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mrsjellymunson · 2 months

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KNOCK AT THE CABIN | Prologue

Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing’s Stranger Prompts, Prompt 1. He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.

Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But is it really him?

Chapter Summary: On a stormy night, an unexpected visitor arrives.

WC: 1.14k

Series C/W: 🔞 18+, MDNI, NSFW. I mean it, if you’re under 18, git! Post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes. Eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut. Swearing. Not much to caution about in this part, unless you don’t like rain, or bad decor.

A/N: This series contains a lot of things I haven’t written for before, so I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it, or my general list, lemme know in a comment, ask or message 🙏💗

You’re holed up in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s not exactly remote, but the nearest building is little more than a speck on the horizon so you feel pretty isolated. Owens organised it, explaining it would be a good idea for the older members of the party to lay low for a little while. Nancy had put forward an excellent argument for remaining with her family, but you, Robin and Steve had reluctantly packed up some of your belongings and relocated here. For how long, you don’t know.

It’s no palace. The wood-built building is certainly past its best, the yellowing 50s kitchen barely functional and the faded decor not to anyone's taste. But it’s (mostly) warm, (usually) dry, and most importantly, it feels safe. Which is something you all need after the events of the past few months.

You’re all acutely aware of the obvious gap in your merry band. Owens had insisted that the three of you didn’t attend the funeral, but he’d involved you as much as he could, ferrying messages between you and the kids and Wayne, discussing what he would’ve wanted to wear (you all agreed on his spare Hellfire shirt and leather jacket, knowing he’d never want to be separated from either, plus a brand new, government-funded pair of black 501s), and sneaking mementoes to you with Wayne’s approval.

Mike and Will have taken charge of his D&D paraphernalia, Dustin got his wallet chain (and wears it with literally everything, even his Weird Al shirts and colourful shorts), and Lucas opted for a small pocket knife. You, Steve and Robin each have one of his rings. Steve and Robin keep theirs in their rooms, but you wear the silver skull every day. It’s too big for your fingers, and is even a little loose on your thumb, but that’s where you keep it, spinning it to ease your anxiety, and smoothing the pads of your fingers over its bumpy surface to remind you of the friend you’ve lost. Rueing the fact that you always wanted him to be more than that, but never had the chance to find out whether he felt the same.

The kids visit periodically, even staying over sometimes, nobody expecting anyone to be watching the comings and goings of a bunch of nerdy teens. Nancy drops them off, sometimes staying, sometimes not. On this occasion she’d dropped and run, explaining that she was going to visit Max in the hospital tomorrow, spending some quality girly time with her. Lucas, who usually spent every spare moment by her bedside, was going to spend the weekend here, after Max, still seriously ill but now well enough to communicate, insisted that he needed to spend at least a bit of time with his old friends.

Tonight, you’d had a movie marathon, Keith developing an uncharacteristically generous side since everything kicked off and periodically dropping off and collecting piles of VHS tapes. Not quite generous enough to bring you any brand new releases, but even things you’ve seen before are better than the ‘sweet FA’ you’d have available given the nonexistent TV reception around here.

Popcorn litters the floor and the saggy furniture, as do gangly boys and a long-haired girl. Jane has commandeered the sole armchair, sitting in it cross-legged, and you, Steve and Robin are squashed onto the sofa with an equally squashed Dustin, the latter insisting that there was definitely room for one more.

Mike and Will are on the floor between the sofa and the old, battered coffee table. Mike’s hunched over a bowl of chips that he’s shovelling in, and Will is leaning against your legs, you stroking his hair in a way you know he finds comforting. Lucas is lounging on the floor at the side of the table, his long body stretched out and his head supported on threadbare throw pillows.

The gentle patter of drizzly rain against the windows and roof, and the crackle of the open fire, one of your only sources of heating, gives the evening a cosy feel, though you hope the rain doesn’t get any heavier as you don’t entirely trust the roof over the rear extension to cope with much more meteorological abuse.

You’ve just finished Raiders Of the Lost Ark and Steve has got up to swap it out for The Stuff, when there’s a strong gust of wind and the rainfall picks up significantly. Great, you think, the weather gods definitely weren’t listening to your silent pleas.

None of you notice Jane stiffening in her seat and shifting uncomfortably.

Under the lashing of the wind and rain there’s a sudden noise at the front door. Not urgent, not loud, just two soft thuds. If the kids had been roughhousing or the film had been on you may even have missed them.

You all look at each other, instantly and equally on edge, and all hoping that somebody, anybody, will provide a simple explanation for this.

Steve’s the first to speak. Jaw slack and brow furrowed, he asks the room, “Uhh, did anyone order takeout?”

There’s a cacophony of ‘no’s’ and shaken heads, before another soft thud is heard, just one this time.

Steve steels himself, not for the first time realising that it’s his responsibility to investigate the possibly terrifying, and potentially life-threatening, situation. He stands from his position by the video player and moves towards the door, fingertips skimming the top of the bat that’s always to the side of it, before closing his hand softly around the handle.

He pulls back the sliding bolts before twisting the lock and pulling the door open just a crack, leaving the chain on. The noise of the weather increases in volume, but other than that there’s no indication of what’s on the other side.

Steve has his back to you so you don’t see his eyes go wide, but you do hear a soft, “Wh- What the fuck?”

Robin being Robin, and perpetually thinking about her stomach, she says,

“What is it, doofus? Pleeease tell me it’s Jonathon and Argyle dropping by from Cali with some delicious Surfer Boy pizza??”

“Uh, no, it’s, uh- You know what? Maybe you should just come and see for yourself. Wait, scratch that, just the adults.”

Knowing this will unwittingly pique the interest of the kids more than if he’d just allowed everyone to come look, you and Robin glance at each other before quickly rising and moving to the door.

Steve closes it and takes off the chain, opening it wide as the three of you arrive, the kids following close behind and trying to look between you.

There, hunched, shivering, soaking wet and covered in mud, is your friend. The one who’d died saving the town. The one they’d buried only a few days ago, after he’d been lying on a slab in a lab somewhere for weeks.

Eddie.

Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts.

Extra tags: @jamdoughnutmagician @joejoequinnquinn

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ladyredmoon13 · 10 months

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DCXDP prompt

The Meta Games

What originally started as a group of local teens challenging each other to see who would pay for milkshakes. Changed and grew into one of the largest sporting events the world had ever known.

The Meta Games, in the beginning, was nothing more than a town full of bored adolescents coming up with their own source of entertainment. In a place like Amity Park could you blame them?

The teens would come up with fun challenges and even obstacle courses to prove who was the best. The Games weren't even closed off to non-metas. So if you were willing to play, you could. Just don't go complaining if you got hurt.

Hell, Danny Fenton and Valerie Grey regularly take turns in the winning spot from time to time. If they could try and succeed, why not everyone else?

As the years passed the event got bigger and bigger. Blowing up into a sensation when an out-of-towner stumbled upon the event and thought it was the coolest thing he'd ever seen.

Soon they had sponsors, funding, and celebrity guests. Of course, then they had to make an actual rule book on how to play just to make the games official/legit. But seeing how the rules were what they were in the beginning(plus some red tape) and very easy to follow. Nobody minded.

Things were fine. That is until The Meta Games caught the Justice Leagues' attention. Contestants, both Meta and non, have gone missing at the games. No one knows where they are going and as they look deeper into the events hosted city's a worrying pattern emerged.

They were always participants but never the winners. Most had extraordinary abilities but others had athletic prowess. Add in the fact that the games were hosted in the same town every year and said town was known for its 'ghost attacks'. Then it wasn’t exactly looking good.

Even so, more information was needed. Whether they liked it or not they needed to go undercover.

_____________________

Danny looked down at the flyer in his hand and scowled. The Meta Games were in a week and he couldn't even be happy about it. To focused on the fact that one of his friends was missing.

He had told Wolf a month ago about how excited he was about participating in the last MG he could before going off to college. He had been intrigued and after Danny explained that the event was open to 'anyone' and 'everyone'.

He eagerly left to go sign up himself. That was weeks ago and there was still no sign of him. He had talked to witnesses who put him at the sign-up booth and Tucker was able to pull up footage of him entering but never leaving.

Something was wrong, and it had something to do with the games themselves. Sure they might have started out innocently enough, but now he's thinking something else saw an opportunity and corrupted them, so to speak.

Either way, he was investigating this. He's just glad that not only did he already have a cover story and his friends in the stands to have his back, but that Ember was the host for this year. Win-win, really.

Not to mention this year's thyme is pretty good. The Justice League, sounds like if would be interesting.

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

Roulette looked down at all the applications on her desk and smiled. Just a few more fighters and she'll be ready to open her new brawls up in the underground. This time, bigger, better, and bloodier then they ever were.

Looking at one application in particular she smiled. One of the original contestants had signed up, a veteran if you will. One that had ended up on top more then the others. Oh Mr. Fenton, what a beautiful opportunity you are.

~So basically Roulette takes over what was a legit competition for fun and prizes and uses it to supply fighters for her illegal fights in her underground gladiator fights behind the scenes.

The League who don't know what is up with this kid and wondering just what he's up to while simultaneously trying to make sure he's not the next target.(No, Batman you can not adopt him.)

Both Danny and the League know something isn't right and investigate. Danny with the help of his friends and other ghosts(who want Wolf back safe and sound. Yes, they are worried).

#dc x dp crossover #batman #danny phantom #justice league #danny fenton #roulette #undercover #investigating

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outsideratheart · 1 year

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Unstoppable (Leah Williamson x reader)

Based off this request.

A/N: I really wasn’t in the writing mood but then i got this request and I wanted to celebrate today’s win. I hope you guys like it.

You had never doubted yourself more than you had in the past few weeks. You came back from an serious ankle injury the same game Beth tore her ACL and then Viv injured hers too. It lead to you been put back into the starting 11 ahead of plan and the pressure that the both you and the fans put on you was incredibly high.

The international break was when things changed. The Arnold cup was a place to have fun and try new things. Sarina gave you the freedom to play how you liked and it payed off. You won top goal scorer and player of the tournament. You were proud of your performances and awards but it failed in comparison to the proudness your girlfriend felt.

When Arsenal played Chelsea in the FA cup you felt like you were the only attacker that showed up, still you tried everything but AKB managed to save every single one of your shots. You left that game back to your old self doubting ways and it left only one option, brutal honesty. The next day you spent hours reviewing game tape and ignoring your girlfriend so when you arrived at Coloney the following morning Leah was not only in a mood with you but the rest of the forwards too because you gave them all your attention instead of her. After you explained what you’d learned from the tapes you worked with Stina, Caitlyn and a few of the coaching staff on ways you need to improve if you stand a chance against Chelsea in the Conti cup final.

“You ready baby” Leah stood in between your legs after the team had emptied the locker room.

“What if I can’t do it? You’ve seen the way I’ve been playing. What if I’ll never be the same as I was before the injury”

The lack in confidence wasn’t something Leah could prepare herself for. You oozed the stuff when you played and it why you were the WSL’s top goal scorer. Lately she had seen the way you let people’s opinions get in your head whether it was from the media or reading fan comments on social media. Your head, which was once like Fort Knox, had become free entry for anyone who pleased.

“Look at me” Leah uses her index finger to tilt your chin upwards. The forced movement meaning that you were now looking directly into the blue eyes you loved so much “I need you to go out there and have the same amount of faith in you as I do. We know how to beat Chelsea, you obsessed over the footage for hours, nobody knows more about this team than you. You are going to go out there and be unstoppable”

Leah bends down slightly and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. An act which until this point never happen on game day but Leah knew you needed the reassurance which comes with the act of affection.

“Unstoppable” you mumble to yourself.

“That’s right baby and whilst you’re at it try to score a goal for me” She pulls you to your feet and together you enter the tunnel. As you walk out onto the pitch you have extra motivation to perform. Besides when your girlfriend asks for a goal you never disappoint and you wasn’t go to start today.

When Chelsea score within the first two minutes you feel the doubt and insecurities begin to rise but you ignore them and move on. It works because within ten minutes the ball finds its way into the back of the Chelsea net after you sent a rocket from outside the box. The goal itself was beautiful and your confident side is on full display. Leah is somehow the first one to you, whether that is because she was the closest or because your team mates knew how much this moment meant to you and Leah would be the person you wanted to celebrate with most.

The final whistle blows and you cannot believe you did it. Most of the world had written you and your team off for this game but you all proved them wrong and the look of the Chelsea player’s faces was the icing on the cake. You had a brief moment with Leah on the pitch but you knew better than to get to handsy with this many eyes watching. Jen passes you and Katie a small bottle of champagne, you being the responsible adult you are refused the drink but the Scottish defender tells you it was alcohol free. It passes the smell test so the three of the of you down most of the bottle then you read the label, you should have known better.

“We’re champions” Leah jumps on your back causes you to stumble a little “Are you drunk?”

You never stumbled, not this much, so it was a giveaway that you had started the celebrations without her.

“I thought it was alcohol free” you reminded her of an innocent child and it was adorable.

“Come on, we’ve got media to do with Alex” Leah grabbed your hand and together you walked towards the BBC stand.

The spotlight never came easy to you and once the final whistle was blown it didn’t take long for you to go back to your shy self. It was naive of you to think Alex and Farrah would only ask Leah questions seen as through you scored and won player of the match. After the first question, Katie comes out of nowhere and hands you another bottle of champagne, the two of your cheers and you drink more of it. The buzz you felt led to your first stage of intoxication, touchy. Leah answers her set of questions the best she could but you were out to make things more difficult. Your hand, which started by your side, found its way to the small of her back then ventured lower and lower until it rested comfortably on her bum. Alex chuckles when she catches you but you only raise your eyebrows in response, she had seen this side of you before and knew there was no stopping you.

You prove this point by pulling Leah to the locker room as soon as the interview is finished.

“Whoah, what’s the rush?” Leah giggles as you quickly shut the locker room door.

“I don’t know how long i’ll have” you grab her hips her pull her close to you.

“For what?”

“This” you crash your lips in Leah’s with passion. The way your body reacted when her lips were on yours amazed you. She had so much power over you and she didn’t even realise it. Your lips move in sync and with every kiss Leah take one step forward towards your locker. The back of you knees hit the seat making you sit down and Leah wastes no time in sitting on your lap with her legs either side of you. You hadn’t kissed her like this in weeks and your girlfriend was savouring every second. For a brief moment you forget about where you are. You let your hands roam her body before pulling her shirt over her head, she in suit does the same thing. She moves her attention to your neck, more specifically the spot she knows drives you wild.

“Eww” Beth says as she enters the locker room.

“This is a family event girls, we have kids present” Jen jokingly covers Gio’s eyes.

Leah, who is clearly more embarrassed than you, quickly gets up off your lap and makes herself presentable. You meanwhile sit back in frustration, only getting dressed when Leah throws a shirt at you.

With the two of you dressed the celebrations begin in the locker room. Jen passes you another bottle of champagne honestly stating that this one has alcohol in but given your new found frustrations down a few mouthfuls.

Even though you won you still have notes on your performance and how you could have been better so you begin talking with a member of the coaching staff, diagrams are drawn on the board and the conversation gains the attention of Jonas who is intrigued by your strategies. He agrees to work on them when the team returns to training in two days time.

“This is great Y/N and today you proved everybody wrong” he hugged you and the praise was like music to your ears.

“Thanks gaffa”

“Nice touch. Let me guess, it was Leah’s idea? she wanted the player of the matches shirt”

In a rush it seems Leah put your shirt on, leaving you to wear hers.

“Oh this” you pull at the shirt “Yes, you know how big of a fan she is”

“Sure” It was clear he didn’t believe you but you didn’t care.

You had waited 4 years for this moment. It had been a long silverware drought for Arsenal and you hoped that this win gave the team the confidence it needs to return to league football and challenge for the top spot. You were certainly ready for it and even though you were missing your injured team mates you know the team has what it takes to win.

“You two look good together”

Leah takes a quick photo of you with the trophy before taking a photo with both of you. She sends it to her mum followed by a message saying you’ll meet up with them soon.

The closeness in which Leah is sitting gives you the perfect opportunity to continue your mission from earlier. You pepper kisses on the back and side of her neck, smiling smugly when her head dips back in pleasure.

“I can’t wait till we are back in at the hotel” Leah turns and kiss you quickly.

“I don’t plan of waiting that long. You better tell your mum we will be late”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson one shot #leah williamson imagine #awfc x reader #awfc one shot #awfc imagine #engwnt x reader #engwnt one shot #engwnt imagine

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thursdayinspace · 10 days

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Mulder in "Little Green Men" (s2ep1). He's so lonely. What's interesting to me is the contrast to Mulder from the pilot and Mulder here. We got an idea in the pilot of how lonely he must be, but he had been on his own for a while and that was his default. Seeing him at the beginning of s2 is heartbreaking. At the begining of s1 he was so used to being alone. But now . . . Of course the fact that the x files have been closed is getting to him, but it also becomes so obvious how much he has come to rely and depend on having Scully around, on working with someone. With her.

Their meeting in the parking garage -- he feels like he has lost his purpose, even doubts his memories and his experiences, he feels like everything they've been through hasn't been worth it because they've accomplished nothing. We don't know how or if he would have managed to surface from that eventually on his own. Most likely he would have. But it might have taken him a long time. It's Scully who doesn't let him give up: "During your time with the X-Files, you've seen so much." / "Even if George Hale only saw elves in his mind, the telescope still got built. Don't give up. And next time we meet out in the open." (Which becomes a recurring theme over the years, all the way up to the revival. But that would deserve its own post.) (The way she touches his hair before she leaves though. <3)

What kills me in this episode is Mulder recording his tape for Scully in Puerto Rico: "Deep Throat said "Trust no one." And that's hard, Scully, suspecting everyone, everything. It wears you down. You even begin to doubt what you know is the truth. Before, I could only trust myself. Now, I can only trust you, and they've taken you away from me." I mean, compare that to pilot Mulder? Not trusting anyone was what he did. That was Mulder. He may or may not have been showing off a little bit for Scully, but he seemed to have made quite a home for himself in his lone wolf existence (out of necessity). He can't do that anymore. He needs something to hold onto. And he had that in his partnership with Scully.

Also. THEY'VE TAKEN YOU AWAY FROM ME. Can we take a second to appreciate what that means? He knows she would not have chosen to leave. He believes that. He trusts her absolutely. She's become a lifeline for him. Put that together with his quote from the end of the episode: "I may not have the X-Files, Scully, but I still have my work. And I’ve still got you. And I still have myself." The order of those statements seems important: He thought he had lost his purpose in the beginning of this episode. He wasn't even sure whether or not he still believed in it. Now he has motivation again.

And he has Scully. She stuck around, not just because of the work. When he was at his lowest, she arranged secret meetings for them, told him not to give up, even followed him all the way to Puerto Rico. He doesn't believe she'd have chosen to leave if the x files hadn't been closed, but I don't think he was sure she'd stick around forever without a reason. But she's relentless in her loyalty and friendship -- a trait he recognizes because it's one they share. He will never choose to leave her, and is allowing himself to trust that she's still there because she wants to be.

Finally, he's also got himself. Among all the things he'd lost at the beginning of the episode, the biggest loss was himself. But he was mourning everything except that. Those "good riddance @ former me" vibes were strong at the beginning of the episode -- and of course they were a form of grief. But it almost feels like he wanted to punish himself, blame himself for everything that went wrong. (That is also something we keep seeing. The show has amazing continuity with things like that. Things get to him. He takes failure really hard. He's not gentle with himself.) So this is the culmination of the previous two points: he has his purpose back, and he has someone who cares about him, who has his back, someone he loves (and I am going to use that term here even if it's debatable how aware they are of their feelings at this point; there are so many forms of love, and I think it's not up to debate that they love each other in some way, possibly even a way they may not even know about yet).

It's such a strong episode for him, and I love all the ways it mirrors the pilot and contrasts the Mulder from back then with the Mulder a year later. So much has happened, and neither he nor Scully are the same people they were, and that's life. It's so well done.

#txf #the x files #fox mulder #it has flaws but overall I love it #I mean he could have had a small moment of surprise #when she suddenly showed up in fucking PUERTO RICO #that's not exacly walking distance #but otoh it's kind of funny that he's just like OH HI SCULLY ALIENS ARE REAL!!!#thursday's x-files rewatch

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lowkeyerror · 9 months

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Teamwork

Kate Bishop x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Notes: Honestly its been so long I dont even know what goes here... probably violence

Summary: The leader of the Avengers thinks that Kate and Y/n need to work on their teamwork so he sends them on a mission together.

An: I won't say that I'm back prematurely (like I did my last post like 4 months ago) but I will say I feel the need to post so perhaps I will

Masterlist

Kate was sweet like gumdrops. She was the kindest soul you had ever crossed paths with. Her doe eyes were always filled to the brim with emotion. Her skin was soft like clouds in the sky.

These were indisputable facts in your eyes, yet no one would know that by the way you treated her.

You and Kate were colleagues. Both young and upcoming heroes with a lot to prove. Technically you were on the same team, but you treated Kate as your rival.

You and Kate were not cute friendly rivals, but bitter ones. Mostly due to your nasty attitude towards her.

Though you actually quite admired how good Kate was at her job, you acted as though it irked you. Every time she was in the field, she came back a better hero.

She was good at adapting to others' mistakes. She might panic under pressure, but she never failed a mission. The most irritating thing is that she did it all with that award-winning smile plastered on her face.

You were also very good at your job, just a lot less enthusiastic than Kate. If Kate was a gumdrop, you were black licorice.

You worked endlessly on becoming a better hero. Your precision was perfect, it was your gift. There wasn't any chance you'd miss a target. Whether you were throwing a knife, shooting a gun, or trying to make a paper ball in the trash can.

As the youngest members of your team, the two of you often found yourself paired together.

Being paired with Kate was such a double-edged sword for you. On one hand, you got to be extremely close with the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen. On the other hand, you always acted as though you hated her.

" Earth to Y/n, are you listening to me?"

You slowly nod at your captain's words, not at all hearing what he said.

He tilts his head to the side," Ok then what did I say?"

You remain silent, not having the slightest clue of what he said. Kate couldn't hold in her laughter about your blunder. You glare at the brunette.

" I said the main point of focus in this team is our teamwork. If we're going to be working together, we have to respect each other at least. You are lacking in that department."

Kate laughs even louder, causing you to speak up.

" Why is she here for this?"

Sam speaks up," Because she's also lacking in that department."

Kate's laughter stops abruptly," What do you mean, I'm great at working with others?"

Sam looks between the two of and shakes his head," Every time you two are sent on a mission together, you bicker at each other the entire time. You lose focus, and you almost cost us the mission."

" Key word, almost. We've never failed a mission as partners. Our success rate is 100%"

" I don't like having to agree with Y/n, but she's right. Even without being buddy-buddy, we always find a way to complete the job."

Sam sighs," I've seen the tapes, I know the missions get completed, but there's a lack of teamwork. For example, you're hardly watching each other's backs."

" Kate's a big girl, she doesn't need me to look over her shoulder," you argued with him.

" This is what I'm talking about. Everyone on this team is capable of getting the job done on their own. Which means if we send more than 1 person, it is absolutely necessary for you to be looking out for your partner. If I don't see some proper teamwork on your next assignment, you both will be suspended from field work until you can sort it out."

" Are you serious?"

" You can't do that."

Sam slides a folder over to the both of you before standing up," Figure it out, because I'm not playing."

You were fuming when he left. This wasn't fair to either of you. Why were you being punished for being successful on your partnered missions? Just because you weren’t besties doesn't mean you deserve this treatment.

" If you scowl any harder, your face will be like that permanently," Kate spoke to you.

You glare at her again, and she puts her hands up in surrender," That's not very teamwork of you, Y/n."

You sigh and put your head in your hands," This is fucking stupid."

Kate rubs a hand through her hair," I agree. So let's get it over with."

After briefly scanning through the files, you both got prepared for the mission. You were going to check out a minor anomaly in some small country you'd never heard of. The locals had been recently reporting the same suspicious figure, seemingly scoping out the place and buying normal household things that could be used to enhance chemical weapons.

" So, how exactly are we going to demonstrate teamwork?" Kate interrupted the silence on your ride.

You shrug," Fuck if I know."

Kate rolls her eyes," Guess I'll be doing all the heavy lifting as always."

" What did you just say?"

She crosses her arms," You heard me."

You get up from your seat and walk over to her. You squat down so that your face is level with hers. From there you can smell that intoxicating perfume she wears. Her doe eyes are sharp as they look into yours. You almost compliment her, but then reality kicks in.

" Listen here, princess, there was some truth to what Sam said back there. We don't have to like each other, but respect is necessary. And I don't appreciate the disrespect from you."

Kate scoffs," You disrespect me all the time."

" Name one time."

Kate begins to open her mouth, then promptly shuts it.

" I make snide remarks, sure, but I've never said anything negative about your skill level or ability to get the job done because you've given me no reason to."

Kate tilts her head," Was that a- did you just compliment me?"

You break eye contact as you feel the tip of your ears heat up," Look, all I'm saying is don't act like I'm not good at my job."

Kate keeps a small smile on her face," I never said you weren't good, I just think I'm better."

" I'm not having this argument with you."

The rest of the ride was fairly silent after that. The silence was different from the usual bickering, but maybe the captain would see that as a step in the right direction.

When you arrived in the country, you could already sense that something was off. It was a mixture of a gut feeling and observation. It seemed like most of the townspeople had barricaded themselves inside.

" Something isn't right with this place," Kate speaks softly as you both walk further into town.

When comparing what you saw in front of you to what was in the file, it was easy to see large differences in the town. Though the town was small, it wasn't supposed to be vacant by any means. The robust amount of locals was the ones who reported an issue in the first place.

" I don't like it at all. Keep your guard up, Bishop."

The few people you saw wouldn't make any eye contact with you. They were quick to identify you both as outsiders. It was inevitable, as you couldn't blend in to a crowd if the crowd was non-existent in the first place.

The next local that past you was an elderly man, he stopped at the sight of you and spoke," You lot aren't from around here, are you."

" No sir, just visiting. Actually, we're looking for a certain hotel in town," you show him a picture of the place on your phone and his eyes go wide.

" You're looking for trouble."

There's a small pocket of silence which Kate fills," Why would you say that?"

" Cause you're looking for him. He's the only one that stays at that inn. And we all know to steer clear of it."

The man tries to leave, but you stop him," What happened to this place?"

" He happened… started getting rid of people he had problems with. People who gave him trouble."

" What did he do to them?" Kate presses further.

The man looks between the two of you," He blew them up. One minute they were standing on their feet, the next their head would pop like a zit."

The imagery he created freaked you out more than you'd like to admit, "Thank you for letting us know."

He shook his head," If I were you ladies, I wouldn't go looking for trouble. Too pretty to be headless."

Those were his last words as he continued walking after that. Neither of you moved from that spot. Trying to process what he had told you.

Things had gotten extremely serious in your head. You had considered going back to the quinjet and telling Sam that you'd need back up for this mission.

However, you needed this mission to go better than any of the other missions you had been on with Kate. That was literally the reason why you were both here.

" Put these on," you passed Kate 2 ear plugs.

" Why?"

You sigh," If this guy doesn't have powers, then it's likely that he's using nanotech to get into people's heads. So we need to cover possible points of entry."

When you finally get to the building, it's a little ways from the actual town. You're on edge. Kate walks a little bit in front of you while you watch her back.

By the time you see the trip wire, it's too late. It's not the entire building that explodes, just a corner of it. A corner that was going to fall on Kate if you did not take action.

It felt like slow motion to you. You saw the building about to crumble on top of her, and you were quick to lock your arms around her and force her out of the way along with yourself.

Your breathing was heavy as you realized the girl in your arms could've died. Your front was pressed against her back, and you could feel her ragged breathing as well.

You didn't let go of her until a voice interrupted the tense moment.

" Hasn't anyone ever told you that trespassing is illegal," a man emerged from the intact part of the building, smiling sadistically at you two.

" Who are you and what do you want with this town?"

The man cackles," This town is insignificant to me. It's simply my playground where I can test my masterpieces."

" Then what is it that you want?"

" I'm going to blow up the world, literally. It almost feels trivial to call it a bomb, but my masterpiece will destroy everything. There will be nothing left of this world when I'm done with it."

You're scared, but you can't let him know that," What makes you think we'll let you do that?"

" You two? You won't be around to stop me."

You realize it a half a second too late as another explosion happens under your feet. You brace yourself as best you can to prepare for impact, but you feel a hand latch on to your arm.

With the strength you have left, you help her carry your weight and stop you from falling to your death.

" I just need 1 shot," you growl as you stand up.

Kate sees the look in your eyes. She has seen it before, and it never leads any more good for the person you're looking at.

" He has explosives, it could be dangerous," Kate stood with you.

" Kate, go call for backup and a bomb squad."

" I'm not le-"

" KATE GO," You yell at her with your eyes focused on the enemy.

Kate wanted to fight more, to argue with you again, to postpone this situation. Yet she knew you were making the right call, she had to trust you at this moment and she did.

She took off running. You saw the man reach for what you assumed to be an explosive detonator. It took less than a second for you to whip out your gun and shoot the device in his hand.

He screamed as the bullet grazed his hand, the debris from the device burning into the skin of his palm.

" The next shot will be through your head, if you don't call it quits now."

" I didn't want to get my hands dirty, but if I must," he approached you at his own speed.

It took everything in you not to charge at him. You knew he was baiting you. So you took a shot at the ground right by his feet.

" Well, you're smarter than you look, but not smart enough."

You felt yourself being restrained and forced to the ground. Whatever held you down had a tight grip on your skull. Its cold metal prongs were cold and sharp against your skull.

" Don't bother struggling against my invention. You'll never get up. I'll blow your mind, and then the brunette's."

The mention of Kate made you fight against the bot. It also made the mad scientist laugh.

" Aw, how pathetic. I'll tell her about this after you're gone. Now open" he violently grabbed your chin and shoved something in your mouth.

He slapped you across the face one last time before walking away from you," Any last words?"

You were shaking, sweating, and scared. For the first time in this interaction, you let your eyes water. This felt like the end.

You'd failed and it had cost you. The part that made the tears stream freely was the thought that you wouldn't be able to save Kate. She didn't deserve to die like this. You'd hope she stayed by the jet and waited for backup.

" Oh right, there's a bomb in your mouth. Silly me," you watched as he reached for the detonator. Time seemed like it had slowed down.

He flipped a few switches on the remote before getting ready to hit the button. You closed your eyes, waiting for it to be over. Yet your eyes shot open when you heard the man scream in agony.

There was an arrow through his hand. Then another came down and through his foot.

" I will shoot this shit through your head if you even think about grabbing that remote."

Your face was still against the gravel, but you knew who had just saved your life.

She walked toward him with her bow at the ready. She picked up the remote, and before she did anything else, she shot the robot that was pinning you to the ground.

The tight grip on your head was now loose and limp. You slowly began getting to your feet.

Kate handed you the detonator. You did the opposite of what you saw the man do and saw the green light on the device turn red. There was still some fear in your heart about removing the explosive from your mouth.

The man had a smug look on his face when he saw you struggle," Well I suppose if it's disarmed its harmless right? Maybe it's heat sensitive, maybe it's touch sensitive, who knows. The only way to find out is by removing it from your mouth."

" Shut the fuck up," Kate shot an arrow directly past his head, grazing his ear slightly.

" You're going to be ok. Just take it out and throw it as far as you can."

You looked at her and for the first time ever she saw genuine fear in your eyes.

" You have to trust me," the look in her eyes was something you could not debate.

You didn't hesitate, you dug into your mouth, removed the device and chucked it as far as you could. It didn't land anywhere, instead it exploded in the air. It wasn't significantly sized on the outside. However, you knew if had gone off in your mouth you would've died.

You walked up to the man and pressed the butt of the gun into his temple. There was nothing more you wanted to do than blow his head off. Your chest heaved up and down.

The man laughed," Kill me then. I dare you."

You cocked the gun and your finger rested on the trigger.

" Y/n don't," Kate tried to reason with you.

You couldn't look at her, you'd fold if you did," He deserves it, Kate. You should've heard the shit he was saying."

" That's not for us to decide, Y/n."

You began to shake," Why not?"

Then the scientist laughed again, and that sent you over the edge. You took a small step back and fired the gun.

The scream you let out was primal. It ripped through your throat. It hurt more than you could ever imagine.

The bullet had taken the man's ear. His screams were nothing compared to yours.

Kate hugged you from behind as your legs began to fail you. With her arms around you, she kept her bow and arrow raised at the man.

Sam was confused at the sight when the backup finally arrived. The scientist was cuffed and taken in as other special forces handled the damaged building.

When the scientist was gone, Kate dropped her bow, but her arms stayed around you. Sam began to approach the two of you, but Kate signaled him to stay back.

" Y/n, talk to me," her breath was a whisper against your ear.

" I'm sorry," you said, trying hurriedly to get to your feet.

You didn't get too far before Kate yanked you back into her embrace.

" You saved my life, there's nothing to be sorry about," she gave you a small smile.

" But I-"

Kate shook you a bit," You didn't kill him so, it doesn't matter. He was trying to blow your head off."

" You saved my life too."

Kate nodded slowly," I did, you saved me first though."

" I was terrified, Kate. When he said he was going to kill you, I- I never felt that helpless," you were causing yourself anxiety just speaking about the moment.

Kate didn't hesitate to rest her hand on the side of your face, forcing you to look at her," I'm right here, Y/n. A few scratches and a few bruises, but I'm ok. Without your reflexes or your decision-making skills, I don't know if I would be standing here right now."

" Kate," your eyes accidentally drop to her lips.

" Fuck it," Kate muttered before surging forward and placing her lips on yours.

You kissed her back and it felt right. It felt like Kate was your other half. There was no competition anymore; just you and Kate.

" Well, I see you got the teamwork all handled," Sam spoke, causing the two of you to separate.

" We almost died on this mission. Our teamwork was fine before. The trauma we have is-"

Kate had more to say, but Y/n grabbed her hand," We're good."

" But-"

" Everyone is safe, the bad guy is behind bars, and now we get to go home; together."

Kate huffed and dropped her shoulders," Fine, but we're dealing with this together then."

" There's no one I'd rather tackle my demons with," you couldn't help but sound cheesy.

" Good, because you're stuck with me now in more ways than just coworkers."

You smirked," I'd gladly be stuck with you any way you'd have me."

Sam cleared his throat with a smile on his face," Ok, you guys are free to go. I'll wrap it up here."

Your hand never left Kate's as you walked back to the jet. Nor did it leave when you both strapped in for the ride. It was at that moment that you decided that you'd do whatever was necessary to hold on to Kate.

#lowkeyerror #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #sam wilson

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wolveria · 10 months

Text

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 29

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "You... you have to stop doing this, 049."

Additional Fic Rec: The Corvid Paean

AO3

049 remained silent as he worked to untie the rope binding your hands together. You also didn’t speak, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart. Your limbs shook, your mind a scattered mess, and you suspected you were more upset about this than 049 was.

Perhaps he noticed.

“You are angry with me.”

You pressed your lips together, waiting for 049 to finish pulling apart the rope, rubbing your wrist once it was free. The skin was irritated, chaffed from the force of his lunge at Dr. Puli.

The SCP’s eyes softened as he reached toward the mild injury.

His arm hung in the air as you backed out of reach.

“You… you have to stop doing this, 049.”

“Please, specify.”

Still rubbing your wrist, you frowned at him.

“You know what I mean. You have to stop forcing your cure on people.”

049 gathered himself, head raised at a dignified angle.

“It is my duty as a doctor—”

“No!” You took a step forward. “That was not a duty. That was an assault! You-you have complete tunnel vision when it comes to the Pestilence, and you see nothing else!”

049’s head tilted, his own gaze searching yours for understanding.

“It is my purpose for being. There is nothing but the war against the Pestilence.”

You seethed through your teeth, the sound coming out like the warning hiss of an animal.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t act like a physician, you act like a soldier. You carry out orders only you can hear, against an enemy only you can see, and you leave a trail of bodies in your wake!”

You were panting by this point, the adrenaline reawakening in your veins, and something took hold of you: a conviction that you were on the right track, an intuition that you were close to achieving the truth.

You gathered a breath, bracing yourself.

“Do you even know what the Pestilence is?”

049’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

“I’ve seen the interview tapes. You refuse to give anyone a straight answer. What the Pestilence is, what its symptoms are, where it comes from, how it can be cured. You won’t even explain your own cure or admit what you do is lethal.”

He remained quiet.

“I could look past all of it,” you quietly said. “The obsession, the stubbornness, the pride. Except you refuse to acknowledge it. You refuse to admit that before me, nothing you touched survived. You kill and call it a cure.”

049’s fists clenched at his sides, but he still said nothing, his gaze intent on your face. He may not have moved, but he was breathing faster than normal. A sign you perhaps should have heeded.

“It’s why your followers never stayed.” Your words grew bitter and jagged, surprising even yourself. “They knew the path you walked wasn’t one of science. It was madness. Zealotry and fanaticism. Righteousness in the form of a crusade, and you slaughtered anyone who didn’t take up your banner.”

Your throat ached, and you tried to blink away the burning of your eyes.

“Pernella saw it. She knew to follow you was to follow death, but she did it anyway, because she believed in your convictions. Right up until she couldn’t ignore the truth about you.”

“Stop.”

He spoke the word without force, almost like a plea. But you didn’t stop.

“It doesn’t matter whether the Pestilence is real or not, or if it’s just as dangerous as you say. Because the danger you pose is very real.”

“Desist,” he said, louder this time.

“And when she stood up to you, you couldn’t accept it. Her denial forced you to look at yourself, and instead of facing your actions, you killed her. That’s why you couldn’t bring her back. You didn’t cure her, you murdered her in cold blood—”

“Enough!”

049 moved close, looming over you as his eyes burned bright and feverish. For a moment, you thought he might simply end it. Strangle the life out of you until there was nothing left. Instead, his voice was oddly breathless.

“Speak… no more of this.”

You stared at him for a long moment, breathing hard while he did the same. It would have been intimate, sharing the same breaths as him, but the atmosphere between you was stifled and charged.

“I need to know.” You were still breathless, as if he truly had stolen all your air. “If I got sick again, and your touch no longer healed me… would you kill me?”

The emotions in his eyes slowly receded, until a blank, sterile coldness took its place.

“There are things worse than death.”

Whatever response you had died in your throat. You turned away from him, eyes stinging with unshed tears you didn’t want him to see, and you retreated to the only place you could. You laid down on the bed, facing the wall as you turned your back to him.

Despite wanting to shut him out, you could still hear his quiet breathing, uneven and ragged. After a moment, he migrated to the desk, the soft creak of the chair indicating he was sitting, but you heard nothing else. No scratch of the pen and no turn of a page.

Remorse crept into your heart like an unwanted weed, choking off the righteous anger that had fueled your words. It had felt good at the time, as conviction always did, but throwing Pernella’s death in his face didn’t sit well. Even if 049 had killed her, he couldn’t help what he was, a fact you’d forgotten. Or perhaps not forgotten, but ignored, lured by his soothing voice, his kind eyes. His humanity.

But 049 wasn’t human. He would never be human, and you’d needed another harsh lesson that he would always put his self-proclaimed duty first, before himself and especially before you.

You closed your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but your weariness wouldn’t let you rest. You weren’t willing to give up on 049 just yet. Even if he couldn’t change, even if this was who he would be long after your lifetime, you’d gone through too much to set that aside now.

After all, 049 wasn’t the only one who could fight for a lost cause.

***

You woke with a headache, the result of not resting well, but you couldn’t pinpoint what had awoken you. The room was silent, the lights dimmed, and the heaviness of your limbs told you that hours had passed.

It was too quiet.

Bolting upright, you went still at the bent figure at the desk. 049 sat with his eyes cast downwards, his gaze on the desk without truly fixing on it, and he barely seemed to breathe.

The inner containment door was open, and the slide tray clinking open meant it was breakfast. But food was far from your mind at the unnerving display of stillness. It reminded you too much of when you’d first started observing the SCP. Dr. Puli had called it a dormancy stage.

There was nothing dormant about the hunch of his shoulders or the defeated bow of his head.

You left the inner containment chamber without speaking, taking the tray of oatmeal and strawberries, eating without tasting. As much as you wanted to apologize, you needed a little time and distance to lick your wounds and gain perspective. Maybe 049 would appreciate some time to himself. Telling yourself that eased the guilt, anyway.

You ate quietly in the middle room, not expecting 049 to want the company, so you were surprised when he emerged as you finished your meal.

“I wish to clarify a point of discussion.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, keeping your gaze safely near his boots. “What?”

When he didn’t speak for a moment, you looked up. 049’s attention was fixed on the far wall, his posture stiff.

“In regard to your question… it is a moot one. You cannot be reinfected with the Pestilence. Your very essence repels the disease, keeping it at bay. I am unsure why you were infected to start, but… you are clean. And I suspect, you will always remain clean.”

If you were supposed to know what that meant, it was lost on you.

“That’s not the point.”

He finally looked at you.

“I do not understand.”

“I wanted to know if you were capable of changing. If… if I had changed you.” You let out a breath, embarrassment creeping up your neck in a wave of heat. “It was a stupid question. A selfish one. An SCP can’t change. It’s not in your nature… no matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

There was confusion in his eyes, but a sort of focused intent too. He stepped forward, but the intercom clicked live.

“SCP-049, please return to the inner containment chamber.” A pause. “SCP-6830, remain in the middle containment chamber.”

It wasn’t Leahy. It was Kenneth. And those instructions meant one of two things: they were either going to take you away for testing, or they were going to separate you permanently.

049’s gaze turned sharp and worried, and you gave him your own bewildered look. You didn’t want this to be the last words you spoke to him, but as you opened your mouth, the intercom clicked again.

“This is your last warning, SCP-049.”

The words were given with a hint of nerves rather than authority, but that’s what Kenneth was like, always skittish around the humanoid SCPs. You didn’t know why he was even in the Cryptopsychology department, but now that you were no longer a junior researcher, they were probably short-staffed.

You pressed your lips together, whatever you were going to tell 049 remaining unsaid. The SCP didn’t seethe at you being taken away, nor did he fight or threaten. He didn’t even resist besides lingering those last few seconds, giving you a soft gaze you couldn’t meet for long.

It was easier this way, you told yourself as you stared at the far corner near the main containment doors. They were going to take you away eventually, and it was better that 049 didn’t fight back and get hurt again.

The excuses were all very well and good, but they didn’t do a damn thing for the regret. You flinched as the inner containment doors closed behind you, and when the security team put you in shackles and escorted you out, you immediately wanted to turn around and run back inside.

You thought you’d be taken to your new cell. You were wrong. The security team led you to the Biohazard Zone of Humanoid Heavy Containment, a place where an anomaly of your type didn’t belong.

Your stomach churned as your throat tightened at the familiar halls; you had walked them many times before during your previous occupation. Though you were confident SCPs no longer had the ability to kill you, they’d proven they could certainly harm you, and this particular SCP was skilled in inflicting untold amounts of damage.

Your entourage of security guards was replaced by two men in thick hazmat gear. They removed your manacles, leaving you only in your white smock as they led you through three different airlocks. The last one, you entered alone. No instructions given.

The remaining airlock opened, and you stepped inside the containment chamber. It was empty, save for a pedestal in the middle. A hermetically sealed glass case on a platform, locked by a remote mechanism.

Inside sat an object so innocuous in appearance that no one outside the Foundation would believe the horror that could be wrought by this single mask. Its white ceramic surface gleamed in the florescent lighting, a fixed smile greeting you like an old friend.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #scp 049 #scp containment breach #wolveria writes

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nancywheelersgirlfriend · 2 years

Note

Fake dating AU- set slightly in the future Johnathan comes back to Hawkins with a new girlfriend and desperate to prove she’s moved on also Nancy asks Robin to fake date her. (Ronance happy ending)

thanks for the prompt! i hope you enjoy :) i think i might flesh this one out more. maybe you'll see that pop up around november, i had too many ideas to stuff into this oneshot :D but hopefully the length makes up for the weight

them there eyes (5,507 words)

If Nancy had been better prepared, perhaps this whole mess would’ve never had the room to start up in the first place. All she needed was a phone call or two from El in casual explanation - a thirty second debriefing her ex-boyfriend’s exploits and current local. However, the phone calls from El, while frequent and enjoyable, rarely included any information about Jonathan. Whether that was specifically for Nancy’s benefit, she didn’t truly know.

All this to say that she was now, twenty-three and home for Thanksgiving, stood in the center of the soup aisle at Hawkins’ local grocery store completely dumbfounded. Not because of the soup, mind you.

But because Jonathan Byers and a girl - a human female - who Nancy had never seen before (sure she would’ve recognized her if she’d gone to their high school, their graduating class size was in the double digits) were also in the soup aisle. Sharing both a cart and a smile. She passed him a can of tomato soup and he, after ducking underneath his permanent fringe like an adolescent, pressed a kiss to her cheek quickly in thanks.

Nancy knew, vaguely, that she was staring. But something about the image rooted her to the spot. She wasn’t sure which was the most disturbing aspect. One: that Jonathan, arguably the first true love of her life, had been able to move on so exponentially that he was grocery shopping with somebody else. Or two: that she, the other half of Hawkins’ weirdest couple, was currently shacking up in her parents’ basement with negative romantic prospects.

She tried to recall the last true date she’d been on, scaling back all the way to the past February before she found a good example. It’d been horrific - he, in the name of feminism, had tried to get her to pay the whole bill. Not that she would’ve minded paying for half. That was understandable. But the whole bill? And he’d gotten a sirloin. She wasn’t made of money. She was a journalist - she ate ramen for dinner the majority of the time, if that.

Her mother, ever the hen, had practically forced her out the house door to run errands. She claimed it was a ‘nice day’ and Nancy should ‘get some fresh air’. It was pouring outside, absolutely storming. Nancy could hear it on the roof of the grocery store. But she supposed her mother had a point - she hadn’t gone outside since she’d gotten there three days before, content to bury herself underneath the household’s excess store of fuzzy blankets and slowly wade through the childhood VHS tapes collecting dust down beneath El’s old tent.

Had Karen Wheeler realized the abject horror she’d be subjecting her daughter to when she’d forced her out of the house that morning? Surely not. She never would have betrayed her like this.

Nancy continued to watch open-mouthed as the girl (who, by the way, was stunning) whispered something in Jonathan’s concealed ear. His face turned a shocking shade of red at whatever she had said. He glanced back towards the end of the aisle with a little nervous laugh, one that had Nancy’s stomach twisting up into her ribcage. She could remember making him laugh like that many times.

She knew she should just be an adult about this and walk away from the aisle. Nobody didn’t need Italian Wedding that badly. Besides, Nancy had a college degree. She was going places. She would be moving to New York City after this brief hiatus at home, making big bucks and traveling the world to report on its innumerable atrocities. Give it an hour and Jonathan Byers would once again be lingering only in the very corner of her mind, some distant ghost she forgot to remember most of the time.

And yet she stayed rooted to the spot. How had he, arguably the most emotionally unavailable man she’d ever known, gotten into a relationship that made him this happy? Made him so comfortable with PDA, when he’d shrugged off Nancy’s hands in high school more times than she could remember? It was absurd; impossible. She blinked once, twice, just to make sure this wasn’t some sort of putrid nightmare she’d stepped her way into. As she did so, her mind gifted her the wonderful possibility of that shared cart having a baby in it. A baby with a bowl cut.

She’d throw up. She’d leave town without notice, or do something drastic like shave her head. Change her name and move to Alaska, turning that journalism degree into firewood and using her hands for ice-fishing. Jonathan Byers is in love, in love with somebody other than her.

God, she was selfish, wasn’t she? Even as she acknowledged this, the jealous feeling continued to blossom.

“Nance?” Oh my god, this was worse. So, so much worse. Jonathan was talking to her. “Nancy Wheeler?”

“Hi, Jon,” She said, grimacing on the way to a smile. She was shocked she managed to speak at all, as opposed to much more viable option of projectile vomiting all over the red Campbell labels.

“Jesus,” He replied breathlessly - and why was he smiling? He was smiling like this was something pleasant. Jonathan ran a hand through his mop of hair, still slightly bowlish despite his grown age, and stepped forward to clasp their palms together. She was surprised he couldn’t feel her shaking as he did so.

Their breakup hadn’t been…bad, per say. Okay, well, actually it’d been horrific. Lots of shouting. Crying. The whole nine yards. He’d come clean in August about the college lie. She lost all trust in him. They attempted to do long distance again but without that trust - that communication - they fell apart. His passion for photography reignited and he was off to Europe that spring. She came inches away from kissing another girl at a college party and felt more in the pit of her stomach than she ever had with him. They broke up over the phone and then again in person; to make it more real, she supposed. Or more movie-like, maybe.

That’d been four years ago now. During that hiatus, she hadn’t seen him anywhere besides the annual Byers family Christmas card - because, of course, when one set of Byer/Wheeler siblings broke it off another rose from its ashes. Will and Mike were grossly in love, to the point of applying to all the same colleges and sharing a dorm under the guise of their infamous ‘best friend’ status. Due to their impending forever love, Nancy had known for a while she’d end up seeing Jonathan and his pasty little face at least one more time in her life.

She had no idea what to say in response to him. Her mouth was simultaneously dryer than the desert and so wet she could hardly speak through the gathering spit.

“How’ve you been?” She finally settled on. The woman, who’d been lingering at the cart, stepped up to bump Jonathan’s shoulder. Despite all of Nancy’s quickly heightening expectations, her eyes weren’t mean. They were the opposite, actually, which made things a little more difficult for Nancy.

It would’ve been much easier if she was hateable. But this girl looked positively wonderful. Perfectly put together. Everything Nancy wasn’t and never could be. As she and Jonathan’s hands disconnected, Nancy couldn’t help but glance at his palm to double-check his scar had stayed. At least a part of him was still marred by her, even only physically. She couldn’t say she’d been able to recover in the same way.

“Great,” He replied. It was so genuine it hurt. His toothy grin was like a bullet to the heart. “Just great. Oh! This is Bianca, by the way. My fiancee.”

Oh god, even worse! His fiancee. Jonathan Byers, who’d gotten up on his soapbox every time Nancy so much as casually suggested the pipedream of living together someday. That Jonathan Byers was engaged. Bianca smiled and it took everything in Nancy not to scream in pure horror. They shook hands.

“Nice to meet you,” Nancy said. It sounded as though she were speaking under water. Somehow Bianca’s beautiful smile only grew. Beneath her unruly bangs of black curl, her eyes were warm and brown. Nancy recognized those easily enough - Jonathan had a type, she concluded.

“Jon’s told me about you! You’re a journalist, right?” Bianca asked, practically forcing the words out through the gaps between her teeth. Nancy tried to hate her. She really tried.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nancy nodded, wiping her newly sweaty palm down the front of her pant leg. “I mean, I’m going to be. I’ve got a starter job at the AP office in New York City - I’m moving there after the new year.”

“Oh, excellent!” Bianca sounded completely genuine.

“What do you do?” Nancy asked, if only to fill up space in the air. She had to admit, she really wanted to know. Model, maybe? Garbageman? Bianca was a complete mystery. And, apparently, so was Jonathan.

“I’m a teacher,” Bianca replied. “Kindergarten.”

“At Hawkins Elementary?” Jonathan and Bianca shared one of those hearty laughs only people in love can have. Nancy was incredibly jealous.

“No, no, we live in New York City,” Bianca corrected. “We’re only here for Thanksgiving, since this is where Jon’s family is. Christmas we’re spending with my parents.” Nancy resisted the urge to bite out a snarky did I ask? and instead nodded pleasantly.

“Maybe I’ll see you in the city, then,” Nancy said. Yeah, she’d rather cut out her tongue than have to spend five more minutes in their lovesick presence.

“We should go out to dinner while we’re all here,” Jonathan suggested. She could’ve choked him out with her bare hands - right there in the middle of the grocery store. What had she done to deserve this strange and unusual punishment?

Nancy swallowed tightly as Bianca said something in agreement. She imagined what that might look like: third-wheeling her ex-boyfriend and his new, perfect fiancee in her hometown. What a hellish experience.

So you can’t blame her for what she said next. It would be like blaming a deer for getting itself hit by a car, or a bird for crashing into a window - a better solution required too much forethought for Nancy to handle. She rushed forward with the only thing she could think of, regretting the words even as they were coming out of her mouth.

“I’ll have to see when my girlfriend’s free.” Jonathan’s face stayed politely neutral. Bianca’s eyebrows went up into her bangs, but to her credit she looked more distantly delighted than disgusted.

“Sure!” Bianca was quick to reassure, the tone half of people tended to whenever Nancy came out. As if she truly cared about Bianca’s opinion of who she did and did not have sex with. “Sure, yeah. Let’s set a tentative Thursday date, hm? And you can ask her about it and then phone up the Byers’ place - we’re staying in their guest room.”

“Who’s your girlfriend, Nance?” Jonathan asked. He just didn’t know when to quit, did he? She couldn’t help but grit her teeth together, the smile becoming more a snarl every second that passed.

“You do, actually.” She racked her brain for potential women: considering, just for a moment, how funny it would be to bring El to the sham of a double date. But the only girl Nancy could really consider (or, though she didn’t admit this to herself, the only girl she wanted to consider) was Robin.

Robin, who was as much as Nancy’s other half as she’d been that final summer before everything ended. Her freshman roommate had gotten absolutely sick of Nancy writing pages of letter early into the night, shipped off first to Indiana and then, when Robin moved overseas for a few years, to Paris. This past summer Nancy had flown out to visit her. They’d shared a bed for the first time since August 1987, legs tangled together and words carefully unspoken. Those early mornings by the Seine, so close and yet so far, kept her up at night more often than not. They hadn’t really spoken much since that summer, too busy to reach out…

Still, if Nancy could recruit anybody to play pretend, it would be Robin.

“It’s Robin,” Nancy said, effectively sealing the deal. Jonathan clapped her on the shoulder, an action that sent her nearly leaping across the aisle.

“I should’ve guessed,” Jonathan said. “You guys have been dancing around each other for years.” Nancy recovered from her shock at his casual touch to frown at that particular comment. What the hell did he mean by that?

“Yeah,” She said aloud, because what else was there to say? Inside, however, her mind was on the verge of exploding. The fiancee was plenty to distress about, but now - apparently - Jonathan thought she and Robin had something. Something actually palpable. So real even he could see it with his aforementioned emotional immaturity. She decided to shake it off. Jonathan Byers was a fool. He always had been, even in his best moments. Nancy just continued to smile, pretending to pay attention and instead deliberating on how she’d be breaking the news to Robin. Because Robin needed to agree. How embarrassing would that be if she didn’t?

“What are you doing on Thursday?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar - I’ve got a long going on. A lot of friends that I definitely have.”

“My apologizes to the big Hollywood writer.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Robin’s grin was audible and it made Nancy’s stomach twist itself into a permanent knot. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I’m gonna ask you for a big favor,” Nancy began, unsure where to start otherwise.

“If it involves the Upside-Down, it’s a no-go.” Nancy laughed despite herself. It felt like Robin was always getting her to do that.

“It’s worse. It’s dinner with Jonathan and his fiancee.” Best to rip the bandaid off. Silence on the other line.

And then Robin burst into laughter so loud it cut out halfway through. Nancy bit back a sigh and leaned against her peeling kitchen wall, shutting her eyes as if Robin were right in front of her instead of on the opposite end of town, mooching off her own parents.

“How the hell did you swing that?”

“I ran into them at the grocery store.”

“You poor thing.”

“So you’ll do it?” Nancy asked, taking on a hopeful tone. Robin hummed a vague affirmative. “Because, uh. There’s another element to it.”

“You’re changing the rules after I already agreed?”

“I told them you were my girlfriend.” Another bout of silence, this one not nearly as pleasurable. Nancy had stunned Robin so much she couldn’t speak - it was highly uncharacteristic and deeply uncomfortable.

“Why?” Robin sounded almost hurt. Nancy’s heart dropped to the soles of her shoes.

She knew it was silly to even consider a relationship with Robin in the first place. Not like she’d ever go after it - their friendship was too important, too necessary to breathe for Nancy to push. There had been some moments over the past few years, especially those brief pauses in Paris where Robin would turn and there’d be something on her face that made Nancy kickstart her heart. But she knew, really, it was in her head. And the implication that Robin, a constellation in the sky to Nancy’s shitty little telescope, would date her was not something Robin probably enjoyed.

“I freaked out,” Nancy admitted. “They were just so perfect, standing there buying soup together and smiling like freaks and wearing matching rings. I couldn’t take it.”

“It’s okay,” Robin said. The humor had returned to her voice. Maybe Nancy’d imagined the hurt. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“It’s so weird that you can drive now,” Nancy commented, laughing to release the iron fist around her heart. She could Robin’s responding giggle on the other line.

“Bye, Nance.”

“Bye,” Nancy murmured, standing there like a complete fool even after the only other voice on the phone was the dial tone, hands gripping the receiver like a lifeline.

Thursday rolled around much faster than Nancy hoped it would. It felt like a death sentence looming over the first half of the week. She nearly sliced her finger clean off while cutting up an apple on Wednesday; she’d been too busy considering all the harrowing possibilities of how Robin would react to Nancy dropping down on one knee and proposing.

Either she was insane or Jonathan was right. She wasn’t sure which was worse. It felt terrible, getting hope from her ex-boyfriend. You guys have been dancing around each other for years. Was he right? Had they been? Was it obvious? More importantly: was it reciprocated?

Ugh. What a complete mess. Nancy flopped down into her father’s laz-e-boy, vacant for the first time since she’d been home, and tried to resist the urge to run away. The kitchen clock, a clunky little thing from the nearby Kmart, clicked with reckless abandon.

“Shut up,” Nancy said to the huge and absolutely absurd fish tank her mother had installed beside the couch her sophomore year of college. “I know.” The goldfish gurgled something. Probably an insult.

The doorbell rang out through the empty house like the slice of a guillotine.

“Nancy?” Robin’s voice came muffled through the front door.

“Coming!” Nancy shouted in affirmative. She smoothed out the bottom of her skirt, shooting a quick glance over at the circular mirror in the foyer before swinging open the door with much more force than necessary.

There was both a pro and a con to Robin on her doorstep. Pro: Robin had dressed relatively formal, which was out-of-character for her. After a vague mention of Robin’s residency in Paris sent Bianca into a gushing spiral over French food, they’d decided on the only French restaurant in Hawkins; fairly fancy decor and subtle black tie included. Con: Robin looked absolutely breathtaking in pressed dress pants and a tight white shirt. Her slender body, all long and rigid limbs, seemed elegant in that outfit. She looked absolutely perfect and Nancy was going to die.

“We need to debrief,” Robin commanded, forgoing a hello and instead offering her elbow to Nancy with a familiar grin. Nancy furrowed her eyebrows in confusion - but took her arm nonetheless.

“Debrief on what?” She locked the door behind her, allowed to be on the stoop for a mere five seconds before Robin was yanking the both of them as some two-headed monster. She tripped on the last step in the sidewalk and nearly went face first down on the cement. “Jesus, I’m wearing heels!”

“I realized on the drive over that we’ve got no proper story,” Robin started to explain. She was a speedracer in both speech and talk. Nancy had to jog to keep up, not wanting to go ragdoll in her arms. “How’d we get together? How long have we been dating? Are we gonna live together? Who takes out the trash? Who pays for the food? Are we going to buy a dog or a cat?”

“Do you seriously think Bianca’s gonna care if we’re cat people?” Nancy asked incredulously. Robin all but yanked open the passenger door, nearly wrenching it off the side of her shitty little Beetle.

“These are important questions!” Robin snapped, rounding the hood of the car to hop into the driver seat. She started the car before Nancy had gotten both feet inside.

“Slow down, Rob,” Nancy admonished softly, reaching out a hand to cover up the gear shift before Robin could yank it and probably send them careening into her neighbor’s driveway. Robin looked up feverishly. Her face was a stark, intense pink. The sudden eye contact knocked all breath from Nancy’s lungs. She moved her hand over and up to caress Robin’s wrist comfortingly. “It’s okay. It’s Jon. Not that hard to impress.”

“I thought you wanted to prove you’ve got yourself together,” Robin pressed, eyebrows knitted. Nancy had no proper reply, because she did. She desperately did. She also (mainly) wanted to pretend, for a night, that Robin would even consider being her girlfriend.

“You don’t need to kill yourself to do that,” Nancy said, half a joke and half serious. Robin glanced down at their connected skin, eyes unreadable. She laughed breathlessly and released Robin’s wrist, realizing too late she’d been caressing it for longer than necessary. For a moment it looked like Robin’s face had fallen - but maybe it was a trick of the light. She turned the key silently. As they were backing out of the driveway, Robin let out a heavy breath - it sounded like she’d been holding it for eons.

“We started dating in Paris,” Robin decided. “We’re moving to New York together.”

“Studio or one bedroom apartment?” Nancy asked. Robin hummed.

“Studio, I like enclosed spaces,” She decided. Nancy nodded.

“One cat,” They said in unison, grinning goofily at each other in encouragement.

“It’s hairless,” Robin added.

“No way, those are expensive!” Nancy gasped.

“We’re together enough to afford a hairless cat,” Robin argued. “You the journalist and me the famous, wealthy poet.”

“Wealthy and poet don’t normally go together,” Nancy retorted.

“I’m a different breed,” Robin shrugged. “It’s a left here, right?” Nancy nodded. She flicked on her clicker absently.

“We switch off cooking dinner,” Nancy suggested.

“We have taco nights,” Robin added. “You cook the meat, I’m no good with that.”

“We share sweaters.”

“You wouldn’t fit in mine, they’re too big.”

“You’re not that much taller than me. I like big clothes, anyway.” Robin glanced over at Nancy in the passenger seat. Her face was lit up by the headlights of the car facing them. She looked positively angelic as she laughed. Nancy realized, not for the first time in her life, that she wanted to spend the rest of her life making Robin laugh like that.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Nancy had to physically hold down her mouth to keep her teeth from chattering together. For no reason in particular, Hawkins Main was much chillier than her empty col-de-sac. She was shivering before they even really stepped out of the car.

“I can see them inside,” Robin said, taking Nancy up by the elbow again and pulling her along on the sidewalk. “God, you’re freezing.”

“It’s just the early stage of hypothermia, it’ll be fine,” Nancy said. They stopped about five feet from the doorway of the restaurant. Through the foggy windows of the front she could see the black curls of Bianca and Jonathan’s mousy brown towards the back. She bet she’d have a six pack by the night of the night, judging by the way she was clenching her muscles just at the thought of conversation.

A heavy weight suddenly on her shoulders caused her to break her absent staring contest. She glanced back at Robin, who was now only in her sweater, floral white shirt, and dress pants.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Nancy said. Robin shrugged and shoved her hands into her pockets idly. She kicked at the dust on the sidewalk.

“I wanted to,” She said simply. “Wanna go in?” Nancy pulled the coat closer to her chest and, as they stepped through the tiny doorway into the restaurant, hid her blush behind a puffy sleeve.

“Nancy!” Bianca called out just as soon as they’d stepped in, as if she had some sort of radar beacon set to go off whenever Nancy entered her general vicinity. Nancy gritted her teeth and waved back. They maneuvered their way past the relatively crowded front to their tiny table in the back. Nancy sat across from Jon, Bianca from Robin. She laid the coat on the back of her chair as if it were something priceless.

“It’s cold out tonight, right?” Robin said amicably, rubbing her hands together. Under the table, the side of her flat knocked into Nancy’s heel. With her long legs she often had a difficult time finding room underneath tables. “I’m Robin, by the way.”

“Bianca,” Bianca waved. Her engagement ring glinted in the dim lighting. “And yes. It’s horrible. I grew up in California, I’m not made for this.”

“It’ll be worse on the East coast,” Nancy promised, not necessarily rude but not particularly nice. “I remember weeks like this at Emerson.” Robin’s foot knocked hers again. Nancy knocked back.

“I’m so excited to move to the city, though,” Bianca gushed. “I love New York. All the lights and the people.”

“You gotta walk fast,” Robin laughed. “But we’ll get used to it.” She covered Nancy’s foot with her own.

“Are you moving with Nance in January?” Jonathan spoke up for the first time that evening, gesturing between the two of them. To Nancy’s extreme disappointment, he hardly looked bothered. In fact, he looked pleased. Happy for her, even. She couldn’t stand it.

“Yes!” Robin smiled at Nancy. She reached over to squeeze Nancy’s open palm, which was spread out on the tablecloth and waiting for her. Though she’d been anticipating it, the touch still left her heartbeat spiking. “I’m a writer, so I can really live anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t want to go anywhere without her,” Nancy replied, voice sickly sweet but words painfully true. Bianca smiled big and bright at her. She was beautiful and it hurt. She ached over it.

“Oh, sorry - here’s the menu,” She said suddenly, passing a menu over to Robin and Nancy’s connected hands. “Completely forgot!”

“It’s fine,” Robin promised. As Nancy held the menu up in front of their hands, neither dropped the handhold; even though nobody important was paying attention. “Escargot?”

“Soup,” Nancy corrected. “I’m cold.”

“We order both and share,” Robin suggested. “Just like we did in Paris.”

“I miss those mornings,” Nancy grinned distantly, eyes faraway and back in a place where she’d been desperately happy. “Breaking off baguette pieces.”

“A hearty breakfast,” Robin agreed. “Une pain.” Her French accent was heavy and exaggerated and, as it always did, made Nancy laugh.

The waiter came by then, some well-dressed teenager who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. It reminded Nancy of Robin and Steve at the video store, dull-eyed and joking, doing everything possible to never actually do their jobs.

“I’ll get the duck,” Bianca said sweetly. Jonathan gave the waiter an awkward, tight-lipped smiling in greeting.

“The rib-eye for me.”

“We’ll have the onion soup and the escargot,” Nancy ordered for the both of them, passing the menu back to the silent waiter. He nodded and removed himself swiftly.

“You order for her?” Bianca asked with an eyebrow raised, though her tone was teasing.

“We always end up eating each other’s food anyway,” Robin explained with a shrug. “So - Bianca - what do you do for work?” As she and Bianca launched into an in-depth conversation on the pros and cons of elementary teaching, Nancy sat back in her chair and realized just how easy this was. Pretending to be a couple felt like second nature; almost unspoken, in a way. She supposed they’d already crossed most of the lines.

Sharing food and clothing and holding hands. Vacationing together. Something began to dawn on Nancy that she’d never considered before. Robin caught her eye over the entrees a half hour later, in the middle of laughing over some stupid joke Jon had just told. It clicked. Nancy laughed back.

Outside the restaurant, the four gave their goodbyes. Nancy would no doubt be seeing the couple over for Thanksgiving anyway, but she still found herself getting Bianca a friendly hug before she left. The girl had grown on her - and anyway, a night with Robin would have her shaking the hand of terrorists.

As Robin fished through Nancy’s - her’s, technically - coat pocket to find her keys, Jon tapped Nancy’s upper arm to get her attention. It was one she had never seen before. Perhaps it was new. Perhaps he’d learned it from Bianca.

“You guys seem really happy,” He said. Nancy, suddenly, felt cold water pricking the corners of her eyes. It was overwhelming how much she wanted this. She wanted Robin, like this, forever. It hurt to recognize. Jon squeezed her arm one more time and stepped back.

“So do you,” Nancy choked out.

“Nance! Ready to go?” Robin asked. She’d moved away as she and Jon had begun to speak, patting Bianca on the back with a promise of going out for coffee once both couples had settled into the city. Nancy wiped at her eyes with the back of her sweater. Jonathan, to his credit, pretended not to notice.

“Sure,” She said. The play was over.

Back inside Robin’s car, the silence was overbearing. Robin turned the key slowly. All the fervor from the drive over was drained out of her. Nancy watched Bianca tuck herself into Jonathan’s side as they walked down the sidewalk together. Unbeknownst to her, Robin watched Nancy.

“What’d he say to you?” Robin asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Nancy said. Robin tsked in the back of her throat, shaking her head.

“Clearly he said something wrong, you’re crying,” She murmured. As Nancy looked down toward her tangled hands in her lap, Robin reached over with a soft finger to wipe underneath her eye.

“It’s fine,” Nancy muttered.

“Tell me.” Robin’s voice was soft but firm, as she tended to be. And Nancy could never refuse anything Robin told her to do.

“He said he was glad I was happy,” Nancy admitted. She lifted her head but not her eyes, focusing only on the center dash controls instead of Robin’s eyes. If she looked up, it’d be over.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Robin said. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For him to think you’re doing well?”

“I wish I was actually doing well, Rob,” Nancy replied bitterly.

“Who says you’re not?” Robin retorted. “You don’t have to follow the normal line of college-marriage-kids to be happy. You know you’d never be satisfied with that. It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not the issue,” Nancy all but groaned, flopping her head back onto the carseat and screwing her eyes shut.

“Tell me, then.”

“I wish it were real.” The words came out nearly unintelligible. Rushed. Nancy desperately hoped Robin could not decipher it.

“You wish…what, the date?” Robin asked.

“This,” Nancy explained harshly, gesturing in between the two of them. She mustered enough courage to look up at Robin. She was staring at Nancy. Her face was slack. It was difficult to read her expression through the darkness of the parking lot, shrouded halfway by darkness.

“Us?” Robin’s voice was carefully quiet.

“I want the apartment and the cat and the stupid baguettes,” Nancy said, embarassed to find she was already on the verge of tears once again. It was just - all these feelings suddenly erupting to the surface, all with the name ROBIN BUCKLEY written across. In bright, unavoidable ink. It was a death sentence, loving her so much. “I want you. I want to be happy with you in every sense of the word. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Robin asked. Nancy stared at her incredulously as Robin began to grin. It was slow but definitely there, a soft rising sun on the bottom half of her face.

“Why am I-” Nancy scoffed, shaking her head and turning to look resolutely out the window. Bianca and Jonathan had disappeared, the sidewalk blissfully empty. “Because I just destroyed our friendship. Because I wanted to make Jonathan Byers jealous. Jonathan Byers. I haven’t cared about his opinion of me in years!”

“I, for one, had a great time making Jonathan Byers jealous,” Robin said. Nancy could hear the grin in her voice. “You shouldn’t apologize, Nance, because I - I’m on the same page.”

And then, and then - blissfully, thankfully, like a dream - Robin’s hand appeared in Nancy’s peripheral vision to grab onto her chin and yank her head the opposite direction. Nancy had barely enough time to part her mouth in an unspoken question before Robin was kissing her fiercely. Her lips were pleasantly dry, thoroughly bitten through by an anxious mouth. Nancy liked the way Robin’s fingers gripped her chin and cheek, pulling her close and closer still to get better access to her mouth.

They pulled apart after a fierce conversation with only tongue and lip, so aggressive Robin’s pants came out in visible bursts of air. Nancy could feel her breath hit the tip of her nose, they were that close.

“Don’t apologize,” Robin repeated breathlessly.

“Okay,” Nancy agreed, equally as out of breath. “Sure.”

“He deserved a little payback anyway,” Robin said. Nancy blinked. She’d forgotten a world existed outside of Robin Buckley’s mouth.

“Who?”

“Jonathan,” Robin said, as if Nancy should’ve realized. “For making me jealous everyday of senior year.”

“Seriously?”

“Who doesn’t want to share baguettes with Nancy Wheeler?” Robin replied incredulously. Nancy kissed her again, because words were useless when it came to matters of love like this. Robin didn’t seem to mind.

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dragonflight203 · 1 month

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Mass Effect 2 replay, squad post Mordin:

Jacob

-Jacob gets the armor upgrade for the Normandy by pulling favors with the Alliance. And now we know why TIM recruited him.

-Talking to Jacob as femshep is hard. Any line can be a flirtation – paragon, renegade, neutral.

The worst part is that Jacob doesn’t seem interested. Any time you flirt, he shuts you down. At least in ME1 Ashley and Kaidan returned the interest.

-I find it interesting people dislike Jacob because he doesn’t open up. As someone who normally remains professional myself at work, that’s never bothered me.

That’s the same vibe I get from Jacob – friendly, attempting to be helpful, but maintaining boundaries to keep personal and professional life separate.

-I do disagree with Jacob’s stance on politics and bureaucracy. He seems convinced in every conversation for the Alliance to do good because it engages them.

Dude was a corsair working for the Alliance unofficially and still complained that there was too much red tape.

Meanwhile, I’m looking at Omega and remembering the “rogue cells” of Cerberus from ME1 and wondering how he can not see the value in oversight and power checks.

-Why was Jacob sidelined after Eden Prime? He says this like it’s an obvious fact and I can’t recall if he ever told me what he had to do with the colony.

-If you go renegade, one of Jacob’s line is that the “General public never knew you were dead”. What?

There are news announcements on the Citadel dead about how the deceased Commander Shepard has been seen on Omega. There’s a memorial on Akuze to Shepard.

I’m going to credit this as a left over line when the plot of ME2 was different, but it’s very weird.

-If you go paragon, one of Shepard’s lines is “Couldn’t hurt to keep some spare parts handy.”

Given that we learn Ceberus had a clone for that exact purpose in ME3… Oof.

Mordin

-Mordin tells you all about how he found bugs all over the labs. Another reminder that Shepard is constantly being watched.

-He tells you to find more collector data and tissue samples.

I think at one point there would be a main mission related to that.

As others have noted, an insect from a collector swarm miraculously appears on the ship when Mordin tells you he found a cure. This line was probably supposed to be foreshadowing of the mission that would have collected the insect.

-Mordin really enjoys a challenge. Describing the limitations he had to work with on Omega reminds me of devs describing the challenges they had in developing a program.

-At this point Mordin only speaks about krogans hypothetically overcoming the genophage, and that his work with the STG was just to prepare militarily for it. He doesn’t trust Shepard enough yet to describe his real work.

-He is very insistent that the genophage is not a sterility plague. It just restores the krogan growth rate to what it was pre industry.

Miranda

-As opposed to Jacob, as soon as Miranda gets the slightest hint of friendliness she opens up.

I think this has more to do with their backgrounds than their characters. Jacob’s spent time in the Alliance where professionalism is expected. He knows he’s working with a sketchy group and is accordingly wary.

Miranda’s accustomed to being treated poorly. She whole heartedly believes in Cerberus and its cause. She tells Shepard her past almost as if she feels the need to make sure Shepard knows what she really is before she can accept Shepard’s friendship. She wants Shepard’s respect, but doesn’t think she deserves it.

Ironically, I suppose the reason Jacob’s more closed off is because he has a higher sense of self worth than Miranda does. He doesn’t feel the need to be validated by Shepard.

-As others have said: One successful mission and Miranda is saying that this is the best Cerberus operation she’s been part of.

That does not speak well of Cerberus.

-Whether you go paragon or renegade, Miranda doesn’t hesitate to remind you that TIM’s in charge. She has quite a journey to go before she’ll be ready to tell him to fuck off.

-Why did Miranda’s father want a daughter for dynasty?

Usually that type specifically want sons.

Every reason I can think of makes the man worse and explains why Miranda is so careful in how she speaks about him and insistent on why she had to get her sister away.

#mass effect #mass effect 2 #mass effect 2 replay

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where-dreams-dwell · 2 months

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As I’m fascinated by What Ifs and alternate scenarios, and I’m going over back how I felt about Dex and Sylvie, I would LOVE someone to explore an alternate version of their lives.

(I also have a soft spot for rare-pairs, or in defiance of ‘the big destined love’. Every now and again. For balance and literary roughage.)

———————-

Across Dex’s life there’s reinforced messaging that Dexter doesn’t know what he wants, that he lacks purpose and drive and care, and this frustration only adds to lots of his other struggles.

But there is one thing we’re told Dexter once cared about: at some point in his childhood Dexter *loved* photography.

His mum mentions it when they get lunch, and thought we realise later that she was dealing with lots behind the scenes then, her remembrance of this hobby and her retelling of it then are actually quite hurtful and ham fisted. She (in a loving way) disparages this hobby, implying that Dexter wasn’t very good at it, and that this obsession confused his parents who (by the sounds of it) didn’t support or nurture this love.

And that would be interesting enough, coming in the same conversation that she bemoans Dexters lack of purpose and worries that it will cause him unhappiness in his life. But Dexter’s reaction to this memory is fascinating.

Its startling to see him so uncomfortable. He seems genuinely hurt and confused by this summation of his hobby; whether this is in response to the general sense that his mum didn’t think he was very good, or specifically that it was directed at his fascination with photography we can’t know for sure. But it gives an impression that there *was* once something that Dexter loved to do, or was fascinated by, and it was disparaged by his parents who didn’t support his interest and now he is seen as generally lacking any purpose or anything he’s interested in.

However you look at it it’s an interesting juxtaposition within one conversation. (I also kind of wonder if other interests were also treated this way, and so Dexters lack of care or interest is partially a learned behaviour…but I digress)

We get a call back to this photography again much later in the series, when the camera focuses on several taped up photos of gravel on his childhood bedroom wall. Again whatever the intention of this, it does remind us as the audience of Dex’s previous hobby that was important enough to him that he still keeps mementoes of them on the wall.

And though Dexter struggles massively with purpose and direction, we see in his last years with Emma that with the right support (and probably following on from a period where he reached the right level of desperation to swallow his pride and self motivate) he can choose a direction and job that he enjoys.

So I kind of love to wonder what other way his life could have gone.

What if, for whatever reason, Dex and Sylvie don’t go to Tilly’s wedding? Whatever the reason, probably combined with Dex both wanting to see Em again but also being slightly terrified of it, they can’t make it.

So Dex and Em don’t get their emotional reconciliation scene; they still likely make up and become friends again (Sylvie is still preganant, they’re still getting married, Dex will likely still invite Em and Tilly at least) but without them having that time and privacy at Tilly’s wedding to lay out all their cards…. are they *as* close afterwards as they could have been?

Does a Dex who hasn’t fully regained that romantically-tinged friendship with Emma (they shared a quick kiss minutes after he shared he was engaged and about to be a father!) then turn to Sylvie more than he did in the series? With Emma back as a good friend but not kind of a flirty-friend does Dexter emotionally commit a bit more to Sylvie and their marriage?

As they don’t re-meet Callum at Tilly’s wedding I think it’s unlikely he’s invited to theirs, hence Dex probably doesn’t get an offer to work for him.

So a Dex who is still professionally unfulfilled, looking for job options and a change, right when everything else in his life is also changing (marriage, fatherhood)… does this Dex now have a similar level of desperation/motivation as the one who we saw in Paris? Could this Dex also find the motivation to retrain in a new field, but not as a chef (as he hasn’t worked in a cafe) but instead…. as a photographer?

There was *something* there that drew his attention and held it as a kid, something which a appealed to him and made him proud of his little foray into that world. And when people are struggling with purpose and direction, don’t they say go back to what you once liked?

A Dexter who rediscovers this childhood love, now with the focus and need of an adult to try something new: that would be interesting. Also I think Sylvie is a model (?) in the book, so if that’s the case she probably has contacts or friends to help her new husband learn the ropes. It might even help their relationship to have her able to help him work on that passion, and for him to have something he is definitively working towards: both for them and also to reassure her family.

Plus if they don’t meet Callum at Tilly’s wedding, who then doesn’t offer Dex a job, Sylvie won’t be having an affair with him. In addition being with a Dexter who is slightly more emotionally attached to Sylvie, with a new career to focus on, and who hopefully feels less impotent might mean Sylvie doesn’t feel the need to cheat at all?

Do I ultimately think they would stay together? Probably not. They do appear to have differences in personality which would mean they aren’t the best of bedfellows. Dex’s sense of humor is shown to grate when Sylvie needs reassurance, and Sylvies inability to relax comes across to Dexter to be a lack of trust or belief in his competency. I don’t think different circumstances would have magically ‘fixed’ these differences in attitude and personality.

But I do think they could have ended better, and had a nicer and more interesting middle-period, before they went their separate ways.

But a Dexter who got to explore that tiny bit of passion and interest we’re told he once had? That would have been a fun version of him to get to see. And the poetic irony of Dexter finding purpose in the field his mother once disparaged, who found that interest and passion she worried he lacked in something she dismissed and mocked, would have been so narratively satisfying and well tied off!

#spoilers #one day #one day netflix #dexter mayhew #sylvie #what if #what could have been #sliding doors esc #if someone wants to write this!

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toyybox · 6 months

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Spiderwebs #16: Tape IX (Senseless)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, eye injury, brief dismemberment

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather was a mere mortal. Heather was nothing, compared to him. Jackie tried to keep this in mind the next day, when she returned with the scalpel. The threat of improvised surgery often dulled his sense of scorn.

“Stop that,” she snapped, the scalpel like a tiny spear in her gloved hand. “The table’s going to break.”

The table did shudder beneath him, but Jackie refused to move. On the contrary—he stepped farther along its length, farther away from the wicked glint of the blade. The scar on his chest had faded to a silvery line, but the memory of being torn apart was still alive and kicking.

Heather now spoke in a tone that was marginally softer than before. Which wasn’t very soft at all, but it was something. “I have the drug, remember? You won’t feel anything.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So? Get down. Or would you rather do it without the painkillers?”

He clambered off the table with as much dignity as he could muster. He hoped to hell that the drug wouldn’t wear off early, or worse—not work at all. If it came to blows, he could start sobbing again, but somehow he knew that wouldn’t work a second time.

There was that tiny red pill again. Two of them this time. And a glass of water, and that dreaded table with all the empty glass jars. All manner of steel implements were arranged before him, a bona fide orchestra of surgical instruments. Most of them he had seen before, which did not ease his apprehension at all.

“I’ll give you five minutes, then we’ll begin.” As she spoke, the recorder listened on from a safe corner of the table, away from all the jars. “Today's dosage is fourteen hundred milligrams. Administered twelve hours after previous dosage.”

“What’s the needle for?” The needle in question was at least six inches long, but otherwise indistinguishable from a normal sewing needle. Down went the water and the pills. Jackie now noticed a mild bitter taste, which lingered even after he swallowed.

“Gee, I don’t know. It’s a surprise tool that will help us later.” She ripped the glass from his hands and placed it on the nightstand. “Stop asking questions, for God’s sake.”

Well, he wasn’t about to argue. When she was sure he would not speak, Heather turned her back to him. She began cleaning some kind of saw or blade with an abrasive-smelling, clear liquid and a soft white cloth. The room was filled with a chemical smell.

While he waited, the opioid took effect. The numbness spread through his body, at first through the tips of his fingers, then through his hands and arms, cutting off the feeling in his legs and chest, then finally his face. Even the bitter aftertaste faded on his tongue. The textures and touch of the outside world ceased to exist in any meaningful way. This time, even the dread in the back of his mind and the tension in his heart began to slow—not by much, but it was a noticeable difference.

The cleaning of tools had concluded. She turned back to him. “Is the anesthetic working?”

He nodded.

Before he could react, she stabbed a scalpel into the side of his arm. Jackie opened his mouth to protest, but he hadn’t felt a thing. Not even the warmth of blood, dripping against his skin as she pulled the blade out. Those electric impulses had all but died.

“The drug has blocked all pain receptors.” She put the scalpel down. “There aren’t many side effects, although Jackie’s immortality makes it unclear whether or not the opioid is toxic.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” A spoon. Why was she holding a spoon? He couldn’t see any food. “It’s time for the experiment. Keep your eyes open. Try not to blink.”

Eyes?

Oh. Oh no.

Despite all the impossible things his body had healed, Jackie was not thrilled at this prospect. But it wouldn’t hurt, at least. And he couldn’t say no. He’d have to suck it up and let her finish the test. How bad could it be? What was a little bit of blindness to the undying, eternal Jackie? What harm could a utensil do to someone like him?

“I don’t see how this benefits science,” he did say, however. “Pun not intended.”

She gestured with the spoon, shrugging. “Oh, you know. Something interesting might happen.”

Something interesting. Right. To each their own, he supposed.

“Sit down on the chair. Don’t move,” she added sharply. “Don’t start crying again, either. It won’t help you.”

He wasn’t planning to, anyway. He sat on the chair, next to his desk, as still as possible. Heather approached him, spoon in hand. It was funny to see such an ordinary thing held with such weight and importance. He could see his reflection on the surface, like a funhouse mirror image. The concave curve lit up as she moved closer. A stripe of shiny metal, one that would soon be embedded in his sockets, digging out the delicate jelly-like flesh. Ew. Why did Jackie have such a morbid imagination? It would be painless, but he still couldn’t help but flinch.

Her hand grasped his shoulder. “It will be okay.” Such a cold tone for such a comforting line. “Look at the stairs.”

Behind her was the flight of stairs. A straight line of steps. Underneath, there was a triangular section of wall. He noticed a sort of seam there, a ridge bumping out. There must have been a closet dug into that space, or another kind of storage area. Now, it was covered up, with nothing but a ridge to remember it by. He wondered why. Seemed pointless to Jackie. Waste of a good closet. Maybe there had been an infestation, or a—

Jackie didn’t feel the spoon touch his eye, but he saw it. On instinct, he screwed both his eyes shut. He tried to open them, but it was a struggle to stop blinking.

He heard her growl, even when he couldn’t see her. “I don’t need to cut your eyelids out, do I?”

That was decidedly not a nice mental image. “I can’t help it.”

“Fine.” Her hand lifted from his shoulder. Instead, he saw it grasp his face, from the corner of his eye. “I’ll hold them open. Don’t look away from the stairs, or so God help you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” What would normally be an uncomfortable position without the drug was now only a strange one, as she pried his right eye open.

The stairs. Right. The stairs. What about the stairs? They weren’t carpeted, as they were in his childhood home. That was probably for the better, considering all the blood he shed. What else was there to say about them? It didn’t matter, anyway—his vision went blurred, unfocused. Dots of red filled his sight. He could hear the squishing sound as his eyeball was gouged out. Wet, loud, as if someone was crushing up gelatin. A wave of nausea plugged up his chest. He fought the urge to push her away. He fought the urge to pull back. His hands staggered to the arms of the chair. He grasped them hard, as someone in a car crash grasps the wheel. There was no pain, not even a slight pressure, but it was nevertheless unpleasant.

Then, his vision disappeared completely. At least, in that one eye. Heather pulled away. There was a final squelching sound. Then, the sawing of a scalpel across nerves. A final snap… and then it was over. The spoon lowered to her side.

With what remained of his sight, he glanced at the bloody eye in her hand—he then quickly looked back at the stairs. Her instructions aside, it wasn’t a pretty view.

“You can’t see through this, can you?” The awe in Heather’s voice was evident. A stilted sense of pride flickered in him, even though immortality was less of a talent and more of an unconscious spasm.

“No.” He let himself blink—Jackie realized that he hadn’t felt the urge to blink for a while now.

“Fascinating.” Her head tilted backwards, towards the recorder. “The eyes heal slower than the heart, which I hadn’t expected. That’s all semantics, in any case. On to the next eye.”

The removal of his left eye went a little more smoothly. He knew what to expect, so it wasn’t as big of a shock when his vision went completely dark. He hadn’t grown accustomed to those noises at all, however. It was a relief when the spoon left his sockets and all went silent.

Jackie closed his eyelids. He opened them. Still nothing. The basement had been plunged into a flat shadow, devoid of depth or direction. Touch and sight—he was two senses down.

The sudden loss was dizzying. Even the comfort of touch, the pressure of plastic against his palm and the solidity of the ground, even that was forfeit. There was nothing to steady him. Nothing to lean against. Nothing familiar, nothing loyal or true. That safety had been cut from his hand, leaving only the maps of memory to guide his movements.

He could not halt the steady stream of panic passing through him, now that he only had his hearing and smell to rely on. And those senses were barren at best. The silence offered nothing, and all he could smell was blood and cleaning chemicals.

“They’ll grow back, I’m sure.” Heather’s voice cut through his thoughts. Following that was the unscrewing of a jar and the squish of eyes pressed against glass. “Can you see anything? Anything at all?”

“No. It’s lights out for me, doc.” He rubbed his face—a pointless gesture, since he, you know, couldn’t feel anything. “You’re sure they’ll grow back?”

“Probably.” An uneasy silence broke her sentence. “I mean, all your internal organs grew back. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I hope so. I’ll be bored as hell without them.”

“Well.” Another pause. “I could get you a radio. If you want one. Maybe a record player. You like music, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

She did not reply. In that awful intermission, he had nothing to occupy himself with but the sound of his breathing. The sound of her breathing, too, and the occasional rustling of fabric. His unease did not lighten or leave. How was he supposed to escape if he couldn’t see anything? The thought of being blind wasn’t nearly as upsetting as the thought of being dependent on Heather. The nausea rose in tempo, a steady roiling wave against his chest.

He was ready to start dry-heaving, but just that moment his vision returned. Blooming, bursting into view, the bright light, the almost painful intensity of it. At first, there were only a few spots, which quickly bled into great patches, until it all returned. Never was there a more beautiful sight. He blinked until the white light eased into familiar shapes. Heather’s basement. He could see it all. The bed, the lightbulb, the uncarpeted stairs. And there was Heather herself! Jackie had to admit he was glad to see her, if only because it meant he hadn’t lost his ability to see.

The relief etched on her face mirrored his own. “See? I told you it would be fine.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a second.” He managed a weak grin. “Is the experiment over now?”

“No, actually.” She raised the spoon with a matching smile. “A few more rounds couldn’t hurt.”

A… few more rounds. Once was enough, Jackie thought. But he couldn’t refuse, could he?

Her smile widened to Chesire proportions. “Oh, come on. Do you really not find any of this interesting?“

“If I’m being honest? No.” His disappointment was apparently not as subtle as he imagined. “Whatever. You’re right, it couldn’t hurt.”

“That’s the kind of enthusiasm I love to see.” She paused. “Pun not—you know—“

“I get it. Hurry up and gouge me, will you?”

She frowned a bit at his wording, but continued. Three more times. By the third time around, he had acclimatized to this strange ritual. His vision would blank out, he’d wait a few minutes, and it would return good as new. The only real problem was his increasing boredom. He wondered how it looked from Heather’s perspective. Probably didn’t look very pretty, considering his entire eyeball was reshaping itself. Although, maybe there was a strange beauty in that. An uncanny sort of vividness. An evocative thrill in all that gore.

At last, she put the spoon away, which was now covered in a mess of reds. In a jar resided a pile of his eyes. All exactly the same, dark irises and bloodshot whites, accompanied by splashes of crimson here and there. A revolting sight, dulled a little by how casually Heather was treating it.

Jackie leaned forward in his chair for a closer view. “You’re keeping those?”

She gave him a curt, chiding look, as she picked up the large saw. “That’s none of your concern. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the importance of this.”

Heather was correct in that regard. He didn’t have the faintest idea. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of a good jar to me.”

The glint of silver entered his view before he had a chance to move away. The blade of the saw rested against the edge of his mouth. The motion was patient, almost tender.

Heather leaned forward. “Are you sure you want to talk like that before I remove your tongue?"

“Please don’t.” He tilted his head as far back as it would go. “I’ll shut up now.”

“Good.” Her reply came with an amused tilt. The saw lifted from his skin. She then examined Jackie, as a butcher examines a sow. Her stare gleamed with an excitement that made him profoundly uncomfortable. “Now, I think it’s safe to say we can try something bigger. How about... an arm?”

He sighed and held out his left arm.

The saw she had chosen for the dismemberment was even longer than the bone saw, with a great rectangular section of steel atop a curved handle. She practiced her swing a few times, just below the elbow, grazing the skin like a batter preparing to strike out.

This was something he didn’t need to witness. Something he would definitely prefer not to witness. His dreams already had enough gore for one lifetime. Jackie turned his head away and screwed his eyes shut. He held his breath. If nothing else, he hoped it would be a clean cut. Nice and quick.

“You can relax now. It’s done.”

“Oh.” That was faster than he expected.

“Hold on, I need to write this down.” Jackie did not open his eyes, but he could hear the shuffle of papers and the clicking of a pen. “Subject’s limbs grow back remarkably quickly, considering how much organic matter is removed. I would give it another ten minutes. That means the estimated total time is…” The pen scratched something down. “Fifteen minutes, maybe?”

“What’s it look like? My arm?”

She clicked her tongue. “Bad. Keep those eyes closed, I’d say.”

“Good idea.” What Heather was planning to do with his dismembered arm, Jackie could not imagine. Then again, Jackie wasn’t a cold-blooded killer who collected organs for fun. His imagination was somewhat limited.

“Alright, that looks good as new.” Jackie opened his eyes to find her examining his arm, devoid of any injury aside from a raw scar that circled his elbow. “Try moving that for me.”

He lifted his arm, flexed his fingers, rolled his wrist. The injury hadn’t stiffened his movements in the slightest.

“I expect you’ll feel sore later, but it’s nothing an Aspirin can’t fix.” And now, the needle. “One last test, okay? The opioid should wear off soon, so I’ll get this over with quickly.”

“And what is this, exactly?” He shifted further back into the chair. Now that she mentioned it, he was starting to feel the slightest hint of heat, pricking the edge of his skin. Along with that came the shudder of something colder along his spine, tensing his heart. What would he do if the drug cut out early? Whatever she was planning, it couldn’t be pleasant.

“I’ve tested your sense of sight.” She leaned over him, placed her hand securely around his jaw. “Now, I want to see how your hearing is affected.”

The needle entered his ear. It wasn’t painful yet, but he could feel the cold steel, along with a slight pressure. Then, his other ear.

The loss of his hearing wasn’t nearly as distressing as the loss of his sight, knowing that it would come back. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed it missing at first. All at once, every noise ceased to exist. The steady buzz of the light and the rhythm of his breathing, even the faint click-click-click of the recorder, all faded into a calming quiet.

Heather waved her hand in front of his face. He tilted his head. Oh, she was speaking. Saying something. He could not understand a lick of it, of course.

“I can’t hear you, idiot.” He flinched as she tightened her grip on his jaw—he could actually feel it now, feel the pressure of her nails. “Sorry. But I can’t.”

She let go and gestured to her lips.

“I’m not good at reading lips,” he protested. “Write it down. You have a journal, right?”

She shook her head, now gesturing to the instruments, saying something with increasing passion. He caught the words expensive and waste of paper—a simple yes or no would work, but it got the point across. Then, she pointed to the journal, then at him.

“Are you asking about my notebook?”

She nodded.

“Do you… want it?”

She nodded slower, pointedly.

“Right.” He made a show of searching the room. “I must have… lost it. Sorry.”

That triggered another rant. The tone of it was evident on her face, even if it didn’t reach his ears. She gestured to the room as she spoke, then to him, then to the scalpel, then back to him—he hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant—then at his nightstand.

And then, her lips stopped moving, with the tempo of an engine running itself down, as she seemed to realize how confused he was. Her expression softened, but not in a comforting way—in the way a cat goes still before its pounce.

She tapped her watch, then held up five fingers. Five minutes. Then, she crossed her legs and waited. For his hearing to return, most likely. Jackie was dreading that moment.

A shrill pop, above the side of his jaw, interrupted his dread. It didn’t hurt too much, but it did hurt. The ache dragged along his face. He pressed a hand to his ear. The hum of white noise filled in that ringing silence, then the steady whirring of the recorder, then the sound of his sharp inhale, and finally the twisting of fabric as Heather moved to him.

“Can you hear me?”

He nodded, before putting a hand to his other ear as it healed.

“Good. Now explain.”

“I lost it! What do you want me to explain?” He straightened his shoulders from their unconscious hunch.

“You lost it.” She held up two fingers. “Jackie, you’re locked in a single room. There are two possible explanations. Either you’re lying—“ she put down a finger—“or you’re sneaking out of the basement.” The remaining finger tapped against his chest. “Do either of those options sound good?”

”No.”

“Then explain to me what really happened.”

“Well…” He’d gotten out of one bad situation with his words. He could get out of another. “I was using the notebook. Then I fell asleep. I must have dropped it under the bed or something. It’s fine, I’ll get it later.”

“What were you using it for?”

Should he be honest? No, that was more than he wanted her to know. “Writing.”

“Writing what?”

What did people write? Could he convince her that he was drafting a novel? It would be a hard sell. What else? “Nothing. Never mind.”

“You fucking liar.”

“What? No, I—“ All the muscles and veins in Jackie’s body screamed at him to run, to get away, to hide, to fight, to do something and not just sit there like a terrified punching bag. Then again, where would he hide? In the bathroom sink? Fight with what, his stunning good looks? Running would make things worse. Better to wait it out.

After all, what good would this tiny rebellion do? The Americans had armies chock-full of weapons. Even the peasants of France had their guillotines and gun bayonets. Jackie had nothing. Appeasement was his only option. There was no point in shooting a rifle without any bullets.

She stood up and stepped over to the recorder. The spools ceased to spin. Now he was alone with Heather. When had he started thinking of the recorder as a separate entity? It was a comforting thought, that someone else was watching, someone other than his captor. It meant that she couldn’t hurt him, not while a witness was listening in. He knew that was just pretend, but it was all he had. Grasping for straws like he was drowning, holding on to the riptides around him.

And once that recorder cut off, the only barrier in his mind, his terror came flooding in. God’s holy cleansing in a world gone senseless, a wrathful sea to erase what remained. He was left to drown with the heathens and pigs. Left alone, all alone.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

#Spiderwebs toyybox #lab whump #whump #whump writing #my writing #immortal whumpee #it's not October anymore so we're switching back to the normal dividers #hey it was fun while it lasted #I'll probably use them again next Halloween

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smartycvnt · 2 years

Text

mutual fans

pairing: rhea ripley x reader

summary: when you were asked to write and sing a song for a wwe superstar, you never imagined it could end like this.

You had been a lifelong wrestling fan. There were references to wrestlers from way before you'd even been alive in many of your songs. With your music gaining more traction, it only made sense for the WWE to reach out to you. You had expected the email from Stephanie McMahon to be about making an appearance at a show taping or something, not for you to write one of their superstar's new theme songs. To make it a little more challenging, she hadn't disclosed who the song was for, just the general theme that she was looking for.

And so, for weeks you had worked on writing the song and music to fit what she had described. You were no stranger to adversity or being seen as the bad guy. Being a woman in the music scene that you had dove into wasn't exactly an easy task. Most people were past the whole woman thing, but there were quite a few big names whose outdated ideas hadn't exactly helped you gain traction. Still, you had excelled and if the rumors were true, your debut album was in the talks for an award or two.

"Y/n, there's someone to see you." You weren't used to being interrupted while brainstorming, but something told you that this particular producer's assistant had a good reason. You set your guitar on its rack and followed him out of the little room where you'd been trying to write the first single for your new EP. It was hard having to immediately start working on new music after finishing up a tour, but you were glad to get studio time.

"Holy shit, you're Rhea Ripley," you said automatically. There had been absolutely no thought put into whether or not you should have said it, the words just slipped out. Rhea chuckled at that and extended her hand towards you to shake. "I'm Y/n. Can I ask why you're here to see me?"

"You wrote my new theme, and I just wanted to let you know it's awesome. I was a bit sad to let the Ash Costello one go, but she'll understand," Rhea said. Your eyes widened as you realized what she had told you. Stephanie McMahon had you write Rhea a new theme, replacing the one that one of your greatest inspirations musically had written. "Do you have a minute to sit and chat?"

"Oh yeah, we can hang in this room. Don't mind the mess, brainstorming always gets a little hectic," you told her. Rhea seemed almost giddy at the idea of being in the same room as you while you were writing new music. "So, what prompted the theme change?"

"They're pushing a new gimmick for my return. They change all sorts of stuff all the time," Rhea told you. You understood what she meant, the entertainment industry in general was a little bit sporadic. "I'm pretty honored you accepted, it might sound lame, but I am a huge fan."

"Y-you're a fan of me?" You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you couldn't help it. Rhea nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, thank you. I'm a fan of yours too. If I wasn't such a baby, I'd love to try what you do in the ring one day."

"I know a couple people with access to wrestling rings if you're ever in Florida. I don't mind taking an afternoon or two to teach you some basics. Once you get started, don't blame me when you get addicted to it though," Rhea said, shooting you a wink. You looked away from her, blushing slightly. "But you gotta teach me something too. It's only fair."

"Alright, no problem. Wait here." You stood up from your seat and grabbed a bass guitar from the rack. Rhea looked a little surprised when you placed it in her lap. It wasn't much, but you spent about an hour teaching Rhea how to play the bass riff and solo for one of your most popular songs. "If I can find a studio to record in, I could probably spend a whole week in Florida."

"Give me a call when you're thinking of flying out," Rhea told you. The two of you exchanged numbers before you went your separate ways.

#wwe #wwe x reader #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #rhea ripley imagines #rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley

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lucky-dreamfisher · 1 year

Note

I think BATDR has good themes as a foundation, but just doesn't build on them enough. Like, its main theme is legacy and destiny, and we have 3 big players that feed into this: Audrey Drew, Joey's magnum opus; 'Wilson' Arch, Nathan's forgotten son, and Bendy - Joey's most pivotal and yet hated creation. These 3 could function as wonderful foils to each other, like how Audrey and Bendy already do, but the problems are that:

1) Wilson isn't given enough backstory early on to make him more dimensional than 'crusty old man with a mean streak', and

2) Audrey doesn't have enough backstory to make her choices have weight.

For Wilson, we know that Nathan neglected him, but why? Was it for something out of his control (he's blind in one eye - did Nathan hate to have an 'imperfect' son) or in his control (I've seen a theory that he was a terrible business man, which would of course make Nathan embarrassed)?

Whatever it is, we should have had more tapes/notes about their dynamic, which would have been reflected in how Wilson treats the Ink World.

(an aside about the blindness thing - I think there could be merit to this angle, but Wilson's design is already a little ableist, since his scar and glass eye are just there to say 'oh no! spooky disfigured man has come to bad things to you!', it would have to be approached with care, caution, and advice from a disabled sensitivity reader)

Wilson could also project onto Audrey, if we give them a deeper relationship than 'creepy coworker that trapped me in this hellscape'. What if they have a sort of mentor/mentee relationship? They often work the nightshift in tandem, and Wilson has an artistic streak. You could very easily go with 'polite grandpa who gives art tips whenever he passes by' route, and Audrey accepts him as the father figure she apparently doesn't remember (still don't understand how Audrey forgot she was Drew's Daughter)

Let this then be reflected in how Audrey interacts with the world; let there be an option to have Wilson-abilties instead of Demon-abilties, with their own rewards and drawbacks. Using these powers sets on you on the Wilson ending.

It also makes his subsequent betrayal of her more impactful. If Audrey comes into the Ink World believing that the Machine twisted Wilson into turning against her, thus giving her a motive beyond simple escape, only to find out that he planned to kill her the whole time, endings where she either is sacrificed or fights him off but succumbs to the ink demon are sadder.

Speaking of Audrey, I think there's a strong enough connection to Joey for the story's 'You were born of darkness, you don't belong to it' thing to stick.

Let her make mistakes! Let her fuck people over! She has a spooky ability that is implied to send people to the most terrible parts of the studio, yet no-one says anything! Her arrival heralds the return of the Ink Demon; I think she should get both adoration and hatred for it, and then the gameplay is reflective of whether she chooses to dig her heels in and accept the darkness or go along with what Wilson says (or if you collect all the memories by completing side quests for NPCs, you get the secret ending where she takes control for herself, which is the ending the game currently has.)

An example of this would be the Lord Amok section. Instead of the Keeper's dropping her in the spider pit, let it be Sammy and some religious rebels, interested to see if she's a legitimate prophet/vessel/chosen one for their Lord. Once she completes that, Sammy gives the player an update on their path:

If Audrey has been mainly using Wilson abilities, the congregation shun her and provide a big hint that Wilson is going to kill her.

If Audrey has been mainly using Demon abilities, they welcome her and try to get her to make this massive ritual work for them, which is a precursor to Bendy's fusion with Audrey.

If Audrey has been completing sidequests and maybe has a unique ability, (something with colour?) Sammy is unsure about her and they have a bit more of a heart to heart.

All of this makes Audrey a more well rounded and sympathetic protagonist, and the ending the game currently has feel earned and impressive.

TL;DR:

The game has good themes but they need to be built on

One way to do this is to flesh out Wilson's daddy issues and thus create a more positive bur ultimately fucked up relationship with Audrey, leading to an ending where it makes sense that she trusts him but is still betrayed

Another way is to give Audrey more choices that have bad consequences but are understandable(a choice between a Wilson abilities path and a Bendy abilities path, changing how the Inkworld perceives her), thus allowing a happy ending (be nice to NPCs and they'll all help you fight of Bendy, like in the actual game) more hard worked for and thus earned.

It's a good point about the game introducing themes and not developing them. Like the whole "not a prequel not a sequel" thing they've been saying for years, but then the game comes out and it's a straightforward sequel?

I did notice them trying to make some small attempts at suggesting that maybe the ink dimension is a different timeline to the real world, with that book by the Gent CEO:

Except it never goes anywhere, because the time inside and outside the studio is exactly the same, down to the date.

And even the seeming time loop in BATIM is soft-retconned, because we're told that Joey created Henry before he rekindled his friendship with Allison and created Audrey v1.0, but when Henry walks around Joey's apartment, there's Allison's letter on the wall and Audrey v1.0's voice, so it's not like he went back to the day he was born. Resetting the cycle doesn’t turn back the flow of time, the time goes forward as normal, the ink creatures just suffer an amnesia.

There are some details in the lore, which could be a hint of time shenanigans... but they could just as well be plot holes and reused stock images. Time will tell which it is, but it's looking increasingly like the latter.

I don't even know why they bother giving us so many dates if it's not to make us draw any connections, or question the timeline of events. Like the detail about the studio having two different locations, which was hinted at in the archive previews, but then never comes up in the actual game. I hope they're not under the impression that we care about the dates because we just... like dates, or something... and that's why they keep serving us new ones. I don't care about !!THE LORE!! for the sake of !!THE LORE!!, I care about it because I was told that there is some underlying mystery, which can be solved by looking at !!THE LORE!!. It's a tool. If I can't use it for anything, then I don't have a need for it.

Even SHB announced that he won't be making many Bendy theories. Because the big stuff was explained, and the small stuff now feels like something the creators didn't think too deeply about, and so the fans shouldn't either. So, for the future of the franchise, I hope they will.

#bendy spoilers #bendy and the dark revival #media analysis #bendy and the ink machine

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ginzburgjake · 1 year

Text

Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his encounter with a ghost. Statement given January 25th, 2017.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sasha says gently. Tim is beside her, wearing a worried expression, while Martin is sitting on the opposite end of the table with a running tape recorder placed in front of him. His hands are wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

“Ooof,” he sighs, bracing himself. “Alright, I — alright.”

“So, the day started as normal, I think — maybe it was a bit more cloudy than usual, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I took the tube, arrived to the Institute on time, signed in with Rosie, all that stuff. I came in, and Sasha was there, already recording, so I decided not to interrupt her and busy myself with my own case. I sat at the table, laid my things out — because I had to bring them home, you know, what with the mysterious haunting of this place. Didn't want to lose track of any more pens than necessary, heh.

I did some follow-ups, called a couple of contacts to check the details for, er, for that, that 'uncanny students' report? Yeah. So, it was about eleven-ish when I heard something... weird from the document storage. It was like… a whisper, or a call. A very quiet one.

Now, the thing is, that was far from the first time I heard something like that in the Archives. Those whispers, and sudden brushes of cold wind, I suppose, have been following me since, um, the middle of September. I’m not the most superstitious person, but I can’t very well deny the uneasiness that flooded my mind with every such… incident. Still, there weren’t any words being said in an ominous voice, no blood oozing out of the walls, no foggy mirrors, or, or anything, to indicate that it wasn’t just me freaking out without reason, so I kind of — let it be? I mean, it’s not like I could do anything. There isn’t a, a ghost manual or whatever, and you guys never noticed the things I did.

I must admit that I… am sorta fan of Ghost Hunt UK. I’m not big on conspiracies and deep scary mysteries, but their channel is — it’s honestly really good. They conduct proper investigations and stuff, and I know we as academics are supposed to, to despise their work out of principle, but… I simply never saw them as rivals. They do a lot of what we do — breaking into places, unearthing evidence, recording their findings — even if they lack the resources we possess. I’ve watched some of their content regarding old haunted basements, a while back. You know, the Archives are actually unbelievably good-fitting for the ‘haunted basement’ profile; the Institute was built in the early 1800s, and its structure has remained the same since. Despite there being only one exit, at least two archival employees have managed to vanish without a trace from what is essentially a closed room. There was blood found on the desk, for god’s sake.

I’ve emailed to Melanie King — she’s the main host — asking for her opinion. That was back in December, and I didn’t hold much hope for a proper answer. She must be quite busy, after all. But, surprisingly, she replied, uh, two days later? She needed more details — were there signs of possession or compulsion; have I seen, heard or smelt anything else odd or unnatural; was there seemingly a problem with electricity, heating or pipes that refused to go away, yada, yada. Based on what I’ve told her, she said it might indicate a minor poltergeist, possibly an Archivist, trying to finish their mission on this plane. I didn’t know whether I believed it. Anyhow, true or not, it’s a terribly sad way to exist, don’t you think? Permanently tied to your place of work, bound to fill out papers until the end of time. Ugh.

Melanie said ghosts such as these are usually deemed harmless, and unless I cared to confront it and discover its goal, there’s, as I suspected, very little that could be done. I wasn’t worried, not then. A disgruntled workaholic ghost? Pshh, just another strange thing about this job, right? Hah. And, well, today… today the issue became a lot more real.

As I said, there was a whisper coming from the document storage. I registered it, which was almost routine at that point, and waited for the cold to pass. After five minutes or so, its presence lessened significantly — although it hadn’t gone away completely. I had two layers of clothing on, so I was fine.

It’s — hard to remember what exactly I wanted to do? I know I went in to retrieve a box of files, probably related to the reports of… uncanny… um, skin people. I entered the storage — I held a reference file in hands, I think — and… there it was. A hand. Transparent, floating, detached from anything that might have resembled a body, human hand. It — it was kind of positioned where a person’s hand would be if they, uh, reached for something above their height. Which sounds ridiculous, of course — ghosts can levitate, can’t they? Or maybe I’m thinking of the vampires…

Anyhow, the hand, it — it grabbed a, a file from an open box at my eye level, and it pulled — and, and the file moved, like there was real physical force behind that gesture. I think I screamed. It was just so… impossible. There’s scary movies and books, and spooky podcasts that you listen to while going to sleep to shake yourself up a little — and then there’s that. I didn’t expect to see it because it shouldn’t have been real. I didn’t… I didn’t.

The next thing I know — I’m sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, with a very concerned Sasha crouching down besides me. She — she asked me what happened, led me to the break room, offered some tea. I turned to look back when we were exiting the storage — and there was nothing. No hands, no chill, no levitating objects... Just a bunch of dusty old boxes lined up in rows. I’m not sure whether I felt relieved or not. And, well, then Tim arrived, apologising for oversleeping, so that pretty much wraps up my experience, I suppose.

S-statement ends.”

< part 2 part 4 >

#tma #the magnus pod #the magnus archives #tma fic #ghostchives #tma au #martin blackwood #sasha is the archivist #there’s a ghost loose in the archives!#no one knows what the ghost is going to do next #least of all the ghost

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hellfireconfessions · 4 months

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Hi Guri! since youre so willing to give “explanations” for your docs. lets go over the ones you gave, and put them alongside actual excerpts from the docs themselves. – which you failed to do yourself. Lets start off with “Both characters are adults” Both characters are not adults for the entirety of the docs. That is confirmed by you, when your doc speaks about how one of the characters is “a cub”. Next, we’ll address the “sexual content” and “Love bites”. “I think as I approach Sages small frame, and she looks at me with those worried eyes, like prey that has been caught. Am I not worthy? I think while I sink my fangs on her backneck, and a pained huff escapes her muzzle. Am I a monster? ———– And the feeling of her fur pressed against my abdomen makes me feel, for a moment, that im alive." In exactly what way is this not hinting at actual NSFW content between your characters? yeah, theres a bite that can be explained as a "love bite” but then you go on to speak about the characters “feeling her fur pressed against my abdomen”. We’ve all seen cats getting it on, and this seems like a pretty decent description of it. “did the doc have non con” yeah. yeah it did. “The tears that form on her eyes with a muttered "stop” fill my senses, like a drug.“ There you have it. Theres a STOP. anything after that, is non consensual, period. end of story. ”‘what does [swollen womb] mean?’ pregnancy" Okay, we can all agree it does. But why in gods name did you think it was acceptable to give detailed, graphic depictions of pregnancy and live birth in a doc that was accessible to children as young as 14 years old? Theres no shame in the topic, but you, as a 30+ year old woman on the internet do not have the right to expose other peoples children to that sort of content. at all. “The doc had a trigger warning on the top and was censored entirely to ensure the safety of sensitive readers.” No childs safety was ensured. Thats like if I went into a middle school and hung up posters of your doc but taped a piece of construction paper over it that said “hey guys dont read this its sensitive lolz”. Kids are curious. kids are GOING to read it, regardless of whether or not you spoil and trigger warn it, because theyre children. They literally are not mentally developed enough to understand otherwise. You, as a 30 year old adult should know that already, and the fact that someone a decade younger than you has to spell it out is quite frankly, embarrassing. yeah, to our knowledge you havent groomed an actual child, theres no evidence of that, and im not going to act like you did. However you DID expose children barely old enough to be on discord to this sort of content. The fact that your friends had to beg you to apologize just for you to own up and say something is genuinely just sad.

#submission #guri

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cupidsintern · 1 year

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we've met before, pt 1

ronance, slowburn in three parts

It started when she kissed Steve. Which she shouldn't have done. She didn't even really know why she did it.

That was a lie.

She did it to feel something. Feel anything really. To see if she was the frigid bitch she suspected herself to have become.

She didn't have time to find out though, because, on the steps to his front door, in the warm summer evening, Steve shoved her off him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” was the first thing he said. Sweat gave the skin at his temples a gentle sheen.

I don’t know.

Nancy didn't say anything. She just looked at him, maybe a little surprised at how strong he’d gotten.

I don’t know what's wrong with me. Fuck, I wish I knew.

“You can’t- Don’t do this again.” She’d never seen him this angry. Angry and. And hurt. And sad. “Don’t do to Jonathan what you did to me.”

“I…” Nancy hoped if she started talking, maybe she would keep talking, and whatever she said would be the answer. But she just stood there, lips chapped and parted. The scent of Steve’s hair stirred nothing in her. His lips had felt dry and cold. Maybe that was her lips.

Steve shook his head at her. His disappointment stung. “You have to tell him.”

“It- it was one kiss,” She laughed nervously “It was an accident- a mistake. There’s nothing to tell-”

“You tell him or I will.”

Tears had sprung to Nancy’s eyes. Which was strange because she didn't really feel all that sad. She didn't feel anything. Except maybe tired.

Steve seemed to feel bad for her then (probably because of the tears) and his voice got softer.

“Listen, Nance. I don’t- I’m not trying to punish you or anything its just. You can’t treat him like this. He… He really loves you.” Then, even softer. “Just like I did.”

Maybe Nancy should have felt remorse. Or guilt. Or something more than… this.

She felt like she was filling in for herself. Phoning in being alive. And without thinking, or even really feeling herself speak the words she said. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

But she didn’t say when.

Weeks passed.

Nancy did nothing

She knew she should tell Jonathan. Resolved to do it every time she saw Steve when he would drop Dustin off at the Wheeler's after school, or anytime she had to return Holly’s kids tapes to Family Video. They’d see each other, lock eyes, and Nancy would look away before she could start to dwell on the mixture of pity and concern on Steve’s face. God, she must look desperate.

She was, she supposed. But what for?

Company.

She always seemed to be home alone.

Home in her room doing homework.

Home listening to Jonathan’s voice on the phone, pretending it was getting farther and farther away.

Home in the living room, sitting across from Mike on the couch in mutual silence as the TV hummed across from them.

Home in the kitchen, sneaking peanut butter sandwiches after everyone else was asleep.

She hardly even went in the backyard. And she hardly saw anyone who felt like company.

Mike was a permanent fixture in her life, just like everyone else in her family. Whether she liked it or not.

Sometimes she thought about how her and Mike used to play knight and princess in the backyard. They’d conspire to save their parents from the evil creatures of the backyard, him with a poorly made cardboard sword, and her with a magic potion made of mud and leaves, poured into a old jam jar. They’d seemed to have so much in common.

But Nancy would sit across from him in the living room, at the dining table, and think maybe today would be the day she’d actually have a conversation with him.

But she never did.

He wouldn’t be much to talk to anyway.

The world was very quiet when you spent all your time alone. A twig snapping felt like a gunshot. But it was only Holly, running in the backyard. The sound was enough to pull Nancy out of her thoughts with an uncomfortable lurch, as she remembered she was meant to be watching Holly.

Her mother had taken to volunteering at the church in the afternoons, and “since you’re not doing anything, you can watch Holly.”

Nancy watched her little sister traverse the same backyard she had at that age. The air was still chilly, but Holly showed no signs of being cold, cavorting about so much her cheeks were bright pink when she finally came back into the kitchen, where Nancy was standing, nursing a long-cold mug of coffee.

“Is that coffee?” Was Holly's first question.

“Who’s asking?” Nancy replied, taking a sip.

“Mom said you’re not supposed to have coffee. It stunts your growth.”

Nancy rolled her eyes “I’m not getting any taller.” Then, “take your shoes off, you’re tracking in mud.”

Holly seemed glum after this exchange.

Maybe that’s why Nancy offered to drive her into town.

“Don’t wanna go into town.” Was Holly's reply. She was laying on the floor with her feet propped up on the couch.

“I’ll take you to get a copy of The Dark Crystal.” Was Nancy’s counter.

Dark Crystal had been deemed “satanic” by their parents, but Holly loved puppets, and had wanted to see it for a long time.

The drive into town was affected only by a thick mist that didn’t seem to want to commit to being rain. Nancy honked at an old woman stopped at a green light, which Holly thought was endlessly amusing, and they made it to Family Video in one piece.

Nancy braced herself for Steve’s presence, pushed through the door-

And he wasn’t there.

Robin was.

She looked up at Nancy and smiled.

No, she was probably smiling at Holly- why would you think she was smiling at you?

“Hey, Wheelers One and Three!” Robin said. “Looking for anything particular?”

Holly hooked both hands on the end of the counter as if to pull herself up to Robin’s height, but only managed to get her chin over the counter, and started talking about The Dark Crystal.

According to Robin, this was one of her favorite movies. But maybe she was just being nice, since Holly was a kid.

Nancy browsed the crime dramas, or pretended to. She felt the bite of jealousy that even Robin was better with her little sister than she was. Ever awkward Robin seemed to charm everyone Nancy had the hardest time with, she’d certainly charmed Steve-

“Did you ever watch Blow Out?” Robins voice startled Nancy.

Robin, who apparently walked over a few seconds ago, reached her arm out- completely in Nancy's personal space- to grab a movie with John Travolta's face over the cover.

“It’s supposed to be good but I never got around to watching it.” Robin continues.

“I, um,” Nancy collects herself. “It’s fine. I think Travolta does a good job. The director is kind of. Overblown a lot of the time though.”

“Hm. Thoughtful review. No wonder you’re in charge of the paper.” Robin smiled, and put the movie back. She walked back to the counter with her hands in her pockets- she was wearing slacks again, like she sometimes did. As if Family Video was a formal event.

Robin was ringing them up, copy of Dark Crystal clutched covetously in Holly's hands, when Nancy got the idea that Robin was a girl. Which sounds stupid but Nancy hadn’t really hung out with anyone her age who wasn’t a boyfriend in maybe. A year. And wouldn’t it be nice to just be around someone? However odd and slack-wearing they may be.

And before she could really think about it much more, Nancy says:

“Hey, Robin. Do you want to. Hangout? Sometime?”

Robin blinked at her.

“I figure we deserve some girl time, you know?” Nancy continued, feigning confidence, suddenly terrified Robin will turn her down. Or laugh in her face. “We’re always around the guys and we’re always you know, doing stuff. Might be nice to-“

“Have. Girl time?” Robin tilted her head.

“Yeah you know like. Paint our nails, watch a movie. Maybe talk about guys.” Nancy tried her best casual smile.

“I can for sure paint my nails.” Robin nods. “When shall we have this “girl time”?”

Nancy can’t really tell if Robin is mocking her, or legitimately new to the idea but now shes in it.

They agreed on tomorrow.

Holly asked if she could come too.

pt 2 coming soon. probably tomorrow :3

#ronance #slow burn #ronance fic #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington #my writing

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