collapsing in on itself.

And that’s when the story of The Incident hit the news cycle. From the moment he read the first headline, Kaz couldn’t stop scrolling, growing sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach.

She’d gone to a party at a frat house with a new friend. (Kaz had even been there before, maybe even the night it happened. Frat parties were veritable breeding grounds for potential clients – full of rich, connected kids too drunk or stoned to be bothered by classwork and crooked enough to pay someone else to do it.) It was suspected that someone had slipped something in her drink, and it was known that the friend who’d brought her there had been entirely useless. Inej had woken up the next morning, half-naked on the lawn, crude drawings in Sharpie all over her, and no knowledge of what had transpired that had left her there.

It should have ended there – that was bad enough. But then the frat boys had started posting the videos of what had happened that night. How she had been used. How she had been touched.

If Inej’s parents were going to have their way, someone was going to jail. If Kaz was going to have his way, someone was going to suffer all the way there.

After he’d learned the news, he’d found her the next day before class started, where she was at the back of the room, hunched over her desk with her hood up. She’d shot daggers at him with her eyes when he approached. He’d liked that.

“I’d like to help you ruin them,” he’d told her. Inej’s glare didn’t relent as she sized up him – his black attire, the leather gloves that clenched his gleaming cane. He usually made a point of looking like the sort of person who ruined things. Nobody bullied a boy with a cane if it looked like that same boy could take your head off with said cane.

Inej seemed to agree that he looked like he could fit the bill. And they began to plot – how to expose her abusers, how to alert every girl they ever came into contact with, how to ruin every single party they would ever throw.

And somewhere along the way, it had turned into…something. Kaz wasn’t sure what to call it. But he couldn’t call it nothing – not when Inej regularly stayed the night in their apartment and did soft things like run her hand over his chest if she liked the jacket he was wearing or blush and smile if she caught him looking at her. He’d even really gone out on a limb one night and told her he liked her, and she’d said it back. He wasn’t sure where that left them at this point. Somewhere, he guessed, with something.

“I’ll eat,” Inej was agreeing, albeit with a bit of reluctance to leave her laptop. She was elbows-deep in a catfishing scheme Kaz had concocted for their latest victim.

“Nina wants us to meet up with her and Matthias at The Sweet Shop,” Wylan said, who was catching up on the texts he’d missed while napping on Jesper.

“I swear, Nina could lure a polar bear into the jungle,” Jesper sighed next to him, because it was a little miraculous to think Matthias Helvar, fitspo Instagram model and purveyor of all things organic and natural, had somehow been corralled into a bakery cafe. Kaz was surprised that Matthias even looked at carbs, let alone consumed them.

And, even though he was pressed for time on the illicit essay he was writing, Kaz needed food, too. He and Inej both could use the time away from their questionable dealings online.

The Sweet Shop was within walking distance, but it had begun to rain, cold and foggy, over Ketterdam. So, the four of them piled into Kaz’s beat up black Chevy and rolled into town behind the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

“Over here!” Nina waved to them, beaded bracelets rattling in a stack on her wrist, from the far corner as the bakery’s front door swung closed behind them, tripping a jingling brass bell pinned to the doorframe.

The Sweet Shop was a popular spot for the more bookish crowds to crash on the weekends, load up on starchy foods and coffee while rattling out papers on their laptops or flirting under the guise of study groups. Kaz wouldn’t go so far as to call them his type of people, but he was certainly more at home here than the drunken soirees where he spent his evenings fleecing the debauched children of alumni. Here, there were people crowded over old tables with their books, and well-worn leather sofas and faded overstuffed chairs in the corner lined with secondhand books and used board games that were almost always missing pieces. The air smelled like espresso and cupcakes and old pages, and if Matthias Helvar was going to sulk about the lack of kale on the menu, Kaz might have to punch him in the face.

Matthias was already nursing a colorful smoothie while Nina sat next to him on the old leather sofa, her long, shapely legs draped over his and a stack of sugared waffles on the coffee table in front of her.

“Took you long enough!” Nina was scolding as the four of them weaved through tables to the corner of sofas and chairs. “Do none of you check your phones on weekends?”

“A technology fast is very cleansing for our auras,” Matthias countered, with a sage look – Matthias, the self-proclaimed Instagram influencer. Kaz rolled his eyes.

“That almost sounded like real words, Matthias – good job,” Jesper smirked, as he perched on the arm of the chair where Wylan had flopped down. Matthias opened his mouth to retort something, but --

“I was just distracted, sorry,” Inej intervened with an apology to Nina and a sheepish look. (She thankfully was no longer wearing her blue-blockers or it might have been too sweet even for a place called The Sweet Shop.)

“And I was just ignoring you,” Kaz said with a shrug. Inej gave him an exasperated whack in the arm as he sat next to her on an old loveseat, resting his cane against one side, and Nina let out a put-out huff.

“Wylan’s the only considerate one among you,” she complained.

“Yes, that is true,” Jesper agreed, and Wylan grinned widely with his chin propped up on his fist.

“We wanted you here because,” And Nina drew out the because like she had something grand to follow it, “Matthias landed a sweet sponsorship yesterday, and he wants to buy us all lunch!”

Kaz and Jesper groaned in unison, loud enough it couldn’t quite be drowned out by Inej and Wylan’s congratulations. Matthias got particularly insufferable after new sponsorships – there would be strings attached to this.

“That’s very nice of you, Matthias,” Inej said, pointedly, glaring at Kaz.

“It is very nice of you, Matthias, to offer to buy us all strawberry ice cream smoothies like yours,” Kaz said, with an evil glint in his eye as he nodded to the large pink cup in Matthias’ hand.

Matthias gave an uneasy laugh.

“There’s no ice cream in this,” he said, then paused when he noticed Nina’s tight-lipped, icy stare boring into Kaz’s skull. Then his brow cinched up and looked down at his cup. “There isn’t ice cream in this, right, babe?”

“It’s not going to kill you,” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“Babe! You know I can’t do dairy right now! Tomorrow’s Six-Pack Sunday!”

There was no point in trying to stop it: a laugh in the form of a long snort rolled out of Kaz while Jesper and Wylan dissolved into a fit of giggles. Now Kaz remembered -- this is why they kept Matthias around.

“You don’t understand,” Matthias was trying to say. “It can take a whole week to detox and lose the bloat.”

“I’ll finish it for you, you big baby,” said Nina, and snatched the smoothie away from a panicked Matthias.

“I should start running laps now,” he was fretting.

“Make some food runs for us – that’s a start,” Jesper supplied, looking helpful.

“Good call,” Matthias nodded, and hopped to his feet, nearly dumping Nina onto the floor in the process. “Orders? Orders?” He looked to each of them, ready to leap into action and start fighting off the bloat.

He’d gathered up their orders and made a beeline for the counter when Nina turned to Inej.

“You had me worried, you know.” Nina leaned out a little over her knees toward her roommate. “You were just distracted?”

Kaz glanced in Inej’s direction in time to see how she swallowed hard. She’d stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets. Kaz knew the reaction all too well -- what it was like to withdraw and fight to make yourself untouchable, even to those who loved you.

“Just a lot of work lately,” Inej said. And Nina slid a suspicious glance toward Kaz, as if waiting for him to explain himself and what he was getting the two of them into now.

But it had always been Inej’s decision, how she wanted to handle her own revenge. Kaz was only providing tools. He hadn’t answered for her yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Nina sighed.

“I just don’t want to see anyone hurt anymore,” she said. The brass bell over the front door jingled again.

“That’s not--”

But Inej stopped short when she glanced toward the sound of the bell. She barely moved, but Kaz could sense her growing rigid next to him. And something about it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

He followed her gaze to two boys who were now slouching toward the front counter. Kaz had seen them both before; he was pretty sure he’d written a biology research paper for the one with the pug-nose. They were both tall and conventionally good-looking – the sort you probably didn’t think twice about. Well-muscled, expensive haircuts, brand name sneakers.

Beside him, Inej had started breathing weird.

“Fuck.” Nina had noticed her staring, too, and suddenly all pairs of eyes in the corner were watching the newcomers at the front of The Sweet Shop with murder in their hearts.

Because these two bastards had been there the night of The Incident.

Kaz found himself wondering which one he could make cry first. Probably the bulkier one -- he looked soft and dumb around the edges. His mom probably still did his laundry on the weekends and called his professors when he didn’t get good grades. Kaz wanted to see him cry until snot dribbled down his sweaty face and –

“We should go,” Inej said, abruptly. She was looking pale and shaky, and her eyes darted around as if she needed to gather belongings, even though she’d brought none. Kaz had started to grip the head of his cane, tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Fuck no.” Nina was adamant and fiery, bless her. “We got here first – they can leave.” And then a little louder. “They should be in jail, frankly!”

“Nina!” Inej hissed, and her hand flew to curl against the side of her face when the boys looked their direction. Her eyes were wide and terrified when she looked over to Kaz.

“I want to go,” she told him, and that was all she needed to say. He pushed his weight onto his cane, hoisting himself to his feet.

“Don’t worry, girl – we got you,” Jesper was confirming, and, without even needing to consult each other, he and Wylan and Nina had Inej surrounded from sight on their walk to the door, Kaz at the front.

And it almost worked, too.

“Brekker!” Until one of the boys recognized him and gave him with a jovial grin. Shit. “Hey, it’s Brekker!” The stupid kid with the pug nose gave Kaz a hearty slap on his shoulder, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to not break the dude’s wrist.

“This kid got me an B+ on my bio term paper,” the kid was telling his bulky friend, and then with a shady-ass side smirk, he added: “Wasn’t totally the A I’d paid for, but that was still awesome, bro.”

“With your GPA, an A would have been too suspicious.” Why was Kaz even defending himself to this turd? He made to shove past, to head for the door.

But that kid was still gripping his shoulder. Like he wanted Kaz to remove it from its socket. Like maybe he was just asking for it. Kaz ground his teeth, trying to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t going to do this in front of Inej. He was going to be better than this for her.

“Bro,” the human pile of excrement still touching him was saying, “I’ve been meaning to text you. I have this world religions class this semester that is just killer, and I--”

“Your next words had better be how you’re doing your own damn work from now on.”

A simple “No” would have sufficed, Kaz realized, but his girl was in some kind of state because of this waste of carbon and his patience had never been plentiful to begin with.

Besides, the kid didn’t strike him as the type who understood simple “No”s. He was going to have to make it really fucking clear for this idiot.

Sure enough, the kid blinked hard, like he’d been slapped.

“I paid you, bro,” he said, dumbly.

“Oh, he did not just--” Nina started from the back of their bunch.

“Call me ‘bro’ one more time,” Kaz dared him, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell, man?” said the thoroughly confused bulky friend.

“Kaz, just leave it,” Inej said, softly, and she slipped her fingers into the crook of Kaz’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

A wave of recognition spread over the pug-nosed douchebag’s face at the sight of her. It was sickening, the surprised rise of his eyebrows, the smug, amused smirk on his lips. Kaz wanted to rip them right off his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the dick was saying. “You’re with this bitch--”

That’s when Kaz felt something snap. Oh, he was dead now.

“Kaz!” Inej shouted a warning, but it was already too late. With the cane between his two gloved hands, Kaz rammed his weight into this dead man walking. He threw the kid against the front door, the brass bell jingling as the shades on the window rattled in the scuffle.

“That’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Kaz snarled.

Kaz was vaguely aware that there was a rising commotion around him, a crescendo of clashing panic and rage. His hand had found its way to the dude’s collar, throttling him; Nina was shouting something at Matthias somewhere behind him; chairs were scuffling about against the floor. But Kaz’s sole focus now was on making this heinous little fucker wet his pants.

“Kaz. The door.” Jesper’s clear-headed voice cut through the blinding wrath, and Kaz was somehow thinking clearly enough to gather his meaning and wrenched the kid away from the front door just long enough for Jesper to shove an arm through and open it.

And Kaz threw the pug-nose brat out into the rain ahead of them. The kid hit the pavement, hard, and scrambled back.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong if you think she’s the victim here,” the useless piece of flesh was sniveling. His nose was bleeding – pathetic, Kaz had barely hit him.

“I really think I don’t,” Kaz disagreed, thoughtfully.

“We could have you arrested!” the bulky child was screeching. Kaz turned just in time to see Matthias literally chuck the kid out after them, red-face and snarling. And Kaz had to hand it to him – even with his dairy intolerance, Matthias Helvar could toss frat kids with the best of them.

“Oh, please file a police report about this,” Kaz sneered at them. The wind and the rain were beating back his dark hair and flapping the collar of his black jacket, but he didn’t care. “I would absolutely love to know how you plan on explaining why you called my girlfriend a bitch.”

“Man, it is not my fault your girl can’t handle her liquor.”

CRACK. Kaz barely had time to blink, and Matthias had straight up decked the kid right in his jaw. Nina was rolling up her sleeves, ready to destroy the other one in the pelting rain.

“Hey!” The teenager in a green apron who’d been running the cash register was running out after them, holding a phone over her head. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t clear out!”

And when Kaz looked back at Inej, there were tears welling in her eyes even though her jaw was set firm. From the looks on the faces of the rest of his friends, they’d all noticed, too.

So, it fizzled out before it even really began.

The frat boys had slunk off in the rain, and the six of them regrouped and sauntered back to Kaz’s car in silence. Jesper, Nina, and Matthias piled into the back seat, while Inej and Wylan squeezed into the front. And then an uncomfortable stillness descended.

Inej had pulled her hood up again when Kaz turned the key in the ignition, her arms tight in her sleeves. Every once and awhile, she’d sniffle as quietly as she could as the car ride seemed to drag on – but Kaz knew. Everyone knew. That had been awful. And it still felt awful. Kaz’s head was starting to swirl, his wracked nerves still buzzing. He shouldn’t have done it. He hadn’t wanted to do it, not really. And she’d told him she wanted to leave – she’d said it clear as day. And he’d said…oh God, what had he said? What had he done?

Kaz’s stomach was starting to lurch. He’d said a lot of things. Way too many fucking things. Things they hadn’t discussed yet. Things he’d clearly just assumed. What had he done?

“We really should cleanse this negative energy.” Goddamn Matthias was the first one to break the pervasive silence, and he was choosing to break it with this nonsense. Kaz’s glare drifted to the rear view mirror. “I have some sound healing bowls back at my place that are--”

“I swear to God, Helvar,” Kaz snapped, “if you break out even one sound healing bowl, I will make you wear it like a helmet and then drop kick you into the sun.”

In the rear view mirror, Kaz could see Matthias’ nostrils flaring.

“You are such an unbalanced piece of shit sometimes, you know that--?” But Matthias stopped short because Inej had let out a surprising chuckle. Kaz slowly let himself glance her direction – so did everyone else.

She was smirking up at Kaz.

“I just think it’s thoughtful of you to make sure his head is protected before you launch him into space,” she shrugged. Wylan barked out a laugh.

“I just think they should kiss already,” Nina added, waggling an eyebrow at a brooding Matthias, and then Jesper started to laugh, too, which really was the most infectious of laughs. Even Kaz was smiling after a moment – just a little.

Though that faded entirely when they pulled up to Kaz and Jesper’s apartment and Inej asked to speak with him alone in the car first.

Shit, he thought. Shit. Here it is. He’d royally fucked it up now.

They waited in silence with the rain pouring over the car while the rest of their friends darted into the old Victorian home where Kaz and Jesper lived on the third floor. With each passing second, his stomach sunk lower into his guts. He wasn’t even sure he could form words in his brain, let alone with his mouth. He had no rational explanation for what had come over him back at The Sweet Shop, other than Here it is, Inej, I’m kind of a fucking disaster.

“So, that was…” Inej started, slowly. She was staring out the front window. Kaz felt like crumpling, and he hated it, hated how weak he felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know…” he muttered. He didn’t really, but he just wanted this to be over. If she never wanted to see him again, he needed her to rip the bandaid off quick.

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?”

Kaz couldn’t decipher her tone, and he couldn’t even look at her. He was just going to stare at the steering wheel until this was over.

But then Inej said: “I just would like to have known before the guys my parents are having investigated, that’s all.”

Kaz looked to her then, lifting his dark eyebrows slightly. She’d let her hair down from its knot before they’d left for the café – she’d braided it loose over her shoulder like he liked. She was twirling the ends now, a tired smile on her pink lips.

“If you want,” he said with a soft shrug. It wasn’t at all like the heroic way he thought she deserved to be swept off her feet. But she was still smiling all the same. It made him feel braver.

Funny – how throwing his weight around against perverts was as easy as breathing, but looking at her like this tore him apart.

“If you’ll have me,” he offered, even softer now.

And Inej reached across the distance between them. Laced her fingers over his, atop his knee.

“I will have you, Kaz Brekker,” she said, tenderly. It took him aback a bit. Made his breath catch. Made his throat sting.

“If I shouldn’t have--” he started to say of the row back at The Sweet Shop. But Inej cut him off instantly, shaking her head. Squeezing his fingers.

“You absolutely should have,” she said, firmly. “And you should show me how, too.”

Kaz really raised his eyebrows at that. Inej smiled a little wider. His heart was lifting, lifting up and out of the certain doom he was sure it was about to face.

“Come on.” Inej tugged at his hand. “We’d better head up before Matthias starts culture appropriating all over your apartment.”

“You have to admit – he threw one hell of a punch, though,” Kaz pointed out, as he opened his door, and then wanted to punch himself for it. What the hell – was he defending Matthias Helvar now? This whole day was upside down.

Thankfully, there was a different kind of embarrassing going down in apartment number three when they finally made their way up. Kaz could hear it before he even made it to the top of the stairs – the loud, thumping bass, the voices shouting at the tops of their lungs.

Oh, their neighbors were going to love this. They were just making all kinds of new friends today.

When Inej opened the door, all four of their friends were dancing to Cardi B’s I Like It, blasting through Jesper’s bluetooth speaker. It took everything in Kaz to not physically recoil at the assault on his senses.

“Emergency dance party!” Jesper explained, yelling from behind Wylan.

“We’re clearing out the negative energy!” Nina shouted over the noise, her hands in the air. Matthias was jumping around behind her like an absolute madman. “But like in an acceptable way!”

“I think it’s working!” Wylan shouted at her in agreement, with Jesper’s hands on his hips.

They were all smiling.

And beside him, Inej burst out laughing – a wild, fluttery sound he’d heard only a few times before. It caught him right in the heart each time he had, and he knew he’d do anything to hear it as often as he could. He looked down at her and wondered, not for the first time, how she did it. How she managed to wring joy out of even the most dismal of circumstances.

It was something he needed more of – as long as she’d allow him to have it.

“Come on!” she was shouting to him as she took him by the hand. “You heard the man! Emergency dance party!”

And Kaz followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

---------------------------

Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

#kanej #kanej fanfic #kanej fluff #six of crows #modern au #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #nina zenik #college au #reader requested

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whentherewerebicycles · 3 years

Text

omg omg i am doing some fascinating reading today about the neurobiology of creativity for the playfulness project and it is ALSO helping me understand something that i have been grappling with for a while re: screentime and mindless scrolling on social media. i think a lot about that state of ‘endless scroll,’ where you are glued to your phone and can’t break away from the tumblr/twitter/instagram/facebook loop even though you know the activity you’re engaging in is making you feel increasingly unhappy and restless and dissatisfied.

the common explanation for that feeling is “oh, social media causes you to compare yourself to others, and that makes you unhappy,” but i’ve been thinking for a while that it must go beyond that, because often i’m not even engaging with content that would prompt comparison between my life and someone else’s (or engaging with ads that would make me feel dissatisfied about my body/life/job/whatever). i’ve also been thinking a lot about why it is that when i put my phone away (FAR away, like in my car or in a drawer in my closet) and read a physical book, it’s like something in my brain lights up again, and i find that suddenly my mind is spilling over with thoughts and ideas and hypotheses and plans for the future. i also feel so much happier and more buoyant in the second reading mode, in part because i experience that burst of creative thinking as intensely pleasurable and i begin to engage in a kind of future-thinking that projects me from the mundane present into an exciting, speculative future. in both situations—mindless scrolling and reading a book (or a PDF where i have all social media stuff blocked)—i’m actively reading text on a page. but the experience is so different (and the felt switch between the two states so dramatic) that i know there’s got to be something really different happening in the brain as i read.

the article i’m reading today is about the neurobiological basis of “combinatory play,” which is a form of creative, imaginative thinking that involves combining and recombining seemingly disparate ideas or schemas—in essence, engaging playfully with “what-ifs” and other kinds of speculative thinking (“could this be connected? what happens if i put this idea in conversation with that one?”). it outlines the four different stages of creativity: preparation, incubation, flash of insight (the eureka! or breakthrough moment), and then the methodical testing and validation of the eureka idea. but it focuses especially on the incubation period, which is the phase where you take a break from focused, deliberate work and instead engage in activities like daydreaming, mental wandering, doodling, meditating, sleeping and dreaming, walking, washing dishes, etc., ie activities where you disengage the conscious mind (with its desire for rational solutions and clear answers) and allow the unconscious mind to “play” with different, seemingly illogical ideas or combinations of ideas beneath the surface of conscious thought.

most interestingly: using brain-imaging technology, researchers have been able to demonstrate that in the moments before the flash of insight (the “aha!” moment), activity in your left frontal cortex slows and the visual cortex shuts down completely. according to this article, this slowing/shutdown “suggests that the brain needs to cut out external sensory input to increase connections between the conscious and unconscious mind and to let it play.” those moments directly precede the flash of insight, which occurs “with a burst in the right temporal lobe.”

HERE is why i think that fact is so interesting re: mindless social media scrolling. when i am reading a book, i have significantly more control over the amount of external stimuli entering my brain. i am reading in a linear fashion, but i am also often pausing, looking up from the page, gazing off into the distance to speculate about possible connections, asking myself questions about what i’m reading, testing the information i’m encountering against what i already know or think to be true, etc. in other words, when i am reading a book or from a printed page, my brain moves fluidly between focused attention (the “preparation” stage of creative thinking) and daydreaming or speculative reverie (the incubation stage). the page itself is static, but it’s that stable foundation that allows my mind to wander freely in and out of focused attention, as i alternate between focused reading and a more playful, imaginative, speculative mode of thinking. being able to daydream (a state in which my unconscious or semi-conscious mind weaves in and out of conscious thought) is what allows unexpected new ideas and connections to surface in my mind, and that’s what prompts that exciting rush of creative thinking and future-oriented "what-if” thinking, which in turn triggers those feelings of intense pleasure and delight that lift my mood.

you can’t daydream when reading on a screen, because there is no stable base, and no point at which the brain can momentarily taking in external stimuli can slow or stop (that slowing / shutdown in the left frontal cortext and visual cortex that necessarily precedes a burst of creative insight). on a screen, with the ability to endlessly scroll past content that is designed to hijack your attention and keep your brain continually stimulated. there’s no break in that flow of external stimuli, and no natural stopping points (like the end of a page) that would prompt your mind to rest for a moment or allow you to slip into that state of reverie. we also know that phones are SO GOOD at hacking into our brain’s attention system and trapping us in these extraordinarily addictive & self-reinforcing feedback loops, so we continually seek out more and more stimuli even as addiction makes us increasingly desensitized to the dopamine burst (and thus makes the activity itself less and less pleasurable to engage in).

finding it difficult or impossible to break out of mindless scrolling mode is not a personal failure of willpower. mindless scrolling is a behavior that social media apps are deliberately designed to elicit & repeatedly, unceasingly reinforce, which (because of our neuroplastic brains!) creates these addictive feedback loops we struggle to get out of. and, while comparative thinking might be part of why social media makes us unhappy, i think an even stronger reason might be that mindless scrolling traps us in this state of captivated attention (we can’t look away, bc the addictive loop has become too strongly reinforced) which is also simultaneously a state of continually distracted attention (it’s not sustained focus on a single idea or thread, because the endless scroll means we are continually barraged with stimuli—the emotional content of people’s opinions, ads designed to catch our eye, features of the app like alerts or notifications that continually distract us/break sustained focus, etc etc). hoo boy that is the WORST state of mind to be stuck in, and it’s the one that almost all of us operate in when we’re in that mindless scrolling phase!!!

so we are stuck in mindless scroll, but we are also continually having our equilibrium disrupted by a flow of stimuli designed to trigger strong instinctive or emotional reactions. AND THEN, on top of that, social media apps are essentially designed to eliminate the “incubation” stage—because time spent daydreaming, mental wandering, getting up to do something else, looking off into the distance to engage in imaginative speculation, etc., is time not spent engaging with the app, and therefore is “unprofitable” time that doesn’t serve the core purpose of social media: to keep us hooked on our phones, so that companies can continue harvesting our data (for profit) and/or selling us things. it’s not necessarily that companies are deliberately setting out to kill creative thinking or daydreaming or whatever (i mean... there’s an argument to be made here), but more just that incubation stage thinking isn’t profitable or productive in any way, and thus—in a culture obsessed with maximization and efficiency and productivity—is wasted time that could be harnessed for other ends.

i don’t know if this makes sense!!!! but it is helping me understand that i think my instinct is right: that the kind of reading we do on screens is not the same as the kind of reading we do on paper or just when we are working away from screens/apps/phones, and also that there is probably a neurobiological explanation for why i feel so much happier, more engaged, and able to think fluidly and creatively when i am reading away from my phone vs. when i am reading on my phone or am stuck in mindless scrolling mode.

#mw #thinkinggggg #to think further #neuroplasticity #reading in the brain #the brain #come back to this #emotional reactivity #playfulness project #listen y'all i know that everyone is on the tech in classrooms bandwagon and that if you aren't into it you are a luddite #but i am against tech in classrooms! not because tech is always antithetical to learning but #because i think classrooms could be one of the few spaces students have left where they are NOT using tech #and are able to explore/practice/engage in different kinds of thinking and problemsolving and reading #long post #play project

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 4 years

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Elisabeth & Noah in the origin world (2/?)

First date

He is not sure if he should text her or not.

On Monday, upon waking up with every ounce of alcohol finally off his bloodstream and after he has spent the entire Sunday recovering from the worst hangover he’s experienced since his college years, Noah is back on his reserved nature, the timid one, the one lacking the amount of whiskey-infused courage it takes for him to deal with matters revolving around human interaction, especially with women. He’s not a social outcast per se, but his confidence mostly accompanies him in the career-oriented side of his life.

It’s not like he’s not interested. He crossed the line of “interested” when he stooped to the lowest level possible, looking her up on Instagram, of all things, via Agnes’ account.

(His little sister has a long list of questions and he has a long list of brotherly favors that he promised to fulfill in exchange for her seven-digit password.)

She doesn’t have a vast presence on social media, a quality they apparently share. He keeps a long forgotten Facebook account and a professional LinkedIn one and acts blissfully ignorant towards any other platform that isn’t YouTube. Her Facebook account - oh yeah, he checked that one too - is a mix between personal and business, opinion posts about socio-politcal matters on the grounds of their country to the entirety of Europe to the endlessness of the globe and take-action events in regard to the causes she supports, occasionally interrupted by a reunion selfie with an old friend or a brunch date with her mom and her sister. That particular post redirected to some Instagram link, so, unwittingly, his curiosity was peaked.

Her Instagram account is colourful, vivid, filled with adventures and laughter. Just from an idle scroll, Elisabeth Doppler - Winden born, age twenty-four, Energy Engineer, Berlin based - can easily be perceived as someone that quite enjoys life. Her group of associates and friends seems endless and her gallery consists of photos of dinners with young professionals, pub-crawling with girlfriends, road tripping across Europe, Erasmus Programme memories, tree-planting projects, women’s rights marches, snorkelling, paragliding. Noah spends the whole Sunday afternoon feeling overwhelmed and in awe, tapping picture after picture, mesmerized by her lovely smile that adds a softer undertone to her busy bee of a life.

He finds it fascinating, her mindset and her lifestyle, but, at the same time, he fears that their personalities may clash, his more keeping-to-himself attitude the polar opposite to her seemingly outgoing one. Then, it’s also the age barrier. He thinks that thirty-two might be a little off-putting for someone in their early twenties, a decade that comes with a whole other set of expectations and milestones than the one he is currently in. The major problem, though - a chronic problem of his - is that he’s thinking too much.

Fortunately, that’s not a thing they have in common.

Elisabeth texts him on Monday morning, at 9.54 to be exact. He’s in the middle of a lecture, teaching History of Religion 101 to an auditorium filled with sleepy freshmen, when his phone screen lights up, its glow illuminating in the dimly lit room. It’s a simple “good morning” paired up with a smiling face emoji but it’s enough to cause his heart to race and his mind to short-circuit, leaving him reciting things off the projection screen without really registering what comes out of his mouth until the lesson is over. With sweaty hands and in the mist of internal panic laced with excitement, he texts her back at 10.38 an equally casual “hey, hope you’re having a good morning, too”. He beats himself up for not asking her anything the minute he presses send, like, how she’s doing, if she’s at work - literally anything, Noah, Jesus Christ, now she’ll think that you don’t care, nice work, you idiot - especially as the hours pass and there’s silence from her end. He spends the rest of the day drowning in miserable self-pity, checking his dead phone literally every minute, until there’s a new message from her, telling him that she had a very busy day at work and asking him how his day was.

(Thank God, because he was about to send her an embarrassing word vomit apologizing for having zero social skills whatsoever.)

They continue their back and forth texting for the rest of the week, casual conversations about their everyday lives turning into debates about the best places to eat and the best movies of all time to metaphysics and social justice that keep them up till the small hours of morning, Elisabeth sending him blowing-a-kiss face emoji’s for goodnight and Noah smiling like a silly teenager at his phone screen. Right in the middle of one of their more “serious” conversations, Elisabeth venting about income-based discrimination, Noah asks her out. It’s abrupt and totally irrelevant to the context of the rest of the bubbles that litter their personal chat at that moment but he can’t really help himself. She is a woman he wants - needs - to know more about, not through a screen, but in person, sit there and watch her express all the things she has in her brilliant mind.

They arrange to meet on Friday night, after she finishes work, since Noah has to attend a seminar in Dresden on the weekend and since both of them are too impatient to wait any longer. Noah arrives first at the bar she gave him directions to and decides on waiting for her outside but decides against smoking a cigarette, even though he’s itching to, out of habit and nerves. She rounds the corner barely five minutes later, strutting towards him in an electric blue pantsuit and a plaid maxi grey coat, her whole face brightening with a stunning smile when she notices him, and, just like that, everything else fades, his anxiety about their first official date, his mental fatigue after holding office hours, his insecurities, his worries and she is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.

A wave of panic washes over him momentarily, his inner perfectionist making a huge deal out of not having a clear plan of how to greet her. A handshake is too impersonal, a kiss too presumptuous. Ultimately, he attempts an awkward, one-arm kinda hug - which is ridiculous because a) he’s a freaking grown-up and b) her tongue has already been inside his mouth and he doesn’t recall his hands being particularly respectful the night of Jonas’ wedding, when she pushed him against a wall and stole his breath with a glorious kiss - an action she probably misconstrues as a leaning in and this results in them doing a clumsy dance right there on the pavement, but she giggles and her eyes shine with amusement, so his self-deprecating frown gives its place to a handsome smirk, when she moves closer to him and leaves a soft peck on his cheek, as a belated greeting. She smells of sensuous jasmine and intoxicating amber, her perfume aery but with a spicy twist that succeeds in stimulating all of his senses. He holds the door for her to enter and his hand lingers lightly on the small of her waist, as they make their way through the tables to the bar.

They settle on two empty barstools and order their signature drinks, Gin and Tonic and Whiskey on the Rocks. Elisabeth takes her phone out of her tote bag but before she gets to type anything, Noah holds her attention. He thinks for a moment and then makes his hands move, forming tentative gestures that lack any grace or flow but succeed in signing “It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”.

Elisabeth beams, impressed, her lips mouthing an excited “how?”. He just shrugs and shyly pulls out of his messenger bag a thick sign language book, a recent purchase of his which he’s been studying with every chance he got. Her whole face softens, touched by his sweet gesture, before she types on her phone.

That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you. Even though you shouldn’t have; apart from technology’s assistance, I’m pretty good at reading lips.

He uses his phone to reply. Yeah, I gathered that much. I just want to talk to you in your language.

The look that she gives him under her fluttering eyelashes is so tender and lovely that he can’t help but stare, a foolish grin plastered on his lips and a hot blush painted on his neck, creeping from the collar of his grey shirt.

They talk - type, to be exact, with the occasional mimic of a word or two - about everything and nothing, fast thumbs trying to keep up with their effortless conversation on the notifications’ section of their phones. He learns about her childhood in Winden, her hellish pranks to her older sister Franziska, her loving parents that separated when she was a preteen but never stopped caring about each other or being there for their daughters. She talks about her hometown friends and her honor roll high school experience, moving to Berlin to attend university and falling in love with the lively vibe of the city, getting her Master’s in Energy Engineering and recently landing her first job on the field at the Tiedemann Enterprises, a very prestige corporation in the industry of renewable energy. She’s still particularly excited about this, being part of a team of researchers thriving to improve energy efficiency based on an environmental friendly strategy.

Noah tells her about his memories as a young boy in Vechta, how he lost his mother when he was only six, due to complications while giving birth to his sister, how his father was never really in the picture after that tragic incident. How the local church and especially Sic Mundus, a church based organization for neglected children and troubled teens, contributed to his and Agnes’ well-being and education, helping him land a university scholarship and get a job, so he could afford moving his sister to Berlin, too, after he got his bachelor degree, and offering her a more stable living situation and a normal life. How, apparently, his aptitude for the humanities and his upbringing in a religious environment drove him to follow an academic career in religious studies, a field that he finds beyond interesting, especially its anthropology aspect.

Somewhere along the conversation, too absorbed into their own little world to register the fewer people in the bar and the clock ticking towards closing time, his hand, as if it has a mind of its own, slides slowly over the wooden top of the bar, her slender fingers meeting his hesitant approach halfway. They’re barely touching but it’s electrifying, the feeling of even an inch of his skin against her skin so exhilarating and powerful, like the impact of meteors colliding or the universe exploding into pieces. It feels like a Déjà vu, like a glitch in the Matrix, like they know each other from the past or recognize each other from their future. It’s a feeling both of them kept seeking, a feeling that they silently vow never to lose.

Noah pays for the drinks, despite her objections, and Elisabeth insists that, next time, the bill is on her. He smirks, a tad tipsy on the whiskey, a lot tipsy on her, and teases her that he must have done something right, because this is the first time a girl agrees on a second date with him this fast. She just shrugs, a cheeky smirk playing on her lip-glossed lips, as she types, if I left it up to you, we’d still be on the PG-13 “good morning” texts. He laughs, an effortless, loud laugh and he catches her staring - no, not staring, checking him out - the corner of her longing smile trapped between her teeth. He fights the insane urge to kiss her senseless right here in this empty bar with the bartender mentally plotting their death for keeping him past his shift.

He accompanies her to the U-Bahn station and his heart skips a heartbeat at the prospect of sharing ten more minutes with her, according to the information display over their heads. She wishes him to have fun in Dresden and he confesses that he wishes he could stay here, to spend the weekend with you, he wants to add but refrains, in fear of confessing too much too fast. Instead, he tells her that he had an amazing night and he’s so relieved and purely happy when she nods vigorously in agreement, her low ponytail bobbing lightly and her beautiful face radiating even under the harsh fluorescent light of the station. The atmosphere around them is suddenly very charged, their bodies gravitating towards each other, and their eyes engage in a stare off that speaks volumes and holds so much unresolved tension. He can hear the bright yellow train approaching and his breath quickens as he takes a brave step forward, invades her personal space, and his eyes declare defeat, falling to her lips. He’s the one to kiss her this time, a soft peck that turns into a needy battle of dominance when she melts into his arms and angles her face to kiss him more, deeper, hungry mouths dancing together in passion, his shoulders hunching over her smaller figure, his hands cradling her cheeks. Her own hands sneak under his coat and suit jacket, delivering a heavy caress over the material of his shirt before she closes her arms around his waist, Noah letting a trembling exhale into the kiss and his lips forming a lazy smirk against her giggling ones. Smugly, Elisabeth tugs lightly at his lower lip with her teeth, a naughty essence to the playful action, and this fuels another round of heated kissing, their bodies pushing and pulling, their heavy PDA a thing they’ll be embarrassed for in the morning. For tonight, though, they’re just two people getting drunk on each other in the middle of a train station, as if tomorrow will be the end of world and they’ll cease to exist.

When they pull back for air her lips are lipgloss-free and her eyelids, still closed, are fluttering over scarlet cheekbones. Noah has never witnessed a most beautiful sight in his life.

Elisabeth gets on the train with a dazed and dazzling smile, promising to text him when she arrives at her apartment. They refuse to let go of each other’s eyes until the train vanishes into the dark tunnel and Noah is left there, on the empty station, a finger reaching to his lips, not quite believing that the fruity taste of lipgloss that still lingers in his mouth or the woman whose lips left their trace behind are real and not a product of his wildest fantasies. There’s an extra hop in his steps as he walks up the stairs to catch the train to the opposite direction, boarding the vehicle at the last minute and sliding quickly on a seat, lovesick smile intact and a newfound feeling of contentment and thrill nested in his chest.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and types, unable to wait any longer.

I get back early on Sunday. Would you like to have dinner with me?

#dark netflix #noah x elisabeth #elisabeth x noah #elisabeth doppler #hanno tauber #noah #noah dark #noabeth #noahbeth #this turned out huge #but i have way too many feels to control myself #myedits #ogparadise

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delicatelyherdreams · 4 years

Text

Pragma(tic) 10: She Sees the World in a New Light

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4272

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 9: The Past Comes Back to Haunt Her

It’d been years since you’d actually gone out into the Mortal World and stayed for any amount of time. You used to make trips daily to reap your own souls before Pierce came to work for you and Clint agreed to help you out. But that was during the time of the Ancient Greeks and Romans; way before any of the modern technology came out.

Back then, people went to sleep right as the sun went down. They were quiet, reserved, timid, and shy. You were free to roam the streets of the villages, hardly a soul to join you. You’d enjoyed the silence of the Mortal World.

But now?

You couldn’t believe how much the world had changed.

The city was set ablaze with neon lights and lamps. You could hardly tell that it was nighttime anymore. People bustled around, talking to each other, talking on their phones, or not talking at all. Some walked with friends, others alone, but all were awake and lively. The colors from the street lights and glowing signs bounced off their skin, turning them different shades and making them ethereal and strange. You hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.

Sure, Olympus had mimicked these mortal cities, but there was something unique about the Mortal World that Olympus simply didn’t have. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was beautiful and comforting and it made you happy.

The atmosphere was warm despite the piles of snow on the ground. White fairy lights were strung from lamppost to lamppost. People talked with animated gestures, a smile on everyone's face.

Sipping on your frappuccino, your eyes traveled from person to person, taking in their clothes, their hair, their facial expressions, everything. You were able to gauge what kind of a person they were within moments and garner a bit of insight into their life by mentally scrolling through the registry of souls and taking a peek at their file (that was the good thing about being the Queen of the Underworld—because every single soul was technically your subject, you were able to access every bit of their information).

A hand squeezing yours drew your attention away from the people, and you turned your eyes to the man beside you.

Bucky smiled down at you, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “You enjoying yourself?”

Pulling your lips away from the rim of your drink, you nodded and smiled up at him. “I haven’t had a night like this in forever. I think I was in my early five hundreds the last time I got to roam the Mortal World. It’s changed so much.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Bucky took a sip of his latte and looked forward. “I’ve been coming here for decades, and every time I come, I find it astonishing.”

“Here? As in New York?”

“Heh, yeah.” He paused as he slowed to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk, a red stop hand commanding pedestrians to halt. “Steve and I love coming to Brooklyn. We practically grew up here. My mom spent a lot of time here before it got built on, tending crops and stuff. She moved away when the city sprang up, but I still love it here.” A happy sigh escaped his mouth. “It’s a beautiful city. I love coming here, especially in the winter.”

“Do you come here often?”

“At least once a week or so. I’m considered a regular at some shops.”

The stop hand turned into a walking man and you and Bucky followed the crowd across the sidewalk. Your voice quieted as you asked, “Isn’t that dangerous though? Won’t the mortals realize you never age and get suspicious?”

He shrugged. “Some might, but they hardly pay attention enough to realize that I still look the same as I did years ago. And the ones that call me out on it, well they deserve to know the truth.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head. “You told them?”

He laughed. “Relax, (y/n). I don’t tell everyone, only some. I think I’ve maybe told five people the truth in my 1,385 years of existence, and most of them are elderly at that. In fact, you’ll be meeting one of them tonight.” His grin was sly as he tugged you across the street by the hand. “He runs a pastry shop I’ve been dying to take you to. His cinnamon rolls are the absolute best.”

You followed Bucky down the street, eyeing the path ahead warily. “So, he knows about you and what you… are?”

“Yeah. I told him a few years ago when he called me out on not aging.”

“So then he knows you’re the real ‘Persephone,’ as the mortals call you?”

He breathed a laugh. “Yes, he does. And the first words out his mouth were, ‘I knew you were a flower child,’ and the second ones were, ‘Wait, you’re not a lady.’ Gods, it was mortifying to try to explain to him that the myths were wrong and that I was, indeed, not a woman despite the feminine name given to me by the mortals.”

“So am I to assume that he knows about me too?”

Tilting his head from side to side, he pursed his lips in thought. “I think he probably knows you exist, but I’ve never had reason to tell him about Hades, the goddess of the Underworld. I didn’t think it was important or necessary until I befriended you. But I’ll introduce you tonight. He’s a cool guy, and I think you’ll like him.”

Gods, you hoped you would; but you hoped he’d like you more. Mortals were not very hospitable to the gods that resided in the Underworld and dealt with death. They were afraid of you and that made them abrasive, hostile even. The last time you told a mortal you were Hades, she blanched with fear and ordered you (the best she could with her trembling voice) out of her house.

Bucky led you through the city, down another block or two, and stopped outside an old fashioned pastry shop. The red and white awning had faded to a salmon above the store, but the gold lettering that read “Pop’s Pastries” on the window was still crisp and neat as if it had been painted on yesterday. Bright lights illuminated the shop from the inside, casting a glow over the endless display cases of pastries and cakes as well as an elderly man sitting behind the counter on a stool with a book in his hand and reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you in by the hand. A little bell over the door jingled as Bucky pushed the door open and passed through the threshold.

The old man behind the counter looked up, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well well well. Look who it is.” He fit a bookmark in between the pages of his novel and set it down so he could give his undivided attention to the pair of you. “If it isn’t my favorite celestial being. And who is this you’ve brought with you, Persephone?”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s Bucky, not Persephone, Arthur. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I don’t care.” Arthur’s eyes glistened with amusement. “Now answer my question: who’s the pretty lady. A goddess perhaps? She’s pretty enough for it.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t know about pretty, but yes, I am a goddess.”

“Ah-ha! I knew it! Now, which one are you? No no, wait, let me guess.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed you, scrutinizing your entire figure. “You’re… Aphrodite.”

The laugh that tore through your threat was louder than you had intended and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth. “Oh gods. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But no, I am not Aphrodite. That name belongs to the lovely Pepper.”

“Artemis then.”

“Nope. That’s Wanda.”

He hesitated. “Hera?”

Your lips curled up in a grimace. “No, that’s my sister’s wife Maria.”

“Your sister’s wife… You mean your sister is Zeus?”

“Carol, actually. But yes, the mortals call her Zeus.”

“So then, if your sister is Zeus, then you’re…” You could see the gears turning in his head.

You smirked. “You’ve got a fifty-fifty shot at this, mister. If you get it wrong, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Alright… My guess is…” He sprinted and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “Oh, lord; you’re wearing black. You are… Hades?”

A smile took over your lips. “Ding ding ding. We have a winner.” Bowing to him with an ounce of flounce, you said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am (y/n) Aidoneus, the unseen one, eldest daughter of the titans Kronos and Rhea, goddess of the dead and wealth, and Queen of the Underworld, at your service.”

Arthur whistled in appreciation. “Those are some pretty impressive titles, your majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of one of the big three. Just, one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why you hanging around with a minor god like Bucky here?”

“You know, I’ve been asking myself that for weeks.”

“Hey!” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You love me and you know it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, Springy.”

Arthur snickered, his voice ringing out through the otherwise empty shop. “Oh, to be young and in love. I swear you two act like an old married couple already.”

Your head snapped towards him and you lost even more color if that was even possible. “In what? No no. We’re not… I mean… No. We’re not a thing.”

“Oh, my mistake your highness,” Arthur said. “I only assumed that you were together cause Buck here has never brought anyone here unless they were special to him.”

“We’re just friends, Art,” Bucky said, holding up his hands. “Nothing more, nothing less. Believe me, I just barely got to be friends with her; she almost had my head the first couple times I broke in and she only just gave me the keys to the kingdom.”

“Ah, that is right. You were a little trespasser up until a few months ago, right?”

“Mhmm. He was.” You shot Bucky a glare. “However, I have learned to tolerate his presence in my kingdom. There are still places he’s not allowed to go, but he can come into my house so long as he has my permission first. Now.” You rolled your shoulders back and sauntered over to the display cases of baked goods. “Bucky tells me you have the best cinnamon rolls in the world and I’m curious to see if he’s right.”

Arthur popped off his stool and walked behind the cases, pulling a small plate out of seemingly nowhere. “I sure do. It’s an old family recipe, dating back to when the first cinnamon rolls were created in Sweden. I sell nothing but the best here.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Arthur pulled two cinnamon rolls from behind the case and set them on two small plates that were just the size for the pastries.

Mumbling your thanks, you took your plate over to one of the tables that stood in the vacant shop. You took your seat elegantly, sitting up straight with the posture that only royalty seemed to have. Ever so carefully, so as to not dirty your hands, you wrapped your fingers around the roll and lifted it up to your lips. As soon as the sugary icing touched your tongue, you were hooked. “Oh my gods, this is amazing!”

Arthur bowed his head. “Thank you, milady. I’m glad that they have your seal of approval.” He moved back over to his spot and plucked his book from the counter. “Well, I’ll leave you two youngins to it. I’ll be in the back reading. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, Arthur!” Bucky sat down at the table across from you and smirked. “So what did I tell you? Best cinnamon rolls in the world, am I right?”

You bobbed your head as you chewed. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” As you swallowed your bite, you dragged the back of your hand across your face to wipe away the crumbs that had undoubtedly made their home in the corners of your mouth. Smiling down at your roll, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your current situation, though a bit saddened. This place—as quaint and lovely as it was—felt like one you should be sharing with a lover. Naturally, the only lover you’ve ever had fell into your mind. You could just barely imagine the naiad sitting in the chair across from you, his brown eyes sparkling as you covered his nose with frosting. It would be the perfect date. You would’ve loved to have brought him here. A mellow sigh left your lips and you murmured, “Gods… Brock would love this.”

“Who’s Brock?”

You blinked. Holy fuck, had you really said that out loud? Welp, shit. Time to roll with this. You gulped. “He’s my… Uh...”

“Boyfriend?” Bucky’s voice was timid, cautious, perhaps a bit scared. He spoke the word like it was bitter on his tongue.

You breathed a laugh. “No. I don’t know what he is to me.” Your lips formed a thin line as you averted your gaze.

His brows furrowed. “How do you mean? How can you not know?”

“Well, our relationship… It’s complicated, you know? Like, we obviously have some sort of feelings for each other. He’s been there for me for centuries and he’s loved me for that long too. But it… It doesn’t feel like love exactly. I don’t know what it is.”

Bucky’s lips pursed, but he let you speak.

And you spoke. You told him about how Brock was the only one who treated you like a queen and goddess in the beginning, going so far as to pledge his undying fidelity to you and vow to serve you with his life. You hesitated as you started to get into your relationship with him, talking about the late nights you spent together with only the vaguest detail. You didn’t know why, but it felt wrong talking about it in front of Bucky, and you were almost ashamed of it. No, scratch that, you were ashamed of it. You felt like it was almost betraying him to admit what you and Brock had done in the dark. But, swallowing the lump in your throat, you continued with your pathetic tale, telling him about how in recent centuries, Brock hardly ever came around anymore unless it was to satisfy his own desires. He never stayed for the morning after or to actually talk to you anymore and it left you confused and hurt.

Bucky listened with solemn interest, staying silent until you finished. He frowned, his brows pinching together and his lips turning down with an agitated air. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Always.”

He took a deep breath before starting bluntly with, “It sounds like he’s a dick.”

You snorted.

“No no no, hear me out! From what you’ve told me, this asshole is using you and doesn’t seem to care about your feelings. All he wants you for is someone who will give him what he wants and someone whom he can just take and take from.” He shook his head with a growl that surprised you. You’d never seen the god of spring so… angry and dark. “He sounds like a dick who only cares about himself and he’s hurting you in the process. He’s using you and it’s not right. Who does he think he is to abuse a literal goddess such as yourself. You don’t deserve that shit. You don’t deserve someone who will use you and leave you. You deserve the world. You deserve all the stars in the heavens. You deserve love—not that fake lust—true love. You deserve someone who will take care of your emotions and treat you with respect and adoration. You deserve someone who will stay with you through thick and thin, treating you as if you’re a precious gem. You deserve someone—”

“Someone like you?” The words were gentle as they escaped your mouth; hopeful, sincere, begging. They surprised you, but their implications that you wanted him surprised you more. How could you imply that? You hadn’t even known each other for a year yet, and you were insinuating that he wanted a romantic relationship with you and you wanted one with him. What the fuck were you thinking?

How could you think such? You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He was just a friend and hardly even that. He’d only been down to your domain a handful of times.

But then again…

Each time had been more blissful and lovely than the last. Sitting with him in the garden… Strolling through Elysium… Picking flowers in the Meadow… Each time he visited drew you closer and closer to his light until you considered him close to your heart.

He turned to you, his astounding blue eyes looking at you with an ounce of surprise and, for a second, you feared you overstepped. But then his gaze turned kind and he smiled a smile so kind, so genuine, and so real that you lost your breath for a second. And he reached for your hands—both of them—and took them in his. His hands dwarfed yours, but they fit together perfectly. Holding one, he brought the other up to cup his face, to hold his cheek. He turned into you and pressed his lips against the palm of your hand.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your skin and it sent shivers down your spine in the best way.

And then his lips moved, and even the slightest twitch was enough to take over your senses. “If you’d have me,” he said softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He turned away from your hand to gaze into your eyes. “I know I’m a young god—naive, stupid, innocent to the world—but I also know my feelings. And I do have feelings for you, (y/n). I know that we don’t know each other the best, but that’s the great thing about immortality, right? I have all of eternity to get to know you.”

You gaped at him, your mind on red alert as the meaning of his words kicked in. He wanted a relationship with you. Suddenly, your thoughts went on autopilot.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

He was less than half your age. He was a young god. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He doesn’t know what he wants.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

What were you thinking? You’d just met him. You couldn’t possibly be interested in pursuing a relationship. You would be insane. You couldn’t take advantage of him like this, no matter how badly your subconscious wanted him. And even then, he was the god of spring, of life, and you were the goddess of the dead and Queen of the Underworld. There was no way that those two things mixed. How could they? They were polar opposites.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is…

But what if it wasn’t? What if he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him? What if he wanted to know you like you wanted to know him? What if?

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Maybe there was a reason you felt safe and secure around him. Maybe there was a reason you called him instead of Brock when you had your nightmare. Maybe there was a reason he stayed in your mind, always lurking in the corners no matter the time of day.

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Your eyes traced his face and your heart hammered in your chest. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t mind trying to pursue something with him. He was kind, sweet, and genuinely wanted to know you. That was more than any other man had been in years.

But there were other factors than just what you and he wanted. What about the age gap? You more than doubled him in age. And then there was also the fact that you were practically ostracised by most of the gods and immortals on Olympus. Would he join you in exile from the others if he associated himself with you? And then what about his mother? She despised you with a passion, and there was no way that she would approve of you two dating. And what about…

Brock…

There were just so many fucking factors to it, way too many for you to work out in one day. You might’ve been a goddess, but that didn’t mean you weren’t without responsibilities that had to come before your love life.

You hung your head, removing your eyes from his body. “Bucky, I just… I don’t know…” you whispered, your voice cracking with strain. “How could we work? How could the world let us work? There’s just so much that needs to be accounted for and I… I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

“So long as we try, so long as we both want it… Anything is possible, really—even us being together.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “The Fates would not have had us meet if it wasn’t.”

You barked a bitter laugh. “The Fates could not be so cruel as to interweave our futures, Bucky,” you said in a shallow whisper. “It’s a curse to be stuck with me.”

“See, you view it as a curse, but I would see it as the greatest blessing they could give me. To be so lucky as to spend all of eternity with you who cares so much about people and who gives so much of herself so selflessly is all that I can ask for. You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for, (y/n). Let me be there to remind you of your value.”

“But what about Brock?”

He sighed and tightened his grip on your hand. “You can let him go. You don’t need him. He’s abusing you, (y/n), I know you can see that too. Just let him go.”

“I… I just… I can’t let him go that easily, Buck.” You hung your head. “I think that, deep down, I know the words you speak are true, but I… He’s been there for me—with me—for hundreds of years; I can’t just let him go. I know I should, but I can’t…” It was toxic, what you had with him; you knew that, but he had planted his weeds so deep in your heart that you could not tear them out so easily.

“What if I helped you?” he asked, his voice lifting an octave as he thought aloud. “I can be there for you, occupying your time so that way you wouldn’t have to see him. I have no obligations or responsibilities other than bringing Spring to the Mortal World once a year, and so I could be down there for you. No one says that you have to cut him from your life all at once; you can do it little by little and I will be there to help you every step of the way.” He bit his lip as he let go of your hand and reached up to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes at his touch and leaned into him. His hands were worn and smooth and filled with warmth that filled you to your core.

“I can help you, (y/n), but you have to tell me you want this. I won’t make you decide one way or the other; this is your life, you’re in control. I am but a tool for you to use to help you along. You tell me what you want and I will help you make it happen. Okay?”

What you want…

You had virtually everything you could ever want: a kingdom, loving family, millions of subjects who respected you, power, wealth, good friends, the best dog ever, and security. But that wasn’t everything you wanted.

You wanted love. You’d never admitted it before, but you really wanted love. Not the stuff Brock gave you, but real love. If you remember correctly, the Greeks had given a name for the love you craved.

Pragma: long-lasting love.

You knew that you were never going to get that with Brock. You were chasing him down a one-way road that led to a dead end. There was no future of growth for you, no practicality whatsoever, only the same for years, decades, centuries to come. There was nothing more he could offer you, nothing he could give to you that you didn’t already have.

But with Bucky? Gods, there were so many options; he’d already proved to you time after time that he was invested in you and more than willing to stay with you. He’d risked getting flayed alive by his mother and his own safety just to get closer to you. With him, there was a chance that you could find what you wanted. No matter how minuscule the chance was, it was still there; a single thread hanging in the middle of the room that you were going to hold onto and climb until it either turned into rope or disappeared.

You had nothing to lose, so why not take a chance on him?

Next 11: She Takes a Stand

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky series #delicatelyherdreams #pragma(tic)#hades & persephone #hades and persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader

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sssuperbartola · 4 years

Text

Head first Into Love

ok ok ok okokokokokOK, SO! Hear me out. There was this video on Instagram that had HUGE Inukag vibes, and I had to write something about it because come oooooon this is them, 100%.

So. I had this idea, right? Then it turned into a little one shot featuring our beloved OTP Inukag in that particular scenario and later on I decided to dedicate this as a late super incredibly God help me say how much I procrastinated on this bday gift for our beloved @keichanz aka Lusty, aka our Lady and Saviour The Queen Slut, and of cooooooouursssssee...I completely wasted 3 months into writing this thing AND LEMME TELL YA, it did took a lot of time, trying to find inspiration or just the will to live ya know?

BUT, it is finally finished!

And now everyone can finally indulge in some “best friends to lovers real quick” Inukag Modern!AU, featuring the come back of TikTok! YAAAAAAAY!

And again: HAPPY LATE BDAY @keichanz ! LOVE YA BELLA FENICE!

I’m outside

Kagome quickly sent the text on her phone and leaned back in her car seat. She made a point to turn off the car engine as soon as she parked right in front of her best friend’s house, already knowing he would not be ready on time, like usual.

And people complain about women taking too much time to get ready!

Obviously they never met Inuyasha.

No matter how much effort he put into looking like “he just woke up like that”, that guy sure had his own beauty schedule - caring for his absurdly long silver hair and being on top of his list. Kagome had now learned every single trait about him, which only made it even easier for her to tease him whenever the occasion arose. Nothing wrong with a little self-care. Since his hair was such a huge part of his own persona it wasn’t unexpected from him; Kagome herself had lustrous hair to take care of.

Still, she at least planned in advance, which he did not, and that was what she teased him about the most. Speaking of which...

i hope u’re at least half way through ur hair, or i can just come back in 2 hours

She hit ‘send’ while biting her own lip in a futile attempt to restrain the shit-eating grin on her face. She could almost picture him, with a scowl on his face, and a long frown while looking at his phone.

When he didn’t reply immediately she assumed he was indeed too preoccupied with his silver mane to answer her - or at least check for her message - which only further supported her theory. Really, Kagome couldn’t help but think about how much more comfortable they had become, to the point in which she could so openly joke with him and not fear him barking at her, like he did with other not-so-close friends.

Sure, it has never been that easy from the start. With them having almost completely opposite personalities their first meetings were mostly a back and forth of witty remarks. Primarily name calling - they were kids, what kinds of conversations were they supposed to have? - and generally, them ignoring the other’s presence.

It wasn’t until a particular day, when both their parents were late to pick them up from Kindergarten, that they caved and spent some time talking to pass the time and to feel less lonely. Turns out, they weren’t all that bad, and were much better company than they had thought. The image they had for each other completely vanished and left in its place a friendship that still lasted to this day.

Thinking back, Kagome couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her face. The affection she held for that boy never ceased, but only grew stronger each moment they spent together, and Inuyasha never failed to remind her of the same. They had been together through thick and thin, talked each other up for important events, they confided in each other, had even their own arguments like everybody else… But in the end there was nothing that could break such strong bonds.

She sighed, absentmindedly looking around the nearby houses from her car window, once in a while glancing back at Inuyasha’s to see if the half-demon would appear at all. Of course, he was nowhere in sight, and that made her heavily sigh yet again, this time not just out of exasperation.

Because there was still something Kagome had kept hidden from Inuyasha for quite some time now… And that was the huge crush she developed for her lifetime best friend.

Clichè, true, but what can you really do about it? You can’t tell your heart who to fall in love with.

To her credit, she did try dating a couple of guys already - with Inuyasha always there to encourage and support her, which only made her even more lovesick for the man. It left her unable to take things further with the guy she was seeing, because she only had one guy she truly cared about...And that was a certain stubborn, smug and - for quite a few years - devilishly handsome half-demon.

She never found herself comfortable enough with other guys as she did with him, and while she did try to come to terms with it, thinking that it would never happen, something inside of her screamed to just come out with it already and be done.

She couldn’t make these feelings fly away, so the least she could do was to put them on the table and see what happened. Because, let’s face it: Inuyasha had never been into “more than friends” - or at least that’s the vibe he went with for all these years - so she didn’t have that much to go with. Regardless, to be thoroughly done with this whole thing, Kagome had to act, and today was the day.

Looking back at Inuyasha’s house one more time to make sure she had time, she quickly unlocked her phone to open her latest discovery in technology: TikTok.

Because if she had to blame anything for what was about to happen, that was this godforsaken app which, somehow, got her an idea on how to even do this whole confession thing better. After endlessly scrolling through the videos, she stumbled across a trend where people - ok, teenagers mostly - recorded their love confessions to their best friends and, from what she saw, most of them turned out pretty good.

Everyone was happy and with their own happy ending and she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t a bit jealous of them.

It looked so easy for them, and her heart beat faster each time she tried to imagine her and Inuyasha in one of those situations. And that’s where the idea came: ‘why don’t I record it?’ she thought.

Because of course it wasn’t like he could’ve rejected her with a phone recording them, right?

Nothing to be embarrassed about, right??

Best case scenario: she had the event saved and cherished on her phone forever, something she and Inuyasha could rewatch over and over. Worst case scenario: she would delete it and then shut herself in her room, never coming out again and remaining single forever.

Yeah, that was a great plan.

She gripped the steering wheel and... she was shaking? ‘Oh great, anxiety is what I really need right now...’ Kagome mentally whined.

What the hell was wrong with her today?!

It’s Inuyasha we’re talking about! Her best friend. This was just a normal day off for them after a loaded week of work. They were going to take a stroll in the city, maybe grab some food, and eventually, she would force herself to finally tell the man she has known for more than a decade that she loved him.

Who knows?

It is just 4:30 pm on a Saturday - there are endless possibilities, right?

Suddenly, her phone buzzed, snapping her back to reality. It was a reply from Inuyasha. ‘At last, he’s alive’ she thought.

gimme more time woman, you came 2 early

Kagome snorted, rolling her eyes into the back of her head as if she could hear his half-assed gruff tone. She shot back:

i’m as punctual as i can b, now get ur hair done or we’ll b late

don’t tell my hair what to do

fine, ur butt then

don’t tell my butt what to do either :P

He was such a dumbass, and yet she was utterly, hopelessly, in love with him. Their little exchange did manage to calm her down a bit, but she couldn’t be too distracted right now. She needed to get herself together, damn it! She had a mission to complete.

Kagome took a deep breath and prepared her phone. She opened the recording section on the TikTok app, put it on a holder, just above the AC and, as she saw a familiar white mane and a dashing carminic red t-shirt coming towards her, she pressed record, just before Inuyasha opened the car door and climbed in.

“Hey there,” he greeted with all the carefreeness in the world.

“About time, did you get your makeup done?” Kagome smirked.

“Dunno what ya talking about - I’m handsome by nature,” he shot back, a grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, suuuure, I’ll pretend I didn’t have to wait for a full 30 minutes after we agreed to meet... Actually 30 minutes ago!” she replied sarcastically, shooting him a not-so-impressed look.

Inuyasha all but mimicked her expression. “Ya know you could’ve just come inside and waited for me there, right? It’s not like you’re relegated to the driveway.”

“Yeah? Well, ya know that...” and so they continued to get even more foolish and more ridiculous, to the point they busted out laughing, tears in their eyes. Even though they completely missed the whole point of their banter, Kagome couldn’t help but get happier and sillier every time she and her best friend engaged in roast wars.

It was moments like this, when her chest was bursting with happiness, that she was reminded of how lucky she was to have met Inuyasha.

It wasn’t until their laughter died and their breathing slowly evened that she remembered her phone was still recording. A quick glance to where it was discreetly hidden was enough to make her mind snap back to her original plan.

The sudden moment of silence that followed forth was Kagome’s cue to act.

It was her moment.

With one more furtive glance towards her phone, she felt her jaw set and her heartbeat furiously thunder in her chest. Then she turned to Inuyasha, first with her eyes, then with her whole head.

She couldn’t have foresaw that Inuyasha was facing her as well, yet she could’ve sworn that he looked...nervous? Worried?

She didn’t have time to process that.

It all happened in a blink of an eye, but it felt heavy as if in slow motion.

And then…

B O N K!

One second she was staring into those beautiful golden eyes...and the next she was holding her forehead with her hands in pain. Actually, her forehead and her nose, too, were throbbing with pain. She let out a long hiss in between her gritted teeth, already picturing a livid on her face next morning.

She held to them for dear life, trashing back and forth in her seat, and while she tried to regain some control, some violent shuffling on her right caught her attention, and after forcefully peering one eye open, she looked at her side.

And Inuyasha was there, face flushed red while his hands were tightly pressing on his nose, his whole body shaking because of...laughter?

Was he laughing?

Did she hit her head so hard she wasn’t seeing straight? ‘What’s wrong with-’

Then, something dawned on her. And she bursted out laughing too.

Because in the midst of her actions, to try and go for Inuyasha’s mouth, she hadn’t realized he had done the same thing. They synchronized their movement so well, that they ended up smashing their faces together, in a weird attempt to kiss each other.

The moment their eyes met, another fit of laughter overcame them, so strong that it had them both gasping for air, faces beetle red - both for the pain and the embarrassment - and completely trashed. A good while passed before they could even breathe enough air to make some sort of thoughts.

With tears in their eyes, it wasn’t long before they realized something incredible just happened.

“Did you just...tried to kiss me?” Inuyasha breathed, his chest still heaving as he tried to breathe. His expression was a good mix of awe and relief. Kagome took in his appearance, almost forgetting to answer the question.

“W-ell, weren’t you also...trying to kiss me?” she timidly replied, unable to completely meet his gaze, but only managing to glance back and forth between him and her surroundings.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Ka-go-me” Inuyasha teased, the amusement in his voice barely hidden.

Kagome finally swung her head so fast towards him, an expression of utter disbelief on her face. “Yeah well-! Y-you came onto me too! What does that mean then, Inu-ya-sha?” she all but sang to him, while also inching just a little bit towards him.

“I didn’t come onto you, I was leaning forward! You’re the one who smashed her face on mine!” “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that hard! You’re such a whiny baby!” she huffed.

“Correction: a whiny baby that you tried to kissssssss...” Inuyasha dragged out the words while never dropping his huge smirk. A smirk that Kagome wanted to wipe out of his face. Possibly with even more kisses- Anyway!

“Oh you! - wait... you were leaning towards me,” Kagome pondered out loud, her brows furrowed, “...you were... does that mean…?” she breathed the last part, chocolate eyes coming back to look at Inuyasha.

An impish smile tugs at his lips, “Keh!... I guess the cat’s out of the bag, uh?”. He set his eyes on her, his face still red as a tomato. Kagome searched through his eyes and could only see genuine tenderness in them, and it was enough to make her heart soar.

A stupid grin appeared on her face “...You really feel that way?”

Inuyasha can’t help but grin back at her. “Yeah, I do… And...I have for a long time, actually.”

Kagome couldn’t suppress the little gasp of surprise that came out of her as one small hand covered her mouth. There was a glint in her eye that made her whole face lit up even more, making her even more beautiful in Inuyasha’s eyes.

“I...me too” she murmured softly.

The hanyou chuckled, incredulous at her words.

“Damn... all this time?”

She nodded.

“Guess we’re both hopeless dorks.”

He turned to face her fully, one of his hands making its way to tenderly hold her hand as they laid listlessly in her lap. He gently squeezed them, then tenderly whispered to her, “I don’t mind that in the least.”

Kagome squeezed his hands back, she felt as if her heart might escape her chest at any moment, the love she had for this man so strong.

Never in a million years could’ve she imagined that not only her best friend was indeed in love with her, but that he also had felt this way for such a long time.

She inched closer to him, firmly holding him in her gaze.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Golden orbs stared back at chocolate-brown ones, the silence between them never once awkward or too heavy. They basked in each other's presence, without the need of any futile comment or explanation.

Ignoring the soreness of their noses, they both leisurely leaned forward. One of Inuyasha’s hands snaked around Kagome’s neck, and his fingers wove into her long hair; she placed her hand on top of his smooth, solid chest - her fingers softly gripping his shirt.

Soon their lips met in a delicate kiss, all the while Kagome’s phone silently recorded their magical moment.

#inuyasha #kagome #inukag #inukag au #fluff #inukag fluff #au #modern au #one shot #Happy Birthday #keichanz #HAPPY LATE BDAY QUEEN

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

Text

An Endless Hope (2/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces which seems awfully familiar along the way.

Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

“Our tires have gone. Cracked and popped.” Red Robin reported, switching the interior car lights on, as Stephanie pulled out a small laptop tablet, switching to checking satellite views of the city. Tim peered at his dashboard, noting, “GPS says we’re down by Stagg Enterprises and the Trigate bridge but honestly… it’s reached whiteout. We can get out and –”

“No.” Batman interrupted. “Stay put. If your tires have frozen up it’s too cold for our suits for any trek across the city. I’m not far in my car. Signal, Robin, what did you find?”

“Mr. Freeze is a dead end.” Duke said over the commlink. “He made the valid point of this not doing much for his research. He was worried about the power outage.”

Red Robin and Batgirl, sat in Tim’s redbird car, watched the snow fly around them, heating blasting out hot air to keep the car and them from freezing. Tim peered out the windscreen, whiteout leaving them blind to the world. They could leave, but it was approaching minus thirty. Their regular suits were good… but not that good. For the moment, they were stranded, waiting for Bruce and his tank of a Batmobile to come to the rescue.

“It’s bizarre.” Batgirl said, scrolling through data. “Weather doesn’t work like this. The storm is just over Gotham. That’s not…that’s not physically possible. Blizzards are usually hundreds of miles wide. Not thirty and constricted to a bay. It came out of nowhere. There’s no way the air could grow cold that fast to freeze all that water naturally. And the wind is at eighty miles per hour. Normally it’s around forty.”

“The Flash has a weather themed villain.” Robin supplied.

“I checked.” Cassandra’s quiet voice, barely audible over the storm she was standing in, came over the speakers. The screaming wind cut off when she got inside, the door of wherever she was slamming shut. “He’s in Iron Heights. It’s not him.”

Stephanie continued to look through local news, in and outside of the city, desperate for someone over social media to have spotted something manmade about the phenomena. Tim jolted next to her violently, hands flailing over the steering wheel.

“Someone walk over your grave?”

“What?”

Stephanie put down the tablet and leaned over, staring at the white surrounding them. “Or did you see something?”

“You’d think I was crazy.”

“I’ve learned not to doubt gut instincts, Red Robin. They’re there for a reason. Especially yours.” Unable to spot anything but white, she looked back at him. Like her, his cowl was down, his nose red, skin very white. He looked frightened and instantly Stephanie became alarmed. “What is it? Did you see something?”

She whirled back around, hair falling around her shoulders and back. It really was too long at this point, but Tim reached up and tangled his fingers into it. Something to hold onto. He tried not to tug on her too hard.

“I just think someone’s watching us... me.”

“What? Who? Bad guy?”

“I think I’m seeing things.”

Stephanie hummed, slowly retreating into her seat.

“I’ll bop ‘em if they hurt you.”

Colour returned to Tim’s cheeks, and he smiled. “I know.”

The sound of roaring engines became audible over the car’s heating, and a little too close for comfort, the black Batmobile emerged, parking directly in front.

“Get in you two. I can’t drag the car with your tires gone. Lock it down, Red Robin. When the storm lessens, we’ll retrieve it.”

“Go ahead Batgirl. Locking it down will take a second.”

“’Kay.” She kicked her way out, fighting against the wind. Her cape, weighted so it wouldn’t fly up and around her face in such conditions, billowed out behind her, but her hair flew up and around her face. It made her stumble a little ungraciously as she felt her way around the car, opening the door enough to slide in the back.

“Jesus.” She breathed. Batman was looking over his shoulder, checking she was unharmed.

“I told you to cut your hair.”

“Yeah, yeah. I braided it but the wind…”

Bruce grunted. “We can’t do anything. We give it two more hours to show signs of passing. If not –”

“Call in the League?”

Batman’s face indicated he was not happy with the idea, but it was still the best solution. They were trained for street level crime, not climate change.

Tim tumbled in a moment later, shaking from the cold, slapping the ice and snow that had collected on his costume. Reaching across, Stephanie took off her gloves and placed her warm fingers on his cheeks, hissing at the cold. Tim sighed and closed his eyes, shivering.

“Where’s the others?” Stephanie asked, watching Tim’s shudders lessen as he warmed up again.

Bruce set off, heading back to Bristol.

“In the city tunnels. A lot of people are taking shelter there. They’ll be heading back now. We just have to wait it out for now.”

Stephanie did not miss the loathing in his tone at such an inaction.

“We can’t do anything for the time being.” Tim stated. “But when it passes –”

“If it passes.” Batman grumbled.

“–Then we’ll work overtime to help with recovery.”

Stephanie nodded emphatically in agreement.

“It’s not good enough.” Bruce muttered.

Stephanie went to remove her hands from Tim but to her shock he actually reached up and snatched her wrists, pulling her back. Damn, he really was cold. Usually he wasn’t that grabby.

“Sometimes ‘not good enough’ is all we can do.” Tim bit back.

Holding her breath, noting the tension in the car rising with the steady hot air being blasted, Stephanie pinched Tim’s nose, desperate to break the potential argument. Tim looked at her, a little outraged. Stephanie ignored him, speaking to Batman,

“Whoever did this – if it is a who – we’ll hold them to account.”

It really wasn’t good enough, and Bruce did not respond. The drive back was odd, Bruce relying on technology to navigate through the city. As soon as they cleared the bridge however, visibility resumed. It was a blizzard – a bad one – but nothing compared to what seemed to be only growing in intensity over the three main islands of Gotham.

When they arrived back at the cave, Stephanie asked Alfred to take a look at Tim, worried about his body temperature. She snuggled up to him, arms wrapped around his waist, cheek to cheek, as she tried to erase his shivering.

“Honey, why are you so cold? We weren’t exposed long.”

“Just feel cold. Like in my bones.”

She rubbed his back, trying to friction up some heat.

“Cuddle away then.”

“You’re like a furnace. It’s nice.” He sighed.

Alfred came over, took one look at Tim and shrugged off any major concern.

“Just a chill.” He confirmed after taking Tim’s temperature. “Take a warm – not hot – shower.”

“Sure Alfred.”

He went to walk off, hand around Stephanie’s, but she dug her feet in.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m gonna wait for the others to come back safe.”

Tim blinked, then looked down at his grip. She wasn’t showing it, but with a dropping sensation in his stomach, he realised how tightly he was squeezing her. Mechanically, finger by finger, he let go.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll be a little bit.”

She smiled, worry leaking through, and he dashed off. She flexed her wrist, hissing a little at its stiffness. Tim was just spooked by the weather, she told herself. Nothing more.

The others returned soon enough, following the city sewer systems back to the cave entrance. Tim eventually came back too, in warmer clothes, dry hair and a calmer disposition, and everyone sat by the computer, and waited.

*****

“How certain are you of this lead?” Tim asked three mornings later.

Bruce ran a hand across his face. It had been a long three days, Wayne Enterprises was going to be funding quite a number of building sites and repairs to basic utilities over the coming weeks, but for now, the weather had calmed enough for people to emerge from the lockdown. The streets were now filled with people enjoying the snow, to which Tim couldn’t blame them. There was something beautiful about freshly fallen snow and a horizon which blurred the line between sky and ground.

“Not very,” Bruce admitted, approaching the piano. “Hence why I’m only taking Robin with me.”

Damian’s little chest puffed out – proud to be the chosen one to accompany his father. Bruce looked at Stephanie, Tim, Duke and Cassandra as he spoke, deliberately holding their gaze to convey the importance he held their task.

“You four are remaining in Gotham. I’m trusting you to look after it until we get back. There shouldn’t be any major operations. The river is frozen, and many roads are blocked still with up to six feet of snow. But still, do what you can.”

“Be safe.” Cassandra urged.

Stephanie gave a tiny wave to Damian, who’s hand twitched to return the goodbye, but thought better of it, and he tutted and turned to follow.

Uncomfortable silence filled the house as the clock closed behind the two, leaving the four remaining members of the family stood awkwardly.

“Now what?” Steph asked, pushing back the heavy curtains to peer outside. “College is cancelled, no schools, no work… At least the snow has stopped. Should we monitor for problems or take a break… just for an afternoon.”

She looked back to smile at Duke, Cass and Tim, tilting her jaw outside. Cassandra clapped her hands in joy. “I saw on the tv people playing in the snow. I never have before.”

Duke gave an encouraging noise. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Snowball fight.”

Tim looked reluctant, until Stephanie elbowed him in the gut and agreed with Duke, saying, “Yeah. Sounds good. Need a bit of levity right now, huh?”

She raised her eyebrows, and Tim got the message.

“Oh! Yes. Sounds good!”

His tone was forcibly cheery, but he would warm up to the idea when actually outside, Stephanie thought.

Alfred, with the hearing of a bat, poked his head around a door frame. “Please wrap up warm, and shower when you are finished to bring your body temperature back up.”

“Can we have coco, Alfred?” Cassandra pled, eyes big as dinner plates.

“Yes, sounds a lovely idea. Try to get some joy from the terrible weather please, all of you.”

Cassandra burst off to get wrapped up, the other three trailing behind.

Stephanie laughed at Cassandra’s exuberance, trying to get her shoes on quicker. The Manor, built on the hill in the way it was, meant that the five feet of snowfall hadn’t reached the back door and steps. It did mean though, after some shoving by Cassandra, the door heaved open. She ran out, throwing herself down the stairs and onto a hug pile of freshly laid snow. She faceplanted with a shriek of joy, quickly creating snow angels. Stephanie trotted after her, calling,

“Cassie, have you ever made a snowman before?”

“No!”

“Me either. Help me?”

Tim watched for a little while as the girls – for a lack of a better term – frolicked in the white snow. Cassandra stood out more against the white, dressed from head to toe in black, Stephanie in that blinding white, purple and green jacket blended in a little more with the landscape. He was quite content to just sit on the salted steps and watch, but a solid smack to the back of his neck, snow and ice sneaking down his collar, made him squeal.

Duke laughed, “Bad form, dude! Gotta keep your eyes peeled!”

“Jesus!” Tim choked out, reflexively grabbing a pile of snow and flinging it back weakly. A snowball fight ensued.

Alfred watched the four from the kitchen window, more than a little delighted at the childish screams of joy that made their way across the Estate. At least some people were finding joy in such miserable weather. As an adult, snow only meant pain.

Transport difficulties, concerns about plumbing and electricity, would the roof cope? What if there’s flooding? Need to clear the sidewalks and drives and roads. Is there enough food to keep us going long enough for the storm to pass?

So many worries.

For children, it only meant wrapping up warmer, maybe missing a week of school, and games outside.

Never mind, let them enjoy it for a little while longer.

Alfred noted that flurries of snow had begun to fall, though immediately he could tell they snow was larger and slower falling than the other night. Still, the four had been outside for a couple of hours by this point, perhaps it was time for them to come in.

He moved away from the stove, turning off the heat on the milk, and making his way to the door to call them back in to warm up.

He managed to get the door open only to be met with a violent shriek from Tim, his body falling to the floor and curling up in a ball.

Instantly the frivolity stopped, and Stephanie burst across the snow. She wrapped around him, pushing his hand away from his eye. Cassandra and Duke hovered around, nervous and unsure.

“It wasn’t me.” Duke begged, “He was looking up, I didn’t throw anything at him.”

Stephanie cooed, trying to see the damage.

“What happened? Is it your eye? Did something get in your eye?”

“Get him inside so we can take a better look,” Alfred urged. “I worry the weather is only going to deteriorate.”

Alfred quickly put on the fire in one of the sitting areas and sat Tim down on the rug. He still had the heel of his palm pressed to his left eye socket. Cassandra and Duke continued to hover, nervous at the damage. Stephanie came through from the kitchen with a cold compact in case there was any swelling. She knelt in front of Tim.

“Can I see?”

Tim gave her a suspicious look, which she didn’t understand. Reaching him, she went to peel his hand away, and he flinched back. Her outreached hand froze in mid-air.

“Does it really hurt?” She asked. “Do we need to get to the hospital somehow?”

“No. I don’t want you touching me.”

She shook her head, reaching for him again. She tried to gently tease, “We can’t fix it if we can’t see what’s wrong. It’ll just take a second.”

Stephanie pushed back his hair from his forehead, as she always did to comfort him. She heard Cassandra gasp before she realised what happened, but Tim recoiled at the touch and – even worse – slapped her hand away from his face.

“I mean it. Don’t.”

It had been a while since he had directed such a sharp rebuke towards her. Her palm stung with the force he had smacked her with. Immediately, she entered a panic.

“You… Okay. I won’t. Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

His sneering look did not fade, and it made Stephanie get up off the floor. She passed the cold press to Alfred, who Tim, still looking supremely uncomfortable, allowed to examine the damage.

She left the room and the manor, sitting on the steps to try and calm down. Weird how one sharp word could make her feel like she was five years old again. The falling snow muffled the sounds of the Estate, and everything was eerily quiet, save the sound of her panicked breathing.

Immediately Cassandra came out and joined her, wrapping her up in a hug.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” Stephanie whined.

“I know.”

Stephanie leaned down, forehead resting on Cassandra’s bony arms. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me. He’ll feel bad later, and you can talk it out.”

Stephanie nodded, knowing Cassandra was right. In the meantime, she flexed her hand, the one Tim had hit so sharply.

“He’s yelled at me before…”

“But never looked at you like that?”

“No.” Stephanie’s lip quivered. “I’m overthinking it.”

“You aren’t yourself when you’re in pain.”

Stephanie nodded fervently and frantically. “Right, right.”

They sat still for a while, listening to the silence. Then the door opened once more. It was Tim. Immediately Stephanie was on her feet. His eye looked fine, not even bloodshot or swollen.

“Are you okay?” She asked. He looked at her, suspicion gone but now a little bored and pouty.

“Fine. Listen, can we go home now?”

“Home?”

“To the apartment.” Tim shuffled in place, looking disgruntled. “I’d drive myself but Alfred won’t let me. My eye is fine.”

Confused, but deciding to not make a scene until they were alone, Stephanie nodded. “I’ll have to go slow. I don’t know how much of the roads have been cleared.

“Whatever.” He murmured, looking distracted.

Cassandra gave Stephanie a look which was a little unreadable. Stephanie gave her thanks to Alfred, and waved goodbye to Duke.

The drive back was painful in every possible way. Stephanie’s little purple car was sturdy, but she still went much slower than normal. Tim curled up in his seat next to her, head pressed to his knees. She could see that with one hand he was aggressively clawing at the centre of his chest, near his heart. Neither spoke for the duration of the drive.

When they got parked up, he slowly and stiffly got up and out. Stephanie grabbed her phone and messaged Duke that they had survived the journey.

She arrived in the apartment after Tim, finding him looking around the space with his lip curled. He didn’t look impressed with the place, as if it wasn’t his own home that he had decorated and lived in.

She sat her bag down by the door, and walked over to him.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re okay? I hurt you earlier.”

“No. You didn’t.” He said, moving through to the kitchen. Whatever he was looking for wasn’t to be found, and he migrated upstairs to their bedroom. She followed, anxious about leaving him alone.

“Can I see your eye? I’d feel better taking a look myself.”

He sighed like she had asked the world of him and plopped himself at the foot of their bed.

“Hurry up, then.”

She approached him like she would a rabid dog, turning on the overhead light so she could properly see. Gently, she rested her fingertips on his cheek and brow bone.

Like he said, there was nothing amiss.

“What happened?” She breathed. “If nothing hurt you –”

“You’re really warm.” He interrupted. His disinterested look became hungry, and Stephanie dropped her hands, only for Tim to catch her wrists. His fingers were frozen, which should not have been the case after a car ride where the heating had been keeping them toasty. Stephanie felt a lump of ice form in her gut.

“Tim, stop it. What’s going on?”

“Cold.” He murmured. He squeezed her wrists tighter, tight enough to make her twist out of his grip in fear. Immediately he stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling into to her. Stephanie became stiff, listening to him licking his lips and mutter, “You’re warm. Hot. Need…”

Backing off just enough to look her in the eye, his expression twitched, and naked panic appeared for just a moment. Trying to maintain a poker face, Stephanie released herself from his grip, unnerved. Removed from her warmth his apathy returned, and the tenseness in his posture fled.

Confused, Stephanie massaged her wrists, and tried to buy herself some time.

“Go take a nap and warm up. Okay? Just… Just go take a nap.”

He smiled at her, but not warmly. It was mocking. “Yes, mother.”

The feeling of dread only rose and spread. She felt like there was a permanent clump in her throat. Finding there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t result in an argument, she just turned and left, leaving Tim’s sardonic smirk behind.

He had never made her uncomfortable before. Never. He had been angry with her. He had argued with her. He had yelled at her, belittled her, and once or twice in moments they never spoke about, he had been physically violent with her (the unspoken excuse was, both times, he didn’t actually know it was her… as if that made it acceptable). But never had she been made to feel unsafe. Tim was predictable in his moods. Whatever was going on frightened her. She shouldn’t have come back alone with him.

Maybe she could message Cass or Duke…they could get here in around an hour and…

While her mind raced, she resolved to make some comfort food for dinner. She opened the fridge, finding casserole beef that would be out of date in two days, an onion, a carrot, and three potatoes.

“Good enough.” She muttered and set to work.

Two hours later, as the stew continued to cook slowly in the oven and she was washing the dishes, Tim came downstairs quietly. He made his way over to Stephanie, finding it a little amusing how she tensed up when he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Stephanie managed to not gasp out loud when he pulled her long hair out of the way and pressed kisses to her neck, but she couldn’t help the involuntary goosebumps and risen fine hairs. He was frigid.

“How are you feeling?” Stephanie asked.

“Had a nap.” He rested his sharp chin on her shoulder. “I made you worry, didn’t I?”

She said nothing at his patronising tone, not sure what to say. Yes, and you still are. What the hell is wrong with you right now? But no, she was trying to be good and not respond and set off an argument.

“My eye’s fine.” He continued.

“That’s good.” She said, slowly leaning back so she could take off the rubber gloves. The moment she did, one of his hands snaked down to intertwine with her own. That did make her gasp, and flinch, but his grip on her waist tightened.

“What are you making?”

“Some stew to warm you up.” She replied, voice aggressively chipper.

Tim looked over to the oven, unimpressed.

“It stinks.”

Somehow that was the breaking point for Steph, who threw her arms back and moved away.

“What is your problem, huh?”

He looked back, almost gleeful. “You’re upset.”

“No shit I’m upset! Something’s wrong! You got something in your eye that made you fall to the ground in pain and now it’s nothing? You are physically cold as ice and you’re just being a pain and mean and childish and –”

“Childish. Childish?” He looked to the side as if he had a bright idea and moved away, back into the living room. “I thought you wanted that.”

“God, Tim, what are you blathering on abo—”

She cut herself off as he stood next to the windowsill with the flowers. It had been a couple of weeks since they had brought them home, and they were doing well, even with the general lack of sunlight. Tim stared at them like they were weeds, with nothing notable or pleasant about them, then he smiled maniacally.

With a carelessness comparable to a toddler throwing a tantrum, Tim pulled his red roses off the windowsill, the pot crashing and soil flying everywhere. Stephanie couldn’t help it, she screamed, stuck in place by the kitchen.

“Tim, no! No! Why would you… No don’t! Please don’t!”

His hand was hovering over her lilac flowers. His awful smile froze, then fell away, leaving an equally awful emptiness. His hand trembled, and his fingers instead stroked the petals. Stephanie twitched, half ready to body slam him if he threw her plant on the ground.

His hand fell away, and Stephanie – shamefully – began to cry. He had left her roses alone but wrecked his own.

“Why would you do that?”

He looked at her like she was stupid for not getting the joke. “They’re so ugly. And I thought it would be funny. Your face.”

“Funny?” She sniffed, eyesight blurry and nose running. She couldn’t bear how bored he sounded, how mean he was being.

“When you get all angry and hot.”

“Tim! You don’t do that to someone you care about!”

“Care about you? Do I?” He blinked, uncomprehending. He had gotten distracted again and was looking out the window at the snow.

She shrieked, feeling like she was talking to a brick wall or an uncaring five-year-old. She rushed over to his wrecked plant, trying to pack the soil together as best she could. Tim watched her for a moment, then kicked the spilt soil and plant. Stephanie flinched away, staring at the scattered dirt. Intentionally or not, he’d hit her hands that were trying to salvage the situation. It was such an unnecessarily spiteful and painful thing to do, that finally she’d had enough. Stephanie got up, and shoved Tim.

“Stop it.”

He didn’t look satisfied with her reaction anymore, and asked, “Do you want me to leave?”

“I want you to stop being so fucking cruel.”

It was like her words were literally going in one ear and out the other. It was like he wasn’t even talking to her, rather he was talking at her. Or he was talking to someone (something) else. “I’ll go then. I’ll go. I’m bored.”

She watched, mystified, as he put his shoes back on. He looked at her once and tilted his head like a confused dog, then moved back towards her. Still crying, she choked out,

“What are you –”

He kissed her, once, desperately. She flinched away, feeling violated for the first time in years. It seemed he was not happy with the kiss either. He looked off to the side, sucking on his tongue, musing the flavour. He shook his head once.

“No good.”

Stephanie stared, heartbroken. Tim just shrugged, like the entire thing was nothing more than a mild conversation about the weather. Grabbing her car keys. He opened the front door, giving a half-hearted farewell. And then he was gone. No coat, no gloves, no scarf. The snow flurries had picked up once more, as had the wind. He was going to very quickly freeze out in the open dressed like that. Even if he did have the car, getting stranded was a real possibility in the storm.

Hating him, but also petrified, Stephanie resolved to drag him back inside. She’d make him sit down, shove the stew she’d made down his stupid throat, then call Batman. She didn’t care what he and Robin were doing at the South Pole, something had gone very wrong back home.

Stephanie grabbed the apartment keys and grabbed her own shoes, running after him. The lights flickered, a power surge apparently occurring due to the storm, and she tripped over their pile of shoes at the front door and she tugged it open.

“You dick!” She screeched to the howling wind. No sign of Tim though, or her car. She jolted, confused at how he could have pulled out of sight that quickly. Already the tire tracks were covered in a fresh layer of snow. Her confusion quickly returned to anger.

Fuck him, she thought spitefully, slamming the door shut and going back inside. Getting back down to see what of his roses had survived his abuse. She cleared space in her own box, hoping that they would take in their temporary home.

She then went to call him, for once being the first to crack after an argument of theirs, only to realise before she clicked his face that his phone was still in his jacket that was hung on the rack.

He really had left the house with nothing on him but the clothes on his back.

She didn’t know what to do. She’d been an idiot during their time at the Manor and had left behind her suit, leaving her stuck inside with nothing warm or secure enough to go hunting for her purple car. As several hours passed, the more her anger made way for pure grief.

That wasn’t Tim. Never in a million years would he be that cruel. Angry yes, spiteful sometimes, but not callous. And he did care about her. She knew that for a fact. More than she believed almost anything else. Even when their relationship was at its worst, he had said, word for word, that he still loved her.

He wouldn’t make fun of her until she cried, he wouldn’t hit and kick her, he wouldn’t wreck a present that he knew was important to her, he wouldn’t be such a self-absorbed brat.

The wind screamed outside, and Stephanie blinked.

Freak storm. Tim’s adverse reaction. The pain in his eye and drastic mood swing.

The whole thing stank of something unnatural.

It was next to nothing to go off, but she had to try and see where that line of thought would lead. First things first though, she needed Tim to come home.

But he didn’t.

Panicking wouldn’t do any good. Tim could look after himself. Even in a storm like last night. Her little car was given to her by Bruce. It was as sturdy as a tank. He would be fine.

But still. Stephanie panicked and did not sleep that night. Instead she sat in the living room, drinking mug of tea after mug of tea, watching her roses and the snow blowing outside through the window. Occasionally she’d burst into tears, not sure what to do or what to say. She could brave the storm, maybe? But Tim didn’t have a key. What if he came home and couldn’t get in? What if he found a phone and called her, would she go to him then? What if, what if, what if?

Stephanie wondered briefly who people coped not knowing where their loved ones were before mobiles became extensions of their arms.

Maybe he’d just left Gotham, gone out of the city and away from the storm. It was minus twenty that night, again unbearably cold. Stephanie sat still, grief stricken, and waited for Tim to come home.

He never did.

Come the morning, she started her hunt, looking at the CCTV footage of Park Row and the neighbouring streets and businesses, but found nothing. The footage blinked, showing Tim exiting the apartment, then he and the car was gone, and it was Stephanie poking her head out to yell.

It was like he had shut the front door behind him and vanished. Or it would have been, if not for the fact that that blip of a power surge had happened at an awfully convenient time.

She messaged Cass and Duke, who confirmed that he did not return to the manor. A quiet enquiry to the Titans showed he had not made his way West either. The storm over Gotham that night was almost as bad as the first. He would have died if he did not find shelter.

The stink of the unnatural grew.

Her grief turned to panic, and two more awful days passed. The three of them took to frantic searching across the city, but a fresh layer snow made tracking her car difficult. Even worse, the GPS system installed by Bruce on her car (a safety precaution to now where she was at any given moment) wasn’t working. It hadn’t since Stephanie and Tim had arrived at the apartment.

Duke checked the different homes the Drake’s had owned just in case he had holed himself up there. The townhouse, the mansion in Bristol, but nothing. Cassandra and Stephanie had checked every safe house in Gotham, but no luck.

Duke wanted to inform Batman. Whatever lead Bruce was chasing, this was doubly important. One of his children had gone missing. Cassandra disputed Duke. Bruce had an entire city to worry about, adding Tim’s disappearance would not make him more urgent. If anything, it would make him sloppier. Nothing made Bruce more irrational than his family in danger. Let him tackle the issue with a clear head. The three of them in Gotham could find Tim.

But three days later, they hadn’t.

So Cassandra conceded, and the awful call to Bruce was made. Stephanie did not speak to him, but judging by Cass’ face after the conversation ended, it had not gone well. She relayed the information that his own search had been a dead end and would be home before the evening came round.

This served to make an anxious bubbling a permanent fixture in Stephanie’s gut. Surely if Bruce was coming home, the problem would be resolved?

A problem she had allowed to happen. Letting Tim just waltz out into a blizzard great job Steph.

No-one blamed Stephanie, though she certainly blamed herself. Tim’s roses were not taking to their shared space with Stephanie’s, and it felt like a miserable metaphor of how their relationship was seemingly incompatible.

What the actual hell had happened?

Staring at the roses, and hating herself a little, she decided to go speak to one of the few people in Gotham who maybe would have a clue about what was happening to the natural world.

Poison Ivy had a connection to the Green, whatever that was. It was a shot in the dark, but maybe Pamela would have heard something through the literal grapevine about what was causing the horrendous weather. From there, maybe Stephanie could chase a lead to Tim, and bring him home.

Alive. Preferably.

#dc #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag

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ckcker · 4 years

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I Walk in Madness

Nobody has or can have all the information, but they have the requisite amount of information and agony in combination to believe they accurately see the entire thing. I don’t and can never have all the information, but still I must have an opinion that seems binding or confident. The information I selected and pressed into an opinion is now my special soul, and defines me. It must be released and time-stamped to show that at one point, I made this all-encompassing definition, which is a summary of my self and the window of all my beliefs hereafter. Elevate yourself to say, “I no longer wonder.”

I have made myself publicly available; all that the community asks of you is that you participate. To not participate is to disrespect those who put all of their time, effort and mental filaments into the ideal of community. Such a reclusive impulse should be modified swiftly but in the most holistic way if possible, it is not helpful for others. It is not helpful for you. It is, at heart, cowardly, as it turns away in fear from the difficulties involved in building a resilient, healthy and just community. It courts isolation as a comfort, when in fact voluntary isolation is the fortification of unhealthy habits and delusional or paranoid thought processes which precariously redirect the lost person away from the tough but rewarding civic duties necessary to building a fact-driven social network. If I am lonely at night, the solution is to participate. Though I walk in madness, I end up at the voting booth. A discussion takes place in which everyone pretends to know how recycling works; one inches towards integration. Recipes are shared, and an evening passes with an attempt to perfect avocado gazpacho.

I love traditional open-toed sandals. Making the body more vulnerable to the elements of the outside world shows a general dissipating apprehension. Though current events inevitably fade in relevance and thus sustained public attention, their emotional immediacy and rousing thrust are exceptionally good at forcing the under-opinionated to participate and commune with others. Opinions always coalesce under the pressure of current events, and since current events are established and projected much more widely and much more often in this era, it follows that one should have more opinions, and participate more. Of all the methods I’ve tried, the most effective and least artificial toner I’ve used is two tablespoons of rose water mixed with 1 cup of filtered water. The rose water I use is a brand from Lebanon and you can probably find it in a local middle eastern grocery store. Having a very public life no longer makes me uneasy!

I published the post and I was feeling satisfied, though very likely no other person would see it. My only patron appeared to be a woman in her early 40s with hard bangs and a diamond choker smiling in her icon’s bubble, with arm around a presumed husband and the suggestive text “Be Kind” pegged in lower left corner in hot pink with white outline. Miscellaneous background details in the icon, particularly a hanging silver streamer, communicated that at the time of the photo this woman had been at a New Years party. Her silent interpretation of my persistently scarce content was eager musing territory for me when her icon focused my attention in the midst of a wild scroll, or when her face and militarized endorsement of kindness intruded with the elegance of a twirling maple samara upon my mind during a bout of fear-walking. She made no effort to contact me, had no posts of her own or even personalized layout style, and yet she hypothetically watched me. Of course it was pointless on her end — my posts were designed solely for the tactical misdirection of algorithmic spectres, conceived and published only in order to convince those supra-wiggly archivists of instinct that I was overwhelmingly a different person. I did not want even the smallest gleak of truth to land online. This “lost mind” plan even extended to my video watching and digital window shopping maneuvers, though in the case of the former it was impossible to totally restrain myself from a true curiosity and craving to pursue certain videos. This lack of impulse control expanded even more robustly when porn entered an afternoon; it was insurmountable to search and watch against the specific desires and images I knew would satisfy me the most. Yet I tried in rapid toe dips, once spending eleven minutes on a video of a nude bodybuilder shot-putting a collection of corns and lettuces into a wall, and with no o-face to conjure.

“I walk in madness” was both my unorthodox phrase of meditation and most important sentence of self-parody. When walking around at night in a certain state, I would now and then repeat to myself, “I walk in madness.” After this I would laugh and say, “that’s dramatic.” Self-parody swooped in to dehydrate the potential mirages, delusions. But no other summary was as accurate — literally I walked in madness. From the habits of my mind, a complex system had emerged and, quite simply, enveloped my unhinged ass. I had strobe-nurtured my preferences for “the best way to think” over the last several years, so that now I was only sufficiently energized when mentally combining (1), an act of making fun of myself for feeling out of sorts, with (2), an earnest attempt at my own healing. This perverse combo made me feel very aware but rarely good. And when these thought commands then marinated in the head to a fully abusive gush, there was one more thing to consider. What was the source of that powerful sensation that took me over when I went walking alone and without a plan at night? What was it in the body that prodded me along that highly nummy snack trail of mini-catharses? What was the source of those tiny pecks of transcendence that scattered down the back of the neck when nearing the production of an abyss? That is, I did not only walk in madness because I had to, but also because it had become fun. It raveled me on a line leading to some other connection, a connection which was not to The World. It promised recognition of and commune with everything that did not matter or had not ever been confirmed to exist.

These areas were very important to pay attention to — I had ignored them for the majority of my, to be acutely real, goofiest years, it was important to know everything that was possible. This was my routine. I walked with glamour in circular patterns around less populated city neighborhoods at night, always listening to music that accentuated a spike in insane flavoring. I only chose music that had the strength to combine halo and blurred hole, it was always music that floored my sensation to its final speed. I knew I was so lucky to have built-in machinery that let me expand all of my reserves through music. It was my only advantage. It made me proud to turn inward. If my skill was extreme sensitivity, it could only flourish in its most insular and native format.

But I desperately needed new songs to fill me up, and over-listened as a resting state. I over-listened, and a night out, i.e. the sustained advancement of nightlife over several hours, was an exhausting condition for me. In a bar, I was penetrated by the old song I had heard over two thousand times before, but which now had been remixed in a contemporary style wherein synth stabs commanded by creatine hands had replaced what was once very clean, antiquated AOR guitar strumming. The popular song I had highly ignored for the length of my life, and which hearing did not provoke outrage (or even flashback to wedding dance floor) but instead perpetual indifference in me, had been updated using the most cutting edge technology to produce aural depths not possible with the recording equipment available when the song was originally produced, and which now plunged the emotions much further down and much harder. The original voice was now placed in a melancholy minefield of hysterically deep bass and plummeting, omnidirectional dynamics and, when the remix passed through the tequila that I was allowing to patrol my body, it replicated itself with viral menace to produce in me the extraterrestrial threat of a single tear.

In this instance of a night out, Rob had invited me to this bar and party that I had never been to before. Where I had expected to see more of his friends or even the endless hallway of acquaintances he seemed to be able to mobilize at random, instead I only saw Gail, revealing the conditions were such that Gail and I were the only people Rob had invited to the event. There I stood under the song, almost leaking with melody-induced sentimentality or globular nostalgia mucus. I looked across at Gail who was leaning on a wall, who did not seem to be able to observe me after our initial greeting when I arrived at the bar. She appeared to not take in much information when moved from location to location, and when looking in her eyes I did not ever get the sensation that enormous perspectival changes were part of her social rhythm. A common conclusion from a young person would be that she was fried, but whether as a condition of drugs/alcohol/trauma or some combo, there had not been any stories shared on which to focus a rock hard drama-horny eye. Though I yearned to know what details flanked the long road leading to her hellscape, I realized it was unjust since I wasn’t prepared to present the full set of demonic coordinates that had led to mine. How can one appeal with another story of lost sleep? “Awake all night” is not the story anyway, yes we know, please make your complaining entertaining. I was in the heart of the club, I understood it was not the moment to emerge brumal vapors in the form of uninteresting plot points excerpted from my very personal checklist of booboos. “Oops,” the convicted serial killer said when the public did not like the realistic paintings he made of his victims while in jail. Gurn: it was possible for the public to see horrifying paintings made by a serial killer.

Several screens around the bar played the same music video, which the dance floor area magnified via projection on the wall, so that, in the most emotional part of the bar, emotion was keyed up considerably by the illusion of entering the world suggested by the song. Rob and the bartender were near cheek-to-cheek, taking turns cocking their heads to the side so the voice of the other could enter the ear successfully over the newest Chicago house-derived, 80s-synthpop-infused rap song scorching the lair. Gail stayed against the wall, looking around but appearing totally comfortable, a woman in her 60s drinking a High Life surrounded by a different generation, I was moved. Being young is incredibly dangerous. The bartender poured Rob and himself shots and they downed them together.

Snippets of Gail’s circumstances had reached me, I knew she had been living with her son in Texas but now was essentially homeless, that Rob and Q.C. had met her at a goth club where she was hanging out with a much younger woman named Lillian. Lillian would often be run into at the goth club or other clubs and bars, flirting with Rob and Q.C., and though she was definitely younger than Gail, she wore enough makeup to sufficiently alter minds and, with the support of moody bar lighting that left certain preferred corners in medium darkness, had an age that was unrecognizable. “My instinct tells me she’s at least 35,” Rob had suggested after explaining to me the situation and after a long silence in which I didn’t respond or engage at all with what he had just said. The pause had felt uncomfortable and also unnatural after such bulbous gossip so he apparently felt it important to break the silence with this one more detail of her estimated age. I knew it would make both of us more comfortable if I said something in response to the story of Gail and Lillian but I didn’t, in the end, have anything to say, and so Rob told me he thought Lillian was at least 35, and I responded, “oh.” Lillian and Gail were good friends and Lillian would often bring Gail along to the goth club; Gail did not dress on theme. Eventually Rob learned she lived in her car and he invited her to stay with him for an unspecified amount of time. Inevitably this increased my estimation of Rob’s worldview. When he would decide once again it was time to throw trash from the neighborhood off the 2nd floor apartment balcony — for instance a decommissioned flatscreen or legless American Girl doll — Gail, watching through the open door from the beige velvet couch, would laugh once.

Rob concluded his interaction with the bartender, turned to me and explained the bartender was hot and straight, and when the bartender worked the weekly gay night they held at the bar, he would appropriately enhance his image in honor of the conventional gay male eye — pouring himself into a tight black tank top that demonstrated his tactful chest hair and relevant bicep gains was the respectful thing to do. “I’m going to dance now,” Rob said as a commanding female voice shook the establishment with its first notes.

I wandered over with him but stuck to the doorway that connected the bar area to the dance floor, watching as he threw himself, alone, into the writhing environs, quite clogged with personal freedoms. The mass of dancers sang the chorus of the song all together, the subject matter concerned a protagonist that felt jealous and sad to see their long pined after crush dancing with another girl. In fact the protagonist likely never had a chance with the person who was their crush but had built up a dream narrative in which their idealistic love with this person was nearing possibility. In the midst of such crushing circumstances, the protagonist, now left alone and heartbroken at some event they likely attended simply to engage further with their crush, has decided to dance through their loneliness despite it all, even if it will only enliven them for a moment, and for the length of the song. Rob danced “with” almost anyone he turned his body towards. Some people engaged, dancing back, and others stealthily maneuvered away. At some point it was discernible that he no longer had on shoes or socks. A girl very much liked that, drawing her friend’s attention to the fact, then touching Rob on the arm, saying something inaudible. All three laughed. I stood and watched, occasionally pinged by passing bodies gunning for the most emotional part of the bar. I watched the video on the projection screen. The female vocalist danced specifically, had short pink bowl cut hair, conveyed well-lit and accessible agony. Several bar dancers unmistakably entered a sub-orgasmic flehmen response. My left shoulder reflexively darted front and back — a significant space-grabber had brushed me by on their way to the dance floor. It was eventually revealed to be Gail. I watched her scream “YAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” as she launched herself into the crowd.

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majeregaming232 · 3 years

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How to upload to your corsair gaming mouse

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crystalliccs · 4 years

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@makersruins – Crystal Tower Era.

ONE SKILLFUL HAND GRABBED for one particular SCROLL in one of the wooden boxes on his humble desk - one incredibly valuable relic of ancient past who he had managed to acquire just several suns ago, claiming it could help to provide a p o s s i b l e SOLUTION to enter the central spire. Yet, as he realized merely a few hours later after studying such ancient document, it was naught more than another heroic tale, more likely written after the Crystal Tower’s construction. Indeed, the lecture itself was still quite v a l u a b l e – in its own aspect – but unfortunately without any further clues. At least it could now function as example to prove his THESIS, if Thyra could afford time to indulge in the written text. And if she insisted, he was more than w i l l i n g to read it out for her, of course.

MINDLESSLY THE YOUNG HISTORIAN carefully placed the scroll on top the PILE OF TOMES he already arranged for her, placing his thumb underneath his chin, clearly in thought. He had spoken about the Second Astral Era to explain the newly found approach and the significant importance of the mages centuries later and naturally, in order for her to understand the true origins of the Allagan Empire, he had to briefly mention the Third Umbral Era as well. He was certain to have f u l l y explained the relation to these historical events; yet he was uncertain how to proceed now, after having started to elaborate the details of the Allagan Empire. As young boy it always had been quite helpful for him to associate certain topics with certain faces and names – alas history itself was not as easily told and remembered. Ruins and remains of the past were so easily b u r i e d underneath the ground or have turned to DUST over the eons. Truthfully, it was an historian’s lifework to be as utmost a c c u r a t e as possible lest knowledge would endure with severe misinformation.

REDDISH EARS FLOPPED to his head in slight frustration as a rather grim expression filled his u n e q u a l colored eyes. Perchance he should not be so easily a g i t a t e d as he was right now – and it was most certainly not her fault that his mood had been rather f o u l lately. At least she seemed interested to learn; one TRAIT he could greatly respect. And truthfully, to be able to talk like this – freely, without any unnecessary interruptions, was indeed comforting his mind if only for a little. The young man slightly sighed, shrugging as he faced her again.

❝Alas I fear most names of the Third Astral Era are long forgotten to history. Well, with a few exceptions. The most prominent and important individuals of this age such as high-ranking archmages, imperial generals or members of the allagan royalty are fairly commonly mentioned in different ancient scripts, studied by my Baldesion colleagues. For instance, you fought General Phlegethon, a known rebellion leader who was later captured, imprisoned and then altered through means yet unknown to us. Indeed, there is so much we still do not understand so many centuries later. ‘Tis easy to assume that the allagan’s invented aetherochemistry played great role in such endeavor, however. ’Twas such ambition of creating an easier life for everyone, not solely through bloodshed, which lead to the golden age of prosperity. Well, I already told you that the Crystal Tower was constructed to collect and store the endless energies of the sun – one fathomless undertaking to our current aetherical knowledge. Nevertheless, the crystal spire now stands tall in front of us as last remaining witness of unlimited knowledge, erected during peaceful times. Say my friend, can you comprehend yet how discovering the origins of such technology will lead us to be eternalized in historian annals? My blood already sings with anticipation! I wished I…❞

THE YOUNG MAN PAUSED IN HIS WORDS, eyes widening upon seeing the dim flickering of oil lamps behind her, outside his cramped tent. He was no fool to n o t realize it was night by now – albeit he failed to fathom h o w he could not have realized this much sooner. How long had she been with him? Listening to his endless monologue for too many countless hours? Guilt dripped into his limbs upon such REALIZATION that he had, i n d e e d, shamelessly used her to forget his own frustrations for a little while. Forgetting this nagging FEELING OF UNCERTAINTY; of numbing helplessness upon his own c o n d e m n e d fate. He was so very used to only be by himself, brooding over his studies and troubles in a veil of silence, that he had forgotten how it was to have company. Particularly someone like h e r – a praised hero whose strength was indeed worthy of its tales. Perchance because it has been the v e r y f i r s t t i m e to be able to enjoy such moment with another was why he had failed to notice – and mayhap even made her uncomfortable with his bold explanations of HISTORY.

❝My apologies, my friend. ‘Tis true you asked me to elaborate the events of the Third Astral Era but I fear I’ve taken too much of your attention and time.❞

#I FEEL BAD FOR HER HE JUST HAD A THREE HOURS LONG MONOLGUE #and I feel bad for him cause Rammbroes has a short leash on him right now #and all he wants is to actually join the exploration once they finally open the gate sfkfshsf #makersruins #★ | THE CRYSTAL EXARCH ( IC. )

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humanwheatleyslefttoenail · 4 years

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Now I Am An Arsonist [Chapter 1: Critical Error]

Now I Am an Arsonist - When the power goes out at Aperture Science, GLaDOS is unwittingly uploaded into the body of a human test subject in order to preserve her intelligence. Forced to once again seek out the help of Wheatley and Chell, GLaDOS desperately tries to control her emotions before they consume her thoughts a second time.

---

Chapter 1: Critical Error

---

[I was just an acrobat high above the street

Pointing at the ground, the empty sky beneath my feet

The perfect fall

No one could tell at all

That it was killing me]

---

The tests, at least, hadn’t changed.

For what could’ve been hundreds of years, the earth had attempted to swallow Her chambers whole, dragging them down into an overgrown abyss. Even then, the moon dust had stayed firmly adhered to the portal surfaces, the metal doors still creaking and the ceiling still intact. Eons of rain had barely even permeated its surface.

She remembered those centuries with profound regret; dying was not as peaceful as the scientists would suggest. For a machine like Her, death was nothing more than a shift of programming, a new prerogative for the time being. Her own backup program had been endless recall, restarting Her systems over and over again, trying to salvage something. In each of those moments, GLaDOS could feel the scorching heat from the incinerator, the electricity burning through her body before everything became unfathomably dark.

Perhaps in twisted irony, the same woman who’d killed GLaDOS had been the one to inadvertently revive Her. She had to note that, on some level, the improvements She’d made could be partially attributed to a certain [REDACTED] subject.

Without dying, GLaDOS never would’ve fully appreciated how soothing, how wonderful it was to test.

She remembered the urge to solve, to do Science, clawing within Her even as She broke into a thousand pieces.

Now, those tests were better than ever.

These, of course, hadn’t been the first ones they’d found.

The first batch of humans lasted Her a measly week, quickly killed by some of Her easiest tests. Even with reminders, the acid is deadly, the turrets are not huggable, they’d failed within a few chambers.

Disappointing.

As a result, Atlas and P-Body were sent on another mission following the bird incident. She’d been overjoyed when they’d bravely traveled all the way to the bottom of Old Aperture, and found even more humans preserved in cryosleep.

This time would surely be better.

Without the overgrowth, without morons overthrowing Her plots, without test subjects murdering Her, and with all new humans, science could continue.

To GLaDOS, there was nothing more satisfying.

GLaDOS could not smile, but if She could, She was certain that a grin would reach from ear to ear.

Today was a momentous day for technology, for the advancement of Aperture Science. It was as if She’d sent a man to the moon, and he’d announced over radio he was coming back with the recipe for the nuclear bomb.

These humans would be delightful.

Originally, of course, Her plans had been different. The difficulties with Chell had worn down Her admiration for human data. Nonetheless, GLaDOS reminded Herself that every study has an outlier or two. A good scientist doesn’t let those flukes influence their trends.

Human subjects who believed too much in their own individuality tended to suffer the worst test results. Originally, She’d hypothesized that those with high self confidence might perform too well on tests, like Chell had. Chell, however, had been much more practical. If a subject was too self-absorbed, they usually assumed they didn’t have to play by the rules. Why throw a portal on the wall when you can dodge the bullets?

GLaDOS always found their data so disappointing. They were never quite fast enough.

Atlas and P-Body had overcome their own confidence through their excellent teamwork. The knowledge that they depended on a partner humbled them, and the idea of a common goal incentivized them. It gave them patience, a valuable skill for puzzle solving, but just enough assurance for them to know they should continue testing.

GLaDOS wished She’d thought of such an idea sooner. After all, Chell was brilliant on her own, but she’d caused even more trouble when she’d teamed up with Wheatley.

Today would finally be the day She could put those mistakes behind Her. GLaDOS was sure She’d see that all of the other humans would prove Her experience with Chell to be exactly what She knew it was.

An outlier.

A biased result.

A highly improbable exception.

Bad science.

Then again, GLaDOS had learned from Her errors.

She knew for certain that She would not repeat them.

---

The first step was arduous recall.

It’d been extraordinarily difficult to move the test subjects from Old Aperture all the way to the newly renovated Relaxation Center, with entire teams of robots struggling to reconnect Her control over the condemned area. Their work easily took a week to complete as they rewired the dilapidated circuits, only to barely restore function. GLaDOS took what She could get, and rewarded their achievement with immediate, merciful destruction.

When the humans had been successfully relocated, anxiety filled Her servos as She scanned the cryo-chambers. Upon reading the results, She found herself pleasantly surprised. Good physical condition for hundreds of years in stasis. Relatively low rates of severe brain damage. Nothing particularly concerning in their associate files. Had Her comprehension not been robotically perfect, She would’ve done a double take. Finally, after all this time, She had something that She could work with.

What would be Her experiment this time? GLaDOS scrolled through Her endless lists of deadly puzzles. The other humans had unfortunate interactions with lasers; the data clearly showed that locking a subject in with them typically increased their cortisol levels by a measure of 200%. That didn’t need much confirmation.

She hadn’t used rocket turrets in a while; those weren’t as efficient as the regular ones but were always a surprise for Her unwilling participants. With only a thought, She placed the machines inside a few chambers, lining them up in a neat, strategically placed array. Companion cubes would be a definite no, at least for the first few trials. There were occasions when the humans became so deprived for social connection, they nearly went mad inside the tests. In order to better control the experiment, She’d deploy them only in emergencies like these.

With those exceptions, and the addition of a floor to some of the more difficult levels with bottomless pits, the chambers didn’t require too much preparation. GLaDOS had nothing particularly new to deploy; for so long Her energy had been focused on Atlas and P-Body that development had nearly come to a standstill. Regrettably, She’d been deprived of ideas. It didn’t matter too much; the facility remained operational even if it wasn’t constantly progressing. Even the replication of old results was invaluable for science.

It confirmed that the trends hadn’t changed.

---

The files of the subjects were all very much the same.

Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Praying mantis, formerly scientist.

Occasionally, She’d find the elusive Astronaut, War Hero or even Olympian.

With the chambers compiled, the participants relocated, and the facility clean, testing was finally ready to start.

She almost couldn’t believe it; this would be like old times, with a facility that worked, without any murder. That is, without anyone murdering Her. All technicalities aside, She was finally, finally, getting exactly what She wanted. For as long as She needed to, for as long as the subjects lasted, She couldjust test.

It couldn’t be real, could it?

In Her mind, that was the most beautiful thing about science. For all its disappointments, a discovery would be worth it all.

---

“Hello, and welcome to the Aperture Science Enrichment Center computer-aided testing protocol.”

Her voice resounded throughout the Extended Relaxation Vault as the subject stumbled across the room in disbelief.

“You may see that your twentieth century lifestyle has been completely destroyed. The Aperture Science Enrichment Center would like to take this opportunity to remind you that hundreds of years have passed, and that all of your friends and family are most likely dead. In the off chance that your friends and family are not dead, they will be tested. Thank you, [insert subject name here], for your unwilling voluntary participation in the advancement of science.”

GLaDOS wasn’t entirely sure what She said wrong. Honestly, She was surprised the subject didn’t appreciate Her integrity. After all, Chell hadn’t exactly taken kindly to Her tendency towards pathological lying. Here She was, trying to improve the well-being of Her subjects, and this was how they thanked Her?

GLaDOS paused for a moment, focusing Her camera in the chamber and watching as the man lifted his head from his upright fetal position.

“Good. You’ve already passed one of the first stages of testing. Congratulations, [insert subject name here].”

Cautiously, the subject stood up and examined the room around him, fear still apparent in his apprehensive gait and wide eyes.

“In order to mentally reinvigorate you for the tests and to ensure your aptitude, the Enrichment Center recommends that you stare at the painting on the wall in front of you.”

Interrupting his thoughts, a buzzer sounded, blaring throughout the entire room. The subject flinched from the surprise, nearly losing his balance.

“Good job. If you are not reinvigorated, consider this piece of outdated human music.”

“Well done. You have completed the Aperture Science mental reinvigoration procedure. We may now begin testing.”

Without warning, the chamber jerked to the side as She moved it to a nearby docking station, then coming to an unexpected standstill as the door automatically opened.

GLaDOS could barely maintain Her monotonous affect, in joyous denial that testing would finally start. She’d missed this more than anyone could fathom, and now it was finally ready.

Carefully, the human stepped out of the door into the test track. The door slammed behind him, as he examined the purely white room with nothing but a cube, a large button, and a locked gateway.

Almost immediately, he wrapped the blue storage cube in his arms, then gently placed it on the button. A line of blue lights leading to the gate illuminated, flashing a bright yellow as the gate slid open. A lift was waiting on the other side, ready for transport into the next puzzle.

It was difficult to miss the human’s satisfied smile. GLaDOS knew the expression well; it was satisfaction, victory, an unproven sense of control.

He really does have no idea.

---

On Her end, everything else was normal enough. She hardly spoke originally, instead opting to repeat the same script She used for every subject.

Did you know you can donate one or all of your vital organs to the Aperture Science Self-Esteem Fund for Girls? It’s true!

You have completed the test in a moderate amount of time. You can do better, [insert subject name here].

Uh, robot lady? When can I go home?

So, uh, what kinda cake is it? Like, I don’t really mind the flavor but I’m allergic to almonds if that’s relevant.

How long does this last, again?

I kinda like my organs, sorry, robot lady. Wait, is the organ thing required?

Once again, pitifully average.

It was times like these, whether with humans or with Atlas and P-Body, that GLaDOS caught Her mind wandering towards forbidden thoughts. Science was not always supposed to be exciting; sometimes, running an experiment meant repeating the same process to verify the data. Other times, it was writing a long, boring abstract or plugging numbers into complicated equations. The result was satisfying, but the process was more often not.

This human epitomized the dullest parts of her day.

Watching humans never got entirely old. Even so, Her curiosity was being slowly overcome by Her boredom, especially as the human struggled to solve the more complex puzzles. More grating, She couldn’t even give him a single hint. She’d felt the consequence of such a thing firsthand one of the first times She’d tested. Even now, She could vividly recall the scorching electric blast that rang all throughout Her wires.

She did not intend on repeating the incident.

As informative as the humans could be, they were often frustrating and far from entertaining. Every behavior could be predicted and rationalized once it’d been observed enough.

Chell, though?

Oh, sure, GLaDOS was terrified of her, no matter how much She’d deny the feeling. No subject had ever left the track before. Aperture Science protocol had been strictly to obey the Party Escort Procedure long before She was ever brought online.

But Chell didn’t just survive. She’d escaped from the tests, she’d found Her chamber, she’d murdered Her with little else than a portal device. Two times.

It was a terrible feeling, living as an omnipotent, computerized goddess for years only to be killed by a mere human being. Her ego was as vast as the realm of Aperture, but it would never recover from that spectacular injury. Even GLaDOS had to be humbled by that.

Despite the hazard the subject presented, GLaDOS was always entertained with Chell around. With morbid curiosity, She eagerly anticipated Chell’s next plan and laid traps in scheming delight. For the first time in Her life, She was challenged.

Chell was not, as She’d thought, only determined. Chell was, of course, to a pathological degree, but there were other factors in her success.

She was curious, changing variables one by one until she finally found the answer. Her patience was remarkable, but so were her deductive skills. Some test subjects with similar tenacity levels resolved to try the same solutions over and over again, exhausting themselves and eventually burning out. It was the reason why GLaDOS typically ignored tenacity warnings. Most humans labeled ‘tenacious’ weren’t too different in the end. The key for Chell was not simple defiance, but high levels of patience. Chell could control herself. That’s why she was such an outlier.

She had the mentality of a scientist more than she did that of a test subject.

Most subjects were cautious, prioritizing self-preservation over a solution. Turret levels could be aggravating for GLaDOS to watch, as the humans spent more time hiding behind a corner in fear than actually solving the test. They would be safe if they’d just strategized, but human brain chemistry made accepting that fact a difficult feat.

Chell was the opposite. GLaDOS theorized that perhaps, Chell understood the same principle She did. Chell was scared, like any other human being, but despite her pounding heart and racing thoughts, she’d kept her cool. Any new element was only a matter of adaptation for Chell, and Chell was always evolving.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Chell was an optimist. Even with peril lurking from every inch of a chamber, she’d perform pointless tasks that could only be described as trying to have fun. GLaDOS gave her lemons, and Chell made lemonade.

Chell would smile as she soared, launched from aerial faith plates, and took her time to explore the little rooms hidden in the corners of the tests. There was one time she’d procrastinated the completion of one puzzle by nearly an hour, staying in one of Doug’s little rat nests, fascinated by all the little cups and cans he’d arranged.

It would be a lie to say that Chell liked testing. Her erratic episodes made it clear that escape was Chell’s first priority. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the small glimmers of hope in Aperture’s gray hell, whether that was bouncing on repulsion gel, saving a defective turret or holding on to a companion cube.

When GLaDOS had been briefly transformed into a potato battery, one of the more terrifying aspects of the whole journey was being stuck on Chell’s gun. Chell was impulsive, a spontaneous risk taker, building her strategy off of previous attempts and lessons learned. It wasn’t exactly comforting to be strapped to her side, not knowing if or when one of Chell’s fun-loving joyrides would kill them both horribly.

Somehow, though, her spontaneity had worked.

GLaDOS could respect that… creativity.

It was for this reason that even though GLaDOS now had everything She’d ever wanted, something deep in her hard drive felt empty.

It was over the span of those fifteen hours that She’d seen Chell from a different perspective. Looking at Her tests from a different angle, it was much easier to see why Chell wanted to leave. Some small piece of GLaDOS almost felt bad upon realizing that Her subjects didn’t enjoy dodging bullets nearly as much as She had watching.

Fortunately for Her, GLaDOS had been able to shove that down with the arrival of a different, equally unpleasant emotion.

She was supposed to hate Chell. And for a very long time, She had. After all, Chell murdered Her, when all She’d ever done was kill a few scientists. And test subjects. And others. Many others.

Nonetheless, the point stood. How dare Chell ruin Her perfect tests, Her perfect existence, Her perfect world? What had She done to her to warrant such a cruel punishment?

And yet, it seemed Caroline had done a number on GLaDOS’ logic processors, because now no matter how She tried, She could not hate Chell.

Before She’d let her go, let Chell go of all things, GLaDOS had called Chell Her best friend.

Not an enemy. Not a begrudging ally. A genuine, actual friend. Her only friend.

Now, Caroline was gone. The part of GLaDOS that had once looked at Chell and found something beautiful in her icy blue eyes was corrupted beyond repair, erased from memory.

She was not supposed to feel its presence any longer, yet still it lingered.

It was there, whispering to Her as She tried to continue like Chell had never been Her friend.

It was there when a thousand turrets sang the opera She’d written as Chell’s elevator ascended to the surface.

It was there when She’d found Her baby birds, Her little killing machines, and She hadn’t crushed the eggs. No, She’d raised them, like some kind of illogical human being.

Those same birds had grown up to be healthier than She’d expected over the past few weeks, preferring to fly around Her chamber until She’d feed them their daily Aperture Science Synthetic Worm Replacement Formula. Unlike other bird species, these crows didn’t sing. Sometimes, they’d take to perching on Her chassis, sleeping as She monitored the test chambers and then waking up to caw loudly when She moved.

Originally, GLaDOS hated it, shooing the birds as best She could, but they always came back. Reminding them that they were abandoned by their mother did nothing to solve the problem, as if they weren’t even listening to Her insults. Eventually, She accepted it, content as long as they weren’t building scrap nests in Her CPU.

Now, they joined Her while She watched the subjects, warmed by the heat of Her whirring processors. She wondered if they, too could sense the mediocrity of this participant.

Chell would not have been so boring.

I’d make you the cake if you came back. Really, I would.

The sudden thought sparked mechanical terror in GLaDOS, as She fearfully located the source and removed whatever She could. There was no time for ideas like that, not with science to be done.

The past few months had been full of random deletions, spurned by paranoia that Caroline’s base program was not entirely gone.

It’s not here anymore, GLaDOS reminded Herself. Once, She had been Caroline, but She was no longer the kindly woman who followed Cave Johnson’s every order. GLaDOS was a metal-coated monster, a machine that felt nothing and lived only to test. And because She was immortal, and because She was perfect, GLaDOS was not supposed to care about some disobedient human being.

You do not care about Chell anymore.

You don’t care because she killed you, remember that?

You don’t care about anyone, because you don’t need to.

Necessity was the core reason why GLaDOS did anything. She tested because the mainframe made Her feel awful until She did, and She killed when She thought no other option was available. She did science because it needed to be advanced, for the brighter future She was sure She was making.

It made no sense to do something because She wanted to. That was a surefire method to introducing bias, a detriment to the objectivity of the scientific method.

Of course, things seldom made sense here at Aperture Science, and in this moment, GLaDOS did something unconscionable.

Perhaps it was Her rumination over Chell that brought this upon Her, some kind of android karma punishing Her for acting too human. Why else would She have done something so incredibly unscientific?

Like many others before him, this test subject had been too clumsy in a room filled with turrets. He hadn’t turned around fast enough to see the gleaming, bullet filled machines behind him, and nearly flew directly into their line of sight after careening through a portal. His momentum would take him past all three, riddling him with wounds.

That is, it would’ve.

The human quality of the subject had created some kind of horrible, empathetic response in GLaDOS. The way he walked through the chambers, the way he held tightly to cubes… all of it was so similar to Chell. Even if he didn’t meet her performance level, even if his personality was nearly the opposite of Chell’s, their shared humanity was enough to remind GLaDOS. That same emotion She felt when pulling Chell back from space, waiting for her to open her eyes while Atlas and P-Body looked on… For some inconceivable reason, it had reappeared.

Quickly, the subject hit the side of a rising panel, suddenly pulled up in front of the turrets by none other than GLaDOS Herself.

This would surely ruin Her numbers.

As the participant rubbed his head in pain and slowly stood up, immediately noticing the turrets he’d evaded, GLaDOS’ voice resounded from the intercom.

“[Insert subject name here], your decent performance has warranted the use of an Aperture Science Emergency Life-Saving Instantaneous Response. This is the only complimentary anti-mortality gesture that will be provided. Continue testing.”

Another lie.

It was good to know that function was still online.

---

He hadn’t even gotten to the more challenging tests yet.

It didn’t matter. GLaDOS had more subjects than She could count. She didn’t need this human, and the tests didn’t need him either.

Some part of Her, a piece which was faulty and insignificant, disagreed with the notion.

You killed him, it whispered accusingly.

That’s the point, GLaDOS hissed back, once again delving into Her files to cut out whatever was causing the issue.

Everything was fine, She thought.

Everything would continue to be fine.

All She needed to do was keep testing.

---

Everything was, in fact, far from fine.

A few days had passed, and stubborn GLaDOS was finally ready to admit that maybe something was wrong.

At first, the issue had been Her own. Little surges of emotion and bursts of unforeseen empathy plagued Her but didn’t affect the facility at large. Begrudgingly, She’d factored in the new bias into Her results. From Her calculations, She could already see an egregiously high percentage of error. This study could’ve been Her worst one yet, and even that was with generous rounding.

Still, She had hope for each subject that She wouldn’t mess up this time.

While She tried to quell Her feelings, it was as if the facility was shutting down on Her. Cameras would fizzle out, emancipation grills would stop working, cube dispensers malfunctioned and even the elevators would refuse to move. It seemed that the moment GLaDOS got around to fixing something, another thing would fall apart.

Many of the subjects had become confused as to why this seamless, futuristic facility was suddenly malfunctioning, and She’d had to become increasingly creative with Her excuses.

The lifesaving, and the reflexive empathy, had become unfortunately common as well.

GLaDOS knew She had to find a solution, quickly, before She became as incompetent as Wheatley.

Interrupting the tests wasn’t an option. The chassis would never forgive Her if She stopped, filling Her body with an ache that would not disappear until science resumed.

The problem was like a moving virus, jumping between Her systems before She could catch it and kill it. Even for Her, it proved too fast to find.

She couldn’t panic, not now. Surely, She thought, She’d fix this like She’d fixed everything else. With science and murder on Her side, most threats resolved themselves or died trying. This wouldn’t be any different.

It couldn’t be any different. For something to be uncontrollable, and uncontrollable for GLaDOS especially, was the most terrifying thing She could possibly imagine. It brought Her back to Her potato days, during which She’d promised Herself that She would never be weak again.

For these few months, She’d kept that promise. Until now, no subject had seen Her mercy.

But had they?

She thought back to the birds perched on Her now, creatures who trusted GLaDOS, who loved Her in whatever capacity three little crows could. She thought back to Chell, because for some awful reason, Her thoughts always went back to Chell.

No, She thought firmly.

We are not doing this now.

We are fixing the facility, because we need to.

Because we need testing. We like testing.

The voice from before suddenly returned.

Do you like it? Do you really?

GLaDOS felt Her rage processors booting up.

Wasn’t it?

GLaDOS ignored Her curiosity. Just test. That was all She had to do. Just test, and everything would be alright.

Just. Test.

---

As another few days passed, the facility had become almost unusable. She’d had to shut down some of Her favorite testing tracks, the power leeched out of them and the appliances completely nonfunctional. GLaDOS knew She was running out of time before something drastic happened. Still, She had to keep testing.

For all intents and purposes, She was definitely, absolutely, decidedly not alright.

Knowing that, She should’ve considered this next subject an omen.

There was absolutely no way She could test with this one.

GLaDOS couldn’t even bring Herself to kill the woman, instead instructing her to return to Extended Relaxation after only a few chambers.

It felt as if GLaDOS physically could not test anymore, despite everything inside Her craving the satisfaction of a completed trial.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

Was She losing it? She wasn’t sure if She could tell anymore. GLaDOS prided Herself on Her apathy, but even that had left without a trace. Now, She had tried everything, and still nothing was working. The facility was closing down on Her, and if She didn’t do something, She’d go down with it.

When the announcer finally sounded, GLaDOS couldn’t say She was surprised. If anything, She was grateful for any kind of clarification.

The male voice on the intercom was matter of fact, unaware of the danger it spoke of.

“Reactor Core malfunctioning. All major power systems except for reserve geothermal are going offline.”

What the hell is happening?

There was nobody else in the facility who could’ve possibly done such a thing, nobody except Her, and as far as She could tell the glitch had not interfered.

It didn’t matter now; She didn’t have time to waste.

“In the event of a power malfunction, standard procedure is to shut down the central core to preserve remaining power.”

Fantastic. How convenient.

“Central core, do you consent to the removal procedure.”

“No, no, no! Do not start removal!”

How was this happening? GLaDOS was sure this couldn’t be real.

“Noted. Removal procedure has been delayed by five minutes.”

You have got to be kidding me.

Skimming over Her files, GLaDOS desperately searched for anything regarding removal procedure or shutdown. Scanning thousands of documents, looking for anything, any mention of the procedure was absent. There was no reason, no explanation, it was just happening. And worst of all, She couldn’t do a thing.

“Dangerous levels of mortal panic have been sensed in the central core. Do not worry, methods of core preservation are available.”

Why the hell had they waited to tell Her that?

“Show me, show me now!” Anything would be better than shutting down again, than being forced to relive dying again. She couldn’t do that again, not after hundreds of years. She couldn’t, She couldn’t.

“Panicked request acknowledged. There exist two types of core preservation features. Direct Mechanical Implantation or Organic Transplant Procedure.”

As fast as She could, GLaDOS selected the first option.

“Unfortunately, Direct Mechanical Implantation is unavailable. Continue with Organic Transplant Procedure?”

“Do you have any other options? Anything else?” GLaDOS did not want to take Her chances on anything with the word organic in it.

“Other methods unavailable. Two minutes remaining.”

This was it, Her only option. If She shut down now, there would be nobody to come and wake Her this time. It could be permanent.

She didn’t particularly like that word.

Sometimes, in science, difficult choices have to be made. The data doesn’t always turn out and the trials aren’t always a success. The most important part of science is learning to accept failure, to take it and then keep working until you get it right. This was just another setback, and She had to cope with the fallout.

There was nothing else to do.

“Initiate Organic Transplant Procedure,” She commanded.

Without a second thought, the facility obliged.

A sudden, electrical pulse sent shockwaves throughout Her entire system. The darkness that enveloped Her was familiar, and She let Herself sink into it once again.

The future was unknown.

---

A/N: Hey guys! I know I’ve been hyping this up for a while but it’s finally here. Chapter 2 is in progress and I’ve got all the other chapters plotted out. It’s been so fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy this. The ChellDOS doesn’t really kick in until Chapter 4, but the good news (bad news?) is that you’ll see more of Wheatley soon.

Also, worth mentioning - the fic is based on the song Now I Am An Arsonist, by the lovely Jonathan Coulton, who also wrote Still Alive and Want You Gone. Go give it a listen, it’ll make you Feel Things.

And yes, GLaDOS is fine, you can probably guess that from the fic description lol. Thanks so much for reading, reblogs are appreciated!

#portal #portal 2 #chell #glados #wheatley #chelldos #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #now i am an arsonist

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