#FishTank with a crack in the glass

[gumnut-logic]

“Hold still.”

“’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

“You’re not fine! Hold still!”

“’S only a bl’d nose.”

“I need to check it anyway. I hit you hard.”

“Lucky sh’t.”

“Hold still!”

Gordon let his shoulders drop and held still. Virgil was beside himself over this. It was obvious. It was only a blood nose, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like it was his first.

The scanner’s yellow light flickered over him and Gordon flinched. So damned bright.

Of course, this just set off Virgil even more. “We’re going to the infirmary.”

“’irg-“

“Now.”

Okay, that was an elder brother command. Gordon wasn’t stupid enough to disobey that. His shoulders dropped just that bit lower and Virgil’s gentle hand wrapped around his arm and led him from the gym.

“I’m sorry, Gords.” It was said with so much guilt, Gordon rolled his eyes.

Ow.

The hand on his arm tightened.

It was a lucky shot. There was no way in hell Virgil could best him in hand to hand. If Virgil pinned him, maybe. He had the mass and the strength. But Gordon was fast and his smaller stature a major advantage. His big brother couldn’t catch him on the best of days.

Except for today, apparently.

The infirmary loomed as they exited the elevator. It did that. Gordon hated any medical setting…for good reason…and the infirmary on the Island was no exception.

He was deposited on the bed with a firm but gentle nudge, told to sit upright and to tip his head forward.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew the treatment for a nosebleed.

Blood tasted awful.

He closed his eyes a moment.

A soft touch to his face and blood was dabbed off his skin. A quiet rumble of query.

It repeated and a frown formed in the air.

A hand on his shoulder. “Gords?”

“Hmm?”

Ow. Virgil’s fist had definitely left a mark on his sinuses.

“You with me, Gordon?”

“Mmmmhmm.”

A rustle of instruments and a finger peeled back his right eyelid. A sharp flicker of light hit his retina and he flinched away. “’irg!”

“Hold still.” Strong hands made him do exactly that.

His reward was another finger peeling back his other eyelid and that retina being equally assaulted.

“’irg!” He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as that caused his whole face to echo the pain in his nose.

Virgil didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of the now firm grip he had on Gordon’s shoulder. A hum started up and Gordon let a breath out as the scanner flickered over him again. “’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

His brother still didn’t answer, but the bed under him shifted, its head rising under his right hand.

“Lie down.”

“’irg-“

“Lie down.” Okay, there was something in his brother’s voice that bore no argument. Gordon opened his eyes and found worry in his brother’s.

Those brown eyes blurred a little.

What?

He dragged his feet up onto the bed, his exercise sweat pants riding up above his bare feet. A shuffle and he had to admit it was a relief to have the back support, top half of the bed up as far as it would go. His head was throbbing. He must remember not to try and stop Virgil’s fist with his face ever again.

As to why his brother had managed to even touch him was a worry in itself. Virgil was good, but he wasn’t that good. Gordon had been dancing around him for years. As his co-pilot, Gordon saw it as part of his duties to help his brother with his hand-to-hand. Of course, between himself and Kayo, they helped all the brothers, even Scott who had his fair share of training in the Air Force. But Gordon had always had a special thought for Virgil. His brother was a wall of muscle, ‘built like a brick shithouse’ was the popular phrase. But muscle didn’t necessarily equate to good self-defence and Virgil was a softy from way back. There had been incidents with the occasional over zealous fan, but also one of Gordon’s nightmares was what would happen if someone with less kind intentions got a hold of any of his brothers.

Virgil was too damned nice for his own good.

So, Gordon took it on to look after him.

But today…why had he let Virgil hit him?

“What happened?” The deep voice of his eldest brother and Gordon realised his eyes had slipped closed again. Opening them was a mistake. The lighting in the room had apparently taken on nuclear fusion in an attempt to compete with the sun.

He groaned and shoved his eyes closed again.

“Gordon?” Virgil’s hand landed on his arm.

“You suck.”

“And you’ve got a concussion. I’m sorry, Gordon.”

What?

“Report, Virgil.” Great, the Commander was out which meant Scott was upset. It was only a bloody nose, for goodness sake.

Virgil’s sigh was a mix of worry and regret. “My fault. I hit him.”

There was silence for a moment. All Gordon could hear was his heartbeat in his sinuses.

“You hit Gordon?” Gordon should be proud at the amount of disbelief in his eldest brother’s voice. Or worried at his lack of confidence in Virgil’s skill.

One or the other.

Maybe both.

God, his head hurt.

“I shouldn’t have let him spar. But he was upset after today and I wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I wasn’t much better, Scott!”

Oh, shit, Virgil. “’S not your fault.”

There was a lack of an answer and that worried Gordon more than anything Virgil could have said to him. He threw out a hand and scratched at a shirt. Fingers caught his, but they weren’t Virgil’s. “Sco’, ‘s not his fault!”

“Gordon, rest you have a stage two concussion. You know that is something you don’t mess with.”

Yeah, well, Virgil has a lot of muscle behind his fist.

Gordon let a breath out between his teeth and relaxed into the bed. Virgil was obviously pissed at himself and he would have to talk him around at some point.

Gentle fingers touched his face again. Soft cloth wiped a cool liquid across his skin.

“The bleeding has stopped.” Virgil’s baritone was quiet and worried. “However, there is some swelling….and there will likely be bruising.”

Swelling? Bruis-….aww, hell, he was supposed to be going out with Penny tomorrow night. A charity gala, it was important to her.

Hell.

“I’m so sorry, Gordon.” Little more than breath.

This just sucked.

He knew the results of an impact to that part of a face. He’d had to do it enough himself.

Then something else occurred to him.

“Did you break m’ noze?”

Silence.

“’irg?”

“Not broken. Hairline crack.”

“’uck!”

“I’m sorry, Gordon.”

He flung out a hand again and this time managed a handful of cotton t-shirt. He dragged it closer. “’Snot your fault!”

Virgil didn’t answer, but his fingers were pried from that t-shirt and held for just a moment, only to be let go as Virgil moved away suddenly.

Gordon flailed, reaching. A footstep and those hands returned with something cold. Towelling, cold as ice.

Gentle hands gathered his and moved to his face. The cold pack melted into his skin and gave him some blessed relief.

“Hold that there.”

“’Snot your fault.”

Again, there was no answer.

A finger brushed hair from his forehead.

God, Virg.

“Rest, Gordon.”

He wanted to yell at his brother. It was a lucky shot after a sucky day. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

“Rest.”

A blanket was draped over him and its warmth became something he hadn’t realised he needed.

“Grandma’s on her way back from Auckland.” Scott said it to the room at large.

Oh crap.

“Good.”

Gordon mentally went through what he had in his own fridge in his rooms and came up with very little. Maybe he could coerce Virg to grab him something otherwise he might expire from his grandmother’s ‘curative’ efforts.

“Don’t worry, Gordon. I have a stash. You’re covered.”

Actually, come to think of it, Virgil would probably go out of his way to do anything and everything for him over the next few days.

There was both glee and worry attached to that thought.

“Rest.” A hand returned to his forehead and stroked away what was likely a phantom hair. Virgil always had the urge to touch.

To heal.

Too good for his own good.

Those fingers slipped away again.

Gordon let himself sink a few more millimetres into the mattress.

Scott was still in the room. He could hear his breathing. Virgil was beside his bed.

He was safe.

His head hurt.

It had been an ass of a day.

Too tired to get out of the way of his brother’s fist.

Stupid move.

Stupid.

Virgil murmured something.

Scott whispered in return.

Gordon let himself drift.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #FishTank #FishTank with a crack in the glass #nuttyfic reblog #Yeah I've reblogged it before but it is a fun one #for godsliltippy #poor Gords

[not-a-space-alien]

Watch Your Step: Epilogue: Treasure Hunting

This is the end of story #1! But don't fret, I will be working on story #2 and it will pick up right where this one leaves off. If you are already on the tag list, I will keep you on the tag list for the next one (unless you request to be removed from it) and it will have the same masterpost

As always thanks to my collaborator @static-stars and my beta/sensitivity reader @appelsiinilight! <3

Story masterpost

AO3 link

Later that night, when everyone else was asleep, there was a scuttling in the kitchen, which then moved to the dining room.

Thistle’s face appeared from the darkness, lit by the sterile white lights from the fishtank.  Nemo was sleeping again, on his anemone as usual.  Thistle approached the glass, giving it a gentle knock.

Nemo cracked one eye open.  He thought about being annoyed, before he saw that the pixie had brought him another mealworm.

They met at the top of the tank.  Thistle handed the worm over before saying anything.  Nemo crunched on it appreciatively, waiting for him to speak.

“You must seen what happen,” said Thistle.  “Since it was right here.”

He nodded.  “Ah…don’t think this means I like you or anything…but I do admit I was a little worried for you.  I couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on, but…”

Thistle was a bit taken aback by this.  He’d thought Nemo would love to see him get manhandled, suffering the consequence of his own actions.  “Erm…  Ko, you do not want a say ‘I told you so’...?”

Nemo crunched on his worm.  “Hm?”

“You tell me bad things happen to me.  Make me nervous.”

“You think I did that on purpose?  I was just warning you.”

Thistle furrowed his brow.  That was starting to piss him off a little.  Nemo had made such a big show of saying he knew better than Thistle, detailing all the bad things that would happen to him if he didn’t listen, it’d really seemed like he had been putting effort to freak him out on purpose.  And now he was claiming he’d been acting with Thistle’s wellbeing in mind the whole time?  “You worse it!  You make me nervous, jumpy!  I freak out!”

Nemo swallowed the last of the worm.  “Huh?  You’re blaming me for that?”

Thistle sulked, crossing his arms.  “Why you do this?  You….You–!”

“Aw, come on.”  What Nemo was currently experiencing was something he rarely had to grapple with: guilt.  He was also trying to convince himself that his actions had been perfectly benign, and that Thistle was the one being unreasonable.  “You’re acting like I’m so mean.  All I did was sit here and answer your questions.  I don’t hate you or anything.”

“You won’t even friends with me!  You won’t tell me your name!”

“I told you, you can’t pronounce it.  My native language is–”

“For under the water, yes, you say.  But…Ke mi di, trao?  Translation?  Better than Nemo, at least?  My name is Ardo, the sounds, Ar-do, mean Thistle.  So they call me Thistle too.  Is the same thing.  Why not say?  Huh?”

Nemo turned his nose up at Thistle, turning away.  “Don’t your kind steal people’s names?  You can hardly blame me.”

Thistle puffed up.  “You believe that?”

“Eh, I mean…Why does it matter?  Nobody’s known my real name for years, why should I break that streak just for you?”

“Why does it matter?  It is your name!  It is the most basic detail about you!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Then what is?”

“Well, for example, the most basic detail about you is that you’re annoying.”

Thistle’s aggravation was growing.  He’d come up here to try and extend an olive branch to this infuriating fish, and this clown was just making things worse for them both.  He absorbed the insult, taking in a deep breath.  He should get back on track.  “Well.  Besides the way.  I just want to tell, that if you want to be open…I can help.  Introduce and things.  It feels better not to hide.  To connect.  To, ko, relationship…”

“Are you kidding me?”  Nemo interrupted him irritatedly.  “You have the gall to try and convince me to come out after that little performance earlier?  Do you think I’m stupid?”

Thistle flared his wings.  “It not stupid!”

“It is.  You’re stupid.”

He thought he was so smart, like being cynical made him better than Thistle.  Like it was more “realistic” to always assume the absolute worst of everyone around you.  Flustered, Thistle snapped, “You just like make me feel bad!”

Nemo sloshed back in the water, swimming across and aggressively popping up into Thistle’s face.  “You’re pathetic, you know that?  You cry and piss and moan about how scary the humans are, then you come run to me hoping to drag me down with you.”

“Pathetic?  It take strength to trust others again after you hurt.  You’re the coward.  You say, ‘I’m so tough,’ but you won’t let yourself be, Ke mi di, vuan?  Vulnerable!”

“Fuck off!” Nemo said, splashing Thistle with a whip of his tail.  “You’ve clearly not been exposed to the horrors of the world enough for the shine on your cute little naivete to wear off yet.”

“The world is cruel.  Yes!  It is.  But it is good, and gentle also.  And you ignore it!  Why?  You’ll die alone and miserable.  You only focus on the world’s bad.  You’re not more smart to ignore and pretend the good doesn’t exist.  It makes you stupid and self-centered.  The whole world is gonna get you!  That’s what you’re like!

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

Nemo hefted himself up out of the water, so he was eye-level with Thistle, solid muscles balancing his body on the edge of the fishtank.  “Do.  Not.  Compare.  Us.”

This should have been a clue that Nemo’s anger was growing to a dangerous level, but Thistle was too emotionally spent to care after the draining day.  “You’re not special.  You’re not the only one who lost everything.”

“Your family is still alive,” hissed Nemo.  “You can go back to them, you’re just too much of a coward.”

“Shut up!”

“Me shut up?  Me?  Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I’ll make you shut up.”

“You won’t.”

“You think so?”

“You can’t.”

Thistle tumbled backwards as Nemo lunged, hands sinking into the fabric of Thistle’s shirt, the impact of being rammed into sending both tiny creatures tumbling off the fishtank.  They both landed on the end table, Thistle on bottom, getting the wind knocked out of him as Nemo’s full weight landed on him.  The two of them bounced and rolled off the edge, thumping onto the soft carpet. Nemo was spouting a stream of obscenities in what Thistle supposed was his native language; it had a dry quality that made it sound incomplete. 

This was actually the first time Thistle had gotten into a physical altercation with someone the same size as him; it was a foreign sensation, and one he didn’t entirely like, but after the rollercoaster of the past few weeks, he was wrung out like a sponge.  His delicate hands grabbed the fins on Nemo’s head and pulled.  Nemo gave an outraged shout and socked Thistle across the jaw.

Thistle’s head spun for a moment, his wings pumping in his innate reaction to flee from combat.  Giving a heave, he shoved Nemo off of him, the two rolling.  Thistle leapt up, arcing backwards to land on the coffee table.

He looked down over the edge at Nemo, who was still chest-down on the carpet.  He looked up at Thistle with hatred.

Thistle suddenly felt bad.  Had this all really been necessary?  What had it accomplished?  He rarely ever deployed violence, and now he felt dirty and brutish.  And now Nemo was on the floor.  Should he offer to help?

Nemo sneered at him and used his arms to walk himself over the carpet to the end table’s legs.  Muscles flexing, Nemo hooked his arms around the leg and used the grooves in the carving to scale up.

I guess he doesn’t need help.

Nemo hauled himself up over the edge next to the fish tank.  Even his impressive muscularity had been exhausted by that climb, and his chest heaved.  He paused for a breath.

Thistle fluttered over, sitting cross-legged on top of the fish tank.  He peered over at Nemo.

Nemo let his forehead touch the ground, trying to work himself up to more climbing.  Thistle watched with interest, wondering how he would scale up the slick, smooth surface of the glass.

Nemo craned his neck up at Thistle.  Thistle waved.

“Are you enjoying yourself?  You better savor it while it lasts, because when I get up there, I’m going to kick your ass.”  He reared up, palming the glass, not used to being on the dry side of it.

Thistle shrugged.  “I am just sitting here.”

Nemo lunged, slapping with his tail, scrabbling against the glass, but he didn’t even make it halfway up the tank.  He slid back down, panting and scrunching his face up.

He can’t, Thistle suddenly realized.  He can’t do it.

Nemo tried again, propelling himself with an impressive sinuous motion of the body.  But the glass wall was just too high, and had no handholds.

“Do you want to help?” said Thistle.

“No,” snapped Nemo.  “I don’t need your help.”

“Sure.”

Aggravation and fear starting to show on his face, Nemo slapped his tail.  “They.  They moved the lamp that was right here, that I could just climb up.  They moved the lamp.”

Thistle shrugged.

Another jump.  It really was impressive how high he was able to jump, given that he had no wings or legs.  This time, he landed roughly, bounced, and slipped off the edge of the end table.  He dropped out of sight, and a moment later Thistle heard the telltale thunk of his body hitting the carpet.

Thistle leaned over, peering down.  Nemo was splayed out on the carpet, a million miles below him.

“Maybe try again,” said Thistle.

“Making fun of a guy with no wings at all.  Classy.”  Nemo righted himself and, clenching his teeth, face screwed up in determination, he once again scaled the end table leg.  It was slower going this time, his body trembling with fatigue, and by the time he hauled himself up to the flat surface of the table, he was gasping and heaving.

His hand touched the glass of the tank, but he lowered his head, hunkering over.

Nemo had said earlier that he could breathe air, and he seemed shockingly mobile on dry land, but Thistle couldn’t help but think surely it must not be comfortable.  His skin looked like it had already lost most of its moisture, and his gills heaved dryly with each shuddering breath.  He might be able to survive outside the water…probably the same way Thistle could survive treading water while not being a great swimmer.

Thistle leapt down, alighting on the table next to Nemo, whose face was down by Thistle’s shoes.  He craned his neck to look up at Thistle, who found himself for the first time in his life looking down to make eye contact with someone else.  Nemo’s face twisted in fear and anger, and he pushed himself back, hunkering in a defensive position.  “Don’t–Don’t touch me.”

Thistle crouched down so he could get eye-level with Nemo.

“Okay, you were right!” Nemo cried, squeezing his eyes shut.  “I can’t do it!  You were right, and I was wrong!  Is that what you wanted to hear?  Leave me alone!”

Thistle heaved a big sigh and extended a hand out.  “Come on, let me help to you.”

Nemo stared at Thistle’s hand with misty eyes.

“The world has much cruelty, but it also has much kindness.  You just need someone to face with.  Don’t turn someone away when they offer.”

Nemo balled his fists.  “You can’t say that.  I can’t–I don’t need anyone else.  I can’t depend on anyone else.  I can’t trust you.  I can’t trust the humans.”

Thistle sighed and sat down.  “Nemo…  Humans are not good or bad.  Everyone is both.  You need to take both.  Yes, I would be safe if I’d never left home.  I would avoid fear, and pain, and injury.  But I would miss all these joy.  I would not see the sunrise or the waterfall.  I would not eat worms or cheesecake.  I would never see football, or saltwater fish.  Life is pain and happiness, just like humans are cruelty and gentleness.  Having joy means having sorrow also.  It’s… Ea fiogi vaorin. Aero vas angigi. Tiosta ivo.  It’s worth it.”

Thistle stopped speaking as he felt the sensation of a cool, smooth hand slipping into his palm.  He looked over to see Nemo clutching his hand, eyes screwed shut, trembling.

“There we go,” Thistle cooed.  “It’s not so bad.”

Thistle crouched down and circled his hands around Nemo’s abdomen, hefting him up.  After the speech he’d just given about learning to trust others’ goodwill, it would be wildly inappropriate to complain about it, but the merminnow was a lot heavier than he looked.  Thistle positioned himself behind him, like he was a jetpack.  “On three.  Ready?”

“Y-yeah.”

“One.  Two.  Three.”

Nemo coiled his tail and sprung to assist, but halfway through Thistle’s wings bore the full weight to get them to the top. 

They almost didn’t make it.  Thistle’s wing seized up right as they reached the lip of the fishtank, but Nemo had seized the ledge with his strong hands and vaulted back in.  Thistle, now immobile in the air, was dragged behind him.

The world tumbled over in his vision, then suddenly went white with bubbles as the cold, salty water enveloped him.  Before he could even right himself, he felt strong arms around him, manhandling him, practically throwing him, and he found himself tossed up out and onto the lid of the tank.

Dripping, Thistle parted the curtains of his wet hair and released a mouthful of water, spluttering.  “See?” he said.  “It’s–”

When he turned, there was nobody at the surface of the water, which was dying from ripples into stillness.

Thistle deflated, hunching over.  He used both hands to wring out his hair.  “Dak.  It’s OK to avoid this struggle…My struggle with the humans….  It’s hard.  No blame to you.  I think I can be okay now, though.  I feel okay about being here.  About Marcy, and Colin, and Teddy.  We talk.  We talk about everything now.  They care.”

After a moment, Nemo’s eyes appeared above the water.

“I won’t tell.  But if you change your mind, ever, and want to come out.  I help.  It feel better.  I know it does.”

“Not a chance in your life.”

“Okay.”  Thistle straightened his legs out, leaning back on his palms.  “But if you change your mind, I’ll here.”

Feeling the most at peace he’d felt in weeks, Thistle crossed his legs and sat there, closing his eyes, tilting his head back, listening to the soft ripple of the water.

“My…My name is Jewel.”

Thistle opened his eyes and jerked his head to look into the fishtank.  Nemo’s face had disappeared below the water from the nose down, his face flushing fiercely.

Thistle smiled.  “That’s a nice name.  It’s nice to meet with you.”

“Well…Good night,” the merminnow said brusquely.

Thistle watched as he pulled the lid shut, swimming back down to the safe embrace of his anemone.  It didn’t upset him quite as much anymore to have his attempts at friendship rebuffed.  He had other friends now, good friends he felt good about, and…he could also sense a little spark of indecision when they talked, the hint that maybe it would be okay to hope that the future could be better.

✨THE END ✨

———————————–

Tag list

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thanks for reading! <3

#gt #g/t #gianttiny #giant/tiny #fairy #fluff #fearplay #angst #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #size difference #my writing #my original writing #watch your step

[mikasimaginairyworld]

The Umbrella Academy: Firecracker - Öga for Öga (17/30)

The Umbrella Academy Masterlist

warnings: blood, violence, torture, alcohol

word count: 3593

1982. Somewhere at an inn with ridiculously dressed people.

Nailah eyed the note the Handler had given her and Five. They entered the wildly overdecorated inn and Five decided to ask an employee for directions.

"Excuse me.", he said in an incredibly polite tone which let Nailah raise her eyebrows.

"Uff da! You snuck up on me there." the woman jumped up lightly. "If you're looking to the cookies we don't put them up until 3 o'clock."

"I can hardly wait.", Five commented still in his polite voice. "Do you happen to know where the Midwest Soybean Society is meeting?"

"Sure so. Muskellunge Banquet Room.", the woman directed them. Nailah thanked her and they took course towards the room.

"I didn't know you could be polite. Where is that going on a daily basis?", Nailah teased as Five motioned to a snack vending machine.

He just scoffed: "It's only to get people to help me."

"How come I help you then? You're not polite to me.", Nailah countered as Five let some coins fall into the machine.

Five chuckled: "Well, my little Firecracker, I only needed to give you some half-assed compliments and you were ready to help me."

The machine whirred but the nut fudge Five wanted didn't bulge. Five frantically began pushing buttons and shaking the machine. Snacks began falling down from the shelves and Five got even angrier. Nailah just stood there with her arms crossed and an amused expression. Finally Five punched the glass causing it to crack up forming a net over the snacks. He cursed colourfully.

"Sure. Some cheap complements are the reason I'm helping you. Definitely not because you'd be completely lost without me.", Nailah commented and gracefully kicked the glass down. She bend down, picket up a nut fudge and handed it to Five.

"Hurry up. The board of directors won't assassinate itself.", she said pulling out her staff from under her skirt.

Five smirked at her eagerness. Nailah walked backwards letting the staff swoosh into its actual length. She flicked it skilfully and threw Five a daring smile. He just scoffed, slowly walking towards her and ran his finger along the length of the huge cake on display. He licked off the frosting and Nailah just rolled her eyes playfully urging him to hurry up. Five spotted a fire axe and grabbed it standing next to Nailah in front of the door.

"Let's get to work, then.", he said and they walked inside the corridor with their weapons raised.

It didn't take them long to find the meeting. A pretty large group of people were sat around an oval table and at the end of it a humanoid with a fishtank as its head was leading the meeting.

"You!", the fishtank exclaimed as he saw Five. "Call security!"

A woman rolled back in her chair towards the phone but before she could reach it Nailah had cut off her arm with the sharp end of her staff. Five smiled at her wildly. He blitzed and in the next second two of the board members were lying on the ground with grotesque wounds on their bodies. Five just stood beside them and adjusted his tie.

Nailah chuckled: "So vain." Five made a gesture indicating it was her turn.  Nailah returned the psychotic smile and gracefully began twisting with her staff. One by one the right side of the room was annihilated in the most elegant manner. Nailah cut, stabbed and punched with incredible precision and speed spraying blood all over her skirt, boots, blouse and face. Men and women were screaming for a short while then the life left their eyes. Five waited for a second before he blitzed around finishing off the left side of the room to admire Nailah. 

Five blitzed around slashing his axe around in a not so elegant but equally effective way. Soon his own suit and face were also sprayed with blood. He inhaled deeply as he appeared on the table in front of the fishtank man.

"She sent you, didn't she?", the man gurgled.

"Does it really matter now?", he asked in an evil voice.

Five raised his axe but before he could let it fall down he heard Nailah laugh. Actually laugh. His jerked in her direction for a split second where he saw her bury her staff in a board member's chest while a manic giggle escaped her lips. He saw the deathly spark in her eyes as she transporter her power through the. staff and burned the member from the inside out. A satisfied smirk painted her lips as she quickly withdrew her weapon and skilfully flicked it. 

Five realised he was suddenly only out of breath but before he could regain his breathing pace he got knocked down by the lady who had given them directions.

"You're gonna pay for that vending machine, mister!", she shrieked holding incredibly tight. Five struggled to breathe and get free until suddenly the woman stopped moving. Five looked up seeing Nailah covered in blood with her staff in the woman's chest. She was panting heavily and Five's breath hitched again.

"Come on. The fishman went that way.", she said pulling him up.

Five cursed and grabbed an old, flat bat and both he and Nailah ran back through the corridor. They spotted the fishman and Five smirked at Nailah blitzing in front of him.

The fishman stuttered and turned around. Nailah was standing behind him with her hands on fire and. a determined expression. She smiled a small, psychotic smile which was even more ominous in the fire light. Five inhaled deeply.

"It's me or him, buddy. Chose.", Nailah told the fishman crooking her head.

The fishman turned around again: "I'm sure we con come to some sort of agreement that benefits both parties. Quid pro quo?"

"Why not?", Five imitated Nailah's psychotic smile and began hitting the fishman. With each hit he accentuated: "Here's your quid. Here's your pro. Here's your quo."

With the last phrase he. knocked the fishtank off the fishman's body spraying water everywhere. Nailah elegantly formed a shield of fire keeping her from getting wet. She nonchalantly approached the small goldfish that had been residing in the fishtank.

"Hmm. So that's who you've been working for? A fish? Explains a lot.", she scoffed.

Five didn't answer just grabbed a bag and put the fish inside along with some water. Walking back to where they had hidden the suitcase Nailah felt Five glance in her direction a couple of times.

"What is it?", she asked scratching the blood off her fingernails.

"Blood looks good on you.", Five blurted out with a smile.

Nailah raised an eyebrow but chuckled: "I know, it's my favourite accessory." Five smiled at her amused and extended a hand for the to travel back. She took it and Five felt the warmth that was always accompanying her wrap around him like a comforting blanket.

Before the blue energy wave could consume them Nailah snickered: "Blood suits you too, Five."

Back in 1963 the Handler let Five and Nailah wait for her. Nailah was leaning against a building and playing with her staff. while Five was nervously biting his nails.

"Well?", the Handler asked as soon as she appeared. Five handed her the plastic bag with the fish inside.

"AJ!", she exclaimed. "You know, you're really staring to fill out this tight little suit of yours.", she said eying him hungrily.

Nailah made a disgusted face and shuddered.

"Why so quiet? I. thought you'd be buzzing after this mornings slaughter.", she asked.

Five didn't look at her: "All this killing... I'm done with it."

"What? Am I supposed to take that seriously?", the Handler smiled. and began wiping the blood off of Five's face.

"All I did today I did for my family. I did it to save the world.", Five assured with a determined look.

​​​​​​​"Please. Spare your little assassin with the heart of gold, will ya?", the Handler booped Five's nose. "Here. As per. our agreement this will get you and your siblings back to 2019. You have 90 minutes."

"You said nothing about a time limit!", Nailah shouted after her angrily.

The Handler smiled: "Actually you have 89 minutes and 30 seconds. Better hurry."

"This is impossible, okay? Our siblings are scattered across the city.", Five tried to reason.

The Handler scoffed: "Nothing's impossible. You proved that this morning when you killed the board."

"We need more time.", Nailah demanded with fire in her eyes.

"Any more time and people will start asking questions. The sooner you get home and out of this time period the better off we'll all be, so ticktock, ticktock.", the Handler smiled and Nailah grunted in frustration. 

At Elliott's house Diego and Luther found the poor host absolutely mutilated. 

"Oga Foroga.", Diego read the inscription painted on the floor with Elliott's blood. "That a name?"

Luther and Diego found her in the phonebook under Olga Foroga. They immediately called her.

"Uh, hello? Olga? It's her she sounds old. Excuse me ma'am I was wondering if- My name? is uh Luther Hargreeves -", Luther was interrupted by Diego taking him the phone away.

"You killed. one of ours, Olga, now we're coming after you.", Diego threatened. "You will be dead by nightfall."

"Hey, it's Öga for Öga, idiots. Swedish for 'an eye for an eye'.", Five corrected appearing behind them and taking off his blood stained jacket. "It means the swedes killed Elliott."

"Wrong number. Have a lovely day.", Diego chipped into the phone and hung up.

"We would've gotten there.", Luther said hopefully.

"Eventually.", Diego added.

"You have some blood on you.", Luther commented seeing Five's bloodstained clothes.

"A lot of blood actually. Jesus, Five what happened?", Diego asked.

​​​​​​​"Nothing anyone can prove.", Nailah answered walking into the kitchen with equally bloody clothes.

"Guys, what did you do?", Luther asked angrily as Nailah began changing as well.

Nailah smiled wickedly as she discarded her bloody blouse: "You wouldn't approve, Primo."

"We've found a way home.", Five said peeking out of the bathroom.

"Move.", Nailah pushed him away in her underwear and splashed cold water into her face, washing the blood away.

​​​​​​​"What? How?", Luther asked.

Five's gaze lingered for a second on Nailah's bare back before he answered: "The details are irrelevant, but we made a deal to get back to our timeline."

"What about doomsday?", Diego asked handing Nailah a fresh shirt and skirt.

"Won't happen. Just like the apocalypse.", she answered.

"Okay, no more questions. We gotta go. We have to find the others. Luther, get Allison. Diego, Nailah: Klaus. I have a feeling we're gonna need both of you. I'll go get Vanya. Now, we meet back in the arrival alley in 77minutes. Here. I've synchronised these watches.", Five explained quickly.

"Whoa. Hold on. You just show up here, drenched in blood and expect us to just believe you when you say you have a way for us to go home? What about JFK?", Diego stopped Five.

​​​​​​​"Diego, we have a chance to go home and make things right. We're taking it.", Five insisted.

"I've gotta say goodbye to Lila."

​​​​​​​"You really don't, Diego. She doesn't give a shit about you. She never did. She's a member of the commission.", Nailah exclaimed angrily tying her boots.

"She was just using you to get to me. You're the Oswald of this story, my friend.", Five added and blitzed away.

Diego angry and frustrated left without waiting for Nailah. Before she could try to catch up to him Five appeared next. to her and grabbed her arm.

"Keep an eye on him, will ya? I've got a feeling he's gonna do something stupid.", he whispered.

Nailah jerked her head upwards, pretending to be offended: "Don't worry, Five. I've got this. I can handle him."

"Klaus, you're so filthy!", Klaus sighed as Nailah and Diego approached him. He had a pretty girl sitting on his lap.

"Yes, you are, daddy.", she chuckled and began kissing him.

"Hey, daddy.", Nailah shouted crossing her arms.

​​​​​​​"You got a sec?"​​​​​​​, Diego asked.

"Diego! Nailah!", Klaus exclaimed and immediately followed them.

"You need to come with us. Five found a way home.", Nailah explained while Diego pulled Klaus with them.

"It's so great talking to you guys again.", Klaus lulled.

"Klaus, are you high?", Nailah asked looking at his sceptically.

​​​​​​​"I'm not Klaus. I'm Ben.", he assured.

"Oh, you're high."

"No, ask me something only Ben would know.", Klaus or Ben insisted.

Diego sighed: "What did you reprogram Allison's teddybear to say?"

Klaus smiled: "Luther sniffs dad' underwear."

Nailah chuckled in disbelief and threw her arms around Ben in Klaus' body. Diego quickly joined.

"I don't get it, Klaus said. you didn't make it to Dallas.", Diego let go and Nailah wiped a tear from her cheek.

Ben chuckled and let his thumb caress Nailah's other cheek: ​​​​​​​"Well, Klaus says lots of things. But guess what. I can possess him now and it's freaking awesome."

"Okay, you can tell us everything back in 2019. But you stay in this body, okay? We need someone responsible behind the wheel. Oh and I need to do something first. Meet me at the alley in 30minutes alright?  Don't be late.", Diego said and  went off.

"Wha-?", Nailah groaned. "Can you get there alone? I promised Five I'd keep Diego from doing stupid stuff."

​​​​​​​"Yes, of course. God, I missed you.", Ben smiled and planted a soft kiss on Nailah's head. Nailah smiled back and quickly followed Diego.

"Diego, what the hell are we doing?", Nailah jogged behind Diego nearly unable to keep up.

​​​​​​​"We aren't doing anything. I am burying Elliott. He deserved better."

"Fine. But I'm helping."

Together they hauled Elliott's body to an abandoned place where Diego began digging. Nailah had gone looking for flowers and not soon after she was gone Diego sensed Lila's presence.

"Oh good. It's you and your stupid face.", he scoffed not even bothering to look back.

"Weird time to garden.", Lila commented. "Can we talk? The truth this time?"

Diego scoffed: ​​​​​​​"Oh I know the truth. You used me, Lila. You're a liar."

"Come on, what did I really lie about?"

"Who you are, who you work for, why you're here, what you want from us. That's all."

"Yeah, but the rest was true.", she insisted. ​​​​​​​"Everyone lies, Diego. And I was only lying to protect you. Mostly."

Diego stopped digging and looked at her. Covered in sweat and panting his gaze expressed nothing but pain and disappointment.

"Do you know how hard it is to trust people when your whole childhood was bullshit manipulation?", he asked. "Why would you do that to me?"

Lila couldn't answer the question. Instead she just looked at the body Diego was about to bury. She immediately recognised the green fingernails she had painted and as a way to honour Elliott she proposed a quick toast. Diego looked at her sceptically. Lila took a sip from her flask and handed it to Diego. He sighed but also took sip. Not soon after he felt incredibly dizzy and when he saw Lila spit out the contents she had kept in her mouth he immediately realised she had drugged him. Diego fell on the ground unconscious. 

"Hey.", Luther came running towards Five at the alley. "Where is everyone?"

"You're the first.", Five smiled hopelessly.

Suddenly they saw Klaus stumbling and struggling with some invisible force approach them. before he reached them, however, he fell down twice and ran into the wall a couple of times.

"We're here!", he shouted shaking violently while t-posing aggressively.

"What do you mean, 'we'?", Five asked confused.

Klaus just groaned: "Get out!"

Then he vomited the contents from the last few days out and collapsed on the pavement panting heavily. Luther groaned in disgust as Five looked around frantically.

"I can't believe it. I mean you're here.", Luther shouted irritated and massaged his temples.

"We've got 8 minutes left.", Five announced.

"I've had the strangest dream.", Klaus groaned from the ground.

"Where are the others?", Five's voice was on edge.

"What's going on, guys? Are we going somewhere?", Klaus asked after a while of Five's nervous pacing.

"It was a simple task. A simple task!", Five shouted frustrated. "All we had to do was be here. Didn't have to fight a giant sea monster, no. An army of mutants? Nein. I can't believe this. It was handed to us on a silver platter."

"Can you just moan a little softer? My head is killing me.", Klaus whined sitting up.

"Listen to me, you useless puke bag, we just blew our chance to save the world!", Five screamed.

The suitcase sitting next to them gave a whirring sound indicating it was ready to transport them through time.

Five groaned: "God damn it." He grabbed the suitcase and threw it in the air. Blue energy whirred and the suitcase disappeared.

Five sighed: "We were that close."

Nailah ripped her eyes open. A muffled groan escaped her lips. She quickly realised she was gagged and in a small room. Luckily she wasn't blindfolded. Her head jerked around the room. There was pretty much nothing to see. She tried to move but her hands were tied behind her back. Nothing indicated at being watched but just out of habit Nailah decided to not use her powers until absolutely necessary.

Her head was pounding as faint memories returned. Walking around the abandoned place and picking flowers for Elliott. Someone sneaking up from behind and knocking her out.

A door opened and a tall man came inside wearing dark gloves.

"Nailah Hargreeves. Number Eight. Am I correct?", he asked in a smooth voice.

Nailah let out a muffled mumbled through her gag. 

"Oh, yes, sorry. My mistake. Better?", the man removed the gag.

Nailah slid her tongue over her teeth and lips. She gave the man an amused smile: "Much."

"Perfect. Then we can begin. Your name is Nailah Hargreeves. Please confirm or deny."

Nailah chuckled: "Whoa there. Buy me dinner first, then we'll talk."

The man smiled at her in a condescending manner: ​​​​​​​"Miss, I don't think I've been clear. You will cooperate or you will suffer. It is entirely up to you."

Nailah laughed: "Is that a promise?"

"Suffering it is, then.", the man's eyes darkened dangerously.

Nailah crooked her head and smiled wickedly: "Bring it on." 

Without warning the man punched her in the stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs. Nailah coughed violently and panted trying to regain her breath.

"Well. Let's continue, then."

"Did your mother love you?", Nailah asked out of breath.

"What?", the man looked at her confused.

​​​​​​​"Well, it just seems that someone who tortures poor, innocent and totally defenseless girl has to have some issues. Your punching is absolutely trash by the way. So? Who was it? Mommy or daddy?", Nailah asked.

The man began stuttering still shocked and confused.

Nailah blew a strand of hair out of her face: "Mm, mm, mm, mommy?", she mocked. ​​​​​​​"That's what I thought. It won't be much of a consolation for you to know that she wouldn't be proud of you. Hell, she probably isn't. She's probably sitting somewhere at the beach surrounded by expensive gifts and cocktails just w waiting for all the admirers to take care of her. She's not even thinking about you."

Nailah smirked seeing the man getting more and more insecure. It had been a lucky guess about the mommy issues. but. she knew how to use any information she had to her advantage.

​​​​​​​"I'll do you even one better. She's probably happy she left you. All alone. To do nothing but useless stuff. I mean what even is your job? Beating up girls? Does that pay?  I can't imagine that it does. It seems that you're doing it to get back. at your mommy. But newsflash. She doesn't care. Juts like she didn't all  those years ago when she left you. And yet here you are, still thinking about her while she has forgotten about you.", Nailah. continued.

With satisfaction she leaned back and watched the man escape the room. She heard him sob lightly before the door closed.

Not soon after that a new torturer came. This time a woman. Nailah smiled psychotically.

She crooked her head: "Now let's see what your issue is, shall we?"

The woman only punched her face letting Nailah taste blood. Nailah send her another smirk: "Try again. This time harder."

Diego opened his eyes and realised he was strapped to a chair with Lila next to him and a strange woman eyeing him suspiciously.

"Diego, meet my mother.", Lila said not looking at him. "Mother, this is Diego, my boyfriend."

-> The Umbrella Academy Masterlist

#tua netflix #tua #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #nailah hargreeves #five x oc #oc #vanya hargreeves #victor hargreeves #series #netflix #fanfic

[astrumocs]

👀 Vyrrin please?

You see a dance teacher settling into his favorite recliner, slipping off his dance shoes and placing them on a small mat next to the chair. There's a tv show playing a rerun of The Godfather with the volume very low a few feet away from him.

The scarred-up fuchsia rests his head in his arms atop the armrest of the seat, staring into the large fishtank full of shrimp that hums off to the side of the room. The shrimp seem to be milling about apart from the single mantis shrimp, which seems to be staring back at its caretaker.

Vyrrin begins talking to it as though he were talking to a friend, "Do you think I'm making it- d-do you think I'm doing okay? Sometimes I worry that I'm not good enough for them..."

There's a silence that follows for a long moment before the shrimp taps the glass with its legs. The seadweller startles for a moment, lifting his head to see if the shrimp had cracked the glass once again, but was able to relax a touch at seeing no damage had been done.

"I should probably talk to them about this, huh? I just get so nervous when Kamaja is around, you know?"

The shrimp taps its foremost appendages together, almost like it was communicating something.

"You're right," they give a small smile, "They're understanding, I'll talk to them about my nerves tomorrow."

#Vyrrin ic #Vyrrin #my art #peek meme #hi homie hi #hs

[west-tokyo-incidents]

There's a god awful racket in his garden today.

Paresse groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. How annoying. He wanted to work on his pottery today, but his waking migraine was not helped by the godawful screeching and cawing coming from his back yard. His garden.

He stands up, reluctantly, and pulls a pair of pants on before braving the early morning sun and biting cold to see what the fuss was about. And then he heaves a deep sigh. A crow is caught between two sections of his fence, flapping and fluffing up even more as it sees him.

"Alright, birdbrain." He walks over, "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you..." He frowns as he examines the poor bird's situation. He isn't even sure how it managed its... predicament. He scowls and reaches over the fence to grab its back. It's gone astonishingly still, letting him cup its wings and gently move it, slowly inching it up the crack between the boards until it was freed. It blinks, as if stunned. Honestly, he's fairly stunned as he stands there, in nothing but pj pants, in the cold... with a very haggard bird in his arms.

He considers it for a moment, but it's not flying off. It's also not breathing well. Probably weak from fighting. He shakes his head.

"So much for my plans today." He mumbles and gently tucks the bird against his bare chest and makes his way inside, where it's warmer. He finds a box, sets it onto what passes as his dining table, and stuffs some blankets inside before gently laying the bird into it.

The sun is just barely starting to shine into his windows, but it's enough that he doesn't bother to turn on any lights. The cramped space in the townhouse is filled with various knickknacks and plants and fishtanks that he masterfully navigates until he eventually gets to the sink and gets a small glass of water.

He doesn't see the way the bird peers around at her surroundings, amazed by all the pretty colors and moving things; A clock on the wall, with a swaying pendulum, especially, with its little 'tick, tock, tick, tock' sounds. It's silver details barely illuminated in the dawn light filtering through the window.

He returns and her eyes are back on him, cautious, uncertain... her feathers fluff. He pulls back the single lonely chair at the table and sits in it, the wood creaking. He offers the glass. She tilts her head as he taps a nail on it, the sound drawing her attention to the water. What a pretty sound, too. She dips her beak into the water and starts to drink from it. It feels good, if a little sharp in taste.

Paresse sighs yet again, "I'll give you a little while to recover, since you're not bleeding, but if you're not up and moving here in an hour or so, I'll take you to the wildlife center..." he's mostly talking to himself as she drinks and drinks. Once the water is nearly past her beak, though, she pauses. He tilts his head, wondering if her neck is hurt worse than he thought if she's not moving her head much. But he taps the glass again. She blinks slowly, then moves her head to tap the glass with her beak, mimicking him. The sound almost echoes in the little townhouse.

He smiles, then taps a little tune instead. She mimics it again. He grins and sets the glass down next to her. The feathers around her neck are all sorts of messy, some even stuck backwards and making her head feathers almost look like a little afro. She keeps tapping the glass, and he hesitantly reaches his hand up, wondering if she'll let him fix her feathers.

Slowly, he starts petting her chest, and then slowly further up, smoothing down the feathers as he goes. Soon he's at the injured part and she freezes up, looking at him as he pauses. Carefully, his eyes on that sharp beak of hers, he starts smoothing out the feathers where she had been stuck. And she lets him, though she never relaxes until he pulls his hand away. She lets out a hoarse noise and fluffs up before shaking out her feathers and starting to preen.

He smiles softly and gets up from the table, "I'm gonna go get dressed. Don't make any trouble, okay?" A soft croak leaves her again, and he pushes his chair back in before going back to his room to finish up his morning routine. Combs his hair, puts on a t-shirt, decides on a pair of jeans, and is in the middle of brushing his teeth when a racket interrupts the peace again as his cuckoo clock goes off and spooks his surprise guest. A squawk and a clatter and the shattering of glass has him hurrying back, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

The poor bird is on the floor, flapping and squawking indignantly, the glass cup shattered on the ground and her box tipped over on the table. He sighs and slips on his shoes before heading over, "You're okay, you're okay. It's just 7. Come on, don't hurt yourself more..." He gently scoops her up--getting one peck in her indignation--and tips the box back over before setting her in it. He silences the clock next and stares at the glass mess. With a sigh, he delegates it to after he finishes brushing his teeth and heads back towards his bathroom.

He doesn't miss the way the bird is giving that clock an absolute stink-eye, and it makes him laugh. He spits as he finishes brushing his teeth and rinses the brush off before finally grabbing his broom to clean up the broken glass and spilled water.

As he does, he thinks. The poor crow seemed healthy enough. Full movement, clearly aware and cognizant, she might be a little sore, but she should be just fine to head back outside. He dumps the corpse of the cup into his trash and contemplates taking it out later. Maybe he should still take her to the wildlife center... she might just be injured in a way he can't tell. He puts the broom away and begins washing his hands. No, he really doesn't have the gas in his car to risk the trip if it isn't urgent.

He turns off the water and pauses. Is he hearing double? He hears his clock ticking... twice. He looks over and sees the crow still watching the clock, and her beak moving. She's making little ticking noises. Mimicking the clock. The corners of his mouth twitch up again. If there was ever an exotic animal to own, he thinks a crow might be his choice. Next to his snake, of course. He dries his hands off.

"Well, I think you're doing just fine." He moves over to her, "I guess you weren't in that fence long, huh?" He sits back down and, less fearfully now, pets her head, "You're really friendly, too." He muses, "Got too cozy with humans, huh? We're an awful rotten bunch to be around." She makes a noise akin to a 'churrr' and then a 'tick' before leaning into the pets.

It's with a great measure of effort and reluctance that he eventually gets up and takes her and the box outside, setting her on the railing of the little deck, "Here, I've got stuff to do, sadly. I'm sure you do, too. Just don't go flying into any more fences, okay, birdbrain?" The words make fog in the cold morning autumn air as he pets her beak before turning his back on her and heading inside.

...a few minutes later he glances out to see the box empty and no sign of his early morning visitor. ...damn, he really is lonely, huh?

#crow au #i have some........ ideas..... for this au......... #:3c #theyre painful #fussa/paresse #ress writes

[ceilingfan5]

oooh 12 (the decorative fishtank at this restaurant just broke, my instant reaction was to pick one of the fish up with my bare hands, and now we've made eye contact about it) and taakitz if you're feeling up for it??

The noise is horrible. Taako watches his beautiful date walk right into the decorative fish tank, and instead of a solid clunk and a concussion, it shatters, a deluge of water and neon gravel and baffled, displaced fish and almost certainly all of Kravitz’s hopes that this will go well are suddenly very wet and very on the floor. By some grace of a deity Taako definitely didn’t believe in a minute ago, Kravitz is not in the middle of all the glass, and despite his clothes being fished and and ego being absolutely flattened like a cartoon with a big squeaky hammer happened to it, he does not seem to be absolutely fucking lacerated to bits. 

So that’s a bonus. 

Taako doesn’t know what to say. He wants to make sure Kravitz is fully okay, that he hasn’t been old-timey movie stabbed all subtle-style, not bleeding out until Taako confesses to him or what have you, but he’s frozen in place. His eyes finally unglue from the crisis before him and gravity sucks them downward to find the aftermath flooding the restaurant, the victims of Kravitz’s clumsiness flopping desperately toward him. 

A great big orange one with big dumb bulging eyes looks directly at him, and Taako does something absolutely wild. He bends over and picks up the fish. It’s easy, honestly–he kind of thought it would be harder, but maybe it’s a tough time to be a fish right now, and he can’t blame the stupid little motherfucker for being so catchable and weak. This isn’t fishing out back of his grandpa’s farm with worms pilfered from the compost pile. This fish is slimy and shimmery and most certainly unsplendid. 

He looks up from the fish to find Kravitz staring directly at him, telegraphing HELP in the thickest, fattest font known to man, and Taako can’t help it. His face splits into a smile like he’s hatching a big stupid egg and- and he starts to laugh. He can’t hold back. He doubles over, still clutching the poor idiot fish, and holds his stomach as he cackles, and he looks back at Kravitz, still soaked and on the floor and orbited by oxygen-intoxicated fish like slimy, bug-eyed satellites, and Kravitz cracks too, and Taako knew they were the same kind of funky creature, because it feels like their souls match, in this one, absolutely impossible moment. 

They laugh and laugh and laugh as the waitstaff tip-toe around, baffled and afraid and hopscotching to avoid the fish. 

“You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?” Kravitz says, voice honey-warm with laughter like sweet, sweet sleepytime tea. 

“Never in a million billion years, my guy,” Taako promises, as the host comes out with a wand and desperately starts repairing the disaster one chunk at a time. “Not until the sun dies. Maybe even after.”

“Well,” Kravitz says. “That’s one way to make a first impression.” 

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #corpse voice: im alive i promise

[frogsmulder]

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 7 Together Towards Entropy

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugatives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

3.6k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

With the last box packed, Margaret Scully locked the door to her daughter's apartment for the final time and handed the key over to the landlord, who mumbled his appreciation and ambled back down the hall. Maggie was left there, standing by the shut door like it was the final page turned and the chapter ending. She shook the thought from her head, knowing it was a silly one. It was never over: God has his way of bringing people back together.

Back in her own home, Maggie put the final boxes into the guest room all of their things safe under her roof. All of the furniture had been sold-- that was mostly inconsequential-- but everything else was here. Taking a final look at the room, she hummed. It was like she could feel the physical presence of Dana in everything she had loved, cherished, and lived with.

Closing the door, she padded down the stairs and into the living room where the glow from the fishtank illuminated the room. She checked the temperature of the tank water, watching the mollies swim around in the bag that floated on top. She could tell they were eager to return. To their familiar surroundings, but the water wasn't warm enough just yet, but soon.

----------

Scully quietly mused the breakfast menu, feeling calm and content sat in the booth of a Mexican restaurant. Mulder was sat on the other side of the table looking out of the window to the sun-speckled bay. His hand had been grasping hers under the table the entire time; his thumb traversing the mountain range of her knuckles repetitively.

"You seem happy," she commented, turning the page of the menu awkwardly with one hand.

"I am." He turned his attention to her, his smile fading slightly as his mind began to race ahead with implications. "Are you not?"

"No, I am," she sighed, continuing to puzzle over some of the dish names. Mulder lowered his head to try and get under her fixed gaze and her eyes flicked up to meet him. "What? I am happy."

Mulder sat back and nodded, smirking to himself.

Scully looked up from the menu, bringing their hands to rest on top of the table. "Have you had any more hallucinations?"

"No, I haven't actually." His head had been surprisingly clear since that night on the beach like his words had freed him when he'd finally shared them. He hoped it was the case.

A refreshing smile turned the corner of her mouth upwards and she subconsciously held his hand slightly tighter. "That's good."

"Hmm," he agreed, lost in her smile. Her hand was soft under his thumb, sparking gentle memories of her surrounding him and the bed sheets the last few days they had given in and spent every night in a motel, comfort of waking with her head laid against his chest a luxury beyond compare. It made a difference to the cold sweats she used to wake in, lurching from her position to escape the night terrors. On restless nights he had witnessed it, when only his arms could wrap around her and anchor her to this world as she gasped to gain control.

But not the last few days. She had woken as peacefully as he had slept, usually with a tiny speck of drool decorating his bare chest, which he didn't dare tease her about.

"And you've not had your nightmares for a while...Unless?"

She had rushed to the bathroom again this morning, although she had told him it was nothing to worry about.

"No, I haven't," she reassured him.

"Maybe we're finally getting it right then."

Scully laughed and shook her head. "I used to think we'd never get it right."

The past few months she'd forgotten what right felt like until she saw the familiar glimmer on the horizon that meant the sea and she'd persuaded Mulder to make a stop-off. That night, with the water at her feet, she felt something click, like the reassuring words of her father existed in the sea spray, telling her that she was loved and trusted. Being close to him had put her soul at ease. She still worried for her child in the world, for Mulder, for her mother so far away but that anxiety had eroded into a constant ebb of care for all of them.

"I saw a little place down the road that does postcards, I thought we could pick one up later. We could start a collection. Maybe even do a scrapbook."

She licked her lip and bit back a smile. Of course, Mulder had found the one she had taken. It was impossible to keep secrets from him, especially given their current circumstances.

"Yes, that would be nice."

Giving the menu one final look over she handed it to Mulder as she stood up and moved out of the booth.

"Can't find anything?"

He looked up at her and she stroked his hair affectionately as she walked past, making him grin.

"Just order for me whatever you're having. I'm going to the restroom."

Taking her hand, he kissed her palm, and gently let her go.

"Okay."

Scully moved through the bar to the back, pushing against the door to the restroom. It was quiet inside, a welcoming contrast to the constant hum of conversation. She brushed her hair out of her face, holding her palm to her forehead, trying to quieten the loud ache that resided there. Standing in front of the mirror, she considered herself and smiled. Once again, she could recognise the person in the mirror, despite the unfamiliarity still of her longer blonde hair. The dark rings from under her eyes had disappeared and there was a warmth to her cheeks again underneath her dusting of freckles. She shook her head, foolish thoughts of happiness flooding her mind. But they were good. She was good.

And then she felt the clenching in her gut again, not as powerful as this morning, but enough to make her lurch. Splashing some cold water to her face, she refreshed herself, sweeping other thoughts under the carpet. She cupped her hands under the water and brought it to her mouth to drink, tempering her queasiness and headache.

By the time she got back, Mulder had already ordered and a glass of orange juice was waiting for her on the table.

"I chose the huevos rancheros. It's the specialty dish and I thought you deserve a treat for putting up with me this last couple of months." He smirked mischievously and then he turned sombre. "I know I haven't always been there for you when you needed, Dana, and you're still here for me–"

She brought his hand to hold it against her cheek.

"Of course, I am," she interrupted, which made his smile reappear.

They waited in companionable silence for their brunch, never deciding whether to gaze out at the bay or at each other. When the food came, Scully made her way through the large portion of fried eggs, which Mulder raised his eyebrows at but didn't question.

----------

Midday and they were back on the road driving to nowhere, an appetising silence filling the space. Mulder's hand rested on her leg and Scully had her fingers twined through his. He kept stealing frequent glances at her, smiling every time he caught a glimpse of the freckles that dusted her rosy cheeks, or the curl of her lips, or her red roots showing through her blonde hair-- the Scully he loved reappearing from behind the cracks in her walls.

"Do you ever think about him? Our son?" She broke his spell of reverie and looked at him inquisitively. "What he might be doing at this very moment whilst we are miles away?"

He sighed and gently squeezed her hand. "Dana, you know the answer to that."

"I know... I wanted to hear it from someone else."

She continued to look at him with a softness that almost broke him and he paused for a moment, remembering holding his tiny baby. It seemed so long ago and wished there was more to remember, but he held them with fondness, the phantom feeling of his tiny fingers wrapped around his little one, never letting him forget. Those fingers would be bigger now, stronger, but he could still feel them. He clenched his fists on the steering wheel reflexively.

"Not a day goes by when I don't think of how well he'll be doing and how proud I am of him."

"Not a day goes by where I don't think the same." She looked out towards the glistening of the sea with a frown knitted into her brow. "It... It's strange... learning to love someone from afar... Accepting... that we only a small part of his life now takes some getting used to."

Mulder swallowed apprehensively, his heart clenching around her words pinning precisely how he had felt out in the desert and now.

"Dana?" His voice was pricked with worry. "What's brought this on?"

"I don't know," she sighed.

Pressing the cool flesh of her fingers to her forehead, she sucked in a breath. Every lump in the road seemed amplified with the motion of the car. The churning of the tires over asphalt mimicked the churning in her stomach.

"Stop the car. I need to get out," she whispered.

"Scully?"

She gulped a breath and managed to raise her voice a little. "Stop the car!"

As soon as Mulder had pulled over to the side of the road, Scully was out of the car and doubled over, the contents of her brunch returning. Initially, shock had caught him like a deer in headlights, but Mulder rushed to her side and swept the hair from her face, anxiously clenching his jaw.

"Jeez Scully," he breathed, rubbing her back.

Coughing, she stood up and brushed away his hand.

"It's okay, Mulder. I'm fine."

He cupped her cheeks, wiping some spittle from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, and gazed into her welling, blue eyes. Back-dropped by the ocean, they glistened surrendering to something solemn deep inside. He sighed and pulled her into his chest.

"You forget I know what 'I'm fine' means."

She let his words hang in the air, trying to avoid them but only hurtling towards inevitable admittance. With her head cradled between his hand and chest, she let the tiniest tear form and fall.

He stood still for her like that, absorbing her sniffs, stroking her hair, never questioning her need to let go and have control over herself. She tried to stay rigid and unmoving and he feared that she was drawing into herself again, hiding from him to protect herself again. That their rhythm was out of sync again after things felt like they were falling into place. In reality, he knew it had only been a couple of months since they had started this journey: no time at all. He couldn't expect deep wounds to heal with one plaster of good fortune. But it had already felt like years of waiting, and he was tired, exhausted from the grief, wanting to move on. Maybe they weren't ready to move on yet.

"I feel fine, Mulder." She pressed the words muffled into his chest. "Better than I have in a while but... I-- I don't think I am... fine."

"What do you mean?"

She lifted her head from his chest but still couldn't look him in the eye, ashamed that she might have kept something so important from him. "I think I might be ill. From either stress or a virus, I don't know. But I've had migraines and nausea for some time now."

She watched as his eyes softened with compassion, and she felt more guilty for ever thinking he shouldn't know.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

He brought his hands to her face more gently this time as if he were holding delicate china, his thumbs soothing over the pattern of her cheeks. Scully placed her hands on his arms, pulling them away.

"I didn't want you to worry, especially with your own condition. And I thought it would pass."

"Scully, you need to let me worry." He wanted to cup her cheeks again, to feel the reassuring weight of her press against his skin. He looked down at where their hands slowly swung like a cradle between them, all their worry turned to motion as it tried to escape. "What do you need?"

"Some ginger ale and some painkillers for the symptoms." Her tone took on a cold and measured value, detached from feeling and from herself as doctor Scully took over.

"For the cause?"

"I should probably see a doctor."

He nodded solemnly. "Okay. Let's get you some ginger ale and pain killers first."

Mulder guided her back to the car, his hand like it always had been, a rudder at her back. She didn't shy away from his touch and even gave him a smile from one corner of her mouth. She sat down clumsily in the passenger seat, grasping onto Mulder's arm to steady herself.

"We'll get through this." Scully looked up at him earnestly. "Us both."

"I should be the one saying that to you, Scully."

She gave him an honest smile, letting him know that what she had said was true: she did feel fine. Even better than that, she felt good-- great-- until another wave of nausea hit, but it never lasted long. She was more worried about him than she was herself.

Time seemed to drag along with each steady revolution of the wheels. Mulder was driving extra slowly, conscious of Scully who had the window wound down and the fresh air blowing in to keep her nausea at bay. She looked radiant even though she was struggling to keep the rest of her breakfast down. The sun danced through her golden hair and over her skin, lighting little kisses of freckles across the flush of her cheeks.

He felt her small hand reach across and squeeze his knee, and although he was focusing on the road, he could tell she was smiling, gazing at the city they were driving through. Her index finger was probably over her lips, her arm resting on the door like she did whenever she was quietly happy. Mulder kissed the back of her hand before pulling into a grocery store parking lot.

"You coming?" she asked as she got out of the car, hope sprung in her voice.

He grinned. "I wouldn't dream of leaving."

Inside, the ginger ale and tablets were easy enough to find, but it was something else in the health aisle that had made Mulder stop. He felt like his heart had stopped and the air had stopped moving in his lungs. The only thing that hadn't stopped was his mind whirring at a million miles an hour, escaping down a rabbit hole without him and he was left to chase after the implications.

"Mulder? Are you okay?" She tugged on his arm.

"Yeah. I'm good..." He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Have you thought..."

Scully stepped in front of his gaze,

"Have I thought what?"

She turned around and followed his line of sight like a red piece of string held in the air, connected to him stretched out beyond her. It was almost tangible the way he was focused so intensely like she could trail it with her fingers. She too stopped when she caught sight of what held his attention, the breath knocked out of her.

"Mulder don't be ridiculous. You and I both know it's impossible," she breathed.

He reached for the innocuous box, holding it tentatively.

"When was the last time you got your period? You haven't used any of the tampons we bought. It's been almost two months."

Anger broiled in her gut, wanting so desperately for him not to be correct. She hadn't thought about the tampons, why hadn't she thought about the tampons? She pushed aside all rationality in denial, feeding that fire that she might not recognise the pain.

"Mulder, just because I missed my period does not mean I am pregnant." Her voice was shaky with restrained emotion. "It's normal to miss a month once in a while, and with the stress of our current situa--"

"Just, please. And then we can rule it out for definite."

He looked mellowly at her, eyes soft with a mix of affection and concern, and she felt her resolve puddle.

"Fine," she sighed, half snatching the kit from him in her frustration.

He felt her rip at his heart as she grabbed it and he wanted to take it back, wish he never thought of it himself. She was frightened, he could tell in the way she projected her strength. But her strength only pushed him away from where he wanted to be most. He blamed himself for bringing this upon her, that he couldn't help her without harming her. He gently took her hand back and she looked at him, holding back tears that threatened to fall, holding back a heaviness in her breathing like cries threatening to spill. It made him queasy seeing the look that had haunted him the last couple of months return. Like a ghost, he saw her desperately cling onto everything familiar whilst inside she was starting to strip herself empty, using numbness as a defence. He wanted to give her back the smile that she had had earlier, fill her back up with laughter and love. He looked at the box.

Scully turned, slipping out of his hands to find the checkout. "You coming?"

Yeah, he thought.

Scully was silent in an all too familiar, daunting way. She stood in front of him, strong but rigid, confident but scared as she paid for the ginger ale, the paracetamol... the pregnancy test. He winced as she reached her hand back to touch his, felt the tremours brush through her fingertips as she stayed rigid.

She reached her hand back to ground herself in him, control the dizzying, drunk feeling of floating in a void of uncertainty. She was burning up from the inside with an injustice she tried to ignore, and the feel of his skin was cool enough to douse her and keep her anchored. Whatever happened she wanted him there, and she wanted him to know that. Whatever happened it was for both of them. She only hoped to god it wouldn't be true.

----------

Her fate was already sealed, she knew that, but if she prayed hard enough she felt like she could twist reality in her favour. Mulder was waiting outside the restroom and she was alone inside, holding the test between her fingers. The cap clicked loudly as she removed it from the tip of the test. Suddenly, her heart started to thump in her throat and her stomach tried to work its way up to meet it. Taking deep breaths, she did her best to push that anxious part of herself down. Her fate was sealed, and she wanted to trust God, whatever he had decided for her, but she wasn't sure she could. She wasn't sure he was still there for her. The only thing she could do was take the test.

----------

Mulder heard the toilet flush and, tipping his head back against the wall, he held his breath. He was leaning against the wall that separated him from Scully, waiting for the verdict. He didn't know what he wanted, except for Scully to be okay. He held onto that idea lest he start thinking of futures that could never be.

The restroom door opened and he stood up, watching Scully as she quietly walked out.

"Do we know yet?"

"No, we'll have to wait a few minutes."

She kept her head hung low, avoiding his gaze.

"Do you want to go and wait in the car?"

He touched her cheek and she startled, offering a weak smile when she saw his.

"Umm, yeah."

Mulder held the test level as they walked out, Scully clutching his other hand. She took a sip of the ginger ale, but it did nothing to quell the nerves brewing in her. Her walk was unsteady as she tried to ignore the other people around her. There was only her and Mulder in the world, but the loud intrusions of other people talking, of traffic, tested her to her limits.

Mulder leaned down to whisper in her ear, "It's okay: no one is watching us." and Scully smiled, reassured that his uncanny ability to read her was still strong. She leaned into his arm. Us, she thought, together in spite of the outcome.

They both sat in an itchy silence waiting for the time to pass, Scully stock still and Mulder fidgeting with his fingers. It was only a few minutes but it felt like hours, constantly checking the radio clock. The illuminated digits didn't change quick enough, every time they looked back at them they were the same as if time was standing still. Or at least time was going slower, edging towards entropy, the final moments before the answer closer and incrementally closer like Schrodinger's cat finally getting a diagnosis. Until she reached to turn the test over.

Scully looked at the stick and sat back, putting it back face down on the dashboard.

Mulder picked it up and a sudden surge of joy infected him, a grin spreading across his features. Two lines. Until he looked at Scully, whose eyebrows were pinched together as she stared up at the sunroof. Slowly she closed her eyes and let a single tear fall.

#maybe there's hope #msr #fox mulder #dana scully #on the run #Okay all caught up now 😊 #xf fanfic

[theoriginalladya]

Okay so as you do excellent headcanon posts, can you give us some about: Anderson&Vega (I am a helpless case I know), Vega&Cortez, and some general fishtank and showcase/collection thoughts please? (If you got any and want to.)

ROFL  Of course!!!  This may be a long post - I’ll try to put it under cut to make it easier to manage!

Okay, so:

Anderson & Vega

I think Anderson sees Vega as another protoge like Shepard, definitely

I think Anderson can relate all too well to what happens to James on Fehl Prime after some of the things that happened to him

Similar to what I mentioned in other headcanons about him, I believe Anderson served with James’ Uncle Emilio (I believe James said Emilio is a former marine?) and has had his eye out on James ever since he enlisted

I don’t know if it’s explicitly stated in the game, but I headcanon ANDERSON is the one who submitted James for ICT.  Who else would?  He’s N7 himself, and I headcanon it isn’t any different than he did for Shepard 

I firmly believe Anderson chooses Vega as Shepard’s babysitter for those six months because he knew EXACTLY where James’ headspace was after Fehl Prime and he wanted to save him from being discharged; basically, give him time to cool off, calm down, far less responsibility so he can start rebuilding himself

I think in some ways, Anderson even sees a bit of himself (in his younger years) in Vega

Vega and Cortez

(okay, I needed this prompt because I really need to get some ideas on them for upcoming fics!  Thank you for this!!! (and you are NOT a helpless case!!!))

I figure at some point during their stint on Fehl Prime together (Figuring out the timeline of colonies taken is troublesome at best, but I figure this one comes AFTER Ferris Fields and during the stage where Fehl Prime is in it’s rebuilding mode before the Collectors arrive) they end up drinking together - in a bar, on their own, doesn’t really matter - and Vega gets the story of what happened to Cortez’ husband

they both went through basic under the same drill sergeant but at different times, and stories from their experiences make it easier for them to bond

Cortez leaves Fehl Prime before the Collectors arrive - but he and Vega stay in touch

When Cortez hears about what happened at the colony after he left, he reaches out to James.  At some point (prior to Vega going on Shepard babysitting duty), they head out for drinks again, and this time it’s Cortez who does the listening

Vega mentions something to Anderson about Cortez (not sure just what yet) which perks Anderson’s interest and he manipulates files/transfers, etc. to get Cortez assigned to the team working on the Normandy

After Mars, Cortez tracks Vega down, they share a beer, and talk again (likely on the way to the Citadel) and I think this time it’s this that helps James calm down, rethink things and decide to stay on board the Normandy.  

at some point during ME3 (after the Coup, after the memorial wall), I think Cortez starts joining Vega down with the refugees to play a few hands at poker or whatever, also possibly helping out somehow

Cortez is the first person Vega goes to once he hears anything about his family back on Earth - which requires another round of drinks

in fact, after the first couple of times they drink together, I see it as a “next time’s your turn” kind of thing and they just keep trading off back and forth (as far as who is paying)

No matter what happens to Shepard/Normandy, when Vega is preparing to leave for N7 training post-game, Cortez offers to take him in the shuttle; he’s also the one to collect him after he finishes training

Shepard’s Cabin Headcanons

the fishtank is a ridiculous addition to the ship, but most of my Shepards eventually find it a nice one

I have one Shepard (Micah) who learned at a very young age never to name the fish anything ‘important’ so they’re all named things like,  Lunch, Snack, Dinner, Sushi, Breakfast, Elevenses, and Charlie  (a trick I learned from playing D&D years ago)

The fish have EYES and watch EVERYTHING that’s going on in that cabin

Jane Shepard (ShepShep) started building the models when Dr. Chakwas suggested it as a way to do physical therapy for her ‘fine motor skills’

after Omega (for Aria), Shepard and Traynor play chess with Petrovsky’s chess set that Shepard confiscates

A completely new idea I came up with in ShepShep:  There is a mini Galaxy Map on Shepard’s desk near the computer terminals where Shepard can make adjustments to their journey if necessary

Most of my Shepard’s take issue with the overhead window at first before coming around to liking it (usually the Spacer background Shepards get there first because they’re so much more attuned to ship life than Earthborn or Mindoir)

Garrus devises a way for Shepard to dim the lighting in the fishtank during events of ME2 after finding a potential crack in the glass from them throwing something at it during the night BECAUSE THEY WATCH EVERYTHING - if Tali is around at the time, she assists

at some point, someone with tech/engineering skills, ‘adjusts’ the lighting of tank to flash with the beat/rhythm of whatever music Shepard plays in the cabin, ala the old Windows Media player ... what are those things called?)

That’s all I’ve got at the moment! lol  

#ladya replies #Mass Effect #headcanons #my headcanons #when the muses attack #ladya writes #ladya plots #painterofhorizons

[anunquenchableflame]

Horizon’s Ghost

Setting: ME2, right after Priority: Horizon Characters: Rani Shepard, Garrus Vakarian Content: F!Shepard x Kaidan / SFW / 99% written to get one stupid joke out of my system

Shepard didn’t deal well with failure. Turned out she wasn’t great with disappointment either.

Also on AO3

Horizon had been a nightmare. 

Oh, Mordin’s upgrades had protected them from the swarm, just as he’d said they would. They’d taken down everything the Collectors could throw at them and driven them away with their harvest incomplete. But ultimately they’d been too late for most of the colony, and that counted as mission failure in Shepard’s eyes. 

Shepard did not deal well with failure.

And then there was seeing Kaidan again… nothing could have prepared her for that. He’d always been in a corner of her mind, ever since she awoke. She’d quietly imagined countless scenes of their reunion: Part of her kept an eye out for him every time they went to the Citadel, hoping happenstance would see them brought together. They’d laugh, they’d kiss, they’d cry, and they'd pick up right where they'd left off, as if it had been nothing but a few weeks apart. It was soppy and ridiculous, and all that was missing was the swelling soundtrack.

None of her idle imaginings had included the sweat, the blood, the stink of eezo, or the look of confusion that had turned to utter wounded betrayal when they finally stood face-to-face. She hadn’t imagined the clipped accusative tone of his voice, the hardness in what had always been such soft warm eyes. She hadn’t imagined how much it would hurt. They couldn’t have left the colony quickly enough after that and she’d refused to meet anyone’s eyes in the shuttle, lest they see how hard she was struggling to build a dam against her welling emotions.

Turned out Shepard didn’t deal particularly well with disappointment either. 

-

She’d been fending off call-me-Kelly ever since they’d returned to the ship. No, she didn’t want to talk about the mission; no, not about seeing Kaidan either; no, definitely not about her attitude to failure; NO. She did not want the interfering naive busybody taking notes and reporting back any more than she already did. What she wanted was to take a hot shower, cry for about an hour, eat dinner, go to bed, and maybe cry some more. Maybe hit something, should a target present itself.

She’d managed step one of that plan. Hot water had washed away the dirt and sweat of the mission and eased her tense muscles, but not her mood. She’d dried off and wrapped up in her dressing gown–warm and soft and totally devoid of Cerberus emblems, courtesy of their last trip to the Citadel–and was squeezing the moisture out of her hair when someone tapped at the door.

“I told you it’s none of your fucking business, Chambers!” Rani snapped.

“Shepard, it’s me.” Garrus’s drawl was unmistakable even through the bulkhead. She paused in towelling her hair for a moment but then went on with renewed intensity, resolutely ignoring him.

A minute later: “Still here, Shepard.”

Rani let out an exasperated sigh. She went to the door and glared at the interface for a moment, then opened it to transfer the glare to the persistent turian on the other side.

“Not now, Vakarian. It’s been a long day.”

“I know. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

“Nothing to talk about,” she said, with a shrug that wasn’t convincing anyone.

Garrus slipped past her and sauntered into the cabin while she made ineffectual protesting noises. He noted the photo frame face down on her desk. Though it was his first time in her cabin it didn’t take any great leap of deductive reasoning to guess whose face had been slammed into the desktop. He picked up the frame, which lit up at the contact, and found exactly the portrait he’d expected on the other side.

“You know,” he began casually. “I went to your memorial. Nice ceremony, if a little pompous. Everyone was very complimentary, especially the people who’d never met you. No-one who had could have said such nice things, not with a straight face.” Shepard couldn’t help but smile a little at that, despite her determination to stay disgruntled. “Anderson was more realistic, said you were a pain in the ass but you knew how to get the job done and we’d all be a little weaker for your loss, though he may have said it more politely than that. He asked Alenko if he’d say something too, but I don’t think he had the words. Not for that crowd anyway. Now, I don’t know much about human mourning rituals but getting extremely drunk seems to be important, so as soon as we found a bar that could serve a dextro beer, I obliged. You know Kaidan starts to glow when he’s drunk a lot? At least I think that part was real, hard to tell in hindsight, there really was a lot of alcohol…” Garrus shook his head. “In any case: we talked, the way men who are very drunk and very sad do.” He carefully placed the frame back on Shepard’s desk with Kaidan’s shy smile pointed right at her, the sniper’s precise shot to the heart as unerring as ever. “He’s angry now, but I don’t think he could hate you even if he tried.”

Rani regarded the portrait for a moment, her eyes downcast, before speaking. “I know.”

“You do?” Garrus’s mandibles did the thing Shepard had always interpreted as turian eyebrow raising. “Damn, I was all prepared to talk you round. I had a speech ready and everything.”

Shepard shrugged. “I suppose I should have expected his reaction. If our roles were reversed it… would not have been so dignified. There’d be yelling and broken things. Probably no colony left at all.” She hugged her arms close to her chest. “I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. I hoped he’d be glad to see me, that he’d understand and everything would go back to how it was but it’s… more complicated than that. And after you and Tali took it all in your stride, I guess I–” She stopped and shook her head, dismayed at the insane unlikelihood of her situation. No-one was equipped for the dead coming back to life, not the bereft nor the departed themselves. Kaidan had called her a ghost, and that didn’t seem far off. It should be a wonder that anyone was coping. 

“Oh, there was some processing to be done, believe me,” said Garrus. “But it had to wait until after the siege and the rocket to the face and the lifesaving surgery, after which Commander Shepard being not so dead didn’t seem like such a stretch.” He paused. “Also I’d had a message from Tali right before that all went down, the gist of which was ‘What And How The Fuck’.”

Shepard huffed a half-hearted laugh. “Good question.” She flopped back against the illuminated glass of the fishtank and slid down until she sat on the floor. After a moment Garrus hunched down next to her.

“I guess he told you all about us then?” asked Rani, looking down at her hands as she absently picked at her fingernails. “Our illicit affair.” That sounded dramatic, but it was true enough. They’d both known how much trouble there’d be if they were found out, but that had seemed less and less important as time went on.

“Didn’t really need to, Shepard.” Garrus sounded apologetic, but also slightly amused.

“Oh.” She winced, not sure if she wanted the answer to her next question: “Did everyone know?”

“Not everyone. But I think most of us realised there was a little more going on than you wanted us to see.”

She shook her head ruefully. “We thought we were so discreet.” 

“Oh, no, you were pretty good. No-one ever caught him sneaking out of your cabin or anything. But you couldn’t hide some things: The way you looked at each other, or stood a touch closer together than normal, the way he’d help you with your armour, or all those little wordless agreements. Anyone who spent much time with the two of you could tell how close you were. And you forget- I was a detective. May not have found anything solid on Saren but you two were a much easier case to crack.”

“I’m not sure that comforts me… Who knows, maybe there’s a court martial waiting for me if I ever get back to the Alliance. Though I suppose fraternizing with a fellow officer might be quite low on the list of my offenses. Did kind of mutiny and steal a ship even before I was a traitor.”

“You saved a colony from being totally wiped out. You’ve saved a lot of people. As far as I can see you’re doing the same job you always did, how’s that make you a traitor?” 

“Oh, maybe because it’s Cerberus paying the bills? They’re the enemy, and here I am working for them. With them,” she quickly corrected herself. She grew quiet again. “Kaidan certainly thought it did.”

“He’ll come around. Right now he doesn’t have all the facts.”

“I’m not sure that I do either. I just wish we’d had more time to talk. Explain, in as much as I can.”

“Think you could have talked him into coming along?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know... Maybe it’s best that he’s not involved. They’d only find a way to use him to manipulate me. Again.” The last word was bitter in her mouth. Clearly her old crew weren’t the only ones to put two and two together. They’d known exactly how to invest her in Horizon. No, the further away Kaidan was the better it was for both of them. Not that all of her was on board with that conclusion. “I just wanted more time to talk. For him it's been years but for me it feels like only a few months. He's worked through it all and gotten over me, while I'm still- I’m still newly in love.” Her voice wavered and tears suddenly welled up, the carefully constructed floodgates of her composure finally bursting open with the admission. She buried her face in her arms. “It's so stupid.” Her shoulders shook and her words were muffled as they were forced out between sobs. “I’m a goddamned marine. N7. The first human Spectre. I won the Star of Terra when I was twenty-two. I’ve come back from the dead, faced geth and collectors and husks and reapers and rogue Spectres and- and I'm sitting here in my dressing gown crying over fucking Kaidan Alenko.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

Turians could not, technically, smirk. They didn't have the mouths for it. You needed lips and different cheek muscles. But there was a way that they tilted their heads and did a thing with their mandibles that was close, and Garrus had a voice that was basically an aural smirk anyway. So when he spoke next Rani assumed that his words were delivered with a smirk.

“Isn't this about… not fucking Kaidan Alenko?”

Her mouth formed an indignant O as she looked up, red eyed, at Garrus and smacked him on the arm. It wasn't hard and he probably couldn’t feel it through the armour and carapace, but it certainly made her feel better. “I am heartbroken and in tears, Vakarian, and you're making shitty jokes!”

“Oh come on, Shepard, I couldn't leave that there. And now you're laughing and crying, that's an improvement, right?” Shepard knew a shit-eating-grin when she saw it no matter the shape of the face it was on.

“I saved your life and this is the treatment I get?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, a small grudging smile fighting the urge to resume crying. “I can’t believe I let you back on my crew, you’re terrible.”

“True enough.”

“Of all the people I could have had back I had to get the smart-arse turian.”

“Humans tell me that beggars can’t be choosers. Also something about the use of projectiles in glass structures that I’m not sure if I’m remembering correctly.” Garrus looked down at her very seriously. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you’re kind of a smart-ass yourself.”

“You’re just trying to rile me up so I’m not miserable anymore.”

“Well, I know how to deal with you when you’re angry, I’m… I’m not sure what to do with sad,” he admitted. “I’m not very good at this.”

The fight went out of her in one breath. “Me either.” She wiped her nose again and pressed her lips together as the tears threatened to well up once more. “I miss everyone. Not just Kaidan- Wrex, Tali, Liara–” she paused and sniffed “–Ash. She’d have some things to say right now, I’m sure.”

Garrus chuckled. “Spirits, can you imagine? She’d be even more pissed with you than Kaidan was.”

“No doubt. Maybe if I’d had both of them glaring at me I’d have stayed right there and given Cerberus the finger.”

“I have no idea what that means but it sounds extremely intimate.”

Rani snorted. “I’m really glad you’re here Garrus.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Terrible as you are.”

“Hey, someone’s got to watch your back. And without the rest of the old crew around, I guess it had better be the smart-ass turian. Now, what does giving someone a finger mean?”

“With those talons, I think it’s best you don’t know.”

#mass effect #commander shepard #f!shepard #garrus vakarian #shenko #fan fic #rani shepard #rani x kaidan #fic:rani #this has been lurking in my drive almost finished for like a year #my art is speedy in comparison to my writing #it may be awful #the joke certainly is

[anistarrose]

The Fishtank Between Time and Space (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan doesn’t think much of the pet axolotl Ford left behind… until he realizes hardly anyone else can see it.

Word Count: 2100

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653508

***

Stan initially figures it’s just a weird pet of Ford’s, simple as that. After all, Ford was okay with him adopting a possum and tying a knife to it when they were kids — little pink salamanders are frankly very normal, by the standards of Stanford Pines.

(Not to mention by the standards of the town that is Gravity Falls. Ford could’ve caught all kinds of disturbing creatures out there in the woods, like a feral gnome or a literal sentient fire... or like something that Stan hasn’t even laid eyes upon, only knowing of its existence from the creaking and rattling noises he always hears when venturing through the forest at night. But thankfully, Ford hasn’t invited any rabid beasts or dark entities that Stan knows of into his house, and Stan’s grateful for that.)

But the salamander — the “axolotl,” Stan learns after finally breaking down and doing some basic research — always feels just a little bit off, in a way he sometimes struggles to put his finger on.

He thinks it’s all in his head, how the beady eyes always seem to be fixed on him. How it never seems to stop smiling. How he’s never once seen it eat, even though the food pellets he gives it never seem to accumulate on the bottom of the tank.

He doesn’t know a whole lot about axolotls in general, and on the basis of that ignorance, he convinces himself that the salamander Ford left behind is perfectly normal.

Until one day a few months after Ford’s disappearance, when something rare happens — he has company other than the usual tourists.

It’s just Boyish Dan Corduroy, hired with some of the first spare cash Stan has had in a long time to come in and fix a few squeaky doors. But he takes his time lumbering through the living room on his way out, which sets Stan on edge. None of the secrets he’s hiding are possible to uncover from this floor of the house, but habit keeps him anxious. Throughout the rare times in his life in which he’s had a residence to call his own, visitors have almost always meant bad news.

Dan’s gaze lands on the fishtank, which has been diligently maintained as a healthy environment for salamanders even though the rest of the room is an unorganized mess. (There are a lot of jabs you could take at Stan’s character, but for whatever reason, he’s developed a soft spot for Ford’s old pet.) As always, the axolotl’s eyes stay fixed on Stan, even though the lumberjack is closer.

“You keep this tank pretty clean,” Dan notes. “You gonna buy some fish or something soon?”

“Well, I’ve already got the —” Stan pauses, realizing he’s not sure how to pronounce axolotl. “The salamander.”

Dan presses his face close to the side of the tank, inches from where the axolotl sits, gills twitching. “Really? Where?”

“You serious? It’s literally right in front of your face — that thing with the pink frills and the beady eyes?”

Dan steps back from the tank, throwing an arm behind Stan the clap him on the back. “Ah, I see what you’re doing! It’s a new attraction you’re testing out on me — the invisible salamander! Good one!”

“Are you — are you fucking with me? Can you really not see —”

But Dan’s already leaving. “Good luck with the Murder Hut business!” his voice boomed from the porch outside. “I’ll tell everyone to come visit your invisible friend!”

Stan whirls around back towards the tank. “Do you know what the fuck that was?” he asked the axolotl. “Who’s really pranking me here — Dan, or you?!”

The axolotl offers no reply, and Stan feels like an idiot for the brief moment in which he’d genuinely expected one.

“Maybe Ford did some weird occult shit to you, and you didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Stan mutters, shuddering slightly as he thought back to all the cracked prisms and X-ed out eyes he’d discovered in his brother’s house. “Or maybe I’m going crazy and hallucinated you all along.”

A bubble comes out of the axolotl’s mouth, rising to the top of the tank before bursting with a satisfying — and very real-sounding — pop.

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Stan tosses a handful of food into its tank, and trudges back to his bedroom upstairs.

There was one rule that Stan very quickly established as he began to run the Muder Hut — or the Mystery Shack, as he was thinking of renaming it — and that rule was not to keep anything genuinely supernatural around, unless it was vital to getting Ford back.

But the axolotl… well, it’s still up for debate whether it really is magical, but Dan hadn’t seemed like he’d been joking, and Stan’s pretty sure that if he was going to hallucinate, he wouldn’t imagine into existence a real salamander that he’d never heard of before with perfect accuracy.

Stan doesn’t want to get rid of it, though. He’s gotten used to the axolotl’s company and the routine of caring for it, even though its eyes still weird him out from time to time. And it’s already been around for months without showing any malicious tendencies, so… would there really be any harm in keeping it around?

***

Months, years, and then decades pass, and Stan’s relationship with the axolotl stays more or less the same. He feeds it and cleans its tank, it smiles at him, and he feels just the tiniest bit less lonely. It’s not much in terms of companionship, but Stan is happy to take what he can get. He talks to it sometimes, telling it about all the places he’s searched for Ford’s journals and all the roadblocks he keeps hitting while he works on reactivating the portal, and it always looks so encouraging.

But two things happen during those years — the first being that Stan becomes convinced that something supernatural is going on with that salamander.

Business is booming so dramatically that he can hardly handle it all on his own, and he goes through several handymen and cashiers before eventually firing each one. Almost all of them comment on the empty fishtank at one point or another, gesturing right towards the spot where Stan can see the axolotl floating, clear as day.

He definitely wonders if he really is hallucinating it after all, but then the second interesting thing happens: someone else notices the axolotl. Several someones.

“I didn’t know you had any pets besides the goat, Mr. Pines!” Soos exclaimes on his second full day working at the Mystery Shack, smooshing his face up against the side of the tank. “What a weird fish!”

Stan is so caught of guard that he doesn’t even think to explain that it’s actually a salamander. “Uh… yeah. It sure is.”

Soos frowns. “Something wrong, Mr. Pines?”

Stan folds his arms, shaking his head even though his mind is racing. “Me? I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to spot the shy little guy, since it usually likes to… you know, hide from strangers. Now, were we going to try and fix the golf cart, or not?”

And that’s the end of the axolotl discussion with Soos, over as quickly as it had begun. During the rare occasions Stan leaves the Mystery Shack, he always instructs Soos to feed it, and the axolotl always seems happy and healthy when he returns. He cannot for the life of him figure out why he and Soos seem to be the only two people in the world who can see it, but eventually he gives up on wondering. A mystery like that would’ve always been more of a question for Ford, anyways.

When he hires Wendy, it takes a while for him to realize that she can see it too. She spends so many weeks passing by the fishtank and not commenting on it that when she finally brings it up, Stan nearly spits out his coffee.

“Where’d you get that salamander, Mr. Pines? My science teacher is looking for a class pet, but everyone just keeps suggesting boring stuff like hamsters.”

“Uh… it came with the Shack. Two-for-one kinda deal, you know.”

“Darn, I was hoping you fished it out of the lake or something. Then I could’ve just gone and caught one myself.”

A few years later, when the twins arrive for the summer, Stan’s heart aches as he watches them discover the fishtank for the first time.

“Hey, Dipper, come check this out! Do you know what kind of animal this is?”

“Whoa, is that an axolotl? That’s so cool! I think I read that in Aztec mythology, they’re associated with the god of twins!”

“Really? Then you’ve just made the perfect new summer pals, Mister Axolotl!”

“Don’t tap on the glass like that, Mabel. You might scare it.” Dipper notices Stan watching them, and immediately starts firing off question after question. “Where did you get it? Do you ever show it to tourists? How long have you had it? How long do axolotls live? It looks pretty small — is it still a juvenile? Do they ever get bigger than this?”

Stan sighs. “Kid, I didn’t even know how to pronounce the world ‘axolotl’ until you showed up today. All I know is how to keep it fed — anything else, and you’re better off looking it up at the library or on a computer or wherever.”

“Well, you at least know where you got it from, right?”

Stan scoops a spoonful of food into the tank, avoiding eye contact with Dipper as he headed back to the gift shop. “I do, but it wouldn’t be the Mystery Shack if I didn’t keep a few secrets, would it?”

Dipper groans. “You’re no fun.”

***

When the axolotl disappears, it hits Stan harder than it should.

Even after thirty years of taking care of it, he never quite thought of it as his pet. It always struck him as more like a roommate, if anything — a lovable little freeloader who came in on its own terms, and stuck around only because it liked the place. Stan’s never given any thought as to why, but he’s always just felt weirdly certain that it could leave at any time if it wanted to.

And now, it has.

So he can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault. If he didn’t clean the tank enough, or cleaned it too much, or wasn’t fast enough noticing or resolving the situation with the lobster Mabel dumped in the tank.

Maybe it wasn’t anything he did. Maybe the axolotl just got bored of watching a man spending thirty years lying to tourists, forging his own brother’s signature, failing to learn quantum physics, and ultimately accomplishing absolutely nothing worthwhile.

Eventually, the kids notice and ask him, and this time he can’t spin it as a secret he’s keeping. He genuinely doesn’t know.

***

After Weirdmageddon, Stan’s memories are a two-thousand piece puzzle scattered across a tabletop, and he thinks he’s starting to fit some of the edge pieces together again, but there are still more gaps than connections. He remembers that the people who have been doting on him and showing him pictures are his family, and he remembers that he loves them and trusts them to help restore him to his former self, but progress is just… so… slow.

He doesn’t remember why they say he saved the world. He’s pretty sure they’re stretching the truth a little, but after seeing the way Ford’s face fell when Stan first asked why everyone was calling him a hero, he’s decided not to correct them.

So what if he doesn’t feel heroic? If it makes his family feel better, he’ll keep it to himself — it’s the least he can do, considering how many tears they’ve already shed for him.

But the first morning after his alleged act of heroism, while trudging through the ramshackle ruins of (he thinks) his house — a flicker of motion from behind cracked glass catches his eye.

The fishtank is nearly drained of water, but a familiar salamander sits in the puddle at the bottom, beaming at him. Stan blinks and rubs his eyes, wondering if he’s still dreaming, but then —

It speaks to him, in an ethereal and musical voice that resonates oddly in his ears, like he’s hearing the echo before he hears the words themselves.

I am so proud of you, Stanley.

“For what?”

Everything.

It dissolves into a froth of tiny, pink, glowing bubbles, which burst one by one as they float towards the top of the tank, and then the axolotl is gone.

***

(End notes:

So one day a few weeks ago, I just randomly woke up thinking “what if the Axolotl was only visible to the members of the Zodiac?” and several bouts with writers’ block later, here we are! Thoughts/comments/reblogs are welcomed as always!)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #the axolotl #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #mabel pines #rosalia writes fic

[blackandblueandstars]

It's Okay Pt5

TRIGGER WARNING: Discusses mental, emotional, physical, sexual abuse. Especially sensitive for LGBT readers.

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

Amy woke up when the door slammed open. A guard walked in, a devious smile on his face.

"You've been quite the troublemaker," he said to her.

Amy was silent, staring at the ceiling.

"I think you could use a little extra therapy," he said. "Don't you?"

He approached Amy slowly, unbuckling his belt.

"Maybe your real problem is you've just never had a good dick?" he asked, his rancid breath in her face.

Amy didn't bother begging. She knew it didn't matter. These people wouldn't stop.

The guard climbed on top of her, jerking his penis a few times. He touched her breasts, tweaking her nipples as his hard cock brushed against her entrance.

"Girls like you," he said, "You get off on the tease. I'll put you in your place."

He shoved himself inside Amy. She cried out at the pain, turning her head to look at the wall. The paint was peeling. She followed the cracks like lifelines, begging for the end to come.

The guard thrust inside her before finally ejaculating. She felt the warmth inside her and fought to hold back vomit. He climbed off her, cleaning himself and refastening his pants. He undid Amy's restraints, pulling her back to the room.

He dropped her to the cot and she lay there, not moving. She was alone in the room. "I should try to look around, figure out a way to escape," she thought. But her body failed her. It had shut down after all the trauma. So she lay there, and she thought.

How long had it been? How much longer until Kamilah found her? She tried to think past the pain. They kidnapped her, then transferred her to the boat, then to here. That had to be a few hours. Then they did the shock therapy...a few more hours? How long was there between sessions? Had it even been a full day yet?

The door opened and they brought in Sam, naked, and tossed her on her cot.

Amy sat with all of her willpower, looking at her the best she could through her swollen eyes.

"God," said Sam. "That looks bad."

Amy gave her a pained smile. "Should've seen the other guy," she said through gritted teeth. She stood slowly, returning Sam's blanket to her.

"Thanks," she said, taking it and covering herself. Amy returned to her bunk and sat wrapped in her own thin blanket.

"How have you done this for so long?" asked Amy. "I mean, I've been here...what, a day? I don't think I could survive weeks."

"Well," said Sam quietly, "it helps if you don't fight them."

Amy nodded. "Damn my stubborn personality," she chuckled.

Sam smiled at her. "Thanks for trying to stand up for me," she said. "You didn't have to do that."

"Neither of us should have to be experiencing any of this," Amy replied sullenly.

"Well," said Sam, "the day is through. They'll rest now. So we get a reprieve."

"Well thank God for little miracles," said Amy. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

---

Kamilah slammed into park and shut off the car, quickly exiting the vehicle, Adrian stumbling to keep up.

They entered the organization's headquarters.

"I'd like to talk to the person in charge," Kamilah said to the receptionist.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't get your name," she said.

"I didn't give it," Kamilah replied.

"I see," said the receptionist. "What can I help you with?"

"You kidnapped my girlfriend. I want her back. Now."

The woman smiled, picking up the phone.

"Yes, we have a woman here who would like your assistance, thank you," she hung up the phone.

Two men in suits walked out, guns strapped at their waist. They walked up to Kamilah.

"Ma'am," said the first man. "I need you to leave."

Kamilah smiled.

In no time at all she had removed both of their guns, tossing the ammunition in a nearby fishtank.

"No," she said, eyes flashing red. "Show me to the person who can tell me where my girlfriend is."

The security guards stared, wide-eyed, pointing towards the elevator.

"Cards," said Kamilah, nodding to their ID badges. They removed them, handing them to her.

"Let's go," she said to Adrian. "Before they call the cops."

They entered the elevator, heading to the top floor.

The elevator doors opened to a reception desk where a woman sat. Kamilah walked past her towards the office behind her.

"Excuse me!" the woman shouted. Kamilah put her hand up, not stopping.

She opened the door to the office, staring at a man sitting behind a large Executive desk.

"Uh, who are you?" he asked.

"That," she said, "depends on you."

"I don't follow," he said.

"You kidnapped my girlfriend. Her name is Amy. Her mother's name is Linda. I need to know where she is."

"I'm afraid--" Kamilah rushed to the man, slamming him against the window behind him, the glass slowly cracking.

"I'm not asking," said Kamilah.

"O--okay," the man said. "It's in my computer."

"Give my friend here the information he needs to find her location and maybe you live," she said.

"P-P-password is ScaredStraight, both capitalized. There is a folder called safehouses. That's a list of every location and the people in each."

"Got it," said Adrian.

"Print the whole thing," Kamilah told him.

The glass cracked further.

"P-p-please!" the man screamed.

Five pages printed out of the printer. Adrian scanned them, finding Amy's name.

"Okay," said Adrian. "We're good."

The glass gave in that moment, the man only held up by Kamilah's grip.

He begged her to save him.

"Ugh," said Kamilah, rolling her eyes. She thought of Amy and knew she couldn't let him fall. She threw him across the office, smiling as he slammed into the wall and passed out.

"Let's go," she said to Adrian.

Part 6

Author's Note: I had the idea to write this after watching a segment about a conversion camp. This has been particularly hard for me to write, but it feels necessary to me to explore the horrors that people exactly like myself have experienced. I wanted to add some resources where people share real stories of their experiences and survivors can go to find help:

National Center for Lesbian Rights

Love is a Rainbow

Article from The Cut

Tag list: @h-doodles @scarlet-letter-a0114 @idkbutkamilah @lightning-fury @galaxyside-0 @blogsupitssam @ilovetaylor13m @la-guera-69 @adrianrainesworld

#kamilah sayeed x mc #kamilah sayeed #mc x kamilah #kamilah x mc #kamilah #bb kamilah #bb choices #choices bb #bb kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #bb adrian #Choices #bb&s writes

[pa-pa-plasma]

oh my fucking lord okay so i was doing shit with my tank. I slid it partially onto this little ikea table. this fish tank weighs about 456 metric fuck tons mostly empty. The ikea table gives under the weight. I catch the tank. It weighs more than me. You can see how that is a problem. A 5 foot lady holding a 20 gallon fishtank. Okay. The tank slides completely onto the ikea table. Not okay. The ikea table pops and falls. I also fall. My cat meows at me for food. I cant get you food i am being crushed to death under a fucking fish tank. The ikea table falls over completely fucked up. The tank's weight is completely on my skinnyass 5"2 frame. I am on the floor. The fish tank is in my lap. Oh fuck. How do i get out of this? I am home alone. No one is coming home for days. I am stuck between 100+ pounds of water, sand, & rock. There is One person who can help. I text my dad who lives across the road. Help aaaaaaaaa i am being crushed to death. He runs over. Opens the garage door. Tries to get in. Door locked! I yell for him to go in the back. I left the door open, but the screen is closed and locked. He gets in. Where are you? he yells. Over here. He comes into my messy ass room. I am sweating and holding a giant tank in my lap. Adrenaline allows my 5"3 skinnyass dad to lift the tank enough that i am freed. Oh no. When the tank fell it knocked shit offmy desk, including a glass of lemonade. The cup is under the tank. It will break the tank if i leave it. Dad lifts one end of the tank long enough for me to get the glass out. He puts the tank down a little too quickly. His body doesnt have time to readjust and he rolls backwards onto his head. He is doing a headstand. What the fuck he says. What the fuck i say. He struggles to get out of the headstand and stands up. What the fuck we both say. Okay, so uh, the back screen door is ripped off the frame. Dad tries to put it back. It does not go back. It is fucked up after being ripped off its fucking frame. Okay we've been having tornados lately we can say thats what happened. So he leaves out the garage. I hear the garage door going up and down, up and down. I go see whats happening. It wont close! Okay, maybe it's a proximity thing. I let the door close behind me as i go see whats up. Move a chair thing. Go back and press the button. It starts closing. Yay! I can finally relax. I open the door—wait, no nono. The door wont open. It is locked. I hit the garage door button again. Dad hears and stops. I look him in the eyes. I am locked out. We just locked all the doors. I left my phone and keys inside. But wait, my bedroom window is cracked open a bit. We try the doors anyway. I try the basement windows. Same cat from before is like what the fuck are you doing. Dog my dad brought with him is stuck inside the house barking at us. I find a nail keeping our tiny shed closed. Can we take the screen off my window with it? I am not wearing shoes. It is starting to rain. Dad pries the screen off my window!!! Hell yeah. I climb up in a chair. Dad says step on my back! Do it! I do it and get inside! Woohoo! There are buckets of water and cat food all over my floor, but luckily the spot right under my window is mostly clear. I hop inside, try to lock my window. Uh oh, spaghettios. It wont lock. Shit. I let my dad in. We are both so fucked up. What the hell. He goes to leave out the garage. Wait. Hell no. He goes out the front door instead. I lock it behind him. I can finally relax. I have used up the rest of my bad luck for the entire year in less than an hour and a half. Fuck me

#story time #i am now in the bath. fuck everything #that was the most fucked up shit that has ever happened to me consecutively

[thenightlymirror]

When it comes to lumens with objects, especially decorations, does each one just compete with paper or glass or fish? Or can you find the results with those that remain on paper? One of the things that I find difficult to look at is the size. I wonder if I suck my bottom up?

Okay, Anon. Who has the rougher job: the guy that has to suck some gasoline to siphon it from a car, or a guy who has to suck some fish water out of an aquarium? For me, personally, I envy neither man. But I can imagine recovering from a mouthful of gasoline. A mouthful of fishtank water? Straight up kill me. I don’t want to live with that memory in my brain. 

Alright, this is usually the part where I turn this into some kind of serious confessional investigation of some lingering feeling or another. Meh. This is meta enough, right? 

Oh no. I feel one coming. Goddamn it.

Hey, what’s the real profane illumination? A la Benjamin on the Surrealists. For example, we have two sides here on the Anon Superhighway. One is the automatic text, the other is human vanity (that’s me). I guess on one side is always the automatic text. You could call that the absurdity of existence, cold hard materialism, the absence of absolutes or god or reason or morality. Which, sort of depends on the human vanity coming out the other end. I guess the question is, what are all the different reactions one could have to it? Automatic text, automatic techniques are sort of like this tool for introducing a little void into the system. “You are a meaning finder, tell me what you see?” So, in vain, the text becomes a mirror. You could become playful. You could say everything is frivolous. You could say its all very psychic and meaningful. You could say its cold, unsentimental. You could say its liberating. You could say its sort of a strange, othering feeling. 

I’d say, that the text has to destroy whatever it comes into contact with. And “human vanity” covers most things, personal and social. I, of course, am an advocate for sacrificing the most of yourself and the world to it. If it lacks enthusiasm, emotional content, liberation energy, a little of the body too, you gotta just keep pumping more into the woodchipper of surrealism until its cracking bones and spitting blood again. Find new sources of void energy if you have to. Find it out in the world if you must. 

But its a big thing. It’s a big method. A good tool. 

[irradiatedsnakes]

okay so...there’s this old barn on our property. like, real old. the thing is rickety looking as hell and my dad’s had to put in more supports over time to keep the thing from falling down. but the people who owned the property before us, they left in the hay-loft of this old barn, a fishtank.

a really fucking big fishtank.

of course, they left it in the hay-loft, so unless you have a crane bucket or a haybale conveyor belt thingy there’s no way to get it down. but today i went up to the old barn to figure out exactly how big it is. andddd using the measure app i found it was 6′x2′x1.5′, or 135 gallons. ITS SO FUCKING BIG

oh and! despite being up there for like a decade, it seems to be in fairly good condition! it’s not cracked and the silicone holding the stuff together seems to be fine. there’s a plastic base that has a few cracks, but i wasn’t able to tell if it’s just a base or if it serves to hold any water, since the thing was upside down and i couldnt tell if there was a bottom pane of glass. id assume there is, though.

i still want to get it down someday, if we can find someone willing to lend the machinery, but auUUGH ITS SO BIG. WHAT WOULD YOU EVEN PUT IN THAT

[anyu-blue]

personal

Mobile keep scrolling

Read more.

Great. I can't sleep. I was all comfortable and ready to pass out and then my thoughts turned towards the nightmare I had yesterday.

Grrr I'm so MAD. I dreamed about my mother and our move and my sister(s) and family... There was randomly a carwash involved, but mostly our old place with an Alice in wonderland/Willy Wonka twist... just Uck all around.

There were so many duplicates of my blanket (with different colors and sizes and patterns) that it seemed null and void... I couldn't pack all of them.. I wanted just the original, just mine, but with time constraints and stress I couldn't remember and ended up shoving too many of the damned things into the limited space.. plus too much crap I didn't want or need.. just wanted to be rid of it all but I couldn't risk going without insurance or comfort.. I'd either go mad or be in danger... And it was frustrating. I had to pack it all myself too or lose.

My mother was there... My sister ended up trapped by her in glass tubing wrapped around her like rope and it was just bad. If it broke wrong it would shatter altogether and hurt my sister... Shatter incorrectly in a different direction and we would all be hurt.. and I was so mad. It was supposed to 'protect' her my mom claimed... But it was so stupid. My sister was scared and crying. Didn't care if we hurt her, but was so worried we'd get hurt and it was so wrong because she didn't care about herself... Uuurgh.

All kinda true here.. metaphorically.

And it's got me thinking... My mom is the annoyingly self destructive type... ESPECIALLY if someone isn't there to frigging BABYSIT her. She'll drink or smoke herself silly. She'll starve herself and work herself to the bone and SOMEHOW manage to be unproductive while doing so. Basically it won't make a single God damn difference. She'll still be broke and poor and miserable.. plus you know.. literally dying the whole time.

And I'm just so IRRITATED Because it is NOT my responsibility to stop her or babysit or take care of her.... But I can't just SIT here all cushy and comfortable while she kills herself.. believing she's all heroic and 'deserving' and better for it... Cuz she's N O T.

God.. that woman needs so much gd help yet is the ungodly-est mother fucking stubborn ass goat of all time. *Muffled scream*

I want to shake her so bad. Right down to her very core ... So bad I knock THAT sort of stupid RIGHT OUT OF HER. To where if she EVER even THINKS of doing something like that EVER AGAIN she whips right back around and walks out that metaphorical door, slamming it shut behind her.

...

Everyone who's seen her lately had done me the 'kindness' of telling me she looks like a fucking crack addict. Like she's going to snap in half at any gd moment. I had reports previously (from her) of her working 4 different jobs and not caring of the toll and bullshit it caused... Yet HOW. How in God's or any dieity's good flipping name does she owe people collectively over $800 dollars????? Not including the $3000 she's trying to pin on me (the loan she swore and swore was fine/paid for time and time again and that is, guess what? Not in my name at ALL. I'm NOT paying that shit!!).

I. Don't. Get. It.

Yeah, sure, I KNOW she's not been working for the past month because of 'needing to be there' for her bf's son. He's away on a job after hernia surgery.. but seriously... Him doing stuff like that should mean that HIS bills are taken care of.. and she literally lives under his roof soooo... Not like she should be wanting for food... I KNOW she's not wanting for her two major addictions- cigarettes and mtn dew. Saw her smoking away and drinking the stuff as I hauled shit out of our old place...

So why TF would she be in such disgusting (sorry I'm angry and by the descriptions, it's really not pretty) shape?

Even before I dropped the damned bombshell of the move... What is she DOING to herself? And bloody W H Y?

....

Idk what to do.. god I hate her and her damned guts.. but DAMN IT I WILL NOT BE BLAMED FOR HER SHITTY CHOICES. URGH.. yet it feels like we're there in a way.. that if I or SOMEBODY doesn't step tf up.. she's gonna finally succeed in becoming her damn martyr...

Maybe this is how people like her get ya...

You know it's not your fault. You KNOW their choices are their own... But they play that damned fiddle... They sing a song of woe and sorrow so gd deep you somehow actually become the bad guy... Doesn't matter the damned evidence. Doesn't matter how you stand up and shout 'NO'.. if you don't DO something.. it's on you.

...

You know what she did the last time I saw her? You know what she did right in front of me? She threw out her back... I was right there. I told her to ask for help for ANYTHING. I had a 'big strong guy' with me RIGHT THERE too- MORE than willing to help out. And she REFUSED. Refused to ask for help.. and moved the wrong gd thing by herself.. and injured herself so fucking BAD she could hardly stand or breathe... Yet then when I was right there ACTUALLY helping her with something AFTER this, she INSISTED on lifting a 20 gallon fishtank with enough water still in it I could barely lift it.. while bent over. What the actual... *Ahem*

...

I've done this to people. I've played that fiddle.. hurt myself and told them it was their fault. Starved and worked yet bore no fruit.

I've been abusive. I've been this creature.. I am so ashamed, but I will never, EVER do it intentionally again. I will never forget what I've done.. how many people I hurt doing it. It will never go away.. and I don't expect forgiveness.. yet have been lucky enough to receive it from so many. There are still more I wish to apologise to and may never get the chance.... Whether they would forgive me or not.. I still wish I could.

.. I know now where I learned it... Why it was all I knew for a time.. But I know not just how to deal with it in another person. When it's all this person ever knew...

I hate her. I hate her so much.. and yet I pity her.

#personal #random #ignore me #life in general #negative #language #oh boy.. #i just want to sleep #i want to be done with all this bs #i want to run away and forget about her and all this nasty stuff #peace... i just want peace... something so deep and to my very core #nothing could ever shake it out #i think talking about my life in counseling Monday has opened #some floodgates here... who am i? what am I? #can i be something and who i want to be? #can i leave this all behind? #can i weather any storm and still be at peace with all of it? #i want to.. i want to so badly. to just be at ease with life and love... #to actually leave it all behind and not be haunted or overshadowed #i dont want to start over.. because i love me. I've learned to and i do #but i want to have the best life for myself.. free of these very real nightmares #I'm making progress... slow but steady.. and im going to be okay #it just makes me sad and a whole lot of other things rn that my mother #seemingly never will at this rate #i can tell her i care... i have. but it doesnt mean to her what matters to me #and thats not something i can force.. #family issues #trigger warning #tw: abuse #tw: language

[fatboistudios35-blog]

Bizarre Days. A Critical Thinking Production. By Franky Santiago.

The Sacred Filter

Undisclosed location Argentina forest June 2048 the cold evening air and frost on the trees. Global warming at it’s finest as a stone trader sits in his fortress. Jimmy Rochelle legendary trader and mercenary. Feared in many parts of the world and a legend in Mantleville. Sitting there surrounded by Obsidian stone and fortune.

Tall lean figure, slick back greasy hair and a 21 Savage tattoo portrait on his neck. Wearing an all white suit with blue shirt. Tigers eye ring and a watch with hematite in it. Mid forties.

When humankind first discovered that Obision when used properly could cut through atoms and heal the people. Only the rich and powerful wanted it for dark purposes and for the money making it a very precious stone. Now just a resource that almost exists in legend. The world slowly deteriorates as the rich take the money and humans almost develop devices to transfer consciousness to computers.

Jimmy in a glass house in the middle of the forest surrounded by trained assassins. As a helicopter approaches he prepares to welcome his guest. The Truth and his men arrive on the roof. As the chopper makes the wind blow.

The Truth mid sixties long grey hair braided and built like a silverback gorilla. Aged and with battle scars from years of what he has been doing. Black cargo pants, steel toed boots and grey sweatshirt. Pistol at his side. Tucked inside a long six inch blade.

“Gentlemen. Welcome welcome. Please no guns.” Jimmy says.

The Truth nods handing over his pistol. They enter the elevator and go down to the business room. Three guards stand there in suits with face paint.

A room from the future flat screen TVs and a fireplace. Portraits of Jimmy in stone and Obsion stones everywhere. Glass windows showcasing the forest. In the wall a fishtank of tropical fish. Below through the floor there is a swimming pool and hot tub. Like an exercise room.

“Don’t worry my men are here for protection.” Jimmy says. “Please sit. So you come for the Obsidian yes? Powerful tool from the gods.”

“Yes. Powerful medicine.” The Truth says as he sits down. “I hear you have it.”

“Oh yes were on a mine of it as we speak. Tell me what do you desire it for?” Jimmy asks. Lighting a cigar.

“Medicine for my people.” The Truth says.

“Medicine? What? You waste my time with that nonsense. This is precious stone used for making weapons. Powerful tools my friend the money. Used for great destruction that we can use for the money.” Jimmy smiles. “So tell me. A man with your talent wants it for what a community? Are they billionaires or what?”

“People need medicine on the reservation. I will pay any cost. Just help us.” The Truth says softly.

“Oh that’s what I like to hear.” Jimmy snaps as his goon approaches with an eleven inch stone of Obsidian. “This right here my guy. Six million dollars.” Placing it on the table.

Black stripes dark blue and glossy emitting a powerful aura and its sharp edges transparent. Solid obsidian stone for great value. Used for filtering negative energy and used for weaponry. Filtering the darkened subconscious and cleaning the spirit.

“Really beautiful and sacred. What do you do with this medicine?” The Truth asks.

“Medicine? You poor lost soul this is fortune. It cured cancer, cut atoms! Fought even the hardest wars for mankind. This is power. You see my men are highly trained to kill. Who do you think pays for all this? This stone. I started off in West Mantleville selling guns now look at me! I have it made. What the real question is how did I make this happen?”

“I don’t like your disrespect.” The Truth says.

“Oh my disrespect?” Jimmy asks in confusion exhaling smoke.

“You dishonor our ancestors and give this to bad people. Every night you make families work and slave labor and kill them. Yet here you are dining an feasting with near unlimited power. Before the era of man and their thirst for knowledge this was very sacred and you desecrate it to make your money. For material objects. To give into the darkness.” The Truth snaps.

“Oh yeah.” Jimmy pulls out a pistol. “I could blow your brains all over my glass floor and no one would ever think to question me. Tell me is that not worth the money? Or are you to broke to understand?” Jimmy asks.

The Truths stares. “You were supposed to kill me.” The Truth grabs the gun pistol whips Jimmy out cold. Then shoots the three goons. Then walks over and yanks up Jimmy.

Machine guns fire on the outside as men scream. Then a large explosion rattles the structure as the glass cracks. Then six militiamen on ropes swing in and aim guns at Jimmy.

“Please! NO NO NO!” Jimmy begs on the ground with a knot on his cheek. Crying in his own tears.

The Truth yanks up Jimmy and gets him in a headlock and slams him to the floor. Then grabs Jimmy and locks his jaw twisting.

Jimmy screams in agony. As The Truth twists his Jimmies head and squeezes his jaw.

“What do we do?” A militia member asks.

“Raid the structure. Take the medicine.” The Truth says as he pauses to squeeze Jimmy's head. “Then kill any remaining men of his and when we load up the stone blow this place back down to the ancestors.”

Jimmy yells in agony as The Truth squeezes his skull. Jimmy screams now directed at the militia members who raid the fortress.

The Truth drops Jimmy to the floor. “I give you one time. Fight me with honor or die like coward.”

Jimmy jumps up and tries to run as The Truth grabs him by the collar and drops him to the glass floor. Jimmy's head makes a thud like a hammer to wall.

“Now you die like coward.” The Truth says as he picks up Jimmy like a barbell.

Jimmy screaming hysterically. As he kicks and screams crying hysterically.

“PUT ME DOWN! NOW! I KNOW POWERFUL MEN!” Jimmy yells.

The Truth throwing Jimmy in the air like he's a basketball as Jimmy's brain splatter on the tree on impact and he ricochets like a bouncy ball off two trees and lands in the dirt. Splattering on on the dirt on impact.

The militia members fill the helicopter and The Truth jumps out the window and climbs the rope back to the roof.

“Truth. Explosives planted no hostiles and all woman and children are not insight.” The Militia member says.

“Good. Give this place back to the ancestors.” The Truth demands as he climbs the ladder into the chopper.

The chopper flies off into the air enabling stealth mode. In the distance a silent explosion sends a shockwave as the glass structure crumbles echoing for miles.

“One less colonizer to worry about.” The Truth says calmly as he stares into the distance.

In the news a small explosion nothing more nothing less. But in the criminal underworld and the wealthy know something big went down. Just another day.

#creative writing #freewrite #fatboistudios #criticalthinking #indigenous #decolonize #keepingitreal #boredom #obsidian #stones #healing