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kazukazuhas · 1 year

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ old friends, lloyd garmadon.┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ act one ;; scene one ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

୧ ⎯⎯ MEET AGAIN

୧ ⎯⎯ WARNINGS ;; one (1) kpop reference ;; slight jay slander ;; possibly ooc

୧ ⎯⎯ NOTES ;; so ahead of my schedule /genuine. and yes, new theme.

୧ ⎯⎯ PREVIOUS ┊MASTERLIST┊NEXT

୧ ⎯⎯ TEXT ;; NO IMAGES

"so you two know each other...?" skylor asked with a confused undertone underlining her hesitant words, but her voice was almost distant and muted in the background when it tried to reach either of your ears. she shared a short glance with the others before looking back at the both of you.

lloyd shuttered a small noise that vaguely sounded like a gasp crossed with some soft animal-like noise before quickly gathering you up in his arms, lifting you up slightly from the ground and hugging you as tight as he could. it was almost like a fantasy how familiar you felt, feeling you wrap your own arms around his neck and laughing heartily at his giddiness. warmth eloped over your body, a revelation of buried sadness unsurfaced in a singular moment of feeling an old, familiar happiness wrapping its, or in this case, his arms around you. he sighed dreamily before reluctantly letting you stand on your own weight. with soft green eyes delicate as ever, he hugged you once more just to make sure you were real and with him right now.

you stared soft-eyed with a childlike excitement, "puberty's treated you well," you mentioned while taking in his appearance —much alike one of the idols your friend was a fan of, jungkook was his name you believed,— but he still had his baby face that never held much menace or threat to it. you internally thanked the first spinjitzu master when you realised he didn't have that bowl cut he had, though you've become fond of the cute disaster his hair was.

lloyd's heats up slightly at your comment, choosing to glare weightlessly at you, like he always did —damn if anything you miss that cute pout and furrowed eyebrows making him all the more harmless. "you look good too." he internal cringes at his wording on that reply, and hells did he miss the way you chuckle at his badly timed bad remarks, ones he managed to only have with you around.

"a-HEM." someone cleared their throat in a successful attempt to draw your attention to the elephant in the room. "what?" you stare back at your cousin's blank one. "you know each other?" jay repeats skylor's question with a slightly raised brow, watching curiously, partially hanging off the couch.

"uh– i don't know what you mean.. we don't," lloyd answered with a face as confused as jay's, and a voice completely sarcastic. he frowned childishly with an arm of his snaking its way over your shoulder. "yeah, what d'ya say?" you backup your friend, despite lending against him to further prove it as sarcasm. "damn you man," jay cursed while turning away and sliding down on the couch and huffing softly. nya sighed at her boyfriend before correcting him, "how, how do you know each other?" she laid a hand to ruffle his hair, humming accompanied by a love smitten smile when the boy almost purred at her affection.

"oh! we're childhood friends! best friends?" despite the fact he mumbled the last part to himself, lloyd answered gleefully with the arm wrapped itself around your shoulder pulling you closer. the blond had that very bright smile on his face that made you cringe and made you want to shield your eyes from the light. was he always so bright? you tuned out the explanation he gave to shortly admire his smile before you snapped back into reality.

but with the way the two you spoke so fondly of and with each other simultaneously made the others think of couples so close to each other. with surprisingly the soft, warm looks back and forth when one of you wasn't looking; to the way the both of you so quickly got wrapped up in your own incoherent little conversations. lloyd at multiple points stopped solely to focus on you, and specifically you —doubting he actually heard a word you said during that time. you were no better, softly rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb before you began to fiddle and play with it like his hand was the most endearing thing you stumbled across —also doubting you paid any mind to him during that moment. the fond glances in your eyes were reminiscent of the ones they all sent to their partners.

cole nudged kai's shoulder with his knee, smiling with a half grin at both of your obliviousness before they both half-laughed softly with jay upon seeing his own amusement (and defeat).

nya had kept a deadpan look on her face at the display in front of her, and she thought jay was obvious. she sighed quietly, leaning forward to put her chin on jay's shoulder and glancing towards where her boyfriend's attention was. she glanced back to where you and lloyd were before looking back to kai and cole, shaking her head softly before joining in their laughter.

the nindroids kept the conversation between the duo of you and the green clad boy going, a slight glint of amusement in pixal's eyes was fairly noticeable to the rest of them. she was subtly sharing looks of equal concern and disbelief with kai. however zane, on the other hand, seemed to not catch onto the whole joke, opting to stay mostly neutral nor did he really share glances with anyone. but oh boy, was this entertainment for him.

the only person (barely) not having it was skylor, of course, she found the fact you two were obviously flirting hilarious considering it's been a good decade since you last met. but the mere thought of the fact made her cringe internally at how bad her romance (though her rizz was quite literally on fire) was. lil' greenie over here managed to pull her cousin almost instantly. sometimes she regretted wanting to stay single.

throughout the whole time, each one of them shared a moment of utter amusement with every person but the two of you. lloyd noticed the quick, knowing looks between everyone but chose to stay quiet over it before returning to the conversation at hand. but fsm, did he feel a little dumber than he'd admit.

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୧ ⎯⎯ TAGLIST ;; @spoopy-fish-writes // @spoops-inliyue ;; @decaffeinatedcloudkryptonite // @shaantiofher ;; @sunangelstears ;; @comicbookweirdo ;; @cl0udyw4ter ;; @chamille-trash ;; @candy884422 // [pm/send in an ask to join]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ kazukazuhas copr. 2023 darling┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

186 notes · View notes

seaweedbraens · 4 months

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Yoyoyo i just reread wcwsthwas for the sixth time, in 7.5 hours, and i wanted to ask about your writing process. I think the thing that makes your fics incredibly special and high-quality is the fact you have a very high skill level for natural writing and dialogue.

Reading your fics genuinely feels like i’m reading a Riordan novel, but with even better pacing and emotional writing. The only thing riordan can do better is fight scenes. And he’s a massively talented and accredited author who makes millions from his books. You are a fanfic writer. It should not be close.

I wanted to ask if you use any references or have any inspiration for the way you write dialogue? Because it’s incredibly natural and well done.

THE SIXTH TIME SDFGHHJKL i snorted

anyway you hit the nail on the head! i've always been insecure about how i can't write pretty. d'ya know what i mean? i can't do lovely pretty descriptive metaphorical writing that just makes you think wow. but i do pay a lot of attention, like you said EXACTLY, to my dialogue and emotional writing.

for my emotional writing, i think that comes from being very introspective and attuned to my emotions myself. i'm an emotional person and it's taken me many years to really fully understand how i process things and how i function. i have had a lot of complex relationships with people who, while still close to me, are completely opposite to me in terms of how they process stuff themselves. percy and annabeth dealing with their emotions so differently in wcwsthwas is directly from me and my ex boyfriend: i'm very much like percy, and he's like annabeth in the sense that he needs to take a step back to really think about things before he acts on it. a lot of how i feel about friendships and love i've given to leo, and a lot of how i feel about my own culture was given to piper and frank. someone asked me this recently, but i've based piper on a bunch of my best friends, so that's probably why she comes off the way she does in my fic.

draw on your own emotions and experiences when you're writing a scene! emotions are complex and interesting. try to think about how you'd react, or try putting yourself into the shoes of that character. i also do a lot of observation about myself and other people around me. i see how people react to things, and how it shows up on their faces or hands or whatever. that helps me a lot while i'm writing.

for dialogue, i have no clue, honestly. i try to keep it simple as far as i can, i think. nobody's grandiose with their speech in real life (or maybe they are, and i hang out with a bunch of degenerates). i think i overuse the dashes in my dialogue (—) but that kind of stuff is important to me, because nobody's usually just rattling off a big speech in a single breath. there's always some hesitation, people talking over each other, stuff like that, punctuated by glances or gestures. try to play your dialogue in your head like it's a movie. keep it natural, and see how it would play out. for fics like ''cause you've been sinning in this city' i literally did not even attempt to have any dialogue make sense. when i'm talking to my friends, half the shit we say is just inside jokes that would not make a shred of sense to anyone else. stuff like that works too!

this reply turned into an ESSAY but the tl;dr is to keep it simple, write what you know, and trust your gut! but that being said, you don't have to be great at these things to be an awesome writer. i figured out my strengths as a writer the more i wrote, and you will, too. hey, you could be one of those writers who write all pretty that i so envy.

you always ask wonderful questions and ily for that!! also thank you sm for your support. i'd tell you to stop wasting ALMOST 8 HOURS rereading my stupid fic but i know you won't listen dfghjkldjn

i hope this helped a lil bit!

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astro-rain · 3 years

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delicate; b. barnes

chapter thirteen - “sober desires & the reminiscence of a winsome smile”

delicate masterlist

word count: 4k

synopsis: wakanda gets a visit from our favorite captain, two drinks is too much rum for a reticent psychologist, and bucky knows (& feels) more than meets the eye.

pairings: bucky x fem!reader

[A/N]: this took so long to write but WHEW this chapter!!!! pls let me know what you think >:D

The knock on the outside of his hut was followed by a deep accented voice, one that he had heard before.

"Sergeant Barnes?" it called.

Quickly enough Bucky was outside, facing the king of Wakanda himself. He wasn't sure exactly what to say. You see, the majority of their past interactions included the Black Panther trying to kill him. T'Challa was kind and Bucky trusted him. It was just... a little awkward given the history.

"Your highness," he greeted.

He smiled bashfully at the title.

"I have some news for you."

Bucky's head cocked to the side, curious. News? Should he be worried? He hadn't been expecting anything.

"Captain Rogers is on his way here. He was alerted about our recent complication with N'Jadaka," he said, referring to who Bucky guessed was who Y/N called Erik Killmonger, "and he asked to come check in, make sure you're okay."

Steve was coming. His mood was immediately uplifted. He hadn't seen his oldest friend for months. It was weird to have Steve feeling the need to make sure Bucky was okay; it was usually the other way around. Nonetheless, he was excited. And he had the sudden urge to tell Y/N.

- - -

READER

"Sharon. Hey," she said into the phone.

The friends hadn't spoken since Y/N left for Wakanda - security measures since Sharon helped Steve and betrayed the... well everyone.

"Y/N!" Sharon greeted. "How is everything? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no I'm totally okay. The Killmonger thing was more the royal family's deal than mine. I was just hiding out in some bunker with Barnes."

Concerned weaved its way into Sharon's voice. "Oh my god. Did anything happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, historically, stress hasn't affected him well..."

She wasn't sure why she almost got offended. "No... he was completely fine. He doesn't lose control out of nowhere and turn into the winter soldier. It's a lot more complicated than that... We were fine."

"Oh, that's good. Listen... I'm actually on my way to Wakanda right now."

"You're-... what?"

"Steve needed to check in on Bucky after Killmonger. Wilson and I are coming too."

They must all be together. It makes sense considering what happened after the disaster in Berlin, and then the airport fiasco in Germany and then... everything in Siberia.

Aw, they're in hiding together, Y/N joked in her head. She almost laughed out loud.

"Oh. Is that safe? For you? For everyone?"

"I've been careful. We've all been careful. But, things don't always go as planned. And T'Challa feels bad about putting you guys in a dangerous situation when he was supposed to protect you."

"It wasn't his fault."

"I know. We all know. But, it's kind of his way of making up for it: letting us stay so that Steve can check in on Barnes and we can cool off for a bit."

"Was Rogers mad?"

"Well, he wasn't thrilled that his best friend was trapped alone in a country that just got taken over..."

He wasn't alone.

"...he was mostly worried," Sharon continued. "Still is."

"Right."

"Alright, well I got to go. We'll be there in a couple hours."

"I'll see you. Be safe."

"See you."

- - -

BUCKY BARNES

"Hey Buck," the happiness in Steve's voice was genuine as he patted his oldest friend on the back in the middle of an embrace. "How you been?"

"A hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you, that's for damn sure," Bucky smiled.

Sam Wilson stood next to the star spangled man with a plan. Bucky briefly glanced at him.

"Wilson," he deadpanned.

"Barnes," he returned the greeting.

"I was worried when T'Challa told me about Killmonger," Steve said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that they let you stay here, but I just didn't think I'd have to be worried so soon."

"It's alright. Everything turned out okay and I was fine the whole time. You don't have to lose your head."

"I'm not losing my head."

"You never had it in the first place."

The blonde changed the topic of conversation.

"You were with that therapist right?"

"Yeah."

"What do we think about her?" he asked with equal parts caution and suspicion. "Do you trust her?"

Bucky wasn't sure why he was almost offended.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you know what happened the last time you were with a psychiatrist..."

"Yeah well, this one doesn't have a personal vendetta against the Avengers."

"You sure she's alright?"

He looked serious, and Bucky could see the genuine concern etched into his friend's face. Steve was truly wary.

"I'm positive. She's helped so much since I've been here. I really trust her."

"Okay, if you say so. I trust you."

Bucky smirked. "Hey uh... is Sharon with you?"

Sam said nothing but radiated a smirk to match Bucky's perfectly, a kind of smirk that only a ball-busting best friend cracks.

"She is..." Steve replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh nothing. Just wondering, that's all."

"She said she wanted to talk to a friend."

"Oh, she's probably with Y/N."

"Who?"

"Y/N. Dr. Y/L/N. 'The therapist.'"

"I didn't know they were friends."

"Why do you think Sharon recommended her?"

"She said she knew 'the best' person to help."

"That true. She's crazy smart."

"As long as she can do the job, I'm all for it, no matter whose friend she is."

In a short-lived thought, Bucky wondered what Steve Rogers would think of who else Y/N was friends with. He wondered if Steve would think it was strange to be friends with your doctor, or if he'd be pleased that Bucky had gotten close to someone, anyone else in this world.

"How long are you guys staying for?" Bucky asked.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Honestly, we were only planning on staying for like a week or so. We've been moving throughout Europe, and the other day, when we were in Prague... it was almost really bad."

"We need to stay low for a while," Sam added.

"What did you do?" Bucky asked, used to Steve getting himself into trouble.

"It's a long story..."

"What did T'Challa say about it?"

"He said to take as much time as we needed," Steve filled him in.

"You know, I'm startin' to really like this guy," Sam nodded, smiling. "Obviously when he went all cat murderer on you, he was a bit of a pain in the ass. But now? Guardian angel."

Bucky shook his head at Sam's nonsense. What an idiot, he thought. He wondered what Y/N would think of Sam, but then a more pressing question popped into his head.

"Where are you guys gonna stay?"

"I'm guessing there," Steve said pointing behind Bucky.

When he turned around, Bucky was shocked but he also wasn't. Behind and around his hut stood three more just like it, but slightly smaller. He could've sworn those weren't there yesterday, but that's the beauty of Wakanda. They were ten steps ahead of the rest of the world and he guessed that included speed building as well.

"I will never stop loving this place," he admired.

He tried not to sound too eager when he knocked on her door. She looked shocked but didn't really try to hide it.

"Oh," she sounded confused. "Hi, Bucky..."

"Hey," he grinned. "I have a proposition for you."

Her eyebrows lowered as her lips twisted into the most devilish smirk. She could communicate an entire joke with just her face.

"Not like that!" he exclaimed.

She laughed, smirk morphing into an endearing smile. "Like what then?"

"Steve wanted to have like a bonfire sorta thing to catch up since we're all together for once. You know, just like drinks and stupid stories from the forties. D'ya think you could part with your paper work to grace us with your presence?"

"Oh, uh... are you sure?"

"Of course. I'd love to have you there."

She wrung out her hands. "I don't know, Buck. Is that really appropriate? To have your doctor hangin' out with your friends?"

"That may be, but that's not what I'm asking. I want my friend to 'hang out' with my other friends."

Out of her composure seeped a meek smile. The air felt softer to him.

"And maybe you can analyze Wilson and tell me what his biggest fear is later," he added.

She snickered.

"Okay. Lead the way, James Buchanan."

The fire was a monster, roaring and crackling with all the life in the world. Bucky loved it. He loved the warmth, the heat, the lack of cold.

"I'm gonna get another drink," Y/N said. "You want anything, Buck?"

"I'm all set," he smiled, gaze lingering for only a second too long.

"Sharon?" she turned. "You?"

The blonde shook her head. "Oh, I think I've had plenty."

Surrounding the fire sat five chairs. All but one was empty as Y/N went to get her second drink. Of course they were in Sam's hut, Bucky thought. After all, even though it was Steve's idea, Sam was most excited about the whole thing, actually sitting down and just relaxing instead of fleeing from belligerent governments.

"Therapist's pretty," Sam noted with a smirk once she was out of hearing range.

"Y/N," Bucky corrected, mind going completely elsewhere. "She's so smart."

"Smart enough to call you Buck..." Steve said, catching on to Sam.

"What?"

"She calls you Buck."

"Yeah, so? You do too."

"Yeah, but I've known you longer. And I'm your friend."

"She's my friend too," he shrugged.

"She's your doctor..."

"And I'm a hundred year old man with one arm trying to get un-brainwashed in a country that the rest of the world doesn't even know exists. None of this is conventional."

"...fair," Steve said, with only a little bit of skepticism. "Are you guys close?"

Does spending hours alone talking with someone in a hidden bunker make you close? Does them comforting you after a nightmare and then subsequently allowing you to get the best night sleep you've had in forever? What about making daring voyages to quaint waterfalls and laughing a kind of laugh that makes your heart swell? What about-

"Buck?"

He shrugged. Again. "I guess so."

Sam narrowed his eyebrows. "How close?"

"Wilson," Sharon admonished exasperatedly. "Y/L/N's his doctor, come on. That's inappropriate to suggest."

Sam put his hands up in mock surrender. Briefly, just briefly, Bucky imagined kicking the leg of Sam's chair and watching him fall back. He didn't, obviously. But it would have been funny if he did.

The seemingly never ending conversation was cut short when Y/N returned, drink in hand, and took her seat next to Bucky.

"What'd you get?" he asked, demeanor subtly but swiftly changing into something lighter, something happier.

"I don't know, but it has rum in it," she shrugged sardonically before clinking her glass with Bucky's.

"Cheers," Sam raised his glass, trying to engage.

Y/N wordlessly, and with a half-smile, raised her glass in his direction.

"So," Steve started, comfortably crossing his legs and leaning back into his chair before asking Bucky, "you wanna know what actually happened in Prague?"

"Do enlighten me. I've been waiting all night."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

The rest of the night went on sort of like this. The group took turns telling stories and then listening. Cracking jokes and then laughing. Everyone but Y/N, Bucky noticed. She just... sat and drank, livelihood only extending to the borders of her seat.

He hadn't seen her like this before, and he found himself stuck halfway between confused and worried. Had something happened? Had something wrong been said?

He kept an eye on her as dusk melted into night. He told himself it was because he was concerned, but that was only in addition to the way he was magnetized to how she looked with the light of the fire gleaming on her skin.

After she would finish a drink, she'd stare into the fire for a little while, before leaving to get another. When he made sure no one was looking at him, he'd look at her. Discretely. At her eyes. The reflection of the fire in her pupils made him wonder if she would burn the fire before it could ever burn her. He was all too aware of the heat that accompanied her gaze. It was a ravishing burn that made him ache for the searing feeling as soon as it was taken away.

He didn't dare think of it for too long or else he would get distracted. And someone would call his name, pulling him out of a trance he didn't want to be caught in. A trance he wasn't sure he wanted to admit that he was in.

The night remained as such until someone - he couldn't remember who - said they were tired, and everyone bid their farewells, and wished their good nights.

Y/N spared about a side hug to Sharon before walking off on her own. Bucky half volunteered, half insisted on tending to the fire to make sure it went out, only to ignore it as soon as everyone was gone and follow after his psychologist.

He caught up to her as she was in the middle of opening the door to her living quarters.

"Y/N."

She turned around in the spot, door wide open, staring up at him.

He bore into her eyes, looking at something, noticing her dilated pupils and hazy stare.

"You're drunk," he said, but it sounded more like a question.

"Yeah."

"But you don't seem drunk?"

"I'm not wasted," she padded into the room, carelessly leaving the door wide open for him to walk through. "Just drunk enough to remember why I didn't drink in college."

She rubbed her eyes.

"Think I want another one," she sighed, heading for the door with a bitter smile. "More rum."

Bucky gently closed the door, maneuvering himself in front of it, and blocking her from exiting. Another drink is definitely not a good idea.

He changed the subject. "Why didn't you drink in college?"

Her eyebrows raised, introducing a look that said Really? You think I don't know what you're doing?

"Wow, look at you being the voice of reason for my otherwise inebriated brain."

Nevertheless, she cooperated.

She sighed. "It just... makes me miserable. I'm a sad drunk."

"Better than a mean drunk," he offered.

"Possibly. It's a real mood killer, though."

"That why you were off all night?"

"Off... ? I don't know, I guess so... I'm usually pretty inconspicuous when I'm drunk. Didn't think anyone would really notice."

There was no hesitation when he spoke.

"I did."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry. Just... why did you keep drinking if it only makes you miserable?"

"Alcohol is a depressant," she breathed mechanically, as if speaking was difficult. "It depresses your nervous system, then you get disinhibited. Then you don't care about rationality and just drink! Then in the moment it feels kinda good... but then it makes you sad... and then you need more to blur the feeling away. It's like... the worse you feel, the more you need to drink... but then the more you drink... the worse you feel..."

"How are you drunk but still talking... sorta still like you usually do?"

She smirked, looking like she was trying not to laugh. He was glad she was smiling.

"Maybe you're not the only one with heightened metabolism as a result of the serum..."

He looked at her quizzically, amused. She wasn't making total sense, but he couldn't find it in himself to give much of a damn. She smiled, again.

"Kidding. I just have outstanding self-control."

She plopped down on the floor, deciding that she no longer wanted to use her legs. Fine motor function was overrated for intoxicated people.

He sat down with her, next to her.

"If I tell you a joke will you be less sad-drunk?"

"I already am 'less sad-drunk.' I wasn't before, but," she took a breath in, "now you're here, so... improvements have been made."

"That's good 'cause I was worried before."

She glanced up at him with brazen eye contact. Her face held a mixture of what looked like a confused and pained expression, as something changed. Some sort of realization or reality check.

She wiped her hands over her face. "God, this is so ridiculous. I'm sorry. You shouldn't be worried about me, that's not your job. I'm sorry. I should just go to bed, and you can leave..."

"I know it's not my job. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I was alright- it... it's not like I was crying at the fire or something. I was fine."

"After your second drink, you were silent almost the entire time."

"You were counting my drinks?"

Not exactly.

"I was paying attention."

"To what?"

To you.

"You completely turned into yourself. Your elbows and legs were drawn in close to your body: unrelaxed and almost apprehensive posture. You were nonverbal, didn't make any jokes, no sarcastic commentary. I was literally purposefully saying things I knew you would correct or tease or laugh at and nothing. I was waiting for a 'smartass' or a 'there's a reason behind everything' explanation or anything science related. But there was nothing."

Her face was blank. It took her a second to catch up. Blinking slowly, she shook her head, eyebrows furrowed, all emphasis on the word. "Why?"

Her tone was truly confused. It was like she, in her heart of hearts, for the life of her, could not believe he was concerned.

"Y/N you're my friend," he chided. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She averted her gaze. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know."

"Look," his voice was soft. "I know you know everything and you know my mannerisms and micro-expressions and you know when I'm lying and whatever else 'cause you're a genius psychologist. But is it really that hard to believe that, after all the time we've known each other, I know you a little too? That I saw you for once instead of you always seein' me?"

"I think you're the only person who sees me."

The words leaked out before he thought to analyze them, tone lower than a whisper.

"Well I can't seem to look at much else."

He had never felt such potent silence. Did he just fuck up majorly? They just sat, on the floor, eyes glued to each other like twenty year old dried cement. He didn't think he could move away if he tried.

"I see you now," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Blue," she breathed. "Your eyes are so blue. I don't... think I've ever seen that shade of blue."

It happened exponentially slowly, but the closer her face got to his, the more his chest felt like it was going to burst in the best way possible. As if liquid light poured into his lungs, inflating his chest and igniting every nerve with adoration.

Her lips hovered over his so lightly it was as if it wasn't even happening, like her affection was a ghost. But it was happening, and he could feel it. He could feel the softness in her lips and the smell of the rum she drank as they combined into the wondrous dual sensation that permeated throughout his brain.

They weren't kissing by any stretch. Their lips were hardly touching. However, in that moment, he was at her mercy. He was prepared to bend the laws of nature to her will if she would allow the continuation of this feeling for even a fraction of a second more.

Until it stopped and she waned away like the moon bidding adieu to the morning sky.

Her voice shook. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't... it's-"

"No. It's not okay. It's not okay."

He leaned back, examining her face. She looked confused and embarrassed and scared.

"Y/N, it's fine. It's okay, seriously, don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry, I'm... I'm drunk and I'm disinhibited and it's affecting my judgement and making me impulsive. I'm sorry."

He couldn't be exactly sure, but it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince him.

Neither of them moved a muscle.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

She was silent, frozen. It reminded him of a past conversation about the fight or flight response.

Bucky stood up and offered his hand to the woman sitting on the floor in front of him. "Here."

She took it gingerly and stood up with him before wide eyes stared into his apologetically.

"Please don't feel bad," he pleaded. "Barely anything happened."

"Still..."

"Why don't you just get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow. I promise it won't seem like such a big deal when you're sober."

She nodded but they both remained motionless, hands still together. He knew they needed to let go, but her hand didn't move, and she just kept looking into him.

"Okay," she whispered.

She walked him to the door, hand still in hand, and until he was forced to let go of her to open it. He stepped, ever so slowly, out of her room and onto the grass outside. He looked up at her, the doorway between them suddenly feeling like worlds of distance. They stood on opposite sides of the open door like statues. Bucky didn't know what to do and he wasn't sure what to say.

He settled on a, "Goodnight."

He tried not to make it sound so weak and timorous but he failed entirely. He didn't want to leave her like this. Guilty and alone. God knows he knew what it felt like.

Her voice was dry and quiet. "Goodnight."

He wasn't sure when the door shut or which one of them had shut it. The only thing he was sure of was the feeling of formidable regret pooling in his stomach.

On one hand, there was regret for letting her lean in and get so close because now he was scared that their dynamic was ruined and worried that Y/N felt awful. On the other hand, there was regret that he just let her pull away. Regret that he didn't lean in more and shamelessly drown in her. Regret that he didn't unapologetically suffocate himself with the softness of lips, the inebriating smell of rum on on her tongue, and the utterly bewitching taste of her he was sure would follow.

He wasn't sure what he felt, to be honest. He was a muddle of emotions of which he had no idea how to sift through. Momentarily, he wished he was drunk so he wouldn't have to think so hard. Then, he remembered the saying, "drunk words are sober thoughts," and he was damn glad he was stone cold sober; he could only imagine the things he would say to her if he was drunk.

This lead him to pondering, it got the gears in his brain turning. It made him wonder. Maybe... just maybe... if drunk words were sober thoughts, then what if drunk actions were sober desires?

Thinking like this could cause him read the situation completely differently. Thinking like this could make him read the situation in such a way that conceived the slightest sliver of hope for emotions gone repressed. Hope is dangerous...

Hope is dangerous, so Bucky shoved it down into the deepest cavern of his brain, the very same cavern where his feelings for her resided. It was a monster in a cave, growling and hissing menacingly. Intensely.

It scared him, this intensity. It scared him so much that the only way he could fall asleep was by thinking about the way James Buchanan sounded when she said it with a winsome smile.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @nickkie1129 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @quxxnxfhxll @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf

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nneefa · 5 years

Text

fic: linda

fandom: xiaolin showdown

characters: raimundo/kimiko, clay, omi, the tohomikos

summary: if raimundo hadn't known kimiko better, he'd think she was fishing for a compliment, given that omi and clay had just sung her praises. as it was, he did know her better, especially if the glint in her blue eyes was anything to go by, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

notes: ooh, boy. let's see where to start: 1) "linda" means "beautiful" in portuguese; 2) the park our teen kiddos are at is "Shinjuku Gyoen." i highly recommend y'all google it. it's very beautiful; 3) kimiko's yukata is based off this image; 4) this is like headcanons gone wild, but most importantly, credit goes to @sunbirddtellsstories for "Tomoko." i can only hope i portrayed her the way she was intended to be. 5) dedicated to the anon that asked me for raikim. i hope to the heavens that i portrayed the characters accurately.

[[MORE]]

❀

Raimundo barely had time to brace himself as the chilly spring air cut past the defenses of his layered clothing, right down to his bones.

He fought the urge to shiver as he sunk lower and lower into his coat, pulling his skull cap further over his ears before burrowing his hands into the safety of his coat pockets. He watched Clay shake like a pair of maracas on the ground, Omi pressed close to his side, like a squirrel clinging to a tree, in an effort to provide him warmth. He almost wanted to join them, anything to get rid of the goosebumps settling on his skin, but there was hardly any room on the blanket they sat on, with Clay's massive body taking up more than half the space, and somebody had to keep an eye out for Mr. Tohomiko for when he came back. The elderly man had insisted on getting them all hot drinks while they waited for the girls to show.

If only Kimiko were here; she could heat things up in an instant.

Speaking of Kimiko… leave it to her to take a long time, especially when this whole thing was her idea. Okay, maybe it wasn't her idea exactly - more like her sister's - but still. Japan was ridiculously cold. Where he's from, anything below sweltering was foreign, and even if he did spend the better part of three years training in the mountains of China, that didn't mean he was used to it.

Raimundo breathed a deep breath, watching it fade in the frigid air, and turned his gaze away from his friends to survey the park they were in.

Tokyo really was a beautiful city, especially in the spring. The only things he'd seen since their last visit were skyscrapers, shops, and shrines, and while those were nice and all, they paled in comparison to the city's blooming cherry blossom trees.

Sakura, Mr. Tohomiko had called them, stretched as far as the eye could see, the pink and white flowers breathtakingly beautiful against the bright blue sky, like something straight from a painting. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people, families and couples and loners alike, scattered across the large expanse of the park with blankets and baskets and cameras, some seated in the sun having picnics, some relaxed beneath the shade of the trees on the petal-laden ground.

There were women, children, and even some men dressed in elaborately designed kimono for the occasion, though the bulk of them wore regular, civilian clothes, and he wondered briefly if Kimiko would be wearing hers. (He quickly banished the thought). Raimundo was pretty sure he saw at least three ponds on their walk across the park, two different sections of landscape with their own sets of flora and fauna, a pavilion located across a bridge, and from their spot beneath a Sakura tree he could even see a tower in the distance.

If it weren't for the fact that he was waiting for the others, he definitely would've gone exploring by now. What did Kimiko call this festival again? Hanabi? Hanami? Hababi? Whatever! It was nothing like he'd ever seen, and he was thankful the Tohomikos were kind enough to let them join their family outing.

Though I'd truly be thankful if they hurried up, he thought to himself as another gust of wind blew through the park. Any longer out here and I'll be a human popsicle.

Just as he was about to ask Clay and Omi to make room for him, he saw Mr. Tohomiko slip through a gap in the crowd, carrying two cup holders full of piping hot drinks. Raimundo immediately moved after him, his hands already on the drinks before the man could react. "Here, let me help you with that."

Toshiro blinked at him, surprised, but then he smiled before relinquinshing his hold on the items. "You have my gratitude, Pedrosa-san. By the way, I hope I didn't take too long. Japan's spring can be a little unforgiving at times."

"Nah, it's okay," Raimundo replied with a smile of his own, following him to where Clay and Omi were seated. "Though I'm not sure if I can say the same for our pal Clay."

"Forgive me, Bailey-san," Toshiro apologized with a slight bow of his head and a sympathetic smile once they'd reached them. "I wasn't expecting to encounter so many Goo Zombie fans in one place."

"That's quite alright, sir," said Clay, nodding his head in thanks when he handed him a drink from the tray. "If anythin', I should be the one apologizin'. Had I known you'd be swarmed, I'd gone with you."

"With your station, you must get attacked a lot," Omi said, making a grab for one of the teas. "I can't imagine what it's like to be a famous person in such a big city."

"You certainly like to try," Raimundo teased, grinning when the young boy shot him a glare over the rim of his cup.

The Dragon of Water blew into his tea before taking a sip, sparing Toshiro an earnest look. Genuinely, he added, "If you'd like, Mr. Tohomiko, we can accompany you until we return to the temple. We'll make sure no harm befalls Kimiko's papa."

Toshiro let out a hearty laugh, his smile as kind and warm as ever. "What kind young men you are! But there's no need to worry over an old man like me. Kimiko and Tomoko help me plenty already."

"Now that you mention them," Clay trailed off, curling his knees to his chest with a swig of his coffee, "what d'ya reckon's keepin' 'em?"

Toshiro fished into his coat pocket for his cell phone in order to check the time, his brows knitted in confusion. "I'm not sure," he answered. "It has been quite some time since we were scheduled to meet. Perhaps, I should call them."

"Knowing Kimiko, she probably lost track of time doing her nails again, right, Omi?" Raimundo joked, elbowing him with a wink after placing the trays on the blanket. "It wouldn't be the first time, now would it?"

"Nor the last," the younger monk agreed, recalling the time where their friend forgot the Ancient Scroll of the Shen Gong Wu over her panda faces.

"What d'ya think it is this time?" Raimundo asked with a grin, pilfering a cup of hot cocoa from the tray before opting to lean against the tree. "Giraffes or smiley faces?"

Omi shook his head. "She did smiley faces last week." Then he smiled and said, "My butt's on teddy bears."

"Uh, that's 'bet's,' bro," Raimundo corrected him with a raised brow. "I think she'll settle for something simple this time, like french tip."

"My wager's on flowers," Clay added, gesturing to the pink petals on the ground with his cup. "It'd certainly fit the theme of this here's festival."

As the boys continued to ponder over Kimiko's possible nail designs, Toshiro watching the exchange with a hint of amusement, none of them noticed the girls making their way through the crowd, towards their group. Not until one of them called out to Mr. Tohomiko.

"Papa!" Tomoko exclaimed, earning everyone's attention.

She looked completely out of breath as she came to a stop in front of her father, though that did nothing to stop her from smiling, and she hugged him just before launching into an explanation in Japanese. Apparently, her fans had swarmed her on the way here too, and wouldn't let her leave until she'd signed every single autograph and taken every single group photo there was to offer. It was thanks to the efforts of Kimiko that they even made it at all.

Raimundo heard a series of footsteps from behind father and daughter, followed by a chain of frustrated grunts, and knew it was Kimiko and her friend Keiko. Clay and Omi stood up, eager to finally see their teammate after what felt like hours in the cold, dusting cherry blossoms off of their clothes in the process. The Shoku leader smirked into his cup before closing his eyes and taking a swig of his cocoa, relishing in the sweetness just as Kimiko came into view.

"Geez, Kim. It took you long enough," he teased after swallowing his drink. "D'you have any idea how long we've been waiting for y-" But the faux complaint died on his lips when he finally opened his eyes and saw her, and in that moment only one word came to mind.

"What," Kimiko shot back with a raised brow, a smirk dancing across on her face. "Cat got your tongue? Say something!"

If Raimundo had thought Tokyo was beautiful in the spring before, then that was nothing compared to how Kimiko looked now. While a tiny, fleeting part of him had hoped she was wearing a kimono, he hadn't really expected her to go the whole nine, considering how much she'd loathed them in the past, but then again, it wouldn't really be Kimiko if she wasn't constantly proving him wrong.

She stood out like a flower all on her own in her black kimono, a dark swirl in a sea of color. Small pink and white petals adorned the top half of it, much like the cherry blossoms surrounding them, including the sleeves, though the closer it got to the bottom, they varied in size and shape until it was bursting with color, and holding it all together was a bright, gold sash and red string. Of course, her outfit wouldn't be complete if she didn't have a purse to match. Her hair was fashioned with both the Tangled Web Comb and Changing Chopsticks in an elaborately braided bun, her face framed by the loose, black curls that managed to escape her updo.

Had it been him three years ago, he'd have acted like an idiot and teased her on the spot, anything to downplay his attraction. But now, at 16-years-old, Raimundo found himself, not for the first time, speechless. She was- Kimiko was-

"Beautiful!" Omi had blurted at the top of his lungs.

Raimundo hadn't realized he'd been gawking at her like some kinda dopey, cross-eyed schoolboy until the small monk was no longer at his side, but fluttering about Kimiko with all the tenacity of a 13-year-old boy in love. Quickly, he averted his gaze to Keiko, whom he acknowledged with a nod of his head, as heat settled in his ears and cheeks, and for once since he'd arrived in Japan, he found himself grateful for the cold. He didn't trust his voice and he was pretty sure he looked like a tomato right now.

"Look at you! Well, aren't you 'bout as pretty as a magnolia in May?" Clay remarked, tipping his hat up with a finger to get a better view of their friend.

Omi nodded his head with a flourish as he admired her apperance from head to toe. "You look very pretty, Kimiko. You've even managed to incorporate the Changing Chopsticks into your wardrobe this time!"

Kimiko's cheeks darkened, though she beamed at their compliments, and she touched the aforementioned Shen Gong Wu with her free hand. "You like? At first I wasn't going to add them, but it went too well with my outfit to pass up. Plus, you never know when it'll come in handy."

"And look!" Omi cooed excitedly, taking her hand and holding it up like he'd just uncovered a new Shen Gong Wu. "She even styled her nails after France, just like you said Raimundo."

Quietly, she looked to Rai, who hadn't said a single word since she'd first arrived and raised a brow at him, her cocky smirk ever-present. "Well, Rai? What do you think?"

If Raimundo hadn't known Kimiko better, he'd think she was fishing for a compliment, given that Omi and Clay had just sung her praises. As it was, he did know her better, especially if the glint in her blue eyes was anything to go by, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She'd purposely put him on the spot. (Granted, Omi did it first; he'd have to have a little talk with him about this later). He was vaguely aware that the guys were staring at him, anticipating his next words, but thankfully Tomoko had latched onto her sister's arm before Raimundo could loosen the knot on his tongue and speak.

He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the older Tohomiko girl had pulled her, and by extension Keiko, towards Toshiro for a group photo, with Omi as their photographer. Clay put a hand on Raimundo's shoulder as the group huddled together, a soft, yet knowing smile overtaking the cowboy's lips.

"That pretty, huh?" Clay asked, dropping his hand when Rai looked at him.

Though his hot cocoa was long gone, Raimundo felt a warmth settle in his stomach as turned back to face the group, just in time to see a genuine smile break out over Kimiko's face. For the first time ever, he found himself admitting a very obvious truth: Kimiko was beautiful.

"Yeah."

Clay blinked, taken aback by his best friend's gentle admission, but it didn't last very long and soon he found himself smiling too.

#xiaolin showdown #raikim #raimundo pedrosa #kimiko tohomiko #clay bailey #omi #toshiro tohomiko #neefa writes

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an-ordinary-roach · 4 years

Note

As promised, he slides a God Brain cocktail across the bar counter for Bor, completely free of charge! He holds his finger up, signaling for the buggy entity to wait as he tops the drink with a little paper umbrella. There, perfect! "So now that all that other shit's behind us, I'm genuinely curious: How d'ya go about MAKIN' someone a ghost? The process of it I mean. 'Cause it's different for every death-related being I meet. Have yet t'meet one with a method similar t'my own."

After a fun bout of hanging with the regulars here, Bor took a seat right next to their witch who’s enjoying their own god brain slushy. They’re super glad the both of them took the weekend off to come here, it feels like it’s needed after the ups and downs that everyone has had in the past days. They were extra hyped to see this god make this promised cocktail, they’re intent on watching closely how he prepares this drink. Sure they can’t exactly see what goes in it but the smell is amazing, if Bill didn’t made that gesture to hold their roll Bor would’ve gone straight in. BUT THE UMBRELLA THOUGH… It was literally the cherry on top of the sundae.~ They always love the little umbrellas that comes with drinks.~“Grazie, Bill.~ Grazie!” They thanked him before dipping their proboscis tongue right into it. It may seem like they’re being silly, but this demon roach is really drinking it seeing how the height of it dipped lowered just a bit for a taste. “Mmnph!~” You know how someone gotta make their body fall a little after tasting something so so good? It seems like Bor’s no exception as they did just that! “Dear satan, what the fuck this is great!!” They gotta get another good sip in for good measure.~Their were eyes were all happily squinty with the drink in hand as Bill inquired about how they make ghosts. Antennae perked up, a fave topic that actually requires attention. Regretfully they gotta put the god brain slushy to the side, for now thankfully.~“Oh uh! There’s usually three components, for me personally, probably just two? But the main ones are 1) being tethered to a familiar place(or person/object) and 2) timing. I forget what’s the third one but it’s there, but a case by case basis.” A moment was taken to have a sip of that drink again, purring audibly, no shame!~ “Oof~… The tetherin helps keeps the ghost form if near familiar place, person, or thing. The recently deceased been in that place before so it’ll be like muscle memory keepin their form.” “That timing helps so ya don’t lose them when they wander around the astral plane or ah…” They wiggle their drink a little in no real direction. “Get eaten by who’evah the nasty fuck wanna eat them. ”@wildgcd

#eerie inspects the drink #bor just goes in #active roachie #Bor:/ I ate one once out of curiosity it sucked/#wildgcd

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punchmedanny · 6 years

Text

Chicago II July 25, 2018

Alright strap yourselves in cuz this is gonna be a long ass post WITH SPOILERS for Interactive Introverts. I will mark where spoilers begin if you want to read about pre show stuff. If you don't want any spoilers whatsoever, don't feel obligated to read this even if we're buddies! Feel free to send me an ask/dm instead 😅

Alright folks, let's go!

Playing the Waiting Game

I was supposed to get to the venue at 4 for m&g, but I got there before 3 because a) i'm terrified of being late and b) my uber driver made excellent time.

The venue was not open yet, so my bf and I walked to a nearby mall. We passed by the tour buses (presumably dnp's plus other performers'). There was a group of people hanging around them looking v stalkerish (please don't hang around the buses before the show)

We got back to venue around 3:50 and waited in line outside till 4 when the venue let us in. We were near the middle of the line, so if you want to be closer to the front, get there sooner lol

Turns out I was behind the lovely @noodlephil in line (although I didn’t know till after!)

Two internet friends were meeting for the first time and crying (it was adorable)

Inside, there was a table with staff that checked and marked our tickets then gave us silver paper wristbands

We got in a second line where we had a bag check (our venue allowed sealed water bottles, but that might vary) and were scanned by a wand metal detector. After that, staff scanned our tickets

We went to a third line which was the actual line for m&g and were told the m&g itself would start around 4:30

Marianne came by and said we would be waiting a bit longer for "latecomers" (im p sure dnp were the latecomers because most people were there at that point haha)

Marianne walked like a frickin goddess and her voice was beautiful

She made a speech giving us a rundown of how m&g would work, which I recorded

The m&g area was set up in the lobby to the side of the theatre doors

Dan and Phil entered from our left (towards the back of the theate)

They jogged across the m&g backdrop where we could see them better and waved. Dan did the cutest bouncy jump ever while waving. He stayed out longer than Phil

There was a table to set your bag on as you approached the backdrop

The music was loud af and there was NO WAY to see or hear other people's m&g - it was v private even though there were tons of people

Marianne was at the very front of the line and asked what she could do to help. I was like uhhh (because I'm eloquent like that) and she asked if we had anything for them to sign. My bf had golf balls lmao and gave them to her. I said I wanted to take a Polaroid for them to sign. She had me turn the camera on because apparently they’d had issues with Polaroid cameras in the past

I thanked her for the way everything was being run and joked a bit while we waited

When it was our turn, the people in front of us were completely gone (I repeat: v private). Marianne gestured and verbally told us to go on in

Meeting Dan and Phil

Phil was wearing his red jacket and good vibes t-shirt just like the beginning of "week in the life" He welcomed us with open arms and I went in for the Phil Hug. Wow. Phil is an excellent hugger and his arms felt a lot stronger than I imagined. And, yes, he waited for me to let go first

As soon as I let go of Phil, I stepped to the side and and looked at Dan. He was wearing his II denim jacket over a white t-shirt. He also had his arms wide for a hug. And lemme tell you, that boi has a fuckin wingspan. Dan gave a more gentle hug than Phil and we let go at like the same time

I am not a hugger and wasnt even 100% sure before I went in that I would hug them tbh

After the hugs, I stepped back and took them both in that's what she said. My initial impression was confidence and class. Literally, the most confident people I've ever encountered irl

Everyone says they're tall, but they are, as my bf said, taller than advertised. He's 6'2 and still looked up to both of them. I feel like they're both close to the next inch up honestly

They are wide. Like we've all noticed the Phil is wide, but Dan is too! They are literal giants

The cameras do NOT do them justice. Phil looks his age irl and I mean that in the sexiest way possible. He does actually have pores and tiny wrinkles (gasp), but I think they only make him more attractive. He oozes understated masculinity. But he also has serious nerd energy and idgaf attitude. Basically, he seems kind of badass

Dan looked flawless. Like I know every so often people wonder about if he wears makeup and all imma say is either he does OR he has the best damn skin care routine and/or genetics ever. He looks like someone after they use a filter

I'd say dan is suave and phil has swagger

(I'm about to sound real fucking weird) They both had such strong auras or energy or whatever you want to call it. It was palpable and BIG - like it extended off of them a couple feet. Dan's felt more static-y, while phil's felt more like balloon about to burst. It merged together between them to where I couldn't tell where one stopped and the other started

Marianne handed Phil the golf balls and he and Dan just stared at them in his hand in confusion for a second then Phil said "golf balls?" before my bf explained it was because they were the caddy lads. They chuckled and Dan said it was "the only series that has any value"

I am now the proud (?) owner of photos and video of phil holding two balls in his hand and I feel really weird about it

Dan asked if I had anything for them to sign, so I told him I wanted to take a Polaroid to which Dan replied, "D'ya want me to attempt the rare Polaroid selfie?"

Then I actually gently teased Dan (!?!?) because I'm a little shit lol I said, "I successfully did one this morning, so I hope you can"

They both seemed mildly amused and he did the thing where he touched his chest lightly in mock offense and said, "Well, let's see"

Tbh I think this was why I got genuine smiles in my pic

Dan said, "Beautiful" and Phil said "Amazing" lol (it really was tho)

Dan described the signature he'd be doing as "the tiniest little dan" and he used the highest voice ever

Phil's signature was so bad im pretty sure dan laughed at it lmao

Dan offered another selfie with my phone (i love him)

I shook their hands before I left and they seemed surprised, but appreciative. They both had excellent handshakes: firm, but not too hard. They both had soft, warm hands with Phil's being about average and Dan's being warmer than average

Overall, they were incredibly kind and professional. The vibe to be was sort of like talking to a boss who isn't your direct boss at a work party: fun, but still guarded

The saying goes "Never meet your heroes," but whoever said that obviously never met dan and phil. This was one of my happiest memories of all time

1500+ word description of the meeting including a sommelier worthy account of how the boys smell

And here’s the (real shit) video of my m&g

The Pre-Show

After meeting the bois, we were immediately given our goodie bags (one of them was double stuffed, lucky me)

Staff asked if we’d be staying in the theatre or not. Upon telling them we’d be leaving, they let us know we’d need to scan out so we could re-enter later

We bought merch (tie-dye/marbled look tee, long sleeved tee, and denim jacket). The line was basically non-existant, so if you have VIP 100% get your merch at this time

We scanned out and were told we could re-enter at 6 along with general admittance ticket holders

We had dinner then got back around 6:10. There was no line this time and we went through security and ticket scanning again

There were so many people everywhere and everyone was so cute! Why are we such a good looking fandom??? The line for merch was EXTREMELY long. RIP those folks

So was the line for the restrooms (and multiple men’s rooms were turned into ladydoors women’s restrooms)

We got 2 drinks (both for me) then went to our seats. We were front and center - I could literally touch the stage with my shoe from my seat. At this time I met @phandommom and @crunchytoasted1

The pre-show music was loud af where I was seated (I actually put in ear plugs lol). Lots of people were dancing and I got to witness crunchytoast dance to “Ladydoor” live which was a treat. At one point various people were running across the theatre with various LGBT+ flags to plenty of cheers. ‘Twas glorious. People did the whole waving the phone flashlights thing and sang along during “Welcome to the Black Parade”

My bf got me 2 more drinks

Showtime!

THIS IS WHERE THE SPOILERS START!!!

It was so, so weird to see them onstage after having the m&g. I legit wanted to climb onstage and like be close again, but, ya know, I didn’t cuz I know what’s socially acceptable

We were called Susan. Classic

Phil was wearing waffle socks. As in socks with tiny waffles all over them

We sacrificed Phil to Satan and Dan died in a furry nightclub

None of mine or my bf’s answers got chosen and I’m a bit salty lol

We sacrificed Dan (the only correct choice fite me)

At intermission the line for the bathrooms was sooooo long omg. I got myself 2 more drinks at this point and called @h-owllslide to gush about the show. I spilled one of my drinks on my bf a little when I sat back down.

Danny was 3 centimeters away from loosing his dick and he got paint on his shoe. He seemed legit irked lol

Nick Jonas was in Dan’s box, but I don’t recall the other two cuz that was the only one that mattered imo

I got a piece of the sign and when they threw it into the audience it was a bit disturbing how everyone tore into it like a swarm of pirahnas

They wore Cubs baseball shirts over their usual shirts during the rap/song finale which was absolutely precious. I LOVED the finale so fucking much - it was magnificent

END SPOILERS!!!

Closing Thoughts

I wish I hadn’t drank so much (6 wines for those of you keeping track at home). I was getting real embarrassing by the end (as in screaming excitedly too much/ too often) and I don’t remember it as clearly as I wish I did. I was just freaking tf out and my anti-anxiety meds weren’t cutting it

I was struggling incredibly hard not to disassociate the entire time

I wish I could go to another show. It was so fun!

The following day, I had a major mood drop. If you’re prone to this, maybe have a plan to hang with someone and do something nice, but lowkey the next day

This was literally the most fun thing I’ve done in at least two years and was one of my happiest memories ever. We’re talking patronus conjuring levels of happy

If you can go, go. If you can’t, don’t feel too bad. It was EXTREMELY intense and not for everyone (especially m&g). Plus they are putting it up later, which I’m looking forward to because I think I’ll be able to better absorb it

Please feel free to ask me anything about the show! I’d love to go on about it lol

#omg this is so much longer than i anticipated #i mean i aint apologizing lmao #i will be legitimately surprised if anyone reads this in its entirety #it's mainly to help me remember because i have some memory issues #Dan and Phil #dan howell #daniel howell #phil lester #amazingphil #DNP #interactive introverts spoilers #interactive introverts #ii spoilers #ii m&g #text post #punchmedanny #tw: alcohol

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solarbird · 7 years

Text

advice received on a treadmill

Lena "Tracer" Oxton has second thoughts about giving up on the Widowmaker, and goes to extreme lengths to ask someone she met once - quite impossibly, but nonetheless met - for advice.

While it involves the on overcoming the fear of spiders Venom and Widowmaker, and the it is not easy to explain, she said Emily "Kestrel" Oxton, it is canon in neither AU, and should make sense without having read either of those.

It is in fact a semi-sequel to "I Could Murder a Chippie," inspired in part by the fact that my gym's colours are UW Huskies colours, which is to say, Talon purple, and Overwatch gold, and that had to show up somewhere. [AO3 link]

"Th' hell?" said Venom, as the treadmill she was on - black and purple, like so much Talon gear, like so much Talon corporate culture - suddenly gained gold highlights.

"Ha!" said Tracer, as the treadmill she was on - black and gold, like so much Overwatch gear, like so much Overwatch corporate culture - suddenly gained purple highlights.

Venom looked to her left, the previously unoccupied treadmill now occupied by her mirror image, almost, hair almost the same, eyes almost the same, accelerator stripes most definitely not the same, or even there at all.

Tracer looked to her right, the previously unoccupied treadmill now occupied by her mirror image, almost, hair almost the same, eyes almost the same, accelerator missing, but she has thin stripes showing on her shoulders and legs, faintly shining blue.

"Hiya!" said Tracer, beating Venom to the punch. "Somehow I just knew you'd have a gym on Filicudi."

"You again..." Venom's mind raced, as she thought back to the impossible luncheon she'd shared with the Manic Pixie Murder Machine. "...that was real?"

"Kinda!" chirped Tracer. "As real as interdimensional transits can be, anyway. Thought I'd see if I could set up the right conditions and meed up again. You remember me, so I guess it worked!"

Venom reached over and tried, and failed, to touch Tracer. Tracer did the same, in reverse. At least she's not really here, thought the assassin. That's a relief. "So... your Winston's somewhere off... in some impossible direction from here, I guess?"

"Yah! Well, yeah, I guess so, but not to me. He's been helpin' out, but it's by remote. We've had this set up a while - it's the first time it's actually worked!"

Venom looked crossly at her Overwatch alternate-dimension counterpart. "So. Your Overwatch doesn't work with your Talon, does it?"

"Nope!"

"So what's this about, then? Intel gathering?"

"Kinda?"

"Won't matter, y'know. Apparently, our kind of Talon is pretty rare."

"Yeah, I've only seen a few of your lot. Tekhartha always dies, 'cept when it's you... which is..." she looked down at her treadmill, and let it coast to a stop. "...why I wanted to apologise."

Venom blinked, letting her treadmill slow to a stop as well. "...wot?"

"I'm sorry. For calling you evil. I've been thinkin' about that fight we had, and..." She let out a deep breath, and took another one. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I mean, you're still assassins, and I still can't go with that, but..." She shook her head back and forth, slowly. "Bloody hell, love, you saved Tekhartha Mondatta. D'ya know how rare that is?"

"We've... kind of got that idea, yeah." Venom didn't say that mostly, worlds like theirs, they ended up without her, or with a Venom that didn't question the mission, with Widowmaker taking the shot. With atomic fire and ash. With the war that truly did end all wars.

But not here, she thought. Not us. Not now.

"So..." continued Tracer, "...I'm sorry."

Venom shook off the things that could've been, but weren't, and smirked, but with a little warmth to it. "You went to these lengths for an apology? Maybe you're not so bad as I thought, Tracer. I accept."

Tracer smiled her genuine smile, the soft one, the one she saved for people she really, truly liked. "Thanks."

"But you said you wanted intel. Sorta."

Tracer blushed furiously. "...yeah."

What's that blush? Venom wondered. "G'wan then..."

"Tell me..." she looked nervously off to the side, "...about Amélie."

"Wot." said Venom. This can't be what I think it is, she thought, or maybe it might. "I thought you and Emily were..."

"We are!" Tracer protested. "And we're happy! But..."

"...you've seen some of those universes where it's all three of us together, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"And y'want that."

Tracer looked down, and her voice became very quiet. "I'd... I don't know. I don't know what I want. But I know I'd given up on her, and I... I think that was wrong."

Must do, thought Venom, to poke at spacetime about it. She sympathised, of course. How could she not? But might as well have some fun with her opposite. "Well, first things first. You have another apology to make, luv."

"For wot?"

"'Aggressively overstyled shitehawk' ring any bells?"

Tracer laughed. "Ah, c'mon, mate, that was a joke and you knew it."

Venom smirked. "Apologise anyway."

"Done," the Overwatch agent replied, laughing. "I'm sorry. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I'm sorry."

Venom grinned her famous half-grin, and looked off to the side, where Tracer could not see. "Amélie, Em, you think we should help her?"

Em?! thought Tracer. "What?! "

"Surprise!"

"What?! When?! "

Venom beamed, broadly. "We placed a discreet notice for a private top-class aircraft mechanic. Guess who showed up?"

"Wha... wha..." Tracer quite literally vibrated in place. Venom didn't think she could do that with her kind of accelerator, but, apparently, she could.

"Is that a question?"

"...yes?"

Venom just laughed. "It's fate, Tracer. Get used to it, it's probably gonna happen! Mostly just a matter of when."

"But luv, where do I start? How do I get past the Widowmaker and free Amélie?"

Venom frowned. "Y'want a serious answer? Y'won't like it."

Tracer nodded.

"Stop thinkin' they're different."

Tracer blinked. "But they are, Widow's not even - well, fine, not yours, but mine, Talon..."

"Doesn't matter," interrupted the junior assassin. "Got news, mate. If you can't love the Widowmaker, you can't love Amélie."

From out of range of the interface field, but not out of range of the movement of air to carry sound, came the senior assassin's voice. "It's true. Even when they think they've built someone completely new, they have not. They have only forced changes, and even then, fewer than they think. The foundation remains. It must, for the process to work."

"Woah," breathed Tracer. She knew the elder assassin had to be there, somewhere, but hearing her voice send tingles down her skin. "...Widowmaker?"

Amélie stepped into what she suspected - correctly - was the area of field effect. She put down the free weights, wiped her face with a towel, and turned to the tangerine-clad Overwatch agent. "Hello, Tracer."

Tracer's breath stopped and she blinked, her mouth half open for a moment before she was able to close it, and she shook her head. Venom and Widowmaker exchanged the briefest of meaningful glances - oh, she's got it bad, doesn't she? - before Tracer collected herself, with a "...nice to see you, luv." The teleporter swallowed. "Even though you're not..."

"...your Widowmaker?" interjected Amélie.

"Yah."

"Neither is she," said Tracer.

Widowmaker nodded her agreement. "She is a person, cherie, and she is not yours."

Tracer took the point, and, for once, knew when to shut up. Amélie picked up on the silence, and granted her a small smile. "Ah, you already begin to understand, yes? She is real - as real as I am. As we all are, every one of us. Just as every Tracer is a person - even the most dedicated members of the worst kinds of Talon - so is every Widowmaker, no matter what she may seem to you."

"So she's still in there..."

"No," Widowmaker said, frowning a little, and crossing her arms. "Understand this. She is there, right there, in front of you, as I am now. Perhaps under various kinds of influence, perhaps traumatised, perhaps parts of her are muted, perhaps parts of the old her are even lost, perhaps she is even a new person built from the old - but no matter what has happened, she is that person now."

Tracer's eyes widened, as her thoughts flashed to all the ways she'd tried to talk to her universe's Widowmaker, and how offers to help, to undo what they'd done, to bring back Amélie, always backfired.

"...I've been..."

Widowmaker smiled.

"...telling her we'd do the same thing Talon did."

"Exactement," Widowmaker bowed, her arms now spread apart, as if on stage.

"Oh. Oh, oh, no," Tracer said, burying her face in her hands. "What've I done? "

"Hey, hey," said Venom, reaching forward uselessly, to comfort her opposite. "It's all right. She still talk t'you?"

Venom looked back up, towards the voice. "Yeh. Sometimes."

"Then," said Widowmaker, "I think it is not too late. I cannot imagine any version of myself that would talk to you if she had, how do you say, written you down?"

"Y'think?"

"Also, you are still alive, are you not?"

Tracer snorted. "Don't underestimate me, luv."

"Do not underestimate her, either." Widowmaker nodded towards Venom, whose accelerator stripes suddenly shined brightly, and then she grabbed Tracer off her treadmill, hand strong and oh so very solid. "Or me."

Tracer shrieked, and found herself unable to teleport away, as Widowmaker leaned forward, golden eyes bright, the spider bearing down on her terrified, halfway hypnotised prey. "Understand. I do this for her. Not for you. Can you love the spider? "

Tracer stared back into those gold eyes, and that cold blue face, overcome with fear... and then, suddenly, felt no longer afraid. She reached forward, pulled her arms around the Widowmaker, and kissed her, briefly but fiercely. Pulling back, she held the spider's gaze, and said, firmly, "...I can."

Amélie smiled coquettishly, and let Tracer go. "She does not taste like you, beloved," as Venom and Emily both laughed.

"They never do," said Emily, from outside the field.

"They never...?" replied Tracer, confused.

"You're not the first Tracer to come asking these questions, luv," Venom said, with something between a grin and a smirk. Her glow faded to normal, and Tracer returned to her insubstantial state, at least, for the Talon crew and gear. "All patched up. G'wan back home."

"And good luck!" she heard Emily call, from outside the field. "Most of us are pretty poly, but some of us aren't. Don't hurt your Emily, or I'll come after you myself!"

Tracer looked towards the direction of Emily's voice. "Not for anything, Em. Not for anything."

"I'll hold you to that," she shouted, as the field began to fade, and then collapsed.

Tracer dropped and sat on the treadmill's belt as the gateway failed, the last of the stored charge exhausted, patting the ground, the floor, the chairs, making sure she was still here, still home. She'd not expected to be grabbed completely into their reality like that, and she shivered at the thought of losing her Emily, her Overwatch, her world. That was... a lot riskier than I imagined! she thought. Winston'll want to know.

"So," she said, after a moment, looking over outside the field boundaries, to her Emily. "You still sure about this?"

Emily "Kestrel" Oxton raised an eyebrow. "After seeing you and her kiss?" The flying agent smiled a broad, bold smile. "I am. More than ever."

#overwatch #overwatch au #venom #tracer #tracemaker #tracermaker #widowtracer #widowmaker #kestrel #emily kestrel oxton #fluff #ot3 #also on ao3

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midknightmasquerade · 7 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Fandom: Radiata Stories (PS2) Characters: Jack Russell & Flora Additional Tags: Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Bonding, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Parent(s)

Summary: Jack's lingering in the Olacion Order post-sermon leads to a connection between two orphaned protégés that neither of them had expected.

He had never been much for prayer.

Yet she can't help but wonder, when he sits there smiling at her, all shining teeth and goofy grins - why stay after a sermon if not to talk to the gods?

"Is there something on your mind, Jack?" The question poses no threat. Her eyes, however, appraise his reaction with particular interest. An answer existed somewhere beneath the surface of that wide-eyed wonder. Of that, she was certain.

The dopey grin she receives in response, however, would have made anyone wonder whether anything of substance stood behind that absent stare. "Who, me? Nah, I'm just enjoying the afterparty."

Said afterparty, of course, consisted solely of Flora, still sweeping up after Eugene spilled something suspiciously similar to liquor next to the altar, and Alvin, delivering a passionate manifesto about the importance of preparedness to the empty pews. Jack listens in on the lecture with something akin to mock agreement, grin a bit too toothy to pass for plain. Truth be told, Alvin did make for an amusing sight. All that sweat simply from flailing his limbs. He might be the first martyr to die from self-inflicted dehydration should he keep his sermon going.

Turning his attention aside from Alvin, hoping to keep out of the spit zone, Jack rocks back and forth off the edge of the pew. His boots scuff the edges of the holy texts stowed beneath them. Master Kain might have keeled over if he noticed the new dirt stains on the Psalm of Enjela. Flora makes a mental note not to mention where Jack sat in service today. "Why d'ya ask?"

"Because most people don't decide to stay and watch us sweep after service."

Wide eyes etch his shock clear as day into his face. That cheekiness of his has seemed to rub off on her. Master Fernando likely would have laughed from his gut if he heard her give such a quip. A "firebrand", he'd call her, "the spitting image of her father, that's for sure".

Attempting to lighten her tone, despite the sudden tension she felt tighten her fingers, she continues, "if someone stays, they usually speak to the gods for guidance. The confessional booths should be bursting with requests from citizens right about now. It made me worry whether you were alright, or in need of assistance."

"Don't you worry about me! I'm just fine!" One fist beats against his chest. A "macho" gesture, she supposes, or one at least supposed to resemble an act of confidence. Was that supposed to reassure her? If anything, he seemed more a child for it. A boy pretending to be a man. "Besides, you know I'm not really into all that 'prayer' stuff. The gods haven't exactly had a conversation with me. I hear from you, and that's enough for me."

Despite his claim, the silence that followed strangles them. The tension seems all too thick to speak of anything but the imminent storm, a calm before the question:

"Say, Flora?"

She knew where this was headed. It was that same tone of voice Synelia used when she'd stared out at the stars too long, imagining her romantic getaway with a dreamy man. It was the same intonation that coated Cosmo's tone when he asked her what was wrong and she assured him everything was alright. It was the same prying hope her father had used when he asked if she would survive should something to happen, right before his death. She knew what was to come, and so stays silent.

"Your dad used to be a bigwig around here, right?"

And there it is.

Then again, it isn't exactly the way she expected it to be worded. Most others laced their questions with inauthentic care and a restrained sense of nosiness. Only Jack could make it sound so...casual. She almost laughs -- almost. "I don't think Master Kain would call him a 'bigwig'..." His phrasing might not have caused her to crack, but the mental image of her father sporting a giant wig -- and Master Kain's disbelieving sigh sure to soon follow -- certainly does. A giggle slips through the grief. "...but yes."

"Godhand Rivera, they called him. The man with the miracle hands." Her own hands, those that carried the blood of that talented man, grip the broom a bit tighter now. "Priestess Anastasia says I look just like him. Achilles, too. He swears I have that same -- how did he say it? -- light in me that my father had. They all say we are -- were -- the same."

She notices a shift in Jack then, an intensity that had not existed there before. Hunched forward in the pew now, he seems all the more intent on a conversation she assumed he had started only to fill the silence. She stiffens as his eyes bore into her, and so turns herself away from his sight lest she crumble beneath it. He seems to not-so-subtly study her every move thereafter, "hmm"-ing and "huh"-ing under his breath before drawing his conclusion:

"I dunno about that...I can't see it."

She never knew she could spin so swiftly on her heel. Words had all but failed her, lips flopping open and flapping shut just as soon. "You...what?" A surprisingly intelligent response, given her shock.

Jack had closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, now practically shoving pursed lips and narrowed eyes into her face. Spotting similarities, perhaps? Or simply invading her personal space? Then again, Jack never seemed to care for one's "bubble", nor the health of their kicked kneecaps. "Mmm, well, the hair's kinda the same, I guess. And the uniform, too. Guess that kinda goes with the territory, though."

It clicks. "You...knew my father?" Seldom few friends her age had witnessed a time when all of Radiata knew of Rivera's skill and wisdom. Yet he, an outsider, knew his face?

"Well, yeah!" Jack nods, as if she should have known. "Adele used to drag me here to pray whenever my dad had to go away on a mission for the knights. It's kinda hard to miss the guy teaching you how to pray." Before he speaks again, a somberness infects his expression, one unusual for someone so normally sanguine. "But when mom got sick, he came to the house all the time. He tried everything he knew to try and heal her. Guess he owed Dad a favor, or something. He never figured out how to help her. Dad, either, come to think of it."

Compassion clutches at Flora's heart, tearing it asunder from her self-absorbed bubble. She is not the only one here who had lost someone dear to them -- and many were the ones whom Jack had counted as lost.

"I'm...so sorry." The words seem lacking, inadequate in light of his suffering. Still, they are all she has. "I never knew yours was the family he visited out in Solieu. He was always saying what wild children Sir Cairn had. At least, one of them was, anyways." Fixing her face with a smile, she adds, "some things never change, I see."

"Hey!" He feigns offense, hands planted atop of his hips. The twitch at the tip of his lips betrays his threatening posture.

"Am I wrong?"

The challenge causes Jack's bravado to dissipate, now painfully aware of how right she is. Then again, that came as no surprise to either of them - Flora's wisdom almost always won out over Jack's impulsive insistence. He shrugs, defeated.

Flora laughs - genuinely, this time - and dares to inquire. "...do you miss him?"

Jack's eyes lighten then, startled, before fading into a dim cloud of muddied brown. No doubt he had to consider such a lofty question, even if they both already knew the answer. "Well, yeah, I guess." That's what she had assumed all this time. After all, how could someone not? "But, to be honest, I don't really think about it much."

That, more than anything else Jack had ever said, causes Flora to stop dead in her tracks.

"It's not like I don't have family. Mom took care of me until the day she died, and Adele's more than enough to make up for the both of them with how bossy she is." The wistfulness that distanced the warmth from his tone eases then, instead replaced by sincere gratitude that spread to the smile on his lips. "And besides! Now I have all sorts of friends in Radiata. I've got the Captain, and Ridley -- even if she's too stubborn to admit it. Sarge and Daniel seem cool...well, okay, that's pushing it. But I still like 'em! Clive might be useless, but he keeps me company, and, well -- I've got you, too!"

The statement overflows with such genuine joy that Flora curses the flush that rises to kiss her cheeks. How can someone say something so...so cliché and make it sound so heartfelt!? Only Jack Russell.

"Still, it doesn't mean he's still here with you now. Other people can come alongside of you, but they can't replace who was once there." Flora's hand slips into the hem of her cloak, grasping the picture that lay within; the picture that Jack, not too long ago now, hand-delivered to her. He still helped strangers, even then. Now, he helps a friend. "It's still not the same."

"Maybe you're right..." Not at all an unusual phrase exchanged between the two of them.

"...but so what?" A completely unexpected, never-before-been-said statement.

"Dad might not be with me, but I can still make him proud. You know, a legacy, and all that! If I become the strongest person in Radiata, it won't matter whether I got kicked out of those stuffy old knights or not. Everyone will know Jack Russell, son of Cairn, was worthy of wielding the Arbitrator!"

From the sheath dangling at his side, Jack flourishes a sword, one Flora could not recall ever having seen before. Where had he found such a magnificent blade? Prisms of light reflect off of every inch of the metal, cascading down from the stained glass of the temple's ceiling. Hues of amethyst and emerald mingle with the sapphire set in its hilt.

In Jack's grasp, this "Arbitrator" seems strangely at home with a new host -- if even an unseasoned one, for now. With an admittedly-clumsy flourish, Jack extends the blade out towards her. "En garde!"

He...can't be serious, can he?

No, wait. This is Jack. Of course he's serious.

When Flora's reaction amounts to stunned silence and a disbelieving stare, Jack resorts to pouting and pleading. "Aww, come on! How can I be as good a knight as Dad if I don't have a sparring partner?"

Without missing another beat, Flora twirls her broom as if it were a spear, wielding it with all the awkwardness one would expect of a pacifistic priestess.

Within moments, their sparring starts. In seconds, it stops. The broom had been discarded, Flora disarmed in mere moments. Jack slumps against the floor, laughing too hard to stand upright. Flora attempted to pout, to protest that she wasn't prepared for this, but breaks into a fit of giggles as soon as Jack insists he now understands why her father taught her to be a healer, not a fighter.

As their laughter fades, and the two find themselves alone amidst an empty -- and now messy once more -- chapel, Jack clasps his hands upon her shoulders with surprising strength. Flora finds herself too startled to resist the touch, instead staring straight into the face of the world's most overconfident, underqualified, and inexplicably but undeniably hopeful hero-in-the-making.

"We can do it, Flora. We'll be even better than our parents!" The statements escalate to exclamations, declaring their coming glory with a conviction Alvin could never imagine matching. "Just think about it! With my sword skills and your, uh, spirit fingers - we'll be unstoppable!"

She wants to deny him. She wishes she could extinguish his hope, if only to quell the inevitable crushing of her own. But something about the firmness of his grasp, the passion of his speech, and the fire burning right behind those innocent eyes makes her believe in something more. It inspires her to hope.

With all the tenderness she can muster, she lifts one of his hands off her shoulder and sets it atop of her heart, laying her own palm atop of it.

"Let's make our parents proud, Jack."

#radiata stories #jack russell #flora #fanfiction #writing #fanfic #ao3 #ffn #gaming #video games #ps2 #playstation 2 #retrogaming #tri-ace #olacion order

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solarbird · 7 years

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Old Soldiers, Chapter 7: is it good enough for you, still?

This chapter contains events which might end up making me setting a couple of content warnings on this story on AO3. Accordingly, I an putting the story behind a fold, here, as well.

[AO3 link]

"Mockingbird!" exclaimed a new voice in the comms, as she and Gabriel landed.

"Mei? That you, luv? When'd you get here?"

"Just when you started on the outdoor range. I watched from the cameras. That was amazing!"

"Thanks! That's a real compliment coming from you! Did you get my terms?"

"I did. They are fine. But Mercy wants to talk to you again."

"Not surprised. I'll head to the main hall right away."

"She said to come to her office."

"Her office?"

"Her office."

-----

"First," said the doctor, "I have confidentiality papers signed with Lena Oxton, not Mockingbird. Are you Lena Oxton?"

Lena made a face, and stuck out her tongue. She was on Swiss, not Lunar, soil now. The two buildings were separated by only a small, enclosed courtyard, but it made all the legal difference in the world. "Yeh."

"Good." Dr. Ziegler entered a short command on her keyboard, activating medical confidentiality rules, and outside sounds - already quiet - vanished. "This was good enough for you in London. Is it good enough for you, still?"

Venom thought about it for a moment, and idly flipped her suit back to Talon black and violet. Angela had never violated her trust. She was the first of the old school - the first generation of Overwatch - to come onboard the new Overwatch, and most importantly, the one Venom truly wanted onboard.

Well, her, and Mei, but Mei hardly counted as 'older generation,' having been in cryogenic suspension for all those years. Besides, Mei was a real hero. Mercy was also a hero... mostly. Which made her perfect.

If we're ever going to get her to come over to our team, she thought, we're going to have to trust her. "Yeh. It is."

Mercy nodded, once. "Thank you. Now. What the hell is this?!" She brought up the emergency response protocol for blood loss and shock. It showed how to inject the the contents of a venom mine into Mockingbird's thigh or heart. "This is not funny! How can I treat you if you are putting nonsense into the protocols?!"

Venom laughed a little. "It's not a joke, doc. Not one laffer in there. If I'm going into shock, if my heart isn't pumping and I can't get it to start, and I can't do this myself... do it for me."

"You are joking. This is a deadly poison, and a neurotoxin, and it will kill you."

"This," Venom said, "would kill you. Or... well, maybe not you. Definitely not me."

"Lena, what have you done to yourself?! "

"C'mon, doc. You think we want to get killed by our own mines?"

"I have some idea what's in them, you know. From before."

"Yeh, I figured."

"So you lied to Winston."

"I didn't! Well, not so's it matter. Once this is over, I'll come back all rosy-cheeked and brown eyed and faster - and happier - like nothin's ever happened. This isn't me, it's just somethin' I wear, like a spacesuit."

"Except it is part of you." No pretence at that being anything short of a statement. "When?"

Lena grimaced. "'Bout a year ago. We were in a firefight in Jakarta, one of Amé's mines got blown up straight into my face and I was out of jinks."

"Ah, I see," nodded the doctor. "So, not going to let that happen twice."

"Nope. Besides, we can always use another sniper. I wasn't good enough, unmodified."

"And now you are."

"Sure am."

"I'm not sure what to do with this. What you are doing is dangerous and disturbing."

"That's bloody hilarious coming from you, doc. The others may ignore it, but I don't."

Angela froze, just for a moment, and Venom charged ahead.

"You're no more baseline human than I am. Maybe less. Don't take it the wrong way, luv, I think it's brilliant! But you think I don't notice you don't age?"

Angela laughed a little, caught out and knowing it. "I suppose you will not accept that I work out and live a very healthy lifestyle."

"Got that right. S'why I didn't let you touch me before, either."

"I would not have needed to touch you."

Ooh, thought the assassin. Didn't think of that. "Fareeha, too?"

"Not yet. We argue about it."

"I hope you win that fight," Lena said, simply, but sincerely.

"I very much do as well."

A moment's pause from the Talon agent. "You wouldn't have to hide it, with us, y'know."

"Your wife is blue and has a giant spider tattooed on her back. I am not surprised," smirked the Overwatch doctor.

"We have our way, nobody would have to hide any of it."

Angela Ziegler tilted her head a little, and looked wistfully at the Talon assassin in front of her. She had to admit, it was an attractive proposition. It would be wonderful not to have to... no, she thought. Assassins. Maybe on our side, but still, killers.

"If I have to inject this... monstrosity... into your bloodstream, will you turn completely blue? I need to know what to expect."

Venom giggled. "Nah, take a lot more than that! It'll just reset a bunch of systems to baseline, refill my cellular energy reserves, restart my heart... things like that."

"Lena, I am a medical doctor. I do not want to treat you blindly. I know what I agreed to, but I am your doctor. Not Overwatch's. Please, I have to know."

Lena Oxton nodded, thought, in for a penny, in for... not quite a pound, and pulled a stack of very thin, but strong, flimsies from the largest pouch on her costume. "We're takin' a real big risk here, doc. Don't let us down."

"Does Amélie know you're handing me these documents?"

"I did say 'we.'"

"Do I get to to keep them?"

"Nope. You get to read 'em, now, while I'm here. You can take notes, but you can't make copies. Then I take 'em back."

Angela read. The document was intricate, and detailed, and incomplete in certain areas - she was not being completely trusted. It was enough to know how to provide genuinely proper care for a Widowmaker-class assassin - at least, in a conventional sense. But not enough to... I will need that scan.

"This," she said, "must've been very painful to undergo."

Venom shrugged. "Hurt a lot less than the Slipstream. And hurt Amélie more, she went all the way through it."

"And you didn't."

The younger assassin smiled. "I like who I am. I didn't need to..." and she stopped. Dammit.

Angela picked up the sentence, and finished it. "...run from who you were."

"...yeh."

The doctor stood up, and handed back the papers. "I'd love to talk with the researchers who came up with this."

"She'd love to talk with you. She's a big fan."

Angela nodded. "I appreciate that."

"Someday, maybe?"

"Perhaps. But it's not enough. I still need a scan."

"Doc," Venom said, frustration in her voice, "we've been through this."

"No. You don't understand, but you will." She stood up, and straightened her jacket. "I am asking you to trust me in ways you do not want to trust anyone, and that requires a return of that trust, and that requires a demonstration."

Venom looked confused. "What d'ya mean, doc?"

Dr. Ziegler walked to the corner of her office, and picked up a long, metal staff leaned casually against one wall. She tapped it on the floor, and a set of metal hard-light blades popped out from one end. She walked back in front of her patient. "May I borrow one of your pistols? Do they behave normally, now?"

Venom handed one of her twin firearms to the doctor. "Yeh, just point and shoot. I didn't know you had handgun training, though."

"I'm Swiss, we all do." She flipped the safety off, put the pistol to the side of her own neck, and fired a full clip right at her own carotid artery.

Venom shrieked and shot out of hear seat, grabbing Mercy as she slumped down to the floor, staff still in hand, blood and viscera everywhere. "NO! WHAT?! NO! WHY? DOC!"

As the light in her eyes faded, Angela mouthed, silently, "wait"... and then, as she died, she was enveloped in light even as she lay in Venom's arms, light which spread across the floor, and over wherever her blood had spilled, gathering around it all.

Lena jinked back to the far side of the room, in a combination of terror and awe, as the light regathered, formed into the shape of her friend, and vanished... leaving Angela Ziegler, whole and returned.

"Would I have to hide that? " the doctor asked, pointedly.

Lena Oxton fell to the ground, shaking. "Wha... wha... what... you... that was not right..."

Mercy walked over to the young assassin, bent down, and offered her hand. "I am ready to revive everyone in Overwatch this same way, in combat, if needed. Including you - and even Amélie. But I have to know how you work, first. Otherwise..."

"Cor blimey," Venom said, still in shock, taking the Swiss woman's hand. "What are you?"

The much older than she appeared battle medic helped the Talon assassin up off the ground, and smiled. "I am your doctor."

#venom #mercy #overwatch mercy #talon tracer #mei-ling zhou #mockingbird #tracer #widowtracer #tracemaker #tracermaker #old soldiers #also on ao3 #ethically questionable mercy

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