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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years

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Aparently writing fanfics about Sanders sides AU’s is a thing that I do now

So some of you might know @rondoel made this really cool comic thing about king creativity. Master post here for those who don’t. The internet was given permission to do whatever they want with it. So this is not ‘canon’ to that comic, but an idea that won’t let me be until I write it down. So here’s part one of two:

Lost in thought

Virgil took a deep breath as he wrapped himself around baby Patton and looked up to Janus and Logan expectantly. They were both bowed over a desk with several memories and notes scattered all over. They hadn’t even noticed he’d left the room, and that might’ve been for the best. His attempt at talking to the king hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped. He hadn’t been optimistic enough to think that upon his apology the king would split and Roman would run over and embrace him and get everything back to normal. But he’d thought something might change, anything at all. But now all he’d accomplished was making himself feel even worse.

Was Roman really gone gone? Forever?

And Remus? Sure he was a pain to deal with sometimes, but… they’d grown up together.

Virgil wanted them back, even if this new guy- well new to him- hadn’t been so scary, he wanted his friends back. Thomas was sleeping and likely wouldn’t get out of bed until he really had to in order to eat and drink tomorrow. They had survived a day in this chaos, only because Thomas was taking a break. Their host was still exhausted and would likely not be overly active for the next week. And with things being how they are, that was a good thing.

With his coherent thoughts muted, his moral compass and emotions reduced to a non-verbal child and his anxiety incapable of properly analyzing the situation out of fear of causing absolute chaos in the mindscape… None of that could be good. At least Thomas wouldn’t call for them unless king gave him a very urgent reason to. Virgil took a deep breath and returned his attention to the present. Hopeful that Logan and Janus had come up with something after a full day of sitting in this library. Just because Logan was mute, didn’t mean he wasn’t the smartest among them anymore right? And Janus, no matter what else Virgil thought of him, was very clever too. Surely they’d know what to do… Or maybe Virgil could still do something? Logan had once told him that he was needed to get them out of sticky situations when they do come up.

This situation was very sticky.

“Lo? Janus?” he asked softly, mindful of the fact that baby Patton was all tuckered out in his arms.

He gently got up from his spot against the bookcase and readjusted his grip, feeling the way the luxurious fabric moved around his body. The material was soft and warm, but the uniform was nowhere near as comforting as he’d like. He missed his hoodie, but he didn’t dare risk going into his room to look for it in his current condition. Still… maybe he could ask one of the other’s to see if they could find one, even if it was his old pre ‘fitting in’ hoodie… It always made him feel safe. Big enough to hide away in when the world became too much and to hide how small and weak he looked. This outfit made him look like a child next to the others. He never liked that about his appearance. Despite being a nearly thirty year old adult like everyone else, he still looked like a teenager whose body hadn’t fully caught up with his new height. No wonder the king looked down on him. In his eyes, he was probably just a kid. King clearly felt like he was older and wiser than all of them…

He shook himself out of his thoughts. He has to focus on here and now.

“What should we do?” he asked.

The two older sides exchanged a glance, Logan nodded and Janus cleared his throat uneasily.

“We can’t do much…” he admitted reluctantly. King had apparently been right, with everyone else out for the count, his ability to lie was near nonexistent.

“Neither of us are strong enough to stand up to him., he has made sure of that. And even if we were all at full strength, I don’t think me or Logan, even if we were to work together, would be able to match him now. Not even if Patton helped us. Creativity has matured with Thomas and grown stronger. You might stand the best chance, but in your current condition…”

“Me?” Virgil asked shocked. He was only ‘powerful' when Thomas was really overwhelmed or in imminent danger. That is when he could shut everyone else up, or focus them on a single task. And even then he had little control over even himself.

“Yes Virgil,” Janus insisted looking at him like the words held the key to world peace. “Like I explained earlier, he has nothing against you personally.

This is about me, Logan and Patton. But he knows you can shut his ideas down with just a few well-placed doubts in Thomas’ head, as he himself acknowledged. And he is right to fear you Virgil. You were a great source of motivation for Thomas to get creative, but you can take that motivation away just as easily.”

Virgil shook his head. Shutting creativity down completely? Even if… well no, Janus was right. He could. He had told Roman no so often in the past and despite Roman’s promises to strike him down he never even tried. When Thomas asked to get rid of him that first video, Roman hadn’t even tried to confront him head on, pretended they weren’t in the same room… Had Roman been afraid of him? Could he truly hit the brakes? No out of the question.

“I get that we can’t let him just run the place, but Thomas… I can’t hurt Thomas like that. He needs his creativity too much, especially now with everything… It would be devastating,” he insists as he gently runs his fingers through baby Patton’s hair. Creativity helps Thomas cope when life becomes too much.

He catches sight of Logan looking down in what he believes is shame. Why? What was everyone’s deal with this creativity?

“Maybe, if I knew what happened, before me, before the split,” he tries. “Maybe I could try talking to him again? See if he can see it our way?” he suggested. He wanted Roman and Remus back. But his priority had to be with the others. Who knew if the brothers would be able to reverse what the king did? Or if things would go back to normal once the king disappeared? He couldn’t risk that. So first, help everyone else and then see if they can get the twins back. He hated prioritizing like that, but it was for Thomas.

Janus and Logan exchanged another look and then, as one, shook their heads at Virgil.

Logan silently cleaned up their research and turned away to head to his room without another wo… well, glance. It was so fast Virgil couldn’t even decipher the emotion that had flashed underneath the surface of his stoic mask.

Janus on the other hand put on a comforting smile and patted him on the shoulder in an overly friendly gesture. “This is not your burden to carry Virgil. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll think of something. You just focus on staying calm and looking after Patton, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer Janus hurriedly followed Logan and left Virgil alone and slightly frustrated in the library. Great. Just great. It wasn’t the first time he asked about the king. Even before this whole mess, he'd been curious for ages. But he was always dismissed with “it's in the past" and the like. But now it wasn’t in the past anymore and the other’s were still leaving him in the dark. What were they hiding?

Virgil sighed and started wandering. Or he wanted to wander but his “promotion” seemed to lead him to his “ boss’ ” domain the second he lost focus. Soon he found himself stranded in the never ending fields of imagination. Virgil stopped walking, not wanting to interrupt his majesty again, and tried to focus on Patton's steadily moving chest.

He was scared. Without much else to distract him, even the task of protecting baby Patton would soon seize to keep the bad thoughts at bay. Especially with everything being so terrible.

He wanted Roman to be here. He'd know how to distract him. At the very least he wanted his music so he could agonize in peace for a little while. When he listened to music, he could sort through the feelings without them actually translating into thoughts. Just then he saw something appear at his feet.

Curiously he sat down Indian style and noted to his delight that it was his headphones and a music player. He eagerly put it on and scrolled trough the lists. It had all of their Spotify lists downloaded as well as a list that just read ‘TSS’. As he scrolled trough it he learned that it contained all of their lists combined into one along with every song Thomas had ever created and/or performed.

Well. That would do it. He put on the phones, curled himself around Patton once more and started humming.

#Sanders Sides #King Creativity #king ay #Rondoel #my headcanon for that au #Second part will follow

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gureishi · 3 years

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Here’s a lil nighttime drabble about my CMC! I don’t post much OC content here, but I’ve been working on her recently, and I thought I’d share a little snippet~

Here’s some basic info about her!

Eunji is my CMC for Saeyoung. She’s half-Korean, half-white, with a Korean father and an American mother. She grew up in Seoul; her parents split up when she was 14 and she moved to New York with her mother—she’s lived there ever since. As a teenager, she mostly fended for herself, as her mother was busy and distant. In the OS timeline, she’s 25 (Korean)/24 (International); she’s a dancer, and a few weeks prior to getting the text from Unknown, she’s lost her job, gotten kicked out of her dance company, and broken up with her long-term girlfriend. Feeling like she no longer belonged anywhere, she got on a plane to Seoul, where she’s been desperately trying to piece together her fragmented life.

The characters mentioned by name in this drabble are Kate (her girlfriend from New York, with whom she’s just broken up) and Min (her first love from Seoul, whose couch she’s been sleeping on while she searches her hometown for a sense of direction).

(cw: alcohol)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The later it gets, the louder it is here.

Eunji taps her fingers against the bar. Her hands feel sticky—so does the stool she’s sitting on. Even the air in here feels damp, sweaty with the scent of stale beer

Pop music that’s a few years old blares over the speakers. She bobs her head, against her will, to the rhythm of the music: these songs stir up memories that make her heart feel cut wide open. Time swirls around her, cascading in waterfalls and rippling pools: it feels like yesterday that she was living here—just down the street, in the big apartment with the willow trees out front. This morning, though—waking up on the lumpy couch of somebody she wishes she could’ve forgotten entirely—seems like it was years ago (or perhaps like it happened to another person entirely).

The bartender—a moderately attractive guy around her age with long eyelashes and a backwards baseball cap—props his elbows on the sticky surface in front of her, taking her by surprise. Her thoughts are heavy, sluggish; she’s feels like she’s barely living in her own body.

“Another?” he asks, tapping the counter beside her half-empty glass. She raises her eyebrows.

On the one hand: she knows better. She’s got all her belongings in an annoyingly large backpack propped at her feet (probably permanently stuck to the beer-soaked floor by now); she probably has more important things to do than sit here all night.

And yet—does she?

Because, on the other hand, the bartender is gazing at her with a hungry look that she recognizes; and it would be too easy to give in: get drunk in this loud, miserable bar, make doe eyes at the poor boy till he gives her someplace to stay for the night.

She runs a finger around the rim of the glass, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Maybe later,” she tells him.

He winks at her as he backs away: his cards are on the table.

A couple appears behind her, takes the stools to her left. They are speaking in loud voices—they’re drunk, and handsy. Eunji sighs heavily, letting her head sink down onto her folded arms.

In moments like these, she often feels she can envision every choice she’s made that’s led her here; when she’s the most lost, her weary mind reminds her of all the things she could’ve (should’ve) done differently. She sees herself on the plane: arms crossed, music pounding too loud through her headphones as she refuses to watch the New York skyline fading away in the distance—staring resolutely into the bleak, grey seat back in front of her, swearing off her old life with the force she’d used to throw her key onto Kate’s counter, not bothering to catch it as it bounced to the floor with a resounding clatter.

She sees herself, too, frantically texting from the airport: running through the roster of old friends, most of whom she hadn’t spoken to for years; she’s not great at staying in touch, and she knows better than to try and apologize.

“Back in Seoul for a little bit!” she’d written, again and again. “What are you up to?”

She sees herself in Min’s apartment, hiding in the bathroom with the shower running till he went to sleep—just in case he wanted to try and talk or re-connect or, worse, touch.

She sees herself yelling at him, her muscles feeling like they’ve been set on fire, burnt to ashes. She pictures herself storming out—running away yet again, another key left on a counter, another lingering admonishment ringing in the hollow air behind her.

Her phone, face up on the counter before her, lights up. She grabs it too fast, loathing herself for her impatience; it’s him, of course.

“Come back,” he writes. “Let’s talk about it.”

Her stomach turns. She flips her phone over.

“Hey, babe.” The bartender is back, tilting his head to the side, giving her what he probably thinks is an all-knowing look. She rolls her eyes.

“Can I help you?”

He’s unfazed—she’ll give him that. Trick of the trade.

“Rough night, huh?” he asks; god, and it’s cliche. She wants to throw her drink in his face, just so she can say she’s done it.

Instead, she bats her eyelashes at him (not ready to let her one chance at a bed to sleep in slip through her fingers).

“I’ve had better days,” she admits.

“You’ve got an accent,” he tells her, and she feels her cheeks flushing—she knows this, is painfully conscious that the ten years she’s spent out of the country have made her sound like a foreigner. This is my home, she wants to scream.

“I’m from New York,” she says instead.

“A tourist, huh?” he teases. She pulls her arms from the bar, clenches her fists in her lap. Oh, she hates him, she decides—so much for a place to stay.

“I grew up here,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “So, not exactly.”

Something in her expression frightens him—she can see it. He gives her a halfhearted smile as he slips away, ducking behind the bar. Just as she’s about to dig some cash out of the (rapidly dwindling) wad at the bottom of her bag and throw it on the counter, her phone buzzes again. She groans; she can feel the eyes of the couple beside her; the man whispers something in the woman’s ear and she giggles.

And no matter how hard she runs, she doesn’t seem to be able to get away.

It’s all swirling in her mind: Kate’s face and Min’s voice and the roar of the plane; her mother’s back as she mutters that Eunji is far too old to let her life fall apart like this again; the endless job postings; the stale, dry air in her and Kate’s apartment back home.

Home.

She finishes her drink.

With a shaky hand, she flips over her phone, ready to tell him “No,” or “Leave me alone,” or “I’ve got a new place to stay, thanks”—knowing he’ll see through the lie, feeling, already, the familiar racing sensation somewhere behind her lungs that says keep running.

It’s not him.

There’s a notification on her screen from an app she’s never seen before; impatiently tucking her unruly hair behind her ear, she swipes up.

Strange code scrolls across the screen; she almost sets her phone back down in a huff—just her luck, to have accidentally downloaded some sort of scam app. A message appears; her mind feels hazy, thoughts a beat behind her racing heart.

Feeling a little dizzy, she squints at the screen, head throbbing as the nostalgic music fills up her overwrought mind.

Username Unknown says Hello…?

Eunji’s fingers tap an erratic rhythm against the sticky bar. It’s too loud in here—too quiet inside her wretched heart.

She answers.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger OC #mystic messenger CMC #eunji #drabble

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enamoured-x · 4 years

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can you do a nick amaro imagine with the smut prompts 7, 11, 21, 26, and 40. thank you so much! i love your writing!!

I didn’t fit in the last prompt because this ended up being pretty angsty at first... but I really really love it. This made me miss the hell out of Nick. Anyways, I hope you like it! (gif not mine)

Warnings: NSFW

Nick had been terribly busy at work lately. He’d come home late and even the days he could get off early, he’d just work from home. You weren’t too worried since he had gotten better at pacing himself and making sure to take breaks and not run himself to the ground. He was however, not good at putting time aside for other things. Like you. Nick hadn't touched you all month, just kissed you goodnight and good morning. Or hugs when he got home from a long day. But nothing more than that and you were growing desperate. You knew you were being needy, you knew for some a month was nothing. But for you and Nick, a month was excruciatingly long. You were used to going at it nearly everyday. So a month without Nick, without a release by his hands, well it was taking a toll on you.

It was late in the afternoon, Nick had the day off but of course he was making calls and looking over evidence. You were simply watching him from where you laid sprawled on the couch watching tv. You kept looking over at him at the kitchen table. His brows furrowed, pink lips pursed. You thought you were finally able to have him all to yourself today but that went out the window the minute he pulled out file after file after you had finished eating lunch. He had been at it for three hours and you were beginning to grow bored. You were also horny, just as you had been all month.

He didn’t even look your way when you sighed, so you made it a point to do it again. Nothing. You sighed again, nothing. Again, still nothing. You exaggerated it even more and finally he slowly dragged his eyes to you from his paper, brows raised.

“Oh, hi, didn’t think you knew that I was here.” You said. He gave you a pointed look and then his attention went back to the papers.

“Did you actually need something or were you just trying to get my attention?” He asked, moving around papers.

“I need your attention.” He snorted and you frowned.

“Glad my loneliness is funny to you.” There was no humor in your voice now. He recognized this and looked over again.

He sighed, “come here.” You got up from the couch to walk over to him. Once you were at his side he brought you down to his level to place a kiss on your lips. Nothing too naughty, just a plain old simple kiss. You would still take it.

“Look, I just need to make a few more calls and then I’m all yours.” You huffed out a laugh. You should’ve known he was just trying to give you a little something so you would stop whining.

Before he knew what was going on, you snatched his phone off the table and walked away.

“Hey, sweetheart, come on. Give it back.” He got up from the chair. You couldn’t help but but be bitter that he got out of the chair for his phone but not for you.

“Why? Texting other women?” You knew Nick would never cheat but you liked to give him a hard time, he deserved it. Especially now.

“No, look through it all you want but I need it back.” You ignored him and walked into your bedroom. He followed. You laid down on the bed and opened his phone, immediately opening up a game Zara had downloaded on it. The music of the game filled the room.

“Are you serious right now? Quit messing around, I have work to do.” You sat up but started playing the game.

“You’re off today.” You said as you tried to get the monkey jumping from one tree to another.

“I still have a case. Give me my phone.” He reached his hand out. You sighed and slid off the bed, walking over to him.

“You want me to give you back your phone?” You asked and then ran past him, “make me!”

You heard Nick swear under his breath and then follow after you. You ran to the living room and stood behind the couch, he now stood on the other end.

“This isn’t a damn game.”

“Aw, but, Nicky, you love games. First one to make a noise loses? You love that game because you know I lose every time because I just can’t help myself.” You bit your lip at the memory of the last time you and Nick agreed to it. You had lost as soon as he started to eat you out. You were getting yourself worked up from the memory but Nick didn’t seem phased at all.

“So that’s what this is about? You’re horny? I don’t have time for this.” He shook his head and tried to come around the couch but you simply went around too. His jaw clenched and he sighed.

“You don’t have time for me?” You asked carefully.

“I don’t have time to fuck you every time you’re begging for it.” He got louder as he said the words. They only stung because you knew he was trying to hurt you, trying to humiliate you for wanting him. You shook your head and threw his phone on the couch.

“Maybe I’ll just go find someone who does have the time.” You walked down the hall, wanting to go back to your bedroom. You thought maybe he’d give in at your little game. But to no avail. You felt defeated, and just...sad. Sure you wanted the sex but you just wanted him to pay attention to you for one god damn minute.

“What the hell did you just say?” Nick asked and then came right after you, following you back into the bedroom.

“You heard me.” You wouldn’t actually do it. You loved Nick more than life itself but if this was going to continue, where did that leave your relationship?

“So because I won’t fuck you you’re going to go cheat on me? Are you that desperate?” You turned around to face him.

“You’ve barely even looked at me this month.” You crossed your arms.

“Oh my god. You know I have other important things to worry about than you, right?” Your brows rose as you took in his words.

“Sorry, don’t let me stand in your fucking way. I’m not just something you can put on the back burner and come back to whenever you feel like. If you have other shit on your mind and have no room for me, than what the fuck am I even doing here?” Maybe this stemmed from more than just this one incident. Nick was notorious for honing in on his work or family problems and pushing you to the side just to be background noise. Like working while having the tv on, you knew it was there but you don’t look up till hours later or till something catches your attention.

“That’s not what this is. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“You didn’t answer my question. What the fuck am I doing here?” You lifted your arms, pleading.

“You’re here because you love me and I love you. You know that.”

“Do I? Because it doesn’t feel like it.” His face turned solemn, no doubt at the realization that you weren’t messing around when you essentially suggested that you were going to leave.

“You have to know that I love you. I love you like crazy.” He grabbed your arms in his hands.

“You don’t yank someone back and forth like this when you love them.” Your heart was heavy. This conversation had been a long time coming.

“I…I’m not trying to. That’s not what…” You say nothing, just waiting for him to find his words.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been doing that. It was never my intention to treat you like that. I don’t mean to push you to the side, I didn’t even know I’ve been doing it.”

“Because I’m always here waiting like it never happened.” He nodded at your words and swallowed.

“Please, I’ll fix this. I’ll do better, I swear I will. I love you.” He grabbed your face in his hands.

“I love you.” He repeated.

“Then show me.” You needed him. You needed his hands roaming your body and his mouth on yours. You needed to feel him again. There was still more to talk about but right now you just needed him.

He wasted no time pressing his lips to yours. It was harsh and rough, your lips bound to be swollen. He backed you up against the bed and that’s when you started pulling off clothes, both yours and his.

“No, like this, come here.” He said before you could lay down on the bed. He sat down against the headboard, legs open for you to sit against his back. You were confused but did as he said, having no doubt he’d give you what you needed. He brought you to lean back against his chest and then he opened your legs and put his legs over yours to keep them open. You whimpered at the cool air meeting your center and at his hard member against your back.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” His hands slid up from your stomach to your breasts, taking them into each hand, massaging them. You moaned as he pinched your nipples, playing with the buds. You felt yourself getting wet embarrassingly fast. You couldn't help yourself though, it had been a month.

“Mmm, I love having you like this.” He pulled your head back to rest against his chest, allowing for him to start playfully nipping at your neck.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been showing you how much I fucking adore you. You’re so damn gorgeous. I’m an idiot.” You couldn’t argue there.

He continued his ministrations with one hand, slowly dragging his other hand down your stomach and to the place you needed him most. He didn’t tease, fingers gliding through your folds.

“Oh, Nick.” you bucked into his touch.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” You usually weren’t right off the bat like this, but it had been awhile since it had been his hands down there instead of yours.

“It’s been awhile.” He tensed at your words but it was gone in an instant.

“Never again.” He promised. His fingers rubbed your clit, making you gasp. He then started to tease your entrance before sliding in a finger, and then another.

“Nick! Yes, just like that.” You cried out as his thumb brushed against your clit as he curled his fingers inside of you. You couldn’t control your hips very well as you started rolling them. He didn’t falter, his thumb swiping across your clit faster and faster, bringing you closer to that release you so desperately craved.

“I want you to come on my fingers. And then I’m gonna make love to you. Gonna make you feel good, preciosa.” You whined at his words, wanting everything he was saying and realizing that you were gonna get it.

He continued to alternate rolling your nipples in between his fingers. Pinching hard, knowing just how you liked them played with. He licked up your neck and then nibbled on your ear. You were slowly coming undone. You were a knot, tightly tied but slowly being pulled apart.

“Come on my fingers. Come and I’ll give you what you want.” You were done for. His fingers still brushed against your clit as you arched your back and caved in. The knot finally snapped as it came undone. He drew out your orgasm as he continued his assault on your center. Eventually, you finally let out a breath as the feeling washed away, relief at your release taking over. He pulled his hand away and sucked his fingers into his mouth.

“Damn, always so sweet.” Is all he said before he was moving you. He gently placed you on the bed to his right, untangling his legs from yours. Then he turned you so you were laying on your side. You let him move you. He pressed right up against your back.

“Want you like this. Want to hold you while I’m inside you.” You moaned at his words. His length was poking you in the ass and you felt him stroking himself a few times before lining himself up with your entrance.

“Nick, please.” You pleaded, needing him inside you already. You felt that same rope, coiling back into a knot. Calling you to untangle it again.

Nick slowly pushed himself inside you, not stopping until he was all the way in. You were throbbing and you knew he felt it as he bit your shoulder.

“Fuck, so tight.” He slid his arm under your neck to then wrap it around your chest, placing his other arm around your stomach to bring you back into him as he started thrusting. This new position had you tasting heaven. Flushed skin against skin as he held you in his arms. As he thrusted inside you, pushing you towards another release.

“God, Nick. You feel so good. Fuck, it’s so good.” You whimpered as he ground into you.

“Your pussy feels so good around my cock. Want you to come again for me, sweetheart.” You held on tightly to his arms, thrusting your hips back into him.

“Need you to come inside me.” Your words had him nipping at your shoulders and placing sloppy wet kisses there and to your neck.

You were a moaning mess at each roll of his hips, at each lick to your skin. You were consumed with love, consumed by him. You felt so full of him and it felt like home. You missed it something terrible. Not just this sinfully sweet pleasure washing through you like waves, but his hands on you, letting you know he was there and he was with you. He was focused on you.

“Nick…” You started to warn him as you felt that coil tighten in your lower belly.

“I know, baby. Me too.” The moment he slid his fingers down to press on your clit, your climax slammed against you. You squeezed around him as your orgasm took over your body and he cursed before he was yelling and spilling into you. His thrusts working you both through the aftermath. Your head was fuzzy when you came down, already half asleep.

“It’s okay. Rest, my love.” He didn’t make a move to pull away, only to wrap the covers around you both, him still inside you.

“I love you.” Is the last thing you heard before you succumbed to the sleep dragging you under. You were content and safe in Nick’s arms. You felt at peace again and you knew it would last this time.

#nick amaro #nick amaro x reader #nick amaro x you #law and order svu #svu

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oumaheroes · 3 years

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Earthbound 1/?

Summary:

Centuries after humanity fled a dying Earth and found sanctuary in the stars, the planet has healed enough to support mankind once more. For some, there is something more than curiosity; memories from another life whisper history in familiar voices, calling them home.

'He closes his eyes and thinks about blue flowers and large statues of stone, of ships and red coats flapping over a green meadow.'

Part 2 Part 3

……………………………………………………………………

Chapter 1: Scattered Amongst The Stars

Alfred is six. It was his birthday last Tuesday and he got to have a really big party and it was really really cool, but the coolest thing ever was that he got an e-tab from his Ma. Everyone at school already has an e-tab -as a July baby he's one of the youngest- so now he can finally join in with the special classes that they have and play all of those games at lunch time.

Alfred doesn't like feeling left out. It's not nice, Ma says, when you don't include people, so that means that the people who play games on their e-tabs when they know he doesn't have one are being mean on purpose and that really hurts. Except now, now he can join in and be their friend again and won't have to sit alone at his table when it's interactive e-tab time.

It's not real learning, Pa says. He didn't want Alfred to have one, says that it rots your brains and makes you lazy, and says that the e-tab time is just 'enrichment', it's not part of the curriculum because they're not learning anything, just downloading and watching stuff. Still, Ma must have talked him around because on Tuesday Alfred opened the box and there it was, all for him. There's some games on it, from Grandpa, and Ma had uploaded some of his favourite movies for him to watch as soon as he'd synced his mind up. Pa got there too, he must have done, because there's also some files on 'Earth History', 'The Fall', and one about extinct animals which Alfred really doesn't wanna read but Pa's been mentioning at least one of them every dinner since so he probably should.

He goes into school and begins to chatter happily to his friend Ben as soon as he sees him about 'Zip Blast', the current school-yard fad, and about how he can't wait to sync up and play because he'd been practising over the weekend and he thinks he's kinda good now.

Ben looks uncomfortable. 'Oh, I don't think we're playing that one any more.'

'Huh? But...' Alfred stops and looks at Ben in disbelief, 'but Friday you said it was the best ever!'

'Well it was,' Ben concedes, reluctantly, 'but now there's the new 'Rock-ite' out so we played that over the weekend.'

Alfred's heart sinks. 'We?'

His friend has the grace to look as apologetic as a six year old can look about these matters but nothing more than that and at recess Alfred is alone once more. He tells himself it's okay, he doesn't care anyway but it's a half-hearted lie at best and he doesn't try to kid himself for too long. Instead, he decides he may as well sync up one of those stuffy files Pa put on the e-tab to pass the time and nibbles a cookie to keep himself entertained.

His teacher finds him gormless, ten minutes later. His eyes are glazed as he stares unblinkingly at the wall and his cookie, one chunk missing, lies forlorn on the table next to his slack left hand but his brain is more full and awake than it's ever been. Information about a long dead planet far far away pound and crash in his head and as soon as the data file has been properly synced he reaches out for his tab and loads up another.

At eight, Alfred has become that kid. No matter what conversation he gets into or who he talks to, if there is an opening or an opportunity he will bring up Earth and once that's accomplished he can go on and on for hours. He's downloaded every possible data file he can find about the entire subject: life before the Fall, the Fall itself, and the human race's desperate escape across the stars and for him it's still never enough. There's always another e-file to sync: about ancient nations, about old sciences and religions, about old wars and songs and dances and food; every second he can spare he gives over to tales of the past woven from the binary of today.

They are a scattered people, he likes to tell his listeners, there are hundreds of us, strewn across galaxies and planets and ships and no one knows how many of us there are any more because the Fall ripped apart alliances and histories so we don't even know who else is out there to find. Everything was lost, everything; the history, the stories, the places, the-

At this point, someone usually either changes the topic of conversation or he realises that they've walked away and left him babbling to himself, his eyes shut as he imagines the flight to freedom that happened too long before he was born. Adults are usually nicer and listen for longer, but they don't mean it either and by pretending to be interested in what he has to say they only serve to hurt him more.

He just can't understand, why does no one else find this interesting? Why does no one else dream of where they as a species came from and long to see it for themselves? Alfred would do anything to feel the wind on his face, to have breeze in his hair and the sun touch his skin because although he could play in a holo-room or go on a special holo-holiday it's not real and Alfred longs to just feel it. The sun on his planet is strong but the dense material of the domes blocks it from actually reaching him; he can't feel the warmth. At school he's learnt that it's too hot out there anyway and he'd die, but according to his data files the sun should be warm and gentle and fill up summer days and spring afternoons, so he can't quite feel the danger as much as he probably should. There's no air outside the domes either and what's the point of feeling the sun without a breeze, so he's not as sad as he could have been. It wouldn't ever compare to mankind's old sun, the sun in the stories he's growing up on.

He sometimes spends his recess and lunch at school rushing about as fast as his legs can carry him. Trying to get his own wind in such space is hard, but not impossible and if he focuses hard enough on his self-made breeze he can imagine that he's running over rocks and cliffs and weaving in and out of long gone animals that only the sky can remember. If this doesn't work, he syncs with his e-files to learn about something else, he's started to get into the people recently and likes the stories about normal stuff the most. Food, clothes, toys. Relatable things that he can see in his own home and use to imagine that he's been transported back through time and space.

There are often pictures of houses and Alfred marvels as how big they are and how much stuff those people must have had, collected form all the many places they must have seen. You can't get wood any more, but maybe if he asks Pa nicely he can get him some of that building material they use for making the new domes and he can practise making his own, just to see if he can.

He spends his weekends tinkering in his room with old bits of plastic, metal and cables and every now and again he plugs in a new circuit board to the plug sockets in his room and sees if he can make the lights turn on or off from somewhere else. Last weekend he built a fan and managed to make it blow. He can sync up a sound file from Earth and imagine that he's in a town somewhere way back when and there's a breeze on his face and there's someone who wants to talk to him.

Alfred is fifteen and is the best engineer in his school. He specialised early -he'd always had a knack for building things and he's good with numbers- and now this is what he's known for. Alfred can look at a electrical hub or a circuit board and immediately he can see either what's wrong or how to improve it and this makes him valuable. He's been building and fiddling with this sort of stuff in his room for ages but now it's finally cool, people actually want him to do that now. He sees it as a lucky thing, that he was bullied so much for it previously, because now he can see how much bullshit people like to throw when they want you to do something, how much an opinion of someone can change depending on their age and talent. Too good too young: weird and a nerd, you're wasting your time. Then you hit the right age and suddenly you're very experimental, very mature, it's good to know what you want in life. But ah, still young enough not to know your worth, you'll fix this for me for free, yes? If he wasn't as good as he is, he thinks, how valuable would they think I am? The answer scares him because he knows what it is and knows how thin the line he treads is; there are others like him, don't forget.

What even is he, without the skills of his hands?

He is seventeen. Alfred hates it, but Ma could use the help and Pa's not getting any younger, so he accepted an offer not too long ago for a entry level job in the government engineering department. It is an amazing offer for someone so young and fresh out of school, he knows that, but as much as he enjoys what he does the days wear him out and he spends less time listening to his e-files and more time building the dreams of others far more affluent than he.

He thinks he's doing okay for a while. The days whittle by easily and he starts to build up a nice savings pile that he uses to help out his parents every now and again. But he's nothing special. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of kids just like him on this planet who have been fed on a diet of strict, specialised schooling meant to produce only the best and Alfred knows that the only thing which sets him apart from the many many many others is his ability to just keep going. There is no safety in what he does at his age, no net to catch him if he slips up, so he begins to take on private jobs at the weekend to build up his CV further and get his name out there, making the chance of falling just that bit smaller. Before he realises it it's been a month since he last had the time set aside to listen to an e-file and that hits him, hard. He'd never had to set aside time before. Hell, he can't remember when he'd last done anything other than go to work, come home to sleep, and repeat.

He's struck by the monotony of it all. He can't see a difference between his life and that of his dad's, or his dad's friends, or anyone he knows, for that matter. Is this all there is? Is this all anyone does? When is there ever a break? Then, he gets it. There won't be a break. As soon as you can't keep up in this crazy race he's in, you're worthless. He's kind of been kidding himself, almost, that there'd be an end to it all, like a video game where you complete the level and then suddenly it's free play. You work hard to get a reward of, of something, or at least you can stop worrying and panicking about being left behind. There is no free play, he realises, it just keeps on going until you can't play any more because life has ground out your energy and sucked the vitality from your bones.

He goes running; pounding his feet on the treadmill he sucks in the humid air around him and imagines than he's running through an old Earthen jungle, dodging trees and leaping over crags in the forest floor. But there's no wind, and Earth refuses to come alive.

Alfred is eighteen. A message came through from Earth, old true Earth, that a new colony there is doing well and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since, thinking and dreaming about what he'd do if he ever went there, if he ever set up his life there instead of here. He could...no. There is no safety in history, he knows. There is no definite chance that anyone would want him to do that. Besides, there's no potential for definite growth, no stable career plan because you can't guarantee a career on digging up the scanty past of a long dead planet. But no matter how big of a safety net he could make for himself in engineering he feels no passion about any of it and the idea of spending his days encapsulated in this metal world of domes and tunnels makes him feel cold.

There's something that calls him in his dreams and whispers over the wind in his mind and this builds and builds in his feet until he can't keep them still any longer. One more look out of the window and up at the stars and he's gonna blow, he needs to get out and go go go because if he doesn't then he's gonna sink in this place.

Before he can stop himself he's bought a ticket and finds himself packing hurriedly late at night when his parents are asleep, stuffing clothes into the only bag he only which is far too small for this sort of thing but who the fuck travels anywhere these days? He hasn't got time to be better at this so he crouches under his bed and reaches in, all the way back until his hand scrapes the wall and he finds his old fan that he built when he was eight. He puts it on his bed, places his e-tab next to it with a message of what he's done and that's that.

He slips out without waking his parents, because saying goodbye would only be too hard and he knows that he'd end up changing his mind if they spoke even one word to him, so he says his farewells in silence and disappears.

................................................................................................................................

Peter is five and he sits upon his mother's knee, playing with the buttons on her shirt. She's with other adults and they're all talking about something that he doesn't really understand but they all sound sad and the air feels heavy so he keeps quiet like a good boy should and thinks about other things to keep himself busy. He thinks about the e-book his nanny got him last Christmas, the one with the pretty pictures, and thinks that it would be nice to live inside that book, with the greens of grass that he's never touched before. He wonders if grass is hard or soft and he spends so long thinking of this that that night, when he is sleeping, he dreams that he is running on grass and it is prickly, tickling his feet.

There is a voice in the dream, singing him the story but it is not Nanny's voice, nor Mummy's or Daddy's, but another man's and the lilt of his voice sings a language Peter doesn't know but it is a good voice for story telling and so the dream is vivid and touchable. He flies through the grass, feet pounding at earth instead of metal and the voice chuckles, deep and throaty. It makes him feel safe.

He wakes up because his Mummy is stroking his hair and forgets; school teaches him about how the air system in his dome works. Grass isn't as important as breathing.

He is eight and they are learning about the old Earthen languages. There used to be many, his teachers says, and each language held a culture, a history and a soul of a people and there used to be hundreds of them on Earth before it Fell. The teacher is old; his words are flat and there is no passion in his tone, but a thrill runs up Peter's arms as he imagines so much more. From the nothing he is given his brain decides to give those dead languages life and all of a sudden there are bursts of sound echoing inside his head. The teacher moves on, the class sits bored, but Peter can hear consonants clash against teeth and tongue and fricatives slip between breathy vowels. There are phonemes which glide between dipthongs and tripthongs to bound and fall out of the hundreds of mouths of hundreds of people; whispers of a past no one can hear tell stories long forgotten.

There is a clap very close to his head which scares all of the sounds away. His teacher looms over him, frowning in exasperation.

'Again, Peter?' he says, 'Stop daydreaming, boy. I asked you a question.'

'Er...' his classmates snicker and he feels his ears go red. 'I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't listening.'

'That much was obvious.'

Peter's cheeks burn hotter and he stares at his e-tab, focusing on the light of the screen to stop him from crying.

Before too long the lesson changes, then the day ends and he's allowed to go home. He walks alone through the corridors and exits the school dome, coming into the shuttle bus bay. He's a big boy now, he can take the shuttle bus all by himself and he has a special card to prove it. Weaving in and out of the other children, he hurries to where his bus is docked and scrambles inside to rush to his favourite seat, hopping up and placing his bag on the seat beside him. He likes to sit alone, because then he can stare out of the window and dream for as long as the journey will let him without worrying about talking to someone. Not that anyone wants to anyway, the other children say he's not got a brain because he would rather focus on the story in his head than on their silly games.

Nanny doesn't mind, she says it's good for people to dream and says that he goes off to somewhere called 'Neverland' whilst she pinches his cheeks and calls him her little Peter Pan. But when he gets home Nanny isn't there, Mummy and Daddy are and they're huddled in front of the large e-screen in the sitting room, faces pinched in worry.

He drops his bag by the kitchen table and goes to join them. There is a man on the screen speaking about their air ventilation system and a 'catastrophic degradation' and about some big numbers with a scientist nodding seriously to his left.

'What do we do now?' His mother's voice is hushed, fragile.

His father raises his eyes to her and shakes his head slowly. 'Debbie... you heard what he said. The planet's no longer viable.' His eyes flick towards Peter, suddenly aware that he's there too, and he smiles although it doesn't reach his eyes. 'Hey Pete. Do you mind doing your homework in your room today?'

Peter could ask why, but he sees that his Daddy doesn't want him to and Mummy looks like she's going to cry, so he glances once more at the screen and nods. He leaves them with the scary looking numbers and tips his books onto his bed. That night he dreams of waves crashing against his legs and he tastes the salt on his lip when he wakes.

At nine, there's some breaking news. Earth, of all things Earth, is habitable once more and it can't come at a better time. Peter sits on his favourite sofa at Nan's house, with his father having lunch, when the planet-wide intercom coughs its way to life and briefly deafens them all before the sound adjusts ever so slightly.

'ATTENTION ALL. PRIMARY SUPPORT SYSTEMS FOR THE SOUTH SIDE HAVE SUFFERED AN IRREPERABLE MALFUNCTION. BACKUP SYSTEMS WILL HOLD FOR APPROXIMATLY 3 HOURS AND 45 MINUTES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL; MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR EVACUATION POINTS.'

Then, it falls silent once more.

South side, that's them. Peter immediately feels as though he's going to be sick and by the look on his dad's face he's not alone. Once one half of the planet goes the other will surely follow. It's something they've all been expecting and planning for for years, but it's far, far too soon, they should have more time than this; they're not ready to go and the government's not even started the evacuation programme yet. His Nan shoots a look at his father from where she's sat in her armchair. It's a look Peter can't really read because there's something there that he subconsciously doesn't want to acknowledge.

'Earth?' Her voice is a thin whisper.

His father nods gravely. 'We got them Mum, the tickets came yesterday.' Peter's heart briefly lifts at the prospect, a longing that's deep and euphoric but then it crashes quickly. 'But...'

His Nan smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. 'I know.'

Slowly, with growing horror, Peter understands. 'Wait,' he whips his head back and forth between the two of them, 'Nanny, where-'

'Don't worry, Peter,' she gets up and goes to kneel in front of where he's frozen in his chair, hands digging nails into the old material, 'I'll get on one of the other evacuation ships.'

'But you're not-,' his eyes burn and his voice is breaking but he doesn't look away, 'but you're not with us, why aren't you coming with us.'

'Oh Peter, my little Peter Pan,' she hugs him tight, pulling him in to her chest and he grips his hands in her shirt and tries to take in as much of her as he can.

'Mum we- we have to go.' Dad doesn't sound much better and before Peter can register much his Dad is hugging his Nan with a funny tight look on his face, then he's being pulled by the arm and out of the door, stumbling over his feet as he tries to keep up.

A terse shuttle bus later they get home to his mother already throwing their things into cases and boxes, haphazardly grabbing at e-frames and e-tabs to squash them and their memories safe under piles of their clothes. Peter could help, should help, but all he can do it sit numbly on the floor and cry whilst his life is collected and contained into a few measly bags. The rest will be left.

It doesn't take too long, thankfully, as Peter doesn't know what's worse, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible or wanting to stay and cling to the remnants of the only life he's ever known. As they make their way to the loading bays for the Earth-bound travellers he blearily finds himself thinking about what classes he'll miss in school tomorrow, but then he remembers Nanny and the ordeal starts anew as reality sets back in.

His parents are focused on more practical things.

They stand in line, their few pieces on luggage already being loaded on, and wait to board the ship they were assigned to only yesterday. His mother speaks under her breath, as if she is afraid to talk too loudly for fear of jinxing something. 'The Earth ships aren't even ready. They won't have enough food let alone rooms.'

His father shakes his head and slips his hand down to intertwine with hers. 'They must have known something like this could happen at any time, they've been predicting it for years. If anything, the rooms may not be ready but the agricultural sections will be.' He looks determinedly at the back of the head of the man in front of them and swallows. 'They only give out tickets if there's room. We'll be fine.'

Peter's mother glances his way meaningfully, and then back to his father.

'Jo, there're not enough ships; no one was ready in time. They can't have planned for everyone.' She bites the inside of her cheek, one hand on Peter's shoulder. Her fingers dig in, hard, but he doesn't try to shrug her off. He can barely feel it.

His father understands. 'She'll call us when she can.' Then, the line moves and they lurch forward together, huddled close.

Just before the door, where the tickets are being checked and where the din of the engines roaring into life starts to become uncomfortable, his father takes one last desperate look at out of the window at the distant domes of their colony, nestled in the dust. He taps an impatient rhythm against the tiled floor. 'She'll call.'

She never does.

................................................................................................................................

Francis is three and his daddy has just left Mummy.

'He went to fight,' she says as she strokes his hair. This confuses him because fighting is bad and you're only allowed to fight if someone tries to fight you first and no one has been nasty to Daddy that he's seen.

Mummy doesn't answer but continues to stroke his hair, humming softly a tune she sings to him every night before bed that sounds old and sad and sleepy, so he just nods and rests his head heavily against her chest.

He doesn't see his Daddy again.

He is ten when he realises that there never was any war. The notion strikes him dumb one day in the kitchen as he distantly listens to the news playing through the announcer when he helps wash up after dinner. The announcer is speaking about something banal, a fashion show maybe, but Francis is staring out of the window and up at the sky, up at the stars that push through the daytime's thin atmosphere. He doesn't know what caused him to start this train of thought, but once it's started his brain quickly pieces together the puzzle that it has ignored all of this time.

At school they were taught about wars, about age old battles with guns and swords and metal where blood was spilt over land and the wealth it contained. But, there hasn't been any fighting here. He scrubs a glass, sponge squeaking against the side. And even if there was fighting somewhere far away, his dad would surely still be able to write or visit, or come back after all this time. And more importantly, if there was a war going on now then surely he would have learnt about it at school, rather than learning about age old political struggles on the human-ruined home world.

His mother takes the glass from his slack grip. 'Daydreaming?'

He shakes himself to and looks at her. Turned away and out of the window her face is suddenly older and oddly clearer than he remembers it being, she looks like a person rather than just his mother and that's a scary thought. It's as though the wash of childhood has momentarily slipped away and he's now aware of both it and the harsh brushstrokes of reality. She's a person and feels things, just like he does. So it hurts, that she lied, and it will hurt him for a long time because he doesn't know why but cannot for the life of him bring himself to ask her. Francis is good at reading people and he knows that this isn't something he should ask about, so turns back to the dirty dishes and doesn't.

When Francis is fifteen there is a war, of sorts. The planet nearest to them, the one they rely on the most for trade, switches governmental policies and refuses to continue their current agreements. This results in a breakdown of communication and heightened tension between the two colonies, each bristling angrily at the offence yet unwilling to be the first to initiate anything rash. There is minor rationing imposed upon Francis' planet until trade is re-established as well as a draft of specialisation training implemented, just in case. He's unaffected by the rationing; the draft is a different story. Just in case this trade block becomes permanent, his planet needs to be prepared to become fully self sufficient in everything from science, to food, to art, to the army.

The block stays in place and tensions rise. Against his wishes, Francis is assigned a scientific draft. He is now seventeen and knows he needs to be given something but he'd prefer agriculture or education to research, if he could have the choice, or the arts if he's allowed to dream. He isn't. He brain is good, his grades are high and thus he is far more useful to the cause working on the advancement of his planet than working to help feed it.

A few days after his birthday and a month after his posting letter arrives, his mother rides with him on a shuttle to his boarding station. He will try out four different areas: mechanics, medicine, biology, and physics, then he will be assigned to what he works with best, where he can produce the best work possible. But Francis can't think of anything worse than being stuck in a lab all day, shutters drawn and devoid of all personality. Even worse, he's heard the rumours that have managed to float back from those who have graduated and knows that once he boards this ship there's no escaping the life he'll be moulded into. The programme is four years long and then he will be placed into a job where he will stay until he dies. At twenty one he will have no other skills for work other than what he will acquire at the science facility, there is no swapping careers afterwards. He wants to do so much, there is so much that he loves to do, and with each passing shuttle stop his heart grows more frantic, fighting his brain which has accepted the inevitable.

He gets physics. He calls his mother to howl down the phone once, just once, before he realises the futility of doing so; nothing can or will change. Accept it.

At twenty, a year before his training would end, there is finally a truce. Trade resumes and Francis finally tastes sugar after five years but now, after so long, the taste is too much. Not fully qualified yet too old to be automatically accepted into another programme, Francis is in limbo. There isn't much point in him continuing his training, there are more than enough specialists now and not enough jobs to give them, so there isn't anything for him to do. It's odd, now that there is nothing to work towards he feels empty but at the same time everything is just too much. He returns home and his mother fusses and tries to talk to him, tries to get him to come out of his room and sit with her and he did, at first, but the longer he's home the shorter his resistance is and the longer the 'breaks' are in his room.

Emotions seem to be harder to process without a goal, that or he never had many to begin with and without something to distract him from that notion he's finally noticing how few he has. Either way, other people are small insignificant creatures who worry about such useless, banal things. Who did what, with who and where. Did you know, her son the doctor? Well, he's a you know what now and- ugh. Francis can no longer take it.

He doesn't really see this as a problem. He feels as though he's risen above other people and finally understands that such things are not worth his time; why worry, after all, about what job to get. Why worry about whether or not someone likes you. Every day, regardless of what they do, the planet will spin and the domes will reflect the same bleak, churning sky and Francis realises that he's trapped here, by this life and that his life means nothing. None of their lives do, it's all the same; nowhere new to go, nothing new to do. Pick a job, do the job. Come home, go back. Retire. Die.

So he sits in his room, because if he talks to his mother or to anyone else he is reminded that somehow he's supposed to care about it, that life here is supposed to matter to him just as it matters to everyone else. His mother will mention this or that and he'll have to either fake the responses she wants, or not and upset her and neither option sounds pleasing to him.

After years of monotony and training suddenly he is permitted to express again and it's like he's forgotten how, the parts rusty after all the disuse. There are too many emotions and he finds himself forgetting to use them or using the wrong ones because he can't do them automatically any more, for some reason, and reactions that call for an understanding of nuance are just lost to him. Very quickly everything is too much. Food, heat, depth, people, concepts, everything.

He hides away but then they stop becoming too much and they shrink and shrivel up and become nothing at all he can feel how empty he is. Nothing can fill the void he's got because he doesn't even know why it's there and he can scarcely tell that there's a problem in the first place. He does knows he's got a problem though, really, knows how serious it is by the way his mother watches him with fearful eyes and baleful glances. She tiptoes tentatively around the house, carefully softening her words and her gentleness feels like a pressure cooker slowly but surely building something that's going to get bigger and hotter and harder to make go away. She avoids talking about it, about how Francis feels or doesn't, and by doing so the problem is allowed to grow, unchecked. Francis doesn't have to act any more, doesn't have to pretend, and so the feelings of apathy grow and grow until they swallow him whole and all he can bring himself to do is sit and stare and the sky, a dark choking yellow.

It feels heavy to look at, like a lid covering everything in his life, all potential, all future, all growth. It just festers and sinks lower and lower still and he sits and watches it for days before he's realised he's done so.

When Francis is twenty-two, his mother breaks. Not that she herself breaks, but her patience does.

'I can't do this any more.' she says. There are tears on her face and Francis watches one slide off and fall onto her collar. 'You need to go.'

Francis appraises her properly, meeting her eyes. She flinches at his gaze but remains resolute in her decision, though her bottom lip quivers. 'There's nothing for you here, we both know that. You don't want to be here, so you need to go.'

'I don't want to be anywhere.' he replies.

She gives him a watery smile. 'I know. That's why, you might as well see if you can want to be somewhere else.' She lifts up her arm and shows him her e-tab, the translucent screen showing a brightly coloured ticket. 'I've bought you a flight. It's Earth, it was declared habitable a few weeks ago.'

Francis knows he should feel something, this is one of those instances when he knows that he should be feeling something but he can't quite imagine what emotion he should give her.

She doesn't seem to expect one. 'It's one way. And this, this is all of my savings, Francis.' Her eyes are wide and her face is suddenly so very very old. 'If you don't want to be any more, at least make that decision once you've seen this. You can't go without seeing this, after all. See this, see it for me and then you can decide, okay?'

Suddenly she looks shocked and runs forward to embrace him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and knocking her e-tab into his face. The garish purple of the ticket burns his eyes. 'Oh Francis.' She sobs into his shoulder and clutches tightly into his shirt. 'Oh Francis it's okay, you can cry if you want to.'

Oh.

He's crying.

................................................................................................................................

Ludwig is six, and is sick again. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him; they know what's causing it at least but they have no idea why. He can't keep food down and every time he tries to stand the world pitches and swims and he can't keep his balance so he never manages to stay up for long before he bonelessly falls to the floor, where he feels no better.

It's the gravity, the doctors say, for some reason he's affected by the gravity. The artificial gravity that he's known all his life; it's as if he's just climbed aboard and his body suffers from relapses where it just can't acclimatise. Where it suddenly realises that something's not quite right and rebels against him for a week or so. This his family already knows, but his mother isn't satisfied with such a lacklustre answer so she takes him to a different doctor every time he suffers another attack just in case one of them is even marginally more competent than the last. These 'episodes', as his mother likes to call them, don't happen all that often, but he seems to have one every ten months or so and they are regular enough to annoy his mother to no end. Ludwig doesn't really know if she's annoyed that no one can fix him or with him himself, Gilbert won't say and normally his big brother talks to pretend that he knows something so his silence worries Ludwig the most.

Mother is a very important person with a very important job: she's a governor of the space station upon which they live and it is very important that Ludwig remembers this. So, when he's laying in bed clutching at his belly and desperately clenching his eyes shut to minimise the swaying, his friends at school think that he is away for a special training academy. Because can you just imagine, the governor of a space station's son being space sick?

His father doesn't like to call it that because he thinks it's degrading so his mother doesn't, when she thinks Ludwig can't hear, anyway, but Ludwig knows that's what the kids at school would say so he happily keeps mum because it's easier than lying. They don't talk to him much besides, they find him too cold and distant but that's because he's so scared of disgracing his mother further that he can't quite relax fully.

When Ludwig is thirteen his mother, after exhausting all doctors aboard their large floating colony, finally accepts that it's unlikely that this small problem of his is going to go away. Her way of dealing with it is to pretend that it just doesn't happen; during an attack Ludwig is sent to his room where he stays painfully alone with only his books for company whilst she busies herself with her new campaigns. She's running for director now, aiming as high as she can go and there's no room for weak, feeble Ludwig all the way up there.

His brother tries his best to keep him entertained and happy during these times, but Gilbert is healthy, strong, smart; he's everything that Ludwig should also be able to grow up to be and their parents have sent him off to expensive schools which means that he's more often away from home than not. Sometimes Ludwig wonders if they've sent him away because they want Gilbert to be the all around best he can be, or if it's to distance him as much as they can from Ludwig. It's almost as if they're worried that Ludwig will taint him, or that maybe Gilbert will grow too attached to him and distract himself from what's really important. That Ludwig will anchor him down.

At five years older it's highly unlikely that Ludwig will be the one doing the influencing, but his brother, despite hardly seeing each other and such a large age difference, does seem to genuinely care for him. During one particular attack, when Ludwig is eighteen, Gilbert is home from university; it is almost Christmas and his family are preparing to travel to where his grandparents live on the other side of the space station, where they'll spend the holiday. Of course, it is now that his body decides to betray him.

He, his parents, and his brother are gathered around the large dining room table finishing off dinner. It is tense. Mostly it is Gilbert who talks because despite their mother's cool demeanour and their father's lack of interest he seems to always have something to say to fill the silence and speaks easily. Even with the response he gets, or lack of it, he seems honestly unperturbed and remains cheerful, somehow managing to both eat and speak without seeming impolite. As much as he loves his brother, Ludwig is also supremely jealous.

He stares at his fork, contemplating which point in the evening would be best to ask if he could slip away, when his body decides for him. His stomach swoops, his ears pop and the table tilts alarmingly. He clenches the edge in panic to remain upright and the noise alerts his mother, who looks up from her dessert in irritation.

'Ludwig, we are going away tomorrow.'

'M- mother-'

His mother sighs and looks at his father, who sharply stares back. 'Dear?'

His father grunts and spears another forkful of fruit pie. 'They're expecting him to come.'

'But the photographers-'

'What do you want me to do, Hilda?'

Meanwhile, Ludwig has still not been dismissed and cannot now seem to find the words to ask for permission himself without spewing all over the fancy silverware. He doubts that that will make the situation better, somehow. Gilbert notices and stands, attracting his parents' attention.

'I'll take Luddy to his room.'

'Darling...' their mother tries to say something, but it's what she's trying not to say that comes across the loudest.

Gilbert ignores her and walks around the table, slowly helping Ludwig to his feet, then away from the table and swiftly towards a bathroom. They make it just in time. Gilbert pats him comfortingly on the back and rubs soothing circles into his shoulders until he's finished, then hands him a glass of water.

'So, they're still arseholes, huh?'

Ludwig snaps his head up in horror, but this is a bad idea because the image of Gilbert swims before him and he has to shut his eyes.

'Don't call them that.' He finally manages, weakly.

Gilbert tuts. 'What the fuck did they feed you with in order to churn your personality out.'

Ludwig lays his head on the cool tiles of the floor and groans inwardly at how nice the feeling is. 'They're not arseholes.'

'Yeah, and my name's Shirley.'

Ludwig cracks open an eye, but Gilbert's not joking. He is, for once, deadly serious. 'How'd you put up with them Lud?'

Ludwig shrugs and gives a small shake of his head. 'They're our parents, Gil. They still care for me. Besides, I'm not exactly making it easy for them.'

Gilbert looks disgusted. 'You're their fucking son, arsehole. They're supposed to take care of you. They ain't even doing that right are they?' Gilbert runs a hand through his shock of white hair and bits his bottom lip whilst he shakes his head. 'Look at how they treat you versus me.'

'Yes, but I'm not exactly-'

'But nothing!' Gilbert raises his voice slightly and swallows. When he speaks again, he's much quieter, back under control. 'Have they got you in a university programme yet?'

Ludwig's silence is answer enough and Gilbert sighs deeply before brushing back Ludwig's sweaty fringe. 'There's nothing wrong with you Lud.' His brother sounds so very sad. 'Fuck, there's nothing wrong with you at all. They know full well that if they put you on a planet rather than this floating heap of rust that you'll probably be alright. And have they? Have they fuck.'

Ludwig wants to argue against him, wants to say something to stand up for himself if not for their parents but his eyes are suddenly burning and his throat is choked up. He knew a long time ago that his parents had given up on him, but to hear it from someone else hurts more sharply than anything he tells himself.

There's an odd companionable silence for a while; Ludwig lays still with his face against the floor and his brother's hand carding through his hair so he almost misses what Gilbert says next.

'I was gonna wait till Boxing Day, but I've got us tickets for Earth.'

Ludwig tenses and holds his breath. Gilbert continues. 'I was gonna wake you up on the 26th and take you away with me, but I want to tell you now instead, cause you look like shit. We're gonna get out of here Luddy; I've always wanted to take you to a planet and what better one is there than the original, huh?'

'You, I- you can't- what about your studies? The internship you've got?' Ludwig manages to stammer out, opening his eyes.

Gilbert brushes his concerns aside. 'I never liked medicine, really. I've always wanted to go to a planet, so I'm mega up for it.'

Ludwig knows he should say no, knows that he shouldn't take up the offer. He'd be denying his brother so much, he'd be exactly what their parents worried he'd be because he'll only drag Gilbert down and down and down like a heavy lead weight and ruin all of his chances at a good life.

But Ludwig wants to be selfish. He reaches out and clasps onto Gilbert's hand, squeezing it tightly. 'Gil...'

Gilbert flashes him a grin and winks. 'I know, right? How awesome am I?'

#my writing #hetalia #aph #APH England #APH France #aph america #aph germany #aph prussia #aph sealand #aph canada #aph fruk #fruk #au #sci-fi #hws fruk #oh no what am i doing #something is cooking that's for sure

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 4 years

Text

Impending Paternity

Word Count: 3900+ (oneshot) [AO3]

Genre: Humor/Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson

Characters: Peter B. Parker, Mary Jane Watson, Spider-Man Noir, Peter Porker, Gwen Stacy, Peni Parker, Miles Morales

Summary: The closer the birth of his first child gets, the more Peter’s old fears of fatherhood resurface. Fortunately for him, he now has universes of parenting advice to call on and prepare him.

Written for the @dimension-zine.

~0~

Waking up in a cold sweat wasn’t something at all new to Peter B. Parker. That didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

What was new to him was registering the feeling of MJ’s arms around his waist as they slept, the flat press of her chin by his shoulders. Once again, they shared a bed: small, but more than enough room for them to lay pressed up against each other, legs entwined, skin on skin. It was almost enough for Peter to forget what had caused him to sleep more restlessly than he had in a very, very long time.

Even in the dark of the bedroom, the damn pregnancy test is staring directly at him from the mesh metal wastebasket, with its solid pink eye. He’d stared down monsters, mobsters, and maniacs of all sorts without blinking, and yet this damn near ignites his old “curl up in the shower and hide” instinct. MJ’s stomach doesn’t show any signs of change yet, doesn’t feel any different against his back...But there’s going to be a tiny person in there very soon. A person that he helped create. A person that he’ll have responsibility to.

MJ can’t stop smiling about it — this is what she’s wanted for a long time — and her joy is very nearly infectious. Peter had agreed to this, of course he had. It was time for him to quit hiding away from the fears that he couldn’t dodge or punch away so easily. But still, he isn’t sure if he can say he’s wholeheartedly looking forward to it, and still be telling the truth.

He’s never had younger siblings or cousins. He has long since lost Uncle Ben and Aunt May (knowing that other versions of them exist, even meeting them, doesn’t erase the sting). MJ hasn’t said a word to her own parents in years, and Peter has never had any problem saying flat out how unhelpful he’s sure they’d be anyway. So he has nobody to fall back on if he has questions or confusions or fears — aside from MJ, and while he loves her and trusts her judgment in all things, he can anticipate there may be times when an uninvolved third party will be invaluable.

All of a sudden, Peter freezes, eyes going wide. He has the sudden impulse to jump out of bed that always used to come with a brilliant idea, which he feels are too few and far between nowadays. Obviously he can’t do that now, at fuck o’clock in the morning with his wife’s arms securely around him. It’ll have to wait until the morning, but oh, he can’t wait to explain to her over breakfast what he’s planning to do when he grabs enough free time over the next few months. She still hasn’t heard everything he’s had to tell about his little dimension-hopping adventure...

~0~

“So!” Spider-Man Noir slams this finished egg cream down on the table just as fiercely as he has the past eight glasses. “You’re finally becoming a daddy!”

“How...are you doing that through your mask?” Peter asks hesitantly, sipping on his one half empty glass of the drink.

“I remember my childhood fondly,” Noir goes on as if Peter hadn’t spoken, gazing nostalgically out his window. He had wanted to take Peter bar-hopping, initially, but a guy walking around all in color attracted too much attention on the streets, and they had agreed that Noir’s apartment would be best for a private conversation. “Don’t remember my own mother or father, but my Aunt May says that she and my Ma used to trade parenting tips out of pamphlets when I was just a grub.”

Peter perks up slightly. “What kind of tips?”

“Well! First one’s for your future mama...Ah, how’s your place looking?”

Peter blinks. “It’s...fine. Better than living alone, no offense to you, but — ”

“No, no, you don’t get it. Is it all pretty?”

“Huh? Pretty?”

“Somethin’ Ma and Aunt May picked up from my granny,” Noir explains. “If a mama with an unborn baby sees ugly things, that ugly beams itself into her brain and straight down into her womb, and gets right into your baby. So you gotta be sure to keep her around pretty things to look at, you see? You want a nice kid, don’tcha?”

“Uh...Y-Yeah! I sure do!” he says, trying to keep disappointment off his face. Noir talks with absolute conviction in his beliefs, but what Peter had forgotten was that these were the beliefs of 1933. Even earlier, if he’s getting this stuff from older relatives. None of it’s going to do his twenty-first century self any good.

So the first chance he gets, Peter slurps down the last of his egg cream (surprisingly tasty, he’ll have to look up a modern recipe to compare sometime) and leaps up from his chair, sauntering back over towards an opening portal. “Thanks so much, Noir, but I gotta run! No telling when I can catch the next portal, y’know?”

Noir waves, unperturbed, pouring another drink. “Stock up on lard! You got to give baby’s first bath with it, get all that scum off ‘em!”

“Sure! Lard! No problem!” Peter calls over his shoulder, nearly diving into the portal.

~0~

Though Ham assures him that the natives find him much stranger and more unsettling than he finds them, Peter never quite gets used to being a real guy in a cartoon world. The lurid colors hurt his eyes, things move too fast and sound is constantly blaring, and for some reason he’s very, very suspicious about the contents of those hot dogs. But the veggie wraps are surprisingly good, and he chows down with one hand while typing at breakneck speed with the other.

“Hot dog, you’re fast enough to kick some butt at the Daily Beagle!” Ham bounces up and pats his head happily. “Granted, we’re more story-ey than sciencey over there, but you get the point! That file-hunting stuff’s really not giving you any trouble?”

“Nope,” says Peter through a mouthful of tomato and lettuce. MJ’s newly emerging cravings were much less of a pain than either of them had expected: they consisted mostly of something rich stuffed into something bread, and he wished he could bring something from here back for her. “The rules are pretty different from the re -- uh, from my dimension, but surprisingly easy to memorize. I should be able to retrieve what you’re looking for in...maybe two minutes?”

“Faaaaan-tastic!”

“Can you keep them busy that much longer?”

“Sure can!” As he speaks, Ham is already whipping a comically large wrench out of his pocket and hurling it at the helmeted boar goons trying to break through the barricaded door. “Take that, you @#$%^&*!”

Peter still isn’t sure how Ham manages to make those sounds instead of swearing, but no matter. As far as he’s concerned, no questions equals smooth sailing.

Well...of course he does have one.

“Hey, Ham, this might be a weird thing to ask, but...what would you call ‘good parenting?’”

“Huh, I’m not sure. My parents passed before I was hatched, but Mom made sure her sac was settled in a nice place! My web was in May Porker’s lab for months before I transformed! Good thing, too, I was coming up on the tail end of my lifespan!”

“Oh...Y-Yeah, real good thing,” Peter stammers, fingers momentarily freezing on the keys as he processes that whole spider-turned-pig thing one more time. He’s privately quite glad that he’s never seen what’s under Ham’s mask.

“I consider myself real lucky, actually!” Ham laughs. There’s a crash, and the metal door starts to squeal off its hinges, the enemy scrabbling to all get through the cracks at once. Ham promptly yanks out a machine gun and lets fly at them. Peter chokes down a laugh at the toy rat-a-tat-a-tat noises it makes. “Aunt May’s the best aunt a Spider-Ham could ask for! Bakes a mean apple pie, talks my ears off about her tech, supports me in all my endeavors. And you know, I can barely even see the bite scar anymore!”

Peter chokes on tomato. “The what?”

“Oh, Aunt May was the radioactive pig that turned me into Spider-Ham in the first place! My memories are slightly muddled around that time, but oh well! Doesn’t matter! Though neither of us had any idea it would do that, soooo...maybe just be extra careful about where your teeth go?”

Peter huffs, right-clicking the elusive file he’s found and downloading it to Ham’s flash drive, which is unsettlingly shaped like a bacon strip. “Yeah. Great advice. Don’t bite my kid. Next you’ll be telling me to keep my window open for the delivery stork to fly in with ‘em.”

“Well, sure, that’s just common courtesy! If ya really want to be nice, you give your stork a nice big tip!”

Peter swallows a groan from the deepest depths of his being, along with the last of the wrap.

~0~

“Six months and I still can’t believe you’re going to be a dad!” Gwen shouts, gracefully backflipping over another laser beam. “Like an actual dad!”

“Almost seven, actually! And yep! Can’t believe it either!” Peter answers somewhat breathlessly, through his own leaping and punching of the armored thugs rushing in through the legs of the gun-toting robots. “Any ideas for names? Because MJ and I are way out!”

He hears Peni’s thoughtful humming through the speakers of her newest prototype: SP//dr, Mark Three. “Hmm...I don’t know much about historical naming conventions, but I also don’t think they’ve changed very much...Chief Stacy, what do you think?”

Safeguarded inside SP//dr’s cockpit from the onslaught targeting him and remaining remarkably calm about it, George Stacy considers it. “Hm. My daughter’s name is Gwendolyn. I’ve always thought that was the nicest name.”

Peter smirks under his mask, and gently elbows Gwen as she passes him. “Whaddaya think, Spider-Woman?”

He physically feels Gwen rolling her eyes. “It’s fine. Why don’t you just name him after you?”

“There’s millions of me! Maybe more! And besides we don’t even know if it’s a him, yet!”

“What about Ben? Or Benjamin?” Peni suggests. “To honor your uncle!”

“Oh, come on! Doesn’t anybody have an original idea!”

Gwen wrenches a robot head off and lobs it straight into a goon’s chest. “You know what, those will probably be a little easier to come by after we finish getting shot at!”

“Agreed, ma’am,” Chief Stacy says. “Excellent throw, by the way. Hey, Man-Spider, machine gunner at three o’clock!”

No matter how short and no matter how many people fight beside him, Peter’s various battles always seem to last forever as they happen, but the memory of them only lasts a blink of an eye. So it’s slightly dizzying when just a couple hours after the attack has been dealt with, Chief Stacy secured, and a plan for Gwen to hunt down whoever had ordered it outlined, the three of them are sitting on the roof of a skyscraper, eating cheeseburgers while the sun rises before them.

“I can’t even imagine eating a burger with pickles on it,” Gwen says. “You’re really telling me that’s the common thing instead of chili peppers where you’re from?”

“Yep,” Peter confirms, washing a large, hot bite down with a quarter of his soda. “I mean, I’ve had jalapeño burgers before, but they’re like a specialty thing.”

“We eat pickles on our burgers, too, but they’re all deep fried,” Peni puts in. “Crunchy.”

Gwen laughs, the breeze blowing her hair back. After hearing the story of how she’d acquired her undercut, Peter always finds it funny that she’d gone ahead and kept it after all. “So weird.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says. “Entirely unrelated, if you need any more help with your dad, you just let me know.”

“And me!” Peni adds, SP//dr waving a leg in agreement.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Hey...Speaking of dads...” Peter pauses a moment to think before continuing, “What would you call your dads’ best qualities? Like, as a dad?”

“You’re looking for advice again?”

“A little template would be nice, sure!”

“All right, then...” Peni taps a French fry on the burger box. “I always loved how smart and loving my dad was, and that he had faith in me to continue his work when he was gone. Dad always believing in me helped me to believe in myself, when I might not have otherwise.”

Gwen nods. “I feel pretty similar about my dad. He doesn’t know about me being Spider-Woman, and he doesn’t really get the whole rock band thing. But he makes sure I know that he loves me no matter what, and that he’ll support me in whatever I decide to do. Provided I’m not, like, becoming a supervillain or anything, but I’m doing the opposite of that, so...”

Peter feels the urge to start taking notes. “Sounds good, sounds good, and...don’t take this the wrong way, but is there anything they do, as dads, that makes you not like them sometimes?”

Peni giggles. “Of course there was! I didn’t like when he’d work late and not get home on time, or when he’d make me stop reading comics and go to bed, or something like that. I’d get annoyed with him, but I still loved him.”

“My dad kind of runs the house like he does the police station,” Gwen adds. “He can be super strict, a bit like Miles’ dad. Ironclad rules and curfews for me and my brother, endless lectures when we break them. If I were a normal girl, it’d be pretty stifling, but since I have this life that I have to keep secret from him...it can be really hard sometimes.”

“Yeah, I...I can see that. I don’t really know if I should keep who I am secret from my kid, though. Would it keep them safe, or...just make them resent me? Or both?”

Gwen sighs. “There’s really no right answer, I don’t think.”

“You’re worried about being perfect.” Peni pats his shoulder. “But you don’t need to be. Just use your best judgment.”

Peter looks glumly at the street below. “I wish that was something I trusted.”

~0~

There’s a hollowness inside his chest.

The only light on the wide, empty street are from the street lamps, ghastly white against the pitch black. He moves as if underwater: swinging, roundhousing, throwing his barely-pulled punches. His heart is pounding, but the rest of him and the world feels numb. Cold sweat soaks the inside of his mask, and heavy dread washes over his skin.

Peter’s fighting shadows, human-shaped pillars of darkness. His strikes go right through them, when he can reach. But everything they land on him feels like being pummeled by a cannonball, and he’s not sure how long he can endure it.

The end comes out of nowhere. One spectral arm flashes up, there’s a glint of silver, and a soundless explosion that makes the whole world ripple. It hits his chest like a tidal wave, slams him into the concrete. He can’t get up again. In the world of muted, swimming colors, the gushing of blood from his shot-open heart is sickeningly vivid.

“DAD!”

Everything in him jolts. He lifts his spinning head to see a kid sprinting towards him, as fast as they can but not fast enough to reach him. He can’t tell how old the kid is, or whether they’re a boy or girl. But he recognizes MJ’s bright red hair and blue eyes, and his own expression of utter, gut-wrenching horror and heartbreak.

“DA-A-A-D!”

He tries to say he’ll be okay and coughs up blood instead. His rib-punctured lungs won’t let him speak. Panic engulfs him: his death is going to be burned into his kid’s eyes forever and there’s nothing he can do, nothing he can do, nothing, nothing, nothing —

“Peter! Peter, wake up, it’s okay!”

The darkness is blue, striped by the thin gold light through their bedroom blinds. His eyes fly open and he grabs for his bare chest: intact, bloodless. It’s soft and safe around him but he still can’t catch his breath. MJ is awkwardly rolling over in bed to stroke his hair and try to hug him.

“Peter, you’re okay. You were dreaming. Just dreaming...”

She’s no stranger to dealing with him like this, and the guilt stabs deeper. “I...s-sorry, I...”

“Deep breaths. Slow breaths. I’m here.”

“I won’t be,” he chokes out.

“Peter — ?”

“I-I dreamed that someone shot me, killed me, r-right in front of our kid. It...God, it terrified them, ruined them for life, I could feel it, and it was all my fault!”

He rolls over to look at her face, to anchor him to the real world. He half-expects to see irritation in her eyes at his weakness. Instead there’s love and sympathy.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was just a dream. That doesn’t mean it will happen.”

“It happened to every parent I ever had. It happened to me. What if I do that to my kid? I can’t — I don’t — ”

Trembling, Peter places his hands on MJ’s belly. Their kid, determined to make sure that their mom sleeps as little as possible, kicks a drumbeat against his palms. They don’t know what fear, pain, or loss is yet. How can he be the one to bring it into their life?

“I’m not running away again,” he assures MJ, as her fingers run through his hair.

“I know you won’t. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave our kid. I never did. I want to be there for you for the rest of my life,” Peter forces out through his tightening throat. “B-But that choice could end up not being mine, after all of this. The things I do, the people I fight, I could die anytime! I’d leave you again. Both of you.”

MJ cups his cheek, leans in to kiss his forehead. “I can’t tell you that nothing bad will happen, Peter. But I can tell you you’re not alone. Like, I worry about the same thing happening to me that happened to my mom. Dying before our baby can even remember me.”

Peter’s heart lurches; he’d forgotten about that. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t —“

She cuts him off with another kiss. “We’re both afraid, Peter. Your job is probably the most dangerous one out there, but you don’t have to go through this alone. All we can do is what every parent has to do: our best.”

“What if my best isn’t good enough? What if I fail, and they hate me?”

“It’ll be more than enough for the people who love you. Always.” MJ smiles. “And they would never hate you. I never could, no matter what.”

Tears slip down his cheeks. He wants to tell her thank you, but he can’t seem to speak, only hug her as close as he can.

~0~

He has one place left to visit. Something he hasn’t been able to face until month nine.

Aside from this world’s MJ, Miles is the most common visitor to Perfect Peter’s grave. After the first time, he’s never surprised to see Peter B. here too.

“Hey,” he says as Peter walks up, morning dew soaking his sneakers. “How’s it going? Is MJ doing okay?”

Peter nods. “Her due date’s in two weeks. All smooth sailing so far as the doctors say.”

“Awesome.” Miles half-smiles. “So...you had a question for me?”

“Yeah. I just need...one more hope boost before this thing really gets started. Feel free to tell me to kick rocks back to my own dimension if you don’t want to talk about it, but...” He gestures to the gravestone. “This Peter. Your uncle. What was it like to lose them, because of their line of work? I’ve made my life so damn risky, am I doing something wrong bringing a baby into it with me?”

Miles is silent for a long time. “I don’t have a solid yes or no to that. I...I’ll always wish things were different for them both. That there was something I could have done to save them. If I let myself think about it too hard, or too long, I’ll lose myself in it.”

Peter winces. But then Miles goes on.

“I’ve just got to tell myself, what happened, happened. Can’t change the past. The best thing I can do, for them and for me, is keep moving forward. I miss them like crazy and I wish they were still around, I always will. But more than anything, I remember the lessons that they taught me. That they were good men, that they cared about me. It’s the same with you and your uncle, right?”

“I...I do remember him that way. Yeah. But I was going into college when Uncle Ben died. I wasn’t...just a kid. I chose this life, MJ chose to stay with me, our kid didn’t ask for this kind of life.”

Miles shrugs. “I worry about my dad every day. He’s worked a dangerous job in a dangerous city since before I was born. I don’t hold it against him, because I know why he does it. I’m one of the people he’s trying to protect, after all.”

“Yeah, but — ”

“Peter. Come on.” Miles turns to look at him then, with a knowing smile. “You don’t know all of what you’re doing. No one does. What matters is that you’re a good man, and that’s what’ll be most important to your kids, whatever happens: that their dad loves them and would do anything for them.”

Peter feels the same rush of pride and affection for him that he had back at the reactor, along with a sense of security around his heart. He’s surprised to find himself laughing. “You’re the best, kid, you know that?”

Miles’ grin broadens cheekily. “Oh, I know. I try.”

He wraps an arm around Miles’ shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. “Yeah, just keep trying, future godfather.”

It takes a second for the word to hit Miles, and then he spins around to stare at him with huge eyes. “I — their godfather?! Me?”

Peter laughs. “No one out there’d be better than you. Only the best for my kid.”

~0~

After the twenty-seven most stressful hours of their lives, Mira Penelope Watson-Parker emerges into the world with a long, indignant screech.

Illuminated in the noon sun, in the soft yellow hospital room, both his wife and daughter look like angels in Peter’s eyes. He doesn’t even care that he’s about to cry. “You did amazing, hon.”

MJ grins. “Helps to have a husband whose hands I could squeeze as hard as I needed. C’mere and hold her. I’m sure she wants to meet her dad.”

Peter tries so very hard not to tremble as MJ passes their blanket-wrapped daughter into his arms. He’s never felt anything so delicate in his life.

“She’s...so tiny,” is all he can manage.

Mira’s hair is her mother’s bright red, just like in his dream. But the dark hazel eyes staring curiously up at him are all his own.

Peter smiles at her, cradling her close. He really would do anything for her, he knows that already.

“Hey, sweetheart. Hey. Dad’s here.”

#into the spider verse #spiderman #peter b parker #miles morales #into the spiderverse #kaen's fics

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thepartyresponsible · 5 years

Text

here’s a short, relatively fluffy fic about what happens when jason todd and clint barton, a pair of career criminals and expert thieves, steal the winter soldier.

and to the anon who asked for a fluffy fic featuring hot chocolate, blankets, and warm feels shared by clint, jason, and tony....um. i’m really sorry. i’ve had a lot of cold medication. my reading comprehension is compromised.

Popular opinion would no doubt suggest that stealing the Winter Soldier is the ballsiest heist Jason and Clint have ever pulled. Jason’s not sure he’d rank it that high. After all, their Batcave stunt was pretty egregiously ill-advised, and then there was the time they stole fifty grand worth of Kryptonite with the use of a clipboard and some fake EPA inspector badges they printed out at a public library.

But keeping the Winter Soldier. Yeah. Sure. That’s pretty ballsy.

No real other options, though. At least none that either of them could live with.

Jason knows they’re doomed the moment he hears the quiet horror in Clint’s voice, the way his words catch, just a little, when he says, “Um. Jay? I think it’s a person.”

Because stealing a serial killer robot from HYDRA and then handing it off to the League of Assassins for “decommissioning” is one thing, but turning over a living, breathing human being is another. He and Clint walk all kinds of fuzzy ethical lines. God knows even Selina gets shrill about their activities sometimes. But they don’t deal in people. Not ever.

“Okay,” Jason says, nudging Clint gently out of the way. “Go steal us something fast. I’ll handle this.”

Because, between the two of them, Clint’s got the softer heart. He doesn’t get fussy about what happens in an honest fight, but he can get downright melancholy about the necessities of after-battle cleanup, and Jason’s happy to spare him from it, when he can.

So Clint goes to get them a car that’ll get them out of the country before Ra’s realizes he’s been screwed around, and Jason goes to hover over the Winter Soldier, freshly defrosted, still barely twitching his way back to consciousness.

And Jason’s not an asshole. Whatever this guy’s done, he hasn’t done it to Jason or anyone who belongs to him, so none of this is personal. It’s gonna be fast and easy, just a bullet between the eyebrows, but the Winter Soldier blinks his pretty eyes open, looks up the barrel of the gun, and stares right into Jason’s face.

“я готов отвечать,” he says.

Ready to comply, Jason thinks.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jason says.

And so, after that, Jason doesn’t have the heart to kill him, either.

There’s a lot of yelling in the days that follow. From all conceivable sides. Ra’s al Ghul threatens every kind of unpleasant thing, and HYDRA hounds after them like they’re supposed to be scared of a group of megalomaniacal old cult assholes too creepy to get invited to the local Free Masons, and Selina calls Jason every day for a week to shriek at him about how she didn’t save him from the streets of Gotham so he could get murdered for stealing the world’s most brutal assassin.

“Selina, c’mon,” Jason says, muttering into the phone. Winter’s asleep in the backseat, shackled up like Houdini before a trick, and they’ve had a couple exciting moments, but he’s mostly just been quiet and kinda eerily empty-eyed. He keeps asking Jason about the mission. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s a little rough around the edges, sure. But I found Clint in a dumpster.”

“Hey,” Clint says, whisper-hissing at him from the passenger seat.

“And he looked great,” Jason tacks on quickly, with a wink he hopes will smooth things over. “Amazing. That dumpster didn’t know how lucky it had it.”

“You need to be careful,” Selina says. She put down two HYDRA goons this morning. They barged in on her in her pajamas, and she’s probably more pissed about getting caught with bed hair than having to dump two bodies before noon.

Although, she never was much of a morning person.

“We’re being careful,” Clint promises, leaning over to talk into the phone. “We couldn’t leave him, Selina. You didn’t see him. It was--- it was really bad.”

Selina’s quiet for a moment. “He’s an international criminal,” she says. And then, probably after she remembers that every single person in this conversation has their own personal INTERPOL file, she adds: “He’s an assassin.”

“I think he’s nice,” Clint says, stubborn and loyal. As always.

He only thinks that because Winter keeps trying to palm him extra food. Jason has to make a big show out of giving Clint food at the same time as he unlocks Winter for meals, or Winter will only eat half his food and then stash the rest so he can sneak it to Clint later.

Jason does not consider this behavior an endorsement of HYDRA’s caretaking expertise.

“He’d better be worth all the trouble,” Selina says. But she doesn’t mean it. Selina’s a thief and a liar and sometimes a killer, but she’s just like Clint, really. Softhearted for lost causes, both of them.

Jason can’t complain. It’s that shared weakness that brought both of them to him.

“Well,” Jason says, “if he’s not, we’ll just drop him with whatever country’s offering the biggest bounty.”

“That’s my boy,” Selina says. “But remember to start a bidding war first.”

The thing about Winter is that he’s actually James Buchannan Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He’s a Goddamn war hero, and HYDRA took him, tortured him, blended his brain, and made him kill people.

Jason grew up in Gotham, spent his formative years playing sidekick to Catwoman, so he’s seen some fucked-up situations. But it makes him sick, watching Winter work it out. Catching those sporadic flashes of Bucky Barnes, the miserable, devastated way he closes his eyes when the memories come, like it was better, somehow, when all he knew how to say was Yes, No, and Ready to comply.

And Clint was right. He is nice. He’s painfully sweet, really, in the way he frets over Clint until he figures out that Jason doesn’t actually run things, doesn’t own Clint, and sure as hell would never hurt him. And then he frets over both of them. Stoic and steely-eyed and stone-jawed, fretting like a Goddamn mother hen.

HYDRA wants him back, and Ra’s wants him dead, and Jason and Clint, as insistently and dramatically as they can, invite both of them to fuck right off.

They don’t really mean to keep him. Not forever. Just until people stop trying to murder him. Just until they can stash him in some nice town, where no one knows who he is, where he can go back to being Bucky Barnes full time and forget all about everything HYDRA made him into.

But people don’t stop. The whole world keeps coming after them. And Bucky, for his part, doesn’t want to leave them.

Six months in, Clint catches a bullet, and Bucky gets stolen, and Jason has to choose to leave Clint so he can go grab Bucky before they wipe him clean out of his own head. And Clint’s going to be fine, knows how to look after himself, didn’t get shot anywhere vital. But Jason crashes into that transport van with Clint’s blood on his hands, and it makes him crazy, a little. It makes him a nightmare.

So, afterwards, Selina brokers a meeting with Batman, and Jason goes, because Batman’s owed him a favor ever since that years-long game of tag he used to play with Nightwing resulted in him accidentally stumbling into a situation where he saved Nightwing’s life.

He doesn’t bring Clint, and he doesn’t bring Bucky, because he figures Batman’s not going to kill him, but he might throw him in prison. If he does, Selina will bust him out on principle, and she’d almost certainly do the same for Clint, but Bucky’s so new and so much trouble that she might just leave him where he’s less likely to get Jason killed.

“Look, Bats,” Jason says, when they’re finally standing uncomfortably on the same rooftop. “We don’t like each other. You’re the delusional iron fist of the bourgeoisie acting out your punishment kink on the unsuspecting poor, and I’m just a guy trying to make a living. But we gotta work together on this, okay? Or I’m gonna leak the porn I found on the Batcave computers.”

Batman takes a long breath in through his nose. He seems to visibly weigh out which issue to raise first. “You planted those files on the Batcave computers.”

And he hadn’t, actually. Clint did that. He’d spent the whole night before the job downloading Superman-themed porn, and he’d filled Jason’s laptop with so much malware that Jason eventually just burned the thing in a purifying pyre. But Jason had to admit that running those videos on every screen in the Batcave had resulted in a truly awe-inspiring, immersive experience.

“We were just trying to be supportive,” Jason says. “Anyway. Look. You owe me a favor.”

There’s a lot of back-and-forth after that, consisting mainly of Batman holding forth about how saving a life is its own reward and he doesn’t owe Jason a favor and Jason really needs to reconsider his life choices while he still has the opportunity to do so. But he seems to listen when Jason tells him what he knows about HYDRA, about how deep its infiltration of SHIELD and various world governments goes. He’s quiet when Jason talks about Bucky. And, when Jason hands over all their intel, he takes the flash drive readily enough.

“If this is more porn,” he says, holding up the flash drive, “I’m throwing all of you in Blackgate.”

“Jesus, Bats,” Jason says, not even trying to bite back a laugh. “If it had that much of an impact on you, you should do some solitary self-reflection about it. Maybe some of those documentaries we left for you could help.”

Jason leaves Gotham and drives through the morning and afternoon and early evening, doubling and then tripling back on his route, making sure he’s not being followed. When he finally makes it to the safehouse, he’s shivery cold and dead tired. Bucky goes over his bike, checking for any trackers Jason might have missed, and Clint bullies him right into the shower.

Afterwards, Jason faceplants on the couch, and Clint hauls him up a few minutes later so he can press a mug of hot chocolate into his hands. “Drink this,” he says.

“Coffee,” Jason groans.

“No,” Clint says, as he settles next to him. “You’ve gotta sleep, you asshole. You’ve been up for three days straight.”

“Whiskey,” Jason tries, a little less plaintive and a little more mutinous.

Clint sighs. “I already put bourbon in there.”

Jason hums, appeased, and leans over to press a smacking kiss to Clint’s cheek. “You’re a fucking saint,” he says.

“Oh, a fucking saint,” Clint mutters, rolling his eyes. There’s a pleased blush settling along the lines of his cheekbones. “Didn’t know they made those.”

“The patron saint of fucking,” Jason declares, sipping at his hot chocolate. “Endowed with the power of---”

“This should be good,” Bucky mumbles, from across the room.

“Oh shit,” Jason says, and nearly sloshes the hot chocolate on himself. He tries not to talk about sex too much in front of Bucky. He tries not to think about sex too much in front of Bucky. He’s helplessly in love with Clint, and has been since he hauled him out of that dumpster in Gotham, but, as Winter fades and Bucky manifests more confidently in this new century, there’s been a growing tension between the three of them that Jason, frankly, has no idea what to do with.

“No, go on,” Bucky says, like this is the conversation he wants to have. Like he’s not the slightest bit curious about the mission Jason just ran, the one that’s supposed to clear his name, open a path that allows them to work with SHIELD to burn HYDRA to the ground. “He’s the patron saint of what, again?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, blinking at him with his innocent face in place. “What were you saying?”

Jason rolls his eyes and takes a pointed drink of his hot chocolate. It’s nice, he decides. That everyone’s comfortable enough to shit-talk him these days. Real refreshing. A Goddamn triumph of the resiliency of the human spirit.

“It went alright?” Bucky says, because he’s almost always the merciful one. Maybe he enjoys the novelty of it.

When he wanders over, he snags a blanket off the nearby chair, and he curls up on the end of the couch beside Clint, tossing the blanket over the three of them. He holds his hands out toward Jason, and Jason, without even thinking, passes his hot chocolate over. Bucky’s fingers brush Jason’s, and linger.

Jason isn’t making this shit up. He knows he isn’t.

First of all, he spends half his life watching people hit on Clint. He knows the signs.

Second of all, people get hot chocolate on their lips every day, but nobody licks it off like that unless they’re trying to plant ideas in people’s heads about what else those lips and tongue could do.

“Um,” Jason says, when he realizes they’re both staring at him. “Yeah. I mean. He didn’t throw me off a roof or put me in prison, so. I think he’s gonna help.”

Clint and Bucky exchange a look and then shrug. By their standards, that’s the start of a highly promising business relationship.

“Well,” Clint says, as he sprawls out, tucked in tight against Jason’s side, with a casual ankle hooked around one of Bucky’s. “You guys wanna watch Dog Cops?”

Jason figures, between the bourbon, and the blanket, and the warm weight of Clint’s body, he’s gonna be asleep in fifteen minutes. But he’d give Clint anything he asked for. “Sure,” he says, eyes already drifting closed. “Sounds great.”

Two days later, they meet with a reserved, competent, endlessly unamused man named Phil Coulson. He doesn’t smile or laugh or seem to like them even a little bit. But he doesn’t try to kill them, either.

Four years later, they’re Strike Team Delta, and they’ve acquired Natasha Romanoff and a hell of a reputation. Coulson smiles more and yells more, and still hasn’t tried to kill them. Not once. Not even after Budapest.

HYDRA is ashes, and Bucky is theirs.

So what the hell. Maybe stealing the Winter Soldier wasn’t their ballsiest heist. But it was definitely their best.

#writing #fic

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tsuraiwrites · 4 years

Note

The Uses of Sorrow: Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness - tell me it doesn't smell of voiles to you?

for this prompt meme. this will be up on ao3 in the evening.

A Box Full of Darkness (½)

The thing about corporating out of some bandages onto that wooden floor… the thing is that no matter what Noshiko and her oni say, no matter that the oni’s hold on him felt like they were scraping claws on the inside of his skull and deemed him free of corruption, Stiles doesn’t feel like a real person.

He’s got all of his memories, sure. Even the ADHD came through fine. PTSD and nightmares are real winners too.

But there used to be a small scar over the knuckle of his index finger, where Mrs. Peterson’s pomeranian bit him when he was eight. He had to get stitches because it kept spurting blood everytime he twitched his finger. There’s no faint line above his eyebrow where Erica bashed him in the face. He has no scars now, except onore, the “self” the oni branded him with.

Stiles is a copy, and he can’t forget it when his own body is a testament to the truth. He traces the kanji when he’s distracted, wondering if the mark is supposed to fade at some point. He doesn’t think it will.

Maybe the oni missed something vital, something still curled around the back of his brain.

When he finally turns to Google to answer the questions still buzzing around his head like that fucking fly, Stiles finds himself staring at a webpage full of Japanese and reading it as easily as English. He tabs away, checking emails before typing another search term into the browser.

After a while he realizes he’s reading a PDF of the original Kojiki, combing for references to the god of foxes, kitsune, or nogitsune. The old Japanese holy text is already liberally annotated. The corner of his screen reads 4:30am and he has to be at school in less than four hours. Stiles sucks in a breath, clenching his hands into fists until they stop shaking.

He slams his laptop shut and faceplants into the bed, packing away this new horrifying revelation and shoving it into a dark corner.

The visualization helps a little, even if his skull starts to feel scraped out and raw again.

Stiles tries to forget about it.

He won’t be able to, but he tries.

“Stiles,” a voice whispers in his dream, and the sad thing is Stiles thinks he’s actually able to tell it’s not real without even counting his fingers. The figment of his own brain speaks into his ear, and Stiles waves it away until it disperses like so much mist.

He knows he’s not possessed. He’s too empty for that voice to be real.

Then Scott calls them to Derek’s loft.

“And everything looked fine, his door was locked, nothing out of place, but…” Scott trails off, distressed. Stiles looks around, but everything is just as open and lifeless as ever.

“But what? Did you find something that points to this kidnapping theory?” Stiles finally snaps when Scott doesn’t continue.

“Of course he didn’t find anything. This place has been professionally cleaned. That cobweb that’s been there since he moved here is gone,” Lydia says, pointing to the corner by the window. Scott squints like his eyesight isn’t perfect, and Stiles can read his frustration with missing cues that only Lydia could deem ‘obvious’.

“So what, you want Lydia to run her hands over everything in the room to see if someone capped Derek? Seems like just asking for tetanus.”

Scott shoots him a look full of exasperation and Lydia brushes past him, rolling her eyes as she prepares to listen.

For about five minutes, Stiles has hope they can resolve this quickly.

He can’t say why he comes to the clinic, his thought process not much beyond every minute that passes is another Derek may be dying.

They have nothing. No leads. No new impressions. No one they can really reach out to. Isaac and Argent fucked off to France to run away from their grief, practically gone dark but for the few texts from Isaac over the last weeks. So far they’ve received no reply about their worries for Derek, and if Stiles is honest he’s not sure Argent is up to making all the calls necessary, not with Allison gone.

(And that hurts too because even when he feels unreal he can still feel his hands gripping the blade that sank into Scott the same way it must have sunk into Allison and it hurts-)

But he finds himself picking the lock into the vet clinic almost absent-mindedly, his thoughts focused on fending off that twist of grief threatening to drown him if he lets it.

Deaton isn’t in, but it’s not like Stiles needs him to get past the mountain ash lines or whatever other supernatural traps the druid laid.

(And he feels unreal again because how can he be human after getting puked out his own body or when he feels like there’s a subtle awareness of his own energy like something buzzing under his skin and reminding Stiles how hollow he is)

He comes back to awareness while popping open a padlock with steady hands. He curiously lifts the lid off the metal chest and peeks inside.

He slams the lid again, clicks the padlock in place, and runs out the clinic as fast as his legs can carry him.

First is the fear. How did Stiles know it was there? Did it put him in a fucking trance- but no, he’d seen the runes all over that chest, so surely Deaton was using that to contain its influence. Surely. But then how did Stiles know where to find it.

Close on fears heels comes anger, because Argent was supposed to take care of it, to make sure it never hurts anyone again-

But that’s too much to ask of a man whose daughter died because of that thing. Because of Stiles.

He hisses, hitting the wheel with his open palms until they ache and then gripping for all he’s worth.

“Stiles,” his dad says on the other side of the door and Stiles yelps, banging his knee hard into the dashboard. “You okay, kid?”

Damn it, even his paranoia isn’t good for anything if he didn’t notice his dad walking up to the Jeep. Stiles scrambles to unbuckle and get out. His dad’s raised eyebrows don’t help the embarrassment he feels when they both realize he’s wearing just his pajamas and a pair of sneakers. He didn’t even put on socks.

“Hey, you haven’t been sleepwalking again, have you?” John asks, his face twisting up with concern. He sets a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles can’t help how he flinches. The next moment he’s being reeled in closer and pulled into another of those hugs – the ones that happen when they’re both thinking about things better left unsaid. “No, not sleepwalking, I promise,” he mutters, not quite sure how true it is. “There’s just, been a lot going on and…” Stiles mentally flails, casting about for a suitable lie, and John pulls away to look him in the eye again. This is the part where Dad asks what’s going on, and Stiles comes up with some high school drama, some small werewolf thing, a story about how he had a nightmare and wanted to grab some coffee and didn’t think to change clothes…

But his dad just looks at him, doing his best to be patient without walking on eggshells. Stiles’ next breath hitches on a sob he can’t quite choke down.

“It’s about Derek…”

It’s easier to convince his dad than Stiles thought it would be, even with their paper-thin conclusions that Derek has been kidnapped.

His dad files a missing persons report and reaches out along the few contacts he has that haven’t yet burned their bridges with the Hellmouth that is Beacon Hills. In the process they finally reel Peter into things, which is in hindsight a mistake. He has nothing helpful to add but snarky comments and an intense fixation on watching Malia. Stiles keeps an eye on them, and Malia may as well be bristling at the attention. He carefully keeps himself between them, even though she probably won’t hesitate to go through him if Peter says something to piss her off.

It should be a red flag, how little that prospect frightens him. Instead Stiles is forced to push it aside for that clock ticking down somewhere in the back of his head, telling him that Derek is running out of time. He’d think it was just anxiety giving him a panic-inducing imaginary countdown, but… somehow Stiles is just sure.

Nothing good will happen to Derek if they don’t find him in time.

No leads, no leads and the clock is ticking. Argent still won’t get back to them.

He keeps going back to the loft, even though Lydia got nothing more than blood, gunshots, and a woman’s voice. Nothing helpful, and Stiles keeps getting stuck back on the floor, shining with a faint lemon-scent by unknown hands. They only have assurance that Derek didn’t die here, despite probably being shot.

Even Kira’s mother has little to say in the matter. It doesn’t surprise him – celestial kitsune have never been very useful aside from summoning oni and some flashy cleansing powers… and if that’s not thought Stiles ever would have had before, he shakes his head and ignores it.

The way he’s trying to ignore the knowledge that there is someone – something – that could touch the featureless concrete and know, because it deals in pain and suffering and feeds on it even years later.

It’s Peter who finds him there, still standing in the middle of the floor an hour later. The sound of his name breaks Stiles out of his thought process. Peter grabs his arm when he tries to brush past him and Stiles can’t help his flinch.

He’s immediately let go, and can’t quite process what’s happening for a moment when Peter takes a step away from him. Bewildered, Stiles finally meets his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

It’s the last thing he expects to hear from Peter and he blinks hard. “What- I…” he stops, straightens a little to look at the wolf on the same level. “I’m fine. I am,” he insists when Peter squints at him. Stiles’ heartbeat is as steady as it ever gets. He isn’t lying.

It’s easy as anything to download a Japanese keyboard to his phone. Even with shaking hands, he has a few emails sent out before he unlocks the door to his dark, empty house. His dad is on shift, and with everyone out looking for any sign of Derek he can’t expect company for the evening.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes once with an incoming email.

The hostess only raises an eyebrow as Stiles skids through the restaurant door two minutes before closing. He musters his best sheepish smile. “Uh, pickup for Stilinski?”

“Of course,” she says, picking up a large bag and setting it on the corner before him. “Cash or card?”

Stiles pays and quickly leaves again, hoping that the sheer amount of karaage and inarizushi he bought will make up for it not being warm when he finally eats it. But no, he can’t think about that right now. Focus is what’s needed here.

He drives with both hands on the wheel, counting his breaths just so panic won’t cause him to run off the road. The Jeep’s beaten up enough as it is, it probably won’t survive another head-on collision with a tree.

He could swear the wards and mountain ash prick at him as he picks the lock again. The quiet snick of the last pin sliding into place echoes ominously, reverberating in the hollow space carved into his chest. The plastic bag in his hand grows heavier. Nevertheless, Stiles makes his slow way to the dark office, counting his breaths.

He drives the screwdriver into the lock and it clicks open in time with his thudding heart.

Shock, an emotion screaming into Stiles’ brain like a livewire the instant his hand touches the box. A moment later that clears and rage hammers into him, the quiet thunk of a buzzing fly throwing itself mindlessly against the lid, trying to get at him.

It takes every ounce of self-control to set the box on the floor instead of dropping it, and he has to wonder if Deaton or Argent could feel this too, or if he’s just special. Stiles gratefully lets go but the buzzing only grows louder.

“Chill out,” he says, voice as steady as he can make it. He may be shaking, but the fly doesn’t need to know that. 1-2-3-4… he keeps counting on one hand, touching his thumb to each finger in sequence. With the other hand, he takes two styrofoam containers and opens the tops before turning the containers to face the box.

The buzzing stops.

Got your attention now, don’t I, you bastard. “Kitsune-tsuki,” he says, and if his accent is a little archaic, it can’t be helped. “Willingly, this time.”

The box actually twitches from how hard the fly buzzes, and Stiles doesn’t need to touch it to get the impression of rage and betrayal from it – it spent far too long wrapped up in Stiles’ neurons for him not to get to know it back, at least a little toward the end.

“It’s not a trick,” says the human kid to the monster, and Stiles wants to laugh, reassuring the only being he hates in this world more than Gerard Argent that he’s being sincere. Half a giggle slips out before he strangles it. “I know what it means to be kitsune-mochi. This can’t be a trick.”

In the quiet, the fly buzzes once, almost petulant.

Stiles scoffs. “You tricked Noshiko first, you don’t get to be pissed when she tricked you back.” His mouth pulls into a grin and there’s no one to see how strained it is at the edges when Stiles leans forward and negligently flicks the box of sushi with a finger. “Well?” he finally hisses at the silent hunk of wood, trying not to let his desperation show.

Somewhere in the next room, something drips loudly. The invisible clock ticks on.

Then a high, long buzz he can’t interpret, but he doesn’t have to when he’s already reaching to open the box with the yes ringing in his ears.

“Onegaishimasu,” he remembers to spit at the last minute, and then there is pain.

It’s not the slow invasion of dreams and backsliding sanity Stiles experienced before. It strikes like lightning, but inside, a rapid expansion of shadow driving seeking tendrils through all his veins and up his spine, curling tight around nerves and bone alike. The brand underneath his ear burns hot.

All is quiet for a long moment. The dripping faucet is dry and the pain gradually fades.

There’s an almost physical sensation as the nogitsune wends their way through his memories until they come to the reason Stiles has been so desperate in the first place.

Their laugh is full of razor blades, but he knows they’re amused at his petty need to save a pack member, even one that doesn’t like him very much.

So soon after you were rid of us, too.

Stiles wants to scream, and they can see his want and his restraint both.

Stiles reaches for a piece of inarizushi. Onegaishimasu, they sigh, in the same tone as someone settling into their favorite spot on the couch after a long day.

His mouth opens without his will behind it, tofu and rice accepted from a human hand as he feeds it to the fox.

They are bound.

Cultural notes:

kitsune-tsuki - possession by a fox spirit

kitsune-mochi - a person or family willingly possessed by a kitsune in order to bring fortune to their family

karaage & inarizushi - both traditional foods (fried chicken and a type of fried tofu on sushi rice) associated with kitsune and the god of foxes and rice, O-Inari

“onegaishimasu” - a phrase used by two players before starting their game of Go; a phrase used when someone has agreed to do something for the person saying the words, with the implication to “please do me this favor”

#fic #teen wolf #voiles #nogitsune/stiles stilinski #bxdcubes #still working on the next chapter #prompt meme

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blazewatergem · 4 years

Text

The year is 2016.

We had started the world a year, maybe two ago. It felt like it was always a part of us. You had made pixel art, using wool blocks from the wild herds of sheep wandering the grasslands. I was busy making a hidden hideout, a HQ of sorts. It was just the two of us, at first, but I knew we would get more involved. That our two little houses would grow into three, four, and more. The players list grew and so did our realm.

We had a huge bridge built across the swamplands, because yes we’re bringing those horses home. I made a barn on the water. You made a giant stadium all because we wanted to do firework shows. I managed to start experimenting with red stone and next thing we know I’ve got a half built arena that’s Hunger Games style, never mind I’ve never read the books. You laugh when I admit that. There’s a bakery somewhere. There’s a mountain fortress half built that honestly, was a country-cabin version of Erebor. So many builds I never finished, jumping from project to project. That hasn’t changed in the slightest. We had a nether base, too. We had a giant Christmas tree and got each other presents in the form of enchanted swords and armor. You gave me the Enderdragon Egg and it was the best thing in the world. I made a room for it in the HQ and everything.

You made statues. They’d be overlooking the hills.

I made fox holes. I’m not sure why I called them that but it was fun hiding from the night in them.

Our friends joined in. Some for weeks, months. Some only for a few days. It started with us two though. It was under my name, but it was ours.

The year is 2016 when it fell. When my computer suddenly didn’t want to load up. When the system had so many viruses it just...wouldn’t go. I made promises then. Promises I’d get the world out. It couldn’t be that hard, to download a world full of so much and so many memories. To keep them safe. To keep everything we built safe and stored away in the digital void of a thumb drive until we could show it the light again.

I come home from a day of high school to see my computer broken, and the Realm gone.

I stop paying the subscription — we got busy, couldn’t play much anymore. Both of us. The friendship never died, it changed and I would call us stronger for it but the realm is...not forgotten but put aside. We remember it fondly, talk about what we would do if we could go back. We’ve grown, learnt new things. Surely we could make it better, bigger. Nothing could stop us now, and all the changes would just add to the thrill. You mention you’re back from Indiana, and your PC will be put back together soon. “Let’s play!” You text me “Let’s do it. Let’s start again.”

I’ve never said yes so fast. So I set things up. Some technical difficulties but soon things are running smoothly. The Realm is back up and running, and I’m happy to make new memories even if I miss the old world. The old one lost to a broken computer now long, long gone for four whole years. I check the settings, the player list. Finally, urged alone by a passing thought, I check the back up logs for the system.

Last Backup Saved: November 6th, 2016

I see the mountains again. I see the HQ again. I see it all again. It’s still there. It stayed. It stayed and it’s back and it’s ours again.

A hiatus four years in the making, now ended by the fact that while we remembered it survived.

Onward and upward, and don’t worry. This time I saved it. We’ll never lose our home again.

~~~~~~~

Back in 2016 my friend and I had a Minecraft Realm that we built so much on, it was basically our own little kingdom. We’d start and end worlds at random, but I always kept our “original” save in a folder to use whenever. When my computer busted and died, I thought that world lost for good. I honestly mourned all that lost progress, we had been building for two years. Hell maybe even more!

Today, when I finally repurchased the Realm and was setting it up again so we could start fresh and new, I noticed there was a backup file saved. Over FOUR. YEARS. AGO.

It was our old world. It had been saved by the system. I never even considered that, and I actually ended up crying a bit as I logged in and saw the old builds. There’s houses of people I don’t even talk to anymore, things I haven’t touched in so long and silly memories we made by playing at like midnight and being sleep deprived. It was all there, and I texted her immediately freaking out about it.

Then I proceeded to save it to my account so I’ll never lose it again.

Chances are we’ll start another world, fresh and ready for our chaos(my friend is a streamer, after all. Maybe a Let’s Play? Not like it won’t be chaotic with us anyways lol) but the emotions I felt when just flying around and seeing it all still there. I had to write something. I HAD to.

Minecraft has changed quite a bit since then. It’ll be fun, building a new Realm. Maybe this time I’ll actually finish all my builds 😂

#Minecraft #memories #talking fire

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starlightnovas · 4 years

Text

Part 1: Fallen Titan

Part of me was beginning to wish that I had accepted Elliott’s offer to tag along. But It was a very small part of me. I didn't want him seeing who I was in my past if I actually found anything here.

I didn't expect this old IMC facility to still have anything active in it. Apparently, there were still a few active Spectres skulking around. They were somewhat slow, but still fairly effective. Elliott would’ve had all of them off me within moments, running after his decoys. But instead, they were searching for me.

They had all activated almost the moment the facility's ancient door had rumbled to a close behind me. Dozens of them tried to grab me, all I had to do was phase past them, but I still had no way out.

Now, I was hiding in the dark abandoned halls of this place. Vegetation had grown over most of the walls. The lights were either broken or had long since lost power. Pools of water pocketed the ground. I was careful to avoid these, as not to make any noise.

I heard the whirl of a Spectre up ahead. I quickly dove into a nearby room. I peeked out just in time to see the Spectre turn the corner. The red light of it's face illuminated the hall in the ominous color.

I pulled myself back into the room and sat still, watching the light outside.

After a few moments, the light vanished. I looked out again and watched the Spectre continue on.

I had a wingman at my waist, but damn was that gun loud. I would only fire as a last resort. If I shot, all the Spectres would know where I was.

I left the room, keeping a quick yet quiet pace. I had quickly realized that pretty much every computer in this place had been destroyed or lost power a long time ago. There goes my chance of finding out anything else about my past. At this point, my only goal was to find an exit.

I wandered for roughly another ten minutes before I heard the Spectres again. Panic rose in my chest as I looked around. None of the rooms were open, and the lack of power made them impossible to open.

Two Spectres rounded the corner. They looked at me, and there was a moment's pause where we just stared at each other. Then they both made a sound like a loud mechanical thrum. They raised their flatlines towards me.

I phased immediately, spinning around to run. I entered the void, the Spectres were starting to follow me.

I counted in my head as I ran: one… two… three… four.

I appeared back from the void.

*Duck now*

I dropped to the ground as a burst of bullets flew over my head.

“Oh screw it.”

I turned and raised my wingman. I fired two shots. One struck a Spectre’s shoulder, the second hitting its face. It collapsed as the lights on its body went out.

I aimed towards the next Spectre, but then three more appeared around another corner. I phased away just as they fired. I had to run.

I took turn after turn, desperate to get away. I phased every chance I got, barely avoiding a hail of bullets each time.

I then came to a dead end. A massive door was sealed tight. I was about to turn around when I noticed that the screen next to the door was on.

The mechanical roars of the Spectres encouraged me to get the door open fast. I frantically swiped the screen. It read “unlock”. The door hissed, then slowly slid open. As soon as there was enough space for me, I squeezed in. I went to the screen on the other side and swiped it to “lock”.

The door froze momentarily, then started to shut. I saw the Spectres on the other side of the door. They attempted to get through, but they were too large. They tried reaching for me, only succeeding in getting their arms crushed. Then silence fell over me. I allowed myself to sit down and catch my breath. I checked the device on my wrist:

Portal 57%

Well, I wasn't using that to escape.

*You're not alone*

My hand shot to my wingman as I spun around. My eyes slowly scanned the room. Then I spotted what the voices must’ve been talking about.

A titan was in the center of the room, hanging from cables on the ceiling. It looked damaged.

My head tilted a little from curiosity. I’d never seen a titan in person before, or at least not since I had escaped that lab. This one was a somewhat skinny titan and had a sword slung over its back. What was it called? A Ronin?

The console in front of the titan was lit up. I moved to the screens and read the flood of information.

Ronin class titan: XO-2623, deactivated until further notice. Order issued 2,420 days ago.

All the files on this computer were related to the titan. I clicked on the first file. The titan had been deactivated for faulty programming, having prioritized “Protocol 3” over “Protocol 2”. I wasn't familiar with titan programming, so I had no idea what that meant.

I read on, the titan had tried to get to its pilot when it discovered they were in pain. Dozens died stopping it. The pilot was Senior Science Pilot--

I blinked a few times, checking to see if I had read that right.

Renee Blasey.

But… that was me. I mean, I knew that I had been a pilot in my previous life, but I hadn't actually ever stopped to consider that I might’ve had a titan out there somewhere.

*You left him*

I couldn't tell if that was the void or me thinking.

“Don't worry, I'll get you powered back up.” I told the titan chassis, “Just give me a minute to figure out how.”

I didn't know much about titans, but I do remember their batteries. Massive and powerful. There had to be one somewhere in here.

Sure enough, I found three titan batteries hooked up to large devices at the other end of the room. I plugged a USB into the console to download all the files before jogging over and grabbing one of the batteries. I twisted it and it slid out of the device.

Almost immediately, the lights in the room flickered rapidly. The batteries must be powering the room. That explains why the doors work and why the consoles are on.

I took the battery and went to the center of the room, just underneath the titan. I reached up and grabbed it's foot, hoisting myself up. I climbed slowly, struggling to hold onto the battery and climb. I reached it's side fairly quickly and slid the battery into one of the slots.

The titan twitched a little, but gave no reaction past that.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

No answer.

Maybe it needed another battery.

I hopped down and grabbed another battery. The lights flickered again, most didn't come back on, and those that did were very dim.

I climbed back up the titan. I noticed it's serial code painted across it's face: XO-2623.

I plugged the battery in, and it twitched again, making me fall to the ground. The titan’s eye light up, bright blue light filling the room.

“Ronin Titan XO-2623, online. Power at two thirds capacity. Calibrating data core… complete.”

It shifted, then realized it was hanging from cables.

“If anyone is there, make yourself known. My movement systems are disabled. I cannot get down.”

I struggled to find my voice, I had actually turned the titan on!

“H-hello.” I said softly.

He attempted to turn to look at me, “Hello, please state your identity.”

I moved so that I was in its line of sight, “My name is Renee Blasey.”

He froze for a moment, “Pilot, it is good to see you again. Data states that I have been stationary for two thousand four hundred and twenty days; six years, seven months, and fifteen days. What happened?”

I sat down in front of him, “Wow… where to start? We have a lot of catching up to do XO.”

“Agreed.”

I sighed, “Well, I suppose that I should start with that I don't remember who you are very well.”

“Because of project wraith.”

I frowned, “You know about the experiments?”

“The purpose of the project was to discover travel to other dimensions. You were the only subject. Side effects included the loss of your memory, similar to pilot regeneration.”

“Pilot regener- nope, nevermind. That's a topic for another day, I want to know how you got here.”

“The projects became harmful to you, which violated protocol three. I came to protect you, and they disabled me. It appears they got their way.”

I paused, thinking about what to do next.

“So how do we get out of here?” I asked.

“My movement systems are still rebooting. A third battery would speed up this process.”

“There is one more, but it's the only thing powering this room.”

“That will not be an issue. Power will not be required for us to leave.”

I looked over at the console screen. All the data files had been uploaded to the USB. I took it and shoved it in my pocket. I didn't need it much, now that XO could just tell me about my past self.

I went and grabbed the last battery. We were plunged into darkness, the only light being the green glow of the battery and the blue light of XO.

I climbed up one last time, and slid the final battery into the last slot. I dropped back to the ground looking up at XO. He didn't move.

“Did it work?” I asked.

“Yes, I am recalibrating my systems.” He paused, “Sword block online… arc wave online… phase dash online. Movement systems restored.”

He vanished, phasing into the void, and dropped to the ground with a thundering thud.

“You can phase?!”

XO turned towards me, “Yes Pilot.”

I noticed that he was limping a little. His right leg was damaged, as was his left arm.

“Well, care to share how we get out of here?”

He pointed to the far wall. There was a large door I hadn't noticed before there. But it was sealed up tight.

“We need power to open that door.”

“Indeed, but not the power you're thinking of.”

He reached behind his back, drawing the massive sword. He swung the blade, it crashed against the door, denting the metal. XO swung again, the blade raking against the metal door and ripping it open. It was still too small for him to fit through though.

He noticed this and put his sword away. He took a few steps back, then charged forward, throwing his gigantic chassis against it. He rolled to his feet outside. I was quick to follow.

The fresh air hit first. I took a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. I let my skin soak up the moonlight that shone through the thick foliage of the forest trees.

“Come on XO, I know where you can stay, and I have a friend who might be able to fix you up.”

I started jogging, but even limping he was faster than me. He picked me up, much to my discomfort, and placed me on top of his head.

“Why not just let me inside?” I asked.

“The pilot cockpit will not open. Repairs are required before you may embark.” He steadied himself, “Hang onto something, pilot.”

I gripped onto him tightly as he began to move at the fastest speed he could. It was extraordinarily fast, but he was damaged, and it was much faster than I could move.

Together, we went home.

I finally had the key to my past.

All I had left to do was to unlock the door.

#apex legends #wraith #titanfall #short story #if people like this i'll continue it #i dont know how formatting works on Tumblr

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tubbinary · 4 years

Text

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( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You take everything that sounds like fun. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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I sexually Identify as a Gabe Newell. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of filling my wallet by dropping Steam Sales onto 12 000 games at once. People say to me that a person being a Newell is impossible and I'm fucking retarded but I don't care, I'm beautiful. I have 10 computers worth over 10k each in order to drop new Steam Sales every few days. From now on I want you guys to call me "Gabe" and respect my right to get rich fast and discount needlessly. If you can't accept me you're a profitophobe and need to check your wallet. Thank you for being so understanding.

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Here in my garage, just bought this new lamborghini here. It’s fun to drive up here in the Steam Hills. But you know what I like more than single discounts? Steam Sales In fact, I’m a lot more proud of two new Steam Sales that I had to get installed to hold twelve thousand new discounts on Steam. It’s like what i say, “the more you discount, the more you earn.”

My Grandfather smoked his whole life. I was about 10 years old when my mother said to him, 'If you ever want to see your grandchildren graduate, you have to stop immediately.'. Tears welled up in his eyes when he realized what exactly was at stake. He gave it up immediately. Three years later he died of lung cancer. It was really sad and destroyed me. My mother said to me- 'Don't ever smoke. Please don't put your family through what your Grandfather put us through." I agreed. At 28, I have never touched a cigarette. I must say, I feel a very slight sense of regret for never having done it, because your post gave me cancer anyway.

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I sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of soaring over the oilfields dropping hot sticky loads on disgusting foreigners. People say to me that a person being a helicopter is Impossible and I'm fucking retarded but I don't care, I'm beautiful. I'm having a plastic surgeon install rotary blades, 30 mm cannons and AMG-114 Hellfire missiles on my body. From now on I want you guys to call me "Apache" and respect my right to kill from above and kill needlessly. If you can't accept me you're a heliphobe and need to check your vehicle privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.

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My name is Artour Babaevsky. I grow up in smal farm to have make potatos. Father say "Artour, potato harvest is bad. Need you to have play professional Doto in Amerikanski for make money for head-scarf for babushka."I bring honor to komrade and babushka. Sorry for is not have English. Please no cyka pasta coperino pasterino liquidino throwerino.

hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!

DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!

Hi, 4k player here who reported slahser. Slahser was our position 1 faceless void. He built a mek and had around 29 healing salves in his inventory. He would chrono both teams in the middle of a fight, salve his allies, pop mek, and proceeded to yell "SLAHSER'S WAY". We gave him position 1 farm so he could be a position 5.

Granted, his unorthodox build worked and carried us to victory but I still felt it deserved a report.

I owe my life to Arteezy. I got in a horrible car crash and i was in 6 month coma. The nurse switched to the Twitch channel to Arteezy's stream. I awoke from my coma and muted it.

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░░░░░arrived░░░░░░░░░░░░█▀██████

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RAISE YOUR DONGERS ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

(ง ͠ ͠° ل͜ °)ง ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴsᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟɪᴇsᴛ (ง ͠° ل͜ °)ง

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ As I ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴜʀᴀɪ sᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ sᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ ᴀs I ᴡᴀs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛ sᴜᴅᴏᴋᴜ, I ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ Kʀɪᴘᴘ ᴘʟᴀʏ Cᴀsᴜᴀʟsᴛᴏɴᴇ... I ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ Kʀɪᴘ ᴡᴀs Nᴏʟɪғᴇ... ɴᴏᴡ I ᴀᴍ Nᴏʟɪғᴇ...ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙʏᴇ ᴋʀɪᴘᴘ ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴏᴅs (ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง (ง •̀_•́)ง ʏᴇᴀʜ sᴘᴀᴍ ɪᴛ! (ง •̀_•́)ง

(╭ರ_•́)\ Mr. Fors we politely ask for the program 'Plug-Dj" to be used in this live broadcast for alas we will stir up a ruckus (╭ರ_•́)

(̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄ ɴᴀᴍᴇ's ᴅᴏɴɢ. ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴅᴏɴɢ (̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄

(ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง I have been training since before I was born, and today is the day. Today is the day I spam. (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง

༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽YOU CAME TO THE WRONG DONGERHOOD༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ YOU PASTARINO'D THE WRONG DONGERINO ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༽ºل͟º ༽ YOU COPERINO FRAPPUCCIONO PASTARINO'D THE WRONG DONGERINO ༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༽ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽You either die a DONG, or live long enough to become the DONGER༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º༼ ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽ºل͟º ༽

༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ YOU ARRIVED IN THE INCORRECT DONGERHOOD, SIR༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ༼ ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽ಠل͟ರೃ ༽

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )つ──☆*:・ﾟ clickty clack clickty clack with this chant I summon spam to the chat ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )つ──☆*:・ﾟ

ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ. ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ, ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ, ғᴀsᴛᴇʀ, ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀ .ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ

ヽ(◉◡◔)ﾉ I'M LOL FAN AND I HAVE DOWN SYNDROME ヽ(◉◡◔)ﾉ

(ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀ, ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง

(ง ͠° ل͜ °)ง LET ME DEMONSTRATE DONGER DIPLOMACY (ง ͠° ل͜ °)ง

(\ ( ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°) /) OUR DONGERS ARE RAZOR SHARP (\ ( ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°) /)

ヽ༼◥▶ل͜◀◤༽ﾉ RO RO RAISE YOUR DONGERS ヽ༼◥▶ل͜◀◤༽ﾉ

̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿[} ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿^ Stop right there criminal scum! no one RIOTs on my watch. I'm confiscating your goods. now pay your fine, or it's off to jail.

̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽ YOU'RE UNDER ARREST FOR BEING CASUAL. COME OUT WITH YOUR DONGERS RAISED ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽

(ง'̀-'́)ง ＤＯＮＧＯＲＤＩＥ (ง'̀-'́)ง

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ raise your dongers ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ VOICE OF AN ANGEL ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ LETS GET DONGERATED ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RAISE YOUR BARNO ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ "I have a dong" ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ - Martin Luther King Jr.

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ OJ poured and candle lit, with this chant i summon Kripp ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

☑ OJ poured ☑ Candle lit ☑ Summoning the Kripp ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜O༽ﾉ ʀᴀɪs ᴜʀ ᴅᴀɢᴇʀᴏ ヽ༼ຈل͜___ຈ༽ﾉ

(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)งSuccubus release Kripp or taste our rage(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง

ノ(ಠ_ಠノ ) ʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀs ノ(ಠ_ಠノ)

ヽ༼Ὸل͜ຈ༽ﾉ HOIST THY DONGERS ヽ༼Ὸل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ﾉ Kripp you are kinda like my dad, except you're always there for me. ヽ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ﾉ

█▄༼ຈل͜ຈ༽▄█ yeah i work out

༼ ºل͟º ༽ I AM A DONG ༼ ºل͟º ༽

༼ ºل͟º༽ I DIDN'T CHOOSE THE DONGLIFE, THE DONGLIFE CHOSE ME ༼ ºل͟º༽

༼ ºل͟º༽ NO ONE CARED WHO I WAS UNTIL I PUT ON THE DONG ༼ ºل͟º༽

༼ ºººººل͟ººººº ༽ I AM SUPER DONG ༼ ºººººل͟ººººº ༽

┌∩┐༼ ºل͟º ༽┌∩┐ SUCK MY DONGER ┌∩┐༼ ºل͟º ༽┌∩┐

ζ༼Ɵ͆ل͜Ɵ͆༽ᶘ FINALLY A REAL DONG ζ༼Ɵ͆ل͜Ɵ͆༽ᶘ

<ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴏɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ>

ヽ༼ʘ̚ل͜ʘ̚༽ﾉIS THAT A DONGER IN YOUR POCKET?ヽ༼ʘ̚ل͜ʘ̚༽ﾉ

༼ ͡■ل͜ ͡■༽ OPPA DONGER STYLE ༼ ͡■ل͜ ͡■༽

( ° ͜ ʖ °) REGI OP ( ° ͜ ʖ °)

(̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄ IM DONG,JAMES DONG (̿▀̿ ̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿)̄

(ง⌐□ل͜□)ง WOULD YOU HIT A DONGER WITH GLASSES (ง⌐□ل͜□)ง

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ CUDDLE UR DONGERS ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ) let me hold your donger for a while ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ)

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ง MY RIGHT DONG IS ALOT STRONGER THAN MY LEFT ONE ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ง

(✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ May the DONG be with you! ☚(ﾟヮﾟ☚)

(⌐■_■)=/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ Keep Your Dongers Where i Can See Them

̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ DUDE̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ PLEASE NO COPY PASTERONI MACORONI DONGERIN

( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°) Mom always said my donger was big for my age ( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°)

(/ﾟДﾟ)/ WE WANT SPELUNKY (/ﾟДﾟ)/

─=≡Σ((( つ◕ل͜◕)つ sᴜᴘᴇʀ ᴅᴏɴɢ

(✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ POINT ME TO THE DONGERS (✌ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞

ᕙ( ^ₒ^ c) 〇〇〇〇ᗩᗩᗩᗩᕼᕼ ᕙ( ^ₒ^ c)

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ ArcheAge or BEES ヽ̛͟͢༼͝ຈ͢͠لຈ҉̛༽̨҉҉ﾉ̨

୧༼ಠ益ಠ༽୨ MRGLRLRLR ୧༼ಠ益ಠ༽୨

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉITS A HARD DONG LIFE ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉMOLLYヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

༼ つ ຈل͜ຈ ༽つ GIVE MOLLY ༼ つ ຈل͜ຈ ༽つ

†ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ† By the power of donger I summon MOLLY †ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ†

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉTAKING A DUMPヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ WHAT DOESNT KILL ME ONLY MAKES ME DONGER ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ FOREVER DONG ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

[̲̅$̲̅(̲̅ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲̅)̲̅$̲̅] Mo' money, mo' Dongers [̲̅$̲̅(̲̅ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲̅)̲̅$̲̅]

༼ᕗຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ Drop Bows on 'em ༼ᕗຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ

Ѱζ༼ᴼل͜ᴼ༽ᶘѰ HIT IT WITH THE FORK Ѱζ༼ᴼل͜ᴼ༽ᶘѰ

Ψ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽Ψ hit it with the fork Ψ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽Ψ

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ. * ・｡ﾟ Copypastus Totalus!!

ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ༼ຈ ل͜ຈ༽ﾉ☂ ɪᴛs ʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴛ! ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ☂ ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽヽ｀ヽ、ヽヽ｀ヽ

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

IM DELETING YOU, DADDY!😭👋 ██]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 10% complete..... ████]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 35% complete.... ███████]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 60% complete.... ███████████] 99% complete..... 🚫ERROR!🚫 💯True💯 Daddies are irreplaceable 💖I could never delete you Daddy!💖 Send this to ten other 👪Daddies👪 who give you 💦cummies💦 Or never get called ☁️squishy☁️ again❌❌😬😬❌❌ If you get 0 Back: no cummies for you 🚫🚫👿 3 back: you're squishy☁️💦 5 back: you're daddy's kitten😽👼💦 10+ back: Daddy

Fuck a hater , hit a snitch , your my girl 👭 , my 5 star bitch , i love you more than any dick 💕💯, && if i dont get this back 🕙 , you aint worth shit !! Send this to 8 girls you care about .. 💯 I love you , I love you forever !! 💯 Whoever stops this will suffer for 83 days !! 💯💯💯 Ready, set, GO !!!! in

Stahp. 👋 🏻 Don't Flirt Wit Meh. Do Yhu Not Know What In A➡ RELATIONSHIP⬅ Means.? Frfr.👋 🏻 I Am Loyal. 💯 I Am In Love.💗 && Nobody Gunna Come Between Us. 😝 Stop Wit Yhur Thirsty Asses Tryna Hit Me Up On The DL, I Am Commited.✌ 🏼👌🏼💯

! ! ! ATTENTION 2003 KIDS ! ! ! This 👇 is the last year of being a kid 👦👧! Because NEXT 👉YEAR! We gon be T33N4G3RS💁💅!! PARTYING 🎉💃 DRINKING 🍻🍸🍹🍷 MAKING OUT AND SEX 👅💦O_O PERIODS ☹🍫 HEARTBREAKS 💔☹ MIDDLE SCHOOL SOPHOMORES (7️⃣TH GRADE)

#this took a lot of effort wow #copypastas #swastika tw #submission

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buckyssoul · 5 years

Text

Desperate Times

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: cursing (using the lord’s name in vain), semi-graphic depictions of violence/ killing. the rest is just fluffy fun.

Summary: You’re a highly trained SHIELD agent recruited to the Avengers for your excellent fighting and computer hacking skills. You are needed on a mission due to the Black Widow being unavailable. Being partnered up with Bucky for the mission could be distracting for the both of you since you’re constantly dancing on that line between friendship and flirting.

A/N: Alright y’all. Ya bitch is back with a one shot for @wintersoldierswhore’s 1k challenge. Congrats on the milestone Selene!! You deserve every single follower and so much more 💗

Also, this is my first writing challenge, so please be kind. Constructive criticism is always welcomed. Lastly, shout out to @lokissoul and @holy-captain for beta’ing for me, tysm babes.

~ ~ ~ with italics in between represents one of the reader’s memories~ ~ ~

Prompt: “I can’t believe you just killed someone with that.”

“Desperate times call for desperate weapons, sweetheart.”

You are dressed in your stealth uniform on your way to the quinjet hangar to leave for the data extraction mission you were called in to help with since Natasha is off on another assignment with Steve. On your way up to the hangar the elevator stops on Bucky’s floor for him to get on.

“Hey Buck” you greeted him with a warm smile. Bucky was one of your best friends in the tower, aside from Nat and Steve whom you were friends with by means of them training you mostly. Bucky and you became friends over the few months after you’d been recruited due to your frequent run-ins down at the gym. You were kind of an insomniac and would go down to the training room late at night to tire yourself out. You’d often find Bucky already in there trying to punch away the memories haunting his nightmares.

“Hey Doll” He smiles back at you with that beautiful mega-watt smile. “You ready to go whoop some hydra ass?” He asks as he slings his right arm over your shoulder.

“Oh, I was born ready” you say leaning into his welcoming half hug. “The real question is, are you ready, old man?” you ask nudging his ribs with your elbow a little and looking up at him with a teasing smirk.

“Let’s not forget, this old man can still kick your ass” he chuckles while putting you into a playful headlock. The elevator comes to a stop at the hangar and you and Bucky exit the lift laughing at one another. You two were always laughing when you were together.

Steve was so glad you and Bucky ended up getting along, he knew that your carefree personality and witty sense of humor would be good for his best friend. Steve and Nat were often discussing ways to get the two of you together. When Nat confronted you about it you had to be truthful, you knew she’d figure it out eventually anyways.

~ ~ ~

“Hey Y/N, do you ever feel like you and Barnes might like each other a little more than best friends should?” she cornered you in the locker room one day after one of your training sessions.

“Uh, I don’t know Nat. I mean, I love being around him and c’mon, the man is stunning.” You sighed and ran your hand through your hair as you thought about the best way to answer her question. “But I don’t know if a relationship is really something Bucky is looking for right now. And until he is, I am perfectly content with being one of his close friends. Hell, he might not even be interested in me like that. But if he was, I surely wouldn’t turn him down.” You finished, giving her a small smirk.

Natasha shook her head in disbelief, “Oh get a grip Y/N, there is no way he’s not interested in you like that. Steve has even said he’s never seen Bucky smile as brightly nor as often as he does when he’s around you.” She pushed your shoulder playfully.

You couldn’t help the giant grin that spread across your face and the light dusting of pink that warmed your cheeks, “I guess we’ll see Nat” you shrugged, “I guess we’ll see.” You repeated a little quieter the second time, talking more to yourself than to the red head.

~ ~ ~

You, Bucky, Sam, Wanda, Tony and Bruce were all on the quinjet heading to a hydra base that was a few hours away. The mission was to go in, get to the data center, download all their files, then plant a virus that would cause the building to self-destruct. It would give you guys three minutes to get out and away from the building before detonating. You and Bucky were paired up because his knowledge of the facility would get you to the data center the fastest, so you had as much time as possible to extract the information and plant the virus. Sam and Wanda were going in basically as your and Bucky’s back up to keep the hydra goons off your tails. Tony’s mission was to plant all the explosives for complete demolition of the base. Bruce was there to hang out on the quinjet as back up in case shit went sideways.

Things were going smoothly in the beginning, until hydra realized Sam and Wanda were kind of there as a distraction. They sent just enough agents to keep the two of them busy then sent all the big guns after you and Bucky. It seemed like every time you guys took out a wave of agents and made a little bit of headway, they sent another unit after the two of you.

“Jesus Fuck!” you shouted as a bullet clipped your left shoulder. You immediately aimed at the offending agent’s head and shot him directly between the eyes. “How many of these assholes are there!?” you shouted into the coms as you took out two more guys.

“This is way more than we thought there were supposed to be” Sam grunted sounding out of breath.

“Shit doll, are you okay?!” Bucky came to you after taking down the last agent of the most recent unit sent to kill you two.

“Ah, fuck me” you grabbed at your arm, it was bleeding more than you realized.

“Uh, now doesn’t really seem like the most appropriate time to proposition Barnes like that, Y/N.” Tony chuckled.

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Tony” you jabbed back with no real malice in your tone, this was a normal interaction between you and the sarcastic billionaire.

“Barnes gets an invitation and I have to go take care of myself? That’s cold, sugar.” He replied with fake sadness in his voice.

“Eat shit Stark!” you replied with a pained laugh as you continue clutching your wound.

“Guys, focus please” Bruce cuts in, effectively ending the conversation.

“Here baby, let me wrap that up” Bucky says gently as he unzips your suit and tears off a piece of your undershirt to tie around your upper arm. You can’t stop the goosebumps that prickle up on your skin where the knuckles of his flesh hand brush your hip bone. You look away from him and let out a shaky breath, hoping he didn’t notice the shiver that ran down your spine at the pet name. He’s used it on you before, but this situation feels a little more intimate than any of the others before.

You begin zipping your suit back up while he ties off your arm “Thanks Bucky,” you say too softly for the coms to pick up and give him a genuine smile. His eyes drop to your lips for a split second, almost too quick for you to notice. You reach up and brush his cheek bone with your right hand, even if it is covered in dried blood, his skin is soft under the pad of your thumb. You lean in and kiss his cheek lightly “Seriously, thank you.” You smile at him again; your faces are still inches apart. You pull away and grab his left hand with your right, “come on Nurse Bucky. We gotta get moving.” He follows behind you with an unfaltering smile on his face but says nothing.

You two were headed down the hallway directly towards the door of the bases data center when you were ambushed by 15 hydra agents at once. You were running really low on ammo and Bucky was completely out in five of the six guns he had on him. You were able to take out four guys, despite the burning pain in your left arm, before your guns clicked empty. You grabbed your knife from your thigh holster; taking the goons on in hand to hand combat. Bucky was able to take out seven agents before his last gun ran out of bullets and he had to pull out his knife as well. You took out one of the remaining men with a quick slash to the throat and jab to the abdomen. Then rushed over to where Bucky was taking on the other three guys at once. You caught one of them in the temple with the end of your blade, dropping him instantly and Bucky had no problems taking out the other two.

“Is your arm okay?” He asked grasping your arm softly.

“No. It hurts like a bitch, Buck” you exhaled heavily. “But we still have shit to get done, so let’s go finish this.” You sigh heading towards the data center door.

You weren’t expecting the agent hiding behind the desks when you walked in, you took your knife and tomahawked it at him sinking your blade directly into his throat, he fell to the floor gurgling. You hopped over the desk and inserted your flash drive into the main computer. You started hacking into their data mainframe while Bucky kept watch of the door. You were about halfway done downloading files when someone busted through the large window on the far side of the room. The massive man dressed head to toe in black charged directly at Bucky.

“BUCKY!” you shouted but the man had already tackled him to the ground and punched him hard in the face. Bucky was dazed for a second. This man had to be at least a little enhanced to take Bucky down like that.

You sprinted around the computer desks and jumped on the man’s back to get him off of Bucky. He stood without a struggle from your added weight, you wrapped around him with your arms and legs like a sloth. You reached for your knife only to grasp the empty holster; your blade was still lodged in the dead agent’s neck. Fuck! You cursed yourself. You had to think fast because the goliath man swung his fist back barely missing your face. You took one arm from around the man’s neck and pulled out one of the extra-long bobby pins that was holding part of your hair back. You flipped it around and used the more pointed end to jam into the front of the guys throat then you dropped your legs and pulled the metal piece back towards his right shoulder effectively ripping out the side of his throat. You pushed his body away from you as he fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“Holy shit doll!” Bucky exhaled in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just killed someone with that.” He said gesturing toward the large bobby-pin that was still sticking out of the side of the dude’s neck.

“Desperate times call for desperate weapons, sweetheart.” You replied exasperatedly as you began walking back around to the computer you were on before, getting back to work on the data extraction.

“Are you two okay in there?” You heard Sam’s voice come over the coms.

“Yeah I think so” Bucky replied then looked to you and you gave him a nod “Yup, we’re okay. A little beat up and bloody but still alive.” He finished.

“Okay good we are on our way to you guys” Wanda replied.

“All the explosives are in place.” Tony’s voice cuts in not long after Wanda’s.

“Okay, I’m nearly finished downloading then I can plant the virus.” You replied directly.

About three minutes later Sam and Wanda show up breathing a little heavy and looking a bit roughed up themselves. Sam’s eyes immediately fall on the giant guy laying in a pool of blood. “Holy hell. What is sticking out of big foot’s neck?” He leans in to look closer at him.

“Looks like a large bobby-pin” Wanda responds, her voice up turning at the end, almost sounding like a question.

They both look up at Bucky and he points directly at you, “Don’t look at me, that was all Y/N.” His eyes are just as wide as theirs because, quite frankly, he was still a little bit shocked himself.

Your head pops up at the sound of your name, you see all three of them staring at you. “What?” you ask in a neutral tone. “Anything can be a weapon if you try hard enough.” You shrug and go back to finishing your job.

“Where have you been all my life, Doll.” Bucky chuckles and shakes his head at you. You just smile and wink at him.

You finished the data extraction, finally, and it only takes you a few seconds to plant the virus. “Alright guys, all done let’s go.” You inform them as you grab the flash drive and hop back over the desk.

You guys make it out with zero complications. Probably because you killed most of the building’s inhabitants already. You make it to the jet with ample time. Sam takes the quinjet up and away enough that the blast wont harm any of you. Once you see that the detonation was a success Sam takes off; heading back towards the tower.

“Y/N, you’ve gotta let me take a look at that arm.” Bruce says coming up to you with a first aid kit.

“It just grazed me Bruce” you reply, “I’ll be okay until we get back.” You smile up at him from your seat.

“I’m sure you will, but humor me” He smiles back. You roll your eyes but are still smiling as you offer your wounded arm to him. He gets to work cleaning you up as lean your head back on the headrest of your seat.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake up to Bucky nudging your right leg. “Hey doll,” He whispers as he taps your leg, “Y/N. baby, you need to wake up.” He nudges you again.

“hhm?” You groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Oh shit” you look around and see everyone else is already off the jet. You get up and stretch, momentarily forgetting about the stitches Bruce put in your left arm and wincing as pain shoots through your entire left side.

“Careful doll,” Bucky chastises lightly “Don’t need you tearing your shit open.” He chuckles taking your right hand in his left and tugging your sluggish body out of the quinjet hangar. He takes you to your room and helps you inside.

“Thanks Buck.” You give him a tired sleepy smile.

“I should be thanking you” He replies softly, still holding your hand. “Thank you for having my back in there. You are such a fierce and amazing woman.” He smiles bringing his flesh hand up to your jaw and caressing your cheek bone with his thumb. You look into his gorgeous baby blues trying to get a read on where this situation is going. His gaze drops to your lips for more than a couple of seconds and you notice he has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Oh, so that’s where this is going. You lean up on your tip-toes and close the distance between you. He goes still for a second then relaxes as your hands travel up his chest to card through the hair at the base of his neck. His metal hand falls to your waist and pulls you closer to him. He groans as your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, he doesn’t hesitate to grant you entry into his warm waiting mouth. Bucky starts to lead you towards your bathroom without breaking the kiss. You get about halfway there when you pull back.

You’re both breathing kind of heavy but he manages to speak up. “Jesus,” he takes a deep breath, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He smiles and shakes his head not believing he is finally getting his chance with you.

“I think I might understand a little bit” you smile up at him. His eyes search yours for any hint of a doubt, but he sees nothing but sincerity and love in your gorgeous Y/E/C orbs. He leans down and captures your lips in a soft sweet kiss. He pulls back and smiles adoringly at you.

“I have an idea” you smile mischievously at him.

“Please enlighten me” he laughs lightly, because he knows that look on your face means something sneaky.

“How about, you go run us a bath in that big luxurious tub Steve had installed on your guys’ floor while I run this flash drive to Tony’s lab?” You say taking the drive out of your pocket.

“Oh God” he groans, eyes rolling back in his head “I swear, you are the woman of my dreams, doll.” he finishes as he pulls you in for another short kiss.

“and you’re the man of mine, James Buchanan Barnes.” You cup his cheeks in your hands and pull him down for one more needy kiss before you head for your door. “Now let’s get a move on soldier! I hear a large fancy bathtub calling my name.” You smirk as he follows you out of your room.

#selene’s 1k challenge #writing challenge #writing prompt #this is my first writing challenge so im sorry if this blows #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky fic #avenger!reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #aka a literal angel #my writing #rae writes marvel #selene's1Kchallenge #user:raegan

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amygeeunit · 4 years

Text

The Quarantine Chronicles: These Last Five Years & What I Thought I Wanted

There’s nothing like being alone in your own thoughts at 1:00am in the midst of a global pandemic... Instead of aimlessly scrolling through my Instagram timeline or checking my bank account with all the money I have saved from not going out, I’ve had time to think about what the 28 year old, almost 29 year old Amy needs versus wants...

I think in high school or at some point in our lives we have all fallen victim to “By the time I’m age this, I want to have x, y and z.” At 16, I thought at 25 I would have my life 85% figured out. Pretty funny concept now that you think about it, right? I actually laugh at how naive or how troublesome it is to have these unrealistic goals and tag an age onto them... I pictured myself living in a nice apartment, potentially dating someone, or if not just focusing on my career. Fast forward to 2020, besides this year being a complete clusterf*ck, I’ve had extra time to sit down and think of these last five years in a nutshell.

All I remember from 2015 was going to Vegas, still working in retail, having foot surgery and getting into CSUF. The rest is foggy because it’s been five years. Huh? I thought 2015 was last year...

2016 seemed to be one of my better years. I started at CSUF, went to Iceland, interned at Rastaclat, ended up getting a job at Rastaclat, entered into my first serious relationship, moved back out to Orange County and felt like at 24 - 25 I was killing the game (or so I thought.)

2017 wasn’t too bad. I graduated from CSUF in the spring, went to Oahu, continued on in my relationship and spent a majority of my time focusing on my career.

2018 is when life started to get real interesting. My pup, Ben G, passed away while I was out in Illinois visiting my cousin (long story to save for another post,) I started a new job at Pretty Great LLC, traveled to escape 99% of the time, started taking birth control that made me bloated, emotional and feel weird and moved back to Moreno Valley. During this time, my relationship started to crumble due to lack of communication, the wave of grief I was experiencing and everything in else in between that couples go through. I started going to therapy in July and in August, I had my first panic attack. In September, I decided I needed to get as far away from my life as possible. I booked a flight to Japan to visit Sarah since she was stationed out in Yokosuka. Yokosuka has a naval base and is about an hour from Tokyo. I talked to my boss at work a few weeks prior and asked for a week and a half off. Luckily, he was one of the most understanding and best people I have ever worked for in my career so far. Most bosses would have told you to “Get over it” or “Figure it out.” Rob Myers was a saving grace for me that year for letting me have my time off to not think about life.

While I was in Japan, I remember the time change messing me up quite a bit. I think it took around three days for me to finally be okay without passing out in the middle of the day. In short, this trip changed me. It changed how I traveled, it changed how I process emotions, it changed my outlook on life, it changed many things for me. I came back from this trip and my relationship was virtually over. I didn’t know how to feel, I didn’t know what to do, it just sort of fizzled like a candle using its last part of the wick. October came and I spent my birthday in Big Bear with my parents. I remember crying in the cabin when we got back from Octoberfest. I don’t think it really hit me that I was single, with no friends around and that 27 was already a shit show on day 1. I visited my best guy friend and his sisters in Arizona at the end of October to make up for the previous weekend. I had no idea that November could get any worse for me, but it did. It was two days before Thanksgiving, November 20th, 2018.

I was driving from Moreno Valley to Santa Ana one morning on my way to work. I took my normal route, left at my normal time, a pretty standard commute. About 2 miles from work, I was at a stop light. At this stop light I waited for about 30 seconds while the other cars went. The light turned green. As I was pressing my gas to accelerate, out of nowhere, a semi truck plows its way through the intersection and t-bones my driver’s side. I remember screaming. I remember it being like a scene from a Final Destination movie where the victim doesn’t know that death or uncertainty is upon them. In that moment, I remember thinking “This is it.” My reflexes shifted real quick and that was it. I remember pulling off to the side of the road leading up to the 5 freeway. I felt like my soul left my body for seconds then came back. I was shaking. I called my dad first and let him know what had happened. I called my mom and then the insurance company. I exchanged words and information with the driver. I remember being upset, but I couldn’t yell or get any words out. I just went by the protocol of what to do when you get involved with an accident. Sure, I have been rear ended before, but never t-boned and let alone by a damn semi truck. This accident passed, I was awarded some half ass money and in the midst of it all, I remember being so mentally drained that I cried out for help on Instagram Stories... I remember going through survivors guilt. I remember saying to myself “Why am I still here? There are people that die in accidents or by drunk/distracted drivers all the time... Why do I still have to live this life of pain and suffering?” In my mind and in 2018, I never knew how to take pain and suffering very well. I didn’t know it would shape me for what these next couple years would throw at me.

December came and went. It was like a sigh of relief for me to know that the vicious cycle of the 2018 rollercoaster was coming to an end. At this point, I kind of gave zero f*cks as to what happened in life. A few days before Christmas, I visited my Grandma in Illinois and my grandparents’ grave site. I think my trip to Illinois was some type of closure to my 2018 year. I hadn’t been back to Illinois since my Grandma’s funeral in 2011. It was a cold and frigid trip. It was the first trip I had ever driven by myself. The only cool thing was running into Ja Rule at the Palm Springs Airport (before the Fyre Festival documentary came out, otherwise I would have yelled at him.) He was on my flight to Chicago. Jeffrey Atkins, you sneaky motherfucker, you! How I wish I would have known about you tricking people with that one guy... I ordered a “Survived 2018″ crewneck from this small online business store, went to Disneyland with my mom on Christmas and threw caution to the wind.

2019 was interesting, but not as heavy as 2018. I called 2019 the year where I “rushed to get back to normalcy.” I realized the commute to PG was getting tiring pretty fast, I accepted being single and got back into dance. Dance saved my life, point blank. Whether it was subbing, teaching, training or being on a team, it brought back a sense of joy and also established new friendships along the way. I started a job at a marketing agency in March 2019 that was a short commute and about 6 months in, I realized this was something I wasn’t a fan of. It took me a while to realize that that was okay to feel uneasy about the jobs I once knew.

If I had to rate 2019 on a point scale, I would say it was a 6/10. I felt like the last few months I was suppose to be back to normal and healed from a lot of things I kept to myself. Dating people was weird because 1. I felt behind. What I mean by that was I thought by age 27 - 28, I would have met my “person,” by now. As I seen other friends get proposed to, plan their weddings and start their families, I started to feel like the odd woman out. Was there something wrong with me? Am I that complicated or hard to love? Are my values not aligning with people I like? Am I going to be that person that gets married at 40 or even at all? Will I always be the friend and not the potential girlfriend or wife? Who knows? 2. The reciprocity factor of it all and setting boundaries. 3. I don’t think I ever got over everything that had happened in my first relationship because we never cheated on each other, our trust when out without each other was never questioned and there was a best friend component in it. I was filled with regret, frustration and memories I forced myself to black out even after going to therapy and journaling it. Fact: I dread my birthday each year. I don’t like my birthday in general, but October I have mixed emotions about. The anniversary of my Grandma’s death is on 10/13, my Grandpa’s birthday is 10/14 and my birthday is 10/20. I spent the last couple months of 2019 drinking more than usual, especially after my friend, Beka, passed away suddenly in November. December came and went. I had my first trip to Puerto Vallarta and enjoyed some much needed beach time. I had this “idea” that I would move to the east coast with Sarah because I wanted to start over. That idea went out the window. I ended 2019 with buying a new car after having paid off my Kia Forte back in 2016.

It’s now 2020 and boy... It has been a shit show for the world I feel like. I can’t even begin to describe what a rollercoaster of emotions everyone is feeling right now, but I do have one word for me personally: gratitude. I started off the year so uneasy with finding out my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer again for a second time. I remember going into February with no expectations, yet I had expectations (weird right?) Without going into too much detail I felt like that quote by DJ Khaled saying “Congratulations, you played ya self!” I was constantly frantic about work, friendships, relationships, my future, dance, my parents, basically everything. I was a walking, talking ball of stress. March came around and I downloaded Bumble (yup, I went there) and matched with a really nice guy who actually knew two of my nurse friends. Then, COVID-19 was in full effect in the states and suddenly the idea of dating or wanting any kind of human interaction made me cringe... I had to politely excuse myself and move on. I checked in on friends and they checked in on me.

I’ve spent more time with my parents, more time on myself and then it finally clicked: I am where I need to be in this exact moment. I don’t want to date anyone in quarantine, I don’t want to understand or have expectations for another human like I’ve been searching for these last 6 months. What the fuck, Amy? You are everything you need right now and it is not in another person. I’ve danced in quarantine, I’ve cried in quarantine, I’ve laughed in quarantine, I’ve journaled in quarantine, I’ve found myself again in quarantine. As easy as it sounds for most people, the concept is quite large. Since I was 18 years old, I have ALWAYS wanted to live by myself and try it out. It’s ten years later and in the midst of this uncertain time period, I know that 2020 is the year that I finally accomplish this. So, in short, 2021 I’ll be back on the “dating” field or whatever, but 2020 is my year to literally work. on. myself. This includes: my relationship with myself, my relationship with my friends, family, acquaintances, coworkers, etc., my health regiment, my mental health, my physical health, my emotional health, I think you get the point, right? In a time where some of us feel alone, I feel secure. My days vary and maybe I’ll post something tomorrow where I say “That post was trash, quarantine was terrible,” and while it is on most days, I’m so grateful to connect more deeply with people on a spiritual and conversational level. I was tired of hiding behind my day-to-day busy routine when I finally came to terms with myself.

We are all in this together. We are all processing what we need and want. I use this blog as a way to express and share what so many people keep to themselves. Maybe you can relate, maybe you think I’m too out there. Either way, to each their own.

Until next time.

#quarantine #quarantinechronicles #bloggingfromquarantine

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theonyxpath · 4 years

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By Lauren Roy

Jo’s breath fogged the Perspex case, momentarily obscuring the prototype from view. Inside, the device lay dormant, all sleek silver curves and a blank interface awaiting its commands. On its own, Jo told herself, it was just a machine. It made no moral judgments. It saved lives or ended them, and the person who fed it the instructions was to thank or blame, not this lump of metal and wires.

Jo hated it a little bit anyway. She also needed it, and that made her hate it even more.

“Hey, kiddo, shake a leg, yeah?” Blake had been on edge all night. They’d gotten into DuttonTech so smoothly — fake badges letting them into restricted areas, Jo’s disguised tools sailing through security, green lights across every board. Blake trusted Jo and Dana to get them in, sure, but the fact he’d gone the last few hours without having to subdue so much as a slightly suspicious intern was making him antsy. Jo couldn’t blame him; Archangel never hired their crew for the cakewalk jobs.

But she wasn’t going to let Blake’s nerves unsteady her hands. She was elbow deep in the display case’s guts, only the last set of clamps and a weight sensor left to bypass. Easy peasy lemon-squeezy. She’d be home and in her pajamas in less than two hours, cracking a pint of victory ice cream and texting Leanne with the good news, that help was on its way. This was a killing machine in Dr. Alexander Dutton’s hands, but in Leanne’s possession? Jo’s sister could use it to save thousands.

She just had to unlatch the clamps.

Blake checked the cameras for the hundredth time. Downstairs, the security guards in their cozy little command room were watching the same looped feeds of Dutton’s lab Dana had set up hours ago. He knew the timing of their rounds, knew which guards just jiggled the occasional doorknob and which would swipe their access cards and look around the empty, after-hours rooms. He’d studied the dossiers Dana gathered for him over the last few weeks. The patrol team closest to their floor right now consisted of an ex-military type and a guy whose pre-DuttonTech police record was peppered with assault charges from bar fights. Ideally, Blake wouldn’t have to trade blows with either of them, but he believed in being prepared.

Waiting was killing him. He’d offered to smash the case when they first got here, just grab and go, but both Dana and Jo had shot him down. Something about delicately calibrated this and potentially volatile that. Of course, that described everything that DuttonTech put out these days, especially the volatile part. Blake had seen firsthand the damage the company’s products wrought. He’d wielded some of them himself, back in another life.

He’d never stop paying for that. Could never. But working for Archangel assuaged some of the guilt. He clenched his fists and tamped down the urge to find some other volatile thing and pitch it into anything that looked delicate.

Dana had six different data feeds scrolling past on her glasses’ left lens, telling her all DuttonTech systems were normal. She was jacked into the guard station’s audio, listening to two guards being wrong about the top five horror movies of all time. She’d set her little worm free on DuttonTech’s R&D servers — after, of course, she downloaded clean versions of the files to her own drive to peruse later. According to her own internal stopwatch (ONE one thousand, TWO one thousand) her team was right on schedule.

It was too bad they’d never be able to take credit for tonight, because damn, they were good. She imagined herself at some fancy Archangel cocktail party, regaling new cells with the story. Maybe she would embellish it, just a little, add in a tiny scuffle so Blake could have his crowning moment of awesome. Add in a few extra lasers for Jo to have to limbo under, and…

Click.

“Shit,” muttered Jo.

The lights in the lab went red.

There was an extra clamp. There was an extra freaking clamp, and it was so tiny and so obvious in hindsight, exactly where Jo would have put one if she wanted to protect her valuables from someone like herself. It hadn’t been on the blueprints Dana procured in one of her hacks, because of course it wasn’t. Dutton was notoriously paranoid. He’d either installed it himself, in secret, or had one of his lackeys do it and…what? Wiped their memory? Had them killed? Transferred them to a DuttonTech facility in Antarctica? Jo wouldn’t put any of that past him.

But that didn’t matter now. Their cover was blown. Dana was counting off the seconds until security got to them, her fingers flashing over her tablet’s screen. “We’re about to have company.”

Blake came and crouched beside Jo. He glanced at her hands, frozen on the prototype. “Kiddo, we’ve gotta run. Now. If you don’t have it free, you have to leave it.”

“I can’t.”

He frowned. “You stuck?”

“No.”

“Something gonna cut off your fingers if you move?”

“No.”

“What is it, then?”

Jo closed her eyes and pictured her sister’s face. “Leanne. She’s with the LRE in Caracas.”

Blake’s sharp inhale told her that he hadn’t known. Jo didn’t talk about Leanne much. He and Dana knew that Jo’s parents had been dissidents, murdered by their government for speaking out. They knew she and Leanne grew up in safe houses where they were never truly safe, and that Jo had turned to Archangel when she got old enough to be more than a charity case for the organization. That was about as much intel as Jo ever shared, because talking about Leanne made her worry. And worry had sharp, sharp teeth.

“You saw the emails Dana intercepted. Dutton’s going to sell this to the enemy, then that’s it for the resistance. This isn’t just about Leanne.”

Blake might let everyone else in Archangel think he was all muscle, minimal brains, but Jo knew better. He’d read the whole dossier, not just the guards’ vitals. “How long do you need?” His voice was deadly calm.

“However long you can buy me.”

“Get that thing out of there.” Then he was gone.

“We’re doing what now?” Dana gaped at Blake as he assessed the camera feeds on her tablet. She’d managed to lock the guards out of the elevators for the time being but couldn’t keep them out of the stairwells. One patrol had only been a few stories down.

He grunted as the patrol he was monitoring gained another landing. “We’re holding tight until Jo gets that damned thing free. What else can you do to keep them out of here?”

Dana peered around the lab. Until now, she hadn’t really let herself see everything. Sure, she knew the layout, and had a strong idea of what other projects DuttonTech’s brain trust were working on, but being here in meatspace? The temptation to start taking things apart would have distracted her from their mission. She’d kept her eyes firmly on her work and ignored the siren song of the shiny.

Now, though… She took it all in, performing a frantic inventory with a glance. “Get me a screwdriver,” she said, “and every inch of wire you can find.”

For a hasty build, it was impressive. Dana had to guess at what a quarter of the parts she found even were, but as she stared at the small mountain of electronics Blake dumped on the desk, the schematic came together in her head. The spliced wires and electrical tape meant it would never win any beauty pageants at the hackathon, but that didn’t matter.

As long as it did its job.

She dragged her cobbled-together creation out into the hall. It whined as it powered up; the highpitched tone of power gathering combined with a low, ominous hum. Dana listened a moment, until it sounded stable enough, and darted back inside. As Blake shoved a pair of desks across the doorway, Dana scuttled further into the lab and planted herself near Jo. The other woman nodded slightly, acknowledging her presence, but didn’t peel her eyes from the device inside the case.

“How are we looking?” Dana asked.

“There’s a wire on the last clamp. It’s what tripped the alarm. I’m trying to make sure it’s not going to fry the whole thing when I remove it.”

“Smart,” said Dana, then, “Oops, hang on, big noise.” On her tablet’s screen, the camera view showed two guards emerging from the stairwell. She counted (ONE one thousand, TWO one thousand, THREE) and yelled, “Blake, NOW!”

Across the lab, Blake slammed his fist down on the trigger Dana rigged. He dropped into a huddle, covering his ears.

The lab doors were, by necessity, prettied-up fire doors. Sure, deep-pocketed investors on a grand tour of DuttonTech could glance through the extra-thick glass to see scientists bustling about within, but if something exploded during a demo, those investors (and their wallets) would be safe. Now, those same doors muffled the worst of Dana’s sonic barrage. The pair of guards dropped to the ground, hands covering their ears as they writhed in pain.

The disruptor’s effects would only last for so long, though. Already, Dana could tell the pulses were losing their potency. “Thirty seconds, Jo. Then they’re back on their feet and super pissed.”

It was impossible. Jo held the wire pinched between her fingers, this hair-thin filament, and knew it was all for nothing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Leanne, I’m sorry.

If she’d only taken one last look, she’d have spotted the trap. If she only had another five minutes, she could undo it. But time was well past up. Blake and Dana stood by the doors, their jaws set, their expressions grim. That awful thrumming pulse outside let out one last whump, and an eerie silence took its place.

If she was fast enough, faster than she’d ever been in her life, she could mitigate the damage. Not prevent it entirely, but… But enough.

Jo steadied the prototype with her left hand, readied the wire in her right.

She held her breath.

Pulled.

The spark traveled up her fingers, to her wrist, straight up to her elbow. The sharp tang of hot metal, melted plastic, and seared flesh filled the air. Had she taken the brunt of the jolt? She thought so but wouldn’t know until Dana got a look at the device later. When they were safe. Jo pulled the prototype free of its case and ignored the tingling in her fingertips. She joined Blake and Dana at the door. “Let’s go.”

In the hallway, the security guards were gaining their feet. Blake smiled.

The first one got up. He staggered as his balance betrayed him, but Blake wasn’t going to take that for granted. Guy like this? He had to fight after being pepper sprayed, tazed, or whatever the hell else they made Navy SEALs do. Sure, Dana’s device had done its damage, but Blake bet this guard was exaggerating its extent. It’s what he’d have done.

Three strides and Blake was in the ex-SEAL’s face. Sort of. The dude was a giant, six-and-half feet tall with a neck like a tree trunk. Blake only came up to his chest. His opponent swung, a short, sharp blow that would have knocked a weaker fighter flat. But Blake had training of his own. He deflected the jab, but as he’d suspected, the guard wasn’t as bad off as he’d pretended. More shots rained down, driving Blake backwards toward the lab.

A streak of red skittered down the hall toward him. Jo had liberated one of the lab’s fire extinguishers and shoved it his way. Blake danced out of the ex-SEAL’s reach and scooped it up. Only one shot at this. He swung it in a high haymaker arc, cranking the extinguisher’s heavy bottom into the ex-SEAL’s jaw. The big man went down in a graceless heap.

Blake looked back to where Dana and Jo huddled in the doorway and signaled them forward. Jo winced as she passed the first guard. Then she stopped short. “Uh. Blake?”

He thought the second guy was down for the count. It was the bar brawler, the one who should’ve been an easy takedown except…except he’d managed to unholster his sidearm and push himself to his feet. His arm wavered, but even if his aim was off, the hallway was narrow enough that he’d probably hit one of them.

“Easy, now,” said Blake. “Let’s all be calm.”

“Drop the extinguisher,” said the guard. “And you, put down the device.” He swung the gun toward Jo, and Blake felt his heart hit his stomach. That wasn’t a standard-issue piece. It was a DuttonTech special; destruction in Glock’s clothing. Blake had carried one of the previous generation himself. He’d seen what they could do, how the bullets tore up a body as they passed through.

“Okay.” Blake lowered the extinguisher, hoping to get the guard’s focus back on himself. “Look, we’re cooperating, see?”

“Oh, fuck that,” snarled Dana. She shoved past Blake, keeping to the other side of the hall from the guard — out of arm’s reach, but drawing his attention.

“I’ll shoot!” The guard whirled to follow her. His finger tensed on the trigger.

Blake barreled forward. He could never beat a bullet, but he had to try. The corridor seemed miles long, the air thickened like molasses. The guard might as well have been on the other side of the world, for all the good Blake could do. He saw the trigger pull back in agonizing detail, heard Jo screaming Dana’s name.

Dana just kept walking.

The gun didn’t fire.

Time started again, and Blake plowed into the guard at top speed. He drove him back and slammed his wrist against the wall until he dropped the weapon. Blake got a forearm across the guy’s neck and twisted to look at Dana. “What the hell?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She stopped fiddling with her eyepiece and came to stand beside him, still well out of the guard’s reach. She addressed the guard instead of Blake. “That thing that split your eardrums two minutes ago? I also had it resonating at the same frequency as the timing crystal in your shiny new gun. Probably cracked it. You shouldn’t pick it up again.” She gave Blake an apologetic grin. “I should have told you: I don’t make unitaskers. Learned it from a TV chef. Now will you knock him out, so we can go?”

Archangel paid damned well. Jo funneled most of her paychecks down to Leanne, helping to fund the revolution and keep her sister fed, clothed, and armed. With what was left, she bought tools to help with her craft. One of the first things she’d learned was, to be a good thief, you ought to have a good getaway car. So, she sunk a ridiculous amount of money into an old tank of a car and paid even more to have it tuned up, tricked out, and street legal. It had served her well so far, and now, with DuttonTech heavies chasing them through the city’s 3 A.M. streets, Jo prayed it’d get them home safe one more time.

It took 10 blocks for the black SUV to catch up to them. She’d figured a clean getaway was too much to ask, but Jo cursed the universe anyway. “Get ready,” she said, and jammed on the gas. Bullets hit the car’s frame like a sudden spate of rain. The back window spidered with cracks but held firm. She was glad she’d splurged on the bulletproofing.

The SUV sped up, drawing even with them. Jo stared ahead at the rain-slick street. The good thing about pulling off their heist so late at night was that no one drove in the business district at this hour. They had a good straightaway and, as she watched, all the lights turned green. In the rearview, Dana flashed her a thumbs-up.

Metal screamed, and the whole car shuddered as the SUV slammed into their side. Jo fought the wheel to keep them on the road. In the passenger seat, Blake swore as the door crunched inward.

PULL OVER, came a voice over the SUV’s bullhorn. RETURN WHAT YOU STOLE, AND WE’LL LET YOU GO.

Blake flipped them off.

Another sideswipe, and the car rode up on the curb. Jo swore and yanked them back onto the street, but not before she took out a row of newspaper boxes.

“You know what?” said Blake. “We’re risking our lives for this thing, I think we deserve a demo.” He pulled the prototype from the backpack Jo had shoved it in.

“Uhhhh.” Dana poked her head into the front seat. “Remember that talk we had about delicate and volatile?”

“She’s right. And I might have damaged it when I took it out of the case,” said Jo. “We don’t know what it’ll —”

But Blake was already pushing buttons, and the blank interface was responding to his touch. The options flashing by read stun, pulse, and stream, and a slider ran from low to high. Blake selected pulse and pushed the slider all the way up.

“Point it at them, not us!” Dana shrieked.

Blake turned the device and held the business end up to the window. Jo caught a glimpse of the SUV driver as he aimed. All the color drained out of the DuttonTech security woman’s face. She turned her wheel, disengaging the SUV from Jo’s car, but not soon enough. Blake slapped the automatic window button, and as soon as he could get the prototype’s nose through the gap, he fired.

THOOM.

They couldn’t see the pulse, but they felt it. Jo’s fillings buzzed. Every bone she’d ever broken ached like there was a storm overhead. The SUV flipped up and over, and for one terrible second, Jo could see what the pulse had done to the people inside, how none of their features were in the right places anymore. How everything had gone so very red. She’d be seeing that in her nightmares for years to come.

None of them said anything as they pulled away. In the rearview, Dana’s eyes were wide, her lips gone white. Blake let out a ragged sigh. The device’s interface blurred, cleared, then switched to one blinking red word:

Error.

The sun was coming up by the time they got back to their safehouse. Dana switched on the morning news while she examined the prototype. Not a word about their break-in at DuttonTech. Not a peep about a late-night car chase in the business district, nor any stories about a deadly crash. DuttonTech had covered it all up. Was that good for them, or bad?

Can’t worry about that just now. Let’s make sure we’re not going to explode first.

She handled the device gingerly, as if it might wake up and turn the three of them into human slag, but it turned out there wasn’t much chance of that. She could see the burn marks where Jo had pulled it from its kill switch. Once the casing came off, the insides were about as fried as she’d expected, even though Jo had taken some of the shock. “I don’t know how this even turned on in the car, let alone fired.”

“Is that it, then?” asked Jo. “All that work and it’s just…a hunk of metal?” She didn’t have to say her sister’s name for Dana to know she was thinking of Leanne, how she’d been counting on getting the prototype out intact to help her. Dana had made that connection long before she handed Jo and Blake their dossiers.

“Hey.” Dana set her tools aside. “First off, we’ve set DuttonTech back. They don’t have the physical prototype, and their IT group is going to have a miserable time sorting out the mess I uploaded to their servers before anyone there can even think about building another.”

Blake came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three coffee mugs and Jo’s pint of victory ice cream. He’d declared getting out alive a sufficient win, and Jo hadn’t argued the point. “She’s right, kiddo. We’re not even close to done. If Dana can’t get this thing up and running, someone in Archangel will know who can.”

“I have an idea about that.” Dana took her mug gratefully. She was bone tired but needed to stave off sleep as long as she could. There was too much to do. “The woman who taught me to do what I do, she studied alongside Dutton back in the day. If we can find her, I think she’ll be able to fill in a whole ton of gaps.”

Jo frowned. “‘If?’”

“No one’s heard from her for a while. She went off the grid, and we don’t know why. Last place she was spotted was Brussels.” Dana set the prototype aside and tapped her tablet awake. “Who’s up for a rescue mission?

The Trinity Continuum Core Rules and Trinity Continuum: Æon are available in print from Indie Press Revolution (core, Æon) or in PDF/print-on-demand from DriveThruRPG.

#Onyx Path Publishing

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surveys-at-your-service · 5 years

Text

Survey #218

“give me liberty or death. ... ah, fuck it, just give me death.”

Do you know anyone who had to have tubes put in their ears as a baby? Me. What is the nearest glass object to you? A cup. Were either of your parents baptized? I'm sure my mom was, but I have no clue about Dad. The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? No. What was the last computer game that you played? World of Warcraft. If you had to choose a new cell phone, what phone would you pick? Some sort of iPhone. I hate my Samsung. Has anyone killed one of your pets before? People have run over our cats before, but I'm certain that wasn't intentional. Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No. Are any rooms in your house themed? No. Is there a song that as soon as you hear it you are happier? At least to a degree. Do you have a push lawnmower or a riding lawnmower? We don't have one; Mom pays someone to do it. He uses a riding one, though. When was the last time someone teased you? Idr. Would you trust a vehicle that automatically parallel parks for you? Lmao could probably do it better than I could. Have you ever hit a car while parking? No, but I rarely drive anyway and never park close to others. When you are eating fast food, do you tend to get burgers or chicken? Burgers. When was the last time you used Microsoft Excel? No clue. What was the last thing that you recorded? I was WAY too excited the rare felhound mount dropped for me in WoW so I had to show Sara while I screamed lmao. Have you ever edited an article on Wikipedia? No. Do you like the show Futurama? I've never been into what I've seen. Have you ever found an arrow head? I don't remember ever having had. Have you given up any bad habits for someone? Don't think so. Who is with you? My cat's in the room, as is of course Venus. In what part of your life so far, have you learnt the most about yourself? 2017-2018, probably. Have you ever been in a fist fight? No. What aggravates you most about people in general? I guess if you want to put all humans together, I guess you never know what's gonna hurt who. When they have a valid reason to be hurt by it, anyway. Are your ears pierced? Twice in each lobe and then my right tragus. What did you last say out loud? Something to Teddy about wanting so much attention. Not at all in a bad way. Do you like anything about being angry? Fuck no. Did you have a summer job this year? No. Where do you wish you were? I've been dying to be at Sara's BAD LATELY MY MAN. Do you get surprises often? No, nor do I like them. I get too nervous. Name a crime you have committed? Illegally downloading things. Do you tell people when they get on your nerves? No, not normally. You're in jail… Who bails you out? Dad, most likely, taking money into account. I don't even know if he could afford bailing someone out, though. Are your feelings hurt easily? YEAH. What’s the ultimate cake topping? Just frosting. Have you ever ridden a motorcycle? No. Do you ever forward or reply to chain mails? Never. Have you ever tried to make your own alcohol? Nope. If you were to join one of the armed forces, which would it be? Lol no. Have you ever been to see stand up comedy? No. Have you ever needed stitches? At least twice. Have you ever been in a submarine? No. What would you do if someone proposed to you tomorrow? I'd say no, even if it was Sara. We're not ready for that yet. Which fictional character do you wish was real? Sobs all my favorites of everything are villains and therefore shouldn't be brought to life. Uhhhh. Idk. Maybe Harry Mason from SH 'cuz the entire human population deserves a dad like that. Do you own a lava lamp? I wish. Have you ever been in a hot tub or sauna? Yes to hot tub, but you couldn't pay me to set foot in a sauna. Have you ever had chicken pox? No. Do you believe there used to be dragons? No. We would've found fossil evidence by now, I think. Who’s your favorite god from ancient history? Man, idk. I love mythology. But memory is pretty faint though so I don't remember what most did/what they stand for. What was the last present you received? Uhhhh I'm not sure. Could you go out with someone who had a child from a previous relationship? No. I am not being a mother figure for anyone. What was your first alcoholic drink? Hard lemonade. What was your first detention for? I've only ever had detention for excessive tardies. Did you ever have a treehouse as a kid? No. Have you ever appeared on YouTube? EW LET'S FORGET THAT. Have you ever been on radio? No. Do you like your own name? I do. Could you ever have an affair with a married person? Fuck no. Could you ever split up a couple for one reason or another? I mean I'd urge one to leave the other if they were abusive or not really in love or something like that. I wouldn't out of my own interests. Which celebrity do you find the most annoying? The Paul brothers are fucking obnoxious trash. Is there anyone you work with that you don’t get along with? Why? N/A Have you ever been romantically interested in a coworker? No. Have you ever been romantically involved with a coworker? No. What is the game you’re currently playing most often on your phone? None. Do you have an opinion on adopting/purchasing a pet? Adopt. I understand the temptation of wanting a certain breed of pet, but you've gotta think beyond your desires here. There are so, so, SO many homeless cats and dogs especially that need homes. When was the last time you climbed a tree? Never, I believe. Why were you last pulled over? I never have been, thank GOD. Do you have any friends that own a private lake? I can just about guarantee no. Are you cool with swimming in a lake? It would depend on the lake. Do you have a drone? No. Do you have any t-shirts from any local businesses? No. Do you listen to any talk shows or podcasts? Only Mark's and his friends'. Do you know anyone who’s had their own podcast? I don't think so. Where were you the last time you stayed in a hotel? The beach. Do you know anyone who is freaked out by cats? No. What kind of music do your parents listen to? Mom loves (classic) metal and rock like me, but she also enjoys Christian music. Dad likes rock and classic metal/rock. What do you do when you can’t escape thoughts of your ex? I mean, I'm a bad person to ask, because my PTSD is tied to my ex. My case is far more extreme. All you really can do is try to do things to distract yourself. What do you think about indoor pets? Love 'em. How it should be most of the time for most animals. Would you agree that love is blind? Very. Did your first real significant other change you at all? Yes. Are you waiting to have sex until you’re married? I don't think so, if I was to ever be in that situation with a man again. How many schools have you been to? Five, but I'm about to start my sixth. Do any songs give you goosebumps? I get goosebumps very, VERY easily when it comes to music. I don't even have to really like the song. What do you think about divorce? Sadly necessary in extreme cases. What’s your favorite way to eat peanut butter? In a Reese's lol. Do you still watch any cartoons meant for kids? I don't watch TV now, but if I was still into watching shows, I'd totally still follow Pokemon. What’s your favorite kind of cereal? Man, idk. Maybe Cinnamon Toast Crunch. What were you doing the last time you were on a roof? Just sitting up there. Do you have any stickers on your car? Mom has I think one? Have you ever given someone flowers? I'll always remember this one Mother's Day where I went down our old path with my sister and friend and we picked up SO many flowers to put in a glass cup as a bouquet for Mom. So yeah. Do you have any stickers on your laptop? No. Do you listen to Nirvana? I don't usually search them out, but they're on my iPod, and I won't generally skip 'em if a Nirvana song comes along. What is one thing stopping you from becoming a veterinarian? I hate seeing animals in pain and/or dying. Are you easily scared by horror movies? Not at all. How old were you when you were first pulled over by the police? I've never been pulled over. When was the last time you drank out of a champagne glass? I've no idea. Do you enjoy plane journeys, if you’ve ever been on one? If we're just talking the ride and not the process leading up to it, and so long I've the window seat, yeah, they're fine. What’s the last movie you’ve seen in theaters and can honestly say you enjoyed? I adored the live action TLK, truly and thoroughly. I didn't at all get the hate. Like I know a common criticism is they took the realism too far (they were lacking in expression), but I liked that, honestly. It made it feel all the more real. I mean honestly, I possibly liked it more than the animated (save for the "Be Prepared" singing), and that movie is sacred to me. Have you ever seen your father cry? I've only seen him tear up like once in my life. How would your parents react if you got pregnant? They'd be confused as fuck because I'm the polar opposite of promiscuous, monogamous, advise that to only happen after marriage, and am with a girl. If you’re in a relationship, how is it going? If you’re single, are you looking for someone? It's going great. We're just ready to no longer be long-distance. How big is your bed? Queen-sized. Do you believe the Holocaust happened? No??????????? fucking????????????????? shit??????????????????????????????? Ever spent any time on a military base? No. Have you ever tried putting black pepper on mac ‘n’ cheese? (It’s good!) Yes, delicious. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Not our current house. We lived in the woods beforehand, and we did have mild mice problems in the winter. Have you ever felt a temperature below 0? No. Have you ever seen a volcano? Not in person. Are you a fan of Janis Joplin? I've actually never really listened to her. Have you ever mowed the lawn (even a little bit)? No. What’s the closest river to you? The Tar River. Don't mind sharing considering it's ginormous. Who were the last 3 males you talked to? My nephew, his dad, then my own dad. What was the last form of communication you used to speak to your best friend? (e.g. text message, phone call) Text. What was the last alcoholic drink you tried for the first time? Uhhhh I think some kind of white wine? Did you like it? Not in the slightest. What’s your favorite feature of the person you’re currently interested in? She has the cutest random little freckle on her hip. Do you remember the first CD you ever bought? I believe the first I personally wanted and got was the Swan Songs album by Hollywood Undead. Where is your favorite place to get fries? You have NOT lived until you've eaten Bojangle's fries. They have a special seasoning that is absolutely spectacular. The Bojangle's experience is so important that it's the first place we went when Sara first came here lmao. Do you know anyone who was raised by their grandparents? Don't believe so. Have you ever made your own pie from scratch? No. What is your favorite gaming console? PS2, always. What was the last major city you visited? Chicago. I mean, or Raleigh, if you count it as a "major" one. How many romantic relationships have you been in so far? I only really consider Jason and Sara as "romantic" relationships. Have you ever used a leaf blower? No. What would you say is the worst part of high school, period? The shift from child to young adult. Hormones make the experience so, so much more difficult than it needs to be. What is your favorite color of apple? Red, green or yellow? Red. They're usually the most crisp. If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? It'd either be Mom or Sara, definitely. I can't really say without being in that moment, idk. Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? Fuck no. I've only ever done it once and never will again, even though the one occasion went fine. Who was the last person to call you fat, if anyone at all? Myself lmao. What color skin does the last person you danced with have? White. Has your mother ever called your school because of your grades? No. What is the worst name a friend has ever called you? Do you remember? I can promise you one has most certainly called me a bitch or worse. Have you ever wanted to be in a band? What position exactly? At the start of high school, I remember I'd sometimes daydream about being a guitarist, but it was never something I like, actively craved. Who is your role model or hero in life if you have one? *blinks* Do you ever call your cousins just to talk to them randomly? No. When did you last spend the night at someone’s house? December of last year. Do you ever have to wash your clothes at someone else’s house? If I'm at Sara's. Do you prefer it when it gets darker earlier? NO. I'm much unlike I used to be in that I prefer brightness. It actually does affect my mood; I recommend to aaaaanybody who suffers from depression to stay in a bright room. I used to live in the dark as well, and I promise, it makes a difference. Have you ever learned any self-defense? If not, would you be interested in learning? No, and yes, especially with how incredibly paranoid I am. Do you like Gushers? Yaaaaas hunty. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? No. When was the last time you felt like you didn’t have anything to worry about? LOL HUH??????? NO WORRIES??????? How old was the last child that you spoke to? Three. What is the name of the last perfume you put on? "Crazy Lady." That perfume is years upon YEARS old. It was a birthday present from Summer, and seeing as I barely ever wear perfume, it's still in my room. Expired, I'm sure, lol. Are you waiting for something to arrive in the mail? No. Have your parents ever forgotten your birthday? No. Do you like your orange juice with lots or no pulp? NONONONONONONO. I absolutely will not drink orange juice with pulp. Did the Spanish classes have an “El Dia de Los Muertos” (Day of the Dead) fiesta at school? I think so? How long have you had the hairbrush you are currently using? I use a comb now that we've had actually forever. What projects are you doing now for school? I'm not in school, not quite yet anyway. :') Do you know what durian is? Do you like it? No. I would never try it. What’s the most number of comments you have on a Facebook picture? What is the picture of? I don't know, and I don't plan on looking. Most likely some selfie. Do you like coconut flavored things? NO. Coconut is disgusting. Have you ever met a famous author before? No. Do you know anybody who has been raped before? I don't think so, and I truly hope not... How often do you get a fever? Like, never. What kind of laundry basket do you use? It's just a plain, white, plastic one. As a child, did you ever have a clown or a magician at your birthday parties? I actually believe I had both. I know I had a pair of clowns once, and with how into magic I was, I would expect I've had had one. Do you have a permit or license? I have my permit. It's more than due time I work more towards my license... List all the stores you’ve been in this past month. I think the only one is PetSmart. Have you ever thrown food at a stranger in a movie theater? No, because I was never that childish. Does/did either of your parents serve in the military? No. Do you like sour candy? My favorite! Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? Most likely Pink Sands Beach in the Bahamas, but honestly I'm terrified of the Bermuda Triangle, so that's unlikely, lmao. That black sand beach in Hawaii, however, will do. Are all nighters something you have grown used to? BIIIIIIITCH I've outgrown that shit. I'm rarely up past 10 at the latest these days. Is there anybody you’re not ashamed to tell anything to? Anything, no. Smoothies or slushies? Slushies. Ignoring nutrition, could you live off veggies for the rest of your life? Nooooooo. Elaborate on a way you have volunteered? I once volunteered at PetSmart during an adoption event, giving the cats and dogs attention while people visited. I absolutely fell in LOVE with a dog there that I begged Mom to get, and she came pretty close. I cried leaving, ha ha... Does anybody know about your sex life other than your partners? No. If you could see any musician live, front row, who would you choose? Um, Ozzy????? Duh??????? My Dad???????? Is great?????????????? If you had to choose between a million dollars or to be able to change a regret? And here you have it, the stupidest question I've seen on a survey. Have you ever been around someone who was high? Yeah. Could you handle living with a male roommate? No, with how afraid I am of men. It'd only work if it was with a long-time bf. Have you spoken to your mother today? Father? For once, both. Do you live by yourself? No. Do you shower every day? No, it's unhealthy and I don't find every day necessary. Especially when you live my hermit life. Is English your native language? Yes. Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter? N/A Do you watch PewDiePie? Very, very rarely. I'm not that into his content anymore, and his humor changed from more original to heavily meme-ish. Are you married? No. Did you ever color your hair pink? No, but totally not apposed. Do you have any subscribers on YouTube? Yeah, some. Do you salt your popcorn? Sadly. Do you like McDonalds? Don't even try to bullshit, you don't mind McD's. Do you have a Steam account? Yeah. Have you ever played Five Nights at Freddy’s? No. It's a cool series though, and I enjoy watching LPs of it. Do you like horror movies? YESSSSSS my favorite. Is your favorite animal a dog? No. Do you like chicken nuggets? mmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMM What color is the ceiling in the room? White. Do you like religion? It's interesting, but has done a shitload of evil. However, it has also made wonderful people. It depends on how you use it. Have you ever tried Akinator? Yeah. Can you twerk? Idk and idc. Do you like dabbing? It looks remarkably stupid/like you're sneezing into your elbow. Do you like fishing? I do, but I've stopped doing it. I feel too bad for the fish. Do you like sleeping? Oh fuck yeah. What do you think of Fifty Shades of Grey? Fucking disgusting, whether in book or movie format. Do you swear in front of children? No. Which Pirates of the Caribbean do you like the most? Never watched 'em. What do you think of Rob Zombie? I enjoy a lot of his music. How far out of your age bracket would you date? Once you hit 10 years, it's a no for me. Have you ever had an STD? No. Is the area you live in more liberal or conservative? I live in the South. Take a wild guess. Have you picked out flower petals, saying, ‘He loves me, he loves me not?' No. Do you like to pace? It's not that I "like" to, it's just a habit. What’s the greatest thing about science? Learning about the world around us. Discovering how life works. Does it annoy you when people dumb themselves down to be cool? It's not "annoying," it's just stupid. Intelligence is cool. What’s a song you like from the genre you hate? "When The Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw is a heavy exception. I adore that song. Are your parents divorced? Yeah, they separated when I was like, 16-17. Who was your first friend? Brianna. Have you ever been to Germany? Hell, I wish. What do you hear right now? I'm currently obsessed with "Brand New Numb" by Motionless In White. Have you ever been ice skating? No. Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? No. Would you consider yourself a shy person? I am one of the shyest people you will ever meet in your life. Do you like techno? Yeah, actually. I've really gotten into electronic music. How many windows are in the room you’re in? Two. Can you whistle? No. My lip ring is probably what makes me unable to anymore. How many X-rays have you had in the last 2 years? Three. One of my knees, then over the course of two years, I believe two for my teeth at the dentist. Are you on good terms with your last ex? Yeah. Do you own an Xbox? No. Favorite Snapchat filter? I've never used Snapchat before. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two. What’s the worst thing you have ever done? Depends on how you mean "worst." Most damaging to me, let myself turn Jason into a god in my head and nearly kill myself for it. As far as most immoral, probably be partially responsible for why my former best friend and her bf broke up because he wound up liking me because I was a dumb 12 y/o. What's your favorite candle scent? Probably coffee or cinnamon rolls. Do you take any medications daily? Yeah. What is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) An annoying combo. What type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) A small one. Are you going to change your last name when you get married? Yes, I hate my last name. Last person you called? Mom. Chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? I don't like sprinkles at all. The texture ruins treats. Who was the last person you cried in front of? Mom, I'm sure. Do you think vlogging in public is scary? I wouldn't say "scary," just incredibly awkward. You'd never see me do it. Would you want to be in a collab channel on YouTube? I don't even want to risk popularity, so no. Do you watch any collab channels? Which ones? Game Grumps and Sam & Colby, mainly. What colors have you dyed your hair, if any? Black, purple, and red. What is your gender and sexual orientation? Female and bisexual. Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? No, but they seem REALLY fun. Ever performed on stage? Was it scary or amazing or both? Yeah, many times for dance. It was really neither for me. Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? No. Have you tried the Beyond or Impossible burger? Thoughts? No, but I want to, especially as I plan on returning to vegetarianism at one point. When was the last time you ate your all-time favorite candy? Oh wow, months. When was the last time you made friends with old enemies? Some time last year, Rachel and I reconnected. She's cool as hell now. When was the last time you took time to pray? It's been a long time. I don't believe it does anything. What is a movie that you heard about recently that you do NOT want to see? Is that "Cats" movie real or was the trailer a fever dream???? What do you do during long trips in the car? I just blare music. Best kind of music to dance to? And the worst kind of music to dance to? I really love "different" songs that warrant a modern sort of dance style. It was my favorite when I took dance, and it's by far my favorite to watch. Worst, I guess like, screamo. How would you dance???? Last candy you tried that you did not enjoy? Or one that you did enjoy? Oh my god. So I tried that new Reese's doughnut from Krispy Kreme today, and it. Was. Repulsive. A candy I actually liked, idk. I rarely ever have treats anymore. Were you a chubby or thin baby? I was normal. Have you ever not given a tip at a restaurant? Why didn’t you? N/A, y'all know my money situation. What is the most outrageous thing you’ve considered doing lately? Okay, I'll admit I at least briefly pondered the possibility of getting a nipple pierced after an eternity of saying I never would lmao. I'm not, tho. Have you ever known somebody who ran away? Most likely. What are your thoughts on Batman? I think it's cool he has that policy of never killing anyone, and he also doesn't have any actual powers, does he? I don't remember. The whole Batman universe (or comics for that matter) is one I don't really connect to anymore, as it was Jason's obsession, so it's a dangerous topic for me. When I say Dr. Seuss, what is the first thing that comes to mind? Green Eggs and Ham. I loooved that book as a kid. Rollercoasters that go upside down… yes please or no thank you? Hell to the motherfuckin no thanks. Is there a certain place or store you especially hate going to? Grocery stores. What was the last animal/pet that you met? There was a BEAUTIFUL standard poodle Mom and I briefly interacted with at the pet store a week or so back. Is there something in particular you always seem to forget? Straighten the shower curtain after I get out so it dries properly. When was the last time you had to wait in line for longer than a few minutes? *shrugs* Have you ever written a review for a product you bought online? No. What was the last board game you played? I think it was all the way back when Sara, Girt, and I played Scrabble.

#survey #quiz #questions #random #bored

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aliceslantern · 5 years

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Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Summary: After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

It kept raining.

Ienzo choked down some food. His stomach was still sour, but he had to stay nourished. And then after that he went back into his room, in search for the copies of the old reports he had written and printed out meticulously. Nothing seemed to be in the right place. How had he been so disorganized?

Ienzo heard muffled conversation in the hallway; Ansem’s familiar deep timbre mixed with Demyx’s slightly higher, younger one. Ienzo gathered what he had and steeled himself.

“I’m all set, Master. I seem to have misplaced some of my papers.” He was so incredibly exhausted. He tried to smile, but it slipped a little when he saw Demyx. It was bizarre to see him in civilian clothing. I am so tired of this life feeling strange. “Shall we get started?”

Demyx looked a little pained, embarrassed, even. “What are you guys up to?”

Ansem looked towards him. “Tying up some loose ends.”

His lip twitched. “Well. Have fun I guess.”

Fun. Ienzo shook his head.

“So you would like to look into the metaphysical behind Sora’s disappearance?” Ansem asked. They started walking towards the lab.

“Yes. I believe I read that, even when Roxas was in simulation, away from this world, his heart was still very much in connection to others’, right?”

Ansem sighed. “That was all discovery in retrospect,” he said. “It… was incredibly callous of me, but for the longest time I did not believe Roxas hada heart. But I know better now.”

“Sora’s heart is special. I know Riku said he no longer feels connected to Sora’s heart, but if I could somehow explore those connections, or at least approximate them in data, then maybe we can trace his presence so far.” He bit his lip. “It’s all very nebulous. But I feel I owe it to them to at least try.”

“That’s my boy,” Ansem said. “Yes. I think that’s a good jumping off point. And luckily we have plenty of data of those connected to Sora.”

“The replicas?” Ienzo asked.

“Quite.”

“Yes. I see.”

It was slow, painstaking work. They had to wait for the data to download from Twilight Town’s terminal to receive Roxas’s, which naturally took time between worlds. Then there was gathering the old Castle Oblivion and World That Never Was research all into one place, unpacking it from tiny .zip files from a thumb drive Even had always carried with him and lent to Ansem. While all this copied, Ienzo pored through what he had on paper. He truly did not know where to begin. Was this all in vain? Was this at all possible?

“You look unwell,” Ansem commented. “It would do you some good to try and banish these anxious thoughts.”

“Thank you, you’ve cured me,” Ienzo muttered without meaning to. His hand shot to his mouth. “I… I apologize for such impudence.”

To his surprise, Ansem was smiling. “You no longer need to be so formal,” he said. “After all we’ve gone through, there is no reason why we can’t talk and joke like equals.”

“I have not earned that privilege,” Ienzo said. He watched the progress bar roll ever so slowly across the screen. The approximate time for completion was hours from now, and the computer’s fans were whirring wildly.

“Then treat it as a favor to me,” Ansem said.

Ienzo’s face burned. He could hardly believe what Ansem was implying. The words were meant to be kind, but they twisted a sort of pain within him. Everything, every little thing, sparked some bizarre emotional reaction.

“You’re doing enough,” Ansem said kindly.

“Maybe that time will come someday,” Ienzo said. “But for now I am not ready.”

“You’ve become quite wise. Yet I hope that you will not forget that you still have the right to grow, and learn, and seek happiness of your own accord. I would not blame you if you chose another path in life. Goodness knows I’ve tried.”

Ienzo floundered. Happiness? A change in profession? Both seemed equally unlikely, and that sat oddly within him. “This is what I know. This is what I love.”

“I’m merely advising that you don’t let any doors close behind you.”

He sighed. “Yes. I suppose.” He glanced back to the clock, feeling antsy. “Well. I did not figure I would have the time, but I may cook dinner for us. It would be good to have everyone in the same room. We’ve been so scattered.”

“I rather like the sound of that. You go on. I’ll make sure things are running smoothly.”

In Ansem’s quarters, he shed his lab coat. Even in the chill, it felt overwarm, and constricting. He tried to lose himself in the ease of cooking. Ienzo allowed himself to make a cake. Thankfully he’d thought ahead to buy the dry ingredients, the vanilla and almond extract. This took skill, and finesse, and the result made people happy. He found the tension within him infinitesimally easing, but all too soon the prep work was over, and all there was left for him to do was watch the roast cook.

He set the broad mahogany table for five and stood at the china cabinet for a moment. To not include Demyx would be rude, and inconspicuous. Ienzo sighed and set a sixth place at the table.

Once he had set out all the food, he set about rounding up everyone. It felt good to see their faces when he asked them all to join together. It lifted the weight a little, made the anxiety bearable.

Demyx was farthest away in the castle. He didn’t answer when Ienzo knocked at the door, and at first he wasn’t even sure Demyx was there. But when he opened the door he was curled in the small old bed, fast asleep. Ienzo considered letting him sleep. After all, it would be even ruder to wake him up, wouldn’t it? But then he caught the sharpness of his cheekbones reflected in the light, and could not bring himself to leave. He approached him warily and gave him a gentle shake. “Demyx?”

He stirred, flinching a little.

“I’m sorry to wake you. We’re all having dinner and Ansem was wondering if you might like to join us.”

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. He looked almost as exhausted as Ienzo felt; Ienzo could see the veins through his pale skin. “Yeah. Thanks.” Demyx paused, and then said all in a rush, “I’m sorry if what I said bothered you.”

That caught him off guard. “That’s alright. You meant what you said. You just don’t understand.” How could he? He hadn’t had the same life as Ienzo, the same perspective. He could not be as acutely aware of every little mistake he made. This was Demyx . He was barely aware of his own presence most of the time.

Demyx blinked, looking stung. “No, I guess I don’t,” he said.

They headed up towards Ansem’s quarters. The silence between them was pulling Ienzo taut. He could reach for small talk--but what was there to say?

They passed through the raggedly breezeway. A smoky-smelling wind blew through the curtains, ruffling the old lace.

“Swanky place,” Demyx said cautiously.

Right, he wouldn’t know. “Master Ansem’s quarters. He likes the northernmost light.”

“Why do you call him “Master”?”

This puzzled him. “Because I am his apprentice, and he deserves respect.”

“Are you, though? I mean, you’ve been doing this all on your own. Feels kinda like he just slipped back into place and took all the credit for the work you did getting Roxas and Naminé new bodies.”

A finger of anger welled in his throat, and he regretted waking Demyx. Against his will, he recalled the day they’d woken Naminé, after hours of preparing and reprogramming the replica. Ienzo had prepared himself to say something to soothe her, knowing very well that to her perspective she was surrounded by three people who had always treated her poorly. But Ansem had spoken to her first. “Not to be rude, Demyx, but if I sought your opinion on the matter, I would ask for it.”

He flinched. “Sorry.”

Ienzo relented. This brassiness was just par for the course for Demyx’s personality, and there wasn’t any offense meant in it. “That’s quite all right.” He pushed open the heavy doors and crossed over to the table, to his seat by Ansem’s side. He could see Demyx looking at the space and for a moment saw it anew, the simple opulence of it, and yet its state of disrepair. He seemed shy, unsure of himself, and finally settled down at the last empty space.

“Sorry. I didn’t know I was holding you all up,” Demyx said.

“No harm, no foul,” Ansem said. “Please, everyone. Help yourselves.”

With their recent conversation in mind, Ienzo couldn’t help but feel a slight ping of frustration. Ansem had not spent the day cooking. But these were his quarters; by default, he was the host.

They all ate. The awkwardness in the air was obvious. They hadn’t all gathered like this in a long while, nearly since they’d reunited. Nobody seemed to know quite what to say. At least the meal had come out okay. Between bites, Ansem advised him of the progress of the downloads; some of the files were corrupted, so he was going in by hand to see what he could recover.

“Who made this?” Demyx asked. “Everything’s really good.”

Ienzo turned away, trying to remind himself to be patient. It was a compliment, after all. “That would be me. Thank you, Demyx.” He did look like he truly appreciated it.

Even recommended a certain file conversion which might recover some of the corrupted data. They talked about the efficacy of this for a little while. The unexpected familiarity of the conversation eased the knot inside Ienzo’s breast. Maybe they just needed time to readjust to each other. It wasn’t completely hopeless. But there was so much bitterness, so much regret and guilt, that it seemed to choke the air.

Plates empty, he started to clear the table for the cake. But to his surprise, Demyx offered to do it for him. Ienzo nearly refused, but there was a strange, unreadable glint in Demyx’s eye. “The kitchen is through that door there.”

Even raised his eyebrow. “Would you look at that.”

“He does seem a touch uncomfortable,” Dilan said. He sipped at the sweet wine that was a favorite of Ansem’s. “It is odd. We can’t pretend it isn’t.”

“This is his home now, as much it is any of ours,” Ansem said. “We must all be patient with one another, and welcoming to our guest. Even if this situation is… unorthodox.”

“Yes,” Ienzo agreed. His voice sounded more affable than he felt. “Are we feeling ready for dessert?” Seeing the affirming nods, he crossed back to the kitchen for the cake.

Demyx’s left hand was covered in blood.

“What on earth--” he started.

Demyx spoke carefully, though his teeth. He gripped his elbow tightly. “Knife in the sink. There’s no towel or anything--”

Right--he’d brought all the linen down to be washed earlier. “That must’ve been my mistake. I am so sorry.” He glanced around quickly to find anything to staunch the blood, but there wasn’t a scrap of fabric or paper. He untied his ascot. He had several more, and could very easily make some from his younger self’s clothing. But Demyx didn’t take it.

For the first time Ienzo fully recognized the wild, desperate look in his eye from earlier. He’d never seen it on a person other than himself. The kitchen, well insulated, made it easy to hear Demyx’s shallow, heightened breathing. His hands trembled. He feels it too, Ienzo thought. An odd, but not unpleasant, feeling seeped into his bones. He turned on the tap and guided Demyx’s bleeding hand under it. Thankfully the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked. He bound it tightly. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Try and take a deep breath for me, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

He struggled to do so. Ienzo tried to hold his gaze, knowing all too well how terrifying it was to be in that moment, utterly alone. But doing so was difficult, and he very nearly felt anxious himself. Ienzo took his uninjured elbow and helped him sit.

It took time. He shut his eyes, focusing hard on something. Ienzo hoped whatever it was grounded him. Once his breathing became less audible and forced, Ienzo tried to speak gently. “Was that the first time it happened?”

Demyx couldn’t make eye contact. Ienzo knew that embarrassment well, the shame of losing control. “I had one yesterday.”

And he was also having them often. Again, he felt his resentment and frustration at Demyx unraveling. Things were just as uncontrollable for him. And he didn’t have the same awareness of his own mind that Ienzo did. “Do you have a history of this happening?”

He shook his head a second time. “I don’t think so. But a lot of that time is hard to remember.”

“What time? When you were human?” That was unusual. Was it a coping mechanism gone awry? Was it something to do with the fact that he’d been a vessel?

He nodded.

Ienzo would have to puzzle this out another time. Speaking of missing memory would only destroy Demyx’s tenuous control. “Do you know what it is that triggered you?” Maybe if he could help him gain an awareness of it, it would help in the future if this happened again.

He was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said at last.

It wasn’t always possible to tell. “That’s alright. None of this readjustment is easy. It’s most likely stress you’re not used to feeling. I don’t think this sort of thing is permanent.” Even as he said the words, he doubted the truth in them.

Demyx’s eyes were glassy. “I’m sorry.”

Ienzo softened a little. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he said.

He was withdrawing into himself; Ienzo could see it. He didn’t know if he should stop it, or if Demyx needed it to recover. He stood, cradling his injured hand. “I’m going to go lay down,” he whispered.

He nodded. “You must be exhausted.”

Dazedly, Demyx left. Ienzo watched him go. Part of him wondered if he should follow, but he himself wanted nothing more than solitude after his own attacks, so he let Demyx go. He stretched, picked up the cake, and went back to the table.

“Everything alright?” Dilan asked.

“Demyx was feeling faint. He’s gone to rest.” He took the cover off the simple cake. He would try and save a piece for him.

“I thought he was looking a little peaked myself,” Even said. “He was in hiding an awful long time. It was difficult enough for me to cope when I hid too. I can only imagine.”

“Well, your sacrifices are not in vain,” Ansem said. “Here’s to a full recovery.”

When Ienzo ate, the sweet cake tasted like paste.

#beyond this existence: counterpoint #ienzo #demyx #zexion #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #beyond this existence

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