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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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Protea (Part 13)

She avoids Mohi’s if only to avoid distressing Kaz any further. She pretends like she is busy and overwhelmed by her very first job. That she needs to focus on it so she doesn’t mess it up lie the last few jobs she’s had. Mohi and Zenyul trust her whole heartedly. It hurts terribly. She doesn’t deserve that kind of trust.

She knows it. Kaz knows it.

And so she spends most of her time at the palace and with Mai, hoping that Mohi doesn’t resent her fro growing distant. She thinks that maybe it is some sort of defense. To create that distance. To show herself out before they can show her out.

Working with Mai and tending to the flowers is a welcome distraction. Mostly she doesn't think too much about Kaz.

Mostly she doesn't think about him until he enters the shop. She is at the back of the shop, poking seeds into soil when Mai calls, "your brother is here."

For one small moment she thinks that Mai is referring to Zuko and her heart gives an anxious leap. She finishes patting the soil over the seed and wanders up to the front.

"Oh. Hi Kaz." She can't even manage to feel slightly enthusiastic to see him.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?" Mai asks in a whisper.

"I think."

"How can you not tell? Either you had a fight or you didn't."

But she isn't good with feelings, isn't good at understanding them. "I'm not mad at him." She replies.

"But he's mad at you?"

Snapdragon nods.

"I can finish planting the seeds if you two need a minute or you can step outside."

Snapdragon nods again.

Mai finishes handing her last customer his flowers and disappears into the back of the shop. Snapdragon brushes her fingers over nearby petals. "I made a bouquet for Mohi's birthday.” “And?”

"I want to come home for Mohi's birthday."

"Is that a demand or a question, princess." He sneers.

"A...request?" Snapdragon replies. "I made an arrangement with her favorite flowers." She holds up a bouquet of fake jasmine, daisy, clover, and yarrow. She will replace those with genuine flowers on Mohi's birthday. Around the boy she has tied a few yellow and white painted beads and brown and white bird feathers that she had found in her hoard. "Can you give it to her?"

"Give it to her yourself when you visit on her birthday." The way that he extends the invitation is anything but kind. It makes her think that, maybe, a silly bouquet might not be good enough. That maybe a pouch of gold coins would be a better gift. Mohi could start reclaiming the life she had sacrificed for Snapdragon. For the woman that shouldn't exist.

She watches Kaz sulk away. She never finds out what he had come there to tell her.

.oOo.

With the passing of several days, her mind has mostly sorted itself out. Snapdragon and Azula coexist well enough with Azula--as per usual--taking dominance. She attributes this mostly to the stresses and sorrows that Azula is prone to coming back in full force. They stir about in her mind until Snapdragon’s joy and enthusiasm is swept away.

But Azula finds that she rather enjoys the freedoms that Snapdragon has found for her. The ability to speak as she will and do what she will without the fear of tarnishing an immaculate reputation. She still very much enjoys being around Mohi. Mohi who ruffles her hair and gives her the affection she wishes that her own mother would afford her. Her own mother who she has seen about the palace several times now. Her own mother who loves Snapdragon more than she could ever love Azula. She is just one more reason to feign ignorance and keep up her facade.

Really, it isn’t too hard. She thinks that Snapdragon is everything and all of the freedom that she had yearned for. And now she has it. Maybe all along Snapdragon, minus eating flowers and rolling in dirt, has been the real her. The real her that she has buried so deeply. The real her that has been hindered and bogged down by crushing expectations and loneliness.

She is terrified that this loneliness will come creeping back in. Kaz hasn’t warmed up to her any and Zenyul always sides with his brother.

She is more desperate to keep their affection that she would like to admit. Desperate to keep the family she has found and the little joys. She supposes that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Had she been thinking clearly, she wouldn’t have gotten caught. Had her mind not been so fixated on salvaging her relationship with Kaz. Fixated on keeping everything from falling apart completely.

.oOo.

It is Kaz who opens the door and he tries to shut it in her face. But she didn’t walk all of that distance just to be shut out. “I said you can come for Mohi’s birthday, no other day.” Kaz grumbles, he gives the door another heave. Azula holds her ground.

“Just let ‘er in, Kaz.” Zenyul sighs.

He releases his hold so suddenly that she nearly loses her footing.

“What’s goin’ on ‘tween you two anyways?”

Azula shrugs while Kaz grumbles, “don’t worry about it.”

Mohi makes her way into the foyer, apron tied tightly around her waist, face smeared with flour and dough. Azula mood lifts if only slightly. “Where ya be at chil’.” She frowns. “Ya git yerself a job ‘n we don’t never see ya.”

“Kaz doesn’t want me here anymore.” She doesn’t particularly want to cause problems for him but she also doesn’t want Mohi to think that she has forgotten about her. “He was here first so I’ve been staying with Mai.”

Zenyul scoffs, “you’re talkin’ like one’a them nobles.”

Her tummy flutters, how is it that he can manage to make the extravagance of palace life sound so ugly and foul? “I brought a souvenir.” She slips her hand into her pocket and draws out a small coin pouch. She holds it out to Mohi. “It’s enough to buy a place in the…uh, in the less rough area of Caldera.”

Mohi’s eyes go wide and she clamps her hand around Azula’s wrist.

“Oh chil’ no. Ya didn’t steal this did ya?”

Technically she didn’t. It belongs to her whether or not the palace guard recognizes her. But it doesn’t belong to Snapdragon and right now she is Snapdragon. “They won’t know.” She thinks that they have so much wealth anyways that a couple of coins would go completely unnoticed.

“Chil’ ya swiping hands is gon’ git ya in trouble.” She looks terrified. “Why ya go ‘n do this?”

She shrugs. “You were supposed to live well. You were doing fine until I got here.” She notices Kaz grimace.

Mohi cuffs Kaz on the back of the head. Kaz and Zenyul both. “I oughtta give ya a good swat too, girl! Ya should know betta then takin’ from the royal family!” She slaps the coins back into Azula’s palm. “Ya go ‘n take this back.”

“But you need it.”

“Not as much as we need ya here ‘n safe.”

Azula’s lower lip quivers. Even when she tries to do something good, she hurts people. She is beginning to recall more vividly why she had sought out the Mother of Faces to extract her memories, her face, her essence--everything that made her Azula.

“Kaz!”

The boy goes rigid.

“Why’d ya go ‘n say them thin’s to ‘er? Don’ tell me ya don’ wan’ ‘er around?”

Kaz seems to chew on his lips. “I were mad, okay?”

The imperial firebenders don’t knock. They just enter. Just as they have been trained to do. Azula feels absolutely sick. She thinks that one of the servants, likely Ami, had seen her slip out of the treasury. She wasn’t careful. She was foolish and impulsive. She has made things worse.

“I don’ think it’s okay.” Mohi shakes her head. She squeezes Azula’s hand. “Oh chil’, ya didn’t have ta do that.”

.oOo.

They handle her roughly. More roughly than even Snapdragon is used to. Snapdragon may have been lower class filth but she was never a criminal. She is a criminal now though and they have very little regard for her comfort. Her wrists are bruised from their grip and her knees are bruised and scraped from having been shoved to the floor of her new cell.

“I’ll admit, it takes nerves, a certain fire, to steal from the royal family.” One of the guards sneers.

“Never liked that one.” Says the other. “Never liked the glum one either.”

And she is left in darkness, with metal clamped around her hands and feet. It weighs them down so heavily that she thinks they may break. She lays with her cheek pressed against the chilly dirty floor.

She can tell them who she is, but she can’t imagine that they would believe her. They won’t let her show them her fire.

She believes that two or three days pass before she sees anyone aside from the guard delivering her sorry excuse for a meal. It is so terribly lonely and so dreadfully cold. She misses her freedom. At night she dreams of her factory, of making it to the very top.

She misses the wind in her hair as she leaps from building to building. It dawns on her that she hasn’t done parkour in a good long while. She had taken the simple life for granted. And now she is more restricted than she has ever been. She feels horrible for thinking so, but she wishes that she had never run into Mai again.

At one point she hears Mai arguing for them to let her see her girlfriend and she feels guilty twice over. “Wait until Zuko gets back, wait until he hears about this!” She had vowed. Azula can’t name another instance where Mai had been this passionate. It earns her no prize. No prize save for, “oh I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that you brought a thief into the palace.”

Her stomach is rumbling softly by day five. They have neglected to feed her for the past few days. She begins to wonder if they plan on leaving her to die. She doesn’t remember any laws that punish thieves so steeply, but then she hadn’t really paid attention to exactly what penalties thieves, traitors, and murderers received.

The door to her cell opens. She doesn’t move. Even if she wanted to, the shackles keep her tethered to the floor. The light that spills onto her face is blinding after nearly a week without any light at all.

She doesn’t try to get up, even when the shackles clunk to the floor and away from her wrists and ankles. When she doesn’t move at all, the figure comes closer. She flinches as hands pull her to her feet. These hands are very gentle. Very caring. Those hands pull her into a little hug. “The coins were returned, I don’t see the point in keeping you in here.” Speaks a very familiar voice. “And treating you like this.” She detects a scowl in the woman’s voice. The same sternness that she usually addresses Azula with. But Snapdragon, as far as Ursa knows, is not Azula. And so her voice becomes light again, “let’s get you cleaned up and something to eat.”

Azula winces with each step. But she is very intent on simply walking it off. Walking it off, at least until her ankle twist and she buckles to the floor.

Her mother catches her and gives a wince of her own. “We’ll get you to the infirmary and then get you something to eat. We can get you cleaned up later.”

She scoops Azula up and Azula shakes her head. “I’m fine, I can walk myself.” She insists.

Ursa purses her lips. “Your ankles are very swollen, I shouldn’t have let you walk so soon.”

“I can walk, I’m not weak. I can…”

“Maybe you can.” Ursa smiles. “But you don’t have to. The sooner we get you to the infirmary, the sooner you will get to see Mai and--what was her name--Mohi?”

Azula nods, “Mohi isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“Mohi and her sons are safe.” Ursa replies as she lays Azula upon a vacant infirmary bed. She beckons for a doctor. “Why did you steal from the treasury, Snapdragon?”

“Mohi needed the coins.” She replies.

“Zuko is a generous Fire Lord, you could have asked him. You could have asked me.”

Maybe if Azula hadn’t resurfaced, she would have considered those to be options. Maybe if she didn’t forget that Zuko doesn’t have anything against Snapdragon… Maybe if Azula didn’t exist at all.

She closes her eyes.

Ursa sighs, “you like your independence, don’t you?”

She nods, supposing that, that is a part of it. Even if it is a small part.

And Ursa gives a small laugh. “I guess that, that’s a firebender’s curse. We can never just ask for help or talk about how we feel.” She takes Azula’s hand.

“I don’t know how to ask for help.” Azula admits. She knows that she needs it so badly and for so many reasons. But she doesn’t know how to request it. Even Snapdragon didn’t really know how to reach out…

Ursa gives her head a sad and small shake. “You’re quite different than her, but you remind me of my daughter.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Mai #Maizula #Fanfiction

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notyoursterotypicalnerd · 5 years

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Captain Marvel

Captain Marvel has been receiving so much backlash since it was announced. First it was “Who? Why?” than set images were leaked online and the backlash began on Brie Larson’s body. As cinema release drew closer people started attacking Larson’s comment about diverse reporters and twisted her words to make it seem like she hated privileged white males. Lastly Rotten Tomatoes banned review on films that haven’t been released and apparently it was Brie Larson’s fault. Backlash also included furry over Shazam not being called Captain Marvel. It’s not Brie’s fault that DC didn’t trademark their name and then finally came backlash over minor character changes.

I will be honest I don’t know who Captain Marvel is. What I am okay with is Marvel has finally pulled their finger out and released a marvel movie with a SOLO female lead. One that looks just like she’s equal to the boys. It’s just disappointing that it has taken this long.

The trailer to Captain Marvel had me hooked, my two sisters (6-year-old and 11-year-old) were excited for another female hero and my brother (9year old) was over the moon for another marvel movie. Unfortunely for them Captain Marvel comes out on a school day and there going to have to wait until the weekend. Plus, when I pre-brought my ticket there were limited seats leftover. Just like any other marvel movie, Captain Marvel will be a full house until the end of its cinematic run.

Time for the review. Please note there may be a few spoilers, I did try to keep it spoiler free.

Are all the trolls, right? Is Captain Marvel sucky? Or does it hold up perfectly against the other marvel movies? One thing is for sure that fans are all curious on how Captain Marvel leads into Avengers: End Game.

This is how a female lead movie should exactly be. There was no tits and ass on display, no down shirt shots or up skirt shots. There was just a lot of kickass.Everyone in this movie was treated equally unless of course they were the bad guy.

We are first introduced to Vers as Carol Danvers is known as on Hala. We are believed to be shown one thing, we also get to see Carol in a series of flashbacks which are tied in perfectly while Vers is trying to figure out who she really is.

Until she crashes into CP-53 aka Earth, where we are shown another thing that twists our perception on whose really good and whose really bad. Sorry, I know I’m being vague but I’m trying to avoid giving away too much of the movie.

For someone like me, who’s never picked up a marvel comic book this is easy to follow though the first few moments of Captain Marvel are a bit slow and boring, but they also keep the pace and without them we would be lost. That way I see Captain Marvel is Buffy meets Guardians of the Galaxy. It’s purely about a female who believes she’s doing right after all these years of being told otherwise.

Captain Marvel does lead into Endgame, of course. One credit scene reveals how but the movie also shows us exactly how Fury managed to touch base with Carol. I did like that Agent Coulson was given a bit more of screen time in this and that we lean a bit more about him plus this also shows us how Fury came up with the name, Avengers.

Each character was used perfectly, none of them felt forced or written in purely because they had to be. They each had their moment in the uh,space.

Captain Marvel shows that no matter how many times you are knocked down, no matter how many times you are told no or how many times you are told to stay in your lane, Captain Marvel shows that it’s okay to stan up, it’s okay to defy orders and that it’s okay to always try, try until you can get it.

Captain Marvel isn’t written for the sake of social justice warriors, Captain Marvel wasn’t made purely for the man hating woman. Captain Marvel was written for the masses, the masses who were always told their never good enough, the masses who are always pushed down and told to stay down. Captain Carol Danvers shows how important it is to do the opposite of nay-sayers.

Captain Marvel is perfect for all ages, all genders, all sexualities, all races and all religions. Bring on what I expect will be Captain Marvel 2 and 3.

Now to brace for impact for Avengers: Endgame.

#mywriting #movie review #Captain Marvel #7th March 2018

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lady-luck-courier · 6 years

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Baby sitting

Re-posting this because tumblr hecked up the formatting, but this is one of my first fanfiction writings I am ever publishing and my first NV piece! Inspired by @nuclear-reactions amazing reactions I hope you enjoy!

I had faced everything the Mojave has to throw at me

I have faced a quarry full of deathclaws

I have sent ghouls into space on pre-war rocket ships

I have traveled to kill my attacker and ended up seducing him

I have been a peace keeper and an assassin

I brought Caesar's legion to their knees at the second battle of the hoover dam

I even found a goddamn sex bot to get onto the strip

But this, this is the hardest challenge I will ever have to face.

The little bundle in my arms shifted again, my heart was pounding as I hurried through freeside, a rifle strapped to my back, a pistol on my hip, and a diaper bag over my shoulder. I got a few strange looks from the residents, a few thugs eyed the soft quilt piled in my arms as if to get a better view of what was swaddled inside. I went as fast as I dared to without jostling the precious cargo in my arms.

I kicked the door open to the lucky 38, trying to remember who I’d seen this morning and who i’d sent on supply runs and who was still home. Arcade was still home.

“ARCADE” I screamed as the elevator doors slid open

I heard a crash one room over, Arcade rushed to see what the cause of my panic tone was, he was still holding his coffee mug, sloshing the liquid around, his glasses askew and his shirt untucked

“Six!? What’s the matter? Where’s the injury” his eyes flew over my face, completely missing the bundle in my arms

“Nothing Arcade, but look what I found!”

I gently unwrapped the blankets, a round baby's face appeared in a state of peaceful dream. Arcades eyebrows shot so far up his face I feared they would fly off

“A baby. Six, where the hell did you find a baby?”

“Well”

There was only one thing I hated more deathclaws, and that was the legion. And the legion hated me more ever since I threw a wrench into their plans. So when I went out into the wastes on a solo scaving mission just outside of south vegas I was on high alert for any attacks they might send out. Geralt city was one of the smaller towns more often passed over but caravanners have been saying there was a small lake full of fresh radiation free water and nature was slowly taking a foot hold once again, so I saw no harm in checking it out. Dawn was just breaking, the perfect time between the ferals slinking back into the darkness and when the weather was only in the double digits. I slunk in between the shadows and broken walls, coming across some scrap metals and a few drained energy cells.

I thankfully I saw the legionnaires before they saw me. They stood in the town square, four of them in total surrounding a caged cart. I crept out further and eavesdropped

“What should we do with the cripple?”

He whacked the side of the cage and I could see the small frame of someone wince inside

“Kill her right now?” one suggested

“No, let’s sell her for a discount. If not, well we can keep her for some personal entertainment”

They chuckled

It made me sick hearing them refer to a person as a piece of meat. I unslung my hunting rifle and peered down the sight right at the first ones head, the one who suggested keeping her for entertainment

He dropped like a sack of flour. All the others heads whipped around trying to find the source

“Hello boys!” I stood up and waved to them “Remember me?”

They yelled and charged at the girl with a high powered hunting rifle with spears and swords, and they wonder how I’ve been picking them off so easily.

I looted bodies for the control for the collars around their slaves necks and picked the lock off the cage. Two women, a man and a child were inside. One of the women walked with the aid of a crutch

I helped her out of the cart and she studied my face with wide eyes

“Who are you?” She asked “NCR? Brotherhood?”

“Courier” I answered holding out my hand “Six”

She pulled me into a hug and sobbed thanking me before limping off following the others, it occured to me they were a family. I watched them until they became small spots on the horizon. Right before I left that cart forever I heard a baby cry.

Arcades jaw hung open

“Yeah” I said “I need to get the others, Arcade, hold her”

He jumped and flinched back as if the suggestion sucker punched him

“Me? No!”

“Acrade” I asked my eyebrow arching “Are you afraid of the baby?”

“Not afraid! Just terrified of dropping the little thing, you know their skulls aren't fully developed and-”

“So you never held a baby before in all the years you worked with the followers?”

“No, I mean- I know how to hold one but-”

I pushed her into his arms, he immediately locked up and stared at the infant

“Now i’m going to get everyone else, i’ll be back soon” I said sharply turning back to the elevator

“Six. Six? Six, please don't leave me with the-” the elevator doors slid shut cutting him off

I came back an hour later with everyone in tow, when the doors slid open we all saw a stiff Arcade trying to shush the now awake and crying baby, it looks like he hasn’t moved from where I left him this morning

“Thank god” He sighed “She just started crying, please help”

The poor guy looked like he craved death and the babies face was red and snot and tears trailed down her face. Everyone rushed out and started to crowd around the baby, effectively making her cry harder.

“Can I try something?”

Everyone's head snapped towards Boone. Arcade sighed in relief and quickly pawned her off into his arms. Boone carefully took her and gently tucked her head under his chin and held her against his chest, supporting her head and neck with his hand he breathed in slowly through his nose. She quieted down immediately. You could feel the shock radiate off everyone in the room. I stared at him wide eyed

“Where’d you learn that Boone?” I asked

He took a moment to respond, gently swaying back and forth

“When Carla told me, I tried to get my hands on every parenting book I could find, some were more helpful than others but I figured if I knew what to expect it wouldn’t be so terrifying”

It was a little strange to see him be so delicate with something, and as the baby started to babble softly everyone caught a glimpse of Boone’s rare smile.

“What’s her name anyway?” Arcade asked

“I-” I stopped “I have no clue, not like she had a name tag or anything.”

Everyone looked around as if for an answer

“Kelly” Boone said “Lets call her kelly”

No one argued

Kelly was kept quite against the snipers chest, until a smell started to permeate through the living room.

“Smells like...shit” I wrinkled my nose

“Bingo” Raul said “Change it boss”

“I dunno how” I replied “Does anyone?”

Silence fell across the living room

“I got it boss, but I can only do it if Boone lets her go”

Raul held his hands out and Boone grudgingly gave up the infant

“You got a diaper bag?”

“Yep!” I hefted the bag up and let it slap against my side

“Good, come with me you’re gonna help me out”

I trailed behind Raul into one of the spare bedrooms and watched him work

“Wow Raul, seems like you got some experience with this” I commented handing him a clean diaper

“Well, I had a big family and they liked dumping their bawling bundles of joy onto us so they could get some rest, so I got good at this pretty quick. I didn’t mind though” His rotted digits secured the safety pin, Kelly giggled happily and grabbed Rauls fingers. Big eyes looked at him with absolute trust and innocence, she shook his hand back and forth and smiled. I thought I saw a tear or two leak out of his eye.

“Raul, buddy, you okay?” I asked placing a hand on his shoulder

He sniffed “I’m great”

Veronica was great with kids, or so she kept insisting. So when Boone left Kelly with me and Raul to shower veronica saw her opportunity. Kelly was happily smacking one of the forks against the floor, giggling when it got stuck in the carpet. Babies were weird. Veronica crept up behind her

“Veronica” I asked, her hands froze halfway to the kellys stomach “What are you doing?”

She only winked and started to tickle Kelly’s side.

She began to shriek and cry

“Oh dear” Raul muttered before returning to his tinkering

“Ver, I really don't think kelly likes that” I said

“No, the kids at the brotherhood loved me, I just-”

She tried to gather the screaming bundle in her arms to bounce her and blew raspberries on her cheek.

Kelly screamed louder

As if his “baby-is-crying” sense was tingling, or he heard kelly screeching, Boone marched into the living room and swept kelly away glaring daggers at Veronica

Veronica sat in shock and hurt

“But...Kids love me, I was the cool aunt”

“Ver, I think kelly is just a little young for the roughhousing” I patted her shoulder reassuringly. She feel back against the carpet and covered her eyes with her arm, defeated

ED-E hovered around the makeshift crib Raul constructed for Kelly, Listening to her babble and playing the sounds back to her make her giggle and coo as we all tried to come up with a plan for taking care of her. The two seemed as if they were studying each other, ED-E gently poked at Kelly with his antennas and kelly in return grabbed at them and tried to stick them in her mouth. His victory anthem make Kelly shierk with joy for some reason and she loved sticking the barrel of the laser rifle in her mouth (the only way she would release it was the when his danger warning played). Three times I had to make Boone sit down and keep him from dismantling ED-E, promising that ED-E wasn't going to hurt Kelly. I looked at all the people at the table, a patch work of broken and beaten people, and I felt a warmth swell in my chest over the obvious concern they had for this little baby that was dropped in our lap.

“So, Kelly will be staying with us for the foreseeable future?” I asked lacing my fingers and resting my chin atop them, all of them nodded in unison. I smiled lightly and turned to look out the window, showing an orange colored sky. For a moment it felt a little bit of innocent, pure, unfiltered hope returned to all of us. Maybe the world wasn’t such a hellscape after all, and there was hope.

#courier six #MK #craig boone #arcade gannon #veronica santangelo #ED-E #raul tejada #I also wussed out and didn't write all the companions cause I don't feel confident in my writing

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renaroo · 6 years

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The Things That Wait (2/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH, Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Reverse Big Bang Entry] Tucker opens an unexpected email that ends up sending himself and all of the Reds and Blues toward a collision course with the unexpected and the completely deadly. In doing so, they face a beast familiar to many of them – the Meta – whose single minded efforts to complete himself with what remains of the Project Freelancer AIs could spell the death for more than a few of them..

A/N: Long, long overdue, I know and greatly apologize, but this chapter kept getting longer than it was meant to be and suddenly we have what we have now, which is another patented Rena monstrosity haha.

Now, I want to warn everyone that CHARACTER DEATH and GORE are going to be pretty common from here on out, starting with this chapter. And, yeah, some of your favorite darlings are going to be murdered more than likely. So. Consider this your warning. And let’s get into it.

And a very special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @splendiforousblog, @doesthisfightcountforanything, Yin, Aryashi, and @primtheamazing! And, of course, my absolute WONDEROUS thanks to my partner in crime, @theeffar <3

Trust No One

“Goddammit, Church, not even a little heads up!?”

Tucker had worked for many years under the assumption that as far as teamwork went that Blue Team truly was utterly useless, but being smacked in the face with the evidence wasn’t exactly what he needed at the moment. Not when his toddler right at his side.

He as probably going to have his brains shot out right in front of Junior and Tucker highly doubted that his pension was going to cover the amount of therapy that sort of thing would amount to. Let alone college.

“I’m a ghost, not a babysitter, what the hell do you want from me?” Church responded without a moment’s hesitation.

“What the fuck!? He’s supposed to be dead!” a very familiar voice called out from behind them.

“It… can’t be… can it? Is that Church?” a second very very familiar voice said in response.

And if Tucker doubted himself, Donut’s response was all he really needed. His partner let out a huge sigh of relief covered in a small bit of laughter before lowering his arms to his sides and whirling around on his heels. Which was more than Tucker was willing to do with gun sights on him, but Donut was, strangely enough, exactly the sort of dumb bravery to pull it off.

“Guys! Oh, man! I was beginning to think that we weren’t going to see you!” Donut almost sang, opening his arms up for a hug.

“Donut! Get over here and get your gun up!” a voice that could only be Simmons’ ordered. There was a strained upward pitch to his words, just enough off to tip Tucker off to… something.

He needed more context, but he was certainly on edge, even with old… freinemies at the other end of a gun barrel.

Oh please. We’re all done with the Red and Blue thing, they just helped Caboose and me like. A few days ago, Church scoffed, his voice seemingly reverberating between Tucker’s ears. If Tucker thought too much about the source of the voice it added to the mounting headache he already felt.

“What the fuck were you doing with a Blue at a time like this!? Especially one with a goddamn alien connection!?” Grif’s voice spat at Donut, setting what little bit of Tucker’s spine that wasn’t edge back on the right path of anxiety and a touch of nausea.

“You were saying?” Tucker asked out loud.

“Fuck me if I know what’s going on,” Church answered over the speaker of their now collective suit.

“Okay, what the fuck? Where’s his voice coming from!?” Grif growled out, sounding angrier than Tucker had ever known the otherwise chill Red to be. It added to the unsettlement factor.

“I don’t… what the hell is going on?” Tucker demanded.

“And what’s wrong with Tucker?” Donut asked, finally coming to Tucker’s aid. Somewhat. “He’s cool. He’s not even all that Blue. He’s aquamarine … or maybe a touch of turquoise… Hey, Tucker, what color is your armor?”

“Fuck if I know! Is right now really the time to be asking about that?” Tucker demanded.

“Tucker… it’s never the wrong time to question one’s undertones,” Donut admonished him so sincerely it almost made Tucker think over the situation. Almost.

“The problem with him is that he’s-he’s-he’s,” Simmons sputtered, seemingly more unwound by the minute. “He’s a Dirty Blue, Donut! What more could you possibly want!?”

“Uh, answers for starters!” Tucker snapped.

At his calf, Junior clung tightly, letting out a series of distressed, rolling noises from his mouth and tensing up each time someone, especially Tucker, raised their voice. The fact that Tucker still wasn’t sure if it was safe or not to lean over and comfort his son was almost literally killing him.

“Okay, here’s an answer, fuck you and fuck Church, he was supposed to die ages ago and then he gets us here and suddenly you assholes thank us for pulling your team out of the fire by goddamn killing Sarge!” Grif was incredibly worked up, to the point that his little speech ended in what Tucker could only consider a crescendo.

But even with the showy declaration, the actual words hit him and hit him hard.

“Sarge is dead?” Donut said, all flavor and joy gone from his voice. There was a hint of disbelief in it, a note of despair.

“And what the fuck do I have to do with any of it?” Church asked, finally showing himself as a fully formed, transparent being glowing white and clutching a nonexistent sniper rifle right beside Tucker and Junior.

And, being on the other end of the display for the first time since it all started years and years ago in a different canyon between two different bases, Tucker could read out over his helmet’s HUD device that there was an amount of the armor’s power supply being utilized for extended projection.

He noted the phenomenon for later.

“Fuck you, dude,” Grif countered Church viciously. “After all that bullshit, after everything—“

“I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Tucker shouted them down, daring to move his head just enough to glance over his shoulder at the three Reds. “I really don’t, and that’s with Mr. Chicken and the Ghost giving me a full debriefing. But I do know that if you assholes don’t take your guns off me and off my goddamn kid, we’re going to have problems.”

After spending months together in the desert and beyond, hanging out with tyrannical alien species and even more slanderous and backstabbing upper echelons of the military, Tucker had come to expect Donut’s helpful and disarming charisma to follow suit.

When it didn’t, there was a bit of a sting Tucker felt that he couldn’t quite peg.

“We trusted you guys, we believed the whole Red and Blue thing was a farce. Sarge didn’t. And now he’s dead, fucking explain that,” Simmons argued. He sounded broken, betrayed. Tucker almost wondered if it stung him, too.

“Sorry, man, I am,” Church spoke up. “You … You helped us out. A lot. I hate to hear that. Even if Sarge was… honestly pretty homicidal and wanted nothing more in life than our helmets as trophies.”

“Dude,” Tucker hissed. “Not helping!”

“But we’ve been with Donut for as long as my haunted email got opened by Tucker, and Tucker and Donut have been away the whole time we were doing bullshit with the Freelancer fuck,” Church pointed out.

“We’re not saying you two killed Sarge!” Simmons snapped.

“It sure sounds like that’s what’s being said,” Tucker remarked pointedly.

“We’re saying Caboose killed Sarge, assholes!” Grif growled. “He killed Sarge during another one of his stupid fucking raids of our base and we’re done with playing nice with you guys!”

Immediately, everything was going sideways and Tucker just knew, he knew, that even if what Grif and Simmons were saying was true that it wasn’t right. And that was causing all sorts of chaos in his head. Not assisted by the fact that Church, true to form, was apparently ready to boil over with rage.

“Hey! You don’t know a goddamn thing! Why would Caboose kill Sarge?” Church crackled.

“Because he lost his mind!” Simmons all but screeched. “He’s been suspicious ever since the police released us and he’s been stealing stuff from us, being all secretive, and talking to himself all the time!”

“How do you know he’s talking to himself?” Tucker scrutinized. “Man, Caboose is so dumb that if he doesn’t say his thoughts out loud he doesn’t have them. I know it’s kind of annoying, but you get used to it after a while. Unless O’Malley’s around. Then maybe he’ll talk about wanting to kill you. That’s the only time to be worried. Y’know. Unless you’re me.”

There was a pause that indicated Tucker had said something miscalculated, but fortunately it was Church who spoke up rather than the highly upset Reds with guns.

“Uh. Yeah. Tucker? It kinda can’t be O’Malley. Omega and all the other AI—“

“What other AI?” Tucker demanded.

“I fucking told you the story already!” Church snapped.

“I don’t care if you told me thirty times — I wasn’t there and I didn’t pay attention for half of it,” Tucker bickered.

“Oh, well isn’t that just so fucking typical!” Church snarled.

“Yeah! Typically I don’t listen when you run your mouth!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut up,” Grif was groaning. He then stiffened and looked out of Tucker’s periphery. “Finally! Lopez is here. We called you forever ago, dude! We need your help pronto! We’ve got two—“

“There’s three of us,” Church corrected.

“And a half,” Grif gritted out between his teeth.

Church seemed genuinely aghast. “What the hell, Grif, we spent time in the pen together!”

“—of the Blues,” Grif continued just as the brown armored robot came closer.

“Lo sé,” Lopez grumbled. “Puedo ver eso.”

“Now you can help us take them to the brig!” Simmons added. He hesitated slightly before glancing Grif’s way. “We have one of those, right?”

“Uh,” Grif responded somewhat dumbfounded. “What the fuck makes you think I would know if you don’t know?”

“I-I don’t know! Brig seems like such a Sarge thing to take care of!” Simmons cried out, sounding genuinely choked up by his own words.

“Then what are we going to do with them!?” Simmons went into full hysterics.

Tucker and Church then took their turn to glance at each other before going back to being living statues for their somewhat-kind-of captors.

“Uh. Let us go see Caboose and sort things out?” Tucker offered.

“Oh, fuck off, Blue!” Grif snapped.

Lopez stepped closer to Grif and Simmons. “Quiero examinar el cuerpo yo mismo.”

Simmons lowered his gun enough to put a hand over his visor and sigh in aggravation. “Lopez, jesus, we don’t understand you.”

“Eso suena como un problema personal,” Lopez replied flatly.

There seemed to be a perplexing stare off between Grif and Simmons, Lopez, and the language barrier for a moment when, surprising all of them including Tucker, Donut spoke back up in a small voice.

“I want to see Sarge,” Donut said. “Maybe… maybe he’s not…”

As Donut trailed off, Tucker felt his chest tighten. Fuck, he shouldn’t have let himself get as attached to Donut as he had.

“You should let Donut see Sarge,” Tucker suggested. “We’ll come with you and stuff, whatever. But…”

There seemed to be an unease and shame that took over Grif and Simmons, but Donut seemed nothing but grateful.

“Thanks, Tucker,” Donut said just before Grif put an arm around him and began to lead him toward the base.

Simmons hesitated before nodding to Tucker, Church, and Junior. “Well… come on, I guess.”

Tucker eased up at last, his muscles still feeling taut and nervous with energy, but he focused on his priorities, scooping his son up first and following suit.

Church disappeared from Tucker’s side, but there was a hum in the Blue’s head that told him his former CO was still there.

Quick thinking, we should probably find evidence around Sarge, Church commented crudely.

“Or pay respects to someone who we knew for years and worked with,” Tucker growled under his breath.

Realizing that only half of the conversation was hearable, Tucker glanced around to see if anyone noticed.

Grif, Simmons, and Donut seemed far enough ahead leading the way it didn’t matter. They were talking amongst each other, but a short glance back told Tucker that Lopez was boring judgmental robot eyes into him. Which was not a great sensation.

Of course, there really wasn’t much that was all that good in the moment anyway…

For all the ways Tucker hadn’t known how the somewhat reunion of the crews from Blood Gulch was going to be, the one thing he could have never imagined, would never have wanted to imagine, was the way it was unfolding before him in that moment.

There was a part of him that just… never really believed any of them could actually be dead.

Inside of his head, Church was also carrying through with an uneasy quiet, taking in the moment. Of the way Simmons leaned into the nearest wall with a sag in his knees. Of the way Grif had eyes on them, angry, bitter, unlike anything Tucker had seen from the man before. Of the way Donut collapsed on his knees by a bright red suit, locked up in an unnatural fashion with glass and blood and a dented in helmet strewn across the base hall.

The Reds were between them and the body, but Tucker could still make out purpling exposed skin and a crew cut split by a tear through the flesh. Maybe that was the killing blow. Maybe it was something else. Maybe it was all real after all.

There was just one thing certain on Tucker’s mind, and that was that this was not the work of Caboose.

Caboose, idiot that he sometimes made himself out to be, had a careless streak, a sort of oblivious casualness to the occasional carnage everyone from Blood Gulch had been guilty of at one point or another. An accidental firing of his gun, a bomb he befriended going off at the wrong time, pressing a mysterious button that incinerated an entire room — those were Caboose.

Sarge had gone down fighting, and he had been hit hard. Hard enough to split a skull under a helmet, hard enough to leave the indents of knuckles on armor. Vicious enough and intentional enough to leave a crime scene with bullet spray and blood splattered to the ceiling.

Junior was making uncomfortable squirms in Tucker’s arms, teeth clattering together in a babble that tried but failed to overcome the mewing of his upset.

It was enough to grab Tucker’s attention, but not enough to pull the Reds from their current tragedy.

“Jesus,” Church muttered in the back of Tucker’s mind. He wasn’t sure if anyone else could hear Church, it was getting to be a fuzzy line what was or was not in his head.

“I… I can’t believe…” Donut was uttering. “I mean… it’s Sarge… he… he never…”

An electricity ran up Tucker’s spine that felt stronger than any kind of chill he had known before. It made his stomach feel heavy, empty. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was at first — guilt? Confusion? They all seemed to fit one way or another, but when Church registered again as an annoying hum in his mind, Tucker shuttered and looked upward as if rolling his eyes back far enough in his head would make Church visible.

“Church, what the—“

Quiet. Jesus, Tucker, can’t you think quietly? And here you were saying Caboose was the one with a problem of thinking out loud, Church hissed behind his ears. You were getting onto me earlier about not giving you more of a heads up, so those are my heads ups from now on. Cool?

Fucking weird, not cool, Tucker processed, feeling disoriented with the conversation. Can’t you just possess Lopez, Danny Phantom? This is fucking weird. I don’t like it.

No way, that sucked last time and Lopez began resisting me, remember? It was, like, a whole thing in Blood Gulch, Church countered.

He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make Tucker less annoyed.

He was more than ready to leave things at that, but suddenly the electric spike rippled down his spine again. He stiffened up just before turning enough to realize that Lopez, standing right behind him with a trained gun, was looking incredibly intently at Tucker. It was the kind of look that, had he not been an emotionless looking automatron, Tucker could have sworn was giving him a death glare. Or a suspicious glare. Or… well, perhaps he was reading too much into it.

Without a single word, Lopez pushed past Tucker and Church, leaving them without any trained guns on them, and he came over to the other Reds’ side, standing over Sarge with a bowed head. At first, Tucker thought that perhaps Lopez was looking over evidence, but after a few seconds without any kind of motion, Tucker realized there were other reasons for him.

Guess robots can have feelings, weird, Church commented blissfully.

It took much restraint on Tucker’s part to bite his tongue to that and let Church’s delusions continue unabated.

There were more important things to be concerned with, after all.

“Guys,” Tucker spoke up again, practically giving the middle finger to the immediate screaming Church started to do in his head. He adjusted Junior in his arms as all four living Reds looked at him hollowly and with lots of suspicion. “I just… I’m really sorry. This feels… so wrong.”

There was a moment of awkwardness that continued before Grif himself eased up his shoulders, as if he was finally (finally) coming around to common sense. “Yeah… yeah it really does,” Grif agreed solemnly.

“Look,” Tucker continued with the thread, daring to step out of place and toward them without a weapon in hand. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help here. We owe you guys a lot from all the times before with… well, just everything. And I want to know what happened to Sarge, too. But I don’t think this looks like anything Caboose would ever—“

Almost immediately, sirens began blaring, and the somber peace that had been built up between them all evaporated right before Tucker’s very eyes.

“He’s fucking at it again!” Grif roared, gun up. “Simmons, you go left with Lopez, Donut you come with me. W’re ending this Red and Blue bullshit one way or another!”

“Wait!” Tucker called out just before all four Reds split across the hall, rushing past him and Junior as if they weren’t even existent. “What about…” Tucker trailed off, his eyes set instead on the body in the hallway with him.

His stomach shifted uncomfortably, but in a more natural way than Church’s failed alert system.

“What killed him?” Tucker asked, slowly stepping toward Sarge.

“If we knew that, then se could have just told the Reds and been done with this nonsense already,” Church grouched.

“No, asshole, not who,” Tucker snapped back. “What did it? Like how did he die. That kind of stuff.”

“Would you calm down? If you want a specific answer maybe ask a specific question!” Church bantered effortlessly.

“Church!” Tucker growled out in irritation.

“Fine! Hold on!” Church answered, he then projected once more — the small meter of used energy appearing across Tucker’s HUD once more. Church then knelt down beside Sarge, taking a moment to look over him. A flicker of… something — emotion, most likely — surged through Tucker like an injection. It wasn’t his own, that was all he knew. “Poor bastard.”

Nauseous either because of the gore or because of the confusing juxtaposition of emotions and pain conflicting inside him, Tucker turned back and squeezed his eyes shut. He let Junior down to stand on his own and used his hands to balance himself.

“Dude,” Tucker got out. “Maybe you could stop fucking around and get out of me already. It’s starting to hurt!”

“That’s what she said,” Church snarked back.

“Bow chicka honk—“

“No! No no no,” Tucker snapped. “I’m trying to be serious here, Church!”

“Fine, I am too,” Church answered, looking up at Tucker. “Asphyxiation.”

“No more sex jokes for like ten minutes,” Tucker said flatly.

“What? Oh, shut up, I was answering your question from earlier,” Church scoffed. “Asphyxiation — that’s what killed Sarge. He was strangled to death.”

“What? Like kinky?” Tucker asked, the wave of nausea subsiding for intrigue.

“You just said no sex jokes!”

“This isn’t a joke! It’s a question! Lots of people die that way,” Tucker yelled back, caught up in the heat of the moment, before remembering there was a toddler right next to him. He then pointed accusingly at his son. “Close your ears.”

Junior let out a frustrated, gargling sound.

“It’s not autoerotic asphyxiation, Tucker,” Church sneered. “Obviously. Someone else strangled him.”

“Okay, but there’s no way of telling that that wasn’t erotic,” Tucker pointed out.

Church gave Tucker a strained stare. “Tucker, his fucking head is caved in and he has bullet holes in him.”

“But you can’t say it isn’t—“

“Fine, it was a sexy death, Tucker, are you happy?” Church snapped.

“It’s what he would have wanted…” Tucker sighed, looking over the corpse.

“Literally no one would want an embarrassing kinky death but you, but sure,” Church answered before flickering out. “I say we stay quiet and play this close.”

Tucker got to his feet, reaching for his rifle with a roll of his eyes. “Quiet, yeah, Church. That really sounds like something we’re capable of.

There was a moment to breathe rather than hearing one of Church’s quick fire retorts, which seemed strange. At first. But as the moment came to a point, suddenly Tucker felt the increasingly familiar sensation of a sharp shock running up his spine, his muscle growing taut and strenuous on him.

Adjusting his hold on his gun, Tucker whirled around on his heels, certain that there was someone watching him. It had been the same intensity, the same strange sensation that he had felt under Lopez’s heavy, emotionless gaze.

But even as they turned for a second time, Tucker didn’t find anyone there.

“You have to not do that when there’s nothing happening,” Tucker snapped at Church.

He should have known better.

as soon as the words had left his mouth, there was an undeniable explosion sound as though it came from outside the base. It made Tucker immediately turn in the exit’s direction, heart pounding.

“You were saying?” Church jeered. “C’mon, if there’s an explosion then we know who’s involved.”

Tucker hated how often Church was right lately.

It doesn’t exactly require detective work to find Caboose once they crossed the valley. Much like any other base Tucker had been at since his enlistment brought him to Project Freelancer, where a Red Base existed there unstably coexisted a Blue Base on the opposite side of a boxed in space.

Except whatever teams had been stationed at this so-called Valhalla had really lucked out because their crass wasn’t flattened and yellowed by unending heat and there were trees and streams instead of canyon walls and an unruly desert surrounding them.

Which meant Blood Gulch had been even more useless than they had complained about the entire time they had been there.

“Okay, what the hell’s with this improvement of scenery?” Tucker asked the air as Junior came stumbling in behind him over the small hill.

“Focus, Tucker,” Church hissed at him.

“Oh, yeah, that really helps me, focus, hearing you in stereo inside my radio and inside my freakin’ head!” Tucker growled back.

“Dude what do you want from me? I’m haunting your armor. Suck it up.”

More banter was on the tip of Tucker’s tongue but a second explosion interrupted him and he could see a familiar blue armored figure running in circles with flames covering him. Behind him, four angry and revenge inspired Reds were chasing at a considerable distance now that there was a fire hazard.

Actually, Grif wasn’t pursuing so much as staying back and yelling at the others what to do. That seemed more comprehensible for the people Tucker had come to know.

At first, Tucker was just taking the scene in when a shock went through him. “Ouch! Okay, Church, that fucking stings! Could you maybe lay off? I already know that Caboose is over—“

The energy meter appeared before Tucker’s HUD again and Church appeared on the hill beside him, staring in the opposite direction of Caboose, the Reds, and the general calamity about to unfold. He gripped his sniper rifle like it meant anything. Which, of course, Tucker knew full well that it didn’t.

“That wasn’t about Caboose it was…” Church trailed off. “I’m not seeing anything.”

“Yeah. A ghost with a ghost sniper rifle doesn’t get much more range than just a ghost fucking ghosting it, huh?” Tucker scolded sardonically. “Don’t fucking do that unless it’s necessary. Actually, don’t do it at all! That’s preferable.”

“It is necessary,” Church argued, dropping his gun slightly. “Aren’t you worried about the murderer?”

“The murderer?” Tucker echoed dumbly.

“We weren’t here, Caboose wouldn’t have done it, no way it was one of the Reds,” Church listed off. “Someone killed Sarge recently. And it’s no one we know. But it’s someone who is almost definitely still here. So excuse me if I happen to feel a little more inclined to pay goddamn attention to our surroundings!”

Tucker squinted at Church a bit, but as much as he hated to admit it — and he did hate to admit almost more than he could express — Church was right. Even when Tucker hadn’t been thinking about the who killed Sarge, the who kind of mattered.

A lot.

Then the fucker ruined it by sending another chill through Tucker’s body. “Church! Goddammit! What now!?”

“I apparently have to kick your ass in gear to get you to go save Caboose, too! Jesus, I’m having to do everything,” Church groaned.

“You? It’s my body! Saving Caboose or not is my choice!” Tucker reminded his dead-but-not-so-much friend. “And you’re draining power or something. Cut the light show out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Church said, a flicker phasing through his image. After a moment, though, he disappeared all the same.

“Jackass,” Tucker seethed.

Fuck face, Church boomed inside his skull.

“YOWEE!!”

Looking to the distance, Tucker saw that Caboose had fallen and rolled into the running stream of water, which had taken care of the fire but left him surrounded by the Reds. And they had their guns drawn and were probably trigger happy because Caboose, even if not a killer, was still very much Caboose.

Putting away his rifle, Tucker unsheathed his sword and raced down the hill, only calling back to his son with a quick, “Junior! Stay back! Daddy’s kicking some ass!”

Of course, that was about the end of Tucker’s planning when it came to paying any recourse forward. So, as per usual, he winged it in true Blue Team fashion.

“Hey! Dickweeds! Back off of my idiot!” Tucker yelled as he bum rushed the four with an alien plasma sword in his hands.

Wow, stirring speech, Church deadpanned.

“That sounds like Tucker! Is it Tucker? I hope it is Tucker. I don’t like Tucker though. I miss Tucker? But I don’t want to see Tucker,” Caboose babbled without even bothering to roll over to his other side and actually see who was coming to his rescue. Typical.

“Tucker, back off, you saw what he did!” Simmons warned.

“Okay, I think you guys are a little too close to the situation to be dealing out vigilante justice. Because you don’t have to like Caboose to know that Caboose didn’t do that,” Tucker argued fiercely. “Caboose kicks landmines into people’s faces or accidentally causes boulders to fall over on people. Or he just has a misfire and team kills. Killing an enemy on purpose? Fucking cold cocking Sarge in a brawl and strangling him to death? That’s not Caboose. It’s too malicious.”

“Are you fucking kidding us?” Grif asked, breathless and putting his hands on his knees.

Tucker looked incredulously at the Red. “How the hell can you be breathless, you literally just moved for the first time while everyone else was chasing Caboose around.”

“Leadership is much harder than grunt work,” Grif snapped.

“Is it has six blockages from the excessive weight?” Tucker asked, earning a well deserved orange middle finger.

“Come on, guys,” Tucker near begged. “We spent all those years and all those crazy adventures together and you’re honestly going to tell me that you can’t see through all this bullshit at least enough to know something about this whole situation stinks. And it’s not Church and not Caboose’s feet. For once.”

There was a passing moment of silence where Simmons and Grif glanced toward one another as if it was the only communication needed.

Tucker wasn’t sure where the situation was going to land them all next. And he was quite a bit nervous to find out.

When no one else on Red Team was making any motions to contest, Lopez stepped up to the other three, his droning voice speaking clearly. Or at least, Tucker assumed it was clearly since he had no idea what the hell he was saying. “No deberíamos escuchar la meant fina. Terminemos con la amenaza Azul de una vez por todas.” He gave a pause that was either dramatic or heartbreaking. “Es lo qui el padre hubiera querido.”

Before any collective breaths could be taken, Donut nodded his head sagely. “You’re right, Lopez. We have been around Tucker long enough to know that he’s got a fairly good head on his shoulder.”

There was an aggravated noise from the robot but apparently even a computer sometimes lacked words for full expression.

“Really?” Simmons questioned skeptically. “I would say we’ve known Tucker long enough to guess the opposite.”

“Exactly my thoughts, Simmons,” Grif huffed.

“Aw, c’mon guys, you sound like you really need a stick up your butts,” Donut offered.

“No. Wrong. That’s… You have to be doing that on purpose!” Simmons argued angrily.

Tucker was ready to weigh in, having formed quite an opinion on Donut’s turns of phrase after spending months with him on missions, when he heard a familiar cooing and clattering behind him. Turning slightly from the Reds, Tucker faced Junior just as the little alien reached the end of the hill and all but crashed into Tucker’s leg. He made some noise and then clutched to Tucker’s armor meaningfully.

“What’s up, little man?” Tucker asked.

“I think I may have an idea,” Church spoke up at long last. Look, he echoed inside of Tucker’s helmet.

Somehow instinctively knowing what direction Church meant, Tucker glanced back to the running stream where Caboose had been marinating before. It hit Tucker all at once that Caboose had been strangely quiet during the arguments and, when Tucker looked, he could see why.

Caboose was nowhere to be seen. But Tucker had a good idea of where he went.

“Stay close to me, Junior,” Tucker ordered his son.

With Red Team bickering like there was no tomorrow, getting past them on heading on his way to the Blue Base was simple enough. And what’s more, like a freaking fantastic father, he reached the end of the path without losing sight on Junior even for a second.

Then that aching electric shutter went down Tucker’s spine, forcing him to stand ramrod straight and look over his shoulder with the hairs on the back of his neck sticking straight up under his armor. “Church, what the fuck?” he asked as he saw nothing.

“What, you can’t see it?” Church asked critically.

Alarmed, Tucker glanced behind him again, looking for anything Church might’ve meant. But as he looked what caught his attention most was the absence of space. Between them and the nearest cliff was a clearing of grass covered in shadow. There didn’t seem to be anything there, but in some way, as the wind blew, the tall grasses split and swayed out of place, out of step with what nature probably intended for them. It was a decent distance, so it very well could have been that Tucker was all just seeing things wrong, but the more he looked, the more he was certain that…

“Tucker!” Church snapped. “Didn’t you hear me? What’re you looking at! Pay attention, I said that the Reds noticed you’re gone so hurry up and get to Caboose.”

For a moment, Tucker looked toward the Reds and, sure enough, had four helmets looking right back as a result.

Still, that didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like enough.

Looking back to the grass, Tucker no longer saw any such discrepancies and furrowed his brow as a result. “Are… Are you sure that’s what it was?” he began to question.

“Tucker! Get to Caboose already before they start treating themselves like a firing squad,” Church barked out. He then uncharacteristically paused and a wave of nauseating guilt came over Tucker that wasn’t his own. “Maybe that’s just a Sarge thing…”

As if on cue, a shot off from the Reds narrowly missed them, ricocheting off of the side of Blue Base.

“Nope!” Tucker answered before ducking inside with Junior.

Much like the location itself, the inside of the Blue Base was, by far, nicer and more equipped than any location that Tucker could have even dreamed of being in back when they were in Blood Gulch. The halls were long and wide, lit by a continuous set of blue overhead lights built into the ceiling. It would have been impressive if it didn’t give Tucker a strange, sickly feeling in memory of what those same walls and ceiling looked like at Red Base, Sarge down on the floor.

Of course, Red Base didn’t have the sound of tinkering and a big lug muttering nonsense to himself.

“Time to get to the bottom of this,” Tucker grunted, moving forward toward the noises.

Junior, very obediently, stayed in step with Tucker, clinging to him occasionally.

By the time they reached the end of the hall, the low muttering from Caboose had become an almost audible string of nonsense words and humming to himself. It was still unsettling, even if it wasn’t exactly new where Caboose was concerned.

The room itself didn’t seem to be anything definitive, maybe a small office once, but it was completely devoid of furniture now. In fact its only assets beyond the people standing within it apparently amounted to a pile of what Tucker could only leniently refer to as junk, and a few milk carts turned upside down and leaned against the wall where Caboose was concerning himself with work on… on something vaguely resembling a skeletal exosuit like the kind inside the armors of their robots. Well, Church and Tex’s robots.

But the strangest thing was the cocoon shaped device with a bright blue screen at its top and a softening then brightening then softening again glow that seemed to work in rhythm with Caboose’s mumblings.

Still not the strangest thing proximity to Caboose had forced Tucker to witness. But, of course, that was fairly stiff competition.

Tucker knew what Church was going to do before the ghostly apparition even appeared by his side, so he allowed Church to have the floor, as it were.

“Caboose! What the hell! Isn’t that the Epsilon unit? Agent Washington told you to turn that in!” Church’s voice was cracking on weird, out of place intervals. And the more it drew Tucker’s attention the more he realized, rather suddenly, that for some reason Church was sounding that way out of a certain amount of fear.

Glancing back at the device, Tucker wondered if it was, indeed, stranger than he had originally given it credit for.

“Church!?” Caboose piped up, standing straight and alert before he clumsily turned his charred armor in their direction. He nearly leaped at what he saw. “I thought I had heard Church! I knew I did! I didn’t believe you would be dead, Church! I knew you were my best friend and you would never leave me no matter what the angry police officers said! Oh, Church, I am so happy to see you again!”

As the rambling outburst continued, Caboose flung himself forward from his makeshift work bench and toward the illusionary visage Church was forming of himself. This, of course, led to little more than Caboose passing right through Church but Tucker supposed that at the end of the day it was kind of the thought that counted. Maybe?

Church gave an aggravated glance to Tucker, as if the situation could at all be relatable and then turned his attention to Caboose who was swatting his hands through Church. “Hey! Fucking stop it, dude! I’m a ghost, remember?”

“Agent Washington said you were a computer,” Caboose hummed in return, though he did stop.

“He was an idiot. And he tried to get me killed. Good thing for him, he was wrong and as a ghost, I can haunt emails and save myself from suicide missions. Dumb fuck. Told him I was a ghost,” Church waved his hand nonchalantly, but there was still an edge to his words. Some kind of emotion he wasn’t getting through entirely.

“Don’t computers send emails? Not ghosts?” Tucker prodded all the same.

“Quiet,” Church hissed.

“Yeah, Tucker! Shhhhhhhhhhh,” Caboose added, took a large gulping breath, then continued, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Ignoring Caboose, Tucker turned and squared himself directly with Church. “Okay. So, we’ve found Caboose. He is the exact same as he always was. Shocking. But that also means the Reds were full of shit about him going rogue and killing Sarge. Now what?”

“We figure out why he was stealing shit to begin with,” Church answered. “Hey! Caboose! Why the fuck were you stealing things from Red Base? If you’re the only one here, what more shit could you possibly need and have to take from them?”

Caboose tsked at them both, head shaking. “Why, Church, we are not alone in Blue Base. I have had my friend here the whole time! And I have been telling him all about how I have such good friends, like you! And Agent Washington!”

“And me?” Tucker asked.

Staring back at Tucker, Caboose allowed the room to lapse into long, confused seconds of silence. “Okay. Maybe not about Tucker.”

“What the fuck, I just saved you from getting skewered by the Reds, too. I’m gonna go get them and tell them you did kill Sarge, how about that?” Tucker snapped in return, being supported by protective growls and honks from Junior at his side.

“What friend are you even talking about here, Caboose?” Church demanded.

“Him! My new friend,” Caboose nodded toward the strange device. “Epsilon.”

With the mention of the name, the device glowed brighter and longer than any of the times it had lit up before, a strange humming like the purrs of a cat coming from it as it did so. But the longer the phenomenon went, the more unsettled Tucker’s heart became. Something about the droning hum quickly turned sinister and corrupted. The noise might not have changed in pitch or tone, but the ringing it began to spawn in his ears and the fuzzy way the glow manipulated his vision became nigh unbearable in the moment.

“GAH!” Church cried out loudly, disappearing from Tucker’s side and retreating into an out of rhythm, counter hum into Tucker’s skull.

It was too much, that shocking pain sprung down Tucker’s spine and drove him to his hands and knees in pain.

“Church!” Tucker cried out. It didn’t make any sense, something had changed. Something about Church had changed so that he was so unlike any of the times before in Blood Gulch. He felt heavier and intrusive as he possessed Tucker’s body and mind. It was infuriating and frightening.

But more than anything, in the proximity of Epsilon, it was so damn painful.

“Oh no! Where did Church go?” Caboose asked as another wave of shocked pain hit Tucker, immobilizing him. “The scary man may be back!”

“S-scary? C-Caboose! Wait! I…” Tucker groaned, his teeth beginning to chatter as gave in and flattened on the floor. “Church… what’re you doing to…?”

Oh god. Oh god I’m so sorry. I didn’t remember. I didn’t want it to be like this. Fuck. FUCK. I can stop it hold. Hold on, Tucker. Tucker, just—

Caboose seemed utterly distracted, mumbling something that made no sense to Tucker. Junior was panicked, by Tucker’s side and shaking Tucker by the shoulder as much as possible. His clattering teeth and growing concern was as heartbreaking as they were pride inducing.

“Okay! I will keep him away until Church is safe!” Caboose declared nonsensically. “It is a thing that the best of friends do for friends! And Church — both you Churches — are my friends! Promise. Pinkies. Forever.”

“Wait, Caboose… What the fuck are you…” Tucker groaned, reaching up and grabbing the sides of his helmet as if to keep it and, in turn, his skull from splitting in two. “Caboose…”

Without further word, Caboose shoved the weird device into Junior’s hands and then took off down the hallway they had entered from. He was giving no indication of what was happening, or what he thought was happening outside of the room. He just left them, alone, and Tucker feeling like his own brains were threatening to leave his skull.

“Church,” Tucker managed to get out in a whine as his vision became spotted and more blurry.

Tucker, I’m sorry, Church repeated. I think I’m causing this.

“No… shit,” Tucker wheezed before falling unconscious entirely.

#writing #rvb fic #Lavernius Tucker #Alpha Church #Leonard L Church #Franklin Delano Donut #Tucker Junior #Dexter Grif #Dick Simmons #AI: Lopez the Heavy #RvB: The Things That Wait

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

Text

things laid down

Hey y’all, for 600 followers here is some weird urban magic.

He blinked at the tiled ceiling, crossing into wakefulness from something…not. There was a clamor of noise buffeting him, just outside the half-drawn curtain hiding him—a tiny besieged encampment against a hurricane in the hall. The sheets crackled hard against his hands, more like paper than cloth, a sharp smell making the bone between his eyes ache, and it took a long moment before he could sort out the overload and look around. From where he sat, he could see two more beds, one in the room across the hall, curtain half-closed like his own, and one in his own room—a hospital, maybe. He didn’t entirely recall what the word entailed. Didn’t recall much of anything, now that he thought about it. He blinked away the concern and propped himself up on one hand to get a look around at the other residents. Kids, he noted. Very young. Younger than him? He wasn’t sure.

Across the hall was a boy, smooth-cheeked and round-eyed. He had one arm exposed to the shoulder, one sleeve cut away entirely, and halfway down his upper arm, the flesh turned abruptly into brass. The metal threaded itself into the higher tissue, and the boy clutched his arm across his chest in numb shock. The girl in the next bed over was sobbing, the blank sound of someone crying in an effort to soothe themselves, tears leaving glistening trails down the glossy porcelain of her cheeks. Her eyes, when she blinked, were bright and lively, her black hair tumbling in thin dreadlocks around her face, but there was a chink as a bracelet knocked against porcelain—her hand, rubbing across her eyes.

He raised his fingers to touch his own face, but there was no metal or porcelain there, only the warm give of skin. A touch of stubble on his jaw—older than these soft, scared children, then, but no lines, so still young enough—and chapped lips, but all living, perfectly human. He looked down at his arms, sweeping fingers up from the thin skin at his wrists to the curve of his shoulders where they met the paper of a hospital gown. He kicked away the sheet and performed a similar check, up the sinew-and-bone line of his legs, then tugged the hospital gown away from his neck and looked down. All skin over muscle, blood racing at the crease of his elbow and the hollow of his throat.

Far from simply being entirely human, there didn’t seem to be a mark on him. He wondered why he was here. Hospitals were places for the terribly ill or grievously injured, that much he was sure of, and he didn’t seem to be either one. If the noise outside was any indication, they hardly had the staff to spare for him.

He was still pushing his fingers through his hair—dark, curly, overlong, didn’t he ever cut it?—when the curtain was tucked back and a nurse, looking harried, strode into the room.

She paused by the little girl, crouching down to wipe away the tears from the porcelain and murmur something reassuring. Only when the little girl had hiccupped out a laugh, nodding, did the nurse turn away and cross the room to his side.

“Hey,” she said, a slow smile creasing her tired eyes. She wore blue scrubs, fresh and clean in a way that suggested she had recently had to change, and her hair was scooped haphazardly away from her face into a bun, but her hands were quick and confident when she reached out to take his wrist. “Sleeping Beauty wakes.”

“Have I been asleep?” he asked vaguely, watching the movement of her lips as she counted his pulse. The machine beside him beeped in time, wires tugging gently at the electrodes on his chest. “Doesn’t the machine do that?”

“Yeah, but I get a better feel for it if I do it by hand,” the nurse said, as if it was a common question. “Can you tell me your name?”

“I, uh.” He frowned. He was reasonably sure that he should be able to answer that question, firmly and without doubt, but there didn’t seem to be anything there. His head was empty, ringing like a bell with each thought that passed through it. “No,” he said slowly. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” she said, releasing his wrist. Her eye-creasing smile was gone, now, lips thinner and turned down, and she picked up a chart from the end of his bed, flicking a look over the first page. “How about your age?”

“Older than them,” he offered, halfway serious, “and younger than you.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“A hospital?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling at him again, but it didn’t make her eyes crinkle this time. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again,” he said at once, as if the words had been hidden under his tongue, waiting for him to open his mouth and set them loose. They were chalky on his tongue, sour—the taste of panic, he thought. He didn’t remember what panic should feel like, save for a vague impression of tight muscles and smoke-thickness in his throat, but something deep in his chest knew the flavor, and laughed.

“Do you know what that means?” He shook his head, the muscles protesting as if the admission took tremendous effort, and she nodded, still steady and professional. “All right. Can I leave you alone for a minute to bring back the doctor?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, and she left, hooking the chart over the foot of his bed as she passed. It left him alone in the room, with the quiet sniffing of the porcelain-faced girl and the ringing terror of the inside of his own head. He closed his eyes, trying to find some trace of information in his memory, and opened them almost at once, recoiling. There was nothing, only darkness as complete as a sky without stars—or, more accurately, a sky past the edge of stars. Cold and—hungry—empty, with shadow-on-shadow movement that he didn’t want to see.

It was a relief when the doctor walked in, escorted by the same nurse as before. She offered him a small smile and left to check on the boy with the brass arm, and the doctor walked inside.

“My name is Doctor Hamada,” she said, looking almost as weary as the nurse had. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m--” hungry “—fine.” Nothing hurt, and he didn’t seem to have any strangeness like the boy with the brass arm or the girl with the porcelain face. He was—hungry—just sort of hollow, as if something scooped out all the soft parts from his belly and chest and left his ribcage empty. He couldn’t hear his heartbeat, but he could see the green line on the monitor as it kept track. Spike-drop-pause, spike-drop-pause, steady and hypnotic, up and down. Watching it, he found himself mouthing the sentence, the only words he could find in his echoing empty skull—it seemed to fit well with the beat of the heart on the screen. Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

“Melissa, the nurse you spoke to, she said that you don’t remember anything?” Doctor Hamada asked, leaning close and producing a penlight from her pocket. “I’m just going to check your pupils,” she said, soothing, and he let her, shining the light into his eyes and leaving blue spots in his vision. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again,” he said, and she nodded, picking up his chart. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“We usually call it Faust’s Law of Magic—you know, never summon power you can’t control,” she said, frowning. “Every kid learns it in school. Is that all you know?”

“Yeah.” He paused, swallowed, forced himself to open his mouth again. “Do you know my name? Why am I here?”

She sighed, setting the chart down, and rested a hand on the rail of the bed, looking at him. “We know your first name—it’s Jake. Jacob. A little boy recognized you and told us.”

“Someone here knows me?” he asked, starting to push himself up, and she caught his shoulder—kill her.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere, her voice heavy and her eyes sad. “He passed away—over eighty percent of his lung tissue was transmuted into asphalt. He didn’t survive long after telling us.”

He dropped back onto the bed with a thud, something heavy settling in the hollow arch of his ribcage as he shut his eyes and felt tears catch on his lashes. “What’s happening?”

He felt Doctor Hamada shift—the darkness behind his eyes stretched and muttered hungry, and he opened his eyes.

“There was an explosion,” she said, soft and serious. “Foreign magic. We’ve never seen anything like it. Everyone who was caught in the blast seems to have been transmuted by the shrapnel—we have a boy whose heart is made of steel, and a woman whose hands are made of glass, and a man whose skin is nothing but paper. You were at the center, but at first we thought you were fine.”

“I’m not fine?” He didn’t think he was hurt, he was just—hungry—hallucinating. He gave his head a shake, hoping to clear the dark voice from the emptiness of his skull. It wasn’t a knife in the dark, it was worse, a knife in an empty room without doors, where there were no options besides the blade. It was a black thought.

“You seemed to be, when the paramedics found you,” Doctor Hamada said, an encouraging note in her voice. Then it faded and she was solemn again. “But you didn’t seem to understand what anyone was saying to you. You were responsive, engaged with the world, someone would speak and you would look at them, someone would point and you could follow, but you didn’t seem to actually comprehend. The paras assumed you had suffered a head injury, justified given the size of the explosion—it even destroyed your clothes. It’s a near-miracle you’re even alive, a little brain damage wouldn’t have been a shock.”

“So I don’t have brain damage,” he said, skeptical. “I just, what, set my memory down somewhere and walked away from it?”

That won him a small smile, a quick flash of teeth between thin lips, before she continued, quiet and serious. “You suffered a massive seizure in the ambulance. Five full minutes of convulsions, and you didn’t regain consciousness—nothing to sneeze at,” she added when he didn’t react. “We performed an MRI when you arrived. We expected to find a subdural bleed, which would have been manageable.”

The long pause made something in his chest seize up. Panic, maybe. The dark voice grumbled, unsatisfied. “But?”

“We didn’t find anything,” Doctor Hamada said. “Your brain was lit up like a Christmas tree, don’t get me wrong, far more active than we usually see in unconscious patients, but there’s no damage. We’ve kept you under observation until something changed, hoping we’d get answers when you improved or worsened, but you weren’t in any evident distress. You’ve been more or less comatose for the best part of an hour, and we’re not sure what the cause is.”

“So you…you have no idea why I can’t remember,” he said, pressing his lips together and trying not to let his hands shake. He took a deep breath, pressing down the—hunger—fear. He needed to focus, he needed answers—he needed the dark voice to leave him alone. He was reasonably sure that the emptiness in his head would be less concerning if he was the only one there.

My body, my mind, the dark voice said, almost bemused, and he scowled.

“We don’t know yet,” Doctor Hamada was saying kindly when he returned to reality from the cold and starless black, leaving the voice to mutter in the darkest corners. “We’re trying to find your family, but without a last name, that’s proving difficult in our current chaos. With your consent, we’d like to run some more tests—a blood test, to see if we can find any medications or drugs in your system, and another MRI, to see if anything’s changed.”

“Sure,” he said. “I don’t know what it’ll help, but whatever you want.”

“Jake,” she said, and reached out to take his hand in hers. The point of contact was warm, her palm dry and slightly powdery from exam gloves, and he closed his eyes as a brief war raged through his body. Part of him—all of him, really—wanted to clutch her hand until his knuckles ached, and maybe cry, cling to the point of human contact like it was all that was holding him to earth. But in the black of his mind, the dark voice coiled forward, hungry hungry hungry, kill her, scare her, feed us, and the hollowness in his chest ached like an open wound.

He pulled his hand back, and the black voice snarled. On the wall, in the corner of his eye, his shadow splintered into a thing, all long arms and tentacle and writhing motion—when he looked straight on, it was solid, tame.

“Jake,” Doctor Hamada repeated, gentle, unoffended by his retreat. The girl with the porcelain face was watching them, her eyes wide, and they flickered nervously to the wall behind his shoulder. He tried not to notice, tried to put it out of his mind—my mind. “I know this must be terrifying for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But we’re going to help you, and we’ll find someone who knows you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said—barely a murmur. He tugged his hands closer and balled them into fists, until pain sparkled up his nerves from where his nails bit into the skin. It reminded him that his body was his own, even if he didn’t particularly remember it.

It is not, the dark voice parried, calm and cold. He was pretty sure it was a bad sign that the voice was becoming clearer, that the press of the starless black was becoming a headache as the hollowness in his chest dragged at his ribs and heart. Mine, my body, my mind, hungry.

“This body is mine,” he snapped aloud. Doctor Hamada didn’t bat an eye, merely arched an eyebrow as if asking if he was done. His cheeks burned—he must be an easy blusher, he thought dimly, filing the information away—and he stared down at his fists so that he didn’t have to look at her. He hadn’t meant to answer the voice aloud, hadn’t meant to give it the satisfaction.

Across the room, the girl’s face wasn’t very expressive—logical reasons humans weren’t meant to be made from porcelain, he supposed—but he could almost feel the fear coiling off her skin. He could feel it, like something that clung to his fingers and cloyed on his tongue, sweet and bitter. It eased the hollowness, drove back the blackness minutely, and the voice moaned—not enough. In the corner of his eye, he could see his shadow. Shatter, freeze, shatter, freeze, in time with the beeping of his heart rate.

“I’ll send Melissa, the nurse from before, to take some blood, all right?” Doctor Hamada asked, and he nodded. He didn’t watch her leave the room, looking down at the tendons standing out on the backs of his hands and trying not to see his shadow or the little girl in his periphery.

Then she spoke, and he looked up automatically. “Your shadow is moving, and you’re not,” she said, voice thin and faint. It vibrated strangely between porcelain lips. “What are you doing to it?”

He tried to find something reassuring to say, but all he could do was whisper back, “I don’t know.” Shatter, freeze. Spike-drop-pause. “I’m not doing it.”

Hungry.

The nurse—Melissa, he reminded himself—returned almost at once, the same worn smile on her face as before. She carried a small tray, arrayed with a syringe, a rubber tie, and a contained needle, and set it down beside his bed with businesslike efficiency.

“Hi, Jake,” she said. “Normally we’d send you to the lab to get blood drawn, but given the givens, we thought it might be better to keep you here in the ICU until we know you won’t seize again.”

“Wouldn’t want to scare the lab techs,” he muttered, distracted, and eyed the needle, expecting to feel some trepidation at the look of it. There wasn’t a flicker of nerves, just a feeling of…condescension. It was the voice, he thought, amused at the idea that a needle could be a genuine threat.

“Exactly,” Melissa said with a laugh, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and tying the rubber strip around his arm a few inches above the elbow. That part was a little nervewracking, the foreign feeling of rubber on skin, of—how dare she restrain us—compression too tight for comfort. “Can you make a fist for me a few times?” He did, feeling the ache of trapped blood set in almost immediately as the vessels in his forearm stood out, and she nodded, approving.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again, he repeated to himself, reciting the rule like a mantra as the voice pressed forward. Something to think about, that was what he needed, something that would let him focus and hold back the tide of starless black.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

Spike-drop-pause. Shatter, freeze.

Melissa carefully affixed the needle to the syringe and tore open a packet that smelled strongly of alcohol, astringent and sharp in his nose.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

Spike-drop-pause. Shatter, freeze.

The alcohol wipe was freezing against his skin, but nothing in comparison to the pressing, crushing weight of the cold presence behind his eyes.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

Spike-drop-pause. Shatter, freeze.

“This shouldn’t hurt much,” Melissa said quietly. She smiled at him, trying to coax one out of him in return. “I’m good at this part.” He didn’t dare twitch, just in case the focus it would take to smile through the roar of the voice was the last straw.

Melissa touched the needle to his skin, a point of cold pressure.

His shadow fractured, exploding up the wall like splashing black paint, and took the whole world with it.

Never raise anything up—

The needle pressing at his skin—

Hungry, hungry, HUNGRY—

He blinked up at cloud-striped blue sky, and stood up without a thought, joints popping stiffly but not giving him any real trouble. There was a clatter, and he—Jake, his name was Jake—looked down for the source of the sound. Bits of plaster rained down from his shoulders and hair, a fine white dust coating his hands and drifting around his feet like a miniature blizzard.

His chest wasn’t hollow anymore. In fact, he felt…sparkling, like he’d drunk four espressos and was standing on a mountain top, energized and clear and fresh.

Jake looked around at the rubble surrounding him, bemused, and froze.

There she was. The little girl from his room. Half the ceiling had come down on her, and she hadn’t been nearly so fortunate as he was. Her porcelain face had a fault line cracking from the forehead all the way to the jaw, down through her eye and cheek, shards broken out of her lips and chin. Blood seeped from the crack, deep enough to pass through to the tissue still left under the transmuted skin, blazing red against the smooth white. The eye within the crack stared, with no eyelid to cover it, and the other was closed. What was left intact of her face was twisted into genuine terror, so blindingly obvious that even the inexpressive porcelain couldn’t hide it.

There was a precarious moment where Jake thought he might be sick on the spot. His vision wavered, a desperate lurch of nausea as his stomach hurled itself at his ribs and tried to crawl up his throat.

He looked down to steady himself and saw, sprawled at his feet, Melissa. She was mostly clear of rubble—impressive, he thought numbly, it looked like two stories of hospital and patients had been brought down wholesale—but she was broken, joints yanked apart until they had dislocated altogether. She looked like she’d been put on the rack, or toyed with by something immensely strong and enormous. The needle was jammed into the soft skin at the hollow of her throat, blood spilled across her skin, and the rubber tie had fluttered down to cover her dead eyes like a blindfold.

Whirling away, Jake retched, doubling over and coughing up thin, sour bile. There was nothing in his system to be thrown up, but the convulsions left him with tears on his cheeks and shakes in his hands. Or maybe that was the destroyed hospital. Maybe it was everything.

In the corner of his eye as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Jake could see Doctor Hamada, killed by a falling steel beam. He hoped it had been quick.

His shadow, sprawled on the ground, was quiescent, his own shape rather than the tentacle-laden nightmare that had exploded across the wall. His mind was still cold and dark, but the cold was distant, and the dark manageable. The voice was quiet, nearly purring with satisfaction—feast, what a feast, all their fear—and Jake was alone in the wreck of a hospital that had been destroyed by the monster that shared his body.

This was nothing a human could do, even the most deranged magic user. There was something else in his mind, a demon—rude—or an old god—better—something that fed on terror and was under the impression that Jake shouldn’t be in his own head anymore. That did explain a few things about the magical explosion, he supposed. Jake, or whoever he had been before, had bitten off more than he could chew and invited that…thing into his head. By mistake or design, it hardly mattered.

“Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again,” he said aloud, his abused throat turning his voice raspy.

Lay me down, then, human, the voice said, almost chortled, ice touching Jake’s spine at the dare.

“Go to hell.” He didn’t get a response that time, only another cruel wave of sensation not unlike a dismissive sneer.

Jake stood there for another long moment, trying not to see the brass arm flung out from under a pile of debris, before a realization rose up through the fog filling his brain. He couldn’t stand here forever. More to the point, he was a danger to anyone who tried to take him in by force. He didn’t know what the voice, the monster—old god—could do if pressed. It had annihilated a hospital along with everyone inside just for a meal. He was pretty sure the single most dangerous thing the police could do was try to imprison him, and that meant he needed to not be here when they arrived.

That meant he needed clothes. Real clothes, not the tattered paper hospital gown.

Jake found what he could, jackets and scrubs without bloodstains, and tried not to be sick again at the idea of wearing the clothes of people he’d killed. Once he was dressed—for a given value thereof—he tugged the hood of his stolen jacket up over his face and shoved both hands deep into his pockets, pretending that it would let him hide.

The sirens arrived just as Jake picked his way out of the last of the debris and slipped into the gathering crowd.

Good, the voice mused. Find more people, more fear, more power.

Jake hunched his shoulders and walked faster, leaving the ruined hospital behind him.

#things laid down #original work #starlight writes stuff #yes in theory this is the first part of a longer work #but then i had an insecurity attack and idk where to go from here #but i still kinda like it #i feel like jake and the monster have a really weird relationship #like on the one hand jake and the monster hate each other a lot #'i hunger' 'too goddamn bad no human flambe today' 'fuck you too mortal' 'fuck you more' 'this is all your fault' '...touche'#but on the other hand the monster is very protective of his squishy human shell #'this is my mortal and no one else can have it and no one else can touch it and now you're going to die for touching it'#jake is stressed #definitely the next plot point is one of the kids in the hospital following jake and trying to kill him #probably the little boy with the metal arm #and that's an even weirder relationship tbqh #'this is my adopted big brother jake he tried to summon an elder god and then i tried to kill him'#or rather #'this is my adopted big brother jake. and this is his eldritch cohabitating monster.'#'i love jake and he's human for me but he's a monster for the elder god who's really a monster and i hate the elder god'#incidentally i think i'm hilarious #relatedly #has literally anyone read monstress because that is some good shit #a different take on the possessed-by-eldritch-god than this but g o o d s h i t #idiot teenagers with a queue

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starliters-blog · 7 years

Text

[SPOILERS] my thoughts on pd101 + jelpi’s yoon heeseok

aight here’s a lil rant.

i’ll start right off the bat that this is just a personal opinion and one not based off much at the moment. this is just my commentary and criticism of yoon heeseok, jellyfish’s trainee for broduce 101, and an overall opinion of pd101 in general.

long post in lapslock ahead.

i have watched the season 2 ver of pick me, their cute attempt of season 1′s pick me, the raw of episode one, a few of those special clips released before ep1 (all of heeseok’s and a few of samuel’s and daehwi’s) and a few performance evaluations (heeseok’s, samuel’s, fnc’s (sorry), and i think bnm’s) i’m stating this, because i have not watched everything-- this opinion is based on what i have seen, what i speculate may happen, and comparing it to semina.

OKAY SO TO START THINGS OFF i’m a lil disappointed. i don’t think sending heeseok on his own was a smart move on jelpi, but i think its a) they don’t have enough male trainees, as seen with the recent call for male auditions and b) they’re not here to win it like in season 1

i’ll explain b) a lil more-- when jelpi debuted gugudan, they got a bunch of backlash because “””apparently””” sejeong, mina and even nayoung deserved “”””better”””” more specifically sejeong because her akgae fans are ridiculous. the group is really talented, but judging by the production quality (not the song, because i liked it) of wonderland’s mv, it was super rushed. they could have rode the hype train along with pristin and possibly fantagio girls but they chose to debut in 2016 and jelpi... it wasn’t a smart move. jelpi is probably aware that the backlash is a result of their immense popularity (again, more so sejeong). the best line to tread would be sending a trainee who may not grab everyone’s attention, but company power will allow them to sit comfortably (evident by heeseok’s position of 26th despite barely aNY SCREEN TIME) and allow them to gain exposure and a steady fanbase-- but not to the extent of god sejeong.

there’s also rumours that mnet is forcing companies to join else they would be blocked, so perhaps they sent heeseok for the heck of it. don’t get me wrong, i love heeseok from what i’ve seen in those special clips-- he’s got a beautiful ballad voice, quirky, determined in small things (like makin meringues), a lil sneaky (where in that guess the item game, heeseok grabbed the bottle of soju to his side so his competitor couldn’t touch it) and a lil awkward like hakyeon-- they even look alike. he’s got the visuals and height too. heeseok is the kind of guy who would do well in a group or would compliment another person well in a duo. i just don’t think that sending him on his own was a good idea, even if it was for the reason b. he reminds me a little like kim nayoung-- the full package but just isn’t sure of themselves.

... which is why i still think he’d be a good addition to bro-ioi ahaha.

i’ve seen some people compare him to SeMiNa but you just can’t? all the girls had approximately a year experience, with nayoung at starship (edit: sorry i meant star empire) for more i believe. they absolutely slayed nikki yanofsky’s something new (proud canadian, proud jelpi stan). they even arranged the phrases differently so it would flow better, allowed nayoung’s rasp to come through, mina’s solo dance, and the MICROPHONE PASSING I MEAN fam. indeed, they were most definitely something new. they were on top of their shit. heeseok, however, has 6 months of trainee experience. 6 months, 1 year, it all looks potato potato no? but those 6 months really do make a difference and heeseok choosing chained up as his audition song is endearing but absolutely generic. how many times have you seen people sing their company sunbae’s songs? doesn’t it get boring? moreover, while vixx doesn’t have your typical “hype” choreo like bts and exo, it’s sharp and precise and moves in motion with the song-- and most definitely awkward without a group.

[big spoiler] and thus, baby fish was put into f group. dun dun dunnn.

[another big spoiler] people were disappointed-- i know i was. i was expecting a lot from heeseok, not just as a follow up of SeMiNa, but jellyfish in general is a talented company. not to worry (?) though-- i’ve been looking through the wikipedia page and apparently [here comes dat spoi] heeseok jumped to b group, which is the second or third highest jump in group for season 2? (with vibe’s taedong jumping from f to a and yuehua’s hyeonseop jumping from d to a)

so this just further’s my previous comment about heeseok being hard-working-- it shows here. albeit, i haven’t watched the re-evaluations episode (if it’s even out) and this could be completely wrong, but if its true then this is very... spotlight worthy.

...

how much do you wanna bet that mnet’s barely going to show shit

here comes my rant on how a) how i see things panning out and b) why mnet is the biggest gentleman’s pickle. i can already tell heeseok isn’t going to make it to the final line-up. if we’re lucky, he might survive until the 35 boys 5 concepts episode (though who knows if they might change it to 30, or 25 even) and he gets enough exposure like the s1 cube trainees before being outed. but look: he’s barely got screentime. jellyfish’s intro was short, they didn’t show his whole performance (and somehow is pitting him as a comparison to fnc), i don’t think got a SINGLE solo shot in either pick me version (i saw him once in the s1 retake behind someone else).

mnet is picking favourites but what else is new.

they’re hyping up the fact nu’est is joining but gave like... one nod to the fact hotshot, topp dogg, and jjcc members are joining, samuel is being touted as the new somi, daehwi as the new yoojung, mnet is using the same ol tropes to rope people in. don’t get me wrong, i’ve been rooting for samuel and nu’est before it starting airing, but this blatant show of favouritism pretty much decides who’s going to be a part of the final line-up.

update: just watched heeseok’s re-evaulation video and yes, [spoiler] he has been bumped to b. was i right about him barely getting any recognition? yeah, kind of.

overall, i just wanted to voice my frustration at jellyfish’s choice in not sending more trainees (though there might be none who wanted to join/in the company atm), why you shouldn’t compare heeseok to SeMiNa and why, despite being a good choice to add to the bro-ioi line up, he’s probably not going to get in.

this is a mess

#jellyfish entertainment #yoon heeseok #jelpi #produce 101 #broduce 101 #pd101 season 2 #kashi shut up #don't take this too seriously i just wanted to make a point #and rant

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jeichanhaka · 7 years

Text

And Carried Me Away: Ch. 13

Chapter 1|| Chapter 2|| Chapter 3|| Chapter 4|| Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||

Chapter 7|| Chapter 8|| Chapter 9|| Chapter 10|| Chapter 11|| Chapter 12||

Chapter 13|| Chapter 14|| Chapter 15||

Elsewhere:

"Please. Let us go." Melissa cried, covering her abdomen the best she could. She even tried fighting against the man who abducted her when he tore her arms away, his eyes glaring her stomach.

"...you're pregnant." He spoke coldly, his tone ice and his grip on the woman's wrists was biting. His nails dug into her flesh unconsciously, his focus and anger set on her abdomen. "You..."

Melissa's lips trembled, her heart thumping wildly. "Please...I'll do whatever. Just don't..."

The man merely glared at Melissa coldly, squeezing his fingers around her wrists tighter. His jaw set firm and his scowl rigid, he narrowed his eyes to slits. Not that his captive noticed. She did notice when he released his grip and stalked off a few feet, his footfalls heavy with anger.

She further heard the near unintelligibly mutters he made as he paced. Taking in a sharp, angry breath, he stopped pacing and turned toward Melissa.

"...you ain't got a boyfriend. You..." He mumbled, picking up an needle thin and sharp blade. His face livid and teeth clenched tightly he studied Melissa. "Not since...hheh." He made a strange sound, between a laugh and growl, as though figuring something out. "Is...is the father..."

"Please, please..." Melissa swallowed and repeated her plea.

The man just gave a breathy and wry laugh. Though Melissa couldn't see it, she could hear his twisted exuberance in his laugh.

"Seriously. You..." He licked his lip, putting down the blade he held.

Quantico:

Rossi closed the file he held and massaged his forehead, his curiosity about James' copycat rearing its head. Though that wasn't the only reason he was outside Garcia's computer room door. He needed more info on Linnet and the woman the man claimed was Cam's mother. He needed all he could find before heading to interview Linnet.

The senior agent knocked on the door, waiting just a few moments before opening it. "Garcia? I need you to do something, if you're not too busy..." Rossi said as he entered, his dark eyes trying to avoid glancing at the tech analyst's monitors. The last thing he could deal with was seeing information on James, especially if it linked his son to more victims.

"Sir! What is it you need?" Garcia piped after a paused, her chirpy tone forced. She seemed distressed.

"...Penelope? What's wrong? What is it?" Rossi asked before he could stop himself, his concern etched in his scrunched brow.

"I..." Garcia hesitated, covering her mouth. Her eyes wide from worry and horror. She seemed frozen, lost even, caught between keeping quiet and saying something horrible.

"Pen..." Rossi started to speak, to reassure the woman that she didn't have to say anything if it had to do with the copycat. The next moment the tech analyst interrupted, having decided on something.

"I...I was just searching through files on Melissa Joyce. To see what her mom was hiding, just in case it could lead to the unsub. I..." Garcia swallowed, and took a deep breath, her wide and caring gaze on the senior agent. "...she's...Melissa's...pregnant."

"Shit. That's..." Rossi cursed, his stomach twisting as he thought of what the unsub did to his victims, and felt sick. It was bad enough about the women being killed, but the possibility of an unborn child...

"Rossi, I..." Garcia started to speak, her voice catching. The look of horror and disgust and fear more intense than what Rossi expected. He paused, expecting the horror and concern, but not the...distress in the bubbly woman's eyes.

"What is it? Wha..." Rossi approached, wondering at the intensity of Garcia's distress. It was more than what was usual with the woman, more than any other time when a pregnant victim was a target of an unsub. It was almost...personal.

Rossi blanched, his eyes widening as an idea occurred to him. His knotted stomach knotting further, tensed by an idea that he'd never considered. "Garcia...how...how far along...is Melissa Joyce?"

"A...a little over sixteen weeks...I...sir..."

Rossi took a step back, feeling sick. His brain focused on how long it'd been since what happened in western New York. With James. It'd been around four months, give or take a few days. He shook his head, a tumult of various emotions engulfing him.

The ring of Garcia's phone cut through before either could say more.

0-Flashback: 1998-

"...igh...No, that's not..." The man mumbled, grimacing slightly. "...Alsie?"

She blinked open her eyes, shaking her head to clear it, while listening to the man's voice. Her head felt heavy, her sienna brown eyes opening to a dimly lit room. She took a deep breath. The smell of paper, like that from old books, filled her nostrils.

"Wha...where...? Ugh." She wiped her eyes and sat up, realizing only as she did so that she was on a sofa. It was a flowery one, soft and cushiony, like the one in her study at home. She realized, after a moment, that it was the one in her study. Her eyes widened and she stared at the man who'd addressed her. "Why...why are we here? Weren't we in the guest pallor? When did we get here?"

"...it's nothing to fret over." The man replied, the corners of his lips twitching. He quietly put something, a vial of some sort, in his shirt pocket. "You just had a headache, so I brought you up here and gave you some of your medicine. You've been resting awhile."

"Oh. All right." Alsie mumbled, laying her head back down on the pillow beside the sofa armrest. She took in a deep breath, before suddenly sneezing. Her heaviness of her head worsened, her sinuses feeling dammed up. "...shit. Did you spill one of granny's fragrances or potpourri or something?"

The man shook his head, carefully eyeing the 16 year old. Though there was actually only a year or so age difference between them, appearance-wise, the gap seemed to be longer. The fact that Alsie was still less than 5 feet and only recently started to develop secondary sexual characteristics intensified the apparent, visual, age difference.

Alsie massaged her sinuses and grumbled, pushing her hair from her face. Her scars free to the man's view.

"...why don't you get this fixed?" The man gestured towards the scaring, his fingers just centimeters above touching her skin. "Mrs. Schmidt has a fortune, you could easily get plastic surgery to fix it."

Alsie quickly covered her scar with her hand, forcing the man's hand away. Her sienna brown eyes glared at him even as they watered, her cheeks blanching. "...no. Never." She ghosted her fingers over her scar, her eyes directed toward the man but her thoughts elsewhere. "Never."

"...ver..."

Spencer listened to Alsie's mumbles as he laid her down on the bed. He had managed, after Jemma left and after a short struggle against Leigh, to inject the petite woman with the tranquilizer that her doctor had prescribed. He worried his lips with his teeth, feeling helpless and wrong for having to drug Alsie - the tranquilizer was a last resort, prescribed as a countermeasure whenever Emmie gained control and couldn't be stopped.

He hated having to use it on his sister, especially when it was his foolishness that had triggered her shift to Leigh and then again to Emmie. If he had only avoided touching Alsie's face or at least didn't let go of her hand, he could've avoided her shift to Leigh.

His eyes gazed down at his sister watching her breathe, his own chest starting to feel heavy. Looking at her now, in a medicated slumber, she seemed fragile and innocent. Her closed eyes no longer held the loathing that had frightened him into grabbing her wrists. It'd been instinctual, once he saw the glare Leigh gave Jemma, a glare filled with hatred and malice. He had immediately reacted to protect his niece, his brain sensing that the three-tear-old was in danger from Leigh.

It was only now, as he watched his sister sleep, that the full horror of the incident dawned on him. Leigh hated Jemma. Alsie's alter hated her daughter, loathed the toddler enough to be potentially violent. Spencer swallowed back the nausea bubbling in his stomach, wishing for what he'd seen to be a dream.

"...shit." Spencer covered his face, struggling not to be overwhelmed and trying to hold back the tears threatening his eyes.

Alsie loved Jemma, just hearing how his sister talked about her daughter proved that, yet Leigh detested the toddler. It was apparent that that alter couldn't be trusted around Jemma. How was he going to tell Alsie that? How was he going to be able to explain to Alsie that though he knew she loved Jemma and would be a great mom, he didn't think it wise to let Jemma stay with her? At least not alone. Not until her D.I.D was fully under control.

"...Pete..." Alsie mumbled, her eyes still closed and brain still unconscious from the tranquilizer. Spencer gazed down at her, not moving until a knock at the bedroom door drew his attention.

"Hey, I thought we were going to have lunch, and then bring Kai and Jemma to the park?" Joy asked, her brow furrowed seeing Alsie lying in bed. Her eyes widened when Spencer frowned sadly and shook his head. "What...?"

"Alsie...can't go. Not yet. Probably not today." Spencer replied, his sad glance at Alsie not missed by Joy. He sighed, the next moment becoming alarmed, his eyes widened. "Where's Jemma and Kai? Who's watching..."

"Don't worry. My husband Shawn came over a few minutes ago, he's watching them both." Joy paused, a bit curious and concerned. "Um, is Alsie okay? Did..."

"She's fine. Just...she just needs to rest." Spencer answered, not wishing to go into what had happened. Instead he mumbled about going to check on Jemma, while allowing Alsie to rest.

#Criminal Minds #fanfiction #spencer reid #david rossi #and carried me away #OC #case fic #crime drama #james rossi

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